by Ward, Susan
Striving not to show how easily he could discompose her, Krystal said mockingly, “How unusual. I’ve never had a man bring me potted daisies before. Do you always strive for originality or is this a national florist’s holiday and all the shops were closed?”
“The geraniums in your wagon are dead,” was his offhand reply.
It seemed that her senses were one beat ahead of her brain. Didn’t those keen eyes ever miss anything? She hadn’t noticed the geraniums in her wagon, yet she knew if she went to the porch, she’d find them to be as he said. When had he taken note of that?
When Krystal turned from the counter, her startled gaze locked on the gold framed picture lightly resting in Devon’s hands. A picture of Morgan. He was staring down at it intently.
Devon’s gentle green eyes lifted from the picture to her face. “Your ex-husband?”
She almost dropped the two cups she was holding. “No. A friend.”
Her stomach twisted into a knot. She experienced a flash of pure dread. How had Devon managed to find the picture tucked carefully away among the canisters and baskets on her counter? There was only this one, carefully stashed in the house.
Struggling to contain her welling panic, she reminded herself, Devon won’t even recognize that famous face in the glossy. They’d spent four hours moving in a crowd without a single person taking note of them. Morgan hadn’t even looked like himself in his wide rimmed dark glasses, baseball cap, and worn overalls.
The picture was a souvenir of their first night together as more than just friends, when the silliness of having donned elaborate disguises to enjoy a New Jersey amusement park after they had played a concert in Manhattan the night before had carried them into a sensual frolic of play. They’d finally ended up in bed after four years of friendship and professional collaboration.
In Morgan’s bed. The memory made Krystal shiver. Nick, his impatience with her, the roughness of his lovemaking, the bouts of brutality that were too often followed by little more than forced sex, had left her believing she was not a sensual woman. The intimacies of her married life had held no more excitement than a wet towel. That she had never been able to respond to Nick had almost made her stop that first time with Morgan.
She’d frozen and cried at the beginning of their lovemaking. Later, when Morgan had eased off her shirt, he had cried as well. The marks on her body had been her private shame for a long time. Nick, as hideous and violent as he could be, oddly enough, even in his most insane moments, never forgot that she was a public personality. The marks of seven years of battery were left only on her torso, including that one horrible scar above her left breast.
She wondered how many people would believe that beneath Morgan’s flamboyant exterior of erotic, roguish bravado was a heart of pure tenderness and kindness.
She had always imagined a man seeing her marks and recoiling in horror. Her body had been beautiful once. In her own eyes, it had become obscene. But to her utter amazement, Morgan hadn’t recoiled. He’d cried and folded her in his arms, those powerfully built arms that could be so comforting and protective.
Hours had passed with them simply wrapped around each other on his bed, her tears slowly waning, his own waning, then the touching that followed, which had seemed necessary. Then came so much more.
When Morgan had run his hands over the intimate, sensitive parts of Krystal’s body, her flesh had burst into life, in the way it should have, for the first time ever. An act of love, done in love. She’d never known it before. He had been gentle, so gentle in his passion for her, as if sensing without having been told all the ways she’d suffered with Nick.
She thought of Morgan and her subtle yearnings, just beneath the surface, surged upward. The longing. The loneliness. Of all she had had to leave behind, he was her greatest regret. God, how she missed him.
It had been a dangerous mistake to keep the picture, and yet something had rebelled within her at that moment when the scissors were in her hand. Nick had cost her so much. She wouldn’t allow him to take Morgan.
And now, Morgan’s picture was in Devon’s hands and she felt violated. But even more, she felt afraid. Would he recognize the face beneath the reflective surface?
“Was he someone special to you?”
The lump in her throat nearly strangled her. “I loved him,” she whispered weakly. “But it didn’t work out. In the end we parted, good friends, nothing more.”
“Good friends,” Devon mused. “And yet you keep his picture around.”
Krystal stared at him. This man saw too much. Much too much for safety.
