Beauty & the Beasts

by Janice Kay Johnson; Anne Weale

  “Can I take them home?” Garth blurted. “I mean, once Chev and Ron are gone? Or maybe before if Dad’ll let me?”

  She knew a moment of relief that he had accepted the inevitability of the kittens’ departure from his life, but then it was supplanted by disquiet.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather foster that mother and her litter? They’ll be fun, and they need someone, too.”

  “You don’t think I can take care of Mittens,” he accused.

  She tilted her head to one side and contemplated his stormy mulish expression. On a sudden impulse she hugged both him and the cat. He was darn near as skinny as Mittens. “Actually I have no doubt that you can make him fat and happy! But he and Dusky won’t be as entertaining as the little guys have been.”

  For a moment Garth buried his face against the big gray cat’s fur. “I don’t care,” he said in a muffled voice. “I want them. They don’t deserve this.”

  Looking at Garth’s bent head, covered by its pale stubble, Madeline felt an odd almost painful squeeze of something powerful. It was more complex than simple pride in his compassion. It was almost possessive, as though she were personally responsible for his fine character. As though he were hers. In astonishment she recognized the truth: what she felt was indeed proprietary. If she had to label it, she’d call it maternal pride and affection.

  How very odd to have such emotions for the first time not for a tiny vulnerable infant, but for a sometimes sullen preadolescent.

  Eric’s son.

  But she was pretty sure her feelings didn’t have anything to do with Eric. Garth was the one who was special, with a depth of compassion extraordinary for a boy his age.

  “No, you’re right” she said, “they don’t deserve it. Talk to your dad tonight. Maybe he has a spare bedroom where they could go until we place Chev and Ron. Let’s warm up some of the AD cat food— it’s high in protein, and it’s softer than the usual canned cat food, so we can use a big plastic syringe to squirt it into his mouth.” She grinned. “We’ll give him a meal right now, whether he likes it or not.”

  “Sure!” Boy and cat rubbed noses, and then Garth disentangled Mittens’s claws from his shirt and gently set the big guy in the cage, closing the door and latching it. “That way I’ll know how to do it.”

  Mittens wasn’t crazy about the experience. Half the food ended up on Garth’s shirt, but enough went down the cat’s throat to give him more nutrition than he’d had in days. With a damp cloth Garth tenderly wiped away the spills that stained Mittens’s white chest.

  That small gesture brought her another surge of pride. She masked it by saying lightly, “You’re a good kid.”

  He gave a mischievous grin. “Mom and Dad might not agree with that.”

  Madeline smiled back. “Oh, they might get mad once in a while, but I bet that deep down they agree with me.”

  On the short drive home she and Garth chatted about how other cats at the shelter were doing, which ones she’d take to that week’s adoption, why a perfectly nice cat had proved hard to place, how Ten Lives raised enough money to pay for food and litter.

  She was turning into his driveway when Garth said, too casually, “We’re going somewhere to dinner. So I guess you should just drop me.”

  Don’t come in was the unspoken but clear message. Perhaps it was childish to feel hurt, but she did.

  She hid that, too. “Sure. Going somewhere fun?”

  “Dr. Hughes’s. She and Dad are friends, too. And I guess Mark and I are kinda friends.” He spoke dubiously.

  She had no right to feel hurt afresh that she hadn’t been invited, too. Teresa and Eric were friends. It was okay if they hadn’t wanted to include her, she told herself sternly.

  Garth hopped out of the car almost before she’d stopped. Was he that eager to get away from her?

  “I’ll talk to Dad about Mittens and Dusky,” he said quickly. “See ya. Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Just then Eric came out the front door and walked toward the car. He was limping again, Madeline noticed, and exhaustion had drawn fine lines beside his eyes and mouth.

  “Dad must be ready to go,” Garth said. “Bye.” He slammed the car door.

  She couldn’t just drive off, even if Garth was dying to get rid of her. Eric came around to her side of the car, his son hovering behind him. Madeline rolled down her window.

