Bicycle Built for Two

by Duncan, Alice

  “You wouldn’t have to,” he told her patiently. “You can stay here with her.”

  “I can’t let you support me. That would make me a . . .” She couldn’t say the word.

  “For the love of—” She felt him take a deep breath. “You will not be my mistress, Kate. For heaven’s sake, this is my mother’s home. And your mother will be here, too. Do you suppose I’d take advantage of you under these circumstances? Or any other circumstances,” he added, sounding cranky.

  Kate feared his unwillingness to take advantage of her spoke more of her own unpleasant personality than his nobility of character. “I can’t let you do that. It’s too much. But if she stays here, I might never see her alive again. And what about my brothers? They deserve to see their mother again.”

  She felt his chest heave with another sigh. “I’ll make sure your brothers get to see your mother, Kate. I’ll drive them out here every day if you want me to.”

  Lifting her face, she actually managed a crooked smile. “How can they come out here every day? We all have to work.”

  “I know that, damn it. I’ll fix everything. Trust me for once, will you?”

  She stared at him through tear-filled eyes. His face came in and out of focus as she blinked. It was a strong face; a good face. She loved his face. Without her conscious consent, her hands lifted to frame his face. “You’re so good to us, Alex.”

  “God knows, I try to be.”

  It sounded to Kate as if he were attempting to maintain his firmness in the face of her tears. She didn’t want him to be firm. She needed more than firmness from him tonight. She needed his love. And if she couldn’t get that, maybe she could get a little temporary affection.

  That being the case, Kate lifted her face to his and kissed him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alex knew he shouldn’t be kissing Kate. This was a dangerous thing to do, it being that they were in her bedroom, everyone else in the family had gone to bed, and her own bed was only a couple of feet away. “Kate . . .” But he couldn’t tell her to stop. He wanted her too much. He loved her too much, heaven save him.

  “I know, Alex,” she whispered. “I know this is wrong. I guess I’m bad clear through, because I don’t want to stop.”

  “Don’t say that. For God’s sake, Kate.”

  “Then why am I doing this?” Her voice broke on a sob.

  Alex couldn’t stand it. He wanted to make everything better for her. He wanted to stop her mother from dying and give her brothers money and make sure Kate herself never wanted for anything again. And the only thing he could do was to offer her some sort of solace in her time of distress. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. “You’re doing it because you need comfort. And I want to give it to you.”

  She’d buried her face against his shoulder. Alex didn’t want to let her go, but he was an honorable man, in spite of all obstacles. “You need rest, Kate.”

  “Don’t go,” she pleaded.

  Alex thought he detected torment in her voice. “I won’t go. Lie down and try to get some rest, Kate. You’re totally exhausted. You work too hard, you know.”

  “I have to.”

  “I know it.” And he hated it. He laid her tenderly on the bed. “Here, Kate, let me take off your shoes.”

  To his surprise, she didn’t argue. Rather, she lay back against the fluffed-up pillow with a deep, shuddering sigh. “I’m scared, Alex. I don’t know what I’ll do when Ma dies.”

  “I know, sweetheart, but we’ll think of something.”

  “We will?”

  “We will.” It was a promise he aimed to keep. He dragged over one of the chairs and sat on it, thought about taking her hand, but didn’t trust himself.

  She heaved another ragged sigh. “Thank you.”

  “I hope you’ll consider my proposition carefully, Kate. I’m not trying to take advantage of you.”

  “I know that. But if I took you up on it, I’d be taking advantage of you.”

  “Nonsense.” Because he had to touch her or die, he placed his hand on her forehead and brushed a few stray strands of hair back. “Would you like to take your hair down, Kate? Would you be more comfortable?” He’d been wanting to see her hair down for a long time now.

  Her head moved back and forth slowly, and Alex sighed with disappointment. “Just close your eyes, then. I’ll get a quilt for you if you need more covers.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll get up in a bit and put on my nightgown. Right now, I’m just so tired. So tired.”

  “I know, sweetheart. Go to sleep. You need rest.”

