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Angie gripped his chin in one hand then, hard, and forced his eyes back to her own. She said, “What's got you so distracted these days?”

To his relief the song ended and he dropped his hands from her, looked deep and sincerely into her eyes, said, “Angie, please just believe me when I tell you that we're through, all right?”

“Fine, Sternhagen, you asshole,” she said, shoving at his chest. But he turned without another word, and she watched his huge shoulders shift away as he edged through the crowd and off of the street altogether. Something suddenly occurred to her, and it was like a splash of scalding water against her face.

I can't believe I didn't realize
, she thought, and her heart pounded very hard in a jealous fury.
Who the hell is she?

Riley was talking to Kelly Iverson nearby, and Angie stumbled over to them.

“Riley, where's your sister?” she demanded.

***

Nate's truck
was way out in the darkness, and Bryce stumbled over a bottle along the way, giving Nate the perfect excuse to catch her around the waist.

“Easy there,” he joked, stroking her ribs a little with his right thumb, and she moved casually away from his touch, trying not to think about Matthew, or Wade, or Angie Strickland, or how sensitized and raw her nerves had grown in less than a week. The sky above them stretched coal black, spangled with stars, the music a distant thump and melody. Nate reached his truck, unlocked it, and passed Bryce a pint-sized white bottle.

“Thanks,” she told him, and unscrewed the cap for a long drink, paused for a breath and then raised the bottle for one more.

Nate whistled softly through his teeth. “Save some for me, there, baby cakes.”

She passed the bottle back to him, fluffed out her hair with both hands and tugged on the hem of her jean skirt. The booze burned a pleasant, comfortingly familiar path down her chest and ignited a small campfire in her belly. But instead of the usual giddy rush, she felt only a backlash of sadness.
Matthew. I want you so bad. And I can't have you here, can I?

Nate backhanded his mouth and said, “One more?”

She nodded, drank deeply again, then said, “Okay, let's go dance.”

If he seemed disappointed, he hid it well and agreed, “Sounds good to me.”

The street was chaotic with line dancers as they made their way back into the crowd; Bailey's band was playing Joe Diffie's
John Deere Green
with thunderous energy, and the crowd was twirling, swaying, dipping and bobbing, most people uproariously drunk or two-thirds of the way there. Nate was a good sport who'd grown up around music and he pulled Bryce amongst the dancers beside Riley and Kelly Iverson, who were laughing and trying to keep their elbows locked as they attempted the Grapevine. Bryce searched for Matthew, but there were so many people, and it was so loud…she didn't see Angie either, but refused to think about that, and allowed Nate to grab her left hand with his right and guide her through the steps.

Four songs later they were sweating and Bryce's ribs ached from laughing at Riley as he tried ridiculous square-dancing moves with Kelly. Debbie had joined them, along with a guy she introduced as Craig or Greg, Bryce couldn't discern amid all the noise and a pretty strong buzz. By then her hair was a hot, humid mess down her back, her limbs wobbly from dancing, the rum lining her bones like live wires under her skin. She said, “I need some air.”

Nate saw his in and added, “I'll join you.”

Bryce drew a deep breath, caught the look in his eyes and grasped at a straw. “I actually need to pee. Where's the bathroom?”

Debbie said helpfully, “Come on, honey, I'll show you,” and tucked Bryce's arm in her soft plump one.

They located the port-a-johns with no problem, but Debbie was nowhere to be found when Bryce emerged a few minutes later. In fact, no one looked familiar, and Bryce felt a small internal pang, realizing she really did need some air. The toilets were lined up along the far edge of the activity; beyond them, the street streched out into blissful darkness. Bryce slipped away from the noise, down the street a few blocks and found her way into a small, grassy alley between two silent buildings. She sighed and leaned gratefully back against the side of one, tipped her head and watched the patch of sky above her view seem to rotate slightly.

Someone was beside her in the next second, and she gasped, her heart clanging in surprised fear, but her body already knew it was him even before it registered fully in her mind, and joy rushed through her blood as she moved directly into his open arms.

