Come Morning

by Pat Warren

  Briana took a step back, struggling for control. She hadn’t expected her body to overrule her mind and react so quickly, so fiercely. She’d never trusted the fast and furious. Yet here it was, and it was overwhelming. “So, that’s reality. Whew! Packs a wallop, doesn’t it?”

  He wasn’t in the mood for levity. His erection was huge and hurting, yet he had no one to blame but himself. He was pretty damn sure, despite her effort to lighten things, that she’d gotten more than she’d bargained for. “It probably wouldn’t be wise for you to get involved with me, Briana.”

  “You’re probably right.” She was having trouble sorting out her feelings with residual desire clouding her mind. Why would he kiss her like that, then issue a warning? And why wouldn’t a smart woman, as she thought herself to be, heed that warning?

  He did a half turn, feeling the need to expand on what he’d said. “You don’t know me very well. I’ve done things, things I’m not proud of. And you’re vulnerable right now.”

  “Oh, bull! When aren’t we vulnerable when we run across an overwhelming attraction?” She raised her eyes to his, suddenly wondering if she was the only one feeling so bewildered. “Or is it just me feeling so much?”

  God help him, he could think of no better way to show her. He gripped her shoulders again and brought his mouth down hard on hers. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, forgetting all the reasons he shouldn’t. This kiss was shorter but the message was clear. He let her go abruptly. “Any questions? If so, give me your hand and I’ll show you more.”

  Locked close against him, she’d been very aware she was wrapped around a fully aroused man. Briana took several steps back and drew in a deep breath, buying a little time.

  There was no question that physically he wanted her, Slade thought. And he knew she felt the same. If he could just keep his feelings under wraps and concentrate on the physical, they could be good for each other. But more than that he couldn’t handle, couldn’t allow. Because if Briana Morgan knew the whole truth about him, she’d turn from him. “Maybe it’s best if we back off for now.”

  Was it? Briana wasn’t sure. He was sending her mixed messages. “I don’t know.” She was being brutally honest. “I do know I’m not prepared to deal with this right now.” A simple kiss. She’d been so certain she could handle a simple kiss. Only, there’d been nothing simple about that kiss.

  Slade ran a hand along the back of his neck, massaging the knot of tension there. “Me, either.” Again, he draped the blanket over his shoulder, struggling with emotions he didn’t want to face just now.

  Taking her cue from him, Briana stepped into the shoes she’d dropped and fell in step.

  They walked in silence, which seemed unnatural after the closeness they’d shared mere minutes ago. Slade gazed up at the stars, winking and blinking overhead. “Nice night,” he finally got out. The weather, always a safe topic.

  “Yes.” She couldn’t think of anything bright or clever to add. They were near enough to the bonfire to smell the acrid odor and hear the small cracklings as the blaze slowly died out. “Looks like the party’s over.”

  But Slade spotted a big man with beefy hands planted at his waist, standing downwind and watching the fire closely. “Not quite. Do you know that guy?”

  Briana squinted through the lingering smoke. “Oh, yes. That’s Jimmy Kendall. He’s with the fire department. Probably came along, spotted the fire, and ran the kids off.”

  Just what he needed, Slade thought, hoping the man wouldn’t notice them. But his luck wasn’t holding.

  Jimmy spotted them, recognized Briana, and with a glance at the dying embers, walked over to intersect their sandy path. “Hey, Briana. How’re you doing?”

  “Getting by, Jimmy. How about you?”

  He indicated the bonfire still smoldering. “Damn kids. Never use their heads, even though we’ve got signs all over warning people about the danger of fire.”

  “That’s teenagers, I guess.”

  “Yeah.” Jimmy brightened. “My daughter finally had her baby. Nine-pound boy. Thought he’d never get here.” Jimmy hitched up his low-riding pants.

  “Congratulations. Give Colleen my best.” Briana wasn’t feeling chatty. All she wanted to do right this minute was get home, lie down, and mentally go over the unsettling events of the evening.

