A Dark Love

by Margaret Carroll

  Flustered, Caroline sat upright.

  “Um, take it easy there, Alice, I didn’t mean anything by that.” His tone was sincere but he didn’t allow the moment to linger, a fact she appreciated. He set the tray down on a small table and pulled it close, lowering himself firmly onto the seat beside her.

  She was aware of how the swing shifted under his weight.

  He held the bowl of chips out. “Dig in. I made the guac myself.”

  She dipped a chip and popped it into her mouth. It was delicious, tangy with a hint of heat. “Very good.” She chased it with a sip of tea, which was sweet and cold.

  “Glad you like it. I grew the cilantro myself. And the tea is a secret Kincaid family recipe that’s been handed down for generations.” He knit his brows together in a mock serious expression. “A couple of tea bags and some water with honey and lemon thrown in at the end.” He laughed, reminding her again of his father. “Here’s to you, Alice.” Ken took a deep swig and looked around. “I’m a country boy at heart.”

  “I can see why,” Caroline said, sneaking a glance at his face.

  He seemed relaxed, at peace, taking it all in. “Takes my breath away,” he said, shifting his gaze to her.

  The flirtation was too much. Caroline took another sip of iced tea, mostly for something to do. Ken Kincaid seemed to say whatever was on his mind, plain and simple. What would it be like, she wondered, to have a man like him for a partner in life, to go through all her days and nights with a man like him at her side? There were people, she thought, who did not walk through life on eggshells. The realization of how much she had traded away by pledging her life to Porter filled her with regret. She drew in a long breath and looked out over the meadow.

  Shifting his gaze to some point in the distance, Ken gave the swing a push with one foot. “I don’t rush things. It’s just not the Western way, I guess. Life is good.” He raised his glass in another toast and sipped, his Adam’s apple bobbing above the fleece collar of his jacket.

  Caroline didn’t trust her voice, so she nodded. She was experiencing none of the nervous energy she had felt when she first met Porter. She felt no need to smooth Ken’s feelings or find three different ways of saying something to make him understand she meant no insult. In fact, she felt no pressure to do anything. So she sat, listening to Ken tell her in his gentle, deep voice some of the facts of his life. And this broke through the protective shell Caroline had built during her life with Porter, revealing something of the person who had been locked up inside.

  “I would have given anything to grow up in a place like this,” she said at last, gazing up at the peak. “I read that book Heidi, you know? It was a really old book with woodcut illustrations, and I still remember one that showed Heidi in her little bed at night, all tucked away with her long braids underneath a pretty quilt, looking up at the mountaintop and the stars that were right outside her window.” Caroline’s mind flashed back to an image of her bedroom overlooking the grime-filled streets of Baltimore, how she wrapped her pillow tight around her ears at night to block out the sounds inside the tiny apartment, praying to God to make her sleep through till morning no matter what. “I don’t know why, I just always remembered that picture,” she said, aware that Ken had turned to look at her.

  There was a pause, during which time he let the rocker slow and turned his gaze back to the vista that lay before them. “I guess I would have always thought about that book, too, Alice. If I was you.”

  She was not at all sure whether he was making fun of her so she looked at him, and to her surprise he was smiling. Not a big sarcastic smile and not a sympathetic smile and not even a knowing, tell-me-more smile like Porter would have done to draw her out. Just sweet, making a little joke. His smile made her aware of how sad she was, and somehow made some of it go away so she smiled back. “Yeah. I know it sounds weird, but I feel like I stepped inside the pages of that book.”

  Ken’s smile deepened into laughter. “Well, I guess you did.” He reached one arm lazily across the back of the porch swing so it rested behind her shoulders. His fingers brushed the top of her arm, and this made Caroline giddy. “You want me to yodel?”

  Caroline burst into laughter at that, and the feel of it inside her throat was like an old friend. She hadn’t laughed in a long time and it felt good. “You don’t yodel. Um, do you?”

  This set Ken off and he laughed some more. “Nope,” he said at last. “Sorry to ruin your childhood dream.”

