As far as he could tell, Lily wanted it all. Just stood there and lapped it all in like a sea nymph. He shampooed her hair, because she was such a sucker for a head rub. From the suds to the sluice of water to the slick textures of soap and silky skin, he saw the building laughter in her eyes. That natural sensuality coming out of hiding. That come-on in her expression, as if all inhibitions had been stripped away, locked out of this room-their room-their moment together.
And it was light in here, not dark, like on the raft. He could run his hands down-walk his hands down-all the slopes and valleys at a nice, slow pace. Her breasts had an extra tightness. “Lumpy,” she whispered.
He understood. She was warning him that she was tender, probably pre-period tender. He was more than happy to be careful, infinitely careful. He could have played on her skin all night. Cartwheels. Sonatas. Poetry. Rock and roll. Art. He wanted to drink her in in every which way…
Until out of the blue, he noticed her suddenly trembling.
“Hey? You cold?”
“No. No.” She lifted her head. Smiled. He saw the terror in her eyes. “I know what you’re doing,” she said.
Her voice was brave.
“Yeah?”
She rushed on. “Both of us have been doing a lot of play talk. Pretending like we have a relationship. But you live here, Griff, and I don’t. I can’t even imagine coming back here to live. And I just want to be sure you know-I’m happy playing. I never expected more.”
“No?” He murmured, and started switching off the jets, the faucets. She sounded as sure as a leaf in the wind.
“Absolutely not,” she promised him. “I’m happy with us. Just as we are.”
That chin was tilted up, but she still couldn’t hide that crack in her voice.
He reached for a towel-one of those bigger-than-a-blanket towels, so it was easy to get her immediately covered and warmer. He rubbed her dry, thinking this was the best job he’d had in a long time.
“I don’t want more,” she said. “You don’t have to worry. This is perfect just as it is.”
“Uh-huh.” It was hard to buy the deal she was selling him. Lily was a player like Bambi was a wrestler. He’d known it from the start. She wasn’t a one-shot deal. An affair. A wonderful-but forgettable-lover.
She was unforgettable even before he’d taken her to bed.
For a man who’d resisted all efforts to be tied down-who had never allowed himself to believe in permanence, who didn’t believe himself capable of caring that much-she was shaking his timbers. And he didn’t like it.
Still, if he was stuck suffering the terrors of falling in love, he wasn’t the only one going down.
“Hey,” she murmured. “I’m smothering.”
When he wrapped her up in the big towel, her face had gotten accidentally covered. “I will never,” he promised, “smother you.” He laid her down on the bed, switched off the light, then dove down beside her. He pulled back the towel edge just to see her face.
A wicked smile was waiting for him. Her eyes were dark with desire, with boldness. Some of that bravado was still hovering in her trembling mouth when he dipped down and took it. In the process of that kiss, he discovered that his own damn mouth was trembling, too.
“Lily,” he whispered, and started to say something else-when the telephone rang.
The cell phones had been turned off, and the ringer wasn’t from his landline. The chime was from the private cell he kept on the dresser, an emergency number that only a handful of people had.
Lily saw his expression change. “Go,” she said.
“I have to answer it.”
She just nodded, lifted up on her elbows as he vaulted across the room and grabbed the phone.
He didn’t know ahead which kid was calling, just that it was a kid. Jason’s voice could sound as if he were one hundred and ten years old or four. This was a small child’s voice. “You said I could call if I ever really had trouble.”
“You know you can. Where are you?”
“The road into Shanty Creek. The woods left of the entrance road there.” A pause. “The bugs are pretty bad. I just wondered if-”
“I’ll be there. Take me less than ten.” He filled Lily in while he yanked on pants, a tee, pushed on sandals, grabbed his car keys.
“Do you want me to go back to Louella’s?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to make up a bed, that kind of thing…?”
He should have known she’d get the picture.
Less than a half hour later, he was bringing Jason into the house. The boy had been in worse shape. There were no broken bones this time, no burns. But the right eye was almost swollen shut, and he’d taken a kick to the kidneys that made him wince when he walked. Every mosquito in the county had nailed him, and his face had that look-that no one’s gonna reach me look-that Griff had seen before, but Lily sure as hell hadn’t.
She’d pulled on a T-shirt of his, a pair of his shorts, somehow found some string, tied it into a belt to hold up the crazy outfit. His washing machine was running. A first-aid kit sat open on the counter. She took one look at Jason, sucked in a breath, lifted frantic eyes to him-and then just moved.
“Well, if you aren’t a complete mess,” she murmured gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up and some ice on that eye. You go bury yourself in mud, did you? You hungry, honey?”
Jason didn’t want to look at her, didn’t want to talk to her, clearly didn’t expect anyone to be there but Griff.
Griff could see she was handling him. She kept up a steady patter of gentle talk, which enabled him to do what he needed to immediately do-which was to hit the phone.
He called Sheriff Conner first, woke him up, told him where the boy was. “Nobody getting any sleep this week in the whole durned town,” The sheriff grumbled. “You know Lily hasn’t left town besides.”
“Lily is right here with me.”
“Well, at least we know she isn’t setting fires. You call Loreen?”
“She’s next.”
“Need a hospital?”
“Close. But no.”
“All right. I’ll check with you first thing in the morning.”
He called the social worker, Loreen. They’d been through the same routine a half-dozen times before.
The house didn’t quiet down until past three in the morning. Lily sat in the spare bedroom until Jason fell asleep. She left a light on, the door open, tiptoed into his bedroom with zombie eyes. His were just as blurry.
“How often does that happen?” she asked. “And what happens to Jason after this?”
He gave her the rundown. He called, told people where Jason was, so there’d be no question. The sheriff would roust Jason’s father, coop him up for a few days. It was like a lot of life’s problems: everyone knew what should happen, but it wasn’t that simple to make “right things” happen in an imperfect world.
“I’ve gotten Jason out of the house, into foster care before-but so far, he’s always found a way to steal back home. He doesn’t want to leave his mom and younger brother. So he goes back. The mom’ll get counseling. The dad’ll get counseling and jail hours. The dad’ll be real, real sorry. And it’ll happen again. Until Jason’s mom leaves the creep. That’s the real answer. But so far she’s not willing to do it.”
“And how did you get involved?”
“Beats me. I’m just trying to sit around and sell a little ice cream.”
“Griff.”
“What?”
“It’s a little late to sell me the lazy bad-boy persona.”
He shut his eyes. “He wants me to take him in. But that’s not an answer, you know? I know Jason thinks it is. Steve. A couple other kids. But what they really need is more complicated than that. They need a legal system that works for them, that they know how to use. They need to develop enough insight to analyze who to trust, who not to trust. They need to see and believe that good people will stand up for them. They need to believe that life can work, that things can be better, that there are other choices and how to get to them.” He yawned.