Sweet Summertime

PRESENT DAY

Genevieve (Gen)

There’s no going back now, Genevieve MacKenzie whispered as she heard the taxi’s engine roar away.

Gen halted, her breath trapped somewhere between her lungs and her throat. The sight in front of her brought tears to her eyes and an ache to her heart. Home.

Clutching her suitcase in one hand and her tote in the other, she stood staring at the most beautiful sight. Beyond the dock, beyond the ferry that would take her there, stood her island.

Green lush grass butted up to the sandy shore. White buildings peppered the shoreline. The long wooden dock on the opposing land beckoned to her. The boathouse, the nearby shacks, the Dairy Bar she once worked at were worse for wear; all needed a fresh coat of paint. But to her they were like old, welcoming friends.

It was the people living on that beloved island she wished she didn’t have to face.

She took a shivery breath.

Shake a leg, the captain of the ferry shouted out.

Same ol’ Captain Bly, she muttered.

Captain Beckett, better known to the kids on the island as Captain Bly, had to be older than dirt back in the seventies. Now, he looked even craggier with a leathery wrinkled face, long prominent nose, and tall, whip-thin frame. But it was his cold, gray eyes that drilled through her that she’d always remembered, even had nightmares about.

Ain’t got all day, girl.

She moved, slowly putting one foot in front of the other. It was only yards, but it felt like she walked a mile to be condemned. Once at the loading area, she waited patiently as he eyed her.

You coming or staying?

Taking an unsteady step forward, she gave her answer.

He grunted. In approval or disapproval, she wasn’t certain. The man’s face showed no emotion. He grabbed for her suitcase and swung it easily into the boat, and then stuffed it in the baggage rack. Absently, he offered her his hand.

Gen gulped hard. Hesitantly, she reached out. His rough-skinned grip tightened as she climbed aboard. Once safely on deck, he didn’t let go. She jerked her gaze to his. A well of sadness shone in his.

About time you made it back, he said gruffly, and then abruptly released her hand and shuffled off, shouting orders to depart.

She blinked several times. Had he missed her? No, it couldn’t be.

Trying to brush off the odd sensation, Gen made her way to the front of the ferry, quickly becoming re-accustomed to the gentle sway of the vessel. Water lapped at the sides. Once at the bow, she automatically reached for the railing. The worn, scarred wood brought a wave of nostalgia

Within moments, the captain yelled out again and the boat was set in motion.

Tumbling back in time, she recalled the many summers she’d come here. Her parents dragged their three kids to this place the first time. But it hadn’t taken Gen more than a moment on the ferry and gazing at the island to instantly fall in love.

Her younger sister and younger brother didn’t warm up to the idea. Ever. It began with her standing at the railing, silently drinking in the place she loved the most while her siblings slapped, teased, and then taunted each other mercilessly. Her parents’ cries for peace and quiet soon followed. Then the bickering ensued.

Now, she dragged in a long, shuddering breath. Pain throbbed in her chest. She’d had a knack for blocking things out, mostly their fighting back then. But lately, with age, the memories poked at her more and more. Why couldn’t things have been different? Why couldn’t she have stopped it from happening?

Clutching the railing tighter, she felt the carvings. Looking down, she smiled sadly. She traced the many sets of initials embedded there. All her childhood friends. She trembled inside at the knowledge she’d soon see them. Would they shun her for what she’d done?

Shaking the troubling thoughts aside, she focused on the view. With her chin up, she savored the wind caressing her skin. The morning sun glistened on the water. She sucked in a long, deep breath of the sea air. It almost hurt, but it cleansed away the cobwebs in her body.

Gone too long, she whispered. Much too long.

The ride took a little more than twenty minutes. Gen savored every moment, silently noting the little changes time had wrought over the last two years. The landscape remained the same, yet different. Trees had grown, their branches longer and fuller. The water lapped a little higher than before. Farther away, the many houses and businesses sprinkled the island. Boats dotted the water near the dock. She spotted the familiar ones. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She, along with friends, had stolen a couple of them for joy rides.

