by Nora Roberts
“I knew we had something in common.” Katch grinned. He turned the flame off under the pan. “Why don’t you call Pop? The fish is done.”
***
There was something altogether too cozy about the three of them sitting around the kitchen table eating a meal each of them had a part in providing, Megan thought. She could sense the growing affection between the two men and it worried her. She was sure that Katch was still as determined as ever to buy Joyland. Yet Pop was so obviously happy in his company. Megan decided that, while she couldn’t trust Katch unreservedly, neither could she maintain her original plan. She couldn’t dislike him or keep him from touching their lives. She thought it best not to dwell on precisely how he was touching hers.
“Tell you what.” Pop sighed over his empty plate and leaned back in his chair. “Since the pair of you cooked dinner, I’ll do the dishes.” His eyes passed over Megan to Katch. “Why don’t you two go for a walk? Megan likes to walk on the beach.”
“Pop!”
“I know you young people like to be alone,” he continued shamelessly.
Megan opened her mouth to protest, but Katch spoke first. “I’m always willing to take a walk with a beautiful woman, especially if it means getting out of KP,” he said.
“You have such a gracious way of putting things,” Megan began.
“Actually, I’d really like to see your studio.”
“Take Katch up, Megan,” Pop insisted. “I’ve been bragging about your pieces all day. Let him see for himself.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Megan decided it was simpler to agree. Certainly she didn’t mind showing Katch her work. And, there was little doubt that it was safer to let him putter around her studio than to walk with him on the beach.
“All right.” She rose. “I’ll take you up.”
As they passed through the screen door, Katch slipped his arm over her shoulders. “This is a nice place,” he commented. He looked around the small trim yard lined with azalea shrubs. “Very quiet and settled.”
The weight of his arm was pleasant. Megan allowed it to remain as they walked toward the garage. “I wouldn’t think you’d find something quiet and settled terribly appealing.”
“There’s a time for porch swings and a time for roller coasters.” Katch glanced down at her as she paused at the foot of the steps. “I’d think you’d know that.”
“I do,” she said, knowing her involvement with him was beginning to slip beyond her control. “I wasn’t aware you did.” Thoughtful, Megan climbed the stairs. “It’s rather a small-scale studio, I suppose, and not very impressive. It’s really just a place to work where I won’t disturb Pop and he won’t disturb me.”
Megan opened the door, flicking on the light as the sun was growing dim.
There was much less order here than she permitted herself in other areas of her life. The room was hers, personally, more exclusively than her bedroom in the house next door. There were tools—calipers, chisels, gouges, and an assortment of knives and files. There was the smock she’d carelessly thrown over a chair when Katch had called her downstairs. Future projects sat waiting inside, untouched slabs of limestone and chunks of wood. There was a precious piece of marble she hoarded like a miser. Everywhere, on shelves, tables and even the floor, were samples of her work.
Katch moved past her into the room. Strangely, Megan felt a flutter of nerves. She found herself wondering how to react if he spoke critically, or worse, offered some trite compliment. Her work was important to her and very personal. To her surprise she realized that she cared about his opinion. Quietly, she closed the door behind her, then stood with her back against it.
Katch had gone directly to a small walnut study of a young girl building a sand castle. She was particularly pleased with the piece, as she had achieved exactly the mood she had sought. There was more than youth and innocence in the child’s face. The girl saw herself as the princess in the castle tower. The half smile on her face made the onlooker believe in happy endings.
It was painstakingly detailed, the beginnings of a crenellated roof and the turrets of the castle, the slender fingers of the girl as she sculpted the sand. Her hair was long, falling over her shoulders and wisping into her face as though a breeze teased it. Megan had felt successful when the study had been complete, but now, watching Katch turn it over in his hands, his mouth oddly grave, his eyes intent, she felt a twinge of doubt.
“This is your work?” Because the silence had seemed so permanent, Megan jerked when Katch spoke.
“Well, yes.” While she was still searching for something more to say, Katch turned away to prowl the room.
He picked up piece after piece, examining, saying nothing. As the silence dragged on, minute upon minute, Megan became more and more tense. If he’d just say something, she thought. She picked up the discarded smock and folded it, nervously smoothing creases as she listened to the soft sound of his tennis shoes on the wood floor.
“What are you doing here?”
She whirled, eyes wide. Whatever reaction she had expected, it certainly hadn’t been anger. And there was anger on his face, a sharp, penetrating anger that caused her to grip the worn material of the smock tighter.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Megan’s voice was calm, but her heart had begun to beat faster.
“Why are you hiding?” he demanded. “What are you afraid of?”
She shook her head in bewilderment. “I’m not hiding, Katch. You’re not making any sense.”
