Cat's Quill (2 page)

* * * *

The next day he woke to find a small black cat sitting on the end of his bed, watching him. It had rained during the night, drops of water dancing across the window and pitter-pattering on the roof in an erratic rhythm, keeping him awake until after midnight. A glance at his watch informed him that it was nearly lunchtime, making the comment he was tempted to make about loud music playing downstairs at an ungodly hour a moot point. Even a shower didn't improve his mood, although the cat seemed to find him standing dripping wet, only clad in a towel, somewhat amusing.

Finally, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he wandered downstairs in the direction of what he vaguely remembered from the day before as the kitchen. Heidi looked up as he walked in, and smiled. She was a slender woman with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail, dressed casually in jeans and a shirt, with laugh lines already forming around her eyes, although she appeared to be similar in age to himself and Donovan. Tomas hadn't yet figured out whether she and Donovan were a couple. The evening before they'd constantly been in each other's space, laughing and teasing each other, yet for some reason he didn't get that vibe from them. There was a level of comfort there; their banter had reminded him of the evening he and Kathleen had spent together celebrating his birthday earlier in the year. Their surnames were different, so it was unlikely they were siblings, although he still didn't rule it out as a possibility.

"Not one for being up at the crack of dawn with the birds, huh?" She too seemed amused by his bedraggled state. He pulled his T-shirt down where it had started to ride up. It was his favorite, and he wasn't about to throw it out, even if it had shrunk several sizes and gone through at least one load of washing with Kathleen's red underwear. Heidi giggled. "Not very many guys would feel comfortable wearing something that shade of pink."

"It's caramel red," he told her, helping himself to coffee. "Am I too late for breakfast?"

Heidi laughed. "Sure it is, and no, you're not. Donovan's gone into the village to get supplies, but I can make you some bacon and eggs if you'd like."

"Thank you. That would be appreciated." Tomas sipped his coffee, added a couple of spoonfuls of sugar, and settled himself at the table, waiting for the caffeine to kick-start his system.

"You're welcome," she said, pulling out the pan and looking through the fridge for the ingredients. "There's some black pudding in here too, if you'd like some. I'm not fond of it, but some of the guests like it."

"No, thank you." Tomas shuddered. "Just bacon and eggs will be fine." He closed his eyes and breathed in the coffee aroma. "This is good. Is it local?"

"No." The smell of frying bacon filled the air. The fridge opened and closed again, followed by the sound of cracking eggs. "It's Colombian, and you can't buy it here. Donovan has a few connections and a serious coffee addiction. Where there's a will, there's a way." Tomas opened his eyes just in time to see her grin at him. "Although I suspect you could match him on it. He's like you in the mornings, except he starts his somewhat earlier."

"Most people start their day earlier than I do," Tomas admitted. He was a night owl, often seeing the dawn rise before falling into bed and sleeping until lunchtime. It had always suited his routine for writing, the words flowing through the vampire hours to fade with the first rays of sunlight.

Heidi placed a plate in front of him. "Eat up," she said. "Man cannot live on coffee alone." Helping herself to a cup, she sat down opposite him. "You're not what I imagined."

"Oh?" Tomas raised an eyebrow; a fork full of bacon paused midway to his mouth.

"I expected someone more...." Heidi shrugged. "You seem very sad, very lonely. I didn't get that feeling from reading your books." She took a gulp of coffee, watching him carefully. "They say that writers often put something of themselves into their characters, but I can't pick which one might be you."

"You've only just met me," Tomas pointed out, lowering his fork. "Don't presume to know me, or to judge me." She did seem genuinely interested, and he didn't get the feeling she was prying, more that she was a person who cared about others. That was rare, too damn rare, but it didn't mean Tomas was going to just go along with it either.

"Donovan was right." Heidi shook her head and drained her coffee, walking over to place the empty cup in the sink. "Just rinse the dishes and leave them in the sink when you're done, okay? I need to go do some paperwork. This place doesn't run itself." Reaching the door, she turned to look at him. He mopped at the egg on his plate. "It stopped raining while you were in the shower. Go for a walk and get your head out of your ass. It might help."

