Picket Fence Surprise

by Kris Fletcher

  “Only one way to find out.” He grabbed the branch, pushed off and pulled. Yikes. He’d spent a lot of time doing push-ups and sit-ups when he was in jail, determined he wasn’t going to come out flabby, but lately the heaviest weights he’d lifted were in the toddler category.

  “Seriously...need...to...oof.”

  But he was up.

  He hauled himself upright, knees then feet, steadying himself against the trunk before pulling the camera out for a first look. Almost there. He snapped a few shots just in case he couldn’t get anything else, but the angle still wasn’t quite where he wanted it. One branch higher ought to do it.

  Of course, one branch higher meant a longer way down.

  He braced himself against the trunk, laced his hands around the upper branch and yanked. It swayed and bounced. Leaves rustled like paper. But it held steady.

  No farther than this. He hoisted himself up.

  Bark and tiny offshoots dug into his palms. His biceps strained and shook. He grunted and snarled and called himself every kind of idiot, then pushed his feet hard against the lower branch and heaved.

  It worked.

  He landed across the upper branch gut-first, losing his breath and coming awfully close to saying goodbye to his dinner as well, but to his relief, everything stayed put.

  Piece of cake.

  It took a couple of minutes he couldn’t spare, but he finally was in a good position, settled deep enough in the crotch of the tree to feel secure while stretching and aiming. The work to get into place had been a bitch, but he was glad he’d done it once he focused on the window. The green leaves against the faded wood whispered of birth and death, of secrets and invitations.

  Yep. His gut had led him to the right place once again.

  Satisfied he’d got what he came for, he gathered his things and prepared for the descent. His fingers ached—thanks, rough bark—and he had scraped his right leg, so he had to remind himself to move slowly. He couldn’t throw himself into things the way he had on the way up.

  On the other hand, gravity was on his side going this way.

  Right before he was ready to slide down to the bottom branch, he stopped and tipped his head back. He’d been so focused on getting the window shot that he hadn’t looked up. When he did, he was glad he’d made himself pause. For while he’d been framing that bit of green, here he was in the middle of it, the eye in a hurricane of shadows and light and swirling, shimmering green. It left him dizzy. Breathless. Awestruck.

  Just like being around Heather.

  What the hell was he going to do? Every time he was with her, he felt himself getting sucked deeper into her, into needing her. She was everything he’d been looking for: funny and sexy and smart and determined and accepting of him. She didn’t pass judgment. Most of all, when he was with her it was like getting a glimpse of life with a real partner, and the more he tasted it, the more he wanted it.

  But he wanted the picket fence, too. The fence and the family, another kid, another gap-toothed smile at the dinner table every night.

  Wasn’t that the way it always went? He finally found someone he thought he could build something with, and she wasn’t interested in building.

  He should end it. Now, while he could still get out.

  It was the lousiest thought he’d had all day.

  He closed his eyes against the hurricane of green, lowered his head and looked at the ground. Yep. That was what he needed. Solid ground beneath his feet.

  With a sigh loaded with regret, he grabbed the branch and lowered his feet to the next level...

  Only to hold on for dear life when the lower branch split with a crack that echoed through the growing darkness and fell away beneath his feet.

  CHAPTER NINE

  HEATHER DROVE DOWN the gravel road as fast as she dared, which wasn’t very speedy, given that she was trying to find the driveway for the Cline place. Full darkness had fallen in the time between Xander’s call and her arrival.

  “That idiot,” she said between clenched teeth. “As soon as I get him down from there I’m going to drag him back up and toss him to the ground my—”

  Her phone rang, making her jump and swerve and let loose with some of the very best swear words Travis had taught her. All in French, of course, so their mother wouldn’t know what they were saying.

  She jabbed the button to put it on speaker. “What?”

  “You just drove past me.”

  She couldn’t decide if she was relieved to hear his voice or more infuriated at how calm he sounded. Didn’t he have any idea of what could have happened?

  “Wasn’t me. I’m at home, ironing the dress I’m wearing to my interview tomorrow.” Did she dare do a three-point turn? She didn’t have much choice. It wasn’t like there were driveways up and down the block out here in Boonieville.

  “You should wear something red. That way, when you kill me, the blood won’t show.”

  There was a thought.

  She cranked the wheel, held her breath and backed up. If she went in the ditch, she would haul the stepladder out of the backseat, get Xander’s sorry ass out of the tree and then make him pull her car back onto the road all by himself. With a rope. Between his teeth.

  “You know,” she said as she inched backward, “you blew it big-time tonight.”

  “How’s that?”

  Did he have to sound so damned cheerful? Even if she wasn’t furious with him, she was going to have to torture him just so he would stop being so friggin’ happy.

  “Because I have that interview tomorrow.” There. She had enough room to make the turn now. She threw the car into Drive and edged forward, watching for the break in the grass that would mark the driveway. “Just before you called, I figured out that I was too wound up to be able to sleep tonight. At least, not without some help.”

