A Distant Summer

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  Kristina shook her head. “Ruth is a good friend, except for those times when she tries too hard to be a good friend.”

  “You’re fortunate to have people who care as much about you as Ruth and the others obviously do. For a while there this afternoon, I was afraid I wouldn’t pass muster. Everyone was a little cool toward me until they decided my intentions were strictly honorable.” His arm went around her waist, and Kris realized how cozy they had become in a matter of minutes. It was too easy with Tucker. Talking, the sense of closeness — it came too easily, and she had to stop it from going any farther.

  She slipped from his loose grasp and walked behind the desk, fortifying her resolve by the distance she’d placed between them. “Just what are your intentions, Tucker?”

  He turned slowly to face her, his eyes dark with questions, his jaw firm with determination. “I told you before you left Denver that I wasn’t going to let you slip out of my life. Maybe it’s too soon to talk about commitments, Kristina, but —”

  “Yes. Yes, it is too soon.” Her voice had an edge of panic. “And it’s going to stay that way.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said slowly, the very softness of his tone underlining his sincerity. “And that’s what I’m here to find out.”

  She faltered, unable to think of an effective argument, regretting the impulsive actions that had brought her to this confrontation with her past. “What about your medical practice? You can’t be away from it indefinitely.”

  “My career is on hold at the moment. That’s another reason I’m here. I’m not sure I want to return to medicine ... ever.” He held up a palm at her immediate protest. “I just don’t know, Kris. There are some things I need to think about, some decisions I’m going to have to make. And while I’m thinking, I’d like to be with you. You seem to understand my ambiguity better than I do, and I need someone in my life who understands.” His fingers curled into a fist of frustration. “That sounds selfish, doesn’t it?”

  Kristina closed her eyes against his emotion, but her heart refused to shut him out. He needed her. The lawsuit had shaken his self-confidence, had left him needing something and someone to believe in. And at the moment he was looking to her to provide both. Oh, yes, she did understand, only too well. “Sometimes, Tucker,” she said in a voice thick with memory. “Sometimes the only way to survive is by being selfish.”

  “Maybe I phrased that wrong.” He walked around the desk, and his hands cupped her shoulders to turn her gently into his arms. “Maybe I should have said I need you, Kris. And I believe you need me just as much. Surely there’s more to life than surviving.”

  She didn’t want to acknowledge that possibility. For years she had managed to avoid it, but now Tucker was here, his touch warm and inviting, and she knew she couldn’t delude herself any longer. Once she had wanted desperately to be needed by someone, anyone. Wasn’t that the real reason she’d gotten involved with him so many years before? Hadn’t she simply wanted to feel necessary to another person?

  And he had filled that need, if only for a weekend.

  This time he needed her, and as he bent his head to brush her lips with tenderness, she thought how easy it would be to get lost in being needed by him. The kiss deepened, his embrace tightened, and her body responded with a wild and wondrous desire. But Kris knew she must stop the sweet seduction before she forgot the reason she had to end it.

  Pulling back, she braced her palms against his chest and braced her courage with a deep breath. “Tucker, please. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I never intended to mislead you, but I truly thought you understood that the end of my vacation was also the end of our affair.”

  The corners of his mouth creased. “There haven’t been a lot of women in my life, Kris, but there have been enough for me to know that this is not an affair. And it isn’t over. For almost two months I’ve thought about you, missed you, and ached with the memory of holding you. I didn’t phone or write because I wanted you to miss me as well. And I wanted to arrive unexpectedly and maybe surprise you into an honest reaction.”

  He released her from the shelter of his arms, but he continued to hold her by the steady blue of his eyes. “When you first walked into this room and saw me, you weren’t thinking in terms of an affair that had already ended, Kristina. You were glad to see me. Maybe a little uncertain but glad just the same. Now, are you going to tell me that was a lie?”

