Chapter 17
Sinclair looked up from her book as she heard rhythmic footsteps against the Breckenridges' expensive Spanish tile floor.
She smiled as Hunter stepped through the door. "Hey, gorgeous."
Her lover was breathtaking in her university clothes belted black slacks and a white button-down shirt neatly tucked and pressed. A thick onyx circlet trapped her hair at her nape, preventing it from falling into her face. Sinclair put her book facedown on the window seat next to her when Hunter drew closer. She practically glowed.
"Want to go for a ride with me?" Hunter's mouth brushed hers before lightly nuzzling her throat.
"Should I dress up, too?" Sinclair grinned, intrigued by her exuberance.
"Nope. You are perfect. Just bring your camera."
She looked down at her pale green sundress and shrugged. "OK. Let me just let Nikki know that I'm leaving."
"I already told her when she let me in." Hunter nibbled on her collarbone. "She knows you'll be safe with me."
They left the Breckenridges' and walked back to Hunter's house with the dark woman frolicking like a puppy in front of, then beside her. She tugged at Sinclair's loose dress, flattening it against her belly and breasts.
"I love your tits," Hunter said, pulling closer. "They're so . . ." Her eyes touched them while Sinclair blushed and stood tongue-tied, not knowing what to say. She had never seen her like this.
At Sinclair's look of confusion Hunter backed away, smiling. "I love your coolness," she said. "I love it when you melt and show me your soft spots. I love how you make me want to be less cynical, more like the kid I was when I left this place."
This time when she came closer, Sinclair grabbed her hand. "You make me happy." She spoke the words against Hunter's mouth, feeling secure in saying them for the first time.
Hunter laughed and ran ahead of Sinclair. At her gate, she lifted the latch and motioned ahead of her. "I'm taking you out on a little road trip," she said. "Isn't that what you call it in America?"
Sinclair ignored her and walked ahead to open the garage door. After Hunter pulled the jeep out, she brought the door back down and climbed into the passenger seat.
They drove away from the house, up a steep hill with a path that seemed barely big enough to fit the jeep.
"What's gotten into you today?" Sinclair brushed Hunter's leg through the fine crease of her pants. "Not that I mind or anything. "
"You better not." Her eyes were full of infectious mischief, winking in the afternoon sun as she carefully navigated the Jeep up the mountainside. "I think I got the happy bug from all the kids I ran into on campus today," she said. "And I was thinking of you." The smile on her face let Sinclair know exactly what kind of thoughts those were. Her hand brushed Sinclair's knee, then moved back to the gearshift.
They drove through dirt and forest, through narrow passes that allowed the branches of trees to dip inside the open windows of the jeep and tickle their hair.
"When I was planning to come back to the island I read a lot about it," Hunter said. "Its history, its present, its landscape. Everything. My first few weeks back I was in the mountains almost every day when I wasn't working, determined to find out as much as I could that wasn't in most guidebooks." The jeep roared as it struggled over a large root in their path. "It was on one of those wanderings that I found this place." She gestured to the forest around them.
The sun was a different quality up here, brighter with the contrast of shadowy trees enfolding it. Everything it covered-leaves, vines, tree trunks, moss-seemed to welcome it, stretching luxuriantly under its golden touch. The air felt cooler here, rarified.
They stopped at the foot of one of the largest trees Sinclair had ever seen. It was easily as big as Hunter's house with gigantic branches that stretched out and up, shining bright in the sun. Green and brown vines hung down from these branches, some brushing the forest floor. Sinclair blinked as a flurry of varicolored butterflies tumbled through the air close enough for her to see the fine powder on their wings.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" Hunter tucked the jeep's keys in her pants pocket then turned to the other woman. "I wonder if you realize how much you've fucked me up?" Hunter didn't wait for her to respond. "With you I feel like a damn virgin again, all sweaty palms and wet pussy. You make me think of fucking and making love all the time." She touched Sinclair's face. "Or about just being with you. I want you to think about that when it's time for you to go back." Her lips covered Sinclair's.
Sinclair pushed into the kiss, amazed by her words and by the heat flaring quickly between them.
"Come on," Hunter rasped, pulling away. "Before I change my mind."
"What if I changed your mind?" Sinclair pushed her fingers into Hunter's shirt, parting buttons to find warm skin.
The dark woman gasped then chuckled against Sinclair's mouth. "Whatever you want, baby."
Their tongues slid hot and electric against each other, tasting moistness and heat and want. Sinclair climbed over the gearshift to straddle Hunter's lap and pull her shirt from the slacks.
"Whatever you planned, we can do later." She feasted on the softness of Hunter's mouth, the hard slide of teeth, and on the breath that Hunter gasped for her. The dark woman's hands danced up the backs of Sinclair's thighs under the dress and abruptly pulled down her panties. They ripped. She palmed Sinclair's ass, squeezing the soft flesh and pulling her close. Sinclair pushed Hunter's shirt and bra aside, blindly seeking her breasts, those mounds of soft flesh that seemed so different from the rest of her. She nipped them with her teeth, raking the hardened nipples as Hunter groaned, squeezing Sinclair against her. Hunter's fingers distracted her, thrust into her, abruptly, deeply.
"Baby ...
"Drop-drop the seat back," Hunter gasped into Sinclair's hair. When she pulled the lever they almost flew in the backseat. Hunter's fingers slid from Sinclair's heat.
"No! No ..."
"Shh. I'm coming for you, baby. Just ... yeah, open your legs like that." She filled her again, slipping more of her fingers inside as Sinclair nibbled and suckled her and undid her pants. Hunter didn't have any panties on. Sinclair almost sobbed with relief at finding her slick and ready. Hunter's legs widened even as her fingers fucked Sinclair, moving inside her with an insistent rhythm that made Sinclair long to feel the heat of Hunter on her own fingers.
"Not inside," Hunter whispered as Sinclair's hands slid against her soft flesh and teasing the delicate petals apart. Sinclair brushed her clit, then moved away. The indirect stimulation pulled a moan from Hunter and thrust her hips hard against Sinclair. Her brain was going up in smoke with each stroke of Hunter's fingers. She bent double in Hunter's lap, feasting on her breasts as her lover brought her closer to the edge. The wicked fingers went even deeper and Sinclair fell, crying out. Her body spasmed, shuddered, then tried to move away when Hunter stroked its hypersensitive clit.
