A Distant Summer

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  “That’s so unfair!” she stated in sympathetic frustration.

  “Yes” was his only response before the subject was dropped ... forever, as far as she could tell. But that brief glimpse had given her new insight into his character and in the process had created another bond between them.

  The rest of the day passed in easy camaraderie, and it wasn’t until dusk that Kristina was forced to confront the fragile nature of her fantasy. When Tucker turned the car onto the driveway of a neat brick house, she felt a disquieting apprehension. He parked in front of the garage and turned toward her with a smile. “This is my home.”

  An odd discomfort began a distinctive flutter in her throat. “Oh, I thought we were going to the hotel.”

  His eyes took on a glimmer of wariness. “I’ll take you there later if you want, but I was hoping you’d stay here tonight ... with me.”

  The flutter dropped to her stomach. She had known that the day would culminate in his arms, but she hadn’t expected to talk about it first.

  “If you’d rather I took you to the hotel now, all you need to do is tell me. I’ll try to understand, but I want very much to make love to you, Kristina, and I thought you wanted that, too. If I’ve misunderstood…?”

  He left the question to dangle, and Kris had to answer. “No, Tucker, you didn’t misunderstand.” She swallowed hard and wondered if he had any idea how long it had been since she’d last voiced her desire. “I do want to ... be with you tonight. It’s just that I thought we’d go to the hotel.”

  Silence filled the space around her, and she wished she knew how to explain. But how could she tell him that making love in his home was too personal? He would think she was crazy.

  But it was different, more intimate, more lasting somehow.

  A hotel room was temporary, impersonal, a place where memories were changed with the linens. She could leave on Saturday, knowing that there would be other dreams and experiences occupying the room where she had had a brief vacation affair. But here? In his home, where he would continue to live after she was gone? In his bed, where he would awaken each morning and perhaps remember her presence beside him?

  “Kristina?” He brought her thoughts full circle to his waiting gaze. “Let’s go inside.”

  No, she reasoned, she couldn’t explain, but neither could she refuse. “I’d like that,” she said, and suddenly it was true.

  Once they were in the house, her discomfort eased a bit, and she looked around while Tucker fixed coffee in the kitchen. His home was tastefully decorated, not too large or too small for a man living alone. Kris thought it was nice, nothing more. It lacked the character that Tucker’s home should possess. It lacked focus, as if his life were actually lived in another place.

  The hospital? she wondered, and answered her silent question with a sigh. Of course. At least until John Abernathy had entered the picture.

  With that thought came an unsettling comparison. Once before, Tucker’s career had been threatened by a man with too much money and too little compassion—her own father. She had been both the cause of the threat and the source of Tucker’s protection. Even at seventeen she had known the power of a word dropped to a college dean, so she’d borne in silence her father’s demands to know Tucker’s name.

  Her father had stopped asking—and caring, she supposed—on the day she’d left his home.

  Kris traced the rough weave of a tapestry on the wall and then turned, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her cotton skirt. So many secrets, all of them connected to Tucker.

  “Coffee’s on,” he announced from the doorway between kitchen and living room.

  Looking toward the sound of his voice, she struggled to put the memories away, to recapture the dreamy mood of the day. But it was gone, leaving only the very real pulse of need in its wake.

  “It’ll take a few minutes to brew.” He advanced into the room, and she watched the latent power in his movements.

  Emptiness ached inside her; desire misted her thoughts. His expression was calm, as if he were unaware of the mounting tension. When their eyes met, though, she knew he recognized the symphony of taut nerves and breathless expectations.

  “I hope you don’t mind waiting,” he said, his voice deep and warm, his nearness a caressing invitation.

  “No.” She did mind, though. Not because of the coffee but because she had waited eleven years to find him, because she had waited too long to correct a mistake that now couldn’t be corrected. Her pleading protest came involuntarily from her heart. “Today is Thursday. We only have one more full day together.”

  He offered understanding in a smile. “And two nights, Kristina.” Stepping close, he placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her against him. “Two magical nights.”

  She lifted her face to his and sought the reassurance of his kiss. In his embrace she no longer cared where they were. Here or a hotel room, it didn’t make any difference. She wasn’t going to forget, ever. Her first knowledge of Tucker had been colored in the rosy shades of girlish fancy. But this time—her hands slid up and over his shoulders— this knowing would be colored in the soft pastels of experiences that had transformed her from child to woman. And she wanted to remember, always.

  As his lips gathered the threads of her reason and wove them into his own design, Kristina pressed against him and sighed her surrender, knowing that it wasn’t really surrender at all. It was a sharing of herself, of a past of which he had been a part yet had never known.

  His hands met at the small of her back and separated again, each taking a different path of pleasure. She responded with the sensual exploration of his shoulders and delighted in the textured feel of muscles beneath a crisp shirt.

  When he touched and then began to discover the weakness in her carefully styled chignon, Kris recognized a slow, wanton yearning drifting through her. She lifted her hand to assist his effort, and in a matter of seconds thick blond satin spilled over his fingers. With the release of her hair a husky hum of acceptance caressed her throat, and Tucker moved to capture the sound on her lips.

