by Cherry Adair
“Yeah? Go in there and supervise, then.”
Luke swore. “Here, take these in to the ladies, I’ll be right back.” He handed Nick the soda and cups, then stalked out of the kitchen and down the hall.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Catherine glanced over her shoulder as the bedroom door flew open. Luke. She groaned dramatically and rolled her eyes, making Allan smile.
“He’s back! Quick, look busy before he gives us another project.”
“Har-dee-har-har.” In one glance, Luke assessed the freshly painted walls and half-painted trim. “Looks good. Nice job,” he told Allan, then said to Catherine, “Can we talk a minute?”
She put her paintbrush down on the edge of the paint pan, then flexed her fingers as she rose. “Anything, as long as I can rest my poor abused arm.”
Naturally, Luke was immaculately dressed, while she was covered from head to toe in cream-colored paint. Pounding music, the buzz of a Skil saw and manic hammering assaulted them from every direction as they walked through the house.
“What’s up?” she yelled, following him out onto the front porch. Luke made a walking motion with his fingers and led her down the steps and across the scraggly front yard, then crossed the narrow street to the beach. The noise from the house dimmed, overshadowed by the whisper of waves curling up the beach. The gorgeous day was made absolutely perfect because she was with Luke.
Catherine removed her sandals and inhaled the salty air deep into her lungs. “Glorious. Beats paint fumes.”
Several cheap laborers off to the right pretended to hide behind the sea grasses when they saw Luke coming down to the water. “Isn’t lunch over?” he yelled.
“We haven’t even lit the barbecue, Captain Bligh!”
Several of the men called out rude comments, which Luke volleyed back with laughing ease. People naturally gravitated to him. It was one of the things Catherine loved about him—that easy, relaxed warmth he exuded without even trying. He was such an extrovert, so charismatic that he made people happy to be near him. People always seemed to want to do their best when Luke was around.
Together they walked down the beach in the opposite direction of the rowdy lunch crew.
“You’re lucky to have such great friends.”
“Yeah. A good bunch. You fit in nicely. All the guys think you’re hot. The women like you, too.”
Catherine felt a warm glow. In the years she’d been taking care of their dad, she’d lost contact with many of her friends. She’d almost feared she might have lost some of her social skills. More than the words, the approval she heard in Luke’s voice put a lump in her throat. She was glad she’d put off leaving for another day. She’d have one more Luke memory.
“Where are we going?” She skipped to keep up with his long strides. “Not, mind you, that I object to a break from slaving over a dripping paintbrush for a while.”
“Let’s sit over there in the shade.” Luke pointed at a small sandy dune shaded by a wisp of a tree and tall sea grass. He leaned against the frail, gnarled tree trunk and stared out at the flat blue horizon for a few seconds without saying anything. Catherine’s stomach clenched.
She concealed the frisson of unease that coursed through her, the sensation familiar and annoying. Old history. She usually managed to control it, but it still blindsided her every now and then. She’d felt it when her mother had left her with Peter Van Buren. She’d felt it every time Luke had tormented her as a child, insisting she was no relative of his. She’d felt it most profoundly the night of her seventeenth birthday, when Luke had rejected her amateurish advances. And she’d last felt it when the man she considered her father had died, eight months ago.
She didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell her she had a fear of abandonment. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself, no one is abandoning anyone. Luke was everything he’d always been. A typical big brother. It wasn’t his fault her feelings had grown and changed. And it would be unfair to blame him because his hadn’t. Luke would never hurt her. At least not intentionally. Pulling her shell around herself like a crab and wanting to hide was a knee-jerk reaction. Get over it, she told herself firmly. She’d already decided to leave.
“If this is going to be a lecture about something, save your breath.” Catherine sat gingerly on the hot sand and circled her bare knees with her arms. Wriggling her toes, she buried them in the dry, hot granules. “I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Look, it’s not like you have to go, is it? The house is sold. You said yourself you wanted to make a fresh start. The Bay area’s great. In a month or so I’ll be living out here, then you can finish turning the condo into the Amazon. Why leave now?”
