Chapter 33
Dominic
I've never kissed anybody like that. I've never been kissed like that.
Earth-shattering. If I read that in one of my authors' manuscripts, I'd accuse them of using hyperbole.
But that kiss did shatter my world, never to return to precisely the position it was in prior. I'm just a man, knocked off his axis by an earthquake named Cecily.
She leads the way now, to the sound of water and chatter. She peeks back at me, eyebrows furrowed. I feel the same way. Have we stumbled upon an oasis in the desert?
We round the base of the mountain, where the barely marked path drops in elevation. There, in a copse of trees, the sun glints off the surface of a small body of water.
Cecily pauses, turning back to me. "What if they are desert dwellers?"
I do my best to take her seriously, but it's difficult with the taste of her lingering in my mouth, the feel of her seared onto my fingertips. "Are you referring to people who live in the desert? If so, that includes you."
"No," she whisper-hisses. "I mean, what if they are a band of people who live in the middle of nowhere, subsisting solely on rainwater and desert creatures?"
I do my best not to laugh at her serious expression. "I think they are too close to civilization to be considered such."
Cecily nods her head in agreement after pausing to consider it. I must not have done as good of a job holding back my mirth as I thought I did, because she says, "I suppose you don't believe in ghosts, either?"
"I do not," I respond, but the laughter in her eyes makes me wary. "Why?"
"We're staying at a haunted hotel in Flagstaff.
" She grins broadly, accompanied by a sassy shoulder shake, and all I want to do is take her mouth one more time.
I know we said only one kiss, but maybe we could extend the parameters.
Kiss until we get back to the ranch? Kiss only for the duration of our hike?
"Ho there," someone calls to us. A man.
Cecily's eyes widen, remaining on my face. "I think he called me a ho."
"I'm positive he was talking to me," I joke, but I step in front of Cecily so half my body shields half her body.
The man, who looks to be sitting in the water, waves us over.
"We either say hi, or make a run for it," Cecily says. "Although, it's never a good idea to run in the desert. Too many loose rocks, uneven ground. At best, you roll an ankle. At worst, you fall into a cactus."
I'm not sure which of those misfortunes I would rather experience, but for now it appears we're going to make a new friend. The guy is still waving, but his hand has changed from a motion of hello to one of beckoning.
"Unbelievable," Cecily mutters, as I make my way down to where the trees provide shade. "Here I was thinking deserts were deserted."
We make it fifteen more feet before we see everything the trees hid. And when I say everything, I mean it.
Several more people sit in the water, men and women, and from what I can tell, their upper halves are not clothed, leading me to believe their lower halves aren't either. Cecily gasps. "Are they nude?" she whispers.
"I think they might be," I say under my breath.
"Nude desert dwellers," Cecily says against the fabric of my shirt. My abs contract with the effort it takes to hold in my laughter. Cecily grins up at me, holding fast to my bicep.
Yeah, I love it. The way she clings to me.
Closer now, I see the man who called out to us is at least sixty. He is mostly bald, with just a handful of hair neatly combed over the top of his head. His generous belly rises out of the surface of the water like a landmass in the ocean. His thick chest hair swirls this way and that.
"You and the missus look shy. Don't be," he says jovially. In an odd way, he reminds me of my dad.
Shy isn't the word I would use to describe us, clinging to the safety of land ten feet away from the bank. More like petrified.
"Remember, all comfort levels are welcome at Buena Mesa," he says, with an air of friendly leadership. "Clothing is optional, so you can wear your swimsuit. Though I will say, the hot spring is better when you're in a state of nature." A murmur of agreement winds through the group.
I'm going to make the leap that state of nature equates to naked.
"We're ok, thank you for offering." Not only am I uninterested in sitting in nature's bathwater with a bunch of naked strangers, I don't want to invite conversation.
It's obvious this man thinks we are guests of whatever Buena Mesa is, and who knows what will happen if he finds out we stumbled upon them.
The last thing I need is to be chased through the desert by a sixty-year-old man and his flaccid penis.
Cecily draws in a shocked breath. Her gaze is locked on somebody in the water. "Mrs. Abbot?"
A woman turns. She is older too, her hair a blondish-gray, and clipped on top of her head.
"Hello, dear," she says, voice warm with recognition.
"You're not the first former student I've run into at Buena Mesa.
" She smiles serenely and adds, "Don't even think of asking me who, because we believe in everybody's right to privacy.
Just like I won't be repeating that I saw you. "
"Thanks?" Cecily's voice shakes. She pinches my arm, and I take it as a distress signal.
"We're going to continue our nature walk," I tell the group.
This is when the friendly leader takes it upon himself to be unnecessarily friendly. He lumbers up out of the water, marching toward us. Cecily squeaks and ducks behind me. The friendly leader is undeterred.
"Johann Bradford," he declares, extending his hand. Water drips from his fingers, from his entire body. He's close enough now that I can only really look into his eyes, and thank goodness for that. His trek over to us will be burned into my memory for the rest of time.
