Just then two of the workers vacated a booth near the door, and Karen grabbed Colter’s hand, leading him to it. He had just settled down gratefully when one of the men returned with a fresh glass of stout in his hand.
“You’ve taken my spot,” he said to Karen, smiling thinly.
“Oh, I’m sorry, we thought you’d left,” she said, rising.
Colter put his hand on her arm. “Haven’t you ever heard that you should let a lady have your seat?” he said quietly.
“Depends upon if there’s a lady present, Yank. I’m thinking that anything sitting with the likes of you would be no lady.”
Colter stood, and Karen jumped in front of him. “We don’t want any trouble,” she said hastily to their antagonist, who looked as though he outweighed Colter by about fifty pounds. “This was just a mistake. We’ll go.”
“Your woman makes a pretty speech,” the workman said. “Does she always fight your battles for you?”
Colter lunged for him, and Karen seized the stranger’s hand in desperation.
“Please,” she wailed, “he just got out of the hospital this morning.” She turned, and before Colter realized what she was doing she had pulled open his shirt to reveal the gauze dressing on his chest.
The workman’s expression changed. “I’m no bully to beat up on an injured man,” he muttered and pushed his way past them, losing himself in the crowd.
Colter was white with anger. Looking straight ahead, he walked carefully around Karen and threaded his way through the crush to the door.
Karen followed him and as she passed the counter the waitress called, “Here’s your food, miss.”
Karen kept going, running out the door. She circled the building until she found Colter sitting on a picnic bench set up outside in view of the mountains.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” he said tightly when he looked up and saw her.
“What was I supposed to do, let you get into a brawl with that blockhead when you can barely stand? What is wrong with you, Steven, do you have a death wish? You just finished telling me how much you hated the hospital and now you’re trying to land yourself back there.”
“I wasn’t going to let that clown push me around.”
Karen stared at him. “I don’t understand you. All you want to do is fight. It’s your profession, your hobby, your life. Everybody’s your enemy and you’re going to show them all. Why are you so angry all the time?” Then, to her horror, she burst into tears.
He stood immediately, trying to embrace her. She fought him off until he pinned her arms, and then she fell against him, sobbing.
“All right, all right, I’m sorry,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “Don’t cry, please don’t cry.”
“I was so afraid he was going to hurt you,” she whimpered. “Did you see the size of him?”
“Ah, the big ones just bleed more, that’s all,” he said deprecatingly, lifting her hair off her neck and planting a kiss on her nape.
“Don’t cosset me,” she said, stiffening. “Why would you do something so foolish?”
“I don’t know,” he said wearily. “I won’t anymore, I promise, if you’ll just stop crying.”
“I’m not crying,” Karen said, pulling away from him and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Oh,” he replied, suppressing a smile and putting his hands behind his back. “I see.”
“Good. Now I want you to sit right there on that bench while I go back inside and get our order. Wait for me, don’t move, and don’t get into any more trouble.”
He sat and folded his hands on the table before him, bowing his head. “Okay, teach,” he said meekly.
Karen returned shortly with the food and noticed that Colter’s shirt was stained with perspiration under his arms and in the middle of his back. It was a cool autumn day and she was wearing a sweater. He was overexerting himself.
“Are you hungry?” she asked as she sat across from him, handing him a paper cup of soup.
He nodded. “Pretty much.”
“I hope your appetite has picked up from the hospital; you weren’t eating very much.”
He took out a sandwich, opened it, then closed it again like a book he didn’t wish to read. “Nobody could eat that food,” he said darkly. “Most of it was unidentified.” He jerked his thumb at the sandwich. “Bacon and eggs. That’s breakfast.”
“I’ve seen it on lunch menus all the time since I’ve been here.”
He shrugged, picked it up and took a bite. “Not bad,” he said, brightening.
“I’m so glad. Now finish it; you have to regain your strength.”
He shook his head, chewing. “You sound just like one of the nuns at the school. ‘Eat this, finish that,’” he mimicked. “ ‘The starving children in Asia would love to have that broccoli.’ I always told them to send it to the starving children in Asia because I didn’t want it.”
“And how did they respond to that?”
“Stood me in a corner when I was little, set me to washing floors and painting walls when I was bigger,” he answered.
“Were you a discipline problem?”
He shrugged. “I guess so. I sure wasn’t the star pupil.”
“Didn’t you learn anything while you were there?” Karen asked, putting down her sandwich.
“How to get by.”
“And not to trust anyone or rely on anybody but yourself,” she supplied for him.
He looked up from his last bite and said, “That’s a good enough education for me.”
“I don’t agree,” Karen said softly. “If that’s what the people at the orphanage taught you they did you a disservice.”
He looked away from her into the distance where the mountain melted into the drifting clouds. “It wasn’t their fault,” he said evenly. “All they had time for was food and clothing, supplying the necessities. There were just too many kids.”
“And no time to love them,” Karen said.
He didn’t answer. He picked up the empty wrappers and rolled the paper into a ball, tossing the wad into a rusted garbage can standing nearby.
