Kiss Me, Tate (Love in Rustic Woods)

by Karen Cantwell

  Bunny liked the little Russian lady, but was crushed to learn that she’d only been hired because none of the other applicants were eligible. A momentary thought of fleeing flashed through her mind. Fleeing before Abigail returned to train the bimbo she didn’t think could answer phones.

  Bimbo. That was almost worse than the word “skank.” Well, maybe not, but the more she stewed, the more furious she became. Now angry rather than sad, and still very desperate to earn a living, Bunny bucked up, as her father would say, and grew some courage. She’d show Abigail that she wasn’t a bimbo or a skank. She was a smart, responsible, organized woman capable of doing a whole lot more than just answering phones.

  By the time Abigail returned with the promised paperwork, Bunny had taught herself the phone system, taken two calls and transferred them to the appropriate extensions, and cleaned up the mess in the top drawer.

  The rest of the day went well, with one exception: She never saw Tate Kilbourn.

  Bunny was ambivalent. On the one hand, she was extremely nervous to see him again, and on the other hand, she was extremely hopeful to see him again. But since she’d probably be seeing him every day anyway, it would be better to just start seeing him.

  When Abigail had introduced her to the two junior naturalists who worked for Tate, Bunny casually asked where their boss was. She was told that he’d been in very early and left them a note that he was monitoring the lower branch of the creek system that fed the four lakes of Rustic Woods.

  With just twenty minutes until closing time, Bunny was at her computer learning a data entry program, per Abigail’s curt, but not unfriendly instructions.

  Bunny could tell Abigail was surprised at her competence, despite the fact that the woman still wouldn’t crack a smile.

  Bent over, glancing from instruction book to monitor and back again to make sense of things, Bunny was deep in thought and never heard Tate approach the desk until he was practically breathing down her neck.

  “That looks important, but I wonder if I could get your help for a minute.”

  She looked up, her heart beating faster at the sound of his rich, deep voice. Then she noticed the bloody hand he held toward her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TATE WAS ANNOYED THAT THE first aid kit in his Nature Center truck was missing. He was even more annoyed that it was his own fault. Months earlier, he’d used it to patch up a worker who had been repairing the footbridge over Hunter Creek.

  His best guess was that he left it behind that day.

  When he sliced his right hand on a broken shard of glass while pulling a plastic bag from the reeds on the bank of Settlers Creek, he cursed loudly, but cursed even louder when he couldn’t find the first aid kit. He wrapped his hand in a t-shirt he found on the floor of the truck and headed for the main office.

  He’d purposely spent the entire day out walking the streams, pulling water samples and noting the condition of the banks and surrounding fauna. The air was cold enough to make the work unpleasant, but something about the way he’d reacted to Bunny Bergen made him want to stay away from the Center on her first day. Besides, the job had to be done. Might as well have been today.

  He almost wondered if he’d cut his hand on purpose, though—subconsciously. He’d seen the glass there, for crying out loud. He wasn’t usually that clumsy. He had felt a pull all day long—a pull to the Nature Center reception area. To see her there.

  So when he walked in and saw her at the desk, focused so intently on the computer monitor, wearing a ridiculous turtleneck and fleece vest, hair tucked behind her delicate ears, he wanted to laugh. And he also knew instantly that the sweaty palms and churning gut he’d experienced at Fiorenza’s wasn’t a fluke. It was happening again. When she looked at him with her big green eyes and gasped at the blood on his hand, the urge to kiss her lips was so strong he had to take a step backwards.

  “What did you do?” Bunny asked, pulling his hand toward her and carefully unwrapping the t-shirt bandage. A little crease formed between her eyebrows.

  “Cut myself on some glass.” He pointed his nose toward the lowest drawer near Bunny’s feet. “I think there’s a first aid kit in that drawer. Can you look?”

  Still hanging onto his hand, she rolled her chair and pulled the drawer open with her other hand, retrieving the white box. She placed it on her desk, then examined his hand more closely. He both enjoyed and feared the sensations aroused by her tender, attentive care.