  Jimmy’s dark eyes examined Slade. “Say, aren’t you Jeremy Slade’s son? Heard you were here. Damn shame about your father.”

  “Thanks.” Slade took a step, hoping to discourage more talk.

  But Jimmy was nothing if not persistent. “Heard you were a firefighter in California.”

  “Yes, I was.” Slade emphasized the past tense, hoping that would put an end to the man’s curiosity.

  “Now that you’re settled in,” Jimmy went on, “maybe you’d like to stop in and meet the guys. We’ve got three stations on the island. I heard your father left you well set, but I also know that firefighting gets in your blood. We’re kind of shorthanded.”

  Slade was unaware his expression had hardened. “Thanks, but I’m not interested.”

  “Bet you’d change your mind if you came by. We’ve got a great bunch of fellows. Why don’t you come join us, son?”

  Slade’s eyes turned as cold as a wintry sea. Son! He’d been no man’s son for years now, had had no father who wanted him. The very word had him seeing red. “I said no. And don’t call me that. I’m not your son.”

  Taken aback, Jimmy looked from one to the other. “Yeah, sure, okay. Sorry.” He backed up, then turned away.

  Slade set out, his strides long, his need to move on obvious. Briana kept up, but her own temper was frayed.

  “That was pretty rude.”

  Drawing in a deep gulp of sea air, Slade was sure she was right. “Yeah, I guess it was.” He wasn’t in an apologizing mood.

  “Jimmy’s a nice guy. He didn’t mean any harm. Would it hurt you to stop at the station and meet the men?”

  He stopped abruptly and faced her. “Yeah, it would. You don’t seem to understand, I left the fire department for good. Period. End of story. I’m sick of everyone on this island either telling me what a great guy my father was when I know he deserted his family or asking me why I don’t rush over and join the fire department. I wish everyone would just back the hell off.”

  “That’s an excellent idea.” Briana turned and started walking toward the coastal road, leaving the beach.

  Furious—at her, at Jimmy Whatever-his-name-was—but mostly seething at himself for a long list of sins, Slade went after her. His longer legs had him alongside her in no time. “Look, I didn’t mean you.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Listen, I’m sorry. Is that what you wanted?”

  Whirling about, she glared up at him. “What I want is for you to go on your way and I’ll go on mine. All right?”

  “No, damn it, it’s not all right. I’m seeing you home. Did you forget your house was broken into this morning?”

  “No, I didn’t. Thank you for your concern, but I’ll manage. I’ve taken care of myself for a lot of years now and I think I can handle one more evening. Good night.” And she took off at an angry pace.

  He let her go, walking a short distance behind her, overseeing her to safety even if she didn’t want him to. He’d be damned if she was going to dictate what he’d do. What got into her, anyway? One minute she’s kissing him like there’s no tomorrow, confessing that she’s got this overwhelming attraction to him, and the next she’s marching away from him like he’d done something really terrible.

  So what if he was rude to that clown, Jimmy? The man had no business hanging around the beach trying to recruit reluctant applicants. Is that the only way this island could get help, bully or coerce or shame someone into applying?

  Patchy clouds had drifted through the evening sky, almost blocking the moon. All right, so he’d been out of line. Jimmy Whatsit couldn’t have known that son was a four letter word to him, on
e that triggered his temper. He’d apologized to Briana. What more did she want?

  Slade noticed that they were almost in front of their houses. He slowed his steps when he saw that Briana had stopped by the mailbox and was standing utterly still, her back to him.

  At first, he couldn’t figure out what she was focused on. Then he saw the balloon tied with a string to Gramp’s mailbox. A silvery color, it danced and swayed in the ocean breezes. He glanced up and down the street and saw that each mailbox had a balloon on a string tied to it. Squinting in the faint light, he saw that the logo of a local real estate office was imprinted on the balloons. Just a silly advertising gimmick.

  Wondering why the sight of a balloon seemed to stop her cold, he moved around her. She was fixated on the balloon, watching its jerky little dance, her face pale, her expression like glass that was about to shatter. He decided he’d better get her inside before her emotions burst free and she had another crying jag.

  Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he started her forward. “Let’s go inside, Briana.”

  She took one, two lurching steps, then dug her heels in, her eyes still on the balloon. “I’m all right,” she whispered, her voice so low he had to duck his head to make out the words.

  “Sure you are, but you’ll be better inside.” He tugged on her, urging her through Gramp’s gate. Finally, she allowed him to move her along, but her steps were reluctant and her head was turned so she could still see the balloon over her shoulder.

  Up the walk, up the steps, inside the porch. “Where’s your key?” he asked, but when she turned to him, her eyes were dazed, as if she wasn’t picturing him but another scene in her mind’s eye. “Okay, let’s see.” He slipped a hand into the pocket of her slacks and came up empty. In the second pocket, he hit pay dirt. The key was large and old-fashioned, but he finally managed to get the door open and Briana inside.

  He sat her down on the couch and switched on a table lamp, which gave off a soft light. He watched her blink, as if orienting herself, while she rubbed at her forehead. She’d had a shock of some sort that had conjured up a disturbing memory, he guessed. He’d seen fire victims like that, days later blanking out, reliving the blaze.

  Leaving her momentarily, he found the bathroom, wet a washcloth, and went back to place it on her forehead. She was warm to the touch, but not overly so. His arm around her shoulders drew her close. He held her there for long minutes, and finally, he felt the tension ease out of her, felt her muscles relax.

  Several minutes later, Briana straightened, removed the cloth, and leaned forward. Her voice was just the slightest bit shaky. “I wonder if it’s ever going to get better.”

  Slade thought of another woman in another town, the shrill voice of her mother asking him the same question, accusation inherent in every word. In his nightmares, he heard Rachel’s cry: “It’s your fault, all your fault. I told you and you didn’t listen. Why didn’t you listen?”

  To Briana he said, “It’s supposed to.”

  “That’s what the doctors tell you.” She scooted away from him, settling in the corner of the couch, pulling her legs up under her, facing him. “You must be convinced by now that I’m a certifiable nut case.”

  “Far from it. In my line of work, I ran across a lot of victims and their relatives. Believe me, I know strong when I see it.”

  With both hands, Briana brushed back her damp hair. “I wish I felt strong.”

  “There’s a significance to the balloon, I gather.” Maybe if he could get her to talk about the hard parts, she could accept things more readily.

  Briana supposed she owed him some explanation since he’d witnessed her emotional reaction several times now. She kept her eyes downcast as she forced herself to remember. “The day it happened, Bobby and I were in the Public Gardens across from the Boston Common when he found a balloon caught in a tree. He climbed up and got it, then tied the string around his wrist. He skipped along the walk, so happy that day.” Briana choked on a sob, but forced herself to go on.

  “Robert was picking him up and he was late. They were going to the zoo. Finally, he arrived and I said good-bye to Bobby.” The very last time she’d kissed that freckled face and hugged that warm, energetic little body. Briana swallowed hard. “They crossed the street and I was taking pictures. Snapping away at this and that. Suddenly I heard sounds, like a car backfiring. Only it wasn’t that. It was gunshots.”

  “Gunshots? I thought they’d died in an auto accident.”

  Briana shook her head. “That might have been easier to handle. Maybe not. Anyway, I heard people screaming, brakes screeching, and a car speeding by, but I wasn’t looking at the street. I was trying to spot Robert and Bobby but I couldn’t, so I raced across the street. And … and my son was lying there on that dirty sidewalk, so very still. The balloon was still tied to his wrist, still dancing and whirling. The string stayed tied to his wrist even in the ambulance as I rode along, praying harder than ever before. But I knew it was too late.”

  Slade edged closer. “Did they find whoever did the shooting?”

  Again, she shook her head, more slowly this time. “The police talked with me repeatedly. Did Robert have any enemies? Did I? Or our families? I couldn’t come up with a single name. Finally they called it a random drive-by shooting. Two lives snuffed out and several more ruined. Just one of many random acts of violence happening all over the world in these terrible times, the officer told me. Two people in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Slade didn’t know just when he’d taken her hand, only knew that he held her chilled fingers wrapped in his own warm palm. “And no one saw the car or got the license plate number? I mean, isn’t it usually crowded along the Common?”

