Having Faith (17 page)

The land was beautiful. It rolled gently from one copse to the next, a world of greenery touched by the occasional crimson or gold. Though it was October, fall was reluctant in coming, as though it knew that a special something would be lost once the trees were bare. As those trees stood, a light breeze stirred their leaves. The same breeze lifted Faith's hair to her cheeks and dusted Sawyer's over his forehead. The continuity was satisfying.

The lakefront was broad and peaceful, perfect for skipping stones and imagining the delights of swimming on warmer days. There was even a dock, decaying to be sure but sturdy enough to hold Sawyer and, when she finally dared join him. Faith. For a long while they sat there, enjoying the silence of the afternoon. Neither of them thought to disturb it with words.

Faith was content. Sitting beside Sawyer on the broken-down dock, she felt she was privy to a moment out of time. She'd left her responsibilities behind in Boston. Her sole job was to. be. On impulse, she lay back on the dock with her hands as a pillow and closed her eyes to the sun. Its warmth was gentle, safe, lulling.

Giving in to the soft smile that begged for release, she basked in the serenity of the day.

Looking down at her. Sawyer broke into a smile of his own. Her pleasure pleased him. He'd wanted her to like his place, and she did.

She hadn't spoken as they walked, but he could tell from the look on her face that she was enjoying herself.

She might not have. He felt that he knew her well, still the focus of that knowledge was the career they shared. When it came to things beyond the law, his experience with her was more limited. For all he knew, she might have hated the house, hated the architect's plans, hated the rustic, uncultured look of the land. She might have hated the thought of sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor in front of a fire, but when he'd pointed to a motel they'd passed, she'd given a firm shake of her head. Possibly she was out to make the point that she wasn't as soft as he thought, but if so, there wasn't a chance in hell that she'd win. Looking at her, all stretched out on the dock in her soft sweater and soft jeans, with her soft curves shaping both, he was more aware than ever of her femininity.

As was his body. The longer he looked at her, the faster his heart beat, and the faster his heart beat, the warmer his blood flowed.

Somewhere in the middle of that, desire began to gather into a tight knot in his groin.

Moving to ease the knot before it grew painful, he pushed himself to his feet. The dock gave an ominous creak and an even more ominous wobble. He held his breath.

Faith raised her head to look up at him through the shade cast over her body by his.

"Back to work?"

"Very carefully," he advised. He gave her a hand up, keeping the movement as smooth as possible, and waited until she'd left the dock before following her. By the time he was by her side, walking back through the tall grasses toward the house, he was in control once again.

His control lasted through the afternoon, but that was easy. He spent most of the time on the cone- shaped roof of the water tower, hammering away at the cedar shingles that had to be spaced just so, to prevent seepage of rain or snow. Yes, it was physical labor, but it demanded a certain amount of concentration from a roofer with his very limited experience. When he finally descended the ladder for the last time, it was with a sense of satisfaction in what he'd done. and a slight apprehension about the evening that lay before him.

For the first time, he wondered whether he'd been wise to invite Faith to stay overnight. Whenever he looked at her, even more when he came close, he felt the same quickening in his body. Sometimes it was in the area of the heart, sometimes in his hands, which itched to touch her, sometimes lower, where the ache was primal.

But he'd promised her that he would be the guardian of her virtue for the night, and he was determined to keep that promise.

Faith was counting on him for that, so she could relax and enjoy herself without having to exert a great deal of constraint. She worked some as Sawyer suggested, scraping and sanding chipped paint from the molding that framed the fireplace, the doors and the annex windows.

But she was ready to take breaks at the slightest excuse, whether that was to convey a cold drink to the roof, to wander out in the meadow and chart the gradual descent of the sun or to sit on the grass and watch Sawyer at work.

She was impressed. He was surefooted and able as he carefully placed and hammered down each shingle. He'd long since tossed aside his flannel shirt, leaving him in the gray T-shirt that moved more easily with his shoulders and arms. As he built up a sweat, the shirt grew darker in patches. She was impressed by that, too, but in a different way.

Sitting on the grass with her arms around her knees, she wondered once again why she'd never noticed how virile he was. It seemed hard to believe that what she could drool over now had been before her many times before, and she hadn't appreciated it. Of course, she'd never before seen Sawyer in this kind of physical context, and besides, she couldn't have exactly drooled over him with Jack and Joanna in attendance. Still, she might have privately thought certain things, yet she hadn't. In that sense, she was impressed with herself.

When she married Jack, she had vowed to be faithful. She'd kept that vow. On occasion, she wondered if Jack had. She'd found nothing incriminating--not that she'd been looking--but there had certainly been nothing comparable to the note Laura Leindecker had discovered.

Indeed, there had been times toward the end when Faith had almost wished Jack would have an affair, if only to make something happen. As it turned out, that hadn't been necessary. Emotional attrition finally took its toll.

So now, freed of the moral obligation of being true to Jack, she was seeing Sawyer in a different light. He turned her on. She was still appalled that they'd made love the way they had that Friday night, but she'd given up denying that the attraction was there. It existed, and it was strong. If she hadn't known it before this weekend, she couldn't miss it now. The question was where it would lead. Granted there was still the possibility that she was pregnant, but she didn't put much stock in that. She wasn't sure why-maybe gut instinct, or the romantic notion that when she conceived a child she'd know at the moment it happened--but she fully expected to get her period in another week. So that left the future very much open where she and Sawyer were concerned.

Where did she want it to go? She didn't know. And she didn't want to think about it. Thinking about it made her uneasy. She wasn't sure why, but it did. So she gathered herself up and went back to work inside until Sawyer called it a day.

