JANUARY LUV'N
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Libby had just struggled through the midst of a near blizzard snowstorm three weeks after her traumatic holiday vacation.
It took her ten hours to make a three-hour trip to meet with Nick.
* * * * * * *
Unexpectedly, on the twenty-fourth of December, she'd been called back to Boston to be with her mother in intensive care at Mass General.
Now, January 16th, she was back in Harbor Cove, exhausted, but anxious to be reunited with her old friend, Nick.
Looking in the front window of the Main Street Pub--she saw him--her heart beat wildly and she was no longer tired from her ordeal on the road.
Overjoyed to see each other, they kissed and embraced and quickly picked up where they had left off on Christmas Eve.
Throughout dinner, their joy was apparent to all the patrons around them.
It was as if they couldn't stop smiling and talking and touching each other, to anyone watching, it was obvious, they wanted each other badly--were ready to roll in the snow--have some hot "January Luv'n."
After dinner, they quickly left with the intent of spending the night together, to have a belated holiday in each other's arms.
The plan was to ride out to Nick's chalet on his snow mobile at popular ski resort, ten miles away where he was a ski instructor.
They sloshed through the snow, past J.C. Penney's and then, cut through Harbor Cove's downtown Central Park.
All along the winding path they would stop and kiss on park benches and reflect upon all that had transpired since they'd parted.
"What I want to know," Nick said, is your mother actually out of the woods? Do you feel okay about being here?"
"Thanks, Nick, but really I wouldn't have come, if she wasn't much better."
"I believe you. I just wanted to make sure that I didn't pressure you into to coming too soon."
"Not at all Nick. These past three weeks have gone by in a flash, today is a new and better day. I'm glad I'm here, couldn't be happier."
* * * * * * *
Climbing on to the snowmobile, Nick moved the three gifts sitting on his sidecar's seat to the side, put his spare helmet on her.
On our way to my place I'm going to drop these gifts off to three of my old "snowbird" buddies who just got back from down south. It won't take long and it'll let you
say you helped me deliver gifts."
Laughing she said, "Hey, you showed up for me Nick, right when I needed to see you the most. Now, I get to help Santa finish job, let's get it done."
"Agreed. By the way, have you ever ridden on a snowmobile?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow.
"Actually, I hate them Nick. The worst causalities in E.R. are from snowmobiling this time of the year."
"Yeah Libby, guess you'd know that being an x-ray technician and all. I don't disagree with you--anyone on a sled who isn't fully conscious, and sober as a judge, is just plain nuts. That's why I stuck to O'Doul's."
"Are you trying to tell me you are cautious nowadays and that I'll be safe with you Nick?"
"Yep. Let's go. Get this part over with. I need to get you alone, no more waiting, it's been torture.
"I agree," she murmured, kissing his ear, "totally!"
*************
Riding off north with her arms tight around his back, dissipated her remaining fears.
Their first stop was on the outskirts of town by Wal-Mart, where a tiny little shack sat with a big rusty looking fuel tank almost as tall as the place itself, along with an in ground towering television antenna that dwarfed the place.
There was a note tacked on the front of the old plank door.
"Hi, Nick. Guess what? My daughter came to take me to her place for the weekend. I left egg nod for you and cookies. Make yourself at home. The doors open. See you at the poker game next week. Your old friend, Eb."
Suddenly, from the end of the driveway, Nick heard a blood-curdling scream.
"Nick, come quickly. Someone's in the snow bank!"
Rushing out to the driveway, he found her standing over a body face down in the snow.
"Call 911, Libby," he yelled.
Not knowing exactly what had happened, Nick didn't try to move the body, instead he carefully wiped snow off his face.
It was no surprise to him to see Eb--his old friend and teacher.
Seeing the shovel laying next to him, he could only hope he hadn't had a heart attack.
Looking up at Libby with a pained look on his face he said, "It's Mr. Ebenezer. Go in his house and bring out blankets."
* * * * * * *
Covering up Eb with blankets the best he
could, he heard him say, "Nick, Is that you?"
"It's me, Eb. What'cha doing out here old buddy, what happened?"
"I . . . I was shoveling a path out for my daughter . . . coming to get me to take me to her house . . . when some jerk came out of Applebee's on a snowmobile . . . plowed right into my mailbox . . . lucky I didn't get hit by the bastard . . . fell over the planter by the mailbox . . . think I broke my arm. Hurts like hell."
* * * * * * *
"You're gonna be okay, Eb . . . "
"Within minutes a Harbor Cove Casino Police Car was in the driveway and shortly after, Pocahontas Ebenezer pulled in behind along with an ambulance.
As they put him on a stretcher he told Nick, "Don't let my pipes freeze up Nick."
