by Janet Eaves
Did he also think of her?
She stopped at the cotton candy stand and ordered a huge stick of the pink fluff. Immediately, she pinched off a huge hunk, poked it in her mouth, and relished in the sticky, sweet treat. It had been ages since she’d indulged herself so, and she loved it. The afternoon was clear and beautiful; she’d had a wonderful time with Danny a few hours before, and tried to put Michael Lehmann out of her mind.
There was a sad sort of longing in the eyes of the teenager working behind the counter at the cotton candy stand and she was instantly reminded of Danny. He’d been such a help this morning, but even more important than that, he had opened up. For that she was glad. She felt much better about him and prayed that Mark Jamieson would find a good home in the area soon. She felt a slight pang of guilt wondering if there was any way she could be the one to provide Danny that home.
No. I can’t get that attached. Not to anyone.
Kate plunked down another dollar and ordered a large soft drink. The cotton candy made her incredibly thirsty. She cringed at the calories she held in her hands and promised herself tomorrow she would fast.
“Oh good, a bench,” She spotted a couple leaving across the street. With cotton candy in one hand, and the monstrous drink in the other, she hurried. Eyeing a couple of kids walking in the same direction, she picked up speed. In a nonchalant manner, she approached, then on impulse attempted to pinch off another small bite of cotton candy with her teeth. She rushed for the bench, lifted her foot to take a step up, and caught her toe on the edge of the curb.
Her entire body lurched forward, her first thoughts of falling and making an utter fool of herself. In a blur, the drink spilled forth, narrowly missing a woman standing nearby. Kate stumbled. Someone let out a whoop! in her ear and a strong hand grasped her elbow. Before she knew it she was pulled, turned, and plopped down on the hard bench. “Oomph.”
“You okay?” Michael sat beside her on the bench, cotton candy plastered across his shoulder.
“Oh, crap.”
“You really should be more careful.” He smiled, and eyes twinkled.
“I… I’m not sure… It all happened so fast. I’m glad you were there.”
“Are you really?
“What?”
Michael’s face grew serious. “Glad. That I’m here.”
She hesitated. “Yes,” she answered. “I was afraid… I was falling.”
I am falling.
“And that’s all?” He waited.
She felt corner of her mouth twitch. She glanced across the street and back to him. How could she tell him that she had watched for him out of the corner of her eye all morning? Could she tell him she hadn’t slept for days thinking about him and their kisses?
How could she say, Yes, I want you here. I might always want you here. She couldn’t. Not yet anyway. She couldn’t handle having him until she was sure she could handle losing him.
She glanced at her watch—three-fifteen. She didn’t have to be back at the booth until five. How was she going to avoid him until then?
“You were trying to race those kids to the bench.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding and tossed him a half-hearted grin. “Obvious, huh?”
“Hm, yes. Even more so after you tripped.” He pulled a string of pink, sugary concoction off his shoulder.
“Oh, hells bells. I’ve ruined your shirt.” And it was a nice, white, rather form-fitting, golf shirt, she noticed. “I’ll pay for it, really. If you’ll just tell me…”
“Forget it. A good washing will take care of it.”
“But you’ll have to do it soon, it will stain.” She tried to pick away a crystal or two. Not much luck. Then without really thinking her next words through, she added, “Maybe you should…I just live…”
“Should what?”
“Um, wash it.” She dropped her hand and looked off. “Soon.”
“Hm. Got a washer nearby?”
“Well, sure. At my house.” Dammit.
“You’re offering your washer?”
Why was he acting so dense? “Well, it would be a damn shame to ruin that nice shirt…”
The corner of his mouth jerked into a smirky-smile. “It’s the least you could do, you know, since I saved your ass.”
She didn’t want him talking about her ass. “Saved my knees and elbows from a good scraping is more like it,” she flung back. “I don’t think that counts.” Sighing, she continued, “At any rate, it’s the least I can do. I’m just around the corner.”
He grinned. “I know.”
Kate’s heart leapt.
A shout rang out from across the street. “Hey! You still here?” Daniel strode toward them, another young boy at his side. “Been to the booth yet this afternoon?”
His excitement made Kate temporarily forget the fact that she was going to have to take Michael home with her in a few minutes, and that while his shirt washed and dried, she would have to try to keep up a conversation with his bare chest.
The other boy stood slightly behind Daniel. She didn’t know this child, which was unusual. A teacher usually knew most all the children around in a small town. She just knew he wasn’t one of theirs, and she wasn’t sure she liked the looks of him.
Oh, come on Kate, she thought. You can’t judge a book by its cover, remember? Aren’t you always telling your students that?
“No, not since we left this morning,” she answered. “Are we doing okay?”
“I’ll say. You’ll never guess….”
“Uh…Daniel. How many rides have you taken in this afternoon?” Michael interjected. “You and your friend having a good time?”
“We rode every one of them at least twice, me and Jim here. His dad works with the carnival. How about you and Mrs. C? You rode anything yet?” He turned to Kate. “You tell him about the fun house?”
Kate glanced to Michael, her eyes widening.