"Stop!" Sinclair pushed her hands away and Hunter gasped into her hair, whispering her apology in a litany of moans as her hand clutched the back of Sinclair's neck tighter and tighter. Sinclair touched her clit again, lightly stroking her, then harder as she took a dark nipple deep into her mouth. Hunter jerked hard against her.
"Oh, fuck!" Her fingers dug into Sinclair's neck. "Fuck!" Her body trembled and wept, shuddered and quaked. Sinclair held on.
"I swear," Hunter said when she could speak coherently again. "I didn't bring you up here just for this."
"You had better not. You know you can have me anywhere." Sinclair kissed her softly and licked at the slightly swollen mouth.
"If only that were true."
"Trust me. It is."
She looked at Sinclair with a slow grin. "I'll remember that."
Sinclair slowly pulled away until she was sitting back in the passenger seat. "So what was the real reason you brought me into the woods?"
"Ah, so now you want to see."
"Of course, since my immediate needs have been satisfied." She pulled off her ripped panties and tossed them in the backseat. "For now."
Hunter put her clothes back to rights and jumped out of the jeep before grabbing a blanket and throwing it over her shoulder. "Come on then."
They stepped through the curtain of vines then stood still as it settled closed behind them. Sinclair gaped.
"This is the reason I brought you up here."
It was a sanctuary, a hidden garden of exotic blooms, orchids, lilies, hibiscus, all sporting colors that Sinclair had no idea existed in nature. Butterflies of every hue and size flitted from flower to flower, delighting in the chaos of color and scent. The sun lay over the glade like a blanket, warm and golden.
"There's a hot spring on the other side of the gardens. We can soak in it later on if you like."
"I would definitely like."
They found a clear spot and spread the blanket out, being careful not to crush any of the carelessly flittering butterflies in the process. Hunter sighed as she lay down with her head in Sinclair's lap.
"This place is so peaceful, so perfect." Her eyes drifted closed. "It's almost like I can feel the rest of the universe when I'm in here."
"It is lovely. I'm surprised that other people haven't found out about it."
"I'm a little surprised too. Or maybe they know about it but just make sure that when they come they leave the place just as they found it. That's fine with me too."
Sinclair rubbed her lover's stomach through the shirt, pleased that Hunter had chosen to share this moment and place with her. Happiness warmed her, nearly burning away the awareness that she would soon be leaving for America.
"Aw, isn't this sweet."
Sinclair jumped at the unexpected intrusion. Hunter froze in her lap then turned, slowly, in the direction of the voice. It belonged to one of two men, who stood much too close to them in the clearing. One held a machete in his hand. Sinclair's pulse started a panicked riot in her body.
"You gals look really good together. Especially back there in the jeep." He rubbed his chest and stared hard at the two women.
Hunter slowly stood up, watching them walk closer. "Hey, there," she said. "Can we help you boys?" Her voice was vicious with scorn.
"Yeah, you can help us," the one with pale eyes and the bare chest said. "You can give us another show like the one you did in the truck."
"Or," his friend laughed breathlessly, "you could just keep on doing what you were just doing. We'll take care of the rest." The front of his trousers bulged.
Fear prickled over Sinclair's skin. This was not happening. Not again.
"I'm afraid we can't do that," Hunter said.
"Well, foreign woman. We're not going to give you a choice."
In a blur of motion the men flew at them. The one with the machete went for Hunter. He hurled his body at her with the long blade held behind him. His eyes widened when Hunter's foot flew up and slammed into his belly. She danced out of the blade's way. Then Sinclair had her own problem to deal with and couldn't watch anymore. The other man abruptly materialized in front of her and slapped her hard across the face. She tripped on the edge of the blanket and fell on her backside. The man lunged at her. Galvanized by fear, Sinclair scrambled backward, reaching desperately for a weapon to hold him off with. With a sob of relief her hand closed on something. Her camera. She swung it by its strap, hitting him full in the face. Stunned, he staggered back and fell in the grass. Blood rushed up, splashed across his skin and the grass. She came up after him, slamming the heavy Nikon in his face over and over even after he brought his hands up to protect himself against her assault. Then, he stopped moving.
Sinclair stumbled back from his battered and slack face. Her harsh breath was loud in the clearing. Where was Hunter? She looked around at the sudden glint of steel in the sun.
"Hunter!"
The dark woman held the machete in her hand, the blade descending in an arc toward the prone man's chest. Her foot pressed hard against his throat.
"What?!" she snarled.
"Don't. "
"Don't what? Do you know what they were going to do to us, Sinclair?" She held the weapon above his bleeding chest, arms trembling with the effort of not striking. "They were going to fuck us to death." She released a harsh breath. "You know, they find dead bodies in the bush every day. Two more, especially the bodies of two rapists wouldn't make that much difference."
"No, baby. No. Don't defile this place any more."
"Defile? Don't talk about defilement to me-"
"Let's leave them. Let's go before they wake up." She didn't ask Hunter this time; she pulled her lover's arm, forcing her to drop the machete in the grass. "Come."
Hunter turned once to look at the two men sprawled in the afternoon sun, their faces and bodies bloody. She spat in the grass then turned and walked back to the jeep.
Sinclair gathered the pieces of her camera and its film and dropped them in the unused picnic basket before picking it and the blanket up and following her lover. With each step she slowly became aware of her body's aches. Her jaw was beginning to sting from where the boy had slapped her. An unpleasant sense of déjà vu made her stumble as she tried to get into the truck. Hunter was silent during the drive down the mountain, her mouth hard and set. At a crossroad, she turned to Sinclair.
"Do you want me to take you home?"
"Home with you, yes. We need to go to your place and get you cleaned up."
Blood ran sluggishly from a gash along Hunter's cheekbone. The knuckles of both hands were raw and bleeding. She drove on without another word. At the house, they parked the jeep and walked inside together. Once in the safety of her blue haven, Hunter collapsed. Her stony facade crumbled and she leaned against the wall, trembling.
Cooing words of comfort, Sinclair led her to the bedroom where she gently undressed her lover and tended to her wounds. Hunter curled up on top of the sheets.
"You know, Sinclair," she said. "I love this place. I really do. But when things like this happen ..." her voice roughened and she stopped. Sinclair slipped her arms around the dark woman and held her close. She quietly shook, her body vibrating like a plucked string in Sinclair's embrace.
"The island is beautiful," Sinclair said. "But it's also poor. A lot of desperate people live here, and desperate people do desperate and awful things. You have to love Jamaica still, with all her faults. You just have to."
