James wasn’t the only person on the committee staring at Harold, who seemed unfazed by the surprised reactions. "Absolutely. We celebrate the Fourth of July as our Independence Day. But I am surprised at how few of the young people in this town really understand what went on in those battles. I propose that we give them a taste of what our freedom cost."
He glanced at Frank Zolman, a history teacher at the high school whose eyes had widened slightly at the suggestion. He cleared his throat and said, "But, Harold, we didn't fight any revolutionary battles here in Oregon."
"I'm aware of that, Frank. But I feel that no matter where we are in this great nation of ours we should celebrate the Founding Fathers and the founding battles."
Frank said, "Wouldn't we need more people?"
Harold beamed at him as though he were a student who’d asked the right question, instead of a teacher. "Yes indeed. I've taken care of that. I go to a reenactment every year in Ohio. I have already broached the topic and they’d be more than happy to come along."
Vaguely, James had a feeling this was a very bad idea. His simple Fourth of July parade and fireworks seemed like it was going to turn into a Revolutionary War battle if he didn't do something right now to nip this idea in the bud. Even as he opened his mouth to do that Edna May Tittlebury beamed at Harold. "I have to say, Harold, that I think this is a wonderful idea. I'd be happy to help with uniforms to make sure that the historical accuracy is as good as it can be, and naturally, I will wear a historical costume.” She glanced up at Harold in a manner that could only be termed flirtatious. “It may interest you to know that one of my ancestors fought at Bunker Hill.”
Loreen glanced at Harold in an appraising way. She said, "The soldiers who will be coming to Hidden Falls, are they all retired like you?"
He chuckled. "No indeed. I’m one of the oldest. Why they are schoolteachers and historians and the members of gun clubs. You'd be amazed at the people who take part. I can guarantee you it will put Hidden Falls on the map."
“I can get my students involved for class credit,” Frank said, clearly warming up to the idea.
He glanced in appeal to Daphne. His mother was a pacifist if there ever was one. She said, "Well, we’ve never done anything like this before. I bet it would bring more folks out. Really get the community together. What do you think, James?”
"I think we should do some research on this, and table it for the next meeting." During which time he hoped to talk everyone involved out of this crazy idea.
But Harold gave him a knowing look as though being perfectly aware what he was up to. He said, "I think we should take a vote now. We haven't got much time until July. If I'm going to get my buddies committed, I need to make calls. Send emails."
And before you could say this meeting is adjourned, they’d taken a vote and passed the resolution.
He was about to leave the meeting, a lot less confident of how easy it would be to plan this celebration than when the meeting had started, when his mom pulled him to one side. She waited until everyone had left the room and said, “I have to admit, I thought you’d lost your mind asking Edna May and Loreen to sit on the committee, but you know, it was a good idea. I thought tonight’s meeting went really well. A reenactment, that should be fun.”
“I don’t know, Mom. Having a bunch of old geezers playing war games seems like it could go wrong.”
“Nonsense.” She smiled at him. “We have a great sheriff. He’ll keep everyone in line.”
“I was hoping you’d speak out against the idea. I gave you a sign.”
“Is that why you were rolling your eyes and twitching your nose? I thought you were trying not to sneeze.”
“Remind me never to play poker with you.”
She patted his arm. “Can you stop by Iris’s tonight?”
He blinked at the sudden change in subject. “Iris? Isn’t she busy with the babies?”
“Honestly, I think she’s too busy. I’m not sure how well she’s managing. I’ve been dropping by as much as I can, but she’ll start thinking I don’t trust her mothering skills if I show up too often.”
“What do you think I can do? I’m scared to touch those tiny things in case I drop one and break it.”
“You can fetch and carry for her, make her some tea and, yes, hold a niece or nephew if they’re both screaming at once.”
He stared. “They do that?”
“Frequently. When you and Josh used to get going it took me and Iris, who was always good with kids, to calm you down.” She smiled at him sweetly. “Seems only fair that you should help her. She helped when you were a screaming baby.”
“You don’t fight fair, Mom.”
