Twice in a Lifetime Page 8

  He glanced up. "Thank you. I designed it myself."

  She put the linens on a dresser and looked around. The southern wall was made entirely of glass, which was of course the most striking feature. In addition a generous skylight had been cut from the roof, so that the entire room was bathed in the dazzling afternoon sun. A compact, ultramodern kitchen area occupied one corner, separated from the rest of the room by a mahogany bar and closed off with shutter doors inset with yellow and orange stained glass. The stained glass pattern was repeated on the shutters over the bar, so that the entire little kitchen, featuring bronze miniappliances and a cheery yellow and white dining booth, could be enclosed when it was not in use. The color scheme of the rest of the room was russet and pumpkin, from the gaily patterned draperies that framed the glass south wall and matching curtains on the two other windows, to the long low sofa in an earthy pattern and its companion easy chair in a solid pumpkin velvet. There were splashes of peacock-blue, scarlet, and sunshine-yellow in the patterns, picked up by throw cushions and bright red and blue and yellow scatter rugs on the gleaming hardwood floor. The king-size brass bed was covered with a puffy russet comforter with a narrow row of orange piping along the hem and the edges of the pillow shams. Overall, the unlikely combination of colors was stunning and exciting, especially in combination with the dazzling amount of natural light the room got. She knew it was an unusual color scheme for a man's room, but also thought it perfectly suited this man's vibrant, unpredictable personality.

  She asked, "Did you decorate it yourself?"

  "To the last hook, nail, and cushion," he replied, carrying an armload of books from a carton to the empty set of shelves near the bed. "I made a deal with Michael—he let me design and build and furnish this place to my own taste and I promised to stay out of their hair when I was visiting."

  She smiled, admiring the rich wood finish on the open doors of the enormous walk-in closet and peeking into a small brown-and-yellow-checked bathroom. "You must visit a lot to go to all this trouble— and expense."

  He shrugged. "Now, that depends on whom you ask, I guess. I don't think I visit enough. Kate and Michael—" he grinned "—might have a different version."

  "What's all this?" she asked, poking into one of the cartons.

  "Just some stuff I store here. Part of the deal is that Michael gets to use the place for other guests when I'm not here, but it makes me feel more at home to have some familiar books and pictures around when I come back."

  She laughed. "From the looks of it, you are at home."

  He turned and there was a small pensive smile on his face. "Not really, of course," he answered. "But I spend so much time in foreign hotels that it's nice to think about a place that feels like home."

  "But what about your cabin in the woods?"

  He took some more books from a carton. "I told you, it's too empty."

  She helped him arrange the last of the books on a shelf, and then he uncrated a stereo system and set it on the bottom shelf. Sitting on the floor, he unearthed a stack of albums from a deep carton and declared, "What is your taste, my lady? Hard rock, pop, jazz, classical, country-western…?"

  "What?" she replied in mock amazement. "No soft, sweet, wine-and-candlelight numbers?"

  "Music to seduce pretty redheads by," he returned and swept one from the bottom of the stack with a flourish. "No self-respecting playboy would be without it."

  She laughed. "I'm not a redhead!" she told him and started to step away.

  But he caught her around the knees, and she squealed and flung her arms out as he dragged her, laughing, to the floor, so that she was resting half on his lap, her shoulders supported by his raised knee as he bent over her with mock scrutiny. "No," he agreed, delicately separating the strands of her hair with his long, slender fingers. "You're not exactly a redhead. What are you?"

  "I'm going to be in traction," she replied, wiggling against the uncomfortable arch of her back, "if you don't let me go."

  He caught her wrists against his chest as she started to push away, but lowered his knee to the floor so that her back was in a more comfortable position and her head was cradled in the crook of his leg. "Natural color," he pursued, still pretending to examine her hair, "or ready-made?"

  "You!" In mock anger she flailed at him, and he wrestled her playfully for a moment, laughing, until at last he subdued her and she was caught more securely than before between his strong legs.

