Home to Harmony

by Dawn Atkins

  He sat in a nearby rocking chair, caught by the sight of her calves tightening and releasing as she pushed the hammock back and forth. Damned pretty feet, too.

  To end that thought, he lifted his gaze to the sky.

  “So the endless black of the night sky doesn’t scare you, does it?” she asked.

  “It makes me feel free.” As if he could disappear and no one would know or care.

  “We’re different that way, I guess.”

  “We’re different in lots of ways.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Not at all. I find you…refreshing.”

  “And annoying?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I’ll take that.” He enjoyed making her smile. In fact he found himself making mental notes of things that might amuse her all during the day.

  As blunt and direct as she could be, he was relieved not to have to second-guess her emotions or coax out the truth as he’d had to do with Elizabeth.

  “That was good what you said, Marcus. I mean pointing out that I was angry at Susan, too. And you didn’t even infuriate me telling me to take a breath. I promise you, the last thing an upset person wants to hear is ‘calm down.’”

  “Is that so?”

  “Absolutely. But coming from you, somehow, I don’t know, it works.” She surveyed him, head tilted. “I bet you were great with clients. What made you stop seeing them?”

  “I needed a change and I was invited into the institute partnership where I could do the research I wanted.”

  “Do you miss seeing patients?”

  “At times. When it works, when you help people improve their lives, therapy can be very rewarding.”

  “Maybe working with David will get you back into it.”

  “I’m not working with David. We’re talking, that’s all.”

  “You’re helping him and that’s what counts.”

  “But I’m not his therapist. We need to be clear about that. David may benefit from a formal therapeutic relationship and you might want to pursue one here or back in Phoenix.”

  “Calm down. I’m not going to sue you. You’re not exactly Dr. Optimistic, are you, Marcus?”

  “You sound like Elizabeth. She considered me too negative.” He felt a stab of regret. “She wasn’t fond of hard truths.”

  “Really?” She stopped the hammock’s sway with one toe. “What was she like anyway? Elizabeth.”

  “I don’t see the point in getting into that.” But he knew full well Christine would not let that go, so before she could ask again, he answered her. “She is intelligent. Brilliant, really. She’s an administrator at the state health department. A serious person, quiet and thoughtful.”

  “She sounds a lot like you.”

  He smiled, but felt empty inside. “That’s what I believed. She seemed more self-sufficient than she turned out to be. She needed more support than I realized. I let her down in the end.”

  “How? Did she blame you for Nathan? I know when a child dies marriages often fall apart. I know I’m being nosy.” She gave an apologetic laugh.

  “I’m getting used to that,” he said, surprised to realize it was true. He felt less guarded with her since that night when they’d embraced. “To some degree, she blamed me. With a senseless death, it’s natural to want an explanation, to find reasons, to assign blame.” He blamed himself and always would.

  “You said she couldn’t stand the sight of Lady…did she feel the same about you? Is that what went wrong?”

  “It was a blow to our marriage, certainly, but the truth is I wasn’t the husband Elizabeth needed.”

  You’re never really here, Marcus, she’d said to him, her face ravaged by grief. You’re always in your head, obsessing about your research, your blessed work. Do you even know how to be with another person?

  “Simply put, she needed more than I had to give.”

  “So you were wrong for each other?” Christine frowned, intent on understanding, it seemed, making sense of the senseless.

  “I’m not sure I’d be right for anyone.” He gave a short laugh, surprised he’d confessed his deepest truth. “I’m not made for the kind of emotional engagement required by marriage.”

  He should never have taken the chance with Elizabeth, no matter how alike they’d seemed. It had been cruel to her and Nathan.

  Christine shook her head. “Oh, I don’t believe that, Marcus.” She sat up abruptly and leaned over to pat his arm. “The trauma you went through would mess up any marriage.”

  “That’s kind of you, but—”

  She laughed. “Who am I to talk? I’m no relationship expert.” She shook her head, her curls shivering across her shoulder, then threw herself back into the hammock, sending it flying. “My marriage to Skip was a disaster. I pick the wrong men and scare off the right ones.”