Swallowing my horror, I place my hand in his. How long will it be before I can douse it in soap and place it under scalding water? Longer than I'd like.
"Klein Madigan," I lie. I hope they mean what they say about privacy, because if Klein's career skyrockets the way I hope it will following his book release, we're going to need that discretion.
"Nice to meet you, Klein," Johann says enthusiastically. He leans left, to look at Cecily. "And you are?"
She leans over also, sending him a small wave. "Mrs. Madigan."
He nods. "You're new here, aren't ya?"
"What gave it away?" Cecily asks.
"I can always spot the first-timers. One of my jobs is to serve as an example of how to live nude without embarrassment." He takes a step back. Opens his arms wide. "It's ok to be shy, but you don't have to be. We're a wholesome place."
I will never hear the word wholesome the same way again.
"Don't miss the pickleball tournament this evening," he adds. "It's always a good time."
"Ok, well, thank you for the warm welcome," Cecily says, wrapping her hands around my arm and tugging. I offer a wave, and Mrs. Abbot merrily obliges.
Cecily and I beat a hasty retreat, or as hasty as we can be without rolling our ankles or falling into cacti.
When we are a safe distance away, Cecily says, "I did not see that coming."
"Did you see it going?" I am referring to the unfortunate sight of Johann's rear end.
"He made quite an exit."
"You have to hand it to them. Those nudists were a happy bunch."
"I can't imagine doing that."
"Being naked in front of a bunch of people? Yeah, me neither."
"That, too, but also, being that vulnerable. Every flaw on display." Cecily shakes her head. "The nudist life is not for me, for many reasons."
"Flaws are on display all the time, whether you realize it or not. Not physical flaws, necessarily, but the others. Flaws in personality, for instance. And what is seen as a flaw for one person, might not be seen as a flaw for the next person."
"Sort of like saying beauty is in the eye of the beholder?"
"In a way."
Cecily turns around suddenly. Pokes me hard in the chest. "Sounds to me like you're trying to get me to go tits out with Mrs. Abbot."
"Never," I say solemnly. "Nobody sees my wife's tits but me."
Cecily blushes.
I like it, the way the red spreads over her cheeks. "Or at least one, anyway. I've seen one."
She plays with the end of her braid, fighting a smile. "The other one looks just like it."
Knocking her hand gently aside, I toy with the braid. "I'll be the judge of that."
"We said we'd kiss once, Dominic."
Ooh. She full-named me. A sure sign I'm making her feel something.
Her grin turns mischievous. Her eyes, too. Her whole damn face. With two hands she reaches for the hem of her shirt, pulls it up, stopping for a short second to gather her bra. Up, and away.
She's beautiful. Perfection. I want her.
Too soon, she lowers her top. Wiggles her eyebrows.
I point a stiff finger her way. "Menace."
"I might not mind that nickname after all," she says, continuing the walk like she didn't just flash me. "In fact, it has a ring to it."
It's late afternoon when we make it back to the dude ranch. Cecily tells me we're ten minutes late for a cookout, according to the binder. There is no time to change, to clean up. I've been in these clothes all day, and I've been dreaming about a shower.
We walk into the outdoor pavilion, locating the Hampton family at a large table under a mesquite tree.
The place smells of charcoal briquettes, open flame, and barbecue.
Thank goodness for the country music blaring from the speakers, because my stomach is starting to talk.
I didn't realize how long we'd been gone. Time with Cecily passes differently.
Two plastic folding chairs are vacant between Rainbow and Duke. Forced by our tardiness, we will have to sit next to Rainbow. I remember what Cecily said last night about Rainbow having a punchable face, and slide to Cecily's other side, placing myself between her and the death doula.
The Hamptons stare at us, agog. We must be a bedraggled, dirty sight.
"Where have you been?" Ophelia asks.
Cecily tosses her empty and crushed bottle of water on the table and sits heavily in her seat. "Let it be known that today is the day I saw my high school principal's fun bags."
Duke spits out a mouthful of amber beer, attempting to catch it in a cupped palm. "Mrs. Abbot?" he sputters. Beer seeps through the cracks in his fingers, absorbing into the front of his shorts.
Cecily nods. "Old Abby," she confirms.
"I never liked her," Marilyn announces. "She held a grudge against our family for no reason that was discernible to me." She lifts her glass of white wine in the air. "Tell us everything."
Duke and Kerrigan stare at their mother.
Cecily stiffens, what can only be shock running through her.
She recovers quickly, grabbing a full goblet of water and sucking it down.
I do the same. I'm positive we are both dehydrated.
It wasn't nearly as hot as it will be in the summer months, but the dry heat can be misleading.
"Well, Mom, thank you for giving me the floor." Cecily glances at me. "Have we got a story for you."
Cecily wore her own pajamas to bed tonight. She placed a pillow between us on the bed, and still she hugged the edge of her side.
A week ago, I would've said she's doing these things because she loathes me.
But now? I know better.