Sunrise Crossing (14 page)

“Sounds like a good idea. I've been so wet and cold I feel like my blood has icicles.”

Five minutes later she was standing in a hot shower in a tiny bathroom. The water felt so good, but being near Yancy felt even better. As steam filled the room, she could smell him. The soap he used, the aftershave, even the clean smell of his shampoo.

When she finally stepped out from under the water, she dried off, wrapped her hair in a towel and slipped into a robe he said that one of the retired teachers had given him last Christmas. It would have circled her twice, and it went all the way to the floor, but she didn't care. It was warm.

As she moved into Yancy's bedroom apartment in back of the office and sunroom, she saw him heating up a can of soup on a hot plate.

He pulled the one chair out from his tiny desk and offered her the seat.

She leaned over and toweled off her long hair. When she raised her head, he was standing before her, offering her a comb. “The soup will be ready in a few minutes. Need anything else?”

“No. I'm fine.”

When he handed her a hot mug, she had just tied her hair back in a loose braid. The room was cool, almost drafty, on this windy night, and each wall was painted a different color. The bookshelves along one wall were all different hues and none of the furniture matched. It occurred to her that he might be color-blind.

“I like your choice of color.” She could not bring herself to ask the question.

“Thanks. I like it, but I didn't exactly choose the colors. They were just left over from whatever I painted around here in the cottages. Now the residents just look at my place and say ‘Paint my kitchen the color of your third shelf' or ‘I'd like that color of green for my porch.'”

Tori laughed. “I can see how this room could help.”

“Oh, it does. I brought home ten samples before I found the right yellow for Miss Bees's sunroom. I used up the samples behind the door. Some mornings I open my eyes and see the strips and I imagine the sun is coming up behind my door.”

He sat cross-legged on the bed, mug in hand, and ate his soup while she studied the walls.

“I'm glad you came by,” he finally said. “The teachers had a party tonight. It was over by nine, but I'd already decided you probably wouldn't be at the house on a night like this.”

“What were they celebrating?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. I'm not on that committee. I just set the place up before and clean up afterward.” He stood. “Oh, I almost forgot the best part of party nights. I get to eat the leftover desserts.”

He disappeared and brought back a tray of cookies and two Cokes.

She moved to the other side of his bed and picked out her favorites. “I love cookies, but I hate ice cream. It makes my head hurt.”

“Maybe you should eat it slowly.”

She giggled. “Then it freezes my mouth.” She picked two more cookies. “But I love every kind of cookie ever made.” She took a nibble.

“You can have them all, Rabbit.”

She shook her head. “I'm afraid of too much happiness at one time.”

“Me, too.” Yancy grinned. “Like now.”

Nodding, she understood.

“Your clothes are almost ready for the dryer. Want to watch
Golden Girls
while we have dessert?”

“Sure.” Tilting her head, she wondered why he'd pick that show.

As he had before, Yancy seemed to read her mind. “I love that show. Maybe it's living here, but I identify with it.”

She laughed and cuddled against him. “You're an adorable man.”

An hour later she felt him kiss her cheek, and she realized she'd been sleeping.

“Stay with me tonight, Tori. We don't have to do anything. Just stay with me.”

“Do you have covers?”

He laughed softly against her ear. “You're lying on them.”

“Good. Then I'll stay.”

“What about Parker?” he asked. “Won't she worry about you?”

“Nope. She's out with the neighbor.”

“Oh.” Yancy lifted her gently and tugged the covers from under her. Then, without hesitation, he climbed in beside her. “Do you snore, Rabbit?”

“I don't know. I've never slept with anyone.”

He was so still she felt more awake. “Is something wrong?”

He kissed her forehead. “No. Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all.”

She was almost back to sleep when he added, “We're only going to sleep. Just sleep.”

“That's pretty much what I'm trying to do, Yancy.”

“We're just going to sleep,” he repeated.

“You already told me that.”

“Tori,” he whispered, not sounding the least bit sleepy. “When you say that you've never slept with anyone, does that mean you've never had sex or that you've never slept with someone? Because either way is fine with me. I'm just asking.”

Tori was too tired to answer. She was just going to have to let him stay awake and worry about it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Dusty-cobalt blue

P
ARKER
SAT
ON
the porch of her little house and watched the rain come and go in waves of twilight. She'd seen Tori walk out over an hour ago. She should have been back by now.

Smiling, Parker realized she sounded like a dorm mother. Tori was younger than her by over ten years. Maybe there was a mothering instinct in her. Maybe that was what had drawn her to the little artist that night in LAX.