“Let’s hit the road,” he said. “I don’t think we’d better hang around for any more of the locals to drop by.”
Karen silently concurred, and once they were back in the car she tried to pick up speed a little and make better time. The Irish roads were narrow and winding, single lane for the most part, a challenge to her ability to drive a standard transmission car. They were descending once more toward the sea; she could hear it murmuring in the background and smell the salt in the damp breeze. Colter fell asleep again, and she passed through the larger towns of Wexford and Waterford, hitting the latter at rush hour and sitting in traffic for fifteen minutes. Karen almost woke her passenger for the breathtaking beauty of Youghal Bay, where Moby Dick had been filmed. But she decided to drive back later when he was feeling better and could appreciate it, and continued southward, hitting Cork at dusk.
Colter stirred as she crossed one of the bridges over the River Lee and skirted the harbor, picking up a side road marked for Kinsale in English and Gaelic.
“Sorry I keep passing out like that,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s that happy juice they’re giving me. I’m not taking any more of those pills.”
“You certainly are,” Karen said firmly. “I’m getting the prescription filled first thing in the morning.”
“God, you are a tyrant,” he complained. “I think you want to keep me in a coma.”
“That’s right. At least I know you’re resting then. And your being unconscious offers the added benefit of my not having to listen to any more of your lip.”
She looked over at him and saw that he was laughing silently.
“What’s so funny?”
“To think when I met you I was convinced you were such a nice girl.”
“I am,” she said defensively, peering at the road sign that directed her down a cobbled street. “What does that sa
y?” she asked him.
“Cobh,” he answered. “Where do they get these names?”
“That’s ‘Cork’ in Gaelic. We’re going the wrong way.”
“Great.” He glanced around at the warren of tiny streets and alleys leading down to the river. “How could you get lost?”
She turned to stare at him in outrage. “I like that coming from the man who snored during this entire trip,” she said archly. “I think I’ve done very well so far.” She pulled up to a stoplight and examined the array of signs fixed to the lamppost. “Oh, I see. I’m supposed to turn left here.” She retraced her route, saying, “I can’t tell which way south is anymore since the sun went down.”
“If you go far enough south we’re going to be swimming,” he observed crossly. He closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. “What am I doing here?” he asked. “How did I let you talk me into this?”
“Oh, shut up,” Karen muttered, gunning the engine. “I’m doing the best I can.”
They hit Kinsale about twenty minutes later, and Karen followed the directions from the center of town to an un- paved road leading in the direction of the water.
“This must be it,” she said, turning onto it. “I wonder what that says,” she added, pointing to a hand lettered sign in Gaelic fixed to a tree.
“Let’s just hope it doesn’t say ‘Cliff, ten feet ahead,’” Colter muttered.
“Do you see anything?” Karen inquired.
“Trees.”
“Where do you think we are?”
“Tree City?”
Karen stopped driving and turned to face him. “Will you please cooperate?” she said. “I’m tired and hungry and the last thing I need right now is your sarcasm.”
“All right,” he said, chastised. “Why don’t we get out and look?”
Karen complied, and they left the car behind, walking down the road about a thousand feet. They rounded a curve and were suddenly confronted by a vista that brought them both to a halt.
A cottage stood alone in a clearing on the edge of a bluff. Below it they could hear the pounding of the surf and above it stretched a limitless night sky, spangled with an infinity of stars.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Karen whispered.
“It sure is,” Colter answered, putting his arm around her. “And well worth the trip.”
“What?” she said, turning to look up at him. “May I have that in writing please?”
He bent his head and kissed her lightly on the lips. Before she had a moment to react, it was over. It was as if he wasn’t giving her a chance to make it into anything more.
“You’re a wonder,” he said.
“It wasn’t my idea,” Karen said honestly. “Miss Mandeville suggested it.”
“Do you mind if we don’t give her the credit for it?” Colter said, taking Karen’s hand. “I expect to find her waiting for me inside with a ten inch needle.”
“I’ll protect you,” Karen said valiantly.
“I believe you would,” he answered softly.
Then he took a step back toward the car, tugging her after him. “Come on, I want to see the inside. You have the key?”
“Right in my pocket—assuming this is the place.”
“It has to be.”
“It better be, or whoever owns it is going to be having guests for the evening. I can’t push that glorified tin can another foot tonight.”
They got back in the car and Karen drove it almost to the front door, where a paved turnaround provided a parking space.
“Where’s the water?” Karen asked as she unlocked the door. “I can hear it.”
“I think there’s a sheer drop to the ocean on the other side of the house,” Colter said. “I suggest we don’t do any exploring until tomorrow when we can see where the hell we’re going.”
“Good idea.”
Inside Karen found a switch on the wall near the door and flicked it. Nothing happened.
“Uh-oh,” she said.
“Don’t worry. There’s probably a generator here somewhere. We just have to find it. I didn’t see any power lines so this place must have its own source.”
“I feel like an explorer,” Karen whispered.
