12 Days of Christmas Fic: Chapter 2
Title: Flight of the Phoenix
Authors: Bugs and Aussie
Rated: T
Genre: A/U, Romance
Word Count: 4700
If you need to catch up, you’ll find Chapter One here
For Day 11 of the 12 Days of Christmas!
Chapter 2:
The preacher's blonde wife tossed her head back. Her blue eyes glowed with interest. “Laura Roslin, aren’t you the dark horse.”
Of all the people who had to walk in just at this exact moment, it had to be Ellen Cavil. And of course, Ellen would read more into the situation than was there. Not that she had to; whatever conclusion Ellen had come to, Laura had probably acted worse, kissing a man she’d only just met...
Bill Adams wasn’t helping either. He wasn’t making any effort to remove his arm from its place around her waist. As if she was one of Bill Adams’ many possessions after one kiss!
She tried to wriggle free, slow enough not to draw Ellen’s attention to her predicament.
“Jonathan and I heard about all the excitement with the airplane in your field, dear, and we decided to come on over.” Ellen looked from Bill to Laura and then down at the unlit cigarette still perched awkwardly between Laura’s fingers. “Looks like we were just in time.”
“Yes, of course.” As calmly as possible, Laura slipped the cigarette into the pocket of her skirt.
“Ellen Cavil--” Before Laura could finish the introduction, they were all distracted by Jake and his shrill yaps.
“Oh dear,” Laura sighed resignedly and finally felt Bill’s arm drop away so that she could rush out onto the porch where, sure enough, Jonathan Cavil was backed up against the wall, cowering while Jake snarled and snapped at him.
“Jake!” she called, exasperated.
“Are you sure this beast hasn’t been infected with rabies?” Cavil growled, pointing at her dog one of his spindly fingers.
Jake circled around, still growling, until he was placed between the older man and his mistress.
Bill and Ellen had followed her onto the porch. The aviator stood so close behind her that she was sure she could feel his breath on the back of her neck.
The other woman began to sneeze. “Jonathan and I could never keep a dog with my allergies,” Ellen complained, reaching into her handbag and placed a handkerchief over her mouth.
She addressed her husband: “I don’t think Laura’s dog is fond of men, Jonathan. Richard and Tom told me he does exactly the same thing to them.”
Cavil narrowed his eyes. “When were you talking with Richard and Tom?” he asked.
She shrugged, nonchalant. “I suppose it was one day after church, dear.”
Cavil, apparently not satisfied with his wife’s offhand reply, pressed: “What sermon could have evoked a discussion about the school teacher’s dog?”
Ignoring the husband and wife, Bill crouched down and pat Jake.
Ellen didn’t miss the dog’s behavior; a perfect opportunity to change her husband’s focus. “Obviously, you’re a very old friend of Laura’s. Are you a mechanic Mr Adams sent for?”
“Ellen, dear,” said Cavil, “this is Bill Adams.” He turned toward Bill. “Reverend Jonathan Cavil. As soon as I heard you’d chosen Adair as a place to complete your repairs, Mr Adams, I came right over.”
Bill stood slowly and accepted Cavil’s outstretched hand. “I didn’t really have much choice, Reverend.”
“Of course not,” Ellen chirped, the handkerchief in her hand fluttering. “You’ve been to so many more exciting places than Adair. You must tell us all about your adventures!”
“Adair has much to offer,” Cavil corrected his wife sharply, before again addressing Bill. “So many sinful lusts are placed before a man or woman in the larger cities. So many--”
Ellen cut off her husband quickly. Once a week was obviously enough for her as well. “Exactly. Miss Roslin couldn’t possibly entertain a male guest--”
“Of course not,” Bill injected smoothly.
“She must be the highest moral example for our town's beloved children at all times,” Cavil added.
“It’s a sacrifice,” Ellen agreed.
Bill again retrieved his cigarette case from his pocket. “Is smoking a sin?” he asked.
“Only for the ladies,” Cavil insisted, nodding eagerly at Bill’s offering. “Men find these simple pleasures much less addictive,” he claimed as Bill lit the two cigarettes.
“Jonathan tells me that a lot of women find alcohol makes them forget their sensibilities. But I can drink the wine at communion with absolutely no effects.” Ellen wiped at the porch’s railing with her handkerchief before leaning against it. “Sins of the flesh are the most evil. I insist you not stay here and tempt poor Laura, Mr Adams.”
Bill Adams’ face remained impassive as Ellen almost purred her words. “Miss Roslin’s been kind enough to offer me accommodation out in her barn,” he told the couple.
“Her barn?” Cavil repeated, his eyes narrowing again.
“Yes, there’s a hayloft--”
“Well, Mr Adams, we can’t have you staying out in a hayloft! Jonathan and I can offer much more than that!” She reached over and squeezed one of Bill’s thick arms, squealing a little as she did. “You do need a proper bed, Mr Adams. And a nice deep bath to clean up in.”
“No, really.” Bill took a step away from Ellen, leaning his head over the railing to look up to the sky; it had stopped raining. Then, he turned back and met Laura’s gaze head on. “I need to stay close...”
“To the plane, of course,” Ellen drawled.
“Yes,” Bill agreed. “I should get back to it. Please, don’t let me keep you from your visit with Miss Roslin; if you’re staying to dine.”
“No!” she and the Cavils all cried in unison.
“Not that we wouldn’t love to stay, Laura, but Jonathan has so much to still do for Sunday,” Ellen insisted.
“We’ll see you then in church, Mr Adams?” Cavil enquired.
Bill hesitated for a brief moment. “I might be busy; with the plane. I suppose I should get to bed. It's been a long day. Up at dawn to fly."
"I'm sure," said Laura, giving him a pained smile. "If you need anything, please just ask," she offered daringly in front of her minister.
Bill smiled back in thanks.
"Truly, Mr. Adams, you should come with us," said Ellen. "I insist!"
"I'll want to start back on my repairs first thing in the morning," Bill said, clattering down the back porch steps. "I'll just get to bed here."
