by Loree Lough
Adam opened a drawer, saw her eyes widen and her mouth drop open. “What?” he asked.
Blinking innocently, she said, “O-o-oh, nothing.”
“Seriously, what?”
“Well, if you hadn’t already told me you were single, I’d have figured it out after poking my nose in there, that’s for sure!”
What was she rambling about?
“How do you ever find anything?”
“I just dig ’til I come up with what I went hunting for.”
She bobbed her head from side to side. “Makes sense, I guess.” She pointed at the contents of the drawer. “You need a license to hunt in there, ’cause it looks dangerous.”
If she hadn’t punctuated the comment with a wink, he might have taken offense. But then, it seemed he took offense at just about everything these days. Adam put the food on the counter, topped off her hot chocolate with more. “Now then—”
She held up a hand to forestall the question. “I know, I know. Turnabout is fair play and all that.” Laughing softly, she said, “My name is Kasey Delaney. I’m twenty-six years old—well, I’ll be twenty-seven in a couple of weeks—and I, too, am single. I’m a floral designer by trade and—”
“Floral designer? What’s that?”
“You know those big bouquets you see in department stores and hotel lobbies and what-not?”
He hadn’t. But he nodded, anyway.
“Well, that’s what I do.”
“You make them?”
“I make them.”
He came around to her side of the counter, sat on the stool beside hers. “So, you’re artistic, then.”
“Maybe.” She held her thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. “Just a little.”
But wait just a minute here…. What had she said her last name was? Something French. No, Irish. De-something. Devaney.
Delaney.
His pulse raced and his mouth went dry. She couldn’t be that Kasey Delaney, could she? But then, how many Kasey Delaneys could there be in the Baltimore area? “’Scuse me a sec, will you?”
She blew a stream of air across the soup in her spoon. “Sure, but don’t be gone too long. Might not be anything left when you get back.”
He hadn’t prepared the meal to satisfy his own hunger, anyway. The main reason he’d made a sandwich for himself was so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable eating alone. But now Adam was the uncomfortable one. Because what if…what if she was—
Only one way to find out.
He’d carried the photograph in his wallet for fifteen years, to the day, almost. He’d cut it out of The Baltimore Sun the morning after Halloween that wretched year. For a few years after that, he’d carried it as is, but as it yellowed and turned up at the edges, Adam began to worry it might disintegrate. And he couldn’t have that. He needed the article to remind him who and what he’d been, who and what he could become if he didn’t force himself to remember what he’d done that night. It had been encased in plastic since his eighteenth birthday.
In the bright overhead light of the bathroom, he slid his wallet out of his back pocket. It required no hunting to find the article; he’d read it numerous times since…since the night that stupid, stupid prank went so wrong.
He looked at it now, reminding himself that the girl in the black-and-white photo had been twelve when the picture was taken. She wore braces, a ponytail, one of those dark-plaid, private-school–type uniforms. One look at those big, smiling eyes cinched it. The Kasey pictured here and the one in his kitchen, who’d made him laugh and smile—and mean it for the first time in years—were one and the same.
Why did life have to be so full of bitter irony? he wondered.
How much should he tell her, if indeed he told her anything at all? Was her visit here truly an accident? Or had she shown up for a reason?
He doubted that. He’d always been very careful to keep his identity a secret from the Delaneys, hand-delivering cash payments in the middle of the night, never at the same time of the month, so he wouldn’t risk having Kasey or her mother catch him making “deposits” in their mailbox.
It had started small, just ten dollars that first month, earned from his part-time job changing oil filters at the local lube center. Remorse-ridden that his cowardly silence had been partly responsible for a man’s death, for a woman’s widowhood, for a child losing her father, Adam had taken a second part-time job, upping the amount to twenty dollars the next month. And although the amount in the last envelope had increased to nearly a thousand dollars, the guilt hadn’t decreased.
“Hey,” she called, “you okay in there? Should I send up a 9-1-1 smoke signal?”