  “Frankly, I’m amazed any relationship survives. There are so many crossed wires, misunderstood impulses and bad judgment calls that an enduring bond seems like a miracle.”

  “Jesus, Dr. Optimist. You were smart not to go into marriage counseling.”

  He laughed, surprised at how good-naturedly Christine had reacted to truths that gnawed at his core.

  “So you’re skittish on marriage. How do you deal with sex? You don’t strike me as the booty-call type.” She stopped the hammock again and bore down on him. “I bet when you’re in, you’re all in. Am I right?”

  He smiled. “Let’s just say I’m better off out.”

  “Yeah, but everyone needs sex, Marcus.” She was teasing him, but his body was taking her very seriously.

  “Including you?” he teased back.

  She sighed, pushing off with that plump big toe of hers. “I work a lot. And there’s David.” She shrugged. “I’m all talk, no action.”

  “Is that so?” He watched her sway back and forth, lying there looking so available. He had the urge to prove her wrong, prove them both wrong, lift her out of that hammock into his arms, take her to his bed and—

  “Go for it,” she breathed.

  He jolted. Had she read his mind? “Excuse me?”

  “The hammock. Get in it. There’s room.” She patted the space beside her. “You look like you’re dying to try it. It feels good, like a great big body hug. You know you want to.” The words hit him low and she clearly knew it.

  He should decline, of course, but she would never let him hear the end of it, so he got out of the chair and lowered himself into the curve of the hammock. It creaked under his weight as he lifted his legs and shifted more fully in place.

  He wobbled, then rolled against Christine. “Sorry,” he said, attempting to retreat.

  She stopped him. “Don’t be. It’s nice like this.”

  It was. Dangerously so. The hammock held them together, swaying back and forth. Christine dipped her nose to his chest. “Mmm. You smell like lime and the woods and clean cotton.”

  “And that’s…good?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes….” She took an exaggerated sniff. “Very good.”

  “You, uh, smell good, too,” he ventured. “Like spring.”

  “I smell like spring? That’s a lovely thing to say.”

  “I noticed it the first day.” He felt like an idiot and a kid saying that.

  “You smelled me then?” She grinned. “That’s so sweet.”

  He settled against her softness, aroused, but hoped it wasn’t evident. They were held, as if in the palm of a fabric hand. He settled into the physicality of the moment, the way she was pressed against the side of his body, her breast soft on his chest, her curls brushing his cheek, impossible to ignore.

  After a bit, she rose on an elbow to look at him. “Anyway, I’m sorry we dragged you into that drama at Susan’s.”

  “My only regret is missing the crème brûlee.”

  She laughed. “How funny. Could you believe her saying right in front of Carmen that even though she was only Guatemalan, she had a gift for French cuisine. Gawd.”

&nb
sp; “Carmen rolled her eyes when she said that.”

  “She did? Oh, good for her. Then when Winston said he liked being mayor because it was an easy gig that didn’t interfere with his golf game, Susan gave that speech about how he’d sacrificed his big law practice in the city for a safe place to raise kids and so Susan could be near her family.”

  “She did seem anxious to impress you.”

  “I can’t believe I used to envy her.”

  “You were young. She was popular.”

  “But at least I grew up.” She stabbed his chest with a finger. “And, by the way, Susan was seriously after you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I thought she was going to slam you against a wall and unzip your jeans when we first got there.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Please.”

  “Oh, yes. You were what’s for dinner, no question.”

  “You’re exaggerating.” He found it tough to focus on their conversation, being so aware of her warmth beside him, the way her breasts shivered as she gestured, the weight of her leg.

  “Of course. You’re the total package—hot, buff, smart, a successful doctor. Mainly, you’re not Winston.”

  “Speaking of Winston, what was his excuse to get you to stop by his office?”