  Something about the way he said this, like he truly wanted to apologize for her ruined childhood even though he knew nothing about it, combined with the look in his eyes that was like warm brown velvet, broke away even more of Caroline’s shell. Tears sprang to her eyes. Mortified, she squeezed them shut.

  “It’s okay there, Alice,” Ken said in that voice of his that managed to be deep and low and soft all at the same time. He used his foot to set the swing into gentle motion again. “Come to think of it, I could always learn to yodel.”

  Caroline opened one eye and smiled despite the tear that had snuck out. She swiped at it.

  “You could, too, you know.” Ken was smiling at her again. Making no mention of her tears, a fact she appreciated.

  Porter would have asked a probing question.

  “We could learn together, maybe open the Rocky Mountain School of Yodeling.”

  Caroline giggled. “We could,” she blurted even though she knew this was a dangerous game. Building a future, even a pretend one, was not something she could afford. But the look in his eyes and the smile on his face were as dizzying as the air at this altitude. “Alice and Ken’s School of Rocky Mountain Yodeling.” She laughed harder.

  “That’d work,” he said happily.

  She felt his fingers move so that his hand was cupping the top of her arm, and now his face was inches from hers, near enough that breathing in filled her lungs with Ken’s scent, piney and clean and strong. She swallowed.

  Ken’s smile was gone, his jaw working on something else now, but she saw the look in his eyes hadn’t changed or lost any of its warmth. A girl could get lost forever in those eyes, she thought, and never bother to try to find her way out. He angled his face toward hers, and she knew those lips would carry the faint taste of sweet tea.

  It was too much. Caroline moved away, sitting up straighter on the swing so it tipped forward and froze in place. “Sorry,” she said, not looking at him. She could not allow this to build into any kind of friendship. “I probably need to get back. Thanks for the tea.”

  Ken swung his feet down to the porch boards. “Any time, Alice,” he said easily. “Now you know the way here. The welcome mat’s always out.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured.

  Rising, he steadied the swing as she rose. “Yodeling practice daily at four,” he said.

  “I’ll remember that.” She smiled but did not have the nerve to meet his eyes.

  “Come on, I’ll give you a quick tour before you go. You don’t need those inside,” he teased as Caroline fingered her shades and cap.

  She followed him into a large, airy room, bright with diffused light from a skylight set high in the timbered ceiling.

  Her attention was drawn at once to a large oil painting that hung above a stone mantel.

  Caroline gasped. “That’s an O’Keeffe.”

  Ken nodded.

  “Shell on Red,” she said, her eyes widening.

  He arched a brow. “Most people know an O’Keeffe when they see one, but you’re the first person who knew which painting it was.”

  Caroline was too preoccupied to acknowledge the compliment, or the question behind it. She walked closer to get a better look. “It’s one of her early still lifes.”

  High-altitude sunlight played across the canvas, deepening the yellows, pinks, and deep reds, drawing out their sharp contrast to the ivory background. This was the way Georgia O’Keeffe had intended her work to be viewed, Caroline was certain. In natural light inside a home like this, not l
ocked away in a museum.

  The painting all but pulsed with sensual energy that radiated throughout the house. Caroline gave Ken a searching look. “How did you get it?”

  “I got it at an auction. I fell in love with it and had someone bid on it. And here it is.”

  “She dreamed of the Faraway,” Caroline said, studying the canvas.

  “Yeah,” Ken said softly. “She found it out this way, in the west Texas plains and northern New Mexico.”

  “She believed the ultimate reality of an object could be expressed in art,” Caroline said. Memories of her studies came flooding back. “She studied Buddhism.” She gestured to the painting. “You can see it here in the bold colors and strokes. She captured it, the spirit of the shell. O’Keeffe had a wilderness inside.”

  Ken nodded, watching Caroline.

  Aware that she had revealed more of herself than she had intended, Caroline looked down, twirling her sunglasses in one hand, ignoring his gaze. “I’ve done a bit of reading about her,” she said at last.

