“Sound all the trumpets.”
“Those, too. But after, there’s the inevitable tragedy. You’d fall in love with me. They all do.”
He heard the humor in her voice, idly linked his fingertips with hers. “You have that power?”
“I do and, though God knows I’ve tried, can’t control it. And you—I’m telling you this because, as I said, I like your style. You, helpless, hopeless, would be weak in love, barely able to eat or sleep. You’d spend all the profits you make off quarters pumped into Skee-Ball on elaborate gifts in a vain attempt to win my heart.”
“They could be pretty elaborate,” he told her. “Skee-Ball’s huge.”
“Still, my heart can’t be bought. I’d be forced to break yours, coldly and cruelly, to spare you from further humiliation. And also because your pathetic pleas would irritate the shit out of me.”
“All that,” he said after a moment, “from one round in the sack?”
“I’m afraid so. I’ve lost count of the shoes I’ve had to throw away because the soles were stained with the bleeding hearts I’ve crushed along the way.”
“That’s a fair warning. I’ll risk it.”
He rolled over, took her mouth.
For a moment, she thought the top of her head simply shot off. Explosions, heat, eruptions burst through her body like a fireball. She lost her breath, and what she thought of as simple common sense, in the wicked whir of want.
She arched up to him, her hands shoving under his shirt—eager to feel her need pressed to him, his skin, his muscles under her hands.
There was a wildness here. She knew it lived inside her, and now she felt whatever animal he caged in leap out to run with hers.
She made him crazy. That lush, greedy mouth, those quick, seeking hands, the body that moved under his with such strength, such purpose, even as, for just a moment, it yielded.
Her breasts, full and firm, filled his hands as her moan of pleasure vibrated against his lips. She was sensation, and bombarded him with feelings he could neither stop nor identify.
He imagined pulling off her clothes, his own, taking what they both wanted there, on a borrowed blanket beside a shining pond.
Then her hands came between them, pushed. He gave himself another moment, gorging on that feast of feelings, before he eased back to look down at her.
“That,” he said, “is the next step in a traditional picnic.”
“Yeah, I guess it is. And it’s a winner. It’s a good thing I got off on that fudge cake because you definitely know how to stir a woman up. In fact . . .” She wiggled out from under him, grabbed what was left of the cake and took a bite. “Mmm, yeah, that takes care of it.”
“Damn that Marg.”
Her lips curved as she licked chocolate from her fingers. “This was great—every step.”
“I’ve got a few more steps in me.”
“I’m sure you do, and I have no doubt they’d be winners. Which is why we’d better go.”
Her lips had curved, he thought when they began to pack up, but the smile hadn’t reached her eyes. He waited until they’d folded the blanket back into the well-depleted hamper.
“I got to second.”
She laughed, as he’d hoped, then snickered with the fun of it as they started the hike back.
10
L
ucas poked his head in the kitchen of the cookhouse.
“I heard a rumor about blueberry pie.”
Marg glanced back as she finished basting a couple of turkeys the size of Hondas. “I might have saved a piece, and maybe could spare a cup of coffee to go with it. If somebody asked me nicely.”
He walked over, kissed her cheek.
“That might work. Sit on down.”
He took a seat at the work counter where Lynn prepped hills and mountains of vegetables. “How’s it going, Lynn?”
“Not bad considering we keep losing cooks.” She shot him a smile with a twinkle out of rich brown eyes. “If you sit here long enough, we’ll put you to work.”
“Will work for pie. I heard about the trouble. I was hoping to talk to Rowan, but they tell me she’s on a picnic with the rookie from California.”
“Fast Feet,” Lynn confirmed. “He sweet-talked Marg into putting a hamper together.”
“Nobody sweet-talks me unless I like the talk.” Marg set a warmed piece of blueberry pie, with a scoop of ice cream gently melting over the golden crust, in front of Lucas.
“He’s got a way though,” Lynn commented.
“Nobody has their way with Rowan unless she likes the way.” Marg put a thick mug of coffee beside the pie.
“I don’t worry about her.” Lucas shrugged.
“Liar.”
He smiled up at Marg. “Much. What’s your take on this business with Dolly?”
“First, the girl can cook but she doesn’t have the brains, or the sense, of that bunch of broccoli Lynn’s prepping.” Marg waved a pot holder at him. “And don’t think I don’t know she tried getting her flirt on with you a time or two.”
“Oh, golly,” Lynn said as both she and Lucas blushed to the hairline.
“For God’s sake, Marg, she’s Rowan’s age.”
“That and good sense stopped you, but it didn’t stop her from trying.”
“Neither here nor there,” Lucas mumbled, and focused on his pie.
“You can thank me for warning her off before Rowan got wind and scalped her. Anyway, I’d’ve butted heads with L.B. about hiring her back, but we needed the help. The cook we hired on didn’t last through training.”
“Too much work, she said.” Lynn rolled her eyes as she filled an enormous pot with the mountain of potatoes she’d peeled and quartered.
“I was thinking about seeing if we could bump one of the girls we have who helps with prep sometimes, and with cleanup, to full-time cook. But then Dolly has the experience, and I know what she can do. And, well, she’s got a baby now.”
“Jim Brayner’s baby.” Lucas nodded as he ate pie. “Everybody needs a chance.”
“Yeah, and that bromide ended up getting Ro’s quarters splattered with pig blood. Nasty business, let me tell you.”
“That girl’s had it in for Ro since their school days, but this?” Lucas shook his head. “It’s just senseless.”
“Dolly’s lucky Cards was there to hold Ro back long enough for some of the other guys to come on the run and wrestle her down. It would’ve been more than some oinker’s blood otherwise.”
