Temptation Ridge

It was nothing fancy: a meal at the kitchen table, some conversation about the building at the bar, the new guy in town, Shelby’s return for a nice long visit while she applied to colleges. But for Jack it was the most important part of his day, that time he had Mel all to himself, the kids tucked in for the night.

When the dishes were cleaned up, Mel headed for the shower first. Jack brought in logs and laid a fresh fire in the master-bedroom hearth—the nights were already getting brisk. Fall came early in the mountains. When that was done, he went around the house collecting trash to take to the town Dumpster in the morning. He pulled off his boots by the back door and as he passed the laundry room, he tugged off his shirt and socks and left them on the washer. By the time he got back to his bedroom, the shower had stopped running. He hung his belt in the closet and went to the master bath.

As he stood in the doorway, he caught Mel in front of the mirror, quickly pulling her towel closed over herself. She had a guilty look on her face as she met his eyes in the mirror. “Melinda, what are you doing?” he asked, unzipping his jeans to take them off and take a shower of his own.

“Nothing,” she said, averting her eyes.

He frowned and stepped toward her. He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Were you covering up? In front of me?” he asked, astonished.

“Jack, I’m going to pot,” she said, cinching the towel tighter.

“What?” he asked, laughter in his voice. “What are you talking about?”

She took a deep breath. “My boobs are drooping, my butt fell into my thighs, I have a potbelly, and if that’s not bad enough, I’m so covered with stretch marks, I look like a deflated balloon.” She put a hand against his rock-hard chest. “You’re eight years older than I am and you’re in perfect shape.”

He started to laugh. “I thought you were trying to cover a tattoo or something. Mel, I didn’t have two children, a year apart. Emma’s only a few months old. Give yourself a little time, huh?”

“I can’t help it. I miss my old body.”

“Oh-oh,” he said, putting his arms around her. “If you’re thinking like that, I’m not doing my job.”

“But it’s true,” she said, laying her head against the soft mat of hair on his chest.

“Mel, you are more beautiful every day. I love your body.”

“It’s not what it was…”

“Hmm. But it’s better,” he said. He tugged at the towel and she hung on. “Come on,” he said. She let go and he pulled it away. “Ah,” he said, smiling down at her. “This body is amazing to me—incredible. More lush and irresistible every day.”

“You can’t mean that,” she said.

“But I do.” He leaned down and touched her lips with his, one hand on her breast, the other moving smoothly down her back and over her bottom. “This body has given me so much—I worship this body.” He lifted her breast slightly. “Look,” he said.

“I can’t bear it,” she complained.

“Look, Mel. Look in the mirror. Sometimes when I see you like this, uncovered, I can’t breathe. Every small change just makes you better, more delicious to me. You can’t think I’d have anything but complete admiration for the body that gave me my children. You give me so much pleasure, sometimes I think I might be losing my mind. Baby, you’re perfect.”

“I’m twenty pounds heavier than when you met me,” she said.

He laughed at her. “What are you now? A size four?”

“You don’t know anything. It’s much more than a four. We’re headed for double digits…”

“God above,” he said. “Twenty more pounds for me to gobble up.”

“What if I just keep getting fatter and fatter?”

“Will you still be in there? Because it’s you I love. I love your body, Mel, because it’s you. You understand that, right?”

“But…”

“If I had an accident that blew my legs off, would you stop loving me, wanting me?”

“Of course not! That’s not the same thing!”

“We’re not our bodies. We’ve been lucky with our bodies, but we’re more than that.”

“It was my butt in a pair of jeans that got your attention….”

“My love for you is a lot deeper than that, and you know it. However—” he grinned “—you still knock me out in those jeans. If you’ve gained twenty pounds, it went to all the right places.”

“I’m thinking—tummy tuck,” she said.

“What nonsense,” he said, leaning down to cover her mouth in a bold and serious kiss. His hands were moving up and down her bare back and before seconds had passed, she was losing herself in his touch. “The first time we made love, I thought it was the best love I’d ever had. Ever. The best experience of my life. I really didn’t think it could get better—but it does. Every time, richer and deeper than the time before.”

