by Lisa Jackson
Raking stiff, angry fingers through his hair, he knew that he’d made a mistake of irrevocable proportions when he’d taken her into his arms and kissed her again. He’d done it on impulse, and yet he’d never expected the reaction that tore at his soul—not just physically, though that was a big part of it, but emotionally as well.
“Look, maybe I—we’d better go.”
“No!” he shouted without even thinking, then caught himself and more quietly said, “Please, stay.” Staring into the night, he tried to find some way to explain himself, but couldn’t. “Look, I just—I had no idea—oh, for the love of God—” Looking into her wide golden eyes, he was lost. He wanted her more than he’d wanted a woman in a long, long time, maybe more than he’d ever wanted a woman. Because she was forbidden, the mother of his son, the woman he was doomed to destroy, he couldn’t forget her. His fingers curled over the rail until he felt splinters in the heels of his palms.
He had to be cursed. This hot-blooded attraction to her was sure to be his undoing, but he felt helpless to fight it, and leveling an oath at himself, he reached for her again. “Damn you, Kate,” he whispered. “What are you doing to me?”
His mouth crashed down on hers, hot, cruel, punishing lips, and again Kate yielded, her bones seeming to melt in his hands. Hot desire flooded through him and all he could think about was the ache in his groin and the sweet, warm comfort she could give. He pressed her up against the window, her back pinned against the old watery panes, one of his hands reaching lower to cup a buttock.
She trembled against him, and a yearning, as old as time itself, stretched between them. So hard he couldn’t think straight, he tightened his fingers. Through the folds of her skirt he felt the swell of her buttock, his fingertips grazing the soft inside of her thigh.
She moaned into his open mouth and he pressed harder, his heart thundering, desire pumping through his blood and pounding at his temples. She smelled of rain and summer roses, her breasts rising and falling with each of her torn breaths. In his mind he saw her lying naked beneath him in a field of spring flowers, her body drenched in sweat, her supple flesh quivering with want as he spread her legs and storm clouds roiled overhead.
“For the love of God,” he whispered, slamming his eyes shut, leaning against her, but letting go, giving up his anxious hold on her rump, tearing his lips away from her hungry mouth. “Kate…I—”
“Don’t,” she said, with a voice so low he barely recognized it. She placed a finger against his lips. “You don’t have to say anything, I understand—oooh.” Unable to resist such sweet temptation, he sucked her forefinger into his mouth, his tongue working of its own accord, his gaze delving deep into hers. She licked her lips, then drew her fingers slowly away from his lips. “This…this can’t happen.”
“You’re right,” he agreed, though his cock was straining against his jeans and he was so hard he thought the buttons of his fly might give way.
“There’s Jon to consider—”
“Right. Jon.”
“And…and I can’t get involved—”
“Neither can I.” He kissed her again and the passion sparked between them, alive and catching fire, searing through every argument their rational minds devised. “Kate, sweet Kate,” he murmured against her open mouth as he parted her jacket and his fingers felt the firm hard strain of her breasts beneath her blouse. “Oh, God.” Through the fabric he touched the button of her nipple, straining and hard. Wanting.
Lowering himself, he kissed her there, through the cotton, wetting the fabric as she leaned against the window. Her fingers wound in his hair as he reached around her, drawing her closer, taking more of her into his mouth. Soft moans escaped her lips and her legs seemed to widen in their stance. Her heat enveloped him and he thought of undressing her and making love to her over and over again, until dawn spilled its splendid light over the valley.
She moaned and he dropped to his knees, pressing his face into the folds of her skirt, smelling its sweet fragrance, wrapping his hands around her legs. She seemed to pulse in his hands.
“Daegan—oh, Daegan, please…” she whispered and he stopped again, moving his arms upward to surround her waist, still holding her close as he tried to regain the composure that had rarely failed him throughout his life. But with her, with this one woman, that fierce, dependable self-control slipped through his fingers and he was suddenly lost with wanting. The thought eroded whatever pride he had left, and this time, he told himself as he gritted his teeth and straightened, when he released her, he wouldn’t be so weak as to draw her into his arms again. Slowly he stood, closed her jacket, and stepped away from her. It was all he could do to keep his distance.
