Only You

by Bonnie Pega

  “I’m not going anywhere.” His words were a promise.

  Caitlin looked up but did not meet his eyes, her gaze fastening on his chin instead. “Look, I’m sorry about—about what happened before. I guess I overreacted. I—”

  “I understand, Cait,” Max said quietly. He reached over and took her hand, holding it between his.

  “Caitlin,” she corrected him once more.

  Max went on as if he hadn’t heard. “I’d like to know what those plants are over there.” He walked toward a long, low bench of seedlings in the back.

  Since he still held her hand, Caitlin had no choice but to follow. As he slowly led her down the narrow aisle, he stopped at each row of seedlings and asked Caitlin what they were. Through it all, he kept a gentle but firm grip on her. Caitlin gave a few experimental tugs to free herself, but Max only tightened his fingers momentarily.

  “Shouldn’t we go into the office?” Caitlin asked, wondering what Max was up to.

  “Hmm? Oh, no. Not yet anyway. I want to know what you use this for.” He pointed to the half-bench of Scutellaria lateriflora. “Do you use this for cooking or for something else?”

  Caitlin cast a puzzled glance at him. She had a feeling that he didn’t really care what they were, but she answered anyway. “It’s a Native American wildflower commonly called skullcap. It’s a medicinal herb originally used by the American Indians. It blooms in summer with little lavender flowers at the top.”

  “And what’s this?” He pointed to another half-bench of plants.

  “Are you really interested in all this?” Caitlin asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

  Max flashed an angelic smile. “Cait—”

  “Caitlin,” she interrupted.

  “Cait, I’m interested in anything you have to say.”

  Caitlin snorted doubtfully. “Well then, that’s Echinacea. It’s also called purple coneflower. It’s another native wildflower.”

  “What’s it used for?”

  “It has antiseptic qualities and is supposed to boost the immune system.”

  “Have you ever tried it?”

  “I take some every day.” Caitlin gave a quick tug to her hand.

  This time Max not only tightened his grip a little but laced his fingers with hers. Caitlin frowned. “Excuse me, but could I have my hand back, please?”

  “Why? Are you using it?”

  “I will be.”

  “Well, when you’re ready to use it, let me know and I’ll give it back,” Max said reasonably.

  “Maybe I’d like to have it back now.”

  “But I’m getting so much use out of it now,” Max said. “You wouldn’t take it away just when I was getting so attached to it, would you?”

  Caitlin found a smile twitching at her lips. “If you need something to hold that bad, I think Jordan has a teddy bear he could lend you.” Her smile widened at the thought of Max snuggling with a teddy bear at night, then faded when the thought took one step further and had her snuggling with Max at night, their arms and legs entwined. Caitlin pressed her free hand to her stomach. What was happening to her? She’d never had fantasies like this before!

  “Hey, Ms. Love, guess where I took Diana Friday night?” K.C. bounded up, then stopped short. From the look on his face it was obvious to Max that he wasn’t used to coming in and finding his boss holding hands with anyone. This was something that Max dedicated himself to changing. If he had his druthers, Caitlin was going to get used to holding his hand, and often.

  So far, so good, Max thought as Caitlin’s hand relaxed in his and she chatted with the boy about his date and asked about Martha, who was still out with the flu. But it turned out that Max let his guard down too soon. No sooner had his grip loosened than Caitlin gave a sudden tug, freeing her hand.

  Caitlin gave him a superior smile and fluttered her lashes, but Max could only grin. Slowly, he licked the end of his index finger and made an imaginary mark in the air. So much for round two, he thought. That made one for Cait. Guess they were even Steven.

  Five

  * * *

  Caitlin didn’t see Max again for two weeks. He was in northern Virginia on business, and he called every night. Each call lasted only a few minutes, but Caitlin looked forward to them anyway. She also felt a bit jealous when Jordan answered the phone and spent twenty minutes with Max, whereas when she answered, she rated only a measly ten.

  On Sunday afternoon Caitlin sat on a lounge chair in the backyard and practiced the breathing relaxation exercises Dr. Atlee had told her to try. She’d seen her every day since Max went out of town. In the middle of an “inhale—count five—exhale,” she heard that oh so familiar voice. “Cait?”

