Sylvan

by Jan Irving

  Mal gave a one-sided shrug as he hid his disappointment. “Sure.”

  “I hadn’t heard you were planning on staying at Nan’s place for the summer,” Leif commented.

  “I… just ended up hanging around,” Mal admitted. “I don’t have anywhere else to be right now.”

  “Rough staying here since your grandmother passed away?”

  Mal’s throat tightened. Why was it that here, at the only home he’d ever known, people seemed able to arrive so easily at the heart of things? He nodded.

  “I wouldn’t mind coming up for a bit,” Leif said and Mal knew it was because the larger man had guessed this had not been an easy homecoming for him—as if he needed another clue after dragging Mal’s sodden, half-baked ass out of the middle of the lake.

  “Okay.” The dock wobbled a little, but Mal had found that the middle was fairly sturdy. He crawled up from the dinghy and then took Leif’s tossed rope, securing his boat. Then Leif followed him, the deck wobbling even more precariously at the man’s greater weight. When he stood up, he loomed over Mal. He put his hand on the small of Mal’s back as they gingerly made their way to the beach and the path through the wild roses to the old highway that bisected people’s waterfront properties on this part of the lake. They both paused, but there was no traffic so they hurried across.

  That hand on his back burned through the lumberjack’s coat.

  Abruptly Mal wanted to take Leif into his body, pull him into the trees, and mate with him like a captive with his untamed Viking… Sheesh! He told himself to be patient. The other man had accepted his invitation. Mal would get what he wanted.

  MAL gave him a strange sizzling look that made Leif warm up as they walked past the bunkhouse he’d constructed for Nan in the back of her property a few years ago. She’d been hoping this young man would come home and bring some of his friends for the summer, but it had never happened that Leif had heard. Now Mal was probably feeling that regret of not coming home more often.

  The cottage was charming, maybe built around the 1920s. There was still an outhouse in the hedge-screened front yard. They walked up creaking front stairs, and Mal opened the screen door, inviting Leif inside.

  He switched on the lights and nothing happened.

  “Fuck.”

  “No worries,” Leif said, used to older cottages. The wiring sometimes suffered from being old and having weathered a lot of storms. “Have you got a lamp?”

  It was dark and close inside the kitchen. He listened as Mal opened a drawer, rooting around, and then a moment later, lit an oil lamp. The light was even more flattering on Mal’s sleepy features than the moonlight had been, and that was saying something.

  Leif opened the vintage fridge and pulled out some milk while Mal pulled out a tin of old-fashioned cocoa and some sugar to sweeten it. Two green mugs in hand, he moved with Mal into the dining room where the woodstove sat. Mal opened it up and put a match to the newspaper balled inside along with slivers of kindling and a chunk of fresh log.

  Leif knew he had to get home soon, but even as he saw it was almost four a.m., he wanted to stay and watch Mal make him cocoa. That was the real treat.

  Mal’s hair was as dark as the wings on a crow and silky-looking. Leif could imagine feathering it through his big, callused fingers. Mal’s eyes were a startling, brilliant blue in contrast.

  But before they could drink their warming cocoa, Mal surprised him. He discarded the jacket Leif had lent him and hooked a thumb under his swimming trunks, tugging them down and off in one heart-pounding movement.

  The moonlight and soft glow of the lamp were very revealing, as was Mal’s body. He stared into Leif’s eyes and then he climbed on Leif’s lap, and Leif found himself grabbing hold of lake-water-cooled ass. “What are you doing…?”

  “Come on…,” Mal whispered in Leif’s ear before he nipped it.

  Leif was panting, and his hands betrayed him for a moment, smoothing down firm skin, but then he took a deep breath and gently lifted Mal off his lap and stood up. He was conscious that the moonlight must be revealing his own condition as well. “I have to go now,” he said.

  “What?” Mal laughed.

  “Home. I have to go home. Papa might wake up, miss me—”

  Mal shook his head, moving forward like the siren Leif had pulled from the water, arms winding around Leif’s neck. He rubbed his hardness wantonly against Leif, making him burn. “Leif.”

