“There are four bedrooms up here,” Lizzie began, pointing toward the front of the house. “The two in the front were a guest room and my mom’s room. Mine is over there.” She twisted slightly and pointed to the back left of the hallway. “My grandparents had the room across the hall from me. Papa Beau had been lonely ever since my grandma died, but he always said he wanted to sleep in the same bed where she had laid her head.”
“That sounds like a good marriage to me,” he said, drawing a smile from Lizzie.
“They were very happy.”
He watched and remained quiet as she approached Beau’s closed bedroom door, giving her a chance to pull herself together and gain her courage. Stepping close to her back, he wanted Lizzie to feel his presence without rushing her. Finally, she grasped the doorknob, gave it a short twist, and pushed it open.
The placement of Beau’s room allowed the evening sun to pour through the windows, sending dust motes over an otherwise clean room. An antique bed covered with a handmade quilt was the showcase of the room. The bed linens were not perfectly made but appeared as though someone had jerked the covers up and gave them a pat before heading out to work.
Scott cast his gaze around the room, seeing a well-worn cushioned chair in one corner next to a brass floor lamp. The only other furniture in the room was a nightstand and a wide dresser with a mirror hanging over it. Several pictures adorned the walls, and upon further investigation, he recognized a much younger Beau, dressed in his overalls, with his arm around a beautiful young woman. In another picture, he was sitting on top of a tractor with a young boy perched nearby, a wide smile on both of their faces.
Setting on the nightstand were two framed photographs. One of an older woman, her gentle smile lighting her face, and Scott assumed that was Lizzie’s grandmother. The other photograph showed Beau and Lizzie standing side-by-side in front of the barn with an alpaca directly behind them. It was easy for Scott to see that in Beau’s world, his wife and his granddaughter meant everything to him.
Movement to the side caught his eye, and he turned to see Lizzie standing close by, the fingers of one hand pressed against her lips as her other hand still clutched his. He tossed the garbage bags to the bed and turned so they were facing each other, pulling her close. With her face resting against his chest, he said, “Remember, honey, we’re only doing what you want to do. I’m here to help, and I’ll take charge of anything you want me to, but mostly I’m just here for you to lean on.”
She tilted her head backward and her lips curved slightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. She dragged in a shaky breath, then let it out slowly and squared her shoulders. “Okay. Let’s get to this.”
They agreed to start with the dresser, and he filled the bags with the clothes from the drawers, determining which could be given away and which should be tossed. Once they had accomplished that, they moved to the closet. Beau did not have a wide assortment of clothing, mostly pairs of overalls, heavy denim jeans, and a variety of work shirts.
“Papa Beau only had one good suit, and that was what I had him buried in,” Lizzie explained. “Almost everything else was what he wore on the farm.”
As they examined the articles of clothing together, they determined that the work clothes were serviceable enough to be given away. Once the closet was finally cleaned out, he looked down and asked, “Is there anything you want to save out of his clothing?”
Lizzie looked at the bags they had filled and shook her head. “No. I want to keep pictures, and I want to keep my memories. But there are other people who can use this clothing and Papa Beau would want anything he had to be used for someone less fortunate.”
While she continued to walk around the room, her fingers trailing over the furniture and the bedspread, Scott set the bags out into the hall. He considered taking them downstairs but did not want to be unavailable if she needed him. He kept his eyes on her, wondering if their activities were taking too much of an emotional toll. She picked up the picture frames that were on Beau’s nightstand and walked across the hall to her room, placing them next to her bed. He followed her, watching from her doorway.
She turned, her eyes holding his, emotion swirling between them, and smiled. Moving to him, she lifted her hands and placed them gently on his arms. “I’ve been so afraid of coming into Papa Beau’s room but having you with me has made all the difference.”
Much to his surprise but to his absolute delight, she lifted on her toes and gently pressed a kiss onto his lips. His arms banded around her back, pressing her body tightly to his. She melted into him, and he captured her moan as he took the kiss deeper.
Lizzie was stunned at her bold move initiating the kiss but had assumed it would be a simple expression of gratitude. Seeing him stand at the doorway to her bedroom after giving so much of himself over the past two days, she was grateful but was lying to herself to think that was all it was. Slowly but surely, Scott had settled into a place in her heart, and while it was a risk to kiss him, she was willing to throw caution out the window.
Now, with her body pressed tightly to his, her breasts crushed against his chest, he angled his mouth to cover her lips with his own. As his tongue gently swept into her mouth, she was glad he held her so tightly, uncertain her legs would hold her upright. A moan met her ears, but she had no idea if it was his or hers.
Lost in the sensations of the kiss, she wondered how Scott could make her feel so good after an activity that could have gutted her. He pulled back slightly, and she instantly felt cool where she had only felt the heat. Opening her eyes slowly, her gaze met his. Wondering why he stopped, her stomach clenched at the idea that he did not like the kiss.
It was not as though she had never kissed anyone before, but her experience was limited. The same went for sex. Not a virgin but also not sure that real life matched her romance novels. Swallowing deeply, she pressed her hands against his chest to move away, finding them trapped between their bodies. Tilting her head slightly in question, she stared, not knowing what he expected.
Dragging in a ragged breath, he said, “I’m trying to do the right thing here, Lizzie. All I want to do is kiss you, but the last thing I want to do is take advantage of you.”
His words poured over her, soothing the jagged cracks that had been exposed by her grandfather’s death. Instead of pressing against his chest, her fingers curled inward, clutching his shirt, drawing him nearer. “You’re not taking advantage of me,” she whispered, wondering if he could hear the desperation in her voice. “I want you to kiss me.”
“To forget?” he asked, his voice still rough.
Her lips curved ever-so-slowly as she recognized his own insecurity. Her head moved back and forth in slow motion. “No, to remember. To remember what it’s like to feel wanted and desired. To remember what it’s like to be a woman.” Seeing the fire flame through his eyes, she added, “And, because I want to be kissed by you.”
A squeak emitted from her lips as he squeezed tighter, lifting her into his arms. Freeing her hands from between their chests, she clutched his shoulders as he walked over to her bed. Bending, he gently laid her on the mattress, her head on a pillow, then twisted his body to lie next to her. Sliding one of his arms under her neck, he grasped her hips with his free hand and pulled her toward him.