by Unknown
"Hmm?"
"Quit kicking me!"
Her lids flew open as the masculine sound penetrated her consciousness. "Drew?"
"Yes?"
Instantly the events of the night flooded back into her mind and with a start she realized that what she had thought were sheets were actually his long legs.
Embarrassed, she shifted away.
"Where are you going?" Drew asked.
"Nowhere… I'm just trying to get comfortable." Her voice quavered.
He chuckled deep in his throat. "You're not used to sleeping with a man."
Stacy was grateful for the concealing blackness as she experienced a rush of warmth to her cheeks. "Oh, really?" she responded with flippancy.
"Yes." He growled near her ear. Suddenly he moved across her, his chest covering her rosy-tipped breasts, the mat of hair tickling her sensitive skin. She could not see the expression in his eyes, but his altered breathing told its own story.
He kissed a spot behind her ear, his breath tingling the lobe, and his chin rasped against her cheek. "You know," he whispered, "I don't have anything planned for today… We'll spend it together."
"Oh, you'll help me paint?"
"If we ever get out of bed," he promised before sealing her lips, once more sending her senses soaring.
When she awoke again, she automatically turned to the other side of the bed, but she was disappointed. All that remained of Drew's presence was the dented pillow and wrinkled bedding.
The smell of fresh coffee wafted up to her and Stacy concluded that Drew had gone down to fix breakfast. Smiling to herself, she got up and slipped on a robe. As she tied its belt a feeling of disquiet came over her—she could hear no sounds coming from below. Becoming uneasy, she hurried down the stairs. Her eyes scanned the living room before she continued through to the kitchen.
No one was there!
Hot tears scalded her eyes as she noticed a pot of coffee staying warm on the range. At least I didn't imagine that! she thought dejectedly. Where is Drew? Hurt that he had deserted her, it was a few minutes until she saw the note propped on the counter near the phone.
She opened the single folded sheet of paper. Her fingers were trembling.
"Dear Stacy," she read, "I had an emergency call early this morning. Back in a couple of days. Drew."
Well… that certainly explains everything! she fumed. No reference to where he'd be or what he'd be doing, and she realized, dispiritedly, there were no words of endearment.
Tears swam in her eyes and she pressed her hand to her mouth to control the betraying quiver of her lips. "Damn him! Damn Drew Pitman!" she muttered to the empty room and tossed the note aside. "I'm not going to sit around here all day!"
Checking the wall clock, she picked up the phone and dialed. "Katie," she said in a tight voice when the line was answered, "this is Stacy." She grimaced slightly to herself at her friend's surprise, "Can you meet me for lunch… ? One o'clock… ? Good. See you then."
She hung up and then went to the range to turn it off. She stared at the coffeepot, a sour taste in her mouth; she couldn't drink it now or later, so she poured it down the sink, rinsed the pot, and left it to drain.
When she reached the bedroom she flung off her robe and hurried into the bathroom. The spray of hot water stung her flesh, cleansing her. Vigorously she toweled dry, trying to wipe away the feel of Drew's hands. Then she slipped on her underwear, snatched a skirt and blouse from the closet, and pulled them on. As soon as she was ready she left the town house.
Stacy knew that the department stores would be closed for another hour, but she could not stay in the house any longer with last night's memories tormenting her. She drove aimlessly around the congested streets, focusing her concentration on anything but Drew and the pain that gnawed at her soul.
Finally she pulled into a shopping center and spent the next several hours strolling through the stores minutely studying displays, too dispirited to purchase anything. Eventually she came upon a book rack and bought a couple to while away the empty hours. Later, she considered getting some needlework, but she remembered with a glimmer of amusement that she still had several pieces unfinished at her father's apartment.
Katie was a few minutes late for lunch and Stacy sat listlessly over a cup of hot coffee, her shoulders slumped, but when she saw the other girl wend her way between the tables she lifted her chin and fixed a gay smile on her face.