  “Caitlin,” she corrected him, then smiled up at Max. It was so good to see him, even in his dark gray three-piece suit. “Did northern Virginia finally kick you out?”

  He grinned. “They said if I didn’t leave, they’d shoot me on sight. May I ask what you’re doing?” Max’s gaze ran over her, cataloging the details. She wore jean cutoffs that showed off her shapely legs and another T-shirt that faithfully outlined the full curves beneath, even the points of her nipples. His eyes lingered for a moment on the topknot of rebellious curls, then fastened on her warm brown eyes.

  “What am I doing?” Caitlin repeated, fidgeting beneath his thorough appraisal. “I’m practicing my breathing.”

  “Oh, well, sure,” Max murmured. “We wouldn’t want to forget how to do that.”

  “It’s a relaxation technique, Max.” Caitlin sighed. “Was there a particular reason you came by?”

  Max dropped down on the grass next to the chair—after spreading his handkerchief to keep his pants clean. “Yeah. I want to learn how to breathe too. Teach me, Cait.”

  “Caitlin.”

  “Hey, you call me Max, so—”

  “All right then,” Caitlin teased. “Maximillian.”

  Max gave an indignant snort. “I’ll never know what my parents were thinking of when they stuck that name on me. My sister has a nice, normal name. Even my younger brother has a nice, normal name. I got stuck with Maximillian. Can you imagine the fun the other kids had with that?”

  “Why didn’t you go by your middle name?”

  “Never.” He looked horrified at the very idea.

  “Why not?”

  Max cast exaggerated looks over his left shoulder, then his right, as if looking for spies. In a stage whisper he said, “Cross your heart, and promise never to repeat what I am about to tell you.”

  Caitlin rolled her eyes and suppressed a giggle. “I promise.”

  “My middle name is worse than Maximillian.”

  “No!” Caitlin pretended to be shocked.

  “Yes! It’s—” He crooked his finger and motioned her closer. When she inclined her head to his, he whispered, “It’s Tobias.”

  Her suppressed giggle finally escaped. “Tobias? Maximillian Tobias?” She flashed him an impish grin, thinking how appealing he was. “Well, since you insist on calling me Cait, I think I shall begin calling you Maximillian Tobias.”

  “All right, Caitlin. You win.”

  “Thank you, Max. I’m glad you appreciate my point of view.”

  “It’s easy to appreciate something when you see it from the wrong end of a loaded gun,” Max muttered. “Okay, Caitlin, teach me to breathe, in case I ever forget how.”

  Caitlin told him the basics of the exercise, but when she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, Max found himself watching her instead of joining in. He was reminded of when his sister had been pregnant. He wondered how Caitlin would look pregnant—her breasts even lusher, her body ripe with the baby. His baby?

  His fantasy extended to the making of the baby—her breasts pliant and responsive to his touch, those beautiful legs wrapped around him. The thoughts were so arousing that Max found he needed the deep breathing exercise just to regain his control.

  Despite his arousal, Max couldn’t help but notice that there was something differe
nt about her. He wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was that her eyes had not erected their protective shield as soon as she’d seen him. Maybe it was that she had not automatically stiffened her back and squared her shoulders. Maybe it was that she seemed warmer, softer. Whatever it was, it had Max at a loss for words.

  That situation was remedied quickly, however, when Jordan shot across the lawn and attacked Max, knocking him on his back. “Hi, Max. How long you been here? I thought you might call. I’m glad you came instead. When you called me, did you call from your car phone? I never got called from a car phone before.” Jordan made this ninety-mile-an-hour speech as he sat on Max’s chest.

  Caitlin laughingly admonished him, “Jordan, you scamp, get off him right this minute. It’s rude to go around squashing people.”

  “Can I really squash people, Mom?” Jordan asked as Max carefully sat up, brushing his shirt-sleeves clean.

  “You sure can. You’re quite a big boy now.”

  “Can I squash you, Mom?”