  He held both of her wrists in one of his hands and pinned them to her chest, and he leaned over her, a challenging gleam in his eye as he demanded huskily, "Had enough?"

  She was laughing between panting breaths, her small breasts rising and falling rapidly beneath the light checkered material of her shirt. Her face was flushed a delicate pink and her eyes were sparkling. She retorted, "I'll bet I get you on the next round!"

  But there was not going to be a next round. As she watched him the mischief in his eyes faded and was replaced by a warmer, more subtle light and the laughter turned into a gentle smile. "You're nice," he said softly, and his eyes were moving over her face in a leisurely, appreciative manner. "You're fun to be around. I hope you're around a lot, Bobbie."

  His hair fell forward as he bent over her, shadowing his forehead. Barbara was very aware of his hand, strong and warm, clasped about her wrists, and the weight of it against her chest. She felt her own features soften as she looked into the gentle green lights of his eyes and her breath was not coming any easier, although the laughter was gone. She knew, in this happy moment, in this bright and colorful room with the afternoon sun streaming over them, picking up lazy motes of dust in the air and turning the glossy wood floor beneath them into a rosy-yellow hue, as she was wrapped in his arms and cuddled against his lap and everything seemed so right and natural, that he was going to kiss her. And she knew that she wanted him to.

  There was a short raucous buzz, seeming twice as loud because it was so unexpected and so inopportune, and Barbara jumped. Kyle closed his eyes and said softly, "Damn."

  Barbara began to squirm away as though they had been caught in an illicit act. "What is it?" she demanded as the buzzer came again.

  "Telephone." He released her reluctantly, then brought her clasped hands to his lips and kissed them with a slow smile. "Next time," he promised softly, and for a moment Barbara's eyes were trapped by the steady assurance in his, and she felt a small shiver run down her spine.

  Then he stood. "I have an extension to the main house," he explained, skirting the bed to reach the telephone table on the other side of it. "There's an intercom button on the main phone in the downstairs hall, also a hold. So if I ever get a call, just put them on hold and buzz me up here. I'll pick it up."

  "So," she retorted, still a little high-strung from the unfulfilled encounter and the excited wondering it had left behind, "now I'm hired on as your secretary too?"

  He grinned as he sat on the edge of the bed. "On the other hand," he added, "if you just want to talk to me, all you have to do is push the button. It might get kind of lonely in that big house all by yourself."

  "I'll manage," she replied with mild sarcasm, and the buzzer sounded again impatiently.

  Kyle answered it. "Yeah?… Okay, got it. Thanks, Kate." He turned to her with a wink. "See? Nothing to it." Then he pressed the other button and spoke into the receiver. "Okay, Stan, what've you got?"

  Stan? Wasn't that the name of his attorney? And from the look that slowly crossed Kyle's face Barbara was afraid this conversation was not going to turn out much better than the last one she had overheard. She lingered at the door, uncertain whether to stay and be witness to another embarrassing one-sided telephone conversation or to leave without telling him. If he started shouting, she decided, she would sneak out.

  But it was a long time before he spoke again. When he did, it was only to say quietly, "Yeah, that's what I was afraid of… Okay, do your best, then." And at last, heavily, "Yes. So am I." He replaced the receiver, but he did not turn
around immediately.

  When he did look at her, there was an absent, distracted look on his face. All the good humor had faded from his eyes. It seemed an effort for him to form even the tiny smile that came to his lips, and it was not the kind of smile that she liked. It was as though he were addressing a stranger, and after the intimacy that had passed between them only a moment ago, it made Barbara feel rather cold. "Say, Bobbie," he began, and his voice sounded strained with the effort to sound casual, "I don't want you to think I'm the kind of guy who breaks dates…"

  "Dates?" she repeated, frowning a little in confusion. "Did we have a date?"

  His laugh was false. "Now I don't feel guilty for breaking it. I was going to take you out to dinner, remember? But to tell you the truth—" he dropped his eyes briefly, gazing aimlessly about the room "—I'm a little tired. Too much, too soon, I guess. Can we make it tomorrow?"

