Only His Touch ( Forever Friends, Book 2 of 4)

by Webb, Peggy

  “It’s Rick Ransom. He’s sitting on the backdoor steps.”

  Except for her hand tightening on his arm, she showed no signs of turmoil. Rick had been her friend, too. She knew he could be trusted.

  “He doesn’t know about me?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Then I expect he’s going to be very surprised.”

  “This will be a supreme test of your disguise.”

  Hunter moved forward slowly, reluctant to give up his secret. Over the last two days he’d almost convinced himself that he and Kathleen could stay as they were forever, hiding out in their childhood homes, depending exclusively on each other, and only venturing out into the world when it suited them.

  “Rick, what brings you here?” Postponing the inevitable, he angled his body so that Kathleen was partially hidden.

  “That’s a hell of a question. You leave me hanging on the phone, and I don’t hear from you for days. What do you think brought me here?”

  “Not any thought of protecting my ornery hide. You know me too well to think I can’t take care of myself.”

  “Yep. I know you too well.” Rick fanned himself with his safari hat, then mopped his face with a blue bandanna. Pinching his nose in concentration, he peered through the early-evening gloom, trying to get a better view of Kathleen. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

  Suddenly Kathleen released Hunter’s arm and stepped apart from him.

  “Hello, Rick,” she said.

  He stared at her with genuine puzzlement, then comprehension dawned.

  “That voice... Kathleen? It can’t be.”

  “Back from the dead,” she said.

  “By George, this is wonderful. Amazing. No wonder I didn’t hear from Hunter.”

  Fifteen years earlier he would have grabbed his childhood friend into a bear hug, but age and distance had brought restraint. Rick held out his hand. It wavered between them like a lost bird while Kathleen stood facing a point just beyond him and to the right.

  “It’s really great to see you, Kathleen,” he added, reaching forward to clasp her hand.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Rick.”

  Hunter made a careful mental note. Kat continued to speak as if she had her sight. Another sign of strength, another sign that she didn’t want pity.

  “Mosquitoes will be coming out in force soon. Why don’t we all go inside for a drink?”

  “I could use one,” Rick said. “And then maybe you’ll explain why Kathleen is wearing a mustache.... Not that it doesn’t look good on you,” he added, turning to her. “You could wear a full beard like Hunter and your beauty would still take my breath away.”

  Inside, Kathleen stripped off the mustache, then took off the cap and shook out her hair. Desire almost sent Hunter to his knees. While he made the coffee she explained the reason for her disguise to Rick. Hunter watched her with a secret, covetous passion that bordered on obsession.

  God, what would he do if she ever turned away from him? How would he survive?

  The coffee cups rattled when he set them on the table. Kat’s head came up and her stare miraculously found his face.

  She’d always been a delicious witch, divining his thoughts sometimes even before he could get them straight in his mind.

  “Well, I guess you’re all wondering why I really came,” Rick said.

  Kathleen’s fingers turned white around her cup. Hunter reached for her hand and drew it to his lips.

  “As you know,” Rick continued, for Kathleen’s benefit, “Hunter’s been looking for his father for many years.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  All Hunter’s senses went on alert, and he felt the insane urge to smash a fist into Rick’s face and toss him out into the yard.

  “Well, it seems he’s finally turned up.”

  It doesn’t matter anymore, Hunter wanted to shout. But he was powerless. Somewhere deep inside him was a little boy desperately yearning for a scrap of information to prove that the father who had been glamorized to him during his childhood actually did exist.

  He’s an adventurer, his mother used to say. A grand and handsome man. I gave him my heart, and when he set sail for Africa, he gave it back to me. She would touch Hunter’s face. You’re my heart. He gave you to me.

  She’d made it all sound mysterious and romantic. His father had lived with the Bushmen in the Kalahari Desert, she’d said, and with the silverback gorillas in the Congo, scaled the peaks of Kilimanjaro, hunted the wildebeests on the veld, pitched camp in sight of the thousand-foot wall of spray from Victoria Falls, the “smoke that thunders.” He was tall and spare, with riveting blue eyes and a star-shaped scar on his cheek. His hair was black as night, and sometimes, when he let it free of the ponytail, it reminded her of the mane of one of the fine racing horses she used to see in her beloved native Kentucky.

