by Bonnie Pega
“Would you happen to have any coffee on hand?”
Caitlin shook her head a little. She figured Max would be a coffee drinker. Obviously, he didn’t know about all the deleterious effects caffeine had on the human body. “I’ll see what I can find.” With an effort she released her grip on the wooden frame and went back into the kitchen.
Max followed her and watched as she put on a pot of water to boil, then rummaged through her kitchen cabinets. So far he’d come up with two intriguing pieces to the puzzle. One, Caitlin did not like to be touched. Two, she panicked when someone came up behind her without warning. Max considered this for a moment and didn’t like the picture he came up with. Had Caitlin been married to an abuser? He had never considered himself the violent sort, but he’d love to get his hands on the guy, whoever he was. Ten minutes with him, that was all he’d need to even the score. Hell, he’d take five minutes.
Caitlin couldn’t help but be aware of his considering looks. As a matter of fact, she had just realized that she seemed to know whenever Max looked at her, as if she had built-in radar where he was concerned. She frowned at the thought as she set a steaming cup in front of him. “Um, I managed to find a jar of instant decaf. I’m not sure how old it is, but I guess that kind of coffee doesn’t spoil or anything, does it?”
Max gave a weak smile and surreptitiously sniffed the brew, just to make sure it didn’t smell of some unknown substance. Obviously cooking was not one of her strong points. A sudden picture of the clutter in her living room flashed through his head. Apparently, neither was housekeeping.
Just then a flesh-colored blur partially wrapped in blue terry cloth came dashing out of the bathroom, ran down the hall and up the stairs, dripping water all the way.
“Jordan?” Caitlin called after his disappearing figure. “Next time, dry yourself before you leave the bathroom.” With a shrug she reached for the sponge mop and blotted up the trail of water spots. She looked up to see Max’s grin.
“He’s some kid, isn’t he?” he commented.
“He is that,” she agreed softly. “He’s a real mess sometimes, and too clever for his own good, but he’s the most important thing in my life.”
“Does, ah, your ex-husband see Jordan very often?”
Max knew he’d broached a taboo subject when her eyes shuttered and she averted her head. He expected her to ignore his ill-timed question, but to his surprise she murmured, “I’ve never been married.” Her voice held a slight trace of defiance, as if daring him to say anything about it.
Max fell silent. So she was an unwed mother. The idea didn’t bother him at all. In this day and age, when alternatives were so readily available, he admired that she’d chosen to keep and raise her child. “You’ve done a wonderful job with him,” he said, mentally filing away the fact that she hadn’t been married to an abusive husband.
“You really think so?” She turned to look at Max, her face earnest. “I’ve tried, but sometimes it’s hard. I mean, with the business and all, I don’t exactly run my life on a schedule or anything.”
“He seems happy and healthy. He’s polite, friendly, and normally rambunctious. That means he’s well adjusted. Remember, I have three nephews. That qualifies me as an expert on kids.”
She smiled a little. “Oh, it does, does it?”
“Just call me Dr. Spock.”
Caitlin’s smile widened. “Oh, do you want some more coffee?” She gestured at his nearly empty cup. “There’s more in the jar.”
“No, thanks anyway. I better be—”
“Mom?” Jordan called from the top of the stairs. “I’m ready to go to bed now.”
“Okay, honey,” Caitlin called back. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
“Can Max say good night too?”
She quickly looked at Max, and he nodded. “Yes, Jordie.”
They went up, and Caitlin watched Max with thoughtful eyes as he sat on the edge of Jordan’s bed and told Jordan a funny story with obvious relish. Maybe it was the time he spent with his three nephews, but Max acted so natural, so comfortable with Jordan and, of course, Jordan responded to this interest without reservation.
Her heart ached a little. She knew Jordan hungered for a male influence in his life. Rick had tried, whenever possible, to include Jordan in his activities with his son, like camping and backyard baseball, but it wasn’t the same as having a male’s undivided attention. It was no wonder he’d responded so quickly to Max.
