“All right. All right.” He moved a night stand to his side of the bed, set the lamp and the wooden chair leg on it, then switched off the light. After considerable rustling around, he slid into bed. “Careful you don't hit my cast with your sore foot. My socks and long johns won't stretch over it.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into the curve of his body.
His wonderful warmth enveloped her, and her muscles unclenched for the first time since she'd landed in Lewistown. She patted his jersey-clad arm. “Thanks,” she said sleepily, and sank into a delightfully warm oblivion.
Sometime during the night, she dreamed she was making love in a sun-drenched meadow. At first, she thought the man to be Mitch and she struggled to get free. Then he laughed and called her, Doc, and she realized it was Simon.
Her body came alive and that Simon should be the one who sparked it seemed not at all out of reason. As he bent over her, the sun's rays caught on his chestnut hair and turned it into a glowing crown. “You're the woman for me,” he said, and nuzzled her neck.
She awoke to find what she'd dreamed had been triggered by more than her subconscious. Simon's hand had worked its way under her pajama top and cupped her bare breast. His lips caressed her neck.
“Julie,” he whispered. “Julie, love.” His hand left her breast and moved across her abdomen.
She whimpered—a thin childlike sound. Not her. Never her. A golf-ball-sized lump jammed her throat. She slipped out of bed, crept into the bathroom and stayed there until the frigid cold drove her back.
The bed squeaked as she got in, waking Simon. He turned on the light. “You okay?”
“I'm just f-fine.” She forced her shivering body to be still.
He stared down at her with dream-clouded eyes. “Amy"—he moved closer, bent his head—"I need...” He brushed his fingers across her cheek and touched her bottom lip with his forefinger. “Amy, would it be all right if I kiss you?”
She felt his erection against her thigh and knew what he really wanted. “Yes,” she murmured, closing her eyes and tilting her chin. She cringed at her weakness—a strong woman wouldn't barter her body for a word, a touch, some show of tenderness to fill the void where her heart had once been.
His lips met hers, gentle, soft, questioning.
Blood that had been moving like slush through her veins warmed and her lips parted under his. Then, they were kissing hungrily as if neither of them would ever get enough. Yet, even then she could hear Mitch's jeering voice, “Why shouldn't I bed other women? You got about as much sex appeal as a dead fish.”
Simon unbuttoned her pajama jacket and covered her breast with his hand. “Um-m-m, you feel so nice.” Suddenly his entire body went rigid. “Oh, Christ!” He broke away from her, sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “It was you I touched in my dream, wasn't it? Holy Jesus, I'm as bad as that baboon who was pawing you.” He rose, picked up his clothes and marched into the bathroom.
She turned on her side, drew her knees up to her chest and let silent tears slide down her face. She ached, didn't know why she ached, and hurt too much to try and figure it out.
The bathroom door hinges creaked, footsteps crossed the floor and stopped by the bed. She didn't move and hoped he'd think she was asleep. He'd said women often came on to him, and she'd been like all the others. She cringed with shame. Now, he'd think she was starved for sex. She released a soft sob.
Simon uncovered her head, knelt on the floor and took her face in his hands. “Look at me, Amy,” he said in a soft voice.
She opened wet lashes and a tear escaped. He wiped it away with his fingers. “You're a very desirable woman, and don't you let my actions, or those of your ex-husband, make you think otherwise.”
His earnest hazel eyes stared into hers. “You're attractive, feminine, and caring. Everything a man would want in a woman.”
But she wasn't Julie. And at that moment she wanted very much to be her. She wanted to be loved and cared for in the way she knew he had Julie. Another tear spilled over.
His lower lip trembled and his eyes got wet looking. “Amy ... I needed the release you could give me.” His gaze sharpened. “But you knew that, didn't you?”
She sniffed and nodded.
“You deserve better than that.” He took out his handkerchief, wiped her face, and blew his nose. “A helluva lot better.”
She covered his hand with hers. “So do you, Simon.”
