Kisses And Kids (Congratulations Series #1)

by Andrea Edwards

  By that time, they were to the door and, a few steps later, outside. The heat just seemed to sink around her, like a thick blanket she had to fight her way through.

  “It’s really awful out,” she said. “No wonder everybody’s inside.”

  “At least it’s peaceful out here,” he said.

  She stopped and listened. There was traffic noise and radios blaring and people shouting, but they were all far away. No one was pushing at her or demanding anything of her. She sighed and let herself relax.

  “Now, this isn’t that bad, is it?” Pat asked as he opened his car door for her.

  “No, it’s very nice.” When he got in his side, though, she fixed him with a glare. “Just this once, though. I’m not someone who likes to be bullied.”

  “Then I’d better take real advantage of my one chance,” he said with a slightly wicked grin.

  She eyed him uneasily as he started the car and pulled into traffic. He drove with a purpose, as if he knew exactly where he was going.

  He glanced at her, catching her eyes on him and let his smile warm her heart. “Those clothes washable?” he asked.

  “Huh?” She looked down at her cotton culottes and knit top. “Yeah. Why? Are they dirty?”

  “No, I was just curious.”

  He drove a few more minutes in silence. They went through the downtown area, then across the river. He turned, pulling into a parking lot on the east side of the river.

  “What are we doing here?” she asked, looking around. There were a few restaurants in the area, but they were more formal. Neither she nor Pat were dressed appropriately.

  “We’re going rafting,” he said. “If your shoes can’t get wet, you might want to leave them in the car.”

  She just sat there as he slipped his shoes and socks off. “We’re going what?”

  “Rafting,” he repeated. “You know. We get in this rubber boat and let the current take us over the bumps until we get to the end.”

  “I know what rafting is,” she said.

  “Good.” He got out of the car. When she didn’t move, he leaned down to look back in. “You can’t go rafting in the car, you know.”

  “Who says I want to go rafting at all?” she asked as she climbed out her side.

  “Are you hot and sticky and tense?”

  She shrugged, not really wanting to answer. “Kind of.”

  “Then this is the answer.”

  He reached out his hand and she seemed unable to do anything but take it. Together they walked across the lot, then onto the wooden footbridge over the East Race. Trisha stopped to frown down at the raging water beneath her. She was no expert in water sports, but she knew what “white water” was and that there was a lot of it down there.

  A rubber raft came through the open floodgate beneath her, the people frantically paddling as the current threw them into a section of rapids. The raft bounced up, nose high into the air; then it plunged down amid the screams of the people in it. Suddenly the water tossed the raft aside, flinging the people into the water as easily as the wind scatters dandelion seeds.

  “Oh, Lordy,” Trisha muttered.

  “They went into it sideways,” Pat said. “You have to face the rapids.”

  “Is that like facing a firing squad?”

  Pat just laughed and led her off the bridge. Trisha turned, watching as the capsized rafters swam to the side. Lifeguards were there to help them out as another one caught hold of the raft. Everyone was laughing.

  “This is a perfect example of industrial development,” Pat said. “Taking something no longer needed by one industry and changing it to be of use in another.”

  “Our local lifeguards needed more work?”

  He gave her a look as they got in line for their tickets. “In the early days of the city, they diverted this mile-long section of the river to power the mills,” he said. “Then, when coal and electricity came along, water power wasn’t needed and the race lay dormant until about ten years ago, when the city revamped the area. They made the whole area here more parklike and added movable buffers to the race to change the current and floodgates to control the depth of the water. What resulted was a world-class course that draws kayakers from all over the country, and a recreational rafting area that draws from as far away as Chicago and Detroit.”

  “Suicidal people can be found in every locale.”

  He stopped just before the ticket window. “If you really don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

  “You mean if I don’t want to drown, you’re not going to make me?”

  He just stared at her. “It’s not dangerous. No one has ever drowned here and little kids go on it all the time.” He paused. “I just thought it would be a great way for you to relax, but...”

