The Comforts of Home (26 page)

After glancing around, she opened the takeout meal and left it beneath the bushes where she’d seen a mother cat.

left it beneath the bushes where she’d seen a mother cat.

Then she stuffed the pies in her satchel and walked to the duplex.

Marty was waiting for her, the table already set. “You’re late,” he said without greeting her. “I thought you weren’t coming.” His mood seemed as dark as the clouds.

He looked out the window, not at her. The strong line of his jaw was clamped closed. She couldn’t help feeling that something haunted him. He seemed a man in a prison of his own making. She guessed he was angry, but not at her.

She walked al the way across the room and held up the pies. “I brought dessert.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “If you think you can bribe me into a better mood, you’re out of luck. I only have two moods, dark and darker.”

“That’s al right. I hate cheery people.”

He winked at her. “Me too. Promise me we’l never try to cheer each other up. Promise to always be straight with me, Ronny. If I get too moody, curse and yel , but don’t spread false sunshine.”

“I promise,” she answered, knowing the weight of such a request.

She relaxed into the warmth of his smile. She was learning him. He’d sounded angry, but maybe he’d been just worried or in pain. The thought that he might care about her feelings, even a tiny bit, made her comfortable.

“You look like you’re dressed up for Hal oween as a trash bag.”

He watched her as she pul ed off her slicker and wool coat and hung them on the back of one chair, and then he coat and hung them on the back of one chair, and then he added, “Better, much better.”

Ronel e wished she’d bought the blouse she’d shopped for, or even new shoes. Most of the time she felt like a watercolor done only in grays.

He reached over and shoved the chair out on his right, then left his hand on the back of it as she sat down. When she settled, he brushed her shoulder lightly. “I’m glad you came.”

“Because I brought pie?”

“That’s it, Ronny.” He leaned back. “I never make desserts, and since I don’t get out much I rarely have them.

What kind did you bring?”

“One apple. One chocolate. Which one do you want?” She reached for the bag, but his hand stopped her.

“Later,” he said. “If I see them now, I won’t eat lunch.” His hand remained over hers as he studied her for a moment, and then he asked, “Why haven’t you asked me what happened with my legs?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He shoved her hand away from him. “You mean an accident that almost kil ed me isn’t important?” She shook her head. “I mean the chair, the reason you’re in it doesn’t matter to me. It’s not the reason I’m here.”

He remained silent a while before saying in almost a whisper, “Why are you here, Ronny, and don’t tel me it’s for the cooking.”

She straightened. “I’m here because you asked me.

Girls like me don’t get asked even to lunch al that often.” Girls like me don’t get asked even to lunch al that often.”

“What do you mean, girls like you?” His question shot out like a whip snapping an inch from her face.

She closed her eyes, knowing she couldn’t list her shortcomings, not even to him. He could see who she was .

. . what she was. Dul , boring, painful y shy, and as she’d been told by her mother al her life . . . plain, simply plain.

Brown hair, brown eyes, too tal , too big in the chest to be fashionable, too awkward, and a hundred more faults. Her mother’s advice was always the same:
Try to be invisible,
Ronelle; just try to be invisible.
Sometimes Ronel e thought if she managed it and real y did vanish one day, no one would notice.

“Open your eyes,” Marty said as he tilted her head up.

“Look at me.”

She did, very much aware of his thumb moving along the line of her jaw as he looked at her.

“I wish you could see what I see,” he whispered, moving so close she thought he might kiss her.

She shook her head, not wanting him to feel sorry for her. “No false sunshine, remember.”

He moved away. “Eat your soup while it’s stil hot,” he snapped, then added, “You are either the dumbest woman I’ve ever met or the smartest. Either way, I’m probably so out of practice at reading people I’m too dumb to tel .” She lifted her spoon, trying to figure out what he was trying to tel her. As before, they ate in silence.

“Finished?” he asked as he shoved his plate back.

She nodded and set down her spoon.

“Then let’s see the pie.”

She opened the sack and pul ed out two smal containers. Opening them both, she asked, “Which one do you want?”

“I’l take the apple.” He took one bite and said, “No, let me try the chocolate.”

Before she could taste the apple, he traded plates and took a bite of the chocolate.

Ronny lifted her fork and watched the apple pie before her disappear as he mumbled, “No, I think this one is better. Maybe I should give it another try.” She laughed as he ate both pieces of pie.

When the plates were empty, he shook his head.

“Real y, neither one of them was very good; maybe you should bring different ones next time.”

“I’l remember that.”

He glanced down at both plates. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want any?”

“No.” She smiled. “It was much more fun watching you eat both.”

“Maybe next time you should bring a whole pie.”

“Next time.” She liked the sound of that. “We’l do everything the same. You’l cook and I’l bring dessert, only I promise to try to find one I like and you don’t.” He shoved his chair back from the table and rol ed beside her. “No,” he said simply. “We won’t do everything the same, Ronny. I don’t want you kissing me on the cheek at the door anymore.” He let his fingers rest over her arm.

“Al right.” She ripped up the paper napkin in her lap.

Nothing this nice could ever remain. She shouldn’t have even hoped.

His hand moved over the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I want to kiss you when we’re at eye level, if you’ve no objections.”

She looked up. “What?” She’d heard his words but couldn’t believe them.

He laughed. “Like this, Ronny.” He leaned close, his hand stil gripping her arm as if he thought she might run.

