A Minute to Smile (14 page)

For one blazing instant, they sunk into each other, their tongues and mouths echoing the motions of a more intimate act. His hands roved restlessly over her shoulder and arms, and slid down over her breasts. A blistering swell of heat rose in her belly and for that long moment, they hovered on the brink of no return.

But his hand moved away, his kiss slowed, and all too quickly, he lifted his head. Esther opened her eyes, feeling somehow drugged. His curls tumbled in glossy abandon over his head, and a dark vein beat in his temple. With one finger, he traced her lips. “You are more beautiful than you know,” he said quietly.

She touched his face with an open palm, feeling the silky hair of his beard, the heat of his flesh. “Thank you.”

He raised a rueful eyebrow. “Now here we are, and I’ve broken my promise again. I’m going to try to mend this broken fence, in spite of—”

“In spite of what?” she asked and laughed throatily.

His nostrils flared. “I’d be happy to show you,” he growled and there was warning in his words.

She lowered her gaze to her hands, heeding that warning.

“Come on,” he said. “The rain has stopped. I’ll walk you home.”

Esther’s heart swelled with something she didn’t stop to name. As she fetched her sweater, she thought it was miraculous that he was not in either of the categories of men she had previously experienced. He didn’t try to overwhelm her with physical power, assuming that the unconscious invitation she seemed to issue somehow was a real, physical invitation to sex. Nor was he the kind of man John had been—one who found her sensual nature rather distasteful, somehow unfeminine.

They walked in silence, holding hands. The night was damp and cool. A heady scent of moist earth and bruised greenery filled the air. At her door, Esther turned to him. “Thank you for everything, Alexander. The steaks and the movie—” she took a breath “—and for understanding I’m not ready yet.”

“You are quite, quite welcome,” he said with a smile. He touched her face. “Thank you for overlooking my lapse.”

She grinned. “My pleasure.”

“It’s
that
smile,” he said, grabbing her to kiss her. “That’s the one that inflames me.” He bent again, as if fighting with himself, and kissed her once more. “Good night, Esther.”

This time, she wasn’t mocking him. “Good night, Alexander.”

* * *

The next day when John brought the children home, Esther was brewing rose-petal jelly. Hearing them at the door, she called, “Come on in. I can’t stop right now or the jelly will burn.”

John wandered into the kitchen alone, his cowboy boots thumping on the wooden floor. “The boys were waylaid by the neighbor kids,” he said.

“As usual.” She flashed him a smile. “I remember the good old days when they threw themselves at me when I’d only been gone for an hour to the grocery store.” The rose-scented jelly began to bubble too vigorously and Esther turned down the flame a jot. “I have to keep stirring for five more minutes,” she said. “Help yourself to a glass of lemonade.”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.” He cleared his throat and settled on the stool. “Before you hear it from one of the boys, I want you to know that Jeremy had an accident this weekend.” He held up a hand when she paused. “Nothing serious.”

“What happened?”

“He wrecked his bike.” John let go of a breath and Esther momentarily stopped stirring. “I swear, Esther, I was right there, watching him to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble because you warned me he’s been crazy, but he got goin’ real fast and bam—” he slapped his hands together to illustrate “—he smashed into the neighbor’s car.”

A sick swoop of horror fluttered in her belly. “Was it moving?”

“No, thank God. Jeremy just turned wrong and slammed into the rear end before he could get stopped.” He rubbed his forehead with one finger. “He, uh, knocked out one of his front teeth.”

“Oh, dear.” She thought of the sweet, tiny teeth. “At least they aren’t permanent. Did you save it?”

“Yep. Tooth Fairy brought him a dollar.”

“A dollar?” She widened her eyes. “It’s fifty cents around here.”

“I didn’t know.” He cleared his throat. “I’m really sorry, Esther. I swear I was watching him, just like you said.”

Seeing that he blamed himself, Esther made a face and regardless of the jelly, reached over to pat his hand. “It’s not your fault.” She took the wooden spoon again and sighed. “He just has no sense of caution whatsoever. He scares me to death.”

“Me, too. How do we teach him?”

