Passing Through Midnight (16 page)

He shrugged and looked away.

"It'd be weird to have a woman in your house again,
wouldn't it?"

He nodded.

"Would you hate it if it was me?"

"Depends." Again he shrugged.

"On how happy I made your dad? If I took good care of
Baxter and Matthew? If I didn't change things too much? If I let you
drive my car once in a while?"

He looked up in surprise and then grinned when he saw that
she was trying to tease him.

"Fletch, I wish I could promise you all those things. Part
of me would give anything to belong to a family like yours. But I'm
telling you as honestly as I can that I don't know what's going to
happen. I like your dad. Very much. And I'm crazy about you and Baxter
and Matthew, but… I didn't come here to get married. I'm not
sure why I came here at all, or if I want to go back. I don't want to
hurt any of you, and I don't want to get hurt. I… I don't
know. I'm trying to get through each day as best I can. Being with your
father makes me happy… and I think he's happy with me, for
now. I don't know about tomorrow."

Of course, for Dorie, making excuses herself was different
from hearing someone else make them.

"Dad?"

"Yes?" Gil was tucking Baxter into bed. Dorie had promised
to come up and read him a story before lights out—and before
she and Gil escaped to the privacy of her bedroom for
the night. She was walking slowly down the hallway to keep her promise
when she heard the discussion begin.

"Can we keep Dorie forever? Charlie got a new mom. He says
if you marry Dorie, she can be my new mom."

There was a long pause, with only the rustling of bed
linen before Gil finally spoke. "You like Dorie, don't you?"

He must have nodded because then he said, "But not her
carrot-nut cookies."

"No. They were pretty awful, huh?" A silent agreement.
"But you want Dorie to be happy, don't you? Sure. We all do. So, we
can't forget that Dorie doesn't really belong to us. She has a whole
other life waiting for her back in Chicago."

"But she doesn't have any little boys there. She told me."

"No. That's true. And she'll probably want to take you
with her when she leaves, but you belong here with me and Fletch and
Matthew."

"She'll be lonely if she goes back to Chicago without us,"
he said in a little voice.

"Maybe. For a while. But she has her own family and her
own friends and after a time, we'll be… we'll be something
good for her to remember on a rainy afternoon."

"You miss it, don't you?" Gil asked, watching her from
behind the screen door as she stood on the front porch, wrapped in a
blanket, staring out into the darkness.

"What?" she asked, turning her head to acknowledge his
presence.

"Chicago. The hustle and bustle. Being a doctor. Having a
life."

"What, I look dead to you?"

"You know what I mean. Having a life that means something
to you. Or are you planning to turn this place into a cookie factory?"

"I'd go broke making my now-famous carrot-nut cookies."

"That's true," he said, not bothering to pretend he'd
enjoyed them. He walked out onto the porch, letting the screen door
slam behind him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his
lips close to her ear. "But I'd buy dozens of those gingersnaps you
made the other day."

She sighed. "I bought those."

He chuckled and pressed his lips to her neck. She didn't
really care if he liked her cookies or not, so long as he held her
close. They stood together, rocking gently, thinking how nice it would
be if they never had to move again; if nothing ever had to change.

"What are you going to do?" he asked at last, recalling
the bedtime exchange he'd had with his son and the expression on
Dorie's face when she'd entered the room. "You can't hide here forever."

"I'm not. I haven't been. Not lately." She hesitated.
"Things are different. They feel different to me. Sometimes I can
actually feel myself putting the past behind me. I look forward to the
next day. I look forward to meeting new people. I want to do things
again. I want to get involved with the people around me. I've even been
thinking of getting a job."

"A job? As a doctor?"

"Why do I have to be a doctor?" she asked, almost angry.
"Who says that because I've been to medical school, I have to be a
doctor? I've been to college. I'm an intelligent woman. There's any
number of things I can do."

"Like what?"

