* This is a repost of an old romance story with a fresh edit. *
Chapter 11
‘What have I done?’ reverberated in Sherry’s mind as they began the three-hour drive to their honeymoon hideaway. After all, she didn’t really know Sam -- not well, not long. She’d been single for over seven years, now suddenly she was a wife and a mother with all the responsibilities that go with those titles. The desire to run and hide from this relational revolution continued to build. An old expression, “Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it”, became glaringly appropriate. But the gold band on her finger marked the finality of her choice.
Glancing at Sam’s tight jaw, she wondered if he was having second thoughts.
After hours of counseling, Pastor Simmons grudgingly agreed to marry them, saying, “I love you both and, although this is extremely rushed, I think you two are a good match.”
There was one other person who thought the marriage was a mega-super idea -- seven-year-old Christopher. Sherry smiled, remembering how shy he acted after the brief ceremony. He’d hugged her softly before they left, and said, “Bye…Mom.”
Her heart nearly burst. Sweeping him into her arms, she’d kissed his cheeks and said, “I’m so lucky to have you for a son.”
When Sam laid a hand on her knee, Sherry’s thoughts switched back to the present. He smiled reassuringly, and asked, “How’s my wife?”
“A little scared,” she said. Then added, “Husband,” shy as any new bride. The word felt foreign on her lips, but his touch made her body tingle with great expectations.
Placing his arm around her shoulders, he said, “We certainly have jumped into the deep end of the pool, haven’t we?”
His compassion gave momentary peace. She rested her head on his shoulder, and thought, ‘I’m not the only one whose life has changed forever. We’re in this together.’
“Sherry, I feel like I’ve broken my promise to you.”
“What promise was that?”
“I told you I wouldn’t put any pressure on you. Now look what I’ve done. I’ve pressured you into marrying me.”
From the quick glances, Sherry could tell that Sam was trying to read her expression, looking for evidence of concern. So she frowned to tease him, and said, “Actually Sam, you promised you weren’t going to pressure me for sex. You didn’t say anything about marriage. Technically you’re off the hook.” She gave him the crinkled nose, cutesy face, and added, “Just don’t plan on gettin’ any for a while.”
“Oh Lord, what have I done!” he moaned, and banged his head on the steering wheel.
Patting his knee, she said, “You’ve made your bed, Mister. Now you have to lie in it.”
“You’ll at least lie in it with me, won’t you?” he asked, making his brown eyes blue.
Sliding her palm up the inside of his thigh, over his groin and back, she answered, “You can count on it,” and winked. The truck cab became abruptly hot. The knowledge that she could caress him freely without feeling sinful was a delightful revelation.
“I love being married to you,” said Sam, as his hand left her shoulders to rub her inner thigh.
She snuggled in.
Then he added, “so far.”
Sherry pinched his side in retaliation. The playfulness lightened her mood.
As the miles passed, they fell into an easy pattern of what’s next conversation -- Chris, friends, family, a new house, work. Time clicked away sweetly domestic with a tantalizing sexual undercurrent.
During a quiet period, Sherry wondered, ‘How do you keep a marriage on fire?’ Glancing at her husband, she thought, ‘Sam must know. He’s been there. I hope my inexperience doesn’t frustrate him.’
Turning sideways, she leaned her chin on his shoulder, studied his profile, traced her fingers through the gray hair and tickled his ear.
He smiled. The creases deepened at the corner of his eye.
She remembered how his jaw clenched and the muscles flexed in his cheek when he was serious. It’s the little things you notice when you’re in love that become an almost extrasensory bond. She understood how he seemed to read her emotions so easily, having been married a long time. Women, who are good friends, probably have similar body language. ‘This is a man who wants to know my every detail.’ A tingle ran up her spine as she thought, ‘and will use it to keep us happy.’
The passing landscape changed from field to forest. Green mountains with granite peaks loomed ahead, while the air through the windows wafted a cool pine scent.
“Tell me again where we’re going?”
