Kevin laughed softly and rested his hand against the back of her neck in a warm and firm caress. "My dear," he informed her grandly, "you have not yet begun to live. After tonight, you may never be the same."
Kate fixed him with one of her familiar disparaging looks, and he grinned and removed his hand, brushing his knuckle playfully against her chin as he gave an airy command to drive on. Kate struggled to repress a grin of her own as she obeyed, but she couldn't explain the suddenly increased rhythm of her heart as she turned the car toward Kevin's house or the strangely unbidden, dimly exciting notion that he could be right. After tonight, she might never be the same.
Chapter Eight
"Kevin," Kate exclaimed in some wonder, "who did you find to clean your house?''
The transformation from the last time she had been here was remarkable. Dust covers had been removed to reveal gently polished surfaces and clean gray upholstery. The hardwood floors had been swept, though it would take some time to restore the original patina, and the draperies had been tied back and the windows opened to admit a cleansing stream of fresh, wood-scented lake air. Late-afternoon sunlight filled the room with a warm, gentle glow. How refreshing it was, after all she had seen in the past twenty-four hours, to be inside a place that was clean, orderly and undamaged.
"Me," he replied promptly. "I might not have gotten all the cobwebs out of the corners, but I did manage to scatter away some of the dust and put clean sheets on the beds."
Kate was appropriately impressed as she followed him to the kitchen to dispose of the groceries. This from a man who only yesterday couldn't even exert himself to tell someone to make a phone call that would connect his utilities? "My, my," she murmured. "Could it be, Mr. Dawson, that you're learning to take care of yourself?"
He grinned. "Necessity is the mother of invention." He began to unpack the groceries. "You go on and take your bath. I'm doing dinner, remember?''
Kate was only too happy to leave him to it, and she turned toward the guest bedroom and bath. Kevin's last decorator had gone a bit wild with this part of the house, she noticed with a grimace as she entered. The bedroom was a neutral gray-white with chrome-and-mirror accents, and all the furniture seemed to be growing from the walls. Except for a brilliant yellow-and-red geometric mural, the room was sterile and featureless and not at all conducive to restful repose. It reminded Kate of an operating room. The adjoining bath featured a claw-foot tub and wraparound shower curtain in black-and-white stripes; the shiny porcelain fixtures were blood-red and the carpet and wallpaper were black. It was all fairly hideous.
She opted for a shower and shampoo, and despite her tasteless surroundings, enjoyed every moment of it. The hot water was heavenly, and it was wonderful to be able to wash her hair. It felt like days, not hours, since she had been able to shower. She felt a small twinge of guilt for indulging in even so small a luxury, for allowing herself these few short hours of escape when so much waited for her, but under the cleansing spray of the water and the sensual indulgence of Kevin's scented soap, the last shreds of responsibility that tied her to the real world were washed away. She needed this time of peace and quiet away from those who depended on her. She deserved it.
She towel-dried her hair and applied a light dusting of fragranced powder before stepping into fresh underwear and the skirt and blouse she had worn over here. She didn't bother with either a bra or shoes as she left the room in search of Kevin.
There was no response to her call, and when she saw the open patio door, she stepped through it onto a wraparound deck that overlooked the lake. Kevin waved to her as he spread a blanket on the grass near the shore, and Kate went down the steps to join him.
The sky had cleared into fluffy, picture-book-perfect clouds that broke up the expanse of blue and reflected themselves in the mirror sheen of the lake. A warm, playful breeze tugged Kate's skirt around her calves and molded it to her thighs; the grass was soft and ticklish against her bare feet. The scene was idyllic—trees, sky and grass reflected like a painting in the lake; Kevin, like a hero from a storybook as he spread the plaid blanket on the lawn and began to unpack the picnic basket; the sun caressing his wind-tousled curls and stroking the lean lines of his perfect body. Pausing on the slope of the hill and looking at the picture he made, Kate found it impossible to believe that less than five miles away an entire world had been disarranged and nothing but rubble had been left behind. It was hard to believe anything bad was happening anywhere, so peaceful and isolated was this scene.
