by Liz Flaherty
Regret and a sense of shame burned deep within him. “I wish—” he began, but was silenced by her small, soft fingers against his lips.
“It’s okay. We had our time, and it was wonderful.” She rose on her toes to kiss his cheek before pushing away and going toward the staircase that rose on the other side of the dining area. “It’s okay,” she said again.
But it wasn’t. It wasn’t.
CHAPTER NINE
AS BIG AS Mrs. Hylton-Wise’s house was, it was still very much a home. The country decor included work by New England artists—Kate stood in front of an original Will Moses painting above the fireplace for a full ten minutes—but framed photographs were everywhere. The furniture was high quality, carefully chosen and comfortable. Kate was pretty sure nothing had come from garage sales.
In one of the bedrooms, a large stained-glass window—both out of place and strikingly beautiful—faced the lush mountainside. It was the only room without an exit to the second-floor balcony that crossed the back of the house. It looked odd from the outside, but the beauty of the window made up for the disproportion.
Kate inventoried two of the upstairs bedrooms, including that one, before going down to the kitchen to start dinner for Ben and herself. Assembling salad at the prep table, she reflected that she could easily get spoiled working in the kitchens here and at Kingdom Comer. The one in the back of A Day at a Time would be the size of the closet in the room she was using in Bright Sky.
She daydreamed while she cooked. She tried not to do that, but Ben’s almost daily presence in her life made that particular abstention increasingly difficult. What would it be like to be married to him and live somewhere like this, with ski slopes almost right outside the back door and bike and hiking trails everywhere she looked? There was room for a half-dozen kids along with their attendant puppies and kittens.
A cluster of photographs, all in pewter-colored frames, hung above the table where she worked. She recognized Mrs. Hylton-Wise in many of them. The two teenagers in the photos must be her children. The girl was a lawyer now, the boy the CEO of the family business, whatever that was—their mother didn’t talk about them much.
The handsome man with Paul McCartney hair and impatient eyes was undoubtedly her late husband. Kate could almost see him looking at his watch, wanting to be away from the taking of family snapshots. Her father used to do that, too, simply because he hated having his picture taken. Her mother used to tell him he’d look better in photographs if he’d stop rolling his eyes.
But it was the little blonde girl in some of the photos that grabbed Kate’s attention, made her reach to take one of them from the wall so she could see it better. The picture had been taken out back, with Wish Mountain as a glorious backdrop. The child hugged the leg of Mrs. H-W’s white pants while the woman’s hand caressed the wild halo of curls on the little girl’s head.
She was beautiful, the child was. Tiny and fairy-like. And without a doubt she had Down syndrome.
“Look at this,” she said an hour later, dragging Ben into the kitchen and handing him the picture.
He looked at it for a long time, his other hand holding hers, and she stood still beside him. She knew she didn’t have his attention—it was all focused on the picture—but she also knew he was touching her, and she didn’t want him to stop.
“She was so awful about Jayson when she first met him. She didn’t want him around her, didn’t even really want him in the inn. But look at this. That has to be her child, doesn’t it? She’s in a lot of the family pictures.
“What can it mean?”
He handed the picture back. “Whatever it means, it’s not our business.”
She sighed, knowing he was right. She went to put the picture back in its place, taking time to make sure it was straight. She smiled at the image of the little girl, fancying her bright blue eyes smiled back. “It’s beautiful here, but I think it’s probably a sad place.”
“Don’t you think there’s sadness in every house with any age to it?” He looked up at the exposed beams in the ceiling. “I imagine this house has been here since the 1960s. It’s probably seen a lot of happy and unhappy things.”
“Maybe.” She couldn’t seem to look away from the curly-haired sprite in the picture above the prep table. “I just can’t help wondering who she is. What her name is. Where she is.”
“You may never know. Mrs. H-W has mellowed, but not enough to share her personal life. Do you want me to cook the steaks?”
