Chapter 17

Benjamin

Thursday

Dr. Benjamin Monroe always woke before dawn. He’d decided years ago it was in his blood. No matter how much education he had, he was still a farmer.

For a moment he thought he was still dreaming. The shadowy room was unfamiliar. The ceiling seemed too small for him to stand. Books and boxes and quilts were everywhere. Half a dozen fishing rods stood in one corner. His clothes were scattered on the floor.

He was waking up while some crazy dream was still rolling through his head. In the dream the window had been left open, but he didn’t feel cold. He wasn’t wearing his pajamas. He was naked!

Soft hair brushed against his chin and the whole night slammed back into his confused brain.

He’d followed Jenny into a dark room. No, she’d held his hand and pulled him into the room. They hadn’t said a word, but he remembered leaning down and kissing her like he’d never kissed anyone. It felt right. Familiar. A hunger grew to be closer to her.

They’d made love. If possible, it was sweeter than it had been twenty years ago. He had taken his time, wanting to remember every touch, every smell, every heartbeat. Ben wasn’t adventurous or even spontaneous, but for once he’d decided to try. Even when the loving was finished, he couldn’t let go of her. She’d made him feel fully alive.

She’d fallen asleep in his arms with his hand moving over her soft flesh, exploring every inch. Now and then she’d make a little sound of pleasure and Ben would smile and repeat his last touch.

He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head now. He wasn’t sure how it all happened. From the time she’d kissed him in his Jeep, his brain seemed to have stopped working.

The first light of dawn colored the night with morning. He didn’t move. He just watched the window and let this newborn memory float in his mind. Every detail. Every feeling. Every movement. He wanted to catalog each touch so he’d never forget. He didn’t need to study chemistry; he was drawn to her like a moth to light.

For once in his life he hadn’t been shy or hesitant. He’d been a lover. No. He’d been her lover.

Logic told him that he shouldn’t have followed her inside her cabin. This should never have happened. Not without love or words of commitment. But logic was no longer ruling his actions, evidently. And his brain, which he’d always considered to be above average, had turned to mush.

Right now, in the stillness between night and day, he could feel her hand on his heart and her breast against his side. Heaven seemed nestled in the stillness.

He was losing his mind and he didn’t care.