“I had to come down to pick up my airline tickets.”
“You’re leaving?” It shouldn’t have come as any surprise. Cain had never hid the fact that he was in town for only a few days. San Francisco wasn’t his home.
“I’ll be back shortly after the first of the year.”
The news sufficiently lifted her spirits, although there wasn’t a single reason to believe she’d be seeing him then. Or ever again, for that matter.
“You changed your mind?” he asked, inclining his head toward the fish and chip stand.
“Yeah. I was looking for something quick and easy. But by the time I arrive home, the fish will be cold and soggy.” That wasn’t the whole story, but it was close enough to the truth to satisfy him.
By tacit agreement they started walking. The aroma of fresh fish and thick-cut French fries floated toward them as they strolled along the pier.
“The fish and chips wouldn’t be soggy if you ate them right away,” Cain said. His hands were buried in his coat pockets, and he condensed his steps in order to keep pace with her much shorter stride. “I was headed that way myself. Would you care to join me?”
Linette hadn’t been expecting a dinner invitation, and his offer took her by surprise. “Thank you, I’d enjoy that.” She’d enjoy anything that helped her through the loneliness, helped her through this night. Rushing back to her apartment, which stood empty and dark, held no appeal.
His hand cupped her elbow as he led her, not to the fish and chip stand as she expected, but to the restaurant, a well-known and expensive seafood place that catered to a heavy tourist trade.
Because of the hour, they were put on a waiting list and told it might be as long as forty-five minutes before they could be seated. Cain didn’t seem to object and Linette didn’t, either.
He suggested they wait in the bar, and she agreed, although she wasn’t much of a drinker. The lounge was as crowded as the restaurant, but they managed to find a table. An attractive waitress took their order. Cain asked for a Jack Daniel’s, and Linette opted for a glass of white wine.
“Busy day?” Cain asked once they were settled.
“Frantic was more like it. There was a lull every now and again where Bonnie—she works with me—and I could take a breather, but those were few and far between. How about you?”
He hesitated as if he weren’t sure how to answer her. “I attended to business matters.”
She noticed how he turned the conversation away from himself and quizzed her once more about the yarn shop. She answered his questions, but she was deeply disappointed. It was more than obvious that he had no intention of lowering the steel facade he wore like plate armor, to share any part of himself. He was a good listener, but after thirty minutes she ran out of things to say.
As time passed it became more and more difficult to carry on a conversation. Linette finished her wine and set the glass on the small round table.
“Would you care for another?” Cain asked.
“No thanks.” She made a show of looking at her watch. “Actually, I think it might be a good idea if I headed home. It’s later than I realized, and…,” She let the rest fade. Making excuses, even plausible ones, wasn’t her forte. “Perhaps we could have dinner another time.”
Cain’s gaze narrowed with confusion as she stood. “Sure,” he said. He took out his wallet and left a generous tip for the waitress. He hurriedly spoke to the receptionist on his way out the door.
Linette hadn’t intended for him to follow her outside. “It was good to see you again, Cain,” she said, eager to be on her way. She turned, her steps as fast paced as she could make them. His eyes seemed to bore into her back, and it was all she could do not to whirl around and confront him.
Weaving her way in and out of the pockets of pedestrians, Linette made good time. She’d gone four or five blocks and was just outside the BART station when she heard Cain call her name.
Briefly closing her eyes, dreading a confrontation, she hesitated and then turned around. He trotted across the street. “One question,” he said as he braced his hands against his knees and struggled to regain his breath. “Was that a brush-off?”
“It’s me,” she said, more than willing to accept the blame. “I’ve had a rough day. Nancy stopped in to tell me she’s pregnant and it’s almost Christmas.” She was speaking so fast, the words nearly collided with one another on the way out of her mouth. “Forgive me if I offended you, but I didn’t have the energy to sit through dinner and listen to myself all evening.” By the frown he wore, she realized her explanation served only to baffle him further.
“Listen to yourself?” he asked.
“It’s apparent you’re not interested in sharing any part of yourself with me. Don’t misunderstand me, if you don’t want to talk, fine, that’s your prerogative. It’s just that I’m tired and hungry and depressed and not fit company. Not tonight.” She clung to her purse strap as if it were a lifeline, eager to be on her way.
A car, not unlike any other, raced past them. Linette saw a youth toss something out the window. His action was followed by several loud bursts of noise. Before who or what had fully registered in her mind, Cain lunged for her, gripping her hard about the waist. Twisting so that he would receive the brunt of the impact, he pushed her toward the sidewalk, which came racing up to meet them. She landed with a thud atop him, bouncing slightly with the force of the fall.
Her breath jammed in her lungs as shock and panic shot through her.
“Are you all right?” Cain asked, brushing the hair from her face as if that would tell him what he needed to know. His touch was gentle and light, although she noticed his hand trembled.
She couldn’t answer him, couldn’t force the words past the sheer terror that had gripped her throat. Instead she wrapped her arms around him and clung. With her heart thundering in her ear, she sank into the safety of his arms, the warm haven of security.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered repeatedly, his hands stroking the back of her head. “I thought it was something else. Apparently it was only firecrackers.”
