by Sandra Field
“When your mother died—didn’t you get anything?”
She gazed out the window at the phalanx of spruce trees. “She left me one hundred dollars.”
“So she never forgave you.”
“I guess not.” Abruptly, Marnie reached up and hauled the band from her ponytail, shaking her hair free in a rich cloud around her head. “I never want to be like her,” she said violently. “Mean of spirit. Isolated from other people.”
“Marnie,” Cal said, amusement threading his voice, “I don’t think you have to worry.”
“Don’t laugh at me!”
“I’m not. I don’t know you well, but anyone who can work with adolescents all day isn’t what you’d call isolated. And there’s not even a hint of meanness in you. Or in your blobs, for that matter.”
Suddenly, her eyes were dancing. “But what about the stripes?”
“The vertical ones? Oh, that’s easy. Sexual sublimation,” he said blandly.
She blushed. “We’re a long way from the subject of crow, Cal Huntingdon.”
“We were talking about money. Your lack of it.” His smile faded. “Terry’s an international banker and he won’t even help you out?”
“He offered. I refused.”
“It seems Kit comes by her stubbornness honestly.”
“Drink your beer,” Marnie said crossly.
“Let’s get something straight first—you’re not on trial, Marnie. But I’ve got this hunger to know everything about you and I’m doing a lousy job hiding that.” He added forcefully, “Even in a shirt six sizes too big for you, you’re so beautiful you take my breath away.”
She said faintly, “I think I’d better have a beer, too.”
With sudden urgency, Cal added, “Would you go to bed with me? Or am I fooling myself?”
“How can I answer that?” Marnie cried. “We scarcely know each other and all we do is argue, and then there’s Kit. We can’t pretend she’s not a major factor in all this.”
“Yes or no. That’s how you answer it.”
“I just don’t know. I keep telling you I don’t let men anywhere near me. Men make babies—surely I don’t have to spell that out.” Infinitesimally, his face altered. In swift compunction, Marnie said, “I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Hurt you. I’m sorry, Cal. You and Jennifer…why did you adopt a baby? Why didn’t you have your own?”
“A year after we married, Jennifer got cancer of the uterus,” he said in a clipped voice. “She had to have a hysterectomy. She was devastated. She really wanted a family. We started making inquiries about adoption, and when we got the call from the clinic, we adopted Kit.”
Marnie said slowly, “And what about you? You loved Jennifer. But married to her, you could never father your own child.”
“As you should know better than most, life doesn’t always work out the way you want it to.”
“Is that why you went overseas so much?” she asked even more slowly. “Another sort of sublimation?”
He rapped, “How do you know about that?”
“I saw an article about you in a magazine.”
“I sure wish you’d quit prying.”
“So you want to know everything about me, but I’m not supposed to know anything about you?”
“I’m not used to talking about myself,” Cal said.
“You got that right,” Marnie said sardonically. “If all women are afraid of thunder, all men are afraid of showing their feelings.”
“How would you know?” he said nastily. “You don’t have anything to do with men.”
“I have several male friends, married and unmarried. I just don’t go around kissing them or getting into bed with them.”
Deliberately, Cal smoothed the line of her shoulders through her shirt, then ran his fingers through her hair; his face was very close to hers. His lashes, she noticed abstractedly, were thicker than hers. He said, “I plan to be the exception to that rule.”
“Huh,” Marnie said.
“But in the meantime, have you got anything I can nibble on—besides you? I didn’t have time for lunch today.”
He was like a whirlwind, Marnie thought, picking her up, swirling her around, then putting her down somewhere else. She said, “You want to know the real me? Open that cupboard to your left.”
He did so, revealing a stash of big foil bags of potato chips with flavors ranging from barbecue to sour cream and onion. “So this is your secret—you’re addicted to junk food,” he said, grinning at her over his shoulder.
“Only chips. You can keep the pretzels and the nachos and the sweet stuff…except ice cream, of course. But I warn you—never come between me and a bag of ketchup chips. Not if you value living.”