“My girl’s got a temper.”
“And was in the right of it, if you ask me—or anybody else around here. And what does Dolly do after L.B. cans her?” Marg’s eyes went hot as she slapped a dishcloth on the counter. “She comes crying to me, asking, can’t I put in a word for her? I gave her a word, all right.”
Lynn snorted. “Surrounded by others, as in: Get the
word
out of my kitchen.”
“I’m sorry for her troubles, but it’s best she’s gone. And away from my girl,” Lucas added. As far as he was concerned, that ended that. “How would you rate the rookies this season?”
Marg hauled out a couple casserole dishes. “The rook your girl’s eating fried chicken with, or all of them?”
“All of them.” Lucas scraped up the last bit of pie. “Maybe one in particular.”
“They’re a good crop, including one in particular. I’d say most are just crazy enough to stick it out.”
“I guess we’ll see. That was damn good pie, Marg.”
“Are you after seconds?”
“Can’t do it.” He patted his belly. “My days of eating like a smoke jumper are over. And I’ve got some things I’ve got to get to,” he added when he rose to take his plate and mug to the sink. “When you see Ro, tell her I stopped by.”
“Will do. You’re close enough not to be such a stranger.”
“Business is good, and good keeps me pinned down. But I’ll make the time. Don’t work too hard, Lynn.”
“Come back and say that in October, and I might be able to listen.”
He headed out to walk down to where he’d left his truck. As always, nostalgia twinged, just a little. Some of the jumpers got in a run on the track. Others, he could see, stood jawing with some of the mechanics.
He spotted Yangtree, looking official in his uniform shirt and hat, leading a tour group out of Operations. Plenty of kids being herded along, he noted, getting a charge out of seeing parachutes, jumpsuits and the network of computer systems—vastly improved since his early days.
Maybe they’d get lucky and see somebody rigging a chute. Anyway, it was a nice stop for a kid on summer vacation.
That made him think of school, and school led him to the high-school principal he’d agreed to meet for a drink.
Probably should’ve just taken her into the office, had the sit-down there. Professional.
Friendly business started to seem more nerve-racking as the day went on.
No way around it now, he reminded himself, and dug his keys out of his pocket. As he did, he turned toward the lion’s purr of engine, frowned a little as he watched his daughter zip up in the passenger seat of an Audi Spyder convertible.
She waved at him, then jumped out when the sleek beast of a car growled to a stop.
“Hey! I was going to try to get over and see you later.” She threw her arms around him—was there anything more wonderful than a hard hug from your grown child? “Now I don’t have to, ’cause here you are.”
“I almost missed you. Gull, right?”
“That’s right. It’s good to see you again.”
“Some car.”
“I’m happy with it.”
“What’ll she do?”
“Theoretically, or in practice—with your daughter along?”
“That’s a good answer, without answering,” Lucas decided.
“Do you want to try her out?” Gull offered the key.
“Hey!” Rowan made a grab for them, missing as Gull closed his hand. “How come he rates?”
“He’s Iron Man.”
Rowan hooked her thumbs in her pockets. “He said I had to sleep with him before I could drive it.”
Gull sent her smirk a withering look. “She declined.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I wouldn’t mind giving her a run. I’ll take a rain check on it since I’ve got to get along.”
“Can’t you stay awhile?” Rowan asked. “We can hang out a little. You can stay and mooch dinner.”
“I wish I could, but I’ve got a couple of things to see to, then I’m meeting a client for a drink—a meeting. An appointment.”
Rowan slid off her sunglasses. “A client?”
“Yeah. Yeah. She’s, ah, got some project she wants to talk to me about, and she’s interested in trying for AFF. So I guess we’re going to talk about it. That. Anyway . . . I’ll get back over soon, mooch that dinner off you. Maybe try out that machine of yours, Gull.”
“Anytime.”
Lucas took Rowan’s chin in his hand. “See you later.”
She watched him get in the truck, watched him drive away.
“Meeting, my ass.”
Gull opened the nose to maneuver the hamper out. “Sorry?”
“He’s got a date. With a woman.”
“Wow! That’s shocking news. I think my heart skipped a beat.”
“He doesn’t date.” Rowan continued to scowl as her father’s truck shrunk in the distance. “He’s all fumbling and flustered around women, if he’s attracted. Didn’t you see how flustered he was when he talked about his
appointment
? And who the hell is she?”
“It’s hard, but you’ve got to let the kids leave the nest someday.”
“Oh, kiss ass. His brain goes to mush when he’s around a certain type of woman, and he can be manipulated.”
Fascinated with her reaction, Gull leaned on his car. “It’s just a wild shot, but it could be he’s going to meet a woman he’s attracted to, and who has no intention of manipulating him. And they’ll have a drink and conversation.”
“What the hell do you know?” she challenged, and stomped off toward the barracks.
Amused, Gull hauled the basket back to Marg.
He’d no more than set it down on the counter when someone tapped knuckles on the outside door.
“Excuse me. Margaret Colby?”
Gull gave the man a quick summing-up—dark suit with a tightly knotted tie in dark, vivid pink, shiny shoes, hair the color of ink brushed back from a high forehead.
Marg stood where she was. “That’s right.”
“I’m Reverend Latterly.”
“I remember you from before, from Irene and Dolly.”
Catching her tone, and the fact she didn’t invite the man in, Gull decided to stick around.
“May I speak with you for a moment?”
“You can, but you’re wasting your breath and my time if you’re here to ask me to try to convince Michael Little Bear to let Dolly Brakeman back in this kitchen.”