Ellen called after him. “Oh, Mr Adams, if you're still in town on Saturday night, you must attend the Summer Barn Dance at the Baltar farm!”
"It's hardly on par with your sort of entertainments," Laura mumbled when he turned back with a grin on his face.
"Sounds like a treat," he replied. Stubbing out his cigarette, he gave his goodbyes to the Cavils, along with a promise to come to the local event.
Blushing at the thought of this international playboy at their annual fete, Laura excused herself as well to finish making her dinner. Taking a hint, the Cavils left, roaring away in their rattling old Ford.
~*~
Laura was scraping her pork chops loose from the bottom of the cast iron frying pan. It took a lot of effort, so she didn't hear the tapping at the backdoor at first until Jake yipped.
She whirled around and pushed her curls back from her damp forehead. "Oh hello, Mr. Adams."
"Bill," he said, smiling through the screen door at her.
"What is it?" she asked. Smelling something burning, she moved the pan off the flame, thinking furiously. Had he returned, knowing the Cavils were gone? Perhaps to steal another kiss?
"I wondered if I could borrow a book?" He remained outside the door and she realized she was being inhospitable.
Opening the door, she motioned him in. "Of course. Come into the parlor. I have a number of books."
Following Bill, she turned on the lamp in the small front room of the farmhouse and waited while he inspected her humble library. She assumed that he had a bookcase-lined library in his mansion with thousands of volumes...Sure enough, he said, "I don't see what I was looking for."
She tossed her head. "I'm sorry my collection isn't up to your standards..."
"I'm sure you have what I want," he said, that rough voice making her shiver. "I'm looking for something..." He stepped closer. "More dangerous."
"Dangerous?" she squeaked, twisting her apron in her hands.
"Yeah, like that book you were reading earlier today."
"I told you, that wasn't mine." Her eyes shifted toward the stairwell. She was such a terrible liar--
He grinned. "Oh come on, Miss Roslin. We're here alone now."
Yes, they were. "Laura," she said.
"Laura, where are the books?"
She tipped her head toward the stairs.
"Will you show me the way?" There was a challenge in his tone.
She locked her gaze with his. Something told her this was not a man who would not take anything which was not offered to him freely and surely not by force. But from the humor sparking in his eyes' azure depths, she saw that he was not below teasing this small-town schoolmarm. Probably thought it would give her a thrill to imagine a man in her boudoir.
Stomping from the room, she tossed over her shoulder. "This way."
After a hesitation, Bill mounted the stairs.
She flung open the door to her bedroom and led him in.
Bill stepped over the threshold. It was a small room, but lovely in its own way. She'd polished the wooden floors and centered a deep rose pink rug. The curtains were pale yellow chiffon. The full moon shone through them, leaving a pool of warm light on the single bed.
He couldn't hide his smile when he saw the narrow bed. He heard a low hiss from Laura and schooled his features. Its chenille cover had clusters of yellow and pink roses, reminding him of a piece of cake with frosting.
Laura went to a cabinet beside her walnut dresser and opened the doors. Rows of paperback books were tightly packed on shelves.
"Do you order them through the mail?" Bill asked as he moved to check the titles.
"Yes. They come wrapped in brown paper," she confessed.
He chuckled. The sound traveled up her spine.
Surprising her, he removed a pair of eyeglasses from his pocket and quickly inspected the titles. Making a selection, he slid a slim novel out, closed the cabinet and gave her a smile. "Thanks," he said, then left the room.
She stood in the center, her fingers plucking at the flower on her bedcover, staring at the empty doorway. Finally, she slowly walked out, flicking the light off behind her.
She found Bill in the kitchen, sniffing at the air. "Pork chops," he said in a leading way.
"Yes, pork chops," she acknowledged. "Would you like to join me?" she said with little grace.
"Thanks for asking," he said, quickly sitting at her small kitchen table.
She finished the meal and slapped it on the plates, not sure why she felt angry. Bill read the book's first chapter while she worked and only looked up when she clanked the plate before him.
"Thank you so much," he said with complete sincerity and she found herself unbending a bit as she removed her apron and joined him at the table.
"It's not Cordon Bleu," she admitted.
He'd cut the first bite from the chop. "I'm so hungry, it'll be like dining at the Waldorf," he said with a grin. Then he put the piece of meat in his mouth and started chewing. His smile faded, but he kept gamely masticating.
Fortunately, Laura was too busy sawing through her own chop to notice.
He washed his food down with several gulps of water. "I really appreciate this, Laura. This is the small town hospitality I hear about."
"You're welcome," she said gloomily.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, tipping his head.
"No," she said with finality.
Bill nodded and concentrated on cutting his hard potatoes.
She glared at his bowed head of thick hair.
He peeped at her from under his thick brows. "May I ask something, Laura?"
She sipped her water nervously. "Of course."
"Why hasn't a gorgeous gal like you ever married?"
She opened her mouth to protest his nosiness, but then she saw the sincerity in his gaze. She thought of making excuses. Suddenly it seemed important to tell her the truth.
"You see, Bill--"
The screen door banged open. "Still here, Mr. Adams?" Sam asked.
With a rueful smile for Laura which made her irrationally happy, Bill swung around in his chair and greeted the farmhand. "Miss Roslin very kindly shared her meal with me," he noted.
Sam rubbed his belly. "Giles' wife put out a great spread for us," he said, smacking his lips. He glanced at Laura and Bill's half-empty plates and managed to repress his shudder.
"And I've enjoyed my dinner as well," said Bill, who then wiped his lips with the napkin and rose from the table. "May I help clean up, Miss Roslin?"
She gave a shake of her head. "I will take care of that, Mr. Adams. You and Sam should check on the plane before calling it an evening."
"I'll say good evening then," Bill said, nodding in reply.
She stood at the screen door, watching their glamorous visitor stride across the back field toward the barn, a trail of cigarette smoke behind him in the moonlight. With a sigh, she finally turned away.
