by Lori Wilde
She followed Colton to the bench that lined the rail and pulled up a more comfortable chair for the older woman who grumpily accepted.
Mrs. Turner had to shout to be heard above the din. “I thought that boy had a curfew,” she said, pointing to Steven.
“The headmaster at the youth facility gave him permission to stay late because of his good behavior.” April didn’t want to dredge up the problems with Steven again, and it was all she could do to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
“Good behavior? Bah!” Mrs. Turner leaned forward in her chair and pointed a finger at April and Colton while the deputy gave them a smug grin. “That little delinquent took my crafting supplies and my late husband’s tools. And, lest you forget, he set fire to my roses.”
Turning to the deputy, the older woman added, “A fine state this world is in when you call that good behavior. That kid ought to be locked up, if you ask me.”
April had heard enough character bashing of her young employee. Although the cause of the fire was still uncertain and the disappearance of their neighbor’s belongings couldn’t be explained away, harsh accusations were not the way to resolve the situation.
“Well, nobody asked—”
Colton silenced her retort by placing an arm around her shoulders and giving her a light pinch. “So, is this what you came to see us about?”
Apparently curious as to why they were being visited by a law enforcement official, April’s cousin sidled over to listen in on their conversation.
That’s when Dugg stepped forward. April could have sworn he puffed out his chest and sucked in his stomach. “I received notification that noise from your party could be heard on the adjoining property,” he said in his most official voice.
April had no doubt who had “notified” him.
“An investigation into the matter revealed that the music—”
“The noise,” Mrs. Turner corrected. Her chin bobbed as she nodded self-righteously.
“Yes, uh, the noise can indeed be heard from the Turner property, which makes it difficult for her to sleep.”
Even at the ear-splitting level Steven had raised the music to in honor of their unexpected guests, April suspected it could barely be heard over the crickets and cicadas in Mrs. Turner’s yard.
Colton caught Steven’s eye and signaled him to turn the volume down to a more acceptable level. “The music will be turned off at eleven o’clock,” he assured their cranky neighbor.
“Music!” Mrs. Turner harrumphed. “In my day, dogs were put out of their misery for making that kind of noise.”
Unable to suppress a giggle, Ardath’s mirth came out in an unladylike snort. “Oops, pardon me,” she said, directing her comment to Dugg. She daintily raised a hand to her mouth to hide her embarrassment. “I’m just a little jittery from the coffee I drank earlier.”
“Jittery,” April declared. That was it! “Stay there,” she told Mrs. Turner, “I’ll be right back.”
The heat of their gazes upon her, April retrieved the box she and Steven had pulled from the shed earlier. Colton helped her carry it to the bench. When she removed the albums from the top, she was pleased to find a small electric record player similar to the one that had once stood in the corner of Grandma Hanson’s guest room.
Ardath found the cord and plugged it in for her. “April, if the kids think the Electric Slide is fogey music, what makes you think they’ll like this junk?”
“Junk!” Mrs. Turner reached for the stack of records. “These were songs to fall in love by.”
The local girl Steven had been dancing with joined the ever-widening circle around them. “‘Three Little Fish.’ ‘Dig You Later.’ ‘A Hubba Hubba Hubba.’ What a hoot.”
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” the elderly woman admonished.
April swallowed hard. It was a risk, but she had to try something. Perhaps a simple gesture would help heal the rift that had grown between them. If not, then at least she would have tried. “What kind of dances did you do when you were these kids’ age?” she asked. “Would you show us?”
She didn’t have to ask twice. Clyde shut off the boom box and joined the crowd of onlookers who watched Mrs. Turner hike up her jersey knit skirt to show them the fast-paced jitterbug.
At first, some of the kids laughed. But soon even the last holdouts—including Steven—were trying the jitterbug and the mambo. More amusing was watching Ardath and the deputy pair up to try a little bebop.
Ordinarily, Colton would have launched into this unexpected activity with unrivaled enthusiasm. But tonight, he seemed distracted. It felt as though he was trying to distance himself from April when she tugged his hand and urged him to the dance floor. She consoled herself by remembering that he was probably trying to fight his true feelings, just as she had done for so many years.
As the last note faded from the record player, April noticed that the teenagers’ initial laughter of derision had now changed to the soul-stirring laughter of joy. She grinned, pleased that her impulsive gesture seemed to have provided them a common bond of friendship.
Mrs. Turner gave a smug smile to the young people around her. “As I said, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”
“You’re right, Mrs. T. You shouldn’t knock other people’s music until you’ve tried it.” Steven’s hands were on his hips in an apparent face-off. “Now it’s your turn to try our dances.”
“Oh, no, it’s all blowing up in my face,” April moaned to Colton.
He pushed his hat back on his head and rubbed the tension away from his forehead. “Steven,” he said, the single word a warning in itself.
“He’s right, Mrs. T,” insisted the sweet young thing Steven had been dancing with. “I bet you’d be surprised at how much your dances are like ours.”
It was obvious their neighbor didn’t believe that for a minute.
