"Mr. Cochrane?"
He looked up at her, still trying to get his bearings.
Hesitating just a bit, the nurse went on. "There's a little girl...down the hall. You haven't met her yet." She stopped again, as if questioning the wisdom of her action, but continued. "She's getting her transplant tomorrow. She's a big fan, Mr. Cochr—"
But Charlie was already pushing himself to his feet. "Sure," he said.
The woman's smile lit her face. "You can't go inside, of course. Just speak to her from the door. It'll mean so much."
He nodded, running a hand over his prickly jaw. "Is there something I could use..?" He made a shaving gesture along his cheek.
"Oh! I'll get you one of our prep kits. It has a razor."
She left briefly and returned with the kit. Charlie went into the bathroom while the nurse waited, talking quietly with Molly.
When he emerged, tucking his shirt into his jeans, Molly was amazed anew at his ability to transform himself. Gone were the fatigue, the weary eyes, the slumped shoulders, as gone as the whiskers on his freshly shaved cheeks. For a little girl who needed cheering up, his shoulders straightened, his black eyes glittered, his smile flashed. Very few people were privy to the discipline he exercised over himself to carry off that effect.
Molly knew she was one of the privileged. He winked at her, grabbed his hat and followed the nurse from the room.
Molly sat in stunned silence, recognizing the truth at last. Certainty settled over her, cold and crystal clear. He was a genuinely kind, good man. For all his success, the essential man remained unchanged. The values he'd been raised with were the ones that shaped his behavior still.
He'd been her friend long before he'd been her lover. He, more than anyone, would know how infidelity would cut. And he would never deliberately hurt her. He'd told her so, in a lover's vow, on a sad, sultry night almost half her lifetime ago. I swear... I'll never hurt you that way.
For too long she had allowed the letdowns and disappointments she had suffered at the hands of others blind her to his worth. She could only hope that her eyes hadn't been opened too late.
When Charlie returned a few minutes later, the toll taken by his mission was clear. He tossed his hat on the bedside table and sagged into his chair, drained. Reaching for his hand, Molly laced her fingers with his.
With the tip of one finger she traced the long, elegant bones on the back of his hand until he fixed his gaze on her, a question in his eyes. You would never ask, Moll. Only accuse, she heard again. She inhaled deeply and asked at last "Are you going to tell me what happened, Charlie?" Attempting a brave smile, she only managed half of one. "What that girl was doing in your room?"
Surprise registered in his face, and hope battled wariness in his eyes. But he answered evenly, in a calm voice. "She's a fan. She was at the show last night. One of the fellas in the band got her skunk drunk." He shrugged disarmingly. "She was just a kid, Moll. I felt responsible for her."
Yes, you would, Molly thought, and nodded.
"Anyway, I left her to sleep it off while I went to talk to the guy."
"Shooter."
"Yeah." His eyes narrowed on her. "You remember him."
"I remember you mentioning he was trouble."
"Well, he's gone now." He rubbed a hand over his jaw tiredly. "He's talented. If he gets himself cleaned up, he might have a future. But he doesn't have a future in my band."
He paused for some moments, still eyeing her warily. Finally, he said, "Harlan was there. He didn't hear the phone."
Molly felt his fingers tighten around hers. He looked away and his voice was tight, too, when he continued. "You can talk to Harlan, if you want. Check my story. He's as honest as milk is white."
She pulled in a breath and lowered her gaze to their joined hands, ashamed, ashamed that he felt the need to offer her that. Swallowing hard, she shook her head. "So are you, Charlie." She looked into his eyes as she whispered the words she'd always thought impossible for her. "I trust you."
His smile broke over his face like sunshine, chasing away the caution, the fatigue, the strain. That devilish gleam was back in his eye as he tugged on her hand and hauled her into his lap. "Well, I've been here the better part of a day, and you've yet to greet me properly."
Holding her chin in his hand, he pressed a kiss to her mouth. A sweet kiss, full of the innocence of a first love and the confidence of a mature one.