  “This needs to be cleaned,” she said, locking eyes with him again. “You don’t want it to get infected. I see dirt here. Where did you find broken glass, anyway?”

  He pulled his hand away. “In a stream. People party and throw their beer bottles into the water. You know.” He shook his head, feeling self-conscious. “I’ll wash it in the workroom, if you’ll just hand me the kit.”

  Bunny stood and gave him a look. “Uh-uh. I saw that workroom—it’s a mess. We’ll do it in the kitchen sink where it’s a little more sanitary, thank you very much. I’ll help.”

  This was a woman far more confident than the one he’d seen at the interview just days earlier. He liked the take-charge attitude. And as he followed her to the kitchen, he liked her rear-end too. It seemed Bunny Bergen could wear anything and make it look good. Although those boots were...large.

  Without speaking, Bunny turned the warm and cold water knobs, testing the temperature with her fingers. When she was satisfied, she took his hand and placed it under the warm flow.

  He noticed, this time, that her own hands were shaking, and wondered why. “How was your first day? Abigail treating you all right?”

  Bunny smiled and looked over her shoulder discreetly before speaking. “She’s sort of blunt, but she was actually okay. I’ll admit, she had me worried at first.”

  “You didn’t make the mistake of calling her Abby, did you?”

  “No,” Bunny said, cleaning the wound with the liquid antibacterial hand soap. “She doesn’t like it?”

  “She doesn’t have the best sense of humor.”

  “About what?”

  Tate could see that Bunny hadn’t made the connection yet. “Her last name...”

  Bunny said her boss’s name out loud. “Rode.” Tate watched the wheels turn, then her face lit up as she rinsed the soap from his hand. “Abby Rode. Like the Beatles album,” she whispered, smiling. “That’s cute. I don’t know why that should bother her.”

  She patted his hand with a clean dish towel she’d found in a drawer. She laid the towel on the counter next to the sink, then guided him to lay his hand, palm-up. Silently, she dressed the fairly long wound with antibiotic cream and a square bandage that just barely covered it from one end to the other.

  Tate found himself mesmerized by her long fingers and the soft skin of her hands. He lifted his gaze to her ears and realized they were flaming red. The elegant line of her neck enticed him and he noticed that her hair smelled like vaguely like strawberries. He imagined burying his face in that neck and relishing the scent.

  She patted down the edges of the bandage and stepped back. “You’re fixed.” Her smile was hesitant, and she tucked her head into her shoulders just a little. “I’ve taken my boys to the ER more times than I can count for stitches. I’m sure that cut doesn’t need any. Of course, I’m not a nurse, just a mom.”

  “No, it’s great.” He examined the fine job she’d done. He bobbed his head, suddenly feeling awkward and without anything to say that didn’t sound stupid. “Thank you,” he finally managed to mutter.

  Several strands of hair had come loose from behind her ear and fallen over her face. She tucked them back shyly.

  She was opening her mouth to say something when Abigail’s head poked through the open door, perma-frown pasted to her face. “I’m out of here. Bunny, if you’re the last one to leave, make sure both back and front doors are locked and set the alarm just I like I showed you. Can you manage that?”

  “I can,” Bunny said. “Have a nice night.”
<
br />   Abigail didn’t respond. She just turned and left in her usual abrupt manner.

  Tate leaned over to confide a secret in hushed tones. “That’s why I call her Crabby Abby.”

  Bunny muffled a laugh with her hand. “Not to her face, I hope!”

  “Of course not.” He smiled.

  “I think she’s just misunderstood,” Bunny said, in what Tate took to be a very sincere thought.

  He was touched by her kindness toward someone most people just considered grumpy. For a moment, he felt a little ashamed of himself.

  An awkward silence fell between them. Tate thought of a million things to say, but rejected them all for one reason or another.

  Finally, bobbing her head a couple of times, Bunny retreated toward the door. “I think it’s almost closing time,” she said. “I’d better go through the closing procedure list that she gave me.”

  “Sure. Right. Thank you again.” Remembering the first-aid kit, Tate grabbed it and snapped it closed. “Don’t forget this,” he said just before she disappeared through the door.