“No, really. Watch.” The speaker blared again, and this time the girl danced the butterfly to a modern tune. “See, it’s sort of like the Charleston, only you don’t cross your hands over your knees. You just move them gracefully in and out, like butterfly wings.”
Mrs. Turner followed suit, but the flaps under her arms made them look more like bat wings. Once she’d perfected that dance, the teens then moved on to the floss, which they likened to the twist.
“Better watch out,” Colton warned April, “or the next thing you know they’ll be sharing makeup tips and giggling on the phone with her.”
She watched, pleased beyond measure, as her elderly neighbor tried the various steps that the young campers and local kids taught her. This was the second time she’d seen Mrs. Turner smile, and it was a welcome sight.
As for the deputy, he seemed to have forgotten all about the noise level that he’d come to complain about. It was as if Ardath had cast a magic spell on him, turning him from a greasy schmuck into a pleasant little guy whose awkwardly funny gyrations made the pistol bounce at his hip.
The magic also seemed to envelop Ardath. It was probably only the halo from the electric company several miles away, but a kind of glow appeared around her. Usually, her cousin became self-conscious in large groups, but tonight it looked as though nothing could shake her confidence. She was a woman who’d hooked a man’s attention, and she was giddy with power.
April looked up into the black sky and fixed her gaze on a bright star. Although it wasn’t the first star of the night, she wished anyway. Wished for the magic that surrounded Ardath and the deputy to touch her and Colton.
“How about something slow now?” Colton suggested.
While the young people bickered over which song to play, Mrs. Turner pulled out a record and placed it on the player. The sweet, romantic strains of a waltz filled the night. When the teens complained that they didn’t know how to dance to it, she offered to teach them. Unfortunately, neither Colton nor Alexander knew the steps, either.
Clyde rolled his chair to the center of the floor and stretched his hand out to Mrs. Turner
. “May I?”
To her credit, their dance instructor hesitated no more than a second or two before she accepted his offer. Despite the encumbrance of the wheelchair, the two moved gracefully around the floor. To and fro and circle around. They moved like they’d trained for this dance.
Right in front of them all, something happened to Mrs. Turner. Like the Grinch whose tiny heart grew three sizes, their neighbor transformed. Wearing a smile of demure sweetness that could charm even the hardest of hearts, her gaze did not stray from the face of her partner. As for Clyde, he looked like he’d just seen Miss America in person.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” said Colton, and he went and sat down.
After the music died down and they were left alone on the bathhouse rooftop, April was tempted to scold her husband for his rudeness. But, figuring that wasn’t the best way to initiate a seduction, she bit her tongue.
By now, the teens had returned to their campsites or, if they were locals, to their homes. In an obvious change of heart, the deputy had offered to take Steven back to the youth facility. April’s first impulse had been to decline the offer, but Steven was willing, and he’d assured her and Colton that there were no more hard feelings between them.
There must certainly have been magic at work tonight.
Now, here they were alone together under the starlit sky. It wasn’t the first time they’d locked themselves up here away from the rest of the world.
This was a favorite spot for them after a hard day of tending to their campground duties. If they sat on the bench at the rail, they could see most of the campground from up here. The chorus of crickets, the faraway flickers of campfires, and the warm, sweet smell of summer entertained her far more than any show on television.
Or, as they more often chose to do, they could lounge on floor cushions, unseen by all but the blinking stars above them. Usually they just talked about the day’s events and their plans for the next day, but tonight Colton was in for a surprise.
Mrs. Turner had said the music from her era was the kind that couples fell in love to. Deciding it was worth a try, April set the turntable spinning again and stacked it with “Let Me Call You Sweetheart,” “Moon River,” and “Til the End of Time.” She had the shed open and was reaching for the candles when Colton rattled the knob on the door leading downstairs to the camp store.
“I’ll see you at home, April. Hey, why’s the door locked?”
She hesitated, wondering how to say, I’m trying to seduce you. Instead of saying it outright, she opted for coyness. She’d never thought she would be the kind of woman to bat her eyelashes, but it turned out to be easier than she thought.
“I was hoping you and I could stay and visit for a little while tonight, Colton. In private.”
He swung around to face her. “You’ve never called me Colton before.”
She struck a match and held it to a candle. The flame caused shadows to dance across his handsome face. He was frowning, a condition that she would have to change quickly if she wanted to see her goal accomplished.
“No matter what our original agreement had been, we’re no longer just ‘buddies’ anymore,” she admitted. “We’re husband and wife … on paper and in bed.”
Now, if only they could be husband and wife in their hearts.
“Stay with me,” she asked, laying a hand on his arm. “Make love with me.”
The frown vanished, but now he looked perplexed. “Don’t you think it’s too chilly to be hanging around out here?”
She lowered her voice, trying to make it sultry. “I’ll keep you warm.”
It only took him a second to reconsider going home. While he straightened the mat and stretched out on it, April placed the candles on the floor where they’d been dancing earlier. Then, having slipped out of her coverall shorts and into the white gown, she retrieved the strawberries and champagne and poured two glasses of bubbly.
Colton’s eyes were closed, and it looked as though he’d fallen asleep. April supposed she could wait another day or two to begin her seduction, but she knew that every day lost was one less day in which to convince him they were meant to be together.