But she worried Jordan would end up being hurt. After all, Max was going to be around for only a week or two longer. How was Jordan going to feel when Max went on to the next job? Perhaps she should stop this before it went any further. Not that she was involved with Max, but she had let him sort of barge his way in. She needed to make Max back off. She tried to ignore the twinge of pain that thought caused as she watched Max give Jordan a friendly hug.
Caitlin fell silent as she and Max went back downstairs, thoughts tumbling one after the other through her head. She had to have time to get her head together. She walked straight to the front door and opened it, letting Max know without words that he was being told to leave.
“Thank you for dinner,” he said, then smiled wryly. “And thanks for the—ahem!—breath of fresh air.”
An answering smile, albeit a small one, curved her lips. “I’ll have the contract for you in a couple of days. It was nice of you to bring it by.”
Max reached over and took Caitlin’s hand. He pretended not to notice her subtle efforts to pull it away as he held it cradled between both of his. “I guess I owe you a dinner now. How about one night this week? You can bring Jordie if you like.”
Caitlin felt a trembling begin deep inside when Max’s thumb started tracing circles in her palm. “I, uh, dinner’s not necessary.”
“Oh, but it is. You fed me.”
The trembling spread to her legs. “Consider it thanks for letting Jordie and his friend use your car phone.”
“Letting the boys use my phone was my pleasure, so I still owe you a dinner.”
“That’s okay,” she insisted breathlessly, trying once more to slide her hand from between his. “It was just a sandwich.”
Max tightened his warm grip, both of his thumbs now massaging the sensitive inside of her wrist. “Oh, but I insist on paying you back with dinner. What night?”
Caitlin gave one more tug, and this time met with success. “Thanks anyway, Max, but no.”
“How about Friday night?” He did not give up easily.
Caitlin drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I don’t date.” She opened the screen door. “If you come to the greenhouse tomorrow, you’d better wait until after lunch. Mornings are pretty hectic. You may want to wear jeans and a T-shirt since it’s supposed to be hot again. Good night, Max.” Her no-nonsense tone told him not to push his luck any further.
Max didn’t often do as he was told. He slid a finger under her chin and tilted her head. “Such a stubborn chin,” he murmured just before brushing his lips across hers. “But stubbornness intrigues me.” He brushed another kiss across her nose. “Good night, Cait.”
“Caitlin,” she corrected him automatically.
“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. Maybe we can decide where to go to dinner on Friday.” He flashed a quick grin, pressed a brief kiss on her lips, and left, not giving her a chance to say anything.
Caitlin closed the door, then leaned back against it. Those kisses hadn’t even lasted long enough for the fear to start, so how come they had lasted long enough for her lips to still be tingling from his touch? Every time he touched her, her body seemed to turn traitor. Her breasts swelled and ached with loneliness. Her hands seemed to move toward him as if attracted by magnets. Why? What was there about this one man that sent her hormone production into overdrive?
Caitlin continued to ponder that question as she lay in bed a couple of hours later staring at the ceiling. She felt like a child playing with matches. She knew she was going to be hurt and she was afraid,
but she kept right on, fascinated by the warm, bright flame.
The next morning Caitlin decided not to go by the greenhouse right away. Instead, she went by the office supply company that Max had recommended. An hour later she left, her car loaded with almost everything Max had told her to get. She had even placed an order for letterhead stationery. After all, she’d been in business for some time now, and she felt her correspondence should look professional.
Out of curiosity she had priced a couple of the new electronic typewriters but decided that she got along just fine with her twelve-year-old electric. Actually she had an uneasy truce with it. True, the Z and the Q stuck a little, but she didn’t use those letters very often anyway. She didn’t want to press her luck with a fancy, expensive machine, only to find out it hated her.
