He poured the wine while she began making the sandwiches, tasted it with the exaggerated air of a connoisseur, and then lifted his glass to her. "A toast," he declared.
She wiped her hands on a napkin and took up her own glass.
"To the truce." He smiled and touched his glass to hers.
She accepted the toast, and they sipped from their glasses. He swallowed quickly and set his glass on the table, snapping his fingers. "I knew there was something missing!" he announced, and hobbled off toward the dining room. "Back in a minute."
He returned with an elaborate candelabrum that had been part of a formal centerpiece on the dining room table. "What's wine without candlelight?"
She laughed, choking a little on her wine. "You're just a little bit crazy, you know that? Kate will kill you if you ruin her centerpiece!"
He took a pack of matches from the drawer and lit two of the candles, then turned off the light on his way back to the table. "Voila," he said with a flourish. "Atmosphere!"
"And Kate's going to have a lopsided centerpiece," she commented dryly.
"Forget Kate." He took up his glass again. "To Bobbie."
"Whoever she is," returned Barbara.
He kept up a comfortable banter of conversation as they ate, and Barbara began to relax under the influence of the wine and the soft light. His occasional teasing come-ons were lighthearted and corny; he was flirtatious and unpredictable and definitely not her type, but his company was cheering. And it had been so long since she had had fun, even so mild a type as this, that the experience was a little heady.
Then he said with an unexpected serious turn, "I don't want to bug you by bringing this up all the time, but Mike mentioned this afternoon that it's pretty close to a year on the dot since your husband died. There is such a thing as anniversary crisis, you know."
She tried not to let that reminder bring her down. It was easier to be objective than she had supposed. "I know. That's what everyone keeps telling me. I suppose that has something to do with my crying jags."
He nodded. "It might be easier for you if you set your mind on finding a new project right now. You know, a new job, a new house, a boyfriend…"
She glanced at him slyly. "Funny, that's exactly what Kate said. And I suppose you know just the man."
He grinned. "I might." Then, "No, I'm serious. After my little house with the white picket fence went on the market, I found the best therapy was to get into something else right away. So I built a cabin in the woods, which was something I'd always wanted to do—you know, a kind of refuge in the mountains— and started a new life for myself up there. It helped."
She said gently, "She must have hurt you very much."
"No," he replied thoughtfully, looking into his glass of wine. "Losing her didn't hurt so much. I guess I had been prepared for that from the day we got back from our honeymoon. What hurt was—" An absent, painfully introspective expression crossed his face in the flickering light, and he broke off. He took a sip of wine and added in a more normal tone, "Anyway, the cabin-in-the-woods idea didn't work out too well after all, I guess, or else what would I be doing here? I don't suppose I'm the one to be giving advice."
"Why not?" she pursued, interested. "Why didn't it work out?"
He shrugged. "Too lonely. What it really needs is more than one person living in it."
"Well," she replied flippantly, "you shouldn't have too much trouble furnishing that. You're the guy that can charm the birds out of the trees, after all."
He leaned his head on his fist, smiling, studying her. "I'm pretty choosy about my company. And birds are not exactly what I had in mind."
Conversation flagged. The way he kept studying her, gently, musingly, searching the very depths of her eyes and every line on her face, was more intimate than a caress. She tried to avoid that look and found she could not. The candlelight and the wine and the tender, thoughtful expression in his eyes were combining to stir memories of emotion in her that were so long buried they were almost alien. Then he said softly, "What would you say if I asked if I could kiss you?"
For a breathless moment she could not answer. She felt a heat come to her cheeks; her pulses speeded unexpectedly. And then she managed in a whisper, "I—I'd say no."
"I see." His smile did not fade; his eyes remained steady. "I'll remember not to ask you, then."
And then the front door opened and Kate's voice called, "Where is everyone?"
Barbara got up quickly to answer, and Kyle calmly began to cut another slice of cheesecake. The moment was spoiled, and Barbara was not certain whether she was glad or sorry.
