Chapter 12: The trip home

It was ten days before Paige called again.

"Brian, where are you?"

"I'm out by the barn."

"Good, you're back. I can be on the three-thirty if you would like to pick me up?" she asked, disregarding the significance of my being 'out by the barn.' It was obvious that she assumed that I'd returned from spending Thanksgiving with my family.

"I'll be there," I answered.

"See you then," she said, ending the call before I could find out how she was able to get away on Thursday afternoon instead of the customary later bus on Friday.

I'm sure that Matthew Dawkins was happy to see me leave my 'observation' post, which I'd occupied since he started the job of squaring up the barn the day after Thanksgiving. I practically ran to the house, shaved and showered, changed the bed and had time to tidy the house before meeting the three-thirty bus.

I was nervous as hell, and I could tell that Paige was nervous, too. We hardly spoke on the way to the house, grinning sheepishly at one another; both wondering what was going through the other's mind.

She paid no attention to the snowflakes hitting the windshield, nor did she comment about the bus parked in back of the house. If she noticed the men and equipment that surrounded the barn, she didn't comment. Her heavy coat was unbuttoned before she reached the back door then she turned and dropped it to the floor as soon as we were inside the house. I dropped the small case she'd brought just in time to brace myself as she leapt into my arms.

It happened so quickly that I didn't file it away to replay later. One second, her tongue was reaching for my tonsils, and the next, she was racing up the stairs, shedding her clothes along the way. I followed, still dazed by her strange behavior.

I barely noticed how chilly it was in the room as I hurriedly stripped and joined her between the sheets. My attempts to lick her pussy were cut short by a painful tug on my hair. She didn't need to tell me what she wanted. From the way the lips of her pussy glistened, she'd been ready for some time.

Mrs. Paige Kindle was impatient, insistent, and demanding. She reached for my cock and stuffed the entire length into her opening without a hitch. Thinking she needed a few seconds to adjust to the intrusion, I remained still. Her groan told me that she didn't need any time, and I quickly found myself on my back, being fucked by a mad woman.

It took me a minute to realize the enormity of the maneuver. The widowed mother of two had exhibited incredible strength with a move that would have scored points on any wrestling mat, regardless of the weight class.

She was definitely having her way with me. Being used agreed with me. I took in the sights and sounds for future reference. The way her lips were set in a determined expression, the beads of sweat forming on her forehead, the way her breasts rolled like buoys on a choppy sea, the way the bedsprings complained, combined with Paige's halted breathing, and the sound of the distant jackhammer as it loosened the field stones of the old barn foundation were memories we'd tell our grandchildren about some day.

She suddenly stopped bouncing and a smile came to her lips as I released my cum deep within her. She collapsed on me, laughing as she strained to catch her breath.

We made love for the rest of the day. It was long after dark when we became hungry and went downstairs to get something to eat. That's when Paige heard the guys in the bus. She gave me a puzzled look. "I didn't think they were going to be here until the middle of next month?"

I brought her up to date while she cooked, making bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast.

"The contractor called to say there had been a change to his schedule and he would be here the day after Thanksgiving. I agreed to have that antique car out of his way, and that's when the fun started. The car was up on blocks, minus the wheels and the tires. The guy that bought the car had already paid for it and as far as he was concerned, he had two more weeks before it had to be moved. He was not inclined to forego the holiday with his family until I told him I was missing Thanksgiving with my family also. I pleaded with him, and he agreed to fly out here and take possession of his purchase if I would find the wheels and tires.

"They still make the tires, but the wheels are a different story."

Paige interrupted me. "You didn't go? Amanda and Phillip must have been crushed. I wonder why Amanda didn't tell Mona. They still exchange email almost every day."

I shook my head. "Fortunately, I hadn't said anything to the kids. They didn't expect me to come home."

I watched her rush to me. "Honey, I feel so sad that you didn't go home," she said as her body melted into mine and our kiss nearly got away from us. If it hadn't been for the sound bacon makes when the heat is turned up too high, we would have started all over again right there on the kitchen floor. She broke away, started back to the stove, and turning, said. "Why didn't you call me? I would have come to help you."

"I wasn't the only one that missed out on spending the day with my family. I checked the ads on the internet with no luck. Everyplace I called had just sold the wheels they'd advertised. It was the same with Mackey's automobile magazines. Most of the dealers weren't sure what they had. They invited me to look around and see if I saw what I wanted. I didn't know what the wheels looked like. Charlie came to my rescue. He suggested that the spare tire may still be in the trunk. It was, and we spent two days driving from salvage yard to salvage yard trying to match the spare wheel. As a result, he missed having Thanksgiving dinner with his daughter and her family."