By a quarter to one, Caitlin had watered the entire greenhouse and spent two hours on the telephone. She was putting together an order of two hundred assorted potted herbs to be picked up the next day, when the sound of shoes scrunching across the gravel brought up her head. It was Max. Her heart pounded a little faster, but she decided it was because he’d startled her. She hid a smile when she noticed what he wore. If those clothes were his idea of casual, he needed lessons.
He wore dress slacks and another pristine white shirt with a maroon tie. In concession to the heat, he’d left off the jacket, but he still wore those expensive leather shoes. Maybe it was just as well he didn’t show up in jeans. She had a feeling that his long legs and narrow hips outlined in tight denim would thoroughly arouse her libido.
“Hi,” Caitlin said, feeling somewhat shy. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes. I need to finish getting this order together.”
“Can I help?” Max asked as his eyes swept over her. Jeans again. He stifled a sigh. He knew dresses wouldn’t exactly be appropriate for working in a greenhouse, but he had a sudden longing to see her bare legs again. Of course, the way the snug denim hugged her firm bottom wasn’t bad, and he really couldn’t complain about the way the pink T-shirt clung to her breasts.
“If you want. Right now I’m picking twenty-five pots of sweet basil—that’s what’s on this end of the table here—and putting them into these boxes. You could turn to that table right behind you and pick twenty-five pots of garlic chives—that’s the grassy-looking stuff—and put them into this box right here.”
As Caitlin talked, she finished packing the basil and moved on to English lavender. She savored the spicy scent as she began loading them.
“Now what?” Max asked when he was done with his task.
“Now I’m going to carry the boxes up to the front, by the door, so they’ll be ready to be picked up first thing in the morning.”
“Was that what those boxes up there were? I noticed them when I came in.”
“That’s right. Customers send their trucks for them. I already have a box of Italian parsley, one of sage, one of thyme, one of lemon balm. And one of tarragon. They’re for The Green Unicorn. That’s a retail plant shop in Richmond.”
“These are all for cooking, right?”
Caitlin grinned. “No bubbling caldrons today. Sorry to disappoint you. Although parsley is a natural diuretic, and tea made from sage or thyme is supposed to help upset stomachs.”
“It would give me one,” Max mumbled as he followed Caitlin to the office.
When Max saw the bags of supplies on the desk, he gave a low whistle. “You actually got these.”
“You said I needed them, didn’t you?”
“Well, you seemed reluctant—”
“Not about average, everyday office supplies. The only thing I objected to was the computer,” Caitlin reminded him.
“And that’s the one thing that you could really put to good use. If you could only see what it—”
“Here, kitty, kitty,” Caitlin interrupted him.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m calling Charlemagne. Now that I know he’s an attack cat, I’m going to train him to get you every time you mention computers in that besotted tone of voice.”
“Besotted!” Max protested. “What do you mean, besotted?”
“Just what I said. You start going on about computers in the same reverent voice that Jordan uses when he talks about his favorite baseball player.”
“I do not!”
Caitlin smiled. “Oh, yes, you dooooo,” she singsonged.
“Oh, no, I dooon’t,” Max sang back, and took a step toward her.
“Do too!” she teased.
“Do not!” He took another step toward her.
“Too!”
“Not!” Max took one more step, then placed his hands on the desk, one on either side of her, effectively trapping her. His eyes greedily fastened on her mouth.
“I am not besotted with computers,” he murmured, his warm breath fanning her cheek. “The only thing I seem to be besotted with these days is a pint-sized angel with golden curls and chocolate-brown eyes.” He lowered his head and feathered soft kisses across her cheek to her mouth.
“No—” was all Caitlin got out before his lips moved over hers. As delicate as a baby’s touch, as warm as a summer day, his lips seduced until hers softened in surrender.
Caitlin quivered at the hot, weak feeling that suffused her. Her hands fluttered up and lay, open-palmed, on his chest. Her mouth opened to the persistent urging of his tongue, and with a groan of triumph he moved in to explore this new territory as his arms tightened around her.
