Starlight

by Debbie Macomber

  “I don’t have any unusual listening ability,” he contradicted her.

  “Of course you do,” she said dramatically. “Do you remember when I bumped into you on the balcony the night of the party?”

  “I’m unlikely to forget it.” He smiled rakishly.

  “You knew right away I didn’t have my coat because my voice trembled.”

  Rand straightened, his posture suddenly defensive and stiff. “In case you weren’t aware of it, nature often compensates for the lack of one sense by enhancing another. I’ve been told my hearing is extraordinary.”

  “Honestly, Rand.” She shifted irritably. “That’s what Dad said. One would think you of all people would know the difference between hearing and listening.”

  A frown creased his brow. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  Exasperated, Karen expelled her breath unevenly. “Okay. The other day in your office you apologized for being on the phone so long. I told you I didn’t mind, but immediately you detected there was something wrong—”

  “My dear Karen, it was obvious you were upset; your voice was low and tight—”

  “But that’s it,” she interrupted. “I’ve used that same tone of voice a hundred times, and no one has ever guessed my feelings. You did because you listen. I mean really listen. That’s so rare, Rand. It’s probably the most appealing thing about you.”

  “You mean my dashing good looks don’t faze you?” he teased.

  “Well, not entirely.” Her long, thick lashes fluttered downward in a disconcerted movement. “The other day, I invited Dad to dinner. He gets home earlier than me, so I asked him to come to my apartment, take the casserole from the fridge at five o’clock, and put it in a three-fifty-degree oven. Dad put it in at five hundred degrees at three-thirty. Needless to say, we went out for hamburgers. If I’d given you the same instructions, I have no doubt they would’ve been followed explicitly.”

  Again, he dismissed her theory. “People misunderstand one another all the time. My ability to hear or listen or whatever,” he said a little impatiently, “is a figment of your imagination.”

  Karen studied him, the tiny crow’s-feet that appeared at the corners of his eyes, the salting of gray hairs at his temple. The deep-colored eyes stared back at her, but how much he could see, Karen could only guess.

  “All right, Randall Prescott”—she gave in graciously—“you’re right. The whole thing is a wild, unreasonable assumption.” She should have known better. With his defensive attitude, it was unlikely he’d admit to anything that set him apart or made him different.

  “Did you say something about coffee?” he reminded her gently.

  “Oh, sorry.” She apologized quickly and stood, returning to the kitchen.

  Both cups were full and steaming when she returned and sat opposite Rand.

  “By the way, have you come up with a name for the cat?”

  “Yes,” she told him uncertainly, “but I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

  He arched a curious brow. “Well?”

  “Everyone knows a cat is supposed to have nine lives, but did you also know there are said to be nine heavens, nine regions of hell, nine heads of the hydra, nine muses, nine crosses, nine orders of angels, nine worthies … and …”

  “A cat-o’-nine tails,” Rand injected smoothly.

  “Right”—she laughed nervously—“and seeing how there are so many nines in the world and all, I thought I’d name her Number Nine.” She shifted in an anxious movement. “What do you think?”

  “My birthday is October ninth.”

  “See, all the more reason,” she said, laughing lightly.

  “I don’t suppose this decision has anything to do with the fact that we met December the ninth?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” she lied smoothly, then giggled because it was so obvious she was lying. She should have known better than to try to outwit Rand. He was too perceptive, too astute.

  He gave her a full smile that did crazy things to her heartbeat. “I knew you’d come up with some connection to our first meeting.”

  Suddenly, they were both quiet, each entangled in the memories of that night. Perhaps it was a time Rand would as soon forget. Perhaps it was even an embarrassment to him now. But for Karen it was more an assignment with destiny. She smiled secretly to herself; Rand would laugh if he could hear her thoughts. Yet more and more she had come to think of their meeting as preordained and as irrevocable as uttered vows.

  Rand spoke first. “I think Number Nine, although a bit unusual, will be a fine name.”

