Devil's Kiss (32 page)

“This county road is closed temporarily,” a highway department worker told them.

“The dam at Cottonwood Creek is leaking,” a game and fishery man told them. “Sorry, but you can't get through.”

“Too bad,” a cowboy said, his eyes drifting down to Jane Ann's crotch, outlined through her jeans. He licked his lips. He stopped his tongue-play when his eyes lifted to meet Sam's cold stare. “This range is closed to traffic.”

Why?” Jane Ann challenged.

“Just carry your little ass on, lady!”

Sam's was the only civilian vehicle on any road they drove.

As they drove, Sam could sense Jane Ann was on the ragged side of hysteria. “Settle down,” he told her. “Just accept the facts and prepare yourself for the fight ahead of us.”

“I am frightened,” she admitted. “It was, I don't know—kind of a game, I guess, up to now. Now I'm really scared.”

“We're going to make it, Janey. You have to believe that.”

I do believe it, when I'm with you.” When he did not reply, she said, “You're the first minister I've ever seen with a tattoo. Why a rose, Sam?”

He chuckled. “I was sixteen years old and drunk. I'd just run away from a foster home. Made it to California and was working part-time jobs in L.A. I passed a tattoo shop one night, saw a picture of this in the window, liked it, and went in.”

She touched the red rose on his thick forearm, her fingers cool on his skin. She rubbed the outline of the petals. “Sam?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Michelle is gone.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“Why don't you stop the truck, Sam? Right up there by that grove of trees.”

He slowed, then braked, pulling off the dirt road, knowing it was wrong, knowing what was coming, but unable to help himself. Truthfully, he did not want to help himself, he admitted. He cut the engine and they sat for a time in silence.

“There is a little creek over there,” she pointed across a small field to a clump of trees. “I used to play there as a child. It's very lovely, very peaceful.”

Jane Ann—”

“All that junk in the back, Sam—do you have a blanket back there?”

“Jane Ann—”

Never mind. I'll see for myself.” She got out of the cab and rummaged around the gear until she found a blanket. She tossed it in the cab, beside him.

Sam looked at the blanket, a woeful look in his eyes. “Jane Ann, I—”

“Now, you listen to me, Sam Balon.” She stood outside the truck, her eyes locked with his. “I'm tired of dillydallying around this. I don't know how much time we have, so I'm going to have to take the lead in this thing. I love you, Sam. There! I've said it. I—Love—You,” she carefully enunciated each word. “And I know, beyond any doubt, that you love me.” She walked around the truck and opened the door to the driver's side.
So get the blanket and come on.”

There was an aching in his groin, and his heart was pounding like a kid on his first date, but he got the blanket and followed her. He was not so love-struck that he forgot his .45, however, or extra clips.

As they walked across the small field, Sam kept reminding himself: You're a minister, Sam. This is wrong!

But he kept walking.

They walked in silence to the creek and the shade of the trees.

It was peaceful, he thought, as Jane Ann took the blanket from him, tugging it away from his grasp. “Sam! Turn loose!”

She spread the blanket on the cool earth beside the tiny creek. She bent over, smoothing out the blanket, and her jeans stretched tight across her rump.

Sam felt as though there was a walnut lodged in his throat. Sweat beaded his forehead. He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, his fists balled hard.

“Open your eyes, Sam,” Jane Ann said. “For heaven's sake! I'm not going to rape you.” She giggled. “However, that is a thought.”

She sat down on the blanket, drawing her knees up under her chin, arms locked around her shins. “Sit down, Sam. Make yourself comfortable. We're going to be here for a while.”

The minister mumbled something under his breath. He felt as though he were fourteen again, looking for the first time at a naked woman. He remembered that moment very well. An older woman—all of eighteen, and the sister of a friend—had asked Sam if he'd like to take a walk in the woods. Sam's life had never been the same after that hour in the bushes with—what was her name? He couldn't remember.

Standing by the creek, looking down at Jane Ann, Sam felt like a fool. He also felt like gathering her up in his arms and climbing a tree with her—among other things. He wondered what his father would have done in this situation?

“My boy,” his father had told him, just a few months before his death, “the flesh is very weak. Remember that.”

“What does that mean?” Sam asked.

“It means, Sam, keep it in your pants if at all possible. You're a big, good-looking boy, and you're going to be a handsome man. I've seen the way you look at girls,” he smiled. “And the way the girls look at you.” He sighed. “I suppose you come by it naturally, though. I was not exactly pure at heart as a young man.”

Two weeks later, Sam was caught in the back seat of his father's car with a cheerleader—an elder's daughter. And they were not studying the Bible lesson for Sunday School. The elder left Sam's father's church in a huff, the daughter was sent away to school, and Sam got a licking he still remembered.

Smiling in remembrance, Sam sat down on the blanket beside Jane Ann; a respectful distance from her. She laughed at him. It was the first time he'd heard her laugh in days.

“Sam?” she touched his arm. “There is no guarantee we'll come out of this alive, is there?”

“No,” he said gently, thinking: You might, but I won't.

“Then, why don't they just come on and do whatever it is they plan to do?”

“The time is not right, Janey. Besides, it's a game to them.”

She was silent for a time, staring at the tiny creek in front of them. A bird sang in the tree above them. Not a bird indigenous to this area, but neither of them noticed.

“Do you love me, Sam?”

“Yes,” he spoke softly, and felt a great weight lifted from him. His heart was light. “Yes, I do. I think I have for a long time.”

He thought of Father Dubois's statement, that they must produce a son. Again, he wondered why Dubois had said it.

Jane Ann lay back on the blanket. Sam forced himself to look straight ahead, knowing that if he looked at her, all his principles, all his morals, and his hard put-upon noble thoughts were going to go flying away.

Peripheral vision saw her unbuttoning her shirt. Damn! he swore. Forgive me, Lord.

“Sam?” she whispered.

“It's not right, Janey.” His eyes were fixed straight ahead. I should get up and walk away, he told himself. But he remained on the blanket.

“It isn't wrong, either, Sam.”

“How can you say that?” he swung his head and knew he'd made a big mistake.

She lay on the blanket, her shirt unbuttoned to the waist, the shirttails pulled out. She wore no bra.

Oh, Lord! Sam silently groaned, his heart thumping, his throat dry, and his groin aching.

The “Song of Solomon” rushed into his head.
The two breasts are like two young roses that are twins, which feed among the lilies.

“I can say it because it's true, Sam. Your marriage to Michelle was unHoly, and you know that, now. She's gone—really, she never was. And we might be all out of time.” She tugged at his arm and he slipped down beside her.

Forgive me, Lord, he silently spoke to Him.

“I love you, Sam,” she whispered, her lips wet. “And I want you.” She pulled his head to her breast, and his mouth found the nipple, his big hand resting on her bare stomach.

Her hand fumbled with his belt buckle as his mouth found hers.
Take off your gun belt, Sam,” she said. “I'm really not that dangerous.”