~*~
Classes dragged the next day. Laura found herself at the schoolhouse window often, looking toward her barn. The doors stood open. Occasionally Bill standing in the sun enjoying a smoke, wearing his coveralls. Just as school was over, and she was hurrying through cleaning up while the detention students served their time, she saw her old farm pickup drive by.
Bill sat beside Sam and the men waved at her. Shoulders slumped, she headed home, her feet dragging. Jake followed, his tail and ears limp in sympathy.
She was grading papers in her parlor when she heard the phone ring. Rarely receiving calls, she hurried to answer it. "Hello?" she said breathlessly.
"Hey."
"Oh, hello," she said.
Not noticing her cool tone, Bill cheerfully said, "I'm in town."
"I saw you wave," she said dryly.
"Oh right."
She sat on the stool by the wall phone. "Well...Are you planning to stay at Mrs. Harper's boarding house?"
"Why would I do that?"
"I thought perhaps you weren't comfortable in the hay loft."
"Slept like a little piggie in his manger," he rumbled and she couldn't contain a giggle.
He laughed along with her. "You're cute," he suddenly said.
Alone in the house, she blushed deep red. "I'm not cute. I'm too old to be cute."
He strongly protested: "I'm older than you, and I think you're cute."
For some reason, Laura felt tears coming to her eyes. It had been a very long time since any man had had teased her. She gulped down her emotions. "What are you doing in town then?"
"Oh right," he said. "I thought I'd buy some groceries, since you're so kind to feed me."
She'd brought a fried egg sandwich out for him this morning before school, but thought nothing of it.
"You don't need to do that," she insisted.
"I want to," he said. "You like anything in particular?"
"Is that why you called?" she asked with wonder. Men very rarely asked her opinion.
"Of course," he said and quickly added, "I'll be cooking tonight, so think of something you would enjoy."
"You're going to cook for me?" No one had done that since she was a child. As the oldest, she'd been her mother's helper and neither liked cooking much. "Then surprise me," she said daringly.
"I'd like to surprise you, Laura Roslin," the low, rough voice said and she had to wipe her brow with her handkerchief.
"You already have," she said with spirit.
"I'll just have to try harder then," he promised.
"Goodbye, Mr. Adams," she said quickly but still heard his laugh as she hung up.
When Bill returned, he shooed her from the kitchen. "Surely you have some housework to do," he told her.
"I suppose I could do some darning," she said slowly.
"Sure," he said, holding his arm across the kitchen door.
"Did you ask Sam what he wanted for dinner?" she asked, wincing at her clumsy attempt at sounding nonchalant.
Bill grinned at her, seeing through her question. "He's headed off to dine with his friends again."
"What a shame," she said, giving him a small smile. "We'll just dine alone."
"Guess so," he said and closed the kitchen door in her face.
She headed upstairs, wondering if she had anything to wear suitable for an engagement with one of the most eligible men in the country.
Bill called from the bottom of the stairs, "Miss Roslin. Your meal awaits."
"I'm already downstairs," Laura said from behind him. He turned and caught his breath.
She was in the doorway of the rarely used dining room. "I was setting the table," she told him.
He looked her over and she found herself stiffening. She was not some classy Park Avenue lady. She was a small town schoolteacher, wearing her second best ensemble. Worse, it was her church outfit; a simple blue suit and white blouse! The only difference was that she did not pin the neckline together on the crossed closure, leaving a daring amount of her cleavage visible.
And then he smiled and it was filled with appreciation and wanting. She smiled back.
"Nice dress," he said. He glanced down at his work shirt and pants. "I should change--"
"Do you have a set of evening clothes in that plane of yours?" she asked.
"As a matter of fact, I do."
She giggled again and his grin widened. "I'll be back in a second--"
"No, you're fine the way you are," she insisted. "I need you to be a bit on your back foot anyway," she said impishly.
"Let me get dinner then," he said, ducking into the kitchen.
With her heart thudding, she returned to the dining room to light the white tapered candles on the table.
"Nice," he said behind her as he carried in fragrant plates of food.
"Thank yo--" She stared at the plates. "Oh, that's lovely!" She looked toward the kitchen. "Did you sneak a chef into the house with you?"
"You don't believe I can cook?" he said, trying to sound affronted.
He held out her chair for her, and she lowered into it. "It's just so very difficult to me," she sighed.
Masking his expression, Bill came to sit beside her, ignoring the place she'd set at the end of the long table.
"I'm sorry, but I don't have any liquor in the house," she admitted. "It seems a shame to not enjoy this without wine." She took in the dish of chicken, beans and potatoes. But it looked like nothing she'd ever prepared. The potatoes were carved into little balls and the beans finely sliced. The chicken has been cut away from the bone and flattened into a nice even shape. It didn't have any of the burnt edges or raw middle as happened when she tried to cook a chicken breast.
"Enjoying it?" Bill asked and she realized she'd been eating steadily without speaking.
"Yes, thank you," she said primly, putting down her knife and fork. She blinked owlishly at him. "How are the repairs going to your plane?"
His expression darkened. "Not well. I'd thought it was just a clogged fuel line, but it appears that I've got an airflow issue. That's a design problem."
"Oh dear," she said faintly. "I know how important this is to you."
"Yes, to all of us."
"You truly believe war in eminent?" she asked, her brow furrowed with worry.
"Yes."
She looked at him in the warm candlelight, noticing the shadows on his craggy face. "The world will never be the same, not even Adair," she said, but it came out as a question.
"No..." Bill toyed with his food. "Do you ever think about leaving Adair? I mean, do you have family here?"
She pushed back her plate, her appetite suddenly gone. "Do you remember asking why I wasn't married?"
He raised a wide palm. "Please, Laura. I was being impertinent--"
Determined, she continued as though he hadn't spoken. "I went away to Des Moines for teacher's college. I had dreamed of attending college in Chicago, to travel...But..."
His hand found hers on the linen tablecloth and engulfed it with his warm fingers.
