“Come here,” she whispered, as if that made any sense at all. And then the crazy woman wrapped her arms around him, lifted up on tiptoe, and offered her mouth.
And he took it, melding his mouth with hers, aching hard, but he was thinking, this is exactly what was wrong. She was flaky. Witless. Young. Not young in years, but too young for him. She was so beyond him, the way she was open, the way she was so giving.
Way, way, too giving.
He just couldn’t give back that way. He clutched her head, feeling the slippery satin of her lips, the heat coming off her body, the roaring thump of her heart against his. Merry was so…Merry. The way she poured out sensuality and emotion. She responded as if she loved the taste of him, the feel of him. That she craved how he made her feel.
She told him that with every kiss, every touch, every volatile response.
She acted…helpless. As if she felt swept away. As if he made her feel swept away.
That was exactly how she loved. As if no one were watching. As if no one existed in the universe but her, but him.
As if they weren’t standing in the pouring rain, in a suburb, with her white lawn nightgown getting soaked and her kissing him as if she completely didn’t give a damn.
“Merry—”
“Oh, no, buster. You’re not getting out of this now. Suck it up and accept your fate.”
Maybe she wanted him to laugh. Instead he swooped her up, thinking the damn woman was going to die of pneumonia if he didn’t get her out of that dark, mean-wet night. The laundry room was right off the kitchen, the fastest place inside he could peel off that soaking wet nightgown of hers.
He already had fond memories of that dark laundry room—but not fond enough to stall there this time. She was shivering by the time he’d pulled off the gown, either because she was chilled now, or because she wasn’t. Once he had his hands all over her, she seemed to heat up faster than a fire for the right kindling. He wanted to be her kindling. Now, tomorrow, and for as long as she let him be.
But right now, just getting her out of that laundry room and near a mattress—quietly, so the squirt didn’t wake up—was his immediate primary crisis. He was usually good at logistics. But not when he had his hands all over a wet, warm woman, who was kissing him like she’d die if she couldn’t. And he was kissing her back like she was dreaming if she thought he’d ever, ever, let her go.
He knew where her room was, knew that sleeper-couch mattress had springs with teeth and squeaks, but right then he’d have settled for any surface at all. The minute the door was closed and locked, he lifted and leveled her flat. Finally, his hands had the freedom to streak the bare, soft length of her. Her supple skin warmed for his palms. Her breath caught, sucked in as if starved of oxygen. Her breasts changed shape, firmed, swelled, ached for the shape of his palms, the wash of his tongue.
Frenzy. Who knew he could just…lose himself like this? In her? With her? Rain silvering down her windows, the scent of almonds and jasmine on her pillow, on her, the texture of her hair raveling through his hands, the nectar of her kisses, her touch. Tension escalated like an out-of-control fire, too hot, too wild, too dangerous, yet all he could do was take more of her, love more of her, ask more of her.
Need more of her.
He took the bottom this time, thinking it’d force some control on him, force some slow-down, yet when she eased on top of him, her spine arched in a bow, he lost it all over again. He picked up her fever. She picked up his. Even diamonds melted if the temperature was hot enough, and that’s how she felt to him, so unbearably willing and vulnerable and sensuous that she could melt even the hard old stone that he could have sworn was his heart.
They rocked together, rolled together, pistoned the same fierce rhythm together, until finally they both exploded…and then crashed.
He didn’t want to recover, didn’t want to even think about recovering, but eventually he realized that she wasn’t covered. God knew where the pillows and blankets had gone, but the only thing warming her cooling skin seemed to be him. She was just lying there in his arms, looking at him, both of them still heaving like noisy freight trains.
“Whew,” she whispered.
“That’s what I was thinking.”
She smiled at him. The rainy windows illuminated her tousled hair, her pale forehead. Her brow momentarily mesmerized him. As far as he could remember—and he was replaying the last half hour in his mind in detail—that was the only spot on her body he’d neglected. Even exhausted as he was, he had to reach over and tenderly kiss that patch of soft skin, right between her brows.