“Sure.” It would make it even easier to pretend, to fantasize that he was the man in her life, if he was cooking outside on the elaborate grill. “Do you want a beer?”
“No, I’m on call. You want these vegetables grilled, too? They need to go on first if you do.”
“Oops, yes. I forgot.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I just get all excited when you’re in the room, Dr. McGuffey, and my mind goes every which way. Don’t you want to take my pulse?”
He pulled her to him. “Something about those eyelashes looks familiar. Didn’t I take your appendix out a couple of years ago?”
She leaned back in his hold with a theatrical gasp. “It was supposed to be my tonsils.”
“Oh, well, I’d better check.” He kissed her.
Only her hands on his shoulders allowed her to keep her balance. Physically, anyway. A small and mostly unheeded part of her mind warned her that she was opening herself to emotional injury such as she didn’t even want to contemplate.
It wasn’t that he was the only man she’d ever kissed—good heavens, she was thirty-seven years old!—but when she was in his arms, it felt as though he was. His lips—tasting of coffee and mint and the caramel candy that had been his guilty pleasure since elementary school days—had set a bar no one else had been able to reach.
She’d loved Tark Bridger—actually she still did; they’d become great friends after they broke up—but even when she’d been engaged to him, she’d known she wasn’t engaged enough. She’d known—once again in that part of her mind she didn’t listen to—that if Ben had walked into McGuffey’s and asked her to run away with him, she wouldn’t have even bothered getting a coat.
So had she been toting a torch for him for thirteen years? Had the relationships she’d had been mere smokescreens that hid—ineffectively as it turned out—the fact that she still had it bad for her high school boyfriend?
“Okay, that’s enough.” He let her go, and she was delighted that his breathing was seriously impaired. “I’m starving—and not just for air, though our altitudes here do sometimes compromise healthy respiration.”
“Learned that in your pomposity class, didn’t you? Wasn’t that part of the bedside manner rotation?” Kate’s breathing was a little wonky, too, but she was smart enough to hold off on talking until she could get the whole sentence out without stopping. She was even able to grin at him without her lips shaking.
“Yup.” He nodded wisely. “It was right up there with saying ‘well, you know, you’re getting older’ and patting a patient on the shoulder. My mom told me if she ever found out I said that to anyone, she’d put an ad in the newspapers telling the whole world I was a useless quack. Dylan and Patrick wanted her to go ahead and do it anyway, just for their entertainment.”
“I love your mother.” Kate handed him the cookie sheet full of olive-oil doused vegetables. “If you want to put these on, I’ll get the steaks out of the marinade.”
She set the table on the patio while he cooked. “We eat outside a lot at the inn, too, but the view is of the chrysanthemums in the yard—which Jayson tells me I don’t keep nearly neat enough—and the Wilkinsons’ garage. This is really a lot nicer.”
He brought the steaks to the table, still sizzling on the plates. “Medium rare?”
“Perfect.” She poured ice water, he said grace and they dug into the dinner. “I think I forgot to eat lunch.” Kate speared a piece of cauliflower. “Does it mean I’m getting old that I’ve learned to love vegetables?”
He shrugged. “Probably.” He touched her glass with his. “Now tell me about the business. We haven’t talked about it in a few days.”
She swallowed, considering the progress that had been made since their last conversation. “Well, the building’s up and the sidewalks have been poured.” The cement bill had been staggering. Mrs. Hylton-Wise’s request that she inventory Bright Sky had been a godsend. The payment wouldn’t cover the whole cost of the sidewalks, but it would mean Kate could look at the invoice without hyperventilating. “They cost as much as little streets of gold.”
“It looks great, like it’s always been there,” said Ben. He chuckled. “Jayson wanted to tell the contractors how to pour the cement—I had to convince him to keep riding. How’s the registry coming?”
“Really well, I think. We don’t have many professionals on it, but that wasn’t really my aim.” She grinned. “Companies who want temporary engineers or architects tend to get them out of Burlington or Montpelier, but I have plenty of babysitters, house sitters and carpool-drivers.”
