by Pat Warren
“He wants me to take in more paintings. They’re down to six.” He took the water bottle she held out to him. “I’m not sure if I should.” Minutes ago, she’d mentioned that his father had been cagey about releasing his paintings in a timely fashion. Was six an inadequate number at one gallery? If so, how many should he take in? He didn’t know one damn thing about the selling of art.
“If you like, I can make a couple of calls. I know someone who owns a gallery in Boston. I trust Doug’s advice.”
Slade looked thoughtful, then shook his head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll look into it myself.” He was used to doing things on his own, not relying on others. He’d check at the library and visit a couple of art galleries, learn what he needed to know somehow. At the window, he set down the tool kit and found a screwdriver.
“Okay.” Briana watched him for a few minutes, then walked on past him. They’d be finished with this side shortly and ready to start prepping the back. She’d just moved beyond the shrubs when something caught her eye. There on the grass was a beach thong, size one, in seafoam green. Apparently, she’d overlooked it when she’d repacked the shed. As she bent to pick up the small, forlorn shoe that had belonged to her son, she felt a wrenching sob escape from deep within her.
Dear God, not again. How long before she could look at his things or say his name out loud without weeping?
On the side of the house, Slade was climbing down the ladder when he heard an odd sound. Walking around back, he saw Briana standing with her eyes closed, clutching something in both hands. Recalling how she’d lost control yesterday, he debated about whether to get involved or give her privacy. Finally, he stepped closer. “Can I help?”
“No. No one can help.” Slowly, her face pale, Briana straightened, remembering everything she’d been trying desperately to forget.
“I have to go in,” she managed, then ran into the house, the screen door banging shut behind her.
As Slade turned, he heard a muffled sound through the kitchen screen. Frowning, he ran a hand through his hair. Damn, but he wasn’t good at times like this. He hated seeing a woman cry. He moved closer to the house, trying to decide what to do. Coming to a decision, one he might regret, he discarded his good sense and walked in after her.
She was leaning against the kitchen archway leading into the dining room, small and slender, looking for all the world as if she’d crumble without the support. Acting instinctively, he went to her and patted her back clumsily. A huge sob escaped from her. Feeling out of his element, Slade put his hands on her shoulders, then found himself turning her around, offering a tentative hug. The least he could do was give her a small measure of comfort.
She resisted minimally at first, then released a hiccupy breath and buried her face in his chest, her arms going around him. Slade held her somewhat awkwardly, wishing he had the words that would make her feel better. He had none. Perhaps, with the enormity of her loss, there were none she would believe anyhow.
Briana wept silently, her shoulders shaking, her hands bunched in his shirt. She clung to him, letting wave after wave buffet her. She had to get it out, all out. Oh, God, if only she could get it all out once and for all.
Slade found himself smoothing her hair, brushing back the damp strands, his other hand gently massaging her back. He didn’t have words of comfort, but he could show her by touching and holding that he understood. She’d probably never believe how well he understood.
She couldn’t keep doing this, a part of Briana’s brain told her. She couldn’t spend the rest of her days falling into a heap of tears every time she ran across something else that reminded her of Bobby. Burrowing into Slade’s chest, she tried to focus on him, on distracting herself from the pain inside herself. She concentrated on the feel of him, the hard muscles of his back where her hands roamed restlessly. The gentleness of his touch on her hair. The steady drumbeat of his heart beneath her ear. The powerful musky smells as she drew in a deep breath.
He represented relief from her pain, escape from her anguished thoughts, an interlude from her ongoing nightmare. Shifting slightly, she moved her face into his throat, wanting to feel that pounding pulse with her lips. She felt his arms tighten around her and closed her eyes, absorbing the comfort he offered. It had been so very long since she’d been held like this, been touched by a man. She’d missed the feel of strong arms and big hands and the scent of musk. Feeling like a desert walker who’d stumbled in and found rain, she slowly raised her head and reached for more.
