Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) (12 page)

“Sorry Ivy, I’m moving too fast. 
One step at a time.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.  We are not going
to rush this.  Besides I am so full of turkey that I can barely
move.  Let’s cuddle and take this slowly.”

Even though Ivy was mystified by
Steve’s pulling back, she curved herself around him, willing for that night to
follow his slow lead.  This time he slept in the guest room where he had
moved his luggage and she crawled alone into her own bed.  The next
morning he woke her up by slipping into her bed, freshly showered, pulling her
close and smiling at her.

"This morning I’m taking my best
woman, heck my only woman, out to breakfast at that place she took me to last
time and then she is going to spend the day showing me this great city of
hers."

"She is, is she?"

He nodded.  Ivy noticed that his
eyes were warm with anticipation.  While Ivy showered and dressed, Steve
made coffee and then took the corgis out for a morning walk.  As
independent as she was, Ivy found she liked the way he made himself
useful.  Ivy drove them down to the restaurant called Mother's where she
had their scrumptious Eggs Benedict and Steve had a large order of buttermilk
pancakes with thick marionberry syrup, along with apple pork sausages.

As they sat holding hands and
finishing their lattes, Steve surveyed the room and leaned closer to her. 
"I'm the only suit in here -- no problem finding the federal agent in this
picture.  Ivy, you have to take me shopping and dress me like a Northwest
native."

A couple of hours later after stops at
Patagonia, REI and Nordstrom, Steve was laden with packages and dressed like a
newly minted Portland arrival.  He had been putting things on as he bought
them -- striped turtleneck and jeans that miraculously fit his long legs, navy
fleece vest and windbreaker, and low hiking boots and socks.  In the bags
were corduroy pants, more socks, tee shirts, two fleece tops, two sweatshirts,
a pair of sweatpants, a rain jacket, flannel pajamas, a wool Pendleton robe and
sheepskin lined slippers.

"Will I pass?" he asked

"In about two years when
everything is broken in and worn-looking."

"That means you have to give me
at least two years."

Ivy smiled at him. 

"And I hope longer.  Oh
jeez, slow down Nielsen."  He turned away from her, shaking his head
at himself. 

As he wanted, that day they toured
Portland.  While it was wet and the mountains were hidden, Steve enjoyed
the views of downtown from Council Crest where they took the dogs for a
walk.  From there, they drove up to the Pittock Mansion to see its annual
Christmas display, thankful that the heavy rain kept the line short. 
After having cheeseburgers for a late lunch at the Heathman Pub, they rode the
Max line around downtown and then took the aerial tram up to the teaching
hospital of OHSU at dusk, watching the city lights come on as the short late
autumn day ended.  At that point, Steve seemed ready to return to Ivy’s
house.  Once inside, he took his packages into the guest room and came
back up, dressed like an overgrown kid in his new pajamas, robe and slippers.

Ivy fed the dogs and cat while Steve
rebuilt the fire in the living room.  As it started burning, he rose and
pushed a couple of pieces of furniture out of the way to create a little dance
floor.  With the kindling now burning well, he added several bigger logs
and put the screen in place, then with hopeful anticipation, he went over to
the Bose stereo that Ivy had in the library nook, checked her CDs and chose one
called "
Saxy
Love Songs" by Gary Scott,
hoping it would set the mood he wanted.  Once the music was softly
playing, he went around the house, switching off lights, leaving only the glow
of the fire and a light by the bed.  Dinner could wait.

He tugged Ivy into the living room and
held out his arms for her to dance with him.  They danced slowly to
"The Very Thought of You", letting the music and the fire lull them
towards each other.  He stopped for a moment and tilted up her chin,
kissing her in that long slow way he had decided was the only way to kiss Ivy,
who was a gift to be treasured.  She moved closer to him, letting her hips
move gently against his in a way he found subtly suggestive.  Slowly he
began to undress her, discarding one piece of clothing at a time and gently
kissing and caressing the delicacy of her soft skin.  After waltzing her
closer to the fire so she would not become chilly, he concentrated on a few
special places, like the hollow between her collarbones, the inside of her
elbow and the soft palm of her hand, wanting to arouse her without being too
direct.  At their points in life, they should savor each other.  The
fast passion of youth was behind them.  They could take the time to
discover each other with slow lovemaking. 