  “Right,” Ken said.

  He wasn’t buying it. But he was not the type to pry.

  He walked to one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that lined both sides of the fireplace, withdrew a large book about Georgia O’Keeffe, and carried it over. He stood, flipping through pages, leaning close so his shoulder and arm almost touched Caroline’s. “Here’s the part about her time out West,” he said. “She grew up on a farm in Wisconsin. When she visited this part of the world, it changed her life.” He closed the book and handed it to Caroline. “I’d like you to have this.”

  The act of generosity moved her. Standing close to him, she could well imagine he was a force to be reckoned with on the playing field.

  At that moment he shifted his stance by perhaps a centimeter, no more, angling his body closer to hers, and this made it difficult for her to catch her breath. She felt less sure of her stance on the tightly woven Navajo rug at their feet. Summoning all her courage, she risked a glance at Ken’s face and saw the soft expression in his brown eyes, the muscles working in his jaw.

  The air between them turned into a vacuum so that she had a sudden urge to close the small space that separated them. “I want to paint like her,” she blurted, because telling him something about herself was the next best thing to doing what she really wanted, to lose herself in his kiss.

  Ken took his time before making any reply. “Well then, I think that’s what you should do, Alice.” His eyebrows lifted a notch as he watched her, and something about this small act opened a space inside her that had been cooped up inside the shell, and suddenly following her dreams seemed like the most logical thing to do with her life.

  Caroline could only nod, marveling at the shift that was taking place inside her. She forced herself to take a step back, holding the book to her chest as though it could shield her from revealing any more of her own Faraway. “Thanks,” she said, her voice not as strong as she had intended. “I really need to go.”

  Sensing her ambivalence, Ken moved away. “No problem.” He cleared his throat. “We probably need to get you on the road.”

  She took a quick look around. The furnishings were of good quality, generously sized to hold Ken’s large frame. There was a leather couch draped with quilts in bright Southwestern colors, several oversized easy chairs, each with its own ottoman, and a sleeping alcove set high above.

  The living area opened onto a kitchen outfitted with stainless appliances. A large oak table lined with massive chairs sported bright blue checked place mats. In the center was a glass bowl filled with small river rocks.

  Despite the fact that everything was supersized to fit Ken’s frame, the overall effect was cozy. Not in a fussy way. Completely masculine.

  “You have a wonderful home,” Caroline said.

  He nodded. “Thanks. I knew what I wanted when I came back here to live. I’d always had my eye on this piece of land. So I bought it and bunked with Gus while I had this place built.” He looked around. “It’s mostly everything I wanted.”

  Except that he lived here alone. The words popped into Caroline’s mind so clearly she could have sworn he’d said them out loud. The look he gave her left no doubt as to what was missing from his life, she realized with a pang. She bit her lips against making any reply.

  “Anyhow, that’s the tour. Most of it anyway.” He led the way through a side door from the kitchen to the garage.

  Moments later Caroline found herself behind the wheel of a candy apple red Porsche 988. The engine purred, vibrating up through the leather bucket seats so it caressed her like a living thing.

  Ken explained the gears and various gauges but it was hard to concentrate on anything but the fact that they were reclining together, side by side, their hands touching over the gearshift. He grinned ear to ear. “This car’s a holdover from my time with the Chiefs. These days, I prefer the Jeep.”

  “I’ve never driven a car like this,” Caroline admitted, worried.

  “You’ll be fine. This car practically drives itself.”

  She gave him a doubtful look.

  He laughed and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze.

  Her skin tingled inside her blouse where he touched her.

  “You’ll do just fine,” he said. “A little road trip will do you good.”

  He slid from the passenger seat and smiled through the open window.

  Caroline wasn’t at all sure of the truth of this statement but now was no time to argue. She pulled her Cardinals cap low over her face, donned her shades, and shifted into gear. The car shot out of the garage like a cougar sprinting after prey.

  “You got it,” Ken called, giving a whoop of triumph.