She nodded, her pulse hammering against his chest. Her breath came in rapid bursts as she struggled to regain her composure.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Gradually she gained control and eased herself away from him. “I’m fine.” She wasn’t, but she would be in short order.
He stood and helped her to her feet. A crowd had gathered around them, firing questions. Cain ignored them as if they were alone, ignored the questions and offers of assistance. Linette heard whispers about crazy kids, tossing fireworks into the street like that.
Cain wrapped his arm around Linette’s waist and gently led her away.
“I’ll drive you home,” he said. In no way were the words in the form of a question. She saw the strain on his face.
“I’m fine,” she reiterated. Perhaps she was now, but she wasn’t so sure of Cain. The self-directed anger radiated from him like the heat from a sunburn.
He helped her inside his car, and when he climbed in the driver’s seat, she rattled off her address. She noticed the hard set of his jaw and the way his hands tightened around the steering wheel.
He didn’t say a word on the ten-minute drive to her apartment building.
“I think we can both do with a cup of strong coffee,” she said.
His eyes hardened as if he weren’t sure he should accept her invitation. “I’ve done enough damage for one night, don’t you think?”
She raised her hand to her face, to brush away a strand of hair, and realized she didn’t want to walk into the cold, dark apartment, surrounded by silence, surrounded by memories. Not tonight. Not alone. Like the night of the Christmas party, they needed each other.
“Come up with me.” The words were barely audible, and she wondered if he heard her. His hands tightened until his knuckles went white before he reached for the key and without another word turned off the ignition.
Linette led t
he way into the elevator and down the long, silent hall to her third-floor apartment. She unlocked the door and turned on the light. Inside, she removed her coat and hung it in the hall closet with her purse. Cain removed his jacket and draped it over the end of the leather sofa, as if to say he wouldn’t be staying long. He scanned the room and zeroed in on the framed photograph of Michael she’d placed on the fireplace mantel.
Linette moved into the compact kitchen, but Cain gently but firmly sat her down at the octagon-shaped glass table in the dining room. “I’ll make the coffee,” he announced. He assembled the pot within minutes and started rummaging through her refrigerator. “When was the last time you bought groceries?” he asked, taking a carton of eggs from the top shelf.
She assumed the question was rhetorical, but she answered him anyway. “Last week…sometime.”
Before she could ask what he was doing, Cain had scrambled eggs and buttered toast. He set the plate in front of her, poured them each a cup of coffee, adding sugar to hers. Then he pulled out a chair, twisted it around, and straddled it. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I don’t have any excuse, other than to say I acted out of instinct.”
Linette had already discerned as much.
“I’ve been in this line of business for too many years not to react to the sound of gunfire, or in this case a string of ladyfingers.”
Linette cradled the coffee mug between her hands and let its warmth revive her. “I know. Nancy told me you were part of Special Forces.”
He studied her for a few moments. “What did you mean when you said Nancy’s pregnant and it’s Christmas?”
Linette’s shoulders sagged with defeat. “You’re doing it again,” she said with an exaggerated sigh.
“Doing what?”
“Turning the conversation away from yourself.”
“I am?” He seemed surprised. “All right, fair is fair. Answer my questions and I’ll answer yours.”
Linette told him about Nancy’s visit earlier that afternoon. “My husband and I badly wanted children. I don’t expect you to understand. I’m not entirely sure I do myself, but it’s like this big hole inside me started bleeding again. I thought it had healed.”
Cain sipped his coffee. “Your husband’s the man in the photo on the mantel?”
“That’s Michael. He died of leukemia two years ago on December twenty-third.”
“Ah, so that’s what you meant about it being Christmas.”
“Yes. It’s my fault he lingered as long as he did.”
“Your fault?”
She nodded. “He’d been in a coma for a month before he died, and there was no hope. You see, I refused to let him die. I’m convinced the sheer force of my will is what kept him alive. I sat by his bedside for weeks, refusing to leave for more than a few minutes. I feared that without me there, he’d slip away. I couldn’t allow that, I couldn’t let him die on me, not when I so desperately wanted him to live. And so I clung to him, clung to the hope of a miracle.”
She lowered her gaze, reliving those terrible weeks in her mind. “With faith the size of an avocado pit, I expected God to heal Michael. He did, of course, but not the way I anticipated. Michael’s free of illness now. It took me a long time to understand that.
“It wasn’t until it was almost Christmas that I realized what I was doing to my husband. Michael was ready to go, had been ready nearly the entire month he’d been in the coma. He was waiting for me to release him. When I did, death came quickly. It may sound odd, but it came as a friend and not the bitter enemy I’d imagined.”
Cain stood and, taking his coffee with him, started to pace her kitchen.
“Since the anniversary of his death falls so close to Christmas, it’s all the more difficult. You see, everyone seems to want to make the holidays better for me. I feel like I’m being suffocated with attention. Everyone tries so hard to pretend Michael isn’t really gone. It’s like they’re playacting that he’s away on a business trip or something like that. His parents have had a hard time accepting his death.
