Eloquent Silence

by Sandra Brown

  He had written faithfully to her two or three times a week. Each time the message was brief, but full of love and how much she was missed. And each envelope contained a package of sugarless chewing gum.

  He had called them twice, and each time, when Lauri heard his voice, her heart had stopped momentarily, only to begin racing. The conversations were businesslike and to the point. He would inquire about Jennifer's progress, the house, and their basic comforts. He commissioned her to ask for anything she needed and then hung up without one personal word. If he even remembered the kiss they had shared, which Lauri doubted, he didn't show it.

  Was it a coincidence that, each time he called, Lauri found it harder to sleep that night? How could the sound of his voice disturb her equilibrium and leave her distracted for the remainder of the day? And at day's end, when she lay in the wide bed alone, her body felt unsettled and dissatisfied. It cried out for—

  No! She refused to admit it. But refusing to recognize the obvious was useless.

  It cried out for Drake.

  Sleeping in the nude was a habit she had acquired during her marriage to Paul. Often when he had left the bed to return to his piano, she had felt too apathetic to retrieve the nightgown he had impatiently stripped from her body.

  Her lack of a nightgown had never seemed sensuous – until recently. Now when she lay between the cool sheets, her mind conjured up pictures of Drake. Would he like her this way? What would it feel like to be stroked, caressed, explored by those strong, sensitive hands? Would they seek out that mysterious moisture that both thrilled and alarmed her by its very presence? Would they ease her swollen breasts, which ached with unquenched desire?

  She would toss restlessly until her fantasies became dreams. And in the dreams she realized fulfillment.

  * * *

  "Hi. Whatcha doin'?" Betty asked, sticking her head through the back door after an obligatory knock.

  "We just got a letter from Drake," Lauri said.

  "Ooooh," Betty groaned. "Can I touch it?"

  "You silly." Lauri laughed and started unloading the sack of groceries while Jennifer continued to chatter to her letter as though she were talking to Drake.

  Betty sat down on the kitchen stool, which had become her usual perch. Since Betty's husband was away so often, the young women spent a lot of time together.

  Lauri was grateful for the friendship that had sprung up between them, even though their backgrounds were so diverse.

  "Hey," Betty said, opening a package of cookies and popping one into her mouth, "I'm taking the kids to see Sleeping Beauty this afternoon. Disney, you know? Do you and Jennifer want to come along?"

  "Sure. That sounds like fun."

  For once Betty hesitated over her words. "I didn't know if deaf kids went to movies or not."

  "Of course, they do," Lauri said. "We watch Sesame Street, and she learns from it. She can't hear the movie, but it's still light and color and motion. She'll love it."

  Jennifer did enjoy the movie. When she had a question, she signed it, and Lauri would answer. Otherwise she was captivated with the masterly animated cartoon. When the witch turned into the dragon, she became frightened; she climbed up into Lauri's lap and hugged her close. Lauri explained that the dragon wasn't real. The explanation seemed to satisfy her for the moment, but Lauri decided she would try to teach her the concepts of real and pretend in a future lesson.

  * * *

  It had been a long day and Lauri was tired. The movie had taken up most of the afternoon, but she and Betty had taken their time getting home. Jim Groves was staying in the mountains that weekend, so Betty wasn't eager to return to her house with only Sam and Sally for company.

  They strolled the hilly, picturesque streets of Whispers with the three children in tow. They stopped at several artisan shops that interested Lauri. Jennifer enchanted everyone she met. In the month they had lived in the small community, she had already made friends with several shop owners. Everyone knew on sight the lovely red-haired woman and the blond, curly-haired child who was always with her.

  She and Betty decided to treat the children to hamburgers and milk shakes for their dinner, and then they trudged up the hill toward their houses with the very tired and fractious children tagging behind them.

  Jennifer had been bathed and tucked into her single bed in the small bedroom in a matter of minutes. Lauri felt that she had earned a long hot bath in the opulent bathtub.

