Trust in Me (14 page)

He handed her the glass and walked back over to the stove where he leaned while drinking the remaining cola from the can.

"Well, I could reveal my source, but..." She made a playfully serious face. "Then I'd have to kill you."

"Hmm, a woman of mystery. Interesting."  He wiggled his eyebrows and took another swallow of soda.

"About last night—" She started and saw him tense. His jaw tightened, and he glanced away. Puzzled by his reaction, she stood and moved toward him, trying to catch his gaze. "Not everything about last night was so bad."  She stepped up close enough for her body to align with his.

His throat convulsed as he swallowed.

Claire lifted her hand to his mouth and traced his lips with her finger. "Your mouth isn’t as swollen today."

"No. The ice helped a lot." He set his drink aside and put his hands on her arms. She tried to glide in closer, wanting another of his breath-stealing kisses, but he stiffened his arms, holding her at bay.

"Kevin, what's wrong? I thought last night, our kiss meant we—"

"Kissing you was wrong. It was a mistake."

His words hit her like a physical blow, knocking the breath from her lungs. When her face crumpled in hurt and confusion, Kevin's grip tightened, and he bit out a curse under his breath. "That didn't come out right. Kissing you was...incredible. Mind-blowing. The most erotic experience of my life. But—"

She drew a slow breath, loosening the constriction in her throat. "But it was a mistake."

His eyes darkened, and heart-wrenching despair filled his face. "Yeah. I can't—"

A loud knock interrupted him. Kevin yanked his hands away from her and stepped back like he’d been caught with another man’s wife. A second knock reverberated through the trailer, and moving stiffly, Kevin answered the door.

"Hey, so you are home! Saw your bike here and thought I'd show you what I caught." A dirty and disheveled man pushed his way inside, swinging a large, smelly fish from the end of a thin wire.

Claire gasped, surprised by the man’s squalid appearance.

Bracing an arm on the door frame, Kevin buried his face in the crook of his elbow, but did nothing to bar the man from entering. The man, whose size made even Ray seem small, wore a scraggly beard, sweat-stained clothes, and wild, shoulder-length black hair. A large scar slashed across his forehead, and his eyes were as dark as midnight.

Claire shuddered nervously as he lumbered toward her.

"Betcha there's enough fish here for us both to have supper."  When the man noticed Claire, he stopped for a second then walked right up to her. "Hey there! Who are you?"

The pungent stink of body odor and dead fish assailed her. Claire covered her mouth and nose with her hand and fought the urge to retch. Manners dictated she introduce herself, offer her hand to greet Kevin's guest, but her chest squeezed and her stomach rebelled from the man's strong odor and intimidating appearance.

When Claire didn't answer his question, the man faced Kevin again. "Well, boy, want to make the introductions?"

Kevin raised his head from his arm and faced his guest.

"Dear God almighty!"  The man thrust the fish into Claire's unsuspecting hands and lurched over to Kevin.

She gasped and stared at the smelly creature in her hands, too stunned to react. Finally, shivering from the slick, scaly feel of it, she spun toward the sink and dropped it on the pile of dirty dishes with a clatter. Holding her dirty hands out, she turned back toward Kevin in time to see the man grab Kevin's face and angle his head toward the light.

"What happened to you? Who did this?" the man roared.

Kevin twisted out of his visitor's grasp and stepped back. "Sam, I’m all right."

"Bull! Look at you! Who did it, Kevin? Who? I'll kill the bastard!"  The man’s voice boomed in the tiny trailer, and Claire shuddered.

Awkward with the tension, she swiveled back to the sink and washed her hands.

 "It doesn't matter. I’m okay."

"You are not okay! Good God, what would your mother say if she saw you like this? Imagine how she'd feel if she knew you'd been fighting."  Sam slammed something against the wall hard enough to rattle the door on its hinges.

"Sam, take it easy! I haven’t been fighting. I can explain. But right now I have company."

Claire glanced back over her shoulder and met dual gazes. She eased back around, flashing Sam a tentative grin.

"Oh. Right. Hi." The floor shook as Sam walked across the trailer and grabbed Claire’s hand. "Hello, pretty thing. I'm Sam Warner, Kevin's godfather. His father and I go way back. So you must be a friend of Kev’s?"

She searched for her voice and her composure as the man heartily pumped her hand. "Y-yes. Claire Albritton. It’s nice to meet you."

