Jen's Legacy.
Definitely doing something else!

She didn’t much care that her grandmother might hear that kiss, as well as other personal noises; heavy breathing, and could probably guess what the ‘something else’ was, that he was doing to her granddaughter with their heads, at least their heads, close to each other.

She heard.

But already? It sounded like Claire was helping him with what he was doing to her. She shouldn’t ask.

“Does he know who you are?” (that he shouldn’t fuck a Prescott with impunity? If that was what he was doing).

“Yes he does. I told him my full name just before we started that climb, but he doesn’t care about any of that. I don’t think it registered for him to connect any of it with Dad, or what he does. He had other things to think about. We both had other things to think about.” They did, indeed!

Mrs. Prescott decided that she would learn more by listening, but wouldn’t help but wonder when this more personal side of things had started between them. Not that it mattered. Claire sounded happy, and she wouldn’t have been this happy if any of what he was doing to her was unwelcome. Maybe he was just holding her and kissing her.

In a pig’s eye!

“We climbed out the following day, Tuesday, and started to walk. I didn’t fully appreciate what he’d done to get down to me, or the risks he’d taken, until we did that climb together, and he practically carried me up that entire distance. I was terrified. I’ll tell you about it, and show you the photos.”

Some of them.

She’d taken a lot of them, and many of them had been candid, unexpected and extraordinarily revealing, like that one when he had been standing under that water trickle with a hard-on--thinking of her-- and others of him like that, as he had been sleeping. He rarely didn’t have a hard-on from what she could see and had seen. They were not the sort of photographs that one put into family albums unless they were stamped as ‘X-rated’, or had little locks on them to shield them from impressionable minds.

Her grandmother thought of something else. “Elinor… I must call her back after this call and give her the news (and tell Claire’s parents too) ... said that she couldn’t understand how he didn’t just plummet down to his death. Her heart was in her throat watching him, as mine is now, just thinking about it. How fortunate we all are, that he didn’t.”

She thought of something else she could tell her.

“I got the first good news just a few hours ago. One member of the first search party, near where you went overboard, found a partial message in the sand, saying that you’d been rescued, confirming what Elinor wanted to believe, and that I also needed to believe. The river, and a storm, had washed most of it out, but left enough to decipher, showing your name. Then, an hour ago, I heard that your lifejacket had been found on the trail leading down into Badger.”

The searchers were getting too damned close to finding them!

Oh lord! What else had they found, to tell tales about them? But her gran didn’t say anything about that, or about them having found anything of a truly personal nature, body fluids, still fresh, at Badger’s Crossing where they had stopped and made love at least twice, though the sand would have hidden that.

“You can call off the search, Gran. I’m alright. I’m safe, and I’m happy, and I’ll be found when I want to be found, but I had to call you to stop you from worrying.”

‘Found when she wanted to be found?’

This didn’t sound like the Claire she knew. Rebellion! Self-assertion! But about time. She’d grown a pair of balls, but they weren’t her own, hanging beneath her, though they were hanging somewhere very close to her, from what she could piece together of those noises.

“I’ll believe that, and will stop worrying only when I see you, but if you are sure…?”

“I’m sure. Call off the search, Gran. I’ve already been rescued.”

At least the news media hadn’t got wind of Claire going missing, or they would have had a field day, and if they asked her to comment now, she could reassure them that it was only a rumor; that there was no story here, and that she knew exactly where her granddaughter was. Even if she didn’t.

Claire sensed all of the uncomfortable questions her grandmother wanted to ask, but wasn’t asking.

“Your parents are flying back from Europe. I expect them anytime. They’ll be relieved to get the news, and so will the other girls in your group. Where are you now?”

“We just made camp, Gran, and we just ate.”

And made love once more, and got a start on making love for the second time without a tea-break between.

“I thought I’d give you a call before we retired.”

There were some moments of silence. ‘Retired’ had suggestive overtones to it. Every damned thing she was listening to had suggestive overtones.

Her grandmother tried again but she was too far away to change anything.

“Tell me about this man, and where you are.” She would keep trying. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“I’ve got to be careful how much longer we talk, Gran, my battery’s getting low.” Not that low.

“Surely you can tell me something more about him and how he rescued you before you have to break off.”

“I’ll tell you everything when I see you, Gran.”

That was not good enough. “I have to ask, Claire. I love you. Please tell me about him.” She was already learning too many things. She had heard that kiss, and whispers, and strained breathing.

“Gran.” She gave in. “He was wonderful in everything he did for me, completely selfless. His life counted for nothing; always putting me first.”

That pablum wasn’t what her grandmother wanted to hear.

And Claire was in love! It didn’t take much to guess that.

“How old is he?”

“Youngish. Twenty-six.”

“Married?” He would have to be married. All the best men were.

“Was. He’s a widower.”

Her grandmother sighed. Yes, it was a complicated story. Everything about life was complicated, especially the life worth having.