She scratched a flake of cream paint off her shin. “I’m in the way.”
“No you’re not, Cat.” Luke dropped to his knees beside her. He took her chin in his palm and made her look at him. “You’re not in the way at all. I like having you with me.”
His touch burned like a brand. Catherine shifted enough to dislodge his hand from her face. Her emotions were already on overload. All the old fears and doubts about making him see her differently came rushing to the fore.
The sun turned the short hairs on his arms the color of coffee; his skin shone with vitality. He was close enough for her to feel the brush of his shorts against her bare thigh. Close enough for Catherine to inhale his unique scent.
She loved him so much it hurt.
“It’s a one-bedroom, Luke. And I’m in it. You can’t even go to the bathroom without tripping over my stuff.”
“I don’t trip over your stuff. In fact, if I hadn’t insisted you unpack, you’d still be living out of your suitcase. You’re so neat I hardly notice you’re there.”
“You can’t bring anyone home.”
“At the moment I don’t want to. And in the unlikely event that changes, I’ll handle it. I’m not a sex fiend, Cat. As much as I’d like to tell you I have a smorgasbord of women who sleep over, I don’t. Not nowadays.”
“What about Suzette. Or Elizabeth the Wretch?”
“Both charming and delightful, but nothing serious.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Stay, Cat.” He slung a brotherly arm around her shoulders. “Honest to God, I enjoy having someone to cook for. Besides, look how pink my nail beds are.” He stuck a broad hand in front of her.
Catherine’s lips twitched. “Your nail beds?”
“All that oxygen your rain forest is producing is good for me. And what would I do if I had the use of all my saucers again, or if I couldn’t see the carpet because you weren’t there to pick up my socks?”
“You could get a maid, Van Buren.”
The temptation to lean into him was overwhelming. His skin felt hot, and the sensation of having it touching hers zipped through her like expensive French champagne.
“A maid wouldn’t keep me centered, or laugh at my jokes.”
“Just promise me something, okay? If it starts getting to you, just come straight out and tell me. No hurt feelings.”
“Never happen. You’ll always have a home with me. Always.”
She rested her head against his shoulder, hoping he couldn’t see her moist eyes. “I love you, Luke Van Buren, do you know that?”
“I love you, too, Catwoman. A guy couldn’t ask for a better baby sister.”
Zing. Direct hit. After a stunned second, Catherine pressed her fingertips into her eye sockets. Hard.
Luke shifted beside her. “Are you okay?”
“Sand,” she mumbled into her wrists. “Darn, that stings.”
Not her eyes. Her heart.
“Want me to look?”
No, he wouldn’t be able to see anything. He didn’t have twenty-twenty vision where she was concerned. “I’ll be fin
e in a moment.”
Give or take fifty years.
* * *
LUKE RETURNED TO the house alone. Cat had decided to go for a run on the beach. He shook his head. The woman was insane. It was hot out there. He found Nick in the kitchen.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just had a little chat with Cat. She’s staying.”
“I’d have made book on that.”
“Let’s get some work done, Stratton.” He and Nick crossed the entry hall side by side, their workboots vibrating on the subflooring. The front door stood open to catch the summer breeze, bringing with it the scent of briny air and the mouthwatering aroma of the beach barbecue. A couple of guys were out on the wide porch sanding, and the sweet smell of the sawdust mingled with the scents of tung oil, paintz and wallpaper paste.
Two different radios blared from opposite ends of the house, each on a different station, naturally—salsa from the back, hard rock from the front porch. Luke inhaled deeply as he stepped through the wide double doors into the great room. Home. It was becoming home.
Suzette and Kirsten, Nick’s date du jour, a statuesque blonde of awesome proportions, glanced up as they strolled in, but the music was too loud to have a conversation, and they went back to staining the baseboards.
