Page 37 of Intoxicating Pursuit

“Same.” His deep voice remained steady. “During the day, we’re warming up and getting ready for shows. I’m too occupied for it to cross my mind. Once it gets quiet though, after we talk, I guess I’m like you. I just wish none of this had happened.”

I was sure he hadn’t meant it to sound hurtful, but the words stung. I let go of his hand and walked a few steps. “You wish this hadn’t happened?”

“Well, I mean, of course not. Blackmail’s not really on my wish list.”

We both stopped, and he studied me quizzically, wrinkling his forehead.

Then realization dawned on him. “Oh, wait. . . Sammy, I mean the photos and the extortion—I wish that hadn’t happened.

I wasn’t talking about spending time with you.

” He took both my hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

Then a more crooked smile crept across his lips.

“And I definitely wasn’t talking about getting freaky in the grapevines.

That , my dear, is a memory I like to revisit often.

” He tilted his head playfully, licked his lips, and shamelessly stared me up and down.

“Hmm. . . in fact, I’m imagining it now. ”

“See, whereas I can barely remember.” My voice dripped with sass. “What happened, again?”

“Come on, let’s go find something to hold onto, I’ll show you.”

He pulled me into the woods, backing me up against the thick trunk of a towering pine.

He tickled a light caress down my sides and closed the space between us.

“I would be more than happy to reenact that, you know.” He paused and glanced up into the trees.

“Actually, though, maybe not here. The pine sap’s a bitch to get off your skin.

” He took my hand again. “Come on. . . There’s something I really do want you to see. ”

Gabe led the way up the path. We walked until our legs ached before the trail descended and the land ahead seemed to disappear. The faint sound of crashing water drifted to us. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Just watch your footing. The path is safe, but don’t stray from it, okay?”

We walked the last several yards to an overlook, and I stared in awe as the cliff opened up below us, revealing a vast expanse of sheer rock.

Pine trees and lichen softened the edges of the stone, something green growing anyplace life could get a foothold.

A thin waterfall fell from the center of the cliff and tumbled hundreds of feet to the valley below, splashing through brilliant prisms of sunlight.

“Wowza.” The sheer awe of it was overwhelming. “Is this here all the time? You can come see it whenever?”

“It's here pretty much year-round.”

I watched him stare with contentment at the breathtaking spectacle. “I love that you enjoy things like this.”

He twirled a ribbon of hair that fell over my shoulders. “It’s a sad man who can’t see the beauty right in front of him.” His hands slipped to my waist, and he pulled me his way. “It’s really good to have you here.”

“It’s good to be here.” I nuzzled in. I had forgotten how good he smelled. His woodsy scent called up a flood of memories.

He brought his lips to mine, and the kiss emanated a fever through my blood.

I leaned in closer, letting my body press into his, stroking the contours of his shoulders.

His mouth was like a drug, melting my nerves from the inside out.

When I groaned and shifted my weight, my feet slipped on the dry ground, sending pebbles scattering to the cliff edge.

Fast as lightning, Gabe stabilized my torso. “Whoa, my God. Don’t do that.” He pulled me a few steps away from the edge. “You know, the whole point of this week is to avoid near death, okay?” He shook the image out of his head. “Do you attract trouble?”

“Not normally.”

“You’re gonna have to prove that. Please .”

I laughed at the absurdity of it all.

“Come on, let’s get you away from there.” Gabe wrapped his broad, rough hand around mine, squeezed gently, and led me back beneath the pines.

***

W hen we got home, the kids were sprawled across the sectional in the living room, scheming ways to procure dinner.

Gabe’s chef had a personal commitment in Portland and wasn’t scheduled to return until later that night, so I went foraging in the kitchen.

The pantry was exceptionally well stocked with dry goods, cans of gourmet vegetables, cooking oils, seasonings, and vinegars.

Plus, the fridge and freezer were chock-a-block full of healthy produce and good cuts of meat.

I took a quick mental inventory and got an idea for dinner.

The simple act of cooking would be a good way to wind down from an otherwise bizarre couple of days, and it would prevent anyone from needing to make the long drive to town.

