Less of a Stranger

by Nora Roberts

  “Oh, no. No, we won’t.” Megan straightened her shoulders and looked at him squarely. “We had dinner—things got a bit beyond what they should have. It’s as simple as that, and it’s over.”

  “It’s not simple or over, Meg.” Katch took another long look into her eyes. “But we’ll drop it for now.”

  Megan turned away and walked back down the stairs.

  Chapter Seven

  Amusement parks lose their mystique in the light of day. Dirt, scratched paint and dents show up. What is shiny and bright under artificial light is ordinary in the sunshine. Only the very young or the very young hearted can believe in magic when faced with reality.

  Megan knew her grandfather was perennially young. She loved him for it. Fondly, she watched him supervising repairs on the Haunted Castle. His ghosts, she thought with a smile, are important to him. She walked beside the track, avoiding her own ghost along the way. It had been ten days since Pop had told her of the repair problems. Ten days since she had seen Katch. Megan pushed thoughts of him from her mind and concentrated on her own reality—her grandfather and their park. She was old enough to know what was real and what was fantasy.

  “Hi,” she called out from behind him. “How are things going?”

  Pop turned at the sound of her voice, and his grin was expansive. “Just fine, Megan.” The sound of repairs echoed around his words. “Quicker than I thought they would. We’ll be rolling before the Easter rush.” He swung an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “The smaller rides are already back in order. How about you?”

  She made no objection when he began to steer her outside. The noise made it difficult to hear. “What about me?” she replied. The sudden flash of sunlight made her blink. The spring day had all the heat of midsummer.

  “You’ve that unhappy look in your eyes. Have had, for more than a week.” Pop rubbed his palm against her shoulder as if to warm her despite the strength of the sun. “You know you don’t hide things from me, Megan. I know you too well.”

  She was silent a moment, wanting to choose her words carefully. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything, Pop.” Megan shrugged, turning to watch the crew working on the roller coaster. “It’s just not important enough to talk about, that’s all. How long before the coaster’s fixed?”

  “Important enough to make you unhappy,” he countered, ignoring her evasion. “That’s plenty important to me. You haven’t gotten too old to talk to me about your problems now, have you?”

  She turned dark, apologetic eyes on him. “Oh, no, Pop, I can always talk to you.”

  “Well,” he said simply, “I’m listening.”

  “I made a mistake, that’s all.” She shook her head and would have walked closer to inspect the work crew had he not held her to him with a firm hand.

  “Megan.” Pop placed both hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. As they were nearly the same height, their eyes were level. “I’m going to ask you straight,” he continued. “Are you in love with him?”

  “No,” she denied quickly.

  Pop raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t have to mention any names, I see.”

  Megan paused a moment. She had forgotten how shrewd her grandfather could be. “I thought I was,” she said more carefully. “I was wrong.”

  “Then why are you so unhappy?”

  “Pop, please.” She tried to back away, but again his broad hands held her steady.

  “You’ve always given me straight answers, Meg, even when I’ve had to drag them out of you.”

  She sighed, knowing evasions and half-truths were useless when he was in this mood. “All right. Yes, I’m in love with him, but it doesn’t matter.”

  “Not a very bright statement from a bright girl like you,” he said with a gentle hint of disapproval. Megan shrugged. “Why don’t you explain why being in love doesn’t matter?” he invited.

  “Well, it certainly doesn’t work if you’re not loved back,” Megan murmured.

  “Who says you’re not?” Pop wanted to know. His voice was so indignant, she felt some of the ache subside.

  “Pop.” Her expression softened. “Just because you love me doesn’t mean everyone else does.”

  “What makes you so sure he doesn’t?” her grandfather argued. “Did you ask him?”

  “No!” Megan was so astonished, she nearly laughed at the thought.

  “Why not? Things are simpler that way.”

  Megan took a deep breath, hoping to make him understand. “David Katcherton isn’t a man who falls in love with a woman, not seriously. And certainly not with someone like me.” The broad gesture she made was an attempt to enhance an explanation she knew was far from adequate. “He’s been to Paris; he lives in New York. He has a sister named Jessica.”

  “That clears things up,” Pop agreed, and Megan made a quick sound of frustration.

  “I’ve never been anywhere.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “In the summer I see millions, literally millions of people, but they’re all transient. I don’t know who they are. The only people I really know are ones who live right here. The farthest I’ve been away from the beach is Charleston.”

  Pop brushed a hand over her hair to smooth it. “I’ve kept you too close,” he murmured. “I always told myself there’d be other times.”

  “Oh, no, Pop, I didn’t mean it that way.” She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to sound that way. I love you. I love it here. I wouldn’t change anything. That was hateful of me.”

