Ned approached the cabin at Cedar Lake with a small smile on his face. According to his mother, one of the neighbors had reported some "suspicious activity," and Ned had been asked to check it out before possibly alerting law enforcement.
Art and Steve had been staying there again. A couple of weeks ago, with Ned's permission, they had affixed a framed slate to a nail on the front door using a length of packing twine. It was perfect for leaving notes, between them or from the local residents regarding hot dog cookouts or fireworks displays.
The slate had been wiped, though, and in flowing script, read The Colemans.
Ned cast a quick glance at it, idly raising his hand to wipe his damp brow, then stopped before his brain had quite caught up. He stared at it for a moment.
The handwriting was Nancy's.
Hmm. Ned grinned, then tried the door. "Nancy?"
But no one answered his knock. Art's sketchpad wasn't in its usual place; the main bedroom was clean, bed made with crisp corners. A plain vase held a handful of orange tiger lilies in water, freshly cut. A few tall dark-purple fronds finished the arrangement.
Emerson colors.
Ned looked through the cottage again, and saw a neat overnight bag in the other bedroom. The curtains were fluttering in the breeze, which was welcome in the midday heat. A few clouds were drifting lazily in the deep-blue sky.
He found no signs that anything was out of place, no signs that Nancy had been abruptly snatched in broad daylight, but her absence was troubling. He had just closed the front door, wondering if she had decided to sun herself on the lakeshore, when he heard the crunch of gravel in the drive. Her car swung into view, top down, a moment later. She wore sunglasses and her hair tied back under a rose-patterned scarf, and with her sleeveless button-down top and pedal pushers, Nancy was the very picture of feminine domesticity, a young woman utterly in command of herself and briskly competent. It was enough to make Ned's heart ache.
"I was about to alert the sheriff."
Nancy took her sunglasses off. "Did something happen?" she asked, her brow furrowing.
Ned shook his head, gesturing to her. "I was just afraid you'd been spirited away."
"Oh." She chuckled and unlocked the trunk of her car; Ned joined her there and saw paper bags full of canned goods and supplies. "No, I stopped to help a motorist whose car was smoking. I'd intended to be back here before you arrived."
"Of course," Ned murmured, hoisting two of the bags. "Did my mother ask you to be a dear and restock the cabin?"
Nancy shook her head and smiled. "I asked her to be a dear and find some pretense to get you out here," she said.
Ned raised his eyebrows. "Have some spectral apparitions been spotted near the lake, or is a group of smugglers supposed to have some nefarious plans for a hunting lodge nearby?"
Nancy sighed, clasping a hand to her heart. "If only."
He helped unpack the bags. Through the open window they could hear a family splashing in the water, their shouts and laughter dampened by distance. An oscillating fan in the corner of the kitchen kept teasing the ends of her loosed hair, and the radio playing on the counter was making him think eagerly of dancing. There were a few places they could try tonight, half an hour's drive or so, but…
But he was far too intrigued by whatever she had in mind to jinx it.
Even so, once the last can was stacked, Perry Como's crooning proved Ned's undoing. He approached Nancy with his arms open in invitation, and she accepted with the faintest nod, closing the distance between them—
Entirely. She slid one arm up over his shoulder, and the brush of her fingertips over the nape of his neck had his eyes going low-lidded as he angled his chin down.
Her eyes were very blue, her gaze brilliantly direct, and her cheeks slightly pink.
It wasn't that the shape of her was entirely unknown to him. They had gone swimming together, after all—in groups of friends, interludes of fun during otherwise arduous cases. But it was another thing entirely to have her alone, warm and guileless and pressed against him.
They moved together easily, finding the rhythm and the steps of the dance almost immediately. For years, now, they had danced together. His anticipation of her movements was just muscle memory now. But even that thrilled him.
Nancy's gaze dropped to Ned's lips.
He had just been drawing a breath to speak, but that simple flick of her gaze arrested it. His hands were still positioned in appropriate places, given their embrace, but he traced one up and cupped her cheek.
Their kiss was slow and sweet, as unavoidable as another breath, inevitable as the tide. The song, unheeded, blurred to another, and when Ned surfaced, he realized he had backed Nancy to the counter, that both her arms were up over his shoulders. He was panting a little.
"The Colemans."
Her lips had been reddened by their kiss, and now they curved up in a sudden grin that was like a giddy punch to his heart. "You said you wanted to marry me one day."
He nodded. "I would be… humbled. Were you to be my wife."
