Читать книгу Something To Talk About - Laurie Paige - Страница 11

Kate heard the truck engine stop. Jeremy, turning the compost heap, looked up, too.

“That must be Dad.”

“Uh-huh.” She continued pulling weeds out of the row of lettuce while wondering about the detective’s trips. After four days of sleeping and lounging around, he had started leaving the ranch each morning at nine and returning around noon. This was the third day in a row for this behavior. She realized it was Thursday, and her guests had been in residence for a week.

And she was certainly no closer to knowing more about them. She refrained from questioning the son. It seemed sneaky.

For the past couple of days, the boy, instead of watching television, had taken to helping her in the garden while his father was gone. In the afternoons the two males fished or rowed around the lake in the john boat she and Jeremy had moved from the barn at the big house down to the lake at Megan’s urging. Her cousin had invited Jeremy to come up and ride with her when he felt like it.

Kate thought he was too bashful to go alone, but she hadn’t volunteered to accompany him. Jess didn’t seem to like seeing his son with her.

She felt the disapproving stare before she turned and met his eyes. Again she was reminded of shadows in a forest, deep green and filled with mysteries she knew nothing of.

“Hi,” she called out brightly, putting dazzle in her smile just because his expression was so dour.

He nodded. “Jeremy, I brought you a couple of burgers and some fries. You’d better eat while they’re still warm. The bag is in the truck.”

Jeremy leaned the shovel against the shed and loped off, casting a thanks to his father over his shoulder. Kate picked up the mound of weeds and tossed them on the compost heap. She realized she was hungry, too.

“Food sounds good. I ate a light breakfast.”

“You don’t need to skimp on food. You aren’t fat,” he said, his gaze harsh as he looked her over.

“I didn’t mean to indicate I was dieting.”

He raised one eyebrow as if questioning just what she did mean.

“What have I done to make you so disapproving?” she asked out of the blue, not realizing, until she spoke the words, how much his attitude irked her. “You look at me as if I’m a gangster who got off on a technicality.”

He shrugged. One hand rested on his right hip. He shifted his weight to that leg and rested the left one while he continued to peruse her old work shirt and the jeans which were out at the knees and full of holes elsewhere.

“Stay away from my son,” he said finally and turned his back on her, limping as he headed toward the apartment.

“What?” she said in disbelief. She jumped across three rows of vegetables, caught up with him and grabbed his arm. “Just what the heck did you mean by that?”

He rounded on her. “I mean neither I nor my kid needs you. We don’t need nurturing—”

“Maybe you don’t, but he does.”

“We’ll be gone as soon as I…” He stopped and eyed her with distaste. “By the end of the month,” he finished. “There’s no use in building attachments that won’t mean a damned thing.”

“You don’t want your son to have friends?” she demanded, incredulous at the idea. “Is that what you’re saying? You leave him here alone day after day and think he doesn’t need someone to talk to?”

A faint flush spread over his neck. “Staying here is his choice. As far as socializing goes, there’s no point in it, not with you or anyone here. We won’t be here that long.” He moved his arm, dislodging her grip.

“Maybe you don’t need friends, but he does.”

At his derisive snort, a devil took hold of her tongue. “Maybe he and Megan and I will become friends for life. Maybe he’ll come visit us in the summer—”

She got no further. He gripped her collar as if she were a suspect being brought to justice and yanked her on her toes until they were within kissing distance. But that wasn’t on his mind. He looked dangerous, threatening.

“If any of you does anything to hurt that boy, I’ll be all over you like a case of hives, you got that?”

She nodded slowly.

Jess saw fear flicker through her eyes before she tossed her head and flashed him an insolent smile.

“That was real original,” she drawled. “Something from an old detective movie you watched on TV this week?”

He had to give her credit for holding her ground, but that crack about his son needing friends got to him. He didn’t want Jeremy facing the same disappointments in life he had.

“I don’t want any expectations built up in the kid that won’t be met. Life is tough enough for the young.”

