She turned away, angry that once again he had drawn more from her than she intended. But he grasped her shoulders, gently pulled her to his side, and brushed her temple with his lips.
She stiffened. “Don’t.” She could not face those tender feelings. They triggered something else, something she didn’t want to grasp.
“Okay.” But he kept her in his arms, fingers loosely interlocked across her collarbone, until some weak comfort seeped in. Morgan meant well. She knew that. On some level she trusted him, but he wouldn’t leave it alone. Now he’d pressed a new barrier by kissing her. Why did it bother her so much?
Rick came in, blowing on his reddened hands. He looked as though he’d worked himself raw, and his expression had soured. He was definitely angry. “There’s a nasty drizzle out there, Morgan, and it’s cold enough to freeze. You’d better give yourself time in the morning.”
Morgan saluted, then as Rick went into the office and shut the door, he said, “What’s eating him?”
Noelle didn’t answer. What could she say? I won’t tell Rick what he wants to know—who Michael is, what happened, and what will happen if … But she couldn’t think about that.
Morgan stroked her shoulder with his thumb, and she sensed his concern, his confusion. She hadn’t asked him to come, but he had.
She looked up. “You’re leaving in the morning?”
“Got to. But we could make tonight worth remembering.” He formed his rogue’s smile.
His persistence astounded her, though she realized it was partly intended to provoke. He simply would not let her close down. “If you think that, you’ve wasted your trip.”
He squeezed her shoulders. “I have no illusions, even if I do have to leave in the morning.” He wore the expression of a naughty boy who knew he was adored. “Will you miss me?”
She sighed, unwilling to lie altogether. “If I say yes?”
“I’ll kiss you.”
She bit her lip. “Then no.”
He kissed her anyway.
She fought the panic that rose up. She wanted it to be all right, but it wasn’t. Her heart pounded, and she pushed away again. She had to. She struggled to get up but couldn’t.
Morgan caught her hands together. “Don’t freak out on me.”
She pulled against his grip.
“Stop, Noelle.” The sharp words commanded.
She stopped fighting and closed her eyes against the tears. She could almost feel the talons in her flesh. She couldn’t stop him. Couldn’t…
“What is it?” Morgan’s voice was soft.
Both Rick and Morgan. Why couldn’t they leave her alone? “Nothing.”
“Well, excuse me, but I have kissed a few women, and no one’s ever acted like I had the plague. Perdition is not contagious.”
Tears burned. He was so far from understanding what really—Images suddenly flashed in her mind: a dark closet with louvered doors, a hand. “Give us a kiss.”
“Hey.” He stroked her cheek.
She opened her eyes, caught his hurt before he masked it. For a moment she wondered what Morgan needed. What drove him? But she didn’t want to know. “I can’t, Morgan.”
“Fine.” He could leave, spend the night on the town. But he sat with his arm crooked around her shoulders until Marta brought Noelle’s meal on a tray and called him to the dining room. One cabin family with teen kids joined him there. Rick emerged from the office and passed by without speaking. She felt invisible.
Picking at the food on her tray, Noelle could hear Morgan engaging them all, the life of the party as always. He talked about the spoiled family who owned the corporation he was trying to reorganize. His anecdotes brought gales of laughter. She might have joined in; it was hard to resist Morgan’s humor, but her isolation spared her.
Instead she was left with her thoughts. And that was dangerous. Her head ached and she had no appetite, but Marta would be hurt if she didn’t eat something. She looked up at the log ceiling. She had felt so content when Rick first carried her inside. Now …
Morgan came and leaned in the doorway, keys in hand. “Let’s go to town. If you can’t dance, you can still listen.”
She smiled. “If I could, I would, Morgan. But there isn’t a part of me that doesn’t hurt.”
He dangled the keys from his finger. “Ever read Flannery O’Connor?”
Noelle tipped her head. “Some.” Did he have some instruction for her from that tragic, if genius, author? Would he advise her to look more deeply into life, see its ugliness? She shuddered, but Morgan didn’t say anything like that.
