by Lyn Cote
The rain dashed against the windowpanes and filled the small room with an intense, relentless rhythm. The microwave bell rang for the second time, and she lifted out the dish.
The aroma of Mexican spices: cumin, chili powder and red pepper, floated over and around the table, bringing her impromptu guest out of his inner concentration. He sniffed broadly and gave her a half smile. “That smells delicious.” He looked back to the gale outside the window. “This storm is going to screw up my building schedule one more time.”
So that was what was on his mind. She was vaguely unhappy and couldn’t put her finger on why. Of course, he wouldn’t have been thinking of her. As she set the dish on the table, she motioned toward Angie, whose head already drooped. “She looks like she may fall asleep before she finishes eating.”
After a brief grace, Jane sat down and began to dish up the cheesy beef, beans and cornmeal for Cash. For Angie to eat, she put down chunks of yellow cheese and some wheat crackers while her dish cooled.
“She likes this stuff?” Cash asked.
“You know she loves people food and hates baby food.”
“What’s this called?”
“Enchilada bake.”
He took another forkful. “It’s good.”
She murmured her thanks, but turned her attention to the storm again and frowned. The center of the accelerating storm was advancing on them with frightening speed. Lightning flashed outside the darkened kitchen windows, and thunder punctuated their sentences.
* * *
“Did Tom head back for Chicago?” Cash asked as innocently as possible.
“Yes.” She frowned down at her plate.
“I called here several evenings, and Tish said you were out with him.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he was irritated with himself. Why bring up the competition—especially when the man’s roses were probably in the refrigerator?
“I was.” She turned to a drowsy Angie, giving her another mouthful of the casserole. She reached over to the counter and lifted the baby’s bottle waiting there. The little girl’s eyelids were steadily drifting lower.
“I can’t believe it’s only three days to her first birthday,” he murmured as he watched Angie sucking her bottle.
Jane stiffened visibly.
Again, he felt her cold response to his words as though shards of ice crackling around his ears. How could he have brought up his day alone with Angie? He could easily guess how much it still upset her. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth in line?
The three of them finished the meal in silence. They cleared the table and filled the sink with soap and dishes. By now the storm was relentless—flashing, booming.
“This system is not moving away as fast as I thought it would,” he said, lifting his voice to be heard. “Do you have a transistor radio—”
Thunder exploded overhead.
Angie screamed in fright.
Jane leaped to her feet and lifted the shrieking child into her arms. “That was close,” she gasped. She held Angie close, trying to soothe her. The room had gone black, but outside, rapid lightning lit the room like artificial strobe lighting.
“That was a direct hit. Where’s your flashlight?” Cash’s voice came through the darkness.
“I only have a small one, but I’ll get it.” Jane opened a kitchen drawer and found the solid tube of metal by the brilliance of the staccato flashes. She handed it to Cash and he turned it on.
“Let’s go downstairs and check your breakers.”
With one hand she felt her way around the erratically lit room. Angie had stopped screaming, but sobbed raggedly against Jane’s neck. Without speaking, Cash took Jane’s arm. By the thin thread of light from the flashlight, they fumbled their way to the rear of the kitchen and down the narrow, back hall steps. The thunder was now a building crescendo. Jane felt herself tensing with each wave of sound.
Cash used the flashlight to locate the circuit breakers on the basement wall. He checked them manually. All the switches had been tripped. But when he turned them all back to On, no lights from above shone in the rippling darkness.
“Double whammy,” he said.
Boom! Crack! The metallic clatter of hail struck the basement windows.
“What’s happened?” Jane’s voice was loud and shrill.
Cash also raised his voice over the rampaging thunder and hail. “It’s an outage plus your house was just struck by lightning.”
“Struck! That’s never happened before!”
“It’s not that uncommon in a storm like—”
Angie whimpered loudly.
The sound caught Cash’s heart. He put his arms completely around Jane, cuddling the baby between them. He murmured softly into Angie’s ear.
