“I don’t need anything from you.” Her voice was low and hoarse. She had to clear her throat, but she managed to say it. “Get out, Penn. Don’t bother me again.”
He stopped dead, less than arm’s length from her. “Kaitlyn—”
She turned her back on him. She was hugging her arms across her chest as tightly as she could, trying to stop herself from shaking. It seemed to be forever that they stood there, silent. Outside the world was coming apart at the seams, but in the cabin the only sound was the hiss of the fire.
“I’ll talk to Marcus tomorrow and set him straight,” Penn said quietly. A moment later the door closed softly behind him.
I’m glad that’s what he thinks, she told herself fiercely. It was a whole lot better than the truth.
From the corner of her eye she saw the flash of lightning, and a split second later thunder crashed and rolled around her. The cabin seemed to shake under the weight of the sound. She turned toward the window, knowing she was too late to see, but at that instant the sky seemed to light once more with the radiance of a million flashbulbs.
For one split second it was supernaturally brilliant, bright enough to see all the way across the lake. She could see the shoreline, where the turbulent waves pounded against the sand. She could see the roiling clouds above, going in a hundred different directions. She could see the huge old mulberry tree beside the Caldwell cabin as it bent and split and twisted and began to fall—
And as that eerie light died away, the last thing she saw was the dark figure of a man silhouetted against the tree — pathetically small against its massive bulk, and directly in its path.
CHAPTER 10
She was out the door before she even realized she had moved, and she ran through the mud and muck, scarcely feeling the cold splash of rain on her face or the sharpness of gravel against the bare soles of her feet.
She was screaming as she ran. Not his name, or any words at all, but long pure shrieks of animal anguish, already seeing in her mind the inevitable. Penn, sprawled under that huge mulberry, helpless. Injured. Dead—
The earth seemed to still be shaking from the impact of the enormous trunk, and the air was filled with the nauseating sulfurous smell of hot ozone. The sound of the crash echoed across the valley — or was it merely the thunder that she heard?
The irregular flicker of lightning showed her the damage in surreal fragments, as if she was watching some frayed old motion picture.
The tree had split down the center and half of it now lay against the side of the Caldwell cabin. One wall of the sleeping porch had been caved in, and a good part of the deck was shattered. The other half of the tree had fallen outward, across the driveway and the winding road. A branch as big around as Kaitlyn’s waist had bounced off the top of the old pickup truck, and she closed her eyes tightly for a moment to try to blot out the image of what that kind of blow would do to a human body. She didn’t want to see.
But if there was any help for him at all, it would have to come from her. So she gulped and forced herself to look, to feel her way around the tree and try to peer under the debris.
In the darkness, she tripped over a torn-up root and went down hard into a puddle. Only then, as she choked on the muddy water, did she realize that she was still trying to scream.
In the sudden silence, she heard Penn’s voice calling her name. It was faint and far away — or was that the storm, playing tricks with the air and the echoes? She raised her head and tried to answer, and something plucked her out of the water, lifting her back to her feet as lightly as a feather. She fought, trying to break free so she could go to him —
“Kaitlyn, damn it, stop!” he ordered, gasping. “I’ll sock you in the jaw if I have to.”
She went limp in his arms, sagging against him, her hands clawing at his wet shirt. “I saw you,” she almost babbled. “I thought it must have fallen on you!”
“I suppose you were coming to make sure?”
“How can you say such a thing?” she screamed at him between her sobs. And then she realized that he couldn’t be badly injured if he was standing there instead of lying helpless under the tree. And not only standing, but supporting her weight as well as his own. Nothing else mattered to her then, as long as he was all right.
Her strength came flooding back and she flung her arms around him, squeezing as hard as she could, trying with all her might to keep him safe. She was numb with cold except where her body met his — breasts and hips and thighs and arms and mouth.
“I hate to break up the party.” Penn sounded breathless. “But lightning does strike twice, and there’s still a storm going on.”
She couldn’t bring herself to let go of him, so they walked awkwardly back to the A-frame with both her arms clutched around his waist.
Something thumped against the door just as they reached it. Schnoodle was flinging his body against the door, trying to push his way out to come after her. Thank heavens he hadn’t managed to get out, she thought; he could have been lost forever in the storm.
The dog’s anguished howl broke off in mid-note as soon as he saw them, and his paws scrambled for traction against the hard floor as he followed them to the fireplace.
Penn knelt to rebuild the fire, and Kaitlyn sagged down onto the stone hearth, hardly aware of the muddy water dripping from her hair, her clothes, her chin. She hardly noticed the dog, who was single-mindedly wiping his tongue across every square inch of human skin within his reach.
There was a trickle of blood on Penn’s forehead, she saw, and a streak on his arm. “You’re hurt.”
He shook his head. “Nothing serious. A few of the small branches lashed me on the way down, that’s all.”
She thought bemusedly, The tree misses him by inches, and he says, “That’s all”? She started to shake a little.
“A bit close for comfort, but haven’t you heard about my guardian angel? He’s had more difficult jobs.”
