Somehow the maples looked different to her. They were quickening. Slowly, slowly the sap was getting ready to flow, drawn by the heat of a distant sun that sent some nameless, irresistible call to come to life.
She knew how they felt.
“You okay?” Jacob asked.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He shrugged and set down the bin of tools he carried before a maple. Running his fingers over a patch of bark where the growth pattern was distorted, he turned to her. “Okay, here’s what you do. Find the previous year’s tapping scar. Move around the tree about five or six inches and up a couple of inches. The idea is that we want to tap on a rising spiral over the years to spread out the injury.”
“Planning for the long term?”
“Makes sense, doesn’t it?”
It did, and it was one of the many things she admired about Jacob—he took the long view, understood that the process was about more than just the money he could make today.
Of course, there were other things she admired about him, she thought as she watched his intent, unsmiling face. “Aim to keep all the taps between three and four feet above the ground,” he continued. “That makes the buckets easier to lift when they’re full.”
“How often does that happen?”
“In a good season, every day.” He opened the bin and took out a cordless drill.
She picked up one of the iron taps and studied it. “Speaking of planning for the long term, why haven’t you switched to narrow-bore taps? There’s a lot of talk about them at the Institute—less damage.”
A corner of his mouth tugged up. “You’re just not going to stop until you get me to change something, are you? I have a different shirt on, today. Isn’t that enough?”
She raised her eyebrows at him.
“What?”
“It’s plaid.”
“So? You got a problem with plaid?”
“No. Not any of the thirty-some-odd versions of it I’ve seen you wear.” Her lips twitched. “I just always thought Trask was an English name, not Scottish.”
“Can we please stop discussing my wardrobe?”
“You brought it up. It’s not like I suggested you change it. I think they suit you.”
He shifted his feet and she could have sworn he looked bashful. “The tapping?” he reminded her.
“I’m sorry, am I distracting you?” Celie touched her tongue to her upper lip. “I know how you hate that.”
She was rewarded by seeing his eyes darken for just a moment. “We’ve got a job to do here,” he growled.
“Then I guess you’d better show me how to do it.”
He gave her a sharp look, then hefted the drill. “Okay, you want to go in at a slight upward angle. Increases the sap flow. You want the hole nice and tight, so make sure you hold the drill steady.” He sank a hole to demonstrate.
There was something about a man with a power tool in his hands that always made her knees weak. And Jacob’s hands were strong and broad and capable, with just a sprinkling of black hair on the back of the wrist. Hypnotized, she stared at them, imagining them on her skin, imagining what they could do.
Then she realized that he was watching her and she raised her eyes deliberately to meet his. He swallowed. “Now place the tap. Use the mallet to knock it in. Then hang your bucket.” It took him a couple of tries to get the hole in the bucket’s rim over the curling hook on the tap. He dropped the metal bucket cover in the snow and they both bent down for it. And for a thudding instant, Celie’s breath backed up in her lungs as they froze, face to face, inches apart.
Jacob moved first, grabbing the cover and standing. “Snap it in place and you’re in business,” he said, a little hoarsely. “You want to try?”
She wanted to try everything, preferably things that involved the two of them and very few clothes. Celie gave her head a brisk shake to dislodge the image. “Sure.”
“Now this guy is twenty inches, so we can put another tap on the opposite side.” He handed her the drill. “Go to town.”
Knowing he was watching made her extra aware of her every motion. “Like this?”
“The angle’s not right,” Jacob said gruffly and reached around her to grip the drill. “Here, see? Hold it like this and keep the slant gradual. Okay, now sink it.”
But her fingers held no strength and all she could think about was the feel of his body behind hers. How could he expect her to focus on drilling the damned tree when the heat of him standing behind her was turning her mind to mush?
She glanced back at him and found his mouth right at her eye level. And it undid her. She could only stare helplessly, breath shuddering out as she watched his eyes turn slowly to indigo.
And with a muttered curse, he tossed the drill into the bin and dragged her to him, clamping his mouth over hers.
Desire slammed through her. The kiss was hard and furious, all heat and flash amid the frozen silence. She half expected to look down and see a circle of melted snow surrounding them. His mouth didn’t tempt, it demanded. Her vision blurred. She closed her eyes to immerse herself in sensation, in taste, in touch. In Jacob. She could feel his body pressed against her, feel him erect even through their winter clothing.
He wanted, she thought giddily, he wanted even as she did.
And he was going to take.
This wasn’t the careful, controlled Jacob she knew. Heedless, he plundered, ravished her with lips and teeth and tongue. All she could do was moan helplessly as he worked his way down her throat, stopping where her sweatshirt began. But she wanted more, craved for him to touch her, really touch her the way he never had. And as he caught at the front of her parka, she chuckled low in her throat.
Jacob was lost in a red-tinted haze of carnality, ravenous. Day after day, she’d lingered in his mind. Night after night, she’d crept into his dreams, leaving him wanting, always wanting. And now, finally, he gave himself up to it and found himself nearly overwhelmed. Her lips moved against his, clever, teasing, promising even more than they gave until he was half wild with it. The flavor, the scent of her skin wound into his senses.