Almost always, never caught, she mused out loud. Almost.

The rumble of the engines shifted to low gear beneath her feet. The captain shouted out, Land! Get ready to tie up!

Gen came out of her reverie. Searching the length of the dock, she spotted him standing near the end. Her heart tripped over itself.

The tall, broad-shouldered man stood with his hands jammed in his jean pockets. The breeze tousled his dark hair. The jacket he wore flapped gently in the wind. His body seemed just as tense as hers was now.

A well of guilt swamped her. How could she ever face him?

Only half aware of the commotion going on around her as the crew hustled to get the ferry boat tucked in and tied up safely, Gen could only stare at the man waiting for her.

Staying or going? The captain’s gruff voice came from just a few feet behind her.

With one last long look, she slowly turned. Grasping her tote, she put one foot in front of the other, willing herself to move forward.

A few moments later, the captain helped her out of the boat, and then heaved her suitcase onto the dock. It hit with a dull clatter. He grunted. Goodbye or good luck: she wasn’t sure what it meant.

She mustered up some long-buried courage, and then snatched up the heavy suitcase and marched down the dock. With each step she took, a little more dread seeped into her belly.

She couldn’t dodge him for the rest of her life. She tried for two years. She failed.

He’d been persistent. He’d never quit. That much she did know for sure.

Swallowing hard, she halted in front of him. Gingerly, she put down the heavy case, and then straightened. She couldn’t avoid this any longer.

Gen looked into his eyes. Beautiful blue eyes stared back at her. There was a hardness there now. Her heart squeezed in her chest. Anger shone through, but she witnessed the hurt buried below. It was his pain that tore through her like a dagger. She’d put that look there. She’d been the one to cause the deep well of pain that would never heal. Gen knew that because she’d done it to herself, too.

Mac, she said softly. I’m sorry I hurt you.

Long time no see. His crisp tone cut through her.

Her throat grew dry. As she tried to collect herself, she took in the changes in him. The beginnings of gray peppered his dark hair. The lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened. But he still wore the mustache and now a goatee. He was so damn handsome. Maybe even more than ever before.

How have you been? she asked hesitantly.

Peachy, just peachy. And you?

Fucked up! You’ve changed… She bit her lip.

You, too, he shot back.

She fingered her shoulder-length hair, much shorter than the last time she’d been here. It’s just not the hair. It’s every part of me.

No shit. We’ve both changed. Harder, colder, you name it.

She sighed heavily. This isn’t going to work, is it?

You decided that for the both of us, didn’t you, sweetness?

She cringed at the nickname, now used almost like a weapon. Don’t call me that.

He waved a hand in the air. Oh, so what would you prefer me to call you? He leaned closer. Wife?

Thomas (Mac) MacKenzie

If Mac could have kicked himself in the ass he would have. Jamming his foot down on the gas pedal, he peeled out of the dirt parking area. The old Suburban jerked to life as he cranked the wheel to the right. It bumped onto the asphalt road.

He lifted his foot up slightly, and then glanced over at the front passenger seat.

Gen had changed. Thinner and paler than ever, he’d noted the bruised look in and around her hazel eyes. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.

Sighing inwardly, he realized it just wasn’t her physical appearance that had aged. No, he could tell she was bone-weary. Life had a way of doing that to you sometimes. Hell, he should know. Takes one to know one.

He couldn’t save her back then, not from herself. He sure the hell doubted he could do any better this time.

She gazed out of the open window, straining to catch a glimpse of what time had done. Mac eased up even more on the pedal.

Twisting toward him, she said, You don’t have to for me.

I want to, he said gruffly. Just let me do something for you. Even a little.

Instead of her turning back to the view, he felt her stare. He looked once. An ache shot through his heart. He focused on the road again.

I’m sorry, Mac. She said it so softly he could barely hear her. But he did.