Adam slid the article back into his wallet and tucked the wallet into his jeans pocket. Heart beating against his rib cage, Adam did the breathing exercise that always calmed him before surgery. Smiling, he headed back to the counter.
“So,” he said, forcing a brightness into his voice that he didn’t feel, “did you save me any soup?”
She insisted he let her do the dishes, and he insisted right back. “Okay. All right,” she conceded. “But I’ll wash, you dry, since you know where everything goes…more or less….” And that’s how they ended up side by side in his tiny L-shaped kitchen.
Sharing this everyday chore with a virtual stranger felt good, felt natural, making Kasey wonder if she’d lost her mind somewhere between that field of flowers and this isolated cabin. In an attempt at rational balance, she tried to rouse some of the fear she’d felt earlier, when thoughts of murderers and robbers had her heart beating double time.
But it was no use. Rational or not, she felt safe with Dr. Adam Thorne. It didn’t seem to bother him, either, that as the minutes passed, neither of them had said a word. Kasey added “comfortable” to the things he made her feel.
“So tell me, what kind of medicine do you practice?”
“Cardiology.”
“In Baltimore?”
“I’m affiliated with several area hospitals—GBMC, St. Joseph’s, Sinai, Ellicott General—but my office is in Ellicott City.”
She looked up at him. “You sound like a TV commercial.”
He laughed at that.
“I live in Ellicott City, too. Small world, huh?”
Adam looked away suddenly. “Yeah. Real small.”
Kasey didn’t know what to make of the dark expression that accompanied what should have been an innocuous agreement. “So why cardiology instead of—”
The plate he’d been drying shattered on the floor.
“Careful,” she said, squatting beside him, “you don’t want to cut yourself.”
But he didn’t seem to have heard her. And his hands shook slightly as he reached for the fragmented ceramic.
She grabbed his wrists. “I’ll do that. You probably have surgery scheduled bright and early Monday morning. I’d feel terrible if you had to cancel, get your partner to do the operation, because you cut your finger on my sandwich plate.”
One side of his mouth lifted in a wry grin. “How do you know it was your plate? Could have been mine.”
“True, but it’d still be in the cupboard now if I hadn’t shown up. Now really, let me clean this up,” she repeated. “It’ll make me feel better about all the trouble I’ve put you to.”
When he hesitated, she put on her best “do as I say” look, hoping it would have more effect on Adam than it did on Aleesha.
Amazingly, it did.
“Do you have a dustpan?” she asked as he stood.
He pointed to a narrow door.
She pulled out a hand broom, too, then proceeded to sweep up the remnants of the plate. “What would you be doing if I wasn’t here?” she asked, eye-level with his worn hiking shoes.
“Watching something on TV, I guess.”
It was just a broken plate; the miserable way he sounded, a person would think he’d killed someone! “Then go watch something on TV. Pretend I’m not even here.”
The shoes—and their owner—hike
d into the living room, and seconds later, the theme from the Channel 13 news filled the air.
When she joined him after cleaning up, he was in his recliner, TV listings in one hand, clicker in the other. Kasey sat on the end of the couch nearest his chair and hugged a quilted toss pillow to her chest. “Anything positive happening tonight?”
“Nah. Typical news day.” He brightened slightly to add, “The Dow Jones is up a couple of points, though.”
Yippee, she thought. Kasey knew as much about the stock market as she knew about cardiology. “Have they said anything about the weather yet?”
“Only that we’re in for a doozie of a storm.”
Yippee, she echoed silently. It’d be just her luck for the tail end of that hurricane that had been wreaking havoc in the Atlantic to choose tonight to head up Chesapeake Bay. If that happened, they could be stranded here for…for who knew how long! Several years earlier, when the weather had taken a turn like that, downed trees and power lines had Baltimoreans fighting in store aisles over the dwindling supply of ice and batteries. Kasey sighed inwardly.
A huge clap of thunder, followed immediately by crackling lightning, shook the cabin.
Wonderful, Kasey thought. What else could go wrong?