His mouth twisted. “One of these days you'll meet a guy who can love you as you should be loved.”
But he wasn't the one. He couldn't have made it any plainer. His gaze held hers until she said, “I know” to put his mind at ease.
He let out his breath. “Good.” He swept aside her tangled bangs and planted a kiss on her forehead. “You get some sleep. I'm going to walk around awhile. Don't be frightened'cause I'll stay close by.”
She managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Professor. I feel better now.”
His smile wobbled as much as hers. “So do I. For a change, I did something right.” He turned off the light, pushed the dresser away from the window, climbed through, and closed the window from the outside.
She slept thinly, aware of her unfulfilled needs, of the empty space beside her and Simon's lingering scent. The struggle to sleep strained her already frayed nerves, causing her mind to teem with scraps of unfinished business. The man who'd attacked her had flung her jacket aside. She had to find it. Her money, credit cards, and plane tickets were in an inside pocket.
Friday, October 28
When the sky began to lighten, she got out of bed. Her foot hurt and she felt as if every bone and muscle ached. Hobbling back and forth from suitcase to the bed, she pulled a pair of jeans over her pajama pants, donned a T-shirt and put a coral-colored sweater over the top. Today, she'd be warm.
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and heard Simon's words You're a desirable, attractive woman. She touched a bruise that extended from cheekbone to chin. What did he see that she couldn't?
Her glasses had gotten lost during the skirmish, so she put in her contacts. She seldom wore them. They were time consuming, a vanity item. Who needed to boost their self esteem? A laugh burst from her. She did, that's who.
She studied her eyes. Maybe a little vanity wasn't such a bad thing. After applying make-up, she softened the appearance of her unruly brown hair with a curling iron.
Perhaps if she ... Leaving the thought unfinished, she tried to move the bed from in front of the door. She couldn't budge it so she snatched the chair leg Simon had left behind, climbed out the window and headed up the street toward the vacant stone building.
As she neared it, her heart rate increased. She swallowed and no saliva moistened her cottony mouth. Straighten up, she told herself. Keep a cool head. She made a face. What an asinine suggestion. This time she was the victim, not the investigator, and the difference yawned wide as a canyon.
At the front entrance, she gripped her billy club and gave the door a shove. As she eased inside, a small animal squeaked and skittered through the litter. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she attempted to get her bearings. She took a step, waited and took another. Suddenly, a light flashed full in her eyes and she screamed.
“Sorry,” Simon said. “Didn't know it was you.”
She gulped air and waited for her pulse to slow. “Where'd you get the flashlight?”
“Borrowed it from the restaurant. Wanted to find your glasses.”
“Don't worry about them, it's my coat I need.”
They found it not too far from his crutches. Evidently, Cecil's mind had been on his pain instead of thievery because nothing had been taken.
Simon examined the badly bent crutch. “Maybe those jokers learned city dudes aren't so easy after all.” He slipped both under one arm. “Let's get something to eat.”
During breakfast Amy frowned and broke the rather uncomfortable silence that lay between them. “I hate to see those creeps get off scot-free, but i
f we file a report we'll have to come back when their case comes up.”
Simon set down his cup. “It's more complicated than that. The cook says the guards at the hospital are the only law White Bird has. The nearest sheriff is in Lewistown.”
She studied the purple bruises on his face. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Stiff and sore, but nothing serious. How about you?”
“The same.” She shrugged. “We can discuss what to do on the way.”
By the time they finished, the lights were on in Demski's Auto Repair. They went across the street and entered the glassed-in office. It was empty, but noises came from the garage portion. They followed the sounds.
Their Toyota and several other half-dismantled cars formed a straggly line leading up to a long tool bench. Nearby a tall, lean-bodied young man raised a cloud of dust as he pushed a broom across the floor. When he saw them approaching, he dropped his broom and loped toward them. He stopped several feet away and began to pick at the frayed cuff of his jacket.
“Good morning,” Simon said.