“I’ll remember that,” Cal said, and pulled out a bag of sour cream and onion, taking it into the living room and sitting down on the chesterfield. He tore open the bag, passed it to Marnie, then took a handful of chips himself, crunching them between his teeth. “Well,” he said evenly, washing them down with beer, “I guess I’d better come clean.”
Marnie had perched herself on the chesterfield, as well. So she’d be near the chips; nothing to do with Cal. She had no idea what was coming next. On an emotional level, she’d lived her life very predictably the past few years, she realized. The insight hit her with a sudden jolt.
Cal wasn’t predictable. Not at all.
He was gazing at the bubbles rising from his beer as though searching for inspiration. He said, not raising his eyes, “It was unfair and cruel of me to suggest that you in any way arranged that meeting between you and Kit at the school. When I found out about the shuffle in the league from Kit’s note, I drove right to Faulkner. Seeing you and her together zapped my common sense as well as my brains.” He looked up. “I’m sorry, Marnie. I should never have said it was a setup.”
She nodded slowly; the shock of coming face-to-face with Kit had knocked her sideways, too. “You’re forgiven.”
His smile was wry. “The more I see of you, the more I realize you’re not capable of being devious. Up front—that’s the way you operate.”
She said levelly, “Why didn’t you tell me Kit had been asking about me—about her biological mother—for the past few months?”
“Oh, that’s easy—I was afraid to.”
“Afraid?”
“Of you,” he said, again staring down at his beer. “Of what happens to me when I come anywhere near you. Losing Jennifer was terrible and it’s not in my plans to get emotionally involved with anyone. Especially not with Kit’s birth mother.”
So despite all his talk of making love, he was really only talking about sex; his love belonged to Jennifer. Wondering why this should hurt so much, Marnie took a big mouthful of chips. “Keep going.”
“Kit’s been impossible the past week and a half. She was furious with me for not telling her about you right away and she hates your guts because you put her up for adoption. When I tried to tell her otherwise, she wouldn’t listen. She bombed her exams last week and all the teachers are complaining about her attitude. I want you to come to the house this weekend and see if we can talk any sense into her.”
“Me? To your house?” As Marnie choked on a chip, Cal whacked her between the shoulder blades. Tears coursing down her cheeks, she gasped, “Okay, okay, that’s enough. Cal, she doesn’t want to see me. I’d only make it worse.”
“She needs you. Although she’d be the last one to admit it. I don’t know what else to do, Marnie!”
“Does she know you’re here now?”
“No. She’s got basketball practice until six-thirty. I’ll have to head back soon.” In a voice so low she could scarcely hear him, he said, “Please come. Maybe together we can get through to her.”
We… Such a small word to have such huge implications. Feeling her way, Marnie said, “There’s no going back, is there? To the way things were three weeks ago. Neither you nor Kit can pretend I don’t exist. It’s too late for that.”
“I love
her and I hate seeing her so unhappy. I feel so helpless to fix it—that’s even worse.”
He’d been helpless to prevent Jennifer’s death, too, Marnie thought. “I’ll come,” she said, and regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. If she’d lived the past thirteen years guarding herself from hurt, to go to Cal’s house to confront her daughter’s hostility was the worst of moves.
Yet if she was to succeed in breaking through Kit’s hostility, the rewards would be wonderful. Feeling her hunger for a true relationship with her daughter like an ache in her throat, Marnie dug into the bag for more chips.
“You’ll come?” Cal said.
She swallowed a mouthful of chips that tasted like sawdust. “That’s what I said. Didn’t you think I would?”
“I wasn’t laying any bets.” He took her hands in his and chafed them. “Don’t look so frightened. It’ll all work out.”
His fingers were lean and strong and very warm, the back of his hands dusted with dark hair. In fascination, she watched the tendons move under his skin. She blurted, “You know so much about her—everything I’ve missed all those years she was growing up. Yes, I’m frightened. I’m afraid I’ll get hurt even worse than I was before.”
