by Nora Roberts
“I know; she got back a few minutes ago.” There was a trace of impatience in his tone. “Is anything wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong.” Her voice refused to level. Megan searched for a quick way to end the conversation.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes, I . . .”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“No.” Megan ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “No, please—”
“Ten minutes,” he repeated and broke the connection.
Chapter Nine
Megan stared at the dead receiver for several silent moments. How had she, in a few uncompleted sentences, managed to make such a mess of things? She didn’t want him to come. She never wanted to see him again. That is a lie.
Carefully, Megan replaced the receiver. I do want to see him, she admitted, have wanted to see him for days. It’s just that I’m afraid to see him. Turning, she gazed blindly around the kitchen. The room was almost in complete darkness now. The table and chairs were dark shadows. She walked to the switch, avoiding obstacles with the knowledge of years. The room flooded with brightness. That’s better, she thought, more secure in the artificial light. Coffee, she decided, needing something, anything, to occupy her hands. I’ll make fresh coffee.
Megan went to the percolator and began a step-by-step preparation, but her nerves continued to jump. In a few moments, she hoped, she’d be calm again. When he arrived, she would say what she needed to say, and then they would part.
The phone rang, and she jolted, juggling the cup she held and nearly dropping it. Chiding herself, Megan set it down and answered the call.
“Hello, Megan.” Pop’s voice crackled jovially across the wire.
“Pop . . . are you still at the park?” What time is it? she wondered distractedly and glanced down at her watch.
“That’s why I called. George stopped by. We’re going to have dinner in town. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I won’t.” She smiled as the band of tension around her head loosened. “I suppose you and George have a lot of fish stories to exchange.”
“His have gotten bigger since he retired,” Pop claimed. “Hey, why don’t you run into town, sweetheart? We’ll treat you.”
“You two just want an audience,” she accused and her smile deepened with Pop’s chuckle. “But I’ll pass tonight, thanks. As I recall, there’s some leftover spaghetti in the fridge.”
“I’ll bring you back dessert.” It was an old custom. For as long as Megan could remember, if Pop had dinner without her, he’d bring her back some treat. “What do you want?”
“Rainbow sherbet,” she decided instantly. “Have a good time.”
“I will, darling. Don’t work too late.”
As she hung up the phone, Megan asked herself why she hadn’t told her grandfather of Katch’s impending visit. Why hadn’t she mentioned Jessica or the incredible plans that had been made? It has to wait until we can talk, she told herself. Really talk. It’s the only way I’ll be certain how he really feels—and how everything will affect him.
It’s probably a bad idea. Megan began to fret, pushing a hand through her hair in agitation. It’s a crazy idea. How can I go to New York and—
Her thoughts were interrupted by the glaring sweep of headlights against the kitchen window. She struggled to compose herself, going deliberately to the cupboard to close it before heading to the screen door.
Katch stepped onto the stoop as she reached for the handle. For a moment, in silence, they studied each other through the mesh. She heard the soft flutter of moths’ wings on the outside light.
Finally he turned the knob and opened the door. After he had shut it quietly behind him, he reached up to touch her cheek. His hand lingered there while his eyes traveled her face.
“You sounded upset.”
Megan moistened her lips. “No, no, I’m fine.” She stepped back so that his palm no longer touched her skin. Slowly, his eyes on hers, Katch lowered his hand. “I’m sorry I bothered you—”
“Megan, stop it.” His voice was quiet and controlled. Her eyes came back to his, a little puzzled, a little desperate. “Stop backing away from me. Stop apologizing.”
Her hands fluttered once before she could control the movement. “I’m making coffee,” she began. “It should be ready in a minute.” She would have turned to arrange the cups and saucers, but he took her arm.
“I didn’t come for coffee.” His hand slid down until it encircled her wrist. Her pulse vibrated against his fingers.
“Katch, please, don’t make this difficult.”
Something flared in his eyes while she watched. Then it was gone, and her hand was released. “I’m sorry. I’ve had some difficulty the past couple of weeks dealing with what happened the last time I saw you.” He noted the color that shot into her cheeks, but she kept her eyes steady. He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Megan, I’d like to make it up to you.”
Megan shook her head, disturbed by the gentleness in his voice, and turned to the coffeepot.
“Don’t you want to forgive me?”
The question had her turning back, her eyes darkened with distressed confusion. “No . . . That is, yes, of course.”
“Of course you don’t want to forgive me?” There was a faint glimmer of a smile in his eyes and the charm was around his mouth. She could feel herself sinking.
