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Date Posted: 15:40:09 02/13/06 Mon
Author: Feathers
Subject: 
Gaze Chapter 3....inside (Chapters 1&2 are now on archive 2, dated Thurs, 1/19/06)
In reply to:
Feathers
's message, ""Gaze" Chapter 3 ...." on 15:37:18 02/13/06 Mon
Gaze Chapter 3
+++++++++
CHAPTER 3
Dinner was usually a nice quiet family affair with Mama and Dudley, but with our guest at the table, there was a new spark of humor and an undercurrent of excitement. Dudley repeatedly exclaimed how delicious the potatoes were, saying it must have been due to some fancy peeling techniques they teach down in the big city. Mama fussed constantly over the man she had dubbed my “gentleman caller”, and to keep from being totally embarrassed by her, I teased him about Mama running off with him and never looking back. He flirted shamelessly with Mama, making her blush, and then he’d shoot me a quick wink as if he knew I was really the one who wanted to ride off into the sunset with him. In the aura of that warm and glowing time around the table, I would have followed him anywhere.
Mama shooed us out of the kitchen again after dinner, and we sat on the big, cushion-covered, wicker porch swing to watch the sky change elegantly from light blue to lavender to navy. As much as I enjoyed talking with him and joking around, there was not a trace of awkwardness when we sat together in silence. I didn’t feel the need to entertain him with my chatter, and he seemed content to just soak in the soothing rhythms of the rural landscape.
I heard him take in a long, deep breath and exhale slowly with a hint of contented sigh. I wondered if he felt that way no matter where he ended up when he would take off from the city, or if it was just today, here, on my Mama’s property. I looked out across the yard, off toward the barn and the treeline beyond, the sky above the trees flecked with a few wisps of salmon-tinted clouds on the dark blue canvas of the evening, and I realized, for the first time in a long time, how beautiful it was here. It felt like I was right in the middle of paradise at that moment. Didn’t dreams come true in paradise? Was it so terrible for my long-lost dream to come find me when I wouldn’t chase it? Why, then, was I so hesitant about embracing it? Did I still want it? Was it still “me”? And how did my new friend fit into all this? This stranger in the black sedan had offered the opportunity for me to dream my dream again – what would he think if he knew what was really going on in my head … and my heart?
“Penny for your thoughts.” His gentle lilt was timed perfectly with my thoughts, and for a moment I wondered if he’d actually said it, and it wasn’t just me imagining it.
“The resurrection of long-lost dreams,” I replied wistfully. “And wondering if they’re still worth chasing.”
“A dream is always worth chasing,” he said. “Even if you don’t end up where you thought you would when you started out, you’re never worse off for it.”
“I would probably debate that point with you if this weren’t such a beautiful evening and I wasn’t enjoying it so much.”
“Destiny, though,” he continued with the quiet confidence of an expert, “is something that finds you even when you think you don’t want to be found. It’s what you are, what you were put on this earth to do, and when you be it and do it, you find balance and peace like you’ve never known before.”
I let that sink in for a while. Yes, there was a difference between dreams and destiny. Dreams are chosen, destiny is not. He obviously knew his destiny, and he had certainly chased a few dreams along the way. And now he was climbing the ladder of success with ease.
“I wish I had your confidence,” I finally said. I just couldn’t see how my life could even come close to his for balance and peace, much less figure out what was dream and what was destiny.
He turned on the swing to look at me with those eyes again so full of compassion, and again, I felt exposed. I wanted to run and hide. Instead, I hugged my arms around myself and turned away. My demons were rising up in me again and I didn’t feel like fighting them at the moment. I just didn’t see the point. Today had been a blissful accident, but there was no use in hoping that anything would change for me. I would stay on this farm with Mama and Dudley for the rest of my life and die an unfulfilled old maid. At least that was what the pouty, selfish voice in my head was saying. I didn’t even know what it would take to make me feel fulfilled as an old maid, much less as anything else.
When he didn’t say anything, I turned my head to look at him, but he just continued to drill those gorgeous eyes into my soul. I suddenly felt the need to ramble, just to distract myself from my feelings. “I’m sorry,” I began. “I don’t mean to be such a downer. You came out here to relax and get away, and I’ve been nothing but a little black rain cloud the whole time. I wouldn’t blame you if you drove off right now and never looked back. I-”
“Stop,” he said quietly, but firmly. It caught me up short. The look in his eyes was still compassionate, but it was obvious by the set of his jaw that he wasn’t interested in my little pity party.