He didn’t ask for what; he knew. Clenching his jaw, he remained silent.

Her sigh bounced off the interior of the vehicle and settled somewhere deep in his core.

The rustle of her movements clued him into her shifting and leaning her head out the open window. A quick glance revealed what he’d already figured. With her face to the wind, her hair blowing crazily around her head, she smiled.

The tightness in his chest eased. He’d do anything just to make her happy again.

He slowed as they passed the Dairy Bar. The small, white building was little more than just a shack with a walk-up window. But its delicious, simple food and tasty ice cream was the place to go during the summer stay on the island. A wave of pride rushed through him. Against all odds, his big brother had worked hard and sacrificed nearly everything he had just to buy and run the Dairy Bar.

Elliott? she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

At the bar, the alcoholic one, setting up for the crowd tonight. We’ll see him tomorrow.

Taking the long way, Mac made sure he went by all her old favorite places. The park, their old hangouts, the beauty shop—now shut down and boarded up—the little grocery store on the corner, and everything else in between. All except the one that haunted her now.

He turned down the familiar road. Gen tensed, and then pulled back into the vehicle. Sitting straight now, she clenched her hands in her lap. He halted in front of the big, white house sitting back from the road a half-dozen yards.

Slowly, she turned to face him as he looked at her. The shadows clouding her eyes sent a dagger through his heart. I...I can’t stay here, she choked out.

Because of me? Because of us?

No, because of me, of what I did. And, because of…

Him. The one word was short and clipped. The pain it evoked fanned to life once again.

She looked out the front window, staring blindly, or so it seemed. I could stay with Mrs. B. That’s why we’re all coming together. For Mrs. B’s sixty-fifth birthday. There was a hopefulness in her voice.

He shook his head. Nope. She’s got people coming this weekend, remember?

Not tonight, right?

She’s busy getting her hair done and whatever else you women do in the city. Tomorrow night it’s just the six of us. A special reunion for Mrs. Brewster. Everyone else arrives the next day.

So I could—

Do you hate me that much? He braced himself, waiting for the blow.

That had her jerking back to gaze at him. Her frown deepened. He swore there were tears in her eyes. I could never hate you, Mac.

He relaxed at her response. Could you ever love me again, though?

Look, it would be best—

If you stop fighting it. You’re staying here. He got out of the vehicle, slamming the door shut. He marched to the back, and then yanked open the rear tailgate. Snatching up her bags in one hand, he lugged them out, and then shoved the door closed.

Going to the passenger’s side, he stared at her profile. She hadn’t moved. I could carry you, he dared her. Over the threshold again.

That got her; she swiveled around to glare at him. Oh, no you don’t, Thomas MacKenzie. You are not slinging me over your shoulder and smacking my butt again, got it?

Don’t like caveman style still?

Forcefully, she yanked the handle, and then shoved the door open. He jumped back just in time to miss the impact. Men. You always have to prove yourself somehow, she muttered. She strode by him, heading toward the house. You coming or gawking? she threw over her shoulder.

He followed her. God, she still had the sexiest walk he’d ever seen. Shake it, don’t break it; wrap it up and I’ll take it.

Quit.

She knew him so well. He laughed. It felt strange, yet good.

The reprieve didn’t last long. The closer she got, the more her steps slowed. Climbing the three stairs took longer than an eighty-year old. It wasn’t just the closed door that stopped her.

Mac came up behind her. You can do this, sweetness. I know you can.

Her long, shuddering breath tore through his chest.

Scared?

She nodded. If he could see her face right now, he figured she was biting her lip, too.

It gets worse the longer you wait.

No shit, Sherlock, she countered.

Chuckling, he said, I haven’t heard that one in ages.

Well, you are a sheriff. He heard the smile in her voice.

Leaning around her, he grabbed the doorknob and twisted. It clicked and he shoved it open. After you, Watson.

Still don’t lock the doors around here, huh?

Curious or just stalling?

