Little Girl Lost

“She’s taken with anyone who spends time swinging her.” Faith was standing in front of the open refrigerator, enjoying the blast of cool air as much as searching for juice for Caitlin’s afternoon snack. It was 85 degrees, and the still air was heavy with humidity and the threat of approaching storms.

Faith snared the plastic bottle of apple juice from behind the milk where it had been hidden and shut the refrigerator door, coming to stand beside her sister. She had made up her mind to ignore her first disquieting reaction to Hugh Damon, but it didn’t mean she was comfortable talking about him.

Faith watched him push Caitlin in her tire swing, as Addy lolled in the shade beneath the picnic table. The muscles in his back and shoulders moved smoothly beneath the light fabric of his shirt. His thick, dark-gold hair lay heavy and straight against his forehead. He wore no jewelry except a serviceable-looking wristwatch. That was another direction she didn’t want her thoughts to take. He was a good-looking man, who didn’t wear a wedding ring.

“She’s usually a little shy around strangers,” Peg observed, running cold water into a glass she’d taken from the cupboard. Peg had started a wallpapering and painting business when she’d moved to Bartonsville and it was doing well. She was on her way home from a job and was wearing paint-splattered jeans and an old, long-sleeved white shirt of her husband’s. Her hair was tucked up under a ball cap and the smell of solvent and paint scented the air around her.

“She likes him,” Faith admitted. She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand. A storm coming always affected her that way, a tightness in her muscles, pressure behind her eyes.

“She’s female. Even a two-year-old woman can spot a stud like that one.”

Faith laughed. “Hey, you’ve only been married five months. You aren’t supposed to be ogling other men already.”

“I’m married, not blind. Steve’s a dear but not fantasy material. Put a leather kilt on that guy, give him a sword and he’d give Russell Crowe a run for his money any day.”

“Does this mean you’re taking back your warning about renting the cabins to single men?”

Peg drained her glass and shook her head as she set it in the sink. “Nope.” She tilted her head in Hugh’s direction. “Men as good-looking as that one are trouble. I ought to know—I married one the first time around, remember.”

“Men like that one are engineers,” Faith said, putting two Oreos on a paper plate for Caitlin.

“Engineer? I admit that sounds respectable enough.” If Peg had been a grasshopper her antennae would be quivering. “What kind of engineer?”

“The kind who build shopping malls, I guess. He’s working on that fancy new complex they did a feature on in the Cincinnati Enquirer a couple of months ago. You know, the one with all the high-end stores.” He’d told her that much the afternoon he’d inquired about continuing to rent the cottage for the month of June, since his work on the project would last several weeks.

“Has he asked you out yet?”

“No. Of course not.”

Her sister didn’t look convinced but she didn’t say any more. Faith had perfected the talent of sounding very sincere when she lied. And this was just a little white lie, not a universe-size one, like taking another woman’s child to raise as your own. Hugh Damon hadn’t asked her out on a date. Not officially, so her conscience was clear.

But he had offered to take her and Caitlin out to eat. It was while he was helping to rehang the baskets the day after he’d arrived. They had talked as he worked and she tallied the day’s receipts. She was alone in the greenhouse and it would have seemed churlish to refuse his offer of help. Or so she told herself.

He’d been wearing an old University of Texas T-shirt that stretched tight across his chest and shoulders, she remembered, and faded jeans that hugged his long legs. “Where do you find a good meal in Bartonsville?” he had asked. She brought out muffins and bagels, orange and grapefruit juice, and made coffee in the greenhouse every morning for herself and Steve and Peg, or whoever was around. Guests at the cabins were welcome to them, as well. Painted Lady Farm was as close to a bed-and-breakfast as you got in Bartonsville.

She had replied without hesitation. “The Golden Sheaf. It’s run by a family of old order Mennonites who make everything from scratch. The mashed potatoes are my daughter’s favorite. I’m surprised you haven’t found it already. All you have to do is follow your nose down Main Street.”

Caitlin had been sitting at the small table Faith kept for her behind the counter coloring in a SpongeBob SquarePants book. “Eat,” she’d said at the mention of food.

“Maybe the two of you could join me for dinner there this evening?” Hugh had said as he tested the strength of the chain extension before rehanging the planters. The invitation was offhand, but it caught Faith by surprise and she immediately said no. The refusal hung harsh and unfriendly in the air between them and she hurried to soften its uncompromising sound. “I mean, thanks, but I already have dinner started.”

“Some other time then. Do you recommend the meat loaf?”

“It’s the specialty of the house.”

He’d looked pleased. “Homemade meat loaf. Nothing better.”

“Don’t forget to try the pies. The coconut cream is to die for.”

“I’m a banana cream man myself,” he’d answered with a smile.

