“No, he wasn’t overexhilarating. But Kirk was never this sad before, either.”
She was really concerned, he thought. Cameron quickly replayed what had been said between them when Kirk had come over last night. He’d been struck by the same feeling as his sister. The lengthy conversation, mostly his, hadn’t shed any light on the cause. He’d chalked it up to Kirk being Kirk, only more so. Perhaps it was just a little more difficult for him than for them to pick up a friendship after all these years.
“It has been nine years, Rach,” Cameron told her. “People change in less time than that. Besides, don’t forget, Kirk’s line of work didn’t exactly take him to the lands of the rich and famous. More like the poor and invisible.” He was quoting Kirk directly now. It had been a summation he’d offered Cameron after some prodding. “That sort of thing might tend to get to a man after a while. I’ve seen a lot of cops drop out of the force for the same reason. They became burned out. Not here, of course. Here we just look for jaywalkers and people easing through stop signs, in between addressing kids in different schools. But when I was in L.A., I saw it all the time. Hell, that’s why I put in for duty here when there was an opening, and took a pay cut.”
Rachel chewed her lip. It sounded plausible. “Think that’s all?”
He wanted to reassure her, but he didn’t want to lie in order to do it. “With Kirk, you never know. But if anyone can get it out of him, you can.” He skimmed his finger down her nose, the way he used to. “Good night, Rach.” He turned away.
“Oh, one more thing...”
Her voice stopped him just as he was going down the last step. Cameron turned and looked up at her. “You sound like Columbo stalking a suspect.” He waited patiently. “What?”
She’d meant to ask him this all day, and it had kept slipping her mind. “Why didn’t you ever mention that Kirk wrote to you?”
Cameron sighed. “Knew I should have left when I had the chance.”
Her eyes narrowed. He’d kept it from her on purpose, she realized. “Don’t be evasive with me, Detective Reed. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged carelessly. It was too studied a reaction to fool Rachel and he knew it, but he did it anyway. And crossed his fingers. “It slipped my mind.”
She wasn’t buying it, any of it. “All these years, all those letters?”
He took the two steps back to her. “Rachel, I’m a police detective. Letters are a low priority on my list, unless they’re from a serial killer.”
“We’ve never had any serial killers in Bedford.” She stood, hand on hip, waiting.
He shrugged again, this time in surrender. “I knew that he hadn’t answered any of your letters, and I didn’t want to rub your nose in it.”
“How’d you know he hadn’t answered? Did he mention it?” Had there been some reason, other than what he said, why he hadn’t written?
“No. I knew because you would have told me if he had. You could never keep a secret about anything. Except once.”
She knew he was referring to Don’s abuse, and thankfully he let it drop as soon as he’d mentioned it.
“Besides, in the beginning, I thought that if I didn’t talk about him, it would help you get over that larger-than-life crush you had on Kirk. After a while, it didn’t matter. You were married and dealing with your own problems.”
Be that as it may, that still didn’t get Cameron off the hook. “He was our friend, Cameron. You had no right to make that decision for me. Besides, it wasn’t a crush.”
“So I’m overprotective. So sue me. It’s not as if I went into your mailbox and stole your letters from him. In any case, he didn’t write all that often. Maybe once or twice a year. Sometimes not even that.”
“Okay.” Rachel decided she’d kept Cameron twisting in the wind long enough. “But why didn’t you at least tell me that he was returning to Bedford?” She would have liked to have that to look forward to, would have liked to be more prepared to see him.
But you didn’t prepare for someone like Kirk Callaghan, she reminded herself. You just let him happen.
“Because he’d mentioned it once or twice before and never shown up,” he told her, obviously surprised by her adeptness at interrogation. “I really didn’t think he was coming this time, until he turned up on my doorstep last night. Kirk didn’t even return for either of his parents’ funerals,” he reminded her.
She hadn’t really expected Kirk to. Both funerals had been very sad, lonely ceremonies, attended by her own family out of courtesy. They had gone because they had lived next door to one another for years, not because they had really been that friendly.
