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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
See Part 1 for disclaimer.
A/N: I promised you wouldn't have to wait a week and, for the record, have delivered this SIX days later. Sorry; it would have been sooner but I was really rather ill this week (kind of like you'll be after you read this...;- ), which really put a dent in my writing time. Anyway, Happy Valentine's Day!
Brand New Year, Part 12
By Ginger
"Tienes sueño, mi pequeño," Jarod observed softly as he felt the warm breath of his yawning son on the back of his neck. "We need to get you home for lunch and a nap."
The countryside always seemed more breathtaking on the hike home. Home. What a beautiful word. For the first time he felt like he had one. Not in the fixed position, permanent address sense; they were on the run, after all, and couldn't count on staying in one place for too long. It was more a feeling of belonging, like he was where he was meant to be, and it didn't matter where that was as long as Miranda and Michael were there too.
They had all been through so much; the last ten weeks had been the most intense of Jarod's life but also, without question, the happiest. Sure, there was the anxiety over her surprise arrival, the concern over her injury, and the shock and horror of finding out what had been done to them. But all of that was soon eclipsed by the joy of getting to know and falling in love with his son. And there was her. And she was spectacular.
He smiled, picking up his pace.
* * * *
He had wanted her for a long time to be sure, at least since Carthis but, if he were truly honest with himself, more like forever. Still, it was several long, tortuous weeks before he finally mustered the courage to make a real move. There were the occasional, casual overtures - the friendly hug, peck, or pat on the back - but they were more of an experiment than anything else, designed to test the hypothesis that taking such liberties might not necessarily result in his swift and violent demise. And early on there were several practical obstacles to having anything more: she was recovering from a bullet wound, his family was constantly under foot, and Michael was not sleeping well.
Things went smoothly for the remainder of their stay with Jarod's family; in fact, better than anyone might have reasonably expected. James was perpetually at Miranda's heels like a devoted puppy, which she bore with uncharacteristic patience and serenity. The Major was warmly attentive and even Emily seemed to warm up to her. In fact, the two women appeared to form a sort of cautious friendship after their one-on-one conversation in the kitchen, the details of which neither deigned to share with Jarod no matter how much he begged, whined or grumbled.
Nevertheless, he knew that Miranda continued to feel like an interloper; like she was again responsible for keeping his family apart. As the day of their departure approached, he could sense her increasing unease until she was wound so tightly on the morning they were set to leave that he felt compelled to sit her down and state,
"It isn't as though I was planning to stay. In fact, if I were alone, I probably would have left weeks ago."
"To get back to ALL THAT?" she asked skeptically.
Looking knowingly into her eyes he replied, "To get back in touch with the other people in my life. You should know by now that I could never bring myself to stay away for too long."
"They're your family, Jarod."
"So are you and Michael, and everyone will be safer this way. Besides, we'll all be together again soon. Oh and, for the record, I haven't given up on my mother. I am more determined than ever because I want her to meet her grandson."
And so it was on a Monday in mid-January when they said their goodbyes to the Major, Emily, and James, climbed into a newly-acquired Honda CRV, and headed for Miami where Jarod had a private plane lined up for the final leg of their journey. The road trip was a tense one. They'd packed plenty of food and did not stop for more than a couple minutes to fill the gas tank, use the facilities, or get a cup of hot coffee. The mid- Atlantic leg was particularly nerve-wracking and they did not stop once. The silence was deafening; it seemed as though neither of them drew a single breath until they'd safely cleared the Delmarva Penninsula.
Jarod drove straight through - all 25 hours - then checked them into a hotel by the airport so that he could get some rest before flying. After an early dinner and a long, hot shower, he stepped out of the bathroom to find that Miranda had undressed and slipped into one of his shirts. Propped up against the headboard of the bed with Michael beside her, she was speaking softly to him and rubbing his belly in an attempt to settle him after the long, ardous journey. It was then that it hit him: one obstacle, namely his family, was gone. It was just the three of them now, a concept that both excited and frightened him.
With regard to their son they were truly becoming partners, working together to create an environment of warmth and security for him. They fell into a comaradarie that was perhaps not so surprising considering how quickly, if temporarily, they had done on previous occasions. Their chequered history aside they were, it turned out, compatible, settling easily into domestic life after their arrival in Costa Rica. Not that Miranda had by any means become a pushover. When Jarod announced that he had joined the study team, she raised an eyebrow and remarked,
"Oh, so you'll be doing genealogical research."