* * * *

Book under his arm, Tomas tried to ignore the cat at his feet. Once he got to the front door, he slipped through and closed it behind him. The animal seemed to have attached herself to him, following him around. It was unnerving knowing that someone or something was watching him. He didn't like being watched, even though he spent many hours observing others. He hated the spotlight; it made him feel as though he was on show, that all his thoughts and dreams were out there for the world to see.

Heidi had been right about writers often putting something of themselves into their characters, but he had not been about to tell her that. It had taken him long enough to admit to himself the reason why Alan Blackthorn had been so good at infiltration. It was bad enough that his friend Ethan had read the first draft of
Red Sunset
, figured it out, and called him on it, noting the similarities between Tomas and a character able to blend in to his surroundings and become anyone he wanted but the one person he needed to be--himself. Ethan was a little too observant at times and one of the few people Tomas had allowed to get close, only to find that he now couldn't be convinced to back off.

Stepping off the front porch, Tomas scanned the grounds for a suitable place to sit and read his book. The old oak stood before him, demanding his attention as it had upon his arrival. It was alone, standing guard in the middle of the field, a good five-minute walk from any buildings. The ground was still damp underfoot, but Tomas had his jacket to sit on and use as a makeshift blanket. Above, the sun peeked through what was left of the earlier storm clouds, bringing with it a welcome warmth in contrast to the persistent breeze.

Ambling across the field, he stopped midway, turning to look at the old building behind him. The cat had her nose pressed to one of the upstairs windows, watching him, reminding him of a small child who had been chastised. Tomas felt a moment's guilt for leaving her behind, but he needed to be alone. He would make it up to Blackthorn later. Sighing, he rolled his eyes. It had been no surprise to learn that Heidi was responsible for the name. She really was a fan of his books, and he had been rude to her over breakfast, even if he'd attempted to deny it.

He was here to find peace and quiet. A good rest would help him write again. If he ignored this particular muse long enough, another would take its place, and that stupid story idea would disappear into the ether where it belonged. A voice in his mind whispered to him about being true to himself, and how it would be so much easier if he just gave in now as he would have to eventually anyway.

"Go away," Tomas muttered, picking up his pace again. "You're not prepared to help me, so why the hell should I even listen to you." He stopped again, his face turned up toward the sky. "I'm arguing with myself. Happy now? Are you?"

As he expected, there was no answer. There never was. Tomas wasn't sure what he expected, but a voice from the heavens wasn't high on the list. He was going crazy. Yes, that was it. He could live with that. It was better than the truth. Fantasy often was. It was one of the reasons he had turned to writing in the first place; it provided a safe outlet for everything the world could not be allowed to see.

Unfortunately it was also not real.

Some days he wished it was. Tomas had spent hours lying on his bed, imagining what it must be like to truly fly in space, to pilot the machines his imagination had created. To fight for an important cause. To find someone to love and have that love returned in kind.

He frowned. Where the fuck had that come from? His books were about a war, about friendships, not romantic relationships. The pilots did not have time for that kind of thing and could not afford to risk becoming close in that way, however many hints there were that those friendships could have led to more.

Reaching the tree, he sat down, leaning back against it, trying to find a comfortable spot. He placed his book on the ground, his reading mood gone. Above him the sun peeked through the foliage, giving the leaves closest to him an almost unearthly glow. He hadn't been in the village twenty-four hours and he was already wondering if coming here was such a great idea. A bee flew around him, watching him, then continued on its way.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the breeze, the feel of it through his hair, against his skin. It was gentle, warm, and inviting. Instinctively, he brought his hand up to his cheek, wondering what it would be like to have real fingers caressing him, wanting him.

A twig snapped on the ground beside him, and he opened his eyes. A man was standing watching him. Tomas swallowed, returning the man's smile with a shy one of his own before he had even thought about what he had done.

The man had long legs, enclosed in tight, form-fitting brown trousers and black boots to mid-calf. Tomas opened his mouth to speak and closed it again.

