Lost and Found Groom by McLinn, Patricia (most difficult books to read .TXT) 📗

out a word, then felt his taut body tighten even more. A great warmth spilled into her, and then his body blanketed her completely.

How long had their frenzy lasted? How long had they laid like this, still joined? She didn’t know. She didn’t care.

She heard the storm raising its voice, first sighing then moaning. But it didn’t reach inside her the way it had before.

Paulo kissed her before shifting away, covering her with the clothes they’d discarded. He rigged the slicker over them, narrowing to a cave-like opening to the small fire. Their world had condensed to this tiny space, this flickering light, these moments.

He wrapped her inside the slicker liner, then cocooned her in the warmth of his body. They sat that way for some time she couldn’t measure, hearing the wind beyond them, watching it bat at the struggling fire.

“It’s starting again. Past the eye. Into the trailing half of the storm. If it sits over us like the first half . . .”

Paulo slid his hands up and down her arms, the friction and warmth of his touch pulsing into her newly chilled skin. He kissed the side of her neck, and she rested her head on his shoulder. He stroked slowly across her breast, finding her hardened nipple.

This is different from before. This is more . . .

She pushed all thought away and absorbed his touch.

The storm grew beyond them, howling and dashing water at their covering. But the one inside her was stronger. He laid back, carrying her and turning her with him so she was above him. With him. Taking him inside her.

*

She fell asleep at times, for minutes or hours, she didn’t know, but each time she awoke, his arms were around her and she felt the steady pulse of his heart.

She talked. Of growing up with her mother and without her father, and then of her mother’s death last year. Of Amy and childhood summers at Far Hills, and then Amy’s death five years ago. Of her job. Of her dreams. Of her fears.

And he listened.

Sometimes he sang to her, in a low voice that rumbled in his chest. Snatches of a tune she didn’t recognize, words she couldn’t understand. But it soothed her.

When she woke to see narrow strips of brightening sky high above them, he peeled two oranges and they shared them. Then he licked the juice from her fingers, and she did the same for his, and they made love again.

The next time she awoke thoroughly, she could tell the sun was waning. From outside, she heard gunshots, and knew that’s what had awakened her.

Paulo sat up, drawing her with him, still inside the circle of his arms. He faced her and spoke in a steady voice, while the gunshots and a low roar of shouts came from a distance.

At the end, she could only shake her head. “I don’t understand, Paulo.”

He kept his eyes on hers for a long moment, before he released her to stand and start dressing. Then she understood.

He was leaving.

But he would come back. She understood that promise from his eyes. He slipped into the murkiness beyond their small fire for a moment, then returned with a stout length of wood he handed to her with a nod. She understood that, too. Protection. Nature had done its damage and now humanity added to it with looting and other crimes.

Paulo looked at her for a moment, then took one step away.

She lurched up. “No!” Don’t go. She wanted to scream it out, but didn’t.

He caught her when her unsteady legs might have given way, his arms around her warm and familiar. He kissed her forehead and set her away from him.

“I understand.” No dignity had come harder. “I’ll wait for you here.”

He raised her hand, dirty, scratched and cold, to his lips and kissed her scraped knuckles.

When he disappeared, she dressed in her still damp clothes, gathered what she could of her belongings, kept the fire going at a low, steady burn. And waited.

A corner of her mind knew she should question if he would return, but she never did.

When he returned–she didn’t know after how long–she stood outside the fire’s light in case the footsteps belonged to someone other than Paulo. She could see his face a moment before he saw her, could see his fear for her.

“Paulo.”

She dropped the wood, and stepped into his arms. He wrapped her tightly to him, and kissed her temple, her cheekbone, then her mouth. Their tongues delved in the rhythm their bodies ached to follow. But they broke apart.

“I know,” she said. “There’s no time.”

He took her hand and led her into predawn darkness of a day that promised clear skies over the storm-devastated island. They slipped through ruined streets, following twists and alleys, ducking into a deserted building and out of an empty doorway to a courtyard that spilled into another alley, over barricades formed of broken dressers, battered bicycles, shredded roofs, always edging higher.

Finally, Paulo drew her in front of him as a darker mass rose out of shadows. Only when he reached over her shoulder and she heard a staccato knock on wood did she realize he’d brought her to a gate. The wooden surface opened, she blinked into the brightness of battery-operated lights and knew they’d reached the U.S. consulate.

“Ms. Jenner! What a relief to see you!” She blinked fast, trying to adjust to the light, and recognized a female consulate employee. “Are you all right? We were so worried–”

“I’m fine. Thanks to Paulo.”

“Paulo? Who’s Paulo?”

She turned, but Paulo Ayudor was nowhere to be found.

*

Nowhere to be found until he arrived at her front door in Far Hills, Wyoming, three years later.

“Paulo?” Ellyn and Marti echoed the name, then moved closer to Kendra, closing ranks.

She reached out, needing to touch him. Below the rolled back sleeve of his shirt, his forearm was warm and firm, the hair crisp beneath her fingertips. Real. He was real.

“You’re alive. You’re really alive. . . . Oh, God.” She put her hand to her mouth, but