"I do. But it hurts." Her voice broke. "Sometimes it hurts too damn much."
"I know. I'm sorry." Sinclair rocked her trembling body, feeling tears begin to run down her face. "I'm sorry. I know."
They slept. Their emotional exhaustion laid them out on the bed and pulled their eyes closed to the bright sun just outside the large windows. At some point Hunter woke, undressed Sinclair, then fell back asleep. The sun was gone when Sinclair opened her eyes again.
The dark woman lay propped up on one elbow, watching her. "Hey."
"Hey, yourself." Sinclair yawned and carefully stretched her bruised body. "How are you feeling?"
"Better."
"Good. I was getting worried for a minute there."
"So was I."
Sinclair touched Hunter's face, traced its smooth lines, even the bandaged cheek, before moving to the slash of a nose and the curved mouth. Her lover closed her eyes.
"You are an amazing person," Sinclair said. "And I am glad to know you, to be close to you."
Hunter kissed her wandering fingers before pulling them away from her face. "I should be saying those words to you." She sighed again. "I've been here for two years, and in that time I've heard of so many horrors, so much brutality happening on the island. A time or two I even encountered some of that craziness myself, and I was terrified. But none of that came close to what I felt today when those men came after us." Her fingers stirred around Sinclair's. "Thank you for being there with me. Thank you for being here with me now.
"Where else would I be?" They both looked surprised at the words that came out of Sinclair's mouth. Yet neither woman rushed to put them away. That evening Sinclair called her father to let him know that she wouldn't be home until tomorrow. After an unguarded heartbeat of silence, he told her to be careful and wished her a good night.
When morning came Sinclair was the one who woke first. She left her sleeping lover, who looked vulnerable and unexpectedly sweet with her face tucked into the pillow, to make an attempt at breakfast. The kitchen was meticulous and intimidating but she managed to make decent scrambled eggs with cheese and toast. She brought the food to the bedroom where Hunter was still peacefully sleeping, and put the tray on the bedside table.
Sinclair woke her with kisses, lingering over the warm skin of her face before trailing down to her neck, the skin between her breasts, then her stomach. Hunter stirred beneath the soft touches but did not open her eyes. Sinclair paused at the juncture of her thighs when a familiar scent reached her nose.
She laughed. "Open your eyes, you faker."
Instead Hunter with her eyes still closed, widened her thighs and gently nudged Sinclair's head down. "I thought you were going to continue this to its logical conclusion."
Sinclair batted her hand away and moved back up the bed. "I was trying to wake you up with breakfast not an invitation to sex."
"Hmm, but you can do both." She opened her eyes. "That's the beauty of a woman like you."
Sinclair lightly pinched her arm. "Wretch."
Hunter flinched away then groaned as she sat up. "Careful of my battle wounds, temptress."
"Oh, shit. Sorry about that." Sinclair sat back against the headboard. "I forgot."
"If only I could forget, too, and pretend that none of this ever happened."
"At least we left them alive and you don't have to live with the regret of killing them."
Hunter growled. "I wouldn't have called that regret."
Sinclair's troubled gaze flickered over the other woman then away. "Have some breakfast. I don't cook very often so it's a rare treat. Eat up."
"Don't try to change my mood, woman."
"I'm not trying to change your mood." Sinclair retrieved the tray and sat it between them on the bed. "Have some breakfast, dammit."
"Some merciful angel you are," Hunter said, reaching for the food. "This is good," she murmured after a few mouthfuls.
"Glad you like it."
Sinclair stole a piece of toast and watched as Hunter devoured the meal, sitting cross-legged on top of the white covers. She was gorgeous in her nakedness; even the sadness in her eyes and the pale bandage on her cheek added to her beauty.
"I think you should rest," Sinclair said. "Take it easy until tomorrow when you feel a little better."
Hunter shook her head. "I doubt that I'll feel any better tomorrow, so I might as well try to make a dent in the work piling up on my desktop today."
Which meant that she wanted Sinclair gone. "That makes sense, I suppose. But don't overdo it." She stood up and went back into the kitchen on the pretense of getting more orange juice. Her face stung with the slap of rejection. At least now she knew the quicker way to catch the bus back to her father's house. Sinclair brought Hunter back another glass of orange juice and stayed only long enough to change the dark woman's bandage and wipe her wounds down again with witch hazel.
"I'll talk with you later on," she said from the doorway of the bedroom. "I'll let myself out."
All the way back to her father's house, she was angry at Hunter for letting her go without a word of protest. Then she chided herself for being passive-aggressive and too weak to tell Hunter what she wanted from her. Which was ... what exactly?
At home that night she let Nikki know what happened, told her about Hunter's reaction and her own sudden possessiveness.
Nikki sat close to Sinclair on the sofa. "You said all that happened with Hunter and what she was feeling, but what about you?" Her voice was low. "Do you feel the same way she does?"
Sinclair shook her head. "I don't know." She had been so caught up in taking care of Hunter, in trying to give her lover what she needed that her own fear had been erased from the equation. She shivered, remembering the intent on those men's faces, the jutting penis and feral look of the one who had raised his hand to her and forced her to break the camera.
"I left my camera in Hunter's jeep," she said inanely.
"You can get it from her tomorrow." Nikki touched her hand. "It's OK to be afraid, you know."
Sinclair shook her head. "I know. And I was. I was so afraid for her, so afraid of not being able to see you or Papa again." She took a cleansing breath. "I'm just glad we got out of there alive and without getting raped."
"So am I." Nikki squeezed her hand and they sat, silently, in the dark.
"Do you think she'll want to see me tomorrow?"
"She'd be stupid not to."
When Sinclair walked up to Hunter's house the next morning, she heard laughter. She hesitated a moment before knocking. Hunter came to the door looking relaxed and calm, much better than the day before, in her loose drawstring pants and a white T-shirt. The bandage on her cheek was fresh.
"Hey, come in." She kissed Sinclair briefly on the mouth. "This is a day for visitors. Della is here with me in the backyard."
"Oh, that's the sound that I heard."
"We must have been pretty loud for you to hear us at the gate."
You said it, not me.
"Hello, Sinclair," Della greeted her as she stepped out into the backyard. "Would you like something to drink?" She gestured to the folding table set up with a pitcher of something red swimming with ice cubes and, next to it, a tall carafe of water.
"No, I'm all right. Thank you, though."
