Hold Me Close

by Rosalind James

  Rochelle wasn’t saying anything for once, and Kayla rubbed condensation off her glass with nervous fingers and tried to sort out her jumbled emotions. Gratitude, and alarm, and warmth, and so much else, she didn’t know what to do with them.

  Finally, she looked up at Luke again, and found him still waiting, his eyes on her face. “Of course I’m happy about it,” she told him, her voice breaking a bit. “Of course I’m grateful. I’m just—”

  “Nervous,” he finished for her. “Nervous that you’re under obligation. Don’t be. It was ten minutes of my time. The rest of it, you did. So could we just celebrate what you did? Set aside the rest of it and burn the toilet brush in effigy?”

  She had to laugh at that. “Yeah. Yeah. And . . . thank you.”

  “Huh.” Rochelle was still watching them. “OK. I get it now. Why you didn’t want to ask Luke about Eli.”

  Kayla whirled on her, gasping a little. “You have got the—the biggest mouth!” Then she stopped herself, horrified. “Sorry. But—but yes, that’s why. And you just said it anyway.”

  Luke uttered a short, surprised laugh. “She’s got you there, Rochelle. You do. But you might as well spit it out now. What about Eli?”

  “Oh, no,” Rochelle said, taking another sip of margarita. “Blame it on the tequila. But I’m not talking. You worm it out of your not-girlfriend there.”

  Luke swung back around to Kayla. “All right. What about Eli?”

  “It’s just—never mind.”

  “Oh.” His expression cleared. “Childcare. Duh.”

  She set her glass down with a little too much force. “How do you do that?”

  He looked nothing but startled. “Do what?”

  “Read my mind. You do it all the time, and it’s—it’s freaky.” She’d drunk too much. She knew she had. She held up the glass again and looked at it a little fuzzily. “What’s in this thing?”

  “Cuervo Gold, Grand Marnier, Triple Sec, fresh lime juice . . .” Rochelle began to recite. “Packs a punch, huh?”

  “Especially,” Luke said, “for somebody who maybe didn’t get much sleep last night, because she was nervous about this, and then worked, what, how many hours today, hard as she could, while she was nervous some more?”

  “You’re doing it again,” she warned.

  He grinned and said, “Sorry.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Maybe. Maybe I was nervous. And maybe I’m a little . . . drunk.”

  “Because you’re too small,” he said. “I should have thought of that and warned you. Not used to drinking much these days, either, I’ll bet. Alcohol’s expensive.” He stopped. “Whoops.” Because she was glaring again. “But, OK. While I’ve got you all defenseless—what’s the deal with Eli’s childcare? What do you need? I get to work at seven, or I’d take him, but I can probably help you figure something out.”

  “We’re all good on that,” Rochelle said. “He’s hanging out with me.”

  Luke nodded. “So where do I come in?”

  “Weekends,” Rochelle said helpfully, and Kayla was glaring at her now, saying, “I thought you weren’t going to say anything.”

  “Jose Cuervo,” Rochelle told her glass, “you’ve got a lot to answer for,” and drank the rest down.

  “Weekends, huh?” Luke said. “I can do that. A little hardware store, a little grocery store, a little football, a little snow shoveling when the need arises, and we’re all good. We might have to come on down and visit you for breakfast, though, with that kind of exhausting program.”

  “You can’t want to do that,” Kayla said.

  He shrugged one big shoulder. “Not every day, is it? What, a shift every weekend, every other weekend, something like that? If I’ve got something going on, I’ll take him out to Cal and Zoe’s, or to my folks’. Worst thing that could happen would be that he’d end up going to church. But, hey, I lived through that. My guess is that he will, too. And you know my folks would be thrilled,” he said when she opened her mouth to object again, “so don’t even say it. You know Eli would be, too. Hang out in the shop with Cal and Junior and learn how to fix things? I’ll never get him back again.”

  “Cal doesn’t—” she began.

  “Oh, yeah. Cal definitely does. If he doesn’t have Zoe pregnant within about three months of that wedding, I’d be mighty surprised, huh, Rochelle?”

