Somebody's Knocking at My Door

by Francis Ray

  Angelique narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been reading my textbooks?”

  Kristen laughed, then sobered. “Caring about another person makes you more sensitive to what others are going through. I understand now why my family was so understanding when I was a hateful shrew after Eric and I broke up.”

  “Where’s the creep now?” Angelique asked, sipping her coffee.

  “I don’t know, and I stopped caring long ago,” Kristen admitted, glad it was the truth.

  “My professor got one of the students pregnant the year after I graduated. He lost his tenure, there was a big scandal. He left town.”

  “We’re better off without them,” Kristen said.

  “We have a chance to get it right, but it won’t be without risks.”

  “For the first time in a long time, I’m not afraid.” Kristen’s face softened. “Sometimes Rafe looks at me a certain way and I forget to breathe and, although he’d never admit it, I can tell he feels the same way.” She sighed and set her cup down. “But then he backs away faster than a crayfish. Knowing why he’s afraid of opening up to me doesn’t make the hurt any less, but deep down in my heart, I feel he’d slice off his arm before harming me.”

  “You haven’t discussed Rafe with me, and I respect that. From being around him a short time I’d have to say he’s uncomfortable around crowds and goes to great lengths to avoid them.” Angelique stared at Kristen, not as a friend but as a psychologist. “He’s not going to open the door and let you into his life. You’ll have to keep knocking it down, keep proving to him that you’re there for the long haul, keep reminding him that you’re there for him as much as he is for you.”

  Kristen nodded. “I will. In fact, I’m thinking about going out there tonight and surprising him.”

  Angelique grimaced. “We certainly didn’t pick easy men.”

  “Are you sorry?” Kristen asked, positive she already knew the answer.

  Angelique didn’t even have to think. “No.”

  “Neither am I.” Kristen picked up her coffee cup. “To victory.”

  “Victory.” Their cups clinked.

  * * *

  Kristen was busy from the moment she flipped the “closed” sign to “open” until well after one. Jacques had ordered sandwiches from a nearby restaurant, then gone to pick them up. She didn’t mind working: it kept her mind from dwelling on Rafe and his possible reaction to her showing up uninvited again.

  The front door opened: she looked up, preparing to rise, when she recognized the three teenagers Jacques was mentoring. Her smile broadened. “Hi, guys. Jacques went to get our lunch. He’ll be back shortly.”

  “Actually, we came to see you,” Lee said, unwrapping newspaper from the object he was carrying. He placed it on her desk.

  Kristen stared at a crude wooden chest.

  “What do you think?” Lee asked, his voice anxious.

  Kristen’s gaze went from the unvarnished wood kept together with oversized nails to Lee. She bit her lip. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  “She thinks it sucks,” Pierre said. “Don’t you?”

  “Not exactly,” she evaded, trying, but failing, to come up with a comment that was honest without damaging Lee’s pride. “Did you build this?”

  “We all did.” He picked up the lopsided box and examined it closer. “The man at the lumberyard let us have some scraps for free. We had to buy the nails.” He squinted, then set the box back down, this time beside Kristen’s writing box. “I was thinking paint would help, but not anymore.”

  “Rafe’s been making furniture for years. Plus, he had the tools and machines. A few are bigger and taller than I am,” Kristen told them.

  “I bet if we had those tools we could have done a better job,” Pierre said. “You think he’d show us?”

  “I’m not sure,” Kristen said slowly, watching the disappointment spread across their faces. “He’s a private person, but he did say he’d loan you some of the books he has.” Their expressions closed immediately. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” Lee said. “Gotta run. Tell Mr. Broussard we came by.”

  “You forgot your box,” she said when they turned to leave.

  “Yeah.” Lee came back, picked it up, then dumped it into the trash can.

  Kristen was stunned. “Why’d you do that?”

  “Because that’s where it belongs. In the trash.” The door closed and they were gone.

