Vengeance to the Max (19 page)

Refusing to allow a grudge to get the better of her, Max dismissed the negative judgment. “Left again.”

They’d reached the end of the short extension road that led into the neighborhood. Ahead sat a black and white split-level house, gravel drive visible beneath two sets of tire tracks obliterating the snow.

Witt made the left. Snowplows had not made it to this road yet, but he followed the track already made by other cars. The yards on Max’s right resembled those in Evelyn’s district, large, unfenced, devoid of sidewalks, oceans of snow leading through groves of trees up to wooden and brick houses. The road curved, then curved again and headed down a steep slope until it ended in an oversized cul-de-sac bordered by three houses set far apart and back from the road.

Max wondered why developers hadn’t bulldozed the houses, torn up the yards, and built a subdivision of fifteen houses on mini-lots like they did in California.

“Which one was his?”

She hadn’t told Witt the purpose of this little trek, but the man could never be called stupid. “That one.”

Witt slowed, let the car roll to a stop so they faced the house Cameron grew up in.

Lawn rising to meet the cement front porch, cut away where it sunk to the drive, the garage lay beneath the main part of the house. The structure had been built into a small hill, the basement windows at the back being above ground. Like many basement houses, one half of that lower level had been turned into a rec room.

“I hated that basement.” It was, after all, still a basement, concrete walls disguised with dark wood paneling and chest-high windows on one side. Lights were on whenever it was occupied.

“Thought you’d never been to Lines.”

“I meant Cameron hated it.” Didn’t she? His was the only voice that could have put the idea in her head, his were the only memories she could have felt right now.

“Gonna knock on the door?”

She looked out across the wide expanse of white between the houses. The lots bordered a forest, now stark and white in winter.

She pointed to the forest surrounding the cul-de-sac. “There’s a trail between the houses out into the woods.” Yes, in fact, she could make out a set of footprints leading through the snow. “It goes to a pond where we used to ice skate in the winter.”

“You mean Cameron used to.”

She nodded. Yeah, Cameron, who else? “Greggie Light’s older brother carried me piggy-back because I couldn’t keep up on the trek out there the first year I got to go.” She remembered how happy she’d been not being left behind, and the feel of his muscles between her thighs as they walked, his laughter. She remembered the snowball fight, the wetness down the neck of her snowsuit, and the pond ice hard beneath her butt when she fell. She never cried. Greggie’s brother might not have carried her again if she had.

“Can’t see your husband riding piggy-back.”

Neither could she, but he’d been a kid then. All bets were off when a kid wanted to go with the big guys. Still, it was an odd memory, especially when she thought of the almost sensual delight she’d felt high atop the Light boy’s back.

Beyond Cameron’s house, bordered by a windbreak of trees that had camouflaged it at first, lay a field of white, a meadow. She had the sensation of summertime and long, flowing grass molded to rolling hills. Max climbed from the car, never taking her eyes from the almost blinding purity of it.

“There,” she pointed. “That’s where I want to go.”

Witt’s door shut. “What about gloves?”

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her down jacket, turned to him. “Wimp.”

“Just worried about you and your delicate skin.” Witt’s cheeks had turned pink with chill.

Her nose hurt dragging in the frigid air. Her breath crystallized. Cold anesthetized the tops of ears. “We won’t take long. Come on.”

She didn’t worry that they crossed private property. Lights gleamed behind the windows of the two houses they walked between and no tire tracks marred the unsullied blanket covering the drives, but Max didn’t expect anyone to rush them off. It was too damn raw out here. Freezing air raised a property owner’s trespassing tolerance.

The fence reached her chest, the aged slats a foot apart and icy.

“I’ll go first.” Witt elbowed in front of her as if he were afraid she’d slip, break her neck, or fall down the rabbit hole without him.

The muscles of his thighs working, he hoisted himself, swung first one leg, then the other, before jumping down on the other side. Snow poofed around his boots.

Max stepped on the bottom rung, threw a leg over and rested a moment with the wood between her thighs. Then she swung over to hang precariously on the other side with her feet braced on the slats. The fence railing, iced and slippery, froze her butt cheeks.

“Take my hand.”

She could jump down on her own. It wasn’t that far. She didn’t need help doing the things she could do perfectly well on her. She reached for Witt’s hand anyway.

Landing in the snow, her toes meeting his toes, she laughed, the sharp, frosty air making her feel alive.

“We used to climb through, not over,” she told him, seeing her own dual reflection in his eyes, finding her hand still trapped in his big, warm grip, and not minding at all. She was a skinny kid, he was a big guy with his own internal body heat that seemed to reach right inside her.

Then she closed her fingers over his hand, pulled, and started running across the open field. Theirs were the only footprints in the snow, her laughter and his breathing the only sounds in the world.

Fifty yards in and surrounded by a field of white, she stopped. Across blindingly bright hills lay a farmhouse covered in snow and glistening in one small ray of sunshine that broke through the clouded sky. A line of naked telephone poles marked the driveway.

“Debi Tolen and I—”

“Your husband’s best friend was a girl?”

“Well ...” She didn’t know, the feelings inside confusing. “I guess so.” She waved aside his question as unimportant. What the hell did it matter anyway? “You’re spoiling the mood.”

She wanted it back desperately, closing her eyes to find that special place again. Ah yes, there it was.

“We used to sneak over there when it was empty,” she whispered, scenting Witt’s musky aftershave in the freezing air, gathering warmth from his hand still in hers. “We found shotgun shells and a skull, and we made up a big mystery about what happened deep in the night.”