"Have a seat, Sin." Hunter pointed her to the stone bench where she must have been sitting beside Della. She sank into the grass at the older woman's feet.
"Hunter was just telling me about what happened in the hills," Della said.
Sinclair sat down. "It was pretty awful."
"I tell you this country is going to hell in a handbasket and it's us Jamaicans who're taking it there."
"We're not all to blame, Della." Hunter squinted up at her ex-lover in the sun.
Sinclair took her sunglasses out of her bag and passed them to Hunter. Without pausing her conversation the dark woman smiled her thanks and slipped them on. "There are bad elements everywhere, back in Manchester and London and certainly in the U.S. I'm trying not to be bitter about this whole experience."
"You're a sweet, naive thing." Della said, brushing her hand through Hunter's hair. "That's why the rest of us have to look out for you. Isn't that right, Sinclair?"
"I'll do what I can, although so far she's done an excellent job of taking care of herself."
"A mere illusion." She poured a glass of water and gave it to Hunter. "Drink up before you fall over in the heat."
"I'm not a delicate flower, Della." Hunter took the water anyway and drank deeply before passing it back. With a low sigh, she lay back in the grass and crossed her ankles. "See what I've been putting up with all morning?" She directed a look of long suffering at Sinclair. "Della is convinced that I'm going to fall apart any minute now just because those boys roughed us up."
Despite Hunter's bravado, Sinclair noticed that the incident in the garden had left a faint shadow in her eyes, a shadow that she knew would linger for some time. Although the boys hadn't touched Hunter, at least not in a sexual way, she still felt violated.
Della rolled her eyes. "When she called this morning to tell me what happened, I couldn't just stay at the shop languishing in the air-conditioning while she was here probably suffering from post-traumatic stress or some such. I left my niece to watch the shop before I came down."
"I didn't know that you had a shop," Sinclair said, turning an interested look on the older woman so Della would give Hunter a little breathing room.
"I sell my pottery and sculpture out of the back of my house. A lot of the rich white tourists buy them so I can keep myself in women and food."
"She is minimizing what she does," Hunter said. "Della is actually quite successful around the island. She even has made a name for herself here. People keep wanting to whisk her off to New York or London to do a show and sell even more than she does here, but she's not interested."
"How wonderful," Sinclair leaned slightly toward Della. "Maybe one day I can see your workshop?"
"Come up anytime. If I'm not there then my niece, Sofia, should be."
"Great. I'll drop by sometime this week."
Della nodded and handed Hunter another glass, this time it was filled with whatever juice was in the pitcher. The dark woman shook her head and pointed to the water.
Watching them it would be easy to think that they were still lovers. That lingering stare of Della's and the solicitude she showed to Hunter in nauseating abundance said that she still cared deeply for the dark woman. Her attentions sent little prickles of annoyance racing along Sinclair's nerves. She didn't deceive herself by pretending that she wasn't jealous. Meanwhile Hunter acted ... like herself. Sinclair smiled then stood up.
"I'm going to head out and leave you two to chat," she said. "I just stopped by to make sure that you were all right." She knelt down to kiss the dark woman in farewell. Hunter sat up and grabbed her arm.
"What's going on with these sudden exits? Have I become that unbearable so soon?"
"Don't be ridiculous. You have company and I know you two want to catch up."
"Della is not company. We can `catch up' with you here." She pulled Sinclair closer until she was almost in her lap. "Stay." Their lips were inches apart. Hunter shoved the sunglasses to the top of her head to reveal her pain-flecked eyes. "Please."
"OK. I'll stay." Sinclair stood up and reclaimed her seat on the bench.
"Well, this is interesting." Della said, looking at the two women. "How long has this been going on and why didn't I know about it?"
Sinclair looked down with too-warm cheeks. The dark woman shaded her eyes again and lay back down in the grass. "A few days."
"But you're leaving. Right?"
Did Della want to make sure of that fact? "Yes, I am. But I'm going to stay for a few more weeks than I had initially planned." The decision made itself the moment those words left her mouth. She'd wanted to prolong her time with her family and her new lover. Since she hadn't taken a vacation in three years, it should be more than possible. She just had to call Shelly and have her make sure.
"Are you now?" Della looked down at Hunter. "That dangerous charm of yours strikes again."
The dark glasses shielded Hunter's eyes from view, but her mouth was smiling. "As long as the charm works on the ones I want then I'm not complaining. Are you, Sin?"
Sinclair grinned. "Not at all."
Della left them an hour later, to get back to the shop, she said. Hunter walked her out while Sinclair lingered in the backyard, taking sips from Hunter's abandoned cup of water and replaying the afternoon's conversations in her mind. She stretched out on the bench and put her feet up. Della didn't seem at all jealous that she and Hunter were together. Rather toward the end of her visit she had smiled oddly at Sinclair and said something about wishing that Sinclair could stay because Hunter needed some stability in her life. Stability? The older woman might as well have called her boring.
"What are you smiling about?" Hunter let the back door swing closed behind her as she walked back to Sinclair.
"Stability. Excitement."
"Don't let Della get to you. Ever since we stopped being lovers she's been playing mummy and trying to find a suitable girl for me to marry."
Is that what she was doing? "Wasn't Lydia suitable?"
"Apparently not." She moved Sinclair's feet out of the way and sank down on the bench beside her, draping the long legs across her lap. "Have dinner with me tonight." Hunter watched Sinclair with a soft smile curving her mouth. "I want to give you a sweet reward for taking care of me yester,5 day.
"Sweet, huh?" Her insides just officially turned into mush for this woman.
"Definitely." Hunter's fingers played over the fine bones of Sinclair's feet, tracing the veins just under her skin.
"With such promises, how can I refuse?"
At Hunter's insistence, they ate dinner in the backyard, spread out on a blanket with the food laid out between them. Watching Hunter cook the meal and being unable to taste it had built a steady fire under Sinclair's hunger. By the time the dark woman had set the plates out, she was starving.
"Where do I start?" she asked as Hunter presented the meal.
"With this."
Hunter took a thick, scarlet-colored fruit from a pile of three others in a white bowl and broke it in half. A honeycomb of bright red seeds lay in the pale membranes.
"Pomegranate." Hunter took a piece in her hand and used a finger to detach a sprinkling of seeds. "You can eat the seeds if you want to. For fiber." She put them near Sinclair's mouth. "Open."
