In the Arms of the Wind (29 page)

He stared at her, his eyes gathering moisture. “What did I do to deserve you?” he asked.

“You were born you of course,” she said. She stretched out beside him. “God looked down and said, ‘Man, I did all right by that little dude. Look how handsome he is! I think I’ll send him a plain, ordinary-looking chubby chick so he can feel good about himself’.”

He laid a palm to her cheek. “There is nothing plain or ordinary about you, Kaycee,” he said. “You are a helluva lot more than this little dude ever deserved.”

“Pish-posh,” she stated, rolling her eyes again. “I’m going to have to talk to your Uncle Mike about what he put in that IV of yours. Pity juice is not on the approved regimen, you know.”

He caressed her face then let his hand fall away. He looked directly into her eyes. “He told you what happened to me, didn’t he?”

She tensed but kept her voice neutral. “Yes, he did.”

He lowered his eyes.

A long moment passed.

“You want to talk about it?” she asked.

“No,” he said—too quickly, too emphatically.

“What do you want, sweetie?” she asked.

“I want you to hold me,” he said.

“I think that can be arranged,” she said, and enveloped him in her arms, pulling him to her so his head rested on her shoulder.

Another long moment went by. She didn’t press him. He had to do it in his own time, in his own way. She kept still. She kept silent. He wasn’t finished and she understood that.

“I feel dirty,” he said so softly she barely heard him. “I feel like I’ll never be clean again.”

“Sweetie, dirt washes off,” she told him gently.

He raised his gaze to hers. “The dirt is inside me, Kaycee.” His handsome face twisted with a spasm of shame. “It’s inside me.” His chin trembled. “He’s inside me. Still.”

“I want you to listen to me,” she said. “You are not to blame for what happened. You didn’t ask that animal to attack you. You didn’t give him permission to do it. The only one at fault here is him, and sooner or later he is going to be made to pay for what he did to you.”

“I came, Kaycee!” he said, humiliation turning his amber eyes dark. “When he was rutting in me, I came. It…”

“It happened,” she said. “That doesn’t mean you asked for it or wanted it or enjoyed it. It was a bodily function that happened without your consent or participation.” She said it in a matter-of-fact voice but she was dying inside, wanting to scream her outrage.

“They laughed,” he said, lips now trembling. He was striving not to cry, not to allow the tears to come. “They laughed at me.”

“They are dead,” she said.

“Not all of them,” he said. “He’s out there and he’s still laughing.” His voice broke. He drew in a gaspy, shuddery breath.

She knew unless he gave in to the agony ripping at him he would never get past it. She increased her hold on him.

“Let it go, Danny,” she said. “Just let it out and then let it go.”

His body quivered. She heard him whimper, squeezed her eyes shut, clamped her lips tightly together so she would not push him until he was ready.

He made a small heartbreaking sound deep in his throat, coming up from the very gut of him. It wasn’t a moan or a groan or a whimper. It was neither grunt nor growl. It was something else. Something so painful it was being dredged from his very soul.

Her arms were tight around him and the first shake of his body as he began to cry drove straight through her aching heart.

“God!” he exclaimed, and a flood of agony ripped from him like a lanced boil.

“Let it out, baby,” she cooed to him. “I’m here with you. Right here, baby. If you need to yell…”

And he did.

It was a loud, piercing, agonized bellow of helpless rage, hopeless despair and unrelenting frustration. It was a horrible sound, crippling in its intensity and pitiful in its ululation. It hung on the air like a war cry.

Beyond the apartment’s doors, Rickie would have come thundering in if Frankie had not put out a hand to stop him.

“She said that would happen,” Frankie said. “She’ll call us if we’re needed.”

Once more the yell came then silence. Neither man could look at the other.

In Danny’s bedroom, Kaycee held him tightly as he sobbed uncontrollably, so violently the bed shook beneath them. His entire body shuddered with his sobbing and when at last he had released the last of the venom that had been festering in his soul, poisoning him, he collapsed into sleep. Only then did Kaycee gently rise from his bed so as not to awaken him and pad out to the deck where she sank to the floor in a sobbing, trembling wreck.

When her own mini-breakdown was over, she picked herself up, went into the kitchen and calmly put a pot of water on to boil the lasagna noodles.

* * * * *

Danny was in the shower when she pulled the lasagna pans out of the oven three hours later. The water was running and steam was coming out of the opened door. She ventured into the bathroom, made sure he had a towel handy for when he was finished, stood watching him bathing himself through the steamed glass door for a few moments then left the room. When he came out a few minutes later—toweling his hair—she was sitting on the loveseat, working her way through the most boring fantasy novel she’d ever had the misfortune to buy.

“Lasagna smells good,” he said as he came to plop down beside her.

“I hope it is good,” she said, reaching for the sales receipt she was using to mark her page.

“It will be.” He was barefoot, clad in a fresh pair of shorts and T-shirt. He turned so he could lie down with his head in her lap, his long legs hooked over the arm of the loveseat.

She laid the book aside and began smoothing his wet hair. His hair was so thick, so glossy and she loved to run her fingers through it, stroking it, and he was like a cat—loving her touch.

“Anything worth watching on the tube tonight?” he asked her.

She studied his face. The pain lines had been ironed out but the shadows were still lurking in the depths of his beautiful eyes. He was striving for normalcy and she hoped that was a good sign.

“
Starlight
,” she said. “The new vampire series.”

“Just the thing to watch while eating lasagna,” he declared. “All that red, gooey stuff will scream out to him.”

“No, the cheesy garlic bread will keep him away,” she reminded him.

“Better stay away from my woman,” he said.