  His mother told him everything about his father except his name.

  They call him Mongo and the Black Knight, and some even call him King, his mother had said. A name doesn’t matter, Hunter. It’s what you make of it that counts.

  Finally he’d stopped asking, but never had he stopped wondering. And now Rick was about to supply the name. In spite of himself, he leaned forward.

  “He calls himself Tokolosh.”

  Tokolosh. From native folklore. A creature of supernatural powers. A chill swept over Hunter’s soul.

  “That’s it?” Hunter asked. “Just Tokolosh?”

  “That’ s it. He was asking about you down in a bar on the Gold Coast.”

  “Hell, anybody could be asking for me on the Gold Coast. My name is not unknown in Africa.”

  “Your name is a household word,” Rick said. “Sure, anybody could be asking about you, but this man was different. He said, ‘I hear Hunter La Farge has been looking for me. Anybody who knows him can tell him I’m finally ready to be found.’”

  “Probably some con man looking for a fast buck.”

  Rick went very still, turning his glance from Hunter to Kathleen then back again. Every nerve ending in Hunter’s body screamed.

  “He had a star-shaped scar on his cheek,” Rick said.

  Kathleen’s face turned white. She’d heard all the stories too. Hunter left his chair and placed his arm around her shoulders.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore, Rick.”

  Kathleen toyed with her coffee cup, saying nothing.

  “I can tell you right now that I’m bushed,” Rick said, pushing back his chair. “It’s a godawful trip from Johannesburg to Jefferson Parish.”

  “You can stay here,” Hunter said. “I have a spare bedroom.”

  “Nope. I’m already booked at the Hotel St. Helene. See, the real reason I came is to sit in the courtyard sipping mint juleps and watching the long-stemmed Louisiana beauties walk by.”

  “Call tomorrow after you’ve rested up,” Hunter said. “You can bring me up to date on the mines.”

  Suddenly Kathleen stood up. “You don’t have to leave on my account, Rick.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are,” she said. “You’ve come all the way from Africa. You and Hunter have important things to talk about, and you’re rushing off because this whole business is making you uncomfortable.”

  “Kat...” Hunter said.

  “I’m not finished yet, Hunter. Let me finish.” Her long, heavy hair was still wet from the river. Impatiently she pushed it away from her face. “I want you to stay, Rick. Tell Hunter everything about the man who claims to be his father.”

  “Kat. Don’t.”

  “You cannot dismiss this, Hunter. Until you know more, you cannot possibly make a rational decision.” Her hands moved across the table until she found her cap. “Good night, Rick. It was good to see you again.”

  “I can’t tell you what a thrill it’s been, Kathleen, a genuine thrill.”

  “I’ll walk you across.” It was not a suggestion, but a command. Hunter backed it up by taking her arm.


  “No, thank you, Hunter. I know the way.”

  A heavy silence fell over the room. Kathleen stood perfectly still in Hunter’s grip. She could feel the tension in him. One thing she’d learned over the last few months was patience. Instead of shaking his arm loose, she waited, wondering whether Hunter would pass the test.

  Slowly he released her.

  “Thank you, Hunter,” she said.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, Kat.”

  “Yes, Hunter. In the morning.”

  It took all her willpower to leave. Rick had come from the dark continent, bringing a piece of Hunter’s past, and she could feel its siren song echoing through Hunter’s blood. Her heart hurt. As soon as she was outside, she pressed her hand over her chest, thinking she might feel it cracked and bleeding.

  Moans like those of an animal in pain echoed in the night, and she pressed her fist over her lips. She had no one to blame for the agony she felt except herself. She’d known from the beginning that Hunter wouldn’t stay, couldn’t stay.

  And yet, she’d hoped....