"My parents had been the town's teachers. This farm was a holdover from my grandparents, but my father kept it going with hands and sharecroppers. Teaching was their true love. I enjoy it too, but--"
"But you wanted to see the world," Bill guessed.
"It was selfish of me," she murmured.
His brow creased but Bill remained silent.
"Then my parents died...First my mother when I was still in high school, then my father with my sisters. I was alone, but so was Adair. No teachers..."
"So you went to Des Moines," he encouraged.
"Where I met a man I knew from Adair."
Bill's hand tightened around hers, giving her the confidence to continue. "I believed we'd marry when we returned home. I..."
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the fingers. It was a gentle gesture.
"I behaved as though he was already my husband," she finally confessed. She expected his touch to snatch away. Instead, he pressed her palm to his cheek, so she could feel the warmth of his breath.
Taking a deep breath, she went on: "He promised me his grandmother's ring when we went home for Christmas. But I had one more exam, so he took the train down early without me--"
Bill shifted his chair closer to hers and put his arm around her shoulders.
"When I arrived, there he was on the front page of the newspaper, announcing his engagement to a girl from the next town over. Her father was the mayor. She was wearing his grandmother's ring."
Kissing her temple, Bill murmured, "I'm so sorry, Laura."
"I'm not sorry I didn't marry that sort of man," she assured Bill. "But now I'm used goods. I couldn't possibly marry--"
"Oh Laura, that's ridiculous," he insisted roughly, breaking the delicate bubble of he'd created around them with his gentle touch and low tone. "These local rubes wouldn't know any better. Give 'im some story about horseback riding!"
As outraged as she was, she still laughed. "But Bill, everyone in town knows I'm frightened of horses. No one would believe that!"
She moved away. "Truly, it has not mattered. I've had my work, the farm. It's been a happy life." She didn't sound very convinced even to her own ears.
"I do want you to be happy," Bill said.
She turned to confront him, surprised to find him still sitting so close. "Why is that, Bill? We've known each other a day."
He didn't touch her again, but she felt as though he was all around her as his intense gaze met hers. "But it seems as though I've known you much longer than a day."
She rose, breaking the spell. If she'd remained in her chair, she didn't know what may happen... "As you cooked supper, I'll clean up." She snatched away the plates.
He followed her to the kitchen. "I'll dry," he said, his voice distant.
Putting on an apron, she shook her head. "I've got it," she said, forcing herself to sound bright.
"I suppose I'll head back to my loft then," he said.
"So, this air problem...Will you be able to repair it?" she asked as she filled the sink with hot water.
He stared at her for a long moment. "I don't know. I'll work on it some more tomorrow. Giles Tyrol is trying to fabricate a new hose clamp. I'll have to see if it'll hold."
"I wish you well with that," she said, putting on her apron. "I'm sure you want to be off as soon as possible."
"I do need to get back to San Francisco," Bill said shortly. "Business concerns."
"Of course," she replied without looking up from her dishwashing. "Thank you for dinner."
"Any time," he said but he was at the back door. "Good night then."
Her back stayed to him. "Good night."
By the time she'd finished washing up--oddly, the pans he used came clean much more quickly than when she cooked--it had begun to rain. She went upstairs and changed for bed. The rain came down harder, lashing her bedroom window.
She peered out toward the barn. Bill only had one blanket...And what if the roof were leaking into the hayloft?
Refusing to think any further, she pulled on her raincoat over her nightgown, tucked a spare blanket under it, and headed across the field to the barn. Jake followed closely, his head low against the heavy rain.
She slipped through the opening of the barn doors. Jake hurried to the tarp-draped plane and sniffed around. In the dim barn, Laura looked up the ladder to the dark loft above. She should just call up to Bill and ask if he needed the extra blanket.
But before she could speak, a voice barked from the hayloft: "Who's there?"
"It's me," she said, her voice wavering.
His tousled head appeared in the opening. "Is something wrong?"
"I thought perhaps you needed another blanket...Or there might be a leak in the roof?" This sounded weak, even to her.
His teeth were bright in the dark as he grinned down at her. "Now you're the one to surprise me, Laura."
She certainly surprised herself with her next bold statement. “I’d like to surprise you, Bill Adams.”
He grinned even wider. "So bring that blanket on up here, Miss Roslin. I can feel the cold in my bones something terrible."
There was daring in his voice, but no aggression. She knew that she could simply toss the blanket up and flee,and he wouldn't take offense.
She did hurl the blanket above her head, but then climbed the ladder after it. He grasped her arms and lifted her easily.
"Oh," she gasped, finding her footing under her. Now that she was up there, she wasn't feeling so brave. "Thank you," she said primly.
He chuckled and flung the extra blanket atop the other in his nest. He wore only a white sleeveless undershirt and striped shorts. In the dim loft, his bare limbs glowed.
Fumbling, she found the damp, bent cigarette she'd shoved in her coat pocket from her skirt's, and placed it between her lips. She'd seen Bette Davis make this move in many a flick. "Have a light?" she said throatily.
He glanced around. "Not a good idea to smoke in a hayloft."
Her seduction failed before it could even start. "Yes, of course," she garbled, dropping the limp cigarette.
He cracked open the loft's hatch to look out at the storm. The lightning was striking in a field miles away, lighting up the night.
"Sure hope you have a lightning rod on this barn," he said, his own voice sounding nervous.
"We could always go back to the house if you're worried," she said, coming close to look out. Thunder clapped overhead, shaking the whole barn. His arm slipped around her waist as if to support her. She swayed into his sturdy body.
His mouth was close to her ear to be heard over the rattling rain on the roof. "You know we can't go to the house."
She thought of her narrow bed. "No, we can't."
"So I suppose you should get on back," Bill said, his hand sliding of her hip.
Laura blinked away tears. "I don't want to get wet," was all she could think of as a protest.
"If you stay..." Bill's strong arm was back around her. "I'm not letting you go."
Laura wrapped her arms tightly around his strong chest and pressed him toward the haypile. She was about to become a fallen woman but it wasn't going to be from tumbling out of the hayloft.
