Meeting at Midnight (11 page)

“Okay, he may be worse than a noodle.” I hesitated. “You have a brother or sister?”

“Brother. Half brother, I mean.” She sighed and laid her head on my shoulder. “I toyed with the idea of introducing myself, but when I stayed with the judge and Granny Dearest all those years ago, my father never brought his new wife and son with him when he came up on weekends. So my brother may not know I exist.”

“You came all the way to Highpoint, but didn't do anything about meeting him?”

“Oh, I did something. Being a bright, mature woman, I stalked him.”

I didn't mean to laugh. It snuck out.

“I agree. Pretty ridiculous. I checked out where he works, where he lives. I'd just about talked myself into going up to his door, but kept driving around his house.
Then someone else pulled up. I saw them together. All of them—my father, his wife, their son. They were…complete. A unit. I decided I had to either fish or cut bait.” She shrugged. “I cut bait. That's when your brother found me at the bus station.”

“Thank God he did.”

She nodded against my shoulder. “It hurt. Seeing them together hurt. I didn't expect that.”

“Yeah. I guess it would.” I smoothed her hair back from her face.

“I came here because I was curious, not because I had any stupid ideas of a family reunion. I wouldn't have been hurt if I'd remembered that.”

“There you go, being human.” I shook my head and snuggled her more firmly against me. “Got to watch that. Leads to all sorts of complications.”

She snorted and slid both arms around my waist. For a minute we just stood there, holding on to each other. It probably looked as if I was comforting her, but the comfort went both ways.

Fear wasn't a rumble on the horizon anymore—it was right up in my face. Seely had no intention of staying in Highpoint. Under the circumstances, I couldn't blame her. But I couldn't lose her. All at once that was blindingly obvious. Somehow I had to make her want to stay.

The thing to do, then, was to change the circumstances. But first things first. “I'm moving back into my bedroom tonight.”

She pulled back to study my face, her eyebrows raised. “You've decided your sister and brother-in-law should share a twin bed?”

With all the company, the only bedroom left was the one that used to be Annie's. It was Zach's room now. Annie and Jack
were in my bedroom, Charlie was in his—at least, it had been his until he quit trucking a few months ago to find himself and ended up in Arizona. And Seely was in Duncan's old room.

My heart started pounding. Oh, yeah, I was scared. Foolishly, over-the-top scared. “There's a double bed in your room. If you move in with me, they can have that one.”

She didn't exactly fall on my neck with enthusiasm for the idea. “Define ‘move in.'”

“Sleep in my bed. Take over the closet. Argue over who gets custody of the remote.” I ran my hand along the length of her hair where it spilled over her shoulder, and my voice dropped. “Be there when I wake up and reach out for you.”

Her eyes were troubled. “Ben…”

“I reached for you this morning and you weren't there.”

She swallowed. “I thought you didn't believe in living together.”

“I changed my mind.”
Please,
I thought—maybe at God, maybe at Seely.
Please.

That slow smile started in her eyes, spreading over the rest of her face like sunlight easing up over the rim of the world. “Changing your mind…is that anything like admitting you were wrong?”

“Pretty close.”

“In that case…” She slid her arms around my neck. “I suppose a man who can admit he was wrong deserves some kind of reward.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It is.”

Several minutes later she was pressed against the wall, one leg curled around my thigh. Various things were unfastened. We were both breathing hard.

“Oh, boy,” she said, resting her forehead against my shoul
der and letting her leg slide back down. “We are not going to do this here.”

“Right.” I'd forgotten where we were, forgotten about my brothers, my sister and sister-in-law, my son and his friends…I was going to be really worried about my loss of control. Later. Maybe tomorrow. Right now I didn't have enough blood left in my head to scrape together a thought that didn't involve the wall, the fullness of the breast I cupped and whether it was possible to do what I wanted with only one arm.

I dragged more air in, let it out. “About that pie…apple, you said?”

Her laugh was shaky. “You are
such
a man. Here, help me put back together some of the bits you unfastened.”

“I may as well peel apples. I can't go back outside yet, not in this condition. My brothers would never let me hear the end of it.” They'd probably rag me anyway, but if I went out there now I'd hear way too many cracks about hauling lumber around in my jeans.

We got her bra and sweater fastened, and her jeans—which I didn't remember undoing—and my jeans, which I
know
I hadn't unsnapped—and headed for the kitchen hand in hand. I was limping a little for the first time that day.

Which reminded me. “You haven't given me any trouble about my knee and the stairs. I guess you knew it's pretty much healed.”

She slid me a long, level glance. And didn't say a word.

