This Wandering Heart

by Janine Rosche

  Lifting onto her toes, she neared. As soft as a whisper, her lips touched his. Closing his eyes, he accepted her kiss politely, all while holding back the cage door to the raging desire inside him.

  She drew back. Her lips curled into a smile—the first one of hers he’d ever seen.

  The cage door blasted open. Burying his fingers into her hair behind her head and wrapping her waist with his other arm, he pressed her tight against him. He caught the breath she expelled as his mouth covered hers. Her lips were warm and forgiving of his forward behavior. If she wanted this kiss to end, she’d have to be the one to step away. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He’d hold on to her forever, he was sure. Up and over her shoulder, his hand slid, to her upper arm.

  She winced.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “A little.” She moved to kiss him again.

  “But I barely touched your arm.”

  “It’s nothing. Just sensitive.”

  Robbie found a light switch on the desk and flicked it on. He pushed up the sleeve of her shirt. A deep bruise purpled the flesh between her elbow and shoulder.

  “Robbie, it’s nothing. Let’s go back to the table.”

  He turned her arm. On the back side, stripes marred her otherwise flawless skin. Gently, Robbie positioned his fingers between the marks and aligned his thumb with the bruise in front, mimicking the grip that had harmed the girl he’d fallen in love with one tutoring session at a time.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  This yawn refused to be stifled. Keira had stayed up way too late helping Robbie with that contract. He was right. They didn’t need all the legal mumbo jumbo. One thing she could count on—Robbie Matthews was devoted. At the end of the week, if things went well, he would let this go on and on and on. He should be the one worried she might breach the contract without warning.

  She shook out her arms. Nope. Don’t think about that. This picture was meant to be carefree, not burdened.

  Her mind kept going back to the way he’d looked at her when she’d asked him to read the contract out loud. Had he remembered what she’d remembered? Considering how he kept looking at her lips, it seemed so. She should add that to the contract. Robert Charles Matthews agrees not to stare at Keira Emmaline Knudsen’s lips during conversations in close quarters. He shall also refrain from wearing her favorite cologne. Could she get away with making him cut off his curls? Perhaps a good buzz cut would help with that “strictly business” part.

  Who was she kidding? He could still warm her insides with a shaved head and a peg leg.

  Focus, Keira. She needed to get a few shots in to make up for yesterday’s playdate with Anabelle. One shot, in particular, had her nerves in a fray. What would her followers say when they saw her face for the first time?

  If they hated it, she couldn’t blame the light, which was perfect. She twirled a curl around her finger and placed it in front of her shoulder next to the others. Keira waited for the cloud of breath to dissipate. A moment later, she held up her camera with the digital screen flipped to stare back at her. Lips parted, she offered the camera the same coy look she used to give Robbie when she wanted a kiss. The orange glow flushed her skin to a perfect tan and enriched her normally blue eyes to a vivid green.

  Perfect. Except for that person in the background. Check that—persons, plural.

  “Keira!” Anabelle jumped from Robbie’s arms and ran to her.

  “Hey, sweetie. What are you doing up so early?” Who cared about perfect light when this little girl’s arms were around her?

  The coffee cup Robbie held out to her made her stomach growl in want. “Do you still like your coffee the same way?”

  Did he mean high calorie and fat laden? Not if she wanted to keep fitting into the camera frame. But it would feel warm in her cold hand, so she accepted it.

  “I hope we didn’t interrupt you. Annie doesn’t sleep past six.”

  “No problem. Just trying to get a quick picture before the sun gets too high.”

  Robbie set his coffee down on the ground and reached out a hand. “I’ll take it for you.”

  “Um . . .” She glanced down at Anabelle, still hugging her waist. “Okay. I want one, kind of up close . . . with my face and hair, but off-center. I want the background out of focus a bit, but I can do that afterward on the computer.”

  He took the camera and got in position. “Kitty Kat, come here.”

  The little girl held tight.