"I'm sorry, did I disturb you?" The man's voice was soft, a light tenor. His hand came up to brush blond hair from eyes that were the color of the ocean, or was it the sky? The white shirt he wore was loose and untucked, the top laces undone to expose a well-muscled yet lean chest. Tomas shifted back against the tree, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about his own very scruffy jeans and T-shirt. He ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth down the ends, which always insisted on spiking up at awkward angles.

"No." Tomas glanced around the field, not sure what he was expecting to see. It was empty apart from the two of them. Surely he had only closed his eyes for a few minutes. It wasn't enough time for someone to cross the distance between the tree and the inn. On the other side of the field was some kind of shed, but it was too far away. "I didn't see you before. Where did you come from?"

The blond chuckled. "It's nice to meet you too." He sat down next to Tomas without waiting for permission, propping himself against the tree. Holding out his hand, he smiled again. "My name is Cathal."

"I'm Tomas." Tomas shook Cathal's hand. The blond's handshake was firm, the skin-to-skin contact sending heat through Tomas's body. He licked his lips; they were dry.

Cathal let go of Tomas's hand, it seemed to Tomas almost reluctantly, but he put that down to wishful thinking. "I know. I saw you arrive yesterday."

"Oh." Donovan or Heidi hadn't mentioned Cathal, even though they had talked about all their neighbors, giving Tomas a heads-up on whomever he might come across while out walking, with a warning to be polite, as though they expected that he would not be. "I didn't see you."

"Very few do." Cathal picked up Tomas's book, turned it over, and began reading the blurb, frowning. "Is this good? The cover illustrations look interesting. I don't see new books very often, and I love exploring ideas."

"Yes, it is." Tomas watched Cathal run his fingers over the dustcover of the book; his touch seemed almost reverent. "Would you like to borrow it? I have other books to read."

"I would like that a lot, thank you." The wind pulled at the pages of the book in Cathal's hand, flipping them back and forth. He laughed. "I may have it a while. I think my sister would like to read it, too, if that is all right with you."

"That's fine with me." Tomas frowned. "Do you live near here? Do you come here often?" He wasn't sure how long Cathal was going to stay but wanted to make sure they could meet again. It wasn't a reaction he usually had to people he'd just met, but something about Cathal intrigued him. If Cathal had the book, it gave him good reason to want to see Tomas again.

"I can come here as often as you would like," Cathal said, looking up from the book. He cradled it against his chest. "I enjoy talking to people, especially those who listen." A slow blush colored his cheeks, his pale complexion dusting a faint pink. He glanced around, suddenly nervous, his voice dropping to a half whisper. "I like talking to you, Tomas. I was hoping we might be friends, if you would allow it."

Tomas frowned at the turn of phrase, wondering how anyone in their right mind could turn down the opportunity to spend time with Cathal. Meeting his eyes, Tomas risked another smile. "I like talking to you too, and I would like to get to know you better." He paused. "If you would allow it."

Tilting his head as though listening for something, Cathal's smile faded to a frown. "I need to go," he announced, pulling himself up to stand. "Will you be here tomorrow? I might be able to return this evening, but I can't promise it for certain." Again, he glanced around nervously. "Evening might be better, or early morning." Cathal nodded firmly. "Yes, morning. That would be safer."

"Safer?" Tomas didn't like the conclusions he was drawing. "Are you in some kind of trouble, Cathal?"

Cathal smiled again, but it didn't reach his eyes. "No, of course not." He bent over and, without giving Tomas the chance to move, brushed his lips against Tomas's. "My friends call me Cat."

"Cat," Tomas whispered. "I...." God, this wasn't like him at all. Something tugged at a corner of his mind, telling him that he knew Cathal from somewhere, but that was impossible. "I'll be here this evening, in case. Can't you stay longer?"

"No." Cathal shook his head. "I will be here when I can. I'm sorry I can't promise more than that."

"I'll wait for you, Cat," Tomas promised, knowing that he would. However long it took, he would wait. He reached out his hand for Cathal's. Cathal smiled sadly and shook his head again. The sun winked at them, the brightness making Tomas's eyes water. He brought up his hand to shade his face, closing his eyes temporarily against the light.

When he opened them again, Cathal was gone.

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