Faded Cotton (Erotic Romance) (14 page)

Realizing the position they were in, and
suddenly conscious of her minimal clothing, Laurel gently backed
away, smiling shyly at him. She searched his eyes, not knowing if
she’d take what she found. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, she
bolted for the privacy of the bathroom.

__________________________

Joining the crew outside later, Laurel was
met with smiles of people telling her they were glad to help.
Derrick was directing the operation, making sure the hay was dry
enough, the bales tight and stored in the right place.

“Derrick, what about Gerry’s contract? How am
I going to pay for this?” She was calm, feeling somehow that his
answers would put her fears to rest.

“I’ve got it covered.” He smiled at her and
sipped cold lemonade.

“How?” She pried.

“Can’t you let anyone take care of you?”
Derrick shook his head in disbelief. “Gerry’s contract is full of
holes. He had already called off his crew long before we got home
last night. Probably had something to do with a bloody nose and
battered ego.” He snickered.

“Anyway, I spoke with an attorney friend of
my father’s. He called Smythe and threatened him with breach of
contract, among other things. Gerry Smythe will not be bothering
you again Laurel. And this...,” he drew a line between fields with
his long arm outstretched; “...this is at no charge.” Squinting at
the west horizon, he went on to let her know the intention was to
have it all up before the next evening.

Laurel’s mind spiraled.
Was this real?
It had been a long time since things had seemed under control.
Amazed at the generosity of the crew, she mentally scrambled to
find a way to repay them.

“We have work to do,” she said, taking off
for the house under a full head of steam. Not wanting to interrupt
a woman on a mission, he followed, enjoying her fresh
enthusiasm.

“Derrick, we need to get the grill out and
get the pool up and running. Would you mind?” She asked finger
tapping her lips in thought. She stared at the pool cover, “It’s
time to use that thing again. It will only take about twenty-four
hours if we do it now. The chemicals and slide are in the storage
shed, the grill too. There is one thing I do know how to do and
that’s throwing one hell of a party.” It was the happiest he had
seen her.

“I’ve got this.” He winked at her and they
scattered, diving into preparations.

A couple of women had come to the house to
slip into the bathroom off the deck. “Hi, you must be Laurel?” The
woman shook Laurel’s hand. They struck up a conversation that
quickly shifted to the party Laurel was planning. The women
gathered in the house to plan.

__________________________

About seven the next evening the last square
bale went up an elevator and into the big red barn. The last round
bale was on its way to the hay shed. Hot and a little worn,
satisfied smiles and high fives were exchanged as the crew gathered
around an empty flatbed trailer.

Laurel boosted herself up the side, jumped up
and asked for their attention. “I’ve never seen this kind of
generosity and kindness. Please know that you have paid it forward
in a big way.” The scene amazed her and she vowed to find a way to
help each one of them in return. There were four Amish teenagers,
friends from the bar, a retired professor, neighbors, and college
Ag students from every corner of the globe.

“I can’t thank you enough, but I can throw
one hell of a party!” Her announcement was met with hearty applause
and war hoops. The crowd hooped and hollered all the way to the
house. The smell of barbeque had everyone’s attention; the hickory
smoke had been drifting down the hill for the last hour. As they
rounded the side of the house, Laurel glanced at the microphones
and cords on the wooden deck of one of the hay trailers.

Taking turns, the crew cleaned up. Laughter
and splashes came from the pool. Plates and silverware filled
waiting hands. Fresh lemonade glasses clinking accompanied the
clank of ice-cold beers being pulled from coolers.

Laurel had her head down working in the
kitchen when she noticed the hubbub being stilled. She looked out
to see a man with commanding presence standing in the middle of the
deck.

Derrick.

He was hard to miss with no shirt on, the
muscles on his chest twitched, his biceps flexed as he drew his
hands together to hold his cap below the belt of his dusty jeans.
Laurel’s jaw fell slack as silence fell and she stood, serving
spoon still in her hand.

