Chapter 1

I'm a Bank Teller. If that is not enough description I will elaborate. I'm well mannered, timid but friendly to customers and attractive without attracting attention. In the six years I've worked at the bank my cash drawer has always balanced at the end of the day, with two exceptions when it was off by very small amounts. Strangely enough, both times it happened coincided with the first day of my menstrual cycle.

In my five years of marriage I've been faithful to my husband. Never would I even think of cheating on him, not until a young man asked, "Mrs. Hiller, do you have a rubber?"

It was love at first sight when Danny Hiller came into the bank to open an account. The bank manager brought him to my window and introduced us, saying that Danny was new in town and was going to be one of the forth grade teachers at our elementary school. I was half listening when the bank manager told Danny that I was a new employee, having become a teller trainee after high school graduation.

Our eyes were still locked when the manager was introducing Danny to the next teller. Only when he turned his head to acknowledge her did I realize that I had been lost in the most beautiful set of grey eyes I had ever seen. I had completely missed the rest of the tall, tanned, thin man that would become my husband.

When we began to date I learned why Danny had the rugged outdoors appearance, nothing like a school teacher should look. He had just returned from the far west where he worked summers for the forest service. He loved the woods, devoting himself to protecting the trees from fire, disease and careless humans.

The following summer when we were newlyweds Danny stayed home with me but that was the only year he has missed going west to work since he was a freshman at college. At the end of each school year he leaves me alone for ten weeks while he spends the summer in his beloved woods. I miss him terribly and look forward to receiving his letters which always begin with a few sentences expressing his love for me. He finds new ways to tell me how much he misses me. But the rest of the letter invariably drifts into a description of the fire break he worked on that day or how many new trees he had planted. The letters often end with a story about the other guys, something funny that happened to one of them or about a joke that was pulled on him. I envy the comradeship the guys enjoy while they are away from home. I know the names of their wives and children.

The late nights are the worst. Sometimes when I can't sleep I take his letters out and reread the parts where he writes that he misses me. Sometimes I sleep on his side of the bed, pretending he's there, inside me. After a restless night I wake to find his letters strewn over the bed. Carefully, I place them back in the shoebox and hide it in the back of my closet.

"You're running late today," I greeted Randy when he stepped forward. He had stood in line and waited to hand me the bag of receipts from his grandfather's business. "Aren't you going to be late for football practice?"

"I'm not running today. Granddad let me take the truck," he smiled, displaying an even set of teeth and the hint of blond hair beginning to fill in on his upper lip.

He watched as I opened the bag and sorted the checks and cash into two stacks. I was aware of his eyes on my fingers as they keyed the amounts of the checks into a calculator. I could feel his eyes move to my face and down to my breasts and back to the calculator. For a boy of seventeen, Randy displayed a self assurance of someone older, experienced.

His confident manner made me nervous but I looked forward to his visits to my window at the bank and the precious minutes he stood on the other side of the glass watching me calculate the deposit. He didn't come in every day. Sometimes his grandfather would make the deposit and other times they used the after hours drawer.

"See you tomorrow Mrs. Hiller," Randy said as he pocketed the deposit slip I pushed through the small opening.

"Really?" I must have looked surprised at his comment. The bank closed at noon on Saturdays; too early for Randy or his grandfather to make a deposit in person.

"I'm going to dig the hole for your tree. Otis and I will plant it on Sunday if that's alright with you? That's the only day we can both be away from the shop."

"Oh, that will be fine," I answered, amused that he had referred to his grandfather by his first name.

"If you're not going to be at home, mark where you want the tree," he said as he backed away. I nodded, watching him leave as the next customer cleared his throat to get my attention.

Otis Tucker had said that transplanting a Dogwood Tree in July was ill advised. He shook his head and in a gruff voice told me he would not guarantee that it would bloom in the spring. "It will need water every day just to keep it alive and if there is a drought you'll have to water it twice a day."

I didn't want to wait for cooler weather to have the tree delivered. It was to be a surprise for Danny when he came home. It was to be planted in our back yard, to be viewed from the dining nook where we ate most of our meals. I pleaded with Mr. Tucker to sell me the tree, telling him I understood the risk I was taking. Reluctantly, he helped be pick out a six foot Dogwood, saying it would be a few days before Randy would have time to dig it out of the ground. I was delighted, saying, "So long as it's in our back yard by the end of August when Danny gets home."

Our small house was far from perfect but the lack of trees was the thing Danny bemoaned most. Something was always going wrong or needed to be replaced. Paying for repairs or saving to be able to pay for the next one was a constant battle. We hadn't had the funds to add trees or landscaping to the yard. I was taking the first step. It was exciting to hear the truck back into our driveway and know that Randy was there to dig the hole where the surprise for my husband's homecoming would be planted.

There was no reason for me to go outside. I had marked the spot where the tree was to be planted with a stake, which I had viewed from every seat at the dining nook and from the kitchen window where I washed dishes. I had even extended a water hose to where the tree was to go in order to make sure it would reach.

