Take Me Higher by Pamela Clare

Chapter 8

Megs turned toward Mitch,took a step in his direction, rested a wet palm on his chest. “What would you do if I said I wanted you to kiss me?”

He sucked in a breath. “I would say get closer.”

He slid one arm around her, drew her against him, and watched her pupils dilate. Then he ducked down—and brushed her lips with his.

She sucked in a breath. “Do that again.”

Far be it from Mitch to ignore a request like that.

This time, he cupped the back of her head with his hand and brushed his lips over hers again and again, teasing her with light kisses, until her eyes drifted shut and she stopped breathing. He drew back, chuckled. “Megs, inhale.”

Her eyes flew open, and she sucked in a breath, both palms coming to rest on his chest, her touch scorching his skin even in the cool water. “Again?”

What an unusual mix of confident and unsure of herself she was—bold when she was climbing but shy about her body and sex. Mitch couldn’t help but wonder if she’d never been kissed before.

“Now I’m really going to kiss you.” He lowered his mouth to hers, caught her lower lip, then stroked it with his tongue.

She stiffened as if surprised, and he knew for certain that this was new to her. Then she parted her lips slightly, yielding to his tongue’s exploration, her palms sliding up his chest, the contact making his pulse pound.

His tongue met hers, and she seemed to understand, her tongue now caressing his, returning stroke for stroke. He drew back for a moment, searched her face, saw only need. And that’s when he lost it.

He crushed her against him and kissed her deep and hard.

She made a sound that was somewhere between a squeak and a sigh, her body melting against his, her breasts with their pebbled tips pressing against his ribs, her hands sliding behind his neck to draw him down to her. Either she had more experience than he’d imagined, or she was one hell of a fast learner.

Hunger for her surged through him, his blood going hot, his cock growing hard despite the chilly water. He wanted more of her, so much more.

He bent her head back, kissed and tasted the sensitive skin beneath her ear, inhaling her sunshine scent, nibbling his way along her throat, the fingers of his other hand slowly tracing the length of her spine. “Megs.”

He cupped one soft, firm buttock, instinctively rocked his hips against her, and she stiffened again. She’d felt it—his hard-on.

He took a step back. “Does that scare you?”

She didn’t answer right away, seemed to consider her words.

“Not really,” she said at last. “Can I touch you there?”

Hell, what was he supposed to say to that? “If you want to.”

He took her hand to guide her, but she pulled it from his grasp. Okay, so she wanted to do this herself. “Go ahead. I trust you.”

Her hand closed tentatively around him, moved the length of his erection, her thumb exploring the aching head.

He clenched his teeth, sucked in a breath, ragged darts of pleasure shooting through his belly.

She jerked her hand away. “Did I hurt you?”

He couldn’t help but laugh, arousal hot in his veins. “No, it felt good.”

She reached for him again, but this time he stopped her.

“We should stop before things go too far.”

Disappointment flashed through her eyes, became defiance. “I’m not a little girl.”

“Of course not, but I don’t have a condom.”

Her brow furrowed with confusion. “A … what?”

Mitch couldn’t believe she’d never heard the word before. Then again, he knew from some female friends he’d met at college that too many parents told their daughters next to nothing about sex. “A condom—a rubber.”

Understanding dawned, her eyes going wide. “Oh. Right.”

“Come.” He walked back to the edge of the lake, then stepped naked onto the boulder and sat beside their clothes, the breeze raising goosebumps on his wet skin.

She stayed in the water, arms crossed over her breasts, her gaze exploring him with a sweet combination of curiosity and desire.

“Do you want me to turn around?”

She shook her head, then drew a breath as if gathering her courage. Then she lowered her arms—and walked out of the tarn.

Mitch wouldn’t have been able to avert his gaze if he’d wanted to, the sight of her doing nothing to cool the heat in his blood. She was fit and slender like a dancer, her breasts tiny but firm, their taut nipples peeking through the wet ends of her hair where it clung to her skin. Her legs were long for her height, her waist narrow. The triangle of curls that covered her sex were wet, clinging to the sweet flesh beneath.

