“Don’t call me here again. Use the private number I gave you when you phoned from Bangor.”
“Fine. I’ll be in touch.”
Charles hung up the phone, his hands shaking, his face and eyes scalding. He wanted her dead! Dead! In the ground where she couldn’t humiliate him anymore!
Snatching up his putter, he strode to the aquarium and swung hard and fast. The tank exploded in a frenzy of glass, fish and water, surging to the floor, splashing his trousers and shoes.
For a few quiet moments, Charles watched his bright, pretty angels flopping on the soiled carpet, dark purple now where the water pooled. Then, feeling better, feeling confident that his desires would be carried out, he placed the putter in a corner, dried his hands on his handkerchief and opened his door.
Standing stone still beside the copy machine in the anteroom near her desk, Marian Crenshaw met his gaze, her face pale.
“There’s been a small accident with the aquarium, Marian,” Charles said smoothly. “Get maintenance up here, please. Tell them to bring a bucket and mop.”
That evening Erin’s nerve endings were so wired and her heartbeat so erratic she couldn’t clean up the kitchen fast enough. In fact, there was so much electricity in the air between her and Mac she was certain Amos would either pick up on it or keel over from the sheer power of it. She was close to doing that herself.
Once when she went inside the pantry, Mac followed for a fast, wet kiss, and without a second thought she followed his lead, her nervous hands performing a body-skimming prelude of what was to come. Then she shooed him back into the kitchen again.
They left Amos’s house at the same time. Mac tended to the stock and she got Christie bathed and ready for bed. It was nearly seven-thirty when she tossed Christie’s Barbie sleeping bag and pillow on the floor in front of the TV in the great room and put a Barney video into Mac’s VCR.
“Mommy needs to take a quick shower, honey. You watch Barney until I come back out, okay?”
Christie looked up at her, her eyelids already droopy. “Okay, Mommy.”
Five minutes later when Erin returned with her wet hair in a towel and wearing her white terry robe, Christie was fast asleep. Smiling, kissing her softly, she picked her up, put her in her own bed and went to get ready for Mac.
Thoroughly frustrated, Mac left the living room and strode into the kitchen to rinse his coffee mug. “No, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he called back to Amos. “It’s a lousy idea. You’re not ready for that yet.”
Loaded for bear, Amos came cane tapping into the kitchen after him. “You ain’t my keeper. If I decide I’m gonna do it, you can’t stop me.”
Mac brought a hand to his forehead where a killer headache was brewing. This was supposed to be his night for a trip to heaven, and he was slowly but surely being cast into hell. “Look,” he said, trying for a calmer tack. “I know you did well today at the store. But visiting and working are two different things. You still tire easily.”
Amos shot daggers at him. “Which is why I suggested workin’ half days.”
“Did you discuss this with your therapist?”
“No, I discussed it with myself, and we both decided it was time I went back to work. Folks’ve been shoulderin’ my responsibilities too long now. Martin’s older’n me. His life should be easier.”
“Is that what this is all about? You’re afraid Martin’s getting worn-out? Because he’s not. I only schedule him four days a week, and he mostly runs the cash register.”
Amos got him where he lived. “You afraid if I go back t’work, Terri’ll leave?”
A nerve leaped in Mac’s jaw. “This has nothing to do with Terri.”
“Don’t it? I see the two of you together—see you gettin’ close. And that’s okay,” he added. “If the Lord made anything sweeter’n her, He kept it fer Himself. But I need t’ feel productive again.”
“It’s too soon, Granddad.”
Amos glared at him. “It ain’t too soon!” Throwing his cane on the floor, he stalked back into the living room, then continued into the “good parlor” that had been converted to his temporary bedroom after his stroke. “I’m takin’ my life back, boy!” he shouted, yanking the vinyl bifold door shut. “If you don’t like it, you kin make tracks!”