Chapter Three
Barbara was awake at sunup the next morning, refreshed and full of energy. She could not remember when she had felt so well. Perhaps Kate's prescription was working already—or perhaps it was simply that she was beginning to take her sister's advice, to open up and have some fun.
She left the house quietly and took Jojo for a run on the beach, thinking about last evening with Kyle. It was a relief to be with someone who didn't tiptoe around her feelings, someone who took her no more seriously than he took himself, but who could switch moods from lighthearted nonsense to more sober conversation with as much ease as a well-tuned car changed gears. Being around him was easy, which was unusual because she did not make casual friends. She was relaxed in his presence—except for those few times when he embarrassed her with romantic overtures, and even that, knowing it was all in the spirit of fun, was strangely enjoyable.
She threw pieces of driftwood into the tide for Jojo to retrieve. She cuffed up her jeans and splashed through the icy water herself, loving the sting of salt spray on her cheeks and the warm sun on her shoulders. Jojo became more playful, trying to trip her by jumping and barking and running in circles around her; she distracted him with another piece of driftwood and ran, laughing, for the safety of the steps.
Kyle was sitting at the top of the stairs, his hands propped on the crutch, looking strangely reflective. He smiled vaguely when he saw her.
"My," she gasped as she approached, whipping her hair out of her eyes. "You look terribly thoughtful for this hour of the morning."
"That's probably because," he returned, "I was thinking."
"What were you thinking about?"
"Oh," he answered absently, "I've got my troubles, like everyone else."
"There are a lot worse troubles," she retorted, "than having a broken leg."
"That's for sure," he agreed soberly, and just then Jojo came bouncing up the stairs, shaking himself and leaping joyfully on Kyle. "Hey, watch yourself, you big sloppy beast!" he cried, pushing him away good-humoredly. "When I want a bath, I'll let you know. Now go on." He gave him a firm shove, followed by an affectionate slap on the flank. "Go find somebody else to play with."
Obediently Jojo trotted off, and Kyle turned back to her. "Now, where was I," he mused, "before I was so rudely interrupted…"
"Thinking about your troubles," she reminded him.
"Ah, yes," he recalled seriously. "I was thinking…you've got problems, I've got problems. We both need cheering up. So I think I've got a solution. Let's have an affair."
She stared at him in a moment of shock before she caught the gleam of humor in his eyes. Then she was able to return in kind, "You've been talking to my sister again. That's her magical cure for all ills."
"A very wise woman, your sister," he agreed, perfectly deadpan. "Of course I wasn't suggesting we rush into anything."
"Of course not."
"Take a couple of weeks to get this cast off my leg and to sort of get the feel of the idea I'm quite a good lover," he assured her, "when I'm not hampered by a ton of plaster."
She inquired without blinking, "Are you, now?"
"It will give us both something to look forward to. What do you think?"
She pretended thoughtfulness. "I think," she decided at last, "that you are about as subtle as a billboard. I think I would prefer someone with more finesse. I think," sh
e added as she stood, "I will do my shopping elsewhere."
He broke down into laughter as she started to walk away, and she was glad he dropped the game first because she was having difficulty restraining her own mirth. "Okay, okay," he called after her. "I promise I'll work on 'subtle' and 'finesse.' Meanwhile you're not just going to leave me here, are you?"
She turned back, her eyes dancing. "I should, you know."
"But you won't," he replied confidently. "Your heart is too soft. Come on, give me a hand."
She came back to him, inquiring dubiously, "How did you get down there, then, if you can't get up by yourself?"
"Sitting is always easier than standing," he replied. "Here, just let me lean on you till I get the crutch…"
She bent down and grasped his arm as he got slowly to his feet, maneuvering the crutch into place with difficulty. And then suddenly he swayed against her unsteadily, lost his balance, and the crutch went clattering down the stairs. She cried out and clutched him to her, trying to balance him with her weight. And before she knew what was happening, he no longer seemed to need her support, his arms came about her firmly, and he bent his head and kissed her gently on the lips.