  His eyes were suddenly open windows to his soul. She saw his certainty that this would relax her turn into a gamble. She saw his disappointment, his feeling that he had misjudged her. Then just as quickly, those windows shut tight and he let a mocking laugh leave his lips.

  “Hey, it’s—”

  Trisha stepped forward in line. “If I drown, my mother’ll be mad at you, and so will Sniffles and Lucy.”

  “You won’t drown,” he said as he bought two tickets. “This is as safe as can be.”

  How safe? she was wondering a few minutes later when she and Pat were fitted snugly into a narrow rubber raft. But it wasn’t drowning in the river that she feared now.

  She was sitting on her feet, in between his legs. They each had a paddle and were paddling from the dock toward the floodgates. She was not as effective a paddler as he was, probably causing him extra work to maneuver their raft where it should be. But every movement he made, she could feel. And it felt very nice indeed.

  She even found sitting in the raft a joy. The bottom of the raft was only a layer of rubber so that the gentle movement of the current seemed to brush against her. They slid through the floodgates as sweetly as ever, the current moving them at a steady pace, but not really all that fast. She felt that the river was a part of her, not something to be nervous about. Not something to—

  “Oh, my God!” she screamed.

  Through the floodgates, they were suddenly hurtling down a steep incline, heading toward raging white water. Gargantuan waves were going to swallow them up and hurl them to the bottom of the river. She’d never get the club a new van. She’d never get that federal grant to hire a part-time counselor. She’d never grow old and have children.

  But Pat was right behind her, his arm slipping around her waist and pressing her back against him as their raft dived into the waves. He would keep her safe. His strength was something she could lean on. He was someone she could depend on. She closed her eyes and leaned back, willing his arms to never leave her. Water washed over them, drenching them both and filling the raft with water but, astonishingly enough, it bounced right back up.

  She opened her eyes. “We made it,” she gasped.

  “You okay?” Pat’s mouth was right next to her ear, his tone so gentle and sweet that she could only nod.

  She looked forward and realized they’d gone only through the first of the rapids. Pat let go of her as he went back to paddling, fighting the current as he sent them down a gentle slope instead of the frothing one at the near side of the race. She got brave enough to help paddle a bit herself, though all too soon, they were at another patch of white water. One where there was no gentle path to take.

  “Oh, Lordy,” she breathed.

  But Pat was right there behind her again, slipping his arm around her and holding her safe and secure. She had a sudden vision of him riding through all of life’s storms, holding her safe whenever she got scared. She leaned back, closing her eyes as they rode through the rapids.

  It was almost fun, she realized, as the water bombarded them, trying to upset the raft and dump them into the river. If she’d been alone, it would have succeeded, but with Pat behind her, with Pat to fight with her, she knew that the river could never de
feat them.

  Another set of rapids, wider and higher and deeper than the others, came up, but Trisha just laughed. She kept her eyes open, her heart too certain of success to cringe away. The raft plunged into the wildest part of the white water, but she only laughed.

  “This is great,” she said over her shoulder to Pat.

  “Stick with me, kid,” he said. “I’ll never steer you wrong.”

  His words were carried on his laughter, but she felt their trueness deep in her heart. The water splashed over them, the current tossed the raft about, but still they sped forward. She had found someone so rare and true, someone she hadn’t thought existed except in her dreams—a man to lean on.

  Then suddenly they were at the end of the run. A lifeguard tossed them a rope and once Pat caught it, they were towed to the shore. Another guard gave Trisha a hand to help her out of the raft. She found her legs were shaky and her clothes drenched, but all she could do was smile at Pat.

  “Well?” he said.

  “It was great,” she said as she tried to wring out her shirt. “Fantastic.”

  “Not hot and sticky and tense anymore?”

