Nancy Herkness

by Shower Of Stars

  “The swan and the eagle. Birds of a feather. How did a lyre get mixed in?”

  “Pure magnitude. Vega’s the fifth brightest star in the sky, partly because it’s only about 27 light-years away and partly because it’s fifty times as bright as our sun.”

  “It’s sort of bluish though.”

  “You have good eyes.”

  “Not good enough to find Orion,” she said, tilting her head to search the sky. “He’s the only constellation I can usually recognize.”

  “Orion set about an hour ago.”

  “He should be your patron saint.”

  Jack was silent.

  “He’s a hunter, just like you,” Charlie persisted.

  “His methods were more violent than mine. And I try not to anger the gods.”

  “That’s right, they sent a scorpion to kill him, didn’t they?”

  “And there he crouches on the horizon, waiting to strike.”

  Her eyes were accustomed to the dark so Charlie turned her head to follow the dim line of Jack’s arm toward the constellation Scorpius. “Yeow!” she yelped. The hairpins in her wedding day hairdo had shifted and were jabbing into her scalp. She sat up and took off the hunting cap, fumbling around to find the small implements of torture.

  “Let me do that,” Jack offered, although he sounded as if he were doing it against his better judgment.

  This is a dumb idea, Charlie agreed mentally, but she swiveled to present her back to him. She felt his fingers in her hair, then heard a rustle of blankets and a soft grunt. Suddenly, his hiking boots were planted on either side of her thighs while his knees almost brushed her shoulders. This is a really dumb idea, she thought again. But her eyes drifted closed as pins were pulled adroitly from her hair. Her chignon loosened under Jack’s onslaught. She shook her head to release the last of the pressure, and then barely stifled a moan as he raked his fingers through her hair, spreading it over her back and shoulders. The exquisite tingling of her scalp radiated downward and across every inch of her skin. She luxuriated in it until the sensation focused between her thighs. When she began to picture his hands skimming around her ribs to cup her breasts, Charlie gave herself a hard mental shake and reached back to braid her hair.

  He brushed her hands aside. “I’ll braid it.”

  “Did you learn by making camel bridles?” Charlie was trying to distract herself from the new ripple of pleasure his division of her hair into three strands was creating.

  “No. I learned from making lariats out West.”

  He was taking his time.

  “Do you find a lot of meteorites there?”

  “Some. I have a cabin out in Wyoming. Sort of like Miguel’s here. Do you have something to tie this with?”

  Charlie fished in her pocket for an elastic band. His fingers brushed hers as he took it, and she almost winced at the shock the contact gave her.

  “All neatly tamed and tied up.” He flipped the braid over her shoulder and shifted back onto his own side. “Just the way you like it.”

  Charlie was annoyed by the mockery in his voice. “You seem to take an inordinate amount of interest in my hairstyle.”

  “You seem to consider it more a nuisance than an adornment.”

  “I consider it unprofessional to leave it loose,” she said. But she didn’t consider it a nuisance ever. She clung to it as the last vestige of her femininity. When she felt overwhelmed by a sense of her failure as a woman, she found reassurance in the extravagant sheet of gold flowing over her shoulders and down to her waist.

  “And we’re being strictly professional now, aren’t we?” Jack said.

  “Strictly,” she agreed.

  Charlie lay back down, edging as far away from his disturbing presence as she could get without falling off the padding. She was trying very hard to keep this on a strictly professional basis, but he wasn’t exactly doing his bit to help. At this moment, she wanted to hurl herself on top of the very male person lying next to her, and feel his hands running down her back, over her backside, between her thighs and …

  “Oh!” she gasped.

  A meteor streaked through Draco, leaving a trail of light glowing in the sky.

  “A falling star!”

  Eight

  “That was the first falling star I’ve ever seen,” Charlie said after a brief silence.

  “You don’t spend much time looking at the sky.”

  “No, I guess I don’t.” She was always too busy dealing with matters on Earth.

  Jack checked his watch. “It’s almost midnight. The show should get better soon.”

  “That’s because before midnight the material from the comet was chasing us. Now the earth has rotated so our side is running into the space debris, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  Another meteor drew a glowing line across the sky. The silence of the display was eerie. “I can see why you thought it was a sign of some sort. It seems supernatural.”

  Her companion made no comment.

  Charlie lay quietly, letting her gaze drift across the sky, waiting for movement to catch her eye. But all the stars stood still for the moment, although the woods around them were alive with sound. An owl hooted and was answered from farther away. A night breeze whispered through pine needles and early leaves. Rustling in the undergrowth marked the passage of some larger animal. Charlie glanced at Jack to see if he looked concerned, but his gaze was firmly skyward.

  She looked back up. There was another meteor! And another! A third zipped past Cygnus’ beak.

  “Wow!” Charlie breathed. “It’s an entire shower of stars!”

  “Mmm-hmmm.”

  Charlie decided to refrain from further comment. Maybe he took this pilgrimage even more seriously than she thought, and he really was praying to the space gods.

  They lay side-by-side while the sky hurled glowing rocks at the Earth. As fascinating as the sight was, Charlie could feel her eyelids drifting closed.