Paige turned the burner off and came back to me. "I wish you had let me know. It could have been me riding with you for those two days. I take it that you were successful?"

"We found three wheels that matched the spare at a place in western Connecticut. It was late on Wednesday night. I called Mr. Avila and told him we were on the way back. He flew here from the west coast on his private plane the next day. I picked him up in Hyannis and it was late on Thursday when we loaded the car on the truck. The trucker took off and we ended up having our Thanksgiving dinner right here. Mr. Avila and Charlie got along great."

"What did you make for them to eat?" Paige asked, watching me, mischievously

"Scrambled eggs," I answered. "They were nothing like the eggs you make, but I opened a bottle of wine and we roughed it. I drove Mr. Avila back to the airport. He laughed about how much that car was costing him. A few days later I got a check in the mail for the tires and wheels I'd paid for."

"Do you have another bottle for us to have with these eggs?" she asked as she brought our two plates to the table. I did.

We smiled at each other as we ate, talking about everything except the main topic that was on our minds.

"The contractor and his men showed up about noon on Friday. They parked that converted bus next to the house so they could use our electricity, and then they went to work on the barn. They work long hours and raise hell for about an hour before they retire for the night. Matthew Dawkins expects perfection, but he takes good care of his men. He feeds them well and gives them time off between jobs."

I brought her up to date on how well Miss Adams' articles about Mackey were being received. I also told her about Nancy Dickens' charges that I was incompetent. We laughed together until Paige became enraged.

"She had no idea what you've been doing, how well you've performed or the sacrifices you've made to squeeze every dime out of this estate."

"She was pissed that there was to be no distribution until after the barn is finished. She seemed to think that I'd squandered what could have been a lucrative book by giving Miss Adams the story."

"I can't wait to have a word with that little bitch," Paige spat out.

"She needs to be made aware that prices of the junk from the attic have skyrocketed because of Miss Adams' articles. Townspeople are willing to pay anything for a piece of history."

"Let me at her. I'll make her aware," Paige said, but when I laughed she had to grin back at me.

We were in bed, holding each other, when she began to explain why she'd returned. "I told you that this thing between us isn't going anywhere, but I'm not sure I believed it. I was still holding out for something to change to make it possible for there to be more. It's not going to happen. We're from different worlds. I've come to terms with that, and I've decided to make the most of what is left of the time we have together. That's all it was to be from the beginning. As things progressed, it became harder and harder to give up on you."

"What changed?" I asked, thinking I knew the answer, but wanting to hear it from her.

"You touched me deeply," she responded.

I held her close and whispered in her ear, "I did get in deep a couple of times, didn't I?"

Paige stiffened, and pulled away, placing a hand on my chest to create distance between us. "What's wrong?" I asked.

She wouldn't answer.

"What's wrong?" I repeated.

"Not that, silly, you touched my heart," she said, becoming silent, still keeping distance between our bodies.

What a buffoon I'd been. Did I dare tell her that I loved her? Was it too late? "Don't you know what you mean to me? You've touched my heart, too."

That may not have been exactly what she wanted to hear, but it did the trick. She moved back to me, and we went to sleep that way.

We awoke to the sound of the jackhammer. "Don't they ever stop?" Paige complained.

"I told you they work long hours. They should finish by the middle of the month."

"Is that when you plan on leaving?"

"I'll be back. We need to select a realtor and put the house on the market."

"And then your work will be done?"

"Paige, it doesn't have to be that way. We'll find a way to be together."

"There's no way and you know it. You have obligations to your children and you have a business to run. It's the same with me. My parents need me to be near."

This was turning into an argument and we hadn't had breakfast yet. The jackhammer was giving me a headache. "Can we drop the subject for now?"

"Yes, we can," she said, attempting a smile.

After breakfast, we went outside and I introduced Paige to Matthew Dawkins. He explained the process of raising the structure off of its foundation, although he didn't go into detail about the meticulous way he'd checked his level as the jacks lifted the building a fraction of an inch at a time.

I remarked that the jack hammering had stopped. Matthew told us that the next step would be placing the forms for the new foundation to be poured. "We take it slow because working under the building is dangerous. One wrong move and we'll have a disaster," he said.

Paige thanked the contractor, and I suggested that we take a walk on the beach. She wore her heavy coat and I put on a sweater under the jacket we'd bought the night we attended the Red Sox game.

Paige let out a shriek the second she spotted Gordon McMahan. "You brought me this way on purpose, didn't you? You knew he was here," she accused, her voice one octave above its normal tone.

Mr. McMahan was wearing a stocking cap and an orange vest over a yellow rain slicker. The city workmen were resurfacing one lane of the road, and there was not another car in sight. Gordon raised his hand, signaling me to stop. I rolled the window down as he approached the car.