  “It’s okay. She’s short.” She reclaimed her coy expression as Robbie flipped the screen.

  His smile fell when his eyes focused on the frame.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He swallowed hard. The camera clicked once. “Hold on.” Stepping forward he dragged his pinkie finger from the outside of her brow, down over her cheekbone to her jaw. A loose hair?

  As the sun’s light drove back the shadows, Robbie took another few pictures. Suddenly, Anabelle’s hand reached to Keira’s armpit and tickled her, sending her nerves into a tizzy.

  She laughed.

  Snap.

  “Oh, that last one will look terrible.” She tickled the little girl back, enjoying her tiny giggle. Stepping around the camera, she pressed the image playback button. Ugh. Her mouth hung open, and her eyes crinkled at the edges in the picture. Not cute.

  She pulled the camera out of his hand. Bending down, she loaded it into her camera bag.

  “I’m done for the morning.”

  “Good. Take a walk with us to Memorial Park. You can take more pictures there.”

  “A walk? It’s too early, and it’s cold.”

  “You’ve gotta embrace the cold, girl. You’ve gotta get some meat on your bones. Drink up that coffee creamer.”

  She wouldn’t. But as the steam swirled beneath her nose, it sure did smell good. Robbie was pretending not to watch her as they walked. Years ago, she would have drunk this happily. She’d gained weight during college, thanks to two things. Not having a father around to slap food out of her hand. And having a boyfriend who told her ten times a day how beautiful she was, with or without makeup, with or without extra weight. She could guess what he thought when he looked at her now, because she thought it about herself. A few added pounds would make her collarbones stick out less. An additional snack would keep her stomach from twisting on itself.

  But as they say, the camera adds ten pounds, and commenters could be mean. She’d seen that in the threads of other social media personalities. If she wanted a traveler’s lifestyle, she needed to have someone pay for it. If she wanted someone to pay for it, she needed followers. If she wanted followers, she needed to be the person people wanted to chase after.

  Robbie, however, had always accepted her as she was. The only prodding he’d ever done was to encourage her to be her authentic self. Of course, like Curley’s wife, she had no self back then. She was Robbie’s girlfriend—his beloved girlfriend, no doubt, but still his girlfriend. No more, no less.

  Kat Wanderfull was her true self. Wasn’t she?

  Would it be so wrong if Kat enjoyed a few sips of her favorite coffee?

  She tilted the cup, letting the sweet, rich drink slide over her tongue and down her throat, flushing her with warmth. The streets of Rapid City were quiet this early Sunday morning. In front of them, Anabelle skipped along the sidewalk. For a moment, Keira let herself imagine a different world, where Anabelle was hers and Robbie might reach for her hand as it swung at her side.

  After exploring the park and snagging some photos by Rapid Creek, they returned to the hotel. They settled at a table in a room off the lobby, where a full continental breakfast awaited them. Robbie and Anabelle looked like a Scottish laird and lady with all the dishes sitting before them. As opposed to Keira, who’d filled up on fruit and unsweetened oatmeal with slivered almonds. She accepted a bite of scrambled eggs off Robb
ie’s fork. Then stole another when she thought he wasn’t looking. The salted butter coated the roof of her mouth, bringing so much pleasure, she sank into her seat.

  “What’s on the docket for today?” he asked, before draining the last sip of orange juice into his mouth.

  “It’s Sunday. Your day off.”

  He tilted his head. “Oh, I get days off? Cool. I haven’t even had my first day.”

  “Wherever I am, I like to attend a local church. Sometimes they’re good. Other times they are a bit kooky, but you know . . . it’s still worship. Today, I was hoping to go see the Chapel in the Hills. It has this old-world architecture. Great for pictures. I bet you’d love its intricate wood carvings.”

  “I’m game. And after that?”

  “I do my own thing on Sundays.” It sounded harsher than she meant it to. “But it’s kind of a drive. Do you think you could drop me off? All mileage will be reimbursed.”

  “Sure can.”