Jarod had always enjoyed a round of verbal sparring with his huntress. He found her sharp wit exhilarating and now that it was employed in fun rather than hostility, it tended to leave him with a belly full of butterflies. As did her predilection for prancing around in the pale blue bikini she purchased shortly after their arrival in Quepos.
He supposed it was sensible enough attire while they were staying in town: one of the benefits of the short-term rental he had pre-booked for them was a lavish courtyard featuring a small garden, shaded tile deck and swimming pool. The family spent much of their two week stay out there, Jarod and Michael playing in the water or garden while Miranda lounged on the deck reading or just soaking up the tropical climate as she recuperated. A couple days before they left, he agreed that she could begin swimming as part of her rehabilitation and was rewarded (or punished depending on how one looked at it) by the sight of her skimpy swimwear clinging, semi-transparent, to her wet body.
The bikini - or, rather, bikinis for she proceeded to acquire several more in a stunning array of colors - remained ubiquitous even after they moved out of town. And not just for excursions to the beach; they became a feature of her regular household attire, along with linen shorts and open button-down shirts invariably swiped from his closet. She often pinned her hair up loosely and, since the heat and humidity rendered it obsolete, wore no makeup at home. Also, she never wore shoes in the house, her toes always flawlessly painted a pretty shade of pale coral. In short, Miranda was the most appealing creature he had ever feasted his eyes on.
As if that weren’t enough, her scent permeated his environment. He’d grab a shirt to put on only to be assaulted by her essence; if he made the mistake of wearing one of those shirts to work, his body heat would make the scent stronger and mingle with his own scent to drive him to distraction. He continued to sleep chastely (if ever more uncomfortably) beside her in a bed that smelled of her. And while Michael smelled of different things at different times - some more pleasant than others - Jarod could always detect his mother's scent on him.
Finally, there was the sheer unpredictability to cope with. He just never knew when Miranda would do something to take his breath away: unconsciously twirling a lock of her hair while engrossed in a book; lovingly stroking her son's cheek as he slept in her arms; talking to her “little man” as though he were just that, a little man, while undertaking routine parental chores like changing his diaper, bathing him, or brushing his hair. Then there were the truly priceless moments like the day Jarod returned earlier than usual from a hike into the Park to find music blaring, a pleasingly rythmic fusion of the various styles - salsa, calypso, reggae, rumba - reflecting Costa Rica's diverse cultural influences. More pleasing yet was the sight of Miranda dancing Michael around the house, her body swaying and shimmying in the most delightful way. Almost as fetching was the poisonous look she shot Jarod when she turned to find him standing in the doorway, arms folded and grinning ear to ear.
He knew full well what was happening. Jarod was falling a little more in love with Miranda every day and, since he hadn’t exactly started from a position of indifference, he was in deep. He wanted nothing less than to be her partner for life and even - someday, if fortune were to afford him the opportunity and privilege - her husband.
On the one hand, it was all very simple. They already shared a history, a child and even a bed. Besides, it was no exaggeration to say that they shared a strong physical attraction, even back in the days when their relationship was primarily hostile. On the other hand, it was all extremely complicated. They were fugitives and, as such, could not lead conventional lives. Their own situation was tenuous at best, but there were other people to worry about as well: his family, people they cared about who remained back at the Centre, the troubled younger brother they shared. But by far the biggest complication, as well as his primary hesitation, was the fact that they hadn't chosen this.
Not that he resented or regretted his incredible reversal of fortune for an instant, except, obviously, for how it had come to pass. But, truth be told, after the initial shock had worn off he didn't spend much time dwelling on it. The Centre had yet again done the unspeakable. Only this time they had inadvertently given Jarod the future he'd always dreamed of but never dared hope for. No, he hadn't chosen this, but it was the life he would have chosen if he could.
But could the same be said of her? That Miranda loved Michael the way a mother should was beyond doubt; it was in her eyes and it was a sight to behold. But did she consider life with her son's father something to be embraced or merely endured? She had chosen another life and it was stolen from her, leaving Jarod to wonder if she would always secretly grieve for what might have been. Late at night while watching her sleep, he would sometimes torture himself by imagining that she were dreaming of what Michael might have looked like if another man - a man with fairer hair and eyes - had been his father. But then morning would come, her beautiful blue eyes would blink open and the dark thoughts would recede into the deep recesses of his mind.