  “Sweetheart?” She didn’t open her eyes, but she smiled. Alex’s heart lurched and stumbled.

  “Yes.” I love you, Kate. He couldn’t say that—wasn’t even sure he meant it—but he did deposit a kiss on her forehead. “Go to sleep now.”

  Her eyelids fluttered, as if she wanted to protest or acknowledge the kiss, but they didn’t open. She only nodded slightly. “I’m so tired.”

  “Sleep now.”

  It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep. Alex watched her, longing to hold her, to pet her, to make love to her, but unable to do anything about it. He couldn’t. He was a gentleman.

  He could if he married her.

  The notion had sneaked up behind his back and attacked him so suddenly he jerked in his chair. Marry Kate Finney? Alex English? Impossible.

  He watched her sleeping and wondered about impossibility or the lack thereof. Perhaps his judgmental instincts were still operating on notions no longer valid. He’d learned a lot, about himself and Kate, in the last few weeks. It was still true that she wasn’t from his social class, but did it matter? He gave himself a mental whack. Of course, it mattered. It mattered almost more than anything else, and it mattered to Kate even more than it did to him; he’d learned that much long since.

  His mother had come from a poor family. Granted, it had been a poor farming family, thereby enabling her to understand his father’s way of life a whole lot better than Kate and Alex understood each other, but that might not be an insurmountable obstacle to a happy union. For that matter, what constituted a happy union? Was happiness in marriage largely a matter of chance, as Jane Austen had written in Pride and Prejudice? Might be, although he’d always been taught that if two people were compatible, they’d be happy in marriage.

  Very well, then, what constituted compatibility? He supposed people coming from similar backgrounds might have some grounds for compatibility. He supposed that, if a child were exposed to a happy union between his parents, he’d be better equipped to create and maintain a happy union in his own life, provided he received help in the endeavor from his spouse. He and Kate had no similar experiences in that regard. As he stared hard at her, he contemplated the notion of Kate’s family as opposed to his own.

  There would surely be problems there. How could there not be? His father had been a loving and supportive gentleman. Her father had been and was a son of a bitch. Therefore, Kate was accustomed to men being a hindrance to her happiness rather than an aid thereto. Could a person unlearn life’s lessons and accept another set of values? Sounded like a hard road to him, and he wasn’t sure he was up to it, since it would be up to him to teach her that he could be trusted. She was as prickly as a cactus in some ways; ways that occasionally drove him almost to violence, which would make him no better than her father.

  Alex spared a moment to be resentful that Kate might possibly, if she tried hard enough, turn him into a son of a bitch, too, then told himself not to be ridiculous. Still, her experience with her father would indubitably create problems of trust in so close a union as marriage.

  That being the case, marriage probably wasn’t such a good idea. Alex didn’t want to lose touch with her; he felt as if his heart were being ripped in two when he considered such a parting of the ways, actually. So perhaps he could make Kate his mistress? That way they could enjoy each other, but remain free at the same time.

  His entire b
eing clamped down and rebelled when he considered that possibility. No. No mistress. Not Kate. Not anyone, for that matter. Alex English wasn’t the mistress-gathering type, and Kate would certainly shoot him dead if he so much as hinted at such an alliance.

  Anyhow, Alex despised men who neglected their families for the sake of their own pleasures. If he made Kate his mistress, assuming she’d even consider such a thing, which she wouldn’t, he would be dishonoring his own family, his personal code of ethics, and her, too. He couldn’t abide that.

  As he watched Kate sleep, he saw the lines of care and worry on her face smooth out. He ached to help her, to ease her burdens, to make her life easier. And she didn’t want him to, because she didn’t trust his motives, not because of him, but because of her short life’s teachings. That hurt. What more could he do to prove to her that he wasn’t like the other men in her life? What else could he do to prove to her that he only wanted to help her?

  Maybe that was it. She didn’t want what she called charity. Could he help her without making her feel as if she was accepting too much from him?

  His head began to ache, and he decided that, Kate and her prickly personality aside, all this thinking was too much for him. Propping his elbows on his knees, he sank his chin into his hands and stared out at the night sky from across Kate’s sleeping form. He had a feeling his life would be much easier if he’d never met her, but it would also have been a life flawed and barren.