“Yes, of course I forgive you,” she corrected and this time did turn to the coffee. “It’s forgotten.” He laid his hands on her shoulders, and she jumped.
“Is it?” Katch turned her until they were again face-to-face. The glimpse of humor in his eyes was gone. “You can’t seem to abide my touching you. I don’t much like thinking I frighten you.”
She made a conscious effort to relax under his hands. “You don’t frighten me, Katch,” Megan murmured. “You confuse me. Constantly.”
She watched his brow lift in consideration. “I don’t have any intention of confusing you. I am sorry, Megan.”
“Yes.” She smiled, recognizing the simple sincerity. “I know you are.”
He drew her closer. “Can we kiss and make up, then?”
Megan started to protest, but his mouth was already on hers, light and gentle. Her heart began to hammer in her throat. He made no attempt to deepen the kiss. His hands were easy on her shoulders. Against all the warnings of her mind, she relaxed against him, inviting him to take whatever he chose. But he took no more.
Katch drew her away, waiting until her heavy lids fluttered open before he touched her hair. Without speaking, he turned and paced to the window. Megan struggled to fill the new gap.
“I wanted to talk to you about your sister.” She busied her hands with the now noisy percolator. “Or, more accurately, about what Jessica came to see me about.”
Katch turned his head, watching her pour the coffee into the waiting cups. He walked to the refrigerator and took out the milk.
“All right.” Standing beside her now, he poured milk into one cup and, at her nod, into the second.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were sending my work to your sister?”
“I thought it best to wait until I had her opinion.” Katch sat beside Megan and cradled the cup in both hands. “I trust her . . . And I thought you’d trust her opinion more than mine. Are you going to do the showing? Jessica and I didn’t have time to talk before you called.”
She shifted in her chair, studied her coffee, then looked directly at him. “She’s very persuasive. I was agreeing before I realized it.”
“Good,” Katch said simply and drank.
“I want to thank you,” Meg continued in a stronger voice, “for arranging things.”
“I didn’t arrange anything,” he responded. “Jessica makes her own decisions, personal and professional. I simply sent her your sculptures for an opinion.”
“Then I’ll thank you for that, for making a move I might never have made for the hundreds of reasons that occurred to me five mi
nutes after she’d left.”
Katch shrugged. “All right, if you’re determined to be grateful.”
“I am,” she said. “And I’m scared,” she continued, “really terrified at the thought of putting my work on public display.” Megan let out a shaky breath at the admission. “I may despise you when all this is over and art critics stomp all over my ego, so you’d better take the gratitude now.”
Katch crossed to her, and her heart lifted dizzily, so sure was she that he would take her into his arms. He merely stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “When you’re a smashing success, you can give it to me again.” He smiled at her, and the world snapped into sharp focus. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how dull everything had been without him.
“I’m so glad you came,” she whispered and, unable to resist, slipped her arms around him, pressing her face into his shoulder. After a moment, he rested his hands lightly at her waist. “I’m sorry for the things I said . . . about the loan. I didn’t mean any of it really, but I say horrible things when I lose my temper.”
“Is this your turn to be penitent?”
He made her laugh. “Yes.” She smiled and tilted back her head. Her arms stayed around him. He kissed her and drew away. Reluctantly, she let him slip out of her arms. Then he stood silently, staring down at her.
“What are you doing?” she asked with a quick, self-conscious smile.
“Memorizing your face. Have you eaten?”
She shook her head, wondering why it should come as a surprise that he continued to baffle her. “No, I was going to heat up some leftovers.”
“Unacceptable. Want a pizza?”
“Mmm, I’d love it, but you have company.”
“Jessica and Rob took the kids to play miniature golf. I won’t be missed.” Katch held out his hands. “Come on.”
His eyes were smiling, and her heart was lost. “Oh wait,” she began even as she put her hand into his. Quickly, Megan scrawled a message on the chalkboard by the screen door.
OUT WITH KATCH
It was enough.
Chapter Ten
Katch drove along Ocean Boulevard so they could creep along in the traffic filled with tourists and beachers. Car radios were turned up high and windows rolled down low. Laughter and music poured out everywhere. The lights from a twin Ferris wheel glittered red and blue in the distance. People sat out on their hotel balconies, with colorful beach towels flapping over the railings, as they watched the sluggish flow of cars and pedestrians. To the left, there were glimpses of the sea in between buildings.