Well, until the morning that Jarod awoke to a realization that struck terror in his heart: it was February 14, Valentine's Day. She wasn't lying beside him; for the first time Miranda had gotten up before he had. He found her in the kitchen with Michael, who was already dressed to accompany Jarod on his hike.
"You don't mind, do you?" she asked as she sliced up fruit for breakfast. "Looks like a nice day, not too hot," she added conversationally.
"Of course not," he replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "I just need to add a few things to the pack..."
"Done," she interjected firmly.
"Okay," he muttered, wondering if he had done something to upset her.
Jarod kept right on wondering all the way to the Park, while glancing nervously at his watch and worrying over the arrival of the gardenias he'd ordered special from a florist in town. He kept flashing back to his previous Valentine's Day overture, years earlier, and his heart sank. What if the flowers were as big a disaster as the candy heart?
Oh well, he thought with a shrug, at least she won't eat them. Will she?
Stopping for their mid-morning snack, Jarod sat propped against a tree trunk with Michael on his lap. Opening the zipper to the largest compartment of the pack, his eyes widened with surprise. Only then did it register that the load had been bulkier than usual.
"What have we here?" he asked, fishing out the wrapped package.
Michael grinned and clapped his hands. He loved presents, especially the unwrapping part. They unwrapped it together, extra careful to return every shred of paper to the pack. When they were done, Michael pointed at the gift and exclaimed, "Mo-no!"
Smiling warmly Jarod explained, "Not just any monkey, but a special one named 'Jorge el Curioso.'"
Cracking open the book, he read aloud the inscription in Miranda's hand: "I saw this in town and immediately thought of two monkeys who might enjoy it together. Happy Valentine's Day."
His heart swelling, Jarod proceeded to read his son the story of "el mono pequeño y el hombre con el sombrero amarillo" amidst the chatter of the genuine article frolicking in the trees nearby. The prospects for Valentine's Day were indeed improving.
And improve they did when, upon their return home, Miranda greeted them each with a peck on the cheek and a warm, sincere "thank you." Jarod was delighted to find the large crystal bowl brimming with white, supple flowers prominently displayed on a small table on the porch, right beside the chair she always sat in to read. The same chair she had just risen from when, a couple hours later, Jarod decided to take the bull by the horns.
Michael had gone down for his nap and she had gotten up to check on him. She was moving past Jarod on the way back to her chair when he took hold of her hand, firmly but tenderly, and looked longingly into her eyes. She raised her eyebrows and cocked her head but did not pull away. He tugged on her arm. She raised her eyebrows further, her eyes growing wide but, again, did not resist. Nor did she resist as he pulled her onto his lap. Nor did she resist as he stroked her cheek. Nor did she resist as he slipped his hand into her hair and pulled her face to his to engage her in a kiss that he only hoped would convey even a fraction of the what he felt for her.
When he sensed her responding, becoming a willing participant in the kiss as her arms slipped around his neck, Jarod was absolutely certain that he'd died and gone to heaven. His hands started to roam, slipping under the shirt she wore - his, of course - to explore the exquisitely soft skin exposed by yet another skimpy bikini top, red this time ostensibly in honor of the holiday. His hand gliding gently up her spine, he met the tie to her bikini top and toyed with it for a few moments before making up his mind. That's when he felt something hit him softly on the back of the head with a familiar squeak.
Their lips still fused, he and Miranda each opened one eye and glanced down to find the plush moose Emily had given Michael prior to their departure, which had become his constant sleeping companion ever since. Pulling back they both turned to find Michael sitting up on the air mattress and grinning proudly.
"That kid's got some arm on him," Miranda commented with a smirk.
"Hmmm..." Jarod concurred, raising an eyebrow at his son.
"I'd better... um... be elsewhere," she stated wryly then climbed off his lap and added, "What do you say we go into town for dinner tonight?"
"Sure," he agreed, thinking it highly unlikely that he'd ever be capable of refusing her anything.
"Great, I'll go put some real clothes on," she announced then disappeared into the house.
"Not what I wanted to hear," he muttered with a sigh then stood up, picked up the moose and lumbered over to Michael, who was heavily engrossed in the process of inventorying his own toes when his father looked down on him, smiled and asked,
"What did I ever do to you, anyway?"
