Judith Bowen - A Home Of His Own

“So, are you working around here?” She held her breath.

“No, uh…” He poked his head up over the grass and looked around quickly, then lay back down. “I’m still a special guest of Her Majesty.”

“In jail?” Phoebe felt her skin tighten and her hopes crush.

“I left in the laundry truck,” he said, grinning at her again. She did not smile back. Scratch “grown-up,” she thought sadly. He was still acting like a kid running away from home.

“When was that?” She felt sick inside. She didn’t really want to know. And yet she desperately wanted to know. She wanted to know everything about him.

“Four days ago. I know they’re looking for me. That’s why I couldn’t stay out at Ma’s anymore. I suppose I’m ready to go back. But, hey! I wanted to see you while I had the chance.”

He was teasing her. No question of that. She started to get up. “Well, now you’ve seen me. I’ve got some berries to pick and I guess you can just head back to the slammer. Or are you waiting until they catch you?”

“I don’t know,” he said. He plucked a new stem of grass and stuck it in his mouth. “Haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“Why do you do this, Lewis? Don’t you realize it doesn’t do your mother and sister any good? Don’t you want to make something of yourself? Turn your life around? Be somebody?”

He frowned up at her. “For what?”

“For…” She felt angry, really angry. For me. “For them. For yourself. For…oh, I don’t know!” She plucked a stem of grass and stuck the succulent end in her mouth.

“Hey,” he said, reaching for her hand. She shook him off. “You care, don’t you? You care what happens to me?”

“No, I don’t,” she said, throwing down the blade of grass and preparing to get up again. “Most definitely not. I don’t care a damn about you or if you want to throw your life away. I don’t even know you. I just don’t think it’s fair for your sister and your mom, alone up there on the hill.”

He sat up with her, apparently no longer caring if they were seen. He grabbed her hand and held it this time. “That’s not true, Phoebe. It’s me you care about.”

She couldn’t meet his gaze. She glanced down. She felt his free hand caress her cheek, then his fingers under her chin, forcing it up. “Right?”

She nodded mutely, her eyes filling with tears. Damn him anyway!

“Oh, man, you are such a sweet kid…” His voice was hoarse. He bent and kissed her and, heaven help her, she kissed him back, with every ounce of pent-up feeling she’d had for him since that day so many years ago when she’d spied on him and he’d caught her and had tossed her the little wooden frog.

She reached to put her arms around him as his arms were around her, and they tumbled back down and he rolled and shifted his weight onto her. It felt good! She gave herself up to the sensation of Lewis stretched beside and above her and the warm grass and the bright sky and the soothing buzz of grasshoppers nearby. And kissing. Everything was so peaceful. Except this—what was happening between them.

His breath was hot on her face and neck as he kissed her all over, making appreciative little sounds, working his way down to the open neck of her sleeveless shirt. He kissed her breast through the cotton cloth and she gasped and squealed and felt him put his hand across her mouth to silence her. She bit his hand and then took his head in both hands and pulled him up so she could kiss him on the mouth again.

“Hey-hey-hey…” He laughed, a low, sexy, vibrant laugh. A laugh full of pleasure and boldness.

Phoebe couldn’t believe how quickly her feelings were aroused. Sexual feelings. She’d never ever felt this with any of the boys she’d necked with. Maybe kissing was a big deal, with the right person.

But Lewis Hardin was not the right person. He was an escaped convict. A two-bit rustler. A dropout. A small-town loser. A Peter Pan who refused to grow up. Not her type at all.

“Pheeeeb!”

Phoebe froze. Jilly! What if she discovered them like this? What if she told their parents about Lewis, hiding out here in Uncle Joe’s hay field?

“I’ve got to go,” Phoebe said, urgently, straightening her blouse and her shorts and brushing the grass off her bare legs. She fanned her blouse from her body, back and forth, hoping the telltale damp mark he’d made on her breast would dry quickly. “I— I hope everything works out for you and—”

He grasped her hand as she stood. “I’m not going anywhere. We need to talk. Meet me tonight behind the—” he glanced around “—chicken house. I’ll be the tall one wearing shoes.”

Despite herself, Phoebe giggled. “Okay.” What was she doing promising to meet him later? She must be nuts!

She crawled back over the fence and hurried to where she’d left her dishpan. She caught a last glimpse of Lewis nearly hidden from sight in the grass, arms behind his head, ankles crossed, smiling at her.

“Phoebe! Where are you?”

“Here!” she called back. She tackled the raspberries again, picking furiously to make up for the time she’d missed. Pesky younger sisters. Lousy raspberries. Stupid job at the library this summer.

She hated being poor. Her life was poor and boring. A scholarship was her ticket out. Maybe Lewis Hardin was a loser, but at least he had some excitement in his life. Some adventure.

PHOEBE HAD NOT SET a time for her meeting with Lewis, and in late June the sun didn’t set until nearly half-past ten. When it was finally dark enough to sneak out, it was quite late. Well, she wasn’t really sneaking out, she convinced herself. She’d been studying all evening and told her father, who was still up watching television, that she wanted to get some fresh air. Jilly was at a friend’s house for a sleepover, and Trevor was out. Since he’d acquired his driver’s license that spring, he’d been out most evenings. Her mother and the baby, little Renee, had already gone to bed.

Harry Longquist looked up and nodded sleepily. Phoebe adored her dad. She felt momentarily guilty—really, she was sneaking out, wasn’t she?—and walked over and dropped a kiss on her father’s cheek. “’Night, Pops.” She squeezed his shoulder.

“’Night, honey,” her father said with a smile before returning his attention to the baseball game. The Jays were taking on the Mariners in Seattle.

Well, she was getting some fresh air.

She made a trip through the kitchen to collect a few leftovers. It had occurred to her when they were having their raspberry shortcake that evening that Lewis must be hungry. She filled a paper bag with a banana and two apples and loaded a plate with potato salad, sliced ham, two buttered rolls and some bean salad. At the last minute, juggling her load, she snagged a quart of milk from the fridge and let herself out the back door.

She set the food down carefully on the outside step, with a hiss at Gerald, the dog, who’d begun to thump his tail happily against the porch boards in gratitude for her apparent offering. Gerald looked offended and sloped off the porch and around the corner of the house. Phoebe reached back inside and grabbed an old windbreaker that belonged to Ben, her older brother. Ben was away, working for Adam Garrick at his ranch west of Glory, as he did every summer. He’d never notice the jacket was gone.

There was a moon overhead, waning now, and a few clouds, so that sometimes she could see nearly as well as daylight and other times she had to be careful not to stumble.

Lewis was waiting for her behind the chicken shed, as he’d promised.

“Oh, baby!” he said when he saw the food she carried. “Man, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to settle for sucking eggs tonight.”