The Rescue

Taylor found it difficult to concentrate as it fell to the floor. "What did I say?"

"About you being sad that there will never be a first time again."

"And?"

In her bra and panties, she moved closer, nuzzling up to him. "Well, I was just thinking that if we make this time even better than last night, your anticipation might come back."

Taylor felt her body sidle up against his. "How so?"

"If every time is better than the last, you'll always be looking forward to the next time."

Taylor put his arms around her back, becoming aroused. "Do you think that'll work?"

"I have no idea," she said, beginning to unbutton his shirt, "but I'd sure like to find out."

Taylor slipped out of her room just before dawn, as he'd done the day before, though this time he stopped at the couch. Not wanting Kyle to see them sleeping together, he dozed on and off for another couple of hours until Denise and Kyle came wandering out of their bedrooms. It was nearly eight o'clock--Kyle hadn't slept that late in a long time.

Denise scanned the room and immediately understood the reason. From the looks of things, it was obvious that he'd been up late. The TV was at an odd angle, the VCR was on the floor beside it, cables snaking out everywhere. Two half-empty cups sat on the end table with three cans of Sprite alongside them. Pieces of popcorn were scattered on the floor and on the couch; a Skittles wrapper had wedged itself between the pillows on the chair. On top of the television were two movies, The Rescuers and The Lion King, the cases open, videos on top.

Denise put her hands on her hips, taking in the mess.

"I didn't notice the mess you two made last night when I came in. It looks like you two had yourselves a good old time."

Taylor sat up from the couch and wiped his eyes. "We had fun."

"I'll bet," she groaned.

"But did you see what else we did?"

"You mean aside from spraying popcorn all over my furniture?"

He laughed. "C'mon. Let me show you. I'll get this stuff cleaned up in a minute."

He got up from the couch and stretched his arms over his head. "You too, Kyle. Let's show your mom what we did last night."

To Denise's surprise, Kyle seemed to understand what Taylor had said and obediently followed Taylor to the back door. Taylor led them across the porch to the rear steps, motioning to the garden on either side of the door.

When Denise saw what awaited her, she was speechless.

All along the back of the house were freshly planted Jobellflowers.

"You did this?" she asked.

"Kyle did, too," he said, a touch of pride in his voice, seeing that she was pleased.

"That feels wonderful," Denise said softly.

It was past midnight, long after Denise had once again finished with her shift at Eights. During the past week, Denise and Taylor had seen each other virtually every day. On the Fourth of July Taylor had taken them out on his rebuilt ancient motorboat; later they had set off their own fireworks, to Kyle's delight. They picnicked on the banks of the Chowan River and dug clams at the beach. For Denise, it was the kind of interlude she could never have allowed herself to imagine, sweeter than any dreams.

Tonight, like so many recent nights, she lay on the bed, naked, Taylor beside her. His hands were slick with oil, and the sensation of his hands sliding over her slippery body was unbearably tantalizing.

"You feel like heaven," Taylor whispered.

"We can't keep doing this," she groaned.

He kneaded the muscles in her lower back, applying gentle pressure, then relaxing his hands. "Doing what?"

"Staying up this late every night. It's killing me."

"For a dying woman, you still look good."

"I haven't had more than four hours of sleep since last weekend."

"That's because you can't keep your hands off me."

With her eyes almost closed, she felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Taylor bent over and kissed her on the spine between her shoulder blades.

"Would you like me to leave so you can get your rest?" he asked, his hands moving up to her shoulders again.

"Not just yet," she purred. "I'll let you finish first."

"Just using me now?"

"If that's okay."

"It is."

"So what's happening with Denise?" Mitch asked. "Melissa ordered me not to let you leave until you filled me in on all the details."

They were at Mitch's house on Monday, finally repairing the roof that Taylor had so successfully put off last week. The sun was blisteringly hot, and both had their shirts off as they worked their crowbars, prying off the torn shingles one by one. Taylor reached for his bandanna and wiped the sweat from his face.

"Not much."

Mitch waited for more, but Taylor said nothing else.

"That's it?" he snorted. " 'Not much'?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"The works. Just start rambling and I'll stop you if I need something explained."

Taylor glanced from side to side as if making sure no one else was around. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Of course."

Taylor leaned a little closer. "So can I," he said with a wink, and Mitch burst out laughing.

"So you're going to keep all of this to yourself?"

"I didn't know I had to fill you in on everything," he retorted with mock indignation. "I guess I just assumed it was my own business."

Mitch shook his head. "You know, you can use that line on other people. The way I figure it--you're going to tell me sooner or later, so it may as well be sooner."

Taylor looked over at his friend, a smirk on his face. "You think so, huh?"

Mitch began prying a nail from the roof. "I don't think so. I know so. And besides, like I said, Melissa won't let you out of here until you do. Trust me, that gal can throw a frying pan with deadly accuracy."

Taylor laughed. "Well, you can tell Melissa that we're doing fine."

Mitch grabbed a damaged shingle with his gloved hands and began to tug at it, feeling as it ripped in half. He tossed it to the ground and started working the other half.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Does she make you happy?"

It took a moment for Taylor to answer. "Yeah," he said finally, "she really does." He searched for the right words as he continued to work the crowbar. "I've never met anyone like her before."

Mitch reached for his jug of ice water and took a sip, waiting for Taylor to continue.

"I mean, she's got everything. She's pretty, she's intelligent, she's charming, she makes me laugh . . . And you should see the way she is with her son. He's a great kid, but he's got some problems with talking, and the way she works with him--she's so patient, so dedicated, so loving . . . It's really something, that's for sure."

Taylor pried another nail loose, then tossed it over the side.

"She sounds great," Mitch said, impressed.

"She is."

Suddenly Mitch reached over, grabbing Taylor on the shoulder and giving him a good shake.

"Then what's she doing with a slacker like you?" he joked. Instead of laughing, however, Taylor simply shrugged.

"I have no idea."

Mitch set the jug of water aside. "Can I give you some advice?"

"Could I stop you?"

"No, not really. I'm like Ann Landers when it comes to things like this."

Taylor adjusted his position on the roof, making his way toward another shingle. "Then go ahead."

Mitch tensed slightly, anticipating Taylor's reaction. "Well, if she's everything you say she is and she makes you happy, don't screw it up this time."

Taylor stopped in midmotion. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know how you are in things like this. Remember Valerie? Remember Lori? If you don't, I do. You go out with 'em, you pour on the charm, you spend all your time with them, you get them to fall in love with you . . . and then wham--you end it."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Mitch watched as Taylor's mouth tightened into a grim line. "No? Then go ahead and tell me where I'm mistaken."

Reluctantly Taylor considered what Mitch had said.