  As she passed by their tree she heard the whisper of moss in the summer wind, like ghost voices, saying one word over and over. Goodbye. Good-bye.

  “I made cake for you and Hunter,” Martha said when Kathleen reached cottage.

  “Hunter won’t be coming.”

  “Well, here, then. You sit and have some. You look a bit tired.”

  “Thank you, Martha. I think I’ll wait a little while on the cake.”

  “That’s a good idea. Don’t want to spoil your dinner. Why don’t you go and rest while I put it on the table.”

  “There’s something I have to do first.”

  Martha twisted her hands into her apron as Kathleen passed through the kitchen and down the hall. Soon music poured from the studio, and with it the sound of ballet slippers hitting the wooden floor.

  Martha beseeched the ceiling.

  “Dear Lord in heaven, what’s to become of her?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “It’s amazing,” Rick said after Kathleen left. “How did you find her?”

  “I didn’t find her. Fate brought us back together. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave her again. Ever.”

  “My timing and my judgment were both off.”

  “No. You did what you had to do. Bring me up to date on the mines.”

  “You don’t want to hear about this Tokolosh character first?”

  “No. As far as I’m concerned, he’s already in hell. He might as well stay there.”

  Rick poured himself another cup of coffee, then sat back down at the table to begin the long, detailed report on La Farge Diamond Company. By the time he’d finished, they were famished. Hunter ordered pizza, and they ate it with single-minded concentration.

  “This man could be the real thing, you know,” Rick said, as if he were reading Hunter’s mind.

  “I know.”

  “I could have an investigator check him out.”

  “No.” Hunter crammed the pizza scraps into the garbage can and slammed the lid. “Let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

  “I’m positive.”

  Rick stood up, stretching and yawning. “I’m bushed. I really am going this time.”

  “How long are you planning to stay?”

  “A few days. I thought I’d visit the relatives, maybe call a few old girlfriends and play the big-shot. Do you think the hat makes me look sexy?”

  “The women won’t be able to resist you,” Hunter said, chuckling.

  “Your eyes glow like the pits of hell when you lie.”

  “How do you know what the pits of hell look like?”

  “‘Cause I’ve been living there for years.”

  “You hate Africa, don’t you?”

  “I’m not like you, Hunter. All that untamed land suits you. All that blasting into the earth and wrestling out its treasures.” Suddenly self-conscious, Rick crammed his hat onto his head. “Hell, don’t pay any attention to me. It’s all this moonlight and magnolias that have me crying in my beer.”

  “Want me to call a cab?”

  “No. I’ve just got my duffel. I’ll catch the trolley.” He shook Hunter’s hand, then squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll call you.”

  As soon as Rick left, Hunter hurried over the path to see Kathleen. Her house was dark and silent.

  Standing in the darkness, he saw a shadow pass across her window.

  I love you, Kathleen.

  She stood at the window, her white gown glowing in the moonlight.

  I won ‘t leave you again.

  The shadow moved away. Hunter could hear his blood throbbing through his veins. He threw back his head, and a sound, half moan, half howl, rose up from his chest and echoed through the night.

  As he made his way back to his empty cottage, he thought about Kathleen and Rick. When he’d left for Africa, one had stayed behind and one had followed. And he’d failed them both.

  “I won’t fail you again, Kathleen,” he whispered.

  He undressed in the dark and lay in his lonely bed. Just as sleep began to claim him, he thought of the man who called himself Tokolosh. Could he really be telling the truth?

  o0o

  Kathleen sat on the padded bench in front of her dressing table, fully dressed. She opened her watch and ran her hand over its face. Five a.m. And already she’d been up an hour.

  She picked up her hairbrush and ran it through her hair. If a hundred strokes were good for it, then two hundred would be better. She heard the tiny sparks of static electricity as she raked the brush through her long silky tresses.

  Would Hunter be sleeping? Passion smoked through her, and she had to curl her arms around herself to keep from crying out. No sense in waking Martha. She worried too much as it was.

