On fire. A brand at his back. Dragged, carried, tossed in the chopper. Noise, shouts, gunfire. Cool wet air on his face, filled with the smell of heated gunfire, hot oil, the sweat of terror.
His life leaked out all over the goddamned place, smelling raw and hot. He’d been hit. The sons a bitches had killed him this time for sure.
Steven shook his head, stared again at Lefty, standing in front of him, mouth moving in one of his tirades, the whump-whump-whump of the chopper disappearing into the hills. Gone. Lefty’s words broke through in mid-sentence.
“...and you shouldn’t a never went back for me. That’s what made you crazy.” He raised on his toes to bring his face closer to Steven’s. “Then I'd be dead and gone where I belong.”
Another shake of his head and the memory made way for reality and his own fury. “What escapes me is why you think because I drug you outa that jungle I owe you something. That kind of convoluted thinking is just your speed. You owe me, and have I ever said anything? No. Hell, no. Now, by God, this time I’m serious, and I’ll put up with no more shit from you. You so much as look cross-eyed at that lady, and I’ll clean your plow. Hell, I’ll break your frigging neck.”
Taking several deep breaths to still the anger that always arose after he experienced one of his flashbacks, Steven eyed Lefty, who batted his eyelids several times, looking like a frog catching bugs, mouth opening and shutting but no sound coming out.
“That be just like you. Drag me back here so you could beat me up over some woman.”
Even Lefty must’ve realized the stupidity of that statement, for he shut up and joined Shadow, who was busy salvaging what he could from the devastated campsite. Doing his best to ignore the set-to. Nothing ever riled the black man, and he hated seeing violence in anyone else. How many times Steven had wished him gone. He belonged anywhere but here with two crazy, broken-down war horses bent on killing themselves, or having failed that, killing each other.
Steven left them to the cleanup, stomped across the ripped and torn clearing without saying another word. He had to find Liz and bring her back before she got in real trouble. If he stayed here he’d choke that damned Lefty, by damn he would.
****
Crouched in the woods, uncertain what to do next, she didn’t hear his approach, thought she was alone until he touched her shoulder. She let out a startled whoop and balled both fists until her heart settled down.
“It’s me,” Steven said.
The husky timber of his voice recalled too vividly what had happened earlier. Him between her legs, hard and demanding. Her wanting him so much that she lost all sense of propriety. How could she have done such a thing? This wasn’t supposed to have gone so far, and she hated him for it. Hated herself.
Lurching to her feet, she whirled and aimed a trembling finger at his bare chest. “You. Don’t put your hands on me. Just because you...just because I...doesn’t mean you can...I don’t understand how this happened. How I let myself wallow around in the mud with a pagan like you, I can’t imagine. I don’t know what I’m doing here at all. I should be home washing dishes and making beds and cooking meals. I should be getting ready to go to a covered dish supper at the church. I should be dressed, for God’s sake, in decent clothes.”
He never interrupted, just stood there taking it, so she continued.
“Look at me. Look at this.” She fingered the hem of her muddy blouse and ran the flat of both hands down the front of her dirty, wet jeans. “I never wore pants in my life until now. I don’t even have on a bra.” She cupped both hands over her breasts. “Why is that, for God’s sake? Why is that?”
He opened his mouth to reply.
“You shut up. Before you even start. Just shut up. I’ve been a good woman all my life. A church-going, good woman. I’ve done all the right things. I prayed and asked forgiveness for sins, even when I wasn’t sure I’d even committed any. I’ve been saved, not once but twice. Every time I did something sinful I went down on my knees and the Lord took me back. He forgave me. Because to believe in Him is to have life everlasting. And now look what I’ve done to Him. To myself. Just look. I’ve enjoyed lust. Enjoyed it, and that’s your fault. This is not why I left my husband, my home. I wanted...I thought...dammit, I don't know what I wanted or thought.”
A flicker of amusement curling one corner of his mouth, he raised both hands in a defensive gesture.
