Man From Tennessee

by Jennifer Greene

  He was looking at her slim fingers on his sleeve, and she dropped her hand quickly. The stone features were still prominent, but there was an odd half curl at the corner of his mouth, masked quickly when she stared up at him in sudden confusion. “For mother’s sake, you’ll stay for a while then,” he said, dryly rephrasing her words.

  Uncertainly, she frowned, her lips parted to say something-then nothing. Kern was already opening the door, greeting his mother in brisk, cheerful tones.

  Chapter Six

  Julia maintained a steady blaze of conversation from the moment they left her hospital room to the time they reached the Mercedes. With Kern on one side and Trisha on her other, captive listeners both, Julia was all too tempted to make the most of their mutual and obvious relief at seeing normal color in her cheeks again.

  “…I never did have any tolerance for institutions. It’s ‘we’ll’ do this and ‘we’ll’ do that and a wheelchair to move two feet across the hall. Half the time it’s paper cups, and when they do come up with a glass it hasn’t been washed properly. There’s no butter for the bread, not a fried egg to be had. I told that little renegade of a nurse on the afternoon shift that I was old enough to determine cholesterol levels for myself, thank you very much, and as for privacy…”

  Kern opened the front passenger-seat door for his mother, who then obstinately wanted to sit in the back. “You two sit together. I’ve grown quite accustomed to being completely by myself,” Julia said petulantly.

  “We’ll have you home in no time,” Kern said peaceably as he started the engine. “We were hoping you’d be hungry-”

  “Of course I’m hungry. I haven’t had a decent meal in two days. Trisha, I’m never forgiving you for talking me into that place. I am going out to dinner, Kern. I’m sure that child of a doctor told you that my blood pressure’s back to normal.”

  Trisha leaned over the back of the seat. “But I’ve got lamb, darling,” she said coaxingly. “With a mint sauce just like you love. The table’s all set; it’s just a matter of a quick reheating…”

  “Wonderful. We’ll have it tomorrow. I’ve been in this horrid wilderness for nearly four days and so far all I’ve seen of it is beds. It’s no use your talking, Trisha. We are going out. And don’t tell me Kern didn’t know what was coming or he wouldn’t have put on a suit.”

  “There was a debate between a suit or the spangled kind of T-shirt I don’t seem to own,” Kern said blandly. “I didn’t really know if you would have to prove how healthy you are by insisting on a club, Mother, or whether a simple restaurant would do-”

  “Let’s not be sarcastic.” She added disparagingly, “Probably all you have in this place is a simple restaurant. I’m not difficult to please, Kern, although I do prefer a decent wine list…”

  Kern parked on a side road off the main drag in Gatlinburg. Further down the road neon signs flashed a tourist’s dream of motel choices, promising everything from waterbeds to the newest movies, in-room fireplaces and live entertainment. Where the three of them walked were the shops, a clustered mélange of attractive stores offering everything from imported Italian sandals to X-rated T-shirts. Christian Dior labels were back-to-back with a Native American crafts store, French antiques, Danish cheeses…

  “Perhaps we’ll go shopping tomorrow, Trisha,” Julia said thoughtfully, glancing suddenly at her daughter-in-law’s pantsuit. “I haven’t seen that before, have I? A marvelous color on you. So while I was stuck in the hospital you went shopping, did you?”

  Trisha let go of Julia’s arm long enough to divest her purse of a tiny wrapped package. “For you,” she said mildly.

  “To make up for forcing me into that place,” Julia suggested, but her eyes softened on Trisha. “Well…thank you, Patricia. I’ll open it when we get to the restaurant, if we ever do, Kern.”

  He stopped in front of a windowless brick-front building with a half dozen steps leading down to a glossy black door, unmarked and all but unnoticeable if it hadn’t been for a single gas lantern shining on the steps.

  “A basement, Kern?” Julia asked pleasantly. “I wish I could say I was surprised.”

  “Do you want to spank her or shall I?” Kern murmured to Trisha as a black-suited waiter led Julia first to a small corner table.

