Rebuilding Faith Ch. 09

"We need gloves," declared Bill, turning into the village hardware store parking lot. "I want your hands with all their fingers in working order."

Faith laughed and jabbed his arm. "You're so fussy, Holder." Feeling the same way about his. Aloud, she said, "I think you just want to look at all the tools. This is like a toy store to you, isn't it?"

"A little. I'd rather play with you, but my body can only take so much. I have to do something while I recuperate."

As they entered Sawyer's Hardware, Faith felt surprisingly nervous. Mr. Sawyer had been her father's best friend and, at 75 years old, he still ran the cash register, Monday through Friday.

"Well hello, Faith." Mr. Sawyer's splotchy face lit up with a large Polident smile. "So nice to see you," he said, coming around the counter to embrace her.

"Hi, Mr. Sawyer." Faith hugged him gently, "How are you and Mrs. Sawyer doing?"

"Oh, we're as ornery as ever."

They spent a few moments catching up on family news, Faith ever mindful of Bill standing patiently behind her.

Mr. Sawyer looked over the top of his spectacles, and asked, "Now who's this young fella ya brought with you?" extending his hand in greeting.

Bill shook hands. "Hi Mr. Sawyer. I'm Bill... Bill Holder, a friend from Rochester. Faith needed some help, so I'm here to lend a hand for a while."

"Aren't you the guy everyone was whispering about in church on Sunday?" He asked, leaning closer to focus. "Pastor Tom should thank you. That's the first sermon in months everyone was awake enough to hear." Laughing, he stepped back and folded his arms.

"Yup, that was me alright," confirmed Bill. "So much for blending in."

"Well, in a small town like Woodhaven, even a stray dog is news," said Mr. Sawyer in a warning tone, and then changed the subject. "So, what do you need today, Faith?"

"We're cutting up a tree, knocked down by the snow. And Bill thought we should buy some work gloves."

"Smart thinking."

Another customer entered and Mr. Sawyer moved away to greet him, while pointing, "Down aisle three, you'll find some good leather Wells Lamonts."

As they strolled down the cavernous aisle, Faith turned to witness a grim expression distorting Bill's face. Guessing his thoughts, she said, "So, if you're the stray dog in town, I must be the bitch in heat."

She stopped suddenly, and caused a collision with the tailgater. Turning and wrapping her arms around his waist, she said, "Don't worry, Holder, he's an old friend of the family and just concerned people will gossip about me. I'm used to it." After a quick hug, she released him and continued walking to the glove display.

"Well, I'm not." Picking up a pair of coarse leather gloves, Bill jammed his hand in and flexed his fingers.

His annoyance tickled her. The pleasure of being part of a couple again, even an illicit one, was exciting, and she liked that other people might see them together. "They're all jealous, Holder. When they see me with a tall, dark, and handsome stranger, they all want to be me." Finding a smaller pair of the same style glove, she slipped in her hand and smacked Bill a leathery high-five.

His fingers slipped between hers and he gripped them tight, while wrapping his free arm around her back. Bill pulled her close, saying, "Then let's give them something to talk about," and risked kissing her, right there, amongst the safety equipment.

Initially grinning against his lips, she soon understood his seriousness and returned the buss with a zealous intensity -- pressing closer, urgent and needful.

The rattle of someone pulling out a length of chain at the other end of the aisle broke their concentration and they resumed normal relations.

"Well now... these should work fine," said Bill, holding up his gloved hand, while it's mate dangled on the connecting plastic tether. "The grip seemed very secure. Thanks for testing it with me, Faith."

"My pleasure," she answered, hot and bothered.

Hand in hand, Bill led Faith to the register and paid.

As they left, Mr. Sawyer cautioned, "You two be careful now. I don't want to hear about anyone getting hurt."

Faith wondered if there was a double meaning in the comment.

Bill answered, "We'll be careful, Sir. I won't let anything happen to Faith."

The promise sent an unexpected tingle through her scalp and ears, continuing down her spine, until she shivered. Placing her arm around his waist, he reciprocated by resting his around her shoulders. They smiled at one another, pulling close, walking together like they were practicing for a three-legged race. Sliding in from the driver's side, Faith sat next to Bill, gladly flaunting her affection for all who'd bear witness. The truck was warm. They drove home with the windows down, letting the fresh spring air wash over them. Bill laid his arm along the seatback, driving casually.