They'd met at the art show. Talked enough for Parker to know Victoria Vilanie went by Tori. Then when she'd seen Tori crying in the airport all alone, she hadn't been able to turn her back.

* * *

B
UT
SHE
'
D
DO
it again. She'd help Tori. At first it had given her something to think about other than the cancer growing inside her. She hadn't needed a doctor to tell her; she knew. The sickness that killed both her parents before they were forty was now growing in her. No one might be looking for her, but Parker knew that she'd run away from her world, too. Tori might want to live in the real world for a while; Parker just wanted to step away from it.

Eventually, she'd have to go back and have that talk with Dr. Brown. She'd have to allow him to put into words what he'd tried to say. She knew the drill. He'd give her all the right drugs, maybe tell her about tests going on and studies, but in the end she'd die, just as both her parents did. Laceys didn't live long. Everyone knew it, and the family plot and dates on the headstones proved it.

Parker rubbed her knee. The pain had been less since she'd been here. Maybe because she wasn't spending hours on marble floors. Her back didn't hurt at all. Was it possible to be in remission even before you were formally diagnosed?

A blue pickup pulled onto her lane. Parker didn't move. She knew who it was. Clint. He surprised her when he didn't stop at the entrance, but drove straight toward the house.

For a moment, she panicked, then remembered that Tori wasn't home. Not that it really mattered, because Clint had said he knew someone was staying at Parker's place.

Parker waited for him. After they'd parted a few nights ago, she guessed he wasn't coming to pick her up and drive her out to see the sunset. The man was impossible to read.

He parked in front of the stone walk she hadn't even remembered being there when she'd bought the house. He must have known it well, because he didn't look down as he headed right toward her, boots clicking in rapid succession on the slate.

“Evening, Parker,” he said, removing his hat as he stepped under the roofline and out of the rain.

“Evening, Clint.” Parker almost laughed. They sounded like two old farmers who'd been neighbors for years.

He just stood there, looking at her.

She had on her white silk pajamas with beautiful African lilies painted across the material in splashes of primary colors, and, of course, she wore the socks he'd dropped at her door the first morning she'd arrived. She'd washed her short hair and hadn't bothered to straighten the natural curls that always tried to ruin her fashionable bob.

“You want something, Mr. Montgomery, or did you just drop by to stare?”

He twirled his hat. “I came by to say I saw your houseguest in town. I thought you might be worried about her. It being dark and rainy and all.”

“She's an adult. I'm not her mother. I'm surprised she is in town and, more important, that you feel the need to keep up with her.”

He grumbled like a bear being poked. “I wasn't keeping up with her. I was having dinner at Dorothy's Café. I saw her standing in front of the glass wall at the retirement office across the street from the café. Yancy rushed out and picked her up. She looked like a mud man wearing yellow rain boots and a coat double her size.”

There was no doubt. He'd seen Tori all right.

Parker was grateful he'd dropped by to tell her. Without a car she couldn't very well go look for Tori, and she
had
been starting to worry.

“So, you think she's all right?” she asked.

“She's with Yancy. She's fine. I'm guessing he'll bring her home if the rain keeps up.”

“Fine.” Parker needed to at least be nice, she decided; after all, the cowboy had stopped by to tell her. “I made brownies. You want to come in and have one?”

He stared at her as if he thought it might be a trap, then shifted as if preparing to bolt. Slowly, he finally said, “Sure.”

He followed her inside. While she cut the brownies, Clint looked at the paintings on one wall of the living room.

“They really make the room come alive,” she said, having no idea if the man was listening. “I'm building simple frames for them, but I wanted to hang them and see how they fit together first.”

She poured two milks without asking if that was what he wanted to drink. “I called Maggie, the housekeeper, and asked her to pick up a few things in town for me. Since I don't have a car, I thought it would be easier to just call in groceries and have her deliver them when she collected the mail.”

No answer. If Clint was listening, he was showing no sign.

“You're probably wondering what all those boxes are stacked up by the back door. Online shopping. I had them shipped to the post office and Maggie picked them up. We now have outfits and not just a few pieces we packed with us when we ran.”

Finally he turned around. “You running from something or someone, Parker, or to something?”

“Both, I guess. From something I don't want to face and to a friend who needs me.”

“Oh.” He gave the painting his full attention once more. She'd thought he'd ask why she didn't bring a suitcase before, but after a few minutes he added, “Why didn't you ship the boxes to me? I would have brought them over.”

“Didn't think of it,” she lied.

He walked over to where she stood in the kitchen. The room was little more than a corner of the bigger area and it seemed to shrink with him taking up half the space. Tall and lean, he was a man no woman would walk past without noticing. Right now, he was standing there waiting for the truth.