Then her mouth was on his and she felt the shock of cool lips that wouldn’t part, that didn’t move. Frantic now, she pressed herself closer to him and suddenly, the response she’d wanted, needed, was there, overflowing. His mouth was softer than she’d imagined and as ravenous as her own seeking lips. She heard a guttural sound and wasn’t sure if it had come from him or herself as he took over the kiss, sending his tongue in to mate with hers.
Slade knew what had started this, knew a great deal about seeking comfort and finding passion. He also knew he should push her away and not allow this to continue. And he would. In another minute, after he drank from her a bit longer, after his hands explored a bit more, after his arms grew tired of holding her.
Wild now and desperate, Briana kissed him with all her heart and soul, needing the release, the abandon, the purging. Make me forget, she wanted to scream at him. Hold me tighter and tighter still. Anything, just make me forget, please. Rubbing against him, she felt his arousal, throbbing and insistent. Mindlessly, her searching hand slipped between their bodies.
His breathing labored, Slade came to his senses with a start and captured her hand with his. No, he couldn’t let her do this, not this way. It wasn’t a question of wanting, for God knew he wanted her. It was a question of right and wrong, and he wasn’t a man who could take advantage. She was too fragile, too upset. So grief stricken was she that she wasn’t even aware she’d been ready to use him to forget, if only for a little while.
Shocked and stunned as awareness returned, Briana blew her breath out in sporadic puffs. Raising her eyes to his, she blinked to bring him in focus. But realization had her cheeks flushing as she stepped back, her hands reaching up to cover her face. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I… I don’t know what came over me. I…”
“It’s all right.” He dared to touch her arm gently. “Briana, I understand.”
She yanked free of his fingers as shame spread throughout her whole body. “No, no. It’s not all right. And you couldn’t possibly understand. Please forgive me. Please.” Eyes downcast, she ran past him and down the hall, hurrying into her room. Slamming the door, she fell on her bed with an agonized groan.
Slade ran an unsteady hand over his face and straightened his shirt Just as he’d thought yesterday, the woman was terribly needy. Not that he blamed her. He’d been honest when he’d told her he understood, but she didn’t believe him. She was too far gone to see past her own need right now. Sex was a powerful escape and her confused mind reached out for that, and not him specifically. He’d been there and done that, and knew how hollow he’d felt afterward.
Leaving by the back door, he only hoped she’d come to that conclusion and forgive herself.
All morning, as she lay on her bed scarcely moving, Briana heard Slade methodically circling the house, scraping loose paint, repositioning the ladder, working the next section. She wanted to close out the sounds of his nearness, but even with her hands over her ears, she couldn’t. She wanted him to go away, but she didn’t have the strength to go outside and tell him.
It had been a mistake to allow him to help her. She wasn’t fit company for anyone. Yet even she hadn’t known how low she could sink.
Recalling the outrageous way she’d come on to him, she groaned out loud, drawing her knees up. Had she totally gone around the bend? She’d scolded him for drinking to forget whatever problems he had, feeling superior because she hadn’t given in to the escape alcohol offered. Oh, no, not her. Instead, she’d a
ll but raped him, her twisted mind seeking oblivion in sex with a near stranger.
How easy it would be to fall into bed with Slade, she’d thought for those agonizing minutes, to find escape in passion. And passion was what he stirred in her in abundance. But like alcohol, sex like that was a temporary comfort and would solve nothing.
What must he think of her now? How does one apologize for such a loss of control? And Slade didn’t even know why she was upset, why seeing Bobby’s small shoe had tilted her world yet again, because she’d never told him about her son’s recent death. Could she gather up enough energy to explain?
Briana closed her eyes, becoming aware of a headache brewing. What she needed was sleep, hours of dreamless sleep. Then maybe she’d wake up to find today had never happened.
The grandfather clock chiming two woke her. Cautiously, Briana opened her eyes and saw that daylight was still streaming in her window. She hadn’t slept the clock around, but she hadn’t dreamt, either. Her growling stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten all day.
