All I Want Is You (21 page)

And that was when the skies burst open. It came without warning or fanfare, no grand thunderclap or lightning strike—­it just rained. And it felt like heaven falling wetly to the ground.

Rain, during a summer like this one, was probably one of the few things that could steal his attention from Susan, but steal it it did. Charlie leaned back, turned his face skyward, and just laughed. Because this was no small drizzle—­it was pouring. It was the kind of rain that would normally send a person running for cover, but he just wanted to bask in it, soak it up, the same as you soak up the sun on the first warm day of spring.

“It's raining! It's really raining!”

He turned and saw Susan—­who hadn't run for cover either, and who smiled from ear to ear, equally as overcome with joy. He smiled back—it never occurred to him not to; it was the kind of moment that made you forget what's come before and just want to share the splendor of it. And caught up in the happiness and relief of it all, Charlie followed the next impulse that struck him—­he threw his arms around her, picked her up, and spun her around.

When he lowered her to the ground, both of them were laughing, soaked through—­and that's when the obvious hit him. Their clothes were drenched. The thin, sleeveless white blouse she wore with a pair of pedal pushers clung to her skin and nothing of her white lace bra was left to the imagination. The darkness of her nipples shone through the fabric—­and he went instantly hard at the sight.

And suddenly he wasn't smiling anymore—­nor was she. But their gazes stayed locked. The rain still fell in a deluge as his breath grew short and her chest began to heave slightly.
This is happening. This is really happening.
And he couldn't have held back if his life had depended on it.

What took place after that wasn't about any sort of decision, any thought about which moves to make, where to touch, how to kiss—­no, it was about pure animal instinct. His hands cupped her face and he kissed her wet lips for all he was worth. To feel her kiss him back, just as fervently, was like . . . the rain itself. No longer a thing yearned for, waited for—­it was finally here, consuming him. And he wanted to drown in it.

He knew with his whole soul that he'd never seen anything more beautiful than Susan in the rain, her dark hair clinging to her skin, her shirt soaked through, her face alight with passion. And maybe he never would again. She was that lovely, that real. Hiding nothing now. Letting him see her every response and emotion as it traveled across her face.

It was, again, pure instinct that led his hands to the front of her blouse, to the buttons. They came undone easily beneath his fingers, and as he pushed the blouse from her shoulders, she shoved his dingy white T-­shirt up over his stomach, his chest. Her touch left trails of fire on his skin, even in the rain.

And as the fever of his desire escalated, along with the hardness in his pants, he grabbed for the shoulder straps of her bra, yanking them down. And then he was reaching behind her, struggling with the hook, but soon the white lace fell away from her as easily as the blouse had, baring her full breasts before him.

He wanted to take in the sight of those perfect porcelain mounds of flesh—­remember what they looked like, lock the vision in his brain—­but he also wanted to kiss them, suckle her, and so he didn't hold back. He took her once more into his arms, drew one hardened nipple into his mouth, and knew paradise as she arched, moaned. This was surely the closest to heaven he'd ever been and he wanted to go all the way.

And so he reached for the waistband of her pedal pushers.

And then suffered possibly the most miserable shock of his life—­when she suddenly shoved him away.

He stood frozen for a second, getting his balance. And realizing the downpour had slowed to a heavy drizzle now.

“What's wrong?” he asked, lifting his gaze to hers.

She looked startled by the question. “This!” she said. “Everything!”

And he understood—­but he just didn't want to let it stop them. “It doesn't have to matter,” he said. Even though, in fact, he
knew
it mattered—­he just didn't want to let himself believe that right now. Right now he just
wanted
her, everything else be damned.

“I have to go back into that house tonight,” she reminded him. “I have to keep on with this life I'm living. I can't just run away from it afterward.”

And he understood all that, too. But he still didn't want to think about it. He didn't want reasons to stop. And his frustration made him angry. “This is impossible! You shouldn't come out here if you don't want this, want
me
.”

He regretted his tone the second he saw her wounded expression. “Of course I want you, Charlie—­I just can't have you. Not really.”

“Then . . . hell, maybe we should just keep our distance from each other. Maybe you shouldn't come back out here.” More words spoken in anger and frustration. And yet he didn't take them back. He meant them. Because he couldn't be in this halfway. Either this would happen or it wouldn't, but he couldn't bear to play around with it, flirt with it, let it tease him the same way the thunder had been.

She looked crestfallen as she snatched up her bra, blouse—­turning her back and rushing to put them on. And he shut his eyes, feeling her pain—­God, he'd made her ashamed. He hadn't wanted that. He wasn't sure
what
he'd wanted . . . except just some easy answer, some way to make this be okay.

That was when she took off running toward the house in the still falling rain.

“Susan!” he called after her.

But she didn't stop. And he didn't chase. He didn't want to make this any worse. And the fact was, she belonged to another man.

“I'm sorry!” he called behind her. She still didn't look back. And he guessed he couldn't blame her.

That night he went into town with his parents—­his father had had a good day and felt up to treating Charlie and his mother to dinner out at the diner on Main. The streets of Destiny were wet and ­people were upbeat and smiling. He'd never seen rain make ­people so happy.

Only
he
wasn't. He didn't know
how
to feel. Angry. Sad. Desperate. Heartbroken. All he knew was that he was pretty damn far from happy.

“Might be able to start comin' back over to the barn with you next week, son,” his father said over slices of fresh cherry pie at the diner.

“Good, I could use the help,” he said—­and then his father told him how proud he was of him for handling so much on his own these last weeks.
Would he be so proud if he knew I'd taken Mr. King's wife's top off today in the rain?