“Don’t you laugh at me. Don’t you dare. Look at you. A half-naked savage, and you stand there unashamed. You don’t care what we did. You probably even liked it, you’re probably laughing inside at what you made me do. I have never in my life done anything like that. Do you understand? Do you?”
That isn’t exactly true.
You shut up, too, Liz.
Exhausted, she planted both hands on her hips. Temples throbbing, throat aching, she fought against the knot that clenched and unclenched in her stomach. And still she wanted him. Closed her eyes to shut him out, but wanted him, and that only made her angrier. At him. At herself. Whoever she was.
He opened his mouth and managed a few words. “Damn right, I did, but—”
”Shut up. Don’t you even try to wheedle your way back in my good graces. I’d leave here if I could. I would. But I can’t figure out how to do it. And isn’t that just like a man? You’ve maneuvered me until I have to depend on you to get me out of trouble. And you’re not going to do it, are you? You’re just going to stand there and laugh. And your friend calls me a whore. How do you like that?”
“I didn’t like it. I hit him,” Steven interjected fast before she got started again.
“Oh, yes, and thank you very much. Compromise me in the heat of the moment, in the mud right out in the open, and then smack your friend on his smart mouth when he calls me a whore. Well, I’m not a whore, and now he hates me even more than he did, and you will too when you think about it. What we did was adultery, and I’ll thank you both to remember it. It’s not the same thing, not the same thing at all.”
“You may have committed adultery. I didn’t. But I’ll be glad to inform Lefty of the difference.” He spoke softly, then chuckled.
“Don’t you laugh at me. I won’t have it, I won’t. I’m sick of men. Sick of you always running things, always being the big boss, always saying when to go, when to stay, what to wear, how to talk, how to walk, what to read, for goodness’ sake.” She was beginning to make very little sense. She ought to shut up, wished she could, but the words just kept pouring out. Clearly she spoke to Reudell and not this man. These were resentments she’d kept bottled up for a quarter of a century. But they weren’t all used up yet, and there was no stopping them.
“Damn you, my husband hasn’t slept with me for years, so of course I was easy prey. It’s our animal nature and we have to fight it to remain pure in the eyes of the Lord. Temptation and suffering are heaped upon mankind to see what he’s made of. I have been baptized and I will be good. I. Will. Be. Good.”
It was enough. Her voice broke, and she swallowed to clear her dry throat, keeping a wary eye on her adversary. If he made one move toward her she would hit him with a rock.
Thankfully, he stood patiently, arms folded over his chest, one knee cocked slightly so that his hip protruded.
“Well, say something,” she croaked.
His lips twitched. “Are you sure?” He took a couple of steps toward her.
“Stay right where you are.” She bent down and pawed around in the mulch of soggy leaves until she found a fist-sized rock and held it up. “From right there, I can hear you fine.”
“I’m not sure what to say. You’ve pretty much said it all. We committed adultery—well, at least you did—in the mud. You’re sorry and I’m not, and I hit my best friend in the whole world for calling you a whore. And you hate all men and what they stand for. Especially that husband of yours. That pretty much sums it up, doesn’t it? Oh, except, I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy it as much as I did. In fact, haven't enjoyed anything so much in a hell of a
long time. And you’re probably right. Anything that feels that good must be a sin. That’s the way a God with a wicked sense of humor would work, isn’t it? As for your husband, I feel sorry for any man who’d live with you and not bed you on a friggin’, regular basis.” He took a deep breath and let his gaze wander slowly the length and breadth of her.
Not once had he raised his voice, and she found that so incomprehensible as to render her speechless. The muddy rock slipped from her fingers.
His grip closed around her wrist and he pulled her against him. None too gentle.
“Damn you,” she breathed, then raised her face to whatever he offered.
Demanding moist lips, tongue probing, arms closing around her so she could scarcely move.
“Won't hurt nothing,” he murmured against her cheek and slipped a hand under her shirt. Thumb crawling up her rib cage to her breast. “I'm about to show you sinning,” he said and shoved her to the ground, straddling her and ripping at her pants.
