Summer's Freedom (15 page)

She let her hand open on his face, feeling the feathery point where his eyelashes met and the pulse in his temple. As his lips moved, so did the tiny muscles in his cheek and jaw. Maggie reveled in all of it—the combination of his lips on hers, his face against her palm, his fingers tangled in her hair.

As the kiss deepened, he let her hand go and lifted her with powerful arms onto his lap. With almost desperate hunger, his tongue explored her mouth, urged hers to enter his. She explored the terrain of his neck and shoulders, moving her fingers into the coarse, full hair, then down under the collar of his shirt to the heated skin.

He used one great arm to brace her against his broad chest, and with the other hand, caressed her arm, then circled her neck as if gauging its width and finally, moved through her hair. Maggie felt an electric passion begin to glow in her nerves, a breathless anticipation in her chest.

When he let his hand slide open over her neck and collarbone, toward the bodice of her buttoned blouse, she shivered in anticipation, and there was no thought in her mind of stopping him.

Instead, as his hand moved to her buttons, hers fell on his, and they worked as a team, loosening garments. When his shirt was open, Maggie eagerly ran her hand over the rippling chest, her fingers spiraling with pleasure over the hard-muscled rises covered with crisp hair. His lips bruised hers, and a growl of hunger sounded in his throat.

When Maggie rubbed the tiny nipples on his chest, feeling them harden against the friction, Joel tore his mouth from hers and burned a path over her neck. In turn, she bit his shoulder, overwhelmed with the joyous burst of passion consuming her. Never had anything felt as good as this, she thought dazedly. Beneath her, pressing into her thigh with more power than she would have believed possible, his arousal insisted it was no different for Joel.

He pushed her almost roughly into the hollow of his elbow, his fingers raking over her bra. As he released the closure, exposing her breasts to the cool, lilac-scented night, he paused, and Maggie with him, on the brink of something unutterably magnificent. Her hands ceased and a violent trembling rocked her body as she waited, feeling his eyes upon her naked breasts.

Suddenly he descended, his huge, dark head falling to her breasts. Maggie gasped as the lips that had so expertly kissed her now performed an exquisite craft of arousal of another sort. “You taste like morning,” he whispered, suckling softly, “and dew.” His mouth lazily circled her breasts, then he kissed the place between. “Like all the sunbeams that ever danced.”

He lifted his head to take her lips again, pressing their bared chests together. Holding her tightly, he said quietly, “I want you, Maggie.” He nuzzled her shoulder and sighed. “But there are things I need to tell you.”

“You will, when it’s time,” she said, pressing her forehead against his neck. “Don’t torture yourself in the meantime.”

He growled happily, squeezing her.

Shifting away, Maggie managed to fasten her bra and buttons once more, then rebuttoned Joel’s shirt. When it was done, she cocked her head. “It’s strange how comfortable I am with you.”

With a gentle hand, he smoothed her hair away from her forehead. “Must be that other life.”

She smiled. “Must be.” For a few minutes more, they lingered, holding each other in the sweet night. Then Maggie sighed. “I really have a lot of work to do. I have to go in.”

“I won’t keep you, then.” Grasping her firmly around the waist, he stood up and swung her around before setting her on the ground.

“You love playing Tarzan, don’t you?” she said, brushing her clothes back into place.

“As long as you’re Jane.” He kissed her quickly.

Maggie laughed, then stood on tiptoes to kiss him. “And I love that—feeling small.”

A sudden crash broke the still night. Whirling toward the house, Maggie said, “What was that?”

“We’d better check,” Joel answered grimly, shoving her aside as he took the lead on the path around the house.

As Maggie trailed behind, she was struck with the change in him. He moved with stealth and speed, cloaked with a definite aura of dangerous power. It reminded her of the night they’d met on the front porch, when he’d nearly crouched at the unexpected noise of the swing creaking. Where had he learned to be so wary? Nothing in the childhood stories he’d shared with her suggested danger, nor did she think life at a university would be fraught with unexpected pitfalls.

They rounded the front silently, surprising two teens in black leather who were spray-painting the sidewalk. Maggie stared at them in dismay for a split second, wondering how to best handle the situation. Joel indulged no such hesitation. He sprung from the shadows alongside the porch, like a leopard leaping from a tree. It was a gesture so smooth and effortless, Maggie felt her breath catch. The speed wasn’t quite enough to snag the intruders, however. They raced away instantly, chains jingling, and were lost to the night.