He took a paperback from the pocket of his coat that hung by the door. “Someone gave me these stories on the plane.” He came and stood over her. “Going to eat that?” He indicated the food on her tray.
She shook her head. No sense pretending.
He set the tray on the table beside the pitcher of flowers, then pulled the blanket up around her and took his place beside her. He couldn’t be serious. But he must be. He opened the book. Morgan would stay home and read to her, when he could have the crowd at his feet? It was too much to take in.
In the office, Rick ran the numbers four times. The accounts were in order, he just couldn’t think straight. He shut down the computer and sat before the blank screen. Morgan was in rare form. Reading by the fireside? It surprised him Morgan could still read. Was there no limit to his efforts? He never worked so hard for so little reward. Didn’t he see?
Rick rubbed his eyes. Or was he the one who had it wrong? He pictured Noelle tucked into Morgan’s arm. It did seem to be working at last. Morgan was wearing her down, little by little, and maybe she’d meant it that way all along. Maybe she knew the harder Morgan had to fight the more he’d want the prize. Maybe it was her game as much as his. But Rick felt a check in his spirit—or was it his pride? Or something else?
Morgan was hooked, that was certain. To fly out for one night just to see she was all right—or had he other plans? Would Morgan disregard the house rules? Given the chance, Morgan would disregard anything.
Rick pulled the dust cover over the monitor. He was almost glad for Noelle’s injuries that kept her in the open where he could watch, listen. He shook his head. Was it only a few days ago he’d carried her off the mountain, limp and trembling in his arms? His fault, yes, but he’d done the best he could to right it, covered her bill, spent hours at her hospital bedside, made a comfortable place for her where he’d know what she needed.
And then he had carried her home, seen her joy and gratitude, felt his heart swell at having her back inside his walls. But it had certainly been downhill from there. First his fruitless attempt to get answers, then Morgan’s return to the scene.
He dropped his head to his palms. God, why did you bring her here?
What is your purpose? Don’t you know I’m only a man? If you want me to help her I’m willing, but don’t make me choose. He clenched his fists against his forehead. Morgan is my brother.
When Noelle woke the next morning, her eyes were heavy, but the first thing she saw was Morgan in the corner chair. How long had he been watching her sleep? It couldn’t be late; the morning light was dull in the window. But he seemed sharp and professional already.
His overcoat lay across his knees. He really was leaving, and soon.
Why had he come? To comfort her? She’d fallen asleep while he read, hardly the response he’d wanted. She gingerly raised up onto her elbow, wincing with the pain in her ribs. “You’re going now?”
He nodded.
Rick came to the kitchen door. “Coffee, Morgan?”
“I’ll get Starbuck’s at the airport.” He stood and put on his overcoat against the drizzle outside.
Noelle sensed his disappointment. He’d expected more from this trip, more than she’d given him. Why? She had told him from the start…
He crossed the room to her, smiled wryly, and leaned over. “You’re a gorgeous morning after.” He caught the back of her head and kissed her lips.
She didn’t panic this time and that was something, she supposed. “Thanks for a wonderful time.” His eyes were amused, yet still hinted of regret. He gave Rick a careless wave and walked out.
She stared after him, unsure what to feel. As his rental car started and left the yard, she glanced at Rick. His expression was inscrutable. There was none of the warmth, the care he had shown in the hospital or when he’d brought her home. No anger either, but his face was as unyielding as the crag she had ridden up to paint.
He straightened in the doorway. “I have guests coming in from Iowa tonight. I think you’d be more comfortable in your own room with some privacy.”
Her heart sank. “All right.”
“I’ll have Marta get it ready for you.”
“I’m sorry for the trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. Oh … Morgan asked me to give you this.” He handed her a box, then left.
She opened the box. Inside were two halves of an eggshell held together with a rubber band. Puzzled, she slipped off the band and they fell apart. Inside was a slip of paper. She unfolded it. To the real Noelle. Anytime.