  “Certainly—ooph!” Caitlin gasped as Jordan’s arms wrapped around her and gave her a mighty squeeze. She went limp.

  Max scrambled to his feet in alarm, then relaxed as Caitlin opened one eye and gave him a conspiratorial wink.

  Jordan giggled. “Look, Max, I squashed her to sleep.”

  “So you did,” Max said, settling back down on the grass. “Do you know how to wake her up?”

  “Sure I do. She’s real ticklish.”

  “She is, is she? Interesting thought,” Max said suggestively, though he gave an innocent smile when Caitlin’s eyes flew open.

  “Hey, Mom! You’re supposed to be asleep,” Jordan complained.

  “Oh, sorry.” Caitlin closed her eyes again, but not before giving Max a warning look. She’d heard that satisfied purr in his voice.

  “Patrick’s here,” Jordan suddenly shouted as a car horn beeped. “We’re going to the park to ride the paddle boats,” he said to Max. “Bye, Mom.” He took off, running.

  Caitlin levered herself up on her elbows and watched Jordan to make sure he got off all right. She turned back around to find Max watching her.

  “Ticklish, huh?” he said.

  “Not at all,” she told him with a vigorous shake of her head. “Jordan was just saying that.”

  With a gleam in his eye Max said, “So you’re saying that Jordan fibbed.”

  “Of course not!” Caitlin protested indignantly.

  “I didn’t think so.” He stretched out his hands toward her ribs.

  “Don’t you dare!” she squealed. “Or I’ll retaliate.”

  “That may well be the high point of my whole week,” Max murmured and tickled her, grinning at her laughter.

  “Vengeance is mine!” she declared with glee, and made a jab or two at Max’s ribs, gratified to hear a chortle burst from his lips. Caitlin leaned forward to try again, and lost her balance, falling fully against him. The laughter died on her lips when she looked down, her face only inches from his.

  Max reached up one hand and cradled her face tenderly in his palm. “I love hearing you laugh, Caitlin,” he whispered. “You have no idea how much.”

  Caitlin held her breath, waiting for the ugly panic to strike, only it didn’t. Not even when Max’s thumb ran across her bottom lip. Not even when Max urged her head down to his and brushed his lips across hers.

  Not even when he slipped his tongue between her suddenly parted lips and ran the tip lightly over her teeth. And not even when his hand stroked lightly over the front of her T-shirt, causing her nipple to tighten and throb at his touch.

  All too aware of the tenuousness of her compliance, Max pressed one more feather-light kiss on her lips, then drew back, searching her face. Instead of the dread he had feared to see on her face, he saw only bewilderment.

  Although Caitlin felt a lot of emotions at the moment, not one of them was fear. Slowly she sat up, her eyes never leaving him. “I, ah, think I’ll go fix us both a cold drink. Would you rather have herb tea, regular tea, or club soda?”

  “Regular tea,” Max said. “Hold the lemon.” He smiled as he got to his feet, then followed her into the house. He was not at all upset with the way things had gone. Not at all.

  While Caitlin prepared their drinks, Max sat at the kitchen table—after removing a large stack of newspapers from the chair. He pushed aside puzzle pieces and G.I. Joe men from the table to clear a place for the glasses. When he saw breakfast and lunch dishes piled in the sink and another large stack of newspapers on the floor next to the stove, he sighed.

  “Thanks,” he said when she set his tea in front of him.

  “No lemon.” She smiled.

  “Great. Could I ask you a silly question?” he ventured as he spied yet another stack of newspapers—this one about three feet tall—in the hallway.

  “Sure.”

  “What’s with all the newspapers?”

  “Oh,” she answered breezily, “I just cleaned them out of the bedroom. I got tired of climbing over them to get to my bed.”

  “Did the thought ever occur to you that you might throw them away?”

  She looked horrified. “Whatever for? I’ve spent months collecting these.”

  “Why? Is some organization having a paper drive?”

  “Well, no, but someone might, and then I’d be ready for them. It’s recycling, you know.”

  “You mean you’re collecting these just in case?” Max asked, incredulous.

