As they trudged along, Christy glanced nervously from side to side, imagining a car careening into them or a man leaning out the window of one of the beach houses and spraying them with a shotgun.
“Don’t worry,” J.D. told her. “Whoever he is, he isn’t likely to do anything in broad daylight. He’ll figure some of those houses are occupied and there’d be witnesses.”
“I don’t think any of the cottages are occupied right now,” Christy said.
“He may think they are, so he’ll stay out of the way,” J.D. pointed out, and she felt relieved. Until he added, “You’d be better off looking for snakes. They come out after floods.”
“Great,” she muttered peering into the unmown grass along the side of the road, “that makes me feel so much safer.”
The walk to the Thompsons’ house seemed interminable, but they encountered no snakes, reptilian or human. She was relieved when they approached Warner’s house. An airy, rambling structure, it was large enough to accommodate the Thompsons’ children and their spouses and the growing brood of grandchildren. Big enough to house Christy, too, if she’d had the sense to come down here when the storm started. Then, she told herself, she wouldn’t be in this mess.
The door opened. “Well, hello there,” Ellie Thompson said. “Warner told me you were here with a…friend.” Her eyes gleamed with delight. “Come on in. You can cheer up Mr. Grumps. He can’t keep up with his investments because of the storm.”
She ushered them into the living room where Warner was camped out in a recliner, reading a week-old copy of the Wall Street Journal. “Company,” she said.
“Hello again.” Warner rose to shake J.D.’s hand. “Did I tell you our Dallas grandkids were supposed to come down this week? Of course, the storm changed their plans,” he said. “We’re lonely. Come cheer us up.”
Christy sat beside Ellie on the couch, and J.D. asked if he could use the cell phone.
“It’s in the kitchen,” Ellie said and pointed. “Right through there.”
When J.D. left, Ellie leaned toward Christy. “Warner told me you had a new boyfriend. Honey, he is hot.”
“Hot?” Christy gaped at her neighbor. Had Ellie, well into senior citizenship, really referred to J.D. as hot? “Um…”
“You know, dear,” Ellie said. “Hot, as in cool.”
Christy blinked.
“Or as in sexy,” Ellie explained.
Warner cleared his throat. “Woman learns all that trash talk on the World Wide Web.”
Ellie shook a finger at her husband. “And you don’t?”
“I follow the market.”
Ellie smoothed her salt-and-pepper hair. “I keep up with popular culture.”
Christy hoped their good-natured bickering would forestall any more comments about J.D. He came back into the room, caught Christy’s eye and gave her the slightest of nods. “Thanks for the use of your phone.” He sat down on the other side of Christy, and Ellie beamed at them.
What would her neighbors think if they knew the real situation here? Christy turned to J.D. “Were you, um, able to order what we needed?” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s in stock,” he said, smiling at her.
“Good. I hope by tomorrow phone service will be restored and I can call a garage to repair my car.” she added.
“You don’t have to wait, young lady,” Warner said. “I’ve got Billy Coates’s cell number. Best mechanic on San Sebastian.”
“Thanks,” Christy said and went into the kitchen.
Billy picked up on the second ring. “I can get by some time tomorrow,” he said when he heard what she needed. “It’ll give me a little break. Putting in a distributor wire will be a breeze compared to working on all these flooded transmissions.”
Christy thanked him and returned to the living room where Warner was holding forth on the current state of the market. J.D. didn’t say much, just nodded now and then. Christy sat anxiously, trying to keep her foot from tapping the floor, until they had a chance to leave.
As soon as they were outside, she asked, “What did the dispatcher say?”
“Same thing you did, that it was probably kids. But she said she’d let the sheriff know. She also told me they’re concerned about thugs looting vacant homes that have had storm damage, so they’ll be patrolling this area all night.”
Christy stopped. “So we’ll be safe?”
“Relatively.”
“Relatively is better than not at all, I guess,” she said doubtfully.