He had been drinking, too, something far stronger than beer. He bent his head just enough to put his lips within an inch of her own, but didn't yet make full contact, just breathed her scent, held her loosely with both huge hands around her hips. His flesh burned through her clothes, made her nipples stand out like painful jewels against her blouse.

“Where have you been?” she demanded in a whisper, sliding her hands jealously over his back, curling her fingers around his shoulders and then into his dark hair.

“Drinking,” he admitted, low, and nipped her left earlobe, making her shiver and squeak. He pulled her hips flush against his body. “I saw you guys dancing. It looked like fun.”

She put her lips against his collarbone, just barely above his dark t-shirt. His chin was scratchy and the day's growth of dark hair along his jaws gave him a slightly menacing look that made her entire body hum with desire. She breathed deeply, then slipped one hand down his knife-blade belly and over the top of his fly. He groaned against her hair, then said, low, “I'm so fucking jealous I could knock Nate out with one punch.”

She bit his bottom lip, whispered back, “You know better than that,” her lips skimming his with her words, and he moved fluidly and brought his mouth fully against hers, kissing her as though to do so was to save their souls. Her body responded in a rush of heat, and he sucked her bottom lip, swept his tongue in her mouth, tasted her inside out. She struggled in a fury of desire to be closer to him, to take him further into herself, crushing him to her, tipping her head back as he licked her throat in tiny, teasing strokes, bit her own collarbone lightly.

“Don't stop,” she whispered again, clutching his skull. “Matthew, please don't stop.”

He cupped the back of her head, loving the thickness of her long hair around his hand, and brought her mouth back to his own and possessed it completely again, not caring if he would indeed be damned for this. She raked her fingernails over his shirt, wanting to claw it from his body. He slipped both hands down and took her hips again, then slid lower and pulled her skirt up with his fingertips, bunched it around her hips. She gasped as he slipped her panties down and then lifted her thighs and brought them around his waist, her back against the side of the building. She clung to his shoulders as he struggled to unzip his jeans, lightheaded with desire, laughing and cursing at the same time as his zipper stuck a little on the way down.

But his laughter was cut off by a groan as she shifted against him with fevered impatience and he slid to his balls into her tight liquid heat. “Oh my God, Bryce,” he gasped against her neck, sliding out, in, out and pounding in again and again, and she buried her face against his neck to stifle her cries. Above them the stars reeled and twirled, a million and more mute witnesses, and Matthew arched his head back as he came, feeling a sudden, unexpected pulse of fear from somewhere inside himself…he would die if he lost her, and he was terrified that he would, even as he was buried as deeply as possible within her body.

Limp, breathless, she clung to him, feeling the same beat of fear, even over the fading echo of intense pleasure, for as they held each other as close as it was possible to be, she sensed the loss too, and her entire being rebelled.

“Matthew, I'm scared,” she whispered in his ear, her heart pounding hard again.

“Don't be scared, sweetheart,” he told her, his voice low and steady, reassuring her a little. “I won't ever let you go.”

She clung to him, her arms tight around his neck, legs clamped about his hips. His jeans were shackling his ankles but he made no move to release her. Instead he kissed her sweetly, and at long last they found the strength to untangle their limbs and haul their clothing back into some semblance of order. She bent forward and shook out her hair while he buttoned his jeans, pressed two fingers against what felt like a hell of a bite mark on the side of his neck.

“Sorry,” she murmured, straightening up and smiling a little.

He gave her a grin in return, then caught her close and hard for five seconds, finally whispered, “We better go out separately.”

She nodded, feeling as though part of her own body had been torn off as he stopped touching her and allowed her to walk back first.

Rose Lake, Minnesota – Saturday, June 24 to Wednesday, June 28, 1995

M
ichelle hadn't called, for which
she was grateful, although Wilder did mention he'd talked to her the night of the funeral. Bryce was even more grateful that Wade hadn't called back, either.