She chuckled. “When you’ve had eleven kids, you won’t either.”
Oh, like that was ever going to happen. But he did love his sister and if she needed support, he supposed he could help out for an hour. “Okay, I’ll head over there. But what do I use as an excuse? We don’t have a ‘dropping by’ relationship, except, obviously when I go to Sunflower for coffee.”
She opened a large macramé bag that looked as though it had been made by the blind. Knowing his mom, it probably had. From this lumpy collection of holes she withdrew a wrapped package. “The women at my yoga class got together and bought her a gift. You can use that as an excuse.”
“Iris knows I don’t do yoga.”
“Sometimes I think you’re too honest for your own good! Tell her they dropped it off at the station because I wasn’t in yoga class today.” She tapped his chest. “Little white lie.”
“It starts as a little white lie, and next thing I know, I’m visiting you in jail.” But he took the package anyway. A glance at his watch told him it was eight o’clock. He headed straight to his sister’s.
When he got to Iris's house, he didn't want to ring the bell and stir up sleeping infants. In fact, before doing anything, he stood perfectly still with his ear pressed to the front door listening for any sounds of wailing. Everything seemed quiet. He turned the handle and, as he’d expected, the door opened. He still wasn't accustomed to the way people didn’t lock their doors here, which was weird, since he’d grown up in Hidden Falls. But a few years in Seattle had changed his perspective.
He stepped into the hallway. Paused to listen and all was peaceful. He’d heard that young mothers often napped when the babies did, and that had to be doubly true with twins, so he trod soundlessly down the hallway, thinking that if Iris was sleeping he’d simply drop off the package and leave as quietly as he had come. He reached the doorway to the kitchen and stepped inside.
And his heart flipped over.
It wasn't Iris sitting in a reclining chair in the den off the kitchen. To his surprise, it was Kimberly. She looked beautiful and peaceful, Madonna-like, with one tiny infant over one shoulder and the second draped over her other shoulder. They both had their heads turned towards her and their bodies curled inward, settling into her, like quotation marks.
He was scared to even go near them, but she glanced up and gave a start when he entered the kitchen. One of the little babies jerked, its hand opening from where it had been wrapped around a lock of her hair and she made a soothing, shushing sound until the tiny hand closed again around her hair.
"What are you doing here?" He asked so softly he could barely hear the words himself.
She smiled ever so slightly, once more reminding him of the Madonnas that the old masters loved to paint.
“Babysitting," she said. "Iris and Geoff needed to go shopping and so I volunteered to look after the little ones."
"Wow! You’re brave."
"I'm really not. I have a lot of experience with babies. And, as you can see, they’re no trouble."
He thought about what his mom had said about them wailing in stereo, and he couldn’t imagine being this calm if he had to look after such tiny human beings. “What if they get hungry?" According to Iris, they were always hungry.
“I came right after they were fed, and Iris expressed milk, so I can feed them if I need to."
He wished he hadn’t asked. He had no idea what expressed milk was and didn't want to find out. He waved the wrapped package. "I brought a gift from the yoga women."
At her skeptical expression, he said, “I know. It was Mom’s idea. She didn’t want Iris to think she was dropping by too often, so she decided I should do it. But I don’t want to disturb you. I should probably get going."
"Do you think you could stay and talk to me for a few minutes? I can’t read or watch TV or do anything at the moment."
"Right." He could see that she was trapped there and he was delighted that she wanted to talk to him. "Do you want to hear about the July 4th committee meeting?"
Her eyes began to twinkle. “You know I do."
He laughed. "You're turning into a regular Hidden Fallsian. You know that, right?"
"It's hard not to get involved. The bakery is like gossip central. Everything happens there."
"Really? Like what?" He had his own ideas about what happened in the bakery but he was curious to see how Kim saw things.
She made a movement that was like a shrug without actually moving her shoulders, which would've shifted the babies. “People are lonely sometimes and like to talk, or they’re studying." Her lips turned up in a secret smile, “Some people fall in love there."
“Fall in love? Who?"
She shook her head. "I don't want to say. And maybe I’m wrong."