She bit a strawberry in two, savoring the cool, sweet taste of it. Then it occurred to her how she could wake her husband up and keep him awake.
The touch of her lips to his was enough to stir him. “Mmm, you taste good,” he said, his voice husky and low.
She lay beside him, her weight supported on one elbow, and plucked at the buttons on his shirt.
Colton moaned. “Do you realize what you’re doing to me?”
April smiled her response. It must be working. She lowered her head and kissed him again.
He was hot to the touch, and April felt herself growing warmer by the minute. A need so great it hurt circled through her and settled in the lower reaches of her abdomen.
Colton reached for her, pulling her down until she lay atop his scorching body. When he kissed her, his mouth was hot and dry.
Pulling back, April reached for the champagne to moisten his parched lips. When he raised his head, she held the glass to his lips while he took a drink.
In the next instant, April was unceremoniously dumped to the floor as he leapt to his feet.
“Ow, ow, ow,” he kept saying over and over, cupping his jaws in both hands. His frantic pacing took him to the bench and back.
“Colton, are you all right?”
He shook his head. “I think I’m dying.”
At that, April jumped up and stood in the path of his pacing, forcing him to stop so she could find out what troubled him. “Was it something I did?”
Again, he shook his head. “You know how it feels when you bite into a sour pickle and it ‘grabs’ you right behind the jaw and under the ears?”
“Yes.”
“Imagine that times a thousand.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” Since he was already bent over and she could reach him, April kissed him on the forehead. Heat emanated from his skin. “You’re burning up with fever. Do you hurt anywhere else?”
“My muscles ache, and my head hurts.”
He paced back to the bench and sat down. It was unlike him to voice complaints, so she knew he must be in a great deal of pain. They were not unlike the symptoms her cousin Jasmine had shown shortly after their wedding.
April sat beside Colton. Gently, taking care not to hurt him any more, she stroked her fingertips along both his jaws. The skin was hot and puffy to the touch.
“Oh, no.” The words were out before she could censor her reaction.
For a moment, he stopped shivering and frowned at her. “What?”
She tucked her arm around his waist and leaned against him, hoping he wouldn’t see the disappointment in her eyes. Hoping that her guess was wrong. Hoping this wouldn’t be as serious as she feared.
“I think you have the mumps.”
“I don’t think you should be out of bed yet,” April informed Colton.
“And I don’t think you should be hovering over me, telling me what to do.”
Immediately, Colton regretted snapping at her. It wasn’t her fault he was sick. Or that he got grumpy when forced into inactivity.
Except for brief periods when she filled in at the camp store or handled a problem that one of their regular employees couldn’t deal with, she had been with him almost constantly for the past five days.
Judging by the way she’d taken his temperature and filled him with chicken soup, crackers, and ginger ale, she was born to be a mother.
Colton got up from his sickbed and walked over to where April stood staring out at their rural road. Slipping his arms around her waist and tucking his chin against her neck, he thought about what the doctor had told them.
He’d been pretty feverish at the time, so he didn’t remember the statistics the doctor quoted. But two words stood out in his memory: possible sterility. From that time on, he’d been able to think of little else besides what this new development might d
o to the tentative bonds he’d established with April.
He kissed her cheek, then regretted doing so when he saw the red mark left by the rasp of his whiskers. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a grouch,” he told her. “I’m just not used to sitting still for such a long time.”
He paused a moment, knowing that wasn’t all of it. Knowing that she realized there was more. “And I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”
Just as she must have. He wondered how long it would take her to suggest they end their farce of a marriage now so she could find another father prospect for her baby. For the hundredth time, he recalled her joking comment about finding a younger stud. Sure, she’d said it in a teasing way, but wasn’t there at least a drop of truth in all humor?
She turned in his arms and looked up at him, her smile the sweetest he’d ever seen. Or ever wanted to see.
“I know you’re fidgety, but the doctor said you should rest for a whole week. So, don’t even think of going back to work until this weekend.” She stroked the stubble on his chin. “Why don’t you see what’s on TV? Or maybe we could play another game of Life?”
Life. As if the real thing wasn’t enough to boggle their minds. He stepped away from the woman who’d been his wife for such a short time … and yet had made him the happiest he’d ever been. “I’m going outside to see if the mail has come yet.”
She eyed him warily, and he knew what was coming.
“All right,” she said, acting like a warden allowing an inmate out for a breath of fresh air. “But I don’t want you jumping rope with the Farley twins or skateboarding with Patrick. You’re still contagious, you know.”
He held up his right hand as he headed for the front door. “I hereby solemnly swear not to infect the neighborhood kids.”
Out of habit, he reached for the battered hat that hung on a peg by the door and plunked it on his head. Once outside, he drank in the sweet smell of an impending summer shower and thanked God he didn’t have to work in an office. The wild blackberry bush that had grown up near the mailbox bowed under the weight of so many red berries. Two had ripened to a plump black, and Colton popped them into his mouth while he sifted through the mail. Their tangy sweet juice caused him to wince, but he gratefully noted that the pain was less than it had been several days ago.