Just a Touch Away Read online

  “Let me leash up Fred so he doesn’t decide to join us, and I’ll be in.” Lindsey had a metal loop inserted in the side of the boat. The only time she did this was when she’d jump into the water alone, which wasn’t often. She never strayed far from the boat when she was alone.

  She stripped off her T-shirt and happened to glance up and catch Cloe watching her with interest. Her look was almost. . . hungry. Maybe her body wasn’t so bad for thirty-six. She slipped on a life preserver before she grabbed the other inner tube. She was a decent swimmer, but she always felt safer with the life preserver. Tossing the inner tube over the side of the boat, she jumped in, slipped into the middle, and paddled her way over to Cloe.

  “You must be a pretty good swimmer,” she told Cloe.

  “I’ve been swimming since I was little, even took lessons. Later, I swam on the high school team.”

  “Yeah? What event?” Lindsey kept her fingers moving in the water. The water was warm, but not as warm as the outside air. It felt good.

  “Freestyle.”

  Lindsey could see that. Cloe’s shoulders were muscular. She liked that Cloe wasn’t thin. She was curvy and luscious.

  “What?” Cloe asked.

  Jesus, Linds, quit staring. “Nothing. I can tell you’re a swimmer.”

  “Paige and I come out here when we can. We love this swimming hole.”

  Lindsey glanced around her at the secluded cove. She could see the draw with the trees tucked close to the water.

  “I can see why,” she said.

  They were both quiet. Cloe laid her head back on the inner tube and closed her eyes. Lindsey did the same. As she closed her eyes, she dwelled on those two soft kisses. She craved more.

  Some time had passed when a bird’s cry startled her. She must’ve drifted off. Cloe still dozed, so Lindsey stayed quiet. Eventually, though, she couldn’t resist. She quietly paddled closer and splashed water on Cloe’s stomach. Cloe jumped and teetered in the inner tube.

  “Hey!”

  Lindsey laughed. “Sorry.”

  Cloe shook her finger at her. “No, you’re not.”

  Lindsey motioned toward the boat. “I’m going to get out, but you’re welcome to stay in.”

  Cloe pinched her own arm. “I’d better get out, too. I seem to be burning a little.”

  They made their way to the steps that led into the water. Cloe tipped out of her inner tube, and Lindsey followed suit. “You go on up,” Lindsey said as she tossed the inner tubes on board. She couldn’t resist staring at Cloe’s shapely ass as she climbed the ladder. She quickly looked away when Cloe turned around. She hoped she hadn’t been obvious.

  She climbed up the steps. By the time she’d gotten aboard, Cloe had slipped on her T-shirt and was sipping from her water bottle. She reached into the cooler and held one up. “Want one?”

  “Thanks.” Lindsey unhooked Fred from his tether, glad that his spot remained cloaked in shade from an overhanging tree. He shook himself like he was perturbed he couldn’t join them in the water. Lindsey poured water into Fred’s bowl before she took a long drink. Closing her eyes, she drank so fast that some of the water escaped the lip of the bottle and trickled down her neck. When she opened her eyes, Cloe was staring at her cleavage where the water had traveled.

  Cloe quickly glanced away and said, “Sure is hot, huh?”

  Lindsey smirked. “It sure is.”

  Cloe toweled off. “Do you mind if I draw for a while?”

  “Not as long as you can show me some of your work,” Lindsey said as she toweled down herself.

  Cloe hesitated.

  “Please,” Lindsey added.

  In answer, Cloe went to the clear-plastic bag and pulled out the sketchbook. She hesitated one last time then handed the sketchbook to Lindsey. Lindsey settled onto the padded seating in the bow of the boat. She carefully turned the pages, not wanting to damage any of the sheets of paper. Awestruck, she marveled at Cloe’s talent. How was she not a raving success, at least in the local art scene?

  Cloe sat down on the other end of the cushioned seating. She shifted on the seat, obviously anxiously awaiting Lindsey’s reaction.

  “Cloe, these are amazing.”

  Cloe’s face reddened. “Really?” It was the voice of someone still unsure just how good she was.