She sighed. “Kirk was never close to his parents.”
In his own way, Cameron was more of a traditionalist than she was. Certain rules were always followed. “Yeah, but you come for a funeral,” Cameron said.
Rachel shook her head. There had been a schism between Kirk and his parents, a wall that had never been breached. He’d never talked about it. It was what he didn’t say, rather than what he did, that had told her of its existence. And then there had been that incident she’d witnessed. The one she hadn’t mentioned to anyone, not even Cameron. She had a feeling it hadn’t been an isolated one.
“Not if you never came while they were alive,” she insisted. “What’s the point of going to their funeral? Kirk wasn’t the type who cared what anyone else said about him. He certainly wouldn’t have returned for form’s sake.”
She stopped and stared across the way. From where she stood, the trees on Kirk’s property obscured her view of the house, but she could just make out the tail end of his van in the driveway.
“Why do you think he’s back?”
“Maybe he just needed to touch base with someplace familiar, someplace that wasn’t ravaged by fighting.” Cameron shrugged. “Maybe, like he said, he missed us.”
Her eyes turned to his in surprise. “Did he tell you that, too?” She had thought that Kirk was just being flippant.
“Yeah.” Affection lighting his eyes, Cameron cupped her face. “Hey, stop worrying about Kirk. He’s okay. And you’ve got enough on your mind as it is.” He grinned as he lightly passed his thumb over the crease in her brow, smoothing it. “If you don’t watch out, your face’ll freeze that way.”
She laughed at the old, familiar warning. She hadn’t heard it in years. “Great-grandma Reed,” she remembered with a surge of pleasure. She had been a tiny gnome of a woman with an old adage for everything. “I wonder if she really believed that.”
“Just as much as she believed in tying garlic around your neck to ward off evil spirits—and dates with dirty intentions.” Cameron laughed as Rachel shuddered at the thought. “Anyway, I want you to stop worrying about everyone and just think about yourself for a change.”
She waved her hand at the suggestion. “Easy for you to say. You’re a bachelor. You get to go home, live like a slob and crash wherever you want to. You don’t have to worry.”
But he did. About her. About his nephew. And his best friend. He just didn’t show it.
“Why do you think I stayed a bachelor?” Cameron kissed the top of her head. “See you, Rach.” He went down the steps again before he stopped. “Oh, by the way, I thought I’d bring over some videos tomorrow night.” She looked at him curiously. “You know, of our high school days. Drum up a few memories, entertain Kirk. Maybe even get Ethan interested.”
He was always trying, she thought. “I love you, Cameron.”
He spread his hands wide. “What’s not to love? I take it the idea meets with your approval.”
“Yes.” She couldn’t have planned a better evening herself. Perhaps, surrounded by old friends and old memories, Kirk would loosen up and relax a little. Maybe, as Cameron said, that was all he needed.
“Great.” He fired his parting salvo. “Make lasagna.”
Rachel thought of the ingredients and the time involved. Time was always at a premium. She leaned her shoulder against the post an
d folded her arms in front of her. “That’s a tall order.”
Cameron gave her an innocent look over his shoulder. “That was always Kirk’s favorite meal when Mom used to make it.”
She reacted the way they’d both known she would. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Cameron grinned. “Knew you’d come around.”
Chapter 7
There had been no answer at the front door when he knocked. Reverting to old familiar behavior, he’d gone around to the back door and found it unlocked. On impulse, he let himself in quietly. After years of being an unobtrusive extension of his camera, Kirk knew how to move soundlessly.
For a moment, he stood just inside the doorway, savoring the sight he was met with, capturing it in his mind. He wanted to absorb just a bit of the atmosphere before anyone realized he was there.
Rachel was alone in the kitchen, her back to the door. All around her on the counter and the stove were pots and pans and all the preparations needed to make an old-fashioned Italian meal.