  Kathleen laid down the hairbrush and checked her watch once more. Five-thirty. Would he be up yet?

  Unable to sit still any longer, Kathleen got a veiled hat from the closet and quietly let herself out the door. Dew clung to her shoes and wet the hem of her long skirt.

  She felt his presence long before she arrived at the tree. A melting sensation overtook her loins, and she had to stop to get herself under control.

  How could she send him away if her body kept betraying her?

  “Kathleen.”

  He caught her hand and pulled her through the curtain of moss. His arms were strong around her, and for a moment she leaned her head against his chest, breathing in his scent.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she said.

  “Neither could I.”

  She felt the tremor that ran through him. Suddenly his mouth was on hers and she was clinging to him, hungry, desperate, unable to let go. His hands moved over her body, and she felt all her defenses crumbling. Soon, very soon, she’d lose herself. She’d lie on the damp grass behind the soft summer curtain of moss pressed so close against Hunter that she couldn’t tell where she left off and he began.

  “Don’t,” she whispered. “Oh, please, don’t make me need you.”

  Still holding her close, he dropped her veil back into place.

  “You might as well tell me to stop breathing, Kat. As long as I have breath in my body, I’ll try to make you need me.”

  “I don’t want to want you, Hunter. I don’t want to need you.”

  “Nothing has changed.”

  “Everything has changed.” She felt the first warm rays as the sun began to climb the sky. “We must go inside. I can’t risk detection.” He parted the lace curtain, and she held tightly to his elbow. “Hurry, Hunter. Please hurry.”

  He picked her up and carried her. Underneath the veil she set her jaw in stubborn lines. Nothing would make her change her mind, not the way her blood raced or the way his heart pounded against hers, not the melting heat of her loins. She was already a prisoner of darkness; she would not be a prisoner to passion.

  Inside the door he tightened his hold o
n her.

  “Put me down, Hunter.”

  “I should never have stopped at the door.”

  “You’re an honorable man.”

  “Don’t count on it. Do you know what I want to do, Kat?” Her heart slammed against her ribs as she waited for him to speak. “I want to carry you to my bed and bury myself in you so deep that nothing can separate us.” He flung aside her hat and buried his face in her hair. “You’re my life, Kat. I’ll never let you go.”

  Breathing became difficult. Kathleen clung to the last of her willpower, hoping she had enough to get her through the conversation with Hunter and back to her cottage.

  “Let me go, Hunter.”

  “Only for the moment.”

  He set her on her feet, and she made her way into his kitchen. A chair that hadn’t been pushed back to the table was suddenly in her path, and she was moving too fast to stop. It crashed to the floor.

  “Are you all right?” Hunter gathered her into his arms, running his hands down her body. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  The rage she’d kept bottled up for months suddenly spilled over.

  “No, I’m not all right. I’m blind and it’s never going to get any better.” She jerked out of his grasp and bent to pick up the chair.

  “Kat... don’t.”

  “Don’t? Don’t what? Don’t tell the truth? Don’t get mad?” She threw the chair as hard as she could and heard it bounce against the wall. “I’m mad, Hunter. I’m damned mad. I want to see. I don’t want to be dependent on the kindness of strangers to keep from my running into furniture and stumbling over curbs.”

  “You don’t have to depend on the kindness of strangers. You have me.”

  “I will not be somebody who has to be taken care of.”

  “Dammit, Kat. This is not about taking care of you. It’s about love. I love you.”

  “You love your vision of me.”

  There was a thundering silence. She could feel Hunter’s anger heating to the boiling point.

  “And what do you love, Kat?” His voice was silky and deadly. “Yesterday in my bed when you were screaming my name, what did you love? Some fanciful memory or the flesh-and-blood man you clung to?”

  “Damn you, Hunter.”

  “Damn me all you like, Kathleen. You can’t change the truth.” He caught her shoulders. “That was love, Kat. I’m in your blood the same way that you’re in mine, and nothing you can say will ever change that.”