“I wish you wouldn’t joke about it.” Her voice was trembling, too.
He put another log on the fire and sat back on his heels to look at her thoughtfully. “I’m sorry, Kitten. Does it really matter?”
“Of course it doesn’t matter,” she said furiously. “I’d have run out there to help a squirrel who was trapped, or a rat, or...”
Her whole body was quivering now. He moved quickly to the hearth and put his arms around her. “Time for a little hysterics treatment, I think,” he mused.
She tried to shake him off, but she was fighting her own longings as well as his strength, and it was only a few seconds before she sagged helplessly in his arms. It was warm there, with her back to the fire. The tenseness in her muscles gradually seeped away.
“Better?” he asked.
She wanted to deny it and to stay there beside him forever — or as close to forever as she could manage.
“Then off with you to have a shower. We’re both soaked — we’re going to have pneumonia if we don’t get warm and dry.” He pulled her to her feet. “And clean wouldn’t hurt, either, in your case.”
The gentle attempt at humor only made her want to cry. She shook her head a little to try to clear the tears away, but the motion set them free instead, and two hot drops rolled down her cheeks.
Penn cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face up to his, and caught her tears with the tip of his tongue. The butterfly-light touch against her cheek sent a wave of shockingly strong sensation flickering through her, and she moaned softly and leaned against him — not with the intention of being seductive, but because her knees had suddenly turned to sand.
He said something gruff under his breath and pulled her suddenly close, and his mouth came down on hers without a hint of gentleness.
As if he was being driven past the point of reason, just as she had been for days now. That was only fair; she had long ago lost all common sense—
But the horrid little demon of memory poked an uncomfortable pin into her. Past the point of reason, lacking all common
sense—
Once he had accused her of manipulating him into making love to her in the hope of trapping him forever. Was the past to repeat itself now?
She tried to stamp out the notion, but then her fingers bushed across his face, and the sticky blood that still oozed from the wound on his forehead brought her back to reality. She let her hands drop to his chest, held herself a fraction of an inch away from him as casually as she could, and said, “That scratch needs to be cleaned.”
Penn gently touched the tip of her nose. “I’ll have a shower as soon as you’re finished, and then you can work on it.”
There was no point in discussing the matter; she could be clean and dry — and so could he — long before she could argue him into giving up the notion that ladies went first. So she climbed the stairs to the bathroom and turned the shower on full force.
At least the time spent sitting by the fire meant that she wasn’t actually dripping anymore, but the mud that had started to dry on her arms and legs was making her skin itch unbearably. Meanwhile, her clothes were still unpleasantly soggy. She practically had to roll her blouse off; the mud had almost glued it to her skin. Her face was freckled with splotches of grime. No wonder Penn had said that being clean would improve her immensely!
When she came back downstairs wrapped in a big terrycloth robe, still rubbing her hair with a towel, she was greeted with the heavenly smell of hot chocolate. Penn handed her a mug.
“I was thinking,” she said hesitantly. “The wall of your cabin — it was all smashed in.”
Penn nodded. “The sleeping porch got a good jolt.”
“Everything inside is going to be ruined, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “It can’t be helped. I don’t have anything to close the hole up with, even if I was willing to climb around out there and tempt the lightning again. The worst is over; the rain is starting to lighten up now.”
She glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was barely time for sunset. The darkness made it seem almost the middle of the night.
Penn carried his mug upstairs with him and Kaitlyn went back to the fire. He’d added another log, and she pulled a woolly blanket out of the steamer trunk that served as a coffee table and spread it out directly in front of the flames so she could toast her toes more comfortably. Her feet were starting to hurt from running over the gravel.
“Not bright, Kaitlyn,” she told herself. “It’s no credit to you that he’s walking around! You dash out to save him from the lightning, and you end up falling in a puddle and having to be rescued yourself.”
But it showed how out of control she’d become. She hadn’t forgotten the sound of her screams — and she wouldn’t be able to, she reflected dryly, until her abused throat had a chance to heal.
Schnoodle flopped down beside her to bask in the warmth, and Kaitlyn caressed his soft coat as she stared into the flames and studied her soul.
There could be no more games with herself. No more pretending that she could easily do without him. No more imagining that it didn’t really matter. She loved Penn as deeply as it was possible to love, and so there was only one choice left for her to make. She would take whatever she could have — whatever part of him he was willing to share with her.
And what if he isn’t willing to do that? What if he thinks I’m manipulating him once more?
But surely there was a way to make him understand she had learned something from all this, and she could accept whatever it was he was willing to give, and be contented with it.
Can you, Kaitlyn? The whisper of conscience nagged at her. Can you honestly promise him that?
But there was no other way. This road would be a painful one. When he walked away—
Because sooner or later, he inevitably would. She’d already recognized the restlessness in him. It might be postponed, but it couldn’t be denied.
She squared her shoulders. When he went, she would deal with it; that was all. It would hurt, but no more than if she tried to turn away from him now. To lose him would be awful, but to deliberately do without him would be like choosing to die altogether — a premature death. Surely it was better to have something than nothing.