The flesh-covered seeds were sweet, exploding between her tongue and palate with only the slightest pressure. Sinclair tried to suck off the juicy bits and spit the hard seeds into her hand, but it was messy and she wasn't keeping enough fruit in her mouth.
"Try eating the seeds. You might find that more satisfying."
She did. They ate until all that remained of the pomegranate was a shell that lay open like a crushed flower on the white juice-stained dish.
"Are you ready for the rest of the meal?"
Hunter fed Sinclair a steaming plate of run-down, its slow simmered flavor of coconut milk enhanced by pink curls of shrimp and the delicious burn of scotch bonnet peppers. She poured the richly scented stew over boiled green bananas, ripe plantains, and firm, round dumplings. At the first bite, Sinclair released a breath of pure astonishment.
"This is even better than my grandmother's." She threw Hunter a look of mock anger. "You've made me blaspheme." She took another bite. "But this tastes so good."
"And all I have to do is cook to have you make those noises? I think you're about to turn me into a chef."
Sinclair laughed and raised her fork to Hunter before returning to the serious business of eating.
"I really, really like the way you cook," she said after the second helping. Her mouth was still full, this time with the starchy sweet combination of dumplings and boiled plantains. She chewed with her fingers covering her mouth. No need to express her thanks by spraying Hunter with food. Besides, it was too good to waste.
"Well, I like the way you eat," Hunter returned with a smile, her fork poised over a modest-sized plate.
Sinclair winked. "Save that kind of talk for later, missy. One oral indulgence at a time is all my poor little heart can take. "
"Really? I took you for a multitasker."
"Not where you're concerned."
"In that case, I might have to take back your all-access pass."
"I'd like to see you try." Sinclair let go another orgasmic moan. "If you cooked this well for Della no wonder she doesn't want to let you go."
"She was the one who let me go, not the other way around."
"That's surprising."
"Why?'
"She just seems a little ... possessive of you, like she hasn't completely let your past relationship go."
"That is definitely not the case. She put me aside like a child, like she'd given me as much of her time as she could before setting me free, so to speak."
"Were you angry?"
"For a while, yes." She shrugged and sipped her water. "Then I wasn't."
Sinclair nodded, content with that explanation. They ate the rest of their meal in companionable silence, each swept up in the eddies of their own thoughts.
When the meal was over Sinclair stood up to help Hunter with the dishes. In the kitchen, she ran hot water over the small pile already in the sink. Thankfully, Hunter was the kind of chef who washed as she cooked. The kitchen was nearly spotless, with only their dishes left behind to clean.
"Go ahead and make us some tea while I take care of these," Sinclair said, glancing over her shoulder at the other woman.
After she finished the dishes, she escaped to the backyard to lie on the blanket that had been cleared of all remnants of their dinner. Sinclair looked up at the sky. Daylight was just beginning to fade. Other stars were still pale shadows hidden by the brightness of the sun, but that brilliant star was preparing to make its exit. She released her breath in a long sigh of appreciation. The sound mingled with those of the swaying leaves and the wind ruffling the grass near her. The back door creaked open.
"You are not going to fall asleep on me," Hunter murmured near her ear. "I have other plans for you." She set the tray of tea in the grass beside the blanket.
Sinclair opened her eyes, smiling. "I wouldn't dream of ending our day so soon."
"Good. Have some tea with me."
The brew was simple yet fragrant, a mixture of fresh orange leaves and honey. Sinclair took a few sips before leaning into the shelter of Hunter's arms, replete.
"You are a wonderful cook. A beautiful, ravishing woman," Sinclair murmured, well on her way toward a nap. "And sweet. Like a pomegranate."
Hunter chuckled and gathered her closer. When Sinclair opened her eyes again, the sky was wreathed in stars.
"You're awake then?" Hunter asked, nipping gently on her ear. At Sinclair's sleepy smile, she grinned. "Good. Let's move this party indoors then, shall we?"
Hunter locked the night out and left the blanket and tea cups in the kitchen to be dealt with later. She took Sinclair's hand and walked toward the bedroom. Once in the room Sinclair excused herself to go to the bathroom. When she came back Hunter was turning down the sheets on the bed. A trio of candles glowed from the windowsill.
"Very nice."
She came up behind Hunter and dragged the T-shirt from her body, taking time to touch the warm skin with its shifting muscles and irresistible womanliness. Sinclair was careful not to aggravate her bruises.
"I finished the painting," Hunter murmured.
Sinclair's hands paused their exploration. "Really? When can I see it?"
"When you turn around."
The painting hung suspended on the wall between the two large bedroom windows, a study of greens, copper, and reds. The woman in the painting-because this untamed creature couldn't really be Sinclair-lay on a bed of ferns with her head tossed back and her hair spread in a cottony cloud over upraised arms. The top two buttons of her white blouse were undone, giving a teasing glimpse of her breasts. The long legs, accentuated in tight blue jeans, were strewn in a pose of postcoital relaxation. Only her cheek, the graceful slope of her neck, and the corner of a moist-lipped Mona Lisa smile could be seen. The rest of her face was lost to her coyly turned-away head. It could have been a photograph, the image was so real.
"You like?" Hunter asked.
"Very much." Sinclair looked at the large painting again. Was that how Hunter saw her? "I'm never going to see that painting again, am I?" she asked.
"Of course you will. Whenever you come into my bed room, it'll be hanging right there." Hunter kissed the back of her neck and anchored her hands on Sinclair's hips. "Now, where were we?"
Sinclair chuckled and turned around. "Right here, love."
Her fingers loosened the drawstring pants and pulled them down Hunter's legs. The dark woman was wearing panties, of a soft, white Victorian lace, the kind that sat low on Hunter's hips to show off the flat expanse of belly and the inviting slope that led to her pussy. Sinclair took a peek at the back. The lace lay high across Hunter's ass like butterfly wings, leaving the sleek bottom half of her cheeks bare. Sinclair wet her lips.
"Were you expecting to get lucky today, Miss Willoughby?"
A shrug sent delightful ripples across her cleavage. "It didn't hurt to be prepared."
Hunter's eyes challenged Sinclair to continue her exploration, to hook her fingers in the waistband of the panties and fling them to some corner of the room. But she wasn't ready to get rid of the gorgeous wrapping quite yet. Instead, Sinclair's hands touched dark hips and pulled them close to her nose. With a low trembling sigh she inhaled the smell of Hunter, the delicate musk of her that was like the earth after rain.