“For the past two years, they’ve insisted I join them for Christmas. I love Jake and Janet, but they’re still grieving themselves, and as much as we care for each other, it’s all so uncomfortable.”
“What about your family?”
“They’re on the East Coast, and my parents are as bad as Michael’s. At least with Jake and Janet, I’m only trapped a day.”
Cain sat down once more. “All right, ask me anything you’d like.”
“Anything?”
He nodded.
Now that she had free reign, Linette wasn’t sure where to start. “How old are you?”
He laughed. “Thirty-six, and you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“What brings you to San Francisco?”
He heaved a heavy sigh. “One of my men was badly injured eighteen months ago. He’s required several extensive surgeries since, and the best hospital and surgeons were here.”
“How’s he doing now?”
A frown of deep concern creased Cain’s brow. “Physically, about as well as can be expected, but mentally he’s having a hell of a time. I hired a new physical therapist for him this afternoon, and hopefully she’ll last longer than the others. I have a feeling Francine’s just what Mallory needs.”
A smile courted the corners of his mouth when he mentioned the other woman’s name, causing Linette to wonder about the physical therapist. Francine was a feminine name and conjured up the imagine of a sleek, attractive woman who’d managed to capture Cain’s attention. If Linette hadn’t known better, she would have thought she was jealous of a woman she’d never met, over a man she barely knew.
“Where are you stationed?” she asked abruptly, wanting to change subjects, sorry now she’d asked.
This too gave him pause, and frankly she wondered why. It wasn’t as if a military base should be any secret. “I’m out of Miami.”
It certainly wasn’t any place close, she noted. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”
“A very long way,” he agreed, his voice low and strained.
Linette had the feeling he wasn’t speaking about the distance between San Francisco and Miami, either. He was out of his element with her, too. He wasn’t accustomed to consoling grieving widows or answering questions about himself. He was a man who issued orders and expected complete and immediate obedience.
“Anything else?” he asked when she wasn’t immediately forthcoming with another question.
She shook her head.
He downed the last of his coffee and set the mug in her sink. “I’ll leave you, then. You’re sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” She was now.
Cain reached for his jacket and started toward the door. Linette followed him. “Thank you for bringing me home.”
“No problem.”
“And thanks for listening.” She normally didn’t spill out her heart like that or burden another with her grief. She’d needed him, and in some strange way she realized he needed her just as badly.
The desire to touch him was suddenly so strong that she gave in to it. She lifted her hand and pressed it against his cheek. His hand joined hers, and he moved his head slightly so that he could kiss the inside of her palm.
“You’re going to be fine.”
“I know.” And she did. But every now and again, mostly when she wasn’t prepared, something unexpected would find its mark, reminding her of all that she’d lost. This very day was a good example.
Cain’s eyes studied hers carefully. “I’d like to kiss you.”
“I wish you would,” she confessed.
He smiled and so did she.
Before another second passed, she was in his arms and his mouth covered hers. As if this were where she belonged, had always belonged, Linette melted against him, savoring the feel of his strength. His mouth was hungry and hard, his kisses heady and deep. Before long she was clinging to him. The pleasure was so keen,
it frightened her.
Expertly he moved his mouth over hers, molding her lips with his own. When she sighed, he deepened the kiss and touched his tongue to hers. She welcomed this small invasion with shy touches of her own. Her body was heating up, embarrassing her with a need she’d long denied. She felt empty and aching. She hadn’t thought these sensations were possible with another man. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t anticipated this.
By the time they broke apart, Linette was convinced desire and need were written all over her face.
Cain stared down on her as if he too had been taken by surprise, as if he were as shocked as she by their bodies’ responses to each other.
“Good night, Linette,” he said finally.
“Good night, Cain,” she whispered, praying the dazed, hungry look had vanished from her eyes.
Slowly, as if it demanded all of his strength to leave her, he opened the door. He stepped into the hallway. “How about dinner tomorrow?” he asked abruptly as if the invitation came as a surprise to him.
“All right.”
“I’ll come by here at six.”
“Perfect.”
He left, and she closed the door and leaned against the hard wood. Her knees were shaking, but it wasn’t any lingering effect of her adventure that evening. It was the aftermath of Cain’s kiss that left her trembling.
At the fireplace, Linette picked up the photo of Michael and stared at the lovingly familiar face for several moments.
“I like him a whole lot,” she told her dead husband, and then, because she believed it was important, she added, “I believe you would have, too.”
Sagging onto the sofa, Linette pressed the photo against her chest and closed her eyes. For the last three years she’d felt as if she were living out her life in the eye of a storm. The winds had died down in the last few months, the hailstorm of fears pummeling against her had tapered. And the thunderstorm she’d suffered at Michael’s death had eased to a light drizzle.
She smiled to herself, amazed at how fanciful her thinking had become of late. After replacing the photograph, Linette returned to the kitchen. She hadn’t eaten the eggs Cain had scrambled for her. Now she reheated them in the microwave, sat down at the table and enjoyed the meal. It was the first time a man had cooked for her in a very long while.