Frustrated and hurt, Mac strode after him, then stopped at the closed door. There was no lock on it, but he wouldn’t take away his grandfather’s privacy. “Granddad, I’m not saying these things to be a hard-ass. I just don’t want you to go back and undo everything you’ve accomplished so far. You haven’t even been discharged from PT yet.”
Nothing. Not one word from the other side of the door, though Mac could hear pages being turned in a magazine.
“What if some kid comes racing through the aisles and knocks you over?” he asked, trying again. “Or you lift something you shouldn’t? I just… You’re all I have, and I care.”
Still nothing.
Mac got mad all over again. “All right, have it your way. I’m going down to the house to check my e-mail. If you need me, that’s where I’ll be. But I’m not leaving. We need to discuss this again—calmly and rationally. There has to be a compromise somewhere.”
Mac started away, then sighed and ambled back to the closed door. “Granddad, at least tell me that you heard me. Granddad?”
Chapter 12
The moment Erin opened the door to him and he stepped inside, she could see that something had changed radically. There was no light in his eyes, no warm look of anticipation on his face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, instantly concerned.
“Amos.” Mac took off his Stetson and laid it on the table in the foyer, then they both gravitated to the kitchen. He dropped into a chair. “He’s got a major bug up— He says he’s going back to work.”
Erin froze for a second, then took a chair across from him. “Oh. He is doing well, but he still has some limitations. What did you tell him?”
“I said it was too soon, and after a lot of yelling, he basically told me that’s the way it was going to be, and if I didn’t like it, I could get out.”
Erin covered his hand and squeezed. “How did you leave it with him? Is he all right?”
“No, he’s holed up in his room, and he’s barely talking to me.”
“But he knows where you are if he needs you?”
Mac nodded, then expelled a pent-up blast of air and walked to the coffeemaker on the counter. It was empty and she felt as if she’d let him down.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t make any,” she said, her cheeks warming. “I…didn’t think we’d be drinking coffee. It’ll only take a minute to make a pot.”
“No, don’t do that.”
“I have juice, iced tea and bottled water,” she offered, opening the refrigerator.
“Thanks. Water’s good.”
When she’d handed it to him, he screwed off the lid and took several long swallows, walked around, then took her hand and led her into the living room to the sofa. He only sat a moment before he had to walk again.
“Cute,” he said, scanning the framed photos of Christie at various ages lining his mantel.
Erin tensed when he picked up a photograph that showed Christie at a park feeding pigeons, part of the city skyline in the distance.
“Where was this taken?” he asked.
“Chicago,” she replied hesitantly. “We lived there for a while.”
He stared at her for a long moment, more unasked questions in his eyes. Then he frowned, put the photo back and continued to prowl the room, drinking from the bottle, obviously trying to work through his tension. “The house looks nice,” he eventually said, his gaze drifting over the throw pillows, candles and dried flower arrangements then back to the photos on the mantel. “I never got into decorating.”
Erin felt her heart constrict. Much as she wanted him to stay, she had to send him away. “Mac you don’t really want to be here. Go back to the house. Talk this out with your grandfather
. I know he didn’t mean what he said.”
“I know that, too,” he replied. Mac came back to her, set the bottle on the coffee table, then settled in a corner of the sofa and drew her into his arms. It felt wonderful to Erin, even in his present state of upheaval. She’d been waiting for this all day. But she knew he wasn’t as focused on the contact as she was.
“I’m just having a hard time with this role-reversal thing tonight. Amos was my whole world after my parents died. He was hurting then, too—he’d lost the daughter he loved, and a son-in-law who’d always been more like a son. But he was strong then, and he showed me how to be strong. Now I’m the one making decisions and saying things like, ‘This is for your own good.’”
“He’s still strong,” Erin said firmly. “Weak men don’t butt heads with grandsons who are bigger, taller and younger than they are. Amos is one of the strongest men I’ve ever known, and he loves you as much as you love him.”