  “Really.” Lindsey kept flipping the pages then stopped suddenly when she came to the page where Cloe had drawn Fred’s foray into the water. She liked how Cloe had drawn it as a comic strip, panel by panel. She smiled when she saw the expression on her own face, certain Cloe captured her shocked look perfectly.

  She flipped the page and sucked in a breath. It was a rendering of her that showed all her raw emotion, all her vulnerability. Right there and plain to see. She brushed her fingers over her drawn face and haunted eyes. She blinked and wiped the tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Cloe moved closer to her in an instant. She gently took Lindsey’s hand. “I’m sorry. I forgot that was in there. I didn’t mean to intrude on such an unguarded moment.”

  Lindsey whispered, “This was when I was looking at Eric’s photo, wasn’t it?”

  Cloe nodded. “I am sorry.”

  Lindsey closed the sketchpad and set it beside her. She placed her other hand on top of Cloe’s. “Please don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.” She took a deep breath. “I knew I was sad. It’s just a shock to see it so plainly drawn.”

  “But—”

  Lindsey couldn’t have Cloe think she’d hurt her. She lifted her hand and touched her fingertips to Cloe’s lips. “You’re fine, Cloe.” They stared at each other, and Lindsey got lost in Cloe’s hazel eyes that were full of emotion. She broke the spell and reached beside her to lift up the sketchpad and hand it over.

  Cloe brushed her fingers over the cover. “So. . . you think they’re good.” She still sounded shy and tentative.

  “I think you’re an amazing, talented artist. Please don’t stop drawing. I know you told me you’re best at pencil sketches. Do you use other mediums?”

  “I use colored pencils sometimes, and I also do watercolors. I don’t use acrylics, though. Never got the hang of it.”

  “You don’t need to. What you’ve done here, and I’m sure what you do with colored pencils and watercolor, is enough. You said you’ve sold your work in Nashville. Anywhere else?” Lindsey would be astounded if Cloe’s work went unnoticed.

  Cloe shrugged. “Only Nashville. People like artwork of the countryside mainly.”

  Lindsey tapped the sketchpad that Cloe still held. “You should think about illustrating children’s books. You’d make a lot of money. Or at least a steady income.”

  Cloe seemed surprised. “I never thought of that.”

  “Well, you’d never met an author of children’s books.”

  “You’re right. I hadn’t.” Cloe’s eyes lit up. “Speaking of which, any more thought about possibly trying something else with your writing?”

  Lindsey shook her head. “No, not yet. . .” Her voice trailed off as an idea sparked in her mind. “Unless. . .”

  “Unless?”

  “Let me see that sketchpad again.” Cloe handed it over. Lindsey quickly skipped to the page containing the drawings that looked like a comic strip. “Unless I write about a rascally beagle-basset mix who gets into trouble at the drop of a hat.” Fred looked back at her from his perch on the bow. It seemed like he was grinning at her as if he knew exactly what she said.

  “I think Fred is good with it,” Cloe said with a laugh.

  “You know, this might work. It’s something totally different, and it’s something I’d enjoy doing. Besides, I have no limit to the stories I could come up with.”

  Cloe beamed at her. She looked so happy that Lindsey couldn’t resist leaning over and kissing her. It started gently but quickly became much more. Lindsey cradled Cloe’s face in her hands, and Cloe gripped her hips. Lindsey slowed it down until she lightly nibbled Cloe’s bottom lip. They shared a long look.
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  “Do you feel this, Lindsey?” Cloe whispered. “It’s not just me, is it?”

  Lindsey brushed a wet strand of hair off Cloe’s forehead. “I think that kiss, plus the others, is answer enough. I feel it, too. Very much.”

  “Is it okay for you? We’re not moving too fast?”

  Lindsey caressed her cheek. “No.”

  Cloe’s lips pulled into a soft smile. Fred trotted over from his spot at the front of the boat and jumped onto the seat between them. Cloe laughed. “I’ll have to hold off on my sketching, because I think Fred is telling us it’s time to head back.”

  A pang of disappointment hit Lindsey in the center of her chest. “As long as I can see you again. Soon.”

  Cloe gave her a quick kiss. “Absolutely.”

  Chapter 8

  Cloe hummed along with the tune playing on the store speakers. Her mom liked the radio classics station and rarely changed it to play other music. It was a 70s Bob Seger tune, “Night Moves.”