“You’re precious,” he told her, the words coming out rough, as if they’d been buried deep for a long time and were rusty from misuse. Or from fear. “I didn’t know…about precious before.”
“Then you—” Whatever she’d been about to say was cut off. They both heard the sound of the telephone. Her body immediately stiffened.
He understood. She didn’t want Charlene wakened by a late call—besides which, even though it wasn’t midnight yet, it was a little late for the usual friendly call. Only bad news seemed to come this late. She quickly bolted out of bed. “I have to—”
“I understand,” he said. “Go.”
It was a land-line call, and she didn’t have a connection in the back bedroom. He didn’t know where she’d gone to answer it, but the phone stopped ringing, and she didn’t come back for a minute. Then a couple minutes. Then several.
He wasn’t sure what to do. Eventually he had to get up and get dressed and go home, because of Charlene. But he didn’t want to leave Merry until he had to. The longer she was tied up on the phone, though, the more he worried that something was wrong.
When another minute passed, he hauled his behind out of bed, shucked on his jeans and sweatshirt—both were damp, but he couldn’t very well walk around her house without clothes.
He found her in the kitchen, hunched at the kitchen table with the receiver ironed against her ear, wearing an old shirt she’d apparently tugged from the laundry room for warmth. The expression on her face made his jaw clench. Something was bad wrong. Her face looked bleached of color, her eyes fierce with anxiety. Everything about her posture was tense, as if someone had punched her and she was waiting for the next blow.
“You need to do what you need to do,” she said into the receiver and then waited. A moment later she hung up.
“God. What’s wrong?” he asked gently.
She came up with a tremulous smile for him, but nothing that eased that look in her eyes. “It was Charlene’s birth mother.” She closed her eyes momentarily and then heaved a huge sigh. “And I’m fine, Jack—”
“The hell you are.”
“No. Really. The thing is, I’ve been waiting for that call for weeks now. It’s not that I wanted it. But it’s been like waiting for bad news—it’s actually easier when it finally gets there, so the waiting’s over. The problem’s out in the open.”
“What can I do?” he asked.
“Nothing. Honestly.”
He didn’t want to leave her and go home—and he didn’t, for quite a while. But she felt strongly about Charlene not waking up in the morning and finding him there, so eventually he had to hightail it next door. By then, she’d stopped looking so stressed. She didn’t relax all the way, didn’t fool him that she was really okay. But in the middle of the night, there really didn’t seem anything concrete he could do to help her.
But it bugged him, when he left.
He really hadn’t done anything for her. Certainly nothing to earn her always treating him like a hero.
Nothing to justify her loving him.
ANYONE WHO WATCHED TV knew the court system moved slower than a turtle in a coma, yet only two weeks had passed since that miserable meeting with June Innes. Who could imagine the judge would call a hearing this quickly? Merry pawed and repawed through the hangers in her closet—she’d bought an outfit for this, but it wasn’t right. Nothing seemed to hit her as rig
ht. She told herself she should be happy that reality wasn’t like TV. The court system should cater to kids, should resolve things related to kids as quick as it possibly could.
It was just…something was wrong with her.
She seemed to be calm, instead of having an anxiety attack and gasping around like a beached guppy. It wasn’t natural. Of course, she still had several hours for a panic attack to emerge. It was only ten. She had a full two hours to get dressed before picking up Charlene from school and driving to the courthouse.
She plucked through hangers one last time, but dag-nabbit, no matronly clothes and sedate shoes appeared.
How scary was that? She was going to have to go as herself.
Scarier yet, she even kind of liked the idea. Totally unlike herself, she managed to dress in less than five minutes, pulling on a dark purple flannel skirt, boots and a thick white hand-knit sweater. She was just messing with her hair when the phone rang. It was her dad.
