"It would be different with me," he told her. "Maybe not better—I certainly hope not worse—but different. Bobbie, look at me."
Unable to refuse, she lifted her face in all its misery at his command.
"Your life is not over," he said gently. "You didn't burn yourself on your husband's funeral pyre like the Indian women do, but for all the good your life is doing you now, you may as well have. I'm not asking you to forget him, I'm just asking you to go on with your own life. And don't keep telling yourself there will never be another man for you, because, if you do, all you'll succeed in doing is driving happiness away."
She shook her head, dropping her eyes again. "You don't know…you don't understand how it was…you can't know how I feel."
"Maybe I can't," he agreed fairly. "But I can see right now you're miserable. I know that if you had let me make love to you a moment ago you would have hated yourself in the morning." She glanced up sharply, surprised by his perception. "And that now that you're safe for another night, you're not any happier," he finished frankly. "What do you want, Bobbie?"
"I—I'm not sure," she admitted dejectedly, staring into her cup. "I'm so confused."
"That's allowed, I suppose," he agreed after a moment. Then he stood and started toward the door, his cocoa untouched.
She watched him go, wanting to call him back but unable to do so. Then he turned of his own volition, his hand on the doorknob. "Will it make you feel better," he asked very seriously, "if I told you I wasn't planning on a one-night stand?"
"I—I'm not sure," she stammered, confused as much by the words as by the deep, steady light in his eyes.
He smiled, as though that were a perfectly satisfactory answer. "Good night, Bobbie," he said gently. "Sleep well."
Chapter Six
The house resounded with Kyle's absence. She took the cups to the sink and washed them automatically, and managed to use up a few more minutes of the long empty night that stretched ahead of her. She wished she could make her mind as quiet as the house, but it would not be still.
Kyle was right, of course. He was only saying in a different way what everyone had been telling her since Daniel's death—she had to start living again. It was simply that she had never considered the possibility of letting another man into her life.
She knew there would never be anyone else like Daniel. He was her first love. What they had shared had been wonderful, it had been magic, it was something that happened only once in a lifetime and then only if one was very, very lucky. She was not expecting it to come again. But what was the harm in sharing a small part of her life with someone else? Someone easygoing and undemanding, with no promises or expectations. Couldn't she open up, just a little bit, to someone like Kyle? She knew she wanted to.
And he knew it too. But he would not pressure her, and for that she was grateful. He had summed it up that first morning on the beach. "We both need cheering up. Let's have an affair." Easy, uncomplicated, open-ended. That was nothing to be afraid of. She should be able to handle that. It wasn't as though he was asking for a commitment from her.
She felt a little better about herself as she started up the stairs, but it still did not make the prospect of the long empty night ahead of her more appealing. She thought briefly how it would be to be in Kyle's bed right now, wrapped securely in his arms, suffused with the warm, overpowering presence of him. How different everything would be right now if only she had found her courage on the beach… if only he had not been so sensitive to what was restraining her.
After a moment's hesitation she went back down the stairs and called Jojo in. She knew Kate did not allow him to sleep in the house, but she hoped her sister would forgive her this one transgression made from the demands of loneliness. She removed her makeup and changed into a long nightgown, a full-cut frilly peach affair with a lace yoke and puffy lace sleeves. It was the sort of thing she would have worn for Kyle if he had been there, and she scolded herself for the silly reflection as she got into bed and turned off the light. Jojo flopped to the rug at the foot of the bed and released a heavy sigh, as though he knew exactly what was expected of him.
She lay in the dark for a long time, sleepy but unable to relax sufficiently to close her eyes. Jojo's soft snoring at the foot of the bed made her smile and it was comforting, but it did not take her mind off the vastness of the house or the emptiness of her own bed. She wished she and Kyle had not parted on such uncertain terms. She hoped he was not angry with her. She did not think he was the type who would tolerate being led to the brink of fulfillment and then pushed away too many more times, and what would she do when he asked her again? She knew what she wanted to do—or at least what part of her wanted to do—but she had learned she could not always control her reactions when it came right down to making a decision. Her emotions were still too much in a turmoil.
She suspected Kyle was accustomed to having his women on the first try. A man like him would not have had to learn the delicate art of courtship, women probably fell all over themselves trying to please him the moment he walked into the room. That reflection made her smile a little in the dark, remembering Michael's dry observation about his brother's dubious charms the other night. Most likely Kyle had fully expected to sleep with her tonight— and why not? She had given him no reason to think otherwise. All things considered, he had handled the entire episode with appreciable grace and aplomb— but for how long? He would soon grow impatient with her, and annoyed, and that could make for a very strained relationship. That made her frown a little. It would be bad enough because they were working together and could hardly avoid one another while they were both staying here, but the worst part was the prospect of losing his friendship. She did not want to do that.
The fair thing to do, of course, would be to tell him quite frankly that there could never be anything between them and he would be doing himself a favor by calling off the chase. But she did not want to do that, either. She moaned in frustration and confusion and turned over in bed, seeking a comfortable position.