  “Yeah, I’d like to be working on some of those moves myself,” she said under her breath as she stocked the cereal section. Then her heart skipped a few beats. If a deeper relationship developed with Lindsey, as she hoped, it would be her first time making love with a woman. “Well, it’s not like I don’t know what to do.” She’d gone far enough in her limited dating experiences, plus she’d read enough romances. And of course she knew how to pleasure herself. Her face flushed with heat. “Jesus, I’m embarrassing myself.”

  “Did you say something, honey?”

  Her mother spoke from directly behind her. Cloe jumped and dropped the box of cereal she was holding. It bounced against the shelf below, hit the floor, and split open. Corn flakes scattered.

  “Crap. They don’t make these boxes like they used to.”

  “Go get the broom and dustpan, and I’ll help you clean this up,” Fiona said.

  By the time Cloe returned, her mother had already disposed of the cereal box.

  “Hand that to me, and I’ll do it.”

  Cloe was about to object, but she was so out of sorts today, she’d probably end up scattering the cereal even more. Her mom quickly swept up the corn flakes and emptied the dustpan into the trash. She set the broom and dustpan aside and turned to Cloe.

  “Why don’t you and I chat,” Fiona said. The look she was giving Cloe made her shift nervously.

  “I need to finish—”

  Fiona stopped her with a touch to her arm. “It’s better you take a break. Your dad can watch the store for a few minutes on his own.”

  Cloe gave up and meekly followed her mother out of the store to a picnic table they had set up in the back for breaks and lunch. Fiona sat on one bench and waited for Cloe to settle on the other.

  Fiona asked, “What has you humming along to Bob Seger tunes and talking to yourself?” Her eyes danced mischievously in the sunlight.

  “Nothing really. I like the tune. That’s all.” Cloe wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss everything that was going on with Lindsey. It seemed so new and precious. Even though Paige was a little aware of how serious it was starting to get, she was afraid to share that with the one woman who knew her better than anyone.

  “Cloe.” Fiona’s voice took on that no-nonsense tone that she reserved for times like these.

  Cloe suddenly had a flashback to her sophomore year in college when she finally told her parents she was gay. Of course, they already had figured it out. But now, like then, Fiona wouldn’t let her get away with not answering.

  “I really like her, Mom.” Cloe fidgeted with her fingers, scraping at the worn wooden picnic table with her thumb nail. A large fleck of green paint peeled off, and she crumbled it onto the table.

  “Lindsey Marist?”

  “Mm-hm.” Cloe ventured a peek at her mom.

  Fiona stared off at the nearby tree line for a while. So long, that Cloe was afraid she objected to Cloe getting more involved with Lindsey.

  But Fiona continued. “I told you I thought she seemed lost, that something may have happened to make her withdraw from the world. She moved to that cabin over a year ago. For her to close herself off as much as she did when she moved here. . . well, like I said. I sensed she was sad about something.”

  Cloe didn’t speak at first. Then she made the decision to tell her mom about the death of Lindsey’s nephew and how hard it had hit Lindsey.

  “I think that’s what drove away her partner because Lindsey couldn’t allow herself to feel the pain. She said she closed off her emotions as much as she could.”

  “And now?” There was a touch of worry in her mother’s voice.

  “She’s opened up to me about it. The tragedy kept her from working on her children’s books. She based the stories on Eric, her nephew. I suggested she try something new. I thought she needed something to get her unstuck, you know?”

  “What did she say?”

  “She liked the idea. It was fun to see her face light up the way it did.”

  Fiona reached across the table and held both of Cloe’s hands. “I’m happy for you, sweetheart, but I’m also a little concerned. I’m your mother, and I don’t want to see you hurt. I’m afraid that Lindsey might withdraw again.”

  “Mom, I’m okay. Lindsey and I are getting to know each other. It’s not like we’re going to get married tomorrow or anything.”

  “I would hope not. Remember, I have a say in the planning of your wedding.” Fiona grinned. “You shared Oreos and milk, honey. That says a lot.”

  Cloe laughed. “It says we have good taste in cookies.”

  Fiona stood and waited for Cloe to do the same. She slipped her arm around Cloe’s waist and tugged her close. “Always know you can talk to me.”

