Out of the Past (Heritage Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1 PG-13 All Iowa Edition) Page 9

  Chapter 13

  Historic Fremont Days is a three-day festival and a 130 year-old tradition and is always celebrated on the last weekend in the month of June. The city park was filled with brightly colored midway rides, and the town was full of the disreputable looking carnies that ran them, as people from all over the entire county and beyond descended upon the little community of Fremont. I had really been looking forward excitedly to this particular event.

  I didn’t come into town for the rides, but I did stand along Main Street on Saturday morning in the Finish Line parking lot, next to the waitresses including Char and the potbellied, middle-aged cook named Tom, as we all chatted and watched the parade pass by. It was your typical small-town extravaganza of pickup trucks carrying Little League baseball teams, a couple of antique tractors, a Thoroughbred horse or two decked out in fancy saddle gear. These were followed by several miniature horses in halters, with their manes and tails ribbon-bedazzled and shepherded along the route by several miniature sized handlers. All little boys, who looked to be about five-years-old and as cute as could be. After a couple of convertibles passed by carrying the mayor and the elected county level house and senate officials, then came a beautiful, huge pair of matched dapple-grey Belgium draft horses in full harness pulling an open carriage carrying the reigning but soon to be outgoing, 2011 Mahaska County Fair King and his Queen.

  Bringing up the rear of the procession and a good distance back from the horses at the front of the parade, came the firemen on their engine and paramedics in their rescue vehicle who tossed a decadent shower of wrapped hard candy and mini candy bars to the kids who were standing along the route. They also blasted their sirens intermittently to the delight of the children and the applause of the enthusiastic crowd. Good times were had by all and perhaps by none, more so, than yours truly.

  ***

  Saturday night, Toaster, one of my favorite regional cover bands from Des Moines was slated to play at the street dance on South Pine Street. They’re a phenomenal band and are known for spot-on covers of everything from some AC/DC and Aerosmith, to Def Leppard and REO Speedwagon, to Uriah Heep, Queen and everything in between.

  As the sun sank slowly in the west over the grain elevator, the guys from the volunteer fire department took to the street and blocked off South Pine by putting out orange-striped sawhorse style barriers with flashing strobe lights atop them; closing the street off to all thru traffic for one block on either end of Stevie’s and Tim’s Time Out.

  I parked my Pathfinder back behind Tim’s Time Out in the grain elevator parking lot and walked up the alley to the festivities. There were likely more than 150 adults milling about and half again as many children, all scurrying like ants back and forth between the two bars, or visiting a couple of vender stands that were set up. One selling guinea grinders and hotdogs and the other offering a variety of frozen ice cream novelties on a stick, which was a very popular destination as people tried to offset the considerable heat that was still radiating off of the brick of the downtown buildings and the pavement under foot. The air was still hot from a pretty steamy and humid Iowa day, but dressed in short blue jean shorts and a color-splashed spaghetti-strap top and flip-flops I was pretty comfortable, even with my heavy hair hanging down my back.

  Many people had already staked out their spots at the picnic tables that had been arranged in neat rows and were spread across the entire street and as I juggled just for a spot where I could stand along the sidewalk, I took note that the Fremont Community School District had loaned a big yellow school bus to the cause, which was creating a colorful backdrop for the band, at the far side of their stage. The equipment manager appeared to be using the interior of the bus to set up his console of sound mixers and lighting-effect boards. The stage, the mobile type, was about three feet off of the street level and was supported underneath by metal girders which were camouflaged by red, white, and blue crepe banners. Little kids were playing ring-around-the-rosy and doing cartwheels in the open area in front of the stage that would be used as a dance floor later in the night.

