“No. Never,” she insisted.
He started to slide out the two-by-twelves. “Never’s a long time. Won’t you get lonely?”
“Probably.”
“What will you do then?”
She drew a deep breath as she considered the question. It wasn’t realistic to think she wouldn’t crave some kind of companionship in the future. “Maybe I’ll become a lesbian.”
A grin tugged at his lips. She could tell he didn’t know whether to take her seriously. “Is that a joke?”
“No,” she said. Although this wasn’t an option she’d ever considered before, it did seem to solve the problem. She’d never heard of a woman raping anyone. Sure, that had probably happened somewhere in the world at one time or another, but the odds of encountering such an anomaly had to be small.
“You can’t judge all men by the actions of one,” he said.
He’d made that point before, but she was too traumatized to be so fair. “No, but I can take precautions.”
“Like changing your sexuality.”
“Yes.”
“That’s a pretty big deal. Please tell me you’re bi at least.”
“Not yet. But I’m hoping I’ll be able to change. I’m willing to try. I mean, I’ve already got kids, so I don’t need a man in order to have a family. And settling down with a sweet, harmless woman who will be happy to help me cook and clean and raise children—what could be better than that?”
As he carried two of the boards to a staging area near the moorings of the old bridge, she tried not to admire him in those jeans. He had one heck of a nice butt. She had to admit that much, despite her plans for a man-less future.
“I see your point,” he said when he returned. “A sweet, harmless woman who cooks and cleans has her merits. But not all women are harmless.”
She moved to get a two-by-twelve herself. But he was the one with the gloves. He waved her back, out of the way. “I got this.”
“The woman I find will be so passive and supportive she’ll barely say a word,” she told him. “I might even include that in my dating profile. ‘Seeking mild-mannered lesbian who loves children and books and abhors any kind of violence.’”
He laughed outright.
“What?”
“Why don’t you just advertise for a roommate? That might turn out to be a better fit.”
“No. Roommates come and go. I think I’ll stick with a same-sex relationship, so there’s a commitment involved, but add a line to my dating profile that says something like, ‘low libido a must,’ since I’m not sure I can please a woman in that way—or sleep with her in the first place.”
He laughed even harder. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”
“Not until this moment.” She tapped her temple with one finger. “But it’s becoming clear.”
He returned to the truck for another load. “Won’t you miss having a man in your bed?”
At this moment, it didn’t seem like it. She shuddered whenever she thought of Gordon’s hands on her body. Knowing she’d been intimate with someone like that, someone so cruel, angry, selfish and deceitful, turned her stomach. And, in retrospect, some of the things he did—the way he liked to put his hands around her neck when they were making love—freaked her out. Had he been thinking about strangling her when he was moaning above her? Had such dark fantasies increased his pleasure?
Probably, given the type of person he’d turned out to be.
On the other hand, it was a man’s body that excited her. She’d never been aroused by any woman...
When she didn’t answer, Gavin looked up at her. “You’re thinking about it...”
“I’m thinking about passion.”
“Passion,” he repeated.
“Yes. The kind they portray in the movies. If that were real, men would be much harder to give up. But...”
“Wait—you’ve never felt that kind of desire? Not even when your relationship with your ex was new?”
“Maybe,” she admitted. But those feelings had faded fast. Toward the end, sex was more of a chore, something she simply tried to get through. Maybe that was why she felt she might be partially responsible for what Gordon did. She’d tried to hide her apathy, to summon some enthusiasm, but the possibility existed that she hadn’t done a very good job of faking it. “Right now that seems so long ago. Even if it was that way once, it didn’t last.”
He whistled. “Your husband must’ve sucked in bed.”
Gordon had sucked at being a good husband in other ways—maybe that was why she’d lost interest in the first place. It seemed as though she’d always been trying to ignore some frustration or inadequacy when he hit her up for sex. She’d never turned him down, but maybe acquiescence wasn’t enough. “I wouldn’t know about that. I don’t have anything to compare him against.”
“Then you’re giving up too soon.”
“Better safe than sorry,” she grumbled.
“Even if you’re missing out?”
She checked her kids again. Still happily occupied. “Lesbians have dildos and stuff. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
He lifted another load of lumber. “Okay, but if you get tired of pretending, feel free to give me a call. I like it soft and gentle, and I won’t get in the way of your search for a lesbian partner.”
Savanna’s jaw dropped, but when he winked at her and carried the last couple of two-by-twelves to his staging area, she was pretty sure he was just trying to shock her.
Gavin had no idea what Savanna had been through. He thought she might open up, talk about it as the day wore on, but she didn’t. She hadn’t even given him her last name. The only thing he knew was that whatever trauma she’d suffered had left a deep scar. He’d never had a woman tell him she was hoping to change her sexuality so that she’d never have to deal, on an intimate basis, with another man. He was fairly certain she hadn’t been entirely serious, but still. Even the kids didn’t mention their father, and yet Savanna had admitted the missing member of their family had been part of it until quite recently.
What had gone so terribly wrong?
He wondered the whole time he was building the makeshift bridge. Fortunately, since the structure wasn’t intended to be permanent, it didn’t take him long.
He laid the two-by-twelves across the water, created a support on each side so they wouldn’t slip and lashed them together to keep them stable. Then he drove the van over to the house to be sure it was safe, and stayed to help unload the furniture and boxes.
Together with the kids, he and Savanna made several trips before he managed to convince her to let him finish up so that she could go in and start cleaning. He’d recently moved. He knew how difficult it was to get organized—and he’d had only himself to worry about.
Branson and Alia helped if he found something small they could carry. When he put the last box on the worn and ripped carpet of the living room, he stood back to survey the scene. “So, what do you think of the house?”
Savanna had started in the