  They talked for a while longer, laughing over the antics of James and Carter with the comfortable ease of friends. More than once Karen found herself thinking that Rand would make a wonderful father. Picturing Rand with children did funny things to her stomach. The mental image of him holding a child, their child, was more intoxicating than any wine. Karen quickly reined in her imagination. Taking their relationship any further than the moment was a dangerous pitfall she was going to avoid.

  The taxi delivered them to the Elks Lodge, where the reception was being held. With Rand’s arm placed gently around her waist, they entered the crowded room. At Rand’s request, Karen signed the guest book for them both.

  Seeing so many people put Karen on edge; meeting a roomful of strangers wasn’t her idea of a romantic evening.

  “Why so tense?” Rand whispered after the first couple of introductions.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, surprised at how tight her voice sounded. “I’m a little ill at ease when I don’t know anyone. Does it show that much?”

  “Only to me.” A suggestion of a smile touched his eyes, as if he were suddenly aware he’d almost admitted his listening ability was more astute than others. “I’m not particularly fond of these affairs myself.”

  “Rand!” A tall, attractive blonde propelled her way through several people to greet him with an affectionate hug. “You made it, after all.”

  Hastily, Karen removed her hand from Rand’s arm as the woman stepped forward.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” she questioned, eyeing Karen resentfully. She was older than Karen, perhaps thirty, and carried herself proudly, confidently. Her metallic-blue eyes were piercing.

  “Cora”—Rand’s voice was warm and friendly—“I’d like you to meet Karen McAlister. Karen, this is Cora Dibner.”

  “Pleased, I’m sure,” Cora said, but her look belied any pleasure.

  Karen’s heart beat painfully; she had hoped to be friends with Rand’s associate. He spoke of Cora so often—often enough for her to suspect their relationship went beyond business interests. Now that they’d met, there was no denying the jealousy in Cora’s eyes. Or that she was in love with Rand.

  “I’m pleased, too.” Karen smiled in return and nodded, as worthy opponents often do when facing each other.

  A glimmer of respect entered Cora’s eyes. “Are you one of Rand’s students?” Her voice remained friendly, but the whiplike flicker of her gaze cut into Karen.

  Involuntarily, Karen stiffened. This woman was after blood in their first round. Cora must have known Rand was uneasy with their age difference. She laughed lightly, giving the impression such a question was ridiculous.

  “Hardly. Are you?”

  “You wouldn’t believe the things he’s taught me.”

  The mocking words hit Karen with the impact of a hammer pounding a nail. Were Rand and Cora lovers? A sickening knot twisted her stomach until she thought she might be sick.

  Rand cleared his throat in embarrassment. “Yes … well, I think it’s probably time Karen and I went through the reception line. If you’ll excuse us, Cora.”

  “Of course.” Cora’s smile, directed at Karen, was full of malice. “Nice meeting you, Carol.” She purposely used the wrong name as a means of telling Karen she wasn’t worried. Her grip on Rand was secure; she had nothing to fear from Karen.

  “You, too, Nora,” Karen said in kind, her eyes na
rrowing. “I hope we meet again.”

  Rand frowned. “Cora seems to be out of sorts tonight.” He dismissed his associate’s behavior. Karen wanted to cry because making excuses for Cora’s behavior showed he cared.

  “We all have off days.” She swallowed tightly. “Would you mind if we had something to drink before going through the reception line?”

  “I think we could both use something,” Rand said.

  Two glasses of champagne clouded the encounter with Cora. Another glass and Karen saw the whole incident as comical. Rand was distracted by friends and didn’t notice how many times her glass was refilled. But Karen, held protectively to his side, was always introduced and included in the conversation. Another half-glass and her former nervousness dissipated; her smile was friendly, her laughter quick, and her eyes sparkled.

  “We better do the honors while we can,” Rand suggested after a while. “Are there many people left in the reception line?”

  “Hardly any,” she told him, and had the crazy desire to giggle. Rand honestly believed people really listened. She’d show him.