Resting her hand on his thigh, Faith nestled against his shoulder, as her mind wandered back to her earlier visit with Bob Engles. She had planned on telling Bob the land wasn't really for sale, to ease his mind. But when she stood outside the Town Supervisor's office, about to knock, she heard him say, "That bitch cannot sell the land to anyone but me. If I don't own it soon, I'm screwed."

"What can you do about it?" asked a voice she recognized as Butch.

"I'm gonna need your help."

The phone rang and Bob answered it. He must have dismissed Butch, because she heard him get up and shuffle towards the door. Hurriedly, Faith moved away and acted like she'd just arrived as he exited the office.

"Hiya, Faith," Butch said, louder than necessary. "Do you want me to come back yet?"

After overhearing their conversation, she'd changed her mind about telling the truth. "I'm selling the place, Butch. You'll have to talk to the new owner."

"Oh yeah? Damn, that's too bad. I'd really enjoy working for you again. The job was just getting interesting."

Her face burned with anger. Faith resisted slapping him; instead she acted meek and looked away. "Talk to Bill Holder. Maybe he can use a hand."

Butch made a point of brushing against her when he walked by, and for the first time she was afraid. Not only afraid of him, but also of an expanding plot involving people she used to trust.

Faith jumped when gentle fingers caressed her cheek, and Bill said, "Hey Babe, you're turning blue again."

Watching his concerned eyes flash to the road and back, she decided, 'Bill should know what happened. Love shares all things, not just the good things.'

Taking hold of his hand and lightly kissing the palm, Faith answered, "I know who's been working to get me out of town." After a momentary pause, she continued, "It's Bob Engles. He called yesterday and was angry because he heard I was selling the land to someone else. I went to his office today, to talk about it, and I overheard him telling Butch that if he didn't get my land soon he was screwed."

Faith Released Bill's hand and he began stroking her hair.

"When I talked to Bob, he had no idea that I heard what he'd said to Butch, and acted friendly and apologetic for the way he spoke to me on the phone. I don't know what I should do now."

Bill hugged her shoulders. "We don't do anything. I'd say it's up to him. Hopefully he's all talk. If his time is running out, the crisis may pass and take care of itself."

"Why do you think he wants my land?"

"Engles? He's the guy who owns the land adjacent to yours, right?"

"Yes."

"He's probably made a deal with some developer that's dependant on a certain number of acres and he needs to own your plot to reach the requirement. There must be a deadline. And if he doesn't meet it, the proposal goes to someone else. Usually these land developers have time constraints based on available financing. And from the way Bob's acting, I'd say he's in debt up to his eyeballs."

Snuggling against his side, Faith curled her legs up onto the seat and closed her eyes, praying the crisis would pass very soon.

The remainder of the trip was silent, until they arrived home and busied themselves with logging preparations. When Bill started the chainsaw, Faith was reminded how much they frightened her. Just one mistake could cost a limb or a life.

When she loaded a first aid kit into the truck, Bill smiled. "Hope for the best and prepare for the worst?"

"You got it, Sweetie," she answered, patting his butt on her way to fetch the wheelbarrow.

After lunch, they headed off to work. Hershey sat in the cab with them, her head sticking out the passenger window, eyes squinting, ears flapping and nose snuffling.

The plan was simple -- Bill would cut and Faith would load the firewood onto the truck and help with the pry bar when necessary. The sky was cloudless and, as the sun passed its zenith, the direct rays were hot. Parking the truck as close as possible to the downed wires, they piled tools into the wheelbarrow and rolled down to the jobsite, enjoying the day and each other's company. Hershey romped around them, sniffing and searching for who knows what. After a preliminary inspection, the McCullough was fired up and hard labor began.

First, Bill cut down the remainder of the tree trunk. Next, the branches were pruned off and Faith piled the dead brush for kindling, hopefully to be used for a bonfire during camp-time this summer.

While she waited for more cuttings, Faith had the chance to watch Bill work. He'd stripped to a tee shirt and his sweat glistened on his arms and face. The damp fabric accentuated his physique, as the exertion made it cling. At first, she felt admiration watching him, similar to how she had felt as a little girl watching her father in the workshop. But soon there were singularly adult thoughts, as she remembered how gentle those powerful muscles could be while loving her.

'The grace of the human body is amazing to witness in all its variations,' she concluded.

Biceps and triceps bulged in the effort of controlling the spinning chain, as it ripped through the dense maple. The new gloves looked ruggedly masculine, knotted into fists around the red handles. Wood chips spit off and stuck to his arms and legs. The concentration made his facial muscles clench, defining his jaw and cheeks.