Turning to him briefly, she stuck out her tongue at him. Observing.

To her credit, she took one big step to cross over the threshold and into the house. She stilled, gazing around. You haven’t changed a thing, she said in awe.

Don’t need to. I like it this way. It reminds me of you and what we once had.

As if her feet had lead in them, she moved to the stairs. She clutched the banister while gazing toward the second floor. He heard her gulp hard. Still? She cleared her throat.

Still the same, he said softly.

Like a statue, she stood frozen in place.

Coming up behind her, he nudged her back. With a shaky breath, she took one step at a time. He kept his hand on her, gently supporting. Finally, at the landing, she gazed to her left. The door at the end of the hallway remained closed. I can’t.

You don’t have to. I don’t.

Thank you, she said on a sigh of relief.

You’re in our room. He went around her, walking the few yards to the open door. Once there, he tossed the tote bag on the coverlet and lifted the suitcase onto the trunk at the end of the bed. He turned around when she hesitated in the doorway.

But, where are you going to sleep? He swore her unspoken question was more like are we sleeping in the same room?

He jerked his head. Down the hall. Guest bedroom.

Relief washed over her features.

Tensing, he clenched his jaw. His gut churned. Was it that bad, Gen? Was being married to me and living with me with so damn bad?

Cissy Edwards

The lone flickering neon sign beckoned. Cissy whipped the wheel around. The tires bumped over the entrance. Gravel crunched as she drove through the parking lot. She found an empty space in front near the row of motorcycles. The brakes squealed. She shoved the gearshift into park. Leaning over, she snapped the lights off, and then twisted the key. The car chugged once, twice, and then finally a third time before it conked out.

Piece of shit, she muttered.

Grabbing her purse, she got out of the car. She pushed on the door. It swung a few inches. Metal moaned in protest, and then stuck. With three-inch heels, Cissy kicked it shut. The bang echoed in the still night air.

Straightening her emerald green blouse over her jean-clad hips and then smoothing down her long, flyaway red hair, she was ready to make her move.

With each step, her heels sunk into the gravel and with determination brought her closer to the hard beat of the music pouring from the low, rustic building. She loved classic rock and roll. The loud voices mingled with the clinking of glass.

She shivered at what she’d find behind those doors.

Up the wooden stairs, she crossed over the old porch, and then she shoved open the squeaky screen door. Smoke curled around her, burning her nostrils. She didn’t hesitate; she knew exactly who she was headed for. At the nearby crowded tables, mostly men gawked at her, but the few women there eyed her.

Making a direct path to the bar, she did her best to all but ignore them. Finding an empty stool at the long, scarred wooden bar, she slid up onto it. Crossing her legs, she dangled her high heel, swinging her foot gently.

It didn’t take long to spot him. Tall, dark hair peppered with gray, broad shoulders, muscled biceps... It must be from all the bottles of booze he lifts, she thought, watching as he hauled another one behind the counter. The older woman bartender quickly took over putting the bottles away.

He looked up, and then did a double take. His smile came easy.

She swallowed hard. Her middle flip-flopped.

He came to her then, slow and even easier than that smile had come. She took her fill of him. Damn man, even sexier than I remember.

Only the bar separated them now. His baby blue eyes held her stare.

Long time no see, Red, he said in that deep, husky voice of his.

She cocked an eyebrow. Now, that’s original.

He laughed. Oh, I don’t know. Red is my favorite color. He leaned closer. Especially in all the right places.

She nearly groaned. She tingled in all the right places.

Got any hard stuff? she asked, trying to change the subject.

As hard as you want it, honey. Maybe even harder than you’d ever imagined.

She stilled. Damn, he’s sexy!

Two could play at this game, she thought. Got anything to back that up with?

His grin widened. Right here in front of everyone?

Cissy giggled. She’d never win with him, but still she could give him a run for his money trying. After all, she wasn’t a professional call girl for nothing. But he didn’t know that. No one else on the island did either. She winked. Booze first. If that passes muster... She shrugged, and then slowly looked him over, lingering on his nice wide chest and strong arms. The black T-shirt he wore only enhanced his attributes even more. I’ll be the judge.