Although the rainy season wouldn't start for another six weeks or so, a front was moving through and a light, steady rain had begun to fall just after sundown. Exactly forty-three minutes remained of Valentine's Day when Jarod stepped out onto the porch to find Michael sleeping and Miranda sitting in her chair, sipping her favorite night cap - Guaro, a potent, clear liquid which she referred to as "the local rot-gut" mixed with Café Rica, a strong coffee-flavored liqueur. The concoction packed a wallop but even Jarod, who had little tolerance for alcohol, had to admit that it was rather tasty.
"I love the rain," she stated with a sigh.
"I know," he replied softly as he stepped behind her chair. "Ever since you were a girl. You may not remember this, but you once promised me that someday you would take me outside to play in the rain."
"So I did," she concurred then set her glass down and rose from her seat. Padding over to Michael, who was sound asleep with one hand firmly grasping his moose's ear, she smiled and crouched down to tuck the sheet around him. She then stood and glided to the door leading to the small patch of grass and modest garden that lay between the house and the forest which comprised their back yard. Turning to face Jarod, Miranda slowly undid the belt to her robe and let it fall open before sliding it off her shoulders to pool at her feet.
Standing there without a stitch of clothing on, she pushed open the screen door and inquired, "Well? What are you waiting for?" before turning and stepping outside.
It took about ten seconds for the shock to wear off, approximately three to get across the porch to the door, and another five to reach her, making it the longest eighteen seconds of his life. But then it was okay because there was only her: her skin tasting of rain, her scent filling the humid night air, her voice soft and heavy with desire. To make love to Miranda while their child slept safely only a few feet away was an experience beyond description; Jarod felt immeasurable joy.
Afterwards, as they lay entwined enjoying the feel of the warm rain on their bodies, she raised her head off his chest and looked up onto the porch observing,
"He's still out like a light."
"That's my boy," Jarod stated with a grin.
Lowering her head so that her face was just above his, she inquired amusedly, "You didn't slip our child a 'mickey', did you?"
"I am profoundly hurt that you could even suggest such a thing," he replied in a playfully defensive tone then added, "It's no wonder he's out cold; we had a busy day and he barely took a nap."
"Just checking," she sighed then lowered her head to cover his mouth with hers.
Like a perfect angel, Michael slept soundly through the night.
* * * *
"I haven't forgotten that," Jarod stated to his son, who was on the verge of drifting off as the house came into view.
"I owe you one, kiddo."
# # # #
A/N: I promised you wouldn't have to wait a week and, for the record, have delivered this SIX days later. Sorry; it would have been sooner but I was really rather ill this week (kind of like you'll be after you read this...;- ), which really put a dent in my writing time. Anyway, Happy Valentine's Day!
Brand New Year, Part 12
By Ginger
"Tienes sueño, mi pequeño," Jarod observed softly as he felt the warm breath of his yawning son on the back of his neck. "We need to get you home for lunch and a nap."
The countryside always seemed more breathtaking on the hike home. Home. What a beautiful word. For the first time he felt like he had one. Not in the fixed position, permanent address sense; they were on the run, after all, and couldn't count on staying in one place for too long. It was more a feeling of belonging, like he was where he was meant to be, and it didn't matter where that was as long as Miranda and Michael were there too.
They had all been through so much; the last ten weeks had been the most intense of Jarod's life but also, without question, the happiest. Sure, there was the anxiety over her surprise arrival, the concern over her injury, and the shock and horror of finding out what had been done to them. But all of that was soon eclipsed by the joy of getting to know and falling in love with his son. And there was her. And she was spectacular.
He smiled, picking up his pace.
* * * *
He had wanted her for a long time to be sure, at least since Carthis but, if he were truly honest with himself, more like forever. Still, it was several long, tortuous weeks before he finally mustered the courage to make a real move. There were the occasional, casual overtures - the friendly hug, peck, or pat on the back - but they were more of an experiment than anything else, designed to test the hypothesis that taking such liberties might not necessarily result in his swift and violent demise. And early on there were several practical obstacles to having anything more: she was recovering from a bullet wound, his family was constantly under foot, and Michael was not sleeping well.
Things went smoothly for the remainder of their stay with Jarod's family; in fact, better than anyone might have reasonably expected. James was perpetually at Miranda's heels like a devoted puppy, which she bore with uncharacteristic patience and serenity. The Major was warmly attentive and even Emily seemed to warm up to her. In fact, the two women appeared to form a sort of cautious friendship after their one-on-one conversation in the kitchen, the details of which neither deigned to share with Jarod no matter how much he begged, whined or grumbled.
