Free The Indiscretion by Judith Ivory Page B

shook her head. "I'm frightened and weak and
sickish—"
    "There's nothin' wrong with you," he said. He petted her
head, which she liked so startlingly much she could barely move: for fear he'd
stop. His hand was warm as it sculpted itself to the back of her skull, over
her messy hair, pressing it against her nape. "Other than normal
stuff," he continued. "A hurt ankle. A rightful fear of bein' out in
the dark, lost on foot."
    She said nothing, didn't move. Lydia remained as
still as a puppy miraculously scratched at a place she hadn't known itched, at
just the right spot.
    They stood silently, neither moving, neither uttering a word for
several long seconds. Then he said, "There," and set her away from
him. He stepped back.
    Lydia swayed a
degree on her feet. He caught her again, his hand around her upper arm to
steady her. And again it felt so good, she was all but ashamed; she blushed.
"I'm a disaster," she said.
    "You're a little strange," he admitted. He added
quickly, "But nice. Liddy—" he said, then stopped. His head turned
slightly, lowering, as if he were trying to see his own hand where it remained
casually on her.
    "What?"
    He hesitated, looked toward her. "You're skittish."
Another lengthy pause, as if he weren't sure he should pursue the subject.
"You're like a stall-bound filly: undernourished, unexercised,
under—" He halted, his silhouette shifting, a change of stance. He'd been
going to say something else, but said instead, "You should gallop a
little, let the wind blow your mane" – he laughed selfconsciously, let
his hand drop, and stepped back – "if you get my drift."
    "Under-what? What were you about to say?"
    He clicked his tongue, resistant, then said, " Underpleasured ,
but it felt wrong to tell you that with the two of us waltzing here together in
the dark – even though I believe it's true: You are." He drew in a breath,
then let it out in a long gust. "And now that I've told you what I
shouldn't have, I think I'll just shut my mouth. Let's go back."
    "Underpleasured?" She laughed.
    "Okay, it was a stupid word. It's just that you need to
figure out—" A pause. "To figure out what's your heart's desire, then
try for it. You need to lap up the cream of life, find your own particular
variety of it, you know?"
    She didn't. But he turned, and she followed him toward to the
campfire, half amused by his speech, half contemplative. Her heart's desire? A
galloping filly who lapped up cream? Well. Topics for thought.
    They hadn't walked a dozen feet, though, before he offered one
further piece of advice, in a mutter as if he wanted to tell her but he didn't
want her to hear it. He said, "You got a spirit in you, Liddy Brown, that
is strong enough to carry you through anything. You don't need to be so
afraid." These words truly surprised her.
    Then they didn't. Strong. Lydia sensed it for
a moment, like something in her blood she hadn't been aware of. Real strength.
As if it had always been there, but she'd been afraid to see it, afraid to
allow it: to turn it loose.
    Well. I'm strong, she thought. She was. How enlightening. Strong.
Just thinking the word was like seeing for the first time some previously
unknown part of herself. I'm the reason. This tenacity, this force of nature
that keeps me going is … is me. I'm looking at me.
    Hello.
    *
    Once
back at their campsite, Sam had little to say – he'd made himself tongue-tied. He
wasn't sure he'd be able to say another word to a woman who made him say things
like underpleasured . What kind of a word was that? And what would Gwyn
say? What would she think of his telling some other woman, in the dark with the
two of them all alone, that she needed more pleasure in her life? While he
stroked her back?
    Oh, yeah, he'd forgotten. Nothing. Gwyn would theoretically say
nothing. They weren't together anymore. She'd lost her say.
    For the first time today, this information, instead of depressing
him, gave a lift to his spirits.

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