"I'm not sure about the fit, but these should help you feel less . . . exposed. I'm washing a load of clothes tonight, so you'll have clean underwear when you wake up."
"As long as they aren't female, they'll be fine." Setting the pile on the foot of the bed, she turned for the door.
"Goodnight, Kendall."
"Night, Harrison. See you in the morning."
His last thought before drifting into a peaceful, drugging sleep was a memory of a soothing angel in white. Calling to her, he hoped she would visit again. Soon she appeared, drifting through the mist. Remembering the serenity of her smile, he wanted to see her face again. When she finally drew closer, his eyes widened with surprise. The angel's face belonged to Ken.
***
Unable to sleep, Kendall closed her eyes, concentrating on the instrument, not on notes or composition, but the feel of the flute in her hands. The melody was haunting and wistful, as though searching for something out of reach. Whatever she yearned for was unattainable in a way even she was uncertain why.
Time drifted away as she gave herself over to the sensation of peace, the flowing echo of her instrument vibrating from her fingertips straight into her soul. She loved when this happened, when every worry, every puzzle, every problem trickled from her mind like rain and washed away with the music. Wink purring melodically at her feet, she played forever, until the notes slid away and she returned to the shadowed room. Releasing a sigh of sheer pleasure, she finally opened her eyes.
"That was incredible."
Ken didn't startle, didn't feel surprised. Although she hadn't heard Harrison slip into the spare bedroom, she'd known he was near. The clarity of his presence had been overwhelming. And a little disturbing.
She didn't want to like him too much . . . didn't want her mind conjuring stupid fantasies of a man like Traynor. Kendall knew her limitations. And he was so far beyond what was attainable it was laughable. That thought brought a quirky smile to her lips as she returned to earth. Perhaps her music was the mournful wail for all things impossible– in this case, the out-of-reach Harrison Traynor.
"What are you doing up? Are you hungry?" He'd slipped on a tee shirt and a pair of her father's shorts. But Harrison didn't look anything like her daddy. The faded cotton stretched tight across his chest, sculpting to muscular shoulders. Swallowing, she wondered how he'd managed to squeeze into it.
He pushed off the doorframe. "That arrangement– I don't think I've ever heard it before."
"I made it up."
"Y-you wrote that?"
She shrugged off his astonishment, inwardly cursing the tiny flicker of joy sparking in her heart.
"But you didn't look at any music. Your eyes were closed."
"I don't like writing it down. I just play and the melody comes." Playing from sheets of music took the fun out of it.
"You could play professionally." He took a step closer. "How long have you played the flute?"
"I started in high school." Suddenly grateful for the darkness cloaking them, Ken wondered how long he'd been listening.
"I have season tickets to the symphony."
"Me, too," she admitted, annoyed that the first thought in her head was whether she could muster the courage to suggest attending together.
"I always wished I could play an instrument. Piano and flute," he mused. "What else do you play?"
"I- um . . . play the cello a little." And any other instrument she could get her hands on. When Harrison took a cautious step toward her, her senses flared with warning. Ken didn't like the shivery feel on her spine, or how wonderful his sleep-husky voice sounded when it floated through the shadows, praising her. There was intimacy here in the dark, one they didn't share in the light of day, one they could never hope to share.
"You have one here?"
"Have one?" Instead of fantasizing about Harrison, she should be paying attention.
"A cello?" At her nod, he smiled. "Can I hear you play?"
In the dim light, she couldn't tell whether he was serious. "I don't usually play in front of people."
"It's just me, Ken."
"I-I'll think about it." Her heart tripped nervously at the thought of playing for him. She'd never been comfortable with an audience– but alone in a room, she was fine. "Why don't you play?"
"My parents gave me lessons in grade school, but after seven years, Bucky insisted I sounded the same as when I started. He made me stop."
"Bucky?"
"My dad– his name was Buchanan. We called him Bucky."
"To his face?"
Harrison smiled. "Very intuitive of you. He wasn't crazy about the nickname."
"I'm sure you couldn't have been that bad after seven years."