Nick poured more soda for the two women, then leaned back against the hearth to chug down his own drink before hunkering down to do a little hammering on the floor.
The stone fireplace soared to the cathedral ceiling. Dusty sunshine shone through the plastic-covered windows onto the oak plank floor. The plastic billowed with the breeze like an animal breathing.
Luke envisioned the room filled with his furniture. Two black leather sofas framing the fireplace. The steel wall unit over there. The metal sculpture there. His slick, stylized, monochromatic paintings grouped on the far wall.
He frowned.
Suddenly, a jungle of plants materialized next to the windows and animal print cushions on the sofas. A bowl with a single goldfish appeared on the steel-and-glass coffee table placed between the sofas.
Suzette rose from her position on the floor and sauntered over to give Luke a hug. “I hope that fearsome scowl isn’t aimed at me.” She raised her voice and ran a finger between his brows. She had straight white teeth and a very pretty smile. She smelled of Obsession. She had a brain.
She bored him to tears.
“Kirsten and I are declaring mutiny for a couple of hours so we can eat, then go for a swim. We’ll come back in time to help you finish the floor in here, okay?” Suzette whipped her shirt over her head, exposing nicely tanned breasts and a flat midriff showcased in a minuscule white bikini. Luke’s eyelids didn’t even flicker. “Are you coming?”
He’d noticed the woman was barely dressed, but didn’t care. He pressed his fingertips into his temples and dredged up a smile. “Yeah. In a while.”
Coming? It was a dim memory....
* * *
“YOU DON’T HAVE to skulk. I’m awake.”
Luke looked adorably rumpled as he emerged from his cocoon of blankets to sit up the second she opened the front door the next evening. He’d left a lamp on for her, and the dimly shaded bulb cast a golden glow on his bare chest. He lay back against the arm of the sofa and eyed her yellow silk dress with approval. “You look very daffodilish. How’d it go with Ted?”
Catherine shrugged. “He knows a lot about fungus.”
“He’s a botanist.”
She set her purse on the end table and took off her shoes. “I might never eat a mushroom again.”
“Limiting, but not impossible. Will you see him again?”
Catherine shook her head, then picked up her shoes. “No sparks. Let me put it this way. You offered me white bread when what I crave is devil’s food cake.”
* * *
LUKE SAT ON Nick’s patio, a beer can balanced on his stomach, his bare feet crossed and propped up on the wrought-iron railing. It had been a swelteringly hot day, so they’d ordered pizza and taken a cold one outside. Now soft, damp fog misted around them as they sat in the dark and watched the lights across the Bay twinkle. Appear. Disappear. The fog oddly amplified, then dampened audio and visual details, making the foghorn sound close enough to touch tonight.
“Hey,” Nick said lazily. “Guess who called today? Rochelle Lemmon. She wants us to design the addition, after all.”
Luke glanced at his partner. “Our way?” The Lemmon’s Queen Anne Victorian was a magnificent lady. He and Nick had refused the commission the month before because the couple had insisted on modernizing the extension they wanted on the back of the house. Remodeling Victorians was not only Luke and Nick’s specialty as architects, it was their passion.
“Balconies, stained glass, roof finials and all,” Nick told him triumphantly, taking a swig of his beer. “I gave it to Christy to schedule.”
Luke’s mind raced ahead. He wanted their best craftspeople on this important job. There weren’t that many artisans capable of doing the detailed and intricate work required. The characteristic excesses of the style—projected bay windows, towers, turrets, porches, wall carvings and acres of decorative trim and elaborate brackets—required a sure hand and a keen eye for detail.
“Willie to craft the chimneys. Mike McGuire for the crestings.” Luke glanced casually at his watch. “If those two aren’t done on the Simpson job, the Lemmons will just have to wait.”
“They’ll wait,” Nick said with confidence. He and Luke had a sterling reputation, and their clients were prepared to wait. “Got a late date or something?”