  He laughed and patted her back. The subtle scent of her perfume reminded him forcefully that she was no longer a girl but a woman. The years had been incredibly quick. “You’ve never done a hateful thing in your life. We both know you’ve wanted to see a bit of the world, and I know you’ve stuck close to keep an eye on me. Oh, yes,” he said, anticipating her objection. “And I was selfish enough to let you.”

  “You’ve never done anything selfish,” she retorted and drew away. “I only meant that Katch and I have so little common ground. He’s bound to see things differently than I do. I’m out of my depth with him.”

  “You’re a strong swimmer, as I recall.” Pop shook his head at her expression and sighed. “All right, we’ll let it lie awhile. You’re also stubborn.”

  “Adamant,” she corrected, smiling again. “It’s a nicer word.”

  “Just a fancy way of saying pigheaded,” Pop said bluntly, but his eyes smiled back at her. “Why aren’t you back in your studio instead of hanging around an amusement park in the middle of the day?”

  “It wasn’t going very well,” she confessed, thinking of the half-carved face that haunted her. “Besides, I’ve always had a thing for amusement parks.” She tucked her arm in his as they began to walk again.

  “Well, this one’ll be in apple-pie order in another week,” Pop said, looking around in satisfaction. “With luck, we’ll have a good season and be able to pay back a healthy chunk of that ten thousand.”

  “Maybe the bank will send us some customers so they’ll get their money faster,” Megan suggested, half listening to the sound of hammer against wood as they drew closer to the roller coaster.

  “Oh, I didn’t get the money from the bank. I got it from—” Pop cut himself off abruptly. With a cough and a wheeze, he bent down to tie his shoe.

  “You didn’t get the money from the bank?” Megan frowned at the snowy white head in puzzlement. “Well, where in the world did you get it, then?”

  His answer was an unintelligible grunt.

  “You don’t know anybody with that kind of money,” she began with a half smile. “Where . . .” The smile flew away. “No. No, you didn’t.” Even as she denied it, Megan knew it had to be the truth. “You didn’t get it from him?”

  “Oh, now, Megan, you weren’t to know.” Distress showed in his eyes and seemed to weaken his voice. “He especially didn’t want you to know.”

  “Why?” she demanded. “Why did you do it?”


  “It just sort of happened, Meg.” Pop reached out to pat her hand in his old, soothing fashion. “He was here, I was telling him about the repairs and getting a loan, and he offered. It seemed like the perfect solution.” He fiddled with his shoestrings. “Banks poke around and take all that time for paperwork, and he isn’t charging me nearly as much interest. I thought you’d be happy about that . . .” He trailed off.

  “Is everything in writing?” she asked, deadly calm.

  “Of course.” Pop assumed a vaguely injured air. “Katch said it didn’t matter, but I know how fussy you are, so I had papers drawn up, nice and legal.”

  “Didn’t matter,” she repeated softly. “And what did you use as collateral?”

  “The park, naturally.”

  “Naturally,” she repeated. Fury bubbled in the single word. “I bet he loved that.”

  “Now, don’t you worry, Megan. Everything’s coming along just fine. The repairs are going well, and we’ll be opening right on schedule. Besides,” he added with a sigh, “you weren’t even supposed to know. Katch wanted it that way.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he did,” she said bitterly. “I’m sure he did.”

  Turning, she darted away. Pop watched her streak out of sight, then hauled himself to his feet. She had the devil’s own temper when she cut loose, that girl. Brushing his hands together, he grinned. That, he decided, pleased with his own maneuvering, should stir up something.

  ***

  Megan brought the bike to a halt at the crest of Katch’s drive, then killed the engine. She took off her helmet and clipped it on the seat. He was not, she determined, going to get away with it.

  Cutting across the lawn, she marched to the front door. The knock was closer to a pound but still brought no response. Megan stuffed her hands into her pockets and scowled. Her bike sat behind his black Porsche. Ignoring formalities, she tried the knob. When it turned, she didn’t hesitate. She opened the door and walked inside.

  The house was quiet. Instinct told her immediately that no one was inside. Still, she walked through the living room looking for signs of him.

  A watch, wafer-thin and gold, was tossed on the glass shelves of the étagère. A Nikon camera sat on the coffee table, its back open and empty of film. A pair of beat-up tennis shoes was half under the couch. A volume of John Cheever lay beside them.

  Abruptly, she realized what she had done. She’d intruded where she had no right. She was both uncomfortable and fascinated. An ashtray held the short stub of a thin cigar. After a brief struggle with her conscience, she walked toward the kitchen. She wasn’t prying, she told herself, only making certain he wasn’t home. After all, his car was here and the door had been unlocked.

  There was a cup in the sink and a half pot of cold coffee on the stove. He had spilled some on the counter and neglected to wipe it up. Megan stifled the instinctive move to reach for a dish towel. As she turned to leave, a low mechanical hum from outside caught her attention. She walked to the window and saw him.

