Cycles (2 page)

     
"Anyway! You don't really think we come over to your house all the time just to see your sour puss, do you?" Carol asks with a huff.

     
"That's just it," I drawl in self-pity, "you're not seeing any more of Cole than I am most of the time."

     
"So stop doing his laundry." Carol shakes her head. "Cole is all that and twelve bags of chips, and always has been, you silly cow. Look at him," she points with her chin, "he's watching you watch the newbie—somebody's in trouble!"

     
I catch Cole's watchful blue stare and he gives me a melting, lopsided smile. He may have a six-pack in him but he's not stupid—and despite the girls' teasing, I'm not in trouble. Any more than he is when I catch him looking at Rachael in the post office. I shrug—the girls are right, he is a gorgeous treat for the eyes—and grin back. He shakes his head and returns to his conversation with the sheriff.

     
"Just because we're on a diet —" I start.

     
"Doesn't mean you can't look at the menu," Lindsey and Carol finish with a groan.

     
"Oh, puh-leze," I mutter, "at least you two can still order take out."

     
Lindsey snorts. "But we sure don't get the free delivery."

     
We've been friends since grade school—the three of us and Cindy. When we graduated, Cindy packed her bags and moved to California. Carol's been married and divorced—twice. Lindsey says she's got a smorgasbord here, since the town's predominantly male, and she's not about to settle for one. I'm lucky to have friends like them. In a place as small as Lancer, who you can and can't confide in can be dicey. At least I have two women I can tell anything and be sure it will go no further.

     
"Free maybe, but then it's not hot out of the oven, is it?" I sigh again. "As dull as things are, I have to get my jollies somewhere."

     
Carol wrinkles her nose. "Quit complaining. He'll come around, they always do. And if he doesn't, I volunteer to take him for a night." She raises her hand. "I'll slather him with toppings and send him home a new sundae."

     
I laugh. "I bet you would—probably pineapple because you know I hate it." I pull a sour face. "Nope, no deal. I'm not ready to share, I'm just frustrated."

     
"Stop feeling sorry for you," Lindsey scolds. "You simply need a chance of pace. Maybe you should drag him into the bathroom right now and give him a blow-job—that will perk things up. And then," she adds slyly, "Carol and I can sit out here and fantasize about what you're doing. We need our vicarious jollies, too."

     
"He's way too happy," I say, watching Cole fire down another mug, "which means it would take too long and I don't have an ounce of patience today."

     
"Oh, come on," Carol says, batting her lashes. "Do you mean to tell me you don't enjoy drunk-man sex?"

     
"Oh yeah," Lindsey chuckles, dropping into a pale male imitation, "'hang on, I don't know what's wrong, it just doesn't want to cooperate'."

     
We burst into girly giggles which draw curious looks from several other conversations.

     
"Uh-oh," Carol says breathlessly, "oh, that lovely, lovely man of yours—look!" The newcomer, Rory, is listening intently to Cole and casting furtive glances in our direction. "Cole better be telling him the hottest girls in town are sitting at this table. And you can tell him I said so, too, Darla."

     
"Since we're on the subject of ice cream," Lindsey muses, "I can't help wondering if he's a vanilla kind of guy, or chocolate."

     
Carol smacks her lips. "Rich, fudgy, spank-me-baby chocolate, I'll bet. You know those shy ones."

     
Rory nods and makes a beeline for us.

     
"God," Lindsey chokes, hastily setting her beer on the table and arranging her face in a neutral mask by the time he arrives.

     
"Hi."

     
My companions stare. I can tell they're trying not to snicker. "Hi." I raise my brows in question.

     
"Doc Gar—I mean Cole—said you—could you do some mending for me, Mrs. Garber?"

     
Lindsey pokes me with her foot and I'm tempted to laugh. "Sure," my smile is broad, "just bring it by and I'll see what I can do."

     
"Cool. Thanks."

     
Another nudge from Lindsey's boot prompts me to say, "Rory, have you met Lindsey and Carol?" I indicate my tablemates.

     
"Uh, yeah—hi." No, not much of a conversationalist, is he? I drown my urge to giggle with beer.

Carol isn't shy. "Hi. I saw you at the slopes the other day with the men's team. You were giving the kids pointers."

