Time After Time

by Kay Hooper

  For what was basically a city dwelling, she thought, there was an abundance of empty land, which was just great for her purposes. She stepped out far enough to look up toward Noah’s loft, assuring herself that it was dark and that he wasn’t on his deck. He might well have been inside in darkness, gazing through his own glass door, but she doubted it.

  Ten minutes later she and Caliban were exploring, and she was patiently teaching her pet where his boundaries were. They roamed among the dripping trees and wet, overgrown grass for more than an hour before she finally led him back inside the loft and got ready for bed.

  Later, lying sleepily in the darkness of her bedroom, she automatically moved over as Caliban climbed into the bed. She patted his broad head and listened to the grumbling sound he made in contentment. Just as she was dropping off to sleep, she found herself wondering idly how her pet would react to a man in her bed.

  Odd … the question had never occurred to her before.

  She had taken Caliban out for a run at dawn, then accomplished her shopping before most of the city was even awake; all-night grocery stores, she thought with amusement, were certainly a godsend for people with unusual pets. So was the ability to sleep no more than four or five hours a night, an ability she had possessed as long as she could remember.

  Leaving Caliban in the bedroom to sleep off the morning’s exertions and his breakfast, she put away her groceries and began to get her kitchen in order while she watched the sun rising outside. Several hours later she fixed a late breakfast for herself and gazed in approval at her new home. The kitchen was in order and her living area arranged neatly, a profusion of pillows piled on her long sectional couch and two overstuffed chairs. Several large decorative candles graced her inlaid oak coffee table—she’d never again be caught here in the dark for long!—and ceramic and porcelain lamps sat on the end tables that matched it.

  Fluffy stood in a corner near the door with two large potted rubber plants flanking him. Alex had efficiently and as quietly as possible erected her sectional bookcases along the broad wall on the other side of the door, and small boxes of books stood ready to be put into place.

  She had taken apart Caliban’s crate and stored the panels in the capacious closet between the bedroom and bathroom doors before stuffing the straw into a large garbage bag along with other assorted trash familiar to anyone who had ever moved. Empty boxes were piled neatly near the door awaiting removal.

  It was a good start.

  Moving about the loft, thoughtful, Alex carried her coffee cup and planned. The raised platform that took up half the open loft space and ran the length of the streetside wall, she decided, would hold her working materials. It already did, in fact, since she’d asked the movers to leave her working table, desk, and various tools of her trade up there. A wide set of three steps led up to the platform, and Caliban sprawled to block the way.

  Amused, she watched as he methodically licked the bedraggled face of the large teddy bear he clutched between his front paws. “I’m glad the doll finally disintegrated,” she told him, smiling. “That bear’s bad enough, but the doll made your instincts look suspect.” He blinked sleepy eyes and began washing the bear’s face again.

  Remembering the large doll her pet had dragged around for nearly two years, Alex smiled. But then a knock sounded at her door, and her smile vanished. “Cal!” she called, heading for the bedroom door.

  He got up and lifted the bear in his huge jaws, obediently following her and going into the bedroom. She watched him climb onto her bed with his toy, then carefully closed the door and went to find out who her visitor was.

  Noah.

  He stepped into the loft with a cheerful smile, saying, “Good morning, Alex. I thought you could probably use some help—” Then his eyes widened as he took in the neatly arranged living area of the loft. “You’re a fast worker, aren’t you?” he observed, surprised.

  “An early riser.” Alex smiled as she closed the door behind him. “I’ll have it to do all over again, probably, when the painters come, but I wanted to get an idea of how it’ll look. Coffee?”

  “Thanks.” He followed her into the kitchen area, his eyes drawn irresistibly to the lovely picture she made dressed in snug jeans and a colorful peasant blouse. A bright bandanna held her thick hair away from her face, making her look even more fragile than she had the night before. And the sirens, he decided, were still present in her eyes, but this morning they were wistful creatures with gentle smiles.

  Bewitched. He was definitely bewitched, and he wondered distantly why that didn’t disturb him.

  “Do all the lofts have the same floor plan?” she asked him, handing over a cup of coffee.

  He nodded. “Except mine, which basically has double the space.”

  Her green eyes were bright as she looked around her own loft. “Possibilities. Definite possibilities.”

  They had moved back into the living area, and he laughed as he looked at the profusion of pillows. “I’ve never seen so many before,” he replied to her inquiring look. “D’you collect them?”

  “No, I throw them,” she answered casually.

  Noah sat down on the couch at her gesture, watching her get comfortable a foot or so away and wondering if he’d missed a turn somewhere in the conversation. “You throw them?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Why?” he asked blankly.

  “It’s better than breaking things, isn’t it?”

  He took a sip of his coffee. “You’ve lost me.”

  She smiled suddenly, and the sirens became mischievous sprites. “I have a terrible temper, and when I’m mad, I have to do something. I broke an awful lot of things before I discovered the pillows: they satisfy my urge to throw things, but nothing breaks.”

  Noah became conscious of a sudden desire to watch her get mad. It was a totally unreasonable urge, and he didn’t want to make her mad; he just wanted to see her throw pillows. He fought the urge.