And desire pushed him past the edge of control.
Impatiently he stripped off his gloves and slowly drew down the zipper of her parka. Celie’s lips were fevered under his. He could feel her tremble and wondered how she would move when she was naked under him, on top of him. Around him.
When her jacket was open, he slid his hands inside and pulled her against him so that they were surrounded in a warm cocoon. And then he slid his fingers beneath to feel the silky skin of her back.
Desire exploded through him. He wanted his hands on her breasts, wanted to have her naked, to drive himself into her until they were both out of their heads with it. He slipped his fingers around her waist and felt her flinch from the cold, heard her involuntary gasp.
It was that, finally, that brought him to his senses. And he forced himself to drop his hands and move away.
Celie only looked at him with dazed eyes and licked her lips. “What’s wrong?”
He wasn’t a novice when it came to women or to passion. He didn’t fancy that he had Gabe’s style but then he’d never believed that every woman wanted that. What he did believe was that a woman deserved to be treated with respect. For long moments, though, this hadn’t been about respect. Something dark and uncivilized and completely carnal had come out in him, something he barely recognized.
And it lurked there now, waiting. He cursed again. “It’s twenty-eight degrees out and I’m pawing you in broad daylight and you have to ask what’s wrong?” he demanded, dragging his hands through his hair. “This is exactly what I was talking about. This is not okay.”
“No, it’s not,” she murmured. “It’s fabulous.”
“Stop joking,” he snapped.
And she moved up against him and slid her arms around his neck. “I like the fact that you were pawing me. I like the fact that you lost control.” She gave a humming laugh deep in her thro
at. “I like the fact that I drove you to it. Why don’t you just give up, Jacob? This is going to happen between us sooner or later.”
The knee-jerk protest died on his lips and all he could do was nod. “Not here, though, not now.”
“But soon, I think.”
“You are stubborn.”
“Determined,” she corrected.
He stared at her from under his brows. “Are you going to help me tap these trees or not?”
Chapter Ten
“What are you doing here?” a voice demanded. “Who are you?”
Celie looked up from the morning paper to see Marce standing on the kitchen threshold in a ratty yellow bathrobe. “Your temporary roomie.”
“You’re not my temporary roomie. My temporary roomie leaves every morning at five-thirty. You’re an alien. You’ve kidnapped Celie and put someone else in her place.”
Celie took a drink of her orange juice. “Your point?”
“It’s eight o’clock on a Sunday and you’re still here. Bad enough you aliens used to take over my boyfriends. I strenuously object to you taking over my best friend.”
“Hey, don’t blame aliens for the way Kyle behaved at the end of your relationship. He deserves all the credit himself.”
Marce gave a brisk nod and crossed to the cupboards. “You’re right. Want some more coffee?”
“Nah, I’m set.”
“So why the day off?” Marce poured herself some coffee and pulled a bowl of grapes out of the refrigerator. “Aren’t you supposed to be off doing your apprentice sugar-maker thing?”
“Nothing left to do,” Celie answered a little too quickly. “Jacob told me to take the day off. The taps are all in and we’re just waiting to see if the thaw hits.”
Marce picked up a grape. “So you’ve got a day to actually relax for a change.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t look exactly relaxed.”
“Well, you know, I—”
“In fact, you look a little worried. Is it Jacob?”
“Not exactly.”
“Jacob’s trees?” Marce asked, watching her closely.
“No, they’re—”
“Jacob’s inoculated trees?”
“They’re fine. It’s just…” Celie let out a sigh. “I talked to Pete. Beetlejuice is still held up.”
“Beetlejuice. You mean the insecticide that you used illegally.”
“Yeah, that one.”
“And all those trees sitting out there with Arborplugs.”
Celie nodded miserably. “And Dick Rumson’s out there just looking for a way to nail me.”
“So go over the reason why you did the inoculations again?”
“To keep from cutting down trees.”
“Jacob Trask’s trees.”
Celie glared at her. “Anyone’s trees. I figured it was a no-brainer, that it would be released by now. Pete said two weeks, it’s been almost three, for God’s sakes.”
“Any time you’ve got multiple government agencies trying to agree you’re going to have delays.”
“That’s what Pete said.” Celie fell silent, staring broodingly out the window.
“They’ll get around to it eventually.”
“Hopefully before I drive myself nuts worrying about it. Now’s your chance to say I told you so.”
“I almost never say I told you so,” Marce said with dignity.
“I’m sorry I gave you reason to.” Celie sipped her coffee glumly.
They sat in silence, staring at nothing. “You know what I think?” Marce asked suddenly, setting her coffee cup down.
“What?”
“I think sitting around here and worrying about it isn’t going to do a thing except maybe give you an ulcer. Let’s get you out of here and get your mind off of it. The sun’s out and it’s a perfect day for skiing. What do you say?”
Celie rose. “I say you’re on.”
“So how is Sap Boy?” Marce asked as they schussed along the side-by-side tracks of a cross-country trail. “Still playing kiss and run?”
“I don’t know. I think he might be playing kiss and hang around now.”