His body was hot, slick with perspiration, hard. Hard all over. Pushing against her. Frantic to get beneath her jeans. Just where she wanted him.
“Let me, let me,” She panted the words, went to work on the snap, the zipper, the waistband. Clawing and shoving at the damp fabric, needing him inside her more than she wanted to take her next breath.
Finally the jeans were down around her knees and he tore them and then her panties off, cupped his hand between her legs, and slipped a finger inside so deep she shuddered and came like she had never ever done. An old woman in her forties, and she finally knew what it was like to have a real, honest-to-goodness orgasm that made her shout with joy, with delight.
“You want that? You want me in there?” The words brutally spoken. Not Steven, but someone else.
And she became the Liz he'd demanded she be, crying out, opening her legs wide. “Yes. Now, please. Please.”
It was like being branded, the way he jammed, fast, faster. His heat, the passionate, nearly violent attack. Fingers bit into his flesh. She clamped his arms to keep from slipping from his grasp. Their moans joined as both came in an explosion that just kept on and on and on till she thought she might pass into another world.
When it was finished, he collapsed to one side, breath hot against her shoulder. He repeated, over and over, “I'm not dead, not dead, not dead.”
She cradled his head against her breast, kissing his cheeks, ears, any part she could reach.
“You most definitely are not dead, though I question whether we'll be able to walk for a while.”
He chuckled, kissed her long and deeply. “I haven't been able to do this till you. Not for a long time. And now I'm rolling around in the rain and in the mud and in the woods, fuckin' like crazy.”
“Oh, Steven. I have never been so thoroughly fucked in my entire life.”
“Why, Mary Elizabeth. How you talk.”
“Liz.”
“Hmmm?”
“Liz. I sent Mary Elizabeth packing. She's too stodgy.”
They lay in each other's arms as darkness closed around them.
Something crawled across her leg and she stirred. “Have any idea where my pants are?”
“Nope. Mine are around my ankles.”
“Something's crawling on me.”
He peered from his resting place against her chest. “Getting dark. You think we could get back to camp before it goes plumb dark on us and we can’t find our way?”
They struggled to untangle. She could still feel him inside, touching, rubbing. Oh, God, she had to stop that or she'd have him down on the ground again.
“You were right about one thing.” She found her jeans and stepped into them without bothering with the ripped panties.
“What?”
“You showed me sinning, that's for sure.”
His laughter closed around her and he gave her a huge hug. In all their time together, he hadn't laughed that way. He actually sounded happy. His voice was usually tinged with sarcasm or anger, even when he laughed.
He took her hand and started toward the clearing. The guys had built a pretty big fire and it would be nigh on to impossible to get lost with it lighting up the dusky sky. Though tempted to help her make her way in the dark, he dared not so much as put an arm around her. The way he felt in that moment, if he touched her in any way, they would have another scene. And while he couldn't think of anything more enjoyable, he dared not. They dared not.
No wonder she left home. She needed a major overhaul in her thinking. Hell, she was emotionally worse off than him. Sometimes it sounded like she belonged to some kind of cult to him. Except...yeah, except for when they made love. Jesus, who’d a thought it? Him and his dead pecker, coming to life like this. It was a goddamned miracle is what it was.
Behind him, her feet kicked at leaves and crackled through the fallen limbs. “I guess I’d better go.”
He didn’t look back. “Listen, you want out of here, I’ll take you. You’re not a prisoner, you know.”
She remained silent.
Vaguely disappointed, he still knew her decision was probably the right one. “Okay. In the morning, after we’ve all had a good night’s sleep, we’ll go back out to your car and I’ll lead you out to the main road.”
“How can you be so nice to me? I tried to hit you with a rock.” She gestured vaguely.
He grinned at her inability to sort out her feelings. “Yeah, well, I’m just a hell of a nice guy, I guess. Besides, you more than made up for it. Forget it, huh? We all got to blow sometimes.”