Trying to coax a smile from him, she met his serious gaze. “You should have seen the pride in his eyes the day I arrived, when you came thundering up the road in that old blue truck. He said, ‘That’s Mac, my daughter Jessie’s boy.’ And he didn’t have to say another word to let me know how he felt about you.”
Reluctantly easing out of his arms, she stood and took his hands, tugging a little until he stood, too. “Go. Take care of this. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He didn’t even ask if she was sure that was what she wanted. He simply kissed her softly and left.
When Mac got back to the house, it was all lit up. Hanging his hat on a peg in the entryway, he walked into the kitchen. Amos was sitting at the table, a lamp from the living room in the middle of it for more illumination. He was wearing his glasses and making out checks for the small stack of vendor invoices Mac had brought home from the store.
“I see you found the bills,” he said, feeling his way into the conversation.
Amos glared belligerently, almost daring him to take over. “You got a problem with me doin’ this?”
“Not at all,” Mac replied, feigning indifference. “I’m glad for the help. In fact, I have another bill upstairs in my room. I’ll get it for you.” He stopped halfway into the stairwell. “You got a problem with me sleeping here tonight?”
He echoed Mac’s reply. “Not at all.” But his brittle tone had softened. Amos cleared his throat, keeping his eyes on his checkbook. “You want some cocoa? I know it’s summer ’n all, but it just feels like a cocoa night. Been a while.”
A sudden pang of nostalgia tightened Mac’s chest. “Yeah, it has been a while. Cocoa sounds good.” He started back from the stairwell. “I’ll get it.”
Amos grunted to his feet. “Nah, you go git that bill. I’ll fix yer cocoa.”
Mac watched through an unfamiliar glaze as Amos limped to the cupboard for two cups and two packets of cocoa mix, then poured hot water from an already-simmering teakettle over the powder and stirred.
Years ago there’d been cocoa-and-toast breakfasts with his granddad before the school bus came…then cocoa “peace offerings” that had somehow managed to smooth over their growing-pains arguments. He’d forgotten about them. But Amos hadn’t.
Amos frowned. “You gonna git that bill?”
“Yeah,” he said, his throat now as tight as his chest. “I’ll be right back.”
And when he returned, they would talk about his grandfather coming in to work for a few hours a week.
Erin lay in the darkness staring at the ceiling and feeling Mac’s absence so acutely she wanted to cry. Through the screen in the bedroom window, a coyote called somewhere, sounding as lonely as she was. What was it people said? Oh, yes. Man plans, God laughs.
The even breathing coming from the baby monitor on the dresser changed for an instant as Christie mumbled something in her sleep. Then her toddler’s light snores resumed, and Erin immersed herself in regret again.
She’d showered and changed the sheets, left the window open to the fragrant night air…fixed her hair the way he liked it and applied a touch of mascara to her eyelashes. And it had all been for nothing.
All she’d wanted was one night with him. Just one night. Now…who knew if it would ever happen?
Erin gave a start as stealthy footsteps sounded on the wraparound porch. She vaulted to a seated position, instantly sorry that she’d left the window open. Then she heard Mac’s low whisper at the screen and her pulse quickened.
“Terri, it’s me.”
Erin flew out of bed and shoved the long window high, then did the same with the screen. She was so startled to see him she didn’t even ask why he hadn’t come to the door.
It amazed her that a man so tall and broad through the shoulders could ease himself through the opening so effortlessly. A shiver of awareness rushed through her as he straightened, outlined by the full moon. He filled the room, dominated it. Her nerve endings curled, and her skin beneath her light cotton nightgown prickled. “Is Amos all right?” she whispered, praying it was so.
“Amos is fine,” he whispered back, hauling her into his arms, “but I’m not. I tried to sleep after he turned in for the night, but…I need you.”
And she needed him.
Swept away. She was swept away by the sheer power of him and the wild and reckless feelings pumping through her blood.
Mac covered her mouth with his own, kissing her with the passion of a man staking his claim, slaking his thirst for her. Erin trembled as he rained more kisses over her throat and his eager hands moved over her loose cotton gown, finding nothing beneath it. He skimmed her breasts, her sides, her hips, her thighs. Then kissing wasn’t enough and the nightie was an encumbrance; he pulled it over her head and dropped it on the floor.