  “No, that was honest, Tucker. And so is this: I don’t want you to stay. Right now you’re disillusioned with your career, with life in general, but it won’t last forever. In a few weeks you’ll be ready to give your first love — medicine — another chance. You’ll go back to Denver or to some other place, and you’ll rebuild your practice because being a doctor is important to you. This….” Kris indicated their surroundings with a gesture of her hand. “This is important to me. I’m happy here, and I don’t want you to change that.”

  “Am I really that much of a threat to your peace of mind?” He touched her cheek with a questing fingertip. “How can you think I would ever hurt you? I only want a chance to love you.”

  She didn’t flinch or even look away at the words, but her heart pounded a painful reminder against her ribs. Tucker had no idea of how threatened she was by his very nearness. If he stayed, she would be risking much more than a little hurt. She stood to lose everything.

  She was already half in love with him, and a few days, a night in his arms would steal her heart completely. Once he possessed her love, it would be only a matter of time before he asked for a commitment, and then she would have to tell him about the baby.

  And what if someone else told him? The possibility made her pale. Too many people in this town knew the circumstances that had brought her to Maple Ridge. What if someone mentioned her long-ago pregnancy to Tucker?

  No, that wouldn’t happen. That the idea had even occurred to her was a measure of her anxiety. In this close-knit community there was an unwritten code of loyalty, a deep respect for another person’s privacy. No one would willingly violate her trust. If Tucker learned the truth, it would be because she told him.

  Turning, she took a step away from him, knowing that when he knew what she had done, he would hate her. And she couldn’t bear that. It had been better before, a thousand times better when she hadn’t known where he was or what his life was like. She had been secure in the knowledge that what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, that she alone bore the responsibilities and the regrets.

  She sensed his presence, felt the warmth of his body behind her, and wished she could take refuge in his strength.

  “Trust me, Kris. Just a little.”

  His whisper mingled with the soothing touch of his hands on her shoulders, and for a moment she weakened. “I have an extra bedroom. You can stay tonight, as my guest. But tomorrow ...”

  He looked as if he might object, but then his lips formed a determined smile, and only the shadows in his eyes betrayed his inner perplexity. “Won’t it cause some ... talk if I spend the night in your house?”

  Her mouth curved ever so lightly. “Not nearly as much as if you didn’t.”

  “I can see I have a lot to learn about life in a small town.”

  “Yes. Well, I have to get this story written before I can leave the office. Why don’t I give you the house key and you can make yourself at home?” She moved to the desk and wrote her address on a piece of notepaper before she rummaged in her purse and produced the key. “I’m sorry I can’t be a more gracious hostess, but—”

  “Let’s don’t muddy the water with polite insincerities,” he interrupted with a sudden cool edge on his voice as he took the address and the key from her shaky fingers. “Finish your story. I’ll find something to do.” He walked to the doorway and stopped. “And if I’m not there when you get home, check the mailbox for the key, and don’t bother to wait up.”

  Kris stared after him, listening to the sound of his footsteps in the hall. She heard him say something ind
istinguishable and recognized Ruth’s voice answering. Kristina sank onto the worn cushion of her office chair and rested her head in her hands. Ruth had probably eavesdropped on the entire conversation and would have plenty to say later on the subject of good sense.

  With a sigh, Kristina reached for her notebook and began to leaf through the pages.

  Chapter Six

  Tucker heard the sound of her car on the graveled drive. It seemed as if he’d been listening for hours, but it couldn’t have been much more than thirty minutes since he’d returned from Ruth’s house. It had been barely nine o’clock then, and the sky had been a dusky rose twilight.

  It was dark now. The night had come while he wandered aimlessly through the rooms of Kristina’s home. His self-directed tour hadn’t taken long—a stop in the doorway of each room, a glance to note color and furnishings, and a closer look at the personal touches that told him a little something about Kris.

  But there was nothing to explain her less than encouraging welcome that afternoon or the way she’d left him on his own for the entire evening. If it hadn’t been for Ruth, he might have been on his way back to Denver by now.