“Your grandfather called,” she told him. “Wanted to make sure you were all right.”

He tilted his head back to look up at her. “He doesn’t know about…?”

“No, sweetie, and he isn’t going to know unless you tell him.”

He lowered his head. “I don’t want him or Johnny to know. Ever.”

“That’s what your uncle thought.” She smiled when he reached up to catch her hand and bring it to his lips. He kissed her palm then laid it flat against his chest. She could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart.

“Any word on Barnes’ funeral?” he asked.

She didn’t want to talk about death, bring up anything that might remind him of what had happened, but she understood his need to know.

“The wake will be on Sunday with burial Monday morning at Queen of Peace Cemetery,” she answered. “His wife called to ask if you would consent to be one of the pallbearers.”

He shrugged. “Sure.” He lifted her hand and kissed it again, lowered it once more to his chest.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Not really.”

She remembered his uncle saying loss of appetite was one of the physical effects of the rape and she wanted to nip as many of them in the bud as she could.

“Do you know how much trouble I went to to make your dinner?” she asked.

He looked up at her uncertainly.

“First I had to go out to the north forty and chop down the damned tree. Then I had to cut it into cords and lug the whole shebang back to the cabin, stack it then cut some of the pieces into kindling that would fit in the damned stove. Had to light the stove, get it going. Had to grind the flour to make the noodles. Had to roll out and cut the noodles. Had to butcher the cow to get the ground beef. Had to grow and can the tomatoes then make the stupid sauce. Had to grow the onions and bell peppers and celery and chop all that stuff up. Had to grow the herbs and spices and harvest the salt, grind the pepper. I slaved over that hot stove all day and you’re not hungry?”

He was looking up at her with the first true grin she’d seen in two days and his eyes were twinkling. “Poor baby,” he said. He kissed her hand again.

“Don’t ‘poor baby’ me, Daniel Gallagher,” she said with a sniff. “You are going to eat a good supper. We’re going to watch
Starlight
and
Her Spy
and then the news. I’ll make you a lime freezie for dessert and we’ll eat it while we watch Jay then Craig and finally we’ll go to bed and sleep like rocks.”

“You left something out,” he said.

“What? When?”

“After Craig and before the sleeping like rocks.”

She saw the interest in his eyes, but she wasn’t sure he was ready for what they normally did between Craig and the sleeping like rocks.

“We’ll see,” she said. “I’m awfully tired from all that wood splitting and noodle rolling.”

“I’ll use a condom so you won’t have to worry about me giving you something,” he said.

There wasn’t just interest in his eyes now. There was fear and a need so deep, so strong, it made her want to cry. She had the sense that he needed to know he could still perform as her lover.

“Clean your plate and we’ll see,” she said. “And I’m not worried about you giving me something.”

“I am,” he said. “Until I know one way or the other that LeJuan didn’t give me something, it’s gonna be a raincoat before the rocks.”

“Okay,” she said. “Well, you might not be hungry, but I’m starving and I bet Frankie and Rickie are too. They’ve been smelling that lasagna all afternoon. What say we dish them and the other guys up a meal and then we can have ours?”

“Works for me,” he said, and swung his legs off the loveseat. He wasn’t as steady as he normally was when he stood—the ketamine had screwed up his system—but he smiled at her and for that she was grateful.

Hooking her arm through his, she led him into the kitchen, setting him the task of dishing out six bowls of salad while she took the tinfoil from the lasagna pans and began to cut the casseroles into hefty pieces. Before she scooped out the pieces, she stuck the four loaves of Italian bread spread with roasted garlic butter and mozzarella cheese under the broiler.

“Can you make
brijoles
?” he asked as he popped a cherry tomato from the salad bowl into his mouth.

“You betcha,” she answered. “You like
brijoles
?”

“I love ’em,” he said. “And eggplant
Parmigianino
.”

“What about corned beef and cabbage?”

“Not so much but soda bread?” He sighed. “I could eat my weight in soda bread.”

“Not on my watch you won’t,” she said. “There’s nothing more disgusting than a potbellied Irishman.” She opened the oven and pulled out the browned bread. “Potbellied Germans, yes. Potbellied Irishmen? No way, José.”

After dispatching the food to the men on duty in the condo lobby and inviting Frankie and Rickie in to dine with them, but having the men decline—making it necessary to set up a card table for them in the hallway—Kaycee and Danny sat down to eat.

She watched him closely, and when he began to eat just as he normally did, she relaxed. One more hurdle had been crossed, but she knew there would be others in the days ahead.

“Don’t hover, baby,” he said as he sopped his bread into his empty salad bowl to soak up some of the oil and vinegar.

“Am I hovering?” she countered.

“You keep looking at me like you expect me to start having screaming fits,” he said. “I’m fine, Kace.”

“Okay.”

He looked up from his plate. “I mean it.”

“All right.”

Anger flashed momentarily in his eyes then went out. He finished up the last of his bread then picked up his glass of iced tea. He drained the beverage then took a piece of ice in his mouth, speaking around it.

“You’re going to have to give me time, Kace.”

“All you want,” she agreed. “Just don’t shut me out.”

“I won’t.”

“Fair enough.” She pushed her chair back and stood, began gathering their empty plates. She stopped when he reached across and took her wrist lightly but firmly in his grip. She turned her full attention to him.

“I did my little girlie-man thing in there in the bedroom this afternoon and that won’t happen again. I won’t let it. It’s gonna take me awhile to get a handle on what I’m feeling right now, but I’m not going to let this come between us or screw up what we have.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“No, but you are worried that this is going to change me, but I’m not going to let it.”

“Then get your lazy ass up and help me with the dishes,” she said.