“I—I think I should go.”
He nodded, shaken to the roots of all that he’d held as true. He’d spent the better part of his life convincing himself that there wasn’t a woman who could touch him in the way that he’d just been touched. For years he was determined that no woman would ever change his way of thinking, but Kate had proved him wrong. So very wrong.
She cleared her throat and glanced into his eyes for a fleeting second. “I’ll take a raincheck on the drink.”
“Fine,” he agreed, then laughed mirthlessly when he heard the plop of raindrops on the old shingles of the roof. He watched as she ran across the yard and disappeared into the barn. By the time she and Jon emerged, Daegan’s breathing was more normal, his heartbeat a more even rhythm. He waved to the boy and his mother and wished to God that he’d never made the mistake of kissing Kate Summers.
Kate spent the night staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows shift against the curtains and wondering where the common sense that she’d honed since she was eleven had flown. Didn’t she know better? Didn’t she remember?
Grabbing her robe from the end of the bed, she padded into the kitchen and poured a glass of juice. As she sipped, she stared through the glass to the black night and the rain drizzling down the panes.
She remembered her mother, Anna, a beautiful woman who had been widowed far too young. Abruptly, their idyllic life on the farm was over. Anna couldn’t work the acres herself or pay the mortgage, so she sold the rolling fields, the duck pond, the old barn with its swallows and owls, and the rambling two-story farmhouse. The small family had been forced to move to the city.
With two daughters to support, Anna juggled two, sometimes three jobs, and when she wasn’t dead tired, she dated lots of different men, few of whom Kate ever met. But she did remember the one man—Riley had been his name, Pete Riley—the man who had changed the course of her life irretrievably.
Big and brawny, with a thick brown moustache and long sideburns, he was a truck driver, on the road a lot, but when he was in Des Moines, he and Mama would go out dining, dancing, and drinking. He was loud and sometimes would stumble on the stairs. Kate always suspected he was drunk, but Mama always said he was just a little clumsy.
One late summer night while Kate and Laura were sleeping in their bunk beds, Riley brought Mama home. They were loud—laughing and talking, bumping into the walls—and woke Kate from the fitful sleep that overcame her whenever Mama went out late at night.
“Shhh, you’ll wake the girls,” Mama said when the door slammed shut.
“No way.” Footsteps. Riley’s heavy tread. Kate frowned and slipped through the open window to the fire escape. She hated Riley and his loud ways. His voice was too gruff, and sometimes when Mama wasn’t looking, he’d touch Kate on the shoulders or neck, sometimes her face. One time, when he’d come over before Mama got off work and let himself in with his own key, he’d insisted Laura sit on his lap, and while he talked to her, he played with her hair and shifted around a lot, rubbing himself on her. Laura tried to climb down, but Riley held her firmly in place, and only when Mama burst through the door did he move sharply enough to send Laura careening to the floor.
Music from the stereo drifted down the hallway and seeped into her room. “Come on, baby, light my fire…” Jim Morrison
’s voice seemed to wrap around Kate like a deep mist and Kate stared down the metallic stairway four stories to the deserted alley below. In the street-light she noticed a cat sliding through the shadows and from inside the apartment there were sounds of an argument. Not the first. Recently Mama and Riley argued as often as not, and Kate found herself wishing again that Daddy were still alive.
Kate closed her eyes and rocked on the cold metal grate. She didn’t want to hear the fight, didn’t want to be afraid, but the voices, angry and loud, chased through the apartment and out the window to surround her.
“You’re a tease, that’s what you are, Anna, acting like some goddamned virgin when you got two half-growed daughters. Well, I’m sick of it, y’hear. Damned sick of it.”
“Shh, Pete, the girls will hear—”
“So let ’em. Who cares?”
“Look, maybe you’d better go now.”
Yes! Leave and don’t ever come back!
“Is that what you want, baby? ’Cause if I walk out that door, I’m not comin’ back through it. That’s the last you’ll see of Pete Riley.”