 

“I'd complain about how long it took you,” Charlie said, taking the bottle I held out, “but Seely has more to bitch about. You were in there too long for retrieving a couple beers, not long enough for anything else. Not if you did things right.”

“You want to drink that beer or wear it?”

He grinned, lazy and obnoxious. “You're big, but I'm faster. Especially with half your body parts not working right. Speaking of which…” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Works fine,” I said mildly, and took a swig of my own beer.

“Glad to hear it.” Charlie tilted his bottle up.

The softball game had broken up while I was in the kitchen with Seely. Gwen and Annie were inside helping get the last few things done; the women had agreed to handle the preparation if the men took care of the ribs and the cleanup. Duncan was on his way home to shower and change into his uniform. He'd be back to eat his share before he started his shift.

I needed to talk to him, but it could wait. Right now I felt too good to worry about anything. The sky was that drenched shade of blue that makes me feel crisp and happy, as if all that color were pouring down into me, opening me up. The ribs smelled incredible. Zach and the twins were building a fort with the help of their uncle Jack, the construction engineer. And Seely would sleep in my bed tonight.

Charlie and I stood under the big oak next to the swing I'd hung for Zach, drinking beer and watching the kids. It's a good yard for kids—big, with plenty of thick grass, but a few bare spots, too. Kids need dirt. They need places that aren't all fixed up so they can build and tear down, dream and dig and make a mess.

Dreams…I'd thought I had given up on them, but they're hard to kill. This yard, like the house, was big enough to welcome a lot of kids. I was picturing a curly-haired little girl in the tire swing when Charlie said, “I like your lady.”

My lady. That sounded good. “She's something, isn't she?” I remembered what Seely had said about men not noticing her face. “And I'm not talking about—”

“I didn't get a good look at them,” Charlie assured me.
“You closed the door too fast. Anyway, that wasn't what I meant. Though I do have to say that if Seely stays around long, you may die young, but you'll die happy.”

“Yeah.” Making sure she stayed around was the trick. “I'm going to marry her.”

He spewed beer all over. After he finished choking, he gave me a wary look. “You, ah, mentioned that to her?”

“Not yet.” First I had to deal with the situation that had made her want to leave Highpoint.

I had a plan for that.

A
t ten-thirty that night I was pacing my bedroom, which wasn't smart. I ought to stretch out in the big, comfortable bed I'd been missing and save my energy for more important things. But I couldn't settle.

The shower in the bathroom off my bedroom was running. Seely was in it.

I paused by the bed and scowled at the door to the bathroom. I was as nervous as a new English recruit watching the French form up outside a tiny village in Belgium known as Waterloo.

I grimaced. Make that as nervous as a bridegroom.

I'd always thought that when a woman moved her clothes into my closet, she'd be my wife. This living-together business was new territory for me. It didn't help that it was taking place under the amused, worried or just plain nosy eyes of my brothers and sister. Jaws had dropped when I'd an
nounced the room changes over spareribs and coleslaw. By the time we got to the apple pie I'd almost lost my appetite.

Why did they all have to act so amazed? It's not as if anyone could have mistaken me for a virgin. I'd dated. I'd had affairs, too, some of them lasting awhile. Shoot, I'd had a fiancée back in college. Okay, so maybe my family didn't know Bev and I had been engaged. They'd known we were seeing each other. You'd think they'd have guessed there was sex involved.

What I'd never had, I realized, was a
relationship.

No wonder I was nervous.

Relationship
is a woman's word. It means that you're serious about each other, but not serious enough to get married. It means “maybe,” not yes. It means that when there are problems, you're supposed to talk, work things out. In other words, make up the rules as you go along.

Jesus. I ran a hand over my hair. She sure was taking a long time in the shower.

I knew very well it was one thing to decide to marry Seely, another to pull it off. Especially when she thought she was cursed to love unhappily. She claimed she didn't believe in the curse, but I was pretty sure that deep down she did.

But maybe that wasn't such a bad deal. Women mostly liked me, some of them enough to go to bed with me. But they didn't fall head-over-heels in love, and I didn't have a clue how to make that happen. I had other things going for me, though. I was dependable. Dependable isn't sexy, but it helps when you're in for the long haul. Besides, Seely and I had the passion thing down. I wasn't going to worry about that aspect.

I could offer her a home, but I wasn't sure she wanted one. Does security matter to a woman who's been drifting around
the country? But fidelity—surely that meant something. I was aces at fidelity.

And she liked me. Aside from our fireworks in bed, she liked being with me. So I had plenty to build on, I assured myself.

The sound of the water shut off. My head swivelled toward the bathroom door, but she would have more woman-stuff to do, I reminded myself. Hair, lotion, things like that. I resumed my pacing.