  Rand introduced her to the first person in the reception line, one of the ushers, a brother-in-law of the groom’s. Bravely, Karen looked him directly in the eye and smiled sweetly. “I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said, shaking his hand. Although her eyes never left his face, she added impishly, “The elephants are loose.”

  Rand’s arm stiffened its hold around her waist, biting into her tender flesh.

  “How do you do?” the usher responded politely to her warm smile. “I’m so glad you could come.”

  “I am, too.” Her eyes sparked with mischief. “I am, too,” she repeated.

  Before proceeding farther, Rand’s low voice growled in warning, “Karen, what are you doing?”

  She laughed saucily. “I thought you said people listen,” she whispered back. “I’m just proving a point.”

  Undaunted by Rand’s tight grip around her waist, she made the same obscure announcement to the next member of the wedding party. Again, nothing was said or noticed. Apparently, wild elephants on the loose were not of interest to the entire wedding party. The only one to add anything to Karen’s ridiculous statement was the last woman in the line, who proudly boasted she was the one who introduced the wedding couple.

  They’d gone no more than three paces from the line, just out of earshot, when Rand demanded in a low snarl, “Just how many glasses of champagne have you had?”

  Karen had to stop abruptly in order to think, causing Rand to bump into her. She would have stumbled forward if not for his grip. “Three.” She hiccupped loudly. “Oops, sorry. No, I think it was four.” Could it have been five? she mused; she’d lost count.

  “I’m getting you out of here.” The words were muted, and for a moment Karen wondered if she’d heard him correctly.

  “Gee, I was just beginning to have some fun.” She hiccupped again.

  “Karen, don’t say another word,” he warned.

  Her lips moved to protest, but somehow the words couldn’t get past her tongue.

  “Promise me you won’t say a word to anyone.”

  She hiccupped again. “How can I promise you that when I’m not supposed to talk?” She shot a quick glance at Rand. Why was he so interested in leaving all of a sudden?

  The cold air outside the lodge stunned Karen, although she felt flushed and warm. The street was deserted, the sidewalk bathed in shimmering moonlight. It reminded Karen of the night she and Rand had met. The stars were shining, but to gaze at them did funny things to her equilibrium.

  Suddenly, Karen had the overpowering desire to dance.

  “Rand,” she whispered seductively, waltzing a few steps ahead of him, “may I have the pleasure of this dance?” She curtsied politely.

  “Karen.”

  Was it impatience she heard in his voice? It must be the hiccupping; it was driving her crazy, too. “Then for heaven’s sake, kiss me,” she demanded. “That’ll stop them.”

  “Stop what?”

  Rand was definitely on a different wavelength, Karen mused, and giggled on another hiccup.

  “The taxi’s here,” he told her, his hand gripping her upper arm firmly.

  “But, Rand, I want to dance,” she pleaded. Her lashes fluttered downward suggestively.

  Rand ignored her and directed his attention to the driver. “I need to get some strong coffee into her.”

  The driver laughed as Karen hiccupped again. “Drive-through or restaurant?” he queried.

  “Drive-through … definitely a drive-through.”

  Again, the driver laughed.

  “But, Rand, I don’t want any coffee.” She forced herself to concentrate on him. His eyes were anxious, disturbed. That worried Karen. Was he angry? One arm cupped her shoulder protectively, as if she needed his strength to sit upright. The fingers on his other hand drummed a nervous tempo against the seat.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You think I’m drunk,” she said in an accusing, high-pitched voice that suggested absurdity.

  “My dear Karen, another glass of champagne and I’d have had to carry you from the reception.”

  Karen giggled. “Honestly, Rand, I’m as sober as a”—she couldn’t think of anyone sober—“a judge.” She waved her finger wildly, as if to prove her point.

  Rand snorted, but his mouth deepened into grooves as he suppressed a smile.

  Karen’s fingers crept to his face, caressing his jaw, outlining his mouth with the tips of her fingers. “Please kiss me,” she whispered softly as her hands moved up and over his shoulders, meeting behind his neck, urging his mouth to hers.