  I spotted my only local cousins, Herald and Linda Mills and spent a few minutes talking with them. They’re the cutest old couple, both in their late sixties and they live outside of town on one of the other original homesteads of our family. Herald’s grandfather Robert was my grandpa Arlan’s oldest brother, making Herald my first cousin one times removed, and I had gotten to know Herald and Linda casually during my years of researching my family and I’d accepted their hospitality, joining them for dinner at their place a couple of times since I moved here. He still farms about 160 acres of corn, and Linda is the Fremont Clerk of Court and cemetery administrator. We talked together now about the weather, crops, about my house and my plans for my future in Fremont—just general chitchat.

  I also happened to see John Sweeney and his wife Margaret, from the Keo-Mah Genealogical Society, and excused myself from Herald to go and catch up with John on all of his doin’s. I realized as I spoke with him and waved at the cook Tom Morris, from the Finish Line Diner strolling by with his wife Martha, that Hey! I’m starting to make some connections. I’m becoming a local! I love small-town living!

  After that, I went into Tim’s Time Out and grabbed a nice cool Miller Light in a plastic cup and chatted with Tim for a few minutes about his cousin and my friend Keith Dinsmore. Keith had been a pretty famous regional author and newspaper publisher who had passed away a couple of months ago. He and I had collaborated about a year ago on a book that he had been working on which he’d titled Forever Fremont Iowa. It will be a book about Fremont, its many high schools and their noteworthy alumni. I’d met with him a couple of times last year, in Des Moines, and had provided him with some of my old photos for the project. Even though Keith had now passed away, the project was still being pushed forward by a group of dedicated Fremont alum, determined to make the last project of Keith’s a reality. He’d had many ideas for other projects he’d liked to have accomplished, I know, because he had told me about some of them during several late night back and forth email conversations that we had shared.

  When Tim got busy, I headed back outside to stand along the side of the street with the other poor table-less rabble, to wait for the band to start playing. It would be soon because they were now tuning up their instruments and doing final sound checks.

  I spotted Dave Cameron across the street as he sauntered out of Stevie’s, and him being over six feet and taller than most of the crowd before him, I was able to follow him with my eyes as he moved behind the line of people opposite from me, walking slowly along the sidewalk and I noted that he appeared to be by himself. He hadn’t seen me, so I reached into the back pocket of my shorts for my phone and held my half-empty beer cup between my teeth while I typed out a message and pressed send.

  “That’s some tight burgundy tee u r rockin, Mr. C.”

  “Where r u?” came the lightning fast reply.

  Before I had a chance to respond, he saw me and he kept me in his sights as he tapped people on the shoulders, excusing himself as he made his way through the crowd, finally stepping off of the curb into the street and crossing to join me.

  “Hey, lady,” he said, taking a look around at the people in my general vicinity. “Derek inside?”

  I reached around to place my phone into my back pocket and shook my head.

  “Nah, Derek had more important things to do.”

  “Hmmm, fancy that,” he nodded, interested. “So you’re here all alone?”

  “Just me, myself, and I—what about you?”

  “Same,” he said and gave me a smile, rocking back on his heels for effect as he observed. “Soooo—here we are, just two people out on our own in downtown Fremont on a Saturday night. Been a long time, Miss Mills—interesting,” he joked and kept smiling his most beautiful, dimpled smile.

  “Very interesting,” I agreed. “So have you been seeing anyone since Sharon?”

  “No,” he snorted a laugh and took
a sip of his beer before he continued conversationally. “You know, you may find this hard to believe but there just aren’t that many ladies out there that have any interest in spending time in Fremont, Iowa, if you can imagine such a thing,” he said wryly.

  “To be honest, I can’t imagine that in a million years,” I drawled matching his wryness before I laughed and lifted both shoulders in a shrug. “Who couldn’t love this town?”

  “My thought exactly,” Dave agreed.

  I raised the palm of my free hand out toward him and he gave me a companionable high-five and then laced his fingers with mine for a brief moment with a squeeze before letting go, just as the lights came up and we both turned toward the stage, adding our whoops of approval with the rest of the crowd and everyone, including Dave and I began singing along as the band started their first set with the Rick Springfield classic “Jessie’s Girl”. People poured out of the bars and into the street to watch and others took to the concrete dance floor as the dark night was lit up with the rockin’ sounds of Toaster.