His mouth closed over hers. She didn’t move as his tongue slid along the seam of her lips. When she didn’t react, he straightened away.

“You didn’t like it?” His eyebrows went together as if he were surprised he’d read her so wrong.

She didn’t answer.

His tone turned dark. “Al you have to do is tel me, Ronny. I’ve no intention of doing anything that you don’t want. Hel , it didn’t mean anything. You don’t have to look at me like I just stole your mailbag. I’m sorry I grossed you out so completely you can’t speak.” He shoved away from her.

“I . . .” she started, knowing she had to say something. “I don’t know if I liked it. I’ve never had anyone kiss me like that before.”

He looked like he didn’t believe her, then final y said,

“Never?”

“Never.”

“How old are you, Ronny?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“That’s impossible.”

“What?” she said. “That I’m twenty-seven or that I’ve never been kissed.”

“Both, I guess.” He plowed his hand through his black hair. “I was guessing you were about twenty, maybe twenty-one. No one gets to be twenty-seven without being kissed.

You’ve got to be lying.”

She stood suddenly. She’d always thought of herself as strange, not like others, but now he seemed to want to dwel on just how strange he thought she was. “I said I wouldn’t lie.” Words seemed to hiccup from her. “I have to go.”

“Fine. Wil you come back next Friday?”

“I don’t know.” She was out the door before he could ask any more questions.

Halfway to the street she realized she’d forgotten her coat and the old satchel. She turned around and stormed back inside.

He was stil sitting by the little table, his head down.

When he looked up at her he reminded her of a dark hero in a novel. Strong, brooding, handsome.

“Did you forget something?” The angry man was back.

“Yes.” Ronny pul ed her chair beside his and sat down facing him. “How you hurt your legs doesn’t matter. The wheelchair doesn’t matter because I don’t see the chair. I see the man. A man who is like me, who doesn’t like being around many people, who wants to be honest but the words don’t come easy.” She gulped for air and added, “I see a person I’m not afraid of because he sees me.”

“Anything else,” he grumbled, “now that you’ve final y decided to talk?”

“Yes. I don’t lie. I don’t know how to kiss. I don’t know a lot of things, but I’d like to learn.”

“You want me to teach you?” He now looked far more surprised than angry.

“Yes,” she whispered, as her entire body shook with fear. She’d never done anything so insane in her life. If her mother learned of this she’d have her committed. “I want to feel and not just walk around asleep. I want to talk to someone who listens. I want you to care about me, but I don’t know how to start.”

He sat back in his chair and watched her for a minute, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “Give me your hand,” he ordered gently.

Ronny lifted her hand. He gripped it in strong fingers.

“Why me? There must be a dozen men in this town who’d love to teach you how to kiss and a lot more. Al you’d have to do is dress up and step into Buffalo’s Bar one night and they’d be standing in line.”

She shook her head. “Not true.”

“It is too, but that’s not important. ‘Why me’ is.” He laced his fingers through hers and held on so tightly it was almost painful. “Nothing but the truth, Ronny. No manipulation, no lies between us.”

“Because you’re the only man who ever made me sorry I didn’t know how.”

“Lean forward, for me, would you?” He tugged her to the edge of her chair.

He raised her hand and rested it on his shoulder. “Close your eyes.” His hand moved to her chin. “Wet your lips.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Now, open that beautiful mouth.”

She blinked.

He smiled. “I’m not kidding, honey. You got the kind of mouth made to be kissed. The fact that you haven’t learned tel s me the men in this town are al blind.” He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip, pressing slightly in the middle.

“Now, lets start over. Close your eyes.”

He pressed harder against her lips. “Now, open your mouth slightly.” When she did, he lowered her bottom lip and moved his thumb against the moist inside of her mouth.

As his thumb circled her mouth, she heard his voice, low and very close to her ear.

“Relax, Ronny, nothing about this is going to hurt. I’m just going to kiss you, nice and easy.” His thumb moved over her mouth once more. “And you’re going to love it.” His hand moved to the back of her neck and tugged her closer. She jerked when his tongue began to brush her lips as if tasting her, but he didn’t let her pul back. “Now,” he whispered while his lips touched hers. “Just like before, open your mouth and let me inside.”

When she did, she felt his lips move over hers and his tongue brushed the inside of her bottom lip.

Then, as simple as that, he was kissing her and she was lost in the pleasure of it.

When he final y pul ed away, she waited, her mouth wet and slightly open.

“That’s lesson one.” He smiled as she opened her eyes.

“We’re going to take it one lesson at a time. Now, do I need to repeat lesson one?”

“Yes, please,” she whispered.

The second kiss was bolder, and she almost cried for more when it final y ended.

She slowly stood, pul ed on her coat, and walked toward the door.

“Ronny.” He stopped her with a word. “Come back Monday. I don’t want to wait a week to kiss you again.”

“Al right.” She touched her fingers to her mouth. “To answer your question from before, I liked being kissed. I liked it very much.”

She was at the door when she heard him say, “So did I.”

REAGAN SPOTTED NOAH WALKING ALONG THE

ROAD WHEN she drove back from the Truman orchard.

The muddy potholed lane was slippery, but he didn’t seem to notice. He walked like a bul rider, she thought. That kind of slow swing as if pushing his hip bones forward in a loose way while one of his powerful shoulders hung lower than the other. She’d heard an announcer say once that rodeo cowboys were a breed apart, and bul riders were the wildest among the wild.