"Now I'm intrigued. I’m trying to imagine who it could be.” The only person he knew who seemed to be suffering unrequited love was him. The recipient of all that unrequited feeling currently had babies draped all over her like shawls. Their gazes connected and, as though she had read his thoughts, her cheeks pinkened ever so slightly.
After a tiny pause, she said, “You promised to tell me about the meeting.” And since when did civic politics trump love? But he went along with her desire to change the subject.
“Well, I figured we’d follow the playbook. Put on the same event we’ve put on every year for pretty much forever. The old sheriff left notes. Seemed pretty straightforward. But no. Not this year. This year, Harold Biedleman thinks we should stage a Revolutionary War reenactment.”
Her nose wrinkled. “I’m Canadian, so excuse me if my history knowledge is fuzzy, but did you fight a Revolutionary War in Oregon?”
“It’s not your history that’s off. It’s Harold’s. And did Loreen Ludlow argue against this terrible idea, since she’s supposed to be about doing something new and modern? No she did not.” He thought about the way that meeting had taken off like a riderless horse. “She found out that there are men of all ages who take part in these things and decided she was a hundred percent in favor.”
“Oh, dear.”
“And then Edna May Tittlebury, who I personally selected for the committee knowing she’s a stickler for tradition, figuring she’d never let any funny business into our Fourth of July festivities, lit up like it was Christmas and her birthday wrapped into one. Turns out she had a distant, long-dead relative who fought at Bunker Hill. And she’s sewing a costume. She and Harold are going to make sure of the historical accuracy.” At her gurgle of laughter, he turned and at the expression on her face, realized what a spectacularly bad detective he was. “It’s them, isn’t it? The ones falling in love over coffee and banana bread at Sunflower?”
“I think so.”
“No wonder I got no support from Edna May.”
“But what about your mother? Daphne hates guns. I’ve heard her rant about them.”
“Thank you. My mother, the one person I thought I could count on, thought it was a great idea for a bunch of grown men to dress in regimentals and shout orders and shoot guns.”
“Well. Look on the bright side. You’ve got lots of volunteers. I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think.”
But he couldn’t rid himself of a feeling of dread.
“So, when do you get off this babysitting gig?”
She shot him a mischievous look. “Why do you ask?”
He thought back to high school when he’d dated girls who babysat. He said, “If you’ve finished your homework and there’s time before your curfew, I thought we’d take a walk. Or a drive.”
As though she’d read his mind, Kim opened her eyes wide. “And if I go with you for a walk or a drive, will you behave yourself?”
He couldn’t help the grin that spread all over his face. “What do you consider behaving myself? Would, say first base, be okay?”
Her lips twitched. “I am not a baseball diamond.”
“Right. And being Canadian and all, I guess you probably don’t know the terminology. First base means I want to kiss you.”
Her saw her chest rise rapidly as though she’d sucked in a quick breath. One of the twins shifted. “Kissing,” she said softly. “I think that would be all right.”
“But you know what kissing leads to?”
She stared at him.
He held up his hands as though they were out of his control. “I’m going to want to put my hands somewhere.”
“In your pockets?”
“Ouch, that’s harsh. I was thinking about second base. That, for someone like yourself, who’s from North of the 49th parallel, would be putting my hands under your shirt.”
It was crazy to feel himself getting so aroused from such a stupid conversation. He’d only meant to tease her gently, not make himself crazed with wanting her. Even now his palms tingled to have her small breasts in his hands. He knew what she liked, the sounds she made when he caressed her heated flesh.
Her face might remain prim, but her eyes were telling him she was as turned on as he was. “Where exactly, under my shirt, are we talking?”
“Well, naturally, I wouldn’t want to rush anything. I’d probably lift the hem of that pretty white shirt from where it’s tucked into your jeans.” He’d walk over to her and demonstrate if she didn’t have two very effective chastity belts, one draped over each shoulder. Not being able to touch her only added to his excitement.
She seemed to enjoy this slow teasing, also. She said, “You think I’d let you untuck my shirt?”
