Twice in a Lifetime

by Rebecca Flanders

  Barbara did not press him for details, and they spent that afternoon ironing out the details of a few other projects Mr. Daily particularly wanted to have out of the way before the midmorning conference he had scheduled with the client they had traveled across the country to meet.

  The automobile ride the next day was over an hour through mountainous Oregon countryside, beyond the cities and the suburbs, through national forests, and Barbara complained, "This is really ridiculous, you know. Couldn't your very important client have at least made an effort to meet us at our hotel? There are conference rooms for that sort of thing, you know."

  "He's a little eccentric," admitted Mr. Daily. "Doesn't like to travel."

  Barbara thought, Oh, brother. A weekend in a mountain lodge with an eccentric inventor could mean anything from three-martini lunches and wild parties all through the night to garbled ramblings and mad-scientist-type inspirations, none of which forecasted a very productive working weekend. She wished she had stayed at home and painted the nursery.

  She tried to enjoy the passing scenery, which, on the first of September, was already tinged red and gold and orange against the blue and shadowy background of white-capped mountains. She had to grudgingly admit that the view was almost worth the trip, but she couldn't shake the feeling that this was going to be a wasted weekend.

  They turned off the main road onto a short, tree-lined drive, and Barbara drew in her breath as they got out of the car. "What a beautiful house!" she exclaimed as her employer reached inside for their briefcases.

  Set against the background of snowcapped mountains and surrounded by brilliantly colored deciduous trees, it was a three-story cedar A-frame that blended effortlessly into the environment of natural beauty. A suspension footbridge led to the front door across a musical, rushing stream, and she stepped onto it, charmed and at the same time struck by something almost familiar about the place…

  The front door opened and he came out.

  He was wearing a low-necked casual tweed sweater, jeans, and sneakers. His tan was striking and brilliant in the noonday sun and so were the streaks in his ruffled hair. For a moment nothing moved at all, even the wind seemed to still and the birds stopped singing, and then she was running.

  He caught her against him in the middle of the bridge, her joyous cry was muffled in his neck, and the suspension bridge rocked crazily in the violence of their embrace. She whispered, in a half-choked gasp, "Kyle!" and he held her tighter, his face rough and warm against her neck, threatening to crush her ribs, and for a moment he seemed incapable of saying anything.

  They both became aware of the amused spectator-ship of Roger Daily at the same time, and Kyle set her on her feet again, looking down at her with eyes sparkling madly. Electricity coursed through the firm grip of his hands on hers and set every fiber of her body to tingling as he demanded, "Surprised?"

  She turned to Mr. Daily, trying unsuccessfully to disguise the radiant joy in her face with severity as she accused, "This was all a trick!"

  "I certainly hope not," replied her boss, although his eyes too were sparkling with pleasure. "I don't mind doing a little something to further the cause of romance now and again, but I do expect to get a little work done this weekend!"

  "And so you shall," declared Kyle expansively, pulling Barbara's arm protectively through his. "We're going to get that out of the way first thing."

  "You mean you really are a client?" questioned Barbara, amazed.

  "Well, certainly," replied Kyle, leading the way across the bridge and then around the house. "How do you think Roger got to know Mike in the first place? He's marketed all my designs for energy-saving gadgets. I told you about them, remember?" Barbara could only shake her head in helpless wonder that there seemed to be nothing Kyle could not do. He simply shrugged and went on, "Well, this one is a new type of heat pump that I plan to be using for commercial buildings, and I'm really anxious to see it on the market, but we'll get into all that later. If it's not too chilly for you two," he suggested, glancing over his shoulder at Roger, "we'll work on the deck. It gets the afternoon sun and it's better than being cooped up in the house all day. I have everything set up and we can get right to work."

  Mr. Daily enthusiastically agreed, and Barbara felt like Alice in Wonderland. "But," she managed in a moment, looking questioningly at Kyle, "I thought you were in Mexico!"

  "I was," he replied. They came around the back of the house and to a set of steps that led to a large redwood deck overlooking the stream and the panorama of fall colors spreading below them as far as the eye could see. "I just got in last night."

  "But," she insisted, still confused, "why didn't you just come home?"

  "This is home," he reminded her gently and pulled up a padded deck chair for her. "Now," he said brusquely, "to work. I don't want to spend all day on this thing."

  Kyle brought a platter of sandwiches and soft drinks, and Barbara knew from experience that when he said work he meant just that. But she was in a daze. The interchange between the two men went over her head and several times she had to ask them to repeat questions that were directed at her. At first she found herself repeatedly looking for an excuse to touch him—his hand, his shoulder, his jeaned knee under the table—just to assure herself he was really there. But every time she did she could see his face soften, his concentration falter, and his body tense with the effort to maintain his thought, and she had to force herself to find a position less close to him. She tried to make herself focus on the present purpose of the meeting, and she was even able to insert one or two suggestions. And as the late afternoon sun began to glitter on the treetops, Roger Daily gathered up his papers and announced, "That should do it, then. Kyle, you're amazing. It would have taken twice as long to get this mapped out with any other man."