"This is what you call fixing dinner?'* she teased him lazily. She stroked the back of his neck playfully with a cattail she had plucked before sinking to the blanket beside him, her full skirt billowing around her.
"Count yourself lucky there was no electricity," he replied, removing from the basket a package of cheese, ham and an assortment of condiments pilfered from her refrigerator. "I might have tried to cook."
Kate drew up her legs and wrapped her arms around them, looking out contentedly over the lake. "This is so pretty, isn't it? Hard to believe that only yesterday..."
"Yes," he agreed, and opened a bottle of wine—also rescued from her kitchen. "It seems like another world."
He poured the wine and handed her a glass, and Kate reluctantly straightened her legs and turned to take it. "I really should go back to town," she said, not wanting to. "If something should happen during the night, no one would know where to reach me."
"Your dad knows where to reach you," Kevin corrected firmly. "If anyone needs you, it won't be all that much of big deal to get word to you. But no one is going to need you."
Kate sighed, need warring with duty. "Kevin, I'm a doctor. I can't just abdicate responsibility whenever I feel like it. I should go back to town."
Kevin's eyes held a measure of resolve that looked noticeably out of place on him. "I'm aware of that," he acceded mildly. "Which is why I didn't kidnap you and take you out of the country. But it's not going to hurt you to relax and take care of yourself for one evening."
What a thoughtful thing to say... and Kate found herself peculiarly disinclined to argue with him. Escapism was a powerful temptation; her mind and her body cried out for it. Just for one night to be like Kevin—carefree, irresponsible, independent. And he was right. It wasn't as though she were on another planet. If anything came up, her father could get word to her.
She lifted her glass to him, a relaxed glint of consent coming into her eyes. "You talked me into it, you silver-tongued devil."
His own eyes twinkled as he touched his glass to hers. "A toast. To Katie, my hero."
Playful surprise caused her to lift her eyebrows. "It's an act of heroism to spend the night with you?"
He winked at her. "Better women than you have tried, my dear." And then, as he sipped from his glass, his expression grew serious. "I mean it, Katie. You were great last night. They ought to give medals for what you did in that storm."
Kate remembered a terrified child sobbing into Kevin's shirt, near hysteria and clinging to him like a lifeline, and she had to drop her eyes. "No," she said quietly, "I wasn't great at all. I—never wondered much how I would cope with pressure," she admitted with difficulty. "I just kept hoping, I suppose, that I'd never have to find out. In my profession that kind of self-deception can be dangerous. And last night... I almost didn't make it, Kevin." I wouldn't have made it, she realized slowly, on an unbidden thought that was as shocking as it was confusing, without you.
Kevin's forefinger touched her chin, making her look at him. His eyes were sun-softened velvet, his face golden smooth and quietly sincere. He said, "But you did make it. Not one woman in a million could have handled it the way you did, and the fact that you were just as scared as everyone else only makes it that much more courageous. I've always admired you more than anyone I've ever known," he said simply, "and last night I saw things in you that I'd never even guessed were there."
Kate tried to smile, but a small, questioning flutter in the center of her chest
made the gesture seem shy, uncertain. Kevin admired her. Kevin was proud of her. Why should that mean so much to her?
She took a sip of her wine to avoid his eyes. "Things like panic?" she suggested. "Hysteria, incompetence and utter terror?"
He shook his head a little, his face relaxing into a rueful smile as he sat back, bending one knee and resting the hand that held the wineglass loosely across it. "You're still doing it," he commented. "Being too hard on yourself. I thought tonight you were going to lighten up."
"Easier said than done," she returned, but she was beginning to relax, far more than she would have thought possible. Kevin made it easy.
She sipped the wine and made an appreciative sound. "I have good taste in wine," she commented, and lifted her glass again, a mischievous spark coming into her eyes. "All right, my turn. A toast—to my hero, Colt Marshall."