  “Hi,” Eric said, bending down to give her a brief but oddly convincing kiss. “You can come in, you know.”

  “Garth said—” The agonized look Garth was giving her registered, and Madeline stopped. Aha! So hurrying her off was only Garth’s idea. Still, she wouldn’t give him away. “I don’t have to loiter every time I come by, you know.”

  “I like it when you loiter.” Eric waggled his eyebrows, making “loiter” sound mildly risqué.

  “Aren’t you two—” Another horrible grimace on his son’s face killed her question. Okay, what was going on here?

  Eric had straightened and was looking down the driveway. “Here’s your ride, Garth. Shouldn’t you change? I’ll hold them off, but you’d better make it snappy.”

  One more desperate look her way, and then Garth took off for the house.

  “His ride?” Madeline queried.

  “Yeah, the Hugheses are taking him out for pizza and a movie. He and Mark had a pretty good time the other night.”

  “Really.” Why, that little brat! She couldn’t quite sustain simple indignation, however; why was Garth trying to get rid of her?

  “Will you stay for dinner?” Eric asked.

  Her mother intended to spend the evening glued to a television miniseries, so the decision wasn’t a tough one. Madeline got out of the car and joined Eric in greeting the Hugheses, sans Nicole, who was doing something more to the liking of a seventeen-year-old. Teresa wrinkled her nose when she said that.

  This was the first time Madeline had met Joe Hughes. If she weren’t already in love, it would have been easy to envy Teresa. Her husband was strikingly handsome in a roughhewn way, with broad shoulders, very blue eyes and a slow warm smile. Madeline had always liked Teresa. She was pretty sure she could be friends with Joe, too.

  Garth reappeared, gave his father and Madeline one last gloomy look and hopped into Joe’s car.

  In the house Madeline phoned her mother, who didn’t sound as though she felt deserted when she told Madeline to have a good time. Madeline shook her head at Eric’s offer of a drink.

  “You starved?” he asked.

  Something in his tone snagged her attention. Like his son, he sounded just a little too casual.

  She shook her head. “Not especially. Don’t slave in the kitchen.”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  Her heartbeat accelerated. “That sounds serious.”

  His eyes met hers. “It is.”

  No red roses or candlelight. She doubted he was going to ask her to marry him. Did he want to tell her that making love had been a mistake? Had he kissed her in greeting only because it would have looked odd if he hadn’t?

  By now she felt light-headed, apprehension fueling her with adrenaline. “Okay,” she said.

  “Let’s sit down.”

  He waited until she chose one end of the couch and curled her legs under her—more to huddle in self-defense than for comfort.

  He sat a few feet from her, but not close enough to touch. “I’ve done a lot of thinking this past week.”

  “I have, too.” If he didn’t want to continue seeing her, was she cowardly enough to agree that she’d decided the same thing? Pride seemed so absurdly important.

  “The other night was wonderful.” So why wasn’t he smiling? Why were his eyes intent, grave? “But I’ve been wondering. I’ve never seen you in a dress like that. Or so much makeup. I had the feeling all evening that I wasn’t really with you.”

  She huddled deeper. “Who did you think you were with?” It came out snappish, offended.

  “I couldn’t quite fig
ure that one out.” The small lines between his brows deepened. “I thought we’d agreed there wasn’t any hurry, that you had to be sure I wanted more than your perfect body.” He emphasized “perfect.” “Then what happens, the next time I see you, it’s like you’re shoving it in my face. ‘See? This is who I am.’ And, dammit, you’re seducing me.”

  “You, of course, fought me, kicking and screaming.” She heard her disdainful tone in disbelief. He wanted to talk about something that had really happened, and she was putting him off with sneers.

  “You know I want you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I want you right now. I don’t give a damn what you’re wearing.” His gaze lowered meaningfully.

  Madeline looked down at herself. Her jeans were loose, faded and a little grungy. Ditto for the T-shirt that had been a muted teal early in its lifetime and now was closer to gray. She’d washed her hands before she left the shelter, but her nails were unpainted. Her hair…well, she wouldn’t think about what her hair was doing. She knew her face was bare of makeup.