“An incident at a time.” She gave him a weak smile. “I’ll bet he won’t go nuts on his bike again.”

“At least not for a week or two.” He shifted and gave her a sly smile. “I hear you have a new boyfriend.”

“I have a new friend,” Esther said. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“I’m not trying to be nosy or anything. The kids really like him.”

She merely nodded. “I know.”

“Okay,” he said cheerfully. “I can see you don’t want to talk about it.” He stood up, then in an uncharacteristically hesitant manner, lowered his head. “You aren’t going to change your mind about the ranch, are you? Because of Jeremy and all? My dad’s really looking forward to seeing them.”

“I wouldn’t do that—not to any of you. Believe it or not, I trust you. I wouldn’t let you take them if I didn’t.”

“Thanks.” His blue eyes were curiously vulnerable for a moment. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

“Yes, I do,” she said with a grin. “Just watch him around those horses.”

He nodded. “So, when I come to get them two weeks from today, they’ll be ready to go?”

“They’ll be ready.”

“Okay.” He paused. “You look real good, Esther.” He winked. “Have a good time with your new
friend.”

Esther raised her eyebrows and refused to respond.

* * *

Tuesday morning, Alexander sat in the back of his classroom as Esther gave the day’s lesson. He had brought with him a pile of papers from another class, as he always did when she was going to teach, so that he wouldn’t make her nervous. Not that she ever seemed nervous. He smiled, watching her.

The lecture today was one they had discussed the week before. In addition to herbal lore, Esther had studied obstetrics in preparation for her nursing degree and she wanted to share the grueling conditions of childbirth in the dark ages with the students. “After all,” she said, “we’re presenting the dark side.”

He had agreed. Now she leaned on the desk casually. “We talk a lot about natural childbirth these days,” she said. “And I’m aware that, particularly in places like Boulder, there are a number of home births as well, tended by midwives.” With a wistful smile, she went on. “That attitude tends to romanticize what is a very sweaty, very intense—if not downright painful—process.” Her smile broadened, putting the students at ease. “Still, I’m willing to bet at least two-thirds of you believe in home births. Let me see some hands.”

Every hand in the room went up. Alexander smiled to himself. As Esther pulled out her support materials, items that would draw the differences between home birth in the 1990s and the average birth of 490, he found himself concentrating less and less upon her words and more and more upon the woman herself.

A black velvet ribbon tamed the cloud of pale red hair and she wore a dress he hadn’t seen although its general style was familiar. She favored the thirties and forties, sweetheart necklines and flashy buttons, or blouses that showed off her creamy shoulders. Alexander had overheard Abe teasing her once about the fact that she didn’t wear jeans or shorts like other women and Esther had saucily replied that she didn’t have many assets, so she showed off her shoulders. The rest could just stay decently draped.

Not many assets. Alexander never understood where women got such strange ideas about themselves. Even in the simple black gauze dress she wore this morning, her rounded figure was delicious, the hips and breasts full, her waist proportionately smaller. He’d never been accorded a glimpse of her thighs, but her calves were sleekly muscled. For an instant, he was assaulted with a memory of how giving her lush curves had felt against him Saturday night, how somnolent her exotic brown eyes had been, how ripe her lips.

Not many assets, indeed.

He bent his head over the papers, willing himself to stop devouring her so obviously. Already several of his students had given him a nudge or two, their knowing eyes full of approval. They liked Esther. They liked Alexander. They really liked the pair of them together.

He’d intentionally waited for three days to see her again, forcing himself to give her time. He wondered now if it had been a good idea.

Because this morning as he’d showered and dressed, as he’d walked to the campus, as he’d drunk tea in his office and left crumbs for the birds on his windowsill, his mind had been full of Esther. He couldn’t wait to see her this morning, hear her laughter, see her smile, watch her earnestly present her lecture in her usual sympathetic way, leading the students around to her point of view in an almost painless fashion. She was practical, he’d learned, just as she had said she was. Practical and vibrant, bright and sweet, opinionated and empathetic—she was more alive and fascinating than anyone he’d ever met. He felt as if he’d discovered an endlessly puzzling and challenging book, one overlooked by less discerning men, one that would continue to fascinate him into turning pages for all eternity.