  He was coming from the south side of the lawn, striding behind a power mower. He was naked to the waist, with jeans low and snug at his hips. He was tanned, a deep honey gold that glistened now with the effort of manual labor. She admired the play of muscles rippling down his arms and across his back.

  Stepping back from the window with a jerk, she stormed through the side kitchen door and raced across the lawn.

  The flurry of movement and a flash of crimson caught his eye. Katch glanced over as Megan moved toward him in a red tailored shirt and white jeans. Squinting against the sun, he wiped the back of his hand across his brow. He reached down and shut off the mower as she came to him.

  “Hello, Meg,” he said lightly, but his eyes weren’t as casual.

  “You have nerve, Katcherton,” she began. “But even I didn’t think you’d take advantage of a trusting old man.”

  He lifted a brow and leaned against the mower’s handle. “Once more,” he requested, “with clarity.”

  “You’re the type who has to poke your fingers into other people’s business,” she continued. “You just had to be at the park; you just had to make a magnanimous offer with your tidy little pile of money.”

  “Ah, a glimmer of light.” He stretched his back. “I didn’t think you’d be thrilled the money came from me. It seems I was right.”

  “You knew I’d never allow it,” she declared.

  “I don’t believe I considered that.” He leaned on the mower again, but there was nothing restful in the gesture. “You don’t run Pop’s life from what I’ve seen, Meg, and you certainly don’t run mine.”

  She did her best to keep her tone even. “I have a great deal of interest in the park and everything that pertains to it.”

  “Fine, then you should be pleased that you have the money for the repairs quickly, and at a low rate of interest.” His tone was cool and businesslike.

  “Why?” she demanded. “Why did you lend us the money?”

  “I don’t,” Katch said after a long, silent moment, “owe you any explanation.”

  “Then I’ll give you one,” Megan tossed back. There was passion in her voice. “You saw an opportunity and grabbed it. I suppose that’s what people do in your sort of world. Take, without the least thought of the people involved.”

  “Perhaps I’m confused.” His eyes were slate, opaque and unreadable. His voice matched them. “I was under the impression that I gave something.”

  “Lent something,” Megan corrected. “With the park as collateral.”

  “If that’s your problem, take it up with your grandfather.” Katch bent down, reaching for the cord to restart the mower.

  “You had no right to take advantage of him. He trusts everyone.”

  Katch released the cord again with a snap. “A shame it’s not an inherited quality.”

  “I’ve no reason to trust you.”

  “And every reason, it appears, to mistrust me since the first moment.” His eyes had narrowed as if in speculation. “Is it just me or a general antipathy to men?”

  She refused to dignify the question with an answer. “You want the park,” she began.

  “Yes, and I made that clear from the beginning.” Katch shoved the mower aside so that there was no obstacle between them. “I still intend to have it, but I don’t need to be devious to get it. I still intend to have you.” She stepped back but he was too quick. His fingers curled tightly around her upper arm. “Maybe I made a mistake by letting you go the other night.”

  “You didn’t want me. It’s just a game.”

  “Didn’t want you?” She made another quick attempt to pull away and failed. “No, that’s right, I didn’t want you.” He pulled her against him and her mouth was crushed and conquered. Her mind whirled with the shock of it. “I don’t want you now.” Before she could speak, his mouth savaged hers again. There was a taste of brutality he had never shown her. “Like I haven’t wanted you for days.” He pulled her to the ground.

  “No,” she said, frightened, “don’t.” But his lips were silencing hers again.

  There was none of the teasing persuasion he had shown her before, no light arrogance. These were primordial demands, eliciting primordial responses from her. He would take what he wanted, his way. He plundered, dragging her with him as he raced for more. Then his lips left hers, journeying to her throat before traveling downward. Megan felt she was suffocating, suffused with heat. Her breath caught in her lungs, emerging in quick gasps or moans. His fingers ran a bruising trail over her quivering flesh. He ran his thumb over the point of her breast, back and forth, until she was beyond fear, beyond thought. His mouth came back to hers, fever hot, desperate. She murmured mindlessly, clinging to him as her body shuddered with waves of need.

  Katch lifted his head, and his breath was warm and erratic on her face. Megan’s lids fluttered open, revealing eyes dazed with passion, heavy with desire. Silently, she trembled. If words had been hers, she would have told him that she loved him. There w
as no pride in her, no shame, only soaring need and a love that was painful in its strength.

  “This isn’t the place for you.” His voice was rough as he rolled over on his back. They lay there a moment, side by side, without touching. “And this isn’t the way.”

  Her mind was fogged, and her blood surging. “Katch.” Megan managed his name and struggled to sit up. His eyes lingered on her form, then slid up slowly to brood on her face. It was flushed and aware. She wanted to touch him but was afraid.

  For a moment their eyes met. “Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head in denial. Her body ached with longing.

  “Go home, then.” He rose, giving her a last, brief glance. “Before I do.” He turned and left her.

  Megan heard the slam of the front door.