~ End, chapter 2
Authors: Bugs and Aussie
Rated: T
Genre: A/U, Romance
Word Count: 4700
If you need to catch up, you’ll find Chapter One here
For Day 11 of the 12 Days of Christmas!
Chapter 2:
The preacher's blonde wife tossed her head back. Her blue eyes glowed with interest. “Laura Roslin, aren’t you the dark horse.”
Of all the people who had to walk in just at this exact moment, it had to be Ellen Cavil. And of course, Ellen would read more into the situation than was there. Not that she had to; whatever conclusion Ellen had come to, Laura had probably acted worse, kissing a man she’d only just met...
Bill Adams wasn’t helping either. He wasn’t making any effort to remove his arm from its place around her waist. As if she was one of Bill Adams’ many possessions after one kiss!
She tried to wriggle free, slow enough not to draw Ellen’s attention to her predicament.
“Jonathan and I heard about all the excitement with the airplane in your field, dear, and we decided to come on over.” Ellen looked from Bill to Laura and then down at the unlit cigarette still perched awkwardly between Laura’s fingers. “Looks like we were just in time.”
“Yes, of course.” As calmly as possible, Laura slipped the cigarette into the pocket of her skirt.
“Ellen Cavil--” Before Laura could finish the introduction, they were all distracted by Jake and his shrill yaps.
“Oh dear,” Laura sighed resignedly and finally felt Bill’s arm drop away so that she could rush out onto the porch where, sure enough, Jonathan Cavil was backed up against the wall, cowering while Jake snarled and snapped at him.
“Jake!” she called, exasperated.
“Are you sure this beast hasn’t been infected with rabies?” Cavil growled, pointing at her dog one of his spindly fingers.
Jake circled around, still growling, until he was placed between the older man and his mistress.
Bill and Ellen had followed her onto the porch. The aviator stood so close behind her that she was sure she could feel his breath on the back of her neck.
The other woman began to sneeze. “Jonathan and I could never keep a dog with my allergies,” Ellen complained, reaching into her handbag and placed a handkerchief over her mouth.
She addressed her husband: “I don’t think Laura’s dog is fond of men, Jonathan. Richard and Tom told me he does exactly the same thing to them.”
Cavil narrowed his eyes. “When were you talking with Richard and Tom?” he asked.
She shrugged, nonchalant. “I suppose it was one day after church, dear.”
Cavil, apparently not satisfied with his wife’s offhand reply, pressed: “What sermon could have evoked a discussion about the school teacher’s dog?”
Ignoring the husband and wife, Bill crouched down and pat Jake.
Ellen didn’t miss the dog’s behavior; a perfect opportunity to change her husband’s focus. “Obviously, you’re a very old friend of Laura’s. Are you a mechanic Mr Adams sent for?”
“Ellen, dear,” said Cavil, “this is Bill Adams.” He turned toward Bill. “Reverend Jonathan Cavil. As soon as I heard you’d chosen Adair as a place to complete your repairs, Mr Adams, I came right over.”
Bill stood slowly and accepted Cavil’s outstretched hand. “I didn’t really have much choice, Reverend.”
“Of course not,” Ellen chirped, the handkerchief in her hand fluttering. “You’ve been to so many more exciting places than Adair. You must tell us all about your adventures!”
“Adair has much to offer,” Cavil corrected his wife sharply, before again addressing Bill. “So many sinful lusts are placed before a man or woman in the larger cities. So many--”
Ellen cut off her husband quickly. Once a week was obviously enough for her as well. “Exactly. Miss Roslin couldn’t possibly entertain a male guest--”
“Of course not,” Bill injected smoothly.
“She must be the highest moral example for our town's beloved children at all times,” Cavil added.
“It’s a sacrifice,” Ellen agreed.
Bill again retrieved his cigarette case from his pocket. “Is smoking a sin?” he asked.
“Only for the ladies,” Cavil insisted, nodding eagerly at Bill’s offering. “Men find these simple pleasures much less addictive,” he claimed as Bill lit the two cigarettes.
“Jonathan tells me that a lot of women find alcohol makes them forget their sensibilities. But I can drink the wine at communion with absolutely no effects.” Ellen wiped at the porch’s railing with her handkerchief before leaning against it. “Sins of the flesh are the most evil. I insist you not stay here and tempt poor Laura, Mr Adams.”
Bill Adams’ face remained impassive as Ellen almost purred her words. “Miss Roslin’s been kind enough to offer me accommodation out in her barn,” he told the couple.
“Her barn?” Cavil repeated, his eyes narrowing again.
“Yes, there’s a hayloft--”
“Well, Mr Adams, we can’t have you staying out in a hayloft! Jonathan and I can offer much more than that!” She reached over and squeezed one of Bill’s thick arms, squealing a little as she did. “You do need a proper bed, Mr Adams. And a nice deep bath to clean up in.”
“No, really.” Bill took a step away from Ellen, leaning his head over the railing to look up to the sky; it had stopped raining. Then, he turned back and met Laura’s gaze head on. “I need to stay close...”
“To the plane, of course,” Ellen drawled.
“Yes,” Bill agreed. “I should get back to it. Please, don’t let me keep you from your visit with Miss Roslin; if you’re staying to dine.”
“No!” she and the Cavils all cried in unison.
“Not that we wouldn’t love to stay, Laura, but Jonathan has so much to still do for Sunday,” Ellen insisted.
“We’ll see you then in church, Mr Adams?” Cavil enquired.
Bill hesitated for a brief moment. “I might be busy; with the plane. I suppose I should get to bed. It's been a long day. Up at dawn to fly."
"I'm sure," said Laura, giving him a pained smile. "If you need anything, please just ask," she offered daringly in front of her minister.
Bill smiled back in thanks.
"Truly, Mr. Adams, you should come with us," said Ellen. "I insist!"
"I'll want to start back on my repairs first thing in the morning," Bill said, clattering down the back porch steps. "I'll just get to bed here."