  “Oh. Um … you just throw the pillows?”

  “And yell,” she added happily.

  Imagining that tiny voice roused to a yell was almost more than his mind could grasp; it seemed an impossible thing. Both the yelling and the pillow-throwing, in fact, seemed impossible, given her tiny, fragile appearance.

  Clearly Alex saw his disbelief. “It’s true,” she assured him. “I used to have the most famous temper tantrums, and even now my friends hide behind things when I get mad.”

  “Should I take that example to heart?”

  She smiled, but there was something about the smile implying a definite warning. “You’d better.”

  “I’m not planning to make you mad,” he told her.

  “Best-laid plans, and all that. Something is bound to make me mad sooner or later.”

  Noah thought about that for a moment, flipped a mental coin, and didn’t even bother to see how it landed. “Do amorous photographers make you mad?” he asked gravely.

  Alex sipped her coffee, and the sirens in her eyes seemed to laugh at him. “Noah” she asked dryly, “are you making a pass?”

  “I planned to be more subtle than that,” he told her, pained.

  Her eyes were definitely laughing. “Oh. Well, to answer your question—as I said before, all the photographers I’ve known have been short, fat, and so on. Fatherly, in fact. I’ve never met an amorous photographer, so I don’t know how I’d react.”

  “Best guess?”

  She reflected. “Best guess—I doubt it. On principle, you understand. Of course, there’s no saying for sure. The amorous photographer in question could easily do or say something to set me off.”

  “For instance?”

  “Oh, any little thing could do it. The wrong word or gesture. A frown instead of a smile. Who can say?”

  “Then you’d throw pillows.”

  “And yell.”

  He nodded, still grave. “Any jealous suitors hanging around likely to cause trouble?”

  “You mean you wouldn’t be willing
to fight for me?” she asked, wounded.

  “How could I impress a lion tamer with my fighting ability?” he asked, a suitably rueful expression on his handsome face. “I’m defeated before I start. And answer the question, please.”

  “Suitors? There weren’t any the last time I looked.”

  “Maybe they couldn’t compete with a lion tamer either.”

  She giggled suddenly. “I never noticed anyone trying. You’ve got lion tamers on the brain, Noah. It was quite a few years ago, you know, and I rarely pick up a whip and chair to demonstrate my skills. How about you? Any ladies lurking about?”

  “Not recently,” he told her, deadpan.

  “That’s good. I’d better warn you that I never stand in line for anything but the movies. One of my little quirks, I’m afraid.”

  “Jealousy?”

  Instantly she shook her head. “No, that isn’t it. Life’s too short to take second place to anything. If I get involved with a man, it has to be a blue-ribbon affair, or it won’t be any more than a beginning.”

  “If you get involved.” He was watching her intently now, surprise in his blue eyes. “You haven’t, have you?”

  She looked at him for a moment, then shook her head with a faint smile. “I haven’t. Nobody waved a blue ribbon.” Abruptly sober, she added, “A few of my friends used to call me a vanishing breed, but they stopped laughing after a while. They’d wake up in the morning to an empty bed and a note on the pillow after one of their casual ‘encounters,’ and the night before didn’t seem as enjoyable as it had at the time.”

  Noah gazed at her silently as he absorbed her meaning. It wasn’t that her standards were too high, he realized. Not who but how. She carried no dream of Prince Charming, no image of physical perfection; all she asked—demanded—was the kind of committed caring that most people realized their need for only after much trial and error. And her next quiet words confirmed his thoughts.

  “I’m not looking for a ring and a promise, but it has to be more than just the moment. It has to be important. So I’d warn the … amorous photographer … that I’m still looking for that blue ribbon, and I won’t settle for less.”

  He smiled slightly. “Will you know it when you find it?”

  “Yes.” The one word, calm and simple. She would know.

  Noah shook his head. “You’re an unusual woman, Alex.”

  “Not at all. Just between you and me, that little spiel of mine has scared off a few would-be suitors.”

  Noah wasn’t deceived by the flippant comment, but he could see that she was growing uncomfortable with the light, humorous flirtation that had become too serious. Besides, he knew only too well that they were still virtual strangers, and a part of him was wary of instant attraction.

  They had time.

  Alex was astonished at herself. Why on earth, she wondered, had she taken the opportunity of Noah’s teasing to offer a very serious warning? Oh, she knew that he had been more than half serious himself, knew that he’d cloaked definite interest in light words. So why had she turned the tables on him? Instead of remaining in the well-defined role of possibilities-should-be-lightly-explored, Alex had instantly stepped out of her part to deliver the warning generally presented much later.

  According to her rulebook of new relationships—her own private experience of how relationships tended to progress—first came the light probing she and Noah had ventured into. Next came a different and more serious kind of probing along the lines of likes and dislikes and similarities between the two. Somewhere during these two steps, Alex had found, either attraction or disinterest developed with the inevitable physical closeness or a parting of the ways. That was where she’d always given her warning.

  Beyond that point, she’d never gone.

  Alex knew that men were attracted to her—past experience told her that quite plainly—but she was quite aware that she was either too demanding or else was less attractive on closer association. It had caused her no heartbreak in the past because she herself had never been interested enough in a man to care when he either became a friend or else faded into the misty night.