She leaned back on the pillows. Oh, Morgan. She looked at the shell halves, amazingly thin and fragile. She could crush them with her fingers. But her own wasn’t so easy to break through. When did the running end and the healing begin? Or did it ever? She closed her eyes. What Morgan wanted she couldn’t give. She didn’t love him. Maybe she would never love again. She could live with that; why couldn’t he?
Rick didn’t stay in for lunch but grabbed a sandwich and took it back outside. Marta brought hers on a tray: grilled cheese and tomato soup, comfort food for both her condition and the weather. Noelle lifted Morgan’s book. Why had he stayed reading to an invalid when he could have lit up the Roaring Boar and made his trip worthwhile? Because he hadn’t flown out for a night at the Roaring Boar. He’d flown out for her.
I will not panic. So Morgan cared. Maybe. Maybe it was all part of his act. And now he was gone with nothing more than a kiss between them. Most women would thrill to his kiss. He hadn’t had to say it. She was just … what? Paranoid?
She flipped open the Flannery O’Connor book to “A Good Man Is Hard to Find.” Dark reading, but it seemed to fit both her and Morgan’s state, people making decisions with no idea of the tragic consequences they’d set in motion. She settled in, then realized she had reread the same page again and again. The hours dragged. Rick did not come in. She had no doubt he could find work to keep him out twenty-four-seven if he wanted.
He was angry, and maybe his God was as well. She glanced at the Bible near Rick’s chair. He had picked it up from the floor and replaced it on the table. But she didn’t touch it. She didn’t want to know his God. Believing didn’t help Morgan, and belonging was unthinkable. She covered her face with her hands and sank into the cushions.
“Noelle?” Rick woke her from a doze. “Are you ready to go up now?”
She glanced up the stairs to the open door and imagined how the walls would close in on her. She almost begged to stay down, then swallowed the ache. “Yes.” She pushed herself up, ignoring the pain, and reached for the crutches.
His expression softened. “I’ll get you.” He lifted her into his arms.
She was too aware of his strength as he carried her up, his muscles, his will, his determination. She couldn’t fight that. She couldn’t even argue. He set her down gently, then went back for the crutches and leaned them on the wall beside her bed. “You’ll manage all right in here.” He wasn’t asking; he was informing.
She nodded. “I’ll be fine.”
“Marta can bring your meals up.”
Her throat tightened. She hoped he couldn’t see how trapped she felt.
“All right, then.” He left her.
She searched the room with her eyes. It seemed even more Spartan than before. Plain, serviceable, empty. She straightened her shoulders.
She needed nothing more.
CHAPTER
18
Cats. I can’t believe I’m seeing Cats!” Jan’s eyes actually shone from her sunken sockets. She’d washed her hair and agreed to wear the dress Michael provided. He could overlook the smell of cigarettes on her breath for the pleasure of her excitement. He didn’t tell her that if she let him take care of her, she could see shows like this more often. He would let the experience speak for itself—as only Cats might.
Jan had loved the soundtrack since she was a little girl, crying when the old cat sang “Memories.” But she usually resisted any attempts on his part to lure her into theaters or museums or anything that smacked of culture.
Sometimes Michael wished he hadn’t done so well. Then maybe Jan wouldn’t have chosen her sad existence for her own identity. But Cats was too big a temptation for her to resist, and if she enjoyed it enough, maybe he could lure her with another. Broadway was magic, and some of the new shows would tickle Jan if she just gave it a try. It had to beat getting high with Bud.
He watched her throughout the show, held her hand when she cried through “Memories.” She was so fragile—trying too hard and blowing it badly. Why couldn’t she see? She was young enough he could make her over like Eliza Doolittle, introduce her to the new members of the firm. He could increase her life expectancy, her quality of life a hundredfold.
But inside she didn’t trust him. Oh, he was the one she called when her car broke down or she couldn’t make rent, but she had never really forgiven him for taking William’s offer and leaving her behind. The difference in their ages would have caused a separation at some point but not so soon as William’s position had made it. She’d convinced herself she didn’t need him. And what she did now was punish him.
