It was the special enthusiasm that came only when Cat had been working on a project, and working on it, and suddenly it all came together. From one breath to the next, she began seeing both Travis and his ship with a new understanding. Now she knew what she would need for the book and how she would get it.
Cat worked tirelessly, absorbed in the subtle changes of light and texture and composition. She darted around Travis like a fire, taking photos of the captain and his ship from various angles.
Travis didn’t interfere or require her conversation. He could sense the excitement of creation flooding through her as clearly as he felt it in himself when elusive details of hull design would condense in his mind.
Smiling, he watched his lover, enjoying her intense concentration on her work. She handled cameras and lenses with the same total familiarity he handled wind and sail. When her determination to catch the sunlight on the rigging made her forget he was alive, he sat cross-legged on the deck and began splicing rope, not at all upset at being ignored.
When Cat realized that Travis wasn’t nearby anymore, she lowered her camera and looked around for him. She found him halfway back on the deck, sitting in a pool of sunlight. His head was bent over some task. Sun glinted over his tawny hair like a miser running fingers through gold.
Her heart hesitated, then beat with redoubled strength. She set aside her camera and went to Travis. Without a word she took the rope out of his hands and started pulling off his T-shirt.
“What are you doing?” he asked, surprised.
“Taking off your shirt.”
He blinked, then relaxed beneath Cat’s hands with a pirate’s smile of anticipation. She smiled in return, the serene smile of a sorceress, and threw his T-shirt aside. Then she put rope back into the hands that were reaching for her and picked up her camera once more.
“Come back here and finish what you started,” Travis said.
“I’m finished.”
“What about my pants?”
“They make a nice contrast with the deck.”
“Well, damn.”
Disappointed, Travis made a face at the camera, then resumed splicing rope. Cat photographed him as he worked, seated like a god in the center of a golden cataract of light. He watched her with intense, blue-green eyes, measuring her progress around him while she climbed the rigging and the railing in search of the perfect angle.
At one point she miscalculated. He came to his feet in a single motion and snatched her off her perch before she could fall. She laughed and let herself slide down his body, her hands savoring his supple, sun-warmed skin.
Then he held her close, breathless, kissing her until she made soft sounds and melted over him like sunlight. When he was certain that work was the furthest thing from her mind, he took her below and sank into her, drinking her cries and muffling his own.
When Travis fell asleep, it was to the sound of storm surf thundering against the breakwater that protected the harbor.
Cat listened to the relentless waves and tried not to think about the time when she would be listening alone.
I’ll ask him tomorrow, she told herself. Then I’ll know how long we have.
Yet just the thought of putting her worst fear into words made her skin clammy.
She knew then that she would never ask Travis when he was going to leave. It was agonizing enough simply to know that someday he would board the Wind Warrior and sail over the curve of the world, never to come back to her again.
Cat didn’t want to know the date of the last hour they would have together, the exact moment when everything solid would dissolve around her, leaving her adrift, sinking, alone as she had never been before.
SEVENTEEN
WHEN TRAVIS came into Cat’s office carrying a cardboard carton, she was sitting at her light table sorting slides and trying to ignore her growling stomach. She looked up and smiled hopefully.
“Is that dinner?” she asked.
“Didn’t you eat lunch?”
She shook her head. “These slides should have been in the mail weeks ago. Tomorrow I’ll make time to go to the market.”
Guiltily Travis realized that he hadn’t been to the store for almost a week. He had been caught up in a new design for a hull, plus going on various assignments with Cat, and a round of negotiations for building a shipfitting and repair installation close to Laguna Beach.
And then there were the plans he had drawn up to refit one of the guest cabins on the Wind Warrior as a traveling photographic lab. Working with Harrington, and swearing him to secrecy, Travis had bought various pieces of equipment for Cat to use. He knew she wouldn’t be able to leave her work behind.
And he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay in Laguna all the time.