  * * *

  * * *

  I’m supposed to drop you off in this shack, pick you up in four hours, and believe you won’t be murdered?” The small building sat in the middle of rolling hills, nearly two hours away from their hotel. Various colored tin slats puzzled the roof. Its door hung crooked on its hinges, and the whole thing appeared to have only one window.

  “What’s murdered mean?” Anabelle asked from the back seat.

  Robbie cringed. “Uh, nothing. Pretend I didn’t say that, baby.”

  Keira looped her satchel over her head. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You won’t tell me who you’re meeting or what you’ll be doing for four hours. As far as I know, you’re working in a crystal meth lab. Can I walk you in at least? Please?”

  “You’re cute when you’re overprotective.” She patted his cheek.

  The door of the old truck groaned when she shoved it open.

  Oh no, she doesn’t. Robbie jumped out of the truck. He ran around the front bumper, impressed with his own quickness, given his size. All that quarterback maneuvering came in handy. Catching up to her before she’d covered half the distance, he grasped her hand. “Wait.”

  “Robbie, let me go.”

  “First, tell me why you’re here.”

  Keira scanned the landscape. “To do a small part to fix what others have broken, I guess.”

  The door of the house swung open. An older man with peppered-gray hair appeared, dressed in head-to-toe denim, broken up only by a leather belt. “Kat Wanderfull?”

  Keira twisted her hand from Robbie’s to offer a handshake to the man. “That’s me.”

  “Michael Cook. You are?” Angled toward Robbie, the man’s hand was calloused and scarred, much like his own. His friendly smile relieved Robbie’s fears.

  “He’s not staying,” she said.

  Robbie accepted the man’s greeting. “Yes, I am. My name’s Robbie. I have my daughter, Anabelle, here, too. Whether we wait in the truck or join in the fun is up to Kat.” He gave her a pointed look.

  “The more, the merrier, as they say.” Michael glanced back to the truck. “We have some toys your daughter can play with inside. She looks about my granddaughter’s age. I’ll be bringing her by later. Perhaps they can play.”

  “Anabelle would love that,” Robbie said, turning his focus on Keira.

  “That’s fine, I guess,” she said.

  Her narrowed eyes tickled Robbie. He did love getting to her. Robbie waved Anabelle over. After hopping out of the vehicle, she used her whole body to shut the door, then ran to the group. Robbie caught her mid-run, swinging her up to his hip, and followed the two inside.

  “We got the paint and all the supplies right over there. Of course, I don’t expect you to finish everything, but anything you can do would be helpful.”

  Looking around, Robbie found a makeshift classroom. Mismatched tables and chairs held together with duct tape had been pushed to the center of a large round, stained rug. Several of the walls had been graffitied with slurs so wretched, he was glad Anabelle couldn’t read yet. “I brought some bottled water for you. All on the back porch.”

  Keira lifted her hair up into a ponytail, securing it with an elastic.

  “Nobody should be by since it’s Sunday and all. You have my number if there’s anything you need.” Michael pulled out a bin of toys for Anabelle and bade goodbye, his truck leaving a cloud of dust behind.

  Keira found a screwdriver and began unfastening the light switch from the plaster.

  Robbie grabbed another and got started on the outlet covers. “Kat Wanderfull, you’re a mystery. Tell me, do your followers know what a do-gooder you are?”

  “Are you going to tease me about this, too?”

  “I think it’s cool. How does it work?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Enough with the humility already. You’re caught, so spill it.”

  Keira sighed. “During the school year, I spend Saturday doing the picture thing. I change outfits, hairstyles, and scenery multiple times. Then I schedule check-ins and posts each day of the week. That way, it seems like I’ve spent a good deal of time in the location.”

  “Sounds exhausting, but okay.”

  “It honestly is. Which is why on Sundays, I go to church, like we did earlier. And I find some way to give back. I don’t post about it because—”

  “Because superheroes don’t brag about their work.” From where he kneeled, he couldn’t see her face, but only the stilled screwdriver she held.