Kate crossed her fingers and prayed.
“Of course not, Pete, but be reasonable…”
“They’re asleep, they’ll never know.” Then there was quiet and Kate shivered, imagining them kissing and touching. This was how it always went, Mama would say no, and Pete would change her mind and somehow she’d make him happy and he’d leave before morning. Mama always looked tired and unhappy the next morning, sitting in her bathrobe, staring into her coffee cup, and sometimes crying. For Daddy. She’d admitted that she still missed him every day.
So did Kate. Living in the city was exciting, the smells of exhaust mingling with the sweet aromas wafting from restaurants and bakeries, the cars, trucks, bicycles, and motorcycles wheeling through the streets, so different from the slow pace of the farm, where she and Laura would help Mama weed the garden, or watch as Daddy plowed and harrowed a new field.
She missed the rattling old clunk of the tractor—the one that always broke down and made Daddy so mad, and the sound of the rooster crowing before dawn. She missed baby chicks hatching from eggs and the fresh-faced calves as they butted and romped in the pasture surrounding the barn. She and Laura would listen to the sounds of frogs and crickets in the evening and catch water skippers on the pond—
Slap! The sound of flesh smacking against flesh brought her up short. “Bitch! I’ll show you I mean business.”
“Get out, Pete. Just get the hell out.”
“Not until you give me what I came here for.”
Again the slap, this time followed by a stream of guttural oaths that turned Kate’s stomach.
“I’ll show you—”
Mama screamed and Kate crawled back through the window. Something hit the wall and glass shattered. “No! No! No!” Mama cried. “Oh, God, help me.”
Heart hammering, Kate opened the door a crack and peeked through. Pete’s fist was clenched around Mama’s hair and he was dragging her kicking and screaming to her bedroom. Mama’s fingers were bloody, her nails ripped as she scratched the plaster walls to try and stop him.
Pete’s face sported a red handprint and his eyes were narrowed in anger.
Mama saw Kate and choked out a cry. “No,” she whispered, her eyes terrified as they touched Kate’s. Her face turned the shade of death. “Don’t—” She made a shooing motion, trying to get Kate to slide back into the room, but Pete, as he kicked open the door of Mama’s bedroom, didn’t notice, just yanked her into the dark interior.
Her insides twisting into painful knots, Kate sneaked out of the room and into the kitchen. She heard slaps and oaths and her mother sobbing. Biting her lip, sweat drizzling down her spine, Kate picked up the telephone receiver and with unsteady fingers dialed the only number she knew by heart besides her own, that of her aunt June.
Scared so bad she was shaking, she stretched the cord as long as she could, crawled into a closet, and shut the door while she waited. Uncle Cliff answered on the fifth ring.
“You’ve got to come,” Kate demanded in a harsh whisper though she was trying with all her might not to let panic strangle her. “Riley’s gonna kill Mama, I know he is.”
“Is this Katie?”
“Yes, but you’ve got to come and—”
“Calm down,” Uncle Cliff commanded. “Now start over and tell me everything.”
“There’s no time. He’s got her in the bedroom and he’s hitting her and she’s crying and you’ve got to come.” Hysteria caused her voice to rise to a squeak and she was crying, begging her uncle to come and save Mama. Then, once Uncle Cliff promised to drive across town, Kate held the receiver tight against her chest and prayed, long and hard, that Mama wouldn’t be hurt. Only when the horrid screams subsided did she slip out of the closet and hang up the phone. Throat dry with fear, she planned to sneak back to her room when she nearly ran into Pete standing in the doorway.
“Well, well, well,” he said, his eyes slitted as he glared at her from his tremendous height, “what have we here? Hmm, Katie girl, what’re you doing up?” He plopped himself on a bar stool and lit a cigarette.
“I…I was thirsty.”
“So you got a drink.”
“Yeah.”
He frowned and let smoke roll out of his nostrils. Kate had never been so frightened in her life. Wearing only dingy jockey shorts, his hairy torso scratched from being raked by fingernails, he studied her. “So where’s your glass?”
“What?”
“The one you used to get a drink. I don’t see a glass in the sink.”