  She couldn’t quite make out what he said, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t fit for mixed company.

  “Oh yeah, Xander. We’re talking serious booty call. You were going to have your world rocked from one end to the other, but you—”

  There it was. Not a break, really. More like an indentation in the grass.

  “Hold out your phone,” she ordered. “Wave it around.”

  A moment later she spotted the light of a cell phone, flittering in circles like Tinker Bell showing off for Peter Pan. She aimed her headlights in the direction of the ruts and bounced her way down the path formerly known as a driveway.

  “You should be able to see my car now,” he said, and yep, there it was. She eased up behind him, killed the engine and got out of the car.

  “I hope you know that you owe me from here to eternity.” She slammed her door and opened up the back, hefting the stepladder and stumbling forward.

  “I kind of figured that. Go slow. There’s a lot of bumps and rocks.”

  “If something jumps out at me, you know where this ladder is going to end up, right?”

  “Nothing’s going to jump out at you.” Before she could feel relieved, he added, “I already scared everything away.”

  She stumbled over something. “Ow!”

  “Are you okay?”

  Well, at least that got rid of the cheerfulness, even if just for a moment. “Right as rain, sunshine.”

  “Be careful, babe.”

  Okay. She was not going to let go of her anger simply because he’d called her babe, even if she did get all tingly.

  Her eyes had adjusted to the dark. She was able to pick out the differences in the shadows. The heat of the day was fading, and stars were beginning to crowd the sky. In truth, it was much better than pacing around the house and making endless tweaks to her presentation, but she refused to let Xander know that.

  The stepladder wasn’t heavy, but it smacked against her shins a
s she carried it over the uneven ground. By the time she followed the light from Xander’s phone to the trunk of his perch, she was grumpy, sweaty and achy.

  Then when she balanced the ladder and looked up to the light she could scarcely breathe for the fear punching the breath from her lungs.

  Dear God. He was up there?

  For a heartbeat, a breath, she couldn’t move, pinned in place by the weight of a thousand what-ifs. The night was too dark and the ladder was too short and the tree was too tall and she wasn’t strong enough—

  Parenting Truth Number 392: The only way to get stronger is by building up your muscles. Start by pushing the fear away.

  Falling apart and/or killing him could wait. Right now she had to push.

  “The ladder is in place,” she called after bracing it on a flat bit of ground that was still close enough to the trunk that he could reach out and steady himself as needed. “But I don’t know if it’s tall enough. Maybe we should call—”

  “No. I’ll be fine.”

  “But—”

  “Heather, I made it up here by myself. The odds are on my side.”

  But logic wasn’t.

  Branches swayed. Two running shoes appeared high above her.

  “It’s too short,” she said. “I’m calling the fire department.”

  “It’s not too short. I’ll be—”

  Whatever he was going to say was lost in a rustle of leaves. The shoes dipped lower.

  Holy crap, he was going to kill himself.

  Heather grabbed the ladder and hauled herself up.

  Don’t slip don’t slip don’t slip.

  Was she talking to him or herself? She didn’t know. All that was certain was that he was determined to get down on his own and he wasn’t going to make it and the stupid ladder was too short and—

  She braced herself against the top edge, sent up a frantic prayer for strength and reached for his shaking, searching legs.

  “Got you.”

  “Are you nuts?” His words were more grunted than spoken.

  “Look who’s—oof—talking.” She guided his feet into position, not daring to breathe until both shoes were solidly planted on the tiny upper platform.

  “Careful,” she said. “Crouch down and give me your—”

  He must have read her mind, for a second later his hand grabbed hers. The other one landed hard on her shoulder. She tightened her grip on the sides of the ladder and clung for dear life.

  Don’t tip don’t tip don’t tip.

  “I’m good,” he said, and she allowed herself one moment to rest her forehead against his knees before making her descent, each step more wobbly than the one before it as adrenaline faded to aftershock.

  She hit the sweet, blessed ground and stepped back to give him room. She waited until he was safe, until he had turned toward her, his face barely visible in the deepness of the night.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Stiff and sore, but yeah. I’m okay, thanks to you.”

  No matter that there was blackness all around. She closed her eyes anyway for one brief moment of thanksgiving, one quick breath of relief.

  Then, guided more by instinct than sight, she grabbed his shirt and shook him. Hard.

  “What the hell were you thinking, Xander? Do you know how high you were? Do you have any idea how easily you could have slipped and—”

  Her throat tightened. Damn it, she refused to do the angry cry thing. Instead, she gave him another shake.

  “And what were you doing out here, anyway? You knew this wasn’t safe. You knew it was stupid and probably illegal, and I told you not to come out here and you promised—”

  “Actually, I never promised anything.”

  Wait. What? She tried to remember, then told herself to forget it. This was no time for technicalities.

  “If you ever scare me like that again, I swear I’ll... I’ll... I’ll sneak into your house while you’re sleeping and tie you to your bed and...and smear mud all over you and then pour water all over you so you’re a cold, muddy mess, and then I’m going to...to...”