She thought, 'I should get my camera and save some of this for posterity.'

The noise was deafening and when he stopped to adjust his stance her ears were ringing.

"Faith, bring the bar over and wedge it under this log. The saw's getting pinched."

Jamming it under, near the partial cut, she used another log as a fulcrum and pushed down on the bar with all her weight. "How's that, Paul?"

"Great, thanks Babe," he said, his eyes smiling at her through fogged safety glasses, before revving the chainsaw again.

When her leverage was no longer needed, Faith loaded the wheelbarrow with all the logs she could manage and rolled them to the pickup truck. After her fourth trip, Faith was hot and breathing heavily, wishing she'd worn a lighter top. Today, style wasn't the priority, comfort was. So she rolled up the sleeves, unbuttoned the flannel shirt and tied it around her midriff.

"Ah, that's better," she said, feeling the cool breeze against her damp skin, as she went to retrieve another load.

***

Pausing to decide where his next cut should be, Bill glanced at Faith, returning from the truck. Obviously feeling too warm, she'd adjusted her shirt for maximum airflow, while inadvertently creating maximum sex appeal as well. He blatantly feasted on the sight of her bare stomach, arms and hint of cleavage, all shiny with perspiration. Her forearms flexed with linear muscularity, while trying to maintain lift, balance and forward momentum on the wheelbarrow. Some of her hair had come loose and curled down over her eyes, creating a bedraggled sensuality.

Faith caught his grin, and said, "What?" when she stopped to brush away the hair.

"You're a safety hazard, Babe, parading around all hot and sexy like that." He picked up his sweatshirt and wiped some perspiration from her face. "I may have to report you to OSHA."

"Sexy?" she gave him the raised eyebrow, 'get real' look. "Oh yeah? Well I think you're harassing me, so we're even."

"It can't be sexual harassment. You're the boss, so you could just fire my ass."

"I wouldn't fire your ass. I like squeezing it too much," and she did, as proof.

"Now that's harassment," he declared, as his eyes searched the surrounding woods. "It's time for a break. Isn't your stream around here, somewhere?"

"Yeah. Just beyond those trees," she answered, pointing.

Bill stepped closer, throwing his sweatshirt down into the barrow behind her.

"What do you think you're doing?" she smirked, eyeing him.

Bending slightly at the knees, he reached behind her, stood and backed away, causing the wheelbarrow in his grip to bump behind her knees, forcing her down into a sitting position.

"Hang on," he yelled, and pushed the wheelbarrow toward the stream while Faith laughed and held on for dear life.

Every bump and turn made her squeal and her breasts to jiggle, so Bill took a circuitous route for maximum wiggle, finally stopping alongside the streambed, panting happily.

Getting off the makeshift roller coaster a little wobbly, Faith declared, "Like I said before, Holder, you are a fun ride."

Breathily, he said, "Thanks, Babe," then picked up his sweatshirt and headed for the water.

"Stay through the summer and you can give about one hundred kids the same thrill."

"Yeah, but it wouldn't be the same thrill for me."

The flow was clear and cold. Scooping some up, Bill rinsed the woodchips from his arms and then cupped both hands to splash his face and hair, trying to rinse away the exhaust fumes.

"Ahhh, that feels great." Soaking his sweatshirt in the stream, Bill called, "Babe, come here. I've got something for you."

"Oh, yeah?" she said, her voice full of suspicion. "What might that be, Bunyan?"

Bill wrung the excess water from the soaked garment, saying, "You had your fun. Now I want mine," and approached her.

"Is this going to turn into another event like the mud fight?"

"No, just the opposite. I want to clean you up a little," and so saying, he used a cold sleeve to gently wash her cheek.

"Mmmm, that feels nice," she groaned, with eyes closed.

"Come over here."

Taking Faith's hand, Bill guided her to a flat rock where they sat in the sun, and he continued to use the cold cloth to lave her hot face. He began with the cheeks, soothingly working to her forehead and down over her closed eyes. Rearranging the shirt to use a fresh spot, Bill stroked the coolness along her nose, over her chin and down her throat to her chest and then swiped the bracing dampness around her neck.

"Ahhh, that's sooo refreshing," Faith cooed, tipping her head back in pleasure.