I was leaving dust on everything I touched however, and a quick glance at my clothing inspired me to clean up before handling food any further.

I changed out of my hiking togs, washed my face and hands, and pulled my hair back in a ponytail.

My favorite black sundress would be the go-to tonight.

Made from a stretchy fabric, with a halter top and a gently flared skirt, it was one of those things that looked cute but felt as comfortable as a t-shirt.

I wandered back to the kitchen, past the now-empty great room (the kids tended to scurry when boring grown-ups wandered in), and got busy.

I started the chicken sautéing in garlic and butter, then made a paprika cream sauce, and eventually mixed everything together with artichoke hearts, sun dried tomatoes, and spinach for flavor.

While the chicken simmered, I generously doused potatoes with olive oil and seasoning then slid them in the oven to roast before tossing together a quick batch of green beans almondine.

I called and talked with Mom while I worked, and she recounted her busy day to me.

She’d gotten the final seeds set up for the tennis tournament and had prepped goody bags for all the participants at a friend’s house.

Oscar was evidently staying out of her hair, but she admitted it did make her feel safer knowing he was nearby.

I caught her up on our travels, but it was late on the East Coast already, and Mom was yawning.

I let her go. “Talk to you soon, Mom. Love you.”

At some point during my call, Gabe had emerged from his room and sat on the sofa, plucking his guitar. He caught my eye and got up. “What can I do to help? You’ve got quite an operation going on.”

“Oh, it’s all done. The potatoes just need to cook. I was actually gonna put my feet up. I was hoping you’d keep playing that pretty song.”

“Yes, ma’am. Best deal ever.” He picked up his guitar and flashed a grin at me.

I sat opposite him and opened my novel while he played a finger style tune. The music was gentle and intricate, and, after a minute, I set the book down to listen more carefully.

“That’s the same melody you were playing at the cabin, isn’t it? It’s lovely, you know.”

“Thanks. Just something I’m noodling around with.”

I listened to the meandering notes and subtle harmonics. The tune was moody but still had a feeling of lightness and ease. Remarkable. “How do you do that?”

“Play guitar?” He chuckled. “You wanna learn some chords?”

“No. I mean, how do you create these songs? It’s always been such a mystery to me. Music is like a language I understand but can’t speak. I can’t imagine how anyone writes it.”

“Oh, well, let’s see.” He plucked a few strings together. “Sometimes I’ll start with a few chords I like and play around with an articulation of them—altering a few notes here and there. Like, this song started out with this little riff.”

He played a short series of notes finger style, then repeated it.

It was a tiny fraction of the song he’d been playing.

“When I find something that sounds good, it sets up a key, a mood, and based on that, I work on progressions—chords and notes that go well with it. I might work on lyrics at that point, something to capture the feeling of the music. That might lead to structure for the song: verses, a chorus. If I get that far, I’ll usually share it with my bandmates, see how they respond.

What the bass line might be, how the vocal harmonies, percussion or horns might add layers to it.

It’s always a collaboration. In the end, writing a melody is easy, but getting an entire song to come together in a way that makes people really feel something?

That’s the trick. Certainly doesn’t happen every time.

” He looked my way, sheepish. “I know that’s boring for most people. ”

He may as well have been describing alchemy—some sort of magical recipe that transformed humble components into a thing of treasured beauty.

“It’s the opposite of boring, Gabe. And for the record, I hope this little melody becomes something. It’s gorgeous.”

“Thanks.” He smiled and turned his attention back to the instrument.

I relaxed and enjoyed the majestic view and exquisite music while the warm spicy smells of simmering food and roasting potatoes filled the house.

Eventually, the aroma was enough to rouse the masses, and the kids began to emerge from the basement.

Even Charlie and Lucy stepped away from their monitors in the office to check in on the kitchen situation.

When dinner was ready, everyone served themselves heaping plates of food, then headed back to their digs.

Meghan gave me a quick grin but otherwise seemed content to hang with the big kids, and I was glad to see her enjoying some freedom.