Nevertheless, he knew that Miranda continued to feel like an interloper; like she was again responsible for keeping his family apart. As the day of their departure approached, he could sense her increasing unease until she was wound so tightly on the morning they were set to leave that he felt compelled to sit her down and state,
"It isn't as though I was planning to stay. In fact, if I were alone, I probably would have left weeks ago."
"To get back to ALL THAT?" she asked skeptically.
Looking knowingly into her eyes he replied, "To get back in touch with the other people in my life. You should know by now that I could never bring myself to stay away for too long."
"They're your family, Jarod."
"So are you and Michael, and everyone will be safer this way. Besides, we'll all be together again soon. Oh and, for the record, I haven't given up on my mother. I am more determined than ever because I want her to meet her grandson."
And so it was on a Monday in mid-January when they said their goodbyes to the Major, Emily, and James, climbed into a newly-acquired Honda CRV, and headed for Miami where Jarod had a private plane lined up for the final leg of their journey. The road trip was a tense one. They'd packed plenty of food and did not stop for more than a couple minutes to fill the gas tank, use the facilities, or get a cup of hot coffee. The mid- Atlantic leg was particularly nerve-wracking and they did not stop once. The silence was deafening; it seemed as though neither of them drew a single breath until they'd safely cleared the Delmarva Penninsula.
Jarod drove straight through - all 25 hours - then checked them into a hotel by the airport so that he could get some rest before flying. After an early dinner and a long, hot shower, he stepped out of the bathroom to find that Miranda had undressed and slipped into one of his shirts. Propped up against the headboard of the bed with Michael beside her, she was speaking softly to him and rubbing his belly in an attempt to settle him after the long, ardous journey. It was then that it hit him: one obstacle, namely his family, was gone. It was just the three of them now, a concept that both excited and frightened him.
With regard to their son they were truly becoming partners, working together to create an environment of warmth and security for him. They fell into a comaradarie that was perhaps not so surprising considering how quickly, if temporarily, they had done on previous occasions. Their chequered history aside they were, it turned out, compatible, settling easily into domestic life after their arrival in Costa Rica. Not that Miranda had by any means become a pushover. When Jarod announced that he had joined the study team, she raised an eyebrow and remarked,
"Oh, so you'll be doing genealogical research."
Jarod had always enjoyed a round of verbal sparring with his huntress. He found her sharp wit exhilarating and now that it was employed in fun rather than hostility, it tended to leave him with a belly full of butterflies. As did her predilection for prancing around in the pale blue bikini she purchased shortly after their arrival in Quepos.
He supposed it was sensible enough attire while they were staying in town: one of the benefits of the short-term rental he had pre-booked for them was a lavish courtyard featuring a small garden, shaded tile deck and swimming pool. The family spent much of their two week stay out there, Jarod and Michael playing in the water or garden while Miranda lounged on the deck reading or just soaking up the tropical climate as she recuperated. A couple days before they left, he agreed that she could begin swimming as part of her rehabilitation and was rewarded (or punished depending on how one looked at it) by the sight of her skimpy swimwear clinging, semi-transparent, to her wet body.
The bikini - or, rather, bikinis for she proceeded to acquire several more in a stunning array of colors - remained ubiquitous even after they moved out of town. And not just for excursions to the beach; they became a feature of her regular household attire, along with linen shorts and open button-down shirts invariably swiped from his closet. She often pinned her hair up loosely and, since the heat and humidity rendered it obsolete, wore no makeup at home. Also, she never wore shoes in the house, her toes always flawlessly painted a pretty shade of pale coral. In short, Miranda was the most appealing creature he had ever feasted his eyes on.
As if that weren’t enough, her scent permeated his environment. He’d grab a shirt to put on only to be assaulted by her essence; if he made the mistake of wearing one of those shirts to work, his body heat would make the scent stronger and mingle with his own scent to drive him to distraction. He continued to sleep chastely (if ever more uncomfortably) beside her in a bed that smelled of her. And while Michael smelled of different things at different times - some more pleasant than others - Jarod could always detect his mother's scent on him.