The shrill of the telephone made her jump, and for a moment she was frozen in a paroxysm of terror. Late-night telephone calls had done that to her ever since Daniel's illness. Then she remembered Kate, everaxious Kate, who had probably sneaked away from Michael's watchful eye and just could not resist calling home, just to make sure everything was all right.
She let it ring again while she pressed a hand over her wildly thumping heart and tried to unknot her muscles, then picked it up and said a cautious "Hello?"
"Were you asleep?"
It was Kyle's voice. Relief and pleasure flooded her. "Kyle!" She switched on the lamp and, squinting at the clock, noticed it was just after midnight. They had left one another over two hours ago. "No, I wasn't. What are you doing, calling here this time of night? Where are you?"
"I'm just across the lawn. I couldn't sleep either."
"Why didn't you use the intercom?" she demanded, plumping up the pillows behind her and glad that he could not see the foolish smile of happiness that was spreading over her features.
"There's no hookup on your phone," he explained. "I was afraid you wouldn't go downstairs to answer it if you knew it was only me."
She laughed. "You're probably right!" But she knew she would have raced to answer it if she had known it was he. "But you're on an extension, how did you ring me? You can't dial your own number!"
"That's a myth," he assured her. "And also my secret. Now that we've covered all the intricacies of modern technology, how are you? Okay?"
Her face softened as she sensed the real seriousness behind his tone, and she replied softly, "Yes, I'm okay."
"I was worried about you," he said quietly.
She sighed and closed her eyes. "Oh, Kyle… I'm sorry I acted like such a fool tonight."
"That's perfectly all right," he replied. She could conjure up his face behind her closed eyes: sensitive and perceptive, and now touched by just a hint of wry humor. "I think indecision is a relative
ly well-known feminine attribute."
She managed a small laugh. "One you've never been afflicted with, of course!"
"I have many vices," he assured her. "Indecision is not one of them. When I know what I want, I never change my mind. And," he added, "I know I want you."
She caught her breath. She was moved by an urge to tease him out of what was becoming a very serious conversation. "You only want me because I'm convenient," she retorted.
But he refused to play. His voice was deep and musical, and the sound of it, even transformed by such an impersonal device as the telephone, sent a shiver up her spine. "I want you," he told her, "because you're you. Because you're sweet and funny and sad and cute. I want your great big eyes and your perky little nose and your soft, sweet mouth…" She was tingling all over and she wanted more than anything at that moment to touch him, to feel his strong fingers close firmly about hers… "I want you because you're special, Bobbie. You make me feel good just to be around. I like to see you smile. When you're hurting, I want to make you feel better." She heard his soft, slow intake of breath, and she felt yearning tighten within her at the tender words. Unexpected tears sprang to her eyes. "I just want to be with you, Bobbie," he finished simply.
She had not bargained for this. Her fingers clenched about the receiver as she fought back the wretched tears. The caring and the tenderness in his voice was more than she had planned for, and it touched something deep inside her and stirred it to raw, emotion-ridden life. "Oh, Kyle," she whispered at last. "I—"
"I hope you locked your door," he said suddenly, slowly.
She was startled. "W-why?"
"Because," he answered in a strange, restrained tone, "that's the only thing I can think of that's going to keep me away from you tonight—and I'm not so sure about that."
She found her throat was suddenly so tight she could not answer. Ask me, she thought, and I'll unlock it. But she was not certain she really wanted to. She was racked with confusion and yearning.
Then he said, his tone abruptly taking on its customary brightness, "Come to the window, then, and let me say good night."
She glanced across the room at the window. Curious, she got out of bed, trailing the telephone cord behind her, and demanded, "Can you see every room in the house from up there?"
"No," he replied. "I've got a good view of the ocean, the living room… and your bedroom." She pushed back the sheers and saw him silhouetted in the light of his own window. He lifted his hand to her. She could almost see his grin as he added, "You should close the draperies when you're dressing."
She gasped and fumbled ineffectually with the sheers, then remembered. "I did close them!" She had only pulled them back and opened the window to let in the night air while she was sleeping.
He laughed. "Scared you for a minute, didn't I?" Then he said, more softly, "Good night, Bobbie. Sleep well."
She replied, smiling into the telephone as she watched him across the lawn, "Good night."
She saw him replace the receiver, but he did not move away from the window. Finally she was the one who left, taking the telephone back to its table and turning off the light as she got into bed. She liked to think of him watching her while she slept.
Barbara had disturbing dreams that night, but that was not surprising. The dreams had come, off and on, since Daniel had first been taken ill. A result of stress, the doctor had said. He had prescribed some pills, but she didn't take them. Since being with Michael and Kate, she had slept relatively well, but considering the unsettling events of the day before, she supposed a restless night was only to be expected. She overslept and awoke a little groggy to the bright morning light.
Jojo was no longer at the foot of her bed, but she had left her bedroom door open and she assumed the poor beast had wandered downstairs in search of his breakfast. She dressed quickly in white ducks and a lavender tank top, taking time only to run a brush through her hair and catch it back at either side with combs before descending the stairs two at a time.