"Don't worry Eb, I'm gonna finish my run and come back here with Libby, watch the house--I'll be right here when you get back."
Nick talked it over with Eb's daughter who said that in the event that her father was treated and released from the hospital, that she'd take him home with her--to go ahead and make themselves at home--that she'd appreciate them staying over.
"Nick, just keep those damn pipes from freezing, Lord only knows Dad can't afford to replace them again if they freeze up."
"I'll stay here," Libby told her, "until Nick gets back, wash the dishes and straighten up a bit. "
Walking back over to Eb, Nick explained to him that he and Libby would be staying and watching over his house and he'd be coming back as soon as he delivered his packages.
"Good . . . help yourself to whatever. I know you from school, and the pub at Christmas. I sorta like you two being shacked up in my little cobbled up joint."
"And we'll like being here. Don't worry about a thing," she reassured him.
"Libby, be sure to look in my desk on the top shelf, there's a copy of that letter I sent you. The one we talked about Christmas Eve. Maybe while you wait for Nick, you'll find time to write me that reply you promised."
"Sounds great Mr. Ebenezer, I'll do that."
* * * * * * *
Kissing Nick goodbye, Libby went back into the house, did the dishes, made a pot of coffee, and then looked in Eb's old roll-top desk and found it, where he said it would be. Sitting down at the kitchen table she proceeded to read it:
* * * * * * *
Dear Libby,
Here is a story that your friend Nick and I would like you to read and comment upon:
Father Nickolas (who was born Nicholas Ericksson, the 7th) played St. Nicholas to many in Cedar Bay, actually drove his cutter sleigh up to their door with decorated trees, food baskets and wrapped gifts.
For decades his father before him did it, and his father, before that and on back.
It became a family tradition shortly after his ancestors emigrated in 1785 from a group of islands in the Baltic Sea.
Father Nicholas was aware of his genealogy but never thought much about it except for keeping up the tradition of playing Santa every year.
Nick, having no family, barely knew what the word meant.
The strange thing was, that even though Nick grew up in the same town as Father Nickolas, neither had any idea they were related, let alone, that they were direct descendants of "Eric The Red."
Information such as that, would have come in mighty handy with high and mighty folks of Harbor Cove where money and blood lines ruled. But as it was, Nick struggled to get by in school and longed for the day he could leave Harbor Cove far behind him.
A year after Nick graduated from high school and left the orphanage for big city life, an attorney tracked him down and told him to call him, that someone from his past was trying to locate him.
Figuring it was scam, he nearly dismissed it at first, but eventually curiosity got the best of him.
Come to find out, before becoming a priest, Father Nicholas broke up with a beautiful young girl by the name of Mina Peterson.
The last time he ever saw her was when her uncle threatened him with a shot gun one moonlight night. He'd caught them red-handed, moaning and groaning, rolling around in the hayloft.
Unbeknownst to Father Nicholas, nine months later, Mina died shortly after her baby was born from complications of child birth.
* * * * * * *
The Evangeline Home, was run by Catholic Clergy in Grand Bluffs, MA. It was hush-hush, but everyone knew it was where young out of town girls came to give birth to out-of-wed-lock babies.
As Mina had come to them totally of her own accord, the nuns had no records of the girl's family and were never able to determine who her parents were or where she came from.
Years later, when hospital beds, were being replaced, a dated, signed and witnessed letter was found hidden in the bed's hollow steel framing.
The letter found told the entire story; who her parents were, who the father of her child was, and the name of the physician, midwife and nurse assigned to her.
Within weeks of this discovery, father and son met at the attorney's office. Neither knew what to expect, but it didn't take long for them both to become close, and Nick to move back to Harbor Cove.
Just knowing he had roots, that he wasn't rejected by a parent, gave Nick's life new meaning, gave him the confidence and strength to do far better than he'd ever done before.
Nick's father was still young enough to enjoy his son, and with the permission of the church, did all he could to help straighten out the troubled life of his son.
Although Nick turned his life around, he did not want to follow in his father's foot steps.
He did however, become active in the church and agreed to help his father play the role of St. Nicholas each Christmas to those who were not cared for by all the usual charities of Harbor Cove.
As it turned out, Nick learned to love his father dearly, but ten years later he was on his death bed uttering his final words.
"Son, only the old and lonely send us letters asking for help; always remember it's not about the tangible gifts, it's about the hope we deliver, their knowing there's someone around who cares."
"I understand father. But tell me what I can do NOW for YOU, to comfort you?"
"Just promise me to always be kind and do what is right, just as if I were still by your side."
"But Father, how do I determine that?"
"That's the hard part," he said as his eyes closed, "it's not easy, I only ask that you pray for guidance and listen to your conscience."