  “Why are you so set on adopting a baby from China?”

  Her eyelids snapped open. She had no idea if she had been asleep a minute or an hour. “What?” she stalled.

  “Why do you want to adopt a child so badly?”

  “Those are two different questions.”

  “And you’re an expert on asking questions,” he noted. “Answer the second one then.”

  “I suppose you’re entitled to an explanation,” she conceded, “but it’s not simple.”

  “I have all night.”

  She was relieved to hear a hint of humor in his voice. She took a breath and released it. “I was orphaned when I was four. My parents were killed in a car accident. After that, I lived with a series of relatives, some of whom wanted me more than others. I had one good run with an aunt and uncle who really cared about me. But then Uncle Alfred got transferred to a town where the school system was terrible. So, for my own good, I was sent to an educationally superior location.”

  “But an emotionally inferior situation?”

  “Yes.” Charlie sighed. “No one ever abused me or anything like that. I just sensed I was considered a burden.” She was silent for a moment, remembering. “So I want to adopt a child who was such a burden to someone they gave her up, and show her what a joy she is to me.”

  “That’s very noble. But why not have a child of your own? It seems easier than adopting.” His last statement was heavily laced with cynicism.

  “Isn’t that incredible?” Charlie agreed indignantly. “No qualifications are required to get pregnant, but it takes years and an entire forest of paperwork to adopt a child no one wants.”

  “A pretty lady like you should have no problem finding a willing sperm donor.”

  “Are you volunteering?” she said, then wished she’d bitten her tongue.

  “Trust me, sugar, you can do a lot better than me for a biological father.”

  She had expected a reminder of their deal or an emphatic refusal, not this wry declaration of unworthiness. It made her st
op evading his question.

  “I can’t have children of my own.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I was married for five years,” she found herself continuing. “I had three miscarriages and two ectopic pregnancies. The last one almost killed me, and the doctors decided it was better if I not try again. I had surgery to prevent any further conception.”

  “And your marriage didn’t survive the ordeal.”

  “Greg wanted his own children. And now he has them.”

  “He remarried?”

  “Within a year of our divorce.”

  “So I’m your second husband. And I won’t be your last, I’m sure.”

  This was the first time he had referred to himself as her husband. It gave her an odd little thrill so she ignored his last comment.

  “Why a baby from China?” he asked.

  “Now who’s asking a lot of personal questions?” Charlie hesitated as two meteors chased each other through Aquila before she answered him. “Several reasons. Most of the babies in orphanages there are girls because they’re considered useless to their families.”

  “Women don’t do housework in China?”

  “Very funny. They do housework, farm work and every other kind of work, but they do it for their husband’s family.”

  “I like that system.”

  Charlie elbowed him—gently—in the ribs.

  “Watch it. I can hog-tie you in under thirty seconds.”

  She almost challenged him to try it, but was afraid they would both enjoy it way too much. “Because China has the one child per family policy, parents are almost forced to give away their daughters. It must be a terrible decision to make,” Charlie mused sadly. “Anyway, as a single mother, I can provide a role model for a girl, but I can’t do that for a boy. I also don’t like the idea of girls growing up feeling they’re inferior just because they’re female.”

  She waited for another crack but none came so she went on with her list.

  “There are generally fewer health issues with Chinese babies than with, say, Russian or Eastern European children. I ruled out adopting within the United States because the legal issues are far more complex here, especially if a biological parent has a change of heart.”

  “I’d hate to try and take a child away from you once you got hold of it.”

  “It would break my heart to give up a child I’d considered my own. I thought about adopting an older child to avoid that problem but I’ve always wanted a baby. They smell so sweet and innocent,” she finished awkwardly, afraid to expose any more of her longing.

  “What makes you think you’ll be a good parent?” he queried after a pause.

  “Now that’s asking me to sing my own praises,” she said with a laugh.

  “You don’t have to enumerate all your sterling qualities. Your friends have already explained to me what a lucky man I am.”

  “Sorry about that,” Charlie said, glad the darkness covered her flush of embarrassment. “They got a little carried away by the wedding thing. Sometimes I think they forgot it was an unusual solution to our problems.”

  “So Miguel didn’t mention what a great catch I am?”

  “Afraid not. He just warned me about your occupational hazards.”

  He raised his hand. “Don’t repeat them, please. Back to the adoption: how can you be so sure you’ll be a good mother?”

  “I can’t,” she said with a shrug he probably couldn’t see. “But I’m sure I’ll do my best. And I’m sure I’m responsible, loving and committed to putting a child’s needs at the top of my priorities. What else can a parent—or anyone—guarantee?”

  “Sometimes that’s not enough.”

  “Really?” Her reporter’s instincts were telling her Jack’s statement came from somewhere profound. She tried to see his face, but the starlight only glinted off his eyes, leaving the rest of his features indistinct.

  “Let’s break out the sandwiches,” he said, levering himself up on an elbow to reach for the bag of food.

  Charlie knew he wasn’t going to elaborate, no matter what she asked, so she gave in with good grace. They devoured the roast beef, gouda and mustard sandwiches and washed them down with still-steaming coffee, always keeping an eye on the sky. The silence was companionable and broken only by an observation on the location of a streaking space rock or a question about a noise in the woods. Fortunately, the bears were all staying in the sky, and once again Charlie’s eyes closed in exhaustion.

