Page 32 of Horn of Plenty
He led her down a dirt path. He’d been out this way the other night and had seen them, and the scene was as breathtaking now as it was then—possibly even more so because she was here with him to see it.
“We never got to dance under the lights,” he began, taking in the splendor of the glowing field.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t take you for much of a square-dancer,” she teased, holding onto his arm.
“I’m not really any kind of dancer, but I thought I’d make an exception,” he said, anticipation building. He blew out a slow breath. “Open your eyes, Mabel.”
She squeezed his arm, then gasped. “Oh, Cal! Look at all of them. There are even more fireflies here than there were the night we…”
The night she’d given herself to him. The night everything changed.
“I wanted to take you somewhere special. I drove this way the other night and saw them. They moved down toward the water. That’s where they mate,” he explained.
“You brought me to watch fireflies get it on?” He could hear the playful lilt to her question and couldn’t stop his love-sick heart from skipping another damn beat.
“I brought you here,” he said, raising her hand, then twirling her into his arms, “to dance under nature’s very own twinkling lights.”
She stared up into the sky. “I can’t think of a better way to celebrate.”
“I brought a radio if you want some real music,” he offered, but she shook her head.
“We don’t need it,” she answered, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed this sound so much. The hums and the clicks. In the city, it’s all cars, trucks, and sirens. But every so often, there’d be a moment of quiet. The breeze would pick up, and I’d feel it, cool and light against my cheeks, and instantly, I’d think of home.” She glanced away. “I must sound silly.”
He twirled her again as a serene calmness washed over him. He was doing it—changing her mind and making her see the virtues of country life.
“It doesn’t sound silly at all. I couldn’t imagine a life without it,” he replied.
She took a step back and undid the buttons of her blouse. “Could you imagine a life without this?” she purred, slipping out of her shirt and dropping it onto the grassy field.
“Mabel,” he hissed, his cock growing rock-hard.
“Or this?” she questioned, kicking off one boot and then the other before shimmying out of her jean shorts. Slowly, she bent over and slid her panties down her shapely legs.
Cast in the moonlight and surrounded by a sea of twinkling lights, Mabel shook her hair and allowed it to tumble past her shoulders, and he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. He parted his lips to speak, but nothing came out. The only thing he could do was drink her in.
She turned and headed toward the creek but stopped after a few paces and looked over her shoulder. “Are you coming, Farmer Horner?”
Wild horses couldn’t hold him back.
Clumsily, he pulled off his boots and jeans, and a few missed buttons popped as he ripped off his shirt. His striptease was absolute shit compared to hers, but that was the last thing on his mind. He listened as a swish followed by a clap of water cut through the night’s soundscape, and then he saw her form. Surrounded by shimmering water, she slid her fingertips across the darkened surface.
He entered the cool creek. It was at its highest point this time of year, but he would have waded through molasses to get to her. He dove underwater, and the cold burst heightened his senses. He loved those days, back when they were kids. They’d hit the quarry or the creek to get a little respite from the Midwest humidity. He’d thought of taking her to the quarry, but he wasn’t ready to tell her why he’d left her under that tree—not yet. His fingers brushed past Mabel’s legs, and he broke through the surface, whisking her into his arms with a giant splash.
“Cal!” she shrieked as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
He tightened his hold on her. “I have wanted to kiss you all day.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” she purred.
“I had something else in mind first,” he replied, coming up with a plan.
“And what was that?”
Before she could say no, he tossed her in the air. Laughing, she hit the surface of the water, then retaliated by lying on her back and kicking her feet, sending a surge of spray into his face.
“Truce!” he called, shielding himself from the watery onslaught.
She swam toward him, her lithe body gliding across the surface like a water nymph. He gathered her into his arms as raw need surged through his veins. He would never tire of holding her. She cupped his face in her hands and wrapped her legs around his waist. Just the two of them surrounded by the peaceful lullaby of water kissing the bank, he gripped her ass and waded deeper into the creek.
