I had lost enough weight during the bout with strep throat to make both my wool dresses hang badly. Really, my wardrobe was sadly lacking in anything suitable. I had either skirts and sweaters for classes, cocktail and dancing length dresses, or pants. I had to settle on a kilt, Dress Mary plaid in red and green. At least the full pleats gave me some semblance of curved femininity. I had matching pullover and cardigan to wear with it. Quite British, but the garnet red of the sweaters lent a warm color to my face. As a concession to the unheated house, I tugged on knee-length socks and loafers.
I almost skipped down the stairs but restrained myself into befitting dignity. I’d be very quiet and sedate and have breakfast ready for Regan when he woke. But when I went to feed the stove, I found fresh wood just catching fire from the banked coals. Merlin was barking outside. Then the sound of water rushing in the bathroom warned me that Regan was already up.
Well, I could still get breakfast so I started fresh coffee. I sorted thriftily through the stale bread to make French toast. I had the table set when I heard Regan’s steps in the hall. I felt myself blushing and I certainly experienced what was once termed “palpitations of the heart.”
He was coming down the hall, he was at the door, his hand was turning the knob. I couldn’t bear to stand there, barefaced, waiting, so I whirled to the stove, pretending much industry over the spider. The door opened and he must have stopped at the threshold. Did I make the proper picture, I wondered?
“Morning,” I said cheerfully without looking round.
The door closed.
“Breakfast is nearly ready,” I added, making great work of turning the crisping bread.
He advanced towards me and then I could feel him so close that if I leaned a fraction backwards, I would have rested against him. Above the rich smell of French toast, I caught the odor of piney soap and shaving cream, clean linen and after-shave lotion, a combination excessively masculine and very stimulating.
Then his hands cupped my shoulders, his fingers tightening one by one. He bent and kissed the right side of my neck where the sweater ended.
“Now,” he said softly, his voice rich with laughter and love, “let’s see what my Little Bit looks like dressed as a girl?”
His hands turned me and so help me, I was suddenly too shy to look up at him. With one hand he pushed the frying spider off the burner. Inadvertently following the motion of his hand, I looked at him.
He laughed, deep in his throat. His eyes, more blue than gray this morning, were gleaming with good humor and affection. Still laughing, he spanned my waist with his hands and lifted me high. I gasped, grabbing his hands for balance before he set me down with my feet on the stool, his face level with mine.
“Now, try to avoid the issue,” he dared and, turning his head slightly to one side, drew me into his kiss.
The kiss was no less thrilling than the anticipation of it. I wished I could just melt into him. I certainly tried to. This morning he was master of the situation whereas last night’s encounter had been spontaneous. His attack on my senses was as deliberate as it was skillful. By the time he released me, I was the one trembling.
The expression in his eyes told me this was exactly what he intended and I quickly searched for some diversion to give myself a breather. My glance fell to his chin where he had cut himself shaving below the unshavable scar. As he saw my eyes drop, I felt his arms stiffen. The muscles of his mouth tightened into the thin line of withdrawal.
I wasn’t going to put up with this. If I wanted to look at Regan Laird I was not going to have to put on blinkers until he’d had plastic surgery.
I put a finger on his chin and gave a little push.
Something I owe to the soil that grew More to the life that fed. But most to Allah who gave me two Separate sides to my head.
Kipling was furthest from his mind at such a moment.
He gave a shout of laughter, hugging me exuberantly to him, swinging me around and depositing me on the floor again.
“Message received, over and out. I’m hungry,” and he gave me an affectionate shove towards the stove before he sat down.
Merlin barked at the back door and I let him in. He nosed his face into my hand in greeting. If his walk was stiff and slow, he was again operating under his own power. He went up to Regan, laid his head on Regan’s knee to have his ears scratched. That attended to, he went back to his quilts and sank down with an enormous canine sigh.
“I took a look at the sutures this morning before I let him out,” Regan remarked. “Doing fine.”
“Anything else would be a surprise to me,” I said with complete confidence in the skill of Dr. Karsh.
We had taken our time over breakfast, the problems to be met today remote from our talk. Regan was dressing to go for more wood when Merlin came alert, a bark in his throat. Regan glanced at me inquiringly.
“Friend, whoever it is,” I said. “DeLord!” We both moved swiftly to the front of the house. A Navy jeep was idling in the driveway, but there was no sign of its driver. Just then there was a knock on the back door and someone hallooed.
Merlin barked twice. Evans, the good Samaritan, stood in the kitchen doorway, grinning down at Merlin who had walked stiffly over to greet him.
“Gee, miss, he looks so much better. Dr. Karsh get here?”
“He certainly did, Evans,” Regan replied as he shook the young coastguardsman’s hand gratefully.
“I’ll have to revise my conditioned opinion of the Coast Guard,” I remarked. “Particularly since you sent us that incredible man.”
Evans’ eyes shone. “Aint he something magic? Say, did he like Merlin?”
“Love at first sight. Do you know he stitched Merlin’s side and that dog didn’t so much as flinch?”
“Believe it. I believe it,” Evans assured us fervently. “Oh, Major. A call came in to the station for you. You don’t have a phone, I know. I left the jeep running and we can make it back to the station in no time.”
“DeLord, I imagine. I’ll be right with you, Evans.”
As the sandpeep hesitated, Regan ushered him to the door, closing it firmly behind him.
“Why’d you do that?” I asked, surprised at his behavior. It bordered rudeness.
“Because, my dear ward, I do not wish to complicate your position on the Cape any further by having the Coast Guard witness our passionate farewell,” he said as he folded me into his arms. He lifted me clear of the floor, grinning broadly at the disparity in our heights.
“You’ll have to wear those clog-heels like Carmen Miranda,” he teased as he bent his head.
And a passionate farewell it was for we had not kissed often enough to be the least bit casual about it. We both intended to be brief but Evans revved the motor loudly and I was set on my feet so quickly I had to clutch the edge of the table to keep my balance.
“I’ll need that cold ride,” Regan muttered as he strode out the door.
By the time I had the table cleared and was starting the dishes, I had recovered my wits enough to start worrying. Regan had jumped to the conclusion that it was DeLord who had called. Well, if he had good news, why wouldn’t he just come back here? I chided myself for being pessimistic. Maybe DeLord needed Regan’s supportive evidence. No, Regan had been wounded before Aachen. Oh, I’d find out soon enough. No use borrowing more trouble until I knew there was some. Besides, it was difficult to stray long from the engrossing subject of Regan and me.
How incredibly delightful to contemplate the prospects. Oh, the dean was going to be livid. She hated married students. They were always giving birth in the middle of exams. We could live at the Waltham house and I’d take the summer session to finish my junior year. I assumed Regan would want me to get my degree. That was but one of the hundreds of things we would have to discuss. It was good I did have the rest of the term off at that. A nuisance to worry about a wedding and studies at the same time the way one of the girls had had to. Boy, was she a nervous wreck.