  “It was very crowded, Saturday morning. But at a time like that, everyone’s intent on saving themselves, not in jotting down numbers, I guess. Besides, I’ve come to realize it doesn’t matter. Knowing the shooter’s identity wouldn’t bring Bobby back, nor Robert either.” She thought of the reason she’d begun this explanation and raised her eyes. “Then at the service in the cemetery, the minister’s wife had dozens of balloons released into the sky as her husband spoke. Apparently, it’s a tradition with them whenever a child dies, as sort of a sign of hope rising to the heavens, or whatever. I’d been holding up fairly well until then. I saw those balloons and I collapsed. Dad caught me and took me out of there.”

  She let out a ragged breath. “I’ve simply got to get a grip. The trouble is that when you lose someone you bring into the world, there’s a disruption of the order of things. Our children aren’t supposed to die first.”

  “And then I add to your problems. I’m sorry about losing my temper back there, Brie.” He rather liked the nickname he’d heard several people call her. Briana seemed too formal, somehow. “You’re right. I had no business being rude to Jimmy. I’ll go apologize to him if you think I should.”

  She studied him, noting his sincerity, yet seeing more. “You know, I think there’s more to that encounter than you taking offense at Jimmy pressuring you. I think there’s something in your past, something involving being a firefighter, that triggers a response in you as upsetting as balloons are to me.”

  He should have known she’d figure it out. He patted her hand. “You know what they say: there’re a million stories in the big city. But we’ll save that one for another day. I’d better go so you can get some rest.” He rose and walked to the door.

  Briana followed. “Thanks for yet another rescue. And for a great beach picnic.”

  “Will you be all right now?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Good night, then.”

  Long after he’d walked out of sight, Briana stood in the doorway, sliding her tongue over her lips, tasting him.

  In the morning when she went out, she saw that not a single balloon was visible from any of the mailboxes up and down her street.

  Chapter Eight

  “I can’t believe how much you’ve manage
d to accomplish since I saw you last,” Irma said. She was standing in the archway of Briana’s kitchen, where two workmen were installing new cupboards. “First the entire house painted inside and out, and now this.” She swung back to smile at her young friend. “Maybe you should come down to my place and help me make some changes.”

  “Your home is lovely and perfect as it is, Irma,” Briana answered, leading the way to the front porch. “I hope you don’t mind sitting out here, but I’ve given away most of Gramp’s furniture except in the bedroom I’m using.”

  “This is fine.” Irma settled herself in the cushioned wooden rocker, adjusting her gauzy burnt orange harem pants and billowing black top as she sat back. Poking at her ebony black upsweep with a long crimson fingernail, she eyed Briana. “Well, this extensive renovation must mean you’re planning on staying.”

  Briana toed off her white canvas shoes and drew her legs up under her as she made herself comfortable in the companion chair. “Don’t you start, too. I hear that from everyone I talk with, it seems.” Everyone except Slade, who seemed convinced that she’d be returning to Boston. “The truth is, I’m still not sure what I’m going to do.”

  “Waiting for divine inspiration, my dear?” Irma asked, not unkindly. She’d been by once when Jeremy’s son, definitely sober, had been preparing the house for painting and had told her that Briana was resting, an odd occurrence in midmorning, to be sure. She’d driven by the following week and seen both of them painting away, so busy they hadn’t spotted her. And finally, she’d run into them shopping together in town several days ago, so thoroughly wrapped up in a discussion they were having that neither noticed her. Irma was beyond curious and had moved into downright nosy. This afternoon, she’d simply had to stop by and find out for herself. “Or has Slade something to do with your ambivalance?”

  Briana wrinkled her forehead. “What makes you ask that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I rather had the feeling the two of you had become friends. Good friends.” Irma was careful not to put too much inflection in her voice.