  “Oh, some packet from a tourism convention about the trend toward ‘experience’ vacations—people who want to help build schools in Africa or work on a cattle ranch or an organic farm, instead of lounging around at the beach. Actually, a commune would have a lot of appeal with that market.”

  “Well, grab the brochure and run, that’s all I’m saying. I recommend pepper spray.”

  She laughed. Shifting her position, her elbow slipped and she fell on top of him.

  “Easy,” he said, not sorry to have her body draped over his, her breasts against his chest, their legs overlapping.

  “This is nice, huh?” she murmured, heat flaring in her eyes.

  “Too nice.” He wanted her more than he remembered wanting a woman in a long, long time.

  “Oh, what the hell,” she whispered and lowered her lips to his.

  Her mouth was sweet and pliant and he deepened the kiss, as she moved fully over him, a blanket of soft, warm woman. This felt so good, like an escape from everything but pleasure.

  A sharp bark made them break apart. Lady sat on her haunches beside them.

  “Looks like your chaperone is here,” Christine said.

  “Great work,” he said to the dog, as the heat of the moment dissipated like so much smoke.

  Christine untangled herself from him and sat up. “Close one, huh?” She smiled shakily.

  He nodded, helped her to her feet and stood beside her. Sex sounded simple, but too easily became complicated. And she was probably right about him. As a young man, he’d been fine with sex alone. At thirty-seven he supposed he was an all-in guy.

  Christine scooped up her shoes. “He’s all yours,” she said to Lady, then stood on tiptoe to kiss Marcus on the cheek. “Thanks for tonight. I had fun.” And with that, she danced away, leaving him uncomfortably erect.

  Duty fulfilled, Lady accompanied him upstairs, curling up on the terrace between his room and David’s.

  Too agitated to sleep, Marcus sat at his desk and woke his sleeping hard drive with a touch. He’d done this often when sleep eluded him, but rarely did more than read over a few chapters.

  Tonight, however, was different. He felt alert and clear-headed. He saw what the opening paragraph needed and added it. Then he realized what the rest of the page required. His fingers moved over the keyboard, almost of their own will, his thoughts flying from brain to finger to screen.

  Was this reaction due to endorphins from sexual arousal? Or maybe the result of Christine reminding him of the emotional toll the last year had taken on him.

  Whatever it was, he’d been shaken awake and he liked it.

  Before he looked up, Marcus had revised ten pages, then fifteen. What the hell had he been waiting for?

  Christine. Evidently he’d been waiting for her.

  Smiling, he moved on to page sixteen.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHRISTINE LAY DOWN and turned off the light, her lips still buzzing from kissing Marcus. She turned on her side, searched with her leg for a cool place on the sheet, but got nothing.

  She was too riled to sleep. She wanted Marcus, dammit. She’d acted like stopping was no big deal, but it was. Very big. She positively yearned for him now. She’d bet he’d be a great lover, slow and thorough and sweet. She wiggled against the sheets, imagining his hands being slow and thorough and sweet all over her body.

  Why was she so desperate? She had normal sexual needs, of course, but she’d never felt so out of control. It had to be because they’d denied themselves. Usually, if she wanted a guy, she went for it. But this…this was torture.

  Why not have sex? They’d discussed their attitudes. Neither of them wanted a relationship, or even felt equipped for one. Why couldn’t they have a simple physical connection? Maybe they’d get it out of their system and be friends. Sure. Why not? Why hadn’t she thought of that before?

  Dammit, she was going for it. She jumped out of bed, threw on some clothes and took off after Marcus. She would quietly tap on his door and then, well, jump him….

  Silently, of course, because David was next door.

  Down the hall she scooted, then across the courtyard and outside. Then she noticed lights on in the greenhouse and someone moving around. It was Bogie, judging from the shape of the figure. So late at night? Was he okay?

  She’d been so concerned about Aurora, she’d neglected the man completely, breaking her vow to spend time with him.

  Guilt stopped her in her tracks. She blew out a breath, reining in her impulses, her needs. It took a minute or so of fighting her urges, but eventually her head cleared.