At the bottom of the flight she stopped. The first thing she noticed was Jojo's red form streaking by the window, and then she became aware of the aroma of coffee drifting through the house. For a moment she was confused, then she heard sounds from the guest room and she understood. Pausing on her way to the kitchen, she called around the corner, "Good morning, Kyle!"
His muffled voice returned, "Good morning, sleepyhead!"
Feeling absurdly happy, she went to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee.
He was at the desk when she came into the room, apparently deep in concentration on the text he was pecking out with deliberate slowness on the typewriter. She watched him for a moment, surprised at the warm emotions only the sight of him caused to seep through her. The cuffs of his pale beige western-print shirt were rolled up above the elbows, and his slim, competent hands, even when engaged in something so absurd as the hunt-and-peck typing he was doing now, fascinated her. He had stuck a pencil behind his ear, and his face was etched in lines of studied thoughtfulness.
She leaned against the door and sipped her coffee, amusement touching her face as she followed his absorbing struggle with the typewriter. Then she inquired, "Did you feed the dog?"
He did not look up. "Umm-hmm."
Then it occurred to her. She stood up straight. "How did you get in here?" she demanded suspiciously.
"With a key," he responded absently and hit another key.
"But last night you said— You asked me if I had locked the door…" She frowned with confusion.
Now he glanced up, and his eyes were touched by a brief spark of mischief. "I meant your bedroom door," he informed her. "The only door in the house to which I do not have a key."
For a moment she was nonplussed, and then she felt like laughing. She came over to the desk. "All right, get up. It will take you the rest of the day to type a paragraph at the rate you're going."
He looked up at her in mock insult. "What do you mean? I'll have you know I've already done a chapter this morning—while you were still sleeping."
She brought her brows together in disbelief. "It must have been a short chapter," she returned scornfully.
"Hush now." He turned back to the typewriter. "I'm in the middle of an inspiration."
She could not help shaking her head in amused exasperation as he typed out the last few deliberate letters. Then he rolled the paper out of the machine and presented it to her with a flourish.
At first glance she could tell the white paper was marred by only one line. She gave him a questioning look, but his face remained bland. Then she read the single sentence. It was:
Bobbie—Come live with me and be my love.
She, felt a tingle begin in her fingertips and spread in slow, soft waves in her cheeks. She did not know what to say, or do, or even think. The usual quips she found for such occasions simply would not serve. She felt his eyes on her, watching her, waiting for a reaction, but she could not look up from the page. It was only that the simple sentiment, so unexpected and so sweet, had touched her in a way she was totally unprepared to deal with.
After a long time she folded the paper into a neat square and looked up, managing a small smile. "We'd better get to work" was all she said.
Whatever emotion had been on his face was quickly wiped away as he reached across the desk to clasp her wrist. "No," he declared, pulling her around the desk to him. "I've been working all morning. I'd rather show you my house."
He pulled her down on his knee and rested his arm loosely around her waist as he reached for drawing paper and pencil. Although surprised to find herself in that position, she made no effort to rise as she inquired, "You mean your cabin in the woods? Do you have pictures of it? "
"No," he replied and began to sketch. "I haven't gotten around to it yet. It was just barely finished when I left for South America." Trees and mountains began to appear on the paper, as if by magic. "It's built over a stream," he told her, and a bubbling mountain stream appeared by
traces beneath his swiftly moving pencil. "A hot spring, really. Very handy in the winter for converting heat."
"And in the summer?"
"Well, the summers aren't exactly hot up there, so I've designed a deflector shield that works quite well." Sections of the house were sketched in. It proved to be an A-frame, three stories, with generous use of glass and railed balconies on the top floor. "Natural cedar siding," he explained, "with six-inch foam insulation and a rock foundation, of course, but that's not the sort of thing that needs to concern you. You're more interested in things like closet space and a modern kitchen and washer-dryer hookups, right?"
She laughed. "If I were buying it, I suppose so. I assume it has all those wonderful things?"
"And more," he assured her.
"It is built over a stream," she exclaimed as the front view was finished. "Just like a bridge! Why, I've never seen anything like that before!"
"The master bedroom," he said, touching a downstairs window with the point of his pencil, "is situated so that it sounds like you're sleeping right on the creek bank. I even managed to get a skylight, on this angle here, so when you're lying in bed, you can look up to see the stars and you could swear you were camping outside—without all the inconveniences of outdoor life, of course." He began to sketch a floor plan. "The entire west wall of the master bedroom is rock, with a fireplace," he explained. "Two walk-in closets, a twelve-by-twelve dressing room, and an adjoining bath with a garden tub. It really is a garden too; the outer wall is glass and looks out on an enclosed garden."
"Why, it's enormous," she exclaimed, impressed, and he began to draw the adjoining rooms. She pointed to another, slightly smaller room near the master bedroom. "What is this?"
"Nursery, of course," he answered, working on the kitchen. "Parents don't like to have their children's room too far from their own bedroom, and I never did think it was a good idea to put a child's room upstairs."
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