by Alyssa Kress
She began to rub his temples, lightly with just the tips of her fingers. "No, what?"
"Not yet. Just keep doing what you're doing. It feels so good. Your hands are so soft..."
A small tremor of pleasure went through her at his praise. She'd never felt adept at physical things, but Gary seemed to find everything she did just great.
"I used to dream about hands like yours," Gary admitted in a lazy, half-asleep drawl. "So soft. You couldn't hurt me if you tried."
"I did try."
He let out a breathy laugh. "Not very seriously."
Kerrin's fingers stopped abruptly as she realized that in his life people had tried to hurt Gary, seriously. People he should have been able to trust. For one supremely disorienting moment she felt as though she were standing on the edge of a dark and yawning abyss. Monsters lurked at the bottom.
"What's wrong?" Gary's dark eyes were suddenly looking up at her. The abyss was gone. He'd pulled a lid over it somehow.
But the memory of it lingered. "It's nothing. I'm fine." Kerrin took her hands away from touching him, because she suddenly wanted to touch him all over, wanted to do whatever she could to close up that horrible abyss for good.
Sensing her withdrawal, Gary sat up. In one fluid motion, he was balanced between his toes and his knees, facing her, his gaze scrutinizing. "Don't say 'nothing.' You stopped."
True, but she didn't want to talk about why, and confess her sudden urge to smother him with touches. "I was just thinking," she quickly improvised, "Would it help if I made some phone calls on Willie's behalf?"
Surprise was evident in his face. "You?"
"Maybe someone on the outside could have more influence in getting him to a reputable physician."
His expression was baffled as he regarded her, his palms flat on his lean thighs. "You don't even know the guy."
"No, but he's your friend, isn't he?" Kerrin didn't know how the situation could be any clearer than that. "At any rate, I'm sure it's worth a try." Rising, she started to brush off her dress.
A strong male hand suddenly caught her by the shoulder. She looked up, instantly alert, her man-alarm going full blast, but Gary's eyes were downcast, his dark lashes against his cheekbones. He bent to flick dried weeds from her skirt. "Here, let me help you with that," he said gruffly.
She watched him a moment, growing warm again in her chest. "Gary?"
He looked up.
"I'm sure that everything is going to turn out okay."
Slowly his mouth moved into a smile, crooked and amused. "Now, what else would I expect to hear from a lady who believes in flying saucers?"
Kerrin refused to be goaded. "Anything is possible."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Anything is possible. Gary considered this sentiment as he watched Kerrin, seated across the restaurant booth from him in Bishop. Maybe a person had to grow up in a place like Freedom to own the luxury of harboring such beliefs.
The dim overhead lighting glowed gently on her wheat-colored curls as she frowned over the menu. The woman's outlandish beliefs were nothing more than wishful thinking. Why, if he told her about his true purpose in her town and the damn tunnel, she'd probably believe he could find that, too. Gary didn't hold any truck with sheer wishful thinking.
And yet, hearing her spout such nonsense was no particular burden. As a matter of fact, it was rather pleasurable. Sort of like stealing a bit of her optimism.
Stealing again. Gary frowned downward and smoothed his finger over the heavy table knife. Sterling silver, he automatically noted. He knew how to walk away with the place settings on his own table as well as that of several others, but absconding with the silver of Bishop's only decent restaurant wasn't top on his mind. Top on his mind was the theft of something to which he had even less of a claim.
Maybe Kerrin had been telling the truth about Victor Bothmann. Maybe a romance between the two of them wasn't in the cards. Seen through the distance of a few hours' time, Gary could admit the possibility. But it was either Bothmann or some other well-educated, intelligent fellow from Kerrin's own social class who should be with her. Someone with a clean background and good family, someone who could offer her a future. Someone who had a right to be contemplating the possession of Kerrin's body.
The waitress came by for the second time, holding her pad up in hopeful expectation. "Have you made up your mind yet, honey?" Despite the linen napkins and expensive lighting, the help here behaved like they were working in the Daisy's Coffee Shop down the block.