The power flickered once, twice and went off. With no other light in the room, the fire cast weird and wonderful shadows. By the time Kaitlyn had found a candle and managed to stand it upright by dripping a pool of wax onto a saucer, Penn had finished his shower.
She heard him feeling his way across the shadowed loft to the spiral stairs. She looked up almost fearfully to see him standing there, leaning against the wrought-iron railing and looking down at her, and she turned quickly back to stare at the candle. She heard his steps descending, then crossing the hardwood floor, but she didn’t look up again till he dropped to the blanket beside her. Then, a little surprised that he had come to her there, she couldn’t help darting a glance at him.
He was wrapped in a garish tartan bathrobe. “Good thing someone was careless enough to leave his robe behind,” he mused and reached out to poke at the fire.
“No guest of mine. It’s been hanging on the back of the bathroom door ever since I moved in.” She was annoyed when he smiled.
“I wasn’t asking, Kitten. I didn’t need to.” He put the poker down and slid his arm around her. A moment later, Kaitlyn found herself lying full-length on the blanket, with no clear notion of how she had gotten there — just that it was very smooth, and that it had involved no effort of hers.
“Now—” he whispered against her lips. “Are you really sorry we waited till we were clean?” His mouth moved softly to the point of her chin and along the line of her jaw to her earlobe. “Not that I have a fetish about soap and water, you understand, and not that I didn’t find you just as attractive this afternoon out in the berries when you were warm and covered with sticky juice — but I do draw the line when I find myself kissing mud instead of skin.” And then his voice trailed off as he suited action to words, taking her lips with an urgency that sent long shudders of pleasure rippling through her.
He knows, she thought. He understands what I’ve been trying to tell him. That it’s all right, really, whatever happens.
She moaned a little and tried to pull him down to her, and he caught her hands and held them gently, and began to caress her, very softly, with his mouth. He nibbled at the delicate skin of her throat, then found his way slowly to the hollow between her breasts, and ever so gently teased the terry cloth aside...
On that night long ago when they had first made love, she had been an inexperienced girl, eager to please him; her own pleasure had been an afterthought. Now, he showed her that she was still inexperienced, woman though she was — and he taught her things about her own capacity for pleasure that she had never dreamed. And this time when they joined together it was with a stunning sense of fulfillment, and of joy so powerful that it made her ache and want to weep.
A little later he sat up, reached for a small log and then sat there with it in his hand, silently watching the fire.
Kaitlyn lay quietly and studied him through almost-closed eyelashes as the firelight played against the angles of his face. The silence drew out, interrupted only by the snapping of the flames, until it was almost painful. She thought of a dozen ways to break it, but the sentences chased each other through her mind until nothing sounded casual or sincere.
Still, she couldn’t stand the silence anymore. Better to have it gone, even if what she said sounded arch or coy or stupid. “You must be thinking heavy thoughts,” she murmured. Not bad, she thought. Her voice was light, easy, casual — it was obvious that she didn’t want to press for an answer.
“Very heavy.”
He sounded almost somber, and the unexpected seriousness made her draw a sharp, concerned, frightened breath.
Not now, she wanted to plead. Can’t you at least let me have a little joy, just a tiny space of time in which I can dream?
But if she said anything of the sort, it would bring on the inevitable — the exp
lanations, the warnings, the somber discussions — the very things she wanted to avoid. Instead, she sat up and pulled the blanket around her shoulders and said, as lightly as she could, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t think a bucket of raspberries is a balanced meal. I’m starving.”
He turned to look at her, then, with a smile that didn’t quite light his eyes.
He’s afraid, she thought. Afraid of what she would want — perhaps even demand. It made her feel sad that it had happened so quickly, but she knew it had been inevitable; it was impossible to live entirely in that land of magic where a touch conveyed a thought and two minds operated as one.
She jumped up to rummage through her kitchen, mostly so he couldn’t see the moisture that sparkled in her eyes.
They made an adventure of dinner, heating a can of beef stew in a cast-iron skillet and toasting bread on long forks over the flames. It took all the strength she had to treat him casually, to keep her voice playful and the subject light.
“It’s like being a pioneer crossing the plains in a covered wagon,” Kaitlyn reflected as she mopped up the last of her stew with a piece of bread. “I wonder if they ate so much.”
“Only if they were lucky.”
She opened a bag of marshmallows and impaled one on her fork. “Too bad we don’t have chocolate bars and graham crackers,” she murmured. The marshmallow turned golden over the embers, and she savored its soft sweetness.
“Some pioneer you’d make,” Penn snorted. “You want all the comforts.” The light in his eyes made her duck her head and reach for two more marshmallows, not quite certain if it was desire for him or the threat of tears that made her feel so uneasy inside.
“Will you show me your houses sometime?” she asked suddenly.
Penn’s eyes darkened and his brows drew together.
Kaitlyn wondered why; surely there was nothing so very threatening about showing her his drawings. Then she remembered the storm and her eyes widened with fear. “Your drawings — the rain…”
The Best-Made Plans Page 15