  If he’d never met Kate, he’d have ended up like Gil MacIntosh’s brother Henry, sure as check, and probably pretty soon if what Gil had said was true. Alex feared it was.

  Not that Henry MacIntosh was a bad man. On the contrary, Henry was known for doing his duty. Doing one’s duty was an admirable quality. The trouble was that Henry did his duty out of a feeling of obligation; he didn’t do it out of love.

  That sounded like a sappy sentiment, so Alex mulled it over for several seconds before coming to a conclusion.

  Dash it, it wasn’t sappy. It was the truth. Alex didn’t want to turn into a stuffy stump of a man who didn’t understand anything except his own narrow life. He didn’t want to be a man who threw money at charities while despising the people he was helping thereby. He didn’t want to consider himself superior to his fellow beings, when the truth was that he was only more lucky and, perhaps, a trifle more provident, than most.

  Good Gad, but Kate Finney had taught him a lot of things about himself. Many of them were dashed uncomfortable, too.

  A strange sound from the room next door had just penetrated Alex’s concentration when Kate sat up with a jolt. “Ma!” She scrambled toward the edge of the bed.

  Understanding struck Alex. Kate’s mother was in distress, and Kate, whose senses had been honed during months—perhaps years—of listening and worrying, had discerned it in her sleep before Alex, fully awake, had done so. He reached out and caught her before she could fall out of the bed.

  “What?” She turned to look at him, groggy-eyed, then shook her head as if she didn’t know where she was.

  “You’re all right, Kate. Here, let me help you out of bed. The bed’s tall, and you’re not, so you might have a drop.” With exquisite care, Alex lifted her down from the bed. She swayed slightly, but steadied herself at once. Again, Alex got the feeling she’d had lots of practice in bounding out of bed and being alert. She’d had to be.

  “It’s Ma,” she said in a voice gravelly with sleep.

  “Yes,” said Alex. “Here, take my arm.”

  “I don’t need help.”

  Alex sighed. “I know. Take my arm anyway. It’s dark, and I know my way around the house better than you do.”

  Evidently that made sense to her, because she didn’t argue, but hurried to the door, not quite allowing him to lead her, but not trying to shake him off. The lamp in the hall had been turned down. Alex didn’t bother to turn it up, figuring he could do that after he got Kate to her mother’s side. Mrs. Finney was still coughing and gasping. It hurt to hear her. Alex knew how exhausting these coughing fits were for her. She had so little strength to begin with, and then to choke like that seemed to sap what energy she had left. He discovered himself sucking in breath in an attempt to help the sick woman, and made himself stop.

  “I should have made her sleep sitting up. I know better than to let her lie down flat like that.”

  “It’s not your fault, Kate. You always do the best you can,” Alex assured her. “You can’t think of everything every time.”

  “I should have thought of that this time.” She pushed the door open and rushed inside, bumping her hip against a table set against the wall next to the door. She didn’t even seem to notice, so Alex winced for her. He almost grinned, thinking what useless occupations wanting to breathe for her mother and assume Kate’s pain were.

  “Ma!”

  Mrs. Finney couldn’t talk for coughing, so Alex turned up the light. It didn’t illuminate the room much, but he could see that Kate had flung herself on the bed and put her arms around her mother. She lifted Mrs. Finney into a sitting position and held a handkerchief to her mouth. Mrs. Finney’s eyes didn’t open, although tears of stress leaked out through the tightly squeezed lids. Watching and wishing he could do something—anything—to help, Alex understood that the ordeal of Hazel Finney’s life was almost over.

  What an awful pity her life had been, too. Until this minute, he’d never fully understood how cruel and unfair the fates could be. He allowed himself to wonder if there was any order to the universe, or if everything worked by chance. He didn’t like thinking of life as a haphazard affair, over which one had no control. Shaking off the thought, he asked, “Is there anything I can do, Kate?”

  Kate didn’t turn around. “No. Thanks, Alex.”