     
"Yeah, I'm sorta helping Cole out with the little ones."

     
"That's great. I look forward to seeing more of your pole action," she continues, ignoring the pointed look from Lindsey.

     
"Uh..."

     
"What she means," Lindsey corrects, "is we're looking forward to you working our slopes along with the other guys."

 
    
It's all I can do not to laugh and Lindsey quickly takes a drink, pretending not to notice her Freudian slip.

     
Unfortunately, Rory didn't miss it. The man is coloring, the blush creeping over his ears. "I haven't skied regular in a couple years, so we'll see if I'm still any good."

     
"You'll do fine," I use my soothing mother tone, "and Cole really appreciates your help with the Junior Team. This year's bunch is a little rambunctious, so it's tough for one man to keep them corralled."

     
Rory nods, fidgets, wants to be elsewhere. "Thanks, Mrs. Garber. I'll bring my stuff over tomorrow."

     
"That will be fine, but make it in the afternoon, please? And if you're going to call him Cole, I'm Darla."

     
"Okay, Darla. Uh, see ya." He nods at Lindsey and Carol before fleeing like his feet are winged.

     
"I hope he moves half as fast on the mountain," Carol says wryly.

~:~:~:~:~

     
The boys are building a snow fort. They're so mature these days but is any male ever too old to play? Bryce wants to go to college, so it won't be long before he's gone, and Joel will follow in the blink of an eye. They might come back, like we did, but they won't be my babies any more. I used to look forward to the day when the house will be mine and Cole's again. We used to lie in bed and talk about what it will be like, how we can do it on the kitchen table if we want to.

     
Strong arms circle my waist and Cole's warmth surrounds me. He smells so good; fresh air, damp wool, sun block, and the cinnamony aftershave I gave him at Christmas.

     
"Wha'cha doing?" The intimate whisper makes me glow.

     
"Watching them grow an inch every second." I clear fog from the window.

     
He nuzzles my ear. "We're going to need a new table soon, aren't we?"

     
Reading my mind like that makes my heart swell. A fluttering desire fills my stomach. I need him—now. "Well," I say playfully, turning into the embrace, "the table's clear and they're totally occupied. Do you want to test its durability?"

     
"Is your period—over?"

     
The doctor in him always thinks of those things. "Enough, yes." I feel almost panicked, desperate to hold onto wanting him. I tug his winter beard, nuzzle his freshly-shaven neck, nibble his chin and kiss the soft mouth hiding in the thatch.

     
"Would it be cruel if we locked the door?" he asks against my lips. Pressed into my belly, I know he's more than willing to carry through with this.

     
"Don't, we'll hear them the second they hit the mud room." I fumble under the bulky sweater, search for his fly. I can't let him walk away because desire could dissolve as quickly as it arrived. Finding the heat of his stomach, I slip my hand under the waistband of his jeans—roomy enough to cover two layers of thermals, there's plenty of space to stroke him.

     
"Mmm," he groans as I squeeze, quickening the moisture which springs between my legs.

     
I lean into his broad chest, absorb the rising lust. Breathlessly, I abandon his erection and yank at his fly. A little sucking will get things rolling right along.

     
"Shit," he mutters.

     
"What?" He's frowning over my shoulder into the yard. "Don't tell me they're coming in already!"

     
"Did you tell Rory to come today?"

     
"Shit," I echo the sentiment and know what I'll see before I look. There's Rory, with an armload of shirts, talking to the boys.

     
"Later?" Cole kisses my cheek and the sound of his zipper closing is loud. "I guess I'll get to the wood pile after all."

     
I nod. "Okay."

     
Yes, later. After I've cooked dinner, cleaned up and seen to homework. Later. After he's been chopping wood all afternoon and is asleep on the couch before the boys are even tired.

     
While Rory takes off his coat, I try to look cheerful and hope the disappointment eating into my heart doesn't show.

~:~:~:~:~

     
It's late, quiet except for the muffled creak of fresh snow on the roof. I slide into bed next to my favorite heater and snuggle tight. It was a long, long, day and bed is heaven.

     
"Sleep good, baby." I peck Cole's cheek.

     
"C'mere." He pulls me back for a real kiss. Our tongues play and his hand slips under the covers to stroke my hip. Very nice, but I'm so tired it doesn't raise a spark.