“He's been hanging out at the Wolf Den constantly,” Trish informed her on Saturday night, while Bryce lay on her back on her twin bed in the guest room, bedside lamp burning, house silent all around, waiting to slip out and meet Matthew. She didn't dare mention any of that to her best friend, though; Trish had called a half hour ago, the first Bryce had spoken to her in a week. The Den was one of the most disreputable bars in Middleton; Gayle worked there tending bar.

“God, I suppose I should feel guilty but I don't,” Bryce said back, low, wrapping her left index finger with the phone cord, until the tip turned purple. “This has been a long time coming.”

“I'm glad you finally saw the light, Bryce. Wade doesn't deserve you. I'm glad you had the courage to dump his ass.” Trish paused, then added, “It was Motel Man, wasn't it?”

Bryce closed her eyes, longed for a moment to spill everything to the girl who knew every other secret in her past. She caved a fraction, admitted, “Yeah, that's part of it.”

“Well, I'm glad something came of it other than your first five orgasms in like the last two years!”

Bryce laughed out loud, brought her palm up to stifle the sound. “Thanks a lot!”

“Shit, I miss you. When
are
you coming home?”

“Soon,” she side-stepped. “I'll probably stay through the Fourth of July. It's so beautiful here, and there's an amazing fireworks display over the lake, or so I've heard.”

“All right, I guess I better let you go. Some of us have to work at the ass-crack of dawn or face Connie.”

Bryce giggled again. “Shit, do you think I still have a job?”

“Of course you do. She'd never fire you, she loves you.”

And so she hung up smiling, rolled to snuggle her jaw into the feather pillow, then reached beneath it and pulled out the picture of Matthew she'd swiped from the old album. Just a few more minutes and she would sneak out and meet him; they started on the dock most nights, stargazing, curled together. When Matthew sat behind her and enclosed her in his strong arms, she felt utterly safe, as though nothing in the world could touch her. It was the most wondrous feeling she'd ever known, and she pressed with determination against all real thoughts of leaving this place, of being physically separated from him; the thought alone was enough to clog her throat with panic.

I can barely make it through the day waiting to meet him
, she thought, and tried for a calming breath.
How in the hell will I survive if I leave him behind?

In the next second she heard him whistle softly from directly beneath her open window, and her heart shot fire through her as she sprang up and clicked out her light, ran on silent bare feet, left her fears in the room behind her.

***

On Sunday
there was a cookout at the Pull Inn to celebrate Erica's father's birthday, and the girls spent the entire afternoon preparing food in the big kitchen at the Pull Inn. Debbie was there, and her and Riley and Erica's mother Olivia, who had fire-red hair and a voice to match, ample arms and about a million recipes stored in her memory. Bryce marveled at the way the girls worked so efficiently together, Olivia neatly superceding Erica's role as matriarch, taking charge and directing them all in various tasks.

It was pleasant work, though, chopping vegetables, boiling potatoes, seasoning ribs and burgers and folding cake batter. Bryce, who'd never cooked more than a can of soup, which passed for high cuisine in Michelle's trailer, the Wagon Box Court in general, really, found herself enjoying being ordered by the grandmotherly woman. Evelyn turned the radio above the fridge to a local country station, and they all sang along with every other song, while the entire building filled with the scents of good food.

Wilder poked his head in around 5:00, guitar strap diagonally bisecting his torso, commenting, “Damn, it smells great in here. I knew I married into this family for a reason.”

Erica moved to him for a kiss, and Bryce watched from the corner of her eye, envy slicing through her heart. They were so happy and open in their love, they seemed to have what she did with Matthew.

“God, you guys, get a room,” Debbie groaned, and Wilder slapped his wife neatly on the butt, saying, “That's for later, honeybunch.”

Erica, whose hair was coming down her neck in long wisps, flushed and said, “Get out, you. We're busy.”

“The picnic tables are all set and ready,” he told her, and blew a kiss as he went back out the door.

A tall-sided red wagon was loaded with food, minus the cake, which Olivia had placed in an enormous cake carrier and deigned to carry herself. Emma pouted when Evelyn took the handle of the wagon, but was mollified by her mother, who handed her a plate of lemon cookies.

