by Ava Miles
“Arthur, dear,” she said when he lifted his gourd again. “You might slow down. I believe the mead has more than honey in it.”
“Indeed, Madam,” Hargreaves said. His posture was picture-perfect, and he looked almost regal in the fading afternoon light.
“Did you ever think we’d have this kind of adventure, Hargreaves?” she asked, biting into a piece of the succulent beef. Organic and grass fed, of course, and some of the best she’d ever tasted.
“No, Madam, but as I’ve learned in many years of service to you, one can never anticipate all eventualities.”
“Well, I sure as heck didn’t expect this,” Arthur said, forking a potato. “Back when I was a boy, I used to pore over the National Geographic for glimpses of the greater world. Even knowing the power of photographs and a well-written article, nothing beats a live show. Eh, Clara? I can’t wait to write about this trip.”
Oh, she knew exactly what kind of “live show” got him hot and bothered. He certainly knew she was open to it later. She should be tired after their trip. Unsettled even, after the horrible events on the river. But she oddly wasn’t, and she knew it wasn’t the mead. She’d gone through most of her life feeling unwanted, and these people had made her feel so very welcome in such a short time. Sironka had even called her a friend to their tribe—a special honor, he’d said.
A young woman appeared in front of her and bowed, holding out a plate of fresh figs.
Chief Mingati gestured to the plate, his long blue and black furs catching the light. “Figs are a blessing reserved for women in our village. You honor us with your presence, Mrs. Hale.”
Even the chief refused to call her by her given name. “How lovely! Figs are one of my favorites.” The woman placed them in front of her, bowed again, and departed.
She leaned closer to Arthur. “Remember our last trip, dear? In Provence, you seemed to think you had the upper hand on me. That’s when you gave yourself your special nickname.”
He snorted. “I got another Merriam engaged, didn’t I? You’re too competitive, Clara.”
Like she hadn’t helped J.T. and Trevor and Caitlyn too. “And you’re not competitive, Arthur Hale? Hah! I just wanted to point out that I don’t see anyone giving you anything special. Let’s review my list so far: they let me carry the most precious baby, and now I’ve been given these lovely figs.”
He leaned close to her. “Maybe you’re just nicer.”
“That’s not news, Arthur. I’m a downright sweetheart compared to you.” She kissed his flushed cheek as he harrumphed.
“When you’re not a pain in my ass,” he added, giving her one of his cheeky winks.
“For that, I will not share my figs with you.” She popped one in her mouth.
“But we know what you will share later when we’re alone, don’t we?” he whispered in her ear.
As she chewed the tastiest fig of her life, she returned his wink.
She planned to share every bit of her happiness with him.
Chapter 15
Animal furs and hides covered the floors and walls of the windowless hut Michaela and Boyd had been shown to at the end of the feast. One kerosene lamp lit the space, its smell extra sharp tonight due to her shock. God, what a day. She could still taste the river water in her mouth even though she knew her mind was playing tricks on her.
“Here,” Boyd said, carrying over a basin of water. “If you’ll let me, I’ll help you wash. You look dead on your feet, Mickey.”
“I feel ready to fall over, but I’m jumping up and down on the inside, being here with you in the village, so close to the Valley of Stars.” Besides, tired or not, she’d never been too exhausted for a sex celebration after a big find, and he knew it. A bath—even one out of a basin—would be a nice prelude. She ran her finger over the bare skin of his arm, enjoying the way she caused goose bumps to rise in her path.
“I love you, you know,” he said, the soft light casting half his face in shadow. “I was so afraid I might lose you today.”
“You know,” she said, “I just wish you and I could be home for the night and then pop back here in the morning. We’d turn the air conditioner on way low and make a fire. Then we’d make love in front of it.”
“Something to look forward to when we get back,” he said, his dark eyes fixed on her face. “Personally, I’m just glad we’re alone together. When you’re more rested tomorrow, we can geek out about all the old people and the whole land rights issue.”