“I’ll bet you haven’t eaten since we had peanut butter and cocoa with Jason this morning,” Travis said.
Cat didn’t bother to deny it.
“You don’t know the first thing about taking care of yourself,” he said. “You work too hard. Damn it, if you’d just let me pay—”
Abruptly Travis shut up. The amount she worked was directly related to her need for money. Money was one subject he had vowed not to bring up until she did.
Cat hadn’t even hinted at it.
Silently she looked at Travis, knowing what he was seeing in her face. Shadows of fatigue surrounded her eyes. Her cheekbones were too sharply drawn. Her skin was too pale. She was tired, driven, relentless in her demands on herself.
She knew she was pushing herself too hard. Her weekly visits to the doctor were a brutal reminder. Her hips were bruised from iron shots and her ears were burned from Dr. Stone’s caustic remarks about endurance and exhaustion.
Yet Cat didn’t know what else she could do except keep pushing until January. She needed the money that came from her work, but she couldn’t deny herself time with Travis. She knew that someday he would leave her as suddenly as he had come to her.
Until that day came, Cat would beg, borrow, bribe, and steal every instant she could from the rest of her life, hoarding seconds and minutes and hours to give to him. And her only regret would be that there was never enough time.
Travis bent and kissed Cat in silent apology. “I’m sorry. I know I take up too much of your time.”
“No. Never that. I’m just . . . greedy. World enough and time.” She smiled ironically, rubbing her aching neck. “Not much to ask, is it? Just everything.”
This time his kiss deepened until it was just short of bruising, but he said only, “I’ll bring you something to eat.”
He reappeared in a few minutes, balancing a plate of pasta in one hand and a bowl of salad in the other.
“Did you steal Sharon’s dinner?” Cat asked, startled.
“Nope. The miracle of take-out pasta,” Travis said, smiling triumphantly. “A new place opened up on the highway.”
She eyed the mound of pasta, appalled at its size. “My God, Travis, it’ll take me a week to eat that.”
He smiled sheepishly. “I remembered that I hadn’t eaten, either.”
“How’s the hull design coming?” Cat asked, understanding exactly why he had forgotten to eat.
“Slowly. But it’s coming. It would be easier if a ship’s hull was as supple as a dolphin.”
“Swear to God,” she said dryly. “You don’t ask much.”
“Speaking of Harrington, how is he?”
“Ready to get on the next plane and pick slides for me if I won’t do it myself.”
“Swift and Sons is getting restless?”
“Big time.”
Travis sat at the small table Cat had set up in the corner of her office so that he would have a place to work on his hull designs while she pored over the endless boxes of slides.
“So let Harrington help you,” Travis said, handing Cat a fork.
“There’s a family crisis. A sister getting divorced. Very messy. It wouldn’t be fair to ask him to hold my hand, too. Besides, the reasons I choose one slide over anot
her can’t be put into words, but it does make a difference in the continuity of the show.”
“Eat,” was all Travis said.
Both of them attacked the food. Cat filled up quickly. When she couldn’t eat any more food no matter what Travis threatened, he calmly finished the pile of pasta, cleared away the dishes, and set a cardboard carton on the table.
“What’s in the box?” Cat asked.
“Whittling.”
She blinked. “Come again?”
“Carving. You know, sharp knives and pieces of wood.” Travis reached into the box and pulled out several blocks of wood that were bigger than his hand. “Do you think Jason would like dark or light wood better?”
Cat looked at the intelligence and warmth in Travis’s eyes and felt a familiar, sweet heat ripple through her. Her lips quivered slightly as she smiled.
“Dark, of course,” she said huskily. “Like the Wind Warrior. Is that what you’re going to do—make Jason a ship?”
Travis put away all but the piece of nearly black wood. Then he touched Cat’s cheek with a gentleness that made her ache.
“How did you know what I was going to do?” he asked.
“I just did. Jason worships you.”
