Distant Obsession (2 page)

The scream centered from the depths of her diaphragm and bounced off the walls. She fell to her knees and lost the wine she’d just consumed. Spent, she staggered back to the kitchen, picked up the phone, and dialed 911.

“State your emergency.”

One

The shutter snapped off three consecutive frames, capturing the subject in vivid detail; shades, black skintight trunks, no shirt, no protective lotion to degrade his swimmer’s tan. The body, a perfect sculpture like that of Michelangelo’s David, captured her artist’s imagination and the desire to put on canvas the magnificence of man.

 Lilah Johnson stepped away from her Cannon EOS 7D digital camera and stared along Bears Creek to the mouth entering the main leg of Watauga Lake. The scenic vistas of Lunar Cove from the wall of glass fed her muse the imagery that bled onto each canvas. The painted morning skies, the moon beams that flickered and marched toward the dam each night, and the blanket of colored foliage touched a chord deep within. With nature’s stimulus to her mind’s eye, the inheritance from her mother became a haven, one that placed her on the fringes of society, but kept her safe from the paparazzi.

The strong scent of oil and turpentine saturated her small studio. On an easel facing the window, her newest painting sat half done. She’d captured the rich glowing sunset in expressive detail. The composition lacked a focal point, a fault she planned to rectify after this evening’s photo session. She put her eye to the camera’s viewer and sighted on the private cove.

To her left at the far end of the lake, a vintage sailboat trimmed in teak bobbed against its moorings. Its captain, a stranger with admittedly stunning male features escaped from the ship’s cabin and scratched his left buttocks, unaware he was the center of someone’s attention. She repositioned the camera with its tripod and waited. Finally, the craft departed, angled right, and motored forty yards from her porch.

No, not yet.

The day sailer advanced toward her lookout post, proudly displaying its graceful lines. With the mainsail still furled, she had a clear view of the man at the helm, his bronzed skin gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat.

Lilah adjusted her telescopic lenses and snapped two shots of his sculpted chest. He reached for a dark blue pullover shirt. She grunted, wishing the cool autumn breeze hadn’t forced him to don the covering. Powerful muscles strained with each rotation of the wench as the main lifted with the halyard. Clambering onto the bow, he tugged on the jib halyard, and raised the second sail. He scurried for the tiller and brought the boat off wind. The sail billowed, filling with air, and the boat gently leaned to port. After setting course, he settled into place alongside the tiller, looking for all the world like a man with no worries.

The ripples dancing along the reflective surface of the cove spread willingly and created a V-shaped wake that licked the tight curves of the vessel’s belly. She focused the lens, spotting the name of the boat. The
Jenny May.
A woman’s name. A girlfriend perhaps?
His wife?
A spurt of jealousy attacked so swiftly, she inhaled a sharp breath.

Why on earth would I be jealous of a complete stranger?

 
She’d never had such a reaction before while spying on the sailor, until now.
Lilah had been painting this particular man since spotting him three weeks ago. And in that time, her brushes had lovingly captured his form on one painting after another. In her creative mind, the man and boat had become one, an extension of the need she felt within.

Isolated for the past year with nothing but the pigments encased in wrinkled tubes and the drudgery of work at the library to keep her company, she’d become socially barren; the nearest neighbor half a mile away. The voice in her conscious thoughts declared her self-entombment a positive achievement. Indeed, maintaining a low profile allowed Lilah to horde her treasured privacy. Yet in that secret garden, the guardian of her spirit whispered,
there’s more out there; the possibility of love, passion, and the pleasure only a man’s touch can bring
.

She blinked twice and drove the distant echo back inside the fortress. Until she was ready again, it was better to maintain distance, an obsession with a complete stranger from far. Lonely – yes, but safe.

With that last thought, she turned her attention once more to her current fascination.

The hull skimmed the liquid body beneath its weight. After a sharp starboard tack, he vanished behind the distant foliage of Pelican Point, continuing on his journey down the main branch of the lake.

She inserted the memory card from her camera into the computer and projected the recent replicas of him and his sweetheart, the
Jenny May
, against the back wall. She retrieved her palette, several brushes, took a deep breath, and returned to the only source of relief from her chaotically messy world.

Two

A distant memory rolled back, carrying smells, sights, and sounds from his favorite Saturday event; the monthly trip to Mary’s Bakery. Through chores around the thirty-acre dairy farm, whatever pittance earned could be used at his discretion, one of the few choices he was permitted beneath the umbrella of a demanding father, a bullying brother, and a mother that clearly demonstrated her preference for the first born of the family.

Seven miles from his destination at the fairgrounds southwest of Allston, Reece Edwards pulled into the graveled lot next to the refurbished caboose, with the giant half-eaten donut piercing the roof.

Still here, after all these years.

The original owner had to be long gone. Hell, she was sixty plus when he was just a kid. Place definitely needed some TLC, a little touch up here and there to cover the peeling chips of rich burgundy color; yet a stream of locals still revolved through the double doors.