“Cat’s late. Monday was Ted. Tuesday night she went to a Giants game with one of the Bobs. On Wednesday, Allan took her over to Ghiradelli Square. Tonight she’s at the symphony with Kevin. I’ve stopped asking who’s next.”
“That’s the whole point, right? Meeting guys?” Nick shifted on his cushion. “What’s the deal? Are you p.o.’d because she’s a big hit and can change her dates twice as often as her underwear?”
“Do me a favor.” Luke paused with the rim of the can poised below his mouth. He lowered the cold metal to his bare chest. “Don’t mention Cat and underwear in the same breath, okay?”
He looked out at the faint phosphorescent line of the waves breaking on the beach beyond the wide swath of the park across the street. Several people were out walking their dogs despite it being eleven at night. He wondered what Cat and Kev were doing right now. The show would be over. Coffee, he guessed. Hopefully in a crowded place.
“You know, old son, sometimes you sound more like a jealous lover than a concerned big brother. Why is that, I wonder?”
“You should write fiction, Stratton. I’m merely concerned that Cat makes the right choices.”
Luke felt as though he was going to jump right out of his too-tight skin. He wished to hell he could confide in Nick. He and Nick shared damn near everything. Not only did they own a business together, they were closer than most brothers. There was no one on this planet Luke respected and trusted more.
But Nick wasn’t the problem. Luke was.
This was one secret he’d take to his grave. The second his feelings for Cat broke free from their tightly sealed box, he’d be in a world of hurt. Once out, he knew he’d never be able to shove those explosive emotions back where they’d been forced to lie dormant for years.
“And have you seen my place lately?” he said, desperate to change the subject. Which seemed to go from Cat to Cat without missing a beat. “It’s overrun with foliage. If she buys one more plant I’ll need a machete to get in the front door.”
“She’s nesting.” Light glinted off the can as Nick lifted his beer to his lips by radar. “Look at all the antiques she’s suddenly acquired. Shoot, in three weeks she’s transformed the place. Plants, furniture, all those pillows, candles. Gi
rl things. Hell, old son, if I didn’t know better... Nah. Nothing. Neither of us has ever shacked up with a woman. So how would I know what it all means?
“Oh, by the way,” Nick added lazily, “in case I didn’t mention it before, Catherine’s going out with me next week.”
“You?” Luke heard a strange noise, then realized it was his teeth grinding. “‘By the way?’ Since when have you and Cat had that sort of relationship?”
“Hmm. Relationship.” Nick’s voice came out of the misty darkness like The Phantom of the Opera. “I kinda like the sound of that.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Luke dropped his feet from the railing to the floor with a thump. “You keep away from Cat. She’s not sophisticated like the women we date. She doesn’t know how the games are played. She might fall for all your baloney, and you’ll break her heart.”
“I won’t play with Catherine’s heart. Trust me.”
“I don’t. Trust you, that is. And would you stop calling her ‘Catherine’ like that?”
“Like what? Her name is Catherine.”
Luke’s jaw hurt. “You’d better treat her as you’ve always done. Like a sister.” His voice sounded like gravel in the thick darkness. He didn’t wait for Nick to remind him that neither of them was Cat’s brother. “She trusts you. Behave accordingly.”
Their silence was punctuated by a mournful toot of the foghorn. A dog barked. A car shifted gears as it turned the corner. Ted and Cat? Impossible to see from this high up.
“How come you haven’t taken her out?” Nick asked lazily.
“Me? I take her out all the time.”
“I don’t mean to your house to slave, you jerk. I mean on a date.”
Luke crushed the can he held, then tossed it in the general direction of the pizza box on the floor. “That would be...not a good idea.”
* * *
OVER THE NEXT couple of days Luke couldn’t stop thinking about Nick’s question. Why couldn’t he ask her out? They lived together. They were friends. Nothing wrong with asking a friend to the movies or a ball game, was there?