The young man raised his gaze to meet Simon's. “Hi, mister. I'm Donny Quinlan.”
Simon grasped his hand, shook it, and introduced himself and Amy.
The young man took in Simon's crutch and their bruised faces. “Gol—ly, you been in a wreck?”
Simon glanced at Amy and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you might say that.” He handed the young man the slip Boris Demski had given them the previous day. “Can we pick up our car?”
Donny stared at the piece of paper and handed it back. “I can't read.” He frowned. “My mother says I'm slow. I ... I guess I am, but...” His eyes lighted up. “But I can add better than she can.” He straightened bony shoulders. “And you know what?” His face beamed and he seemed about to explode.
“What?” Amy asked.
“I can pitch a baseball better than anybody in White Bird.”
Simon shifted his feet. “And all of them want you on their team.”
“Sure do.” He swelled his chest. “'cause I can pitch a no hit game.”
“I wasn't much of a baseball player,” Amy said. “How about you, Simon?”
“They called me, ‘No hope’ Kittredge. Couldn't hit, couldn't throw, couldn't catch.” He smiled at Donny. “I'll bet you know everybody in town, don't you?”
“Sure do.” He inched forward.
“You know a man named Bull?”
Donny grinned. “Everybody in White Bird does. That's Mr. Marchmont.” He snickered and looked at them with the clear and guileless eyes of a child. “I heard the guys say it's a fittin’ name. Him bein’ penned up like he is with a bunch of heifers.”
“Shut your trap, Donny.”
Amy turned to see the garage owner standing in the office doorway.
A fit of coughing bent the man over. When he recovered, he glowered at the young man who stood with hunched shoulders and bowed head. “I pay you to sweep, not work your jaws, so get to it. Ya hear?”
Donny shuffled over to the work bench and picked up his broom, then his head came up. “I can add better'n you too.”
“Don't pay the boy no mind,” Demski said, raising his voice so Donny couldn't help hearing him. “He's missing two-thirds of his cogs.” He held the door open. “Come in, and we'll get your paper work done so you can be on your way.”
Simon held back. “Be right with you.” He guided Amy to the other side of the Toyota and took a twenty dollar bill from his wallet. “If you can get Donny aside, give him this. Tell him to buy a new mitt, or something. The only honest person in this town deserves some kind of reward.”
She smiled. “I like you, Simon Kittredge. You're a nice man.”
He met her gaze somewhat shyly. “Not all the time.” He drew his eyebrows together. “Sounds as if reporting those two guys would be useless.”
She nodded. “That creep said this town knows who butters its bread.” Simon rejoined Demski and she walked over to Donny.
He gazed at her with a sad expression. “Makes me feel bad, when Mr. Demski says things like that about me.”
She patted his shoulder. “Just believe in yourself. What others think doesn't matter.”
“Really?” He began to pick at his coat sleeve again. “People tease me a lot you know.”
“Ignore them. You're the best pitcher in town, aren't you?”
“Yeah...”
“That's something no one else can say, right?”
He grinned. “Sure can't. I'm the best, that's what Miss Dorset always said. Once she took my picture and they put it in the Lewistown paper.”
Amy's heart gave a bound. “When was that?”
He frowned and scraped his toe on the cement. “I can't remember.” He brightened. “She was a real, nice lady. Helped my mom, when she got sick and ... and lots of other people too.”
“Why did she leave White Bird?”
Donny squirmed and his gaze dropped to the floor. “Uh ... I gotta get to work now.”
In Lewistown, a doctor sutured the wound in her foot and gave her a tetanus and penicillin injection. Afterwards they had two hours to squander until the plane departed so she and Simon split up. Lewistown was the county seat, so Simon decided to speak to the Town Clerk, while Amy went to the newspaper office. If some sort of scandal had taken place in White Bird three years ago perhaps it'd be documented in one place or the other.
Later, when they met at the airport, she told him of finding the article about Donny and that it had had Elise Dorset's byline. In her search, she'd found other human interest stories written by Elise, but nothing about White Bird that'd cause the reactions they'd observed.