It quickly developed into something more.
His tongue probed insistently past her parted lips, taking full possession of the lush, warm recesses protected by them. His kisses left her breathless, dizzy. Coming up for air, laughing against his cheek, she gasped, "I hardly think this is a proper gree—"
"Shut your precious mouth and kiss me," he muttered, his seeking mouth closing over hers again.
She did just as he told her.
"Moll..." he threatened.
"You told me to shut my—" That was as far as she got. Locked in his arms, she forgot teasing, she forgot "proper," and lost herself in the heady oblivion his kisses brought her.
They enjoyed each other for long, blissful moments, until a sound very much like a "Sheesh" came from the direction of the bed. Two pairs of guilty eyes turned that way to see Tobie, arms dangling over the bed rail, an appalled expression on his face.
He looked from one to the other, his revolted gaze finally settling on Charlie. "Did you have your tongue in her mouth?" He made it sound as if a slug would be preferable.
"You must be seein' things, Tobie," Charlie answered through his chuckles. "Why would I do a fool thing like that?" he countered, while Molly buried her laughter in the front of his shirt.
It just wasn't right.
Charlie stabbed at the stop button on the recorder and tossed the pick away. He folded his arms over the smooth wood of his guitar and rested his chin on them, hissing a disgusted breath through his teeth.
He and Molly had stayed with Tobie the night before and well into the afternoon of the following day. They would have remained longer had not the staff informed them rather firmly that Tobie was out of danger and he was more cooperative with his regimen when they weren't constantly around. As a result, they'd gone out for the only decent meal either of them had eaten in over twenty-four hours, then come home and crashed.
At 2:00 a.m., Charlie was wide awake and of a mind to love Molly breathless. She'd just rolled over and muttered something unintelligible, but hardly encouraging. So, he'd summoned more gallantry than he'd known he possessed, slipped into his jeans and come out here, into what they now called the music room, to wrestle some more with this tune.
The words were fine, he liked the melody, the mood was all wrong. He couldn't express the mood. He'd slowed the tempo, fiddled with the rhythm. Nothing. Right now, he was staring at the glass panes that revealed the blackness of the night at the same time as they reflected his image back to him in the dim lamplight. He knew from long experience that when it came to composing, staring at the wall was just part of the process.
He saw her reflected in the glass before he heard her come up behind him. She was belting herself into a silky, cream-colored robe he hadn't seen before. Apparently Molly was getting a little less sensitive about spending their money.
"That's pretty, Charlie...." she murmured as she walked past him, trailing her fingers over his naked shoulder in a way that told him it was going to be a long night and he was going to love every minute of it.
She was lookin' mighty pretty. The robe hugged her curves the way a road did a hillside, and shimmered with a luster second only to her skin. He'd never known another woman with a complexion like Molly's. Right now, it had a rosy glow as if she'd just stepped from a bath. Her hair was piled up, too, the way she wore it in the tub. He wished he had known. He wouldn't have been wasting his time with this damn song.
Still, he'd caught her phrasing. That little suspension at the end that indicated an incomplete thought. "That's pretty, Charlie," he repeated, "
but..."
She slid him a sidelong glance, and compressed her lips into a pouty expression. "It wants to be in a minor key in the worst way."
He made a sound, half laugh, half groan. Son-of-a-bitch, that was it. That would supply just the melancholy note he was looking for. It would have come to him eventually, maybe six months down the road. But she was always so good at this. She might dance like an ostrich, unless you knew just how to hold her—which, fortunately, he did—but music was in her blood.
"Show me." He indicated the piano with a tilt of his head.
She sat on the bench seat primly, closing the robe carefully over her legs. Then, with a deep breath, she put her fingers to the keys. She didn't need any coaching. She never forgot a tune once she'd heard it, and transposing in her head was a cinch.
Charlie heard his song come to life under her hands. Tinkling out in a two-fingered melody. Well, she was playing chords, so it took more than two fingers. But that was it. It was a wrap.