“Checked out the fun house already, huh?” Michael looked sideways at Kate.
“Well, actually we did. Had a pretty good time of it too, didn’t we Daniel?”
Michael studied her for a moment, then turned back to Daniel and pointed toward Kate. “Think I could get her on the Ferris Wheel?”
She hated the Ferris Wheel. “I don’t think so, Michael.”
“The Spider too?” Daniel said.
A sly grin spread across Michael’s face. “Tell you what Daniel. I’ve got something to take care of here,” he motioned to the sticky mess now running down his arm. “You and your friend meet us back here in say…an hour, and we’ll all ride the Ferris Wheel. Used to be my favorite ride. What do you say?”
“Deal. What about the…?”
“Daniel…don’t push it.” Kate winked at him as he walked away, pulling at his ears and sticking his tongue out at her.
She threw back her head and laughed.
Chapter Twelve
Michael stripped off the white shirt to reveal a hard ripple of abdomen and a broad, tan chest matted with dark curly hair.
Kate gulped and kept her distance.
“Just toss it over there on the washer. I’ll treat it first.” She watched as the sinews and cords of his back twisted as he did so. Giving pause to reflect on that sinfully delicious back, she retrieved a pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator and nervously poured them each a glass. She was still thirsty, since she didn’t have a chance to sip at her drink earlier, before she had decorated the pavement with it.
Or maybe it was seeing Michael with his shirt off that made her mouth go dry.
It grew increasingly hot in the house—even with the air conditioner on. Somehow she didn’t think it was the weather.
Michael settled into a chair at the oak pedestal table and she set his lemonade in front of him. He followed her every movement while she edged past him to the small laundry room off the kitchen, poured some degreaser over the pink goo, rubbed the fabric together, and tossed it into the rising water.
That task finis
hed, she stared at the dials on the washer. Six minute cycle. Plus time to spin and rinse. Oh, a double rinse cycle. And then what, fifteen minutes in the dryer? How in the world would she fill the time between now and when this shirt was washed and dried?
She had to find him a shirt or something. No way could she hold any kind of conversation with—with that chest staring her in the face.
The agitator kicked in and the washer gently rocked back and forth against her belly. She couldn’t very well stay in the laundry room the whole time he was here. That indeed would be rude. Besides, thinking of his sexy chest, with this washer vibrating against her pelvis, well, none of that boded well for her at the moment.
She risked a backward glance into the kitchen.
He wasn’t there.
She found him in the living room, wicked chest and all, relaxing on her sofa, looking very comfortable sunk down in her fluffy pillows.
Too comfortable.
“There you are.” She tried to sound casual. “I thought for a moment there you’d gone back to the festival without me.”
He grinned. “Um, not without my shirt.”
He held out a hand, his gaze catching hers. She hesitated, put her hand in his, and allowed him to pull her down to the couch. Her bare arm brushed his, sending a tingle to her fingertips.
He snuggled close. “I like your house. It looks like you.” He wove his fingers into hers and laid them across his lap.
She looked down their digits, intertwined. “Thanks. I’m still decorating. There’s a lot still to do.”
“How old is it?”
She perused the twelve foot ceilings, her gaze trailing over the thick crown molding and the Victorian wall paper.
“She was built in 1902. I’m working on getting her on the Historic Register.”
“She’s in good shape.” Smiling at him picking up her use of the feminine pronoun for the house, she added, “Yeah, she’s got good bones.”
Small talk. Awkward small talk. Like there were other words aching to be said, but were involuntarily being pushed out of the way to be said another time, to be spoken in passionate whispers, in lover’s breaths—hearts beating wildly to the rhythm of unspoken love.
Love?
God. No.
Kate’s heart raced as she felt the pressure of his fingers on hers. Could she love him? Was she falling in love with Michael?
She dared a glance in his direction. His stare landed on her lips. “I think you’ve got good bones.”
Oh, hell.
“Are you listening?”
“I’m sorry, my mind drifted. What were you saying?”
He studied her and chuckled. “Never mind. Everything looks great, Kate. What else is there to do?”
“Oh, the upstairs. It’s not finished yet. At least some of the rooms aren’t.”
“May I see?”
“Upstairs?”
He leaned forward. “Sure. I’d love to see the rest of the house. I love old houses. Always thought it would be great to restore one.”
“I suppose so, if you want.”
“I want. But first…” He licked his lips.
She looked past him. “What?”
Leaning into her, he brushed his lips across hers and whispered, “I didn’t get enough of you the other night…and I’m sorry I got mad and stalked off.”
Her chest lifted and fell in rhythm as the kiss deepened. One hand rose to her neck and he held her steady. His lips played over hers and an ache deep in her chest opened up, wanting to be acknowledged…to be taken away.
“I didn’t want you to walk off,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I was so hesitant.”
His tongue slipped between her lips and tangled with hers. A small groan came from somewhere spurning her on, urging him to tongue tangle a little deeper. That groan, she realized when it grew louder, was coming from her.
“We’ll go easy, okay?”
“All right.” She nodded as they touched tongues again.
“Real slow.” He kissed her again and held her snug against him.