  “Yep,” Rochelle said. “Let’s say that if he doesn’t, it won’t be because he’s not trying.”

  “Cal wants kids,” Luke said. “Always has.”

  “You can read his mind, too?” Kayla asked.

  “Not as well as yours,” Luke acknowledged. “But I know that much. We like Eli. He’s a great kid, he likes the dogs, he’s fun to have around. Why wouldn’t we want him?”

  She laughed, fuzzy with alcohol and suddenly feeling so much lighter. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here having you convince me that you want to babysit my child.”

  “Nope. You’re not. You’re sitting here, having me tell you that I want your child around. Just like I want you around. That’s why we’re going for a bike ride tomorrow, because I want to be with both of you. And it’s why I’m going to give you a ride home right now, because I want to, and because if you have to walk . . .” He sighed. “Sweetheart, if there’s such a thing as WUI, you’re getting a ticket for sure.”

  “WUI?” she asked, watching him pull his wallet out of his back pocket and signaling to the waitress.

  “Walking under the influence. You’re a drunk walker, and that’s the truth. Where’s Eli now?”

  She sighed. “At Cody’s. Coming home at four. What time is it?”

  “Three fifteen. Which means you’ve got time to go home and take a little nap. And then, tell you what. Come on up to my house with him tonight, and we’ll fix some burgers. Just about Eli’s favorite, besides lasagna. We’ll watch a movie, and you can fall asleep on my couch again.”

  “I thought you had homework.” Falling asleep with him. Having him walk her home, and kiss her good night. She could do that. She wanted to do that.

  “And I’ll get it done, too. So come on.” He signed the credit-card slip and slipped his card back into his wallet, then slid out of the booth and put out a hand for her. “Let’s get you home.” He looked at Rochelle. “Want a ride?”

  “Nah. Three blocks.” She slid out herself. “And besides—you two are making me jealous.”

  “The right guy’s out there,” Luke said. “Look at me. I found the right one. And if I can do it, anybody can.”

  Kayla knew she should object to that, too. But she didn’t.

  DREAM It

  “How’re you doing?” Luke turned around on his bike to check on Kayla as she rode up the hill behind him. “I should have put gears on that thing for you.”

  “No. That’s OK. Good exercise.” She was gasping a little as she said it, though, and Luke knew that his first day with Eli was going to be spent in the shop putting that right.

  They were heading up the hill toward the university, the boys up ahead, pumping madly. The streets were Sunday-quiet, the air crisp and a little windy, the sky a deep blue, the sunlight autumn-pale. A perfect day for a bike ride.

  They made it up to the Arboretum entrance, and Luke hopped off and waited for Kayla. “The loop’s real pretty this time of year,” he told her. “All those fall colors. Want to take a walk?”

  He tried to make it come out spontaneous, like he hadn’t thought this out ahead of time. The bike ride, and then a walk someplace beautiful and quiet that she’d enjoy. This was the first time he’d ever had to make an effort to sound casual with a woman, and, damn, it was hard.

  “Sure,” she said. “That sounds great.”

  “OK, boys,” Luke told them, beginning to lock his bike to Kayla’s. “We’re walking the loop. Do me a favor and don’t fall in the pond, OK? It’s t
oo cold in that water for me to do any rescues.”

  “You wouldn’t have to rescue us,” Eli said. “We can swim.”

  “Well, don’t swim. It’s dirty. There are ducks in there.”

  “Ducks aren’t dirty,” Eli’s friend Cody piped up. “They’re just birds.”

  “Yeah. They’re birds, and they’re not wearing diapers,” Luke said. “You really want to go swimming in freezing-cold duck poop?”

  “We wouldn’t be going swimming, though,” Eli said. “Why would we go swimming? We don’t have our suits or anything.”

  “I just—” Luke stopped, because Kayla was laughing. “Well, heck. Go wild. There’s a red barn at the other end of this thing. When you get to that barn, you turn around and come back here, right?”