“Realistically, they can’t be on this street at all times,” J.D. explained. “But having them in the area should deter our guy.”
“I suppose.” She began walking again, then thought about his conversation with Warner and asked curiously, “Is the stock market one of the things you’ve forgotten?”
J.D. ran his hand through his hair. “In theory, I know how it works, but when you get to how specific companies are performing or the current Dow Jones average, I’m one of those brand-new puppies Dr. Mayes talked about.”
“So you probably aren’t a stockbroker.”
“Or not a successful one.”
They arrived at Christy’s house, and he said, “There’s plenty of daylight left, so I’m going to start replacing some of the shingles that blew off.”
“All right, but promise me you’ll come in if you start to feel tired or dizzy. I don’t want you passing out and falling off the roof.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Christy went inside and began straightening the living room, putting some of the lighter items they’d moved yesterday back in place. Every few minutes she stopped to look out the window. J.D. was alone out there, exposed, a perfect target for a sniper. The man who’d beaten him up could be holed up in one of those vacant cottages. Each time she headed for the window, she prayed she wouldn’t see J.D. lying in a pool of blood.
In a pile of old mail she found a brochure from Aruba. She picked it up and studied it. Sugary white sand, palm trees, the turquoise waters of the Caribbean, and of course, smiling, sun-tanned couples toasting one another with tropical concoctions in tall glasses. She’d brought the brochure along when she and Keith were here last Labor Day, figuring they’d have time to plan their island vacation. Planning a trip was half the fun for Christy, but Keith hadn’t been interested in joining her as she perused the names of hotels and restaurants. “The trip’s your idea. You do the planning,” he’d said. Hindsight told her he’d never intended to go. At least, not with her. He had another companion in mind.
Were Keith and Betsy in Aruba now, basking in the sun, frequenting the casinos, strolling through the shops? With a snort of disgust Christy tore the brochure in half and threw it into the wastebasket. She didn’t miss Keith, hadn’t in a long time. And she wouldn’t waste another minute thinking about her ex-husband. Wherever he and Betsy were, they were two of a kind. They deserved each other.
She turned her thoughts to the man outside. There had to be a woman in his life, she mused. He was too “hot” not to attract female attention. He probably had a wife or a girlfriend, someone sleek and sophisticated. Blonde, she thought, running a hand through her tousled locks. Auburn highlights were her only claim to fame, hardly competition for an eye-catching blonde.
The sound of the door opening interrupted her thoughts. J.D. came in, tracking mud on the floor. “I’m finished for now. Mind if I clean up?” he asked, wiping his face on his sleeve. Christy nodded and he added, “Do you have a razor I can borrow?”
“Sorry, only an electric one.” She rather liked the sight of his stubble-darkened cheeks. He looked even more like a pirate than when he’d rung her bell.
Christy decided she needed a sponge bath, too, and headed for the bathroom next to her bedroom. She would have liked a shower, but they should conserve water. When she finished her makeshift bath, she couldn’t resist spraying on cologne. Not that she was trying to attract J.D.’s attention; she just wanted to feel fresh and feminine. She’d do this ev
en if she were alone, she told herself.
In the kitchen she found J.D. studying the canned items they’d bought. They debated their dinner choices and decided on Vienna sausages. That, along with plain bread, constituted their evening meal. Again, they ate by candlelight.
After dinner, Christy rinsed the box of strawberries they’d bought at the grocery and put the fruit into a bowl. She carried it back to the table. “Want some?”
J.D. glanced up and nodded but said nothing. He’d found a deck of cards she’d left on the serving cart by the table and was shuffling them with practiced ease.
“You handle the cards like a pro,” she observed, sitting across from him. “Maybe you are.”
He stared at his fingers as he continued deftly mixing the cards. “How should I know?” he said harshly. He looked up and the eyes that met hers were so bleak that Christy felt his pain as intensely as if it were her own. Then his expression changed. As if he’d drawn a curtain over them, he concealed his emotions behind a blank gaze. “Poker or gin?” His voice was even.