"Please, have a seat."  He tugged Claire over to the table and he sat down behind the glass of soda Kevin had poured for her. Without a second thought, the man picked up her drink and chugged it down. Claire looked to Kevin for help, but he refused to meet her eyes. Kevin’s face was shadowed, his mouth set in a grim line.

"So, Carol, is it? Why haven’t I seen you around here with Kevin before today?"

Sam propped his arms on the table and assessed Claire with open curiosity.

"Well, we only recently met."

"I see."  He studied her for another minute then asked, "Are you sleeping with him?"

Claire gaped at Sam, too stunned to speak, but Kevin groaned, "Oh, God."

Surging forward, Kevin grabbed the man's arm and pulled him from the chair. "Come on, Sam. Time to go."

"Hey! I'm talking to Carla!" Sam tried to wrench free of Kevin's grasp, but Kevin hung on like a bulldog to a bone.

"Sam, why don't you wait outside until I finish my business with Claire, and then—"

"No, Kevin. It's okay. I really should be going." Claire snagged her purse off the back of the chair where it hung, and she edged toward the door.

Kevin nodded, his expression dark and resigned. "I understand."

Claire’s chest constricted with regret. She wished she knew how to ease the awkward situation, but all her social training failed her. The bleak look in Kevin's eyes twisted inside her. She still had no explanation why Kevin felt their kiss had been so wrong. But her questions would keep for another day.

"It was nice to have met you," she called to Sam from the door.

"Pleasure meeting you, too, Karen," he returned with a friendly smile.

She didn’t bother to correct him.

Kevin followed her out to the stoop but stared across the yard as he fumbled for something to say.

"I, uh...I’m sorry about—" He shrugged and shook his head. "It's a long story. I won't bore you with it."

Lydia had hinted that Kevin had borne more than his share of pain through the years, and this glimpse into his world raked Claire's soul with sharp tines. Her heart broke for him.

"Kevin, if I can do anything—"

She saw the wall come up in his eyes, his self-defense, and his withdrawal sliced through her.

He pulled away from her touch and backed toward the door. "Well, thanks for coming by."  Then without looking back, he went inside and closed the door. Shutting her out.

***

Claire shut Mrs. Proctor's front door quietly, in case her landlady had already gone to bed. But the tantalizing aroma of oregano that greeted her and the clanking of pans proved Mrs. Proctor was not only up but cooking.

Poking her head into the kitchen, Claire assessed the situation, marveling at what the convalescing woman had managed to accomplish that day. Based on the stack of dirty pots in the sink and the array of food spread across the counter, Claire estimated the woman had been cooking all day.

"What smells so good?" Claire dropped her purse on the table and walked to the counter to peek over the tiny woman's shoulder.

"Lasagna and a green bean casserole. The chicken soup's still simmering. You can fix a plate if you're hungry." Mrs. Proctor peered toward the door. "Kevin with you?"

"No, not tonight."

Disappointment flitted over the woman's face before she veiled it with the stern countenance she seemed to reserve especially for Claire. Though she tried hard not to take the woman's snippiness personally, her landlady made no secret that she disliked and distrusted Claire for some reason.

Taking a plate from the shelf, Claire helped herself to the steaming dishes kept warm on the stove. "I just saw Kevin though. He's healing, but still quite bruised and sore, naturally."

Narrowing her eyes, Mrs. Proctor lifted a skeptical glare and stirred the pot of soup on the stove so vigorously it slopped over the edge. "You and I both know he didn't get those injuries in a motorcycle crash. Someone with a grudge used him for a punching bag. Question I have is why?"

"I don't think—"

"And just what part did you play in his gettin' hurt?" the old woman snapped. With her diminutive stature and gray pin curls, she reminded Claire of the next door neighbor's snarling  poodle. A tiny, fuzz ball with teeth and a bad temper. "Were you there? Was he fighting some young buck over you?"

Guilt must have shown in Claire's expression, because the old woman's face drew even tighter, pursed with disapproval. Mrs. Proctor pulled the wooden spoon from the pot of broth and waved it at Claire. Soup dripped on the linoleum floor. "You see here, young lady. Don't you be playing Kevin for a fool. If you think you can use him to get some fella of yours at the college jealous or that you can dally with Kevin while you're away from your boyfriend, then think again. I won't stand for it!"