“I’m going to stop eating Preacher’s fattening food,” she said, but she said it a little breathlessly. “I’m going to insist he start making salads.”

He took her hand in his and put her palm against his belly, sliding it down. “I’m not going to have time for that shower,” he said, his voice husky. His lips went to her neck. “Unless you want to get back in, with me.”

“Jack…”

“You know how much I wanted you that first night?” he whispered against her cheek. “I’ve wanted you more every night since. Come on,” he said, bending and lifting her into his arms. “I’m going to show you how beautiful you are.” He carried her to the bed, laid her softly on the sheets and knelt over her, an arm braced on each side. “Want me to light the fire?” he asked with a chuckle.

She ran her hands down over his narrow hips, sliding his jeans lower. “Jack, if you start to find me unattractive, will you tell me? Please? While there’s still time for me to do something about it?”

He covered her mouth, kissing her deeply. “If that ever happens, Melinda, I’ll be sure to tell you.” He kissed her again. “God, you taste good.”

“You don’t taste bad,” she whispered, letting her eyes fall closed.

“Any special requests?” he asked her.

“Everything you do is special,” she whispered.

“Fair enough,” he said. “We’ll just do everything….”

When Luke pulled up to the house and cabins in the dark of night, he used a big flashlight to illuminate them. The electricity had been shut off last year when old Mr. Chapman passed. All he could really make out was a house black as pitch and a few cabins with peeling shingles and some boarded-up windows. A closer inspection had to wait until morning.

But the sound of the rushing river was awesome. What a great locale this was for the time being. He remembered how much he’d liked this place the first time he’d seen it—the sound of the river, the owls, the wind through the pines making that whistling sound, the occasional bark of a goose or quack of a duck. Although it was cold, he pulled out extra blankets and planned to sleep with one of the camper’s windows open so he could hear the river and the wildlife.

At the first light of morning, he pulled on his jeans and boots and went outside to a morning that was just turning pink, the air crisp and damp. Just down the bank he could see the river rushing over natural waterfalls where, in fall, the salmon would be jumping upstream to spawn. On the opposite side of the river were four deer having a drink. And—unsurprisingly—the house and cabins looked like hell. What a pimple on the face of this beautiful landscape.

Exactly what he expected. A lot of work ahead, but great potential. They could sell it right now for the value of the land, or he could improve the structures and get a much better price. And he needed something constructive to do while he plotted his next move. He could scout around for a helicopter flying job. There were news choppers, medical transport, private industry. He took a deep breath. But for right now, this little piece of river land was perfect.

He went first to inspect the house. The porch out front was nice and big, but would have to be reinforced, sanded and stained or painted. The door was stuck and he had to force it, splintering some of the rotting wood around the jamb. Of course the place was filthy—not only had it not seen a good cleaning in a long while before Mr. Chapman’s death, in the year since, a couple of animals had burrowed in and taken roost. He heard the sound of scurrying, saw footprints on the dusty floor, and the countertops suggested a menagerie. The place would be full of mice, raccoons, maybe opossums. Hopefully the bear didn’t have a den in here. He’d be sleeping in the camper for a while.

It didn’t have a good smell, either. Everything was left as it was the day Mr. Chapman passed—the bed was even mussed as though he’d just gotten out of it. Dirty clothes littered the floor, there was rotten and petrified food in the kitchen, all the furniture was still in place. Nasty, musty, stained furniture that was on its very last legs. The appliances also seemed to be about a million years old and the refrigerator had never been cleaned out before the electricity was shut off. It was completely destroyed by odors that would have to be blasted out.

Right inside the front door was a decent-size living room with a good-looking stone hearth. To the immediate left was a large, empty dining room separated from the kitchen by a breakfast bar that was sagging. The kitchen was big enough for a table and four chairs or, better still, a butcher-block island.