“The way it was for you?”

He cursed at the pity in her eyes even as he felt like crawling into those blue depths and drowning in the promise of fulfillment there. Damn. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. She made him think of things…well, he knew better.

Life held no surprises for him, good or bad. It served up the usual fare. He didn’t want his son to expect too much, then have his heart broken by lies and promises not kept.

“Just leave me and mine alone,” he reiterated and pushed away from her before he forgot the anger and yielded to the demands of his flesh. Need was in him, mixing with the pain of each step, driving him to fury….

He sighed and wiped the sweat from his face. Life had taken another swipe at him. He wanted Kate Mulholland with every fiber of his being. He wondered if she felt the same.

What the hell was he thinking?

Women. They made a man crazy. That’s what he needed to remember. That’s all. Nothing else.

Kate showered and dressed in a pair of old sweats and thick socks. The mountain air had grown chilly as soon as the sun had set. She dried her hair and slipped a terry-cloth band around her head to hold it back from her face.

Going downstairs, she padded out on the porch and sat in the swing. The fresh nip in the air toyed with her senses. The quarter moon was up. The western sky wasn’t quite dark. Touches of magenta and purple mingled with the blue of twilight.

Sprays of forsythia and flowering quince graced the rock garden she’d made at the corner of the old-fashioned porch. It was her favorite spot at her favorite time of day.

The swing gave off a soft but pleasant squeak with each backward sweep of the chain on its hook. She was comforted by the familiar sound. Tonight she needed comforting. For some reason, the past, with its harsh regrets, crowded her thoughts.

The sky darkened and stars crept out, shyly at first, then more and more until the heavens were filled. With an effort she staved off the old memories, induced by her tenants, she realized. Jess Fargo and his son reminded her of the possibilities of life, of the family she’d once assumed she would have. Shaking her head slightly, she pushed the cold emptiness of old dreams back into their cubbyhole.

Just as she was thinking it was time to go in to bed, a shadow appeared at the corner of the house, causing every nerve in her body to jump.

Jess limped across the grass and up on the porch. “That swing is driving me nuts,” he said by way of explanation. “I brought some grease.”

Without another word, he pulled a chair over to the swing, stood on it and oiled the hook. Moving back, he advised her to try it. The swing made no noise when she moved.

“Thanks,” she said, injecting sincerity into the word.

“It wasn’t for you. It was for me.” He moved the chair back to its position, then stood near the steps.

When he didn’t leave, she hesitated, then invited him to join her. Expecting him to take the chair, she was startled anew when he settled on the swing with a weary sigh.

“Your leg is bothering you?” she asked, sympathy winning out over other, harder emotions.

“Yeah, and then some,” he agreed wryly.

“I know,” she said softly, remembering the ache that lasted long after the actual pain disappeared.

“Look,” he said, “I didn’t mean to sound weird this afternoon. It’s just that I’m worried about the boy. He’s having a hard time, and he’s…vulnerable.”

“He needs someone. You, I think. It’s good that you’ve been doing things together.”

“You think so?”

She was surprised at the hope in his voice. So the tough cop needed assurances, too. “Absolutely.”

After a few minutes he exhaled deeply and relaxed against the wooden slats. She started the swing to moving. They swished back and forth while crickets chirped and the wind whispered of secrets millions of years old.

She heard the lazy caw of a crow in the alders down by the creek. “The wind raven,” she murmured.

“What?”

Kate stirred self-consciously. “It’s an old story my grandmother told us. She said an Indian woman told it to her grandmother when she was a child. When the raven caws before dawn, when the wind blows down the mountain rather than up the valley, dire happenings are foretold. My grandmother’s mother heard the ravens before her husband and son were killed by a falling tree. My grandmother said she heard the crows down by the creek the night her baby died. And the wind was blowing.”

As if on cue, the cold night air swept around the eaves with a low moan. Her father had explained the house moaned because it wasn’t built right for wind, but as a child, she’d thought the wind and the house knew when tragedy was coming. The hair prickled on the back of her neck.