The thought, rambling as it was, shocked him. He looked up at her, watched her lips shape words, watched her laugh in answer to a comment a student made—all eternity. She caught him staring and her eyes lit with a smoky passion before she looked away.

And still Alexander stared, an unsettling realization filtering through the haze of lusty thoughts he’d used to obscure the truth.

He desired her, yes—with every fiber of his being. She had only to smile to arouse him nearly to distraction. In all his life, no woman had affected him in such a way. He somehow knew that there was perfect chemistry between them physically, that when they joined, it would be something neither of them would ever forget.

But although he’d certainly caught himself more than once spinning an erotic daydream about her, those were not the only ones he’d indulged.

In the drifting moments before sleep, he sometimes imagined eating a snack with her in the quiet of a late-night kitchen. He imagined taking her to England and wanted to meet the colonel, her father.

He was, quite simply, obsessed.

There had been times when his intellectual curiosity had been so aroused by some incident in history that he would find himself reading every book and paper written on the subject, hunting down odd bits of information—gulping it all down with an urgency that had sometimes driven Susan crazy. In trying to describe the feeling to her once, he had said that he sometimes felt that if he could only get enough information, he could create something akin to a hologram in his mind. The subject would then live, and he would be able to see it from all angles, all of it.

There was a disturbing similarity in what he felt toward Esther.

And there, sitting in the bright classroom, with summer blooming beyond the windows, and the subject of his obsession laughing, Alexander felt the doom descend. His demonic memory belched forth a picture of Susan, wasted away with hollows below her eyes, too weak to even bathe herself. He remembered the perfect face of his mother in her coffin, so perfect that his youthful mind had been completely unable to grasp the reality of her death. Finally his grim imagination conjured up a picture of a lifeless Esther, the spirit within her freed, leaving behind an empty shell.

He saw himself grieving her as he had grieved his mother and Susan—utterly lost in the lightless abyss.

No.

He would not do it again, would not face it again. He would not risk loving her, risk the loss of her. As it stood, he had known deep pleasure in holding her, in kissing her. A great many hours had been spent in her lively company. But he was not in love with her. Not yet.

It might be cowardly, but God help him, he could not survive another encounter with the sucking black hole of despair that he’d known. Not again.

* * *

As the students filed out of the classroom, Esther saw Alexander stiffly bent over his papers. She frowned. There was an odd expression on his face, thunderous and intense—not quite a frown. She wove through the aisle between desks and stood before him.

“Is something wrong, Alexander? I know the discussion got a little out of hand, but I thought they seemed to be getting the point pretty well.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, briskly, and stood up. He didn’t look at her. “I was woolgathering, that’s all.”

For an instant, Esther was reminded of the day he’d hurried away from her in the café because something she said had reminded him of Susan. “I was hoping to buy you a cup of coffee before your next class,” she said and then gave him a reason to refuse. “Do you have to rush off?”

He looked at her and Esther saw that the disturbing expression was one of thinly concealed bleakness. He searched her face and she was certain he would refuse her with a small white lie. Then he raked his fingers through his hair and took a breath. “Let’s go for a walk instead, shall we?”

“All right.”

“I’ll need to stop by my office first.”

They climbed the steps side by side toward the high room. Esther felt a strange, cloying darkness emanate from him in spite of the fact that outwardly he looked exactly the same. It occurred to her that this distant Alexander was the one who’d earned his reputation for aloofness and a part of her protested—couldn’t they see it was pain that made him lock himself away?

Alexander unlocked his office door and Esther heard a flutter of wings. She followed him in and saw a cluster of finches on a branch outside the open window, their heads cocked toward the crumbs yet left on the windowsill.

“Did we disturb you, little ones?” she said softly.

Alexander took a bag from a desk drawer and reached into it, pulling out a handful of birdseed. “We’ll leave you in a minute,” he said, the British syllables sounding more clipped than usual, as if he were holding things in so tightly that he couldn’t even risk drawling a word.