  “Is that so? Friday you could hardly keep your hands off me,” she said. “You’re not having any trouble tonight.”

  His eyes pinned hers. “How do you know?”

  Her breath snagged in her throat. “Garth says everyone you’ve dated was pretty. Your wife was pretty.”

  “Yeah.” His mouth twisted. “I told you I’ve been doing some thinking.”

  “And?” Nothing in the world had ever seemed more important.

  “My mother was beautiful but cold. I, uh, concluded that I’ve been trying to find a woman who looked as good, but gave me the warmth she didn’t.” He grimaced. “Pretty pathetic at my age, to realize.”

  Madeline began to breathe again, but painfully. “No woman can stay beautiful all her life, no matter how hard she tries.”

  He seemed not to hear her. “I realized that Noreen has the same air as my mother. Touch me not.” His eyes sharpened. “You don’t.”

  She blinked. “What air do I have? Take me?”

  “You know,” Eric said obliquely, “I’ve been jealous of Garth. Even of the cats. I wanted you to touch me as tenderly, smile at me the way you do at them. I wanted you to give a damn about me.”

  “I do,” she whispered, and knew it was the truth. She would do anything, give up anything, for him. She’d tried to give up herself the other night. “But I don’t understand.”

  Still he didn’t touch her, yet she felt him physically, felt the tension radiating from him. “What don’t you understand?”

  “Are you saying that I’m fulfilling some childhood fantasy?” Her effort to sound flippant failed.

  “I’m saying I don’t care what you look like. Whatever I wanted from women in the past was so shallow it has nothing to do with what I feel for you.”

  Her heart began to drum.

  “You’re the woman of my dreams, not my fantasies.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Then make love to me the way I am. Please.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Eric said roughly, and hauled her into his arms.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  NOTHING HAD EVER FELT sweeter than Madeline’s head resting trustingly on his bare shoulder, her fingers idly tracing muscles and ribs as he lay sprawled on his back on the bed.

  “I wish you could spend the night,” he said huskily.

  “Mmm.” He felt her smile as she kissed his salty skin. Dreamily she said, “Then we could make love again and again, and maybe again in the morning.”

  Eric ran his hand down her back, slender and utterly relaxed. “You like it, huh?” he asked in amusement and gratification.

  “Mmm.” Her fingers went still then, and she was quiet for a long moment.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “I never did before.” It came out in a small burst. “After I left home—I told you about that—I met a man. We had a relationship. He used to like to look at me and tell me how beautiful I was. How perfect.”

  Eric winced at his unfortunate choice of compliments.

  “It was like somebody running their hands over a work of art. I hated it.”

  He couldn’t see her face, but he was reassured by the fact that her voice held vehemence but no passion. She was telling him about something she’d put behind her, not a source of current anger.

  “Later there was another man.” Her fingers resumed their exploration, circling his nipple. “He wasn’t quite so blatant, but it was the same. I don’t know if it was their attitudes that put me off sex, or whether it just wasn’t right with them.” With a rich throaty chuckle she rolled on top of him. “Not like this.”

  “You tempt me.”

  “Enough?” she asked archly.

  “Oh, I think so.” He wrapped her fingers around the evidence of his sincerity.

  Madeline seemed pleased. Her enthusiasm was a hell of an aphrodisiac, he found. Their conversation didn’t resume for nearly half an hour.

  “Fun?” he asked.

  This time she lay sprawled under him, sweatdampened curls sticking to her temples and forehead. Her flushed cheeks and glowing eyes made unnecessary the shy smile and breathy, “Yes, I thought it was fun. How about you?”

  “Hell, yes.” He rolled onto his side, taking her with him. “We have another hour and a half. Who knows? Maybe we can try it again before zero hour.”

  She chuckled, but tiredly. How easy it would be to fall asleep with her in his arms! Considering Garth’s current attitude about their relationship, however, having him walk in on them in bed together would not be wise.