  The impulse was to laugh. It took willpower to reject it, willpower not to share even an understanding smile with him when she knew they were both feeling equal quantities of exasperation and sheer joy at Julia’s improved health. But it wouldn’t do, Trisha knew, being drawn into that orb of male dominance, and she moved deliberately ahead of him, pretending not to see the way his eyes suddenly narrowed in catlike challenge.

  Her attention was honestly captured by the restaurant in seconds. A manmade waterfall divided a small dance floor from the dining area, the sparkle of water through colored lights making rainbow prisms on the beamed ceiling. The pianist was playing semiclassical music, his touch gentle and relaxing. The wall as they’d come in was completely filled with wine racks, the bottles tilted, labeled so that anyone could choose their own. Candles and starched white linen, the sponge of soundless carpet and the heavy dark beams above, shadows and the irresistible pastel lights in the waterfall…it was all lovely.

  Trisha was seated, suddenly conscious that Kern’s fingers lingered on her shoulders as the waiter seated his mother. “I would have taken you somewhere else, but you did specify a wine list, mother,” he drawled. “If you object to the ‘basement,’ though-”

  “Sit down, sit down. Stop making a fuss,” Julia said, scolding him, but the steel eyes were taking in the entire scene with the same undisguised pleasure that Trisha showed. With a sigh Julia settled back, allowing them all to relax while drinks were ordered. Her own wine she had chosen herself, a rosé from the Loire Valley. Trisha obediently ordered the drier pinot noir that Julia knew she would like. But Kern, predictably, listened to no one, insisting on his favorite whiskey straight up. “Well,” Julia said finally as she sipped her rose and looked at both of them, “are the two of you getting along?”

  Trisha twirled the dark wine in her glass, watching the flame’s reflection on the glass. “Of course we’re getting along,” she offered smoothly, not looking at Kern across the table from her. To expect Julia not to probe at the earliest opportunity would have been to expect rainbows served for breakfast. “And we’ve both been looking forward to showing you the area. I have all kinds of ideas for you…”

  Throughout almost all of the dinner course, Trisha coaxed at Julia’s interests, paying no attention to the dark-eyed man who persisted in disturbing her by staring from across the table. The Tennessee mountains were loaded with little out-of-the-way barn shops that sold antiques-one of Julia’s loves. Clothes she liked as well, and Gatlinburg was not averse to stocking for expensive tastes. There was a professor at the camp who played bridge, as did Trisha; they only needed a fourth. And as far as the garden club Julia belonged to at home… “There’s nothing to compare with what’s here, darling, and June just couldn’t be a better time. There are people who make annual pilgrimages here just to see the rhododendron in bloom. All over the heaths there’s mountain laurel and Dutchman’s-breeches…”

  “One would almost gather you’re taken with this place yourself, Patricia,” Julia commented curiously.

  Trisha heard the buildup of enthusiasm in her own voice, and became quieted. It was for Julia’s sake, of course, and if there was a chance Julia would be happy here she would do her best to help, as she’d promised Kern. But he mustn’t misunderstand. The waiter served coffee and after-dinner liqueurs. Trisha sipped at hers while the other two talked. The pianist inadvertently kept drawing her attention; from classical pieces he had switched to old, romantic love songs. Songs of lost love, forsaken love, loneliness, hope; melodies generations old in composing, timeless in theme…

  “It’s lovely, Patricia!”

  Trisha drew her attention back to the tiny jade rose in Julia’s palm, the present she had all
but forgotten. “I thought you would like it,” she said softly.

  “It’s just exquisite.” Julia sighed with pleasure. “I’ll have to forgive you both for the last two days, I suppose. Kern, I see the bandage is off your wrist, even if that scar still looks dreadful. What do you think, Trisha? You haven’t told me whether or not you find Kern changed in five years.”

  No, Julia wasn’t going to let it go, Trisha thought wearily. Her eyes met Kern’s over the wineglass for the first time since dinner started. The candlelight played with his face, too, found hollows and valleys in the craggy features, reflected a soft texture to his beard and an untamed glint in his eyes. “He’s changed a great deal,” Trisha said lightly, her defenses bristling at that look. “We’ve become such good friends that he’s even suggested I stay a little longer-that is, assuming you’d like to, Julia. Whatever you feel like doing will be fine by me.” She suddenly had the ridiculous feeling that she should never have used the phrase “good friends.” Ice barriers were a little different than thrown gauntlets, but then it was said, too late to take back.

