“Pat!”
“I can’t help myself. Mmmm, you smell nice.”
She wriggled free and snapped her suitcase shut. “I don’t need all that stuff anyway. I’ll go up for a few days, find a place to live, and then return with a U-haul truck.”
“I don’t want you to go, Meg. I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too, but I have to go.”
He stalked her around the bed. “Bet I could convince you to stay.”
She looked at him warily. There was only one thing that would convince her to stay, and he wasn’t referring to that.
“I need a good-bye kiss,” he said.
“No good-bye kisses.”
He tackled her and flung her, shrieking, onto the bright red patchwork quilt on her bed. He crawled on top of her before she could scramble off, and kissed her quickly.
Megan immediately stopped shrieking and started kissing. They were good-bye kisses from the very bottom of her soul. Good-bye kisses to last a lifetime and store away in her memory. The good-bye kisses of a woman who knew there would be no more lovers in her future.
Pat drew away and touched her cheek with a trembling hand. “You’re really going.”
“Yes,” she whispered, pulling herself to her feet. She took her handbag and carefully walked down the stairs. You can do this, Megan, she told herself. One step at a time. Soon you’ll be out the door and into your car, starting life over again.
“Meg, you can’t go.”
“Why not?”
Why not? Because I love you, he thought, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words. “Because…because who’s going to eat the turkey leftovers?”
Her mouth dropped open; then she snapped it shut. She went straight to her car and climbed in behind the wheel.
Pat groaned. Lord, that was the wrong answer. This was no time to make jokes. The woman of his dreams was leaving. “Megan…”
She slammed the door, locked it, and gunned the engine. A shower of stones flew behind her as she peeled out of the yard.
Pat ran to his car and took off after her. He had to talk to her. Make her listen to reason. What was reason? That he was an immature jerk and was afraid to sign on the dotted line?
“Okay,” he said, “so I’ll sign. I’ll sign!” He beeped his horn and waved at her. “Pull over!” he shouted.
Megan gripped the wheel and stepped on the accelerator. The car backfired and the valves clattered in protest, but the machine surged forward.
Pat pressed his own accelerator, but nothing happened. He was maxed out at thirty-five miles per hour.
“Piece of junk,” he muttered, fuming. “Ugly, stupid excuse for a car.”
He was relieved to see Megan stopping for traffic ahead. Once she got onto the highway he’d never catch her, but while she was going through the commercial district he had a chance. He stepped on the brake and felt it go clear to the floorboard. He didn’t have any brakes!
He blew the horn, pulled on the emergency brake, and swerved to the right at the last instant, but he still slammed into Megan’s right rear quarter panel. There was the sound of tearing metal and crunching glass. Pat felt himself thrown forward against his seat belt, then everything was quiet, except for the soothing hiss of steam escaping from his cracked radiator.
He unstrapped himself and ran to Megan. Her car reminded him of a giant maroon accordion. He’d pushed her into a garbage truck, which appeared completely unscathed, but the snout of Megan’s car was telescoped into itself. “Megan!”
She looked at him glassy-eyed and blinked slowly. “I said no more kisses.”
“Are you okay?” He wrenched the door open and looked for blood, felt for broken bones. “Megan, speak to me!”
She eased out of the crumpled car and stood on wobbly legs. A crowd had gathered around them. A siren wailed in the distance. “What happened?” she asked.
He put a supporting arm around her. “My brakes broke. I couldn’t stop.”
“Oh, good,” she said. “I thought you were mad at me.”
An hour later they’d signed all the police reports and grimly watched the cars being towed away. “Don’t worry,” Pat said. “I have insurance. It’ll pay for your car.”
Megan sighed. “How are we going to get home?”
“The police officer said he’d give us a ride.”
“This has been some day.”
Pat nodded. “I’m probably being repaid for sending Dave home on a rubber doughnut. I don’t suppose you’d want to come to my house for turkey leftovers.”
She shook her head. “I want to go home. I’m going to take an aspirin and soak in a hot tub, then contemplate my future.”
“I’d like to talk to you about your future.”
“I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it. I feel a little…dazed.”
When the squad car stopped at Megan’s door, Pat got out, too, following his instincts as a doctor more than as a lover. Megan really did seem dazed, and he didn’t want to leave her alone. They stood on the porch for a moment, watching the police drive away.
It was mid-afternoon, and the sun was casting long shadows across the yard. A dog yapped in the distance. The tenant horse lounged against the split-rail fence in the far corner of the pasture.
“You’re right,” Pat said. “That horse is fat.”
“I feel like getting fat,” Megan said. “I feel like eating fifty pounds of chocolates.”
He opened the front door for her. “I’d go get you fifty pounds of chocolates, but I haven’t got a car.”
Megan felt tears burning behind her eyes. It had all been too much. “I think I need a hug,” she whispered.