  Barbara hesitated. He did look a little white and drawn about the lips, but only a moment ago he had felt well enough to be romping with her on the floor… And suddenly she understood. His "fatigue" had begun with the telephone call. She said, with an uncertain smile, "Sure thing. Tonight wouldn't have been good anyway. You still have a lot to do, and I had really forgotten about it."

  He nodded. "Tell Katie not to expect me for dinner. I'm going to go out in a minute and get some groceries, and I think I'll just fix a sandwich here and turn in early."

  "I'll tell her." She lingered. "Do you need any help—unpacking and all?"

  He hesitated. For a moment, as she looked at him, she was sure he wanted her to stay. And then he shook his head. "No, thanks. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

  She nodded, smiled again, and turned to go.

  He said, "And, Bobbie…"

  She turned.

  "Thanks," he added quietly.

  She was surprised. "For what?"

  "For not asking," he said simply.

  The moment between them was honest and pure, and she could not face it for more than a moment. It had been too long since anyone had looked at her like that. She went quickly down the steps.

  Her thoughts were with Kyle that evening. She had dinner with Kate and Michael, and although they did nothing to make it so, she felt excluded from their very special happiness. She tried not to think that if things had been different it would have been she and Daniel cuddling on the sofa and sharing secret smiles and looking through baby catalogs… She thought instead of Kyle. From the living room window she could see the lights in the guest house still burning, despite the fact that he had said he was going to turn in early. She imagined he was still brooding about the phone call, for whatever his attorney had said to him had upset him badly.

  She could only assume that his case, whatever it was, was not going well. She wished she knew what it was about, but clearly she could not ask. She was just sorry for whatever his trouble was and hoped it would be over soon. She liked him so much better when he was being playful and boyish and just a little nutty…

  Liked him. She realized suddenly that she did like Kyle, in a way she had not liked anyone in a long time. His companionship was easy and natural and she felt good when she was around him. Before now she had not thought of it that way. She knew she was attracted to him, but what woman wouldn't be? He was so handsome it was almost sinful, and when he held her in his arms, she went all watery—but that was just chemistry, just as she had told him that day on the beach, wasn't it? She had thought it was that chemistry that was making her a little shy of him, afraid her senses and her perfectly natural instincts would lead her into something she was not quite certain she was ready for. But now she wondered if it was not something more. Wasn't it just a little bit dangerous to be so physically attracted to the first friend she had made since Daniel's death? Wasn't she just setting herself up for a big fall?

  Kate and Michael went to bed early, but Barbara stayed downstairs and watched television. As she was turning off the lights and closing up the house after the late news, she saw Kyle's silhouette crossing the lawn toward the beach. For a moment she was moved by the impulse to join him. But no, he had wanted to be alone tonight, he had made that clear. And she was not certain that a romantic stroll along the beach was what she needed tonight, either. She went upstairs toward her own room, disturbed.

  Kate and Michael had not gone to sleep, and their door was cracked just enough to allow their voices to float across to Barbara's room.

  "You may not have noticed," Kate was saying in a dry tone, "but your brother is what is commonly known as a woman-slayer. He's much too good-looking for his own good—or that of any unfortunate woman who happens to cross his path."

  Barbara's curiosity was piqued by that, and she did not close her own door immediately. Michael replied airily, "I understand anxious mamas lock their daughters away when he passes through town."

  Barbara smothered a giggle as Kate retorted, "You know I'm serious! I'm just not at all sure about leaving them alone together for all that time."

  Michael's sigh was exasperated. "Come on, honey, my brother is not an animal, and both of them are, I believe, what is termed 'consenting adults.' It's none of our business and totally out of our control."

  "It's just that I'm so fond of both of them," worried Kate, "and they're both so vulnerable right now."