“I’m not making sense?” He took a step toward her, then stopped, turning away to pace again. She watched in fascination. “Do you think it makes sense to create things like this and lock them up in a room over a garage?” He lifted polished limestone which had been formed into a head-and-shoulders study of a man and a woman in each other’s arms. “When you’ve been given talent like this, you have an obligation. What are you going to do, continue to stack them in here until there isn’t any more room?”
His reaction had thrown Megan completely off-balance. She looked around the room. “No, I . . . I take pieces into an art gallery downtown now and then. They sell fairly well, especially during the season, and—”
Katch’s pungent oath cut her off. Megan gave her full attention back to him. Was this furious, disapproving man the same one who had amiably prepared trout in her kitchen a short time ago?
“I don’t understand why you’re so mad.” Annoyed with herself for nervously pleating the material of the smock, Megan tossed it down.
“Waste,” he said tersely, placing the limestone back on the shelf. “Waste infuriates me.” He came to her, taking her deliberately by the shoulders. “Why haven’t you done anything with your work?” His eyes were direct on hers, demanding answers, not evasions.
“It’s not as simple as that,” she began. “I have responsibilities.”
“Your responsibilities are to yourself, to your talent.”
“You make it sound as though I’ve done something wrong.” Confused, Megan searched his face. “I’ve done what I know how to do. I don’t understand why you’re angry. There are things, like time and money, to be considered,” she went on. “A business to run. And reality to face.” Megan shook her head. “I can hardly cart my work to a Charleston art gallery and demand a showing.”
“That would make more sense than cloistering it up here.” He released her abruptly, then paced again.
He was, Megan discovered, much more volatile than her first impression had allowed. She glanced at the clay wrapped in the damp towel. Her fingertips itched to work while fresh impressions were streaming through her brain.
“When’s the last time you’ve been to New York?” Katch demanded, facing her again. “Chicago, L.A.?”
“We can’t all be globetrotters,” she told him. “Some are born to other things.”
He picked up the sand castle girl again, then strode over to the limestone couple. “I want these two,” he stated. “Will you sell them to me?”
They were two of her favorites, though totally opposite in tone. “Yes, I suppose. If you want them.”
“I’ll give you five hundred.” Megan’s eyes widened. “Apiece.”
“Oh, no, they’re not worth—”
“They’re worth a lot more, I imagine.” Katch lifted the limestone. “Have you got a box I can carry them in?”
“Yes, but, Katch.” Megan paused and pushed the bangs from her eyes. “A thousand dollars?”
He set down both pieces and came back to her. He was still angry; she could feel it vibrating from him. “Do you think it’s safer to underestimate yourself than to face up to your own worth?”
Megan started to make a furious denial, then stopped. Uncertain, she made a helpless gesture with her hands. Katch turned away again to search for a box himself. She watched him as he wrapped the sculptures in old newspapers. The frown was still on his face, the temper in his eyes.
“I’ll bring you a check,” he stated, and was gone without another word.
Chapter Five
There was a long, high-pitched scream. The roller coaster rumbled along the track as it whipped around another curve and tilted its passengers. Lights along the midway were twinkling, and there was noise. Such noise. There was the whirl and whine of machinery, the electronic buzz and beeps from video games, the pop of arcade rifles and the call of concessionaires.
Tinny music floated all over, but for the most part, there was the sound of people. They were laughing, calling, talking, shouting. There were smells: popcorn, peanuts, grilled hot dogs, machine oil.
Megan loaded another clip into the scaled-down rifle and handed it to a would-be Wyatt Earp. “Rabbits are five points, ducks ten, deer twenty-five and the bears fifty.”
The sixteen-year-old sharpshooter aimed and managed to bag a duck and a rabbit. He chose a rubber snake as his prize, to the ensuing screams and disgust of his girl.
Shaking her head, Megan watched them walk away. The boy slipped his arm around the girl’s shoulders, then pursued the romance by dangling the snake in front of her face. He earned a quick jab in the ribs.
The crowd was thin tonight, but that was to be expected in the off-season. Particularly, Megan knew, when there were so many other parks with more rides, live entertainment and a more sophisticated selection of video games. She didn’t mind the slack. Megan was preoccupied, as she had been since the evening Katch had seen her studio. In three days, she hadn’t heard a word from him. At first, she had wanted badly to see him, to talk about the things he’d said to her. He had made her think, made her consider a part of herself she had ignored or submerged most of her life.
Her desire to speak with Katch had faded as the days had passed, however. After all, what right did he have to criticize her lifestyle? What right did he have to make her feel as if she’d committed a crime? He’d accused, tried and condemned her in the space of minutes. Then he’d disappeared.