Her grin became a soft smile. "Once you're finished at Emerson, I think maybe we can do that," she said. "But I also want to see what you think it means. If your reluctance for me to—"
Ned shook his head. "No matter what, I want you to be safe," he said. "But part of what I love about you is… all of you."
She caressed his cheek, and Ned swallowed hard. Then he leaned down, his lips a breath from hers.
"All of you," he said, his voice nearly a growl.
She nuzzled against him, and he grazed her earlobe with his lips. Her shiver had him following with a light nip.
"Someone might mistake us for married." He was gratified that she sounded a little breathless, too.
He smiled and brushed a loose wisp of blonde from her cheek. "What kind of marriage do you see?"
She smiled, too. "Ours," she said. "Whatever that means, whatever we make it. A partner who doesn't feel that my role is to not worry my pretty little head about anything."
"While your head is very pretty, if I wanted a housewife, I know several women who would like nothing better."
"And if I wanted a man who saw me as an accessory for a successful corporate career, I would pity him."
Ned raised his eyebrows.
"He would have the lesser part of me."
Ned shook his head. "He would have none of you," he replied. "Because he would deserve none of you."
Nancy was searching his eyes, and her smile became wry. "Sometimes I wish I could muster the outrage to wish I'd been born a man," she replied. "But then I might not have met you. And I'd feel all this pressure to become."
"Become what?"
They had been embracing for so long that he could almost forget the sheer delight of their proximity—but she shifted and Ned smiled, reluctantly moved away, and took her hand to interlace their fingers as they took a few steps and settled on the nearest couch.
Cottage. The label was almost laughingly misleading. The central living area boasted a sofa, a loveseat, and two recliners on either side of an end-table set, matched lamps polished to a warm gleam, sprigged curtains, a tidy brick fireplace. The kitchen was outfitted to support the preparation of a three-course dinner, to be served on the neat counter, to be eaten at the round gingham-spread table. It seemed a shame to have it sit vacant so often. Art and Steve's visits kept it from feeling stale and abandoned.
Nancy toed out of her shoes and relaxed beside Ned on the loveseat. "I feel like I'd become the thing I hate," she admitted.
Ned laughed. "A base charlatan cheating destitute widows and inexperienced orphans out of their meager life savings with counterfeit goods."
"Not quite." While her gaze was still warm, she looked very sincere. "It shouldn't mean starving or being turned out of one's home to trust someone else and discover that trust was misplaced. That lost ten dollars to me or you might mean…" She waved a hand. "Restocking this cottage. A box of flawed figurines used to smuggle stolen gems. Not the end of safety and security. That charm bracelet only found its way to me because a poor drug-addled woman didn't have the means to pay the landlord and caregiver who couldn't afford to keep her for free."
"Desperate people making equally desperate decisions."
She nodded. "And the people who could afford to pay me to track down heirloom dolls and lost sunken treasures are hardly the ones who need them."
He searched her eyes and saw her gaze flick away for an instant at his scrutiny, but she brought it back to his, waiting for his reaction.
"Beholden to no one."
"I've been thinking about this a while. A girl detective is enough of a curiosity, but mostly harmless. A woman seeking to attack the root of what hurts people in her community, rather than buying in on the excuses and temporary measures others might suggest… might not be seen too kindly in certain social sets. Might not be granted the same bemused indulgence."
He could see her pulse beating in her throat. Her eyes were gleaming a bit more.
"It's a lot to ask of anyone." She said it gently. "But the Colemans… that's a way to pretend."
"A way to play at being a couple," he filled in slowly, and she nodded. "A way for us to be together, if I'm unwilling to potentially jeopardize my reputation and career and social standing to publicly support you in your work."
"Yes." Her firm expression wavered slightly.
"A ruse."
"I…"
He cupped her cheek. "If I would agree to that, I wouldn't deserve you."
The shining in her eyes built to brimming tears. "If I hadn't met you, I'd think I was meant to be alone," she admitted. "It's too much, Ned."
"Good thing I'm not anyone."
She smiled, and he caught the tear that slipped down her cheek. "Maybe I can figure out a disguise."
"While I'm intrigued by the mental image of you in some sort of crime-fighting getup… I wasn't exaggerating when I said I'd be humbled to be your husband."
"Despite the hearings."
Ned's grin was slow and wicked. "I would beg them to call you to testify," he said. "Carson Drew's beloved daughter just casually asking why greed and cruelty should just be an accepted part of civil society. Asking why so many have to be stifled, if those doing the stifling are so righteous."