  There was something sensuous and sinfully alluring about this bathroom. The tile floor and walls were pristine white, but in stark contrast the sunken tub was black marble. The basin and shower were of the same material, and the shower door was clear glass, not frosted as Lauri was accustomed to. She felt decidedly wicked each time she showered in full view of the mirrors that lined the opposite wall.

  As she sank into the steamy, bubbled water in the tub, she marveled again at its size. It was at least three feet deep and seven feet long. She stretched out her full length and luxuriated in the soothing warmth.

  When she finished bathing, she washed her hair and wrapped a towel turban-style around her head. Deciding she was hungry – she had walked off the hamburger she had eaten earlier – she negligently wrapped a towel around her, tucked the end between her breasts, and went downstairs, careful not to turn on any lights.

  In the kitchen she put several cookies she and Jennifer had baked that morning on a plate, poured a glass of milk and put it on another plate, and went back through the door to the living room.

  What made her look toward the oversized easy chair she never knew. But her heart leaped to her throat, and she barely bit off a scream. She jerked in such a startled manner that milk sloshed over the side of the glass, and the towel that was wrapped around her slipped precariously lower.

  "You'd better be careful or you're going to have no secrets from me," Drake drawled.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  «^»

  Lauri wanted to believe that her pounding heart and the liquid weakness that invaded her limbs generated by fright. But fear was only one catalyst. Another one, stronger and more powerful, was Drake Rivington's presence.

  His feet were stretched out in front of him as he slumped in the easy chair. A cowboy hat was pulled down low over his brows, but his eyes pierced the shadows and seemed to gleam from beneath the wide brim. He rolled out of the chair slowly, lazily, with deliberation.

  He was dressed in jeans and a denim jacket. Oddly enough, he didn't look like the men who paraded down Fifth Avenue in the trendy new Western clothes straight out of Saks. Drake's were faded and worn, and he looked like he belonged in them.

  He advanced like a stalking panther and stopped within inches of her. His nearness was overwhelming. Lauri involuntarily took a deep breath, and when she released it, the towel slipped another notch. She couldn't reach for it and assure its security. One hand held the plate of cookies, the other the glass of milk. If she moved toward a table to set them down, she was afraid the towel would fall away altogether.

  Drake realized her predicament and the dimple in his cheek deepened mischievously as he pushed the cowboy hat back with his thumb. "Now, what should I do, ma'am?" he asked musingly. "If I take the cookies, you'll no doubt spill the milk in your haste to grab the towel. If I take the milk, the cookies will slide off the plate, and that would be such a waste. They smell homemade." He leaned down and sniffed the cookies. His head was very close to hers, and the scent of his cologne overpowered the fresh-baked aroma of the cookies and was much more tantalizing.

  He straightened and moved a step closer. "On the other hand I could take the towel and solve all our problems," he said gruffly.

  Her breath caught in her throat as his hand moved to her cleavage, where the end of the towel had been carelessly tucked in. He settled his index finger on the top curve of her breast. "Did you know," his voice was the merest whisper, "that you have five freckles right here?" He indicated the spot by smoothing his finger across her ski
n. "That's unusual. Redheads usually have freckles all over. And you only have five. But they are in such a naughty and nice place."

  She was captivated by the persuasion in his voice. His fragrant breath fanned her face and seemed almost life-supporting. She wanted to draw it into her own body. Stroking fingers were insinuating their way under the towel. When she felt them pressing the soft curves of her flesh, the fires of desire that had been smoldering in her were doused. Anger superseded passion.

  She stepped back quickly and hissed, "You scared me half to death! Why didn't you let me know you were here?"

  "Well, I started to, but you were in the bathtub. Would you rather I'd barged into the bathroom to inform you of my arrival? That would've left you without the benefit of a towel," he mocked as his eyes raked over her insolently. "I didn't know you walked around my house like this. I assumed that a nice girl like you would put on a robe or something more modest when she finished bathing."

  She ignored the gibe and hung on to his first words. "H-how did you know I was bathing?"