In the bathroom mirror, she studied her image. Eyes still puffy, skin blotchy. Not a pretty sight. She splashed cold water on her face several times, brushed her teeth, vigorously dried her face and combed her hair. A small improvement, she noted.
As she hung up the towel, she heard a scraping noise on the other side of the bathroom wall. Everything came rushing back in a torrent of regret. The body repairs were nothing compared to the damage control she had to do with Slade.
In the kitchen, she tipped the slatted blinds upward slightly so no one outside could see in. Feeling cowardly, she put on two eggs to boil and sipped orange juice while she waited. She’d have to face him, of course. First a delayed breakfast, then she’d eat humble pie.
The problem was, she had no excuse to offer, or rather none that she wanted to go into, Briana thought as she dropped an English muffin into the toaster. Then again, how long was she going to use her grief as an excuse for doing crazy things?
Brushing back a lock of hair, she flipped the egg timer, telling herself she simply had to get a grip. She was turning into someone she didn’t much like.
A sudden wailing sound from her backyard drifted in through the back screen. Briana went to the window, pulled down one slat, and saw Slade running to where little Annie stood by Gramp’s tall apple tree.
“What’s the matter there, young lady?” Slade asked her.
Looking uncertain, Annie glanced at him, then peered up into the tree. “Rascal’s up there and she can’t get down.” Her small voice was quivery. “I told her not to climb up, but she’s only a kitten and she doesn’t know better.”
“I see.” Hands on his hips, Slade looked up and spotted the calico kitten out on a limb, meowing a mixture of defiance and fear. It was a sturdy limb, but up pretty high. Of all things, a kitten, he thought, staring up, remembering another time, another kitten, one he’d rescued and wished he hadn’t. But he couldn’t let himself dwell on that.
“I hope she doesn’t fall.”
“I think I can get her down.”
“Oh, could you, please? My daddy’s at work and Mommy’s going to have a baby so she can’t climb. Besides …” She glanced nervously toward the opening in the shrubs. “… I’m not supposed to let Rascal outside. Mommy’s going to be mad.”
“Maybe if I get Rascal down, you can get her back into the house before Mommy finds out.” Slade positioned Briana’s ladder against the thick trunk. “What do you think?”
“Okay.” She watched him climb up, then step onto a limb going even higher. “Aren’t you scared up there?”
“Nah. I’m a fireman. We’re supposed to rescue kittens from trees.” Slade reached the leafy branch where Rascal sat eyeing him suspiciously. He’d bet his bottom dollar she wasn’t declawed and that this was going to turn into a bloody rescue. “Come on, Rascal,” he coaxed. “Annie’s waiting down there for you.”
“Come on, Rascal,” Annie echoed.
The kitten meowed and scooted backward ever closer to the end of the branch as Slade stretched his arm toward her. If she didn’t stop soon, she’d either fall or he would, trying to get her. Inching a bit closer, he walked his fingers toward her, trying to make it a teasing game. “Here, kitty, kitty. Come here.”
“Don’t let her fall, please,” Annie begged.
He trailed his hand playfully along the branch, catching the kitten’s interest. Finally, she whipped out one paw toward his fingers and Slade’s hand closed around her small leg. She meowed frantically, feeling herself falling, but Slade eased her toward him.
Now she was really struggling, whining, scratching. Slade knew the only way he could get back to the ladder was to free his hands and he couldn’t do that unless he found a place for the kitten. There was only one way. Gritting his teeth, he stuffed her inside his shirt before starting to scoot backward toward the ladder.
She fought like a tiny tiger, her small claws very sharp and digging into his flesh. Wincing, Slade found the ladder with his foot and eased his weight onto it firmly before letting go of the tree. Another minute and he was down on the ground, opening his shirt.
“Is she hurt?” Annie asked, her big eyes huge. She’d gotten awfully worried when the kitten had disappeared from sight.