One minute she was feeling the heat of his body, the beating of his heart. The next, her private demon infused her hands with the strength necessary to push him away.
Max stared at her for a long moment before he realized that it was terror, not passion, that glazed her eyes. Her lips had tasted so sweet, so right, and only the blind panic that flared in her unseeing gaze kept Max from pulling her back. He took a deep breath, realizing that he’d crossed some invisible barrier.
The fear on her face ate at him like acid, and he knew he had to do something to ease it. He tentatively reached out a hand and ran his fingers gently down her cheek, all the while murmuring reassurances. He wasn’t even sure what he said, but it didn’t seem to matter.
After a minute or two Caitlin blinked and gave a tremulous smile. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was a choked whisper, and a dull flush crept up her cheeks. “I’m all right.”
“You want to talk about it, Cait?” Max’s voice was steady. Amazing, he thought, considering the confusion inside.
Caitlin shook her head vigorously, refusing to meet his eyes. “No.”
“For God’s sake! What happened to you? Who did this to you?” The words burst out before Max could stop them. A stricken look crossed her face.
“Caitlin,” he began more calmly, but she whirled and ran out of the office before he could reach out a hand to her.
“You want to tell me why you’re here in the middle of the day instead of at work?” Donna asked as she set iced herb tea in front of Caitlin.
Caitlin picked up her glass and took a sip. “Can’t I just come visit a friend if I want?”
“You don’t usually,” Donna replied dryly. “Not during a business day.”
“Maybe I just felt like seeing a friend today,” Caitlin said defensively.
“Maybe you just needed to talk to somebody today.”
Caitlin’s voice was almost a whisper. “Maybe I did.”
“So talk.”
Silence fell for a long moment, then Caitlin said, “I’m thinking about calling Dr. Atlee.”
Donna pondered this briefly. “Your therapist?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you stopped seeing her several years ago because she wasn’t helping.”
Caitlin sighed. “I stopped seeing her because she told me I was clinging to fear because it was safer than dealing with other feelings. I didn’t want to hear that. I wanted her to say some magic words and make all the fear go away.”
“And now?”
“Now I think I understand what she meant. It was safer to be afraid than to risk being hurt emotionally. But I’m tired of being afraid now.”
“Does this man you’ve met have anything to do with this decision?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Caitlin stared down at her drink as if it held the answer. “I’m not doing this because I want a relationship with him—because I don’t. We’re too different. But he’s made me see what an emotional basket-case I’ve become. I’m doing this for me.”
She paused for a moment, then continued. “It’s like I live with a very ugly ghost. Everywhere I go, everything I do, I can see that ghost watching from the shadows, ready to pounce if I get too happy. Maybe I wasn’t up to fighting that ghost several years ago, but I’m going to fight it now.”
“Gonna put on the ol’ boxing gloves, huh?” Donna said gently.
Caitlin smiled. “Yeah.”
Donna walked over to Caitlin and gave her a hug. “Good for you. Welcome back, Caitlin dear.”
Max wandered around the greenhouse. His shoes crunching in the gravel and the constant whirr of the fans were the only sounds he could hear, though he kept listening for something that would let him know Caitlin had returned. She’d been gone over an hour.
He kept replaying certain things in his mind. Caitlin did not like being touched. Caitlin got nervous when someone came up behind her. Caitlin had not been married to an abusive husband. Caitlin was afraid. Yet she was so feisty and independent, he could think of only one thing that would leave her spirit wounded in that way.
A sick feeling hit Max in the stomach and he clenched his fists so tight, his fingernails dug into his palms. She’d been raped. Maybe he was wrong, but try as he would, that seemed to be the only thing that fit. A bitter anger began to burn in Max at whoever had dared to hurt her. He could only hope the rapist had been caught and was still serving a long, long sentence. It would be safer for the bastard, he thought darkly, because God help him if he ever got his hands on him.
Max heard a footstep behind him and turned around to see Caitlin standing there.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here,” she murmured.