He went ahead, stumbling around in the dark until he found a box of candles and lit one. In its glow they could both see a large paneled room with heavy oak furniture and a massive fireplace along one wall.
“There it is,” Colter said, pointing to a tank like affair in one corner. He went to it and fiddled around for a while, then hit the wall switch again.
The room was flooded with light.
They were quiet for a minute, looking around. There were actually two rooms: the one they were in, a combination living room and kitchen, and another one beyond, obviously a bedroom. The place looked fairly new; the appliances in the kitchenette were modern, the rag rugs and print curtains bright and cheerful.
“Who owns this place again?” Colter asked.
“Miss Mandeville’s cousin. He’s a teacher on sabbatical.”
There was a sofa bed against one wall near the fireplace, and Colter walked over to it immediately and sat down. Karen glanced at him anxiously. There were dark rings under his eyes and his shirt was again stained with sweat.
“Stretch out there and I’ll see if there’s a pillow in the other room,” she said to him. “You look beat. I’m afraid we shouldn’t have attempted this long drive so soon.”
“I’m all right,” he said, but he didn’t sound it.
“You should have stayed in the hospital a few more days,” Karen called to him from the bedroom, which contained a large brass bed and a matched set of bleached oak chests. A tiny bathroom opened off it to the right. Karen pulled back the quilted patchwork comforter on the bed and grabbed a pillow from the top of it.
“Karen, I was not going to spend another night in that hospital, even if I had to burn the place down,” he answered as she returned and put the pillow under his head. His hair was damp and his skin felt clammy.
“We’d better change your shirt,” she said to him. “Where’s your bag?”
“Still out in the car,” he said, struggling to a sitting position. “I’ll get it.”
“Stay right where you are,” she replied in a strong voice.
He fell back on the couch, watching her go out.
Karen fetched their things and found a clean shirt for him. She sat on the edge of the sofa and helped him take off the plaid one, slipping it carefully down the arm on his injured side.
“Does this still hurt?” she asked softly, touching the bandage lightly.
“Not much,” he replied huskily, his light eyes flickering, holding hers intently.
“You liar,” she whispered. “I’ll bet it’s killing you.”
“Karen?”
“Mmm?”
“Thanks for arranging all of this,” he said quietly. “I know I’ve been grousing about it, but sometimes I have a little trouble saying what I mean.”
“Sometimes?” she said, teasing. “A little trouble?”
“Okay,” he said, smiling slightly. “I always have a lot of trouble, but I do feel things. I just can’t...” He broke off, leaving the sentence unfinished.
“It’s all right,” she said soothingly. “I understand. I really do.”
The shirt he’d taken off was on the floor, and she still held the clean one in her hand. He was naked to the waist and inches away. She fancied she could feel the body heat emanating from him, enveloping her in a cozy glow that would warm her forever.
“You’d better put this on,” she said to him briskly, and he shouldered into it obediently, leaving it unbuttoned.
“It’s gotten quite chilly. I think I’ll start a fire,” she announced, standing and going to the mantel for the matches.
“I think I saw some wood by the door as we came in,” he said, “but you’d better make sure the flue is open first.”
Karen made a nest of some old newspapers she found an
d put twigs on top of it for kindling. Colter looked on as she brought in the logs he had mentioned.
“Let me get those,” he said, swinging his legs to the floor.
“Please, Steven, I can do it,” Karen said hastily. “Will you kindly stay still? You’re making me very nervous.”
He grumbled under his breath but complied. She soon had the fire going and went rummaging in the kitchenette for something to eat.
“Should have stopped for supplies in town; the cupboard’s bare,” she reported to him. “This refrigerator contains a bottle of tonic water and two limes.”
“Where’s the gin? The guy must be a drinker.”
In one of the cabinets she found a jar of peanut butter and got two spoons from a drawer.
“We’re roughing it this evening,” she said as she sat next to him again. “I’ll go to the store in the morning.”
“Funny tasting peanut butter,” Colter commented as he licked his spoon. “Kind of gummy.”
“It’s a European brand,” Karen answered, looking at the label. “Maybe their peanuts are different.”
He smiled. “You’re being a very good sport about this. It can’t be much fun for you.”
Karen looked at him. Was that what he really thought? Didn’t he know yet how she felt about him?
“What do you mean?” she said casually. “I like peanut butter.”
They finished off the jar and then split the tonic water between them.
“Is the tap water on?” he asked. “I want to use the john.”
Karen went to the sink and turned on one of the spigots. The water came out muddy at first but soon cleared up.
“It looks all right,” she said to him. “There must be a well. These appliances are of British manufacture and seem a little quirky. The taps turn backward.”
He rose unsteadily, supporting himself with one hand on the wall. She ran to help him and they walked together to the bedroom.
“I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” he said as he leaned on her heavily. “I was all right earlier.”
“You’re just done in,” Karen replied, opening the door to the bathroom in front of him. “You have to give yourself a chance to recover.”
Men of Intrgue A Trilogy Page 36