She was moving from stove to counter and back again. Every step seemed to be underlined by an aroma that was making his mouth water. It was a pleasant, surprising sensation. He’d long ago stopped eating for the pleasure of it. The consumption of food had become mechanical for him, just a way of taking in fuel to continue going. The scents in the kitchen—the meat frying in the pan, sauce simmering in the pot, bread warming in the oven—all combined to reawaken old memories.
Picture of Domesticity, he thought, framing the shot and labeling it.
Kirk’s mouth curved slightly as he thought of Rachel’s reaction if he told her the title she’d inspired. Wouldn’t the independent, motivated college professor just love to hear that one?
Or perhaps she would, he mused as he watched her reach up to the top shelf for glasses. As she stretched, her breasts moved beguilingly against the taut material of her blouse, causing in him the same warm feelings he’d experienced last night as he held her.
With effort, Kirk shut his feelings away. It took more effort this time than it had last night. Feelings like that about Rachel were totally out of line. He had no business entertaining them. This was a house that had given him his happiest moments, and he wasn’t going to mar the evening by allowing his inner turmoil to get the better of him. Rachel deserved him at his best—whatever that was. He sure didn’t know these days.
Maybe he never had.
All he knew was that he had always loved being here, where even raised voices were stamped with affection and angry shouts quickly gave way to hugs and embraces of forgiveness.
Remembering, Kirk wrapped his fingers around the bottle of wine he’d thought to bring after Cameron called to extend the invitation earlier today.
She sensed him the moment he approached behind her. She felt his presence above the soft music coming from the radio beside her on the counter, above the echoes of the program on the television set Cameron had on in the other room. Rachel hadn’t heard the doorbell ring, but she had sensed Kirk the moment he entered the kitchen, had felt his eyes on her as she worked.
She didn’t bother attempting to subdue the pleased smile that rose to her lips.
Rachel debated turning around to greet him, and then decided to stall for a moment longer. She wanted to enjoy the feeling of having him there, of having him watch her. It made her feel...pretty. Feminine. It had been a long time since she had felt that way.
Kirk felt a little like a voyeur, intruding. Lately, he’d felt like that a great deal.
Clearing his throat, he tapped her on the shoulder, and was relieved when she didn’t jump. “Need help?” he asked as she turned around.
There were three filled pots and one frying pan on the stove, all boiling, frying or simmering. It seemed to Kirk that Rachel was everywhere at once, stirring, tasting, adding. And looking incredibly competent while she was doing it. A hint of admiration filtered into his eyes as he looked at her.
Rachel set the slotted wooden spoon she’d been using on the counter and took the bottle of wine from Kirk. She placed it on the first rack in the refrigerator to chill before dinner.
“Thanks, but I’ve got everything under control,” she assured him cheerfully.
It hadn’t been easy, rushing home from the college to pick up Ethan at school and then going to the supermarket to buy all the ingredients. Ethan had balked at being dragged around, but he was too young to leave on his own. Besides, Rachel felt that if she hammered in the point long enough, Ethan would realize that she was going to love him no matter what his mood or behavior, so he might as well settle down.
Kirk nodded at the stove, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. “Certainly looks that way.”
He looked as if he felt awkward again, she thought. And it hurt. For her, nine years had all but faded into the background when she saw Kirk. Why couldn’t it be that way for him?
A teasing smile lit her face. “Is that why you offered?”
Her smile was infectious. It always had been, he remembered. “No secret that I’m all thumbs—but with good intentions.”
She nodded, accepting the excuse. “Park your good intentions on a chair and talk to me.” She gestured toward a stool at the other side of the counter. “Cameron’s busy communing with the television set, and Ethan’s glued to his portable video game. I’d kill for the sound of a human voice that wasn’t coming through a transmitter.” She said the last sentence wistfully.
“Okay.” Kirk slid onto the stool closest to her and folded his hands on the counter as he watched her work. He wasn’t accustomed to domesticity. His mother had favored frozen dinners when she remembered to cook at all. If it hadn’t been for the Reeds, Kirk wouldn’t have known that string beans didn’t always come frozen and cut into neat, equally measured pieces.