“I’m sorry.” It was barely a whisper because I felt the choking tears starting to build in the back of my throat. I bit my lip and swallowed hard. I was NOT going to cry in front of him.
He scooted closer on the swing and cupped my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him. The patience and concern emanating from him was too much, and when I blinked I felt a few tears spill down onto my cheeks. He brushed at them with his thumbs and smiled so sweetly at me, and then the light bulb went on in my head. He knew. He knew exactly what I was feeling and going through because he’d been there before. I could see it all in his face, and it was the most comfort I had known since I was a child. A sob escaped my throat, and I fell into his arms. I cried and he held me, and who knows how much time passed before the raging river ran its course.
“Here,” he said reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a soft, clean and neatly folded red bandana. He shook it open and handed it to me. I sniffed as I took it from him. “A gentleman should always carry one in case of dusty roads or damsels in distress.”
“Thank you,” I laughed and blew my nose.
“And, uh, you can keep that one,” he said making a funny face in response to my nose blowing. I laughed again.
“I’ll cherish it forevah, suh,” I cooed breathlessly. He grinned at me.
“Feel better?” he asked.
“Much.”
“Are you going to stop beating yourself up, now?”
“I’ll try.”
“Do or do not,” he croaked, imitating Yoda. “There is no try.”
I punched him gently in the shoulder. He was right, though. It was all about self-confidence. Those with it, “do”. Those without it, try and “do not”.
“How do I get to that point, though?” I asked him. “How do I get to the place where I know I can if I just do it?”
“Well, you can’t shut people out when you ought to be talking about it. You have to let them help you figure out if your doubts are real or not, but most of the time, they’ll be unfounded – figments of your imagination – and sometimes those are the hardest to overcome.”
“True,” I nodded.
“And once you get past your doubts, you’ll start seeing things in a new way, and then you’ll feel much more confident.”
I nodded my head in agreement, but still wasn’t sure if I believed it in my heart. “I want to know your story, sometime,” I said, thinking aloud. “I want to know how you did it.”
“I tell you what,” he said snuggling me close to him. “I’ll tell you about it right now, and when you’re ready, you can tell me yours, okay?”
“Deal.”
He told me everything, or so it seemed. From his humble childhood full of music and a loving family, to his struggles to be what he knew he could be. He knew his destiny, as did a few supportive others, but acceptance by the mainstream was harder to find. For years, he slogged away, never giving up on his reason for being, but finding escape from the rejection in painful and unhealthy things.
I was in tears again when he stopped for a moment at the lowest point in the story. How could one so full of the light and joy I’d seen today end up where he did? Or was he who he was now because of where he’d been?
He took a breath and continued the story, explaining the long process of extricating himself from all those bad habits, denouncing his doubts, taming his demons, claiming the benevolence of a Higher Power to rescue him, and developing a new appreciation for the incredible musical gift he’d been given. Success finally found him, and he saw it as a great responsibility to use his gift to encourage others and hopefully point them down the same positive, life-affirming road he was on.
The longer I listened to his story, the more I realized that so much of what he’d said to me today were things he’d been saying to audiences around the world. I was getting it straight from the source, and it was powerful and refreshing and true.
“You know,” he said as a summary, “I don’t think it was an accident that we met today.”
“Really?” Had he read my mind?
“Yes, I believe there was purpose and destiny in it.”
“Well, don’t tell Bobby,” I quipped. “He’ll take it as license to misbehave.”
He laughed. “I promise I won’t tell Bobby. But I see no harm in telling you again until you believe it, too. Our meeting wasn’t an accident.”
“Okay, if you say so,” I humored him.
“No, it can’t just be my say-so. I need you to know it here,” he said touching my chest near my heart. That poor muscle, that had received such a work out today, found that extra reserve to flip again when his warm fingers pressed against my shirt. I gazed deeply into his eyes, wanting so much to believe him, and I reached for his wrist to hold his hand there against me. He didn’t resist or look uncomfortable, but just nodded as if he was answering my unspoken question. Believe.