Ellen called after him. “Oh, Mr Adams, if you're still in town on Saturday night, you must attend the Summer Barn Dance at the Baltar farm!”
"It's hardly on par with your sort of entertainments," Laura mumbled when he turned back with a grin on his face.
"Sounds like a treat," he replied. Stubbing out his cigarette, he gave his goodbyes to the Cavils, along with a promise to come to the local event.
Blushing at the thought of this international playboy at their annual fete, Laura excused herself as well to finish making her dinner. Taking a hint, the Cavils left, roaring away in their rattling old Ford.
~*~
Laura was scraping her pork chops loose from the bottom of the cast iron frying pan. It took a lot of effort, so she didn't hear the tapping at the backdoor at first until Jake yipped.
She whirled around and pushed her curls back from her damp forehead. "Oh hello, Mr. Adams."
"Bill," he said, smiling through the screen door at her.
"What is it?" she asked. Smelling something burning, she moved the pan off the flame, thinking furiously. Had he returned, knowing the Cavils were gone? Perhaps to steal another kiss?
"I wondered if I could borrow a book?" He remained outside the door and she realized she was being inhospitable.
Opening the door, she motioned him in. "Of course. Come into the parlor. I have a number of books."
Following Bill, she turned on the lamp in the small front room of the farmhouse and waited while he inspected her humble library. She assumed that he had a bookcase-lined library in his mansion with thousands of volumes...Sure enough, he said, "I don't see what I was looking for."
She tossed her head. "I'm sorry my collection isn't up to your standards..."
"I'm sure you have what I want," he said, that rough voice making her shiver. "I'm looking for something..." He stepped closer. "More dangerous."
"Dangerous?" she squeaked, twisting her apron in her hands.
"Yeah, like that book you were reading earlier today."
"I told you, that wasn't mine." Her eyes shifted toward the stairwell. She was such a terrible liar--
He grinned. "Oh come on, Miss Roslin. We're here alone now."
Yes, they were. "Laura," she said.
"Laura, where are the books?"
She tipped her head toward the stairs.
"Will you show me the way?" There was a challenge in his tone.
She locked her gaze with his. Something told her this was not a man who would not take anything which was not offered to him freely and surely not by force. But from the humor sparking in his eyes' azure depths, she saw that he was not below teasing this small-town schoolmarm. Probably thought it would give her a thrill to imagine a man in her boudoir.
Stomping from the room, she tossed over her shoulder. "This way."
After a hesitation, Bill mounted the stairs.
She flung open the door to her bedroom and led him in.
Bill stepped over the threshold. It was a small room, but lovely in its own way. She'd polished the wooden floors and centered a deep rose pink rug. The curtains were pale yellow chiffon. The full moon shone through them, leaving a pool of warm light on the single bed.
He couldn't hide his smile when he saw the narrow bed. He heard a low hiss from Laura and schooled his features. Its chenille cover had clusters of yellow and pink roses, reminding him of a piece of cake with frosting.
Laura went to a cabinet beside her walnut dresser and opened the doors. Rows of paperback books were tightly packed on shelves.
"Do you order them through the mail?" Bill asked as he moved to check the titles.
"Yes. They come wrapped in brown paper," she confessed.
He chuckled. The sound traveled up her spine.
Surprising her, he removed a pair of eyeglasses from his pocket and quickly inspected the titles. Making a selection, he slid a slim novel out, closed the cabinet and gave her a smile. "Thanks," he said, then left the room.
She stood in the center, her fingers plucking at the flower on her bedcover, staring at the empty doorway. Finally, she slowly walked out, flicking the light off behind her.
She found Bill in the kitchen, sniffing at the air. "Pork chops," he said in a leading way.
"Yes, pork chops," she acknowledged. "Would you like to join me?" she said with little grace.
"Thanks for asking," he said, quickly sitting at her small kitchen table.
She finished the meal and slapped it on the plates, not sure why she felt angry. Bill read the book's first chapter while she worked and only looked up when she clanked the plate before him.
"Thank you so much," he said with complete sincerity and she found herself unbending a bit as she removed her apron and joined him at the table.
"It's not Cordon Bleu," she admitted.
He'd cut the first bite from the chop. "I'm so hungry, it'll be like dining at the Waldorf," he said with a grin. Then he put the piece of meat in his mouth and started chewing. His smile faded, but he kept gamely masticating.
Fortunately, Laura was too busy sawing through her own chop to notice.
He washed his food down with several gulps of water. "I really appreciate this, Laura. This is the small town hospitality I hear about."
"You're welcome," she said gloomily.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, tipping his head.
"No," she said with finality.
Bill nodded and concentrated on cutting his hard potatoes.
She glared at his bowed head of thick hair.
He peeped at her from under his thick brows. "May I ask something, Laura?"
She sipped her water nervously. "Of course."
"Why hasn't a gorgeous gal like you ever married?"
She opened her mouth to protest his nosiness, but then she saw the sincerity in his gaze. She thought of making excuses. Suddenly it seemed important to tell her the truth.
"You see, Bill--"
The screen door banged open. "Still here, Mr. Adams?" Sam asked.
With a rueful smile for Laura which made her irrationally happy, Bill swung around in his chair and greeted the farmhand. "Miss Roslin very kindly shared her meal with me," he noted.
Sam rubbed his belly. "Giles' wife put out a great spread for us," he said, smacking his lips. He glanced at Laura and Bill's half-empty plates and managed to repress his shudder.
"And I've enjoyed my dinner as well," said Bill, who then wiped his lips with the napkin and rose from the table. "May I help clean up, Miss Roslin?"
She gave a shake of her head. "I will take care of that, Mr. Adams. You and Sam should check on the plane before calling it an evening."
"I'll say good evening then," Bill said, nodding in reply.
She stood at the screen door, watching their glamorous visitor stride across the back field toward the barn, a trail of cigarette smoke behind him in the moonlight. With a sigh, she finally turned away.
