"He did."
"Are you going?"
"I told him I would."
"I know. That's what he said. But I don't want you to feel obligated to go just because he asked you to."
He studied her for a moment. "You don't want me along, is that it?"
"No! I mean, yes. I mean…" She drew a deep breath. "It's fine with me if you really want to attend something so… It's an elementary-school carnival. There'll be a thousand kids running around like wild Indians and frantic parents chasing after them. It's noisy and messy and… and…" She made a helpless gesture. "It's not something I think you'll enjoy."
"Because I'm a confirmed old bachelor."
Damn! Now I've insulted him, she thought when he turned his back on her and headed toward his Jeep parked in the driveway. "It's not that, Mr — Thad. I just wanted to give you an opportunity to back out if you wanted to. I'd make it all right with Matt and spare you having to tell him."
He had let down the tailgate of the Jeep and now slid a monstrous box from the back of it. He hefted it to his shoulders and retraced his steps into the backyard. Not knowing what else to do, she dogged his footsteps. He eased the box to the ground.
"I've never had kids, but I'm not so old that I don't remember being one, Elizabeth." When he spoke her name, it did something funny to her tummy. Like his fingers had stroked her there.
"I didn't mean to imply that — "
"I even remember a few school carnivals and how excited I got over them. I was lucky enough to have my mom and dad to go with me."
Elizabeth leaned against the nearest tree trunk and sighed. "You make me feel as guilty as Matt did. I scolded him when he told me he had invited you. I was mortified. I didn't want you to feel obligated. He called me the meanest mom in the whole world."
Thad chuckled. "I hardly think you're that. I don't feel obligated to go to the festival. In fact, I think I'll enjoy it a lot. And I didn't want to make you feel guilty. Okay? Now can we stop apologizing? In fact, I'd like to drop the subject altogether. Tell me what you think of this."
He knelt down and tipped the large cardboard box forward. Elizabeth dropped to her knees beside him and studied the photograph on the side of the box.
"A hammock! How lovely."
"You think so?"
"Yes. I've always wanted one. One exactly like this." According to the picture on the box, the hammock was made of woven white jute. Long fringe hung from the sides of it.
"I've always wanted one too. I thought I'd hang it between these two trees." He pointed them out to her.
"Oh, yes. And in the summertime, it'll be wonderful to — " She broke off abruptly.
"To what?" he asked quietly, watching her face. When she declined to answer him, he said, "To lie in?"
"Isn't that what hammocks are for?"
"Uh-huh. Feel free to lie in mine anytime."
"Thank you."
"But you won't, will you?"
She looked up at him quickly, stunned by his keen perception. "Probably not."
"Why not?"
"I wouldn't want to take advantage of the offer."
He shook his head. "Nope. That's not it. You don't want to lie in my hammock because the other neighbors might start gossiping about us. They might think you're lying in my bed as well."
Her stomach bobbed in her middle like a helium balloon, weightless and flighty with nowhere to go.
"There's absolutely nothing for the neighbors to gossip about."
"And you're making damn sure it stays that way."
"Do you blame me?"
"Blame?" His brows drew together over the bridge of his nose. "'Blame' isn't the word I'd use. I just think it's silly for you to go out of your way to avoid me."
She had no comeback so she didn't offer one. He had her pegged and she'd only look sillier to deny his allegation.
"I understand why you go to such lengths," he said softly. "You have to protect your reputation. People are watching to see if you'll slip up, become an irresponsible parent, do something scandalous."
"It's almost a cliché, how young widows are supposed to be — "
"Sex starved," he bluntly supplied. "And I'm a bachelor who lives alone. That in itself makes me suspect. So if you came inside my house for something as innocent as borrowing a cup of sugar, the gossips would have it that we'd had a quickie on the kitchen table." He laughed shortly. "Quickies have their uses, but personally I've never cared much for them. They're like rushing through an excellent bottle of wine. You don't drink it because you're thirsty. You drink it for the pleasure you can derive from its taste." His blue-hot gaze moved to her mouth. "Some things should be savored, lingered over."
Elizabeth's throat had closed to any words she might have uttered, had she been able to think of any. Her heart, however, was making enough racket to compensate. She was certain he could hear it banging against her ribs.
"You're shivering." He raised his hand and touched her arm where the flesh was pebbly.
"I'm cold. I should have brought a sweater with me."
"Come on, I'll walk you to your door."
"That's not necessary."
"It is to me."
They confronted each other stubbornly, but Elizabeth was the one who eventually capitulated. She had left the light on in the kitchen and, as they picked their way across the dark lawns, was amazed to see how much was visible through the windows. She rarely thought to close the blinds because she liked letting the sunlight in during the day.
Could Thad see into her house from his screened back porch? She must remember never to come into the kitchen at night in a state of dishabille or he wouldn't need his girlie magazines to get his kicks.
"Have I thanked you for trimming my side of the hedge?" she asked, remembering that she owed him a thank you.
"Did you notice?"
"I noticed. Thanks. How are the puppies?"
"Doing very well. Growing."
"Good." They had reached her back door and could, thankfully, end this ridiculous conversation.
"What time Saturday?" he asked.
"I think the kids said seven. If you're sure."
"I'm sure. I'll pick you up."
She started to object, but something in the determined set of his chin prevented that. "Okay. That sounds fine, Thad. Well, good night."
"Elizabeth." He caught her hand before she could shield herself with the screen door.
"Yes?"
"Have they healed?" He ran his thumb over the palm of her hand. His touch was feather-light, but it might just as well have been electric for the currents it sent through her arm.
"My hands? Yes. They've healed. Completely." As though doubting her, he raised her hand closer to his face and studied the palm. He was still staring at it when he said, "If you should ever need me, for any reason, call. To hell with what the neighbors think."
When he did lift his gaze back to hers, it took her breath. Before she could regain enough of it to offer a comment or another good night, he released her hand and disappeared in the darkness.
Chapter 4
The stranger emerged from the darkness. He was spawned from it and was one with it. He materialized in front of me — tall, wide of shoulder, narrow of hip, a delta-shaped torso of manly muscle.
I couldn't see his face clearly, but I knew him instantly. His features were indistinct, but I recognized him. And because I did, his sudden appearance wasn't frightening. Exciting, yes. Thrilling, definitely. Forbidden, by all means. But not frightening.
He said nothing. Nor did I. Words were superfluous. We knew what the other expected, wanted. In the darkness we would give and take without inhibition. Pleasure was our common ground. Personalities were made insignificant by primal need. Neither pasts nor futures mattered. Only this present. This present redolent with a carnality which must be admitted, addressed, and assuaged to our mutual satisfaction.