Reece departed his car, stepped forward, and paused a few feet from the entry. He inhaled the scent of fresh dough, of coffee, toasting sesame seeds, and homemade pie. His stomach took note and demanded attention.

“All right. I’m going to feed ya. Just wait a…”

Wow.

A woman clad in tight blue jeans, some flora red silky blouse, and bright pink sneakers swept past and busted through the door ahead of him. If she’d offered the chance, he’d gladly open the door, if just for the opportunity to inhale that intoxicating fragrance for one second more. Reece caught the door behind her, and golden brown hair fell casually over the angel’s shoulder as if to hide a clandestine glance across her left wing in his direction.

Haunting green eyes sparkled behind thick eyelashes before she averted her gaze.

Shy?

Or was it a spark of fear.
She hurried inside before he could offer a clever line to extend the visual communication further and broaden the obvious shared interest to the next level.

 Still, from what he saw, she exhibited an attractive flair, if somewhat elusive. The hint of uncertainty and loneliness in those haunting green eyes touched a chord deep inside. He smiled. Of course that tantalizing butt pressed so snuggly into those tight-formed pants had perked his imagination as well.

Mighty lucky blue jeans.

He drew a deep breath, licked his lips as a few primal male images danced through his libido, then continued inside. After several minutes, he acquired his hot apple fritter, jumbo decaf, and advanced toward the rear of the narrow but long café style establishment. He stepped along six-candy cane, red cushioned bar stools down the counter until locating an empty seat. The moment he slid one leg beneath the forest green Formica countertop, a soft feminine touch graced his arm.

“Well I’ll be. Sticks Edwards, is that you?”

He swirled in position to an adorable pudgy faced, red headed woman roughly thirty pounds overweight. “Sorry, but have we met?”

She chuckled in a gravelly bass voice atypical for a female then rose from her booth, pinched Reece vigorously on both cheeks, as if she were his mother, and engulfed him in a powerful hug. “I wouldn’t think it possible, but you’re even more handsome than the last time we were together twenty years ago.”

Mama bear!

“Well I’ll be damn. Tami Sue. It has been a long time.” His first dip in the pool of feminine charm and pleasure had always retained a unique spot in his vault of treasured memories. Even as a teenager, she’d been an armful, but the years had added to her physical presence. Still, that little girl smile and flowery sweet scent had remained.

Tami grabbed his arm, pulled Reece across the room, and pressed him into the adjacent seat. “Where the hell has that gorgeous face and mouth-watering butt of yours been for the last two decades. I don’t see a ring. Are you divorced? Couldn’t have stayed single all this time with that body. Lord do I remember that body. Our last time together was senior prom, and to think, I let you go. Are there…”

He held up one hand and smiled. “Geez, you’re still a verbal hot rod, Mama Bear. I could never keep up with you.”

“Sorry. Go ahead. You can talk now.”

He chuckled and took his turn. “Let me see. No, I’m not married, but I was, she left me six years ago.”

“What a stupid bitch.”

You always had a sailor’s tongue. Part of your appeal.

“No argument from me.”

“Mind if I ask why? Can’t be your skill in the sack. I’ll vouch for… Oh, sorry. There I go again.”

God love ya, Tami Sue. You always made me feel good about myself. How could I have forgotten how special you are?

“My Ex had higher aspirations at the time, plus I was overseas a lot.”

“Overseas?”

“Yeah. I was in the Navy, a pilot, aboard the CVN Nimitz.”

Her eyes widened. “Wow, I’m impressed. Little skinny Sticks Edwards, from right here in small town Allston; a fighter pilot. What was it, an F14 Tomcat? No, an F18 Hornet, that’s it, isn’t it?”

He grinned and recalled her brother’s room stuffed with model aircraft and framed photographs of modern and vintage planes. “Sorry, Mama Bear. I only flew ASW missions in an S-3 Viking before they were decommissioned in 99.”

“ASW. What’s that?”

“Anti-Submarine Warfare. Nothing as glamorous as the fighter jocks. Still, landing on a postage stamp size deck tossing up and down in the ocean at night gets pretty hairy.”

“Damn, Sticks. I’m impressed. Ever do any night ops in pitch black?”

Reece straightened his back with an air of pride. “Yes…I have.”

“Son of a bitch.” Tami propped her chipmunk cheeks on both palms. “I’m not surprised.”

“What’d ya mean?”

“You always were my hero.” With an expression of clear residual adornment, she patted his cheek. “True blue to the core. Not a day went by you didn’t make me feel special just holding my hand. All the other guys were assholes to me, but you, the white knight to my rescue, every time.”

He patted her hand tenderly. “Feeling was always mutual, Tami Sue.”

“I just don’t get it. How could any woman leave you?”

He shrugged. “She wanted more.”

“More than what? She had it all, what the hell was she looking for?”

Reece paused long enough to wash down a mouth full of dough with a large swig of java. “Got washed out as a Lt. Commander. They call it getting passed over. Then when I returned to the states, she wanted the glamour of a commercial pilot’s wife, one that flew the prestigious big birds. Too much competition for those limited slots so I took a job flying regional hoppers out of the tri city area.”