He laughed as she clinked her glass to his, and sunlight seemed to scatter from his eyes. "I suppose that's meant as a compliment."
''What else would it be?" She found a secure seat for her wineglass on the grass and reached around him, beginning to put together a sandwich.
"I didn't feel much like Colt Marshall last night," he admitted.
"Well, you certainly acted like him." She got a flash of Kevin rushing through live wires toward a car that was leaking gasoline, and it was all she could do to repress a shudder. She supposed she would never get over being angry with him when she thought about that—the chances he had taken. And yet she was puzzled, too, because none of Kevin's behavior last night had seemed to belong to him at all.
"Did I?" He seemed very thoughtful. "I didn't mean to."
Kate paused in the process of spreading mustard on a slice of pumpernickel, looking at him. It had always been difficult to resolve the image Kevin portrayed on television with the man he really was; what was disconcerting now was to discover how much more difficult it was to resolve the man she was seeing now with the image she had always had of him. He had changed. She wondered if she would ever be able to think of him in the old familiar way again—as her careless, carefree, self-indulgent and basically worthless Kevin.
Her brow knotted a little both from the glare of the lowering sun and the difficulty of her confession. "I guess," she said slowly, "I saw parts of you I had never known before, either."
His eyes were very clear. "Or maybe parts you never wanted to see before." And then, before she could analyze what seemed to her a very unsettling notion, he shrugged and put aside his own glass, taking from her the jar of pickles she had been struggling to open. "That's the whole thing with acting, you know—people have a preconceived idea of what they want to see, and giving them what they expect is easy. It's stepping out of character, sometimes, that's hard... both for the actor and the audience."
Kate wondered whether he had been stepping out of character last night or merely extending the role. She had an uneasy feeling that it was the former, and he was right—it was hard to accept. It was hard to believe that all these years she had only seen from him what she wanted to see, that she had never leally known him at all.
She said, reaching for the pickle jar, "Wait, you're going to hurt your arm. Give me that."
He winced a little with the effort, but the lid came off with a final twist. He returned the jar to her.
Kate said, by way of neutralizing the conversation and therefore dismissing what she did not understand, "It's amazing, the things stress brings out. People do and say things they never would dream of otherwise—they act like different people altogether. But as soon as the crisis passes, everything is back to normal."
"I don't know." Kevin took the mustard knife from her and began to ply his own bread with the thick brown mixture. "I read a script last year—by accident, really. Somebody told my agent it was a disaster film, and Carl was trying to talk me into going big screen—anyway, it turned out to be some sort of psychological drama about the aftereffects of a disaster, I don't remember much of it, except that it was about this group of people who had survived a plane crash and how, even though they were alive, their lives were changed forever, and that they would never be the same again. Whatever the crisis brought out—whether it was courage or weakness or fear of failure—was permanently imprinted, because in that one moment of stress each one of them had to take an honest look at themselves, and they had to hve with what they found there, forever. No more hiding behind images and defense systems. Weird film, but I can't help thinking there's a grain of truth there."
Kate paused in the process of lifting her sandwich to her lips, fascinated. "And your character? What did he do?"
Kevin's brow wrinkled, remembering. "Committed suicide, I think."
Kate's eyes widened, impressed. She had never thought of Kevin in a serious dramatic role before. "But Kevin, what a great part for you! Why didn't you take it?"
He shrugged, building a mammoth sandwich out of ham and cheese and pickles. "Not quite the image for Colt Marshall fans, was it? I suppose I figured, why mess with a good thing? Also," he admitted with disarming honesty, "it was hard. I wasn't sure I was up to the challenge, and I didn't want to ruin the film."