Finally, there was the sheer unpredictability to cope with. He just never knew when Miranda would do something to take his breath away: unconsciously twirling a lock of her hair while engrossed in a book; lovingly stroking her son's cheek as he slept in her arms; talking to her “little man” as though he were just that, a little man, while undertaking routine parental chores like changing his diaper, bathing him, or brushing his hair. Then there were the truly priceless moments like the day Jarod returned earlier than usual from a hike into the Park to find music blaring, a pleasingly rythmic fusion of the various styles - salsa, calypso, reggae, rumba - reflecting Costa Rica's diverse cultural influences. More pleasing yet was the sight of Miranda dancing Michael around the house, her body swaying and shimmying in the most delightful way. Almost as fetching was the poisonous look she shot Jarod when she turned to find him standing in the doorway, arms folded and grinning ear to ear.
He knew full well what was happening. Jarod was falling a little more in love with Miranda every day and, since he hadn’t exactly started from a position of indifference, he was in deep. He wanted nothing less than to be her partner for life and even - someday, if fortune were to afford him the opportunity and privilege - her husband.
On the one hand, it was all very simple. They already shared a history, a child and even a bed. Besides, it was no exaggeration to say that they shared a strong physical attraction, even back in the days when their relationship was primarily hostile. On the other hand, it was all extremely complicated. They were fugitives and, as such, could not lead conventional lives. Their own situation was tenuous at best, but there were other people to worry about as well: his family, people they cared about who remained back at the Centre, the troubled younger brother they shared. But by far the biggest complication, as well as his primary hesitation, was the fact that they hadn't chosen this.
Not that he resented or regretted his incredible reversal of fortune for an instant, except, obviously, for how it had come to pass. But, truth be told, after the initial shock had worn off he didn't spend much time dwelling on it. The Centre had yet again done the unspeakable. Only this time they had inadvertently given Jarod the future he'd always dreamed of but never dared hope for. No, he hadn't chosen this, but it was the life he would have chosen if he could.
But could the same be said of her? That Miranda loved Michael the way a mother should was beyond doubt; it was in her eyes and it was a sight to behold. But did she consider life with her son's father something to be embraced or merely endured? She had chosen another life and it was stolen from her, leaving Jarod to wonder if she would always secretly grieve for what might have been. Late at night while watching her sleep, he would sometimes torture himself by imagining that she were dreaming of what Michael might have looked like if another man - a man with fairer hair and eyes - had been his father. But then morning would come, her beautiful blue eyes would blink open and the dark thoughts would recede into the deep recesses of his mind.
Well, until the morning that Jarod awoke to a realization that struck terror in his heart: it was February 14, Valentine's Day. She wasn't lying beside him; for the first time Miranda had gotten up before he had. He found her in the kitchen with Michael, who was already dressed to accompany Jarod on his hike.
"You don't mind, do you?" she asked as she sliced up fruit for breakfast. "Looks like a nice day, not too hot," she added conversationally.
"Of course not," he replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "I just need to add a few things to the pack..."
"Done," she interjected firmly.
"Okay," he muttered, wondering if he had done something to upset her.
Jarod kept right on wondering all the way to the Park, while glancing nervously at his watch and worrying over the arrival of the gardenias he'd ordered special from a florist in town. He kept flashing back to his previous Valentine's Day overture, years earlier, and his heart sank. What if the flowers were as big a disaster as the candy heart?
Oh well, he thought with a shrug, at least she won't eat them. Will she?
Stopping for their mid-morning snack, Jarod sat propped against a tree trunk with Michael on his lap. Opening the zipper to the largest compartment of the pack, his eyes widened with surprise. Only then did it register that the load had been bulkier than usual.
"What have we here?" he asked, fishing out the wrapped package.
Michael grinned and clapped his hands. He loved presents, especially the unwrapping part. They unwrapped it together, extra careful to return every shred of paper to the pack. When they were done, Michael pointed at the gift and exclaimed, "Mo-no!"
Smiling warmly Jarod explained, "Not just any monkey, but a special one named 'Jorge el Curioso.'"
Cracking open the book, he read aloud the inscription in Miranda's hand: "I saw this in town and immediately thought of two monkeys who might enjoy it together. Happy Valentine's Day."
His heart swelling, Jarod proceeded to read his son the story of "el mono pequeño y el hombre con el sombrero amarillo" amidst the chatter of the genuine article frolicking in the trees nearby. The prospects for Valentine's Day were indeed improving.
And improve they did when, upon their return home, Miranda greeted them each with a peck on the cheek and a warm, sincere "thank you." Jarod was delighted to find the large crystal bowl brimming with white, supple flowers prominently displayed on a small table on the porch, right beside the chair she always sat in to read. The same chair she had just risen from when, a couple hours later, Jarod decided to take the bull by the horns.
