Sterling's Reasons (5 page)
He knew the answer.
She turned a smile on him. “It’s scarier from that angle. You feel a part of it.
There’s the slightest chance of being carried away forever. Did you know that if you sailed a straight line from here you would land in Portugal? I looked it up.”
He stirred something on the stove. “No, and I don’t care.”
Reluctantly, she moved away from the open door and into the kitchen area to see what he was doing. He was scrambling eggs, and badly. Peeking around from behind him, she asked, “What do you care about, Joe?”
“Nothing.”
Not anymore,
he thought.
“You have to add a little more milk and you should’ve put a little butter in the frying pan first.” She opened the refrigerator and, finding the milk, checked the date before gently nudging him aside and adding a little. Taking the fork from him she proceeded to fix the eggs. It was then that she heard the pitiful mewing sounds from the dark corner behind her.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw a box with three tiny kittens in it. She looked from the kittens to the back of the man braced against the doorjamb staring silently at the ocean. “Where in the world did the kittens come from?”
He didn’t turn. “Your mother didn’t tell you?”
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She set the fork down and pulled the box out into the light. Two orange and one gray. They looked up toward her with unseeing, nearly newborn eyes.
“Someone dropped them off?”
“I guess. Found them two days ago out front.”
“And you’re caring for them?” She was amazed…and touched.
“No, they’re caring for me. You’re burning the eggs,” he added, provoked.
She returned to the skillet as he stalked back and shoved the box back in the corner.
“What do you feed them?”
“I was wondering the same thing myself. They licked a little milk off my fingers last night. Think they can handle the eggs?”
She laughed. “And I thought you were fixing breakfast for
us.
No, they most certainly cannot handle the eggs. Fix some toast, will you? I hate eggs by themselves. Then we’ll have to go into town and find some doll bottles and baby formula.” She took the skillet and flipped the eggs out onto two clean plates she’d found in the cupboard.
He burned the toast, then proceeded to scrape most of the black off over the sink. Joining him at the small dinette table, she noticed how haggard he looked.
How long had it been since he had had a good night’s sleep? “Are you all right?”
she asked.
“Eat,” he grunted.
“It’s really a rotten breakfast. We could have gone to town. If you don’t have much money, I have enough. What we ought to do is stock the fridge. We can do that while we shop for your babies.”
He looked up at her then. There was a small crumb of toast in the corner of his mouth. His hair had fallen over his forehead. The night’s growth of beard shadowed his chin and sculpted it to appear outlawish. His shirt was a mess. It
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was wrinkled and opened to his waist. She kept her eyes level with his so as not to look at where the dark hair traveled across his bare chest.
“They’re not my babies,” he objected bad-temperedly. “Just some stupid no-good strays that somebody dumped near my car. Probably hoped I would run over them. I should have. I thought I’d let them grow bigger and make rugs out of them.”
She laughed then, good and hearty. “Oh, you don’t fool me, Joe. You have a big heart beneath all that growling. It’ll be fun to care for them.”
“Good. Then take them to your place.”
“No way. They’re yours. But I’ll help you now and then. It will give you something else to do besides brooding and drinking.”
“I’ll reserve the right to do whatever pleases me.”
“To a point,” she agreed and finished her charred toast.
“You mean last night?” He toyed with the food on his plate.
She set her fork down, contented. “No, I didn’t mean last night, but now that you mention it, I guess it does include that. I was talking about the fact that it’s time to get your life going again. You can’t just live in limbo forever. It’s been almost five weeks now. Why do you feel that punishing yourself will help anything?”
“Lord, a shrink.” He bumped his elbow on the table. “I didn’t think of that one.” He rubbed the spot where a bruise was forming. “But who would send a shrink after me? There’s nobody…”
“I look like a psychiatrist?” she chuckled, and took their plates to the sink.
“That’s a good one. We better get out and get the stuff for the babies and some groceries for you before the storm breaks. I want to watch every bit of it.”