  “You said I wasn’t cute,” Leif said, disengaging Mal’s arms.

  “Who cares what I said?” Mal said. He had his hands on his hips now, blue eyes narrowed and flashing annoyance. “Look, you like what you see. Let’s just—”

  “That’s not how it’s done,” Leif said primly, picking up his jacket. He tried not to look at Mal.

  “Not how it’s done?” Mal’s voice rose in disbelief. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Good night,” Leif said, opening the screen door. He clattered down the three steps, glimpsing frustrated blue eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he called.

  Chapter Two

  MAL woke up with a pounding head. He squinted at the sunshine coming in through the patterned curtains in the great room… which meant he’d slept in one of the rocking chairs by the stone fire place.

  He scrubbed his jaw, yawning, but then memories of last night flashed like a movie in front of his eyes and he groaned. “Geez, Harrison,” he scolded himself.

  First he’d gotten drunk and gone swimming alone, which was pretty much the stupidest thing he could do, then he’d made a play for the Viking who had fished him out of the water. The guy hadn’t even been hot… or had he? Mal remembered the way Leif had held his gaze and swallowed, feeling sweat break out on his upper lip.

  Since he had nothing better to do, no one to talk to, Mal spent a few minutes staring at bits of dust drifting in the sunlight. No, Leif was probably pretty ordinary-looking, he guessed, but his silver-blond hair looked like it would feel nice to the touch. And he’d had a gentle air about him that Mal had found attractive. It made Mal want to scratch his back and make him wild….

  He shook his head. Clearly, he had been changed by all those years in the big, bad city, since it was obvious from prim Leif’s refusal last night that he expected… what? Flowers and chocolates before they fucked?

  Mal made a frustrated sound. He’d wanted sex. He’d wanted to get it on and burn away the too-quiet atmosphere of this empty cabin. He wanted to forget that he was alone now, that he had no one.

  His head fell back and he scratched his unshaven jaw, putting his bare feet up on Nan’s coffee table, something she would have tsked at him for doing. He wished she were around to do it.

  Well, what now? It was the question he was ducking from since he had no answers. He’d spent most of his life training for the gold, but that was over now, possibly because he’d lost his drive somehow. So he’d basically fucked up the first part of his life.

  What now?

  LEIF took a sip of the sweet tea that Mrs. Watson had made, sitting down in the wooden garden chair outside the cabin he’d rebuilt with his father—now two stories with lots of windows. He liked to look at it, a log cabin with stone chimneys that towered over the roof, made by a special Italian mason back in the 1950s. Leif had had to bring in an expert to help shore up the old stone work when he’d remodeled their home, restoring and winterizing it.

  His Papa was toying with his food, clearly still unhappy with him. “I didn’t know where you were,” the older man fretted, lips turned down. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

  Tension made Leif’s shoulders tight so he rolled his neck. He had to get back to the Anderson place soon and make sure progress was happening with the trades he had working there today, the plumber and the electrician. They were taking out a lot of the old wiring and working on new pipes to the cottage so it could be used in the winter time. “No, I know that, Papa. It’s fine.”

  “The firefighters didn’t mind coming aro
und,” Papa noted. “I made them tea and gave them some of Mrs. Watson’s cakes.”

  Leif bit his lip since he knew the volunteers, all locals who had properties around the lake, had been good sports. They all knew that Leif’s father wasn’t all there, so they looked out for the old man and for Leif, who took care of him. Before his illness, the older man had also had a lot of friends in Sylvan. Still, it had been embarrassing to come back from his unsettling encounter with the gorgeous Mal Harrison to a bunch of guys sitting on his front lawn, since his Papa was afraid he’d gone swimming and drowned.

  What to do? Give up his night rowing? But it was one of the few times he had to himself now he was caring for his ailing father. Or maybe it was time to find someone to move in—possibly Mrs. Watson, who was calm and capable—so someone was always on hand when unexpected anxiety struck his father.

  He didn’t like that idea either. It had always been him and his father living together, and despite the heavier and heavier burden lately, they got along tolerably. Leif didn’t know if he wanted anyone else under their roof. It would mean his Papa was never going to be the man he had been.