  Caitlin sat up a little straighter and stuck out her chin. “You have something against recycling?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all,” he hastened to assure her. “It’s just that it might make things, well, a little less cluttered if you put them, say, outside in the garage.”

  Caitlin stiffened slightly. Cluttered, huh? “I can’t do that,” she said a tad too sweetly. “That’s where I keep my aluminum cans.”

  “Perhaps if you—”

  Caitlin stood abruptly, almost knocking over her chair. “If you don’t like my housekeeping methods, Mr. Shore, feel free to leave. I may be too messy for your impeccable taste, but I don’t think I’m in danger of being closed down by the Board of Health. At least not yet.” Head high, back stiff, she marched into the living room.

  Max hurriedly got to his feet and followed her, tripping over yet another stack of papers. He put out his hands to brace himself as he fell, catching the edge of a small parson’s table covered with a collection of plants in little ceramic pots. The table teetered, and the plants slid off directly onto Max’s path.

  A horrified no barely escaped Caitlin’s lips before Max landed, hands first, on the ceramic shards.

  She stumbled across the room and knelt beside him as he sat up. “Heavens, Max, are you all right?”

  “I’m just fine,” he said dryly, glancing down at his hands. “If you don’t mind blood.”

  “Goodness! You’d better come into the bathroom so we can get you cleaned up and find out what that cut really looks like.” Her heart sank as she said it. There seemed to be a lot of blood.

  To her relief, most of the cuts were superficial—treatable with antiseptic cream and bandages. But one deep gash on his left palm continued to ooze blood ten minutes later. Worried, Caitlin insisted on driving Max to the hospital to have it stitched.

  She waited anxiously in the emergency room. Finally, the same nurse who had taken him into the treatment room came out. Caitlin stood. “Is he ready to go now?”

  “It’s going to take a bit longer than we expected,” the nurse explained. “He fainted.”

  Caitlin gasped. “From loss of blood?” She didn’t think he’d bled that much.

  “Not exactly,” the nurse hedged. “Look, he might not like it that I told you this, but when the doctor took out the hypodermic to give him his tetanus shot, Mr. Shore took one look at it and keeled over.”

  Caitlin bit back a smile. The image of the ever-so-self-assured Maximillian Shore fainting at the sight of a needle infused her with amusem
ent, and with a sudden tenderness as well.

  “You can go on back and see him if you like,” the nurse offered. “Examining room three.”

  “No,” Caitlin murmured. “Thanks anyway. He might not want me to know he fainted. I’ll just wait here.” She sat down, still smiling, and picked up a magazine.

  It was another half hour before Max finally came out, his hand bandaged in white gauze. “Hi,” he said, wagging his fingers at her.

  “Hi, yourself.” Caitlin set the magazine down on the table and stood. “Gee,” she exclaimed innocently, “how many stitches did you have to get? Must have been a lot, hmm? You sure were in there a long time.”

  Max ran a finger around his collar and winced. “Um, a few,” he finally said noncommittally.

  Caitlin looked at him, wide-eyed.

  “You know,” he accused her.

  “Know what?” she said, then smiled. “C’mon, tough guy.” She grabbed her purse, hooked her arm through his, and walked out to the parking lot. “Why don’t we go back by my house and I’ll fix you supper before I take you home?”

  “You don’t have to take me home. I can drive.”

  “Not with that hand, you can’t,” she said firmly.

  Max didn’t say anything for a moment, but his mind was racing ahead. As much as he hated being without his car, he could use this situation to get Caitlin to spend a little more time with him. He just wouldn’t mention that his sister lived three blocks away from his house. “Well,” he finally said, “maybe you’re right. But how am I going to get to work in the morning?” He waited expectantly for her answer.

  “I guess I can come by and pick you up on my way to the greenhouse in the morning. I don’t open the doors there until nine anyway. You probably get to work earlier than that, don’t you?”

  “I’m usually there by eight or eight-thirty.”

  “Well, you see? It’ll work out perfectly.”

  Perfectly, Max thought. He’d gotten her to offer to take him to work. Now, if he could just get her to take him home too. “I really hate to ask you this, but could you pick me up from work? I’ll have to get my car from you.”