  “I’m not trying to be a hero or savior of any kind. But traveling around? You see stuff that breaks your heart, like this,” she said, pointing the end of the screwdriver toward the graffiti. “The people in these towns welcome me in like I’m family. How can I turn a blind eye if there’s something I can do to help them? Even if it’s just painting a couple walls.”

  He rolled the handle of the tool between his fingers. It was the same Craftsman he had in his truck’s glovebox. “You’re different, Keira. Do you know that? You’re brave. Maybe too brave. Have you had anything scary happen to you while you’ve been traveling on your own?”

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  “Not to harp on it, but you need to be careful coming by yourself to places like this.”

  “I’ve managed to survive many years without Robbie the Protector.”

  “But I’m back, aren’t I? For this week at least, I’ll be by your side . . . just in case Kat has reached her ninth life.”

  She played some music from her phone, using a cup as an amplifier. After prying open the brand-new pail of paint, Robbie began cutting in below the ceiling. Keira rolled the flat surfaces. They maneuvered around each other, making surprisingly good progress in the two hours before Michael returned.

  “Michael, I run a remodeling business,” Robbie said. “If you have some tools around here, I could knock out a few of these repairs for you.”

  “I might be able to scrounge up a few.”

  Anabelle took quickly to Michael’s granddaughter. The two girls played ring-around-the-rosy outside as Robbie rehung the door, fixed a stuck window, and repaired some faulty wiring in a light fixture. When he finished, he stepped back inside to find Michael and Keira replacing the last of the tables. The room didn’t look good as new, but it was better, nonetheless.

  As they drove away, with Anabelle already snoozing in her car seat, Robbie wanted to tell Keira how proud he was. But she had to know already. The sweet smile gracing Keira’s face was the best thing he’d seen in South Dakota yet.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  After grabbing dinner at a sandwich shop, they returned to the hotel. Nestled beneath the quilt, Anabelle wound down by watching a Princess Patty Cake cartoon on the TV at the hotel.

  He knocked a rhythm on the door connecting to Keira’s room.

 
When she opened it, she smiled. Her wet hair hung limply over the straps of her tank top. The excess fabric of oversize pants pooled at her feet. She looked comfortable and fresh-faced, with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

  Mercy. Why had he bothered her again? He couldn’t remember. “Hey. What are you working on?”

  “My shots from this morning. Wanna see?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll grab my laptop. One second.” Keira disappeared, taking her soapy-clean scent with her. When she reappeared, she carried her still-open computer. As she squeezed past him in the doorway, her elbow brushed across his stomach, although she pretended not to notice.

  He followed Keira to the desk in his room, where she placed her laptop. The screen displayed an incredible picture of her with that look. The one he was helpless around.

  She sat in the chair in front of the computer and motioned for him to stand over her shoulder. She pulled a leg up, hugging her knee to her chest with one arm, while the hand of the other worked the touch pad. “I could use your opinion. Which filter do you like better?” She toggled between a warmer, more vibrant hue and a cooler, artsier one.

  He knew from his time as MRCustom that she preferred the artsy one. “The first one with the orange glow makes your eyes pop more.”

  Nibbling the nail on her thumb, she focused on each picture, placing them side by side. “I know I’m being silly, but this picture is important. It’s the first time I’ll show my face to my followers. What if they . . .”

  A piece of wet hair on the back of her head looked as if it was caught it some kind of gymnastics move. He smoothed it, letting his fingers trail the length of her locks. When they grazed the fabric of her tank top near her spine, he forced his hand back to the table. “They’ll think you’re beautiful, Kat. I mean, look at you.” His hand stretched over the laptop’s built-in touch pad, waiting for permission before he made contact. After a tilt of her chin assured him he wouldn’t get bopped for touching her computer, he went to the cascade of pictures from that morning. He clicked on the last one when she’d laughed thanks to Anabelle. “This one’s my favorite.”