* * *
Jane felt the little body pressed against her slowly relaxing. The baby’s periodic sobs ebbed, then ceased. Angie shivered once more and let go of the last of her tension.
Taking two tentative steps backward, Jane encountered the edge of the daybed she stored in the basement. Cash let her go, and she sat down on its edge and, humming close to Angie’s ear, rocked gently.
“Can we go upstairs?” Jane whispered.
“Let’s wait. That wind sounds dangerous.” He shone the flashlight up at one of the small basement windows near the laundry area. The window rattled, straining at its latch.
With the flashlight, he showed her the sheets of wind-driven rain still buffeting the basement window. The slashes of lightning continued. Jane shivered. Angie’s now-sleeping body became a deadweight across Jane’s tired arms, but she held the child till she was certain Angie wouldn’t stir.
At Jane’s softly spoken suggestion, Cash went to the nearby dryer and brought back a basket of freshly laundered diapers. The cotton diapers made a cozy mattress and blankets. In a matter of moments, Angie, slumbering deeply, was tucked comfortably into the large, oval wicker basket.
The town’s tornado siren blared. Its sudden blast jolted them both. Jane jumped up and collided with Cash. He took her into his arms, tucking her tightly to him. The siren wailed on, competing with the beating rain, pinging hail and roaring thunder.
Another bolt of lightning exploded overhead. Jane clutched Cash as though she were drowning. The thunder detonated overhead again, again, again. Each blast urged Jane closer to him, to his solid strength.
* * *
Cash’s awareness of her soft, slender body surged at the same pace as the storm. Her cinnamon scent was all around him, filling his head. Though afraid she might push him away, he kissed her.
His lips caressed hers. Quivers of excitement like fragments of the lightning arced through her. She swayed in his arms.
He pulled her snugly to him again. His mouth closed over hers, searching and claiming the eager sweetness there. He moved against her, unconsciously imitating the rhythm of the tumult out of doors. The incessant crashes and flashes continued outside, but they receded in her consciousness.
In a surge of almost unbelieving joy, Cash clutched her shoulders, letting go of the flashlight. It clattered to the floor. He held her close, wrapped in the flickering blackness.
* * *
The thunder and lightning blustered unnoticed. Jane let herself stand in the shelter of Cash’s arms. She knew she should bring them both back to reality. But this was the only man she’d ever loved. She had intended never again to give in to the attraction of his arms, but this would be the last kiss. One last kiss...
Chapter 13
Angie screeched, breaking the silence of the peaceful morning after the stormy night. Asleep on the daybed, Jane jerked awake. Like a video on Fast Forward, images of her kissing Cash while nestled in his arms zipped through Jane’s mind. After that bittersweet kiss, she’d lain down on the old daybed while Cash had settled himself nearby on an old reclining chair to wait out the storm.
Angie screeched again. Jane scrambled up, stumbling onto the basement’s cold, concrete floor. Angie wailed continuously. Jane lifted he
r out of the wicker basket “Angie, sweetie. Oh, dear,” Jane fussed. “I forgot to triple-diaper you for the night. You’re completely soaked.” She dug down to the bottom of the basket for two dry diapers.
Angie shivered and whimpered against Jane’s bare shoulder. Jane hurried up the basement steps, through the back hall into the kitchen.
The back door opened. “Jane, it’s me.” Cash’s voice came to her from the small porch.
“In the kitchen,” Jane called back. She cleared the sink of dishes and began to fill it with fresh water. While Angie leaned against her, Jane stripped the baby of her sodden yellow romper and saturated diaper. Jane swirled a little baby shampoo into Angie’s bathwater, then settled the baby into the warm, sudsy water. Angie’s good nature instantly restored, she gurgled and splashed at the floating bubbles.
“You bathe her in the kitchen sink?” Cash appeared at her elbow.
“She doesn’t like the big tub,” Jane said defensively. “She clings to me and cries.”