As Katie sat down she peered at Stacy closely and said with a trace of ribald humor, "Gee, you look tired… Been having too many late nights?"
"Being married is tough work," Stacy quipped.
"Uh-huh." Katie's tone was blatantly dubious.
Feigning indignation, Stacy retorted, "I'll have you know that I spent all day yesterday painting the kitchen."
"And how about last night?" Katie suggested with the indiscretion of a lifelong friend.
Blushing crimson under Katie's perceptive gaze, Stacy nonchalantly took a sip of her coffee.
Katie giggled. "It's not fair to tease, but I'm glad everything is going well," she said when she could control her mirth.
Stacy continued to smile, but what she really wanted to do was ask for some advice. Unfortunately, she could think of no way to broach the matter without giving away the entire mixed-up situation. Who would believe it, anyway? she thought. If nothing else, Drew's public performance had been that of a devoted lover.
The waitress came by and they both ordered a light lunch. Then Katie asked, "Have you found a new job?" Stacy shook her head and Katie continued: "Isn't it strange? Less then two months ago our positions were reversed—you were employed and I wasn't."
Was it possible that only eight weeks had passed? Stacy wondered. So much had happened! The well fire, the engagement, the wedding…
Katie's voice cut into her thoughts. "Maybe Drew won't want you to work. Has he said anything?"
"We haven't really discussed it yet."
"Oh, I guess you've been too busy with . other things." Amusement was back in her tone.
Stacy tried beaming like a happy young bride. "We've been married only a week."
"I know. That's why I was so surprised when you called today."
The waitress returned with their meals, and once they were alone again, Stacy admitted: "Drew's been called out of town."
"Oh, Stacy, I'm sorry—that must be rough."
"Well, I just needed to get out for a while. I'll be fine." To reassure Katie, she smiled.
"Sure you will. I'd like to be able to say I could do something with you this evening, but I have a date."
"Oh? With whom?" Stacy had been disgusted with Paul's double-dealing, and he was part of the reason she had quit when her father retired. She had wanted no further contact with him even on a business level.
"You've met him—Jerry Phillips. We were introduced at the Montgomerys' party."
"He's a friend of Drew's, and if I'm thinking of the right guy, he's about five-eight, with black curly hair," Stacy said, pleased for the other girl.
"Yup. He works for one of the big oil companies," Katie explained.
"In this town you can hardly get away from oil, can you?" Stacy said drily.
"Nope." Katie smiled.
By the time they finished their meal, Stacy was feeling much better. Katie's genial companionship had acted like a soothing tonic.
When she returned home, Stacy put her package of books on a side table along with her purse and slumped down into the leather armchair, kicking off her shoes and letting them drop to the carpet with a muffled thump. Her eyelids drooped with fatigue, but as soon as she closed her eyes, unbidden, her mind conjured up visions of Drew. She sighed and for a moment gave herself up to the vicarious pleasure his image evoked.
She had heard that men could make love without being in love, but she had never understood how such an intimate act could ever be shared indiscriminately. She had let all the warmth of her bottled-up emotions come pouring forth, exulting in their r
elease. And though Drew seemed to have reciprocated, she didn't have any experience on which to base a comparison, she mused ruefully. As far as she knew, he treated every woman in bed the same way. She winced at the stab of pain which seared through her.
Stacy continued to sit for several more minutes until the peal of the doorbell summoned her.
Assuming it was probably a salesperson, Stacy was startled when she swung open the door. Dorothy Pitman waited on the stoop.
"Dorothy! What a surprise!"
"Stacy… thank God you're home! I… I've driven straight in from Rockport."
Bewildered by her obvious agitation, Stacy quickly motioned her in.
"Dorothy, what's wrong?"
She took a deep breath, her hands clenched. "Drew's been hurt."
"No!" Stacy shook her head in disbelief.
"Yes, it's true… he's unconscious."
Pulling herself together, Stacy asked, "Where is he?" How ironic! Stacy thought distractedly. I don't even know where he is!