  A crescendo of birdsong wakened her, and she opened her eyes to a sky washed in the pink and gray of dawn. She could smell the dew on her blankets and the grass around her, damp, fresh, and tangy. A quiet snuffle from beside her made her turn her head in some alarm.

  It was Jack. He lay asleep on his back, the arm beside her bent up and around his head, the other thrown out into the grass palm-up. Charlie propped herself up on her elbow so she could get a good long look at him. Wasn’t sleep supposed to make one look younger and more innocent? The planes of Jack’s face seemed starker without the blue of his eyes or the deep music of his accent to provide a distraction. His nose was like a knife blade, narrow and straight. The arch of his eyebrows cast a hint of mockery over his expression. His steely hair had gotten longer since she first saw him, now curling well down his collar. He must be too busy to see a barber. Up close, his hair showed an unusual mix of colors: deep black, pale silver, and every shade of gray in between.

  He was a striking man.

  Not precisely handsome but eye-catching.

  Charlie looked at his mouth. Without the dimple showing, his lips looked as chiseled as a statue’s.

  “What’s on your mind, sugar?”

  Her gaze flew up to find the pale blue eyes open and looking right into her thoughts.

  “You were snoring.”

  He laughed and threw off the covers. “Let’s get back to the cabin, and get some real sleep.” When he stood up and stretched, Charlie got busy folding blankets to keep herself from salivating over long, jeans-clad legs and broad leather-covered shoulders … and everything in between.

  She yawned through the hike back to the cabin.

  Jack escorted her up to the second floor where she stripped off her clothes and collapsed onto the comfortable bed without even asking where he was going to sleep. Six hours later her sleep ended abruptly as the scent of coffee, bacon and pancakes swirled past her quivering nostrils. She splashed cold water on her face, threw on some clean clothes and practically fell down the stairs in her haste to get to the source of the delicious smells.

  Jack looked up from the griddle. “Sleep well?”

  “Like a log.” Charlie grabbed a mug from the row hanging under the cabinet and poured herself a steaming serving of coffee. The first sip made her close her eyes in ecstasy. “Nectar of the gods.”

  “My caffeine craving woke me up,” he agreed, neatly flipping the browning pancakes. “Can you find some syrup in the pantry?”

  Brunch together was surprisingly relaxed. Jack responded easily to any topic Charlie brought up but he wasn’t prone to small talk, and he wasn’t uncomfortable with silence. She stopped making polite conversation and let the quiet settle around them. Even with a day-old beard, he looked utterly rested and fit in a green-and-blue plaid flannel shirt and clean blue jeans.

  “Would you like to join me for a hike to the beaver dam?” he asked, picking up his empty plate. “If you’re up to it, that is,” he added. “We’ll be out again tonight, so if you’re still tired you might want to rest…”

  “Do you really want company?”

  “The company of a beautiful woman is always welcome.”

  “Laying on the accent is overkill when you’re making that kind of statement,” Charlie said. “I may be average, but I’m an adventurer. I’d love to see a beaver dam.”

  They cleaned up the kitchen together, showered separately, and set out with water bottles and binoculars slung over their shoulders. For a while the trail was wide enough
to walk side-by-side, and Charlie enjoyed her companion’s knowledgeable commentary on the flora and fauna.

  When the way narrowed, Jack took the lead and Charlie happily walked behind, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight filtering through the still barely-leafed trees. Spring came later here than on the Jersey shore; it was slightly chilly in the shade, especially since she was wearing shorts. Occasionally, she treated herself to a leisurely look at Jack’s denim-clad legs and backside, but that sent her thoughts in unbusinesslike directions, so she mostly scanned the woods around her.

  A flash of golden brown caught her eye. A chipmunk sat on top of a boulder beside the path, looking straight at her. Another one bolted off a nearby stump; the patch of woods was thick with the little creatures. A high ledge of rock rose from the forest floor about thirty feet from the path. Chipmunks dashed over its outcroppings and in and out of its holes, cluttering at each other constantly.

  “I’ve never seen so many chipmunks in one place,” Charlie said.

  “That colony has been here ever since Miguel bought the place.” Jack came back to stand beside her.

  “I love the black racing stripe down their flanks,” she said, getting a good look at the brave fellow on the rock.

  “See how they stick their tails straight up when they run? I get a kick out of that,” her companion said.

  “They certainly are lively,” Charlie said, following as Jack set off down the path again. “Like Energizer bunnies.”

  Jack laughed. Charlie went back to her woods-gazing, but her thoughts kept returning to the man in front of her. He was still an enigma but now she had discovered he had had a rough childhood, and that his interest in meteorites had helped him through it. There was a streak of the mystical in him too; witness his annual pilgrimage and his refusal to secularize it with scientific observation.

  He was smart, capable, self-sufficient and very, very controlled. He turned his charm and his accent on and off like a faucet. He was one of the most successful meteorite hunters in the world, but he wanted a college degree. He thought he’d be a lousy father, and he liked chipmunk tails.