“I knew you’d call,” she said warmly. “No, I’m fine, Dad. Seriously fine. Of course I’m worried about the outcome, but at this point, it’s almost like waiting for a root canal. I just want it over with. And I know it sounds crazy, but I really want my chance to speak up and say what I feel to the judge….”
She picked out earrings and swooshed on a little blush. Lipstick turned into a problem. The tubes of gloss and stain and stick all seemed to reproduce at night; she must have a good two dozen, but no color ever seemed to be exactly right for purple.
“No, Dad, Charlene’s birth mother will be in another room entirely. It’s two separate things. My guardianship is one issue, whether Charlene’s mother gets visitation rights—or any other rights—is another. From what the attorney researched, she’s a real fruitcake, so I have to believe the court will look at the whole history and do the right thing….” Okay, she had to gulp before finishing the sentence. And it could be she really didn’t give a damn whether her lipstick matched this morning, but she stuffed three choices of tubes in her purse. “Anyway, all I care about is that Charlie gets what she needs out of this. I’ll be fine, promise, Dad. I’ll call you tonight. You bet, love you back…”
She hung up, and was just attacking her hair, deciding she’d do a low ponytail, when the phone rang again. This time it was the school nurse, who wanted her to pick up Charlene. Immediately.
That was not an omen, Merry thought, as she ran hell-bent for leather for the car. She could handle anything today. She had to. Because this was about fighting for a little girl who meant the world to her, and damn it, she was going to do it—and do it right.
It was just that there wasn’t a lot of spare time built in for extra crises.
Charlene was waiting outside the school, sitting on the cement fence, wrapped in her jacket, her head bowed and her eyes stormier than a cyclone. When Merry drove her to school earlier, she’d looked like a little angel. It was Charlene who’d decided to dress differently that morning, put on jeans, a navy-and-white striped sweater, washed her hair and fluffed it up into a silky little blond nimbus around her face. She still looked as adorable as she had at eight that morning—except for the attitude.
She charged toward the car, hurled open the door and threw her books in the back. “I hate school. I hate my teachers. I hate everybody. And I’m not going back. I’m not going to that stupid hearing, either.”
“Ah,” Merry said. The school nurse had already told her the problem—that Charlene had started her first period. Merry had been startled—cripes, her baby was only eleven! But she’d expected embarrassment and emotion. Not Armageddon. Silent as a mouse, she eased out of the parking lot.
“Merry, for Pete’s sake, you’ve lived here two months now! You turn left!”
“I wasn’t looking,” she admitted.
“It doesn’t help when you look! You could get lost in a one-car garage. I think you’re darn close to hopeless.”
“Hmm. I’d defend myself but it sure seems pointless.” She cleared her throat. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“No.”
“You’ll feel better if you talk it out—”
“Like I care what you think.”
Merry sucked it in. “Hey. I don’t talk to you that way. You don’t get to talk to me that way, either.”
“So? I don’t want to talk anyway. To anyone. Ever. As long as I live.”
Merry buttoned it. It’s not as if she didn’t remember having a tantrum or two at that age. There was still ample time before the hearing to get life calmed down—and hearing or no hearing, Charlene obviously needed some space. Possibly that wasn’t going to happen too fast, because the minute they were home, Charl stormed out of the car, stormed into the house, and then disappeared into the bathroom with a slammed door.
Merry heard the sound of the shower. Then the shower went off. Several more minutes passed, but the door didn’t open.
When the doorknob finally turned and the door cracked open, enough steam poured out to cook vegetables. By then, Merry was deliberately, slowly flipping through an Allure magazine in the living room. Right outside the bathroom door, though, she’d left a small bundle. Clean underpants. Fresh jeans and socks and a pink sweater. Girl products, which she’d picked up the first time she noticed the hint of developing breasts.
She didn’t look up, but Charlie eventually made a sound in the kitchen.
“You hungry for lunch?” Merry called out. “It’s going to be a long afternoon if we don’t have something.”