“Good idea. It’s all so exciting, isn’t it?” She tugged off her clothes and shivered as the cool air hit her skin.
“The most exciting trip we’ve been on, but we knew it would be. And that’s the end of this talk. Close your eyes.” He dipped the cloth in the basin and raised the hair off her neck.
Heaven.
“I wish I could wash my hair. I lost my dry shampoo and all my toiletries.”
“Your aunt still has hers, I’ll bet,” Boyd said, kissing her neck. “Be right back.”
He ducked out of the hut before she could stop him, letting the hide covering the makeshift door drop behind him. Her aunt and uncle might be up to something already, and good for them. They’d both beamed as they bid everyone good night after the festivities. Thank God they were still happy to be along on the journey. Boyd was right. They could have gone down in the river today. She would never have forgiven herself for that.
He reappeared with the bottle in hand and turned her around. “Your aunt was flushed, but all too happy to give you her shampoo—once she finally came to the door.”
“I was going to tell you not to bother them,” she said, leaning her head back as he dusted her hair and ran a comb through it gently.
“Ouch,” she said when he hit a tangle. “I probably look like I have a dozen birds’ nests in my hair after today.”
“You look beautiful,” he said, his hands patient with her tangles. “You’ll feel better after this. Then you’re going to sleep. Tomorrow, we’re going to the Valley of Stars.”
“And we both want to be rested for that.” The culmination of their dream was within reach. She had to focus on that, not on the terror she’d felt earlier. Not on the grief for Marvin, and for what Boyd had needed to do to help her.
“All right, I did your hair as best I could,” he said, picking up the cloth and running it efficiently along her back and bottom. “Who’s missing a shower right about now?”
She loved the feel of the cloth running up and down her legs. “Me! Or a hot bath. God, I don’t think I could live without hot water from a spout long-term. That’s why I ended up not doing Peace Corps. Two years straight would have been too long.”
Circling around her in the close space, he slid the cloth between her legs. She let out a quiet moan, closing her eyes. God, she wanted him. Her whole body was tightening with need, every cell straining for his touch. She shivered again, her skin cold from a chill. He needed to work faster, but she couldn’t bring herself to hurry him along. She wanted his hands to linger. When he bathed her like this, touched her like this, she felt cherished, a feeling she hadn’t known she craved until Boyd had shown her what she’d been missing.
“I didn’t do it, because I didn’t want to just build bridges and wells,” Boyd said, bathing her stomach and breasts. “I told Peace Corps I would suck at that, but they said I’d have learned. Can you imagine the first time someone tried to use something I’d built? It would have collapsed on impact.”
She laughed as he tugged on her nipples before washing her neck, shoulders, and arms. “Building isn’t your forte. Remember that time you tried to fix that hole in our wall with a little spackle?”
“There is a kind of building I think I’d be really good at, though.”
His tender tone had her looking him in the eye. “And what is that?”
“I want to build a life with you, Mickey—one where we work and play together. I don’t know what it looks like completely, but there’s one constant: you and me.”
She traced his face. “Just don’t ever lie to me or go behind my back again, Boyd.”
He ran the cloth over the rest of her face before setting the basin on the floor. “I promise. Just don’t ever jump to conclusions and get so mad you won’t listen to me. You scared me, Mickey. I couldn’t get through to you. For months.”
“We have a lot of talking to do,” she said, leaning up on her toes and kissing his mouth. “But I want to be with you again. Now, it’s your turn to strip. I can still smell the river on you.”
“I draw the line at the dry shampoo,” he said, following her orders. “It’s like putting chalk in my hair.”
“You always say that,” she said, tugging on the ends of his shaggy hair. “Beats nothing.”
“I’m not doing it, Mickey.”
She laughed. “Stubborn to the end. All right, let’s get you washed.”
When she lowered the cloth straight to his package, he growled. “That’s the last place you’re supposed to wash on a guy.”
“Like you’ve ever been a rule follower,” she said, giving him a long caress before washing his chest. “The bed looks pretty decent from here. Did you check it out?”