It was a very brief kiss; she was too shocked to respond one way or the other, and when he lifted his face, she was staring at him in dazed confusion.
"And you said I had no subtlety." He smiled.
"You," she gasped, trying to wrench away, "you tricked me!"
"I have one or two up my sleeve," he responded, and just as she was about to angrily step away, he caught her to him again, guiding her face to his with a firm, swift, graceful motion.
His lips explored hers tentatively at first, tasting, searching, testing for resistance. But there was none. She was shocked and helpless as the ashes of emotions she had thought long dead blazed to life with a frightening intensity. The feel of his lean, hard body pressed against hers sent a tingle of liquid heat pulsing through her veins; his hands, pressed against her back and warm against her neck beneath her hair, made her limbs weak and watery; the rising insistence of his lips against hers caused silver dots of dizziness to explode behind her closed eyes. She had to pull away, fighting for control, frightened by what she did not understand. "Please," she whispered, twisting her face away. "Don't."
He released a long breath against her cheek and kept his eyes closed for a moment, as though he too were fighting for control. She was too weak to move away and he made no move to release her. Then he looked at her, and she could see the effort it took for him to get the familiar mask of casual humor in place over a deeper emotion. "That was nice," he said softly, his eyes searching her face. "Let's do it again."
She managed, "Let's not," and tried to pull away.
He held her for a moment and inquired gently, "What I felt from you just now—was that just instinct?"
She swallowed hard, struggling through a haze of confusion, afraid of the opening of a door she could not enter. With a great effort she found the right answer, forced nonchalance into her tone. "That's all it ever is, isn't it? Boy-meets-girl, boy-kisses-girl… It's as old as Adam and Eve. No big deal." Then she added quickly "I—I'll go get your crutch."
"I'd rather lean on you."
She tossed over her shoulder, "Lean on the rail!" as she went hurriedly down the stairs.
When she returned it to him, a little breathless from the exercise, he caught her hand and made to draw her to him again. "Once more with feeling?" he suggested.
She pulled away. "Come on, cut it out. Kate and Michael will see."
"They're still in bed," he informed her, and his eyes glinted mischievously. "We could take a leaf from their book."
She relaxed now into the familiar banter. "I'm not interested in clumsy lovers," she retorted and started for the house.
In a moment he called, "Bobbie."
She half-turned, only her tightly clasped hands betraying her anxiety over a near escape from some- . thing she could not yet define.
"You okay?" he inquired softly.
That was almost her undoing. She caught her breath, glancing down at her hands, searching for composure, reaching for a flippant reply. None seemed to serve, and at last she answered only, "Yes, I think so." She glanced up at him and managed a weak smile. "Just don't try it again, okay?"
He shook his head. "I can't promise that."
She turned and went quickly back into the house, trying not to run.
Inside she gripped the kitchen counter and angrily fought back the stinging tears. It was just a silly little kiss, that was all. It happened to thousands of men and women every day. Then why should she feel as though it had suddenly changed the world?
The best antidote for the depression and the anxiety of confusion she felt creeping in on her was to get busy, and quickly. Kate came down twenty minutes later to find her frying bacon and making pancakes.
"Oh." Kate smiled through a yawn. "I thought I was dreaming. That smells delicious."
Kyle came in from the back at the same time. "What?" he demanded. "She can cook too?"
"Coffee's on," she told them. "Place your orders, folks."
"I'll start with a dozen," Kyle replied, taking mugs down from the cabinet.
"I'd love it," Kate replied with a little moan and came to help Kyle with the coffee. "But I'm watching my weight."
Michael came down with more compliments on the breakfast smells, and when they were finished, he declared, "If you keep on like this, we'll be so spoiled we won't be able to let you go at the end of the summer."
"I love to cook," Barbara admitted. "But I hardly ever get a chance to. It's no fun cooking for one."
"Well, then," commented Kyle, "what you need is a roommate. Did I mention I was in the market for one?"