“It’s mutual,” Travis said. He turned over the ebony block in his hand, looking for the Wind Warrior trapped within solid wood, and added absently, “I’d like a son like Jason.”
Cat closed her eyes, afraid that Travis would see the pain slicing through her. She knew that he hadn’t meant to wound her with his words. In any case, she was both proud and pragmatic enough to realize that even if she could have children, they wouldn’t be his.
In the time she had spent with Travis, she had come to understand that there was nothing personal in his refusal to love her. Love required trust. Travis required a certain level of wealth before he could trust a woman. Cat didn’t have that wealth.
It was a fact, like gravity. Nothing personal at all.
But that didn’t make the hurt any less.
Lost in thought, Travis turned the dark block of wood over and over in his hands. Cat didn’t interrupt his concentration. She gave him the same undemanding companionship that he gave her when she was absorbed in her own work.
Absently he fished a thin, razor-edged knife out of the carton. He turned on and adjusted the gooseneck lamp that arched shoulder high above the table. A shaft of white light poured over the rich wood. The same light that picked up hints of chestnut and mahogany in the densely grained block of wood turned the hair on his forearms into spun gold. The wood and his skin glowed against the deep tourmaline green color of his shirt.
Before Travis even touched blade to wood, Cat knew that she had to photograph him—his concentration, his exquisitely sensitive hands, his vivid eyes, the flow of light and shadow over his face.
Travis was so accustomed to Cat at work that he didn’t even notice the whirring of the motor drive or the occasional flash she used when the existing light didn’t please her. She worked with an intensity that equaled his, narrowing her world to the width of a camera lens, trying to capture the essence of the man she loved.
As minutes slowly built into hours, an image of the Wind Warrior emerged from the black wood. It was very difficult work, for ebony was almost too hard to be carved. Travis’s concentration never wavered, even when the knife inevitably slipped and nicked the backs of his fingers, leaving behind a hairline of red that bled freely. He didn’t stop carving until blood threatened to stain the wood.
“Damn,” he muttered, licking the backs of his fingers. “One more scar.” He stretched the tight muscles across his shoulders and flexed his cut hand ruefully. “I usually have a choppy sea to blame for my clumsiness.”
“Blame it on the hour,” Cat said, stretching as he had stretched.
Startled, he glanced at the clock.
Two in the morning.
He looked at her dark eyes and the litter of empty film containers scattered on the floor around the table, mute evidence that she had been working as hard as he had.
“Ah, Cat,” Travis said deeply, shaking his head and pulling her onto his lap, “I had other plans for tonight.”
She smiled and rubbed her mouth lightly over his. “It’s still tonight.”
“It’s late, and you’re so damn tired.”
“When I’m that tired, you can call 911. Besides,” she added, yawning delicately, then closing her teeth on his ear, “I’m going to make you do all the work.”
His hands hesitated, then moved knowingly over her body. “Are you sure, sweetheart? I can wait.”
“I can’t. I’ve been wanting you every second since you told me you were making a ship for Jason.”
Cat tugged at Travis’s shirt, needing to end this night as she had so many others, deep in his arms. There were times when she didn’t know which was the greater pleasure, sharing his mind or sharing his body.
She did know that nothing would be the same without him, that he had become as much a part of her as her own skin, her own dreams. She loved him as she had never thought to love any man. It had been hard not to tell Travis about her feelings, but she hadn’t. She wouldn’t. To say I love you is to ask that your love be returned, to ask for a lifetime together. She wouldn’t do that.
There was no point in asking.
She knew the answer.
Travis had told her in the first days of their affair that he would never be able to trust a woman who had less money than he had. Cat believed him. Not once in the nine weeks they had been together had he lied to her.
She hoped that in time he would change his mind about trusting her, but she sensed that time was running out.
Five short weeks until January. Just five. He won’t leave before then.
She told herself that over and over, but she didn’t believe it. Lately Travis had been watching the sea with the hunger of a sailor who had been too long ashore.