He could barely see her features in the lowering dusk, but when she said nothing more, he wondered if she was regretting what had happened. Maybe she’d gone too far and didn’t quite know how to get back. One thing he hoped. That she didn't regret what they'd done. He'd never forget it.
Striding along beside her, he spoke in a light tone. “Hey, looks like the guys are working, and here we are having a good time. Let’s go lend a hand. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to sleep on the ground tonight.”
Chapter Twelve
Confused and disoriented, Liz trudged along behind Steven. She should leave, that was evident, but she didn't want to. This man had touched something deep within her and she would never be the same again. How to deal with that, she had no idea. One thing was clear. She couldn't stay with him, with them. By the time they reached the campsite, she knew she had to go. Where, she wasn't sure yet.
Three sleeping bags, a tattered blanket that looked as if it’d come from an Army Surplus store, and her blue-and-gold tent hung around a blazing fire. Nearby, Lefty worked on one of the bikes and didn’t look up when they approached.
Shadow pawed through a pile of assorted odds and ends he’d obviously retrieved. “I found all but one sleeping bag. Our tent’s a washout, hers come through. We’ll need to douse the clothes in the creek ’fore we can wear ’em. As far as food goes, it all ruined except a few cans of stuff, and you can’t tell what’s in ’em cause the labels are gone. Guess we have potluck.”
“What about my Harley?” Steven asked.
“Not my job, mate. I clean, I serve.” An Aussie accent that startled Liz.
Lefty glanced up. “Ole boy found his. Good as new. Beats me where your hog got to. Must be around here somewhere. Maybe tomorrow.” He twisted away at something on his own bike.
Steven moved a bit closer and she watched, not sure whether to expect violence or apologies. These two men had a relationship that was entirely different from any she’d ever had with a woman or a man. Like a brutal understanding that, like it or not, lashed their male egos together.
“Can you fix it?” Steven asked.
“Sheeit. ’Course I can.”
“Want a beer?”
“Sure, ole son, if the black found some.” Lefty jerked his head toward Shadow, still digging through remnants left by the tornado.
Shadow peered toward Lefty, evidently decided a comment wasn’t worth the effort. “Not yet. Could look som
e more.”
“Nah, it’s getting dark. Your bike’s okay. You can go out tomorrow, get us some supplies.”
There they were, acting as if nothing out of the way had happened. They could pound away at each other, literally and figuratively, pick themselves up, dust off, and have a beer together. In a way she envied such a camaraderie, but feared it at the same time. How much would one have to share with another to reach that stage, and was she willing to make the effort? So much easier to remain in a protective cocoon.
Lefty glanced at her. “She has a cooler in her car. Could bring it back, too. Ours is somewhere out yonder.” He gestured toward the path of the tornado. “He could bring it back on the bike after he hauls in the other stuff. Fetch and serve. That be his job.” Scowling, he went back to his tinkering, leaving Steven to decide.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Maybe she would stay another day, just till they recovered from the storm.
“Hey, ole son,” Lefty muttered toward the ground.
Steven waited.
“Tell her... Tell her I didn’t mean to call her a, you know, a whore? Anyone can see she ain’t that, and I guess that’s what got my goat. Understand, you? If she was a whore, why, then it’d be okay, what you done. It’d be no hair plucked off my narrow ass, non? But ’cause she’s what she is, why, then that makes what happened more worse, that’s all I’m saying.”
Steven thought Lefty ought to tell her himself but knew he wouldn’t, so didn’t push it. Now he had to talk her into sharing some supplies instead of running for her life once out of the woods, so to speak. It turned out he didn’t have to.
“I heard,” she said before he could broach the subject.
“Well?”
“Can’t he fix the bike?” She gestured toward Lefty.
“Sure, given time. Lefty can fix anything that runs. We just need some leeway, that’s all. There’s stuff in your car we could use, but it can wait till morning. Open up some of those anonymous cans and eat what’s there tonight. Shadow’ll go on in to the store out on the highway, buy some supplies, what he can carry on the bike. It only means you stay another day.”
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