"People like you," she pointed out. "And like me."
"Not like you," he said gently.
"It could destroy me. Us."
"But you already knew that. And you decided it was more important."
"It is."
"At the risk of sounding unforgivably patronizing, that's exactly why I fell in love with you."
She closed her eyes, her breath coming out in a rush. "Are you absolutely certain you're real," she murmured. "Because even when I tried to have this conversation in my head, you were a lot more pragmatic."
"Never underestimate the power of a bit of suggested role play."
She smiled and opened her eyes again. "The worst case I imagined was that you would let me be your mistress, but nothing more. You'd have your pretty perfect wife and you'd make your excuses, feign business trips, to be with me. We'd see each other across a crowded room and have to turn away."
"I'm not that good an actor," Ned replied, so quickly and with such seriousness that Nancy had to laugh. "From the moment we met… you said becoming, and that's what you did for me. All that you are has filled a need in me I would never have even realized was there."
"I feel the same way."
"So… if you want to argue in front of the Supreme Court, or hold picket signs, or join groups that want to stand against injustice, I'll be with you. I'll do whatever I can."
In answer she pushed herself up, and he met her kiss eagerly. He looped an arm around her waist and she was half on his lap, and then it was only natural for her to straddle him, and their kiss became slow and lingering as they let themselves fully experience the novelty of being so close.
She was panting quietly when she broke the kiss to rest her forehead against his. "Would it shock you too much if..."
When she trailed off, he chuckled. "Given everything else you've said, please continue."
She moved back to gaze into his eyes. "I love you," she said softly.
"And I love you."
Her smile was quick, but brilliant. "No one's expecting us back tonight."
His eyebrows flicked up, very quickly. "Oh. I saw your bag in the other bedroom..."
"Art and Steve were still packing up when I arrived," she explained with a smile. "I didn't want to rush them."
He stroked her cheek. "They can be themselves here," he commented quietly, and she nodded, and a small knot in his stomach loosened when he saw that she understood.
"And can we?" She searched his gaze.
"I think I would very much enjoy that," he said. "Or… we can be the Colemans."
"Newly wed and utterly besotted."
Ned snickered and let his fingertips drift over the nape of her neck, the silky sweat-dampened curls. "You didn't protest when that Frenchman thought I was your fiancé."
"Are you not?"
Ned laughed at her feigned look of naïveté. "Never a dull moment with you."
"That," she murmured, as he embraced her and stood, "I can absolutely guarantee."
In the bedroom, the trim newly made bed with its crisp corners, they could still hear the radio, the family playing down by the water, the quiet burr of the fan as she unbuttoned her shirt, wriggled out of her cropped pants, and as he stripped himself, too. The lace of her brassiere was faintly scratchy against his bare chest, and then she moaned and arched as he drew it away, as he cupped her bared breast and slowly rubbed his thumb over her stiff nipple.
Her hair smelled like sunshine and fresh-mown grass and roses. He buried his face in it as she shivered and wordlessly begged for more. When she plucked at the band of his underwear, he immediately moved to give her room to draw them down.
With anyone else, it would have been—rash, maybe, he thought. But here, now, with everything in the open as it was, waiting seemed foolish. He couldn't love her more, and he had never wanted her more.
He had imagined he might never see this day with her, that her reluctance had betrayed some lack in her feelings for him. But she had only been saving her heart, steeling herself in case he couldn't give her what she needed.
And then she palmed him, tentatively, then with a surer stroke, and Ned groaned in delighted agony.
"Too much?"
"Don't you dare stop," he replied, and she laughed, her eyes dancing.
He didn't know what he had expected, not precisely. But she always managed to surprise him, no matter what. They shared long, lingering kisses, exploring each other lazily, asking wordlessly for more. The light had changed when she pushed her hips up and wriggled out of her underwear.
And then, with a soft, nervous giggle, she was perched over him and Ned was gazing up at her in wonder.
"All right?"
He nodded twice, rapidly. "Did you want to..."
"I don't know," she admitted, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. The lamps were off in here, the curtains drawn, and the light through blue cotton cast her flushed face in shadow. "I thought I did, but I don't know."
"Then let's just figure it out when we get there."
She smiled, tentatively lowering her hips, and when they came into contact they both sighed. "Can I...?"
"Show me."
In answer she propped herself over him, then dragged slippery, tender flesh over the length of his stiff cock, and Ned groaned.
"That." She was panting. "Can I do that?"
"Jesus, yes."