“She isn’t, but I might be.” One hand around the kitten’s middle, he pulled, but one tiny sharp claw was still embedded in his flesh. Gingerly, he extracted her paw and handed her over to Annie. “Hang on to her, now.”
Meowing, the cat snuggled down into the curve of Annie’s arms as Slade studied the scratches on his chest and hands. “Thank you for getting her down.” Annie wrinkled up her little face. “Are you really a fireman?”
Solemnly, he raised his hand to his bloody chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Suddenly, Annie remembered a warning she’d heard repeated over and over. “Mommy says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” She glanced nervously toward both houses. “Briana said you were Mr. Slade’s son, so I guess it’s okay.”
“This one time, I guess it is,” Slade told her. “I live over there, so I’m your neighbor and a friend of Briana’s. But you listen to your mom and don’t talk to strangers, okay?”
“I won’t anymore.”
At the open window, Briana watched Slade gently pat the top of the child’s blond head. “Okay, Annie,” she heard him say. “Keep a good eye on her from now on.” Annie assured him she would, then ran home through the shrubs as Slade picked up the ladder and walked out of sight.
Briana turned back to the stove and her overcooked eggs, dumping them in the sink. He’d been pretty good with Annie, she decided as she pushed down the toaster lever. She wondered if he had children, if he’d been married. He’d been so gruff the first few days she’d known him, yet he apparently had a gentle side.
And more good sense than she, for he’d grabbed her hand earlier today before she’d made a more complete fool of herself.
Briana broke the eggs into a small dish and peeled the shells. Absently, she buttered the muffin and took her meal to the table, hoping with each bite she took that she’d be able to face J.D. Slade after she finished.
He was working on the front porch when she finally went outside. He’d switched to sandpaper for the older wood around the screens. He glanced toward the door, his face carefully expressionless. “Feeling better?”
“Yes, thanks.” Her voice was low, filled with lingering embarrassment She ran a hand along the wood he’d already sanded smooth as she searched for the right words. She’d begun half a dozen mental scenarios and discarded each. Best just to wing it.
She’d changed into a white top that made her face look even paler than before, and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes, Slade noticed. He wondered if she’d slept at all. “You had a visitor.” He nodded his head in the direction of a covered plate on the small table between the two rockers. “Older woman. Said her name was Irma. She brought you some chocolate chip cookies s
traight out of the oven.”
Briana’s mind latched onto the diversion. “What color was her hair today?” she asked, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. The mere thought of Irma had her feeling better.
Slade straightened, wrinkling his forehead thoughtfully. “I guess you’d call it blond. Silver-blond. Maybe platinum. Her glass frames were big and bright red. And her earrings, also red, hung down to here.” He indicated his shoulder.
Briana’s smile became full-fledged. “She’s unique, isn’t she?”
“That she is. I told her you were resting. I’m not sure she believed me. Said she’ll call you later.”
Sobering, she nodded, then thrust her hands into her jeans pockets. “Listen, Slade, about this morning …”
He met her eyes, wanting to put her at ease, for he knew what had happened between them earlier had been triggered by grief and a need to forget, not passion or desire. “You owe me no explanation. I understand.”
“I don’t think you do. I want you to know I don’t usually …”
He held out a hand, stopping her. “You don’t have to go into details. I know.” He could see surprise, followed by wariness in her eyes. “I overheard you and Annie yesterday afternoon in the backyard.”
“Oh.” She ducked her head. Try as she would, she could think of nothing to say.
He’d been right yesterday, Slade thought. He never should have gotten close, not even for one day. The hell of it was that he was here now. “Listen, I’m about ready for a break.” He glanced toward the cookie plate. “Do you share?”
She knew what he was doing, offering her an avenue of escape. She would take it gladly, willingly. Perhaps she owed him an explanation and an apology, but they could wait. “I have some fresh lemonade.”
“Perfect.” He picked up the cookies and followed her inside. While she got out ice and glasses, he glanced around the living room, then trailed through the dining room into the kitchen. “I didn’t realize how much smaller this place is than my father’s.”
