Rob turned his attention from Kate to her grandfather. "My mother's reading her poem tonight. I didn't have a choice. What's your excuse?"
"Katie blew my alibi and Regina's been calling all day, threatening to pick me up and drive me here herself." He pointed to Kate. "I made Katie come 'cause it's all her fault."
Kate folded her arms beneath her breasts and her lips pursed a little, but she didn't say anything.
Stanley shrugged out of his shearling jacket and laid it across his lap. "Have I missed anything?"
Rob shook his head. "No."
"Damn."
Stanley sat back, and Rob took another long look at Kate, starting at the top of her hair. She was clearly irked, but he didn't care. He'd always been a big fan of true redheads, and looking at Kate's hair was like staring into a fire. One of the first things he'd noticed about her the night they'd met in the Duchin Lounge besides her smooth white skin and big brown eyes had been her hair.
Tonight she appeared cool and composed, but the longer he studied her, the more her full lips pulled into an irritated frown. Her arms remained folded across her wool coat, and her long legs were crossed at her knees and seemed to stretch out forever in front of her. She wore black pants and spiky-heeled boots. The kind that most likely came with a matching whip and paddle. Damn was right.
"If I can have everyone's attention," Ada Dover spoke from the pulpit, drawing Rob's gaze to the front of the room. "I'd like to welcome everyone to this month's social. Especially the first-timers in the back row." Stanley cringed while Rob and Kate sank a little lower in their chairs, but both were too tall to disappear completely.
"As everyone knows, this is poetry night. Quite a few of us have brought something to read. After everyone has a chance to share, we'll begin the social portion of the evening." She glanced down at her notes, then continued, "I'll be the first to share, followed by Regina Cladis."
As Ada launched into a long poem she'd written about her dog, Snicker, Kate's cool composure showed one more sign of cracking. It started with a slightly annoyed sway of her right foot, but after several minutes of Snicker, the little sway worked up to an agitated little kick.
"His eyes are brown," Ada waxed in the final stanza. "He's the only dog in town to come when I call Snicker. His tongue is pink, his fur is like mink, and he's one bell of a licker!" Kate's foot stopped, and Rob thought he heard her murmur something that sounded like, "God have mercy."
Stanley coughed behind his fist, and Rob was grateful that his mother wasn't the only bad poet in the room.
Regina was up next and read a poem about the library where she worked. After Regina, Iona Osborn plugged in a tape player, and the sound of a steady boom bop-bop boom filled the grange. Over the drumbeat Iona recited a poem entitled "If I Were Britney Spears." It was lighthearted and wasn't half as bad as Ada's dog poem. Kate's foot settled into an easy sway once more, then stopped as her long fingers worked the big buttons on her coat. Her shoulder bumped Rob's as she tried to pull her arms from the sleeves. Watching her was like watching someone try to get out of a straitjacket.
He leaned in and said close to her ear, "Lift your hair up."
She stopped her fidgeting and glanced up at him out of the corners of her eyes. She looked like she might argue. Like she might launch into another "I can take care of myself" speech. She opened her mouth, closed it, then ran one hand across the back of her neck, twisted her wrist, and gathered her hair. She scooped it up and Rob reached for her coat. He pulled the back of the collar down as she leaned forward. She drew one arm free and straightened, letting go of her hair. It fell in a gentle wave and brushed the back of Rob's hand. A thousand strands of red silk touching his skin and curling around his fingers. If he turned his palm up, he could gather it in his fist. It had been a long time since he'd felt the weight and texture of a woman's hair in his hands or across his chest and belly. Desire both unexpected and unwanted tugged at his lap.
She looked at him and smiled for the first time since the night they'd met in Sun Valley.
"Thank you," she said as she pulled her other arm free.
"You're welcome." He turned his attention to the podium and folded his arms across his chest. His life had become pathetic. Her hair had touched his hand, big deal. There'd been a time in his life when he probably wouldn't have even noticed. When his attention would have been focused on how to get her out of her bra, not on her hair.
He didn't know how he felt about Kate Hamilton. Other than her amazing body and dominatrix boots, he wasn't sure he even liked anything about her. There were a few men around town who were intimidated by Kate. Who thought she wanted their ball sack for a change purse. Rob wasn't so sure they were wrong. So why was he thinking about her in ways that put his ball sack in jeopardy?
He really didn't know, but perhaps it was because the Kate that everyone knew contrasted sharply with the woman in the Sun Valley bar. That night she'd been soft and warm and inviting. She'd been temptation all wrapped up in one fine package, but she'd been a temptation he'd resisted. A temptation he could still resist. Is she worth dying for? asked the voice in his head. Is she worth your life? Kate was beautiful. No doubt about that, but as always, the answer was no. There was just no telling when a soft, warm, inviting woman would turn into a praying mantis.
Next up, Eden Hansen took the podium. She was dressed from head to toe—literally—in purple, and Rob concentrated on her purple hair and eyeshadow. If anything could scare thoughts of sex from his head, it was Eden. Her poem was entitled "Ten Ways to Kill a Mangy Rat" and was about her brother-in-law, Hayden Dean. She didn't mention Hayden by name, but anyone who knew her knew she was talking about her twin sister, Edie's, husband. When she was through, people didn't know whether to applaud or search her for hidden weapons.
From a few rows up, Rob watched his mother move toward the front. She set her poem on the podium and began, "Getting old is a drag you start to wrinkle and to sag your behind hangs real low and you begin to move so slow that you fear someone might put you in a bag." Rob placed his forearms on his knees and gazed down at his boots. His mother had obviously given her rhyming dictionary a workout. "People half your age earn a better wage think they're twice as smart but there's much to take heart I happen to like this stage." The poem went on for several more minutes. Grace hit the high points of getting older and ended with, "Your life is calm and void of drama almost as extinct as Mount Fujiyama but unlike that mountain peak I'm not dead or even weak I'm alive and one red hot momma!" "Sweet Mary, mother of Jesus," Rob groaned and stared at the toes of his boots.
He could feel Kate's leg still, and out of the utter silence Stanley Caldwell said just above a whisper, "That was wonderful."
Rob turned his head to look at Stanley. The older gentleman appeared to be serious.
"The best so far," he said.
Kate looked at her grandfather as if he'd lost his mind. "Better than the Britney poem?"
"Oh yes. Didn't you think so?"
She pushed one side of her hair behind one ear and rather than lie said, "Not all poetry has to rhyme."
Stanley frowned, and the ends of his mustache dipped. "Well, all I know is Grace's poem was about life and what it's like getting older. It's about wisdom and finding peace with yourself. It spoke to me."