by Carol Grace
Thinking, wondering and caring about the townspeople, that was okay. That was good. But falling for one of them, that was not good. That was disloyal. That was unfair and that was not possible. That was a path he couldn’t take. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—ever love again. Because loving made you vulnerable. Loving exposed you to the most unimaginable losses. He looked up at the vast Nevada sky above him. Venus, the evening star, was just visible. It made him feel like there were larger things in the universe than his own concerns.
What was wrong with him, worrying about falling in love again? There was no possibility of that happening. Laura was a desirable woman, yes. And he enjoyed her company. Of course he did. So what was the harm in spending the Fourth of July with her? There wasn’t any.
Chances were he’d never find her in this crowd anyway. But he’d try. And when or if he did, he’d hand her her overnight bag. If she insisted he stay, he would. Where would she spend the night? That wasn’t his problem. She must have friends in town. Of course she did.
LAURA WRAPPED HER ARMS around her knees and gazed up at the sky. She missed Dylan, but she knew he was having the time of his life, running around with his friends. She couldn’t bear to spoil his fun by demanding he sit with her for the fireworks. There were friends all around her. She was surrounded by people she’d known all her life, and yet she’d never felt so lonely, sitting there on a large handwoven blanket by herself.
Maybe it was because Dylan wasn’t sitting next to her as he had for the past eight years of his life. It certainly wasn’t because she missed her ex-husband. He’d missed the fireworks every year, saying he had better things to do. Maybe it was just her mood. Maybe it was because she lived in town now and her life had changed. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because Brandon wasn’t there at the park. How could that be? How could she miss someone who wasn’t part of her life and never had been?
Yet, when she saw him walking toward her in the dark, her heart started pounding so fast, and she pressed her hand against her chest. He’d come. He was there.
“Hi,” he said. “Got any extra room?”
She nodded, unable to speak, and scooted to one corner of the blanket.
“Willa Mae asked me to bring you your bag,” he said, dropping to the ground, bag in hand. “She said she’s sorry, but she can’t offer you a bed because her sister’s in town.”
She felt a sinking sensation somewhere behind her ribs. No place to live. No place to stay. She found her voice at last, but all she could say was “Oh.”
He turned toward her, his forehead creased in a frown. “Is that going to be a problem?”
She tore her gaze from his handsome face, touched by his concern, and tried for a casual tone to her voice. “No, of course not. No problem at all. I—I’ll…find another place. See, my aunt is booked up for the weekend.”
“So I heard,” he said. “What time are the fireworks?”
“Nine o’clock.”
There was a long silence. Fifteen minutes to go. She had no idea where she’d spend the night. Or what they’d talk about for the next quarter of an hour. She wanted to know why Brandon had come, what made him change his mind and if he was staying for the fireworks, but she couldn’t ask, so instead she tilted her head and observed the stars.
“My father used to say that the fireworks were a waste of money. He thought the heavens provided a big enough show for anyone,” she said.
“Is he still alive?”
“No,” she said. “He died three years ago after a stroke. My mother followed him in death just as she did in life, and passed away soon after. All of dad’s life he was an amateur astronomer. When I was small he’d drag me out to watch a meteor shower or just the evening sky, and he’d hand me the binoculars and tell me what I was seeing. Just as his father did with him.”
“You’re lucky,” Brandon said. “To have a view like this. And a father like that. In the city there’s always too much ambient light. So I had to make do by going to the planetarium for a view and an explanation of the heavens. To this day I can never remember the names of the constellations.”
“Well, that’s the Big Dipper,” she said.
“Give me a little credit,” he said. “I do know the Big Dipper.”
“What about Perseus?”
“Who?”
Impulsively she took his hand and pointed to a group of stars in the northern sky. “That’s him. He’s the son of Zeus.”
He wrapped his hand around hers so securely he must have been able to feel her pulse speed up.
She forced herself to concentrate, though somehow he was now sitting so close, she could smell his hair and his clean shirt. “In Greek mythology Perseus was tricked into going to find and bring back the head of the Medusa. He did it, but he never could have succeeded if Hermes hadn’t given him a sword and if Athena hadn’t given him a shield of polished brass.”
“Then what?” he asked in a voice as dark and intimate as the sky.
Her mind was blank. Though she knew the story as well as she knew her name, she had no idea what happened next.
“He—he got the head. I don’t remember how, but he did and then he came home. Oh, yes, and on the way, he rescued Andromeda who was chained to a rock and he later married her.”
“Sounds like quite a guy,” Brandon said, his hand still wrapped around hers.
“He was. See, that’s his leg and there’s Medusa’s head in his hand.”
“I hope you’ve told Dylan this story,” he said.
“This one and many others, but I’m not sure he’s as interested in them as I was. As you’ve noticed, he’s got cars on his mind, not stars.”
“I confess I was just like that at his age. I also confess I still like fast cars.”
“So I noticed,” she said dryly.
“Speaking of cars,” he said.
“Let’s not,” she said lightly, fearing he’d start in again on the condition of her truck.
Just then a small red rocket went off in the sky and the crowd clapped loudly.