“A skull?”

She laughed at the cop tone in his voice. “It belonged to a cow, but we didn’t care. We must have been about ten and we loved the mystery, loved best that we never solved it.”

The hole of sunshine above the farm closed. Shades of white and gray abounded, colors fading in the snow-covered morning.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” She dropped his hand, raised her face to the gray but somehow still bright sky, threw her arms wide, and whirled around and around.

“More than beautiful,” she heard Witt say with something that bore the texture of awe.

Dizzy, yet free, she fell to the ground. She couldn’t remember laughing like this in, oh God, forever.

“Snow angel,” she called, tucking her hands in the sleeves of her parka, then working her arms and legs. Dying to see, she jumped to her feet to view her work, brushing the flakes from the seat of her pants and her legs, shaking it from her sleeves where it had crept in, and digging it out where it had worked inside her collar. “That’s the best damn snow angel I’ve ever made.” Snow melted in her hair and on her cheeks. She laughed again, then nudged Witt to a clear patch of snow. “Your turn.”

“You’re kidding.” He wore the strangest smile, almost bewildered, bemused, in another world with only her.

She pushed him. “You have to. Then we compare sizes.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like a guy thing.”

“Dirty mind,” she snapped with delight. “Now get down there and make me an angel.”

His eyes glittered. “Anything milady orders.” Then he flopped down in the snow on his back.

“Move over so you don’t muss mine.”

He scooted over, then began the motion without tucking his hands in his sleeves the way she had. Max laughed at him, nudging her hands up opposite sleeves for warmth. She sniffed when her nose ran from the cold. “Okay, okay, let me see.”

She grabbed his hand, pulled, which with his help, popped him to his feet. Witt at her side, covered with snow and not bothering to shake it off, Max stared, dazzled by the sight before them.

Crushed blades of grass the yellow-brown of dead winter broke through the beaten snow in spots. The heels of his boots had scratched a sweeping path into the near-frozen ground. The sheer size of the angel’s sleeves and skirt put hers to shame.

“It’s the biggest snow angel I’ve ever seen in my whole life.” Reverence slipped into her voice. “I think it must be an archangel.”

“Max.” Witt grabbed her hand, grip almost punishing, and turned her to him. His eyes were the bluest blue, she’d never seen such blue, like the blue of the sky over the ocean, the blue of a Christmas bauble on the tree, an intense all-seeing blue that burrowed beneath her skin. His gaze searched her face, wandered over her hair and her cheeks, down to her mouth. Lips parted, his breath puffed out in little clouds. “Jesus, Max, kiss me.”

She closed her eyes, puckered her lips.

“
You
kiss
me
.”

Grabbing him by the lapels of his heavy down jacket, flakes of white falling all around her as if it had begun to snow again, she kissed him, light, teasing, pulled back to grin at him. The laughter died in her throat.

“Do it again, Max”—his voice a rasp across the blanket of snow on the field—“do it like you mean it.”

It was like that dream she’d had a month ago. Images danced before her eyes. His need written on his lips. Pristine snow marred only by his footprints. His warm hands on her arms, his rough voice vibrating against her cheek, asking for that one piece of herself given freely. She’d failed him in the dream, watched his retreating steps, his back stiff, proud, and pained. Leaving her alone again. In all the times they’d been together, even last night with him buried in her mouth, she’d failed to give him what he wanted, failed to even understand what he needed.

She wouldn’t fail him this time.

She touched him first with her mouth, then her tongue along the seam of his lips. He tasted of wet snow and snapping air. His icy nose grazed her cheek. Reaching between them, she unzipped his jacket, then hers, and pulled his hands onto her hips. Sliding her hands up the flannel, over his chest, she rose on her toes to wind her arms around his neck. His hair thick beneath her fingertips, she teased his mouth open with her tongue. He spread his legs for balance, raised his hands over her ribs, rested them by her chest, his thumbs at the sides of her breasts. She was warm, warm all over, snug inside his coat and hers. She nipped at him, chased him, murmured soft sighs into his mouth. Not usually a passive man, he let her lead. She reached once more beneath her coat, tugging his arms around her waist, and only then did he crush her to him. His lips were firm, hot instead of cold, his cheeks smooth from a fresh shave. He sighed into her mouth. She tasted his tongue, begged him to taste her, opened for him, pressed into him.

And she took them to their knees in the center of his archangel.

“Lie on top of me,” she whispered, seducing him with the words, pulling him down into the snow so chilling against the heat he’d sparked inside her.

He held her face in his hands, amazingly hot hands, elbows on each side, the rest of his body held above her, remaining that way a fraction of second. He didn’t ask if this was what she really wanted, didn’t give her a chance to change her mind.

God, she loved the weight of him when he rested on her. She lifted her head to kiss him lightly, then laughed. She kissed his cheeks, his eyelashes, his temple, and his lips. His leg slipped between hers, eased his weight a fraction. Frost seeped through her jeans, but he heated her from above.

Resting her head against the pillow of snow, feeling the stuff work its way beneath her collar, she searched his eyes. “You make me feel safe,” she murmured. “Will you sleep in my room tonight?”

He backed off, framing her face with his hands. “Are you really ready for that?”

Irritation flashed through her. She squashed it. After all the crap she’d pulled over the last couple of months, after the ways she’d fought him at every turn of their relationship, after she’d sneaked from his bed the other morning, he had a right to doubt her. “I’m really, really ready.”