With shaky fingers, Erin reached for his shirt to free his buttons. Finding it already open, she spread her hands through his crisp, dark chest hair, marveling at the smooth, taut muscles beneath, reveling in his shower-fresh scent. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and arms and it joined her nightie on the floor. Mac crushed her to him, flattening her breasts against his chest as they continued to kiss mindlessly, leaving instinct to direct their hands and mouths.
She reached for his belt, but he wasn’t wearing one, dispensed with the button at the waistband of his jeans and felt nothing but soft tapering hair arrowing down from his navel. “No underwear?” she whispered excitedly.
Mac spoke against the rapid pulse in her neck. “I would’ve come to you naked if I was sure Amos wouldn’t be waiting up for me when I got back.”
In one fluid motion he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, then laid her down and stretched out beside her, his mouth covering hers again. His hands and fingers caressed her in a way she’d never been touched before, each new foray tender yet spine tingling, gentle yet exciting, familiar yet mind-bendingly delicious. She smoothed her hands over his broad shoulders and down his arms, eager to lavish the same gifts on him.
Easing away, Mac stood and pulled off his boots and she heard them thud to the floor—heard his zipper come down. Then in the silvery glow of moonlight, she watched as he closed the bedroom door, dispensed with his jeans and slid onto the bed beside her again. He was sleek male perfection from his thick hair and rugged face to his powerful shoulders and chest, to his lean hips and corded thighs.
She was an experienced woman; she’d been married, had had a child. But suddenly she felt like a virgin, impatient to know what loving was all about. Because while she’d had sex, she’d gradually come to know that she’d never really made love with a man.
Mac kissed her again, and Erin gave herself over to him fully, his hands stroking and coaxing responses from her she’d never dreamed possible, his talented lips and darting tongue turning kissing into a new intimacy, then carrying those kisses down her breasts to her rib cage and navel. As she did for him. It was as though they’d been destined to be together like this from the dawn of time.
“Are you on the pill?” he whispered r
aggedly when it became clear that he was more than ready.
“No, there was no need…until you. But it’s a safe time.”
“Uh-uh,” he returned, “too chancy. I brought something with me.” He moved away for a moment, then the mattress dipped beneath his weight again as he returned and hovered over her. Then in one smooth motion, he buried himself in her warmth and the dance began…the sleek rhythm began…and the tingling and trembling began.
Erin slid her arms around his neck, her hands in his hair, and drew him down for another deep, deep kiss. Her senses reeled. Reality blurred into breathless fantasy. And suddenly they were at the canyon again, locked together and floating up, up on those warm thermals, leaving the pinions and cottonwoods and dwellings far beneath them. He took her to the sun, and she melted and shuddered in his warmth, then, holding fast to him, she tumbled to the bottom, a breathless freefall that barely ended before he floated her airlessly to the top again. It was a magic ride that turned her limbs to butter, and still he prolonged her pleasure, coaxing yet another response from her. Then the thudding in his blood could no longer be denied, and Erin held him fast, so in love she could barely breathe from the sheer wonder of it…as he emptied himself in a shuddering release and softly groaned her name.
Terri.
Seconds ticked by while Erin held him close to her heart, stroking his smooth back as they both struggled to bring their breathing under control. The jubilation she’d felt a moment ago had faded a little when he’d called her by a name that wasn’t hers. Suddenly she longed to tell him everything, longed to have him murmur her name. But honesty would spoil this moment and she would not give it up. This tender aftermath was for whispers in the dark, for touching and holding.
Mac eased up on an elbow to kiss her softly, then drew the tangled sheet up over her. With a groggy smile he tucked it around her the way she tucked Christie in at night. “I’ll be right back. Don’t run away.”
“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” she said through a husky laugh.
Run to Me Page 16