“I—I—um, just put my head under the faucet, but don’t tell Mama, she doesn’t like that.”
“Oh, these days your mama doesn’t like much,” he said, and the scent of stale whiskey and smoke filled the room. “Including me. Imagine that—your good old uncle Petey isn’t good enough for her anymore.”
“You’re not my uncle.”
He sucked on the cigarette. “That’s right. I’m not anything to you, am I? You’re a smart girl, Katie, do you know that, real smart. I like a girl with some brains.” His eyes moved from her face and inched lower where his gaze rested on her small breasts, just beginning to form. “You ever kissed a boy?”
She shook her head.
“Why not, you’re pretty enough, and when you grow up, I bet you’ll be a real looker.” He rubbed the underside of his chin very slowly. “Yep, a real looker.”
“Are you leaving?” she asked suddenly.
“In a little while.” His expression darkened with concern. “But I don’t want to leave your mother as she is. She had a little too much to drink and got a little out of hand.” He smiled as if they were best friends. “But she’ll be okay. You want me to leave?”
She nodded. “I can take care of Mama.”
“I imagine you can. You’re a big girl, aren’t you?” He tossed the butt of his cigarette into the sink and it sizzled as it died. “Why don’t you come over here and tell me why you want me to go? Do I scare you?”
“No,” she lied, shivering inside.
“Good. That’s real good.” He reached forward, his hand stinking of smoke, to stroke the side of her face. She ducked. “Oh, Katie, come on. I want to show you something, something you’ve never seen before, something you’ll learn to like.”
He reached for her arm. “I don’t want—”
“Leave her alone!” Mama ordered. “Take your filthy hands off her and get out! Now!”
Riley swiveled on the stool. “I think it’s time she learned a few things.”
“Touch her again and I’ll kill you.” Mama’s voice was barely audible, just a low growl.
He laughed and grabbed Kate. In a split second, Mama reached for the knife rack on the counter, slid out the butcher knife, and plunged it deep into his shoulder. Blood bubbled out of his skin.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
“Anna!” Uncle Cliff’s voice boomed over the pounding on the front do
or. “Anna, are you in there?”
“Oh, thank God!” She ran to the front door and threw it open. Riley, clad only in his skivvies, yanked the knife from his shoulder and staggered after her, leaving a trail of blood.
Uncle Cliff’s eyes rounded to the size of silver dollars, and Aunt June, who was standing primly behind him, white-faced and worrying her hands, didn’t venture inside. “What the devil happened here?” Reverend Cliff demanded.
“The bitch tried to kill me!” Riley said, then realizing he was holding the weapon, flung it onto the floor. Snagging his shirt from the back of the couch, he jabbed it at his wound, trying vainly to staunch the flow of blood. “Call a damned ambulance!”
“Now, just stay calm,” Uncle Cliff insisted. “The police have already been called.”
“Cops?” Riley repeated. “What the hell for?”
As it was, his question was answered with the arrival of the police, the ambulance, and a social worker. Kate, while trying to save her mother, had unwittingly unleashed the hounds of hell on their little home.
Pete Riley ended up in the hospital, where he was treated and released. Anna Rudisill was tried and acquitted of assault with a deadly weapon, but her children were stripped from her and placed in Uncle Cliff and Aunt June’s small parsonage.
Uncle Cliff was a preacher and Aunt June a devout servant of the Lord. No profanities were ever issued, no questions ever asked, they all just did what Uncle Cliff told them. He, the ordained minister, knew what was best, and Aunt June never once raised her voice to him.
Whenever Aunt June spoke of her sister, it was in a pitying voice, and Mama’s visits, always painful and filled with tears, stopped abruptly when she took an overdose of sleeping pills and ended her life.
Kate remembered the service with Uncle Cliff sermonizing on the wages of sin and eulogizing Anna Rudisill as a tortured being who was finally at peace with her God and joined in heaven with her loving husband.
Kate, grief-stricken, didn’t buy it. She and Laura remembered their idyllic life on the farm, their mother’s warm smiles, the kind woman who had tended her garden and children with care.