She was right. His chest was warm and sexy and inviting. They sat for several minutes and she contemplated what going “real slow” really meant.
“How about the upstairs,” he said after a while. “Want to give me the grand tour?”
Keeping her hand in his, she rose, tugging him off the sofa. “Let’s go.”
The cherry stair railing slid like velvet under their fingers as they ascended. “There are just three bedrooms. The only one finished is mine.” They stepped onto the landing, turned left, and walked down a short hallway. She purposely led him past her bedroom. “And of course, there is only one bathroom.”
They peeked in the large bathroom door. “It had originally been a smaller bedroom,” she said. “There wasn’t indoor plumbing until sometime in the early 1920s.”
She led the way across the hall to an empty bedroom. “There aren’t any closets, either.” She stood in the middle of the large room. “This one’s empty now, and the one across the hall. Someday I’ll do something with them.”
Michael joined her in the center. He perused the room and she smiled as he looked over the high ceilings and deep windows. She loved this old house. The walls, scraped down to the horsehair plaster, still needed paper, but the woodwork was beautiful. She ran a hand over it.
“My dad and I stripped all this woodwork. It’s the only thing I’ve done throughout the entire house. I despised that thick, oil-based paint, especially knowing that something as rich and beautiful as this lay in wait underneath.” Smiling, she remembered how long it took and reminisced the painstaking love she put into it.
“When in the world did you find the time?”
Crossing her arms, she leaned into a window frame and gazed down at the street below. “I had a lot of empty nights to fill.”
A strong silence filled the room.
“It’s a beautiful home, Kate.”
“Thanks.” She closed her eyes in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. “I was glad for the work. Kept me busy the winter after…a couple of winters ago. Maybe kept me from going a little bit insane.”
Sighing, she turned back. “Ignore that last statement, okay? I don’t want to go there right now.”
Michael held her gaze and nodded. Stepping to the door frame, he ran a hand over the silky wood. He’d honor her wishes, having no desire to go there himself. “You’ve done a good job. I’m impressed. How long have you had the home?”
“Rob and I bought it right after we were married.”
Talk of Carpenter brought him immediately back to reality. Carpenter had been the last person on his mind these past few days and he should have been the first. He wasn’t sure how long he could continue this. Something was going to have to go, and it might be him. If only he could find out the truth—the answer to the million dollar question.
Was Carpenter alive? Or was he dead?
“It’s special then.”
“Yes. Very.” Her voice quieted.
Michael gathered her close. He held her for a moment, aching for her pain, and forging a battle within himself that she should waste energy on such a low-life bastard. He wanted her to know the truth. That dead or alive, her husband was a son-of-a-bitch drug dealer. He wanted her to get past him.
But he couldn’t tell her anything. Would she even believe him if he did? Would she accuse him of making up lies so she would fall into his arms and love him?
Couldn’t risk that.
Couldn’t, and shouldn’t risk anything where her heart was concerned. Or his.
All he wanted was to show her that he understood, could help her deal with her pain. But it was a task laced with melancholy, for he knew the truth would have to surface, someday, one way or another. And after that, he wasn’t sure what would happen between the two of them.
She pulled away, perhaps sensing his uncertainty, and walked out of the room. Michael followed stopped short as they came to her bedroom.
“So, this is Kate’s room?” She stood fixed. He glanced inside. “It looks like you, all ruffle-y and pretty, with flowers everywhere.”
He took in every detail, staring at her bed, and imagined her lying there at night, thinking about him. He put himself in that bed, too, beneath her country quilts, his head on her embroidered pillow cases, her skin next to his, soft, supple and warm….
Enough. Fantasies would get him nowhere. Ripping his stare away from the bed, he spied a closed door in the far corner of the room. His cop instincts kicked in.
“I thought you said there were no closets.”
She stayed silent.
“Kate?”
“It’s… It’s not a closet.”
Michael walked across the room. She moved in front of him.
“Really, Michael, it’s nothing. Just a storage room. Nothing you’d be interested in. Boxes and stuff.”
He stopped in his tracks and looked at her. She was hiding something. Someone?
Dammit! Did it have to do with Carpenter? Was it drugs? Was it Carpenter himself? He wanted to press, but then stopped himself. A moment earlier he wanted to press her against the sheets of her bed. Now, he was suspicious?
Had he been played for a fool all this time? Was she harboring a fugitive?
Angry, he turned and strode away.
Kate stayed and he heard a slow breath escape her lips.
Abruptly, he crossed the room, stepped past her, and jerked open the door.
“No!”
Her scream and lunge sent him more off-kilter than anything. He rushed into the small room and flicked on a light. Kate’s cry as he did so startled him more than what he saw inside.
Baby nursery.
This room, obviously, was finished. Matching white baby furniture filled it. The walls were painted a soft shade of yellow. Billowy white sheers graced the windows. A dancing panda bear border framed the ceiling. Toys filled every nook and cranny. It was the perfect set-up for a baby.
Except there was no baby.
Slowly, he turned and looked at Kate. Her gaze was fixed, looking over the room. Her eyes were moist but no tears fell.