Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [2]
1
“I HATE THIS,” I said, my breath coming in short, painful bursts. “It’s unnatural.”
“You’ll learn to love it,” Gabe said, his baritone voice encouraging.
I frowned up at him. “God never intended the human body to endure agony like this. I don’t care what you say—this is not fun.”
“We have all the right equipment for it.” He reached over and patted my backside. “Yours is cute, and we want to keep it that way.”
I swatted at his hand. “Watch it, Chief Ortiz, or I’ll have one of your men arrest you for lewd and lascivious behavior.”
Laughing, he sprinted ahead, then turned around to face me, jogging backward. After a mile and a half, he’d barely broken a sweat. Above us, a swirl of salty early-morning wind rattled the tops of the peeling eucalyptus. Pine trees scented the air with a sharp, lung-cleansing scent. “Benni, sweetheart, you’re getting close to middle age. Your heart and other significant parts of your body need the aerobic exercise.”
“I’m not middle-aged. I plan on living until I’m a hundred, so I won’t be middle-aged for fifteen years. Besides, I’m riding three times a week now that I’m helping Grace down at the stables. That’s aerobic exercise.”
He gave a derisive laugh. “Sure, for the horse.”
I slowed to a walk, looking down at the obscenely white hundred-twenty-dollar Adidas he’d talked me into buying. The bright orange stripes glowed in the pale California sunshine. For that much money, they should have come equipped with tiny oxygen tanks. I leaned against a sycamore carved with a heart and the words JULIO LOVES HIMSELF and held my aching side. “I can’t go any farther. Please, let me die in peace.”
He trotted up beside me. “Quit whining and turn around.”
I obliged and instinctively arched toward his hands as they kneaded my neck and shoulders, groaning out loud at the pleasurable feel of his strong fingers pressing deep into my muscles. He bent down and ran his bristly mustache down my damp neck, tickling it lightly with his tongue.
“Don’t tempt me like that in public, querida,” he whispered. “I’m used to hearing those sounds when I’ve got you flat on your back and naked.”
“You arrogant—” I clenched my fist, turned, and aimed for his stomach. He saw it coming and tightened his muscles. Those days at the gym were obviously helping. It was like hitting a concrete block.
“Ow,” I said, shaking my hand. “Do you realize you think about sex way too much for a middle-aged man?”
His blue-gray eyes, a startling anomaly against his tanned olive skin, sparkled with amusement. “I’m telling you, it’s the vitamin E. Not to mention how attractive you look in those shorts. I’m going around the park one more time. Want to join me?”
I glanced down the gravel trail we’d just run around Laguna Lake, one of the major attractions of San Celina’s Central Park. “No, thanks. I think I’ll walk back to the car and get some money to buy duck food.”
He checked his watch. “See you in about fifteen minutes.” He took off down the trail at an easy jog.
I watched him until he disappeared into the heavily wooded park. After almost seven months of marriage, the sight of his lean, powerful body could still make my heart beat faster. But he had lost ten pounds in the last month, and it showed on his six-foot frame, narrowing his face and causing his already prominent cheekbones to sharpen. Though I tried not to show it, I was worried. His mood had been light and cheerful lately. Too light and cheerful. Four weeks ago,