~*~
Classes dragged the next day. Laura found herself at the schoolhouse window often, looking toward her barn. The doors stood open. Occasionally Bill standing in the sun enjoying a smoke, wearing his coveralls. Just as school was over, and she was hurrying through cleaning up while the detention students served their time, she saw her old farm pickup drive by.
Bill sat beside Sam and the men waved at her. Shoulders slumped, she headed home, her feet dragging. Jake followed, his tail and ears limp in sympathy.
She was grading papers in her parlor when she heard the phone ring. Rarely receiving calls, she hurried to answer it. "Hello?" she said breathlessly.
"Hey."
"Oh, hello," she said.
Not noticing her cool tone, Bill cheerfully said, "I'm in town."
"I saw you wave," she said dryly.
"Oh right."
She sat on the stool by the wall phone. "Well...Are you planning to stay at Mrs. Harper's boarding house?"
"Why would I do that?"
"I thought perhaps you weren't comfortable in the hay loft."
"Slept like a little piggie in his manger," he rumbled and she couldn't contain a giggle.
He laughed along with her. "You're cute," he suddenly said.
Alone in the house, she blushed deep red. "I'm not cute. I'm too old to be cute."
He strongly protested: "I'm older than you, and I think you're cute."
For some reason, Laura felt tears coming to her eyes. It had been a very long time since any man had had teased her. She gulped down her emotions. "What are you doing in town then?"
"Oh right," he said. "I thought I'd buy some groceries, since you're so kind to feed me."
She'd brought a fried egg sandwich out for him this morning before school, but thought nothing of it.
"You don't need to do that," she insisted.
"I want to," he said. "You like anything in particular?"
"Is that why you called?" she asked with wonder. Men very rarely asked her opinion.
"Of course," he said and quickly added, "I'll be cooking tonight, so think of something you would enjoy."
"You're going to cook for me?" No one had done that since she was a child. As the oldest, she'd been her mother's helper and neither liked cooking much. "Then surprise me," she said daringly.
"I'd like to surprise you, Laura Roslin," the low, rough voice said and she had to wipe her brow with her handkerchief.
"You already have," she said with spirit.
"I'll just have to try harder then," he promised.
"Goodbye, Mr. Adams," she said quickly but still heard his laugh as she hung up.
When Bill returned, he shooed her from the kitchen. "Surely you have some housework to do," he told her.
"I suppose I could do some darning," she said slowly.
"Sure," he said, holding his arm across the kitchen door.
"Did you ask Sam what he wanted for dinner?" she asked, wincing at her clumsy attempt at sounding nonchalant.
Bill grinned at her, seeing through her question. "He's headed off to dine with his friends again."
"What a shame," she said, giving him a small smile. "We'll just dine alone."
"Guess so," he said and closed the kitchen door in her face.
She headed upstairs, wondering if she had anything to wear suitable for an engagement with one of the most eligible men in the country.
Bill called from the bottom of the stairs, "Miss Roslin. Your meal awaits."
"I'm already downstairs," Laura said from behind him. He turned and caught his breath.
She was in the doorway of the rarely used dining room. "I was setting the table," she told him.
He looked her over and she found herself stiffening. She was not some classy Park Avenue lady. She was a small town schoolteacher, wearing her second best ensemble. Worse, it was her church outfit; a simple blue suit and white blouse! The only difference was that she did not pin the neckline together on the crossed closure, leaving a daring amount of her cleavage visible.
And then he smiled and it was filled with appreciation and wanting. She smiled back.
"Nice dress," he said. He glanced down at his work shirt and pants. "I should change--"
"Do you have a set of evening clothes in that plane of yours?" she asked.
"As a matter of fact, I do."
She giggled again and his grin widened. "I'll be back in a second--"
"No, you're fine the way you are," she insisted. "I need you to be a bit on your back foot anyway," she said impishly.
"Let me get dinner then," he said, ducking into the kitchen.
With her heart thudding, she returned to the dining room to light the white tapered candles on the table.
"Nice," he said behind her as he carried in fragrant plates of food.
"Thank yo--" She stared at the plates. "Oh, that's lovely!" She looked toward the kitchen. "Did you sneak a chef into the house with you?"
"You don't believe I can cook?" he said, trying to sound affronted.
He held out her chair for her, and she lowered into it. "It's just so very difficult to me," she sighed.
Masking his expression, Bill came to sit beside her, ignoring the place she'd set at the end of the long table.
"I'm sorry, but I don't have any liquor in the house," she admitted. "It seems a shame to not enjoy this without wine." She took in the dish of chicken, beans and potatoes. But it looked like nothing she'd ever prepared. The potatoes were carved into little balls and the beans finely sliced. The chicken has been cut away from the bone and flattened into a nice even shape. It didn't have any of the burnt edges or raw middle as happened when she tried to cook a chicken breast.
"Enjoying it?" Bill asked and she realized she'd been eating steadily without speaking.
"Yes, thank you," she said primly, putting down her knife and fork. She blinked owlishly at him. "How are the repairs going to your plane?"
His expression darkened. "Not well. I'd thought it was just a clogged fuel line, but it appears that I've got an airflow issue. That's a design problem."
"Oh dear," she said faintly. "I know how important this is to you."
"Yes, to all of us."
"You truly believe war in eminent?" she asked, her brow furrowed with worry.
"Yes."
She looked at him in the warm candlelight, noticing the shadows on his craggy face. "The world will never be the same, not even Adair," she said, but it came out as a question.
"No..." Bill toyed with his food. "Do you ever think about leaving Adair? I mean, do you have family here?"
She pushed back her plate, her appetite suddenly gone. "Do you remember asking why I wasn't married?"
He raised a wide palm. "Please, Laura. I was being impertinent--"
Determined, she continued as though he hadn't spoken. "I went away to Des Moines for teacher's college. I had dreamed of attending college in Chicago, to travel...But..."
His hand found hers on the linen tablecloth and engulfed it with his warm fingers.
"My parents had been the town's teachers. This farm was a holdover from my grandparents, but my father kept it going with hands and sharecroppers. Teaching was their true love. I enjoy it too, but--"
"But you wanted to see the world," Bill guessed.