Kerrin looked up at the waitress with a woebegone expression. Gary just knew she was going to beg for more time.
"The lady will have the trout," he said, putting her out of her misery. "So will I."
The harried waitress raised an eyebrow in Kerrin's direction, as if daring her to put up with this male arrogance. Amusement rose in Kerrin's gem-like eyes as she shifted her gaze toward Gary. "You weren't kidding. No compunction against eating them."
"Properly filleted." Gary made this distinction to the waitress, as well. "No bones. I happen to like fish," he told Kerrin. Besides which, he hadn't had any in five years at Chino, except inedible stuff fried in overused oil.
"Oh, I guess I'll have trout, too," Kerrin said, smiling as she handed the waitress her menu. "I suppose that's justice, assuming this meal's on the Department of Water and Power."
The waitress moved off in her black pants and orthopedic shoes. Gary reached for his dripping water glass. "Nope. This one's on me."
Kerrin seemed to consider that, and him, for a moment. "Well, in that case I should be more respectful."
"You can thank me properly," Gary told her. "Later."
Giving a short, nervous laugh, Kerrin looked to the side, her peaches and cream complexion going a touch more peachy. "I suppose you think this place is hopelessly provincial," she observed, in a drastic change of subject. All the same, she hadn't told him to go to hell about 'thanking him later.' Gary felt an involuntary jump in his low-level state of sexual anticipation.
"I've been in worse." Gary wished Kerrin wasn't so nervous she wouldn't look at him. Her eyes could do the most delightful things.
But she gazed past him, toward the baroque reproductions on the fleur de lis walls. "And the town of Freedom ‑‑ I suppose you find it awfully boring."
Boring? True, there was no movie theater, bar, or gym. No bookstore, museum, or other redeeming feature of interest. But Gary would never call Freedom boring. It was the first place in the world where people knew his name, where some of them smiled and greeted him when they saw him in the street, where he'd met one or two people who actually looked up to him. It was the first place in the world he'd been relieved, now and then, from his urge to larceny.
"Freedom has its good points," he gruffly admitted.
She turned her eyes back to him then; they were glowing with delight. "You really think so?" Reaching across the table, she touched his hand; lightly, a feather brush with just the tips of her fingers.
It sent a wave of desire through him. Without the least effort, this woman could make him hungry as a wolf.
"Why, you're perfectly sincere, aren't you? I am so glad."
Why? What difference did it make to her what some con thought of her home town? But she definitely looked pleased.
"There's something I've been wondering," Kerrin said as their plates of fish arrived. She concentrated on shifting almonds around on top of her trout. "Every time I talk to Marty he keeps asking me how you're doing. As if ‑‑ " Kerrin seemed to have trouble framing the rest of her sentence. The line between her delicate brows grew deeper. "As if ‑‑ "
"As if he can't believe I haven't screwed up by now," Gary finished for her.
His bluntness made her blush as she glanced up at him. But it wasn't a blush of embarrassment. More a blush of...anger?
"Yes, that's exactly how he sounds," Kerrin confirmed. "And, frankly, I can't understand it. Gary, you're one of the most scrupulously honest people I know. Bu
t Marty acts as though it's some kind of miracle you haven't committed a crime by now."
One of the most scrupulously honest people she knew? Gary tried not to choke on his own astonishment. The lady had better come to understand something elemental about his nature ‑‑ else she'd go tracking so far into her wishful thinking galaxy there'd be no chance of rescue.
"Marty's got every right to be surprised." Gary's voice was firm. "It is a damn miracle I haven't slipped up so far."
Her expression was confused and pained. It wasn't easy to destroy an illusion cherished by Freedom's town mayor, but Gary knew he had to take care of the job ‑‑ right then.
Ignoring his waiting fish, he leaned forward. "What's it been ‑‑ three weeks since I hit town? Since the age of five, and not counting my time in prison, I don't think there's been a span of that amount where I haven't stolen something, planned on stealing something, tried it, or got caught for it."
Kerrin looked stunned. It was the effect he'd been after, but it caused him a low, aching pain all the same. "But you haven't, have you?" she countered, her voice choked.