As if in answer to her question, the lights went out. She watched as the TV’s picture shrunk to a bright white pinpoint, then disappeared altogether. She’d never seen such total darkness, not even in the basement furnace room at home.
“Stay right where you are,” Adam said. “I’ll get a flashlight.”
“Don’t you worry, I’m not gonna move a muscle. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face.”
She could hear him, rummaging somewhere off to her left. Hopefully, he hadn’t stored the flashlight in that kitchen drawer, because he was likely to pull out the proverbial bloody stump instead of a flashlight.
Much to her surprise, he was back in no time, illuminated by the pyramid-shaped beam of a foot-long flashlight.
“Here,” he instructed, handing her a battery-powered lantern, “turn that on.”
And before she could agree or object, he was gone again, leaving nothing but a bobbing, weaving trail of light in his wake. Kasey fumbled with the lantern until she found a switch on its side. Minutes later, Adam placed a glass-globed lantern beside it, and once lit, the oil-soaked wick brightened the entire room. He placed a matching lamp on the kitchen counter.
“Well,” she said, laughing, “what in the world will we do without the TV to entertain us?”
Adam leaned back in his recliner. “Oh, I have a feeling you’ll think of something.”
For a reason she couldn’t explain, the way he sounded just now matched the expression he’d worn earlier. Suspicious was the only word she could think of to describe it. And she couldn’t for the life of her come up with a reason he’d have to feel that way. “We could play a game, I suppose. Do you have a game cupboard up here?”
“Actually, it’s a game chest.” He nodded at the coffee table. “What’s your preference? Scrabble? Monopoly? Life?”
Last thing Kasey wanted to do right now was think. She wrinkled her nose. “How ’bout War?”
“That baby game?” he said, grinning.
“Truthfully, if it’s all the same to you, I’m not really in much of a game-playing mood right now.”
Adam sighed. He’d never liked games. Not even as a kid. “Good, ’cause I’m never in much of a game-playing mood.”
“Really?”
He watched her tuck one leg under her, hug the other to her chest. In the lantern light, her hair gleamed like a coppery halo, her eyes glittered like emeralds. “Why’s that? Are you a sore loser?”
She had a lovely, lyrical voice, too, he thought, smiling when she laughed. “Sore loser? Hardly. For some reason, I rarely lose.”
“I see. So you turn other people into sore losers, then.”
And that smile! Did she realize it made him want to kiss her?
“Something like that, I guess.”
She started to get up. “So, how ’bout I snoop around in your kitchen, whip us up a cup of hot chocolate. Or tea.”
Somewhere under that thick, oversize sweatsuit, was a curvy, womanly figure. He knew, because earlier, her soaking-wet blouse and trousers had acted like a second skin, making it impossible not to notice. He was surprised at the caustic tone of his “Mi casa, su casa.”
She padded into the kitchen on the thick-soled athletic socks he’d loaned her and turned on the gas under the teakettle. And as she opened and closed cabinet doors in search of tea bags and sugar, he said, “So tell me how you got into this flower business of yours.”
“It’s a long boring story.” She shook an empty box. “And by the way, you’re out of hot chocolate.”
“Well, one thing we’re not out of is time.” He linked his fingers behind his head.
And you’d better spend it wisely, he cautioned, because he couldn’t afford to give in to his feelings.
He had a pretty good life, all things considered. His mom was still healthy, thank God, and he had good friends, a good job, a nice house, a place to hide from the everyday stresses and strains of the world. Only thing missing, really, from his American Dream lifestyle was a wife, two-point-five kids and a golden retriever. The scene flashed in his mind—he and Kasey and a couple of rosy-cheeked, red-haired tots….
Ridiculous! He could see it now: “Hey, how would you like to marry me? And by the way, I killed your father….” He wouldn’t live his dream life with Kasey.
Yes, he’d lived a pretty good life, but aspects of it had been less than fair. Tonight, for example. He’d been sitting here, alone, browbeating himself yet again, knowing full well that he had no one but himself to blame for his solitary status.