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“I don’t believe you talked me into buying a baby blanket. Look at those fat cats. Asleep like never before.”
He rinsed out the bottles they had bought and joined her at the door.
The first drops of rain were pelting the deck. She was watching the storm, and all the while she was thinking about him and how so very gentle he was as they had fed the tiny kittens their milk. His square hands had held them so surely and carefully. And she had caught him smiling the first time one of them caught onto the bottle and started nursing hungrily.
They had put the kittens to bed, snuggled in the folds of the cotton blanket with blue and yellow ducks on it. She had left him to put the rest of the groceries away. He had complained when she had piled the shopping cart with ice cream, pizza, hot dogs, Fritos, and burgers. He had just stood patiently waiting while she added french fries and Crisco. His only contribution had been popcorn.
The wind and the ripping water had calmed just a little. The rain increased to a blinding downpour. He stood beside her a moment. His voice was low and menacing. “I came here to be alone and now I have a neighbor and three cats.”
Declining the urge to look at him, Sterling smiled at the storm. “Life’s full of surprises, Joe. How about that poker game? Can’t see much anymore. Fog setting in.”
“Don’t feel like cards,” he grunted. “Let’s play Jeopardy.”
She turned and looked at him questioningly. He answered with a forced smile. “Like you’re in jeopardy if you don’t give me some straight answers.”
“Are, you going to grill me? Isn’t that cop lingo?” She chuckled and then, realizing he was dead serious again, stopped. “Look, Joe, don’t start again. I’m just me. And you’re just you. We’ll talk if you like, converse. But not just about me.”
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They moved to the couch, and she followed his example by propping her feet on the coffee table for comfort. He looked toward the ceiling. “Why me?
Why does this woman come to the ocean and pick me out to bother. She jabbers incessantly, she just pushes her way in here and takes over. I’m a cop. A tough guy. And she’s riding roughshod over me. Why?”
“Maybe you ticked Him off,” she chided, joining in the spirit. “Not a good thing to do.” Kicking off her shoes, Sterling curled up on the couch. “I could do with a good fire right now. Why don’t you have any wood in here?”
The ability of her mind to jump from one thing to another so quickly amused him. After considering her question, he answered. “Didn’t come with the place.
Whatever didn’t come, I don’t have. Besides, it’s usually hot and humid. What the hell would I do with firewood?”
“There’s some at my place. If this keeps up till tonight, we’ll go over there, heat a pizza, and watch
Casablanca.
Sound good?”
“No.”
“No?” She pretended to be hurt.
He stretched his tired body. “You go over there and watch whatever. I’ll stay here and have some peace.”
Because the shadows beneath his eyes were darker and his patience getting thinner, she asked, “You didn’t sleep last night. Why?”
He was resting his head on the back of the couch. He turned to look at her. “I don’t sleep most nights. And you know why.”
“You have to get past that, Joe.”
His voice held an edge as he tested his tolerance. “Yeah. Tell me how, Miss Know-it-all.”
“You can’t punish yourself for the rest of your life. You have to let it go. You must know that.” She was being pushy. It was her job.
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He was silent for a few minutes, obviously mulling something over and over in his mind. Without turning to her he said, “I keep seeing his face while he was dying. It only took five maybe ten seconds after I got to him. He was surprised.”
Joe went to the refrigerator and put ice in a glass. It was only noon but he was mixing a martini. She winced when he plopped two fat olives into his drink. She didn’t speak for fear that he wouldn’t continue.
Returning, he stared into space as he took a gulp of the drink. “He was damn surprised. He knew it was my bullet that hit him. It was dark. Pitch black. We recognized each other at the same instant…” His voice was flat. He was looking away from her now and she watched as his fingers tightened around the glass.
Holding her breath, Sterling waited for his grip to shatter it right in his hand.
“But I had already pressed off,” he continued, as if to himself. “There was no way to stop the bullet. No way.”