“Maybe,” Charlene said irritably. “I can’t believe you put out a pink sweater for me.”
“It’s a lucky color.”
“For you, maybe.” Slowly, though, all that fury started to fade. Charlene watched her put together lunch. Merry might not do the cook thing well or often, but she could do comfort foods. Scrambled eggs. French toast with fresh blueberries. “When this is all over, Merry…when That Woman is gone and we don’t have to do this stupid hearing bullshit ever again…”
Charlene waited, clearly waiting for a correction on her language. When Merry didn’t say anything, Charl finished her original thought. “I was kind of wondering if I could have a kitten.”
“Sure.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’d like one, too.” Merry could feel the climate in the kitchen changing. Maybe the reason she’d managed to stay so calm and sure this week was because Charlene had been so, so tight, poor baby. And this morning sure hadn’t helped.
Charlene poked at her food for a while, then dove in. As soon as her mouth was good and full, she started talking. “I was in math class. First hour. Suddenly I felt all this wet crap. Dougall is in that class with me, for Pete’s sake! I couldn’t get out of the chair. Couldn’t move. I just wanted to die.”
“Aw, Charl. I’d have felt the same way.”
“I still want to just die. Dad told me about it all. But I thought a girl would normally be like thirteen. Not now. I’m not even close to twelve, for Pete’s sake. This totally sucks!”
“You’ve got that right.”
Charlene extended the royal finger. “Don’t try giving me that junk about how I should be happy I’m a woman now and all that.”
“Believe me, I won’t. Ticked me off when people told me that, too. And my dad was the one who told me about periods, because my mom was gone by then. All the same, he wasn’t exactly informed about the difference in products, like pads and tampons and all that. What to expect. How you’d feel. So you want to ask anything, any time, just pipe up.”
“The only thing I want to do is change schools and not have to go back there.”
“Can’t do that, Charl. But maybe we could take a day off. We can talk about different ways to handle it—”
Just as they’d talked about different ways to handle the hearing, Merry thought, as they drove to the courthouse. Still, she went through it all again.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about, honey. Everybody only has your best interests a
t heart. You just answer whatever the judge asks you and tell him how you feel.”
“I don’t want to meet her alone. I want you to be in there.”
“You won’t be alone. Lee Oxford will be in there. So will Judge Burns. And it’s only for a few minutes, Charl—”
“I still don’t see why I have to see her at all if I don’t want to. So far nobody’s listening to me. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to see her. I don’t like the whole hearing thing.”
“It’s not going to be an easy afternoon,” Merry said soothingly, “but it’s not like a tetanus shot, shortie. Nothing painful’s going to happen. It’s just about people talking who care about you. We’ll be home before dinner.”
Charlene was calmer once they finally got settled. They almost ended up in the probation office because of a tiny wrong turn. On the other hand, her getting lost—yet again—finally won a grin and a tease out of Charlene.
“Okay, now. I’ll be back in this room to pick you up. I’m just two doors down. Anything goes wrong, you just yell at the top of your lungs and I’ll be there.”
“Yeah, like you really want me to do that,” Charlene said wryly. But the brunette woman with the quiet, warm smile in the office of Judge Burns’s chambers was clearly used to taking charge of young people. She’d set up Charlie with a soda and a puzzle book before Merry had to leave her.
She was still doing fine when she walked into the hearing room, which was a surprise. Somehow she’d expected it to look like a courtroom on TV. Instead it was more conference-room size, with tall narrow windows, scarred mahogany woodwork and a long desk on a dais in front. Although the judge obviously sat there, the rest of the room was simply divided in two sections with tables and chairs. There was no space for a jury. At most a dozen could fit in the room as it was.
She was the first one there, except for a female bailiff. Finally Lee Oxford huffed in, his alligator shoes looking spit-shined, his suit pressed sharp. “This is going to go fine, so don’t be nervous, Merry,” he said.
Blame it on Cupid Page 30