"At the hospital in New Orleans."
"New Orleans," she repeated weakly.
"The man who called said he'd tried to get in touch with you, but when there wasn't any answer…"
"I've been out shopping all day," interjected Stacy.
"So he called me," Dorothy finished. "I've phoned for plane reservations. There's a flight leaving in an hour."
"Good." Stacy found her shoes and bent over to slip them on, saying, "If we leave immediately we should be able to make it."
"Pack a few things first, in case we have to stay." Dorothy suggested practically. "I'll lock up the house."
"Yes… good idea." Her words were spoken as Stacy dashed up the stairs. In less than ten minutes she returned with a bag containing not only clothing for herself, but also several items for Drew. She had recalled that one of her father's first requests when he was hospitalized was for his personal belongings.
Although Stacy felt a bit steadier, she was grateful when Dorothy chose to drive to the airport. Once they were on their way, Dorothy tersely outlined the details of Drew's accident. He had been out on an offshore rig, and when it exploded he had gotten knocked against the superstructure. They had brought in a helicopter to lift him off, and it had been met by an ambulance which had taken him to the hospital.
Knowing that Dorothy had to concentrate on driving, Stacy remained silent after the other woman laid out the bare facts, caught up in her own depressing thoughts. She had no idea what they would face when they got to New Orleans. Head injuries could be so unpredictable.
They reached the airport in record time, with just minutes to spare. Stacy arranged for the car to be parked while Dorothy checked in and picked up the tickets. They were the last passengers to board the plane before the cabin door was sealed.
"Well… we made it," said Stacy, relieved.
"Just in time," Dorothy observed.
"I want to thank you for arranging everything." Stacy's eyes lingered on Dorothy. "I'm glad you're with me." She laid her hand across the woman's arm.
"I couldn't let my only son lie alone in some strange hospital."
"You really love him, don't you?" Stacy said softly.
"Is there any doubt?"
"Not as far as I'm concerned…"
"But you think Drew might not be so positive?" Dorothy questioned shrewdly.
"Yes." Stacy regarded Drew's mother closely, but she seemed to accept her answer without offense. Dorothy's eyes took on a distant look.
"I've always loved my son dearly, but when I lost my second baby and then my husband… I sort of withdrew into myself and allowed my painting to take over my life." She glanced at Stacy. "You see, I had no fear of it hurting me."
"I understand," Stacy murmured, patting the older woman's hand sympathetically.
"I just hope it's not too late…" Dorothy's voice broke.
"Drew's going to be okay… I just know he is." Her words were sincere. Stacy refused to believe that Drew would die; they had come too far to have everything destroyed now!
Dorothy's eyes filled with compassion. "You love my son very much." It was a simple statement and Stacy nodded her head. "I'm very glad he's found a girl like you. Drew's very lucky."
"Thank you… He's pretty special," responded Stacy.
"Yes, he is."
They did not speak much during the rest of the flight; both women were plagued by uncertainty, and Stacy kept glancing at her watch.
Although the flight was mercifully brief, the taxi journey to the hospital was exasperatingly slow. Rush-hour traffic blocked their progress, but when they arrived at the medical center they were greeted with good news. The doctor handling the case informed them that Drew had regained consciousness and had spoken lucidly with him. The after-effects of little rest (Stacy flushed; fortunately, no one seemed to notice) and of shock had resulted in his drifting off to sleep.
"Can we see him?" Stacy asked when the doctor finished.
He gave his consent and instructed a nurse to show them to Drew's room with the unnecessary order not to disturb his rest.
The nurse left them alone and they sat mutely waiting for Drew to awaken. Stacy noticed that except for a purple bruise near his hair line, he appeared quite unaffected. His breathing was natural and deep, his chest slowly rising and falling under its pristine covering. This was the only opportunity she had had to observe him asleep, and she was amazed at how peaceful he looked. His mouth was turned up in a half-smile and the muscles of his rugged features were relaxed; he seemed so vulnerable, like a small boy.