  Cloe dropped her head on Fiona’s shoulder, feeling the same comfort she did as a child. “I know, Mom. I know.”

  * * *

  Lindsey stared at the phone. A fine sheen of sweat dappled her forehead. This shouldn’t be such a big deal. She was a grown woman, a successful children’s book author for God’s sake. She should be able to call her editor with a new angle on her writing. No problem.

  Yeah. Right.

  Before she lost her nerve altogether, she picked up her cell and punched in Sylvia’s contact number.

  “I told you I didn’t want to hear from you during these two weeks,” Sylvia said in way of greeting.

  “I know that’s what we agreed to, but I have something I want to run past you and it couldn’t wait.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re giving up on your writing.”

  “No, I’m still going to write,” Lindsey said. Here goes nothing. “I want to try something new. Still a children’s book, maybe even a series, about a dog. I’d eventually go back to the old series, though,” she hurriedly added.

  Silence greeted her.

  “Sylvia?”

  “If the dog dies, I’m hanging up right now.”

  Lindsey laughed in relief. At least Sylvia didn’t shut it down. “He doesn’t die. I’m basing him on my own dog, Fred. You’ve seen his pictures, haven’t you? The ones from my website?”

  “Yes, I have. He’s, uh, unique.”

  “You have to admit he’d be cute in a children’s book.”

  “I’m sure he would.” Sylvia paused. “Like we discussed before, I know this has to be hard on you working on these books after the death of your nephew. Maybe this isn’t such a bad idea.”

  “You agree?”

  “Only if you tell me you already have a strong story outline in your head and only if you assure me once again that this isn’t the end of Bobby’s adventures.”

  “I think if I write maybe one or two of these, I’ll be able to pick up on the Bobby books afterward.”

  “Before you get too excited, I have to run this past Dunham. We can’t do anything without their approval.”

  “I understand.”

  “On some other maybe not-so-good news, Shirley Bradenton might be retiring.”

  “Oh, n
o.” Lindsey’s heart sank. Shirley was one of the best illustrators of children’s books in the business. “Any idea why?”

  “The arthritis worsened in her hands. She has an appointment with the rheumatologist this week and should have a better idea after that. But she’s already told Dunham she anticipates bad news.”

  “Damn.” Lindsey was already thinking how hard it’d be to work with a different artist. She and Shirley had such a great working relationship. Lindsey sent her a photo of Eric before she started on the artwork for the first book. When she saw Shirley’s first mock-ups, it amazed her how well Shirley captured his energy.

  “I wanted to give you a heads-up so this wouldn’t come as a complete shock. We’re already looking at some other artists.”

  A thought hit Lindsey, one she couldn’t believe hadn’t occurred immediately. Cloe Parsons. There was no doubt in Lindsey’s mind that Cloe could do this work. She wouldn’t mention it, though, until she knew for sure that Shirley was retiring.

  “Are you still there, Lindsey?”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I said this might be just what you need. Besides, people love dogs.” Sylvia snorted. “Especially dogs that live.”

  “I get it. The dog won’t die.”

  “I still want you stay away from the writing at least through next week. In the meantime, I’ll call Dunham for their take. I’ll also get a status on Shirley.”

  “Thank you, Sylvia. Thank you for understanding.”

  “I told you last time that I do know how hard this has been for you. I have to say, though, you sound different. In a good way.”

  “How so?”

  “You sound lighter, if that makes sense.”

  Cloe’s beautiful face came to Lindsey’s mind. “I do feel lighter.”

  “Good. I’m glad this time away from your work has helped.”

  They ended the call with Sylvia’s promise to call back the next week with the possible go-ahead for the new book and a report on Shirley.

  Lindsey went to the kitchen and grabbed a cold beer out of the refrigerator. She twisted off the lid and started for the front porch. Fred jumped up from his perch on his living room dog bed and trotted after her. She held the door open. “Come on.” She settled into the rocker, took a sip of her beer, and watched the sun slip under the tree line. As darkness descended and the crickets’ mating songs grew louder, Lindsey sighed with contentment. She loved it here. Yes, it had started as a healing place, but it quickly became her home. She had an even better reason to enjoy it now.