Three days, Megan mused, handing another hopeful deadeye a rifle. Three days without a word. And she’d watched for him—much to her self-disgust. She’d waited for him. As the days had passed, Megan had taken refuge in anger. Not only had he criticized and scolded her, she remembered, but he’d walked out with two of her favorite sculptures. A thousand dollars my foot, she mused, frowning fiercely as she slid a fresh clip into an empty rifle. Just talk, that’s all. Talk. He does that very well. It was probably all a line, owning that restaurant. But why? Men like that don’t need logical reasons, she decided. It’s all ego.
“Men,” she muttered as she handed a rifle to a new customer.
“I know what you mean, honey.” The plump blond woman took the rifle from Megan with a wink.
Megan pushed her bangs back and frowned deeper. “Who needs them?” she demanded.
The woman shouldered the rifle. “We do, honey. That’s the problem.”
Megan let out a long sigh as the woman earned 125 points. “Nice shooting,” she congratulated. “Your choice on the second row.”
“Let me have the hippo, sweetie. It looks a little like my second husband.”
Laughing, Megan plucked it from the shelf and handed it over. “Here you go.” With another wink, the woman tucked the hippo under her arm and waddled off.
Megan settled back while two kids tried their luck. The exchange had been typical of the informality enjoyed by people in amusement parks. She smiled, feeling less grim, if not entirely mollified by the woman’s remarks. But she doesn’t know Katch, Megan reflected, again exchanging a rifle for a quarter. And neither, she reminded herself, do I.
Automatically, Megan made change when a dollar bill was placed on the counter. “Ten shots for a quarter,” she began the spiel. “Rabbits are five, ducks ten . . .” Megan pushed three quarters back as she reached for a rifle. The moment the fingers pushed the change back to her, she recognized them.
“I’ll take a dollar’s worth,” Katch told her as she looked up in surprise. He grinned, then leaned over to press a quick kiss to her lips. “For luck,” he claimed when she jerked away.
Before Megan had pocketed the quarters, Katch had bull’s-eyed every one of the bears.
“Wow!” The two boys standing next to Katch were suitably impressed. “Hey, mister, can you do it again?” one asked.
“Maybe.” Katch turned to Megan. “Let’s have a reload.” Without speaking, she handed him the rifle.
“I like the perfume you’re wearing,” he commented as he sighed. “What is it?”
“Gun oil.”
He laughed, then blasted the hapless bears one by one. The two boys gave simultaneous yelps of appreciation. A crowd began to gather.
“Hey, Megan.” She glanced up to see the Bailey twins leaning over the counter. Both pairs of eyes drifted meaningfully to Katch. “Isn’t he the—”
“Yes,” Megan said shortly, not wanting to explain.
“Delicious,” Teri said quietly, giving Katch a flirtatious smile when he straightened.
“Mmm-hmm,” Jeri agreed with a twin smile.
Katch gave them a long, appreciative look.
“Here.” Megan shoved the rifle at him. “This is your last quarter.”
Katch accepted the rifle. “Thanks.” He hefted it again. “Going to wish me luck?”
Megan met his eyes levelly. “Why not?”
“Meg, I’m crazy about you.”
She dealt with the surge his careless words brought her as he picked off his fourth set of bears. Bystanders broke into raucous applause. Katch set the rifle on the counter, then gave his full attention to Meg.
“What’d I win?”
“Anything you want.”
His grin was a flash, and his eyes never left her face. She blushed instantly, hating herself. Deliberately, she stepped to the side and gestured toward the prizes.
“I’ll take Henry,” he told her. When she gave him a puzzled look, he pointed. “The elephant.” Glancing up, Megan spotted the three-foot lavender elephant. She lifted it down from its perch. Even as she set it on the counter for him, Katch took her hands. “And you.”
She made her voice prim. “Only the items on display are eligible prizes.”
“I love it when you talk that way,” he commented.
“Stop it!” she hissed, flushing as she heard the Bailey twins giggle.
“We had a bet, remember?” Katch smiled at her. “It’s Friday night.”
Megan tried to tug her hands away, but his fingers interlocked with hers. “Who says I lost the bet?” she demanded. The crowd was still milling around the stand so she spoke in an undertone, but Katch didn’t bother.
“Come on, Meg, I won fair and square. You’re not going to welch, are you?”
“Shh!” She glanced behind him at the curious crowd. “I never welch,” she whispered furiously. “And even if I did lose, which I never said I did, I can’t leave the stand. I’m sure you can find somebody else to keep you company.”
“I want you.”
She struggle
d to keep her eyes steady on his. “Well, I can’t leave. Someone has to run the booth.”
“Megan.” One of the part-timers slipped under the counter. “Pop sent me to relieve you.” He smiled innocently when she gave him a disgusted look.
“Perfect timing,” she mumbled, then stripped off the change apron and stuffed it in his hands. “Thanks a lot.”
“Sure, Megan.”