“This is Lynda’s,” Rachel said.
Catherine shouldn’t have been surprised. Lynda had always shown an artistic streak. But she’d had no idea her daughter had this kind of talent. The engine was painted with painstaking detail, from the lettering on the side to the firefighters on board. “It’s wonderful.”
“She’s incredible with the little kids,” Rachel added. “But then, you already know that. I told her she should be a teacher. She has a real gift.”
“She’s going to be a business major,” Catherine answered automatically. She and Lynda had discussed it for the past two years and agreed business was the one degree that would give her financial freedom. Unspoken but understood was the need for Lynda to protect herself should she have inherited her mother’s skill at choosing men.
“I never would have guessed that. She seems more the English lit or history type.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine saw someone walk by outside. She looked closer and saw that it was Lynda. She was dressed in a gathered skirt, an off-the-shoulder white blouse, huge earrings, and rows of plastic beads around her neck. All of this set off by a Bakersfield Fire Department baseball cap.
Rachel spotted her, too. “I’m not supposed to know this, but their skit involves fortune-telling. They’ve made up Wild stories about what the counselors are going to find waiting for them when they get home.”
Catherine was on her way out the door when she heard another loud squeal and realized Lynda had spotted Rick. Decorum abandoned, she, like the others, ran into his arms. He lifted her the way he had Rachel and swung her around, her skirts swirling like a square dancer’s.
“We do a lot of hugging around here,” Rachel said. “Touching is important to these kids. For some of them, this is the only place they receive any physical contact at all.”
Instead of immediately going outside, Catherine stood at the door and observed. The genuine warmth between Rick and Lynda went deeper than camp routine. They liked each other. Lynda looked at him with an adoration she’d never shown another man, not even her father.
“What are you doing here?” Lynda asked, her voice brimming with surprise and happiness. “Never mind, I’m just so glad you came. Wait until you see our skit. It’s soooo cool. We’ve been working on it all week.”
“I heard it was going to be something special. It’s one of the reasons we came up tonight.”
“We?” Lynda turned, her gaze going to her mother as if drawn there by the force of her need.
Catherine knew a moment of sickening fear. What if Lynda didn’t want her there? The fear melted—along with her heart—when she saw a look of raw love and sheer joy come over Lynda’s face.
Lynda ran to her and they hugged, longer and harder than Catherine could ever remember the two of them hugging.
Rick and Rachel gathered the kids surrounding them and herded everyone off to campfire, leaving Catherine and Lynda alone.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to tell Ray good-bye,” Catherine said.
“At least you and Brian were there. He got to say good-bye to someone.”
“I told him you would call when you were home again and he was settled. The hospital gave him a phone he can use by himself so he’ll be able to call you, too. I even checked into getting an eight-hundred number for Ray to use when he wants to call us. That way he wouldn’t have to worry about his aunt getting upset over the telephone bill.” First thing tomorrow morning she would have to send out her résumé. And keep sending it out until she had a job.
Lynda brightened. “That’s a great idea.”
“And I told him that if his aunt wouldn’t let him come to see us over Christmas break, then we’d fly out to Kansas to see him.” When Lynda didn’t say anything, Catherine cupped her chin in her hand and looked her square in the eyes. “One way or another, this will work out. I promise.”
She saw Rick signaling them from behind a green building that held an enormous homemade sign that said, SPICE GIRLS CABIN. “I think they’re waiting for you.”
Lynda slipped her hand in Catherine’s and led her across the quad. Catherine followed, a contented smile on her face as her gaze locked on Rick’s. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d held hands with her daughter, or the last time she’d felt as comfortable being watched by a man.
Catherine sat next to Rick on the wooden bench in the small amphitheater. They were in the last row, higher than everyone else and able to see everything, including the audience.
The kids sat in groups with their counselors, laughing and clapping their approval at punch lines that made little sense to Catherine. Her pleasure came in recognizing Lynda’s hand in the composition and direction of the short play and in watching the unaffected way Rick joined in on the fun. Periodically, he would lean in close and explain one of the running jokes, usually directed at the kitchen staff—firefighters from Sacramento, Chico, and Bakersfield, all longtime camp veterans and favorites of the kids.
When a light breeze moved in, she crossed her arms and pulled into herself for warmth. Rick noticed and put his arm around her, drawing her into his side. For one brief moment she let herself believe she belonged next to him, that they were more than friends, that she’d finally found the soul mate she’d dreamed of when she was an impressionable young girl.
She was filled with a longing so powerful she knew her only escape was to get away before she did something that would embarrass them both, like touching his cheek or kissing him, or asking him to touch or kiss her.
As soon as Lynda’s portion of the skit ended and another group took over, she stood and said, “I’ll be right back. I have to use the rest room.”
Instead, she went to the truck, got her jacket, and walked around until she was sure her foolish yearnings were under control.