  He cocked an eyebrow knowingly. "Now, how do you think I knew?" he asked with an amused glint in his eye. She gasped and blushed to the roots of her hair. "I heard the water splashing," he said casually.

  Her reaction was as he predicted it would be. She stamped her foot in anger, and he laughed as she ground out an "Oh!" She had momentarily forgotten the towel, but was reminded of her precarious state when she felt it slip even farther down her breasts until it was barely clinging to the pointed crests.

  "Will you please stop laughing and take these out of my hands. I'm cold."

  "It's no wonder. Running around naked like that," he teased, but he relieved her of the milk and cookies. She hastily grabbed the towel and secured it in her tight fist, which she longed to smash into his smirking mouth.

  "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Rivington, I'll be back shortly, and then I want to know what the hell you're doing here."

  "You'd better talk nice to me," he warned. "You still have to climb the stairs. That towel doesn't begin to cover all it should. I can either be a gentleman and turn my head or I can stand at the foot of the st—"

  "Will you please excuse me, Mr. Rivington, while I make myself more presentable to be interviewed by my employer?" she asked in a saccharine voice.

  "Certainly, Ms. Parrish. I'll be in the kitchen when you come back down."

  "I won't be a minute." Without waiting to see if he was looking up the stairs or not – she really didn't want to know – she ran up them and into her bedroom.

  Her fingers were trembling as she slipped into a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. The nights were growing cooler in the mountains.

  What was he doing here? Why hadn't he told her he was coming? She whipped the towel off her hair and brushed it out. It hung in damp tendrils to her shoulders, but was already curling in its naturally soft waves. She didn't take the time to blow it dry. She wanted to see Drake – but only to find out why he had come, she averred to herself.

  Her legs seemed to have turned to jelly as she descended the stairs. When she went into the kitchen, he was standing at the range scrambling eggs. Fresh coffee was bubbling in the percolator, and there were two slices of toast in the toaster. His jacket and hat were hanging on pegs by the back door.

  "I'm starving. The food on the flight down wasn't fit to eat, and I didn't stop between here and Albuquerque. Did you want something?"

  "Yes, I want to know what you're doing here,"

  He slid the fluffy eggs out of the nonstick skillet onto a waiting plate. He put his hands on his hips and stared at her for several seconds then walked past her on his way to the living room. Lauri followed, exasperated and puzzled.

  He went to the front door, opened it, and stepped through. Looking up over the door, he said, "Four-oh-three. Just what I thought. This is my house." He came back in and shut the door, ignoring her militant stance as he swaggered back into the kitchen.

  "Very funny," she said as she followed him.

  "I thought so," he tossed over his shoulder as he opened the refrigerator door. "Do we have any cheese?"

  "We?" she asked, stressing the word.

  "Okay. Do you have any cheese, Ms. Parrish?"

  She couldn't meet the teasing eyes that looked at her over the refrigerator door. "In the bottom drawer," she muttered, looking down at her bare feet. Had she forgotten to put on any shoes?

  "How's the strawberry jam?"

  She was totally disconcerted. "What?" she asked impatiently.

  "We've – I'm sorry, you've got grape, apricot, and strawberry jam. Do you recommend the strawberry?"

  That did it.

  "Will you please stop with this inane chatter and fix that damn plate of food and sit down so I can talk to you?"

  She tapped her foot in consternation and folded her arms across her chest. It was then she realized that she hadn't taken the time to put on any underwear either.

  "Okay, okay," he said testily, setting his plate on the table. "You never did win Miss Congeniality, did you?" He poured a cup of coffee and asked her with an inquiring lift of his eyebrow if she wanted any. She shook her head negatively.

  When he sat down and began wolfing down the food, without any effort to start a conversation, she slunk to the chair opposite him and flopped down with emphasis. He didn't even look at her. Well, she thought, I'll be damned before I ask him anything more.

  When the plate was clean, he wiped his mouth on a paper napkin and took a long drink of the cooled coffee.