“She looks like she enjoys this.” He peered over Jane’s shoulder. “Morning, Angie,” he greeted the baby. “Jane, I stopped at Lucy’s to tell her you and Angie were all right. Her phone lines should be up again sometime this morning.”
Suddenly Jane felt Cash’s long, muscled arms—one on each side of her—stretch out and surround her. His skin slid against hers. Jane felt her body become charged with an invisible current transmitted from Cash’s bare skin to hers.
Grasping one of Angie’s hands in each of his, he helped the little girl splash her bathwater. Soapy water sprinkled Jane’s face and bare collarbone. She batted her eyelashes to rid herself of the beads of moisture around her eyes.
Then she felt Cash’s lips press a kiss on the back of her neck. Jane stiffened. She said quickly, “She’ll want her breakfast right away. Can you make one-minute oatmeal?”
Cash, releasing Angie’s fingers, straightened up. “Hot oatmeal?”
“It’s her favorite.”
“Even in summer?”
“Her stomach doesn’t know it’s summer. The cereal’s on the shelf over the stove, just follow the directions on the box.”
“Okay, boss. Oatmeal coming up.” Cash turned away and then turned back. He smiled suddenly. This would be the first morning of a lifetime of mornings for Angie, Jane and him in the kitchen for breakfast together. He pressed another kiss on the back of Jane’s neck. “Mmm. You taste good. Much better than oatmeal.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jane flush a deep red. He felt like laughing out loud with a teasing joy, and he waited, anticipating her look toward him, either to scold him or kiss him. He didn’t really care which, a scold or kiss, because his answer to both would be a thorough Good-morning-I-love-you kiss. He waited.
Instead, Jane kept her attention on Angie. Feeling sharply disappointed that she hadn’t responded as he wished, he went to the appointed shelf. His fledgling faith fluttered to life. What’s happening, God? Tell me the words to say. Taking the box in hand, he read the directions. “Is this oatmeal for two?”
“I usually make enough for two.”
“Very well. I’ll make it oatmeal for three.” He brought the pan over to the sink to measure in the water. As he stood next to Jane, a glance at her trim figure delighted him. He grinned sideways at her. Leaning over, he bent to kiss her shoulder again.
“Don’t.”
Taken by surprise, he froze. “But—”
“I’ll be right back.” Scooping Angie out of the water, Jane folded a clean dishtowel around her, then made a wide curve around the other side of the table and out the door. Her avoidance of him as she left the room had been unmistakable. Cold needles of fear pierced his chest. He went through the motions of measuring the oatmeal and water into the saucepan and setting it on the burner to simmer. Then he found the coffee canister and went to work on Jane’s 1960s vintage percolator.
A few seconds after the timer bell rang for the oatmeal, Jane walked back into the kitchen, Angie in her arms.
Cash lifted the pan from the burner. He smiled uncertainly. Angie squirmed, and in her private language called for him. Jane ignored this and plunked the baby into her high chair.
“Oatmeal, Angie?” Jane offered.
“Where are the bowls?” Cash, waiting with the saucepan in his hand, asked soberly.
Keeping the table between them, Jane went to the cabinets over the sink and quickly collected bowls, cups and spoons. “Please get the milk.” She nodded toward the refrigerator next to him and then sat down beside Angie.
Bringing the plastic jug of milk with him, Cash set the pan of oatmeal on a trivet in the middle of the small table and sat down opposite Jane. He studied her, trying to judge what was causing her agitation.
Pressing her lips tightly, she mixed brown sugar and milk into Angie’s bowl of oatmeal.
Feeling a deep uncertainty, Cash went over last night’s events. He took a deep breath, said a silent prayer, then forced the issue. “Okay, Jane, what’s the problem?”
She flushed.
“What’s the problem?” he repeated.
She wouldn’t meet his eyes. She spooned up a sugary bit of oatmeal for Angie.
“Do you regret our closeness last night?” he demanded bluntly.