“Got your insurance and bonding?”
“Yes. Thank goodness for Joann leading me around by the nose telling me what I have to do. Liability has become my least favorite word in the world.” She counted on her fingers. “We also have sit-and-wait-on-the-repairman people, window washers, waitstaff, and receptionists who can answer anyone’s phone intelligently. There are a few handymen, painters and people who do drywall on the side, too. We also have a drapery hanger. She used to work in New York for one of the big department stores, but moved up here to care for her mother.”
“I can sign up as a bicycle-riding coach,” Ben offered helpfully.
“Not until Jayson masters corners. That gash on his knee isn’t a very good reference for you.”
“I work cheap.” He reached to trace an index finger down her jawline. “I think that’s passion I see when you talk about A Day at a Time, short woman.”
Kate thought the passion he was seeing had little to do with A Day at a Time, although that wasn’t something she was going to mention. But she loved the light stroke of his finger on her face. It made her want to not move, to sit quietly and absorb both the peacefulness and the fireworks wrought by his touch.
The steaks were a delicious memory and they were trying to talk each other into going into the house to bring out dessert when Ben’s cellphone rang, vibrating urgently against the wrought iron of the tabletop.
With a sigh, he reached for the phone, leaving a cool place on her face where his hand had been. “Hospital.”
He was gone within a few minutes, muttering “accident on Ridge Road,” and kissing her goodbye on the run. Half laughing and half rueful, she called “Be careful” after him, and watched him go. His mind had gone on ahead of him—she wasn’t sure he’d even realized who he was kissing.
She cleaned the grill, loaded the dishwasher and went upstairs. The bedroom she’d laid claim to had a whirlpool tub and she was anxious to try it out. It seemed strange to have time without demands on it. She was kind of anxious to try that, too. She loved being busy, but just occasionally it was nice just to...soak. Yes, that was it.
When she finally drew her wrinkled self out of the tub, the cellphone she’d left in the kitchen signaled that she had a voicemail. Colby Dehart’s voice was on the line. “I’m coming over to ride next weekend. Any chance we could have a real date?” His laugh sounded self-conscious. “River says I suck at dating, but if you’re willing, I’ll pay for dinner.”
Kate didn’t suck at dating. Truth was, she was pretty good at it. She enjoyed small talk, loved joking around, was always interested in getting to know people. Tark used to say she lost interest in him after she got to know everything about him and she always laughed and said, no, she lost interest after she found out he didn’t like old movies. How could he not like old movies?
Ben didn’t want children, but she was still interested in him. She didn’t want to think about that right now. Didn’t want to think about Ben as anything but her friend, which meant she should probably stop kissing him. But she didn’t want to do that, either. Not at all.
But she didn’t know if she wanted to date Colby Dehart. He was nice and she’d enjoyed the time she spent with him that weekend, but she wasn’t at all sure about seeing him again. Would she be playing an “I’ll show you” game with Ben? See there? I don’t need you, Ben McGuffey.
Or would she be finding what Marce had—something that was different but still good? A new kind of happiness. She was tired of being single. Tired of living and sleeping alone. She wanted more than the friendship Ben offered. She wanted a full-blown partnership. Emotional, mental and physical, though not necessarily in that order.
She called Colby back.
* * *
THE GIRL, a student at the college, would be fine. Eventually. She’d lost her baby but she’d be able to get pregnant again. Later, when she was ready. Ben hoped that was a long time.
Ben handed her a tissue and she wept into it. Quietly. “I was going to name her Layla. Remember that song? My mom loves Eric Clapton. I was looking forward to having her, once I got used to the idea. I guess that’s a girl thing—my boyfriend didn’t get attached to her at all.”
“Sometimes it takes guys longer,” Ben agreed. And sometimes guys are just jerks and they never catch on at all.