"What?"
Her eyes shone on him with odd brilliance. "You haven't stolen anything in the last three weeks," she elaborated with something he could only describe as triumph.
He looked back at her, baffled. "Maybe not. But I've sure as hell thought about it."
Instead of the contempt he should have seen in her eyes, there was an instant and astonishing sympathy. "I'll just bet you have. Every single day. It's not a matter of material gain for you, is it? It's a matter of survival."
"If you're thinking this is some grand war against poverty ‑‑ "
"I'm not," she neatly interrupted him. "I'm thinking this is like drugs to an addict. A fix. Something to make your life work out right." Her eyes were fairly glowing on him. "I was right not to let you break into my office that first night, wasn't I?"
Suddenly Gary couldn't hold her gaze. He stared past her right shoulder, his heart beating hard and scared. He hadn't wanted her to know that. He hadn't wanted her to know any of this. He'd just wanted her to acknowledge that he was no good. Stubborn, impossible woman! Why wouldn't she do that? Why'd she have to delve into his rawest weakness?
"Think whatever you like." He frowned darkly. "God knows you won't listen to reason."
"Oh, I think my reasoning is just fine, thank you very much." She leaned back in the booth, crossing her arms. "You are incredible, you know that? Just incredible."
"Yeah. Maybe I could get a spot on the Oprah show. Only man alive addicted to theft ‑‑ "
"Gary." She stopped him with a soft hand on his forearm. Her skin was cool, dry, silky; her grip fervent.
He raised his eyes.
Her gaze wasn't derisive or patronizing or mocking. Instead Gary saw deep concern and an almost unbounded admiration. Admiration?
Her grip tightened on his forearm. Her nails were making little indentations in his skin. She really wanted his attention. Her voice was low and urgent.
"Gary, I can't even imagine what it's cost you over the past weeks, to fight this thing, all by yourself. Nobody giving you any particular credit."
Her nails dug further into his skin, well within the pain range. She definitely had his attention.
"Well, you aren't alone anymore," she claimed. "And I think ‑‑ I think what you've accomplished is truly remarkable!"
Something like an ocean liner struck him head on. It almost crashed right through the walls he'd erected around himself long ago. Gary didn't need other people. He never had. He couldn't. Other people simply didn't give a damn. And the worse of a mess he'd made of his life, the less of a damn anybody had ever given.
Kerrin let go of his arm and leaned back in her seat, looking flustered and embarrassed. She picked up her fork and attacked that poor trout as though it weren't already dead. Five distinct areas of his forearm vaguely ached from her grip. But that was nothing compared to the giant puncture wound she'd made in his wall. The hole went clear through and it hurt like hell, but from it he could just make out the sky.
Feeling peculiar, almost lightheaded, Gary watched Kerrin fit microscopic bits of trout into her mouth. His eyes narrowed. She thought she could go around crashing other people's walls? She thought she could do that without someone crashing through any of hers? Mentally, he huffed. Oh no, he was going to keep things even between them. Every wall of his earned a wall of hers. And he knew exactly where her walls lay.
His soul still hurt from her ocean liner trick, but Gary almost smiled.
Why, this could turn out to be a decent evening, after all.
~~~
Gary was being unnaturally silent, even for Gary. Other than asking if she wanted him to turn on the heater in his car, he hadn't said a word since they'd left the restaurant in Bishop. He'd barely eaten any dinner. Oh, all right, neither had she, but Kerrin had an excuse. How was she supposed to eat when Gary kept subjecting her to these long, scrutinizing stares? It was as though the Wolf in Grandmother's clothes was wondering whether to eat Red Riding Hood boiled, sautéed, or roasted over a spit.
Now, with her elbow resting on the edge of Gary's car door, Kerrin bit down on her index finger. Hard. It was the only way to make her hands stop shaking. Outside the window was pure darkness. They could have been driving through outer space.
From the midst of the silence Gary suddenly asked, "Nervous?"