"Hungry?" he asked as he leaned over the large sink on the wall of the annex that served as a kitchen. The bathroom sink was miniscule, something he was going to have to remedy.

Faith leaned against the most distant wall, watching him wash up. It was torture. He'd taken off the T-shirt and was sluicing water over his head and upper body with little concern for what splashed on the floor. Wet and gleaming, the sine wed twists at his arms and shoulders stood out well.

She took a shaky breath.

"Uh-huh. I'm hungry."

"We could have dinner, then see a movie. There's usually something decent playing in Hyannis."

Faith wondered whether decent meant PG. She hoped so. She wasn't sure she could make it through an R-rated film without gnawing on Sawyer's neck.

"That sounds good," she said, a little breathless.

Sawyer toweled himself off, reached for a clean T-shirt and pulled it on as quickly as he could. A sweater went over that, then he turned to her.

"All set?"

With a nod, she led the way out through the tower, which was faintly lit now by the deep gold of the low-lying sun. Sensing there was a danger in lingering too long there, she hurried on.

Dinner was an enjoyable interlude before the movie, which turned out to have nothing to do with sex, for which Sawyer was eternally grateful. He didn't need the power of suggestion. His mind was providing plenty of that, and what his mind didn't respond to, his body did.

The air had cooled by the time they left the movie, and by the time they returned to the house, that cool air had seeped in through the uninsulated walls of the annex.

"Last chance," Sawyer warned. He was on the verge of lighting a fire, holding split logs in each hand.

"I can still drive you to a motel."

Faith wore a jacket over her sweater, and though she could feel the night air through the layers, she wasn't about to seek a more cushy shelter.

"Don't be silly. This is fine."

"It'll get colder before it gets warmer."

"So light the fire. If that's not enough, I'll crawl into my sleeping bag, and if that's not enough, I'll turn on your car and sleep there."

"You will not."

She laughed.

"Just kidding. Go on. Light the fire." She was feeling high without having had a thing to drink. But that was Sawyer's problem. He'd agreed to see that nothing happened.

Sawyer set the logs on the grate, added a third and some kindling, then lit a match. The kindling took off instantly, the logs a few minutes later. Soon the flames were leaping high, sending off a welcome heat.

He sat back several feet from the flames and watched them in silence.

"A penny for your thoughts," Faith said softly as she scooted on her bottom across the floor until she sat at right angles to him. That way she could see both the fire and his face.

"I don't think you want to hear."

"Sure I do."

He remained quiet, though, debating the pros and cons of being honest.

His decision came only after he'd dared a quick look at her. Lit by the fire, her features were warm and beckoning, making mockery of the promise he'd made. He desperately wanted to touch her, even if only in the innocent way he might have done two weeks, a month, a year ago. It occurred to him that his best hope of not touching her was to be perfectly honest about his needs.

"I'm thinking," he said in a voice that was low and a little gritty, 'that I should be tired. I was up at six. I didn't get much sleep last night. I worked hard for a good part of the day. I had a huge dinner, and that movie was boring as hell. I should be ready to go to sleep.

But I'm not. "

"Maybe you're overtired."

"That's not the problem." Slowly and more deliberately this time, he shifted his gaze to hers.

"I want you. Faith. I know I promised not to touch you, but I'm jumping around inside. Call it restlessness or whatever, but I want you."

She hadn't expected him to be so blunt. For a minute, she wondered whether he was simply trying to shock her. But he wasn't that kind of man. He didn't do things for effect unless he was in the courtroom, and he wasn't there now. The courtroom, the law, Boston were all far, far away. It was just the two of them sitting before a fire in his broken-down house on the Cape. Things were more raw here, unpadded, free of the city's gloss. That knowledge was what made the look in his eyes so stunning. It was a look of need that burned deep, and it wasn't for show.

Unable to handle the intensity of what she saw, she turned her eyes toward the fire.

"I don't want that."

"I know. But I can't help it. Faith. I look at you, and it happens."

She could feel it happening to her, too. Their isolation, the fire, his physical nearness, the deep sound of his voice--those things would have done it alone, even if she hadn't seen the hunger in his eyes.

"You said it wouldn't. I only came on that condition."

"And it won't. But you asked what I was thinking. So I told you."

He stopped talking, and for a time nothing broke the stillness but the crackle of the fire. Faith studied the flames, following them until they disappeared into the fireplace shaft, but if there was a pattern to their dance, she couldn't find it.

"Why is this happening. Sawyer?"

"This thing between us?" He snorted.

"Because I'm a man and you're a woman."

"But we've been those things for a long time, now, and nothing happened before."

"It couldn't before."

"It could have. It's been over a year since Jack and I split and nearly as long for you and Joanna. We've seen each other several times since then, and nothing happened. Why now? Is it all because we had too much to drink last Friday night?"

"That may have started it," Sawyer conceded. He'd given the matter a lot of thought that week, mostly during the night when he'd lain awake while his body ached for what it couldn't have.

"But the attraction--or the potential for it--must have been there a lot longer. We just didn't allow it to surface. That's all."

"Then you weren't aware of wanting me before that?"

"I didn't think about it. I didn't think of you in terms of sex. I thought you were pretty and sexy, but you were a friend. First you were married, and then when you were free, you were still a lawyer. A lady lawyer."

"Then my parents were right. I scare people away."

"That's not what I meant. I meant that you were a colleague of mine, and I took care to view you as one. Women have worked twice as hard to establish themselves as lawyers. Men have to work twice as hard to see them as lawyers instead of women." He considered her concern.