“I didn't want to bother you.” She lowered her voice. After all, he was only about six inches away. “I didn't think Maggie would mind and she said she didn't.”

He ignored the fork she'd set by the plate and picked up the brownie. He took a bite and studied her while he ate. He leaned against the counter, almost close enough to touch her, and said, “You bother me anyway, Parker, whether you're asking favors or not. Tell me, is what you got on an
outfit
or part of the pieces you packed in a handbag so you could run?”

“This is pajamas.” He was staring at her pj's as if they were a housepainter's worn overalls. “I ordered them from Neiman's.”

He took another bite of brownie and looked her up and down slowly. “I think those would keep me awake if I slept in pajamas.”

“What do you sleep in, then?” The question was out before she thought.

“Nothing,” he answered and finished off his brownie.

She sat down, picked up her fork and cut a piece off her brownie, but she suddenly wasn't hungry. How could such a simple conversation make her feel so nervous inside?

“Well, I got to be going. I've got work to do tonight.”

She followed him back to the porch. He turned on the first step and looked back at her as he put on his hat.

“Night, Parker,” he said.

“Wait.” She came closer, her arms crossed over her chest. “Do you think we could talk sometime? You know, really talk. Like regular people.”

“What do regular people talk about?” For once, he seemed interested in hearing what her answer might be.

“I don't know. Their day. Their work. What they like? How they spend their time? What they want to do?” It crossed her mind that she'd had very few normal conversations in her life. Maybe that might explain why lovers never stayed long.

Maybe she was the problem here, not Clint. That was a novel idea. She'd always thought the other half of every relationship she'd been in to be the weaker link.

His fingers were in his pockets as if he was willing himself not to make the first move. “I don't really want to talk, Parker, but I wouldn't mind kissing you good-night if you've no objection.”

“All right.” Maybe that was a start. Talking didn't seem to be their strong suit.

He leaned over and brushed his lips over hers. He wasn't touching her anywhere else. He'd said a good-night kiss and he was holding to what he'd requested. He tasted of chocolate and she leaned closer, brushing silk against his starched cotton shirt.

Then something seemed to shatter in him, and his arms circled around her as if he was holding on to life in a storm. The kiss was pure need, so great it consumed her. He didn't have to say a word. She knew he was starving for her, and for once in her life, she didn't hold back. She let all the hunger built up in her go. She needed to be held. She had to know that somewhere, even for one moment, someone could need her more than air.

The kiss was deep and complete as his hands slid over the silk of her body, exploring, feeling and making her feel very much alive. Then his arms tightened, hugging her again, lifting her against him. How was it possible that this cold man could make up for all the warmth she never had in her life?

His mouth left her lips and he tasted his way down to her throat. When he returned to kiss her deeply, his big hand moved into her hair, tangling his fingers in her curls. A gentle tug tilted her head so he could kiss her just the way he wanted to. She felt like she was floating, loving the way he touched her. Marveling at how he kissed.

Finally, he raised his head, then returned to brush her forehead with a touch of his lips one more time. “I like your hair,” he whispered as he brushed it back, away from her cheek. “I could even get used to those pajamas, but, lady, the socks are not sexy.”

She laughed, feeling alive and a little light-headed. “I also have boot socks. Did you know they made boot socks?”

“Yes, and they are not sexy either.”

Parker couldn't believe their first normal conversation was about socks. What was wrong with her? “What is sexy?” she asked.

“You are,” he whispered as he kissed her just below her ear. “From the minute I saw you walk out of that mall, all proper in a suit and heels, I thought you were the sexiest woman I'd ever seen. You can wear any kind of socks you want—it won't matter. Whenever I'm around you, all I think about is getting closer to you. We need to spend a little time together—not talking—when you're ready.”

She welcomed one more slow kiss, then pulled away. For her, his request was out of line. She didn't know him well enough. She'd never gone to bed with a man on a first date or a second. And she and Clint hadn't even had one date.

He didn't try to pull her back. “I'll pick you up tomorrow night and we'll have a conversation, if that's what you want. I think I've made it pretty plain what I want, but I'm in no hurry. We'll play by your rules.”

She nodded, like it was all up to her, the brain-dead woman in silk pajamas. “Like we agreed before. No forever.” There, at least she'd managed to make one rule clear.

“I'm all right with that.” He turned and walked back to his truck.

She stood in the shadows of the porch and watched him drive away. The lingering feel of his touch still warmed her body.

She wanted him more than she'd ever wanted any man. She wanted one memory to keep her warm. In the last minute of her life she wanted to close her eyes and imagine his arms holding her as she said goodbye to the world.