“Are you still in contact?”
She shook her head. “No. We lost contact when I moved to Coos Bay.”
“I’m sorry.”
Devon’s voice held all the sweet comfort of a spring breeze. She felt her iron self-control slipping. She didn’t want this conversation. She didn’t want this man in her kitchen. How had it all happened so quickly? Instinct told her to keep Devon away; why had she let him near her?
“What did he do?”
Think of a lie. Say anything, but not the truth. “He’s a musician.”
Devon’s bright eyes settled on her thoughtfully. “So that explains it.”
Krystal tensed. “What does that explain?”
“Musician’s aren’t always the easiest to get along with and I’m sure that teaching small children piano didn’t prepare you to deal with Jason and his kind. You handle the boys like a seasoned pro.”
“You’ve got it wrong. They handle me. As for being an old pro, if I were that, Jason and I wouldn’t always be locking horns.”
“It’s the age. Seventeen going on forty. I was just as volatile and unpredictable at Jason’s age.”
Krystal smiled. What makes you think you’ve changed?
“Were you involved for very long?”
He’d slipped the question in so naturally that it took Krystal off-guard.
“Three years.”
“He was a lucky man, Christine. To be loved so much.”
Krystal didn’t realize that a tear had broken through her resolve until Devon leaned toward her, and with the outer curve of a finger lightly brushed away the dampness on her skin. His face, with its smile lines and tender angles, was richly compassionate, but held something more, something she couldn’t define.
Whatever it was, it made her have to fight the impulse to ask him to leave. If she panicked, it might send him into speculation. That would do her no good at all.
Setting the cups down on the table, she lifted the picture from his outstretched hand.
“What’s wrong with your sink?”
The question was a welcome change and Krystal couldn’t completely mask her relief. Setting Morgan’s picture back into its carefully camouflaged resting place, she turned to lift the coffee pot from the maker, filling the cups before she set it down on the round wicker mat on her table.
“That wretched beast ate my charm bracelet, and in trying to get it back, I think I broke it.” Flipping the switch, Krystal demonstrated how the disposal made a low buzz instead of its usual grinding sound. “See! Nothing.”
“Jammed,” Devon answered confidently, leaning forward in his chair to look under the cabinet. “You weren’t trying to disconnect it without shutting off the power were you?”
Krystal blushed. The power? She had never even thought to shut off the electricity. Had that even been in the book? Perhaps it hadn’t been so bright to skip those first few paragraphs and dive directly into the art of fixing the darn thing.
Noting her discomfort, Devon shook his blond head in mock reproach. “It’s a good thing you didn’t roast yourself. Where’s your fuse box?”
Her clear blue eyes stared widely at him.
“No help there,” Devon laughed, pushing up from his chair. He disappeared through her sliding glass door and returned a few minutes later. “The circuits are outside, on the side of the house. Should you ever need to know again,” he told her casuall
y.
Before she could stop him, he was angling his body under the sink. His grinning face poked out at her. “You have turned off the water, haven’t you?”
“Was working on it when you arrived. That was obvious,” Krystal said with stiff neck pride, though the color burned even hotter on her cheeks.
“And that the disposal works off electricity wasn’t?” Devon teased.
She wanted to kick him. She did not. If he were willing to fix the darn thing the least she could do was be civil. Propping her chin in her hand, she watched in unwilling fascination. He didn’t seem at all daunted about tackling the beast. Perhaps she should have taken shop instead of French in high school, then the beast wouldn’t intimidate her.
The thought made her laugh. Cate School, the private boarding facility she’d attended in Newport Beach, didn’t have shop. What she knew about shop class she’d learned from Jason, who attended an alternative high school, one of those less academically structured institutions where they send the troublemakers. Jason could fix anything from an amplifier to a washing machine.
