Find Wonder In All Things (9 page)

“Where’d you get beer?”

“Dad’s stash.”

“Won’t he miss it?”

“I’ll just give him some money and tell him I sold it. He’ll never know the difference.”

They drove in silence for a good twenty minutes.

“How far away is this place?”

“We’re almost there.”

She pulled the truck into a path that led off the one-lane road and into a grove of trees. Without a word, she put the truck in park, turned it off and got out. He watched her walk to the back and pull out a knapsack and a cooler.

“How about a little help here?”

He got out and took the cooler from her hand.

“What’s in there?’ He pointed at the bag she was holding.

“Blankets and . . . things.” She turned on a flashlight and began walking.

He followed her into the brush, breaking twigs and ducking under branches as they went. “Are you sure you know where you’re going? This looks like something straight out of a horror movie. I’m expecting Freddy Kruger or Jason to join our outing any time now.”

She laughed. “Yes, Buckeye, I know where I’m going. Just wait for it. It’s right over . . . ”

They stepped through the last row of trees and brush and into the moonlight.

“Here.”

James was speechless for a second. It was beautiful, idyllic — even romantic. Grass gave way to soft, silt-like sand, and several feet beyond that, the dark water lapped in quiet waves against the shore. He could see the marina lights twinkling across the lake, and a million stars of every degree of brightness littered the sky. The moon lent a soft shimmering light that reflected off the water.

“Amazing spot, sweetheart. How did you ever find it?”

“Exploring on my own last summer.”

She dug a blanket out of the canvas duffle and spread it out over the grass. As she sat, her shoes came off and she lined them up beside the blanket. She hooked her long arms around her bent knees and laid her chin on them.

Setting the cooler down, James dropped down beside her and kicked off his own shoes. He pulled out two beers, opened one for Laurel and kept the other for himself.

“Good ole’ Budweiser,” he sighed.

She tilted her bottle up and took several swallows all at once, while he looked on in surprise. He had seen Laurel drink a beer before, but he’d yet to see her guzzle one. She lowered her drink and turned to face him.

“James?”

“Mm-hmm?” he said, taking a swig.

“I want you to make love with me tonight.”

He sputtered and somehow managed to swallow the beer in his mouth before he spit it out.

“What?”

She looked across the lake away from him. “Please, don’t make me say it again.” Her voice was softer now and less sure. He put his drink down, took hers from her, and grasped both of her hands in his. He looked in her eyes, and saw love and sincerity — and apprehension — in them.

“You don’t have to do this because I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“I’m not doing this because you’re leaving . . . well, not entirely because you’re leaving.”

“You don’t seem too sure about it.” He slid over beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and leaning his head against hers. “I want to . . . ” he whispered, kissing her ear. “God knows I want to.” He felt her shiver against him. “But you don’t have to do this to ‘keep’ me or whatever stupid thing girls think about guys.” He turned her face to his. “I love you, Laurel. I’ve never said that to any other girl — never wanted to say it. You are what I love, and nothing that happens or doesn’t happen tonight will change that one way or the other.”

“And that’s why I want to, and why I want it to be with you.”

Well, hell . . . Who was he to argue with that? She obviously knew what she wanted, and it wasn’t like he had a problem with it. “Laurel . . . ” he whispered, before his lips met hers in a sweet, devouring kiss. He eased her back onto the blanket and ran his hand from her shoulder to her hip and back to rest on her belly.

“Are you sure about doing this out here?” he murmured to her. “You might be more comfortable on the boat . . . ”

“No, not the boat. Half the girls I know who lost their virginity did it on a houseboat. Too cliché.”

He chuckled at her spirit. She had been thinking about this for a while. “Okay then — not the boat.”

She looked up, eyes round. “I want to, but James . . . ”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I’m afraid . . . just a little.”

He trailed kisses down her neck and below her ear. “Don’t be afraid. Just tell me what you want.”

Her voice was small and tentative. “I don’t know what I want.”

He froze, almost panicked for a second, but as he looked at her, he felt his pulse slow and his breathing calm, and his inner knight-in-shining-armor kicked in. He called up confidence and bravado from some long-subdued part of his past and promised himself he would bring her out safe and happy on the other side of this, although he didn’t know exactly how. The challenge was spine tingling, like walking on a tightrope above a ravine. He felt reckless and daring — and a little nervous himself. She was so precious and so worth all the care he could give her. He took in a deep breath and expelled it slowly.

“I know what you want, Laurel.” He was amazed at how confident his voice sounded. “And I’m going to make sure you have it.”

She nodded.

He started at the top of her head, pressed a gentle kiss to her hairline, and worked his way to her mouth. He lingered there while he drew a finger over her bare arm and pulled her to him in rhythmic tugs. He kissed her throat and smiled when she made a little whimper. When he got to the v-neck of her t-shirt, he sat her up gently and pulled it over her head. She reached behind her back for her bra hook, but he stopped her.

“Not yet. Let’s leave that alone for now.” He stripped off his own shirt and nearly groaned out loud when her long delicate fingers ran down his rib cage and slid under the waistband of his jeans just an inch or two. He took hold of them and shut his eyes. “Let’s leave that alone for now, too.”

He eased her down and took a long look at her. Red waves of silk radiated from behind her head in every direction. Her white skin was luminous in the moonlight, her breasts covered in virginal white lace.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered. He saw her embarrassment, even in the dim light of the moon, and he smiled. “What I mean is every part of you is designed to go with every other part. You’re the perfect incarnation of you.” He leaned over and nibbled at the pulse throbbing in her throat before running his tongue along her collarbone and just inside the inner edge of her bra till his mouth rested between her breasts. She arched her back and her moan reverberated from her chest into his lips. He drew his fingers down over her stomach, feeling it move up and down as she gasped. One finger slipped under the button on her cutoffs and he undid them in one smooth motion, drawing down the zipper and laying the fly open. The white cotton of her panties peeked out from underneath. He kissed right below her belly button and took a little nip at the hipbone jutting out.