  She’d been running off to Marcus’s room like a sex-crazed teenager. Completely nuts. He’d be dead asleep by now anyway, so he’d come to the door all rumpled and puzzled and she’d end up looking like an idiot and a nympho.

  Not to mention the fact that David was next door. What if he heard her knock? Or saw her? The horror burned through her like acid. David had begun to bond with Marcus. If he saw his mother panting outside the man’s door it would ruin everything.

  Thank God she’d noticed Bogie and remembered her mission here. She headed for the greenhouse to check on him.

  The instant she stepped inside, Christine got that peaceful feeling she remembered. She took in the special air, dense with earthy smells and heavy with humidity. It felt like a health-giving elixir.

  “Crystal! Welcome.” Bogie smiled so broadly she wanted to hug him. “What brings you out here?”

  “I wondered how you were doing is all.”

  “I’m doing just fine. I get stronger in here.” He did seem younger and more energetic to her.

  The atmosphere was almost like a church, the light extra white, with the plants confident worshippers who expected to be blessed, no penance required. And there was the surprise of fresh growth and new blooms. Everything coming up so brave and proud: Look at me, look at me!

  “I used to love being in here,” she said.

  “You always had the touch, Crystal.”

  The compliment gave her a spike of unreasonable delight. “I’ve been so preoccupied with Aurora and the clay works I haven’t asked how your recovery is going.”

  “Much better since you came. You’ve gotten Aurora to rest more, so you’ve taken a big worry from me. She’s so glad you’re here, that’s for sure.”

  “I don’t know about that. I think I upset her more than soothe her.” She paused. “You know she asked me to fix up my room since it depresses her so much.”

  Bogie smiled. “Aurora doesn’t always mean quite what she says. Don’t let her fool you.”

  “I guess not.” That drove Christine nuts. She wanted to shake the woman half the time. Tell me what you really mean. But, of
course, that would never happen.

  “Your mother has her reasons. You have to wait a bit and it will come to you.”

  Wait…. Calm down…. Let it be. That was Bogie’s way, all right. He’d seemed almost invisible to her in the old days here. Even now, when she thought about it. Had he ever had a girlfriend? She didn’t remember seeing him with anyone.

  That was sad. He was such a kind and gentle soul. He could make someone very happy.

  “Would you like to help me plant these anemone seeds?” Bogie asked, tilting his head at her.

  “Sure. Yeah.” She walked down the aisle with him, flashing on how as a girl she would trail him as he moved from plant to plant, touching, pinching, spreading soil and nutrients like a green-thumbed wizard.

  He took her to fresh bedding trays and showed her how deeply to push in the seeds. “They grow quickly, so we don’t want to pack the dirt too tight.”

  It felt good to work her fingers into the soil. Time slowed and so did she. She became aware of her breathing and her heartbeat. She’d always liked how Bogie talked about what was growing, what was struggling, what was root-bound, what was not.

  “So, how has it been here for you so far?” he asked.

  She told him about the improvements in the clay barn, the Web site and the new orders, working with him as she talked.

  “Does that make you happy, Crystal?” He searched her face with his gray eyes. “What you’re doing here, I mean?”

  “It makes me feel useful. I want to help you and Aurora.”

  “But what about for yourself? What do you want for you?” Bogie slowly drizzled water over the bedding trays.

  “The main thing is David. I want him to be okay.”

  Bogie nodded sagely. “A child is big. You want your child to be happy. That’s the most important thing.” Something flickered in his eyes. Concern? Sadness? Then he smiled. “But how about for you on your own? What would make you happy?”

  “I do okay, Bogie. Everyone could be happier, I think.” She smiled. “But once David’s fine, what do I want? For me…?”

  Watching Bogie gently separate the roots of a house-plant, then situate it in its pot, she let her deeper wishes shape themselves into words in her mind. “I guess I’d like to feel that I’m settled in, safe, surrounded by people I love who love me back, doing work that feels important, that matters.”