“Okay, cowboy,” I grinned. “I believe.”
“And there’s one more thing I need you to know,” he said, his face very close to mine now, and his voice husky with emotion.
“What’s tha-” I started to ask, but was silenced by a kiss so delicious I thought I would faint. When he’d kissed me in the hammock that afternoon, it was sweet and sexy and promising. This kiss was full of untamed passion and desire, leaving my lungs breathless and my body thrumming like a high-tension wire. He trailed his mouth along my jaw and down my neck, the short scruff on his face adding a primal dimension, and I clutched him to me as if for dear life. My body was tingling in places that hadn’t tingled in years, and I was so afraid I would cry out that I buried my face in the collar of his denim jacket. I heard myself whimpering under his touch and he must have heard it, too, because he captured my mouth with his again, and the fire of his kiss shot straight to my soul.
He broke the kiss so we could breathe, resting his forehead against mine, allowing our panting breaths to mingle hotly between us.
“I think I’m going to explode,” I managed.
“Me, too,” he said, his sexy chuckle coming from somewhere deep in his throat. “It’s been way too long.”
“I don’t believe that,” I laughed between breaths.
“When are you going to start believing in me?” he panted. “Is it so impossible to think that I haven’t kissed someone like that in a long time?”
“Well, no, but - ”
“Do you need more evidence?” he caught my chin with his fingers again, and I was suddenly looking straight into his very serious and very sexy eyes.
“More evidence?” I gulped.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Like this.” And he kissed me again. This time a switch flipped in my brain, and I started to kiss him back. My assertiveness paid off in the way he pulled me toward him as he leaned back on the swing, effectively placing a significant portion of my body on top of his. My hand slipped under his t-shirt to stroke the soft skin just above his waistband and I felt rather than heard his surrendering moan.
He slid his hand down the front of my shirt, deftly collecting its hem in his fingers and then tucking those fingers under to stroke my lower ribcage, coming very close to a heavy-duty, satin-encased wire. I traced my fingers around his waistband toward his navel, feeling within me the deep urge to know more and tasting the temptation to find out.
“Jenna,” he rasped, sitting up suddenly and taking large gulps of air. “I, we… Not yet, I…Oh, god.” He held me to him tightly, burying his face in my shoulder as if he was ashamed.
“But I -” I started to protest, thwarted desire raging inside me like a tiger in a cage.
“Trust me,” he whispered catching his breath. “There’s nothing I’d rather do than run off to that barn with you right now,” he said, pointing in the general direction of the horse stalls. “But you deserve better.”
I did? Better than this? Better than a roll in the hay with the hottest thing since the results of the Manhattan Project? Now, I was really confused.
“You still don’t believe me, do you,” he commented in response to my silence.
“Well, I-”
“I can see we’re going to have to work on these self-confidence issues,” he said a bit wryly, his breathing returning to almost normal, “but in the meantime, I won’t take advantage of you. Okay?”
“Okay, I guess.” I was still a jumble of emotional confusion and thwarted physical expression, so I didn’t know what else to say. I think I really would have enjoyed letting him take advantage of me, but I knew deep in my heart that we’d both regret it, and I didn’t want to regret anything about meeting him. As he held me while we calmed down, I began to worry and wonder if there was something wrong with me. I pulled the bandana out from between the cushions where I’d stashed it as the tears welled up again.
“Ah, Jenna, I’m sorry,” he said, and the pain was obvious in his voice. “I should know better. Please understand, please believe, it’s not your fault, okay? It’s mine.”
“Okay,” I sniffed.
“Please don’t let me off that easy,” he pleaded. “Tell me I’m a big jerk for allowing myself to ignore how vulnerable you are and not waiting until you’re stronger before I sic the wild brumbies on you.”
I laughed at his reference. I certainly knew what a brumby was – I owned one – but the way he shook his head in disgust with himself endeared him to me all the more. I think he was surprised that I laughed, because when he looked up at me, his eyes were wide and curious.
“Should I call the Man from Snowy River to crack his whip on your flanks to keep you in line?”