“James?” She breathed. “What are you . . . ?”

He slipped his hands inside her shorts and drew them down, exposing her skin to the night air and his hungry eyes. “Would you believe me if I said, ‘Trust me’?”

She giggled, actually giggled out loud, and his heartbeat flared and pounded in his veins for a minute. He sat beside her, simply staring at her in wonder, before reaching under her to unhook the last bit of clothing and drawing the straps down her arms.

The beauty of her body beckoned him, but he found himself unable to tear his gaze from her face, intense and exquisite. Her eyes were like arrows, hot pokers stabbing inside his chest. Lying down beside her, he drew one hand along her inner thigh and her eyes slid shut, releasing him from her gaze and allowing him a respite so he could concentrate on the rest of her. As his fingers slipped between her legs, she started to cry out and self-consciously covered her mouth with her hand.

“Yell all you want, darling,” he murmured. “No one can hear you but me.”

His touch coaxed her further into delirium, and he whispered roughly, “Let it go, Laurel. It’s all right, just let go.”

She broke then, her arms reaching above her head, grasping the blanket in her fingers — arching and sighing and writhing in movements so erotic, he had to drop his head and close his eyes to keep from losing control of himself. He felt as if he’d run ten miles, and he gulped the warm, humid, night air as if he were drowning. He kissed her softly and whispered sweet nothings to her, and while she recovered, he slipped a condom out of his wallet and doffed his button-fly Levi’s.

He looked up to find her watching him, interest and trepidation warring on her features.

“Still afraid?”

Her eyes darted up to his face. “No,” she said quickly, and then she let out a nervous throaty laugh. “I mean, not much.”

He lay down, facing her and held her close. She kissed him on the mouth in acquiescence, and he pulled her on top of him.

“What — ?”

“I know what you want, remember? Trust me.”

“Famous last words.”

He smiled at her bravado. “Mountain Laurel, you’re one in a million.” His gaze narrowed in on her. “Damn, this is going to feel so good.” He guided her with his hands, pausing when she gasped with a quick intake of air. “Take your time. You know what to do.” He moved her hips in a barely perceptible rhythm, which she slowly began to take over. His eyes closed, and he let himself sink into the warm, urgent cadence, shuddering as he felt his tenuous control slipping away. Somewhere in the middle of it, he realized she was losing her restraint too, and he wanted to shout in primal triumph as the world exploded in a white-hot burst of light. While the resulting embers faded and floated away, he felt a tear slide from the outer corner of his eye. He brought his hands up under the red curtain of her hair to hold her forehead against his. His voice came out low, smooth and sure. “I will always love you, Laurel Elliot. Always.”

Chapter 7

Christmas Day

Fat snowflakes flew across the windshield of James’s Toyota Corolla as he snaked along the interstate curves leading to the mountains. His cheeks were tight and drawn from where he’d swiped away tears, and his jaw hurt from clenching it for the last hundred miles. He was almost there — almost to the closest thing he had to a home now. And it wasn’t a place, although the place was part of it. His home was now a person — a person with flaming red hair, dark blue eyes, and a smile that made all his troubles fade and his worries disappear.
Laurel.

He only hoped she would be there. They had been planning this interlude since October. Her weekly letters kept him abreast of the progress on her cabin, and the last one said the place was done — not fancy — but livable, and she was planning to spend her Christmas break there. She asked him to join her, and he said yes, but the plans were for him to arrive day after next. There was no phone — no way to reach her to say he was coming early.

He still had a key to the Pendletons’ boat in case her place wasn’t an option, but he really hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. The boat would provide shelter, but shelter wasn’t what he was looking for. He wanted comfort. He wanted Laurel.

The car in front of him fishtailed in the snow, reminding him to pay attention to the rapidly deteriorating road conditions. According to the radio, the worst of the storm wouldn’t hit until sometime around midnight, but he knew the snow would probably be heavier in the mountains. Once he made it to the cabin, he’d be up there for a while.

What would she say when he got there? Would she be shocked? Happy to see him? Would she see the anguish in him right away, or would he have to tell her the whole story before she understood?

Wipers stuttered over the windshield, the rough sound of rubber against dry glass. The exit sign for the lake shone like a green beacon in the dark. He signaled and changed lanes, and soon he was on the two-lane road that wound its way to Elliot’s Marina. Luckily, the snow had slacked off some although it was still hard to see. Somehow, he found the drive that led down to the dock. There were a few lights on there, and a few more a little farther up the main road that marked the entrance to the Elliot family home. He could see smoke from their fire swirling above the trees in thin wisps. He drove on, creeping along the road so he wouldn’t end up in the ditch. The cabin’s gravel drive was almost completely obscured by snow, but miraculously, he found it in the dark. He shifted down into first gear, but his car ended up stuck anyway in the steep driveway about a hundred yards from the house.

He revved his engine a time or two but the wheels just spun in place. The old car wasn’t going any farther, so he grabbed his duffel and his guitar from the trunk, wound his scarf around his neck, and trudged through the falling snow. As he stepped through the last row of trees and into the clearing, he caught a glimpse of the cabin, and his heart leapt. There were lights on, and smoke drifted from the chimney. Someone was there! Desperate optimism made him believe it was Laurel and Virginia.

Hoisting his bag on his shoulder, James walked up the steps, pulling down his scarf so she would recognize him, and set his burden on the porch floor. He opened the screen and knocked on the wooden door behind it. The curtain slid over the sidelight for a second and then jerked back closed. The door flew open and there she stood, wide-eyed and wonderful.