He rapidly found his attention drifting. The footwork she was doing with the pedals had caused the robe to part, revealing a long length of shapely leg. No nightie anywhere in sight. If she was looking to distract him, she was doing fine.
"Are you listening?" she asked without turning her head.
"Are you wearin' anything under that robe?"
"Charlie!" She did turn then, throwing him that slanty-eyed look over her shoulder that told him, whatever she'd like him to believe, she only had one thing on her mind. His one thing was beginning to take serious notice.
The melody segued into an old tune, one from his first album, lighthearted, easy. "Are you wearing anything under those jeans?"
Charlie smiled from ear to ear, and picked up the tune on his guitar, cradling the instrument the way he'd cradle her. Soon. "I asked first."
Her shoulders stiffened a little, and she stared straight ahead, but he knew she saw his reflection in the glass, just as he saw hers. "Yes, I am."
"No, I'm not."
She hit a clinker then, a rarity for Molly. With a laugh and a shake of her head, she gave up and closed the keyboard cover.
"Come over here," Charlie said. "Sit by me." He swept the papers off of the ottoman in front of him, clearing a place for her, and watched her approach. His whiskey-eyed woman was more adventuresome than he'd ever dreamed, but she liked to be coaxed, wooed, courted. She liked the slow buildup, the steadily escalating tension. He was finding, more and more, so did he.
She sat, her knees closed between his spread ones, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes dancing around the room. His fingers stroked the guitar strings, one finger, one string at a time. That drew her attention, finally, and her gaze settled there.
"It's not...uh," he cleared his throat, "an inconvenient time of month...or anything?"
To his surprise she looked uneasy. She moved her hands to the front edge of the ottoman and curled her fingers around it, still not meeting his eyes. "I don't think we'll have to worry about that for quite a long time."
It took a minute for her meaning to sink in. He felt as if the air had been sucked from his lungs. "Already!" he croaked with more shock than tact
Her gaze did dart to his then for just a moment and, reading her dismay, he could have bit his tongue. "Well, I...uh...haven't been to a doctor yet." She was trying to smile, but it was a struggle. "I haven't taken any tests...." Her eyes flicked to his again and she ran her tongue over her lips. "But I've only been this late one time." She gave up on the smile altogether and bit down on her lower lip to still its trembling. "I thought you'd be pleased," she said in a quavering voice.
He felt like the worst kind of heel. "Aw, honey, I am." That came across mealy mouthed, even to him. That's real convincing, Kick. You sound like an idiot. "What I mean is...I'm scared to death." That got her attention. She looked at him, dumbfounded. "I know what you're gonna do, Molly. You're gonna give me a skinny, little, redheaded girl. Every time she scrapes her knees, my heart will bleed."
She looked at him with a blank expression for some moments, raised her eyebrows and shrugged, as if to say, "Oh, that's all." Then she laughed, a hoot that would have roused the house if there had been anyone else around to hear it. "Seems only fair to me...considering what I've had to contend with the last seven years."
He wasn't going to get a whole lot of sympathy on this score, he could tell. "Well," he admitted. "He is a chip off the old block."
She gave that throaty laugh. "Chip, my eye. He's a boulder." Her smile gentled as she reached out a hand to cup his cheek. "You'd make a wonderful father for a little girl, Charlie," she whispered, then added playfully, "and a much better coach for me than Margot was."
"Margot?"
"My roommate, from college.Senior year?"
"Oh, yeah.Tiny thing. Dark," he recalled. "Whatd'ya mean, 'coach'?"
"You know, during labor."
"Ahhh," he said, trying not to think too hard about what coaching entailed.
"Margot meant well, but she was awful. Kept hyperventilating. The nurses had to give her a paper bag to breathe into." Molly laughed at the memory.
"Your mother..?"
Seeing his expression, Molly turned serious again. Still cupping his jaw, she traced her thumb over his lips. "She came up to stay with me for a few weeks after Tobie was born...to help me out. We were never really close, Charlie, but we weren't estranged...there at the end."