“Oh, good,” she breathed, pulling her hand away from him. At last she could relax, look at the fireworks, stop talking and forget about Brandon. She stole a glance at his profile. Forget about Brandon? Who was she kidding? She could no more forget about him than forget about breathing. Especially when he was sitting next to her, leaning back on his elbows as the rockets burst overhead, the flares lighting his rugged features and the sound of ooohs and ahhhs filling the air.
Finally she leaned back and made her mind a blank, ooohing and ahhhing with the rest of the crowd. Forgetting to worry about where she was going to live, where she was going to spend the night and how she was going to spend the rest of her life. She let the warm summer air caress her skin and the illuminations fill her senses with their spectacular firey glow.
When it was over, she had to shake herself to return to reality. Brandon took her elbow and helped her up. The crowd swirled around her, but she was only aware of Brandon next to her, looking down at her, a mixture of concern and desire in his eyes. She was glad he kept his hand on her arm, because her legs were unsteady, as if she’d been sitting there for the past week instead of just a half hour.
“Come home with me,” he said, his dark eyes fixed on her face.
“What?” She must have misunderstood. She couldn’t go home with him. It wasn’t her home.
“You have no place to go. I have a big house with many bedrooms, and many beds. You can have your choice. You’ve got your bag. Let’s go.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came out. She didn’t know what to say. Spend the night at the ranch. It was unthinkable. But why? Why not spend the night there? It made perfect sense. There were a dozen reasons why she shouldn’t, but for the moment she couldn’t think of even one.
She was walking across the park, her arm brushing his, passing friends and acquaintances, murmuring greetings without knowing what she was saying. She was going to the ranch. She was going home. She
was going home with Brandon.
His car was smooth and quiet and smelled like leather. They flew down the highway. So fast, she should have been scared. But she wasn’t. She’d never felt safer in her life. Brandon was in control and she trusted him. She trusted him with her son and with her ranch and with herself. But did she trust herself? That was not a question she wanted to answer. Not now. Not tonight.
The house was dark. He parked in the driveway next to the night-blooming jasmine. They walked into the house, not touching, not speaking.
“See,” he said as he opened the unlocked door, “I’m learning.”
She smiled to herself. She was learning, too. To trust, to let go of her worries and fears. To live in the moment.
“Which room do you want?”
She hesitated, watching his face. Maybe it was a trick question. Because she didn’t know what room he had. But the look in his eyes said this was no trick. The look in his eyes said he wanted her. That he was waiting for her answer.
She wavered back and forth in her leather-thonged sandals. But inside she was no longer wavering. She knew what she wanted.
“Yours,” she whispered.
He nodded, a look of relief on his face so profound, she felt the breath whoosh out of her lungs. It was done. Decided. It was the Fourth of July. Independence Day. She was declaring her independence from Jason, from her job and her old life. Tomorrow she might be her old self again. But tonight she was a new and different Laura. He picked up her bag and started up the stairs. She followed him into the master bedroom. But the memories were too strong. Too wrong.
“No, mine,” she said. “I moved back into my old room after my husband left.”
They crossed the hall.
“It smells like you,” he said, walking into the dark room with the flowered bedspread and the white curtains fluttering in the breeze and setting her bag on the floor. “Like you never left.” His voice dropped to a whisper.
She held her breath. He crossed the room and stood so close to her she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. But he didn’t touch her.
“Maybe you never should have left,” he muttered. Then he tilted her chin and gazed into her eyes, so long and so deeply, she felt as if she were drowning. Until their lips touched—then she knew she wouldn’t drown. He would save her. At first it was only a light brush of his mouth against hers. Then he took control.
He kissed her like she’d never been kissed before. Like he’d been waiting all his life to kiss her, as she’d been waiting for him. So warm, so sure, so sensual. She wrapped her arms around him and hung on for dear life. Her body was heavy with long-forgotten desire. Her head was light and spinning. His kisses came faster and wilder and deeper. She joined him in this eternal dance of seduction until she no longer knew who was kissing whom. Whose tongue was entwined with whose, whose hands were gliding over whose back and whose hands were sliding up under whose shirt to caress the warm skin there.
All she knew was that she wanted him like she’d never wanted anyone. That if he didn’t make love to her, she’d surely have to make love to him. Because the fireworks that were going off in her head outdid anything she’d seen tonight or ever.
As if he’d read her mind, his fingers were on the edge of her shirt, tugging it over her head and tossing it on the floor. He circled her nipples with his fingers through the lace until they peaked and she begged him to stop from the exquisite, unbearable ecstasy. He did stop. Just long enough so she could unhook her bra so her breasts could be free at last. And he could continue without the interference of the fabric.
He drew her toward the bed. He sat on the edge and pulled her onto his lap. He nuzzled the soft skin in the hollow of her throat while she pulled his shirt from his pants and unbuttoned it. She was breathing hard, desperate to feel his skin against her palms, to explore every inch of his body. How long had she felt this way? Since the first day she saw him in her driveway? Since he walked into the post office the first time? Since she saw him pounding nails without his shirt?