  At first, his kiss was slow and gentle, but Karen moaned, seeking deeper contact. She wasn’t disappointed when his lips hardened and parted hers. Desire seared through her blood until Karen thought she would drown in the pleasure of it.

  As he released her, she felt the cold air come between them and rested her head against his shoulder.

  “Either your kisses are more potent than I remember,” she said, smiling lazily, “or else I shouldn’t be closing my eyes, because the whole world goes into a tailspin.”

  She could feel Rand’s smile against her hair. “Then by all means protect Mother Earth and keep your eyes open.”

  Karen groaned when her alarm rang early the next morning. The shrill ring triggered a burst of pain in her head. When she sluggishly sat upright to turn off the offending noise, she thought her head would burst.

  Slouching against the pillow, she groaned again, holding her head. Looking around her, she found her normally neat bedroom in a shambles; clothes littered the floor, and one shoe sat on the windowsill, while the other remained hidden from view. She could vaguely recall singing and dancing around the apartment as she undressed. Taking deep breaths, she calculated the consequences of staying in bed, but the call of responsibility soon moved her into action.

  Once fortified with a cup of strong coffee and two aspirin, Karen showered and dressed. She lifted her eyebrows expressively when she located her second shoe in the bathroom sink.

  Fifteen minutes before she was due to leave for work, Rand phoned.

  “How are you feeling?” His tone was laced with concern.

  “Don’t ask.” She tested her voice for the first time and found her tongue thick and her words husky. “I think I’ll live if my head quits pounding.” Memories of the night remained hazy; she could recall Rand saying something about coffee and a beautiful, sensuous kiss in the back of the taxi, but beyond that, the evening was veiled in her mind.

  “I’m almost afraid to ask, but did I do anything out of the ordinary last night?”

  She could hear his soft chuckle. “My dear, I’ve got enough information to blackmail you for life.”

  Her breath was forced from her lungs; things were worse than she imagined. “I was afraid of that.”

  “Just remind me never to argue with you again. I didn’t know what lengths you were willing to go to to prove a point.
From now on, if you insist most people don’t really listen, I won’t question the fact.”

  Karen laughed, wondering where she got the courage to pull anything so crazy. “I think everyone in the whole wedding party probably heard me but was too shocked to respond.”

  Rand did little to relieve her anxiety. “I think you’ve made your mark among my friends.”

  Karen’s face remained tight and strained when the smile died. “I believe,” she began awkwardly, “that I owe you an apology. I’m so sorry, Rand. I don’t know what got into me.”

  “I’d say it was several glasses of excellent champagne,” he interrupted smoothly.

  Karen closed her eyes for a moment. “I feel terrible about the whole thing.”

  “Honey”—Rand’s chuckle was warm and sincere—“I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a wedding reception more.”

  Five

  Thursday afternoon, the sky was thick with threatening gray clouds that promised rain. Karen rushed out one door, down half a block to the restaurant, and in another, where Judy was waiting.

  Her sister waved as soon as Karen entered. “Hi.” Judy smiled in greeting as Karen sat opposite her in the small booth. “I’ve got our order in; it should be here any minute.”

  Karen sighed appreciatively. “Thanks, Jude. It works out great when you can get here early and order for me. It’s been a madhouse this morning. I didn’t even think I’d get here at all for a while.”

  “It’s a darn good thing you did.” Judy laughed, her eyes sparkling. “You should have seen the look the waitress gave me when I ordered two chef salads.”

  Karen laughed, a natural release from the tension of a hectic morning. “What have you heard from Mike?” she asked just as the waitress brought their salads.

  “Not much. He’s miserable, counting the days till he can come home, but he loves his job and the challenge. Sometimes I wish he was like a normal husband with a nine-to-five job, but he isn’t. It’s something I learned to accept long ago.”

  Judy and Mike had been right for each other from the time they started dating in high school. Karen was almost envious that her sister had been so fortunate to have found her husband as a teenager. It was a fact Matthew had often used to convince Karen she was being overly choosy. But since Karen had been seeing Rand regularly, Matthew had all but ceased his demands.