LaVyrle Spencer - Spring Fancy

"Oh, almost forgot them." She squinted an eye at the sun while peering up at him. "But why a whole shed full?"

"Because I'll have used up a lot of Chanel No. 5, powdering you every night for fifty years."

"Every night?"

"Every night."

"But, Joseph, you'll be seventy years old!"

He grinned luridly. "Imagine how good I'll be at it by then." He leaned down and bit her nose.

"We are talking about powdering, aren't we?"

"That, too."

"Quit talking dirty, old man, and tell me what else there'll be."

"Oh, the cribs and high chairs from when our kids were babies."

She jammed her hands into her hip pockets and confronted him belligerently. "Joseph, we are not selling our children's furniture, so just put the idea out of your head!"

"But why, my little flower?"

She sauntered on saucily. "Because we have our grandchildren coming to visit, silly. We'll have to leave the crib set up for them."

"Oh, of course, you're right, Killer. But can I sell that set of china with your nickname on it?"

"What set of china? It's only one cup."

"Well, I'm growing tired of the queer looks people give me when they see it sitting on the kitchen cabinet beside our liniment and Geritol. I always wonder if they think it belongs to me!"

They eyed each other, snickered, then snorted, then broke into gales of laughter while he tossed both arms around her and held her loosely, rocking back and forth at the sheer joy of enjoyment. Then he tugged her hand and sat down on one of the honorable-looking old kitchen chairs. "Come here." He pulled her down onto the chair next to his. Its seat was toasty warm from the sun beating down on it all afternoon. Around the honeysuckle hedge before them, bees buzzed and gathered pollen. Down the yard the auctioneer still called, his voice lifting to them faintly through the mellow butter yellow afternoon.

Joseph still held Winn's hand, sitting beside her on the heated wooden chair with an ankle draped casually across a knee.

"What?" she asked, mystified by his sudden shift of mood.

His rich brown eyes were partially hidden behind half-closed lids, their long lashes creating needlelike shadows upon his cheeks as he smiled at her and brushed a thumb lightly over the back of her hand.

"I just want to sit here a while and soak it in. And look at you."

And that's what they did… for a full thirty minutes. They sat in the sun on hard rung-backed chairs, facing a row of fragrant bushes, and looked at each other. Holding hands. Rubbing thumbs. Remembering. Wishing.

When did I last study any person this well, Winn thought. When did I feel this rapport with another? When did it feel this right, just sharing the same sun with someone? What a stunning and good thing to do. How wise of Joseph to know the value of minutes like these.

She partook to her heart's content.

I love this man's face, hair, form. I love his gaiety and earthiness, his lack of artifice. I love the sound of his laughter, the turn of his brow, the line of his jaw. I love the common ground we find . The time I spend with him has a quality none other holds for me. We relate, Joseph and I. With him would life be this good, always?

Only Joseph's unsmiling lips moved as he spoke. "You feel it, don't you?"

"Yes." There was no need to clarify.

"We could have it, you and I, I think."

"I think so, too, Joseph."

"But we made a pact, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did."

So he removed his eyes from her precious face and-still holding her hand-bent forward to rest his elbows on his knees. She had promised no more tears. She lifted her face to the sun, hoping it might sip away the faint dampness that had gathered on her lashes. Joseph's callused thumb rubbed her knuckles, and she wanted to sit like this with him forever, wishing, until maybe the auctioneer might come by and ask, "What am I bid for this man, this Joseph Duggan."

And Winn would say, "All that I have." And it would be that simple.

"It's a long drive home," he said quietly. "Time we start back."

She didn't lie with her head in his lap on their return trip, and he didn't claim to be sleepy. She sat most of the time close against his shoulder, her bare heels hooked over the edge of the seat, and her wrists looped around her ankles.

The ride was quiet. And long. And introspective. It screamed with unsaid things. Supper at a roadside restaurant was a failure, for neither was hungry, though they both ordered, then picked desultorily.

It was 11:00 P.M.when they pulled up in Winn's driveway. Joseph killed the engine, but neither of them moved. He stared at her front door.

At last he asked, "Can I come in?"

"No, not tonight."

He didn't ask why. He knew. Sighing, he slumped low in the seat and began kneading the bridge of his nose with his eyes shut.

"Joseph… I… thank you for-"

"Dammit!" he growled angrily, interrupting, turning his face away from her, staring out the side window while holding his lower lip with thumb and forefinger.

She paused uncertainly, reached for the door handle, but at its first click his hand lashed out and grabbed her arm. "What are you going to do?"

Her teary eyes met his across the broad seat. "Think… long and hard."

"And?"

"And I need time, Joseph. Promise me you won't call or try to see me until I contact you."

"Sit? You expect me to sit doing nothing while you go back to him and make wedding plans?"

"Joseph, don't! You promised!"

"Yeah, well that's easier said than done."

"Please don't ruin the end of a perfectly wonderful day."

"It isn't over yet. I said I want to come in."

"Joseph, this isn't-"

"All right, then!" he snarled. "I won't come in!" In a flash he was across the seat, grabbing her roughly into his arms. "There's plenty of room to do what we both want right here." His lips slammed onto hers, but halfway through the kiss she was gripping him violently and pulling him heavily against her breasts. She was both appalled and aroused by his anger, for she'd felt the wild frustration mounting within her body, just as he had, all the way home. It erupted now in a spate of pure animalism for both Winn and Joseph. Instead of fighting, she succumbed, clinging to his shoulders only momentarily before squirming down accommodatingly while he arranged his limbs upon hers with little gentleness or patience. His mouth was as hard as his arousal as he ground them simultaneously against her, gnashing her flesh with his lips and hips in an effort to quell the seething within. The punishing kiss lasted less than a minute before Joseph reared back, breath heaving harshly, and began jerking his shirt open. He yanked it out of his waistband while kneeling above her, one leg on the floor, the other angled across her body. Their eyes pierced, shameless in their intent while she, too, roughly unsnapped and unzipped her jeans, then together they stripped them down her right leg only, for they were too greedy to remove them entirely.

His clothing hadn't cleared his ankles before he threw his body down on hers. As he fell, he caught her behind a knee and forced the leg wide. Her foot caught the window ledge, and she used it for leverage, thrusting up to greet and welcome him, fully aroused now, both.

And so they sought restitution, he driving deep, she surging up to meet his oncoming force with an elemental need to settle the conflict between them that both knew could not be settled this way.

But it felt good. Fruitless as it was, it relieved. They pummeled each other, fingers gripping hips and buttocks almost painfully as he growled and she sobbed, and in the end, together, they cried out. An anguished, replete, wonderful, pitiable wail of gratification.