Derrick didn’t know quite what possessed him,
but it seemed like the right thing to do. His words captured the
attention of the entire crowd. He thanked everyone for their hard
work and friendship. He thanked God for new friends, for help in a
tight spot and a good hay crop.

“—And Lord, thank you for Laurel. Thank you
for bringing this amazing woman into my life.” He looked through
the glass as he started the dinner blessing.

“Bless this bounty, Lord...,” he continued as
he watched her. A sweet smile spread across her face to match his.
Satisfied, he turned his head back and closed his eyes, finishing
the prayer. Applause and amen followed. Derrick figured cicadas
couldn’t have started up their song any faster; the party was back
in full swing in a moment.

Derrick looked through the glass once more to
find her standing there as the motion continued around her. She was
still frozen, staring at him. He grinned and put a finger under his
jaw, lifting it to pull his own mouth shut, silently telling her
she should quit gawking. She bent her head to her chest, blushing,
and pushed herself back into action, laughing at his gesture.

The sun faded and the night breeze enticed
the shadows to dance. A glow filled the darkness from party lights
strung across the posts of the deck. Chinese lanterns waved their
soft light from branches of a large sugar maple that graced the
lawn.

String lights dangled between boards stuck in
stake pockets on the trailer. A small drum set had appeared in the
middle of the impromptu stage, along with monitors and speakers.
Guitars, a fiddle, and a keyboard slid from back seats and trunks.
Soon, the sweet, warm sounds of modern bluegrass and country
drifted into the air. A couple of teenagers were still in the pool
and pulled up the ladder to dry off.

Faded dishtowels and well worn aprons hung
over the deck railing, drying in the breeze. The kitchen clanking
and conversation quieted. Seats began to fill as people filtered
out to find a comfortable spot on the deck or in lawn chairs.

Laurel’s friend Darra ushered her out to the
deck and stuck a cold beer in her hand. “Sit down and enjoy
yourself.” She pulled the tie on Laurel’s apron to remove it.
“You’ve worked as hard as anyone else here.”

Settling into a spot on the deck, Laurel
relaxed. It was fun to see the crowd laugh and dance, singing at
the top of their lungs to familiar songs, new and old.

She slipped into a place of true happiness.
One where no worries were allowed, no questions came to be
answered, a place where only pure enjoyment, laughter, smiles, and
the melodic flow of a song is allowed. She enjoyed the cool of the
ice-cold long neck tipped to her lips. Time slowed. Moments like
this were meant to be savored as a memory you’d want to visit
often. This memory, she was sure, somehow, would fuel another.

Derrick had been watching Laurel enjoy the
band from the deck railing he had been leaning on. He recognized
the song that came up as one of her favorites. The young man with
the guitar was crooning the sweet lyrics, “—you take me places I've
never been—.” He smiled to himself and moved to take her hand.
Laurel looked up as he slid his strong fingers under hers and
nodded toward the band.

“I didn’t get a dance the other night.” She
met his gaze and rose to accept his invitation.

His right hand rested at the small of her
back, her left stretched to the top of his strong shoulder, their
other hands clasped gently. Their height difference drew them close
together by necessity.

Neither of them wished to share the glow in
their eyes with anyone else. He held her gently, not wanting to
make her uncomfortable or make a scene, both desperately trying to
contain what they both knew was a fire already burning.

Swaying together, their gaze rarely broke.
She resisted the urge to lay her head on his chest by distracting
herself, looking briefly toward the band. When she turned back to
him, he was still staring down at her with a broad smile and liquid
eyes. His strong jaw sported the handsome outline of a new goatee
that complimented his rugged face. His diamond ear stud sparkled.
He drew her closer and she shivered when they brushed against one
another.

She was lost in his eyes, allowing herself to
wonder what his kiss would be like when the song ended and the
cloud she was floating on dissolved. Thunk.