When he drove the old farm truck up to the barn on the King place the following morning, the sun was shining but the air was softer and more inviting than it had been for a while. He glanced at the house as he drove past, wondering what Susan was doing right now. How was she feeling after yesterday? Did her loins ache the way his did? Was her heart hurting the same as his? Had she had to have sex with King last night, right after Charlie had touched her and kissed her? Had he made her feel even more ashamed?

Slamming the truck's door, he walked toward the barn—­surprised as hell when Susan stepped out from it looking as perky and fresh as the day itself, wearing a dress the color of pink lemonade. He didn't think he'd ever been so glad to see anybody in his whole life.

“I'm sorry about yesterday,” he told her quickly. “About the way I acted.”

But she didn't even respond to that, instead racing ahead to say, “I done some thinkin' last night.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

And she said, “Run away with me, Charlie.”

And his heart began to beat harder, faster. He sure as hell hadn't seen this coming. He'd never even thought about it before. “Huh?”

“We can run away,” she said. “Just the two of us. We can be happy, be together.”

Charlie blinked, still caught off guard. “But what about your family? About King takin' care of 'em. With his money and all.”

But she shook her head, vehemently, and he could see she'd really thought about this. “God will provide for them. Better than I can.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I can't keep livin' like this. I thought I could because I thought I had to—­I thought there was no other choice in the world for me. But there is. I lay in bed nights thinkin' of you and me, of how things could be—­and then I suddenly just thought, why can't that be real? Why can't we
make
it real? You've made me see that there's more, Charlie. You've made me
want
more.”

When he said nothing, trying to simply digest the idea, she said, “Unless it's just sex. Unless you don't care for me the way I care for you. If that's how it is, I understand. And I won't ask more of you. But I care for you, Charlie. I yearn for you.”

“It's not just sex,” he said quickly, her words moving all through him. “I've never felt anything like this. I know we don't know each other real well, and yet . . . it's like we do.”

Her eyes went wide and beautiful. “Yes! I know! I feel that way, too!”

And he started toward her, instinctually—­but then he stopped. Remembering yesterday. Remembering she had to go back into that house tonight.

“Will you take me away from here, Charlie?” she asked, her eyes fraught with desperation beneath a blue Destiny sky. “Will you take me someplace where we can do what we want? Where we can be happy? Without anybody else to answer to but each other?”

“Yes,” he said. Just that.

And that seemed to be enough. Just the promise. Because now it was
her
coming toward
him
. Now it was her arms sliding around his neck; it was her pressing her curves up against the straighter lines of his body. “You make me want everything,” she whispered in his ear. “And you make me think I can actually have it.”

And when Charlie kissed her,
he
thought they could have it, too.

But when a moment later Susan took his hand and led him inside the barn to a soft pile of work tarpaulins lying there, he forgot about thinking altogether. Kissing, they sank to their knees, and then she was on her back and his hand was beneath her dress. And soon her legs were wrapped around his hips and they were making love.

“Donald is taking his mother to church on Sunday,” Susan said afterward as they lay in each other's arms. “I'll pretend to be sick and stay home. We can leave then.”

Charlie thought through it and agreed that would be enough time—­three days from now—­to make plans. They could take his family's farm truck. He'd think of a place to head to between now and then. He could empty his small savings account at the Bank of Destiny Saturday afternoon and hopefully word from the bank wouldn't spread before he took off on Sunday. And it wouldn't be forever, they decided. He could call his parents, let them know he was okay. And she would call her own when the time felt right.

“We're going to be so happy, Charlie,” she said, smiling up at him. “So, so happy. I can feel it.”

C
HRISTY
walked in the front door of the Hungry Fisherman to find the white cat, Dinah, suddenly swirling around her ankles again. The place was empty at the moment, thank goodness, and Polly came running from behind the counter to shoo the cat away. “You, out,” she said, holding the door open and shoving the cat with her shoe. Christy couldn't help feeling a little jarred on the cat's behalf.

“Sorry,” Polly said. “I know it's my own fault. I feed her at the back door and expect her to know she can't come in the front. But I can't seem to bring myself to just quit takin' care of her completely.”

Christy smiled. “She's lucky to have you.”

But Polly just shrugged. “Still need to find her a home. Cat hair in the buffet might be enough to kill what's left of our business. And you can bet Abner's none too happy about this, either.”

Christy took a seat at what had become her usual booth and ordered a piece of key lime pie. She knew she and Jack had planned to have a last dinner here tonight, but like the rest of today's plans with him, that was off. So she told Polly, “We're leaving in the morning, so I just thought I'd stop and say goodbye.”

“Well, I'm real sorry to hear that,” Polly said, then tilted her head. “And it's none of my business, but you don't seem like your usual perky self today, honey. Sad to be endin' your vacation?”

She nodded. “Something like that.”

Polly put her hands on her hips and narrowed her gaze. “Or . . . is it man trouble?”

Christy sat up a little straighter, her fork paused in midair. “Why do you ask?” Did it show?

“Well . . . maybe I overheard part of your conversation about that hunky Jack when you were in here with that pretty dark-­haired girl a while back,” she confessed. “Seemed like there were ups and downs there.”

Christy thought it over for a few seconds and decided there was no reason not to come clean. “Well, it's completely down now, and there won't be any more ups.”

Polly looked disappointed as she took a seat on the cracked vinyl across from Christy. “He did somethin' that bad?”

Christy gave another nod. Then said, “Is it wrong to expect someone to treat you the same way you'd treat them? With things like . . . honesty?”

“No ma'am,” Polly said. “Sure isn't. But I'll admit I'm surprised. Jack didn't seem like the sort to lie.”

“Don't I know it,” Christy said on a sigh. “That's why it caught me off guard. And I don't think he hurt me intentionally. He's been through some things that made him want to be . . . less than open. And he was apologetic. But we all have our troubles, right? That doesn't mean it's okay to treat ­people poorly.”