  ***

  It was about forty minutes later that the band announced that they would be taking a break and they finished their set with one of my favorites “How’s It Gonna Be” by Third Eye Blind.

  Dave took my fresh beer from my grasp and set it down with his on a nearby building window ledge and reached for my hand.

  “Come on, boss, dance with me.”

  I let him lead me to the middle of the street as the guitar intro played and then he pulled me close and held my hand in his while his other hand settled at the curve of my hip. I reached up to drape my arm about his shoulder, and we glided around the concrete street, in front of the stage and the big yellow school bus with little kids and other couples all around us, but oddly, it seemed like we were the only two people in the world.

  After a minute, he took both of my hands, lifting them to encircle his neck, and his arms came around my back and I fit perfectly, up tight against his powerful frame. The amazing presence of him and the feel of his body against my own was a rush of tantalizing new sensations, as I felt his arms about me, strong, solid and warm. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t affected, in fact every nerve ending in my body seemed to be awake and taking notice of his proximity.

  We moved slowly in circles, and I could feel his breath near my ear as he softly sang to me along with the band, and his breath smelled faintly of peppermint and beer, while his shirtfront and the tanned skin of his neck was a mixture of sun-warmed skin, clean sweat, fabric softener and his cologne which combined to create his own indefinable scent. My senses were completely filled with him and I felt goose bumps shiver up my arms although I wasn’t at all cold and the light breeze of hot summer night air felt refreshingly cool, brushing over my own sweat-dampened skin. I closed my eyes, listening to his deep, rich voice and realized that he was a very good singer. The entire experience was simply magical.

  The song ended to a chorus of applause for the band and the dance floor began to clear as the crowds headed back to their tables or into the bars for fresh drinks but Dave didn’t let me go, only looked down into my eyes with a soft smile and just as he decided that he’d better relinquish his hold on me and began to step back, a radio channel started playing from the loud speakers and one of my favorite Bon Jovi tunes, “Never Say Goodbye” started up. With unspoken consent, we continued on—just we two—slow dancing while Dave serenaded me, holding me close. He knew every word and it was the perfect slow dance song, but it could’ve been “Chopsticks” and I wouldn’t have cared—he and I were having a moment.

  When a commercial blared from the radio at the end of the song, we didn’t have any other excuse and we slowly stopped dancing. I looked up into his eyes and swallowed hard. His mouth was a mere inch from mine, poised as if on the verge of a kiss. Surprised and disconcerted, I broke first, abruptly stepping back, and he allowed me to move away, not seeming to notice my quick retreat or if he did, he didn’t act like anything had happened but still—the spell was broken.

  During that break in the music, we went into Stevie’s and grabbed a slice of pizza and came back out to the street. We found a seat at an empty picnic table and sat side by side talking quietly together about anything and everything, catching up on anything that we may have missed since seeing each other last. It seemed that he and I never ran out of things to talk about.

  ***

  The dance officially ended at 12:30, but Dave and I continued to sit at our table until two of Fremont’s finest volunteer firemen approached and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “Come on, Dave, please! We gotta get these out of here,” Fireman Smith whined dramatically. I knew that he was fireman Smith because it said so on a patch over the left breast of his very official fireman’s blue pin-striped short-sleeved dress shirt.

  “Dude! Please!” Fireman Norton added pleadingly.

  We finally relented, as we really were given no option in the matter when Fire Chief Matlin showed up, peering over the shoulders of his two stymied employees to see what was hampering their progress. He parted a path between the two men and his eyes narrowed as he stood before us with his fists on the hips of his impeccably pleated blue serge trousers, looking hot and not in the mood for foolery.

  “Move it inside, Cameron,” he suggested rather sternly to Dave before bowing his head ever so politely toward me. “Miss.”