Time dragged and Stacy was becoming restless when over an hour later Drew's eyelids fluttered and opened. Stacy sprang from her chair and firmly grasped the large hand he held out to her. "Hello, sleepyhead."
Drew grinned sheepishly, staring into her eyes. "Hello, Stacy. Sorry to give you such a scare."
"That's all right. You're going to be okay. The doctor said the X rays showed no internal injuries." She paused. "I brought someone with me." She indicated the other side of the bed. "Your mother came, too."
Drew moved his head, his eyes widening in surprise. "Mama," he said, stretching out his other hand, and the older woman took it joyfully, her eyes swimming with tears.
"I'll be back in a moment." Gently, Stacy disentangled his fingers and went out into the hallway to wait. Dorothy's claim had precedence at this moment, and she was content to have it be so.
When Dorothy opened the heavy door, her jubilant expression told the whole story.
"Thank you, Stacy." Dorothy enfolded the younger woman in her arms and held her close. Then she released her, saying, "It's your turn now. I'll go get some coffee." She walked off down the corridor, her high heels ringing loud in the hospital's quiet.
With a deep breath Stacy pushed open the door and then paused just inside. Drew looked much the same, but Stacy detected an air of suppressed excitement.
"Come, sit down." He patted the side of the bed, and she went over and perched on the high bed, her legs dangling, her hands propped on either side of him for balance.
"How are you feeling?" she asked when he seemed disinclined to say anymore.
"Pretty good… considering."
"You're lucky it wasn't more serious."
"The doctor said I'd a thick head."
"I knew that," she agreed with a touch of humor.
He cast her a wry glance. "I guess I deserved that—I've been quite dense about Mother's feelings."
"Yes. She really cares for you," Stacy affirmed.
"Well, we've finally got that cleared up."
"I'm glad."
"Are you?"
"Of course."
"Why?" He stared at her quizzically as she fumbled for an answer. Before she could respond, he went on: "You know us that well, hmm?"
Stacy could only nod her head. She discerned a strange gleam in his eyes.
"You haven't kissed your husband yet." Drew pulled her down to him.
"Oh, Drew," she mur
mured as she complied, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.
He tilted up her chin with one finger. "Weeping… for me?"
Straightening up, Stacy wiped her face with the back of her hand, sniffed audibly, and searched the night-stand for a tissue.
"Here… let me." His arms snaked around her back and he brought her back down to him, flicking away the tears with infinite sweetness. Then before she could move away he buried her face in the curve of his shoulder. "You're too good for me, my darling," he breathed in her ear.
Startled by his words of endearment, Stacy raised her head and stared. It was as though the sun had broken through the clouds; now she saw his eyes glow with devotion. She was no longer afraid of being rebuffed. "I love you, Drew," she said simply.
With a muffled groan he crushed her to him, passionately kissing her. Time was suspended.
Gently, Stacy eased away and contemplated his tortured expression. "What's wrong?"
"I can't say them, Stacy."
For over thirty years he had built a wall around his emotions, and she realized that they would need time to completely destroy the barrier. "They are there," Stacy told him, placing her palm over his chest. "In your heart, darling." This time she leaned down and pressed his mouth with hers, giving him proof of her love and acceptance.
As she released his lips she heard him say softly, "I love you."
She was overjoyed, but suddenly she realized that the words were not important. They were only one outward expression of all the emotions which they shared.
She smiled and said lightly, knowing it would embarrass this man to play it any other way, "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
"Nope… Come here, you witch." He put a hand around her head and brought it down for a tantalizing kiss. "I've missed you," he said, letting her go for a moment. "You don't know how hard it's been to keep my hands off you."
Focusing on his face, she said with a twinkle, "So that's why you've been so abominable these past few weeks."
"Until last night…" His mouth curled upward at her pink color. "I hated to let you go on our wedding night, but I'd have hated myself more if I had taken you after you started crying."
"So you did remember!" she interjected.