"May I?"
"Please do." Hunter's voice was rough.
Sinclair laid her cheek against the pale lace, feeling the heat with her face, indulging herself in the powerful, primal scent of her lover. Patient, Hunter breathed slowly above her even though her body obviously begged for satisfaction.
"You can take them off if you want."
Sinclair smiled. "Thank you." She caressed the dark skin through the white lace, excited by the increased pungency of the other woman's scent.
Hunter groaned. "Do you just get off on torturing me?"
"Is that a rhetorical question?" Sinclair laughed softly.
"Very funny." Hunter pulled her to her feet and with spare quick movements undressed her. "Come, let me show you something."
"I remember hearing that line before."
"Then you know this won't hurt." She pressed Sinclair down into the bed. "Not even the tiniest bit."
Hunter kissed Sinclair. She was gentle, her exploration curious rather than passionate. But Sinclair invited her to do more, opening her mouth under Hunter's and sliding her fingers into the other woman's hair. Her legs captured Hunter's, curling around her like twin snakes so she wouldn't take the pleasure away, so she would keep pouring heat and wetness into her body until Sinclair forgot everything. The smooth curves of her lace-clad ass undulated under Sinclair's hands.
"Hunter ..." Her voice trembled with need.
Hunter's body truly came alive then, rising up over Sinclair like a dark tide. She pressed her thigh between Sinclair's and shoved her hands above her head. She moaned and pushed into her, desperate to have Hunter's body against her sensitive nipples.
"I loved feeling your pussy on my face," Hunter whispered. "You taste like ackee and saltfish. I could eat you all night." She licked her throat and followed the arched line to her breasts. Sinclair could feel her hovering, could feel her breath, waiting. Hunter's mouth covered her nipple. She sighed, drowning in the liquid delight. Hunter sucked her nipples into the warm wet of her mouth, sucking, milking until Sinclair gasped and writhed against the bed. She took Sinclair's breasts into her hands, pressing one into her mouth then the other. Sinclair trembled under her.
"What do you want?" Hunter bit her nipples and stained them again with her tongue.
"I want your fingers, your mouth, anything." Sinclair thrust her hips against Hunter, beyond pride, begging.
Her hands slid between Sinclair's legs, searching for the ache. "Here?"
"Yes."
The fullness was a surprise. It was only one finger, but it felt so good. Sinclair's body arched off the bed, stung by the sweet pressure Hunter finally offered. "More."
With the second finger she would have promised Hunter anything. Sinclair's hands clawed her back, sinking into the solid muscles that moved as Hunter nipped at her sensitized nipples and fucked her with agonizing slowness. Hunter lifted her head, sending her hair dancing over Sinclair's heated skin.
"You've ruined me for other women." Her fingers moved steadily inside her. "I hope you know that." She bit a bloodflushed nipple.
The pain sparked a higher flame inside Sinclair. She panted and arched into Hunter, sliding on the long fingers until she was crying from the sensation, her hips rocking against Hunter's palms, moving to the tempo she set. "I-oh!" The stroke of her fingers stole Sinclair's breath, until she was whimpering with need, her belly tight and trembling. The bed shook as she exploded in Hunter's hand, shaking and arching her breasts against her lover's mouth.
Hunter released her slowly, licking her breasts in lazy, circular strokes and holding her body still as shudders of satisfaction rippled through it.
"Not fair," Sinclair gasped. "This was supposed to be my show."
"You weren't fighting me off." She kissed Sinclair's chin then buried her face in the damp neck. "But don't worry. You'll get your turn soon."
Hunter lay back on the bed and her body relaxed into the rumpled sheets, soothed by Sinclair's wandering hands and soft, warming kisses. She hummed her approval when Sinclair touched her skin, still clothed in its Victorian lace panties that made it look like dark silk. The contrast of white lace against bitter chocolate skin made Sinclair's body heat again. So beautiful. Hunter waited patiently while her lover lay quietly against her thighs.
Her hand touched Sinclair's hair. "Teasing at this stage of the game isn't very nice."
"No. That's not it." A weak laugh trickled from Sinclair's lips. "Give me a second."
The dark woman quieted. Sinclair kissed the smooth line of Hunter's stomach and watched, amazed, as the muscles rippled under her touch. Her body was wet again. Had it ever been dry in Hunter's presence?
She pushed the lace out of her way to better feel the heating flesh and the rough spring of hair under the tiny panties. Her scent was hypnotic. She touched her nose to Hunter's flesh again. The dark woman squirmed under her, but didn't resist when she tugged at the white lace. The panties peeled away with a sigh, revealing their moist treasure. Above Sinclair, she hissed.
"Can I see?"
Sinclair looked up and saw her nod. Hunter widened her legs. The dark curls were wet, glistening around a deep pink snail that thrust its head out even further as she watched. Her tongue tingled.
There it was again, that faint taste of mangoes and wildness. She grasped the tight ass cheeks and pulled Hunter closer, diving into the banquet before her. Salted honey flooded over her nose, down her chin and neck, still she ate, licking and sucking until Hunter's thighs tightened around her ears and all she could hear was the hammering of her own heart and the thirsty sound of her mouth. Fingers grasped her head, pulling her deeper into the feast, encouraging the hungry movement of her tongue and the frantic snaking search of her mouth between slick thighs. The fingers tightened on her head, the thighs trembled, hips shuddered, and the soft flesh streamed wetness as it undulated under her tongue. Hunter's fingers loosened and fell away.
"Damn." Hunter's thighs relaxed against the bed. "I have to say ... that was really worth the wait."
"I should hope so." Sinclair kissed her lover's thigh and moved up to snuggle under her chin.
Hunter shuddered again and tightened her embrace. "You are. . ." Her voice drifted away in a sigh. "... incredible."
"Hey, Nikki." Sinclair rolled over in the bed and adjusted the phone at her ear. "I don't think I'll be home tonight. Is that OK?"
She heard her stepmother laugh. "It should be fine. Just don't forget to tell Hunter that she's invited to dinner one night soon."
Sinclair cursed Nikki for making her blush again. Instead of bothering to deny who she was with she sighed. "I'll tell her. See you tomorrow morning."
"Trouble?" Hunter took the phone and put it back in its cradle.
"No. But Nikki does want you to come over for dinner with me before I leave."
"Ah. To check me out as your suitor instead of Lydia's. Interesting developments." She trailed a hand between Sinclair's breasts down to the soft curve of her belly.