Jane cleared her throat. “I should have shown more restraint.”
“I don’t think either of us could have shown more restraint. I held you in my arms. We kissed. Nothing more happened. I want you as my wife, Jane. I’ve made that clear.”
“You made that clear with your convenient proposal,” she said stiffly.
“I’ve changed. I don’t just want you as a mother to Angie. I love you.”
“No. Don’t say it.”
“Why not? You’re the woman I love—”
“Don’t!” Her sharp tone startled Angie. The baby screwed up her face and began crying. “There, there, sweetheart,” Jane murmured. “Angie, here is the spoon. Angie, eat with spoon.” Gently she put the spoon into the little girl’s chubby hand.
Then Jane looked directly into his eyes. “We both know that you don’t love me.”
“I’ve changed. I made a mistake when I made that proposal.”
“You made it quite clear that you did not love—”
“A man can change his mind.”
Jane snapped, “A man can change his tactics to get what he wants.”
“You wanted to be in my arms last night.”
“It was that awful storm. I was frightened to be alone with Angie.”
“The night of your parents’ anniversary you told me you loved me.”
“I also told you that night I’d decided to close my heart to you. Last night I was weak. It won’t happen again.”
Not taking his eyes from her, he fought for control by pouring himself a cup of coffee, then he put down the mug. “I will not let you sweep last night under the rug as though it didn’t matter. Your kisses showed your love—”
“I don’t want to discuss last night—”
“Too bad. We’re going to. Now,” he insisted.
“You’re not in charge here.” She glared at him.
He took a swallow of coffee to stop another cutting retort that nearly jumped from his lips. God, help me. What should I say?
Before he could speak, Angie dropped her spoon. Both of them bent to retrieve it. It had fallen on his side. He picked it up, tossed it into the sink, then handed the baby a clean one.
Jane straightened up stiffly and, even though she gave him only her profile, the anger on her features was obvious.
He again swallowed the hot words that rushed to his mouth. He took a slow breath while watching Angie as she tried to spoon oatmeal into her own mouth. A glob of it quivered just below her mouth.
“Jane, I love you and I want to marry you.”
He watched her lift her chin, it trembled slightly.
“I wish you wouldn’t insult my intelligence. We both know you don’t love me.”
&
nbsp; “No, we don’t both know that. I love—”
“Stop it.” She turned to him. “I don’t want to hear any more.”
He clenched his jaw, holding back another futile declaration of his love. Why hadn’t he realized that he needed to talk to her last night, to speak the right words while their closeness was fresh and irresistible? How could he make her believe him now? He felt as though he were sliding down into a black hole.
Angie threw down her spoon and yelled in frustration. Jane took up another spoon, caught the oatmeal blob and slipped it into the baby’s mouth.
Cash took in another tasteless mouthful of coffee. “Do you think it’s impossible for me to fall in love with you?”
“It’s worse than that. I think you’ve proven it is impossible for you to fall in love with anyone.”
Full-blown, complete frustration exploded within him. He wanted to bellow: I love you, Jane! Instead he closed his eyes. For several minutes he kept his eyes shut as he listened to Jane talking to and feeding Angie.
The desire to go to Jane and pull her to him became a physical ache inside him. He craved her touch more than he had ever craved anyone’s touch in his whole life. He wanted Jane. Not just sexually, he wanted all of her, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, now and until her physical beauty faded and their passion was a mere glimmer in her eyes.
In the past few days he’d just begun adjusting his mind to think of eternity. Now he knew he wanted to be with Jane until death, then beyond. What could he say or do to make her believe he was sincere? He murmured, “I love you, Jane.”
Looking up, he stopped, shocked at the pain he saw in her eyes. In that moment he knew she loved him with a love that was so different from any he had known before: a quality of love that he could only imagine. When Jane had come to him the night of her parents’ anniversary, she had told him that she loved him. But it had been like explaining sunlight to a man born blind.