She knew her lifestyle hurt him, and she took adverse pleasure in wiping his nose in it. She did it to embarrass him, as well, and to keep him from forcing her out of it. He could bodily remove her, lock her up, choose her clothes, her companions, follow William St. Claire’s example—only Jan wasn’t compliant as Noelle had been.
Noelle. The evening crashed in on him. It should be Noelle at his side, glittering, drawing all eyes in the theater. He started to sweat, felt it beading on his forehead. It chilled in the air-conditioned auditorium and left him clammy. The show couldn’t end soon enough.
Jan glanced over as they stood to applaud. “That was tight, Michael. Made me glad to live in an alley. That’s where life really happens.”
He wanted to slap her, frustrated at her stupidity. He pushed her out between the seats and gripped her arm through the chandeliered lobby.
“Ouch. Where’s the fire?”
He loosened his grip. “Sorry.”
“I just can’t believe I’ve seen Cats. I’ve loved it so long.”
“I know.” He composed his fury. It wasn’t really Jan. It was Mother and Noelle and the pressure inside, as if he’d stepped on a mine and one move would blow him to pieces.
“I used to pretend I was a cat. You know that fire escape from our bedroom window?”
“With the broken ladder?”
She nodded. “But I’d climb up to that little ledge over the handrail. I even meowed, thinking another cat might come visit.”
It might have been a cute story except the only cats that might have visited in that neighborhood were likely rabid.
“Would you like to see another show?”
She shrugged. “I don’t care much for shows. Only Cats.”
“Want to see it again?”
She hesitated on that one, then shook her head. “Nope.” She swung her hips as three black men in tailored suits walked by, then sent them a glance over her shoulder. He didn’t tell her they were way out of her league.
They took the taxi first to Jan’s so he could see her safely in. There was a light inside. “Did you leave that on?”
She shrugged. “Probably Bud.” She reached for the door.
He caught her arm. “You don’t know?”
She smiled saucily. “Nice of
you to be concerned, big brother. But I live here. It’s no big deal.”
“Let me get you another place.” He hadn’t meant to push it tonight, but it was out now. “Nothing fancy.” Just safe and clean.
“I like it here. Like I said, it’s where life happens.”
“Death happens too.” To punctuate his words, sirens screamed by with lights skidding across the building walls.
“Death happens everywhere.” She pulled open the door and climbed out. “Thanks for the show.” She walked away singing “Memories.”
Four days in her room, and Noelle was climbing the walls—or would be if she had the strength. The doctor said her developed dance musculature would help the healing but not to expect too much. Was it too much to hobble between the bed and the bath? She felt so weak, so trapped, and her mind was her enemy, wearing her down worse than broken bones and torn ligaments. She must get strong again. She must.
She heard voices in the dining room below: Rick’s and two others, the guests from Iowa. They were staying in the third cabin, which she couldn’t see from her window. She thought maybe Rick knew them. There seemed to be more camaraderie than usual in their discourse. They had nice voices. The woman laughed a lot, and Rick laughed with her. Noelle hadn’t heard him laugh so much before. She couldn’t catch the words, only the waves of conversation and the laughter.
A soft knock came at the door, and Marta wafted in with pancakes and bacon on a tray. Noelle straightened as Marta laid the tray across her knees. She wasn’t nearly as hungry for food as for human contact, even Marta’s brusque conversation.
“How are you today?”
“Better. Much better. Thank you, Marta.”
Marta cocked her head and studied her. She wasn’t easily fooled.
“A little tired of sitting around.” Noelle tried a smile. It must have passed.
“Well, you have to take it slowly. Can’t force things.”
Any slower and she’d stop functioning altogether. “How are the people from Iowa?”
“Nice.” Marta tucked in the corner of the bed sheet and straightened. “Friends of Rick’s.”
A Rush of Wings Page 22