Unwilling to resist the temptation, Bill bent down and kissed her lips and then her inviting neck, tasting a little of her saltiness. "You're right, that is refreshing," he replied, smiling against her chilled skin.

Only a small, throaty laugh was Faith's response and he sensed she was hoping for more. Her eyes of love sparkled at him.

Bill made a return trip to the stream and pulled off his shirt, sank it in the icy water and sponged his sweaty torso. Goosebumps dappled his skin. After spreading the tee shirt out on a rock to dry, he recharged the sweatshirt with fresh water and walked back to Faith.

She waited, smiling and unmoving, leaning back on her hands, eyes wandering over him.

Back at her side, Bill untied the knotted shirttail and pushed the material from her shoulders.

With a shake of her arms, the flannel shirt lay abandoned.

Once again, Bill gently washed her, starting at the shoulders and making languid strokes down each arm. Occasionally Faith would watch him work. Mostly her eyes were closed, and her face dreamy.

Kneeling behind, Bill said, "Sit up," and then unclasped her bra. Without being asked, Faith raised her arms and he lifted the flimsy garment off.

Working the washcloth laterally, he made a chilling zigzag down her back. His lips landed on her cool shoulder ridge and, pushing aside the dangling hair, nibbled to the back of her neck.

"Holder, what are you doing to me? You're cooling me down and heating me up, all at the same time."

"Contrast and contradiction, stimulation of opposite sensations. Isn't it a confusing pleasure?" he asked, tickling behind her ears and then gently squeezing the base of her neck between his thumb and fingers.

"Ooooo," Faith purred, as she shuddered, and goose bumps appeared on her arms. "You make me tingle."

Returning to the stream, Bill soaked the shirt, and turned to look at Faith. Her head was tipped to one side as she met his gaze. Leaning back on her hands, she smiled invitingly. The slope of her shoulders, her upturned breasts, her twinkling eyes, her joy of life, her everything, held him like earth's gravitational pull holds the moon. Playfully she sat with her legs outstretched, tapping her work boots together like lugged windshield wipers.

He thought. 'I wish I was younger.'

Faith's eyes focused on his groin. "Looks like ya got some lumber in your pants there, Bunyan."

Going to her, Bill knelt over her knees and pulled one of his icy hands out from under the wet cloth. He teased one breast and she squirmed beneath his legs.

"Oh, that's cold."

"Feel good?" he asked, as the fondled nipple hardened even more.

"Yes."

Laying the shirt aside, both cold hands were now free to tease both breasts, and Faith's head rolled back, groaning from the sensations. While she was distracted, Bill quickly mopped his chest with the cold shirt. With a rush, he slid forward and pulled her into a tight embrace.

Faith's hot flesh against his cold chest created an audible intake of air from both, until Bill's mouth covered hers, his hands massaging her back.

Without warning, the cold cloth was now scrubbing his back, in the reckless motion of unrestrained passion.

Breaking the kiss, he said, "Hey, I want my shirt back. I wasn't finished yet."

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself," she pouted, and pulled his head back for a soft, whimpering, 'please-forgive-me' kiss.

Taking over control of his sweatshirt, he instructed, "Now lean back so I can wash the front."

"Yes, Sir!"

Covering both hands, Bill used the shirt like one big mitten and lovingly enveloped first one breast in a cooling wrap and then the other, making sure they were thoroughly washed and tenderly treated. Next he swabbed down over Faith's stomach to complete the self-appointed task.

"Now for the taste test," he grinned. Leaning down, cradling the soft treats in his palms, Bill licked and sucked the left nipple and then the right. He couldn't see her face, but the pleased sounds and the fingers entwined in his hair made clear the results of his testing procedure.

"They're ready. I'm sure of it," Bill declared, looking up to meet Faith's hooded eyes.

"Oh yeah, they're ready," Faith said, leaning her forehead against his. "I'm ready all over."

Standing up, Bill extended his hand. "Great, then let's get back to work."

Ogling the bulge in his pants, Faith said, "Bunyan, you're a hard man," and took his offered hand. Once standing, she rubbed his erection through his jeans and kissed him hard, before bending to collect her discarded clothes.

Walking away, Faith said, "I'll be back in a few minutes. I want to get a lighter shirt and my camera."

He watched her backside stroll up a path through the woods. Hershey foraged ahead. Reaching a bend that would put her out of sight, Faith turned to give him a wonderful view of Mother Nature, and commanded, "No chainsaw until I get back," and then disappeared like a wood nymph.