He pulled her to him, holding her close to his chest; through his shirt she felt the steady pounding of his heart. She had experienced passion in his embrace only a short while ago. To feel such utter security was almost as novel as the passion, and just as disturbing. She’d always been independent; Charlotte Carstairs had seen to that. What if she grew to need Cal? That could be every bit as dangerous as seeing Kit again. Then she heard him murmur against her hair, “You’re even more courageous than I thought.”
With every nerve in her body, Marnie was aware of the slide of his lips from her hair to her mouth. If she kissed him back, she’d be lost, she thought, and opened to him with a generosity she hadn’t suspected was hers to share; perhaps it had gone underground years ago. “Mmm,” she murmured, “sour cream and onion, my favorite flavor of kiss,” and felt laughter tremble in his chest. Then he was pushing her down on the chesterfield, his weight and warmth making her head swim. She buried her hands in his hair, kissing him back with an ardor as vibrant as it was inexperienced, and felt him stroke her breast to its peak, his fingers molding her flesh through her shirt until she arched against him in a rage of hunger.
Cal shoved the shirt away from her body to touch the silken expanse of her belly. Rearing up on one elbow, he watched her face as he moved again to her breast, pushing aside her bra to roam her naked skin. Marnie’s eyes widened, her lips parting; nothing remotely as powerful as this had brought her and Terry together.
She’d been waiting for Cal. Waiting for years to experience the fierce attraction possible between male and female, to comprehend why her body had been fashioned the way it was. “Oh, Cal,” she whispered. “Cal…”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THROUGH the open windows, the soft wash of waves on the shore was suddenly routed by the crunch of tires in the driveway. Marnie sat bolt upright, pushing Cal away, her eyes wide with horror.
“Christine,” she sputtered. “She said she was going to bring me some eggs from the farm up the road; I forgot all about it. She mustn’t find us like this. She’ll be convinced we’ve been making love all over the floor. I might just as well put a sign up on the road—Marnie Has A Man.”
Her cheeks were flushed, and under her dismay some of the dazzlement of Cal’s lovemaking still lingered in her face. “Good idea,” Cal said. “The sign, I mean. It’ll keep the rest of them away.”
“There isn’t any rest, I keep telling you that,” Marnie said irritably. “Stop looking so pleased with yourself, Cal. I—”
A knock came on the door. “Are you in, Marnie?” Christine called.
Marnie tumbled off the chesterfield, smoothed down her shirt and walked across to open the door. “Hello, Chris,” she said.
“I saw a Jeep parked by the road. Have you got company?” Christine asked. She was holding two plastic bags in her hand. Then she saw Cal standing by the chesterfield and gave him an ingenuous smile. “Oh, hello.”
In a resigned voice, Marnie said, “Chris, meet Cal Huntingdon, a—a friend of mine. Cal, Christine Turner, my best friend. She teaches at the same school as me.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” Christine said.
To her chagrin, Marnie noticed that the cushions on the chesterfield were crushed where Cal had been lying on top of her. Chris wouldn’t miss that charming little detail. She said quickly, “Want a coffee?”
“I can’t stop. Don’s waiting for me. Here are the eggs and a couple of trout he caught last night. You could cook them for supper for Cal.”
“He’s not staying,” Marnie said repressively. “Are the trout cleaned?”
“Now, Marnie…you’ve never forgiven Don for bringing you that bass last summer, have you?”
“It was as ugly as sin and all its guts were hanging out.”
Cal laughed. His teeth were very white in his tanned face; the crescent-shaped scar over his eye was also white. If she followed her instincts rather than her brains, Marnie knew she’d be pushing him back on the cushions and kissing him senseless.
Perhaps her thoughts showed. Cal’s smile deepened, his gaze lingering on her mouth. “Well,” Christine said with a seraphic smile, “I’d better go.” She proffered the bag, which had been dripping on the floor ever since she arrived. “Maybe you could put these in the freezer and Cal can come back another time.”