  During the past years men had told her in tones varying from bewilderment to desperation that she was an unusual woman. She had never been sure precisely what that meant, and no one had offered to enlighten her. Noah had made the comment, and she wondered what he meant by it.

  Unusual? Like dodos and dinosaurs, a relic of a bygone age?

  Alex didn’t know, and didn’t plan to ask him. She was too concerned with her own skipping of steps, too bothered by a warning that had come too soon.

  And an attraction that had come too soon. She had felt it instantly, first a strong curiosity about a stranger’s face in the darkness and then breathless surprise when that face had been revealed to her. After seeing that face, surprise at her own attraction had faded. Of course she was attracted to the man; she’d have to be blind or made of stone not to be.

  So why had she warned him? Because past experience told her that interest always faded within a short time? Or had she warned him because her own intense attraction to him frightened her? Because she knew that Noah could be the most important man in her life—or hurt her terribly?

  Alex had faced lions without fear. She had helped to tranquilize a bull elephant run amok. She had more than once waded into a group of angry tigers to separate them.

  But when she thought of Noah Thorne, of hawklike good looks, a silent, Indian-file walk, and a smile that was charm and danger, Alex felt a sudden urge to pick up a whip and chair.

  THREE

  THE NEXT FEW days hardly bore out her misgivings. She and Noah were very occupied, each in settling into new homes and both in discussions and plans about decorating those homes. Noah was casually friendly and companionable, but no more, and Alex was grateful for that.

  She was grateful for that primarily because she was having a very difficult time as it was keeping Caliban hidden from her landlord; if she’d had to deal with romantic interludes as well, she would have gone quietly crazy. Luckily her pet slept long hours during the day, and was perfectly content to remain shut up in her bedroom … usually.

  In the past, Caliban had always shown only disinterest in people other than Alex. Perfectly friendly in a face-to-face encounter, he never sought out other people.

  Until now. To Alex’s intense frustration and worry, it seemed that Caliban was curious about the only other occupant of the building. Coming down from Noah’s loft late the second day to find some material swatches, she encountered Caliban on the stairs and hastily led him back into her own loft. A moment’s inspection showed her that the bedroom door had a tricky latch, and that she had apparently failed to secure the front door; there were no claw marks, no indication that her pet had forced either door.

  At that moment Noah called down the stairs to ask if she needed help in finding the swatches, and Caliban, attracted by the voice, started back toward the front door. Alex had a hell of a time wrestling the four hundred pounds of her pet back into the bedroom.

  And that was only the second day.

  Half a dozen times during the next week Caliban remained a secret only by the skin of Alex’s teeth. For six years an exceptionally obedient pet, he now seemed determined to get both himself and his owner in a great deal of trouble. Escaping Alex outside late one night, he dashed through the open gate and gave a roaming German shepherd a near heart attack. The next day he apparently discovered—for the first time in his life—that he had claws, and proceeded to sharpen them on trees outside and doorjambs inside; it took some frantic work with sandpaper and putty by Alex to hide the long gouges he made on the bedroom door-jamb, and she could only cross her fingers and hope no one noticed scars on the trees outside.

  A water-loving oddity of his kind, Caliban discovered the pool on the fourth day and thereafter demanded a swim every morning. And when painters and paperhangers began their work, they had to be reassured by Alex that the eerie moaning they heard
came from a harmless pet.

  Noah seemed to notice nothing unusual, or at least that’s what Alex thought. Until midway through the second week.

  The painters in Noah’s loft made staying there uncomfortable, and Alex had reached the point of strictly avoiding his presence in her own loft. It was an unusually hot and sunny day, and since the pool offered coolness, she suggested they take advantage of it. She regretted the suggestion, however, when Noah took the opportunity to voice his puzzlement.

  “I heard the oddest noise last night,” he told her, floating lazily on his back.

  “Really?” Alex managed to say after treading water fiercely long enough to stop the coughing brought on by swallowing a mouthful of water.

  “Yeah. Howling—no, moaning. Gave me the strangest urge to look over my shoulder. Africa.”

  “Africa?” she queried faintly.

  Noah, his eyes closed against the sun’s brightness, looked thoughtful. “Well, it made me think of Africa. Those movies you see with all the weird animal noises, I guess.”

  “Oh.” Alex began to methodically swim laps. She stopped after a lap and a half for two reasons: Because it occurred to her that if Caliban heard splashes, he might decide to join them, and because Noah changed the subject.

  Or did he?

  “When do I get to meet Caliban?” he asked abruptly.

  Alex saw both her new job and her new home disappear in front of her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know,” she answered vaguely.

  “Does his name fit him?”

  “His name?”

  Noah shifted position, no longer floating but treading water to face her. “If I remember correctly,” he said, “Caliban is a character in Shakespeare’s Tempest. A savage, deformed slave, I think.”

  “Not my Caliban,” she said lightly. “Besides, I didn’t name him.” She tried to decipher the expression Noah wore, realizing that it was something akin to determination.

  “Alex,” Noah said very gently, “is there something you aren’t telling me about your pet? A special something, I mean?”