She shivered, scrambled up the boulder, and lay down on her belly beside him, her hair spilling over one shoulder. “Mmm. The rock is nice and warm.”

They talked about everything except what had just happened. The weather. Megs’ job. What they might climb together next. Whether God was real or a myth created by people to explain the universe when they didn’t understand science.

Mitch took a chance. “I believe God is real.”

“I don’t. If God is there, why does He or She let so much awful shit happen? How can there be God and Nazis in the same universe?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.” Mitch found himself looking into her gray eyes and feeling completely lost. “I guess some things aren’t meant to be understood.”

Then clouds moved in, threatening rain. As they dressed and began the long hike back to Camp 4, Mitch knew he was in trouble.

He was head-over-heels in love with Megs.

Megs closedthe journal and took a bathroom break. As she washed her hands, she stared at her reflection. “Damn, girl, you were clueless.”

Mitch had always been so perceptive. She’d wanted to seem like an adult, a sophisticated woman who knew what she was doing, like one of those naked women in the Playboy magazines her stepfather had left in her room. But Mitch had seen through her façade to the confused teenager inside.

Megs had never been close to her mother. After her father’s death when Megs was seven, her mother had become distant. All she’d taught Megs was that a man’s penis went into a woman’s vagina, and then a baby came out—as if a woman’s body were a vending machine that took dicks instead of dimes.

Megs had been nine when her mother remarried. Wayne, her new husband, hadn’t paid Megs much attention at first, though he hadn’t been shy about using his belt when he thought she’d done something wrong. But then she’d gotten older, and Wayne’s attitude had changed. By the time she was twelve, she was doing all she could to avoid him.

Rot in hell, Wayne.

The girl Mitch had met had been caught between unwelcome knowledge—and the complete lack of it. Megs had heard of rubbers at school, of course, but she didn’t understand how they prevented pregnancy. She’d known what an erection was but not that it could serve her enjoyment. She’d known that men could be dangerous. But when it came to the emotional and physical nuances of sex—consent, foreplay, the many ways to give and receive pleasure—she’d known nothing.

Luckily for her, Mitch had been an excellent teacher.

Megs dried her hands, left the restroom, and made her way to the cafeteria for a late lunch. The sun was shining, so she decided to sit outside. She wasn’t used to being cooped up indoors for so long.

The fresh air was invigorating, the grilled chicken salad not so much. She picked at it, trying to decide whether she could stand another bite of wilted lettuce or prefabricated grilled chicken strips when her phone buzzed.

Rain.

Megs took the call. “How’s my favorite Deadhead?”

“I’m doing well. Thanks. We’re all doing well. We’re just worried about you and Mitch. I don’t want to take too much of your time, but I thought you’d like an update.”

“Sure.”

“Everyone here wants to help somehow, so Joe has set up a kind of fundraiser.”

Megs started to object, but Rain cut her off.

“I know you’re about to tell me that the two of you have savings and you don’t need the help. But you don’t know where this will end—how long Mitch will be in the hospital and rehab or whether you’ll need to modify your home.”

Hell, Megs hadn’t even thought of that. “Shit.”

“I know. It’s a lot to handle. But if you don’t end up needing the money, you can donate it to the Team or St. Barbara’s or go on a vacation to the Bahamas.”

Megs was touched. “I guess I’ve just been focused on the moment. Thanks for thinking ahead for us.”

“You bet. Everyone wants to get in on it. Frank put up a jar at his filling station. Father Ted at St. Barbara’s passed the plate a second time at Mass, asking for donations. Sasha, Conrad, and Gabe Rossiter are giving climbing lessons at the rock gym in exchange for donations. I think Sasha’s schedule filled up the first five minutes. The Timberline Mudbugs made a mixtape of Mitch’s favorite tunes that I’ll bring when I come to see you next. They’re doing a special concert in Boulder next week. All of the proceeds will go to Mitch.”

“Wow.”

But there was more.

Rain told her how Kenzie, Conrad’s wife, a professional search dog trainer, was doing a raffle for free puppy training. Jason Chiago, a former Shadow Wolf, was working with the US Marshals on their own fundraiser, offering tracking classes.