  “Well, I would like to stay for a least a few days, perhaps a week,” Julia said vaguely with a faint frown. Trisha knew her answer was not quite what the older woman wanted. “And you, Kern,” the older woman persisted determinedly. “You must be surprised at how much Patricia has changed…”

  “Very,” Kern agreed shortly. His features were still fixed on Trisha’s, and with a sudden restiveness he stood up, offering his hand to her across the table. “You don’t mind if we dance for a few minutes, Mother?”

  Trisha shook her head. “I really don’t think-”

  “What a marvelous idea,” Julia said cheerfully. “Take your time, both of you. I’ll be perfectly content here with another cup of coffee. I like to rest for a while after dinner; you both know that.”

  His hand grasped hers, urging her up. Trisha felt all but herded to the far end of the room that contained the dance floor, the polite smile she had worn all evening for Kern now oddly fixed on her face. There were only two other couples on the floor. The pianist glanced up from his moody love song to smile lingeringly at her, but Kern whirled her around to face him. She sensed impatience and a sudden virulent voltage at his nearness that she ignored, as she had ignored it for hours, as she was going to continue to ignore it.

  He hooked both of his hands at her waist, forcing her fingers to rest on his shoulders or be left awkwardly hanging in midair. She caught her breath when his fingers laced behind her, locking them breast-to-chest. “Kern, I think we should be taking your mother home. It might be too long an evening for her…”

  “She’s fine for fifteen minutes. The question is whether you can last that long, keeping that polite distance you’ve guarded all afternoon.”

  She drew in her breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His hand slipped up her back to the nape of her neck, and she found her arms around his waist. His fingers splayed in the soft disorder of hairstyle to force her face up to his. “You’re more honest when you don’t talk at all, Tish. So don’t.” It was an order and a warning; no smile touched his sensual mouth. His weathered cheekbones were taut and a sudden graven stillness came upon him. He stared down at her with eyes like liquid rock, and she felt his desire to possess.

  She held herself stiffly when his hand forced her cheek to the soft silk of his shirt, her lashes low on her cheeks in an effort to hide the raw fear in the pit of her stomach. If he was trying to punish her for her coolness, or to prove for the sake of old revenge that she could no longer control her emotions around him-he was succeeding. The brush of a beard grazed her forehead; she found her arms encouraged tighter around his waist; and thighs grazing together in the motion of rhythm. The stroke of his fingers on the nape of her neck was deliberately soothing, gentling to her defenses. It was a painfully old love song the pianist kept playing, half love and half irretrievable loss, the melody suddenly aching inside of her.

  Her body was finally molded pliant for him, just as he wanted. Almost despairingly she told herself that it didn’t matter, that there was nothing that could happen on a dance floor. But it did matter-his lips pressed on her forehead and his arms tightened possessively around her as he felt her defenses falter. One hand slowly swept up and down her spine, molding her even closer. It was an embrace, not a dance; they both knew it. Yet she could not seem to move quite yet, with eyes closed absorbing the feel of his chest, his thighs in fluid movement against hers, his arousal alive between them…

  And the pianist had his secrets, a way of cradling the words he sang with his tongue before he reluctantly set them free. There was no mike, only a throaty low voice not really trying to compete with the piano, just slowly measuring out a lingering poem of helpless longing…

  Should I stay?

  Would it be so wrong…

  If I can’t help

  Falling in love with you…

  The song she’d never heard before, but the rhythm seemed so old, so hypnotic, that she gave in finally. Like a drug she couldn’t fight, her hips moved against his, feeling a sweet rush like champagne in her head. When she glanced up at his dark hooded eyes there was a sweet exultation in her own. Long ago she’d shied away from the fierce dominating passion she’d seen in Kern. His eyes seemed like black fire, and the feminine in her felt as potent as too much wine. Yearning ached through her in almost a feverish rush; a need to increase the look of desire in his eyes surged through her until there was no going back. Her hands escaped slowly from his waist to ripple gently over his chest, fingers climbing until they found flesh, circled around to the nape of his neck and threading in his hair. Her hips were cradled in his if she moved just so, the rhythm like the music, a frictionlike danger building between them as her swelling breasts rubbed against his, as her thighs courted pressure…

  She heard a harsh odd sound from the base of his throat and looked up. There was almost a smile on his lips. “Not here,” he scolded chidingly.