"Wanna bet?" He raised a brow in challenge. "Easy to say when you're gifted."
"What'd you play?" Her mind refused the words of praise, but her stupid heart wrapped around them, holding them close.
"Saxophone."
"Sax is pretty difficult." Kendall surprised even herself when she gave him a slow, appraising perusal. "You don't strike me as someone who'd have much stamina for it."
His mouth lifted in a smirk. "I've never heard that complaint before."
She refused to be drawn in. "Seriously Traynor, it's pretty difficult. I'm sure you would've been great at one of the other horns. They handle easier in your mouth."
"Are we still talking about the same thing?" His smile told her he was enjoying himself.
Ken dissolved in laughter. Never any good at flirting, she doubted her skills had improved with age.
Smiling, he edged a step closer. "I don't know whether to take that as a compliment."
"Trust me, you need good pipes and great lips to handle-" Heat crept into her cheeks. The expression in his eyes was one of barely contained amusement. "Never mind," she stammered. "I'm sorry I woke you. I didn't think the sound would carry." Distracted, she set the flute on the table and would have turned on the lamp but hesitated. She wasn't sure what message would be written on her face.
"I was awake anyway. The sound floated down the hall." Harrison leaned heavily on his cane, shifting from bad leg to good. "I heard you last night, too. The music was so soothing, I figured I must be dreaming."
The reverence in his tone had panic throbbing through her. "You should get back to bed."
"Another minute won't hurt. Why do you play so late at night? Can't sleep?"
"It relaxes me." She needed sleep to handle all the problems daylight brought, but the problems of daylight made her too edgy to sleep.
"Sometimes I have trouble. Not lately, though." He stifled a yawn and bent to pat Lurch's head. "Your bed is very comfortable."
Her dog hadn't left his side since Harrison had arrived, a show of solidarity for a fallen brother. She tried not to care that her loyal friend had abandoned her for Traynor.
"I can't believe you hobbled all the way down the hall."
"I told you I was going to snoop through your stuff," he reminded. "I'm
just a little early."
"You should be resting," she admonished. "I'm not taking you home until someone can look after you."
"I'm battered, Ken, not broken." He scowled, his stance that of an edgy warrior.
She brushed past him through the doorway. "I'm not insulting you. Three days ago you were half dead."
He released a sigh of frustration. "I didn't mean to jump you. My whole life, all I heard was the pretty boy stuff," he explained, his voice irritated. "My father never missed the opportunity to remind me I wasn't good enough at football. So, I tried out for soccer. But making that team wasn't good enough, either. I was supposed to be the best. No matter what I did, I couldn't shake his image of who I was supposed to be."
Stunned, she was unsure how to respond. Reluctant to break a spell the night had woven over them, Ken's first reaction was compassion. She knew what it was like trying to please someone and failing. But Harry wasn't a man who would appreciate sympathy.
"I'm s
ure it was a real hardship having cheerleaders hang all over you."
His smile flashed white in the dark. "Okay. So there were a couple perks." Following her into the hall, his smile faded. "I guess I'm just as hard-headed as him." At her questioning glance, he sighed. "Instead of construction, I chose finance for my career. Until the day he died, all I ever heard were wimpy accountant jokes."
"I'm sure he was proud of you. He just didn't know how to show it." Kendall sensed his focused gaze cutting through the shadows. "At least you tried. I gave up trying to please my dad . . . and he's still alive."
"Why-"
Blurting out secrets hadn't been in the plans. Time to change the subject. "Are you saying that under the Superman exterior you're really Clark Kent?"
Harry didn't smile. "I'm just a guy doing his job. I don't do things halfway." Hobbling through the archway, his steps were slow and clearly painful. Kendall waited, careful not to approach with an offer of assistance. When he caught up to her, she slipped under his available arm, casually borrowing some of his weight. Together they methodically moved down the hall. When they reached her room, he was out of breath.
"I can't change who I am." Harry spoke with a weary sarcasm that came from years of self-defense. Years of teasing, jealous comments over something he couldn't control. His appearance. His very nature. Kendall couldn't help but be drawn to it– to what she had experienced.
