Chapter Sixteen
Ben and the dog walked Sela down the steep driveway to where she’d parked her SUV. He carried his shotgun, his gaze alert
and his head on a swivel, constantly looking around him. He was far more alert than she’d been on the walk up, she realized,
and he was armed. She had simply walked up without taking much notice of her surroundings. The community patrol would learn
from him but she should, too. It was everyone’s responsibility to help keep the valley safe.
She felt wonderful. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t washed every night with soap, but there was something about standing under
warm flowing water that was downright miraculous. She smelled like his soap and shampoo, both of which were plain Jane without
any perfumes added, and that was pretty great, too. She had sat in front of the fire and finger-combed her hair while it partially
dried; she could have stayed indefinitely, but knowing her responsibilities waited for her made her antsy.
When they reached her SUV she took the remote from her pocket and unlocked the doors. She gave him a slightly guilty look.
“I used your toilet, too,” she confessed, her tone a little shy but jubilant, too. “And flushed.”
“I know. I heard. I’d have been surprised if you hadn’t.” He slanted a look at her and this time she definitely saw amusement.
“Flushed, that is.”
Before she knew it she’d lightly punched him on the arm, then realized what she’d done and clapped her hand over her mouth.
She could feel her face heating. “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled behind her hand. “I didn’t mean— I don’t . . .” she trailed off,
because it was ludicrous to say I don’t hit people when she had just now hit him.
“Give people love taps?” he asked. He looked down at her and hooked his arm around her waist, pulled her against him. “It
wasn’t even much of a tap, I barely felt it. That said, my feelings are hurt and you have to make it up to me.”
His . . . feelings were hurt? She was momentarily bewildered, then like the rising of the sun she realized he was flirting
with her. Flirting! Ben Jernigan! Warmth flooded through her and a smile bloomed across her face. Rising on her toes, she
wound her arms around his neck and brushed a light kiss across his mouth. “Does this make you feel better?” she asked, giving
him another kiss. Even as she did she was astonished all over again that he was holding her, that she was kissing him. So
much had changed today, things she hadn’t imagined would ever happen no matter where her imagination had taken her.
“Getting there,” he replied, and took over.
It had been so long since she’d felt attractive to a man, since she’d known passion. Ben made her feel as if she could light
him up with the slightest touch, underscored by the thick ridge in his jeans. Looking back, considering how he’d sought her
out, however reluctantly, she thought he must have been as attracted to her as she had been to him. The knowledge thrilled
her, excited her. She’d be having sex with him soon—maybe not in the next week or so, because of Carol needing care, but soon.
She hadn’t had sex since Adam had divorced her. Her confidence had been so thoroughly destroyed that she’d shied away from
even dating, but soon she would be sleeping with a man who made Adam look like a Ken doll, and not even an anatomically correct
Ken, at that.
He turned her and lifted her onto the hood of the Honda, stepping between her legs as naturally as if they had been having
make-out sessions for months instead of . . . an hour? Sela’s breath went ragged as he settled that hard ridge right against
her clitoris and rubbed it back and forth. “Oh,” she said in a soft, breathless tone, her fingers digging into the back of
his neck.
He made a raw sound deep in his throat and eased away from her. Disappointment shot through her until she saw his face, and
was transfixed by the glorious realization that the carnal caress, even through their clothes, had almost sent him over the
edge. She liked knowing he was that turned on. She bent her head to let it rest on his left shoulder, her face turned into
his throat. The hot man-smell of him filled her with both excitement and joy.
“You should leave now,” he said, his voice low and rough.
“Yes.” She had things to do, and even more to think about. On the trip up she’d felt as if she was approaching doom, but what
had actually happened between them now made her as exhilarated as if she’d successfully been playing hooky. She was going
to have sex with Ben Jernigan, someday soon. The situation in the valley was still fraught with tension, difficulty, and possible
danger, but that was balanced by the amazing fact that people kept on being people, doing what they had done for eons. Sexual
attraction, getting drunk on hormones and pheromones . . . she had to say it was an excellent counterbalance to everything
else.
He lifted her down from the hood and opened the driver’s-side door for her. “I’ll be at the store early. You said you’d start
at nine, but people will be lining up by daylight.”
“I hope I have enough gas for everyone.”
“Anything is better than nothing. Ration it, so everyone gets some.”
