The Liar

Shelby managed a sigh. “Are you expecting a delivery?”

“You never know. I didn’t even think about it. Who could think?”

“It’s nice not to think. It seems I spend most every hour of my day having to do just that. I don’t think when I’m singing, and I don’t have to think when you start kissing me. I guess it’s like a song.”

“I was thinking.”

“Mmmm.”

“I was thinking you looked like some sort of mountain goddess.”

She choked out a laugh. “Goddess. Do go on.”

“All that crazy red hair, the moon-white skin. So slim and strong, and eyes like blue shadows.”

“Well, that is like a song.” Moved, and a little nervous with it, she rolled over again, propped on his chest. “You’ve got some poetry, Griffin.”

“That’s about it.”

“It’s more than enough.” She traced a finger down his cheek. “You could be a god, all these hollows here.” And down the other cheek. “The sun-streaked hair, all those fine, fine muscles.”

“We’re a set.”

She laughed, lowered her forehead to his. “How deep is that stream of yours these days, Griff?”

“I guess about to mid-thigh—your thigh.”

“That’ll do it. Let’s go splash in the stream.”

He opened one eye, one cat-green eye. “You want to splash in the stream?”

“With you, I do. We can finish working up an appetite, and have another glass of that lemonade while we put dinner together.”

Before he could think of a reason against, she got up, tugged on his hand.

“We’re still naked,” he pointed out.

“No point getting our clothes wet, is there? Let the dog out,” she suggested, then dashed away.

A goddess, he thought. Or what was that thing . . . a sprite. But he didn’t imagine sprites had such long legs. He let the dog out as Shelby ran over his lawn, then, thinking of the more practical, ducked into the house, grabbed a couple of towels.

He wasn’t a prude—and would have been insulted to be termed one. But it felt pretty damn weird to rush over his own front yard wearing nothing but skin.

Before he got through the flanking trees, he heard the splash, the laugh, and the joyful yip of the dog.

She made rainbows, he thought, the way she tossed water up so the drops caught the dappled light and shone into quick color. The dog lapped, barked, swam some in the deeper water, then shook himself in the shallows.

Griff hung the towels over a branch.

“It’s so wonderfully cool. You could drop a line in here, maybe catch something. You follow the stream down a ways where it widens, deepens, you could catch your supper most any evening.”

“I’ve never fished.”

She straightened, naked and obviously stunned. “In your life?”

“I grew up in the ’burbs, Red, spent a lot of time with urban activities.”

“We have to fix that the very first chance we get. Fishing’s good for you. It’s relaxing, and you’re a patient man so it should suit you. What kind of urban activities?”

“Me?” He stepped into the water, and she was right, it was cool. “Sports mostly. Basketball in the winter, baseball in the summer. I never went out for football. I had a pretty skinny build.”

“I like baseball.” She sat down in the water, let it bubble over her. “I believe my daddy might have traded me for another model otherwise. What position did you play?”

“Did some pitching, covered second. Liked playing second better, I guess.”

“How come you’re not playing on the Raiders softball team? The Ridge has a pretty good team.”

“I might try it next year. This year, free time’s for the house. Aren’t you worried about rocks under your ass, or some fish swimming up . . . where I just was?”

She laughed, lay back enough to dip her hair in the water. “You really are citified yet. I know a couple of good swimming holes. We ought to try one some night.”

“Maybe I’ll put in a pond. I thought about a swimming pool, but that’s a lot of maintenance, plus, it doesn’t fit here. But a pond would.”

“You could do that?”

“Maybe. Something to think about down the road.”

“I love to swim.” Relaxed, even a little dreamy, she trailed her fingers back and forth to ripple the water. “I started teaching Callie before she could walk. And we had a pool in the condo in Atlanta, so we could swim all year-round. When she’s a little older, I’ll take her rafting with one of Clay’s groups. She’s fearless, and she’d like that. But I want another year or so on her first.”

She cocked her head. “Have you tried that?”

“The white water? Yeah. It’s a rush. I figured on going again when my parents come down in August.”

Her trailing fingers stilled. “Oh, they’re coming for a visit?”

“Working vacation—they’ll give me about a week on the place in early August. I’ve got some work I want to get done before they do. And I want them to meet you.”

That had nerves dancing in her stomach.

“I want them to see for themselves I’m not exaggerating.”

“You’ve told them about me?”

He gave her a long look. “What do you think?”

“Well.” She sat up again. Those nerves were doing an enthusiastic clog dance now. “Um. Well, my family has a big backyard party early in August. If the timing’s right, and you think your parents would like to come, they’d be welcome.”