  "They're fond of you too," returned Michael sternly, "and if you would like to keep it that way, take my advice and stay out of it. So what if they fall into a little summer romance? It could be the best thing in the world for Barbara right now, and it wouldn't hurt Kyle in the least to have a girl like her around for a change. Whatever happens, it's their affair—if you'll pardon my choice of words. The best thing you can do is avoid the subject of Kyle with Barbara and vice versa. Just pretend you don't notice a thing."

  Barbara closed the door quietly. It was a natural concern, she supposed, knowing her big sister's tendency to be overprotective, and Kyle had not been exactly subtle in his playful pursuit of her. It bothered her to think she was worrying Kate. She decided the best thing to do would be to keep her interest in Kyle to herself, as much as she would have liked to discuss him with Kate. And it wasn't as though she had a real interest in him, exactly… just curiosity. And, right now, a great deal of confusion.

  The next afternoon Kyle drove Kate and Michael to the airport, but before she left, Kate had a string of last-minute instructions for Barbara. "You know where the household money is," she reminded her, "if you need anything. The freezer's stocked, and so is the refrigerator, and there's a roast right on top that needs to be used before we get back. The plumber, electrician, and handyman are all listed in that little book on the telephone table. If there's an emergency, just have Kyle write the check and we'll pay him back."

  "Hey, come on," Kyle protested, laughing.

  "Remember, Jojo gets a can of Alpo in the morning and keep his bowls filled with fresh water and dry dog food."

  "I know how to take care of a dog," Barbara put in impatiently. "You're going to miss your plane!"

  Kate gave her pet a hug and ruffled his fur affectionately. "And his dog biscuits are on the shelf in the laundry room—"

  "Laundry room?" interrupted Barbara incredulously.

  "He'll eat the whole box," explained Kate seriously, "if you don't hide them from him. Now, I'll call you—"

  "No, she won't," corrected Michael, grasping his wife's hand and pulling her inside the car. "We're on vacation and you can't reach us anywhere, so if the house burns down, call the insurance agent and make do the best you can."

  "The insurance agent's number is on the…" began Kate, calling out the window, but Kyle started the car and drove off with a wave.

  Barbara went back into the house, laughing a little and shaking her head. Yes, Kate would make a wonderful mother. After all, she had been practicing on her baby sister for twenty-six years.

  Kyle had told her to be ready for dinner when he got back, and she was glad they were going out tonight. She was not certain how
she would feel the first night alone in a strange house. Although she tried to tell herself she was not afraid to stay by herself, it had taken her a long time—perhaps too long—to get used to the nights without Daniel, even after she had moved out of their familiar apartment into the little efficiency. At home she had always left the radio on low to compensate for the sound of Daniel's deep breathing next to her. When she had been here with Kate and Michael, just knowing someone was in the next room had helped, but she was not certain how she would react in this big empty house now that she was alone again.

  But for a while at least, she had something to distract her. She washed her hair and spilled a generous portion of Kate's bubblebath into the tub before stepping in. When she had soaked herself to a rosy, perfumy glow, she wrapped herself in a fluffy bath towel and sat down at the dressing table to do her nails. Why, she thought as she admired the pale pearl-pink polish on her nails, I'm acting just like I'm going out on a date! And then she realized suddenly that was exactly what it was—her first date since Daniel had died. That made her a little nervous, for some reason.

  After a while she saw Kyle drive up in Michael's car and watched him go up to his apartment, taking the steps easily and with grace. Even in the cast he had somehow managed to appear confident and surefooted; in his natural state every line of his body spoke of vital masculinity.

  She assumed Kyle would only take time to shower and change, so she dragged herself away from the window to dry her hair. She fashioned it into a small pompadour and let the curls trail in little tendrils about her forehead and cheeks, then applied a small amount of shadow and mascara to emphasize her eyes. She chose one of the voile sundresses Kate had picked out for her, a white one splashed with an open pattern of peach-colored flowers. The tiny straps held up a low bodice that was gathered in the center; it had a tight waist and a circle skirt. She wore white sandals with a small heel and, as an afterthought, took up a light shawl just as she heard the front door open. It might get chilly later on.