“It’s got corn husks under the hide and then a rock-hard board made of juniper. We’ve had worse.”
“Speaking of rock-hard,” she said, venturing south again.
“Are you sure? Maybe you should sleep.”
She smiled, progressing to his backside and efficiently washing off the grime. “I’m never that—”
“Tired,” he finished, turning around and reaching for her hips. “All right. I won’t argue with you. I’m pretty clean. Care to make love with me, Dr. Merriam?”
Oh, how she’d missed him calling her that. “I’d love to play doctor with you, Dr. McClellan.”
“Then step over here onto my examination table,” he said, directing her to the bed. When she sat down, he lowered himself next to her.
“Is the Count Going to Count a Climax?” she asked in the worst imitation of the Sesame Street Muppet ever, making him laugh. “One climax, hahaha. Two climaxes, hahaha. Three climaxes—”
“Hahaha,” he mimicked, still laughing. “You still can’t do the voice right. That’s a skit you’ll never see. Now, settle down and get serious. You’re punchy.”
“I’ve had a rough day,” she said, bouncing on the wooden frame. “This is really hard.”
He took her hand and placed it on him. “You’re darn right it is, and it’s getting harder by the minute.”
“Oh, Dr. McClellan,” she said, batting her eyelashes in the low light like a nurse in a B-movie, “whatever do you mean?”
“I love this punch-drunk side of you. Now, lie back and let me show you how much I love you, Dr. Merriam.”
“Yes, sir.”
She lay back, and he rose over her as she spread her legs for him. Putting his weight on his elbows, he gave her a wicked smile before taking her mouth in a hot, drugging kiss. Their tongues circled each other, and she put her hand on his cheek to hold him in place, wanting to give him more, take more. He shifted his hand up between her legs, and she moaned, feeling his knowledge of her body in every press of his fingers, light at first and then deeper until she was straining her hips against his hand. She came in a rush, his hot, wet mouth on her neck.
“That’s my girl,” he said, fitting himself at her entrance.
She lifted to meet him as he thrust into her, going deep—just the way she liked it. Her hands slid to his butt, pulling him in even deeper, never wanting to let him go.
Levering back, he took her hips in his big hands and began to pump, gentle at first and then harder until she wrapped her legs around him. Moaning brokenly now, she threw her arms over her head, needing more, letting him give it to her. Her belly flushed with heat, and then she was tightening up, pulsing in hard, insistent pulls. He filled her, fast and deep, and then he was groaning above her.
He folded over her, still cushioning her from his weight, and she brought her arms around his back. Sweat slicked his spine, and she inhaled the scent of his skin. He smelled so achingly familiar. My man.
Coming back to herself, she remembered the nights she’d lain in bed awake missing that special scent in her bed. Other nights, she could smell him, and uncharacteristic tears would fill her eyes at the loss of him. Six months apart, she thought, and here they were again.
After today, she wanted to believe they could make it forever.
Chapter 16
Boyd awoke with a start, his body hot and flushed with sweat.
The hut was in complete darkness, the lamp having guttered out long ago. He reached out to touch Michaela since she wasn’t pressed against him. His fingers encountered her back, and he realized it was no wonder he’d woken up so warm. She was hot to the touch. Had she thrown off the hides because they made her too warm?
He didn’t know where the lamp oil was to replenish the lantern, so he climbed out of bed and made his way toward the front of the hut, stopping to pull on his pants. When he eased back the hide, he saw the sky was a bright baby blue, and everyone appeared to be going about their day, the women carrying firewood or jugs of water. Mid-morning. Clearly, he and Michaela had both slept hard.
Making his way back to the bed, he could see that she was lying on her stomach with one leg hanging off the bed, her hair completely covering her face. He sat down and brushed it back gently. Fear coursed through him. He ran his finger lightly down her face and neck, paying greater attention to the variation in temperature. She was boiling. Fever? Please God, no. He tested her temperature again. Without a thermometer, he couldn’t be sure—he wasn’t that kind of doctor—but it felt like a high fever. His scientist mind kicked in, listing all the parasites and diseases lurking in rivers in this area.