My gaze fell on the pile I'd brought up from downstairs—the junk that had been sitting next to my hospital bed. Including the books I'd ordered, which I'd gotten out of sight fast when my family descended on us. Books like
The Laying On of Hands
—there were two with that title—
Hands of Healing, The Women's Book of Healing
and, God help me,
Chakras, Auras and the Healing Energy of the Body.

My fingers went to my shoulder, where a gauze pad covered the rapidly healing wound. I wasn't wearing the sling. Didn't need it anymore, though I still used it when others were around so no one asked questions I couldn't answer.

My lips tightened. I didn't mind keeping her secret, but I damned sure wanted to know what that secret was. I was pretty sure that one of the relationship rules involved being honest and open with your partner. Seely was going to have to give me some answers.

I just hoped those answers didn't involve chakras or auras.

I grimaced and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. That gave me something new to worry about. I've always been fit, and Seely seemed to like the way I was built, so I didn't think my body was a problem. But maybe I should have worn the stupid pajamas. Boxers weren't exactly romantic.

The hell with it. Normally I didn't even wear boxers to bed, much less pajamas. If a man couldn't be comfortable in his own bedroom, he—

The bathroom door opened. Seely smiled at me.

Her nightgown was made like a man's shirt, a satiny blue-green shirt that shimmered over her breasts like sunlight on water and left her legs mostly bare. Her hair frizzed around her face and spilled over her shoulders, excited by the humidity from her shower.

Her smile was shy. “Hi, sailor. Looking for a girl to show you a good time?”

I exhaled in relief. “Good. You're nervous, too.”

She gave a startled laugh. “You want me to be nervous?”

“I don't want to be the only one who swallowed Mexican jumping beans.” Seeing her nerves settled mine down. I moved to her and put my arms around her waist. “I like your nightgown.”

“Good.” Her lips tilted mischievously and she tucked her fingertips into the waistband of my shorts. “I see you're a flannel kind of a guy, all the way.”

“Flannel's warm.” I kissed her cheek. “And soft.” I kissed the other cheek. “I like warm, soft things.”

“Mmm.” Her eyes were slumberous and sexy. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to distract me from my nerves.”

“How am I doing?” This time I touched her lips with mine.

“Pretty good.”

My body was making suggestions about the curves and softness nestled against me. I could tell she was aroused, too. But for a moment we just stood there smiling at each other.

She pulled away to wander the room, touching things as if she were getting acquainted. “It's funny. Sometimes it
seems as if I've known you for ages, but I haven't. I was struck by that when I came out just now—how short a time I've known you. I've never been in your bedroom at the same time you were.” She shook her head. “Even for a couple of impetuous souls like us, things have moved pretty fast, haven't they?”

“Wait a minute. I am not impetuous.”

“No?” Her mouth twitched. “What do you call hiring me without checking my references? Or asking me to live with you when you've only known me ten days?”

“A good decision and a great one. I'm decisive, not impulsive.”

That made her laugh. It was a good sound. “I like your room. Very masculine, but in a comfortable way. A touch old-fashioned. This lamp is a surprise, though.” She touched the shade on the lamp by the bed. “It's lovely, but quite feminine.”

“It was my mother's. I kind of like keeping her lamp where I can see it. She was so tickled when she bought it—it's hand-painted china.”

Her ready smile tilted her lips up. “You're sentimental.”

“It's not sentimental to respect the past.”

“I like sentimental.” She came back to me and linked her arms around my waist. “I think I'm ready to be fired now.”

“Ah…” I blinked a couple times. “Because we aren't naked yet?”

“Because you don't need nursing care anymore. I can't justify drawing a salary for scrubbing your back and nagging you to take care of yourself.”

Those were things a wife did. I gripped her waist. “I'll scrub your back, too.”

“It's a deal.”

I kissed her like I meant it this time. When I lifted my head,
it wasn't because I wanted to. I've always preferred action to words, and my body was definitely not in the mood for verbal communication.

But I couldn't let this go. “One more thing we need to talk about. Why
don't
I need nursing care?”

She went still—and her face, dammit, closed down.

“I don't need the sling anymore. I ought to, but I don't. My knee is almost normal. I want to understand.”

She pulled away and paced. “Why can't you just accept it? Stop asking questions, stop trying to make it fit your logical world, stop reading—oh, yes, I've seen that pile of books. Why can't you leave it alone?”

“Because you won't talk about it. You won't even tell me why you won't talk about it!”

“I want to feel normal! Is that so hard to understand?” Her voice turned wistful. “You do that for me, Ben. Here, with you and your family, I feel deliciously normal. Ordinary. As if I fit.” She held out a hand. “Is it wrong to want to pretend for a while that I'm like everyone else?'