  Kristen got the distinct impression that Lee felt the same way about himself.

  * * *

  His expression pensive, Jacques held the poorly made box in his hand. “This is the first time any of them have tried to do anything besides try to act macho.”

  Sitting at the small, all-purpose table in the storage room in the back, Kristen folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. “I told them Rafe offered to loan them his books, but it was as if I’d insulted them.”

  Shaking his head, Jacques set the box down and reached in the plastic bag to hand Kristen her grilled-tuna sandwich. “Lee’s dyslexic. Pierre and Michael read, but on a second-grade level. All three were passed from grade to grade. They’re in the same neighborhood and hang out together because they know each other’s secrets.”

  “That’s horrible,” Kristen said, incensed on their behalf.

  “They’re getting the help they need now, but I’m afraid it may be too little too late. I’d push them to go to college if I thought they could make it. They haven’t learned the discipline nor do they have the academic skills. In the eleventh grade, the odds are stacked against them that they’ll catch up.” Jacques put his lunch in the refrigerator. “Without a trade they’ll never be able to rise out of the poverty they were born in.”

  “Like carpentry?” Kristen asked, not bothering to unwrap her grilled-tuna sandwich.

  “If you’ll excuse a pun, they’re sharp kids with inquisitive minds,” Jacques told her. “All come from large families. Lee and Pierre live with their mothers. Michael with his mother and father, but none of their parents seem able to give them the support and direction they need. I can’t criticize them. Putting food on the table and keeping a roof over their heads probably takes all their energy. I saw Rafe and thought he might be able to help. I still do.”

  Kristen’s hand traced the side of the unvarnished box. She couldn’t get Lee’s last remark out of her mind. He reminded her of Rafe, putting on a brave appearance and hurting inside. “I’ll visit Rafe tonight and talk to him.”

  “Tell him I’ll pay for any supplies they’ll need, and of course for his time.”

  “I don’t think any of that will be a consideration in his decision,” Kristen said.

  “What will?” Jacques asked.

  “This.” Kristen picked up the box.

  * * *

  Determined to make the art council meeting at Claudette’s house on time, Jacques shooed Kristen out the door fifteen minutes before closing time. He was the first member of the fund-raising committee for the annual Christmas benefit and auction to arrive. He’d dreaded and anticipated this moment all day.

  He was shown immediately to the drawing room with its vaulted ceiling, Persian rugs, and antique furniture. Claudette was alone.

  “Hello, Jacques,” Dressed in a slim-fitting, cream-colored dress, she offered her cheek and her hands.

  “Hello, Claudette.” Her skin was fragrant and warm, her hands cold. He frowned when he saw the lines of strain around her mouth. “Where’s Maurice?”

  Her delicate brow lifted at the harshness of his tone. “In the study. He’s working.” The astonishment must have shown on his face. “I had to practically drag him out of the office this afternoon.”

  “Then why does that make you so sad?” he asked before he could stop himself. Her hand jerked slightly in his. She tried to pull them free, but Jacques’s hold tightened. “We’re friends. I care about you.” Too much.

  “Then you’ll let the matter drop,” she said, her v
oice not quiet steady.

  “No. Not this time. You’ve gone through so much losing Claude—you deserve happiness.”

  “I am happy.” She pulled her hands free and stepped away to take a seat in the deep burgundy leather wing chair that had been her father’s favorite. Her hands cupped the rolled arms. “I wasn’t sure you would be able to make it tonight.”

  Jacques stared at Claudette. She looked fragile and vulnerable. She’d looked the same way after losing her father. Now wasn’t the time to push. He took a seat and accepted the change of subject. “I promised to help with the benefit and I will. I’ll always be there if you need me. Any time. Any place.”

  Her eyes widened as if she’d caught the undercurrents of his true feelings for her.

  Jacques kept his gaze on her, refusing to look away or back down. He’d honor her marriage vows, but he wanted her to know she only had to ask if she wanted his help.