Faith had managed a smile in return. Her eyes had been drawn to the hard muscles of his thighs as he worked, and suddenly, from out of nowhere, she remembered the feel of legs and bodies tangled together in lovemaking, and she nearly dropped the stack of receipts she held in her hand. The flash of eroticism had come and gone in a heartbeat, but the aftereffect left her shaken. In her vision the arms holding her hadn’t been Mark’s. They’d belonged to this man.

She’d mumbled something about liking banana cream, too, and made some excuse to leave the greenhouse. Her legs were wobbly as she picked Caitlin up to carry her to the house, her breath coming in quick little gasps that couldn’t be blamed on the heat or the slight weight of the child in her arms. It was lust. Something that for three years had been completely absent from her thoughts.

That incident wasn’t the last erotic thought she’d had about Hugh Damon, but it was the last one she had let get the best of her. Perhaps because she also couldn’t quite forget the disquieting certainty that he was here, not just to avoid spending several weeks at an interstate off-ramp motel, but for some secret reason of his own.

A rumble of thunder announced the arrival of the storms that had been predicted all day. Peg angled her head to check the sky visible between the branches of the big maple outside the kitchen window. “Nasty-looking clouds,” she said, forgetting, at least for the moment, her fixation with Hugh Damon. “I have a feeling we’re going to get a real bad storm out of this cold front.”

“I think you’re right,” Faith agreed.

“You’re sure you don’t need me to watch Caitlin Wednesday and Thursday?”

Those were the days Faith was scheduled to work at the hospital. It was going to be her last week of duty until the fall. She would be busy with her own businesses from now on and had taken a leave of absence until September. “No, thanks. Martha’s going to watch her.” Martha Baden was Peg’s mother-in-law.

“Well, then she’ll probably end up at my house part of the day anyway.”

“Probably.” Faith laughed as they headed outside.

“Introduce me to your engineer,” Peg said under her breath as she held the screen door open for Faith.

Faith continued on into the yard, setting the paper plate of cookies and the sippy cup on the picnic table. She introduced her sister to Hugh Damon and then followed her to her truck to say goodbye.

“My Lord, he’s even better looking up close than he was from the kitchen window,” Peg said fanning her cheeks with her fingertips. “If he asks you out while he’s here, you go. You’ve been alone for three years, that’s long enough.”

“I don’t want another man—”

“That’s what I said, too, until I met Steve.” Peg switched on the engine and drove off. She loved having the last word.

Faith walked slowly back to the big maple. Caitlin dragged her little sneakered feet in the wood chips layered under the tire swing to slow its movement. She was wearing a pink top and darker pink shorts. Her fine silvery hair was in pigtails, and she looked like a spun sugar angel to Faith. An angel, but a mischievous one.

“Juice,” she squealed as Hugh stopped the swing so that she could hop out and come dancing across the grass to Faith. “I want juice. I’m hot.”

Faith bent down and gathered her daughter against her heart. “That’s because it’s hot outside and you’ve been swinging and laughing and talking real hard.”

“Hugh’s hot, too.” That went without saying. Faith was glad she had her face buried in Caitlin’s neck. She was having more and more trouble controlling such unsuitable thoughts. “He needs a juicy,” Caitlin declared.

“I’ll settle for a drink of water.” Hugh moved toward the old-fashioned hand pump that stood by the gate. Once there he took the antique ladle off the hook and began working the long handle up and down. The well was as old as the house, but the water was pure and spring fresh. Faith had it channeled into the greenhouse to water the plants and keep the waterfalls topped off.

As soon as a steady stream of water began to rush out of the pump into the shallow stone trough that had once held chicken feed a century before, Caitlin wiggled out of Faith’s arms and darted over to Hugh. “Swim,” she said loudly. “Let’s swim.” She squatted down and started to untie her shoes to wade in the trough.

“No way, Kitty Cat. The water’s too cold and I’m too big for the basin.”

Faith followed Caitlin to the pump. She wondered when Hugh had started using her pet names for Caitlin. The endearment came so naturally to his lips she felt churlish in mentioning anything about it. “No playing in the water now. It’s going to storm and you have to help Mommy bring in the plants and shut up the greenhouse.” Peg had offered to help before she left but Faith knew she was anxious to get home before the rain so had assured her she could manage on her own. Besides, she didn’t want to answer any more questions about Hugh Damon. Since she’d remarried, her sister’s mind was focused entirely too much on sex, especially Faith’s lack of it.

“Would you like a drink of water?” He rinsed and refilled the ladle and held it out to her.

She took it gratefully. It was hot and she was thirsty for something that wasn’t full of sugar or caffeine. Her hand brushed his knuckles and she felt a tremor like a tiny earthquake rattle her bones, just as another long rumble of thunder boomed overhead.