  Caroline had no chance to respond because she was busy shifting into second as the car leaped down the drive with all the grace of a living animal.

  Ken Kincaid watched his Porsche inch down the driveway with Alice Stevens behind the wheel. He couldn’t stop smiling. Once upon a time, that Porsche had been his prized possession. Now it only had value for him because it came in handy as a spare for Alice.

  Buying it had been Suzie’s idea, even though Ken did love driving it. Thinking of her now was odd, mostly because of how different this day was from those early days when he’d first begun dating Suzie. Odder still was the fact that Ken felt no pain at the thought of her.

  He’d been unsure of himself with Suzie from day one, Ken realized now, despite the fact that he was a rising star at the time they first met.

  Alice Stevens couldn’t be more different. She was smart, not just educated but smart, and she had a very sweet way about her. She was beautiful, not in a flashy way, but beautiful from the inside out.

  Alice Stevens would age well.

  That realization hit Ken Kincaid head-on with the force of an opposing tackle. Even after he had been dating Suzie for a while, long enough to bring her home to meet Gus (she had sneezed constantly, allergic to cats), he didn’t remember ever wondering what she’d be like at forty, fifty, or seventy.

  Alice would keep painting what she saw with those sweet brown eyes, he just knew it in his heart.

  Once Caroline maneuvered the Porsche out onto the county road, she relaxed enough to become aware of the breeze in her hair and the warmth of the sun on her skin. After a while, she felt bold enough to loosen her grip on the wheel and flip on the stereo. She was rewarded with Xydeco music from Mardi Gras. This was how it felt to be in Ken’s world. Carefree. Young. Happy.

  She didn’t realize she was smiling until her jaw began to ache.

  Nan came out and waved when she pulled in at the ranch. “That’s quite a machine.”

  Caroline turned off the ignition and stood, her legs still vibrating from the engine. “I’ve never been in that kind of a car.”

  “That’s quite a loaner for my old boat. I’ve never seen anyone drive it but Ken in the two years since he’s been back. Not even his father.”

  Caroline couldn’t hide a proud smile. Ken h
ad granted a special privilege to her and her alone. Her heart did a small flip-flop as she cradled the art book close to her chest.

  That night in bed, she paged through it cover to cover while outside a wind roared down off the mountain. From her window with the curtains pulled back, Caroline could see the treetops pitch and sway in a crazy dance. She heard a soft rumble from low inside the house as the boiler kicked on, and later, the eerie yip-yipping of coyotes.

  Pippin whined.

  Caroline hushed the dog and burrowed deep under the covers. Nan was right about October here in the Rockies.

  The change had begun.

  CHAPTER 14

  MODESTO, CALIFORNIA

  Tom Fielding took a sip of his double latte. Still hot even after the fifteen-minute drive from Starbucks. The office was dead quiet, which was also good. In stark contrast to the morning routine inside the Fielding ranch house, where Lisa would be putting on makeup and giving the twins breakfast before the sitter arrived.

  Lisa was pissed when Tom told her he needed to head in early for a conference call with a client on the East Coast.

  He fingered the sticky note with Caroline’s cell phone number. He had about twenty minutes before the offices of ActiveWear Modesto came alive for the day.

  Tom reached for the phone, ready to call Caroline twice, and both times he changed his mind. He pulled up his deleted mail files and scowled.

  There it was, Caroline’s message to him.

  Hey handsome. Just checking in. Hope to get out of Dodge, maybe see some leaves turn. Road trip!! What was the name of that place in the Rockies? Chat soon C.

  It wasn’t right. Tom Fielding drummed his fingers on the desk. He could call her. They had always kept each other’s cell phone numbers, just in case. Calling, they knew, would cross a line. Lately, they had inched closer to that line.

  Lisa regularly checked Tom’s cell phone records as part of her job as bookkeeper in the family firm. She also went through his car and desk on a regular basis, searching for a spare cell phone from Costco with pay-as-you-go minutes. She assumed he was not aware of her snooping, and Tom let it go at that.