  His eyes cut back to Dave again as he pointed with his two index fingers, one toward each of the two bars, giving us our choices while lifting a brow menacingly at Dave.

  “Now, Mr. Cameron, if you please,” he said politely.

  Thus dismissed and after having relinquished our table, we had to then decide if we were going to continue our talk and join the rest of the partiers in the bars or call it a night and although I felt as if I’d like to stay with him for about another ten hours and likely still wouldn’t have run out of things to talk about, I decided instead that it would probably be best for me to just head home. He looked disappointed but nodded his acceptance of my decision and offered to walk me to my truck, which was still parked behind the bar in the grain elevator parking lot. Always the most gallant of men, he wanted to be sure that I was safely in my vehicle and on my way.

  ***

  As I fumbled in my pants pocket for the car keys, Dave waited quietly, and when I had finally located them, I turned to him.

  “Thank you for hanging out with me tonight, Dave. I had a great time.”

  “Anytime, Torie, and once again, one of the best nights with a woman I’ve had in a very long time,” he said seriously.

  “Me too,” I said and felt a flush of embarrassment coming up in my face like a silly teenager and I rolled my eyes.

  “With a man, I mean,” I clarified as a joke and realized too late that this really didn’t speak well of my relationship with my current boyfriend. But it was the truth; I’d never enjoyed a night of dancing and engaging conversation like this with Derek.

  Dave nodded with a soft smile and I wasn’t sure that he hadn’t read my thoughts regarding Derek but the smile faded slowly and I could see that there was no smile in the eyes that watched me, looking shadowed and serious, caught in the dim glow of the few lights that sliced through the dark. Mounted atop some of the tall, spidery looking grain spouts of the complex, they illuminated parts of the drive while casting deep shadows amid the many eerily quiet silos and barns all around us.

  A flash of movement caught my eye and I saw a black and white cat dart between buildings, likely out hunting for a midnight snack in the long grasses and discarded wooden pallets that littered the place and provided refuge for the hapless rodents it was likely in search of. The cat was there and then gone in complete silence like an apparition and I looked back to find that Dave was still watching me, as silent as the deep, sultry summer night air swirling like warm waves around us and ruffling through my hair.

  Before I said anything else that sounded moronic or caused me any more flushin
g embarrassment, I thought that I’d better just get into my truck and go, but I really couldn’t seem to move, my eyes were held captive by his while my responsible, logical side was giving me clear directives in my head Just get in the car, Torie! Torie, get—in—the—car!

  But it was too late. All at once the decision was taken out of my hands as Dave reached out, took me by my hips, and pulled me forward and against him while my hand came up to rest against his chest, steadying myself in a world suddenly gone off kilter. Then whisper soft, his big hands came up to lightly hold my face, his eyes searching mine and his thumbs lightly tracing the curve of my chin before he bent and tested my lips once, twice; unbelievably soft lips, moist and brief, then deeper, more insistent, his mouth gently covering mine; as if asking a question and my mouth answering as it opened and his tongue pushed in to be met by my own.

  The sudden sexual charge in the air was as palpable as if a bolt of lightning had just struck close by. This was a level of true passion that I’d never experienced in a man’s arms. I’d been kissed before, many times but this was something else. I felt that this wasn’t just about a kiss as he possessed my mouth while his arms came around me and I reciprocated without conscience choice, only feeling that I must. I stood on tiptoes and draped my arms around his neck and then, all at once, the truck door was behind me and we were against the side of my SUV, his body pressed against mine, along the length of mine, and I could feel the ridged strength of his desire and I found myself eagerly responding to and sharing the heat of his explosive passion. We shared another kiss and another; deep, penetrating, and powerful, so much so that my knees felt weak and I would have collapsed if not for the truck and Dave’s strong arms holding me up. My heart thrummed like a runaway horse in my chest and I felt surely that he must be able to feel its crazed pounding as it pulsed between us, roaring through my ears, galloping through my veins.