Ivy followed Steve's lead, enjoying
his gentle approach.  He began humming softly to the music with Stardust
now playing as she began to undress him, laying each piece of clothing on a
chair before turning back to slide her hands down the long muscles of his arms,
then his back, and his chest.  She let her hands play lightly on a couple
of scars he had, one on the upper arm and one along his right leg.  He was
so aroused that she struggled to keep to his slow pace.  While she yearned
to have him inside of her, she also wanted this first time together to be a
memory they would recall and cherish during their days or weeks of separation
ahead. 

When they were both fully undressed,
they circled around in a slow waltz until Ivy led Steve out of the living room. 
He shielded her with his body as they passed the windows that opened onto the
view south, folding himself around her.  Once in the bedroom, he opened a
couple of windows just a little, letting the plantation shutters block any
direct breezes and then joined Ivy in bed, continuing his gentle caressing,
until he eased her over on top of him wanting to see her lovely, expressive
face as their bodies merged.

When he began to enter her, she
flinched with pain.  He pulled back, reached up and gently caressed both
sides of her neck, letting his hands rest on her shoulders.

Embarrassed, Ivy ducked her head and
mumbled, "Been a long time."

"We’ll take it slow.  Long
time for me too."

"Born Again Virgins," she
scoffed, her smile returning.

Steve laughed.  As Ivy gently
pushed down, little by little, Steve found the sensation exquisite.  
The pressure inside her eased and she slid down against him throwing her head
back in sensual triumph. 

"Oh Ivy," Steve said,
stroking her thighs where they pressed against him.

Ivy found Steve to be the gentlest man
she had ever made love with and yet he brought out a level of passion in her
that was new and unsullied.  She loved the strength in his shoulders when
she leaned forward to embrace him, tracing the muscles down his arms. 
They kept things slow and easy, appreciating each other, until their passion
overcame them, leaving them breathless with its intensity.  When he
cradled her head against his chest before drifting off to sleep, she realized a
missing part of her had been restored, taking its spot in her heart.  She
pressed her lips against his chest, let her eyes drift shut and nodded off as
well.

A couple of hours later, she woke up
to hear Steve rummaging in the kitchen and went out to see him slicing the
leftover turkey.  On a cutting board next to him, he neatly laid out
slices of bread spread with mayo on one side and cranberry sauce on the
other.  Ivy took out some lettuce and prepped it to go on the mayo
side.  They took the late dinner back to bed, feeding each other bits of
turkey that escaped from the sandwiches and drinking big glasses of milk before
sinking back down into the covers and into each other’s arms.

***

That night Steve found himself awake
at 2:00 a.m.  Trying not to disturb Ivy, he slipped out of bed and slid on
his new robe.  The corgis followed him to the kitchen where Steve rewarded
them with biscuits before pouring himself another glass of cold milk. 
Despite the joy that Ivy gave him, his nerves remained jangled.  In his
mind, he still saw the faces of those children in the cells.  The photos
of the abused adolescents from more than a dozen brothels they had shut down
thus far haunted his waking and sleeping hours.  They had moved over a
hundred and fifty children and teens into social services organizations in
eight countries including in seven cities in the United States.  

Moving quietly, he rebuilt the
fire.  Since the coals still glowed, he added some kindling, blew on it a
few times, watched the wood spark to life, and then stacked on smaller
logs.  He pulled over an ottoman and sat, staring at the dancing flames
and thinking about those captive kids and the terror in their drugged
eyes.  This was his first case involving children.  Most of his cases
had been against major drug lords, mob leaders, or underground
fraudsters.  Rarely did he deal with ordinary citizens and never with
children. 