"Well, for one thing I could teach. Biology at the high
school maybe. Or any of the physical sciences at the community college
or… I understand there's a nursing program there too. I
could try that. Ease my way back into medicine maybe. Someday."

"Aren't you a little overqualified to teach nursing at a
community college?"

"No. I don't think so. A teacher's a teacher," she said,
her spine going stiff with determination as it pressed against him.
"And you wouldn't believe how many times a nurse saved my tail during
my internship. I didn't sleep for two years. I got pretty punchy
sometimes."

"All that work to become a doctor, and you want to give it
up?" he asked softly. "Why'd you become a doctor in the first place?
Did it have anything to do with your dad dying so early?"

"No. Not really. It was…" She laughed softly.
"You're going to think this is completely off the wall."

"What about you isn't?"

Again she laughed. "I liked machines. I liked knowing how
they worked. My mom once bought me a little glass music box because she
thought it was pretty. I loved it because you could watch all the
wheels and spools go round inside and the little gold prongs slipping
across the little nubs on the cylinder to make the music. In almost all
my science classes it made sense to me that people and the world around
us were like a big music box. If you did this, this and this would
happen. Or this happens because of this and this or that. When I was
old enough to see all the problems in the world, I wanted to make a
difference somehow. But I was too impatient to wait for long-term
results, like working with the environment or endangered animals or
starving nations or medical research. But you could make a difference
and see the results in a hospital."

"But now you don't care about all that?"

"No. I do. But I also think I can make a difference and
see results by doing other things too."

"But not as a doctor."

"No. I want to put all that behind me, Gil. I want to
start over. Start fresh."

"And you're going to do it here." It was a statement, not
a question.

She turned in his arms, locking her hands at his waist.
"Will that bother you?" she asked. "We already have tongues wagging
about us. If I stay, it could start a tornado. Blow Kansas right off
the map."

He laughed. "And wouldn't that be something to see." He
continued to smile but sobered a little. "Dorie, you're a grown woman
and you're free to stay or go as you choose, to do what you want. It's
your choice to make."

"If I stay, people will talk."

"Let'em. They're entitled to their fun." He grinned and
bobbed his brows at her lecherously. "And we'll give them plenty to
talk about."

"And if I go back to Chicago?"

The amusement faded from his eyes, and he grew serious. He
studied her face as if trying to memorize every fine detail. Finally he
cupped her left cheek in his hand.

"If you decide to go back to Chicago, I'll miss you," he
said. She lowered her gaze from his to hide her disappointment. She
hadn't realized it until that moment, but she'd been hoping he'd ask
her not to go. She'd been wishing that he would pitch a fit and insist
that she stay because he loved her and couldn't live without her. "We
both knew when we started this that it probably wouldn't last forever.
It would be great if it could, but… it's your choice, Dorie.
You have a life in Chicago. I understand that. I'll respect any
decision you make."

"Well, I've decided to stay," she said stubbornly, angry
that he was being so damned understanding and supportive. Would it kill
him to grovel at her feet and beg her to stay with him?

"Great." His face lit up like downtown Las Vegas. "I'm
glad."

"How glad?"

"Very glad."

"How glad is very glad?"

Her eyes were teasing him from below her dark lashes, and
there was a coquettish smile on her lips, but the challenge in her
voice was unmistakable.

Show me
, it said.
Show me
how glad you'll be if I stay. Show me how glad I'll be that I decided to
.

Gil wasn't a man who made a practice of deceiving himself.
Not anymore. He knew where Dorie belonged. He knew she'd probably go
back eventually. She was still running from her past—he knew
that too. But knowing all this didn't change the way he felt about her.

Against his better judgment, against all his intentions to
protect his heart from her, against every grain of good sense he
had—he'd fallen in love with her. He loved her curiosity and
her willingness to try new things. Her gentleness and the
straightforward way she had of expressing herself. He suspected that
her confusion and vulnerability were new to her and that he wouldn't
see much of either one once everything became clear in her mind again.
She was a strong woman. An opinionated woman. She was the type of woman
he wanted his children to know, who could influence them in a positive
fashion, who could show them how good and brave a woman could be. She
was the type of woman a man could lean on, could count on when life let
him down.