“Do you believe in myths?”

His voice was as soft, as sorrowful, as that of the wind, its deeper cadence blending with the whisperings of the river alders. The prickle became a tremor that raced through her.

“I believe there are things the mind can comprehend and others that only the heart knows and still others that no one understands.” She spoke barely above a whisper herself.

He moved, turning slightly as if to study her, laying his arm along the back of the swing, crossing his sore knee over the other while he watched her. She became uneasy.

“What bothers you about me?” he asked.

The silence grew—a mound of unsaid words between them. “Your unhappiness,” she said at last. “Your dislike and disapproval for no reason that I know of.”

“I don’t dislike you,” he said, so low she nearly didn’t catch the words.

“Your distrust…of women or everyone?”

His laugh was bitter. “Of life.”

“I understand.”

“I doubt it.” He was back to tough, cynical.

“I was married twelve years ago today. Barely past my twenty-first birthday.”

“It wasn’t a happy union,” he guessed.

“My father didn’t want me to, but nothing would have stopped me, not even a gypsy with a genuine crystal ball that showed me what my life would be like if I went through with the ceremony. I probably knew without the crystal ball.”

“But you did it, anyway.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“We fought the good fight, one might say, but it didn’t work for us. Not all the love or hope or faith in the world could change what was inevitable.”

“You divorced.”

“No. He died.”

“How?”

She heard the sharpened interest of the experienced cop in the question. She couldn’t decide how much to tell him or if she wanted him to know. Suicide. She hadn’t said the word in four years, and she wasn’t sure she could say it now.

“Suicide?” he said before she could get the word out, again in the deep tone that harmonized with the wind.

A raven cawed. Another answered.

“Yes.” The emptiness returned and with it the memories of a fate she had been powerless to change, although at twenty-one, she had thought she could. By the time she was twenty-nine, she had known she couldn’t.

“Go,” the raven called from the river bank. “Go.”

She rose and went inside without another word.

The wind came up during the night, sluicing down the mountain, pouring into the valley, bringing lightning and the promise of rain. At dawn the rain still held off, but the clouds lingered like a lid clamped over the land, holding in the growing tempest.

Kate rose and dressed in fresh jeans, tank top and a long-sleeved flannel shirt. The temperature was in the low fifties. She put on coffee, then ate her usual bowl of cereal.

Standing by the kitchen windows, she watched the wind toss the branches of the alders. The sky was dark, threatening. Along the edge of the mountain nearest her, she stared at the curtain of white without realizing what it was.

“Hail,” she said as the first white balls began to hit the glass and skip along the grass. She saw it tear through a leaf of a bush, then knock a flower off another.

The garden! The hail would ruin her carefully tended lettuce and beans and sweet peas. It would rip through the broad leaves of the cucumbers, squash and pumpkins. She slipped into old loafers and ran to the garden shed for the drop cloths that served multiple purposes around a ranch.

The wind beat at her, so hard it felt as if it would tear her clothes from her body. The hailstones, all nearly the size of marbles, hit with ferocious tenacity. She secured a corner of the drop cloth with a rock and tried to cover the row of lettuce. The wind whipped the material from her fingers.

“I’ll get it.” Jess reached across her and grabbed the flailing cloth and put it into place. “Get one of those big rocks,” he told his son.

Between the three of them, they got the most vulnerable vegetables covered. As they ran for the house, the rain started, lashing across the land in long, shimmering curtains.

“Wow, I don’t think the weatherman predicted that,” Kate said with a laugh once they were safely inside the kitchen. She tossed towels to her helpers, then dried herself off.

She checked her clothing to make sure she was decent. When she glanced up, Jess was watching her. The quickly hidden flare in his eyes told her he remembered their first meeting. His words of the night before leaped into her mind.