He chuckled. “Maybe,” he said. “Just call me ‘the colt from Old Regret’.” The laughter we shared diffused the passion for now, and he leaned back in the swing and cuddled me to his side. I put a foot to the porch floor and pushed the swing a little, generating a soothing rhythm to accompany our mellowing mood.
“You don’t happen to know what time it is, do you?” he asked after a while.
“I never wear my watch on Saturdays,” I said, but offered to go look at the kitchen clock. He dug his cell phone out of his jacket pocket instead. It was about eight-thirty.
“I’m going to have to go soon,” he said.
“I know.”
“I’ve got to get up early tomorrow,” he added. “I promised to participate in a special gospel service benefit at the Ryman.”
“You? Gospel?” I laughed. “That I’d like to see.”
“I’ll get you a DVD, Miss Doubting Thomas.” He said it calmly and evenly, but he had his eyes closed and his head leaning against the back of the swing. I instantly got the impression that he was disappointed in my reaction.
“Oh, no,” I said, suddenly very angry with myself. “I did it again, didn’t I? When am I going to stop saying things like that? I’m so sorry.”
“That’s all right,” he said looking down at me with a forgiving smile. “I couldn’t see myself doing it either, until Ricky Skaggs talked me into it. The music we’ve been working on is not stereotypical gospel.”
“Well, then, I’d still like to see it.”
“I’ll still get you a DVD.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, glad that he wasn’t angry with me.
“Speaking of plans,” he began, “Don’t forget we have a lunch date on Tuesday.”
“How could I?”
“So you’re still all right with meeting my publicist?”
“I am, but that doesn’t mean I won’t beat myself up about it a few times between now and then.”
“If you start to do that, I want you to call me, okay?”
“Call you? Are you sure?”
“Would I tell you to if I wasn’t?” He said it so patiently, I knew I had done it again.
“I’m sorry,” was all I could think of, but didn’t he realize that just about anyone would be shocked to receive an offer like that?
“Do you have a cell phone?”
“Of course, up in my room, I’ll go get it.”
“No, don’t. I’ll just call it and then you’ll have my number.”
I gave him the number and he sent the call, and it was odd to sit there and watch him. I didn’t think he’d leave a message, but it really made me happy when he did.
“Hi, Jenna,” he said into his phone while giving me a sly look. “Hey, this is Keith. I just want you to know that you can use this number whenever you need a listening ear, okay? Or a ride.” He winked at me. “If I don’t answer, I promise to call you back as soon as I can. Keep dreaming and just believe, okay, baby? You’re gonna be all right. Talk soon, bye.”
“Thanks,” I said while he tucked his phone back inside his jacket. “I’m going to wear out my battery listening to that over and over.”
“I hope so,” he replied, then looked at the screen on his phone again. “I should probably go.” He stood up and held his hand out for me, pulling me out of the swing and into his arms.
“Yeah, you need your beauty sleep for tomorrow,” I teased and pushed some of his surfer dude hair off his face. “Can’t show up at the Ryman with dark circles under your eyes.”
“Worked for Merle,” he grinned, and I laughed.
“Gee, they’ll let anyone play there, anymore,” I shook my head in mock disbelief.
“It’s true,” he nodded pretending to be serious. “All you need is a really big tour bus.”
“Oh, so size does matter, then?” I asked, raising my eyebrows and pressing against him.
He laughed and rubbed his face as if to wipe away a raunchy thought. “I am not going there,” he said, but his grin was wide and wickedly knowing. He might not be willing to say anything at that moment, but he was certainly thinking something. I let it pass. For now.
“Thanks again for the ride, today,” I said curling my arms around his neck.
“My pleasure.”
“And I’m sorry for all the doubts and waterworks.”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. A good cry is healthy.”
“Yeah,” I sighed, and a moment of silence hung between us. I looked into his eyes and was reminded again of how he seemed to be able to read what was written on my soul. I swallowed hard to block the fear and shame that now automatically rose in my throat when he looked at me that way. I fought to match his gaze, and not turn away.
“Thanks,” I started, my voice breaking without permission. I bit my lip to steady myself, and ended up having to whisper just to get it out. “Thanks for understanding.”
He gave me a comforting hug and I felt his golden energy all around me. Would I ever be able to tell him how much he’d lifted me up – in spirit – just in a few hours? Maybe some day I’d try.