Falling in love with Dorie was stupid, he knew. It could
only bring him pain. But at that moment, her face mere inches from his,
her long, slim body nestled safe in his arms, he felt young and alive
and happier than he'd been in too many years. At that moment, loving
Dorie was a risk he was willing to take, no matter the price he'd pay
later.

"Very glad is
so
glad, I feel like
celebrating," he said, kissing her lips quickly. "I feel like doing
something outrageous, something scandalous."

"Like what?" she asked, wholly unprepared for his reaction.

He was wearing only the jeans he'd slipped on when he'd
come looking for her. She watched with a frown on her face as he pushed
them to his knees and stepped out of them. "Let's run naked through the
countryside."

"Oh, let's not."

"Yes. Just you and me. Naked and free. We'll make love
again under the stars."

"You're crazy."

"I feel a little crazy. You make me feel a little crazy.
Let go of the blanket."

"No. I don't have anything on."

"I know," he said, grinning. When it was clear she had no
intention of letting go of the blanket, he shook his head and took the
scenic route to the same destination. "You're a mule-headed woman,
Dorie Devries," he said, slipping his hands through the front opening
in the blanket, his rough fingertips gliding over her smooth, soft skin.

"You're crazy," she said again, her body bristling and
shivering with anticipation.

He kissed her softly, sipping gently at her lower lip. He
kissed her cheek, the sensitive area below her ear-lobe, her neck on
both sides, her lips again. Sweet, teasing kisses that made her toes
curl. He smoothed his work-worn hands over her buttocks and pulled her
close. They wandered up her back, pressing her, inch by inch, against
him. He brought his hands forward to cup her breasts, to tease the
nipples with his thumbs as his lips slid down along her throat in the
same general direction. She winged the blanket wide to give his mouth
access to the throbbing need he'd stirred in her. A whimper of pleasure
escaped her as his mouth closed on her aching nipple, and he suckled
gently, then hard until her knees grew weak. The blanket fell to the
ground as she looped her arms about his neck, kissing his temple and
cheek and then his lips with an urgency he understood.

His tongue swept her mouth possessively, taking its
sweetness and making it his own. He tugged the air from her lungs, and
when he knew she was at his mercy, when she would follow him into the
dark night, he stopped, treasuring the dazed and wanting expression in
her eyes.

"Come on, Dorie," he said, barely whispering as he bent to
snatch up her blanket. "I'm beyond running, but I still want to love
you in the starlight."

Bemused and enchanted, she gave him her hand and let him
lead her down the front steps into the yard. The grass was soft,
prickly, and cool beneath her feet. A full moon smiled down on them,
making everything seem magical and unreal.

He spread the blanket on the grass away from the shadows
of the leaves on the trees, out in the open. His breath caught in his
throat when he turned to find her bathed in moonlight, like a mythical
goddess, perfect, seductive, and untouchable.

"Dorie." He uttered her name like a prayer. His body
trembled with weakness when she took a step toward him. He wished she
could see how awesomely beautiful she was at that moment. He wished he
could tell her, but there were no words to describe it. When she came
close enough to touch, he was suddenly afraid to, afraid she'd
disappear, afraid she wasn't really there. He held his breath and
waited, and finally she reached out to him.

"I wish you could see this," she murmured. "Your body
looks as if it were sculptured with moonbeams. So beautiful."

Her hand over his heart was like a branding iron, sizzling
hot, marking him forever. There was so much he wanted to say, to cell
her about. He said it all in one word. "Dorie."

They knelt before each other under the moon, adoring and
worshiping. They were gods, mighty and powerful. There was lightning in
their hands and thunder in their hearts. And all of nature bowed to
them as they came together, unable to distinguish where one began and
the other ended.