Desire flamed in her, echoing her restless night. She missed the heat, the pleasure of sex, the deep satisfaction and closeness afterward. In those early years of marriage, when hope still reigned, she had sought it eagerly. Later she had tried to use it as a bond to help her husband live in the present, but he had retreated more and more into the past, to places where she had never been and couldn’t go.

“I have coffee,” she said rather abruptly, turning from her guest’s steady perusal. “This feels like a pancake-and-sausage morning to me. How about you?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said enthusiastically, pulling the towel over his hair as if he were polishing a shoe. He glanced at his father. “Uh, if we have time.”

Only a curmudgeon could have denied the youngster’s eager hunger. Kate looked at Jess. The corners of his mouth tightened, but he nodded.

She threw her towel on top of the washing machine in the adjoining room, then started preparing the meal. Jess and Jeremy followed her example but took seats at the table. She served coffee to the older male and cocoa to the younger one.

After they ate, Jeremy asked to be excused. He wanted to check on his e-mail. Kate grinned as he thanked her, then bounded out and across the wet yard, jumping puddles. As soon as he was inside, the rain came pouring down again.

“This might last all day,” she informed Jess. “The roads won’t be passable at low spots.”

“So I shouldn’t go to town?”

“I’d give it an hour or so after the rain has stopped for the roads to drain.”

“I will. Today seems a good day for staying in and reading, anyway. You have any books?”

“In the study. First door on the right down the hall. Choose anything you like. I’ll bring fresh coffee.”

When she brought in their mugs, she found Jess standing in front of the bookshelves. He continued to read over the titles. “You have quite a collection of Western lore here.”

“My family has collected first editions for generations.”

“Some of these might be valuable.”

“The ones behind the glass doors are. The others aren’t. Except to me.”

He moved over to the glass-fronted bookcases. “Mark Twain. Bret Hart. What’s this? Mrs. Beeton’s Every Day Cookery and Housekeeping Book?

“Household hints from 1865,” Kate explained. “The author was English.”

He glanced through the volume. “It says here that all the household belongs to the husband, and the wife must look after his interests well. Sounds like a sensible female.”

Kate frowned in annoyance that he would happen upon that advice out of the whole book. He turned and she saw his smile widen as he took in her expression. She realized he was teasing her. Well, the tough cop had a sense of humor.

“Yes. My father pointed that out to my mother one time,” she admitted.

“What did she do?”

“Hit him with the dust mop.”

When Jess chuckled, Kate laughed, too. While he selected a couple of police procedural mysteries, she mused on their moment of laughter. It had been a long time since this house had heard the shared laughter of a man and woman.

And longer before it would happen again. She wanted no part of Jess Fargo. She left him in the den and returned to the kitchen, continuing her silent lecture on men and women and the whole absurd misery of it all.

Sitting at the kitchen table, watching the storm worsen, she tried to push the memories back into the past and lock the door. She had always been moody around the time of her wedding anniversary, but this year the hurt seemed nearer the surface.

Because of Jess?

Because somehow he and his son reminded her of all the bright hope she had once held dear to her heart. But she had learned that love wasn’t enough. It couldn’t change fate.

Touching her abdomen briefly, she experienced the pain of shattered youth and dreams, of accepting the reality, the nightmare, that her life had become…and yet, with the stubbornness of the young, she had dared hope….

Until that terrible, final day.

Needing to be busy, she set about rinsing the plates and putting them in the dishwasher. Her tenant limped into the kitchen, bringing three books tucked under his arm. She said nothing while he refilled his cup and laid the books on the table. He offered to help clean up.

“There’s nothing to do.” While he sat at the table, she wiped the skillet and grill with a paper towel and put them away. Restless, she made two cherry pies. With them in the oven, she, too, sat and stared morosely at the rain.

“You’re quiet,” he mentioned after a long silence. “And introspective. Are you thinking about your marriage?”

“About love.”

His face hardened.

“Yeah, I don’t think much of the emotion, either. It’s a trap for women—”

“You think it isn’t for men?” he said in a near snarl.