“His wife died in a plane crash three months ago, and he was walking the canyon trying to get over it, heading to Culver.”

Her grandmother suddenly perked up, hearing that. It sounded like someone she knew.

Claire wouldn’t say anything about that suicide note to Jen and his unborn daughter, to remind him of it. Besides, her grandmother didn’t need to know what sacrifices Claire had been prepared to make to save him from himself.

“And where are you now?” That was about the third time she’d asked.

“I’d... rather not say..., Gran.”

Ooh, that felt good!

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be rescued by any search party if you can’t call them off in time, and I need more time with him.”

That was direct enough. So they were, making love, if it could be described in that polite way so soon. Claire was not telling her what she needed to hear, while telling her too much for her to feel reassured with what she could hear happening between them.

“Why do you need more time?”

“Because I just met him, Gran.”

What else? What else? Out with it, girl. Say it.

“And I’m in love with him.” There. It was out at last.

That was still not what her grandmother wanted to hear.

Silence.

“How do you know that you are in love, so soon?”

“I just do, Gran. My life changed the second I saw him. I never met anyone like him before, and he needed my help just as I needed his. We were like two orphans caught in a storm, and needing each other. I feel complete when I am with him.”

Oh, god. She was in love!

It didn’t sound good, and they’d spent three nights together already and with there likely to be a fourth and a fifth. Too much time for a vulnerable young woman to fall in love and to be led astray, though the Royce she knew, wasn’t like that. If it was him. She should stop worrying so much.

Claire felt Royce beginning to become more focused and agitated, and to move more purposefully within her, taking her by surprise at the sudden force of it as he pushed hard into her body, making her gasp.

She held the phone closer to her, hoping her gran wouldn’t hear all of that, feeling Royce reaching a climax with her again, blasting his load into her, and hoping her gran would not hear the sudden changes in their breathing, or the small moans and noises of excitement, though she no longer cared.

Her gran said nothing for a few moments.

“Those noises, Claire? Did you both just…? Is he…? Are you?” She tried not to sound judgmental or shocked.

Damn! She’d heard. There was no point in denying it.

“Yes, gran. We just made love again.” She chuckled, determined not to feel guilty. “It’s difficult to share a sleeping bag to keep warm, and not discover some things about each other, especially when we knew we were in love.”

“Good god!”

“And you will call off the search, now that we’ve talked, please. You will do that won’t you? We don’t want to be found too soon. I’ll call you from Culver, but I must look after the battery, so I’ll turn it off when we ring off.”

The older woman tried again. “And you won’t tell me his full name?”

“No, Gran. You’ll learn all... about him soon. I promise.”

Mrs. Prescott didn’t need to ask Royce’s full name. She was already fairly sure who he was from the few clues that Claire had let slip about him being the age he was, a widower and losing his wife in a plane crash just three months earlier. Royce Healey! It was a relief to know that. At least she knew him, and what she knew, she liked. And he had needed to be rescued, just like her granddaughter had said.

“I’ll call you again... from Culver, and tell you more... at that time, Gran.” She’d tell her everything then, or most of it.

“I love you..., Gran. Bye.”

She rang-off abruptly, leaving her grandmother swearing, looking at the telephone as though it were her tormenting enemy, but suddenly relieved, even though her granddaughter was being… made love to… all of the time they’d been talking on the phone together. That was the younger generation for you. They didn’t waste any time with the important stuff or let the grass grow under their feet, but just got on with fucking each other and never mind the polite niceties leading up to it.

There weren’t that many places where there was a signal to make a call. They weren’t far from Culver. They could even have been in Culver, except Claire spoke of them making camp. They had to be somewhere near Marsden to get a signal to make that call.

She could now make a few calls of her own; call off those searchers, and especially to let Elinor know that Claire had called, and that she was actually safe, so she had been right about seeing a man rappelling down those cliffs as though the world was about to end. And he’d rescued her granddaughter and done other things to her, which was why Claire now wanted her to back off and leave them alone so they could fuck in peace, in glorious naked abandon, whenever they wanted to, without someone tripping over them. She began to envy her granddaughter.

Claire put her phone away and sank back onto Royce. That had gone a little better than she’d thought it would.

She nibbled at his ear and scolded him. “I feel cheated, Royce. I was talking on the phone when you came. You could have told me you were coming, or held back a little.”

No, he couldn’t have held back. There was no stopping that flood once it began, as she’d soon discovered for herself.

He kissed her.

“Your grandmother would have heard me if I’d warned you. Besides, I thought you would know what was happening by now. Don’t worry about it. It will soon happen again.” He pushed, to convince her of that. He still had a full charge.

“Good. Then we can go to sleep like this, Royce, with me where I am, and you where you are. I’m warm and happy, and you don’t need to come out of me until morning.”

“Just as well. I wasn’t planning on coming out of you until then, anyway.”

He lifted his jacket over her back and took her into his arms as he kissed her, feeling her settle lower onto him. He was warm and soft where it counted. And hard too, where that counted.

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