“Gin.” She’d never play poker with a man who could disguise his feelings so easily.
He held out the cards. “Cut.”
She cut the cards, watched him deal, pick up his hand, and scan it with slow deliberation. Each card he drew received the same careful scrutiny. Each discard was calculated. Every move was made with forethought.
“Gin.” After drawing no more than half a dozen times, he laid down his hand. Here was a man who didn’t intend to lose in a gin game. In anything?
He dealt again. While he was busy with the cards, she reached for the bowl, chose a strawberry, and bit into it. For a moment, she forgot the oppressive heat and her vandalized car and closed her eyes, savoring the fruit. Juice slid over her tongue, ran down her fingers. She finished the berry and licked one finger, then another. Sensing his gaze on her, she glanced up, straight into J.D.’s eyes.
Something simmered there, something dangerous. Her fingers stilled in midair, her gaze locked with his. Tension pulsed between them, waves and waves of it. The heat in the room intensified.
Seconds ticked by. Neither of them moved; neither spoke. Finally, with an effort, she forced herself to look away. “Shall we play another hand?”
“Yeah.” He shuffled the cards and dealt. His gaze dropped to her breasts. “Discard.” His voice was low, rough.
Her nipples tightened, pushing against her blouse. A flush spread across her cheeks, along her throat, and down to her breasts, where his gaze lingered. Her thoughts muddled, she put down a seven.
He picked it up and rearranged his cards. She watched his hands. Long, lean fingers, callused palms.
He discarded the nine of clubs, took a strawberry, bit it in half and chewed slowly while he studied his hand. Christy stared, fascinated by the movements of his mouth and throat. He glanced up and caught her watching him but said nothing, only smiled lazily in a way that caused heat to zing through her body.
He ate another berry. A drop of juice trickled down his chin. He wiped it with the back of his hand, then discarded.
She looked away, grabbed a card from the deck, and stared at her hand with no idea whether the new one fit. She dropped it on the discard pile.
They continued to play while awareness, as electric as the storm that had brought them together, crackled in the heated room.
Then they both reached for the strawberries at the same time. Their hands brushed. She jerked hers back, empty. “Excuse me.”
“Sorry.”
Christy discovered that her hand was trembling from that brief contact. Crazy! Silly to quiver like a frightened bird because of the merest brush of fingers. She’d touched his body the night before last, even undressed him. And they’d been far closer when she’d wakened him from his nightmare.
But this was different. This was…different.
Today they were involved in a game, not gin rummy, but a far more ancient male-female pastime: foreplay. And her body was responding. Her breasts strained against her blouse. Her skin grew warmer. Even her breathing was shallow.
Foreplay! The realization shook her to the core. Though they didn’t touch or speak, they were engaged in a prelude to lovemaking as surely as if they were in bed together, she and this stranger. She had to put a stop to it.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked hoarsely.
“Thanks,” he said.
She filled two glasses with bottled water, all she had to offer, and squeezed some lemon into each. When she handed J.D. his, she was careful not to touch him. She drank her water, welcoming the liquid as it slid down her suddenly parched throat. She glanced at J.D., found him watching her and quickly looked away.
The candle beside her flickered. Soon it would burn down and they’d be cocooned in darkness. Without light and vision, her other senses would sharpen; she’d smell the bath soap he’d used, hear the cadence of his breathing, the mellow tone of his voice….
Abruptly she rose, hurried to the pantry and got another candle. She lit it, then one more and placed them on the table. “Better,” she said.
J.D. didn’t answer, and silence stretched between them. She had to break it. “Shall I—?”
“Did you—?” he began at the same time.
“Go ahead,” Christy said.
“Did, um, you and your husband come here often?” he asked.