“Jason will be over the moon,” Cat said, touching the miniature Wind Warrior with reverent fingertips. She could hardly believe that Travis had finished the elegant sculpture in a night and a morning. “It’s so beautiful. I hope he’s careful with it.”
Travis looked up from the crumbs of the omelet Cat had cooked for them. They were in her kitchen, not his. They hadn’t made it to his house at all last night. They had simply fallen into her bed and spent the few remaining hours of darkness tangled first in passion and then in sleep.
The silky memories made him want to kiss her generous lips and stubborn chin, and then move on to the soft, pink-tipped breasts that hardened so quickly in his mouth.
“If Jason loses this in the surf,” Travis said, touching the little sailing ship, “I’ll make another one for him.”
“The surf! Over my dead body! This little beauty is going inside a glass bottle just as soon as I can figure out how to squeeze it past the neck.”
Laughing, Travis eased his fingers into Cat’s soft, autumn-colored hair. The scent of lemon shampoo and the warmth in her eyes intoxicated him.
“It doesn’t work that way,” he said, caressing her scalp.
“You sure?”
“Uh-huh. Trust me.”
Cat smiled slowly at Travis, remembering just how exquisite it was to trust her body to his keeping . . . and to take his in return.
“You keep looking at me like that,” he said in a deep voice, “and Jason will find us naked on the kitchen table.”
She gave a delicious little shiver of memory and anticipation. “Don’t tempt me.”
“How about if I tease you instead?”
Travis’s hand slid from Cat’s hair to her breasts. The cotton shirt she wore was no barrier to sensation. Her breath caught, broke, and then became a ragged sigh when knowing fingertips circled one nipple.
A young voice called from the beach. “Cathy? Am I too early? Are you up?”
“I’m in the kitchen,” Cat called.
Jason’s footsteps drummed on the stairway outside. “
Is Travis up, too?”
“Definitely,” Travis muttered. “Damn.” He caressed her hard nipple one more time and dropped his hand before the kitchen door flew open. None of his frustration showed when he turned to Jason. “We’re just finishing breakfast. Have you eaten?”
“Nah. The babies were screaming and Dad was on one phone talking to Boston and Mom was on the other phone talking to her sister in Georgia.”
Cat smiled, tucked the hand holding the toy boat behind her, and gave Jason a quick, one-armed hug. “You’ve come to the right place. I’ll scramble some eggs for you.”
“Make some for yourself, too,” Travis muttered. “You only had about two bites of the omelet you made.”
She ignored him, not wanting to argue over how much she did or didn’t eat. Her appetite had gone on holiday. Even after five hours of sleep, the smell of food didn’t appeal to her.
“I’ll do the toast,” Jason said eagerly.
“I’ll get the orange juice,” Travis said. “But first I get a good-morning hug.”
Delighted, Jason launched himself at Travis, confident from past experience that he would be caught and hugged back.
Cat took advantage of Jason’s distraction to hide the black boat in the refrigerator when she got out some more eggs. Before she had them cracked into a pan, the kitchen was full of Jason’s whoops of laughter. Travis had the boy up on his shoulders for a “pirate” ride.
Like a tyrant on a throne, Jason supervised the making of breakfast from his high perch. He would have eaten from there, too, but Travis drew the line at having toast crumbs dribbled down the neck of his T-shirt.
“Okay, tiger,” Travis said, lifting Jason off his shoulders and setting him on a chair to eat. “Time to come back to earth. When do you have to be ready for school?”
“It’s Saturday,” the boy said.
Cat and Travis exchanged a quick look. They both sensed the silent appeal that Jason was too polite to put into words; he wanted company, and everybody in his family was busy. She nodded slightly to Travis while she frantically rearranged her day in her mind.
Not enough time. Never enough time. But she would do it, somehow. January was only five weeks away. She could keep on juggling for five more weeks.
To the Ends of the Earth Page 24