She returned to see the final bows being taken. With shouts of excitement, everyone headed for the kitchen and the traditional mile-long ice cream sundae. While it wasn’t a mile long, Catherine guessed the rain-gutter trough used to hold the ice cream, bananas, marshmallow cream, chocolate sauce, nuts, and whipped cream was a good sixty feet long. Spoons and napkins were handed out, chairs and benches dragged up, and the order to begin eating shouted out.
Rick insisted she join in. They took their positions on the end, sitting opposite each other. When he saw how daintily she ate, he began feeding her, catching a drip of chocolate with the spoon and a smear of whipped cream with his finger.
“Stop,” she laughingly protested when she saw a mound of ice cream twice as big as her mouth headed in her direction. “I’ll explode if I eat another bite.”
He grinned and put the spoon down. “Okay, since we’re done here, you can lick your lips.”
She did but could see by the look he gave her that she hadn’t gotten everything.
He picked up his napkin and wiped the corners of her mouth. “Stick out your tongue.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
She did. He touched the napkin to her tongue and finished wiping her chin. “This is the first time I’ve been this messy,” she said suspiciously.
He leaned forward until their noses were only inches apart. For one sweet, heart-pounding second she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he looked deeply into her eyes and said softly, “It’s a perfect night for first times, don’t you think?”
The implication was his, the decision was hers.
29
CATHERINE GLANCED AT THE DASHBOARD CLOCK AS they turned into Rick’s driveway. It was almost one, but she was so energized it could have been the middle of the day instead of the middle of the night. Even though they’d been together longer than they ever had before, even though they’d talked and laughed nonstop and she’d finally had the chance to tell him about her crazy Uncle John, she still wasn’t ready to say good night.
She liked being with Rick. She wanted to tell him clever anecdotes because she felt good when her story elicited his smile. And she loved lis
tening to him. He had a deep, resonating voice that, at times, was like a caress.
“Want to come in for a cup of coffee?” Rick asked when he’d turned off the engine.
The look that accompanied the words told her that he didn’t want the evening to end, either.
“Coffee sounds good.”
“Or I could open a bottle of Randle’s Roost merlot…”
“A man after my own heart.” The tired cliché came across more serious than she’d intended, but she let it go. Rick wasn’t the kind of man who looked for encouragement in casual comments.
Blue whipped his tail in greeting when Catherine came around the truck, including her in his welcome as if she were a member of the family. She stopped to scratch his ears. “How does he know which days you’ll be home?”
“I’ve never been able to figure that out, but he’s never wrong. He has full-time access to both houses through our garages, but if I’m off-shift and just gone for the day, it doesn’t matter what time I come home, he’s here waiting for me. He’s even got a system for figuring out when I’ve been called in for overtime or I’m working a trade, and he stays with Sandra and Walt.”
She thought about going home and how empty her house would seem that night. She missed Lynda. But it was more than walking into an empty house alone—it was wanting to be exactly where she was.
Rick offered to let her wait in the living room while he went to get the wine, but she followed him into the kitchen instead. He gave her the bottle and opener and got out crackers and cheese. They worked together as if they’d done so a hundred times before, Catherine taking down the wine glasses and then a plate for the snack while Rick took out the cutting board and sliced the cheese.
“You must like to cook,” Catherine said, watching him.
“Why do you say that?”
“This kitchen. It’s fantastic.”
“All show. I’m the king of soup-label recipes. Just ask my crew.”
“I don’t believe you. No one owns a stove like this for show.”
He chuckled. “I bought it because we have one just like it at the firehouse and I like the way it cooks.”
“You cook at the firehouse?”
“And mop floors and mow lawns and wash windows.” He held out a piece of cheese for her to taste. “It’s part of the job.”
The cheese was spicy, with a hint of garlic and a touch of heat she attributed to the green specks liberally sprinkled throughout. A perfect choice for the merlot. “So you’re busy cleaning toilet bowls and cooking meals in between rescuing people from fires and performing CPR on heart-attack patients?”
“Keeps us humble.”
“Are all firefighters like you?”
He opened the crackers and scattered them across the plate. “In what way?”
“So self-effacing.”
He considered her question. “I don’t know if I’d call it self-effacing. I think it’s more a sense of being grateful for having a job that lets us do what we do.”
“How can you be so cavalier about risking your life?”
“It’s my job.” He struggled for a better answer. “It’s what I do. Besides, not all calls are life-and-death situations. Sometimes it’s a kid with a finger stuck in a pipe or a pan someone left on the stove.”
“And sometimes it’s a man who’s drowning in a swollen river or a propane tank that exploded because someone tried to use a barbecue to heat their house.”
Rick eyed her suspiciously. “Who have you been talking to?”
“Brian.” How had she missed the small scar on his chin or the way his eyes narrowed when he was deep in thought?
“Of course. I’d forgotten he did a sleepover with us.” He chuckled. “Steve said Brian kept them up half the night asking questions.”
“He talked about it for days afterward. Every time he came to see Lynda.”
“Did he also tell you how boring it is around there between calls?” Rick asked.