She laughed and repeated the motion in a deliberate, firm stroke, then again, and her lashes fluttered. She moaned and pressed herself harder against him for the next, angling her hips, and the needy whimper that escaped her had Ned cupping her hips.
"It's so good. Is it good for you?"
She nodded quickly. "Can you do what you were doing before..."
She gasped in delight when he cupped her breasts, stroking his thumbs over her nipples, and angled herself a little more. "Oh God," she moaned, grinding her plush slick lips against the length of his erection.
Ned was watching her intently. "Have you done this before?"
She opened her glittering eyes and grinned, still stroking herself against him, rubbing that firm button of slippery flesh against his cock as she did so. "Oh yes," she told him, and he groaned. "By myself, anyway. What kind of detective would I be if I hadn't even discovered the mechanism of my own pleasure?"
Ned growled and nudged her; she allowed him to roll her onto her back, and he kissed her long and hard, feeling those soft hitches in her breathing as she kept rocking her hips. She cried out a sob as he deliberately moved in answer, mimicking the same pressure and rhythm she had used, and they kissed hungrily as he fondled her breasts.
They came, nearly at the same time, each of them crying out, and she was shuddering with the force of it. He broke the kiss, panting as his lips grazed her earlobe, as he realized he had spent himself on her belly.
Well. He hadn't exactly packed a condom for this trip, an oversight he intended to rectify as soon as possible.
She was stroking his back, her hips still quivering slightly, when he kissed her earlobe. "Mrs. Coleman," he murmured. "I have to insist, as your husband, that you teach me the mechanisms of your pleasure."
She laughed. "You're a quick study, Mr. Coleman," she replied. "That last part in particular was very satisfying. It's only fair that I insist on your doing the same."
Ned chuckled and kissed her neck before pulling back. "I love you," he said quietly, and while his tone was light, the levity had evaporated. "I adore you. And when you're taking on the world, I'll be proud to know, for everyone to know, that I'm your husband."
She smiled and drew him down to her again, meeting his lips in a long, sweet kiss. "I love you," she replied. "I adore you, too. You're everything to me. Thanks for having such incredible faith in me."
"I don't think you can call it faith when I've known you this long. Experience, maybe. You're a smart, brave, passionate woman. When I look at you, the entire rest of the world falls away."
"It's the same for me," she admitted, stroking his cheek. "I'm sorry I wasn't ready for..." She shrugged slightly, glancing down.
"We have the rest of our lives for that," he replied. "Especially once I have a condom. Thanks for trusting me."
She smiled. "Experience," she replied. "Knowing you, anyway."
He moved off her and she lay sprawled, flushed and naked, and he rinsed a cloth and cleaned himself up, then offered it to her. She blinked.
"I…" He wiped her belly, and she chuckled.
"Sorry."
He shrugged and smiled. "I like you like this," he murmured.
She gazed up at him. "I like us like this," she replied.
"Is this how you imagined it?"
She reached for his hand and, giving him a little tug, drew him back onto the bed with her. He moved beside her, propping up his head so he could gaze down into her face, and she reached up to caress his cheek.
"No," she said, searching his eyes, and then she smiled. "Because sometimes my imagination is no match for reality."
He chuckled, sliding his arm over her, and she snuggled closer to him. "I think I'm flattered."
"You're definitely flattered," she told him, and wriggled a little, then pressed her lips to his. "Let me know when you're up for something else."
"Oh?"
She stroked her palm over his hip as she gazed into his eyes. "I have a brand-new mystery to solve," she said, and while her eyes were wide with feigned innocence, her slow smile was very nearly wicked. "We have supplies, enough to last us a few days while we get started."
"I would never dream of disappointing you."
Her expression softened. "Just tell me that you meant it," she said quietly. "What you said today, how you feel about all of this. That if you change your mind, you'll tell me, that you'll owe me the truth. Even if it hurts.
"And that we'll meet more than every summer, here or somewhere else. That this isn't just some strange dream I'm having, that I won't have to pretend we're... less."
In answer he leaned forward and kissed her, possessively, hard. She moaned softly.
"Marry me," he said, panting a little. "Not Mrs. Coleman, not pretending. Marry me once I'm graduated and we can start building a life together. And this won't end. That, I can promise you."
She giggled softly, likely more out of nervousness than anything else—and nodded.
"Yes," she said, stroking his cheek. "Oh, yes. How could I ever go back, after that..."
"Oh, sweetheart." He grinned. "You haven't seen anything yet."