She chuckled at his grumpy comment. "If it makes you feel better, you don't look quite as perfect as you did Friday. I like your bed head better."
Limping closer to the bed, he sank into it with relief. "Thanks, Ken."
As he struggled to remove the too-tight shirt from around the bulky cast encasing his wrist, she stepped forward and gently tugged it over his head. Harry fell back against the pillows, clearly spent from the exertion.
She waited, uncertain why she lingered. They'd traded one dark room for another, yet this bedroom somehow seemed less threatening. She resisted the urge to fluff the pillows behind his head– and the stronger one to run her fingers through his hair.
"Can I get you anything? A glass of water?"
"Water sounds good." His voice slurred with sleepiness. He barely lifted his head when Lurch scampered to the bedroom door, growling low in his throat.
"What's up with him?"
"A watchdog he's not," she muttered. Ken headed to the door. "What's the matter, Sweetie?" When she stooped to scratch behind his ears, Lurch shook her off and stumbled into the hallway. The staccato barking began a moment later.
"Maybe he hears something."
She waited with him on the landing, stroking his rigid body and straining to hear the noise bothering him. But like every other night, the only sound was the familiar song of the crickets. As quickly as he'd gone on alert, Lurch strolled back to the bedroom. Once he'd flopped on the rug by Traynor's feet, she picked up the water pitcher. Harrison's even breathing told her he'd already fallen asleep.
Waiting in the bathroom until the water ran cold, Kendall snapped out of her strange reverie. She couldn't afford to forget what Harrison represented. He was the man forcing her company into bankruptcy. His injuries were a result of her company's carelessness. They would be used against her, she was certain. Traynor had a job to do– protect Specialty Construction from potential liability.
She was that liability.
***
Harrison was awake and broodingly alert when she arrived on his doorstep with juice and toast a few hours later. Unlike him, Kendall was groggy and punch drunk from lack of sleep. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting." She tried to inject some cheer into her voice. As soon as she had a minute, she would down a handful of aspirin for the headache starting behind her eyes.
"What's wrong? You look terrible this morning."
"I tried wearing a bag over my head, but I spilled your juice on the way upstairs." Frustration flared as she stalked to the bed. She jerked his make-shift tray table over the bedspread, averting her eyes from his seriously chiseled chest.
"No need to be cranky about it."
"This is how I look with two hours sleep." She set the tray down forcefully, wincing when orange juice sloshed over the side of the glass. "You only have to tolerate me a few more days."
"Chill out, Ken. I meant that you look exhausted– not hideous."
On her best day– one with eight hours sleep, perfect hair conditions, all the bills paid and absolutely no worries– Kendall Adams could look halfway decent. She was presentable in a way that didn't smack of 'beautiful', but in the right light could pass for 'cute'. There were only a handful of those days– clustered around the year-end holidays, when it was too late to make her self-imposed budget and too early to worry about failing in the new year.
"Oh." The silence lengthened. "Sorry." Scooping up the toast that had skidded off his plate, Ken avoided the scrutiny she knew she'd find in his eyes after her tirade.
"I'll get your coffee before my shower. Then I'll move you downstairs before I run over to the site for a few hours."
"Don't worry about me. I can get downstairs. Take care of yourself and go."
Her back to him, Ken raised her gaze to the ceiling. Too late, she glanced in the mirror and realized he'd caught her expression. Lord, would she ever learn to be more careful? She spun around to face him. "Look Traynor, no offense to your manhood, but you're gonna need help. I don't want you taking another header– especially not down my stairs. The insurance company doesn't like me much."
"I'm completely capable-"
"Will you please not argue? Just this once?"
Harrison stared at her, any trace of warmth gone from his eyes. Regretting her words, Kendall acknowledged the obvious. This is what she did to men. She provoked the hell out of them. But she hadn't meant to lash out. Swallowing her pride, she yielded to gnawing guilt.