  They took off, and Luke looked down at a still-smiling Kayla. “You can say it. I just got owned by a couple of nine-year-olds.”

  “Yep. You did.”

  He gestured toward the path. “Shall we?”

  She did a curtsy in her jeans and battered black tennis shoes, holding out imaginary skirts. “Why, thank you, sir.”

  They headed off, and his choice had been great, because the trees were a blaze of gold, scarlet, and crimson against the green slope that led up on one side to the houses above, down on the other to the cattail-lined pond.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, sounding so satisfied, and he knew he’d done it right.

  “Mm.” He took her hand, laced his fingers through hers, and, as always, felt the zing of even that simple contact. She snuggled a little closer to his side, and that was good, too.

  They walked on a while in companionable silence, until she asked, “Is this where you’re going to school? For your, um . . .”

  “Doctorate. Yeah. Lots of it’s online, but I actually enjoy the classes. I like the interaction. Here’s a dirty secret for you: I liked school.”

  She laughed. “I hope so. Since you’ve spent your life in one, one way or another, haven’t you?”

  “I have at that. Astonishingly.”

  “But you liked it even back then, huh? For things besides the crickets?”

  “I hasten to remind you that the crickets are speculation only. And anyway, some things are just more tempting than flesh can bear.” He smiled down at her. “Kind of like you.”

  She smiled back, but didn’t say anything, and they walked some more on the gravel path. They’d reached the pond now, the slow-moving clouds overhead reflected in its calm, blue surface, broken by the ripples from the paddling mallards. The boys were up ahead, running, not having fallen in at all, of course.

  “How about you?” Luke asked at last. “You like school?”

  “I did. Some of them more than others.”

  “You had to change a lot?”

  “My mom had some trouble sticking. That’s why I turned out so shy, probably. Being the new kid so much.”

  “Hm. Can’t really imagine that. I went straight through the Paradise school system, graduated with almost all the same people I went to kindergarten with. There’s a downside to that, too, though. A little stifling sometimes, maybe.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “Maybe?”

  He grinned. “Well, yeah. A little stifling sometimes, definitely.” And then he sobered, because this was about her, not about him. “It can be tough on kids, too, though, if your family doesn’t have the best reputation, say. Or if you screw up early, do something embarrassing, and have to carry that burden through the years, knowing everybody remembers. Sometimes a new start can be the best thing. Can also make you more flexible.”

  “I never thought of it that way. I’ve hated seeing Eli have to change so much. He’s only in fourth grade, but he’s been to four schools. Just like me.”

  “Mm.” He held his tongue, walked on through the fall colors, and waited it out.

  “He started in Wyoming,” she finally said, “and then we moved to Boise when I lost my job. That didn’t work out so well. And then we . . . moved again.”

  “Ah. In with . . .” He wanted a name. He wanted it bad.

  “Alan.” Not enough of a name, unfortunately. “Which was such a mistake. But we were stuck. I thought we were at the bottom. I didn’t realize that there was so much farther to fall, or how stuck it was possible to get.”

  “But then you got yourselves unstuck,” he pointed out.

  “We did.” She looked more cheerful at that. “And I think Eli’s doing all right, don’t you?”

  “I think Eli’s doing great, all things considered. Brand-new chapter for both of you.”

  “It’s starting to feel that way. The new job . . . that’s given me hope, you know?”

  “Yep. Hope’s good. What’s your big hope? What’s your dream?”

  “My dream?”

  “Yeah,” he decided. “Your dream. Here we are—” He gestured around him, to the slopes in all their hues of leaping flame and burning embers, ending in the deep green of the conifers on the ridge, and beyond, too. All the way to the distant brown hills, plowed and ready for the winter wheat. “All this open space, just made for wishing. So what’s your wish?”

  She didn’t answer for a long time, and he was just about to try again when she said, “Wow. It’s been so long since I thought about anything beyond just getting by. And then it was . . .”

  “Survival,” he suggested.

  “Yes. Survival. I mean, truly. Survival. I guess I haven’t wanted to wish. My wishes seemed so . . . so far away. So impossible. What good would wishing do? Just show me how impossible they were.”