  Tucker folded his hand around the chain that anchored the porch swing and waited for the hum of the car engine to stop. Kristina would be with him in a few minutes, and the thought made him oddly nervous. She didn’t want him to stay. She was afraid that if he did, she’d be hurt. That much he understood, but her reasons for being afraid? He was at a loss to explain those. He’d given her no cause to believe he would love her and then leave her the moment his life settled into perspective.

  All right, he would admit her observations about his career were astute. His disillusionment with the medical profession would undoubtedly fade with time, but he knew he had reached a crossroads. Maybe the lawsuit had only precipitated the restless feeling that there was something missing in his life. Regardless of what had brought him here, he was at a turning point. And Kristina had a part in his eventual decision, whatever that might be.

  The slam of the car door carried clearly in the July night, and he tensed, setting the swing in motion and then halting it with a push of his feet. What would he say? Why had he decided to stay when she’d made it clear he was only a guest? A temporary guest. Fewer than two months ago he’d been more than that, much more. And today in her office he’d have sworn the look in her gray eyes, the subtle trembling of her hand in his, the controlled yearning in her kiss were those of a woman greeting her lover.

  He heard her footsteps and the sound of the back door opening, then closing again. He listened to the rustle of noise, vague but audible, as she moved through the house, pausing at intervals—to look for him perhaps? The night seemed suddenly, inexplicably filled with maybes and possibilities. He might be risking a rejection of devastating proportions, but he couldn’t leave without trying to discover why Kristina was afraid of him or of making a commitment ... or possibly both.

  She opened the front door and hesitated behind the screen. The light from the living room cast her silhouette in a golden shadow, and Tucker felt his throat tighten with her nearness. Never in his life had he wanted so badly simply to be with another person.

  “Hi,” she said softly. “It’s still very warm outside, isn’t it? Would you like something cool to drink?”

  “No, thank you. I had something very cool at Ruth’s just a short while ago.” Tucker slowly released his grip on the chain and tried to lessen the tension in his voice. “She told me I was drinking home brew, but I have a feeling it came straight from Kentucky.”

  Kris pushed open the screen door and stepped out onto the shadowed porch. “You went to Ruth’s house?”

  Was he imagining a nervous edge in her tone? Did she think he and Ruth had spent their time discussing her? Tucker frowned at the thought of how little information he’d actually gleaned during the past few hours. Ruth was glad he was here, and she was certainly encouraging him to stay, but her loyalty, first and last, belonged to Kris.

  “All in all,” he answered lightly, “it was an interesting evening. When Ruth found out you were working late, she insisted I join her for dinner. But first I had to meet the salesclerks at her gift shop. Then, since it was ‘just around the corner’ and ‘right on our way,’ we stopped at the bank and she introduced me to any and all personnel who hadn’t managed to escape before we arrived. There was a stop at the market for bread, milk, and an introduction to the store manager.”

  A low laugh drifted from Kristina to capture him with its evanescence. “You should have asked her what happened to her regular chauffeur.”

  He smiled as he watched Kris move closer. “I didn’t have a chance. Somewhere between stops there was a really pitiful story about being deprived of transportation and leisure activities by someone named Melinda.”

  “Who happens to be her daughter and the source of an inordinate amount of parental pride.” Kris leaned against the porch railing. The light from inside the house touched her hair and face with pale illumination. “Ruth has a son, too. Michael. He recently graduated from college and took a job in Little Rock.”

  “ ‘With a company that hires only the top graduates in the nation.’ When it comes to that parental pride, Michael has equal billing with his sister.”

  “I hope Ruth didn’t bore you with scrapbooks and home movies.”

  “No. How anyone could use the term ‘boring’ in connection with that little lady is beyond me. She makes me feel criminally lazy.”