Kerrin jumped about a mile. Good thing the shoulder belt was fastened or she might have cracked her head on the roof. "No," she squeaked. "Why would I be nervous?"
With his eyes on the road, he smiled. "Maybe," he drawled, "because you think I'm going to come on to you."
Through sheer determination, she managed to unclench her teeth from around her trembling finger long enough to answer. "I wouldn't think that."
"You wouldn't?" He shot her a brief, quizzical glance. "But it's true."
She almost swallowed her tongue. Had he just said that, straight out, utterly bald? At the same time, she wondered at her own nerves. Only a few hours ago she'd felt urgent to touch him. Now the idea made her stomach knot.
"Hey. Hey, there." Suddenly they were moving off the road, spinning great clouds of dust into the glow of the rear lights of the car as Gary slowed to a stop on the shoulder. He pulled the gear shift into neutral and turned to face her, one wrist on top of the wheel. "I thought we'd established I wasn't going to hurt you."
"I know that," Kerrin quickly assured him. "I'm not afraid of you hurting me."
His brows drew down. "I don't get it, then. You're obviously terrified."
I'm not afraid of you, Kerrin wanted to shout at him. I'm afraid of it! Afraid of exposing herself, physically or emotionally, to another person. Afraid of finding out she was freakish or undeveloped or unable. "Please, Gary. I just want to go home."
For an awful moment, she thought he was going to argue with her. But instead he gave a masculine shrug and turned to put the car back into gear.
So, she was safe. He wasn't going to press her with his physical advances. He wasn't going to assault her with one of those glorious sensual epiphanies. Kerrin looked out the window, but instead of relief felt a crushing disappointment. She'd closed a door before finding out what was on the other side.
"There's a road coming up." Gary slowed the car as they approached an intersection for a narrow side road. "What's up this way, d'you know?"
Kerrin peered out at the dirt track. "I'm not sure, but it probably goes into the National Forest."
"The forest," Gary repeated with satisfaction. "That sounds good." He turned the wheel and brought the little white car smoothly onto the unpaved road, meanwhile shooting her a strange half smile. "You don't really want to go straight home, now do you, Kerrie?"
She didn't know what to answer as a lightheaded excitement took hold of her. Oh, this was crazy. She didn't know what she wanted any more. Gary somehow had sensed her ambivalence, though she had no idea what he intended to d
o about it.
He bounced the car carefully over the road until he came to a good sized oak tree, well screened from the main highway. After pulling under the spreading branches of the tree, he killed the motor and the lights. The car rolled to a gentle stop.
Sighing, Gary clicked open his door and got out. Kerrin watched as he strolled unhurriedly around the hood of the vehicle and then pulled her car door open.
Kerrin stayed in her seat, her belt fastened, and peered out at him. His face was calm, if a bit long-suffering.
"If you wouldn't mind stepping out of the car, Ms. Horton, there's a matter I'd like to discuss with you."
Kerrin gave an assessing sweep of the area beneath the oak tree. "Out there?"
"Yep."
"Why do we have to discuss it outside?"
"Come out of the car and you'll find out."
Kerrin knew it was a trick. Gary didn't really have anything he could only say to her under this old oak tree that he couldn't say just as well inside the car, safely across the gear shift from her.
"You're going to kiss me," she accused.
Gary paused.
Evidence of guilt. Once again, she wished she knew if she wanted this or not. She wished she knew what "this" was. How far did he intend to go?
He gave her a close look and frowned. "You've got to forget all that other stuff, the old garbage. You're with me now."
Kerrin blinked. Old garbage?
"I know," Gary said brightly. "We'll do an experiment."
"An experiment?" The idea made Kerrin forget Gary's mysterious statement about garbage.
"Sure. Being your father's child I'm sure you're comfortable with the idea of a scientific experiment," Gary claimed.
"Um..."
"A joint biology slash psychology type of experiment."
Kerrin tilted her head at him. She might be ignorant, but she wasn't born yesterday. This sounded way beyond kissing. Once again, the excitement trembling under her skin split between anticipation and fear. Primly, she said, "I believe those types of experiments tend to get out of hand."