Michael had gone down for his nap and she had gotten up to check on him. She was moving past Jarod on the way back to her chair when he took hold of her hand, firmly but tenderly, and looked longingly into her eyes. She raised her eyebrows and cocked her head but did not pull away. He tugged on her arm. She raised her eyebrows further, her eyes growing wide but, again, did not resist. Nor did she resist as he pulled her onto his lap. Nor did she resist as he stroked her cheek. Nor did she resist as he slipped his hand into her hair and pulled her face to his to engage her in a kiss that he only hoped would convey even a fraction of the what he felt for her.
When he sensed her responding, becoming a willing participant in the kiss as her arms slipped around his neck, Jarod was absolutely certain that he'd died and gone to heaven. His hands started to roam, slipping under the shirt she wore - his, of course - to explore the exquisitely soft skin exposed by yet another skimpy bikini top, red this time ostensibly in honor of the holiday. His hand gliding gently up her spine, he met the tie to her bikini top and toyed with it for a few moments before making up his mind. That's when he felt something hit him softly on the back of the head with a familiar squeak.
Their lips still fused, he and Miranda each opened one eye and glanced down to find the plush moose Emily had given Michael prior to their departure, which had become his constant sleeping companion ever since. Pulling back they both turned to find Michael sitting up on the air mattress and grinning proudly.
"That kid's got some arm on him," Miranda commented with a smirk.
"Hmmm..." Jarod concurred, raising an eyebrow at his son.
"I'd better... um... be elsewhere," she stated wryly then climbed off his lap and added, "What do you say we go into town for dinner tonight?"
"Sure," he agreed, thinking it highly unlikely that he'd ever be capable of refusing her anything.
"Great, I'll go put some real clothes on," she announced then disappeared into the house.
"Not what I wanted to hear," he muttered with a sigh then stood up, picked up the moose and lumbered over to Michael, who was heavily engrossed in the process of inventorying his own toes when his father looked down on him, smiled and asked,
"What did I ever do to you, anyway?"
Although the rainy season wouldn't start for another six weeks or so, a front was moving through and a light, steady rain had begun to fall just after sundown. Exactly forty-three minutes remained of Valentine's Day when Jarod stepped out onto the porch to find Michael sleeping and Miranda sitting in her chair, sipping her favorite night cap - Guaro, a potent, clear liquid which she referred to as "the local rot-gut" mixed with Café Rica, a strong coffee-flavored liqueur. The concoction packed a wallop but even Jarod, who had little tolerance for alcohol, had to admit that it was rather tasty.
"I love the rain," she stated with a sigh.
"I know," he replied softly as he stepped behind her chair. "Ever since you were a girl. You may not remember this, but you once promised me that someday you would take me outside to play in the rain."
"So I did," she concurred then set her glass down and rose from her seat. Padding over to Michael, who was sound asleep with one hand firmly grasping his moose's ear, she smiled and crouched down to tuck the sheet around him. She then stood and glided to the door leading to the small patch of grass and modest garden that lay between the house and the forest which comprised their back yard. Turning to face Jarod, Miranda slowly undid the belt to her robe and let it fall open before sliding it off her shoulders to pool at her feet.
Standing there without a stitch of clothing on, she pushed open the screen door and inquired, "Well? What are you waiting for?" before turning and stepping outside.
It took about ten seconds for the shock to wear off, approximately three to get across the porch to the door, and another five to reach her, making it the longest eighteen seconds of his life. But then it was okay because there was only her: her skin tasting of rain, her scent filling the humid night air, her voice soft and heavy with desire. To make love to Miranda while their child slept safely only a few feet away was an experience beyond description; Jarod felt immeasurable joy.
Afterwards, as they lay entwined enjoying the feel of the warm rain on their bodies, she raised her head off his chest and looked up onto the porch observing,
"He's still out like a light."
"That's my boy," Jarod stated with a grin.
Lowering her head so that her face was just above his, she inquired amusedly, "You didn't slip our child a 'mickey', did you?"
"I am profoundly hurt that you could even suggest such a thing," he replied in a playfully defensive tone then added, "It's no wonder he's out cold; we had a busy day and he barely took a nap."
"Just checking," she sighed then lowered her head to cover his mouth with hers.
Like a perfect angel, Michael slept soundly through the night.
* * * *
"I haven't forgotten that," Jarod stated to his son, who was on the verge of drifting off as the house came into view.
"I owe you one, kiddo."
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