“I tried to be careful, even though I went to classes and exercised every day. The books and the doctors on TV said I could. They said it was better for the baby if the mother stayed active. But I must have done something wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Ben leaned forward, forcing her to meet his gaze. “It’s nobody’s fault. Sometimes it just happens. In a few years, when the time is right—” and the guy is right “—you’ll get pregnant again—on purpose—and it’ll work. You’re young and healthy. You’ll probably end up with a basketball team in the backyard.”
She laughed, though it sounded wispy. “My dad would love that. He’d have them all in little Celtics uniforms. Only they’d all be number thirty-three because he says Larry Bird was the best there was.”
“That’s what my dad said, too. My brothers and I used to talk up Magic Johnson and Michael Jordan just to get him going.” He smiled at her. “We’re going to keep you here tonight. Your folks will be here soon. Will you be all right waiting for them or do you want me to stay with you?”
Panic filled her eyes. “Where’s my boyfriend? He didn’t leave, did he? I can’t face them by myself.”
“He’s here. I’ll send him in when I leave.”
Ben went into the waiting room. The girl’s boyfriend sat sprawled in one of the not-built-for-comfort chairs that faced the television.
“You can see her,” Ben said, resisting the urge to kick the boy’s boots where they were crossed in front of him. “You’ll need to stay with her until her parents get here. She’s scared. She’s still in pain, she’s weak and she’s grieving.”
The boyfriend got up, pushing his tight ragged jeans down to where they met his boots. “I’ll stay with her.”
Ben nodded and turned to walk away.
“Doc?”
He turned back, raising a questioning eyebrow. He knew the expression made him look pompous and superior, but he really didn’t care.
“Was it a boy or a girl?”
“A girl. She had her named, so do yourself a favor and don’t refer to the baby as ‘it.’ Better yet, don’t say much of anything. Just hold her hand till she sleeps and be there when she wakes up.”
“I’ll do that.” There was an extra shimmer in his eyes that surprised Ben. “Thanks, Doc.”
“Right.” He walked away.
It was well past midnight when he finished at the hospital. He didn’t want to go back to the apartment over Kingdom Comer’s garage, because Kate wasn’t there across the courtyard where he could wake her and talk to her if he wanted to. He could always stop by McGuffey’s and help close, but he
didn’t feel like being social even with his siblings. What he wanted to do was drive partway up Wish Mountain and sit on Bright Sky’s patio with Kate, drinking coffee or hot chocolate. Maybe accidentally take her hand and just hold it.
He didn’t mean to call her. He parked where he always did behind the inn and reached for the phone in its little holder on the dash and...he must have hit the code that dialed her number. And once it was ringing, he couldn’t give up. He knew his calls had a special ring tone on her phone—the refrain from “Witch Doctor.” She would know, even if he hung up, who had called her at 1:16 a.m.
“Tall guy? You okay?” When she answered, her voice soft and sleepy, he knew he’d be able to talk a little, drink some chocolate milk straight from the carton, then sleep.
“Yeah,” he said, getting out of the car and going to sit in the glider under the maples in the backyard. It was warm tonight, part of the couple of weeks that comprised midsummer in the Northeast Kingdom. “I’m okay. It was a rough one tonight, short woman, but you know what?”
He could almost see her cozying into the pillows, reaching for the bottle of water she probably had on the table beside the bed. She’d be settling in to talk whether she felt like it or not. “What?”
Being friends with Kate might not be enough, but it was pretty good. Dirty Sally curled into his lap and he stroked her chin. “My dad was right about me being a doctor.”
CHAPTER TEN
“IT LOOKS WONDERFUL.” Mrs. Hylton-Wise gazed out the windows of Bright Sky at where Mr. Hayes and Jayson worked on the front lawn. “Mr. Hayes said they’d be finished Tuesday and after that he’ll come out one day a week and keep it spruced up.” She looked down at the clipboard in her hand then raised her gaze to meet Kate’s. “You’ve been very thorough, too, Miss Rafael. I can’t believe how much you accomplished in only twenty-four hours.”