"Not really. I think Nikki really likes you and wishes you'd come around more often."
"Don't try to bullshit a bullshitter, baby." She kissed Sinclair lightly on her nose, moving her hand farther south. "It's fine. I'll come to dinner with you one day to satisfy Nikki's curiosity. To be honest, she and I have yet to have a real conversation so that could be interesting."
"What?" Sinclair had stopped listening the moment agile fingers dipped between her thighs. Her breathing deepened.
"Never mind," Hunter's voice deepened. "We can talk about all that later on."
That next evening they went out together to a barbeque in Mandeville Hills.
"It's informal, I promise," Hunter said before they left. "And no more surprises."
"Please and thank you. I don't think my heart can stand any more of your surprises."
"I don't know, you seemed to hold your own pretty well." Hunter pulled on a white tank top and smoothed it over her belly. Her smile was just a tad too self-satisfied.
"Brat." Sinclair put on a stripe of postshower deodorant, then checked herself for hickies. Her neck was faintly bruised, but there was nothing to be done about it. She buttoned her shirt. Hunter had lent her some clothes, a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that somehow looked more feminine on her than they ever did on her dark lover. "The least you could have done was let me go home and change into something of my own."
"Why? I like how you look in my clothes." Hunter chuckled. "It marks you as mine."
Sinclair politely showed her the middle finger.
"Later. We have somewhere to be right now."
At the barbeque, they walked out of a sprawling British colonial style house to a backyard full of Hunter lookalikes. Women, boys, old men, little girls, all various versions of Hunter, possessed of some feature she wore all too well; the dark skin, the fleshy mouth, even the look of cynicism that Sinclair thought was cultivated. Now she had proof that it was genetic.
"No surprises, huh?"
"What? This is a barbeque."
"With your family."
"So what? They don't act like deranged wildebeests or gnaw on each other in front of company."
"I'm not amused."
"Yes, you are." Hunter grinned. "Come on. Let's go say hello."
She marched Sinclair straight over to a slim, pale-skinned woman who stood over a bowl of punch looking at it like it was the worst disaster since disco. Her expression changed once she saw Hunter. She hugged the dark woman as if she hadn't seen her in months.
"Good to see you, prodigal Hunter. We haven't seen you over here in a while."
"Well, you know, work for the university keeps me busy."
"I know you work at home so don't try that on me, young lady."
Hunter had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "I'm not here five minutes and you're already making me feel bad."
"Well, if you came around more often-" the older woman made a dismissive noise. "Let's not get into this old argument in front of your guest." She turned toward Sinclair, extending her hand. "Since my niece is too rude to introduce us, my name is Eunice Keller."
"Uh, sorry. Aunt Eunice, this is Sinclair."
Sinclair put on her most polite smile. "Good to meet you."
"Are you the new girlfriend?"
She blinked at the unexpected question. "I'm just here for another few weeks."
"That's not what I asked you."
"Aunt Eunice, stop." Hunter tucked Sinclair behind her and gave her aunt a stern look. "She's here to have a good time, not to be badgered by you."
"Darling, we all want to know. We're concerned about your happiness." Eunice brushed Hunter's cheek with the back of her fingers.
"I know, but ease off. Please. If you treat all the girls I bring over this way then you'll never see me safely married off."
"What girls? You never-"
"We'll talk more later. I have to say hi to everyone else. Bye." Hunter pulled Sinclair away, but not before she saw Eunice's look of amused speculation.
"Is this going to be an obstacle course?"
"Not really. She was the most important person for you to meet. Everyone else will come over to us in their own good time." She released a sigh of relief. "Now it's time for food!"
More family members did come up to them as the afternoon wore on. Most were merely curious, looking at Sinclair with a speculative gleam in their collective eyes, though few were as direct as Eunice had been. After an hour of subtle interrogation, Sinclair had enough and escaped into the house for a drink.
At the bar in the sunroom, she ordered a Gilbey's and tonic and sat back to take in the view through the wide French doors. A familiar curve of ass caught her eye and Sinclair wolfwhistled in appreciation. Then she looked closer. No, that was not Hunter. Sinclair quickly turned around on the bar stool, hoping that the woman hadn't heard the high, piercing noise. She waited a few minutes before turning to look at the woman again.
The Hunter lookalike was very attractive. Tight brown leather pants hugged her slim hips and a white tank top showed off small, well-shaped breasts and a flat belly. She saw Sinclair looking at her and winked. Hunter suddenly appeared from somewhere in the house and sat next to her at the bar.
"That's my cousin, Ebony."
The woman looked exactly like Hunter only her hair was long and wavy, trailing down to her hips in a silky cloud.
"You see anything you like over there?"
"She is very attractive." Sinclair had a moment of déjà vu. Would Hunter ask her cousin to join them tonight in her bed?
"Well, that's too bad because you're taken."
She hid her sigh of relief. "I am? By whom?"
"Well, if it's not obvious then I guess I'm going to have to show you."
Sinclair was suddenly afraid. She backed away as much as she could on the bar stool. "No, it's OK, I believe you."
Hunter laughed and brushed her lips against the vulnerable spot just beneath Sinclair's ear. She shivered.
"See, it wasn't that bad, was it?"
Yes, it was. Apparently Hunter had already discovered one of her more sensitive erogenous zones. Sinclair put the glass to her mouth.
"What is this that I'm getting into with you?" she asked.
The other woman shrugged. "This is us having fun for as long as you're here. Don't feel pressured because I brought you here and you've met my family. This doesn't quite mean the same thing here as it does in America."
"Fair enough." Sinclair leaned toward her dark lover and lightly nipped her ear. "Does this mean we can come here and use their hot tub whenever we want?"
"How did you find out about the tub?"
"Unlike some women, who shall go nameless"-She patted Hunter's thigh. -"the people around here are a mighty informative bunch. They already outlined all the perks of being your girlfriend. One of them being twenty-four-hour access to the hot tub to do whatever I want with or without said perceived girlfriend."
"Really? What are the other perks?"
"If I told you then I'd have to kill you," Sinclair deadpanned.
"Do little deaths count? If so, we can get started on that right now. My old room is free and it has a nice fat lock on it." Hunter wiggled her eyebrows.
"You are incorrigible."
"As my perceived girlfriend, it's a good thing for you to know. It'll make everything go that much smoother." She kissed Sinclair quickly on the mouth. "Now come on, let's go dance. They're finally starting to play some good music."