Right man, wrong age, wrong circumstances,
wrong time. What the hell was wrong with her? The battle in her
brain suddenly raged as another voice told her, “You’re a grown
woman, it’s between the two of you, what’s the problem?” Sitting
down, she rested her head in her hands, trying to let the music and
laughter drown out the argument in her head. He rested his hand on
her back before he walked away.

__________________________

The party wound down and those that had a
safe ride left; everyone else camped out. It had been nice to be
surrounded by people, but now she was alone. When it was quiet,
Laurel headed up the stairs to bed. She closed the door of the room
she had been sleeping in the last several months and slumped
against it. Looking at the bed, she knew what she had been
avoiding, what had her stuck.

Laurel pulled the black lacey gown and robe
she’d bought for herself from the closet. It was part of her
mourning; she knew that. Jahn had always loved seeing her in one of
his old t-shirts. This was different, and she knew she needed
different to move on. She stripped naked and stepped in front of
the mirror.

Thirty-eight. This is what thirty-eight and
three babies looked like. It wasn’t perfect, but perfect for her.
The mirror revealed what she already knew. Her hips and thighs were
soft and full, strong, she had a little tummy and nice breasts.
Really nice,
she thought. She was healthy and tanned by the
sun. Anyone that was going to love her was going to have to take
the whole package. It wasn’t a bad package; it just wasn’t the body
of a girl in her twenties.

She watched in the mirror as the cool black
satin and lace slid over her breasts, falling toward the floor, the
robe just another layer. It felt—sexy. She hadn’t been comfortable
with the idea that she could be sexy for anyone in a long time.
Was it too soon?

It was now or never. Flinging open the door,
Laurel ran for the stairs, robe flowing out behind her. She turned
at the bottom of the staircase and ran toward the master bedroom as
the tears started to fall.

She couldn’t live in the past anymore. A year
had passed and she hadn’t dealt with losing Jahn. It was time to
deal with the pain and move forward. She flung herself into their
big bed,
her
big bed. The layers enveloped her; she pulled
the sides in over her, rolling into it like a brown and white
cocoon. She allowed herself to grieve, drenching the pillow, she
cried herself to sleep.

__________________________

Laurel stopped the story. Tears were
streaming down her face.

Jen looked at her. “I’m really sorry about
your husband,” she said softly.

“It still hurts, even now. I’ll never stop
loving him,” she sniffed and blew her nose. They sat in silence for
a bit, neither wanting to stop the story it seemed.

Finally, Jen broke the silence.

“So did you fall in love with Derrick?” Jen
asked gently.

“Pour me another drink, and I’ll tell
you.”

__________________________

Steam rising from the tile floor of the
shower enveloped Laurel like fog off the Missouri River. The
water’s heat relaxed her abused body. She felt beat up by the
demons of loss and of loneliness. She’d fought back and the fight
had drained her. It was a small victory, sleeping in
her
bed, instead of one of the others.

Wrapping her hair in a towel and her body in
the terry robe she was fond of, she padded out into the big
bedroom, the floor cool beneath her feet. The room was special to
her. She and Jahn had designed it together.

Vacant of his warmth, it was still a
beautiful design. The rustic old world Spanish influences still
suited her. The dresser and nightstand were topped with granite. An
armoire closed off the TV when not in use. Warm tans, browns, and
soft reds made the décor inviting. The leather chaise and chair
completed the look.

As her eyes circled the room, she came back
to the huge bed centered between the windows. A low footboard gave
way to the rise of layers of cushion and linens. To sink into it
was heaven. The top was littered with pillows. The headboard was a
substantial piece in wood and iron that matched the feel of the
furniture.

The headboard held special meaning for her.
Its strength had endured the grasp of passion over and over. It was
designed and built with that in mind. The thought made Laurel
giggle.

She and Jahn had both agreed that it had
better be able to stand abuse. Neither of them were built like
sticks, more like the Norse god and goddess that they teased each
other about. They had shared a lot of laughs and kisses over the
design. When he surprised her with it, complete and covered with
the comforter she had chosen, she was overjoyed. So much so, she’d
compelled him to try it out immediately.