It was a good thing he was gifted musician. Hopefully, it would get him somewhere. The education the school board had given him had left him limited to repair work and manual labor. It had not regarded him as college material. The boy was bright and brilliant musically, but wouldn’t know the difference between Shakespeare and Seinfeld; it was a crime in every way.
She wondered if Devon had gone to an alternative school, as well. He was doing this without the manual. It didn’t seem likely. Maybe it was just his being male.
Her eyes wandered over him as she watched. She noted that the fuzzy spray of hair up the back of his calves was the same golden shade as the loose waves on his head, and that his skin was richly tanned, betraying the fact that he spent a great deal out-of-doors and that he had come from somewhere where the sun shined readily and often.
One did not find specimens like this every day in Coos Bay. All and all, it was a very nice package to go with what was clearly an educated mind and a refined manner.
She felt a flush rise on her cheeks. Good grief, what was she doing, critiquing his body?
“Could you hand me a wrench?”
Krystal absently grabbed the first tool that brushed her fingers and handed it to him.
Throaty laughter surrounded her. “A wrench. Not pliers,” he chided her, amused. “Were you really going to try to fix this yourself?”
Her face was on fire. “Ha, ha, ha, so I don’t make a very good plumber. At least I was willing to try. That’s more than I would have done two years ago.”
She broke off, furious with herself over what she’d said.
“Why didn’t you call Fritz to help you? I don’t think there’s anything that old man wouldn’t do for you, if you asked.”
She sank down on her knees beside him and took the pliers, dropping a wrench into his hands. When had Devon had the opportunity to grasp the depths of her and Fritz’s relationship? Then she remembered, he’d followed her into Fritz’s store yesterday. It had bothered her until Fritz had told her he’d purchased some CDs.
“I don’t like to impose. He’s done so much for Katie and me already.”
“I think you’ve done a lot for him.” Devon’s voice was muffled from the cabinets. “He likes to rave about you, in case you are unaware. I get the impression he was a lonely old man before you were a part of his life.”
“Fritz is a dear man. He has taught me so much. Sometimes when I think back to how it was when I first started working for Fritz, I’m amazed he kept me. I was a complete disaster, more trouble than I was worth, I’m sure! I hadn’t much experience with business or anything else for that matter.”
“Really? I’ve heard you’re very successful with your teaching. You don’t seem to be a woman who needs anyone to teach you anything. What did you do before working for Fritz?”
Krystal tensed. Their prosaic conversation had lulled her into a feeling of false security. She would have to stay on her toes, since Devon’s mind functioned so quickly and effortlessly that he could take control. It was staggering how freely he questioned her, hopping around from topic to topic in a disarming way. She mustn’t let her guard slip again. She had already told this man too much.
“I was married,” she said, letting him draw his own conclusions from that.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
The softness of his voice made Krystal tremble. There were times, like now, when it was so soft and husky, that it brushed her senses like a lover’s touch.
Shocked, she realized that she had come to sit very close to him, so close that she could feel the warmth of his body against her bare legs.
“What’s the matter? You haven’t abandoned our project already? I didn’t mean to offend you with my questions, Christine.”
She opened her eyes to see that Devon was out from beneath the sink. Trying not to give away too much of her discomfort, she said, “I was just trying to figure out what you do for a living. You’ve not told me.”
Krystal watched him change position, as he drew into a cross-legged pose, resting the detached disposal against one thigh. It was obvious that she had amused him because he was smiling.
“Why don’t you tell me what you think? It’s interesting to find out what kind of impressions you make on people,” he offered.
She dropped her chin in the cup of her palm, giving him a careful once-over, as she watched him try to work free her bracelet from the blades in the disposal.
“Be gentle,” he warned, his eyes twinkling. “I have as much vanity as the next man.”
“Let me see,” Krystal said, pausing as though giving the matter serious thought. “You’re successful. I know that by how you deal with people. Very self-assured. Confident. You must be of comfortable means. The rent on the Miller house isn’t cheap and the car you drive is foreign. Very foreign.”