If I went outside I was afraid I would move the stake, again. But I went out anyway; telling myself that greeting Randy was just being hospitable.

"Hi, is my car in your way? I can move it if..." The shock on Randy's face was only momentary and the recovery was instant. He smiled and shook his head but did not take his eyes off of me for several seconds before going back to loading tools and a blue tarpaulin into a wheelbarrow.

By the time he looked my way again I was retreating to the house, having realized that this was the first time he had seen below my breast line. It was a very hot afternoon in July; I was wearing shorts, very short shorts with my long bare legs visible down to my sandals. I paused at the door and turned to see his eyes upon me, piercing, unwavering.

Saturday was my laundry day, cleaning day, shopping day and catch up day. I tried to get everything done so I could relax on Sunday. I busied myself with my chores, trying to forget the astonished look on Randy's face when he caught sight of my legs. I thought of changing into a short summer skirt but decided against it. After all, it was July and the house was not air conditioned.

I was scrubbing the tub in the bathroom when I heard a bang, followed by another bang. I ran to the kitchen window and saw Randy's butt sticking up in the air. He was on his knees, bending over the shallow hole. His body came up and he tossed a rock into the wheel barrow. That was the bang I had heard, rocks hitting metal. The mystery sound answered, I could return to the bathroom. But I did not turn from the window. He had removed his T-shirt and was dressed only in cut offs and workmen's boots. Still, I did not move away from the window, mesmerized by the wide shoulders and tanned back that rippled each time a rock was retrieved from the hole.

What if he catches me looking? The bathtub was waiting. One last look, then I would go back to work. In one swift movement he extended his feet behind him, did a pushup and scrambled to his feet, sweat rolling down his back and collecting at his waistband.

After finishing in the bathroom I cleaned the mirror over the fireplace mantle in the living room. The mirror was Danny's idea. He maintained that it made the room look larger. That's my crazy husband for you.

I stepped back to inspect my work. From the center of the room my entire reflection was on display. Not bad, I thought. No wonder Randy's eyes had been fixed on my butt. The shorts clung to my ass like soft butter on an English muffin. The material hugged the curves and flowed, finding its way into every crevice.

Just thinking of the way Randy had stared at my ass was thrilling but I had to get that vision out of head. I resolved to change into the skirt as soon as I finished the chores.

Next, I gathered the used towels and clothes from the hamper. As I went through the kitchen on the way to the laundry I stopped at the window. Randy was measuring the hole, first the depth, then the diameter. Dirt was piled on the tarpaulin and the wheelbarrow looked to be half full of rocks. He turned my way and smiled. I ducked but it was too late; he had seen me. As I turned the knob to start the washing machine I noticed that my hand was shaking and I felt blood rush to my face. Why was I blushing?

The next time I looked out Randy was not in sight. Had he left without saying goodbye? I heard the sound of rocks hitting metal again. I rushed to the side door to see him transferring the rocks from the wheelbarrow to the back of the truck.

Mrs. Hubbard, our next door neighbor was watering her flowers. I waved to her before turning to Randy.

"Are you finished? I have lemonade. Would you like a glass?"

Randy grinned and nodded, yes. He was loading a bale of peat moss into the wheelbarrow. "In that case I better wash some of this dirt off. Can I use your hose?"

"Of course, I'll turn on the water for you," I said, following him to the tarpaulin where he parked the wheelbarrow. I wanted to inspect the hole. It looked larger than I had envisioned. Randy watched me, waiting, I suppose, for me to say something.

"It's bigger that I thought it would be," I said and immediately reddened, embarrassed at my suggestive remark. Randy was openly laughing, holding the end of the hose above his head. Remembering my offer to turn on the water for him, I ran and turned the valve with more zeal than was necessary. The water rushed through the hose and splashed down on Randy with such force that it drenched him. Laughing and probably thinking that I had done it on purpose, he turned the hose on me and from twenty feet away, managed to plaster me pretty good before I was able to turn the pressure down.

I ran to the house, screeching, sure that Mrs. Hubbard was watching.

My top was soaked. I grabbed two towels from the bathroom, threw one on the kitchen counter for Randy and went to my bedroom to towel off and change clothes. I was drying my hair and the valley between my tits when I heard the back door open. My shorts were wet but there wasn't time to change them. I put on a T-shirt and went to the kitchen to apologize. Randy was using the towel to dry his hair and then his chest. He burst out laughing when he saw me and I couldn't help but laugh too. I wondered if he noticed that I had not bothered to wear a bra. How stupid I was; this boy was very astute.

I poured tall glasses of lemonade and turned to offer one to him. Randy was standing very close to me, making it impossible for me to move away from the cabinets. His hand moved toward my cheek, making me close my eyes in defense. I felt a finger touch a drop of water on my cheek and then his lips touch mine. Stunned, I opened my eyes and turned my head to avoid his lips. Lemonade was spilling from the glass, splashing on the counter top. My hand was trembling as I placed the glass on the counter.