  She just laughed and fell into his arms. He held her a moment, then with his arm still around her, they walked up the ramp to the sidewalk that would take them back to the parking lot.

  “And to think that you didn’t trust me,” Pat murmured.

  “Never again,” she vowed, keeping her voice as light and teasing as his had been. But her heart knew it was the truth, not a joke.

  * * *

  “Try these,” Pat said, handing Trisha a T-shirt and some running shorts he’d brought downstairs. Both had shrunk in the wash so they were closer to her size than his other clothes.

  She took them with a grin. “Don’t like me dripping all over your hardwood floors, huh?”

  He let his eyes caress her slender form like a race car driver drives, slowing down where the curves were the best. Though she kept pulling her shirt away from her, it had gotten thoroughly soaked while rafting and was determined to cling to her. “Oh, you can drip over my floors all night if you want.”

  She just gave him a look, held the clothes in her arms and turned to the bathroom just off his kitchen. She stopped in the doorway. “Have you looked in all these?” she asked.

  He glanced into the room over her shoulder. She was looking at the old, built-in cabinets over the bathtub. “What for?”

  “The treasure.” Her tone marveled that he even had to ask.

  Sighing, he frowned at her. “There is no treasure.”

  She just shook her head as she went into the bathroom. “Oh, ye of little faith.” She closed the door.

  Pat allowed himself a smile as he went on up to his own room to change his clothes. He liked having her here. The house didn’t seem nearly so old or quiet. Maybe they’d just stay here for dinner, order in a pizza or something. He wished suddenly that he had the time and the ingredients to make her a real dinner.

  As he arrived downstairs, Trisha was coming out of the bathroom, carrying her wet clothes in her arms. His old clothes had never looked so good as they did on her, even baggy as they were. A sudden hunger filled every molecule of his body and he had to swallow hard.

  “Do you want to throw those in the dryer?” he asked.

  “I think they ought to be washed first.”

  “I’ve got a washer.”

  She shook her head. “If you’ve got a plastic bag, I’ll just stick them in there and take care of them at home.”

  He felt strangely disappointed that she wouldn’t use his washer, that she was keeping her life so separate. And that reaction was nothing short of ridiculous. Why should he care if she washed her clothes at home or here? He led her into the kitchen and found a plastic grocery bag for her.

  “I ordered a pizza,” he said. “That okay with you?”

  “Sure. Sounds great.”

  He tried to find something to do while she took care of her clothes, but he found himself staring at her, at the sweet curve of her bare legs, at the softness of her cheek that seemed to beg for his touch. He cleared his throat and looked away.

  “Want to see the rest of the house?” he asked.

  “Sure. And you can show me where you’ve looked for the treasure.”

  He made a face and waved her ahead of him into the hall. “I’ve looked everywhere,” he said. “Upstairs, downstairs, basement and attic.”

  “I’m sure you did.” She turned to pat him gently on the cheek. “But maybe what the search needs is a woman’s touch.”

  He wanted to grab hold of her hand and keep it pressed against his cheek, but she’d probably think he was crazy. Maybe he was. “I’m sure my grandmother looked everywhere, too,” he said.

  “Maybe,” she replied. “Or maybe she wanted you to find it.”

  Pat just shrugged.

  “Come on. Show me what’s upstairs.” She turned on her heel and started up the stairs.

  “Just my bedroom,” he said, following her up more slowly.

  He was suddenly conscious of the worn rug and wished he’d replaced it. Or at least taken it off so that the bare wood would show. But when his eyes left the rug, they found her backside, so trim and firm. He wasn’t able to turn away. Maybe this house tour wasn’t a good idea.

  “My bedroom is the first door on your right,” he said, as they reached the top of the stairs.

  The same worn rug ran down the middle of the hall, promising nothing of worth was up here. Why hadn’t he painted up here yet? That would make the place livelier and more inviting. That would promise that good things could be found here. Trisha marched right past his partially closed door.

  “Don’t you want to look around in there?” he asked.