"No! It's nothing like that, I swear."

"I'll kick you out on the street if I find out you've been misleading Kevin or double-crossing him with some other fella!" She plunked the spoon back in the simmering soup and continued stirring.

Flabbergasted, Claire shook her head. "No, ma'am. I would never hurt Kevin. I promise."

Mrs. Proctor seemed appeased. "All right then. Maybe you'd be good enough to take this food to him tomorrow."

"You cooked all this for Kevin?"

"And why not? I figured he was laid up with his injuries, and I didn't want him to go hungry."

"But what about your hip? You're not supposed to be on your feet for so long, are you?"

Mrs. Proctor's steely eyes flashed defiance. "I don't need a mother hen telling me what I can and can't do. If I want to cook for Kevin, I will!"

Claire knew better than to argue. She smiled at the battle-axe. "I'll take him the food after work for his dinner tomorrow."

Mrs. Proctor gave her a curt nod and waved a hand toward the dishes on the counter. "All this and the strawberry shortcake in the refrigerator."

"Strawberry shortcake?" Her voice reflected her uneasiness, and the elderly lady huffed her impatience with Claire.

"Yes, strawberry shortcake. What's wrong with that?"

"Kevin's allergic to strawberries. They make him break out in hives."

"Gladys Jernigan makes him strawberry pies all the time. Says they're his favorite."

"I know. Kevin doesn't have the heart to tell her the truth. He never eats them. He put the  last one she brought in the break room at the hardware store, and Ray Lowery ate most of it."

Mrs. Proctor leaned heavily on her walker and stared at Claire with a stricken expression. Her hard eyes softened by degrees, and she shuffled over to a kitchen chair where she sank with a weary sigh. "Bless his heart. That's just like him to spare Gladys's feelings." The old woman met Claire's eyes, and a wicked gleam danced in her gray gaze. She cackled and shook her head. "Allergic to strawberries. And old Gladys keeps takin' him her stinking pies thinking she's sweeping the boy off his feet, blinding him to their thirty-year age difference."

Mrs. Proctor hooted, tossing her head back as she laughed. "Oh, that's rich!"

Claire couldn't help but chuckle as well, charmed by the woman's cackling laugh.

Struggling for some composure, Claire reached across the table for the woman's frail hand. "You won't say anything, will you? Kevin's flattered by her kindness and doesn't want her feelings hurt."

"Oh, no. I won't say a thing." Mrs. Proctor wiped at her eyes. "Don't know how I'm going to keep a straight face when I see Gladys at church though." The elderly woman dissolved in a fit of laughter again, and Claire followed.

When their giggles quieted, Mrs. Proctor rubbed her hip and groaned. "Be a good girl and fetch my pills from the window sill, will you? I think maybe I did over-do it today."

Claire did as she'd been asked and brought the woman a glass of iced tea to wash down the tablets as well. Taking her seat again, across from her landlady, Claire regarded the woman, Kevin's vociferous champion.

Perhaps with the mood a bit lighter now, the time was conducive to learn more about the mysteries of Kevin's past. Especially concerning the woman who'd jaded him, broken his heart.

"Will you tell me about Robin?" Claire asked, then held her breath when Mrs. Proctor's countenance hardened, her gray eyes turning icy.

"Don't speak that name in my house! That witch ripped Kevin's heart out and tore it to shreds. I'll never forgive her for what she did to him." She dropped her gaze to her hands and in a softer voice added, "And I'll never forgive myself for introducing them."

Claire released her breath slowly. So some guilt lurked behind the old woman's vituperative feelings for Robin. She absorbed this new insight to her landlady with a sympathetic catch in her throat.

"Will you tell me what she did that hurt him? Please?" She wasn't sure why she felt so compelled to know the history between Kevin and this woman. Was she simply looking for some understanding as Kevin's friend? Or did her need have more to do with their kiss, with Kevin's withdrawal from her that afternoon? Why would he think their kiss was a mistake?

His rejection plucked at her, left her emotions raw. She didn't know how to proceed with him, how to handle the swirl of feelings he stirred in her.

After a moment's hesitation, Mrs. Proctor cleared her throat and leveled a no-nonsense glare on Claire. "Robin was one of my students. A bright girl with lots of energy and ideas. I thought she would be perfect for Kevin, and so I arranged a meeting." She frowned and her arthritic fingers fluttered with agitation on the table top.