“He hasn’t forgotten that the Team saved Winona’s life last year,” Rain said.

Naomi Belcourt, a Lakota artist and Chaska’s wife, was running an auction for a few of her signature jewelry pieces. And Bear had put money someone had given him for a meal into the donation jar on the bar.

“We fed him anyway.”

Of course, they had.

Megs was overwhelmed. She knew that the people of Scarlet Springs were big-hearted, but she hadn’t grown up in Scarlet like Mitch had. She’d never experienced this kind of close community until they’d moved there in the early Nineties to start the Team.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “That’s incredibly generous.”

She was especially touched by Bear’s donation. He’d grown up by himself in the mountains after a fever had killed off his family. That same fever had left him with brain damage. He was big and had a bushy beard—hence the nickname. But he was as gentle as a child and as poor as a monk.

“Hey, we take care of our own. Oh, I almost forgot. Rose is giving free tarot and aura readings in exchange for a donation of twenty dollars or more.”

That last one made Megs laugh. Rose was the town’s psychic, astrologer, tarot card reader, past-life therapist, sex toy consultant, and lead gossip. She dressed like a runner-up at a Stevie Nicks costume contest. Mitch had always described her as a flower child who didn’t know that the Sixties were officially over. Still…

“Please let them know how grateful I am for everyone’s generosity and support. This would be so much harder if it weren’t for their kindness. And thanks to you and Joe for that hotel room. It’s been a godsend.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.”

Megs shared what positive news she had. “The fever isn’t sepsis or infection. Also, the doctor ran a special kind of scan that showed a big increase in Mitch’s brain activity while he was listening to my voice. Even I could see the difference between the scans. When he hears my voice, his brain just lights up.”

“Oh, Megs! That chokes me up. Even in a coma, he knows your voice.”

“Thanks so much for that recorder and for bringing the journal. It’s been an interesting trip down memory lane.”

“You’re welcome! Please let us know if you need anything else.”

“Will do. Thanks.” Megs ended the call, dumped her lunch into the compost bin, and rode the elevator back upstairs, eager to return to Mitch and his journal.

Mitch satin the passenger seat of Dean’s van as they drove into the Village for supplies, D’yer Maker from Led Zeppelin’s latest blasting on Dean’s eight-track player, the two of them singing along. They parked outside the Village store and walked inside. Mitch took a small cart and began filling it with canned food, soap, dish soap, toilet paper, and other necessaries. But he hadn’t seen the one thing he’d hoped to buy.

Condoms.

They weren’t with the medicine. They weren’t with the women’s hygiene products. They weren’t with the toothpaste.

He and Megs had spent the past few days making out every time they got the chance, sneaking away from camp to kiss and talk. He’d kissed her in every way he could, kissed her until he thought he might spontaneously combust, until she’d pleaded for more. But he’d made sure their clothes stayed on. It was hard to stay in control once the heavy petting started, and he didn’t want to put their futures at risk by getting her pregnant. They wanted to climb, not change diapers.

He had to find condoms.

He walked up to the counter, glanced over his shoulder to make sure Dean wasn’t listening. “Do you sell condoms?”

The man, a heavyset older guy with a gray crewcut, looked disapprovingly down at Mitch and pointed. “They’re in the men’s room.”

Mitch turned to walk in that direction.

“Hey!” The man held out a meaty hand. “Leave the cart here. You’re going to need change—fifty cents each.”

Mitch put a five-dollar bill into the man’s palm and got three dollar bills and eight quarters in change. “Thanks.”

He walked into the men’s room, saw the dispenser on the wall. It offered three types, each one accompanied by cartoon images of half-naked, big-breasted women with eyes closed and mouths open. Arouse. Sensation. Pandora’s Box.

“Hell.” The last time he’d bought condoms, he’d been at a pharmacy, and they’d come in packages with information on the box. He wasn’t sure what he’d be getting today—or how good they would be. With no idea which was better, he bought one of each and was just picking them out of the dispenser when Dean walked in.