  “Some hot tea with honey? Something to soothe her chest?”

  “Tea? Yeah. Sure. That would be nice. Thanks.”

  She was humoring him in the hope he’d go away and quit pestering her. Alex heard the impatience in her voice. With a short shake of his head, he did her a favor, left the room, and went downstairs to the kitchen. He was by no means an expert on where things were stored in that room, but he found the brandy bottle his mother kept in a high cupboard for medicinal purposes. Alex was absolutely certain that Kate wouldn’t approve of dosing her mother with alcohol, but he figured Mrs. Finney wouldn’t live long enough to become addicted to the demon that had ruined her husband, and he’d heard more than once that brandy soothed a cough.

  In fact . . . Drawing from snippets of conversations he’d heard between his mother and Mrs. Gossett, Alex poured some brandy into a glass, stirred in some honey, boiled some water in the kettle, added hot water to the mixture, stirred, and shrugged. Couldn’t hurt. Might help. If anything at all could help Hazel Finney, Alex would like to provide it for her. This was little enough, God knew.

  He trotted back upstairs and into Mrs. Finney’s room. She’d stopped coughing in favor of gasping for breath. His soul hurt for both of the Finney ladies when he saw them. Kate still held on to her mother as if she didn’t want to release her for fear she’d slip away from her forever. Mrs. Finney looked as if she were dead already, although she fought hard for breath. He walked softly over to the bed. Kate wasn’t crying. As far as he knew, Kate never cried unless she was caught unawares or so overwhelmed as to forget herself.

  “I brought some medicine,” he said, wondering if he were lying. Deciding it wasn’t quite a lie, he amended it. “I mixed up a tonic.”

  Shaking her head, Kate said, “She can’t take anything yet.”

  Without arguing, Alex pulled up a chair. “I’ll set it on the table. Perhaps she’ll be able to drink it in a while.”

  Kate nodded her acquiescence. Alex allowed himself a very short feeling of triumph. At least she hadn’t hollered at him to take the glass away and lose himself somewhere. Knowing he was courting a sharp retort, he asked his next question anyhow. “How’s she doing?”

  Kate didn’t snap at him. “
Not very well.” She turned bleak eyes to him. “Not well at all.”

  He shook his head, knowing any words from him would be superfluous.

  Thirty minutes later, when Mrs. Finney was nearly unconscious with fatigue, Kate managed to pour a little of Alex’s tonic down her throat. “Does that help any, Ma?”

  Alex was amazed at how firm and jolly Kate’s voice sounded. The circumstances were so dismal, he’d have expected them to vibrate in her tone of voice. Not with Kate Finney. Kate was superior to circumstances, sort of like she was superior to logic. He’d have laughed at his little joke if it weren’t for the aforementioned circumstances.

  A murmur of assent came from Mrs. Finney. Alex hoped she wasn’t just agreeing because she thought she should. Before she offered her mother his tonic, Kate had forced her to sip from her flask. It was almost empty, and Alex’s heart suffered a sharp spasm when the knowledge that the medicine, which was supposed to have lasted all weekend, had been consumed in a mere day. She was sinking fast, there was nothing anybody could do about it, and the knowledge ate into him like acid. He couldn’t even imagine what Kate must be going through.

  At last, Mrs. Finney fell into an exhausted sleep. Watching her and listening to her labored breathing, he knew what he had to do. He reached for Kate, but she shook her head.

  “I’d better stay here for the rest of the night, Alex. She’s in pretty bad shape tonight. I guess the day was too much for her.”

  A pang of guilt smote him. “I’d hoped the country air and relaxed country living would help her.”

  “It’s not your fault. She wanted to come out here. She loves it out here. The trip helped her heart and mind, Alex. At this point, that’s the most important thing.”

  “Thanks, Kate. That’s a generous thing to say.”

  As he might have predicted, Kate said, “Nuts.”

  Acting upon his prior resolution, Alex said, “Stay here with her, Kate.”

  “That’s just what I said I was going to do.” She rubbed eyes that must have been gritty with lack of sleep.