Barbara ignored him, and Michael warned mildly, "All right, little brother, no soliciting on the premises." He relished the last sip of coffee and stood. "Well, I'm off to the old typewriter. And I suggest," he added to Kyle, "that you do the same. What do you ladies have planned this morning?"
"We're going on a shopping spree," Kate replied, her eyes twinkling. "We're going to spend every cent you have and a few you don't."
Michael groaned, "Have mercy." Then, to Kyle, more sternly, "Get to work, old fellow. Discipline is a writer's first tool."
"I'd rather go shopping," Kyle protested.
"You," Kate told him severely, "are not invited. Get to work."
He gave an exaggerated sigh of martyrdom and got to his feet. "Slave driver," he shot back to her.
In the car Kate commented, "Kyle is nice, isn't he?"
Barbara glanced at her sister for a deeper suggestion behind those words, but Kate's expression was bland. "I suppose so," she admitted. "A little strange."
She chuckled. "Oh, he just likes to have fun. Although since the divorce—" She glanced at Barbara. "You knew about that?"
Barbara nodded.
"Sometimes now he seems like he's trying a little too hard to have fun. You know, moody. I think it really shook him, more than he likes to admit. Although I could have told him that would be the way it would end the minute I laid eyes on her. She's the type," she added, "who would have made a terrific concubine if she had been born a century earlier. We still hear about her now and then, living it up on the Mediterranean or gambling away Kyle's money in Vegas—with a new man every three months." She shook her head sadly. "It's a shame he had to get mixed up with someone like that. He was so trusting."
"Trusting," suggested Barbara, "but not trustworthy?"
"He's a nice man," reiterated Kate evenly, but this time there was a note of warning to her voice. "But he does have a reputation with women. It's his way of getting over her, I guess. I wouldn't take him too seriously."
"Oh, I have no intention of taking anyone seriously," replied Barbara. "That's the last thing I need right now." Then she glanced at her sister slyly. "You saw us on the beach this morning, didn't you?"
Kate hesitated, looked abashed, and t
hen nodded.
"Well," replied Barbara lightly, "a girl can have a little fun, can't she?"
"I want you to have fun," insisted Kate. "As long as you know what you're getting into."
Barbara smiled. "Thanks for caring, Kate."
And Kate returned her smile, a little embarrassed. "But you're a big girl now."
"Right." Barbara answered.
Kate's biggest weakness was in her extravagant shopping sprees, but what disturbed, Barbara was that, except for a few minor cosmetics purchases, all the selections Kate made were for her sister. She chose pretty voile sundresses, fresh seersucker culottes, and tank tops trimmed with lace, and she insisted that Barbara have a new swimsuit. Over Barbara's protests she explained, "Don't be silly. You know I love these darling little things but I would look ridiculous in them. It was Michael's idea," she added, "so don't think about the money. Consider it our birthday present."
Barbara was touched, but she felt compelled to object. "You've already given me my birthday present. This trip—and two months early, I might add."
"And a party," added Kate suddenly. "And for that you'll need a new dress." At Barbara's surprised look of objection she laughed and explained, "All right, the party has been planned for a long time—we give at least one big party every summer—but since it happens to be on the day of your birthday, we can celebrate that as well, can't we? Now, let's find something really dazzling…"
They spent an enjoyable afternoon searching for the perfect dress and found it at last in the form of a lavender printed crepe with a floating petal skirt accented by a knotted gold rope at the waist, with a deep ruffled neckline and billowing transparent sleeves.
"Not many girls can wear that style," Kate said enviously. "But on you it looks gorgeous."
Barbara could not help agreeing. She stayed away from the traditional greens and peaches most redheads wore, and lavender was really her color. It turned her fair skin to porcelain and brought out the violet depths of her eyes, and she was more pleased than she admitted over her selection. It had been too long since she had known the fun of buying a new dress just for the frivolity of it.
Twice in a Lifetime Page 4