“Your mother’s fault,” Mitch echoed.
“Not for renting the movies, but she always had an open-door policy around here. All ages, anytime.” Her head twisted around the refrigerator door with a quick, studying glance at him. “You look like the lasagna type. Are you staying for dinner?”
“I…yes.”
She beamed approval at him. That yes was a straightforward answer. That was lesson number two. Straightforwardness and honesty were critical to a relationship. Mitch was about to get a good solid dose of her lifestyle, and she was about to take the mystery out of the man.
“The lasagna just needs to be heated up, but it’ll still take a while. In the meantime…” She tossed a head of lettuce to him and started humming, whipping around the kitchen with practiced ease. “Shred,” she ordered him.
He shredded. She grilled…him.
He was twenty-eight, a passionate football fan; he’d lived most of his life around Coeur d’Alene but had recently bought a house in Moscow; his politics were dead wrong; he knew wonderfully crazy stories about outlaws in Idaho…and that lazy half smile was becoming a fixture.
She thought he’d be thrown by the continual hustle and bustle around the place, but she was obviously wrong. He listened soberly to Mrs. O’Brien’s arthritis woes, gave a tactful opinion on Sandra’s and Bern’s newly purchased jeans, answered the phone three times and managed to slaughter Kay in an impromptu trivia quiz while they were eating. No one else ever remembered that Babe Ruth had been a coach for the Dodgers after he retired from play.
By the time they were doing the dishes, Kay had totally forgiven Mitch for not calling; she had the feeling she would forgive him just about anything when she heard his uninhibited laughter for the first time. Stix was the only one still hanging around by then. Standing in the doorway, he was absently tossing his car keys up and down, watching her and Mitch bicker over the number of presidents who’d had Franklin in their names.
“Benjamin wasn’t,” Stix whispered to her dryly.
“Well, he should have been.” The two men exchanged glances as Kay looked at the clock. “Stix, are you crazy? You’re going to be late. You said you had a date at eight and it’s already past.”
“So give us a kiss.”
She stretched up and got a stranglehold around her neck for her trouble as she walked him to the door. “Be good,” he ordered her. “Don’t do anything I would do. Try to remember to lock your door tonight…”
“The trouble with you is that you don’t have any sisters.”
“Is that my problem?”
Mitch collapsed on the couch a few minutes later. Keeping up with Kay occasionally required a rest period. Her house had everything he’d missed for years-noise and energy and bubbling laughter. Only it wasn’t the house; it was Kay.
She served him popcorn, with white wine to wash it down, then curled into the huge overstuffed chair across from the couch, her knees drawn up and her arms around them. The chair swallowed her up. She looked as feminine and helpless as a tiny kitten, but like a relentless prosecuting attorney she kept the questions coming.
He felt rusty, as though he was just learning to talk again. Of course, he’d talked to people for years-about politics, geology, sports, local affairs. On any number of topics, he could talk knowledgeably-it was talking about himself that he’d shied away from. Kay kept coaxing up things he barely even remembered.
“I don’t believe it, Cochran. You were actually kicked out of kindergarten?” She giggled.
“I skipped out during rest hour. Who wanted to nap? And one day I put a napkin full of butter on the teacher’s chair…” He shrugged, then cleared his throat. “I just didn’t seem to be cut out to sit in a classroom.”
“But you’ve got degrees, you said. In geology and mineralogy. You speak German and Italian and Chinese. You must have turned into a student sometime.”
“Well, I did. The other was before-” He checked himself.
They’d been doing so well! Kay could have cheerfully dumped the bowl of popcorn over his head for clamming up again. At least they seemed to be safe talking about their childhoods. She was willing to settle for that. For a while.
“The only time I ever got in trouble was in fifth grade,” she told him. “Judy Whitaker called me skinny. I glued her desk shut.”
“Were you?”
“Skinny?” Kay nodded morosely. “I started out a plump kid, but then it all disappeared. Every other girl was getting these nice little bumps on her chest and I was still concave. I probably would have gotten into a lot less trouble if I’d said I was sorry for sealing the desk, but I told the principal I was glad, glad, glad.”
“What happened?”
“The PingPong paddle.” She lifted her wineglass in salute. “They don’t allow that in the schools anymore. Child abuse and all that, but to tell the truth, it was only my pride that hurt for a week. The principal was shaking with laughter the whole time.”
“Ours was a ruler. I cashed in for decking Stoney Laker. He hit my girl.”
“How old?”
“Second grade. My first and only engagement,” he added. “God, I loved her.” He popped a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “She could play the best damn game of marbles…” He kept his voice deliberately serious, because that seemed to make her laugh and he loved the sound, loved the way the corners of her eyes crinkled and her hair cascaded back. Only by accident did his eye suddenly wander to the windowed wall, where a clay pot filled with dirt stood, a scrawny stick emerging from it. “What is that?” he asked.
“My fig tree.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t. I absolutely adore plants. They refuse to grow for me, but that one-that one-is coming back. I feed it, water it, talk to it, turn it…” She uncurled from the chair long enough to refill his glass. “Cochran,” she remarked as she set down the bottle, “I wouldn’t say what you’re thinking if I were you. That plant is coming back.”
“Are we-” he cleared his throat politely “-talking reincarnation or…?”
“Not to threaten you or anything, but I’ve strangled little old ladies who cast aspersions on my fig tree,” she informed him.
She was close, oh so close, when she bent over to set down the wine bottle. Her lips were damp from her last sip of wine.
And she was laughing. He wanted to capture that laughter, bottle it, never let go of it. A warning bell in his head told him not to touch her; he didn’t want to start something. He wanted her…too much. And he couldn’t bear the thought that he might be awkward with her.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” Kay said lightly, “but I’ll warn you one more time. I’m more than a little sensitive on the subject of my brown thumb. Retaliation for insults will be both prompt and devastating.”
“You’ve got me terrified,” Mitch said, smiling.
She knew it was coming. She could tell from the look that had been in his eyes all evening. And suddenly he wasn’t smiling anymore.
He was reaching for her.
Chapter Six
Mitch was not shy. How on earth had she ever come to the conclusion that he was shy?
When it came to pursuing something he wanted, Mitch had a downright uncivilized streak. His lips swooped down and claimed, and the next time she opened her eyes the couch was a long distance up, the carpet was cushioning her back and the only scenery around was Mitch, stretched out next to her.
So fierce, the desire in his eyes. Such an incredible blend of tenderness and stark wanting. She murmured something, feeling the luxury of Mitch’s fingers sweeping roughly through her hair as he bent over her yet again to take her mouth. The sensation was like sinking a very long distance into a fathomless darkness.