  "Is the house satisfactory?" he began.

  She hadn't expected him to start with a discussion of the house. "Yes," she answered succinctly. When he raised his brows threateningly, she relented somewhat. After all, he was her employer. "It's more than satisfactory. It's beautiful, and you know it. Whispers is a perfect atmosphere for Jennifer. She's learning so much, and the people around here are kind and unhurried."

  "How is she, Lauri?" All his teasing and bantering had stopped. He was serious. Lauri tried to ignore the tickling sensation in her midsection that his saying her name had caused. She tried equally hard not to stare with such fascination at his mustache. It had played a integral part in some of her daydreams.

  She averted her eyes and answered thoughtfully, "She's fine, Drake. Truly. She's intelligent and witty. Her lessons are going faster than I ever dreamed they would. Her speech is still very slow, but it's coming. Her sign vocabulary and the command of it has quadrupled since we left New York." She smiled then and prodded, "How's yours?"

  He signed that he went to class three nights a week and was learning as quickly as a tired thirty-five-year-old man could learn anything.

  She laughed. "Very good! You and Jennifer can have discussions on all sorts of things now."

  "Are you missing New York?" he asked with a frown. "No," she answered slowly. I miss only you, she thought. When she saw his skeptical expression, she added, "We have a very good neighbor who, by the way, is a big fan of yours and will probably be storming the house when she learns you're here. She has two children who play with Jennifer."

  He seemed surprised and asked, "Are they – I mean, do they—" He groped for the words, but Lauri supplied them.

  "Do they treat her like a freak? No, Drake," she assured him. "They treat her like they would any other playmate. They have their squabbles and times of affection just like any other children. Betty and the kids are learning sign. They can talk to Jennifer quite well now."

  "That's good," he said, nodding into his coffee cup. It was almost sad to see him so relieved. Lauri stymied the impulse to reach out and touch the silver-brown hair that was tousled from having been under the cowboy hat. The line lines around his eyes seemed more deeply etched, as if he hadn't been sleeping well. Did he miss his daughter that much? Or had coming to Whispers reminded him of the time spent here with Susan? The pain of that thought was intolerable. Lauri could feel that her features were displaying her emotions, and she quickly masked them.
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br />   "How long will you be in Whispers?" she asked.

  He brought his head up and looked at her a moment before standing and crossing to the coffeepot to refill his cup.

  "Indefinitely," he said.

  She stared at him in surprise. What did he mean by indefinitely?

  "I don't understand," she said.

  He took a sip of coffee and turned back to face her. "I have a helluva headache. Would you make yourself useful and give me a neck rub?"

  That swift change of topics took her completely off guard. Instinctively she nodded and walked around behind his chair as he sat down. Cautiously she placed her hands on his shoulders near his neck and gently squeezed the tense muscles under the cotton shirt that was stretched across them.

  "Ah, thanks. That feels great." He took another sip of coffee. When he began talking, he sounded introspective. "I got fed up with that crap I was having to do and say on that soap. I'm tired of it. In seven years I've had four marriages and innumerable affairs, and a car wreck in which I lost my memory. I almost married my long lost sister before we discovered our kinship. I lost my son to leukemia, and had my medical license revoked because a rich man's daughter accused me of aborting a fetus that she claimed was mine. I'm sick to death of Doctor Hambrick. Seven years of scripts like that are enough."

  "You mean you quit?" she asked aghast, and abruptly stopped rubbing his neck just behind his ears.

  "Not exactly. Please don't stop." When her fingers resumed their work, he continued. "I told Murray that I wanted to get away for a while and get my head together. I've only had a few days vacation in all this time, so I was due several weeks. Wednesday of this week, we taped an episode where Doctor Hambrick gets knocked over the head by a mugger while he and his lady love are strolling through Central Park. He's in a deep coma. She was raped, so all the attention will be on her for a while. She'll no doubt fall madly in love with another doctor," he remarked with a derisive snort.