“Say goodnight to Dudley and your mum for me,” he said politely as we walked toward the porch steps. “And thank her again for lunch and dinner. This was exactly what I needed.”
“And thank your people for not sending a search party. I think this was exactly what I needed, too.”
“Good,” he smiled and kissed me softly on my cheek, right next to my mouth. We both knew that if he kissed me on the lips he’d never get out of here. His whiskers tickled my skin and I felt a lovely shiver zip up my spine.
“Goodnight,” he breathed as he stepped away and walked to the car that was waiting in the dark shade of a maple tree.
“Goodnight,” I called softly as he opened the car door to get in.
He cranked the engine and hit the parking lights, saving the glare of the headlamps for after he turned away from the house. I watched him drive away until there was nothing to see or hear but the night.
Then I ran upstairs and listened to my voice mail.
+++++++++++++
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Replies:
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Ya know, I was doing okay until she started "to stroke the soft skin just above his waistband"...Lawdy me, child...Lawdy me...And it was beautiful that they didn't go to the barn just yet even though they both felt the same passion. Hell, I thought I was going to explode, too! Don't keep us waiting too long for Gaze 4 now, ya hear? -- 1birdinflight, 18:08:40 02/13/06 Mon [1]
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Well, Bird, I don't want to burst your bubble too much... -- Feathers, 19:23:55 02/13/06 Mon [1]
But the barn thing ain't gonna happen. LOL At least not as far as I know. Sometimes my stories take on a life of their own and even surprise ME with where they end up, but from what's written (but not edited) so far, their path will NOT lead to the barn. Somewhere else, but not the barn. I'll let you stew over that! LOL
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why are we always crying? -- kennedypratt, 21:09:34 02/13/06 Mon [1]
Great story girl, you had me on the edge of my seat!
Why is does every character cry in fan fiction? I cry in front of Keith, feather's character does, Kim carries on in front of Kenny...what is wrong with us? Several lines in the story brought up old memories...."set of his jaw"...how often do I wish he'd set his jaw on me. And the part about him putting his hand over your heart...where I come from we call that copping a feel (just kidding). I loved the scene on the porch. A boy tried to come on to me one time on my parent's porch too...poor boy was never heard from again. LOL
Great story.
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Because, KP.... -- Feathers, 14:05:47 02/14/06 Tue [1]
We all want to be RESCUED by a manly but tenderhearted hero! We want to be touched deep inside and we want to know that it's safe to expose our deepest selves. And we all long to be comforted and accepted by someone we admire.
You'll soon find out what a LOT more about Jenna's "deepest self". At least, as soon as I get it polished and posted!
I'm glad you're liking it.
(LOL @ "copping a feel" LOL)
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LOL -- kennedypratt, 18:18:05 02/15/06 Wed [1]
Yeah, I know what you mean by "touched deep inside". Everyone needs to be "touched deep inside" once in awhile.
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All right..... -- Feathers, 11:40:37 02/16/06 Thu [1]
how did you get to peek at the next section??
just kidding!
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peek, just a peek -- kennedypratt, 21:42:30 02/16/06 Thu [1]
I swear feathers, I was just going to the barn to check the horses. I heard a noise in the hay loft. I thought maybe a goat had somehow made its way up the ladder, and gone into seizures on the hay loft floor...with another goat of the same affliction. I didn't mean to scare you like that, promise. By the way, how do you get your feet behind your head like that? I've tried but they seem to want to go behind his head instead.
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ROTFLOLOL!!! (thanks for the laugh, KP - I needed it just now!) -- Feathers (how do I do it?? I'll never tell!), 11:03:55 02/17/06 Fri [1]
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That was fantastic, you really have a way with words Feathers - this is a pleasure to read -- Aussie Chick, 01:48:54 02/15/06 Wed [1]
I love the references to Yoda! I've been told I talk like Yoda when I'm drunk! Very wise Keith is!
Of course The Man from Snowy River has already been discused but you did paint a gorgeous picture of Keith.
At one point i thought I would explode too,
I think it was the bit where Keith says “I, we… Not yet, I…Oh, god.” very nice!
can't wait to hear more.
Is it just me or when I begin to read the juicy parts of these stories, I start speed reading to find out what happens next?? I have to read it over to take it all in!
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