A contest, huh? He turned to the shelves lining the mirror behind the bar. He reached for a smoky brown bottle on the top shelf, and then hauled it down.

Coming back to her, he slammed it down on the bar along with the glass. What are you judging, Red? He came closer, his elbows now on the bar, his face within inches of hers. His gaze dropped to her lips. Taste? I’d always imagined you’d taste like cherries, sweet juicy cherries.

The tingle turned to an ache. She squeezed her legs together a little bit tighter. You’ve got quite an imagination, she said almost breathlessly.

Don’t you want to know what it tastes like? he baited, and then poured her a drink.

Somehow she knew he wasn’t referring to the booze. Bravely, she took a long, deep swallow of the amber liquid. Smooth. It went down too easily. Warm. Heat trailed from her mouth to her belly. Creamy. She detected vanilla caramel flavor.

That and so much more, he said in a low, husky voice.

This time she did moan. She squeezed tighter. Sounds yummy.

Anytime, honey.

She couldn’t be certain what was making her light-headed: him or the potent drink. Either way, she wanted more. I’ll have another one, she said, sliding her glass in his direction.

All night long.

Cissy sucked in a sharp breath. The ache grew. Promises, promises, she said in a shivery voice.

I deliver.

Bragging?

He laughed. There are some things worth taking the time and doing it right.

She stared at him, long and lingering. His eyes mesmerized her.

Slow and deep.

Gasping inwardly, she swore her panties grew damp.

An hour later, filled with lust for the sweet-talking man, she made it to the single stall bathroom. The lone light bulb hanging from the ceiling swung gently from the breeze coming through the high open window. Gripping the edge of the cold porcelain sink, Cissy steadied herself as she stared in the mirror. The drink and the man had gotten to her. Big time.

Her blurry, green eyes stared back at her. Then, bravely, she looked lower. The V neck of her shirt revealed her deep cleavage and rounded edges of her big bosoms. She pressed a hand over her right breast, aware of the lump buried there, saying, Now you see it, and then smashed it close to her body. Now you don’t. Double D’s to double don’ts.

A loud knock jerked her out of her musings. She dropped her hand just as the door swung open.

I gotta piss really bad, the older woman said. She teetered in her high heels and grabbed the wall for support as she came in without an invitation. Long hair, wrinkled, heavily made up face and no teeth, were Cissy’s first impression. The tight tank top and short jean skirt fit her tiny frame perfectly.

Cissy turned back to the mirror, fingering back a few stray strands of hair.

Hey you, the woman called out.

Twisting to her, Cissy saw the woman skim the skirt up, and then squat down. Hmm, no panties, go figure.

Ride that bad boy, but good, you know, for all of us, she said with longing in her voice.

She chuckled. You got it, honey. I’ll do it for the girls. Double D’s, here we come.

Elliott MacKenzie

God, he was the luckiest man in the whole God damn world.

He thrust his hips, sinking balls deep into the wettest, creamiest pussy he’d ever had the good fortune of being inside. Her muscles contracted around him and she threw her head back yet again. She groaned loud and long.

Oh, yeah. That’s it, baby, he mumbled, trying to hold back his own orgasm. He wanted this to last for the rest of the night.

He waited for her to focus, and then he looked deep into her eyes. God, you’re sexy, Red.

She quivered beneath him. Again—make me come again.

That did it. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, if that were possible. He felt her slide her legs upward alongside his, her silky skin caressing him. When she’d circled them around his hips and held on tight, he asked in a husky voice, Hard, deep, soft, slow? You tell me, beautiful.

All of the above, she gasped. She clung to his shoulders. A grin tugged at the corner of her swollen red lips. Give me the best you got, Elliott, top shelf only.