  “Oh! Thanks.” She took the kit, her hands shaking again. “Um. Speaking of closing—will you be here much longer? I can wait until you leave to lock up.”

  “Actually, I’m just getting something from my office and heading out. You won’t have to wait. I’ll go out the back door—my car is parked in the back lot.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow, I guess.”

  He nodded.

  By the time he’d climbed into the front seat of his own blue Ford pickup, Tate was painfully aware of his heart pounding out of his chest, of the sweat on his palms and the back of his neck. He’d dated a few women over the years, but no one had made him feel this way since Jill.

  His cell phone jingled in his coat pocket. He looked to see who was calling—Colt. He answered. “Hey buddy, what’s up?”

  “Kilbourn. Just checking in to see if the information we gave you was reliable. Were you able to talk to your brother?”

  “Truthfully, haven’t tried it yet. Long story.”

  “I get it, man. Family can be tough to deal with.”

  “Something like that.” Tate wondered if he dare ask what was on his mind. Asking would make things more real. He might be forced by his own inquiry to go down a road he wasn’t sure he was ready to explore.

  “Well, listen Kilbourn, if you—”

  As if controlled by a force other than reason, Tate interrupted his friend. “Hey, I was wondering...”

  “Yeah?”

  “How well do you know Bunny Bergen?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  BY THURSDAY OF HER FIRST week, Bunny felt like she was settling into the swing of her new job. She arrived early every morning, turned on all the lights, and set the Center’s stereo system looping through a series of nature-themed music CDs. She’d learned which types of calls were forwarded to various people and which she could answer herself.

  She’d taken Olga’s advice and added a little spice back into her attire. Today she wore the flannel shirt with only the two top buttons unfastened, gold hoop earrings, which pleased Olga greatly, a wide, fancy belt to add some oomph, and low but very comfortable loafers.

  The shoes weren’t as quiet as Olga’s stealth nurse’s slippers, but they felt like a piece of heaven compared to the colossal hiking boots.

  In the spirit of being a self-starter, Bunny paid special attention to the schedule for preschool field trips presented by the two junior naturalists, Lydia and Ross. Every time a group returned from a tour around the Center grounds, Bunny was waiting with cups of hot cocoa. She loved seeing the smiles on the children’s faces as she told them to sit in the Nature Cove near the gas fireplace for their treats.

  There, Lydia and Ross finished up their time with the kids, talking about the native wildlife indigenous to Virginia and demonstrating with both live and stuffed animals.

  Later, Bunny was pleased when Lydia went out of her way to thank her for the extra touch of the hot cocoa.

  “You have no idea how much that helped,” Lydia told her. “By the end of a presentation, those kids can get antsy in the pantsy, but the hot chocolate kept them nice and quiet.” She put a hand on Bunny’s arm. “And they just loved you!”

  “I adore children,” Bunny admitted. “My favorite volunteer job when my boys were at Tulip Tree Elementary was reading to classes in the library.”

  “Feel free to help out in the future. We can use it.” The young woman smiled.

  Bunny used the moment to ask Lydia about Tate. She hadn’t seen him since she’d dressed his cut on Monday night. “Hey,” she said, trying to sound low key. “Some calls have been coming in for Tate, but he’s not picking up, so I just forward them to his voicemail. Do you know where he is?”

  Lydia rolled her eyes. “Tate is kind of a loner. It doesn’t surprise me he didn’t leave you a note or call you. He decided at the last minute to attend a conference at George Mason University. It ends today, so I guess he’ll be back tomorrow, maybe.”

  “He’s your boss, right?”

  “And he’s great as bosses go, trust me. As long as we do our job, he stays out of our hair. He’s a cool guy—just quiet. Keeps to himself. Speaking of sending calls to voicemail,” Lydia added, “I’m going out to start working on the bluebird houses. I need to clean them and do any repairs before spring bites me in the butt.”

  “I’ll send any calls to voicemail,” Bunny told her.

  “Have them call my cell phone if it sounds urgent.”