"I will father, I promise."
"Nick, when you don't know what to do, remember the physicians creed, 'First do no harm,' it will buy you time to find your way."
So Libby, that's the story. Anything you can remember or add to this story, or tell us about your own recollections, would be appreciated and help us with the book.
Sincerely,
Eb Ebenezer
P.S. Nick's said that his father told him before he died, that there is a slight possibility, that you could be his daughter. Do you have any knowledge in this regard, and would you be willing to submit to a DNA test to satisfy the question in Nick's mind? Please reply: Eb Ebenezer, Editor Harbor Cove Publishing, Harbor Cove, MA
* * * * * * *
Libby sat frozen, shocked, she was sure in the letter she received, there was no post script, that mentioned this possibility.
Thoughts of her young life flooded her mind, but before she could begin to pen a letter to Eb, she heard Nicholas in the entrance pounding the snow off his boots.
* * * * * * *
Pushing Eb's letter out of her mind, discounting what he said about the possibility of her and Nick being blood related, she greeted him with a kiss and brought him a hot cup of chocolate.
"It's a beautiful but wicked snow storm
out there, I'm sure glad to be back here with you. Have you heard anything from Eb?"
"He's doing fine Nick. His daughter called an hour ago and said he'd been released from the hospital, and would be staying with her for a few days. He did break his arm though, as he'd first thought."
* * * * * * *
Nick found the dirt cellar's stash of wine and poured them each a big glass of Eb's homemade blackberry wine.
Winding up Eb's 1930's RCA Victrola sitting on the hearth, he put on "At Last," an old Benny Goodman, 78 record.
Extending his hand, he bowed and brought Libby up to her feet.
"May I have this dance?"
With a deep sigh, they melted into each other's arms and danced.
Their joy was heightened by the romantic atmosphere of the Eb's old shack.
It looked shabby from the outside, but inside, it was a charming romantic cabin with rich glowing log walls and a lovely field stone fireplace.
When the song ended, Nick reached over and moved the needle back to let it play over again.
By the third time it played, his hands dropped to fondle her bottom, draw her tighter into him.
When the song ended, Nick reached over and moved the needle back, let it play over again.
As they continued to dance, Libby became increasingly aroused with the feel of Nicholas's body against hers.
By the third time it played, his hands dropped to fondle her bottom, draw her tighter into him.
Returning in kind, she slipped her hands into his deep pockets to fondle his muscular thighs.
Instead, she found a third leg at the juncture of his thighs--his unavoidable and irresistible rock hard cock.
Overcome with lust, she put her weakened arms around his neck, and opened for him the instant he put his knee between her legs, as if to hold his spot.
Instinctively she knew, that NOT to enjoy the sheer wonder of what was happening between them, would've been a crime.
With a growl he took her mouth in his, and then moved urgently to her ear and murmured, "Open your legs a little more, as far as you can . . . .
Responding to the intense sensation, she softly moaned and held her hand secure upon his hardness rubbing against it.
"Be quiet now," he said, "listen for the rasp of my zipper, I have a gift in here for you. "
"When Nicholas, when? I want to hold it now, take it out . . . give it to me darling, give it to me . . . I'm ready," she whispered, "more than ready."
"Stand still, don't move, not until I'm inside you."
"When will that be darling, when?"
Untying the bow on her wrap skirt,
he let it drop to the floor and slipped his thumb beneath the leg of her panties, touching her where she wanted it, where she swelled and throbbed the most.
"When, Libby? How about when I'm done making you feel better than you've ever felt in your life? Come for me baby, take it out," he said as his thumb moved over her and his fingers moved in and out, "it's all yours, all yours."
She felt herself tightening and quickened her thrust against his fingers, slipped her hand inside his boxers to touch his smooth slick bareness.
"That's it, baby." He growled loudly, that's it, take hold of it, release it, let it be free."
Letting it spring out, she curled her palm around his thickness, and stroked him rhythmically making his groans turn into a long low breathless growl.
With all of his apprehensions disappearing, he moaned, "Oh Libby. . . don't let go, not ever . . . "
She was afraid he couldn't last long like this, especially when she saw his face tightened; his jaw locked, but there was no way in hell, she could stop now.
"Kiss me, kiss me before I change my mind about all this," he told her with a wounded animal growl.
"Oh, Nicholas, don't do that, let me make you feel good, keep doing you," she murmured.
"Baby, I want that soooo much . . . "
"Do I turn you on too, do you long for me as I long for you?"
With anguish in his voice he replied, "Good God, Libby YES, I want you in every way, but we gotta talk."
TO BE CONTINUED:
PART 5 (THE CONCLUSION)
(Hitting On Santa)
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Submitted by:
Madison
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