The evening sky was a tranquil blue arching over their heads as the six of them made their careful way over the boardwalk to the picnic grove, where a dozen tables were decked in checkered cloths, awaiting food. Matthew and Wilder were unloading beer into an enormous cooler, Cody setting up another full of soda. Riley had driven back to Rose Lake to pick up his father, who thought they were going fishing for the evening. Erica had invited Bar Taylor and his family, partly in thanks for the use of the Lodge for Daniel's funeral, several of her parents' friends and their relatives, and many of them, even a handful of campers, were already gathered, laughing and chatting, sipping from bottles and cans, yelling after wayward children.

Trailing the women a little, Bryce paused a moment, let the scene sink into her soul, catalogued it for later when she wouldn't be this close to so much happiness. She watched Erica, Debbie and Evelyn unload the wagon, watched the twins grab their best friend Jenny and chatter her ear off, vying for her attention. She saw women sitting in close-knit circles, talking and smiling, while their men stood near the beer coolers and subsequent line of charcoal grills, joking with Matthew and Wilder in the intoxicating early-evening light.

It was almost too much for her to bear. From 20 feet away she watched quietly, feeling more an outsider than ever, until Matthew caught sight of her across the heads of dozens of people and grinned at her, his eyes resting on her with love.

Matthew, oh my God, Matthew
. She was struck so soundly by her own love for him that she was stunned every head didn't turn to gape at her. Surely she was audibly resonating. She thought wildly,
Don't look at me like that in front of everyone…they'll know, they'll see…

“Bryce! I'm so glad to see you're still in town!” said a voice behind her, and she spun around to see Rae Taylor heading her way, dressed in khaki shorts, white sandals and white linen top, her dark hair wound up high on her head. She was carrying two bottles of wine and her lips were wide in a genuine smile. Slim silver hoops dangled from her earlobes, glinting in the slanting sun as she walked.

“Hi,” Bryce returned, pleased to see her for whatever reason. “Can I take one of those for you?”

“Yes, thank you,” the older woman said, and passed one to her. “You look so lovely tonight.”

“Oh, thanks,” Bryce returned, almost shyly, as they fell into step together. Rae was almost exactly her same height, their steps of a similar length. She admitted, “I hardly packed any clothes and I feel like kind-of a bum, wearing the same three outfits every other day.”

Rae considered a moment, then said, “No, it's more a look on your face. Your eyes are positively glowing.”

Bryce felt a flash of angst, prayed that Rae wasn't a mind reader. She joked, “Well, I have been drinking all afternoon.”

“So that's it. I guess I know that glow.”

They reached the picnic tables and a pretty blond woman in a pink sundress caught Rae in a hug.

“Rae, it's so good to have you around,” the woman said.

“Because I bring good wine,” Rae responded, but her tone was fond and Leslie laughed and batted a hand at her sister-in-law. “Les, this is Erica and Wilder's niece, Bryce Mitchell. Have you met?”

“Briefly,” Leslie said, and smiled at Bryce. “Nice to meet you again, anyway!”

“This is my brother's wife, Leslie,” Rae went on, and indicated a couple of the masses of kids screaming and chasing each other on the grassy clearing sprawling out towards the campground. “And those are their kids, at least two of the brats out there, anyway.”

Riley came hurrying over the path then and yelled to the group in general, “Hey! Dad's here!”

An excited hush fell over the crowd and the kids came running, excited to crouch behind the tables for the surprise. Moments later Riley again appeared, this time with Roger in tow, and as they topped the hill and came into direct view, the entire group let loose with, “Surprise! Happy birthday!” and Roger stopped, threw his hands in the air and started laughing as his face turned a watermelon pink.

Bryce later found herself seated unexpectedly at Rae and Bar's table, drawn into conversation with Rae as they ate and ate. Matthew was nearby; her internal radar was never without his exact location, and he caught her eye from time to time, smiling with shiny lips that she longed to go and kiss. He, on the other hand, seemed to be interested in eating nothing but corn on the cob with tons of butter, elbow to elbow at a table full of rowdy guys.