  “Well, if you’re wishing to be an astronaut or an Olympic gymnast, it’s probably not too possible at this point. Otherwise, maybe not. So come on. Put it out there. It’s a beautiful day, and you’ve got to dream it to do it.”

  “Is that your motivational speech?” she asked with a little smile.

  He laughed. “Pretty much.” They’d reached the barn now, and he swung her around by the hand and headed up the hill to take the high route back. “Can’t help it. Motivation is my life. So come on.”

  “Well . . .” she began, then laughed self-consciously. “I wanted to go to college, you know? When I was younger. But it would’ve been tough, and then I got pregnant with Eli, so that was that. And now . . .” She shrugged. “I guess, if I ever had a dream, that was it. Now, it’s moving up from cleaning toilets to waiting tables, but I’ll take that, too. That’s progress. And someday, Eli will go to college. I’m going to make sure of that, whatever I have to do. I guess that’s my dream now. For him to go.”

  “Well, that’s a good dream. But why isn’t it possible for you, too?”

  “Um . . . because I’m twenty-nine years old, and I have a child, and I’m barely scraping by as it is?”

  “There’s such a thing as a nontraditional student. Such a thing as scholarships and loans for them, too, because there are a lot of donors out there who got out of bad situations into something better, and want to help other people do the same thing. I’d say you’d be a grade-A candidate. So to speak. If you want it, I think you should dream it. And then I think you should do it.”

  “You say it like it’s easy.”

  They were above the pond again, and he stopped, still holding her hand. She turned toward him and lifted her eyes to his, her face troubled.

  “No,” he said. “I know it isn’t easy. Nothing’s been easy for you. It couldn’t have been harder. I might not know the details, but I know that. I don’t say it like it’s easy. I say it like it’s possible.”

  She swallowed, and he saw it. “Kayla,” he said, lifting his hand to her cheek. “Sweetheart.” He didn’t even know what he wanted to say. His heart ached for her. Literally ached. That she couldn’t even dream anymore.

  “I don’t want to be . . .” She hesitated, then turned away, but he kept her ha
nd and tugged her back around again. And just like that, she stiffened.

  “Damn,” he said, and let go. “I’m sorry.”

  He was afraid she would leave, that she would run. Instead, she tucked her hands into her jacket pockets, turned, and stared out past the pond to the hills beyond. And this time, he stepped back instead of forward. And he waited.

  “I know we seem like a . . .” she began slowly. “Like a project. That we’d be something you could fix. But Eli and me—we’re not a rescue dog. It’s so much harder than that.”

  What? That was what she thought this was?

  “No,” he said, and if it came out a little forcefully, too bad. “You’re not a rescue dog, and you’re not a project. That’s not what you are to me.”

  “Why?” She’d turned around to face him now. “Even if I like you. And I do. I like you so much, and I’m—I’m more than attracted to you.”

  He made a move toward her, but she put a hand out, and he stopped.

  “But that’s why I don’t want to drag you into this, don’t you see?” she asked him sadly. “Even if it’s real, even if I could—why would you want this? Who would sign up for this?”

  “I would. And why? Who knows why? Why does that one person touch your heart? Might as well ask why we were put on earth, or what’s the point of being alive. I don’t know why. It just is.”

  “There are easier women.”

  He laughed out loud at that. He couldn’t help it. “Yep. There sure are. And you know what? I don’t want a single one of them, because none of them’s you. I know that might scare you. I’ve known it all along. That’s why I haven’t said it. But if we’re putting it out there—there it is. I want to keep you safe; you’re right about that. I hear you tell me what happened, and I want to fix it. You’re right about that, too. I want to . . .” He breathed in, breathed out. “I want his name, and I want to kill him. And I want to, yeah. Sweep you up and take you home with me and keep you safe. You and Eli. If that’s a rescue, sue me. But that’s not all I want. I want things that have nothing at all to do with any rescue. Nothing at all to do with taking care of you.”