  Kyle grinned and his eyes wandered to Barbara with a promise that made her start to tingle all over again. "I was in a hurry," he said. He stood as the other man did and added, "Make me a million on this one; I'm going to need it."

  Mr. Daily glanced at him curiously. "Oh? Problems?"

  "I'll explain it all to you another time," Kyle assured him and shook his head. "Roger, thanks— for everything."

  "No problem at all," he replied, and then glanced at Barbara, his eyes twinkling. "If you have no objections, young lady, I believe I'll go on back to the hotel. Since we finished up so much sooner than I planned, I might even see if I can get an earlier flight home. Do you think you can trust this renegade to get you on a flight to Maine sometime within the next week or so?"

  Barbara laughed Happily and teased, "But you're supposed to be chaperoning me! What will your wife say?"

  He winked and assured her, "I think she'll say I left you in very good hands."

  They walked around to the front to see him off, holding hands, and hardly had the black tail of the car disappeared from sight before Kyle turned and drew her into his arms. "Now," he whispered huskily, his eyes searching her face eagerly and hungrily, "let's get this reunion off to a proper start."

  Their kiss was a melding of spirits, a wild explosion of joy that met passion and surpassed it, a deep contentment, an end to a yearning, a beginning of an adventure. It was like coming home. They each emerged weakened and strangely fortified, and stood for endless moments more on the swaying footbridge beneath the slanting sun, holding each other, their hearts and their breaths in unison. Time stood still when they were in one another's arms.

  Then Barbara looked up, caressing his face, loving every line and plane of it and expressing it in the gentle touch of her fingers. She said softly, "I still don't understand. Why did you bring me here?"

  "I wanted you to see my house," he explained simply.

  She smiled. "We still haven't been inside."

  "That," he assured her, slipping his arm about her waist, "is an oversight I was just about to correct."

  He led her inside, and the multiple windows illuminated a vast and empty room covered in dark gray carpeting and pane
led in a lighter gray driftwood. "But," she exclaimed, standing still, "it's not furnished! No wonder it seemed so empty to you!"

  "Furnishings," he told her simply, "are something that should be chosen by both the people who live here. Naturally I wouldn't do anything without consulting you first." A small warm thrill went through her, but he did not give her a chance to speak. "Of course, I had to have a bedroom suite," he went on, "and I've put a few things in my study." He opened the door first on a large unfurnished room, which, she remembered, he had designated as a nursery. "I'd like to do a mural on these walls," he suggested. "What do you think?"

  She took a step inside. It was bright and airy with many high windows and sunshine-yellow carpeting on the floor. "It certainly is big," she commented.

  "I expect to have a large family," he told her, and again she felt that alien little thrill go through her.

  He took her on a whirlwind tour, the kitchen, second-floor rooms, his upstairs glass study, ending at last in the master bedroom, which was furnished simply with a king-size bed and matching teakwood bureaus, crying out for the finishing decorative touches that would make it look permanent and lived in. She looked at him, a small smile tightening the corners of her mouth. "Kyle," she said, "you didn't even know me when you built this house. You should have furnished it to your own taste."

  "After I met you," he answered her seriously, "I didn't want to."

  He kissed her, and this time passion had full rein. Heat coursed through her body as his restless hands roamed delicately over her thighs and hips and back, teasing the zipper of her dress, and the bed was only a few steps away. Suddenly he pushed her away, his eyes dark with passion and unreadable, and in the same motion he caught her hand. "Let's take a walk," he said abruptly.

  She could not help laughing as she allowed him to pull her rapidly out of the bedroom. Her happiness was bubbling over, and there was time, plenty of time. For the moment just being with him was more than she had dared dream of.

  They walked along the silent mountain trail by which the car had come, and Kyle said, "I jog along this road every morning and don't see a soul for miles. When the sun comes up, it's like being on another planet. The colors are so rich and pure, and even the quality of the air is different from anywhere else I've ever been. I love it up here, Bobbie."

  "It is beautiful," she agreed softly.

  He turned to her, the hint of a question in his eyes, but then he carefully subdued it and said instead, "I want to do it, Bobbie. Get out of the business, try to paint for a living." His hand tightened around hers as he looked at her, his eyes dark with intensity. "You know it's what I've always wanted to do, but until you I didn't have the courage to just chuck it all and start a new life. Now I know it's the only thing in the world I want to do."

  "Oh, Kyle," she cried, her eyes shining with enthusiasm as she turned to him. "I think that's wonderful!" She could not restrain herself from throwing her arms around his neck. "You know that's what I've always thought you should do! I'm so glad!"

  He caught her arms, looking down at her with a cautious excitement as he questioned, "Are you? Do you really think it's best?"

  She nodded enthusiastically and this time he returned her hug. After a moment they began walking again, and he went on. "It won't be easy, at first. I'm not exactly a millionaire," he told her seriously, "but I'm not a pauper, either. I have a few investments, and my patents, and the house and this property are mine."

  She laughed. "You sound like a prospective suitor trying to prove his worth to a Victorian father!"

  "That's exactly," he told her, only the faintest hint of a smile in his eyes, "what I am—a suitor."

  Her laughter died into sudden nervousness.