A long time later Sinclair pled exhaustion and left Hunter on the dance floor shaking her ass to the fast-paced calypso music. She asked the woman behind the bar for some fresh carrot juice, but she looked at Sinclair as if she didn't know what the Americanized woman was talking about. With a glass of water in hand, Sinclair left the bar in search of more intelligent life.
"Where are you going, Sinclair?" Eunice called out to her from her lawn chair. She sat ringside with some half-dozen other members of the family who'd gotten tuckered out by the heat, dancing, or the children. "Come sit. Have some rum punch with us."
"No thank you for the drink, but I will sit with you."
They made room for her on a padded lawn chair next to Eunice. Sinclair was beginning to sense some sort of conspiracy.
"Everybody here knows Sinclair, right?"
Several people nodded. Sinclair remembered meeting them but couldn't be sure of all their names, all except for Ebony. "For those who don't know, this is Hunter's new girl."
"I am not her new girl." Sinclair scowled at Eunice who gave her a look that was all innocence. "We're just keeping each other company while I'm on the island."
Ebony laughed. "You say that, but I bet if one of us tried to push up on you Hunter would take us out."
"Damn right." A thin man with pale gold eyes grinned. Sinclair remembered that his name was Cliff. He owned the restaurant on the beach.
"So you're Hunter's girl," Ebony stated, laying back in her chair. "Subject dismissed."
Eunice nodded. Sinclair was glad to fade into the background once again as they began talking about something else. She quietly sipped her water and watched Hunter's family.
"Conchita sent some money from America the other day," Eunice was saying, "not much money, just two hundred-dollar bills."
"Didn't she marry that American dentist last year?" Tima, an Indian-looking cousin with her hair cut stylishly short, asked. Her amber eyes glowed in the afternoon sun.
Eunice waved her hand for silence. "Yes, she can afford to send much more than that, but that's not why I'm telling the story."
People in the group laughed or sucked their teeth, whichever their inclination.
"She sent it to Bailey's house and you know Bailey sent little Michael to the bank with money to cash."
"No, don't tell me," Cliff groaned.
"Yes, man. The thieving woman at the bank told the boy that the American money was no good and sent the boy home without any money."
"What?!" Winsome gasped. She was the quiet one who looked like Billie Holliday at the peak of her career, complete with a white flower in her pressed hair.
"My God, this is worse than those crooks at the post office who open all the mail from foreigners, steal whatever money that happens to be in there, then toss the letters in the rubbish bin not expecting to get caught."
"Poor Michael," Tima said, shaking her head.
"Is he stupid or something?"
Ebony threw her head back and laughed. "Leave my cousin alone. He's still at the age when he thinks that all grown-ups tell the truth."
"Hopefully after this he realizes that is just not so."
"You talking about what happened to little Michael?" Hunter leaned over Sinclair, looking sweaty but still energetic in the tank top that clung to her torso. "Ease up, Sin. Let me sit behind you."
"You're all sweaty and wet."
Hunter abruptly drew off her tank top and used it to dry her neck, stomach and arms before tossing it behind the chair. "Better?"
"Much."
Wearing a black sports bra, Hunter slid into the lawn chair behind Sinclair. She leaned back into her lover with an inaudible sigh, ignoring the pairs of curious eyes on them.
"Yes, Bailey's boy," Eunice said, smiling at her niece. "Remember the fiasco with the bank?"
"Yes, man," Hunter replied. "I went down there to raise hell, but of course nobody knows who was on duty then or what happened to the two hundred dollars."
"Thieving crooks."
Cliff lifted his glass to Tima's comment. "Amen."
"The country is poor, man." Ebony said. "What else are poor people supposed to do?"
"Not steal from their countryman, for one thing," Winsome muttered.
"Don't be so damn idealistic. People just trying to put food on the table."
"If somebody works in a bank, chances are they don't have to worry about the children in the house dying of starvation." Tima raised a well-plucked eyebrow in Ebony's direction. "What that woman in the bank did was wrong. That wasn't any sort of Robin Hood gesture. Bailey and those kids need the money a hell of a lot more than they do."
"Why don't you go down there and give it to them then?"
"Uh-oh," Hunter whispered at her back. "This is about to get ugly."
Eunice finished her glass of rum punch and held it out for a refill. "Calm down, Ebony. Let's not make this personal."
The long-haired woman was about to say something else, but Hunter kicked her bare foot and slid her a warning glance.
"Well at least somebody didn't kill Michael for that little bit of money," Tima said with a delicate shudder.
"Not that they wouldn't have done it if they knew what he was carrying down the street."
"Well, the neighborhood kids know that he has people abroad, so that wouldn't have been such a big leap." Eunice sipped her rum punch. "A lot of folks around the island get killed every day over money or some other stupid thing. If it wasn't for security in all those big houses on the hill, a lot of those white people would be dead in their two-car driveways."
"What about Jamaicans who leave for years then come back to settle on the island? Is their situation the same as those so-called expatriates?" Cliff asked.
"You mean people like me?" Hunter asked with a sardonic twist to her mouth.
"Not exactly like," Felix shook his head. "I mean just the other day, a woman from Portmore, who was in England for some twenty years, came back to settle in the house she was born in. Some local boys broke into the house, broke her neck, and took all her money plus all the nice things she brought back from foreign lands for her family."
Hunter shifted against Sinclair's back. "I remember that story from The Gleaner. The two girls she had here said that she had a lot of ideas about turning the country around, that she wanted to give something back to the place where she was born."
Sinclair absently stroked the condensation on her glass. So even straight people had to worry about violence on the island. Like most visitors, Sinclair had initially imagined Jamaica as a place of gently swaying hammocks and turquoise seawater overflowing with fish. Peaceful. Even though they knew the realities of living on the island, Nikki and her father managed to be happy here. And she knew that Lydia wouldn't leave even if someone gave her approved immigration papers tonight.
"Does that make you worry about your safety?" Sinclair asked Hunter. "Your accent isn't strictly Jamaican anymore. Someone on the street might hear you talk and think that you have a lot of money."
"That's the chance I take. I'm not going to up and leave here for what some people think I have. Everybody around here knows that I don't have much."
"Still, it's a lot more than most Jamaicans have. A Jeep in the garage, a fancy computer, a nice house with a yard you don't have to farm to make your living." Ebony nodded. "That's a lot."