  But he wasn’t, Leif knew, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

  He rubbed his chin, unsure how much longer he could leave Papa alone at all, even when he went to work.

  Leif sighed. The biggest problem wasn’t work. What he didn’t have any more was any kind of time to himself when he wasn’t working a job. It made it hard to, say, drive past a certain new resident’s cabin and ask if he’d like to go with Leif to the diner for meatloaf.

  “What do you do out there, Leif?” Papa asked him again, eating some apple crisp made by Mrs. Watson.

  How to explain that when he went rowing, he looked up at the stars and wondered if he’d always be alone? It sounded pretty lame. But mostly he just liked letting the little boat coast over the water, rowing past other cottages, familiar patches of wetland, even the local mission church which had beautiful windows that were lit up the nights they held choir practice.

  And then there was last night, the night he’d pulled the man of his dreams from the water. Mal Harrison. Electric blue eyes, black inky hair. Muscular but slim, built for speed like running and swimming. He had a bit of a reputation as a bad boy but….

  Leif could have stared at Mal all night, as entranced as he was by the view from the water as he went rowing. Mal was mouthy, tough… sad. Probably that’s why last night had happened. Heat burned Leif’s cheeks as he thought of Mal’s unsubtle offer. He’d wanted…. Oh, the feel of Mal on his lap!

  Leif closed his eyes, willing himself to forget Mal’s body against his own. He’d already relived it in the shower, twice, and been late to his first job this morning.

  “I just like a little time on my own, Papa,” he admitted, hoping his father would be reasonable. Sometimes it worked….

  “Well, I don’t,” the older man countered querulously. “I don’t like it when you go anywhere!”

  And Leif pushed aside his own dessert, his appetite gone.

  A TOWEL wrapped around him from a dip in the lake that was a substitute for a morning shower, Mal took a deep breath as he confronted Nan’s closed bedroom door.

  Normally he’d sleep in the rooms off the great room, but there was some kind of leak in the roof, so he’d had to strip away and toss all the bedding, leaving the old-fashioned bare-spring mattresses.

  Since he’d come back, parking his truck into the sand driveway and bringing his duffel inside, he hadn’t been ready to open this door. Maybe he wasn’t right now. Maybe there was more cooking brandy….

  Hesitating, Mal strangely relived seeing Leif’s startled gray eyes when he’d rebuffed Mal’s offer the night before. Shit, look where drinking had got him. He had to try to get a handle on his life, whatever it was now that he was back here in Sylvan. Resolved, he put his hand on the knob and opened the door.

  Apple green curtains, sewn by Nan’s wrinkled hands, rippled at the open window, letting in warm sunshine. The bed was made, spotted with more fresh green, and the round table with its matching tablecloth displayed pictures of Mal. Like him, she hadn’t had anyone else since Mal’s parents were long gone after dumping Mal on her doorstep when he was two years old. There’d just been the two of them.

  Grief caught Mal’s throat, and tears stung his eyes as he walked over to her rocking chair and sat in it, rocking, looking out at the empty patch of grass and hedge beyond her window.

  “I wish you were here,” he whispered.

  LEIF blinked in surprise as Mal Harrison drove up in his own battered vehicle, blue eyes fixed on Leif’s face through the windshield, dark hair windblown from the open window. Leif had been walking out to his work SUV, getting ready to head back on the job, but now he paused, waiting, his heart pounding.

  He cleared his throat, conscious that behind him his father and Mrs. Watson were still sitting in the garden and had a clear view of his visitor.

  Mal climbed out of his truck, closing the door and running the palms of his hands over the back of his jeans as if they were damp. Was he nervous? He’d been so astonishingly cocky the night before.

  He saw the memory of what had happened between them move through the blue eyes, but then Mal was standing next to him, a hand on Leif’s Toyota Highlander.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey, back,” Leif replied.

  Mal ran a finger over the dust on Leif’s dark blue SUV. For some reason the movement struck Leif as coy, as if Mal was touching him, and he swallowed thickly, reddening.