"Please, Harrison. I don't like leaving you alone. The doctor said you've got to be really careful. I promised to watch over you and instead, I'm always leaving you. I'll feel much better if you let me help you get comfortable."
"Alright," he conceded reluctantly. "Let's stop talking about it. Go take your shower."
***
It would have been perfect. In his mind, Harry envisioned himself firmly planted on her couch with Lurch by his side, the remote in one hand and a mug of freshly brewed coffee in the other. His expression would be just smug enough to indicate disdain for Ken's ridiculous concerns. Unfortunately, Harry's mind wasn't working clearly. For the first time, he wondered whether the blow to his head was more of a concern than he realized.
He'd made it to the landing where he leaned heavily on the banister. He was sweating profusely and his damn leg was killing him. He'd also managed to wrench his good shoulder when his allegedly good leg buckled and he'd dove for the railing to keep from plunging to the first floor. Lurch wasn't helping, teetering on the landing with him, yipping excitedly while bouncing underfoot on his three legs.
How had it all gone south? The moment he'd heard the shower start, his feet hit the floor. Now, he had to get downstairs before Kendall appeared with another of her withering I-told-you-so looks. Tipping his head back, Harry winced when she tried to reach a high note in the shower, oblivious to the fact that her musical ability clearly didn't extend to her slender throat.
He groaned at the fleeting image of her in the shower and resolutely shoved it from his mind. All night he'd tried to erase the mental picture of her. The only word Harry could think of to describe the way he'd felt was mesmerized. Standing in the dark watching her, awed by the sheer wonder of her talent and by the ethereal loveliness of the woman herself. He swallowed around the sudden dry patch in his throat.
She'd been serene and mysterious in the moonlit room. Long, flowing hair trailing down her back, her body limber and graceful in the thin, cotton gown. When she'd opened her eyes– when she'd finally returned from the beautiful place she'd visited, Kendall had turned to him. And smiled.
And his heart s
tuttered.
Almost afraid to breathe for fear of breaking the spell she'd cast over him, even now, Harry wasn't certain whether it was the woman or the haunting music that had mystified him. Later, after the house had gone silent, he'd debated whether he'd conjured her in a dream. Or if she'd merely been a side effect from all the pain medication. For how could a person be so completely different from an original impression? The question still stumped him. Because there was no way the fragile, luminous beauty he saw in Kendall was locked inside the prickly shell of Ken Adams.
This morning he'd waited, eagerly– to see her again. To search her face in the light of day and find the intangible woman he'd discovered in the moonlight. Instead, she'd stomped into the room and glared at him, her fathomless, golden eyes shadowed with fatigue instead of mystery, her face strained with worry, instead of the joy he'd witnessed during the night. Her creamy skin flushed with anger. The no-nonsense, tough as nails Ken Adams had returned.
Harry was startled from his reverie by the unmistakable sound of the water shutting off and a moment later, by the loud thumping of his cane, crashing end over end down the long flight of stairs. This was followed by a series of ear-splitting barks from a now spastic Lurch.
"Shit. I'm in trouble."
Harry didn't have time to turn before the bathroom door jerked open upstairs and Ken flew through it. She careened around the corner, skidding to make the sharp turn for the stairs. Before he could warn her, she'd plunged down toward the landing. Amber eyes widened with shock, acknowledging his presence in the split-second before she crashed into him and sent him sailing into the wall.
Chapter 5
Harry went down in a heap, tripped by Lurch, who howled in protest when he inadvertently stepped on one of the dog's good legs. When Kendall tumbled down on top of him, he didn't have time to brace himself. Instead, he received a faceful of wet hair. The fleeting thought that she smelled amazing was lost a moment later when the rest of her body smashed into him with the power of a defensive tackle.
The force propelled him to the corner of the landing. In a last ditch effort to contain the damage, he tried to protect Ken from hurting herself. Catching her in his good arm, Harry took her with him when he slammed into the elaborate Victorian chair-rail and slumped to the floor.
Falling For Ken (Blueprint to Love Book 2) Page 6