“Not without a lot of kissing first, to warm you up.” He had to control himself from getting up right now and going over to kiss her, babies and all. He could practically feel her lips beneath his, taste her, smell her.
“I would need a lot of warming up,” she agreed.
“Then, when I had your shirt untucked, I’d slip my hand underneath, touch the warm skin of your belly.” His hand twitched in memory. “Do you know how much I like your belly?”
She seemed surprised. “You do?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s got tone, but there’s also a nice roundness to it. And when I run my hand across your stomach, sometimes you shiver.”
“Maybe your hands are cold.”
“Maybe you’re just hot.”
She licked her lips. “So, you’re going to all that trouble, untucking my clothing, so you can reach my stomach?”
“Oh, no. That’s only the beginning. Thing is, when a guy knows a girl will only go so far, he paces himself. So, I’ll spend quite a bit of time on your belly. Then I’ll start moving north. You know all about North, being a Canadian.”
He saw her try and stifle a giggle. God, he liked her like this, relaxed and sexy.
“I’m guessing I’ll hit a barrier.”
“The Canadian border?”
“Your bra. In my experience, most babysitters wear them.”
“Ah.”
“I’d feel you through your bra, maybe squeeze a little, until we were both huffing and puffing.”
“I do not huff and puff.”
He thought back to their recent time together. Gave her a knowing look. “Yeah, you do.”
“Not as much as you do. But go on. Once you’ve got me huffing and puffing, even though I’m still wearing all my underwear, then what?”
She might sound prim, but her voice was soft, sweet, liquid, like maple syrup.
“Why then, I reach around your back and release the clasp of your bra.”
“I remember you being really smooth at that.”
“I dated a lot of babysitters,” he admitted.
“You should make sure and add that talent to your online dating profile.”
As if he had one, with her clouding his mind and taking up so much of his energy. “Now, when I’ve got your bra unhooked, you know what I’m going to do?”
“Does it have anything to do with baseball?”
He chuckled. “We’re still on second base.”
“Baseball is a very slow game.”
“Only when it’s played right.” He leaned forward. “Are you feeling okay? You look a little flushed.”
“It’s the babies,” she lied.
If there was one thing he loved about her it was the way her fair skin blushed when she was embarrassed. Or aroused. That complexion told him all kinds of things. Like the way she was as excited by this silliness as he was.
She looked like a Madonna, with twin cherubs sleeping curled up at her breast, but he could feel the heat of a very sexual woman coming off her.
“Now, where was I?”
“Stalled on second base, I believe.”
“Not stalled. Sometimes as part of an overall strategy, a player takes his time. So, I’ve got your bra undone. Now I slowly reach around, slip my hand under the loosened fabric and close my hand over your naked breast.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Just, Oh.”
He liked the way her ‘oh’ sounded. Breathy and eager. Truth was, he was feeling pretty breathy and eager himself.
He could picture them in that very pose. His hand closing over her breast, the way she’d move against him, how her breathing would change. “Of course, I’m not going to simply grab it, like I’ve got rigor mortis. I’m going to move it around a little.”
“Move it around?”
“Caress you.”
“Oh.” Again with the oh.
“Feel your nipple harden against my palm.” Those wee babies were as good as an electric fence at keeping him from showing her exactly what he’d do. “I’d spend a lot of time playing with your breasts, but I’d still be kissing you of course.”
“You’d be on both bases at once?”
“I’m a very versatile baseball player.”
“I can see that.”
“Naturally, a player on second always has third base in his sights.”
“Third base?”
He was fairly certain they did the same things in Canada. She was toying with him as much as he was with her. “Oh, yeah. You’ve heard the term ‘stealing a base?’”
“I believe I have.”
“I’d probably make a stealth move. Keep you so busy with the kissing and playing with your breasts, that I could slip down south, back across the border.”
“The border?”
“The waistband of your jeans.”
She put on a prudish expression. “You mean?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’d do my damnedest to get my hand on the other side of your waistband. I’d slip the button, then slide down your zipper, real slow. And then I’d slip my hand down—“