“You’re talking about a young man who idolizes you, Rick Sawyer. Boredom isn’t in the equation.” She poured the wine and handed him a glass. “Now if I could just find a job that interests me half as much as yours does you, I’d be a happy woman.”
“You’re job hunting?”
“It’s that or go stir-crazy when Lynda goes back to school.” Not exactly a lie, but not the complete truth either. “I’m only going to go part-time for now and then switch to full-time when she’s out of her pressure garments.”
“What kind of job?”
“My background is human resources, but I’m looking at everything.”
“I know of a part-time job that’s opening up at the union office. Shirley and Pam have worked there for years and could fill you in on the details if you’re interested.”
“You mean the firefighters’ union?” The way she felt about organized labor, she couldn’t imagine working for a union, but to be polite, she showed interest.
“They’re in the city,” he added. “So it might be a longer commute than you wanted to make.”
He was providing her a way out. Obviously she hadn’t been as subtle in her question as she’d intended. “I’ll call tomorrow. Pam was the woman’s name?”
He gave her a knowing smile. “Or Shirley.”
“Did you know Brian has decided he wants to be a firefighter?” She held up her glass and brought it to his. “His father is going to have a fit when he finds out.”
He touched his glass to hers, the crystal making a crisp, bell-like sound. “Why is that?”
“Peter has such high hopes for Brian. He made almost perfect scores on his SATs and—” She almost choked on the words when she realized what she was saying. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
“Yes, you did,” he said without judgment. “I’m not color-blind, Catherine. I know my shirt has a blue collar. And I know the kind of baggage that color brings with it.”
“I’m sorry.” If she could have arranged for a hole in the floor to open right then and there, she would have gladly jumped into it.
“Forget it,” he said easily. He took a sip of wine.
“Never.” How could she have been so insensitive?
“Look, you said what you feel. Would it help if I told you it doesn’t come as a surprise?”
How did he know? Had she said something? Acted some way? “I really am sorry. I feel like such a snob.”
“You need to understand something here, Catherine. I don’t need outside opinion to confirm my worthiness. I carry that inside. For me, knowing that what I do makes a difference is a lot more important than how other people might see me or how much money I might have in the bank at any given moment. I know you find this hard to believe, but money isn’t important to me. It never has been.”
She put her glass on the counter. “I think that’s my cue to go slinking off into the night.”
“Only if you let it be.”
“First I have to tell you something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time now. I’m well aware that Lynda wouldn’t be where she is without you. Neither would I. I will never be able to thank you enough. You came along—”
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it isn’t necessary.” He settled in close and gave her a small, intimate smile. “I know what I’m up against and I’m not the least bit worried I can’t handle it.”
She could see the flecks of gold in his eyes and smell a hint of smoke from the campfire. The top button on his shirt was open and there were gray hairs at his temples. Her heart did a funny little tap dance against her ribs as she took all this in.
She would have been all right if she hadn’t looked at his lips, if she hadn’t wondered how they would feel against her own…but most of all, if she hadn’t tilted her chin up and swayed forward and let out a sigh of longing.
The kiss opened the door she thought she’d barricaded. Reason, rationale, determination were like dandelion seeds in the wind. Her mind yielded to her senses
and she was swept away by a deep yearning.
He took control with the second kiss, bringing her into his arms and holding her as if he’d held her a hundred times before. She fitted herself to him, becoming instantly, almost unbearably aroused. “This is insanity,” she murmured against his lips.
“Too soon,” he agreed.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” She opened her mouth, tasting, testing, taking him in. Her hips moved against his, gently and then harder.
“It’s going to complicate things between us.” He put his hands on her waist. “That’s the last thing I want.”
“Me too.” Her breasts swelled with the need to be touched.
He cupped her buttocks and brought her tight against him. “I want you, Catherine,” he whispered into her ear. “More than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything.”
She pulled back to look at him. “I feel the same way. It’s wrong…it’s insanity,” she repeated. “But I don’t care.”
“Then you’re sure?”
“Yes…oh, yes.”
He took her hand and led her to the bedroom. She stood next to the king-size bed as he undressed her, removing the layers of her clothing the way she had opened his present. He touched her skin as if it were silk and he had on a work-roughened glove—gently, so very gently. She caught her lip between her teeth to keep still when he softly lapped at her nipple with his tongue. Wave after wave of desire and need spread through her body.
Unable to stay still any longer, she impatiently pulled his shirt from his jeans, unbuttoned it, and ran her hands over his chest and down his arms. Her fingers slowed as they lifted and dipped over the ridges and valleys of his scars. He caught her hands with his own and ran his thumb over her palm, kissing her ear, the hollow at the base of her throat, and the narrow, flat spot between her breasts.
“I’ve imagined you like this,” he admitted. “A hundred times. Only I never got it right. Not once.” He looked into her eyes. “You are more beautiful than I could ever conceive. You take my breath away, Catherine.”
Suddenly self-conscious, she surreptitiously tightened her stomach to hide what she knew to be an imperfection.
Disguised Blessing Page 24