"It was selfish of me," she murmured.
His brow creased but Bill remained silent.
"Then my parents died...First my mother when I was still in high school, then my father with my sisters. I was alone, but so was Adair. No teachers..."
"So you went to Des Moines," he encouraged.
"Where I met a man I knew from Adair."
Bill's hand tightened around hers, giving her the confidence to continue. "I believed we'd marry when we returned home. I..."
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the fingers. It was a gentle gesture.
"I behaved as though he was already my husband," she finally confessed. She expected his touch to snatch away. Instead, he pressed her palm to his cheek, so she could feel the warmth of his breath.
Taking a deep breath, she went on: "He promised me his grandmother's ring when we went home for Christmas. But I had one more exam, so he took the train down early without me--"
Bill shifted his chair closer to hers and put his arm around her shoulders.
"When I arrived, there he was on the front page of the newspaper, announcing his engagement to a girl from the next town over. Her father was the mayor. She was wearing his grandmother's ring."
Kissing her temple, Bill murmured, "I'm so sorry, Laura."
"I'm not sorry I didn't marry that sort of man," she assured Bill. "But now I'm used goods. I couldn't possibly marry--"
"Oh Laura, that's ridiculous," he insisted roughly, breaking the delicate bubble of he'd created around them with his gentle touch and low tone. "These local rubes wouldn't know any better. Give 'im some story about horseback riding!"
As outraged as she was, she still laughed. "But Bill, everyone in town knows I'm frightened of horses. No one would believe that!"
She moved away. "Truly, it has not mattered. I've had my work, the farm. It's been a happy life." She didn't sound very convinced even to her own ears.
"I do want you to be happy," Bill said.
She turned to confront him, surprised to find him still sitting so close. "Why is that, Bill? We've known each other a day."
He didn't touch her again, but she felt as though he was all around her as his intense gaze met hers. "But it seems as though I've known you much longer than a day."
She rose, breaking the spell. If she'd remained in her chair, she didn't know what may happen... "As you cooked supper, I'll clean up." She snatched away the plates.
He followed her to the kitchen. "I'll dry," he said, his voice distant.
Putting on an apron, she shook her head. "I've got it," she said, forcing herself to sound bright.
"I suppose I'll head back to my loft then," he said.
"So, this air problem...Will you be able to repair it?" she asked as she filled the sink with hot water.
He stared at her for a long moment. "I don't know. I'll work on it some more tomorrow. Giles Tyrol is trying to fabricate a new hose clamp. I'll have to see if it'll hold."
"I wish you well with that," she said, putting on her apron. "I'm sure you want to be off as soon as possible."
"I do need to get back to San Francisco," Bill said shortly. "Business concerns."
"Of course," she replied without looking up from her dishwashing. "Thank you for dinner."
"Any time," he said but he was at the back door. "Good night then."
Her back stayed to him. "Good night."
By the time she'd finished washing up--oddly, the pans he used came clean much more quickly than when she cooked--it had begun to rain. She went upstairs and changed for bed. The rain came down harder, lashing her bedroom window.
She peered out toward the barn. Bill only had one blanket...And what if the roof were leaking into the hayloft?
Refusing to think any further, she pulled on her raincoat over her nightgown, tucked a spare blanket under it, and headed across the field to the barn. Jake followed closely, his head low against the heavy rain.
She slipped through the opening of the barn doors. Jake hurried to the tarp-draped plane and sniffed around. In the dim barn, Laura looked up the ladder to the dark loft above. She should just call up to Bill and ask if he needed the extra blanket.
But before she could speak, a voice barked from the hayloft: "Who's there?"
"It's me," she said, her voice wavering.
His tousled head appeared in the opening. "Is something wrong?"
"I thought perhaps you needed another blanket...Or there might be a leak in the roof?" This sounded weak, even to her.
His teeth were bright in the dark as he grinned down at her. "Now you're the one to surprise me, Laura."
She certainly surprised herself with her next bold statement. “I’d like to surprise you, Bill Adams.”
He grinned even wider. "So bring that blanket on up here, Miss Roslin. I can feel the cold in my bones something terrible."
There was daring in his voice, but no aggression. She knew that she could simply toss the blanket up and flee,and he wouldn't take offense.
She did hurl the blanket above her head, but then climbed the ladder after it. He grasped her arms and lifted her easily.
"Oh," she gasped, finding her footing under her. Now that she was up there, she wasn't feeling so brave. "Thank you," she said primly.
He chuckled and flung the extra blanket atop the other in his nest. He wore only a white sleeveless undershirt and striped shorts. In the dim loft, his bare limbs glowed.
Fumbling, she found the damp, bent cigarette she'd shoved in her coat pocket from her skirt's, and placed it between her lips. She'd seen Bette Davis make this move in many a flick. "Have a light?" she said throatily.
He glanced around. "Not a good idea to smoke in a hayloft."
Her seduction failed before it could even start. "Yes, of course," she garbled, dropping the limp cigarette.
He cracked open the loft's hatch to look out at the storm. The lightning was striking in a field miles away, lighting up the night.
"Sure hope you have a lightning rod on this barn," he said, his own voice sounding nervous.
"We could always go back to the house if you're worried," she said, coming close to look out. Thunder clapped overhead, shaking the whole barn. His arm slipped around her waist as if to support her. She swayed into his sturdy body.
His mouth was close to her ear to be heard over the rattling rain on the roof. "You know we can't go to the house."
She thought of her narrow bed. "No, we can't."
"So I suppose you should get on back," Bill said, his hand sliding of her hip.
Laura blinked away tears. "I don't want to get wet," was all she could think of as a protest.
"If you stay..." Bill's strong arm was back around her. "I'm not letting you go."
Laura wrapped her arms tightly around his strong chest and pressed him toward the haypile. She was about to become a fallen woman but it wasn't going to be from tumbling out of the hayloft.
~ End, chapter 2