Rooted (Pagano Family #3)(71)

The tone with which she said it was appreciative, almost reverent, and Theo smiled. Yes. This place.

To their right, nestled into the trees, his small, cedar-shake house, not dramatically different in style from Carmen’s beach cottage. To the left, down about seventy yards, Colson Lake, rimmed with pines and birches, busily about its work of freezing for the winter. The house was surrounded by expansive cedar decking of varied tiers, eventually connecting with the walkway to the lake, which became the dock onto the lake. That decking and walkway was the hard work of a summer for Theo and Eli several years before. Past the deck, his office, a tiny cedar cabin of its own. Back and to the near side of the house, functional but not nearly as picturesque, stood a large garage clad in corrugated steel. Once, it had held three vehicles, a riding mower, a little jon boat, and a rack of canoes and kayaks. These days, besides the boats and mower, his ’95 Cherokee was the only vehicle in there.

Carmen parked her truck, and they got out. Theo walked around the back end and went to her, catching her hand in his. “This is where I live.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yes. Come with me. I want to show you something.”

The air was sharply cold, and the snow moderately deep, but he wasn’t worried. She was dressed in big work boots, heavy, black leggings, and a dark brown sweater that hugged her belly. Over it all, she wore a navy down-filled coat with a faux-fur trimmed hood. She was a woman who knew what winter was. Maybe not a winter in the Maine woods, but she knew how to dress for the cold.

Shaking her hand free of his, she zipped her coat closed and then fished in her pockets and pulled out her gloves. When they were on, she took his hand again, and he led her down toward the lake.

He walked her out on the dock, so she could see past the edge of his little cove and out toward the larger lake. On a winter day like this—the sun bright and turning the snow into a sparkling blanket of pure peace, the lake itself iced enough to hold the snow but not yet enough to be trod upon, the trees lifting the white burdens of their boughs to the sky—it was possible to forget there was a world anywhere else. He loved it deeply. He’d lived a life here. He’d lost much here. He’d healed here. And he hoped that Carmen’s general distaste for humanity would entice her to live with him here, beyond the touch of strangers. He wanted to move on here.

They stood at the end of the dock; Theo behind her, his arms around her.

“God, Theo. It’s like Narnia. This can’t be real.”

He burrowed his face past the hood of her coat and into her hair, taking a deep breath of her. “But it is. We’re alone here. Totally private.” He slid his hand up under her coat and sweater, and then into her leggings, under her panties. He rubbed his palm over her taut, rounding belly. Their little girl. “No one to see us, no one to bother us.”

“Theo…”

Hearing reluctance in her voice, but not resistance, he pushed his hand between her legs and found her becoming wet already. She gasped and flinched as his fingers brushed her clit and her folds.

“No one to mind us at all,” he breathed against her ear. He pushed his fingers deep, holding her snugly with his other arm as she folded forward with a cry. She wet his fingers thoroughly, and he groaned into her hair.

“I love to feel you want it like this, to feel you swell at my touch.” He moved his fingers to her clit and rubbed, keeping the pressure firm and steady, but varying the way he moved, as she liked. Here on the dock in December, bundled up in their winter layers, he wasn’t planning to linger. He wanted to get her off quickly and powerfully. She was extra sensitive these days and doubly responsive, and now he was bent over her back because she’d nearly doubled over. With both gloved hands between her legs, she held his hand on her and flexed, grunting, until she came, going suddenly, rigidly still, and wetting his hand even more.

When her body relaxed, he stood them both straight and removed his hand, setting her clothes to rights. Then he turned her to face him and kissed her flushed cheek. “Welcome to Maine,” he murmured.



oOo



They spent their days primarily alone together, tucked into his little woodsy haven. Joe Boyd had been over to check on things recently enough that the Cherokee started almost right away, the pipes were working well, and the wood was dry.

The new ruts through the snow-covered drive brought visitors within the first day—Joe, an older, rough-edged, old-school Mainer, showed up in his ancient Willys with his Mossberg at the ready, but he was warm and friendly as soon as he saw Theo, and he gave Carmen an appreciative eye—and then gave Theo a brotherly wink when he noticed her belly.

Perry and Marijean Darron came over after that, having already talked to Joe. Marijean came bearing baked goods and homemade apple butter. Theo liked them both a lot, especially Perry, with whom he’d coached Little League for Eli and Jeremy Darron. They’d spent a lot of summer hours out on the lake in that little jon boat, too, dangling lines in the water and downing a six pack or two.

Marijean was a sweet stay-at-home mom who homeschooled their four sons and put a diligent shoulder to all the things she felt certain that a good mother did for her family. She was also an inveterate gossip. She asked a lot of passively prying questions of Carmen, and Carmen’s answers grew progressively sharper until Theo realized that she was about to leave civility behind completely and just lay into his plump, mostly harmless neighbor. He found a polite way of sending the Darrons on their way.