Sleepily content after pizza and Chianti, Megan snuggled deeper into the soft leather seat. “Things’ll quiet down after this weekend,” she commented. “Until Memorial Day.”
“Do you ever feel as though you’re being invaded?” Katch asked her with a gesture at the clogged traffic.
“I like the crowds,” she said immediately, then laughed. “And I like the winter when the beaches are deserted. I suppose there’s something about the honky-tonk that appeals to me, especially since I know I’m going to have a few isolated months in the winter.”
“That’s your time,” Katch murmured, glancing back at her. “The time you give yourself for sculpting.”
She shrugged, a bit uncomfortable with the intense look. “I do some in the summer, too—when I can. Time’s something I forgot when Jessica was talking about a showing and making all those plans . . .” Megan trailed off, frowning. “I don’t know how I can possibly get things ready.”
“Not backing out, are you?”
“No, but—” The look in his eyes had her swallowing excuses. “No,” she said more firmly. “I’m not backing out.”
“What’re you working on now?”
“I, ah . . .” Megan looked fixedly out the window, thinking of the half-formed bust of Katch’s head. “It’s just . . .” She shrugged and began to fiddle with the dial of the radio. “It’s just a wood carving.”
“Of what?”
Megan made a few inarticulate mumbles until Katch turned to grin at her. “A pirate,” she decided as the light from a streetlamp slanted over his face, throwing it into planes and shadows. “It’s the head of a pirate.”
His brow lifted at the sudden, narrow-eyed concentration with which she was studying him. “I’d like to see it.”
“It’s not finished,” she said quickly. “I’ve barely got the clay model done. In any case, I might have to put it off if I’m going to get the rest of my pieces organized for your sister.”
“Meg, why don’t you stop worrying and just enjoy it?”
Confused, she shook her head and stared at him. “Enjoy it?”
“The show,” he said, ruffling her hair.
“Oh, yes.” She fought to get her thoughts back into some kind of order. “I will . . . after it’s over,” she added with a smile. “Do you think you’ll be in New York then?”
As the rhythm of the traffic picked up, he shifted into third. “I’m considering it.”
“I’d like you to be there if you could arrange it.” When he laughed, shaking his head, she continued. “It’s just that I’m going to need all the friendly faces I can get.”
“You’re not going to need anything but your sculptures,” Katch corrected, but the amusement was still in his eyes. “Don’t you think I’d want to be around the night of your opening so that I can brag I discovered you?”
“Let’s just hope we both don’t live to regret it,” Megan muttered, but he only laughed again. “You just can’t consider the possibility that you might have made a mistake,” she accused testily.
“You can’t consider the possibility that you might be successful,” he countered.
Megan opened her mouth, then shut it again. “Well,” she said after a moment, “we’re both right.” Waiting until they were stopped in traffic again, Megan touched his shoulder. “Katch?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you build a hospital in Central Africa?”
He turned to her then, a faint frown between his brows. “It was needed,” he said simply.
“Just that?” she persisted, though she could see he wasn’t pleased with her question. “I mean, Jessica said you were advised against it, and—”
“As it happens, I have a comfortable amount of money.” He cut her off with an annoyed movement of his shoulder. “I do what I choose with it.” Seeing her expression, Katch shook his head. “There are things I want to do, that’s all. Don’t canonize me, Meg.”
She relaxed again and found herself brushing at the curls over his ear. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He’d rather be thought of as eccentric than benevolent, she mused. And how much simpler it was to love him, knowing that one small secret. “You’re much easier to like than I thought you’d be when you made a nuisance of yourself in the market.”
“I tried to tell you,” he pointed out. “You were too busy pretending you weren’t interested.”
“I wasn’t interested,” Megan insisted, “in the least.” He turned to grin at her and she found herself laughing. “Well, not very much anyway.” When he swung the car onto a side street, she looked back at him in question. “What are you doing?”
“Let’s go out on the boardwalk.” Expertly, he slid the Porsche into a parking space. “Maybe I’ll buy you a souvenir.” He was already out of the car—primed, impatient.
“Oh, I love rash promises,” Megan crowed as she joined him.
“I said maybe.”
“I didn’t hear that part. And,” she added as she laced her fingers with his, “I want something extravagant.”
“Such as?” They jaywalked, maneuvering around stopped cars.
“I’ll know when I see it.”
The boardwalk was crowded, full of people and light and noise. The breeze off the ocean carried the scent of salt to compete with the aroma of grilling meat from concessions. Instead of going into one of the little shops, Katch pulled Megan into an arcade.