Marce gave her a startled look. “You guys didn’t—”
“No,” Celie said hastily. “But I think he’s getting used to the idea.”
“No, no, no. Guys are born used to the idea. It’s the women who have to get warmed up.”
“Jacob’s his own bad self.” Celie slowed to a stop at the branch of two trails and stopped to take off her parka.
“Ain’t that the truth. Although I saw him the other day without his beard, finally.”
“Nice, huh?”
“Doesn’t begin to cover it. Like night and day compared to before. I’d cut a guy who looked like that a lot of slack.”
“Especially if he kissed like a god?”
“Especially then,” Marce agreed, leaning on her poles. “Do you think it’ll really happen for you guys?”
Celie tied her jacket around her waist. “Define ‘happen.’”
“You define ‘happen.’ What do you want? I mean, what do you think about this guy?”
“Truth?”
“No, lie to me, please.”
Celie was silent for a long moment, staring at the snow. “I like him, Marce,” she said slowly. “A lot. I mean, he’s got this rough thing going but he’s a good man. Down deep, you know? Where it counts. He makes me feel, I don’t know, safe, I guess. Steady in a way I haven’t felt in a long, long time. Does that sound goofy?” She looked up to find Marce staring at her.
“Wow.”
“What?”
“Just…wow. You’ve never sounded like that about a guy.”
“How do I usually sound?”
“Oh, he’s fun, he’s sexy, he’s great in the sack, he makes me laugh.”
“He does make me laugh. The man’s gorgeous and his body…I don’t know what he’s like in the sack but if the way he kisses is any indication, he won’t disappoint. If we ever get there.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s in doubt.”
“And Beetlejuice will be approved next week.” Celie slapped Marce’s arm. “Come on, let’s get going.”
“Good idea.” Marce made a face. “I’ve been getting dripped on the entire time we’ve been standing here.”
“Dripped on?” Celie looked up at the branches overhead and felt a drop hit her forehead. Out of a cloudless sky.
Snow melt.
“We have to go back,” she said.
Sap-collecting was nothing like she’d imagined. She’d figured on hard, boring labor. She hadn’t thought it would be peaceful. The woods had always been her favorite place but there was something almost hypnotic about the process of going from tree to tree, pulling off the bucket covers to find what was beneath. There was something about the grace of the maples, each tree hung with its pail, each spout quietly dripping sap. The rate of a heart beat, Jacob had said.
Celie unhooked a bucket and lifted it off, emptying it into the four-gallon container she carried. Three-quarters full. Time to take it to the cylindrical gathering tank that sat on the trailer behind the tractor. One of the first things she’d learned that day was that a full bucket was awkward to carry far. Three-quarters full, she could manage. She might have made a few more trips to the tank than Jacob and Deke and the rest of the crew, but she was doing her share.
And after three hours, she was starting to feel it. Wiry Deke had to be stronger than he looked. Jacob, not surprisingly, was like an automaton, going from tree to tank with barely a pause. And as the day wore on, they found the sap buckets steadily more full.
Celie carried her gathering bucket over to the tractor. The clear sap swirled in the container like water. Suddenly curious, she took off her glove and dipped a finger in, then raised it to her mouth. Nearly tasteless, with just a hint of sweet.
“The Indians called it sweetwater,” Jacob said from behind her. “They used to boil it over a campfire for hours.�
�
“Like you do.”
“I do it a little more efficiently, I hope.” He lifted her bucket and poured it into the gathering tank. “Well, this gets us to the fill line. Deke, you want to take it down to the sugarhouse and empty it?”
“Sure.” Deke climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Time for a break,” Jacob said to Celie, nodding toward his truck. “I’ve got some sandwiches here if you want them.”
“You’re going to feed me?” she asked as Deke started up the tractor.
“Even up for breakfast.”
“You trying to pay off blueberry pancakes with sandwiches?”
“They’re good sandwiches,” he said, opening the door for her. “Besides, if you’re nice I’ll turn on the heater.”
She gazed at him under her lashes as she got in. “Just how nice do you want me to be?” she purred.
“We’ve got work to do.” He closed the door firmly on her and crossed around to the driver’s side. “Sandwiches or nothin’.”
She gave him a resigned look. “Sandwich, please.”
He was right, she discovered as she unwrapped it to take a bite. The sandwiches were pretty good. For a few moments, they munched in silence. Celie stared out at the quiet trees stretching out into the distance. “Okay, I get it,” she said suddenly.
“What?”
“I get why you hate the tubing. There really is something about the old-fashioned way.”
He gave her a startled look. “Why the epiphany?”
“I don’t know.” She waved her hand at the trees. “Something about the way it feels. I can see why you would look forward to this every year. Being out in the woods. Doing it the way it’s always been done. Even Deke with the tractor. Tubing just wouldn’t be the same.”
“A lot of people think I’m just being sentimental.”
“And you aren’t?”
“Partly, I suppose. I grew up doing it this way. Something about the rhythm of it fits me.” Jacob dug out a thermos and some cups. “But converting is also a major investment.”
Vermont Valentine (Holiday Hearts #3) Page 13