He was too impatient to let her fumble with those buttons. Instead he ripped the shirt off himself, then he set her back on her feet while he pulled his jeans off and left them on the floor. Next came his boxers. She gasped at the sight of him, so muscled, so broad-shouldered, lean and so obviously ready to love her.
Brandon reached for her then, unsnapped her shorts and oh, so gently removed them along with her lace bikini pants. He stood for a long moment and drank in the sight of her. She was so beautiful, more lovely than he’d imagined, her pale skin glowing in the light of the moon. All thoughts of other women gone. Every shred of guilt gone, too. His head was full of her. Her scent, her touch, her voice filled him and stopped him from thinking of anything and anyone but her.
He didn’t know how they got to the bed. He just knew it was inevitable that they’d end up there together. What he didn’t know was that she would straddle him and press hot eager kisses across his chest. That he would threaten to treat her the same if she didn’t stop the delicious torture. But she continued until she’d covered his body with her soft lips, lingering along the way to take his manhood and drive him almost to disaster with her tongue.
He moaned and grabbed her arms. “My turn,” he said between clenched teeth. He had her between his legs, stroking her tender skin on the inside of her thighs until she begged for mercy. Carefully, urgently, his fingers sought the most sensitive spot on her body. He stroked. She gasped. She shuddered and shattered into a million pieces, calling his name into the night air.
While she was still convulsing, he entered her with a deep, strong thrust. She was so hot, so tight, so willing and ready for him, he blew his chance to take it slow and easy. Again and again he entered her until he exploded. The air rang with his shouts. Utterly spent, he lay next to her, their hips joined, their naked bodies covered with a sheet he’d pulled over them.
Through the window he could see the stars and even the Big Dipper.
“He was right, you know,” he murmured in her ear.
“Who?” she answered.
“Your father. The fireworks were a waste of money. It’s better to make your own.”
The smile on her lips as she drifted off to sleep made him feel like Perseus after he’d rescued Andromeda.
BUT THE NEXT DAY he felt like hell. Partly because she was gone when he woke up. Partly because his old demons came back to haunt him with a vengeance. What had he been thinking, bringing her back here, seducing her and not using protection? As if he’d have a condom or two lying around just in case…
He tried blaming it on the Fourth of July, his need to drown his sorrows or on the fireworks—or even on poor Willa Mae whom he suspected of plotting the whole thing. But it kept coming back to him. He’d invited her. He’d wanted her. Hell, he still wanted her. If he’d thought having her for one night would do it, he was badly mistaken. She wasn’t that kind of woman and he wasn’t that kind of man.
Neither one, he suspected, was into one-night stands. But that’s all this was going to be. Because in his heart he’d promised Jeanne and he’d promised himself as well that their love was forever. The thought of deceiving her made him feel like he’d fallen into a black hole. What was he going to do now? How was he going to climb out of the hole? Apologize, for a start. Apologize to Laura. The sooner the better. He called her aunt’s. Where else could she be?
“THERE, THAT OUGHT TO make you feel better,” Aunt Emily said, pouring Laura a cup of herbal tea the next morning. “What happened? Did Willa Mae keep you up all night gabbing?”
Laura closed her eyes for a moment while she decided what to tell her aunt. “No, she didn’t. As a matter of fact, she didn’t have room for me after all.”
Her aunt waited for a long moment. “So…?”
“So I had to find somewhere else to stay,” Laura said.
“I see.”
Laura sighed. What could she say? How could she explain what she’d done without sounding like the foo
l she was? A one-night stand. That was what it was. That was all it was. No matter how wonderful it was, she knew and Brandon knew it would never happen again. By now he was most certainly racked with guilt. She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to face him. But sooner or later she’d have to do both. She might as well start now.
“I spent the night at the ranch,” she said with a sigh. “I got a ride back this morning from Slim Baxter.”
“I gather you’re already having some regrets,” her aunt said gently.
“No, but I’m sure Brandon is. He’s told me in no uncertain terms that he’ll never love again. I’m not the type to have an affair, Aunt. After what I’ve been through, I need stability in my life and in Dylan’s life.”
“So you’re going to break it off?” her aunt asked, gazing at her from across the breakfast table.
“Fortunately or unfortunately, that won’t be necessary,” Laura said. “In his mind it’s already broken off.”
“You seem pretty sure of that,” Emily said.
Laura nodded, stood and emptied her cup into the sink.
“Just a minute,” her aunt said. “Aren’t you going to try one of my cornmeal muffins?”
Laura shook her head. She knew she needed to eat but her stomach felt as if she’d ridden up an elevator in a high-rise and jerked to a stop on the seventy-eighth floor. “Thanks, anyway. They smell delicious. But I’m going to pick up Dylan and take him and his friends fishing at the trout farm.” She had to get out and do something to erase the visions that danced in front of her eyes. Visions of Brandon in the moonlight, under the starry sky, with the rockets reflected in his eyes. His tenderness, his concern, the way he made her feel, like fireworks were going off in the room.
She had to pretend that nothing had happened. That her body didn’t ache with longing to see him again. That it was an ordinary day after the Fourth of July. A holiday to be shared with her son before she started her new job.
“There are other men in the world,” her aunt said kindly. “Other men who have no tragedy in their past.”