She heard the strain in his voice. Sensed the pain that gripped his body…squeezed his very soul. She felt a chill creep along her spine and raise the hair at her neck. She wanted to reach over and touch his arm. She wanted to cradle him and make him forget, just for a moment. No human being should suffer like this.
“He grabbed hold of my jacket,” he began again. “I tried to keep him from falling, but we both fell, slowly at first and then we were on the sidewalk. His blood was all over my hands.” He held his hand in front of him and flexed it a few times, watching it. And then as if he had just come out of a dark tunnel, he turned toward her and smiled. “Ever walked in the rain?”
She was instantly alert. It hadn’t been a normal transition. Thought processes just didn’t swing that suddenly. She felt a tingle of fear. Was he losing it? “Not lately. A warm rain, maybe, but not that cold downpour.”
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He put his shoes on. “You’ve been calling all the shots so far, lady. I say we walk in the cold rain.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet.
“No,” she protested, realizing he was serious.
“Yes, wrap up. It’s a good experience. Put your shoes on.” He had to get out of here, had to redirect his thinking.
“No. We’ll catch cold.” She tried to tug her hand free.
“So what? Put your shoes on or I’ll carry you out there.”
She pulled her shoes on and headed for the door. “At least let me get my jacket.” She stretched her free hand toward her flannel shirt that lay over the back of a chair and grabbed it on the way out.
He still had her by the hand and was pulling her out onto the rain-slick deck.
The rain was cold and had slowed somewhat. She wrapped her free arm around herself and looked at him. Was he crazy?
He pulled her down the steps behind him and then they jogged hand in hand. She felt her own anger rising. They would both get sick. “Joe.”
“Run.” Ignoring her protests, he increased the pace until they were both puffing.
She jerked her hand free of his and stopped. He slid and whirled around.
“What’s the matter? In a situation you can’t control?” He mocked her. “Oh, just a minor one, but not in control one little bit. Don’t like it, do you? Well, multiply that feeling times a hundred, a thousand, and then maybe, just maybe, you’ll get an idea of how I feel.”
They were both drenched and cold. His hair was plastered against his head and rain ran in rivulets down his face. His eyes were pain-filled and proud. His mouth was caught in a grim line. His nostrils flared with each breath. He pinned her with his eyes, and she returned his stare, chin tilted. Without a word, she turned back in the direction they’d been running and began again.
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“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled after her, perplexed.
“Getting used to it,” she hollered back and continued. “Maybe you better try taking some of your own medicine.” Her shoes were soggy. It was getting difficult to pick one up after the other. The sand was mushy and made the going even rougher. She wondered to herself if she had any idea what she was doing.
This was stupid. This was a job much too big for her. He needed help and she didn’t know if she was qualified to give it.
She was caught in his strong arms and slammed to the ground. He fell halfway across her. Sterling took the solid weight of him and searched for his face in the rain.
“You’re some crazy lady.” The wet warmth of his body seared her as he lowered his face to hers. His breath whispered across her ear. It felt good, so good, but she wouldn’t let him know it. Gathering some strength, she rolled and pinned him beneath her. Looking down at him, at the surprise on his face, she had to smile.
“Had enough, tough guy?” she challenged him with a wide grin.
His hands came up and he molded his fingers to her face. Slowly, he ran his thumbs across her cheeks, her lips. What she saw in his eyes right then might have been the Joe before all this happened. “Not nearly,” he whispered before he pulled her mouth to his.
His lips were wet and cool, but they soon warmed under hers as they moved from one corner of her mouth to the other. She felt the sand stick to her hands as she traced his shoulders. She could feel the strength there, the solidness. She felt the cold rain rolling down her back, but she had no inclination to move. This sensation, this wandering heat that his body drew from hers, was demanding on its own. His kiss was gentle but unrelenting and she moved her body more in line with his as he slipped his tongue into her mouth.