  “Only here, Kern,” she corrected softly.

  He shook his head. “You know better.” He drew apart from her! She was suddenly curiously aware that the song was ended, and that it was not the same song they had started out dancing to. Julia was looking their way, a gentle smile on her mouth for the two of them. This was a restaurant after all, other people… Then a disquieting sense of déjà vu, of dancing with Kern and being bewitched beyond all rhyme or reason came to mind.

  Kern had a message from the camp when the three of them got home, and for a short time he had to go out. Trisha spent an hour settling Julia in and from there wandered outside in the back. The grass was squeaky with dew beneath her feet, and she slipped off her sandals, swinging them with one hand, feeling the damp carpet curling around her bare toes. Stars peppered the cloudless, breezeless night.

  Her head ached just a little from the unaccustomed wine. This time drinking in the clear mountain air, she stood pensively for a long time. The mood from their evening was suddenly erased. The feeling of vulnerability seemed to be assaulting her from all sides-from the look of her face in the mirror when she was brushing her hair, from her every response around Kern, from each time she looked at the mist-swirling mountains and felt small and insignificant. Vulnerability was something she’d never wanted to feel again. It was an unwelcomed emotion.

  Finally she heard the click of the door behind her. There was no reason to turn to know who it was. She’d been waiting for Kern. “I’m going to need some money,” she said quietly.

  “Fine.”

  She half turned then. His answer was almost humorously indifferent. Kern rarely smoked, and from where he was leaning against the house, the glow of ash sent up a whisper of smoke.

  “Not for me,” she said by way of qualification. “For your mother. I want to redo that room downstairs, Kern, in a style that would suit her. She thought it foolish at first, but I just reminded her that you had lots of space and you wanted her to have her own per
sonal room when she came down for other visits. It might be a beginning, if she becomes attached to it.” Trisha hesitated when he didn’t comment. “She has expensive tastes, but I wouldn’t overdo. I know what I’m doing with fabrics, Kern, and I know exactly what would appeal to her…”

  “Don’t be absurd, Tish. You know damn well there’s money for whatever she wants-or you want,” he said impatiently. “It bothered the hell out of me when I knew you were working and attending night school at the same time-”

  “That was four years ago.”

  “And the checks I sent you all came back. Now are we done with that subject?” She could hear his heel crush the cigarette butt.

  “Yes.”

  “And we suddenly have nothing else to talk about, do we, Tish?”

  “Nothing.” She shivered then, though there was no reason for it in the still-warm night, and she moved forward to go inside. Barefoot when she came up the slope to Kern, to her he seemed taller than life, his head towering over hers. Her hand was on the doorknob when he reached out to stop her with an unexpectedly gentle hand. His fingers brushed back a strand of hair from her face and then his palm rested like a warm caress on her cheek.

  “You’re a giver, Tish. I’d expect you to come up with an idea for my mother. You’ve been there for her for years when you didn’t need to be. She wasn’t your responsibility. And you were there for me at one of the roughest times in my life-”

  “Kern.” Her fingers curled at his wrist, trying to dislodge the sensual palm.

  “You haven’t really changed. The look’s very different, but you’re still afraid to reach out and take, Tish, to take what’s yours. I don’t understand what you’re afraid of. I never have,” he admitted bluntly. “There’s just…life. If you don’t reach out and take what you want, there’s nothing.”

  His fingers smoothed down her cheek, caressed her throat, and let go. She was still for a moment, feeling a sudden rush of confusion. Her image of herself had been the opposite of a “giver.” She had failed to give him the response he needed in a wife. And what was he trying to tell her now? To seize this moment? Make love with him because the chemistry was there, as if there were no consequences? Was he even aware of how loud the words were that he hadn’t said? There was no mention of her staying here beyond a short time. She had been the one who insisted on staying, for Julia. She hesitated, then said, “You find it easy to go after what you want, no holds barred, Kern. But I can’t just-”