Reluctant to leave him, she told him about her idea of making braziers to heat and cook, for the households that didn’t have
fireplaces, if they could find a potter and a kiln for firing the clay. He nodded. “Good idea. There should be a potter in
the valley, with all the crafts going on around here. If there is, there’ll need to be fireproof brick, or slate, or an indoor
sand pit to put under the braziers so they won’t burn the floor.”
“Another thing to think about,” she said, sighing. “Every solution comes with its own problem, doesn’t it?”
“Way of the world.” He leaned down and kissed her again, as if, now that he’d started, he intended to seize every opportunity
to do so. She didn’t mind at all.
As she turned the SUV around and drove down the mountain, she began mentally worrying at the complications that could develop.
She hoped the woman who knew a woman who had thrown pots had some good news. So much had happened today that she couldn’t
remember the possible-potter’s name, but she did know who had said she’d check. Finding that out came before everything.
Sela thought about stopping at Carol’s when she drove by, but her hair was still damp and even though she was alone she could
feel herself blushing. No, she didn’t want to explain why her hair was wet; not only did she not want anyone knowing she’d
taken a shower in Ben’s house, but Ben might not want anyone knowing that he had a working shower with beautiful hot water.
Instead she went to her own home and built up the fire, then sat in front of the flames combing her hair until it was dry.
Oh, it felt so wonderful, to be clean from head to toe—such a little thing, but a huge boost to her sense of well-being. When
her hair was dry she pulled it back and secured it with a clasp at the back of her head, the way she usually wore it these
days.
Then she walked back to Carol’s house, and let herself in. “How’s the patient?” she asked Barb.
“I can hear you!” Carol yelled from the bedroom, answering that question, because she sounded cranky and impatient.
“The whole county can hear you,” Sela countered, going into the bedroom because obviously Carol was awake.
“Ha ha.” Carol shifted uncomfortably on the bed. She didn’t look feverish, which was great, but neither did she look well.
Now that twenty-four hours had passed, her bruises were blooming, including one on her jaw that had been nothing more than
a red spot last night. “My leg hurts, my ribs hurt, and my head hurts. I’m tired of this. I’m bored. I want to move to the
living room.”
“Sorry. You can move to the portable toilet for right now, but that’s it. How about a book to read?”
Carol glared at her. “I have a book, thank you, and you’ve turned into a tyrant. Power has gone to your head.”
Sela burst out laughing, and bent to kiss Carol’s forehead. “You wanted me in charge, so if I’m a tyrant it’s your fault.”
She might be in pain, on drugs, and irritable, but nothing was wrong with Carol’s powers of observation. She narrowed her
eyes at Sela. “You look different. Like you’re high on something. Have you been smoking dope?”
“It’s been quite a day,” Sela replied. “A couple of times I wished I had some dope to smoke, and that I knew how to smoke.
Has Barb or Olivia filled you in on what happened at the Livingstons’ house?”
“Barb said someone broke in on them, but both Jim and Mary Alice are all right.” Again the narrowed eyes. “Is that wrong?
Is one of them hurt?”
Sela pulled the bedside chair around so she was facing Carol, and sat down. “As far as that goes, they’re all right. But the
man had a gun, and Jim shot and killed him.”
Carol sucked in a breath. “Shit. Shit shit shit.”
“We did the best we could.” She detailed how they had handled the situation, with the photographs and Trey’s efforts at fingerprints,
the statement she’d written up and had Jim sign. “If there’s anything else we could have done, other than sending someone
to Sevierville to fetch the sheriff—assuming anyone is even in the sheriff’s office these days—I can’t think what. We also
have another problem. A lot of people in the valley don’t have fireplaces. Some are probably getting by with kerosene heaters,
but they’re going to run out of kerosene eventually, when the weather gets cold and stays cold.”
“Which could be any day.”
“Yes. A possible solution is clay braziers, if we can find a kiln here in the valley. Someone is checking with another woman
who maybe used to do pottery—”
“Mona Clausen used to do some pottery, if I remember right.”
“That’s the name! I’ve been trying to remember. Someone else mentioned her and was going to check.”
“She used to have a small kiln, too. She and her mother made pottery to sell in the souvenir stores.”
“Then pray she still has the kiln or knows someone local who does. I also told the community patrol about the gasoline in