Mitch quickly slipped the packets into his pocket. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Dean headed to the urinal and unzipped his fly. If he’d noticed the condoms, he didn’t say anything about it.

Mitch walked back to the register and paid for his supplies. He was waiting by Dean’s van when Dean walked out.

They headed back toward Camp 4.

Dean glanced over. “You’re spending a lot of time alone with Megs.”

So, he had noticed the condoms.

Damn.

Mitch wasn’t about to expose Megs to any shame. “She’s a fantastic climber. She’s also a lot prettier than the rest of you.”

Dean grinned. “Just be careful. She’s young, and she’s been through a lot.”

Mitch looked over at his friend. “How do you know so much about her?”

“We weren’t involved, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

That hadn’t been what Mitch was thinking, but it was good to hear again anyway. “Then what’s your interest?”

“She’s just a friend. She and I spent about six weeks camped close to each other in Joshua Tree. The Rangers came through and asked to see our IDs. They asked Megs a lot of questions. I just happened to overhear. She made me promise not to say anything to anyone, so that’s all you’re getting from me.”

Mitch wondered if she truly was on parole. But that made no sense. Megs was the responsible one in the group. She had the job, the steady paycheck. How would she be able to get a job if she’d been arrested or done time?

By the time they got back to Camp 4, Mitch had half convinced himself that Megs had done something stupid as a kid and been arrested, and now the police were keeping tabs on her. Maybe that’s why she had a GED instead of a high school diploma. He didn’t think they let kids take classes in juvie.

Should he feel differently about her now?

No. Everyone deserved a second chance. Hell, he’d done a few things as a teen that might have landed him in jail. Like the time he’d strung TP all over his science teacher’s house and trees. Or the time he’d strapped a dead fish to the bottom of that same teacher’s chair so that the classroom reeked of rotten fish. Or the time he’d checked out more library books than the rules allowed and returned them late.

He climbed out of Dean’s vehicle, saw that Megs’ car was gone. She must have already left for work. The guys were gathered around the table, their heads bent together as if they were studying a map or something,

He walked toward his tent, carrying two paper bags, his mind on Megs. He’d just stowed his canned goods away when Gridwall bounded over to him, clearly tripping on acid, a huge grin on his face.

“She’s not on parole.” He shook his head, repeated himself three or four times. “Little Meggie’s not on parole.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Gridwall burst into laughter, his pupils dilated, a broad grin on his face. “She’s sixteen! She outclimbs us, and she’s fucking sixteen!”

Adrenaline rushed to Mitch’s head. “What are you talking about?”

“After she left, Accardo and I searched her tent, got out those papers.”

“You did what?” Mitch was on his feet now, rage hot in his chest, pulse thrumming.

“We had to find out if we were dealing with a murderer, man.” Gridwall shrugged, as if breaking into another person’s belongings could be justified. “The papers say she’s an emancipated minor. There’s some kind of case number—charges against her stepfather for sexual abuse.”

Mitch’s fist struck Gridwall in the mouth, and the bastard hit the ground. Mitch bent over him, knuckles stinging. “You do not break into other people’s tents, go through their shit, and share their secrets with everyone. What the hell is wrong with you? Have you forgotten that you have a secret, too?”

Mitch didn’t wait for an answer but stomped over to the table, where the dirtbags sat in silence, eyes wide. “You’re lucky I don’t knock your teeth out, too, Accardo.”

Dean ripped the papers out of Accardo’s hand, gave them to Mitch. “Megs is going to be devastated when she learns that everyone here knows.”

“I can’t blame her.” Mitch took the documents. “If any of you brings this up or throws this in her face, I’ll beat the living shit out of you. Got it?”

Heads nodded.

Gridwall walked over, his lip bloody. “Are you going to call the cops on me?”

“I should, but unlike you, I’m not an asshole.” He carried the papers back toward Megs’ tent, resolved not to look. But some part of him couldn’t help it.

There, near the top of the page, were the words Emancipated Minor. And in the middle of the document he saw it—her full name and her birthday.

Margaret Anne Hill, October 24, 1956.