  “Will do.” Bunny really liked Lydia and Ross. They were far nicer than anyone at Dr. Page’s dental office. Tomorrow she might consider asking them if she could join them for lunch. They usually ate at their desks, but she could hear them from down the hall, laughing and having a good time.

  As for Tate Kilbourn, Bunny couldn’t get him out of her mind. She kept thinking of how warm and firm his calloused hand had felt in her own when she helped clean that horrible cut. She hoped he hadn’t noticed how badly her hands were shaking or the flush that had crept up her neck.

  That night, after Michael had gone to bed and Charlie was finishing up homework in his room, she poured herself a glass of wine and went through her high school yearbook again, the one from her sophomore year, when Tate Kilbourn was a senior with whom she was madly in love.

  Tate hadn’t been the most popular guy in school, but he was well-known and well-liked. She turned to the group picture for Spanish Club. Tate was in the front row with the same dark hair, but longer and less tame. No beard yet. And the smile. That smile, that he willingly gave anyone who passed him in the hall, was what tugged at her heart and made her weak-kneed. He was the boy of her dreams; she had wanted to be the girl of his. But he was a senior, and she was that silly sophomore sitting in the back row of the Spanish Club picture, staring at him like some crazed goon through ugly glasses.

  Flipping a few more pages, another club photo—Ski Club. Tate in the front row again as Vice President, same seductive smile. And Bunny, staring at him again from the second row from the back. She’d never skied a day in her life. She had signed up for a ski trip with the club, only to come down with a horrible case of the flu the day before.

  She flipped a few more pages. Prom. She’d gone with her gay friend, Roger, wearing her new contact lenses. She knew Tate would be there with his girlfriend, the nearly perfect Wendy Little, but rumors had been floating around that she was dumping Tate right after prom since she had her sights on a football player from Virginia Tech.

  That football player wound up crashing the prom, and Wendy Little spent the entire night glued to him, leaving poor Tate wandering the fringes of the dance floor like a lost puppy.

  Roger had prodded Bunny to ask Tate for a dance—a bold move for shy Bunny. Buckling herself into a rocket and being shot to the moon would have been less scary than asking Tate Kilbourn to dance.

  But she did it. With her insides all a jitter, her skin breaking out in hives, she asked Tate K
ilbourn to dance. And to her surprise and delight, he actually said yes.

  Only, once they walked onto the dance floor, the song changed from fast to slow. She still remembered the song: “More Than Words.” Panicked, she had been ready for him to walk away. But he didn’t. Without any hesitation, he pulled her to him.

  As she looked into his amazing deep brown eyes, she was both thrilled and terrified. She didn’t know if she should talk, and if she did her voice might shake so horribly it would reveal her secret love for him.

  “You’re Deena’s sister, right?” he had asked her.

  Bunny could only nod. Ironically, the song they danced to was about words, and yet she had none.

  Her silence didn’t daunt Tate. “She’s in my physics class,” he had offered.

  Bunny nodded again and smiled, at least. She really didn’t want to be talking about her demon older sister. Her hand slipped from his shoulder down to his upper arm, and she got a rush from the form of his bicep. She’d rather be talking about his arms, his eyes, his smile, his breath that smelled like Tic Tacs. Cinnamon Tic Tacs.

  She had known he’d been accepted to the University of Virginia, but that wasn’t so far away. She’d thought of asking him if he wanted to see a movie sometime, get some ice cream, see where this magic might lead. Maybe she could write to him while he was away at college, and she would be here when he came home during breaks.

  Yes, she vividly remembered all of those thoughts passing through her mind while they danced, but speaking none of them. He would laugh at her silliness. Instead, she said, “I couldn’t make the ski trip. I was throwing up.” She moaned, even upon the recollection. Once the words were out of her mouth, she had nearly died from embarrassment.

  But he didn’t laugh at her. Thank God. Instead he said, “That’s too bad. Maybe next year.” They danced the rest of the song in silence, Bunny not daring to hold his gaze, but instead, staring at his shoulder and his dark wavy hair that fell just above the wonderful curve of his neck. Or she watched other dancers. Many snuggling like lovers, their bodies swaying as one.