Sitting alone with his thoughts, tears
started trickling down his cheeks, not something that had happened since he
lost his parents.  He heard Ivy come up behind him with her slippers
scuffing across the hardwood floor.  She sat down next to him on the
corner of the big ottoman, put her arms around him and rested her head on his
shoulder, not asking questions, just being there.  They sat that way for
some minutes until Steve wiped away his tears, got up and put a bigger log on
the fire.

"Tell me," Ivy breathed out
the words against his back, once he sat back down.

He glanced over his shoulder at her,
then back at the fire.  “It started during that trip to L.A.  The
teenage girls we interviewed from the house that was raided were so hard and so
evasive.  The truth is I don’t usually work with victims.  Generally
we go after the crooks who do money laundering, have large drug rings, defraud
major companies, or even smuggle jewels.  This case was unusual in that we
saw and talked with the abused children.  It got to me.”

Ivy tightened her grip around him.

“Then there was the whole thing with
our agent, Trina, imploding during our case preparation because I pushed her
too hard, not knowing that she had been sexually abused as a child.  I
mentioned that in my email.”

Ivy nodded against his back.  She
relaxed her grip on him and turned him to look at her, placing her hands on his
shoulders.

“And then Brian.  Shit, I didn’t
know he had been harassed by the other agents about being too . . .  well,
too girlie. You know how he has that slight build.  I required that he
masquerade as a female executive in our sting after Trina broke down. 
Mathew told me it was Brian’s worst nightmare.  The whole operation was
just one emotional issue after another.”

“And the sting itself?”

 "Went well, but those
children -- the ones we found in Sofia.  Oh Ivy, it was so awful. 
They were in cells.  They had been stolen from their families and were in
that holding area waiting for appalling fates.  Even though they were
drugged, the kids were terrified."

Ivy pulled him towards her, trying to
take some of his pain away.  He found he was crying again.  She held
him until he stopped. 

"Ivy I never cry like this. 
Cases don't impact me in that way.  Not until this one."

"You've opened yourself up a bit
by letting me in.  Other barriers you put up may be starting to come down
too."

He nodded, yet he remained uncertain
how to deal with the jumble of painful emotions.  Then he pushed himself
up, tended the fire and held out his hand to Ivy.  Together they walked
down the hall and slid back into bed.  Ivy turned to face him, gathering
him in her arms.  He snuggled into her warmth, burying his face in her
hair, glad to have her close as she gently rubbed his back.  Sooner than
he expected, he found himself relaxing into sleep.

***

Around seven the next morning, Ivy
slipped out of bed, gave the dogs a quick outing in the yard, showered, and
made apple cranberry muffins with a walnut crumb topping.  The weekend was
different from what she had expected, but in its own way, it was simply idyllic
-- fresh, warm, exciting, and passionate, yet comfortable too.  Steve
appreciated everything, the way a person does when their senses have opened and
life is rushing in full throttle.   Seeing Steve so overcome with
emotion the night before helped allay her concerns about his harder side. 
Ivy found herself both calmed and re-energized by him as the new day softly
sparkled around the house. 

By mid-morning when they left for the
north coast of Oregon, Steve seemed more settled emotionally.  He and Ivy
talked further about the child trafficking case as she drove and he found that
leaning on her helped him to deal with the horror of the enslaved
children.  Ivy headed due west on Highway 26 before turning south on the
coastal highway.  They had an early lunch at a little place in Cannon
Beach and then battled their way through sluicing rain and battering wind,
driving down Highway 101 to the scenic Salishan Lodge on the central part of
the coast.  Even with the heavy late autumn rain, Steve found himself
drawn to the coast with its rocky shoreline, sudden sandy beaches, curves of
cliffs and giant rocks rising out of the water.  The more he saw of the
Northwest, the more he felt as if he had come home.