Belatedly, Maggie joined Joel, who stared at the painted sidewalk with a frown. “Look at this,” he said.

Scrawled in black paint on the concrete were odd symbols, together with the words Long Live Proud Fox. “What are those things?” she asked.

“That’s a pentagram and I’m not sure what the other is, but it’s associated with devil worship.”

“Devil worship?” Maggie repeated, bewildered.

“Does Proud Fox write music that could be interpreted that way?”

Maggie shook her head. “Not at all.” She folded her arms. “I’ve objected to their music because of the way they reinforce the idea that drugs and drunkenness are glorious—some kind of alternative to a dead-end life.” She’d studied the lyrics of the band exhaustively. “There are even references to God as a kind of sorrowing figure. Nothing like this.”

Joel narrowed his eyes and meditatively looked down the street. In his stance, Maggie saw lingering traces of the dangerous aura he’d assumed. A ripple of amazement at his physical power traveled through her as she stared at him, perplexed. Who are you, Joel Summer? she thought. For the first time, his hidden past was a little disturbing.

He touched her arm. “Let’s go see if there’s anything else inside.”

“Inside?”

“Look at your front window.”

Maggie turned. Her curtains billowed out on a current of wind, the fabric catching on corners of jagged glass. “Terrific,” Maggie said with a tsk, and headed for the house. “This has all gone far enough. I’m tired of it.”

“We need to call the police.”

“You’d better believe it.” She paused with her hand on the door, cocking her head. “It just occurred to me I have a valuable source I haven’t used at all,” she said. David would know if there had been plans to vandalize her home. Whether he would tell or not remained to be seen—but unless she’d seriously misjudged the boy, he wouldn’t approve of this kind of violence. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”

Joel measured her for a moment. “I hope you’ll be careful.”

* * *

The next morning, Joel entered the mews where healing and permanent resident birds were housed. The enclosure was made entirely of redwood and divided into spacious cages. In all, several dozen birds could be accommodated. Presently, forty-two birds lived in the mews, all raptors, ranging from gigantic bald eagles and turkey vultures to tiny screech owls. As Joel made his way down the graveled path between the two halves of the building, he spoke to each of the birds by name, pausing at the cage of a bald eagle who’d been permanently injured four years ago. Named Quanah after the mixed-blood Comanche chief, the eagle had thrived in the center, making peace with his limited surroundings with a rare grace. As Joel stood in front of his quarters, Quanah lifted his head and croaked in greeting, the high, weak call oddly appealing from such a fierce-looking bird.

“Good dreams of the old days, Quanah?” Joel said with a smile. “There are kids coming today—thought you might want to practice looking ferocious.”

The eagle ruffled his shoulder feathers, croaking as if in disappointment. Across the way, a great horned owl hooted. Around its ankles was a restraining device to keep it from flying, and it glowered at Joel when he glanced over. “Won’t be long now, Jeremiah. You’ll see.”

The owl blinked and Joel laughed. He joined a dark-haired woman in the cubicle of a golden eagle. “Is she ready?” Joel asked.

The woman grinned. “Chomping at the bit.”

The eagle, recovered from a gunshot wound to the shoulder, moved toward Joel in anticipation. Around her leg was a jess, a leather thong used in the ancient art of falconry—training hawks to hunt. Joel took the attached leash in his left hand and offered his right arm, securely covered with a thick leather glove, to the bird. She climbed on immediately, grasping the leather with long talons. With a noble straightening of her feathers, she looked toward the door.

“I love this part,” Joel said.

He carried the eagle outside to the yellow field surrounding the mews. The bird’s alert eyes swept the landscape and the sky with an eagerness that matched Joel’s.

He let her fly on the leash in a few circles, to test the analysis he’d made two days before. Her wing was strong again, with no weakness or favoring. She’d flown on the leash for hours the other day with no problems.

She returned to his arm, the talons making a scratching sound against the leather. For one moment, Joel admired her red-gold feathers and noble head, the penetrating dark eyes and hooked beak. Then he took the jess from her ankle and lifted his arm. “A long life to you, beauty.”