  It was magic, splendor, a thousand longings with only one wish. Tucker and Kristina, lovers again ... still ... for always. When had the beautiful sense of belonging filled her? Or had it been hidden in her heart all those years, waiting for this moment?

  When he loosened his embrace and stepped back, his fingers lingered against her hair; his gaze held hers with a question and a promise. In answer she placed her hand in his, trusting that he would honor her need for quiet commitments.

  There would be no spoken promises. She expected none from him and would offer none herself. The night was his ... and hers. That was all that counted. Tonight. Now. If Tucker sensed that she was more aroused, more passionately giving than perhaps another woman who was embarking on such a brief affair might be, well, that couldn’t be helped. Another secret. Another mistake?

  She felt a rising urgency to know him intimately, to caress him and to please him with her touch, and she saw the desire reflected in his eyes. He took her hand and led her to his bedroom. Kristina was grateful for the muted light of a bedside lamp. She was shy here, in this most private room, and she preferred to watch the shadowy silhouettes on the wall.

  But her own building passion wouldn’t allow her to avoid the very real image of his body—or of hers. In tacit agreement they faced each other to undress in a silence that throbbed with tension. Never before had she felt so conscious of every movement, every inch of skin, yet there was no embarrassment. There was only Tucker and the loving admiration in his eyes.

  Perhaps it was an illusion, but for now she wanted to believe that it was loving, that he needed her. She had needed him for so long it seemed natural to walk, naked, to his bed and wait for him to join her.

  And when he did, she gave herself up to the reality of his possession and reveled in the blending of her life with his. It was transient, never meant to last, but she was willing to bargain with the fates for the memories being create
d—and whatever the price, she would pay.

  But the slow, sweet shivers that coursed through her seemed worth any price as Tucker cupped her breast in his hand and anointed it with his kiss. The rough-soft caress of his tongue against her skin made her aware of his tender patience and set a languorous, melting warmth adrift in her veins. Kristina moved with the current of sensual feelings and the awakening of a passion she had known long ago but that was now altogether new.

  She felt small and fragile lying next to him on his bed and her thoughts were wrapped around the mystery of her own emotions. She wasn’t fragile. Her body was diminutive and slender, compared to Tucker’s long, muscular frame, but she was capable of loving him with a strength equal to his. And her desire was not a fragile thing; her heart was pounding with its powerful rhythm.

  His lips nuzzled the hollows of her throat and halted her trembling sigh unborn. Her hands slipped around his neck and massaged the firm set of broad shoulders. It was not enough to caress him so. She had waited too long for these precious moments; she had remembered too often the stolen hours she had shared with him so many years before. Now that he was again in her arms, warm and responsive to her touch, she wanted to take him into herself, to enclose his body with her own, and to capture his heart ... if only for an instant.

  This need to possess and to be possessed was new and a little frightening in its intensity, but oddly Kris savored the feeling. She sensed that it was an experience unique to her relationship with Tucker. He had been her first lover, the man her heart refused to forget. He had been hers for only a moment, yet her body remembered the claiming touch of his hands and responded like a rosebud in the sun.

  As his mouth came to hers in a dozen sipping, clinging kisses, she pulled him down, arched against him, and whispered her yearnings against his lips. And when he moved to answer her murmurings with the moist, heated joining of their bodies, Kris knew the fiery, sweet ache of loving. She surrendered to the blending of flesh to flesh and soul to soul.

  But in the soft, contented aftermath of passion she accepted the fragile nature of her emotions and knew that the price of her fantasy would be dear.

  Chapter Four

  The aroma of breakfast filled the kitchen on Saturday morning; thoughts of goodbye filled the silence. A buttery froth of eggs bubbled in the skillet; bacon, lean and crisp, lay on the platter; two slices of bread waited companionably in the toaster.

  It was almost done.

  The only breakfast she would ever prepare for Tucker, and it was almost done. Yesterday they had awakened early, eaten breakfast at a nearby restaurant, and spent the day just enjoying each other. But that was yesterday. Kris touched a fork to the scrambled eggs and stirred ever so lightly, letting them cook for another minute.

  Another minute.

  Her throat ached with each one that slipped past. Her fantasy ebbed toward memory with every tick of the clock, and she wished for another minute, and another. But it was Saturday, the morning was almost gone, and she was leaving at noon.

  Not a moment sooner ... or a moment after.

  Tucker walked past her on his way to the refrigerator, and she paused to savor his nearness. Without looking, without touching, she knew the texture of him: the warmth of his body; the thickness of his hair; the whispery roughness on his face before daybreak; the quick, engaging grin; the slow, seductive smile; blue eyes alight with laughter or dark with serious thought; a subtle gesture; a husky murmur. All were known to her now, discovered in the hours between sunrise and sunset, cherished in the night.

  How could the time have passed so quickly? How could she have learned so much about him and yet feel it wasn’t nearly enough? She watched him pour juice into two glasses, and then she turned away to scoop the eggs from the skillet to the plate.

  Done.

  Just as this interlude in the reality of her life was finished.

  Tucker reached around her to push down the toaster control as his lips tucked a kiss along the curve of her neck. A sweet yearning scolded her melancholy thoughts.