“So where do you go to college?” Rae asked her at one point.

“I haven't yet,” Bryce admitted.

“Well, there's plenty of time for that,” Rae assured her, studying the younger woman for a moment, then realized she was searching Bryce's face for a trace of someone she knew, a potential father, and was instantly disgusted with herself. Shit, and Bar was doing the same thing from six feet away, much more surreptitiously, though he didn't fool Rae for a second. And the most ironic thing was, the only person they both really saw when the looked at Bryce was Michelle. Even her voice sounded the same.

As the evening sank into night, many of the guests took their leave; by the time Wilder had a roaring campfire going, only about a third of them were there to gather around on split logs, and he looked out at the assembled faces and asked for requests. Roger, who played a mean fiddle, was also poised with bow in hand, his weathered face flushed from drinking, eager to play some good music.

“Ooh, let's hear
Yesterday
,” Debbie, drunk and nursing her countless beer of the night, cooed.

Wilder raised one eyebrow at her, strummed a few chords and then said, “I was thinking we could start with something a little less mellow.”

“Well, hell, how about some Johnny Horton?” Roger said, and plucked out the first few notes of a rousing song Bryce didn't recognize, although a murmur of approval rose from just about everyone else, and even Rae started singing along. Bryce watched her uncle and his father-in-law play in the warm, flickering light of the fire, forcefully holding herself back from moving the scant four steps it would take her to be on Matthew's lap.

He was to her right, just around the curve in the circle of logs, angled so they couldn't quite look into each others' eyes. Emma had curled up against his side, and he'd snuggled his arm around her; Cody was sitting with his forearms braced against Matthew's other jean-clad knee, singing along brightly with his dad and grandfather. Matthew, who'd been drinking since mid-afternoon, caught Bryce's gaze and winked teasingly at her before she darted her eyes quickly away, praying that no one had noticed the gesture.

An hour and 10 songs later, the beers she'd been drinking caught up with her bladder, and Bryce slipped away in the middle of the sixth verse of
Down by the Bay
, requested by Cody and Emma. The night air was sharply chilly away from the fire and the wind in the pine needles sounded agitated and slightly threatening as she hurried back up the path towards the main lodge, rubbing her bare arms with both hands. Above her the stars had been blotted out by a thick layer of clouds, and Bryce jogged the last few yards, wishing she had a sweatshirt.

At the campfire 20 yards away, Rae was about to take her own leave when she noticed that Matthew Sternhagen's dark gaze had followed directly after Bryce. No one else seemed in the least aware, and Rae wondered if she was just making too much of the observation, but in the next moment he gently extracted himself from the pile of kids and rose to his deliciously full height, stretched slightly and then walked off in Bryce's footsteps.

Hmmm
, thought Rae, her intuition prickling. But she instantly chided herself, almost laughing aloud at how absurd her imagination had become. She rose, said her good-byes, and headed for the parking lot.

***

Matthew caught
up with her on her return trip, just behind the main lodge, and Bryce heard him coming and wasted no time jumping directly into his arms. In the thick, pitch-darkness he lifted her off the ground and buried his face against her neck with a growl. She held tight, breathing his scent which was flavored with butter and chocolate tonight, and the smoky tinge of the campfire.

“Bryce, Bryce, Bryce,” he murmured, rocking her side to side for a moment. “God, I love you.”

“I can't take sitting that close to you and not touching you,” she said back, her hands all over him, and he lifted his head and kissed her flush on the lips, her legs bent parallel to the ground three feet beneath her.

“You can make up for it now,” he offered, lowering his eyelids a little and slamming her with his most seductive smile.

She did, holding him tight, his own arms wrapped nearly double around her, his mouth warm and sweet, so utterly right against her own, as though they'd been molded for each other alone. They kissed and kissed, until she groaned against his lips, thinking that she would be happy kissing him until the stars burned out in the sky. Against her belly she felt his cock pressed hard and strong, and groaned again, loosening one arm to slide her hand down and clutch him.