  Her thoughts must have been paralleling his, because she said suddenly, “I had the feeling tonight that Garth didn’t want me to stay here with you. Is he mad at me or something?”

  Eric lifted his head. “Mad at you? Lord, no. He thinks you’re the sun and the moon. If I was a lesser man, I wouldn’t appreciate the constant barrage of ‘Madeline says’ and ‘Madeline thinks’—as though your words were gospel.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “But I’m not a lesser man.” He kissed her forehead. “I like hearing your name.”

  “Oh.” She stirred. “But then why didn’t he want me here?”

  Truth or subterfuge? It was no contest.

  “I don’t think it has anything to do with you personally,” he said. “He’s afraid of losing me if I get too interested in you. He’s convinced his mother doesn’t have time for him now that she’s remarried. He figures neither of us will want him if we have new relationships.”

  “Oh, no! Poor Garth.” To his surprise she tugged away from him and sat up, hair falling Lady Godiva-like over her breasts. “He has spent a number of evenings alone when we’ve gone out. I can understand why he’d think that.”

  Eric reached for her. “Don’t take him too seriously. He’ll come around.”

  She scooted back a few inches. “Will he?” Her gaze seemed to search for anything less than total honesty from him. “His mom probably does have less time for him. He needs you right now.”

  Alarmed, Eric braced himself up on an elbow. “Dammit, he’s got me!”

  “But he’s obviously not confident that he does.” Worry lines formed on her forehead. “Have you talked to him?”

  “Yeah, and gotten nowhere.”

  Hesitantly she said, “We could take it easy for a while. I mean, he’ll be going home again in September.”

  He stared incredulously at her. “You’re not suggesting that we don’t see each other.”

  “Well…” Incomprehensible feminine wheels were turning in her pretty head. “We could casually. It’s only six weeks or so.”

  He’d just made love to her, and by God he wasn’t going to wait six weeks to do it again! Or to talk, he realized a split second later; he called her almost every day just to hear her voice, to know what she was thinking and doing, to feel her sympathy and interest in the happenings of his day.

  “No,” he said uncompromisingly. “Garth can adjust.�
��

  Eyes grave, Madeline contemplated him for a disquieting moment. “I’ve grown very fond of your son. I don’t want to hurt him.”

  “You won’t hurt him.”

  “I’m not so sure.” Her teeth closed on her lower lip, and then she rose from the bed in one fluid movement.

  If he hadn’t been so apprehensive, he could have lain there for hours watching her bend to recover her various bits of clothes from the floor where they’d been discarded. As it was…

  He swung his feet to the floor. “You don’t have to go yet.” Panic tightened his chest.

  She cast him a single distracted glance. “We both need to think. Garth deserves that much.”

  “I have thought!” he snapped. “What the hell kind of father do you imagine I am?”

  “A good one.” She favored him with a gentle smile as she reached behind to fasten her delicate wisp of a bra. The movement made her breasts thrust forward. “Too good not to put him first right now.”

  He argued; she listened, nodded, repeated that she liked his son too much to hurt him and continued getting dressed. To Eric’s shock, twenty minutes after the subject had come up, she was gone.

  He had no idea whether she intended to come back.

  Eric swore, long and viciously. He yanked on the rest of his own clothes—he’d been shirtless when he walked her to her car—and went to stare broodingly out the front window.

  Time for another little talk with Garth—who by God was old enough to show some maturity and give his blessing to his father’s romance.

  Because hell on earth would be having to choose between the woman he loved and his son.

  DAD WAS ENSCONCED on the living-room couch when Garth came in at eleven. He tossed aside his book when he saw him.

  “Come on in. Sit down.”

  Garth plopped down on a leather ottoman and spun in a circle. “The movie was really cool! They had these lasers that—”

  “Spare me,” his father said dryly. “I don’t think it’s my kind of entertainment.”

  “You like subtitles,” his son said scornfully.