Devon laughed, not looking up from his task. “Very foreign? German is more foreign than, say, Japanese? I don’t follow your logic.”
“More foreign to music teachers,” Krystal explained. “You are either a successful businessman or—” he looked up at her and she smiled sweetly. “—or a plumber?”
His laughter made sparks dance in her stomach. His eyes met hers, his golden head slowly shaking.
“A plumber?”
“You took that apart without the book!” Krystal scoffed playfully. Then, arching her pale brows, she added, “And no one but the plumbers and the rich can afford a Mercedes these days! At least not in Coos Bay! We don’t spend our status dollars on cars.”
Devon gave her several exaggerated, reproachful glances and asked, “Is that really what you think? That I’m a plumber?”
“Don’t sound so outraged. If you were, you’d be considered quite a catch. Have you seen what a plumber charges for his time these days! Even doctors and lawyers don’t get such premium fees. Plumbers get twenty times what I get for my time. Shows you where I rank in society’s value system!”
“Come to think of it, the last time I was forced to hire a plumber I couldn’t help but notice that he was better paid for his time than I am. Both of us rank second to the plumbers if that’s any comfort to you.” One dimple creased his cheek. “I’m a novelist, if you must know.”
She sat back, more interested in the discussion than before. “A novelist? I should have known. You have that sensitive look about you. Another writer drawn to Oregon’s creative Mecca. What do you write? Anything I might have read?”
“I doubt it. Right now I’m working on a political thriller.”
For what it was worth, it was the truth. He was working on a novel. What journalist wasn’t? Though he could never seem to sit himself down to finish it.
“Is it interesting?”
“Pure garbage. ‘Long winded and full of polemic drivel,’ I think those are the words my editor used to describe the first three chapters I sent him.”
Smiling and watchin
g what he was doing with the disposal, Krystal said, “It doesn’t sound promising. You could always moonlight as a plumber. So what else have you written?”
“A bit of this, a bit of that. More promising. More lucrative. Thankfully keeping me above water and out of the plumbing profession.”
“I’d like to read some of your work.”
She smiled warmly and with a sense of relief. Devon coming to Coos Bay was nothing worrisome. This town bordering the Pacific was part of Oregon’s haven that drew the artsy. Writers were harmless creatures. It made it all the less troubling that Devon was living next to her. It was lawyers and police and public officials she had to worry about. She hadn’t known the Millers were renting their house; it wasn’t bad that Devon had been the one to rent it. It put her defenses in cool down.
Smiling even broader, she added, “I bet you’re an excellent writer. You do have an eye for detail.”
“When my novel is finished, I promise to let you be the first to read it,” Devon said, handing her the bracelet.
She caught her lower lip in her teeth as she examined her bracelet.
“It’s only a little bent,” Devon said. “At least the chain isn’t broken. If you like, I could try to unbend the damaged charms.”
“No, it’s fine. Really. See this charm here?” She leaned closer to Devon so he could see the delicate gold heart. “Katie crushed it when she was a baby. She was pounding the table with her cup and caught the edge. And see the butterfly. Mo…” Krystal broke off, barely catching Morgan’s name before it had taken full form. “It’s okay,” she amended. “Each ding is a memory.”
Devon’s smile was winsome. “Then we’ll leave the unicorn with its crinkle. To remind you of today.”
The soft note in his voice left her a little breathless. Krystal tipped her head to look at him. The look in his eyes sent a fluttering tingle along every nerve ending. She suddenly knew why she had been rattled by Devon from the first moment he’d entered her life. The reason was not one she expected; she was in body aware of this man. The truth leveled her.
In the years following Nick’s advent into her life, she’d never been tempted by any man, except Morgan. Since Coos Bay, she’d never been able to move past her fear, her anguished dread of letting a man see her body, or her terror-packed reality that a relationship could jeopardize Katie’s safety. Relationships were not a difficult complication for her to avoid. It was the easiest, most comfortable part of her existence.