Kate took a bite of her sandwich, thinking about whal he had said, thinking about a lot of things. She wondered what the aftereffects of the disaster, psychological as well as physical, would be on the people of Victoria Bend. She wondered if she would ever feel the same about herself again... or about Kevin. Six months from now, when the scars had faded and the town had been rebuilt, when wounds were healed and life resumed its normal, easy pace, would she still be tensing at the sight of thunderclouds, freezing with fear at the prospect of an emergency? Would her heart stop every time she heard an emergency broadcast test or when the civil defense siren, tested regularly every Wednesday at noon, went off? Or would she discover new strength, new confidence, in having faced the worst and met the challenge?
Except for residual fear and shock, Kate didn't feel very much changed inside. Perhaps, in time, as the memory faded and the effects of stress passed, she would find that she felt and thought and dealt with life just as she always had. She would once again be secure in her comfortable little world, relying on consistency and routine for her strength. But somehow she doubted it. Deep inside she believed, as Kevin had suggested, that none of them would ever be quite the same after this.
And then she laughed softly with the sudden thought that had come to her. "Kevin, do you realize what we just did?"
He slapped a top slice of pumpernickel on his sandwich and glanced up. "What's that?"
"We just had an intelligent, intellectually stimulating conversation all by ourselves. I don't think that's ever happened before."
He grinned at her, opening a bag of potato chips. "Stay tuned, babe. Coming up, I dazzle the masses with my brilliant interpretation of the theory of relativity."
They ate in companionable silence for a time, enjoying the dubious gastronomic pleasures of potato chips and white wine, ham and cheese on pumpernickel with chocolate cookies. And then Kevin said, "I've been on the phone most of the day from the mayor's office. We're speeding up construction on the hospital. The building should be ready by the end of the summer, and if you can get your equipment and staff in, there's no reason you shouldn't open the first of September."
Kate stared at him, amazed. "Kevin, that's wonderful! I thought it would take twice as long. How—"
But he seemed immune to her enthusiasm, and as he stared out over the lake, his face looked very sober, almost grim. "I feel bad about it, Katie. If we had had the hospital last night—If only I'd gotten it done sooner."
She was confused. "What do you mean? It wasn't your fault. No one could have known we'd be the target of a disaster. The plans for the hospital weren't even drawn up until last year."
"That's what I mean." His tone was curt, and he tossed a crumpled napkin into the picnic basket with a gesture of restrained frustration. "It all should have been done sooner. This town has needed a hospital
for a long time; I should have seen that it got one. I should have pushed construction ahead; I should have stayed on top of it. There was something I could have done."
How strange, how very strange, to hear words like that coming from Kevin, who, as far as Kate knew, paid only the vaguest of attentions to where his money came from or where it went and whose only concern with charitable activities was to sign his name at the bottom of the endowment papers. She said gently, studying him, "Making sure this town got a hospital was not your responsibility, Kevin. It was a nice thing you did, but no one ever expected it of you, or demanded it."
But he shook his head slowly and fixed his eyes on the changing colors of the lake. "I should have made it my responsibility. And that's exactly what I'm going to do now."
She felt a swell of tenderness for him that was deep and intense and pure. She wanted to slip her arms around him and hold him in warmth and affection; she wanted to kiss him and touch him and explore him. There was so much of Kevin she didn't know, so much she was just beginning to learn. The discoveries were gently thrilling, sweetly exciting. She savored each one.
The sun was beginning to set, casting brilliant ribbons of color over the lake. Kate leaned back on her elbows, her knees bent slightly, letting the long folds of her skirt drape between her legs, relaxed and content. "It's funny, isn't it?" she commented after a time, nodding toward the red-gold sunset, "how something so awful could leave such beautiful colors in its wake. I don't think I've ever seen a prettier sunset."
"Maybe it's the company," Kevin teased, and Kate chuckled. But she noticed the way his eyes traveled over the shape of her legs, outlined by the white skirt, and she thought with a small and almost unrecognizable glow of pleasure, Yes, maybe it is.
Kevin reached forward to refill her wineglass, and Kate lifted a hand in protest, already feeling a little sleepy. "No, I'm so tired, and I haven't eaten much today. It'll make me drunk."
After The Storm (Men Made in America-- Mississippi) Page 12