"I'm glad." He was surprised to discover that he was glad.
"She loved Tobie."
He nodded. He had one more promise to keep. Not another uncharitable thought about the woman as long as he lived. That was going to be a toughie, but he'd try. For this woman, he'd tackle just about anything.
"I love you, Molly...somethin' awful," he whispered.
She looked as if she might cry, but a corner of her mouth quirked up. "For someone who's so good with words, it took you long enough to get those out."
"I'll tell you every day, Moll. I've been telling you most of my life. You haven't been payin' attention."
He leaned forward over his guitar, closing the distance between them. Tilting his head he fitted his lips to hers, his fingers on the pulse beat in her throat that quickened under them as he murmured against her mouth, "I love you...I love you...I love you," so softly she couldn't hear the words, only feel them. The way, in all truth, she had felt his love surround her, embrace her, enfold her for much of her life.
With what he considered awesome restraint, Charlie refrained from deepening the kiss. Instead he eased away from her, watching her expectantly, waiting.
She regarded him with dazed, unfocused eyes. Then confusion flitted across her face. Finally, came the dawn, and she went all huffy-puffy, as he knew she would. "Oh, Charlie! I love...I've always...how could you think..?"
He just waited.
"I love you," she said finally, simply. "I've loved you since I was six years old. You know that."
"Yeah, I do." He gave her his sweetest smile. "But it's nice to hear."
Only one question remained unresolved between them. The one he hesitated to raise, dreaded to pursue, wasn't sure he wanted an answer to. But he wanted Molly to have this chance and he knew she'd never bring it up herself.
"Who did you go to, Moll? Which one of my meddlin' family did you tell about Tobie? Who didn't help you?"
She was taken aback at first, her chin snapping up, her eyes wide, startled. He thought she would deny it. Wanted her to deny it.
But she didn't
She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye, hers unflinching. "You're right," she said. "I did go to someone. And we've made our peace." Her voice was very firm, despite its softness. She leaned forward, closer to him. "I will never tell you—" she emphasized her words with a shake of her head "—so don't ask me."
He opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed her fingers to his lips. "Families aren't perfect, Charlie. We love them anyway. You taught me to accept that."
He mo
ved his head slightly to speak. "Moll—"
"No, Charlie." She was implacable. "There's enough blame to go around. The truth is, I didn't come to you myself until I had no choice." She clasped his wrist where it lay atop his guitar. "We can't get those years back. We can only put them behind us."
He dropped his gaze to her hand upon him. He felt obliged to try just once more, though the fight had gone out of him. Raising his eyes, he studied her calm expression. "You gonna make me wonder...all my life?"
She seemed to sense his willingness to let it go.
"You can do that, if you want...." she answered with a one-shouldered shrug that left the shoulder bare except for a skinny strap.
She was wearing the teddy.
"Seems like a big waste of time to me." Another shrug and the other shoulder was bare. Except for that strap.
"Or..." With that word she rose to her feet, the robe sliding down her arms to pool over her hands where they worked to undo the belt.
"You can come see..." The robe parted. She slid her hands around to her back, over her bottom, and held the garment there. The motion revealed all to Charlie. The thrust of her generous breasts, the slender waist, the flare of her hips, the long, long legs. If there were any changes to her body because of the baby, he couldn't tell. He'd have to get a closer look. Warmth radiated from her, and the scent of jasmine, and woman.
He reached to touch her and she shied abruptly and moved away from him. Giving him a sultry smile, she nudged one strap down off her shoulder, then the other, and turned her back to him. Slowly, slinkily, she strolled toward the stairway to the upper level, dragging the robe behind her across the carpet. Each step revealed more of her graceful anatomy as the teddy slipped steadily downward.
"You can come see if I still wear panties under this teddy," she finished, so sure of herself she didn't even glance back to see if he was coming.
Charlie watched her go, his head swimming in her wake. Then he laid his guitar down, put his questions aside forever, and followed her.
Bad For Each Other Page 24