“An old friend of mine from high school, Jeff Bingham, inherited this place from his parents. He lives in Texas now, and only uses it a few times a year, a couple of weeks in the summer and hunting season. A realtor rents it for him the rest of the time. I gave the guy a call, and found out no one’s booked it for this week. I told him we’d like to rent it, if it wasn’t too short notice. Then Jeff called me back and said he’s letting us use it no charge, as a wedding gift.”
“That’s kind of him.”
“Yup, he’s a good guy.” Handing her a map, he said, “Pilot to navigator. These side roads are coming up fast. We’re looking for Bear Paw Lane. It should be on the right, in about seven miles.”
Referencing each intersection, the distraction of finding their way preoccupied them for a while.
“Slow down, Sam.” Sherry pointed at a passing dirt road. “That was Panther Lane. Bear Paw should be next.”
After another mile, a path that looked like a rutted wagon trail from an old Western appeared. ‘Bear Paw Lane’, scarcely readable on a hand painted plank nailed to a tree marked the turn off. Shifting into low gear, Sam negotiated the narrow culvert, and they proceeded slowly through the dark forest. The truck crawled forward, swaying side to side through puddles and over rocks. A patch of light grew larger, until they broke out into a panoramic view of a sparkling lake tucked in between bald mountains.
“Wow, this is beautiful.”
“I haven’t been here in years. It’s nice to know it hasn’t been spoiled.”
They drove along a bluff, passing a few side roads.
“Here we are.” Sam pulled into the driveway marked ‘Bingham’ and stopped alongside an A-frame log cabin, snug between the pines. Needles carpeted the ground. A breeze whispered over head. An expansive deck wrapped around the cabin’s side and disappeared in front. The sun was setting behind them, making the view crystal clear.
“Glimmer Lake.” Sam smiled, and hugged her sideways. “An appropriate name, huh?”
“Perfect.” Sherry grinned back, awed by the grandeur of nature and the promise of its physical delights.
“Let’s check out the accommodations.” They ran hand in hand onto the front deck and marveled at the blue water shimmering against the green forest. Twenty feet below floated a dock with an overturned rowboat at their disposal. Turning to look at the cabin, the front was almost entirely glass. The loft had a small, private deck, accessed from the room.
Sam walked to the cabin. His baggy shorts revealed strong legs, and they flexed with each step. Broad shoulders stretched the tee shirt, as a muscular arm bent to put a hand in his pocket. Sam unlocked the door, pushed it open and turned toward her with the grin that made her heart pound. His eyes wandered over her, and she knew what was on his mind. To have and to hold, she was all Sam’s now.
“Mrs. Colton.”
“Yes, Mr. Colton.”
“Come here, please. We must uphold tradition.”
Her brain made a cerebral fist pump and thought, “YES!” as she sauntered in his general direction.
Sam scooped her up and carried the blushing bride across the threshold. Inside, they kissed.
After a long connection, he grinned down at her, and said, “Mmm, corny but fun,” and proceeded to tour the ground floor with her still in his arms.
“You may put me down now, Husband. I want to tire you out, but not this way.”
“Wow, I like the sound of that!” But he continued to cradle his bride.
She floated through the kitchen, the bathroom and finally into the living room. The large, foldout couch in front of the window became her landing pad.
Upon touchdown, Sam tried to disembark. But Sherry hoped for some post-flight hospitality, and clung to his neck. “What’s your hurry, Husband?” Then pulled him down into a persuasive kiss.
With his brow raised in question, Sam asked, “Is it time to stop and smell the roses?” while his hands slid under and massage her lower back. “Stop and smell the roses, that can be our secret code for making love, Sherry. Since you’re a gardener, it’s perfect.” He sniffed her face. Then, snuffling like the Labrador she had as a child, he tickled her ear.
She tipped her head to cover it, and laughed, “Stop it!”
“But you’re the prettiest flower I’ve ever seen. I must sniff you,” he said, tickling the other ear with air and sound. His hands slipped further up her back and fiddled with the bra clasp.
The release of elastic tension along with lips nuzzling her neck fired her senses. She closed her eyes, and reveled in the attention. Firm hands pushed up her shirt, until the cool room air washed over her breasts. Sam’s hot lips landed on her stomach. She played with his silky hair, and watched him stare lustily at her nipple. It hardened with anticipation. ‘What power he has over me.’