The eagle flapped powerful wings to gain altitude, then circled above him. Joel watched her test the wind currents and the feel of her unfettered freedom. She called loudly, as if in farewell, then rose high and sailed away.

He felt, as he watched her, a tightness in his chest, a swell of gratitude and joy so great he could hardly contain it. This was the moment he had missed most desperately in the dark years, the moment when a recovered bird could take to the sky once again. It reinforced his belief that man could be a friend to the earth and all her creatures and brought home the pattern of his own life.

At his feet, Joel saw one long tail feather. He stooped to pick it up. The honeyed color was just the shade of Maggie’s hair. As he looked at it, he thought he’d like to bring her here, show her these birds. Perhaps then she might understand a little more of him.

He sighed. The situation was growing more and more complicated. As he’d mapped out his plan in those first days of freedom, it had all come together so clearly. He’d been unable to foresee the violent chemistry that had bloomed instantly between them. If he’d ever imagined her at all, it was as a plain but pleasing woman who’d be good company for him if they could form a normal kind of relationship on the outside. It was enough for him that they’d shared such a close alliance on a mental level.

His only reason for hiding his past in the beginning had been to give her space to accept or reject him as she would any other man. Somehow, that had backfired, and now he felt trapped in a lie he’d never intended to perpetuate. Last night, he’d seen the speculation in her eyes over the change in him—it had frightened her.

Still absorbed in his thoughts, he wandered back into the mews. “Now what?” he asked Quanah. Had he gone too far already to confess his lie? Would it be better to tell her now, get it done, accept the consequences? Or should he wait a bit longer, until he knew her love had grown strong enough to survive the blow?

What if it never grew that strong? his conscience prodded. The thought made him feel breathless.

* * *

Samantha’s summer gear was loaded into Paul’s Mercedes, the crowd had been fed, and now they all gathered on the porch to say goodbye.

As she joined the others, Maggie felt the pull of loneliness. Looking at David, she knew he felt the same thing, and she touched his arm gently as she stepped forward. Anna hugged Sam hard. “You be good, sugar.”

“I will, Gram.”

Paul, an elegant, slim man in his forties, cleared his throat, rattling his keys in a restless manner that Maggie hated. Ignoring him, she took her turn with Sam, keeping her farewell hug as brief as possible. Although Sam would be gone just six weeks, Maggie chose not to intrude on Paul’s time with his daughter, and this was the last she’d see of Sam until the end of July—unless Galen came. The thought enabled her to pull back. “Have a good time, sweetie—but be good. Your dad has enough gray hair as it is.”

“I’ll miss you, Mom…” Sam whispered. “I’ll call every Saturday.”

“I’ll be here.”

Samantha looked at David. Constrained by the adults around them, they were forced to say goodbye with hands and eyes. David touched the golden broken heart on a chain around Sam’s neck, and she touched his. They said not a word. “I’ll start my first letter today,” she finally said softly.

“Me, too.” David let go of her and swallowed. Watching them, Maggie was deeply touched.

“Bye, everybody,” Sam said, heading over the blackened sidewalk toward the car. Unable to remove the ugly marks, Maggie had spray painted over them.

A whistle, bright and clear, sounded from down the street. Maggie glanced up to see Joel, riding hard on his ten-speed toward them. Under his arm was a brown bag. Samantha waved at him and he let go of the handlebars to straighten and wave. Maggie smiled wryly to herself. He was an irrepressible show-off sometimes.

He guided the bike into a driveway and rode up to the knot of people at the end of the sidewalk, delivering the brown paper bag into Samantha’s hands. “Glad I caught you,” he said.

Sam peaked inside. “Photography magazines!” she exclaimed. “Thanks, Joel,” she said, beaming.

Paul met Maggie’s eyes in question. Maggie cleared her throat and stepped forward. “Joel,” she said, “this is Samantha’s father, Paul Henderson. Paul, this is—um—my neighbor Joel Summer.”

The two men shook hands uneasily. Next to Joel, Paul looked like a slender sapling. A sapling, she thought with a repressed smile, that had been deprived of good sunlight. Though he traveled ceaselessly to exotic locales in his career as a photographer, his tan looked somehow sallow next to the vigorous good health Joel exuded like a personal scent.