He chuckled. Oh, the good stuff. Why didn’t you say that before? Gently, he rocked out of her, and then back in.

I thought...that’s what…you were already doing, she said between pants.

Smiling, he looked down at her. He loved the rose-colored blush brushing her luscious pale skin. But most of all, he loved to look deep into her gorgeous green eyes. For years, he’d wanted her, wanted to be this close to her. Now he had his chance. He just didn’t want to screw things up, figuratively, of course.

Her grasp tightened on his arms. This time he was the one to shiver. Touch me, baby. He found a rhythm yet again. Slow at first, and then deeper. She thrust back, hips meeting hips. Watching her closely, feeling her body join his, he went a little bit faster.

Cissy groaned.

Elliott nearly lost it again. But not yet. He picked up speed. She matched him stride for stride. Hips smacked against hips, slick skin slid together and then apart, and hard panting rent the air. Elliott rose on his hands, shifting slightly.

She dug her nails into his biceps, throwing her head back. Don’t stop, please, don’t stop!

Her cries hit him. She clung to him in all the right places. She arched her back. Her muscles contracted around him, squeezing over and over again. He lost it, thrusting hard, and then spilling his seed in the condom. But he didn’t stop. Not until her body quieted and she said, Enough, for now. I can’t take it anymore.

He didn’t pull out. He rested gingerly on top of her. Brushing back her hair, he kissed her, long and deep. Once he broke the contact, he stared into her eyes. It seemed like ages. No one spoke. Her soft, sexy smile must have matched his.

Stay with me, he whispered. He honestly couldn’t say if he meant just for the night. He’d never asked anyone else the question. Never wanted to. But Cissy was different.

Biting her lip, she nodded.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

Hours later, Elliott blinked several times. Rays of sun were streaking across the sky outside the curtainless back window. He squinted until he grew accustomed to the light. His mind cleared. Memories of last night flashed through his mind and tugged at his body. He nearly groaned.

Gently, he shifted. She didn’t move. With her back to him and the sheet barely skimming her curvy hip, he wanted to reach out and brush aside all that long, beautiful red hair and kiss her porcelain skin. First her shoulders, and then he’d work his way down to her lush bottom.

He stopped himself. He wouldn’t end it there. She needed her rest. They’d kept up through the night and the last time was only an hour or so ago.

Suppressing a moan, he carefully got out of bed. He padded barefoot across the room and through the kitchen. The backdoor stuck, but he opened it quietly.

The cool morning air hit him, making him shiver. But the sun was coming up, turning the sky all kinds of oranges and reds. It was a great day.

He walked down the well-worn dirt path, and then found a shrub. He relieved himself. Once done, he turned back toward the dock. Old man Crankster’s golden retriever bounded out from the side of the house.

Hey, Dog, what you been up to, huh? He gave him a pat. Getting you some, too? He chuckled.

Dog bounded off down the path and Elliott followed. When he spotted the wooden dock, he began to run. The familiar boards bounced beneath his feet. He picked up speed at the end, and then jumped into the pond. He hit the freezing water hard, and then allowed himself to sink a few feet, his ears filling with the sound of gunk gunk.

Every part of his body came to life in the bracing cold water. His skin tingled, his blood pumped, and his heart raced. He kicked upward, toward the light. Breaking the surface, Elliott whooped and hollered. Brushing back his long, wet hair, he heard a noise. A car engine. Chuck, chuck, and then it roared.

Something sharp and heavy hit his gut. He swam for the dock faster than he thought possible at his age. Once there, he dragged himself up and out of the lake. He hit the bleached wood running. He was back on the path in seconds. The pebbles bit into the soles of his feet, but he kept running to the house, around it, and then to the front of it.

He stopped short at the sight. A trail of dirt separated him from the fleeing car. All he could make out were the red taillights. Emptiness rained down on him.

Damn it! I wasn’t finished, Red.

His heart sank. Was this going to be the first and last time he’d ever make love to that woman? I want more of you. More of us. He whispered