  "Of course," he went on quickly, "I'll probably still do a little designing now and then—houses, not buildings. It will take me a couple of months to wind up everything I'm working on now, but after that—" He stopped and turned to her. "The important thing," he said, searching her eyes deeply, "is that I will have time, time with my family."

  She dropped her eyes, her throat suddenly dry with speechlessness.

  She felt his hands on her shoulders and he said quietly, "I only want to be with you, Bobbie. Could you live here and share my life?"

  She raised her eyes to his, deep and shining with the simplicity of the need that was filling every part of her, and she whispered, "I—I want to be with you too, Kyle."

  He pulled her to him, and his lips were desperate upon hers with a quiet demand, a forceful possessive-ness, a deep yearning. She yielded to him for the first time completely, for the first time with all of herself. And when he drew away gently, she knew her life would never be the same.

  "Bobbie," he whispered, his fingers tight upon her shoulders and his eyes burning their intensity into hers, "listen to me. We can't have this thing between us any longer. People die, Bobbie, people cheat on each other and leave each other and hurt each other every day, and leave a string of innocent victims behind. If I had the power over life and death," he told her lowly, his fingers tightening, "I could promise you you would never be hurt again. But I can promise you that nothing that is in my power to control will ever hurt you, not ever. Oh, Bobbie, is that enough?"

  She looked at him, and the rosy-golden shades of the sunset played in her hair and across her face, illuminating eyes that no longer had anything to hide. She whispered, "I love you, Kyle."

  He drew her slowly into his embrace, tender and warm, simply holding her. And after a long time he said softly, "It's enough."

  They turned and started walking back to the house, their arms around one another, and time stretched out benignly before them. On the bridge he stopped and, taking her left hand, slowly slipped the wedding band off her finger. She caught her breath, her eyes searching his anxiously, and then he took her right hand and placed the ring on its third finger. He smiled. "All right?"

  She smiled and nodded, dropping her eyes to the bare finger of her left hand. She knew it would not be bare for long. And there was room in her life for both a memory and a love, side by side, separate and different.

  In the house she felt the need to break the spell that had fallen over them with simple, sensible, and mundane matters. She declared, making her way to the kitchen, "You have that hungry look on your face. What shall I make you for dinner?"

  His smile was lazy and provocative as he leaned against the bar, watching her. "That hungry look," he replied, "doesn't necessarily have anything at all to do with food."

  She opened the refrigerator door to hide a blush that was mostly from anticipation. "Eggs, cheese, milk…" she inventoried out loud. "Not much of a selection."

  "I told you I just got in last night," he apologized. "I didn't have time to buy much."

  She heard his steps behind her and felt his shadow fall over her as he reached around her and pushed the refrigerator door closed. When she turned, his face was very close, the meaning in his eyes unmistakable. "We'll eat later," he said and swept her off her feet.

  He carried her across the echoing emptiness of the house and into the bedroom; she pressed her face against his chest and tightened her arms around his neck as he kicked the bedroom door closed. Her heart was thudding so loudly it seemed to reverberate throughout her body, and it was difficult to distinguish the rhythm of her own heart from his. He lowered her gently to the bed, and then she felt his weight beside her, the fan of his breath on her cheek, the light touch of his lips on her hair. "I love you," he whispered and took her face in his hands, his eyes dark with tenderness and sincerity. "Forever." His lips came down upon hers and she wound her arms around his neck, welcoming him with a promise that was just as deep, just as unshakable, as his.

  The slatted wooden blinds on the window cast dusky patterns of light and shadow on their bodies, and their lovemaking was slow and exquisite. Time seemed to stretch out forever in their reverent and unhurried exploration of one another, as they tasted, touched, felt, every nuance of pleasure and m
emorized to the finest detail the magic of the sensual and richly emotional experience of their union. Forever took, on a new meaning to Barbara, filling the empty places of her life with the promise of his presence even as his body reminded her she was only half complete when separate from him. She wrapped herself around him, fully a part of him, and joy like none she had ever known swept her away in waves of shimmering ecstasy. Forever, with Kyle, was more than she had ever dared hope for from life and all she wanted, and she loved him with all her heart.

  She must have dozed, for the shrilling of the telephone caused her to open her eyes to a blue-gray twilit room and Kyle smiling lazily down at her. His arms were warm around her and his skin was pleasantly fragrant with the scent of his cologne and the aftermath of their lovemaking. She stirred and smiled and reached to brush away a lock of hair from his forehead. The telephone continued to ring. "Aren't you going to answer it?" she murmured.

  "I'd rather make love to you," he replied and did not take his eyes away from the tender appraisal of her face.

  "Later," she promised, and he dropped a light, lingering kiss on her lips before swinging his legs to the floor and reaching for the telephone.

  After his first rather curt "Hello" Barbara knew something was wrong. His color faded beneath the tan, his lips grew white, his eyes darkened. Something was terribly wrong, and Barbara's first panic-stricken thought was Kate. Something's happened to the baby. She sat up, touching his arm anxiously.

  She heard him say in an odd, unsteady tone, "I'll be on the next flight." Then he slowly replaced the receiver.

  "Kyle," she insisted, fear mounting. "What is it? What's wrong?"