“You do fit.” My throat closed up around the words, so I went to her and pulled her close. “You fit just fine.”

She held on tight. “I could use some more distracting.”

“I can do that.” I lifted her hair with both hands, smoothing it away from her face. “I'm pretty damned distracted myself.” Which might be the first lie I'd ever told her. I was hard, I was aching, but I wasn't distracted.

But pretense was what she wanted, wasn't it? She met my mouth gladly.

For the first time I was sure that she needed me…but what she needed from me was pretense, like the game of doctor we'd played the first time we made love. But no one wins when you play at denial. I knew that, and still I let her do it.

The most extraordinary woman I'd ever known longed to feel normal. It just about broke my heart.

 

“Ben. Ben!”

Someone shook my shoulder. I jerked and woke from nightmare.

“You were dreaming,” Seely said. “Not a good dream, from the sound of it.”

“No. It wasn't.” I rolled onto my back and scrubbed my face. My skin was clammy.

The house was as silent as an old house ever gets, heavy with that dead-end-of-the-night feel. The old casement clock on the chest of drawers was ticking away. I heard the rustle of the covers as Seely propped herself up. I couldn't see her, except as a paler smudge against the darkness. But her hand was warm on my chest, and her hair tickled my shoulder.

“You want to tell me about it?” she asked. “Or would that violate the Tough Guy Code?”

“Not much to tell.”

“Well, which sort of nightmare was it? The kind where you're being chased by hairy critters with big teeth? Or maybe a version of my personal favorite—the one where I show up for algebra class in time for the big test, but somehow neglected to get dressed first.”

Okay, she'd made me smile. I reached up and tugged on one long strand of hair. “No great hairy monsters. This was more reality based.”

“And…?”

I shrugged. “I was crawling along the mountain again, only I'd lost track of which way was up, so I wasn't getting anywhere.”

“Reality-based nightmares are the pits.” She rubbed my chest in small circles. “What happened to you was the pits, too.”

“Yeah.” In the nightmare I'd kept moving, just like in reality. But I hadn't been able to tell uphill from down, so moving hadn't helped. And in the nightmare, Seely hadn't found me. I'd been dying—lost, cold, alone and dying. “I guess I have to expect a few bad dreams after such a close call.”

“Maybe so.” Her fingers began playing with my chest hair. “Um…you need some help getting back to sleep? I'm wide awake now, too.”

I felt raw, unsteady. Words seemed too frail and distant to navigate by, so I cupped her nape with my hand and brought her head down for a kiss. At the touch of her lips, need shuddered through me.

She was here. That's all I could think—Seely was real. She was in my arms, in my bed. The nightmare was false, because Seely was here.

Sex arranges itself in all sorts of ways, a grand variety of positions, styles and speeds. I wasn't thinking about style or variety then. I wasn't thinking at all. It was instinct that had me rolling her onto her back, a primitive need to cover her body with my own. It was hunger that compelled me, but a hunger unlike any I'd known.

Seely was under me. Her hands welcomed me as our legs and tongues tangled. My heart drummed an exultant riff and I took my mouth lower, drifting kisses along the cord of her neck.

She feathered her fingertips over my shoulder, where a gauze pad protected the wound. Her voice was soft and none too steady. “I should have known you'd want to be on top sooner rather than later, but your shoulder—”

“I'll be careful.” I licked my way down the slope of her breast.

She shivered. “Your knee…”

“Doesn't hurt a bit.” Which wasn't possible, but I wasn't going to question her now.

There was no moon that night, and my room is at the back of the house. The darkness was rich and complete, a prick-ling along my skin, a weightless cover woven of possibilities. In that darkness, driven by a need that both was and wasn't physical, I lost track of surfaces.

Here reality was dimensional, bodies meeting and moving in space. And as with my crawl up the mountain, reality broke up into parts—but this time each part seemed to hold the whole. I found Seely in the curve of her thigh, and the tender skin inside her elbow. She was the air that moved through my lungs, the soft cry I heard as I sucked at her breast, the hand sifting my hair. She was the dip of her navel, and the musk filling the air as I parted her inner lips and kissed her there.

At last the urgency became irresistible, pooling in one place like my blood. I braced myself over her and pushed inside. She was hot and wet, and her inner walls began contracting around me before I was fully in.

She called my name. She held on to me as my body thrust and thrust again. My own explosion hit, the universe cracking over me like a woman cracks an egg on the side of a bowl, a white-hot blow that split me open and spilled me out.

A few minutes later I fell asleep holding her and being held, neither of us having spoken another word. If I dreamed again, I didn't know it.