  “So I have a leak in my cabin,” Mal said, looking up to meet Leif’s quizzical gaze. “It’s over the loft, and I’m worried if I leave it, it’s going to get a hell of a lot worse.”

  “Yes?” Did he want to hire Leif? And what would it be like to work for Mal, to be around him and the temptation he offered? Would he offer himself again?

  Feeling himself sweating in the hot July sunshine, Leif cleared his throat again.

  “I can’t afford to get someone to do all the work and… I also don’t really have any kind of job.” Mal laughed without humor, flushing as he kicked up some of the sandy dust with his cowboy boots. “I thought maybe… I could learn how to fix it myself if someone with experience were to point me in the right direction.”

  So he did want Leif’s help. But since this wasn’t Mal sitting on his lap, all cool, bare, silky skin, Leif felt a bit more confident. This is what he did, after all. “I could come by and give you an estimate on what you need to do,” he said. “Maybe after I finish work today.”

  Mal nodded, swallowing, as if he really was nervous. “I, uh, was also wondering if you had any openings. You know, for someone to help out with your crew?”

  Leif shook his head. “I usually deal with experienced tradespeople. I had an apprentice for a while, but he went to work in the city.”

  Mal nodded, his gaze falling. “Yeah, I figured.” He shrugged.

  “But….” Leif took a deep breath, considering his words carefully as usual, and shit, Mal probably thought he was such a country hick. “I could probably use someone for odd jobs.”

  Mal looked up, and his blue eyes were the color of the sky when it began to lighten at dawn. “Yeah?”

  “You’ll need proper work boots and gloves,” Leif outlined. “But you can find what you need at the general store in town.”

  “Yeah, I guess they cater to the working man,” Mal joked.

  “That’s what you find out here, yes,” Leif said lightly. He wondered how long Mal would stick around this time. From what Nan had let drop he’d liked to party in the city. Sylvan might as well be the dark side of the moon, if that was Mal’s thing.

  “I like a working man,” Mal said, his tone a little flirtatious, but then he seemed to realize what he’d said and he flushed. “Sorry,” he added, his gaze moving toward Leif’s father and Mrs. Watson, sitting in Leif’s garden. They were watching the pair talking with interest.
/>   “I will come by your place around four,” Leif promised.

  Mal nodded, stepping back from Leif’s SUV and putting his hands in his pockets as he watched Leif climb inside. “Okay, thanks.”

  Chapter Three

  TRYING to demonstrate that he knew something of the unwritten rules of cottage hospitality when hosting a visitor, Mal put out a plate of cheese and crackers and two glasses of Ribena juice—he figured it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to offer beer after Leif had fished him out of the lake.

  He wanted to make a good fourth impression on his new boss. And… he wanted to understand what Leif had meant when he’d stated that Mal’s come on was not “how it was done.” How did the Viking get it on? Mal found himself more than a little curious about that.

  LEIF had a few misgivings as he slammed the driver’s side door in Mal’s driveway. He rubbed the back of his neck, still stiff from his unproductive conversation with Papa and the work he’d supervised and participated in—the drywall guy hadn’t shown up, so he’d ended up working on putting up some sheets once the wiring and new foam insulation were properly installed. He’d have to do some more plastering and sanding to prep it for paint, but hopefully his man would show on the job tomorrow, so he could just help out with the painting.

  He hesitated in Mal’s yard, taking in the outhouse in one discreet corner of the front yard. It looked like Nan had never installed running water to the house. Probably Mal had to walk with a bucket over to the shared well at the dusty crossroads.

  Mal was looking at him from one of the dining room windows off the kitchen. Mal gave a hesitant wave, biting his full bottom lip. He was still the enticing siren that Leif had pulled from the lake, but somehow Leif had to resist him.

  “HEY, thanks for coming,” Mal greeted him as he pushed open the screen door.

  Leif nodded politely, his throat tight as he entered the cabin, conscious of the kitchen and dining room where Mal had stripped off his clothing and offered himself. Would he ever forget that gut-wrenching sight? In the shower he’d replayed it over and over again, the touch of Mal’s skin, his solid weight on Leif’s lap, his breath against Leif’s lips.