She shrugged. Their eyes met and held. Behind the smoldering animosity, she saw something else—the hunger, raw and naked, all male, but beyond that—the pure lonely need of one person for another.

She turned her head, refusing to acknowledge the mutual emotion. But it impinged on the mind just the same. It was the same need that gnawed at her.

A hand touched her chin, bringing her back to face him. “It’s there. We can deny it, but it’s there.”

His tone was harsh, and he didn’t look at all pleased.

“What?” she asked, lifting her chin defiantly.

“You know.”

The silence loomed between them again, silence that screamed with a thousand denials. Then, to her shock, he leaned forward and, light as a dewdrop, he touched his lips to hers.

Hot puffs of desire blew in and out of her. She pressed her lips together to stop the flow. He kissed her again.

She opened her mouth to protest. A mistake. He opened his lips at the same moment. Whether by design or accident, their tongues touched, lightly, hardly more than the flutter of an eyelash. But it hurt. Way down deep somewhere.

They each drew back, startled, eyes wide, nostrils flaring. A gasp, then a shaky sigh escaped her.

“Damn,” he said. “This isn’t… It isn’t enough.”

“I know,” she admitted weakly, hating herself for it.

His broad hand cupped the back of her head. He held her close, then his mouth was on hers, fierce, demanding, wanting, needing…and she was kissing him back the same way.

She entwined a hand into the thick, dark strands and took the kiss farther, deeper. He groaned and lifted her, turning his chair so he could place her on his lap.

“Your knee—”

“It’s okay. Don’t fuss,” he muttered against her mouth.

The kiss went on. Flesh pressed flesh, consumed the warmth, reveled in the close heat of passion barely held in check. His hands swept under her shirt and tank top. His touch was gentle but urgent on her back as he caressed up and down her spine.

When he moved forward, then pressed her breasts upward and dropped kisses along the curving mounds, she caught her breath as ecstasy flooded her. She rained kisses on his head and raked her fingers through his hair, then slipped them under his collar and down his back.

She wanted all barriers gone. With hands that trembled, she fumbled with his shirt buttons. He impatiently yanked it open, then pulled his T-shirt up and laid her hands flat on his chest and pressed them there.

“Touch me,” he whispered, as lost to the moment as she was. “I’ve wanted it since I first saw you. Maybe forever.”

“That makes no sense,” she said, trying to regain some control in the maelstrom.

He lifted his head, his expression grim. “It never does.”

But he didn’t release her hands. Instead he urged her to move them on him. She caressed him eagerly, forgotten pleasure rushing through her at the sensation of rough hair over the smoothness of skin beneath.

He kissed her again, hotly, deeply, his mouth moving over hers, his tongue seeking, demanding, then becoming playful as he enticed her to follow his lead. She didn’t know how long or how far they would have gone, except for the ringing of the phone. Every nerve in her body jumped at the sound.

“Easy,” he said, resting his forehead against hers.

The phone jangled again.

“It might be important.” She wanted him to say it wasn’t.

“Yeah.” He sighed, gently helped her stand, then did the same. “You want to get it?”

She crossed the room and answered.

“This is Jeremy. Uh, will you tell my dad the library called and they have the stuff from the archives he wanted to see?”

She ran a hand through her hair and tried to smooth it into place. “Okay. Do you need to speak with him?”

“No. I’m going to catch a movie on television now.”

They hung up and she delivered the news. The darkness returned to his eyes, displacing the fires of passion.

“Thanks. I guess I’d better wait until tomorrow to go to town.”

“That would be a good idea.”

He studied her for a long minute. “Yeah.” Then he went out the door.

Kate rubbed her fingers over her lips, which still felt hot and needy. Watch it, she warned herself. Just watch it. She went to the door. “What are you doing here, really?”

He glanced over his shoulder. Raindrops splashed his hair and clothing. “Resting.” He hesitated. “I’ll be gone at the end of the month.” It was a promise.

“Good,” she said, and was pretty sure she meant it.