  “Complete the torture by drinking hot coffee in front of me?”

  That was it. She delivered one more shake, complete with a growling kind of huff, then whirled and headed toward the car. She couldn’t see, and her breath came in stupid little gasps that had absolutely nothing to do with tears, not at all, but if she didn’t get away from him she was going to—

  “Heather. Hey.” His hand closed over her wrist, halting her flight. A moment later both hands were on her shoulders, kneading and soothing. “I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Nothing worked right anymore. She was shaking and wobbly, furious and grateful, and she didn’t know what she was supposed to do because it shouldn’t be this crushing, she shouldn’t be this lost, and she definitely shouldn’t want to turn around and bury her face in his chest and inhale him.

  But she did.

  “I’m sorry I was so stupid, and I’m sorry I scared you, and I—hang on. Are you cold?”

  She shook her head. A lie. She was freezing, though not from the temperature.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you to the car. I have a blanket and—”

  She didn’t need a blanket.

  She needed him.

  “No,” she said—to him? To herself?—but it didn’t matter because rational thought had been shoved aside by something a lot more primal. She needed to feel him. Needed to know he was truly okay. Needed to know she hadn’t lost him.

  She wrapped her arms around him, not to shake this time but to grab and appraise, making absolutely certain he wasn’t hurt. Her lips followed the path of her hands. She yanked at his shirt, tugging it high so she could run her fingers over his chest, rub her palms over his ribs, nuzzle the spot where she could feel his heart pounding strong and unharmed and—as her hands moved lower—faster against her cheek.

  “Heather—”

  “Don’t,” she whispered, unsure herself what she was protesting. Don’t speak? Don’t stop? Don’t ever put me through that again?

  Then his hands were on her butt and he was pushing against her and the sheer joy that he was okay had her leaning back, tilting her hips to feel even more of him, tugging her shirt over her head and winding her arms around his neck and pulling until he got the message and kissed her, hard and urgent but nowhere near as desperate as she was. And that wasn’t fair, because he was the one who did this to her and if she had to be frantic with need, then so should he.

  She reached behind her, unhooked her bra and let it fall to the ground. The rush of cool night air against her aching breasts was short-lived, quickly nudged aside by his mouth. The darkness magnified her need, heightened her other senses. Every brush of his fingers had her bucking, every gasping breath had her pulse spiking, every taste of his skin beneath her mouth had her hungry and aching.

  And there was only one way to fill her.

  She grabbed his hands and slid toward the ground, never lifting her mouth as she made her way ever lower, leaving a path of heat and need that she was sure must be glowing in the night like the leftover trails from a sparkler. She pushed him flat on his back on the ground and went for the zipper on his shorts.

  His hand closed over her wrist.

  “Heather.”

  His voice was raw, rasping. Like he was dragging it through layers of shoulds and shouldn’ts. Like he was finally as needy and aching and burning as she was.

  About time.

  “Heather. Babe. I don’t have anything—”

  “It’s okay,” she whispered against his mouth while her hand worked the snap. “Tubes tied. Remember?”

  His gulping breath seemed to surround her.

  “Bu
t—”

  No. No buts. Buts were most definitely not allowed. Not now. Not tonight.

  “It’s good. I’m good. You’re good.” A faraway warning pierced the haze of want that surrounded her, a whisper almost drowned out by a pop as the snap released. “Right, Xander?” She tugged at his zipper. “No cooties?”

  “Right. I—”

  She didn’t need to hear anything else. Couldn’t even if she wanted to. His choked-out answer had flipped a switch inside her, drowning any lingering doubts in a flood of urgency. The blackness of the night blinded her to everything but Xander. His voice in her ear. His hands at her waist. His need as he lifted her, his raw whispers as he guided her, his groaning breath as he pushed into her.

  For one ragged breath, maybe two, she stilled.

  “Heather?”

  “I want to...” Memorize. Absorb. Hover.

  Then he grabbed her hips hard and pushed the rest of the world far, far away.

  * * *

  LATE THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Heather smiled as she shook the hands of the people who had interviewed her, thanked them all once more, and strode confidently out of town hall. She kept her shoulders back and her steps light as she made her way to her car.

  But once she closed the door, she stared up at the roof and her whole body sagged.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  With a deep breath, she pulled her phone from her briefcase and did the Mommy Instinct check for messages. Nothing from the school, nothing from Hank—

  A text from Xander.

  How did it go?

  What was she supposed to tell him? That she kept second-guessing herself because she hadn’t finished the review she’d planned last night because she’d been too busy rescuing and doing him? That when one of the members of the town council asked her about her favorite places in Comeback Cove, she had blushed so hard that she was sure they all knew exactly what she was reliving? That when another council member commented that her presentation blended both the fairy-tale past and the contemporary, she had frozen in place, remembering the wave of disbelief that had washed over her when she crashed out of her fairy tale and landed smack dab in a puddle of Oh my God, I had unprotected sex with a man who went to prison?