Sunrise Point (Virgin River #19)(79)

He lectured himself for a while on how only a fool would allow himself that kind of contact with a woman he wanted to keep at arm’s length. So—that was pleasant, he thought. And now it will officially stop. No more playing around; no more five-minute kisses in the apples.

And at two o’clock in the afternoon he found her in the orchard, slid that heavy bag full of apples off her shoulders, spun her around the thick trunk of a tree and kissed the breath out of her. Over and over.

When he let her breathe, she laughed. “I know you want me to understand that this is not passion or desire, but just friendship, but I have to be honest—I’m having a little trouble with the concept. You are very distracting.”

“So are you,” he accused. “I’m not really doing this because I want to be serious. I’m doing this because you taste like apples and honey and I like apples and honey.”

“And you taste like roughly ten tons of testosterone. I am not sleeping with you.”

“We could probably manage it, though. Without getting too involved.”

“No,” she said.

“But why? I mean, if we’re trusted friends? And it doesn’t interfere with our responsibilities?”

“Did that line ever actually work for you?”

“I can’t remember. But it probably did—it’s brilliant.”

“No. Never gonna happen.”

“Really?”

“Tom, how many children do you think I have to have before I figure out you get them by having sex?”

“Of course there would be protection,” he offered. “Tons of it.”

“No.”

“Jeez. Well, then, could you stop looking so good?”

“You’re pathetic,” she said with a laugh. “I’m dressed for apple picking and have no makeup on and no matter what you say, I’m sure I don’t smell or taste that good.”

His lips instantly sought her neck; he kissed and licked. He groaned. Then he went after her lips again, kissing her stupid.

“No,” she said when their lips parted. “Now, as much fun as it is to make out with the boss, I have work to do.”

“Had enough of me, have you?” he asked.

“For now,” she said with a smile. “Your professional behavior is killing me.”

He sighed and let her go. He helped her back into the apple sack.

“Thank you,” she said. “Now go do something important.” And she gave him a little shove.

“All right, but I have a feeling I might be back.”

“Yeah. I know.”

* * *

Tom wasn’t a particularly good liar and he blamed Maxie. She had always told him that lying created bad karma and that often you were stuck with the lie. She said it was God showing his sense of humor. When he was a kid in school and hadn’t done his homework, she’d warn him, “Don’t say you couldn’t do it because your grandmother died unless you want your grandmother to die—lies have a funny way of working into truth.”

However, he felt some lies, minor lies to be sure, had to be safe. So when Darla called and said, “How was hunting over the weekend?” he said, “Didn’t get anything.”

“Well, I missed you so much, I can’t wait for this weekend. And I’ve been thinking, if you can break away from the orchard for a little hunting, you can break away to visit me in Davis.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t. I’m hunting again.”

“Tom! Again?”

“It’s a tradition around here and very important to community relations.” He was glad she couldn’t actually see him wince under the weight of the bullshit.

“I’m not going to be in Davis that much longer,” she said in a pout. “And I miss you. I miss the whole orchard.”

“Well, if you want to spend the weekend alone with Maxie, I’m sure she’d be more than happy to entertain you.” And, just as he thought, Maxie was eavesdropping. The speed with which that old woman made it to the kitchen where he was talking on the phone was rather phenomenal and gave lie to her impending death. Her eyes were as big as apples and she bared her teeth at him. “In fact, she might be having her girlfriends for the weekend again,” he said to further discourage Darla.

Maxie rolled her eyes and went back to her television program.

“Well, when exactly will you be gone?” Darla asked.

There were times it was not easy being a man, and he was proving himself to be a typical one. He could hoist up an M-16 and go after insurgents fearlessly, but he could not tell an interested woman that it was a no-go. No interest. In fact, some measure of dislike. More than some—Darla was not for him. He would far rather she finish her time in Davis, return to Denver and forget about him. “Well, I’ll be leaving very early Saturday morning, we’ll camp overnight and I’ll be back around noon on Sunday,” he said. Just coincidentally, about the time Darla would be leaving Virgin River if she came to visit.

“Well, that not only eliminates the possibility of you coming to Davis for a nice weekend we could spend alone, but why would I bother to come to Virgin River for one evening?”

There was definite emphasis on alone and he actually gulped. “Sorry, Darla, but some things are just tradition and were set in stone long before I even knew you had a class in Davis. How much longer is that class, by the way?”