  She didn’t reply. With his shorts and T-shirt barely covering half her body, he was catching glimpses of places he’d like to look around.

  “There are probably a lot of things in there that could use a woman’s touch,” he added.

  But she just went down to the far door. The drab rug and dingy walls must have spoken to her. “What’s this room?” she asked, her hand on the knob. “An empty bedroom?”

  “Yep.”

  She opened the door, flicking on the overhead light. There was no furniture in the room. The wallpaper was yellowed and peeling in spots. Curtains covered the windows, but she could tell the windows hadn’t been washed for a while.

  “There are not too many places to hide anything,” Pat pointed out.

  “Is that a closet?” she asked, pointing to another door.

  He nodded.

  She looked inside and found the same thing he had—nothing. She looked so disappointed that he wished he’d hidden something there for her to find.

  “If it was easy to find, it would have been found years ago,” he pointed out gently.

  “I know.” She frowned into the closet, then closed the door slowly. “What we need is a good, methodical search. When we have lots of time to do the whole house at one sitting.”

  “In case the treasure roams?” he asked.

  She just made a face at him. “You’re such a skeptic,” she said. “You don’t deserve a treasure.”

  “That’s probably my ancestors’ theory. It’s probably why I can’t find it. They’ve decided that I don’t deserve it and they’re keeping it hidden until a truly deserving relative comes along.”

  She grinned at him. “What if one never comes along? Can I keep it if I find it?”

  Her smile wreaked havoc on his good intentions and he was glad that she went back out into the hallway. He followed more slowly, but got there in time to see her peeking into one of the other bedrooms.

  “Are all these rooms the same?”

  “Pretty much. Mine’s different.” He paused. “Want to see it?”

  She stopped. “You probably redid your room, didn’t you?” she asked. “If anything was there, you would have found it.”

  “Maybe not,” he said. “You said you
rself that a woman looks at things differently.”

  “We’ll cover it in our thorough search,” she said.

  Promises, promises. “And when will that be?” he asked.

  She just closed the door to the empty bedroom and ran her hand lightly over the wide woodwork as if looking for secret panels. “I don’t know,” she said. “When’s good for you?”

  He was suddenly afraid that once she left, he’d never get her back. That if he didn’t have a lure to hold out, she’d never want to come here again. And though his brain told him it didn’t matter, his heart knew better.

  “How about tomorrow?”

  She looked at him with a laugh. “Tomorrow? And here I thought you didn’t believe there was a treasure.”

  He felt vulnerable and exposed, as if she could see his real fears and would mock them. “I just don’t want to impede your search.”

  “You’re so kind.”

  Her eyes were searching, though, looking for hidden secrets that he worried she’d find. The doorbell broke the power of her gaze and she looked away.

  “That sounds like dinner.” She started down the stairs. “I’ve got a million chores to do tomorrow. How about Sunday?”

  He tried not to feel the sudden surge of pleasure that raced through him, tried not to admit that it was due to the fact she was coming back. Coming back for a real visit where he could make her dinner, where her laughter would linger in these old shadows for longer than a moment.

  “Fine with me,” he said lightly. His pleasure was due to none of those things. He just liked showing off the house.

  Chapter Eight

  “Davey says Uncle Henry’s gonna die,” Rulli said.

  Trisha put the stack of good books back on the shelf. “Is he that sick?” She tossed the two torn books onto the pile of discards.

  Rulli just shrugged his little shoulders. He looked as if he was trying to be brave, but all she could see in his eyes was fear. “Aunt Rose was crying when the ambulance came.”

  “She could have just been scared,” Trisha said. “You have to listen to what the doctor says about your uncle, not Davey.”

  Rulli pulled some more books off the shelves and handed them to her. “Davey says Aunt Rose is gonna move to a special kinda place where they’ll take care of Uncle Henry. And that we can’t come ‘cause kids can’t live there.”