Fear covered him like a dark fog. She never got sick on a trek. They used to joke about their cast-iron stomachs and superhuman constitutions. Then again, she’d never swallowed this much river water before.
And their catch-all antibiotic for this sort of thing was at the bottom of the river.
“Mickey.” He turned her onto her back. “Babe, wake up.”
She didn’t grumble or swear like she usually did when he nudged her. Michaela Merriam was not a morning person by choice, but this was something else. She was sick. Bad sick. He knew it in his gut.
“Okay, baby.” He pulled the hides up to cover her nakedness. “I’m going for some help. Be right back.”
He pulled on the rest of his clothes quickly and rushed out of the hut. Outside, he had a moment of panic. Other people were slowing to look at him, smiles on their faces, but he didn’t recognize any of them. God, he’d left Mickey alone with a fever in a place of strangers.
Where were the people he knew?
“Boyd!” Clara called out.
He turned sharply to see her walking toward him, her white hair trailing over her shoulders.
“Good morning!” Clara put her hand on his arm. “Is Michaela still asleep? Come have some breakfast. You and Michaela slept like the dead. Arthur, Hargreaves, and I have been up for hours. We even got Arthur and some of the other people in the village to do some yoga. I told everyone you both needed to sleep after yesterday. Bad dreams?”
“Mickey is sick, and I don’t know who to ask for help. Clara, it’s a fever. She’s boiling hot, and I don’t—”
“Slow down,” Clara said, gripping his arm. “You’re having a panic attack, I think, probably because of yesterday’s shock. Breathe, Boyd. Arthur! Hargreaves! I need you.”
Her shout had more people turning to watch them. Arthur appeared, coming out from behind a hut. Hargreaves stepped into view, his oil-slick hat in hand.
“Go get Naserian,” Clara called. “It’s Michaela. She has a fever.”
“I’ll find her, Madam,” Hargreaves called, rushing out of sight.
“Keep breathing, Boyd,” Clara said, rubbing his arm. “Arthur, dear, Boyd here is having a moment. Wh
y don’t you stay with him while I go check on Michaela? I’m sure she’s fine, Boyd.”
His heart was suddenly racing too hard for him to argue with her. When he saw stars, he bent at the waist.
“That bad, eh?” Arthur said, patting him on the back. “You’re not a man to fall apart, so I’m going to remind you of that. If Michaela is sick, she’ll need you to stay strong.”
The man was right. He gritted his teeth and stood, still feeling off balance. “She’s sick. High fever. The river water is—”
“Riddled with organisms, I imagine. All right, let’s not lose it. Here’s Hargreaves coming with Naserian and her husband, Lemayian. You didn’t get a chance to talk to them at the feast. They’re nice people, Boyd.”
And they were healers, he reminded himself, trying to grab control of his somersaulting stomach. With the flower…
“I understand Michaela is ill with fever,” Naserian said, her demeanor calm. “May we see her?”
“Of course,” he said, rushing to the entrance of the hut and pulling the hide back.
Clara stood up from the bed, clenching her hands in front of her. “You’re right, Boyd. She’s boiling hot. I put a fresh shirt on her for modesty. Naserian, please see to my niece. Oh, Lemayian, I’m so glad you could come too.”
The healers walked to where Michaela lay. She still hadn’t moved, and Boyd suddenly remembered the stories Joseph had told him about the men who’d come to seek the flower. They’d fallen ill too. One of them, he remembered, had died, although the man who’d done so had been greedy. Unworthy. Michaela was neither of those things.
“She shouldn’t be sick,” he said as they both bent over her. “If this is some test by your gods, it needs to stop.”
“Boyd!” Clara said sharply. “Enough. Let them examine her.” She took his hand, and the trembling told him she was worried too.
“The heat has taken root in her and is strong,” Naserian said, touching her cheek before rising. “The two must go to the Valley of Stars and pick the flower.”