“Not much.” Of all the topics J.D. could have come up, this was the best. Nothing would work better than thoughts of Keith to put a damper on her torrid imagination. “Keith was too busy. He’s a doctor.”
“Did you meet him at work?”
“No, in school,” Christy said. “He was in medical school and I was a nursing student. We’d run into each other occasionally and say hello. And then one day we were in the hospital cafeteria at the same time. He sat down next to me and we talked. After that we had lunch together every day.”
His lips quirked. “You fell in love over hospital food?”
“Yeah, BLTs and soggy fish.”
“So did you get married right away?”
Christy shook her head. “No, we dated for nearly two years before we got engaged.”
“You took a long time.”
Christy bit her lip. “Long enough so you’d think we knew everything about each other. Later I found out I didn’t know him at all.”
“Tell me about your marriage.”
His voice was so gentle, his expression so compassionate that Christy couldn’t hold back. The words tumbled out.
“We got married when Keith finished medical school. He got his first choice for a residency, Massachusetts General, and I took a job at the same hospital. Our lives were chaotic. One of us always had night duty when the other was on the day shift, but we handled it. At least I thought so. I knew he’d be finished in a couple of years, and then we’d have a more normal life, at least as normal as a doctor can expect.”
“And did you?”
“No, Keith decided to do a two-year fellowship at Johns Hopkins. I’d wanted to start a family, but this was too good for him to pass up. So we went to Baltimore.” She sighed. “I hardly remember those two years. They’re just a blur.”
She glanced at him in time to see the pain in his eyes. “Better than nothing,” he murmured, then asked, “What happened then?”
“I felt like we were both running in place, never getting enough rest, never spending time together, never making love.” She sighed bitterly. “I thought Keith was too tired then. In retrospect, I suppose he was ‘otherwise engaged.’”
J.D. said nothing; his eyes spoke for him.
Christy went on, unable to stop. “He finished his fellowship. We moved to Houston. Now, I said, we could start our family. Keith wanted to wait until he’d established his practice, so we did.”
“You always did what Keith wanted.”
She stared at her hands. “Yes.”
“Did you decide to leave him because of that?”
“No, he decided. Last year he finally agreed we should have a baby. We planned to take an island vacation—not San Sebastian, but someplace more romantic—Antigua or Aruba. I was thrilled.”
“And?”
“And then he dropped his bombshell. One morning over breakfast, in the same tone he used to ask for more coffee, he told me he wanted a divorce. He’d met someone else.” Christy swallowed a sob. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
J.D. reached across the table and pressed her hand. “You need to talk. How did you feel?”
“Like the world had ended. I couldn’t believe what he was saying. I’d always trusted him. I don’t know how I could have been so blind. It was the old cliché. I was the only one surprised when Keith asked for a divorce.” And she’d spent hours asking herself why it had happened. And what she’d done to cause it.
“Anyway, I gave him what he asked for, just like I gave him everything else. Now we’re having our island vacations, but on different islands. I’m here, and Keith’s in Aruba…with Betsy.”
“Was she a friend of yours?”
“No, I never met her, thank goodness. She’s rich, twice divorced, and predatory as a lioness. She wanted a trophy husband. Keith was more than happy to fill that role.”
J.D. said gently, “Keith was a bastard. He didn’t deserve you.”
Christy laughed bitterly. “How do you know? You’ve only known me a couple of days. Maybe I’m a bitch.”
His fingers tightened on hers, then he smiled. “Oh, no. Not a chance.”
“Thanks. And thanks for listening. It helped.”
J.D. continued to hold her hand, his fingers stroking softly. But Christy longed for more. For something forbidden. His arms around her, his body against hers. But he was shackled to a past he didn’t remember. And how could she get involved? If she couldn’t trust her own husband, how could she trust a stranger?
And yet, she suddenly realized, she did trust J.D. Knowing nothing about his past, she already had more faith in him than she had had in her husband.
Stranger in Her Arms Page 7