He watched her as she fished out wide noodles and laid them on a plate to cool off. “Don’t I still owe you a dinner?”
Rachel looked up, pleased that he wasn’t attempting to wiggle out of it. “You do, and don’t let this fool you.” She gestured toward the stove. “You’re not getting out of taking me out again that easily.”
She pushed a wayward strand of hair out of her face with the back of her wrist. It insisted on falling forward into her eyes again. Kirk leaned over and slowly tucked the strand behind her ear. Rachel felt a wave of heat shadowing his fingers as they came in contact with her skin. It took her a moment to force air into her lungs.
“It’s just that,” she continued after what seemed like an eternity, “as he must have told you, Cameron had other ideas. He thought a dinner at home, the way we used to have, would be a welcome change from what you’re accustomed to.”
Kirk dropped his hand to his side, his fingers still tingling. “He’s right.”
“I might also warn you that he’s dragged out all the old videos my dad took of the two of you when you played for the Vaqueros.”
The Vaqueros had been the name of their high school baseball team. Her father and Cameron had talked Kirk into trying out for the team. To please them, Kirk had gamely tried—and been surprised when he showed an aptitude for the game.
Kirk winced at the thought of viewing the videotapes. “You mean I’m going to top off the meal by watching myself as a scrawny kid in high school?”
She took a moment to sample the sauce and decided that it was ready. “You were never scrawny,” she told him. “You were hauntingly gaunt.” He’d made more than one girl’s heart beat fast. “And very mysterious. The fact that you favored wearing black only added to it.”
It had never been his intention to appear mysterious or to create an aura. He had just been very practical. “There was a reason for that.”
She rinsed off her spoon and placed it on the rack to dry. “Which was?”
His mouth curved. “Black didn’t show the dirt as fast.”
Rachel covered her heart and pretended to stagger back a step. “Another myth dies.” She dropped her hand, but the amusement remained in her eyes.
“Next you’ll tell me that there’s no Santa Claus.”
Kirk laughed, playing along. “Funny Face, there is no Sa—”
Rachel held up the slotted spoon as if it were a sword meant to ward off blows. “That wasn’t a challenge, Callaghan. Leave a poor girl some illusions.”
His eyes skimmed over her as she began draining the second pot of lasagna noodles. He felt better just being around her.
“Do you still have them?” When she looked at him curiously over her shoulder, he added, “Illusions, I mean.”
Her mouth softened. “I don’t think of them as illusions. I prefer to think of them as reality.”
Knowing what he did of reality, Kirk found that impossible. Illusions had nothing to do with reality. “How?” he asked.
“Because I choose to.” It was as simple as that. She had always believed in the basic goodness that lived within each person. Don had shaken that belief, but he hadn’t shattered it. “Remember, my glass was always half-full. Yours, you insisted, was always half empty—with a chip in the rim.”
That was one way to describe his philosophy of life, he thought. He would have had an even darker view of life, if not for her and Cameron. “I guess I was kind of a somber kid.”
Was? She looked at him sharply, the spoon slipping from her hand to the floor. “You’ve changed?”
He was quick to pick up the spoon and hand it back to her. “No.”
Rachel rinsed it off, regarding him thoughtfully. Just by looking at his credits, by looking at the sheer profusion of photographs that bore his name, she would have said that Kirk had accomplished every goal he’d set out to reach. But he certainly didn’t look like a man who had reached anything, except perhaps a measure of desperation.
“Wasn’t there a pot of gold at the end of that rainbow you chased after?”
His mouth quirked in a disparaging smile. “No, there wasn’t even an end of a rainbow. It just sort of vanished when I came close to it.” He couldn’t quite pinpoint when he had ceased to feel like a witness and begun to feel like a voyeur, recording the world’s cankers and sores for all to see.
Callaghan's Way Page 9
