took his head in both hands and pulled him up so she could kiss him on the mouth again.
“Hey-hey-hey…” He laughed, a low, sexy, vibrant laugh. A laugh full of pleasure and boldness.
Phoebe couldn’t believe how quickly her feelings were aroused. Sexual feelings. She’d never ever felt this with any of the boys she’d necked with. Maybe kissing was a big deal, with the right person.
But Lewis Hardin was not the right person. He was an escaped convict. A two-bit rustler. A dropout. A small-town loser. A Peter Pan who refused to grow up. Not her type at all.
“Pheeeeb!”
Phoebe froze. Jilly! What if she discovered them like this? What if she told their parents about Lewis, hiding out here in Uncle Joe’s hay field?
“I’ve got to go,” Phoebe said, urgently, straightening her blouse and her shorts and brushing the grass off her bare legs. She fanned her blouse from her body, back and forth, hoping the telltale damp mark he’d made on her breast would dry quickly. “I— I hope everything works out for you and—”
He grasped her hand as she stood. “I’m not going anywhere. We need to talk. Meet me tonight behind the—” he glanced around “—chicken house. I’ll be the tall one wearing shoes.”
Despite herself, Phoebe giggled. “Okay.” What was she doing promising to meet him later? She must be nuts!
She crawled back over the fence and hurried to where she’d left her dishpan. She caught a last glimpse of Lewis nearly hidden from sight in the grass, arms behind his head, ankles crossed, smiling at her.
“Phoebe! Where are you?”
“Here!” she called back. She tackled the raspberries again, picking furiously to make up for the time she’d missed. Pesky younger sisters. Lousy raspberries. Stupid job at the library this summer.
She hated being poor. Her life was poor and boring. A scholarship was her ticket out. Maybe Lewis Hardin was a loser, but at least he had some excitement in his life. Some adventure.
CHAPTER TWO
PHOEBE HAD NOT SET a time for her meeting with Lewis, and in late June the sun didn’t set until nearly half-past ten. When it was finally dark enough to sneak out, it was quite late. Well, she wasn’t really sneaking out, she convinced herself. She’d been studying all evening and told her father, who was still up watching television, that she wanted to get some fresh air. Jilly was at a friend’s house for a sleepover, and Trevor was out. Since he’d acquired his driver’s license that spring, he’d been out most evenings. Her mother and the baby, little Renee, had already gone to bed.
Harry Longquist looked up and nodded sleepily. Phoebe adored her dad. She felt momentarily guilty—really, she was sneaking out, wasn’t she?—and walked over and dropped a kiss on her father’s cheek. “’Night, Pops.” She squeezed his shoulder.
“’Night, honey,” her father said with a smile before returning his attention to the baseball game. The Jays were taking on the Mariners in Seattle.
Well, she was getting some fresh air.
She made a trip through the kitchen to collect a few leftovers. It had occurred to her when they were having their raspberry shortcake that evening that Lewis must be hungry. She filled a paper bag with a banana and two apples and loaded a plate with potato salad, sliced ham, two buttered rolls and some bean salad. At the last minute, juggling her load, she snagged a quart of milk from the fridge and let herself out the back door.
She set the food down carefully on the outside step, with a hiss at Gerald, the dog, who’d begun to thump his tail happily against the porch boards in gratitude for her apparent offering. Gerald looked offended and sloped off the porch and around the corner of the house. Phoebe reached back inside and grabbed an old windbreaker that belonged to Ben, her older brother. Ben was away, working for Adam Garrick at his ranch west of Glory, as he did every summer. He’d never notice the jacket was gone.
There was a moon overhead, waning now, and a few clouds, so that sometimes she could see nearly as well as daylight and other times she had to be careful not to stumble.
Lewis was waiting for her behind the chicken shed, as he’d promised.
“Oh, baby!” he said when he saw the food she carried. “Man, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to settle for sucking eggs tonight.”
“You wouldn’t!” Phoebe handed him the plate. She’d forgotten to bring cutlery, but it didn’t seem to matter.
“Oh, yeah, I would.” He scooped the potato salad up with a piece of ham and chewed hungrily. “Thanks,” he mumbled, his mouth half-full, waving around the chicken yard. He bowed slightly and took a step backward. “What’s this?” he asked, tasting the bean salad gingerly. “Bean salad?” Before she could say anything, he’d tipped it off his plate, onto the ground. “I hate that stuff. Treat for the hens tomorrow,” he said, grinning at her. “But thanks all the same.”
She held out the jacket and he took it with a smile. “Good girl. You thought of everything. Let’s sit down.”
Phoebe looked around. The chickens were all inside their shelter, roosting for the night. “No thanks. Come on.” Phoebe led him out of the enclosure, shutting the gate behind her, and they sat down on the dewy grass between the chicken coop and the garden.
“I brought you some fruit, too,” she offered. “In case you get hungry later.” She gestured toward the bag, then gripped her knees with her forearms and watched him eat. He popped the lid on the milk jug and drained half of it in one long swallow. Phoebe smiled to herself. She was pleased she’d remembered to bring food. And the jacket. She’d done the right thing.
When he finished, he patted his shirt pocket absently. “Damn, I forgot. I quit smoking.”
“You did?” Phoebe was happy to hear that.
“Well, sorta.” She could hear him grinning in the semidark. “I ran outa smokes. And money, too.”
“I’ll feed you, but I won’t buy you cigarettes,” she said firmly, leaning back, then felt his hand on hers in the grass.
“C’mon, Phoebe. I haven’t got much time. Let’s talk.”
“What do you want to talk about?” She felt shy suddenly.
“You. Me. Everything.” He hunched closer to her and she felt the warmth of his shoulder against hers. She shivered and he put his arm around her. It reminded her of the time he’d first kissed her in the orchard.
“Cold?”
“A little. It’s damp here.” She wasn’t shivering because of the damp and she knew it. “Let’s go over behind my uncle’s house,” she whispered. “There’s a hammock.” She needed to buy a little time, and it worried her that anyone could look out the back of the house and spot them sitting there on the grass. Still, she surprised herself with her own daring, suggesting a more private tête-à-tête. “My aunt and uncle are away.” She glanced first toward Lewis to gauge his reaction, then at the darkened side of her own house. People slept with the windows open on summer nights. She’d die if her mother heard her talking and