“Good idea,” Cal said promptly.
Glowering at both of them, Marnie said, “When you two have finished arranging my life—”
“Not your life, Marnie,” Cal said piously. “I wouldn’t think of trying to arrange your life. Just one meal. I like them panfried, by the way, with homemade pickles and lemon meringue pie to follow.”
Christine smiled. “Marnie took one of her lemon pies to the Ladies’ Aid auction and every guy in the place was bidding on it.”
“Chris, you shouldn’t keep Don waiting any longer,” Marnie said pointedly.
“Nice meeting you, Christine,” Cal said. “I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
“I hope so,” Christine replied with undoubted sincerity. “Bye, Marnie. Have a great evening.”
The screen door slapped shut behind her. Marnie said roundly, “Those damned trout are dripping all over my clean floor and now Christine’s convinced I’ve finally caught myself a man.”
“When’s the next Ladies’ Aid auction?” Cal asked. “Although I reckon I’d have to sell some shares to be able to afford one of your pies.”
“You, buying my lemon pie? In full view of the Ladies’ Aid? Now that would really ruin my reputation.”
Cal’s eyes were twinkling. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than ruin your immaculate reputation,” he said. “You know what? I have fun with you, Marnie.”
She tilted her head. “You’re referring to Chris’s visit, I presume? Not to what she interrupted on the chesterfield.”
“Both.”
“I’d have been mortally insulted if you’d replied otherwise,” Marnie said saucily, and wondered how long it had been since she’d flirted with a man. A very long time. Too long. Because flirting with Cal was fun, too.
Cal looked at his watch. “Hell, I’ve got to go. Kit’ll be home by quarter to seven and I want to be there.”
Marnie, for the space of half an hour, hadn’t even thought about Kit. A man’s slate blue eyes and long-limbed body had made her forget her own daughter. Suddenly frightened, she heard Cal add, “Why don’t you arrive mid-morning on Saturday, Marnie? I’ll tell her you’re coming.”
“Maybe she’ll leave town,” Marnie said, not altogether facetiously.
“She won’t. I’ll see to that.”
Marnie bit her lip. “Around eleven?”
“Plan to stay for lunch—and don’t look so scared. I’m beginning to realize it’s b
een inevitable that you’ll spend time with Kit ever since I bumped into you in the parking lot.”
“Even though both of you have been fighting it all the way?”
“You think I’m not afraid of being hurt again? After Jennifer?” Cal said with sudden violence, and ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture she already knew meant he was upset. “Of course I am.”
Marnie wasn’t going to ask if Cal still loved his wife; she was ninety percent sure she already knew the answer. She said edgily, “I’ll see you Saturday, then.”
Cal took the trout and eggs from her, marched them into the kitchen and deposited them on the counter. She heard the tap run as he washed his hands, then he came back into the living room and took her in his arms very naturally, as if saying goodbye to each other was something they’d done often. “Thanks for agreeing to see Kit,” he said, and kissed her.
For Marnie, any notion of fun had collapsed as soon as Cal had mentioned the meeting with Kit again. She stood stock-still in his embrace, aware of holding back, wanting him gone so she could be alone to think about all that had happened since his appearance on the beach.
Cal raised his head and said tersely, “I’ll tell you one thing. I won’t rest until I get you in my bed. Take care, Marnie.”
Again the screen door banged shut. A few moments later, she heard the Cherokee drive away. Marnie sat down hard on the rocker, noticing he’d left his tie behind.
She’d been a fool to agree to go back to Burnham.
Kit, her daughter, hated her; nor was Marnie as hopeful as Cal that one visit would change that. And then there was Jennifer, whose house she was going to enter, whose husband wanted Marnie in his bed yet was afraid of getting hurt again.
With every meeting between herself and Cal, she was getting more deeply embroiled. Yet events had gone too far for her to extricate herself.