“Strange,” Simon said. “I wonder why she never mentioned her writing to me.”
“Perhaps she didn't feel hers was in the same class with yours.”
“I could have helped her. It would have given us a common bond. That's more than—"He abandoned the thought and told her that he'd located records of Elise's birth and the death of her parents and that was all.
He sat silent for several minutes before he stirred restlessly and said, “Some day, I'm going to launch a full scale investigation of Wade Marchmont's operation. People who have total power bring out the Don Quixote in me.
Amy grinned. “From the looks of you, your windmill got in some good licks, Quixote.”
He returned the grin. “Judge not by appearances my skeptical friend. My flesh may be weak"—he thumped his chest—"but inside this battered body beats a heart as fierce as a lion's.”
On the way back to Seattle, she and Simon slept most of the way. Their plane arrived at 7 p.m. She took Simon to his condo and carried his luggage inside.
“Amy...” Simon lifted his hands as if to put them on her shoulders. An uncertain expression crossed his face and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead. “I couldn't have made this trip without you.” He raised his gaze to meet hers. “That's not an easy admission to make. I've always prided myself on my independence.”
Amy smiled and shook his hand. “Welcome Brother Kittredge. I'm a lifetime member of the ‘I'd rather do it myself club.'”
He chuckled. “I'd never have guessed.”
Her cheeks warmed as he continued to hold onto her hand.
He cleared his throat. “The traffic's terrible. You're not planning on going to the island tonight are you?”
She ran her tongue along her upper lip, saw the color deepen in his eyes and the heat in her cheeks grew more intense. “No, I thought I...” Her mind went blank and she searched wildly through her tangled thoughts for the ones she'd lost. “I think I'll wait until morning.”
“Great. Go home and take a hot bath.” He smiled and she answered it, knowing they were both picturing that awful motel. “And get a good rest. Call me if anything new comes up.” He took out a three by five card and wrote down several numbers.
He moved with her to the door. “Thanks, Amy.”
She looked up at him. “What for
?”
He frowned and gazed at some point above her head. “I don't quite know. But I think it's for just being you.”
When she reached her apartment, she checked her answering machine and found she'd forgotten to turn it on. She swore and called her father. He didn't answer and his message phone wasn't on either. Prescott absent-mindedness must be hereditary. She filled the bath tub, poured in her most expensive bath salts and soaked for half an hour.
Afterwards, she donned pajamas and a robe and dialed her father again. Still no answer. She looked at the clock—9 p.m.—he was almost always home by this time. She made a cup of tea and dialed the number again. No answer. He could be out on a case. She roamed the apartment fluffing pillows, dusting shelves, straightening books.
At ten, she dialed the island again. When her father didn't answer, she tried her aunt's number. Perhaps, she would know where he'd gone. Oren answered on the first ring.
“I'm glad you called,” he said, as soon as she greeted him. “I've been sitting here wondering how to reach you.”
A chill crept along her skin. “What's wrong?”
“B.J.'s been hurt.”
A quivering began inside her. “Hurt? How?”
“Someone found him on the road between your place and Lomitas Harbor about two hours ago. He's badly injured and unconscious. The sheriff thinks a car hit him.”
“Where ... where is he?”
“He was airlifted to Harborview Medical Center in Seattle. Mom caught the eight o'clock ferry, she should be there by now.”
Numb with shock, Amy thanked him, hung up, and got dressed. As she grabbed her coat from the closet, the phone rang and her heart gave a fearful thump. Her hand shook as she picked up the receiver and answered.
“Amy,” Simon said. “I've just heard the most wonderful news.”
“I'll call you in the morning,” she said quickly, “I'm on my way to the hospital.”
“Hospital? What for?”
“Dad's been injured. Oren says he may have been hit by a car. I've got to go, Simon. Talk to you later.”
“I'll meet you at the hospital.”
“No, Simon...” she began, but the line had already gone dead.
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