  It wasn’t over yet.

  There was an eternity of minutes until noon.

  With a sigh, Kris abandoned their breakfast to pivot in his arms and return the kiss.

  “Hmmm.” He lifted his head after a lingering moment and pulled her closer against him. “I could grow fond of mornings like this. And nights like last night.” His smile slanted roguishly. “And days like yesterday and nights like the night before.”

  An unexpected blush of remembrance fanned across her cheeks, and she lifted her palm to touch and wonder at the warmth. But the soft pleasure in Tucker’s gaze made her blush feel somehow natural and feminine and right.

  He placed the back of his hand against her face, gliding a caress over the contours of her cheek and brushing her mouth with gentle fingertips.

  Desire parted her lips, and she pressed a kiss to one of his fingers, wanting to capture him in some tangible way. But he moved his hand out of reach and settled it at her waist. Then, again, he bent to soothe her lips with his.

  The toaster interrupted with a loud click and Tucker turned a rueful frown to the appliance, which sat steaming complacently. “Poor timing,” he announced. Kris merely smiled as she slipped from his hold and began putting things on the table. Tucker followed her example, and in a matter of minutes breakfast was ready and waiting.

  As she sat across from him, taking turns with the salt and pepper shakers, the silence seemed to cluster in her throat. She hadn’t said much of anything since awakening. She didn’t know what to say ... until it was time to say goodbye. Even then there would be thoughts that had to remain unspoken, so many feelings she mustn’t voice.

  She glanced at him and envied his casual movements, the way his dark shirt and jeans made him look comfortable. She was dressed similarly in denims and a knit pullover, but she didn’t feel at all comfortable. Perhaps it was the unrestrained weight of her hair, usually braided and bound into a chignon as a normal part of her routine, but left free this morning to caress her shoulders in final concession to the intimacy she had shared with Tucker. When noon arrived, it would be bound again. That was important to her.

  Kris lifted her fork and toyed with the food on her plate. It had seemed important to fix this breakfast, too. Now she wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t hungry, and she didn’t believe he was especially so either. But it was a way of pretending, a way of postponing reality.

  “Where did you learn to cook?” Tucker asked.

  Her gaze met his at the offhand manner of the question. During their past two days together he’d made a concerted effort to learn details about her job, her daily routine, and her hometown. Kris had to admit he was adept at seemingly casual inquiry, but so far she’d been better at evasion.

  “Ruth taught me,” Kris answered, laying the fork on the plate. She traced the design on the handle with a fingertip, then absently lifted the fork again. “She owns a gift shop across the street from the building where I work, but she spends as much time in my office as her own—if not more. I suppose that isn’t really so surprising, since the Gazette seems to be the gathering place for almost everyone in town.” A warm feeling always accompanied thoughts of home, and Kris paused to enjoy it before she continued. “Ruth has been a very good friend for a very long time.”

  Good friend was hardly an adequate description. There wasn’t anyone else like Ruth anywhere. Fondness brought a note of laughter to Kristina’s lips. “But no matter what she tells me, I know I will never, ever be able to make piecrust the way she does.”

  “I always buy ready-made piecrust,” he offered as conversation. “Of course, it usually comes with a ready-made pie as well. I get them at the supermarket. Don’t you have supermarkets in...?” He looked at her expectantly.

  “Of course, we have supermarkets, Tucker. There just are some things I refuse to buy ready-made.”

  “Oh, I see. Piecrust is a matter of principle with you.”

  Kris smiled easily, think
ing how much Ruth would like him if the two of them should ever meet.

  But that wasn’t going to happen.

  Her smile faded as suddenly as it had come. Ruth would never meet Tucker. Kris had deliberately avoided mentioning the town in which she lived.

  When she left Denver today, her brief vacation affair would be over. She didn’t intend to correspond with him in any way. Two days were all she’d offered to him, and two days were all she could steal from her own tomorrows. If she stayed another day or even a few minutes past the self-imposed noon deadline, her tightly controlled emotions would break free, and she would be irrevocably involved with Tucker, the one man with whom she couldn’t risk falling in love.

  Kris patted her lips with a napkin and reached for a glass of juice. Aware that Tucker watched her, she took a drink and slowly realized that she had let the conversation drop abruptly. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good company this morning, am I?”

  “Maybe if you stopped trying to keep me at arm’s length, conversation would come easier.”

  Her laugh was short and tense. “At arm’s length? Is that how you describe days like yesterday and nights like last night?”

  The look in his eyes suffocated her attempt to tease. “You know what I mean, Kristina. You’re taking great pains to keep our relationship on the level of a passing affair. I’ve told you about my office, about the hospital, about my patients, and about the malpractice suit. You know on which days I play racquetball and what time I’d normally leave for work. You know where and when I was born, the names of my brothers and sisters, and the fact that I was once engaged to be married.” His fingers tapped the tabletop with impatience as he held her gaze. “On the other hand, the things I’ve learned about the people and activities that fill your life number exactly three: You live somewhere in Arkansas, edit a newspaper, and have a friend named Ruth. That isn’t much, Kris, considering all we’ve shared during the past few days.”