  Whatever her response might have been, it was interrupted by the appearance of a couple on the art council committee. Claudette got up to greet them and Jacques did the same. Almost immediately, another member was shown in, and Jacques knew that he wouldn’t have any more quiet moments with Claudette.

  A couple of times that night, when he turned to her, she’d look away. Jacques didn’t know if it boded well or ill.

  fifteen

  “The students Jacques is mentoring made this. What do you think?” Kristen asked.

  A frown worked itself across Rafe’s brow as he stared down at the rectangular box on his worktable. The unvarnished, misshapen wood was splintered at the sides from nails too large, the hinged top overlapping. He didn’t know exactly what to say.

  Kristen sighed. “Your reaction is exactly the same as mine. I didn’t want to hurt their feelings. Then Lee sat it beside yours, and I didn’t have to say a word.”

  Uneasiness moved through Rafe. He knew what it was like to have your work criticized. His father had taken delight in belittling him over the simplest little thing. He could never please him no matter how hard he tried. He’d finally stopped trying.

  Rafe shook off the memory. “He shouldn’t have done that. I took shop my last two years of high school and worked with a furniture-maker for five years before I struck out on my own. It’s next to impossible to make a good piece without the right tools.”

  “Jacques said this is the first time they have shown any interest in anything besides being macho, but Lee got angry and threw it in the trash. I fished it out.”

  “I’ll get you the books.” He started toward the stairs, but her hand on his arm stopped him. He tried not to jump at the spiral of heat her touch caused.

  Her face was unbearably sad. “It won’t do any good,” she said, then explained about their reading difficulties. “That’s why Jacques and I feel that they need to learn a trade.”

  He stared down into her soft eyes. For the first time in years, he wasn’t able to rule his thoughts. Kristen kept intruding. He hadn’t been able to deny the pleasure seeing her had brought a short while ago. She lit up his solitary world.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “I do,” she said, her gaze locked with his. “I’m asking you to help three teenagers who have nowhere else to turn.”

  Shaking his head, he moved to the lengths of wood he’d cut for the shelves in the highboy. “I don’t like working around anyone.”

  “I thought you had an assistant.”

  He wished she wouldn’t stand so close. Even with all the sawdust, he could still smell the exotic fragrance of her perfume. “Jim Dobbins just does a bit of the sanding and varnishing. I work alone.”

  “Rafe, they need to see what hard work and determination can accomplish.” She looked around his shop. “You did this despite what must have been tremendous odds. You didn’t give up or blame others, you just did it.”

  His fingers bit into the wood. Oh, he’d blamed and he’d hated. He’d succeeded because he was determined that he’d honor his grandmother’s memory and the faith she’d always had in him, and to show his father that he’d been wrong about him being worthless. “They may not want it as badly as I did.”

  “One hour of your time is all I’m asking,” Kristen said. “If you don’t feel they’re sincere, I won’t ask again.”

  He placed the wood on top of another piece, marked his cut, then turned to her. “Why are you so adamant about this?”

  “Because I know what it is to want something and not know how to go about getting it, to be afraid of failing.” Her beautiful face was sad, wistful. “Like you, I was valedictorian of my high school class. And unlike you, if I died tonight I’d leave nothing tangible behind. Nothing would mark my passing through this life.”

  A chill swept through him. He grabbed her arms before he counted the cost. “Don’t you say things like that.” He shook her once as if to punctuate his order. “Ever.”

  Her hand tenderly cupped his cheek. “I didn’t say no one would care.”

  He swallowed the hard knot in his throat, struggled not to turn his head and kiss her palm, not to drag her into his arms. “This is really important to you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  He dropped her arms and stepped back while he was still able. “All right.”

  She launched herself into his arms. “Rafe! Thank you!”

  Need slammed into him like a jackhammer. With her talk of death he was too weak to deny the urgency clamoring through him. His arms closed around her, drawing her to him. He’d been allowed to touch heaven twice.