  Kristina was silent for several long minutes as she stared at something in the starlit darkness. “Michael and Melinda were adopted. Did Ruth mention that?”

  “No.” Lifting his arm to rest along the back of the swing, Tucker wished she would come sit beside him. “Did you finish the story?”

  “What?” She looked puzzled and then nodded her understanding. “Oh, you mean the human-interest article. Yes, it’s ready for tomorrow’s paper.”

  Silence again. A stilted what-do-I-say-now sort of hesitation hovered in the summer air. Tucker released his breath in a muted sigh and thought about saying good night.

  “I owe you an apology,” she said in a reluctant voice. “It was inexcusable for me to leave you on your own this evening. The story really had to be written, but I could have gone in early in the morning to do it. It was just that I—” Her fingers began to trace a spiraling pattern along the wooden railing. She watched the movements, and Tucker watched her, wanting, aching to offer comfort for the distress he sensed in her but couldn’t name.

  When she straightened and turned to him with a casual smile, he knew the vulnerable moment had passed. Kristina lifted a hand to the knot of silvery blond hair at the nape of her neck, and Tucker wondered if she wore the controlled hairstyle for the sake of coolness or for the restraint it represented.

  “Aren’t you uncomfortable in this heat?” she asked, all trace of uncertainty gone from her voice. “It must be very different from a summer night in the Rockies.”

  “Yes, but for some reason I’m enjoying the heat, humidity and all. It reminds me of Fourth of July fireworks and homemade ice cream and playing softball until after dark and walking barefoot over wiry summer grass. Do you have a hoard of childhood memories like that, Kristina? Things you never think about except on nights like this?”

  Kris looked back to the starry coverlet overhead and felt a wistful pang for the simple pleasures that she had missed as a child ... and for the memories she would never share with her own child. “I grew up believing that ice cream came in prepackaged scoops ready to be served in a crystal dish and that summer was created by parents so they could send their children to camp. I used to dread the end of the school term.” She paused, remembering. “It really wasn’t as bad as it sounds. All things considered, I suppose I was happier during those summer camp sessions than at almost any other time in my childhood. I know my parents were.”

  “Kris.” Tucker spoke in a sort of surprised hush, and she heard the creak of the
swing as he stood. His footsteps sounded hollowly against the porch floor. He stopped a couple of feet away from her, to perch on the edge of the railing. “You surely don’t mean that.”

  She lifted her shoulders in a dismissive shrug. “I never learned a great deal about softball at camp, but I saw some terrific fireworks displays.”

  “Would you like me to tutor you in the fine points of sandlot softball?”

  Such a gentle, easy tone. Kris loved him for accepting her reticence to discuss a less than cherished past. She hated her weakness in giving him even that small glimpse of an old hurt. “It’s a little late in the season for that, don’t you think?”

  “We have the rest of the summer.”

  Tensing, she turned toward him. “But you’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “No.”

  “Tucker....” She couldn’t continue. He watched her too closely, held her gaze with the honest blue of his own eyes.

  “I know that you assumed I would, but I can’t leave yet, Kris. Already I feel comfortable in Maple Ridge, and I like the people I’ve met. Matt wants to talk to me about the possibility of building a hospital here. Gary invited me to help him snare an elusive bass. The manager of the grocery offered to show me around his family’s orchard. Ruth tempted me to dinner tomorrow night with a promise of fresh peach cobbler.” He glanced out at the quiet street and patted a thoughtful rhythm against his thigh. “I’m staying for a while, but I won’t impose on you. I’ll find another place ... an apartment, maybe.”

  “No.” The protest was automatic. To think of his living nearby, seeing him during the course of her days, wondering about him at night, hearing friends ask the same curious questions again and again.

  No, she couldn’t bear to have him so close yet distanced from her. Maybe here she could convince him of her sincerity. Maybe she could discourage him from staying too long. Maybe she could face her own selfish conflict in wishing he could stay for so much longer than “for a while.”