Still, if he’d shown a little courage fifteen years ago, Al Delaney wouldn’t have died—at least, not on that night. Adam knew, even back then, that he’d pay for his moment of cowardice for the rest of his days. And if he needed proof of it, he only needed to look into his kitchen, where a gorgeous creature was humming as she prepared him a cup of tea.
He couldn’t afford to fall for her, no matter how cute and sweet she was, no matter how funny. If he did, well, eventually she’d find out he was responsible for her father’s death. And he’d rather die himself than have her hate him because of it.
Keep it casual, keep it friendly. She’d be gone in the morning and he’d probably never see her again. Not outside the confines of his own private thoughts, anyway….
“So,” he said in a calculatedly easygoing tone, “tell me the so-called long and boring story about how you got into the flower business.”
Chapter Two
A filled-to-the-brim steaming mug in each hand, Kasey trod slowly toward him. The tip of her tongue poked out from one corner of her mouth as she concentrated on every cautious step. Adam could think of just one word to describe her at that moment: Cute.
Knees locked, she bent at the waist and carefully centered his mug on a coaster on the end table beside his chair. After depositing her own cup on the tile-topped coffee table, she flopped onto the couch.
“Whew,” she said on a sigh. “I’ve developed a whole new appreciation for waitresses.” One dainty forefinger indicated the hot brew. “That’s dangerous work!”
Chuckling, Adam lowered the recliner’s footrest, rested ankle on knee and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “You were about to tell me how you got into the flower business.”
Her laughter reminded Adam of the wind chimes that once hung outside his grandma’s kitchen window.
“I guess you’d have to say I just fell into it.”
Adam continued to watch, transfixed as she gestured with small but clearly hardworking hands, her incredible green eyes flickering with wit as she smiled, pursed her lips, tucked in one corner of her mouth.
“‘Falling into it’…now that,” Adam interjected, “sounds dangerous.”
Her brows knitted in confus
ion. “How so?”
“Well, look at those things—” He indicated the basket of cuttings. “Briars big enough to saddle, spears that could harpoon a Great White.” He met her eyes. “I sure wouldn’t want to ‘fall into’ any of that!”
She laughed again, and again Adam noticed the way the sound of it rang inside him, like the silvery note of a bell. Get back on track, he thought. “So how, exactly, does one ‘fall into’ floral design?”
Resting both elbows on her knees, Kasey leaned forward, puckered her lips and blew across the surface of her tea. “This stuff is hot enough to fog your glasses…if you were wearing any.”
He wondered when—if—she intended to tell him about her work; how she’d try to keep him distracted if she decided not to. Wondered why she’d want to keep something so everyday-ordinary from him. The only reason he wanted to know, really, was to prove to himself that what he’d done fifteen years ago hadn’t destroyed her.
She sat back suddenly and crossed her legs. “My shop is called Fleur Élégance, and—”
“Your shop?”
Wearing a proud little smile, Kasey nodded. “Couple of years ago, I paid off my mother’s mortgage. We’d always had this big shed out back, but I was never allowed in it. Dad always said, ‘You could poke an eye out in there.”’ She imitated a deep, growly voice. “Which was probably true. The thing was filled to overflowing with…stuff.”
Kasey laughed softly. “He used to call Mom a clutter-bug. That was true, too.” Resting her head against the sofa’s back cushion, she continued. “Mom saved everything. Rusted tools, extension cords with bared wires, broken-down lawn mowers, bald tires, bent lawn chairs…a lifetime of junk.”
Adam thought he could listen to her talk, hours on end. She loved life, and it showed in every movement of her curvy little body, in every syllable that passed those well-shaped pink lips.
“Dad had been gone nearly ten years when I struck a bargain with Mom—I’d clean out the shed and set up a yard sale, and Mom could spend the proceeds in the bookstore.” Smiling, Kasey rolled her eyes. “The woman has more books than a public library! Anyway, she agreed to the deal, so I cleared everything out, installed new windows—”