  She leaned her head back, grinning up at him. “You won’t be sorry.”

  The only thing he was sorry for was that one day she’d move on with her life … without him. “There’ll be rules and regulations. First, those baggy clothes have to go. They have to wear safety equipment and the first time one of them starts horse-playing in here, they’re out.”

  “Yes, sir.” She grabbed her purse. “If you’ll give me a list, I’ll pick up the things they’ll need tonight. Jacques is footing the bill.”

  He glowered down at her. “You aren’t going wandering around Home Depot this time of night.”

  She checked her watch, then rolled her eyes. “Rafe, it’s barely eight.”

  “And men are coming in there off jobs getting supplies for the next day. The parking lot is always busy, and once you get inside, you won’t know where to find anything.”

  She sighed dramatically. “Well, Rafe, I guess there’s only one answer.”

  “What?” he asked, sure she’d listen to reason.

  “You’ll just have to go with me.”

  He blinked, barely able to keep his mouth shut. He should have known better. This was the new Kristen. “Come on,” he said with a sigh. “The truck is in the back.”

  * * *

  Angelique was ready. She’d even cleaned up the living room. Then she answered the doorbell and her heart raced. Dressed casually in a navy blue sports coat and tan slacks, Damien still exuded a raw power and masculinity. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Angelique.” His dark gaze swept caressingly over her hair pulled up on top of her head, past the hint of cleavage in her wrap-style blouse to her form-fitting black capri pants and her black, high-heeled sandals. “You’re beautiful.”

  She’d received hundreds of compliments about her looks, but none had ever made her insides quiver like gelatin or pleased her more. “Thank you.” She went to pick up her purse off the sofa. “I’m ready.”

  “Not quite.” With an easy motion, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, long and leisurely. “Now I might be able to sit through dinner like a gentleman.”

  Angelique strove for calm as they left her apartment and Damien checked to make sure the door was locked. “Where are we going?”

  His hand slipped possessively around her slim waist. “To a place where I can enjoy you.”

  Her startled gaze flew up to his.

  Laughing, he hugged her to him. “That delight
comes later. For now it’s a quiet dinner at the Palace Cafe.”

  Angelique felt her heart do a silly little dance as the sound of Damien’s rich laughter flowed over her. She was going faster and faster down that hill.

  Outside, Damien escorted her to a sleek, gray Maserati Spyder in the visitors’ parking area. Her eyes widened. Inside the flashy Italian classic, she glanced over at him as he slid his long, powerful body into the low seat beside her. He looked as beautiful and as powerful as the car. “I pictured your car being staid and conventional.”

  Shifting the vehicle into gear, he backed out. The motor roared. “I’ve always had a passion for fast cars. I like opening them up, feeling their responsiveness beneath me.” He threw a seductive glance her way. “There’s only one other feeling that can possible compare with it.”

  Angelique’s breath caught. Her nipples pouted. Her body tingled in a place it had no place tingling on a first date. Defensively she pressed her knees together and tried not to think of her body beneath Damien’s, her legs wrapped around him.

  “Aren’t you going to ask what?” he said after a moment, stopping at a signal light.

  “I’m not touching that,” she said, then groaned.

  He ignored the green light and the car behind him honked. “Oh, I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  Since Angelique wouldn’t, either, she sensibly remained quiet as Damien finally sped off.

  * * *

  Kristen had never experienced shopping with a man except when she’d helped Adam prepare a cozy dinner for Lilly the night he proposed. Although he didn’t have his sight, he’d been exacting in what he wanted. Rafe was the same way. There was no leisurely stroll down this aisle or that. He’d gone directly to the items he’d wanted, tossed them in the wheeled shopping basket, and set off to get in the long line at checkout. Then she’d seen the light fixtures and suddenly had another agenda.

  “Let’s go down this aisle,” she said, not waiting for him to follow.