He tenderly gathered her to him, stroking her hair, pressing a kiss against her temple. “Why is life so complicated?”
She didn’t know. She only knew that she loved him and needed him to hold her. She didn’t want to think about tomorrow or next week or next year. She didn’t want to think about marriage or babies or bashed-in cars. She wanted to be comforted. She moved closer, fitting herself to him, needing to absorb his warmth, his strength, his affection for her.
“Do you suppose for just one night we can pretend life isn’t complicated at all?”
When he answered his eyes were bright, his voice husky. “We can pretend for as long as you like.”
This was his fault, he thought. He’d brought this pain to them. He didn’t want to lose her, but he couldn’t promise to keep her.
He saw a tear catch on her curly red lashes, and kissed it away. Then he lowered his mouth to hers, finding it incredibly soft and warm.
The kiss was deep and intense with the unspoken love that throbbed between them, and Megan gave herself up to it. She could feel her body awakening, anticipating the pleasure, the mindless obsession to please and be pleased.
Pat sensed the difference in her attitude. She no longer needed comforting. She was indulging herself, reveling in the power of her own sensuality, inviting him to join with her. He answered the invitation with a kiss that was hard and urgent.
“So lovely,” he whispered. “I’ll never tire of you…the silky feel of your hair, the taste of your skin, the way you arch your back when my mouth is on you.” He was glad he’d smashed her car. What would he do if she left? He couldn’t imagine ever desiring another woman. Only Megan.
“Maybe we should go upstairs,” he said, taking her hand and starting up the stairs. “What do you think about a long, hot shower?”
She laughed. “I think it sounds lovely, but I’m not sure I have the patience….”
His smile became mysterious as he led her into the bathroom and turned on the water.
“Testing your patience will be a highlight of the evening,” he whispered.
She demurely stepped out of her clothes and into the hot shower. With a crook of a finger, she beckoned him to her. “Perhaps we should make this a contest…of patience.”
They clung to each other, then, as if their physical joinin
g could solve all other problems. They spent the night together, sated and exhausted, under the thick plaid quilt on Megan’s bed.
Monday morning Pat kissed Megan awake. “Meg, I have to go to the hospital.”
She ran a hand through her long tangle of hair and sat up, tucking the quilt firmly around her bare breasts. She felt better. Depressed but stronger.
“Thank you. It was a very beautiful night.”
Pat could only nod. Megan was in control now, he realized. The pretending was over, forever, and he had to leave. “I’ll work it out, Meg.”
She looked at him coolly. “Me too.”
Megan was packing some of her books in a cardboard box when the insurance adjuster arrived with a check for the damages to her car. She looked at the check and blinked. “This check is for one hundred and fifty dollars. The garage said it would cost over a thousand to fix my car.”
“Sorry,” the adjuster said. “The car’s re placement value is only a hundred and fifty dollars.”
He left, and she sat on the bottom step, staring at her suitcase, newly packed and ready to go, waiting in the foyer. It was going to have a long wait, she thought. She wasn’t going anywhere without a car, and she certainly couldn’t buy one with a hundred and fifty dollars.
She continued to sit on the step for a long time, trying to come to terms with her problems, but they skittered through her head like clouds on a windy night. The problems and their solutions were wandering aimlessly in a place where murky emotions reigned.
Finally, her stomach growled, reminding her it was dinner time. She looked in her freezer. Empty. She looked in her refrigerator. Empty. Dave had eaten everything. She couldn’t go food shopping, because she didn’t have a car. She was going to starve to death. Good. She felt like starving to death. It was pathetic. She found a box of stale crackers and decided to eat them at the kitchen table with a glass of water, because that was even more pathetic than starving to death. She was trying to swallow her third cracker when Pat arrived.
He hadn’t bothered to knock. The door had been open, so he’d walked right in and found Megan at the table with the crackers. “Hors d’oeuvres?” he asked.
“Dinner. And when these are done, I’m going to starve to death.”
“Life is tough, huh?”
“I think I’m in a slump.” She sat up straight and sniffed. “What do I smell? Do I smell turkey?”
He set a brown paper bag on the table. “Turkey, dressing, cranberries, the works. I’ve been hacking my way through these leftovers for four days now, and I refuse to continue alone. You have to do your share.”
“I don’t know. I had my heart set on malnutrition.”
“You can get malnutrition tomorrow,” he said, arranging the food on a dinner plate. He slid the plate into the microwave and sat across from Megan.
“I know I’m going to regret asking, but why were you eating crackers and water?”
“It’s all I have. Dave ate everything, and I haven’t got a car. I’m trapped here like a rat on a sinking ship.”
“I talked to my insurance company. I think it’s rotten that they’re only giving you a hundred and fifty dollars. I’m really sorry, Meg.”
She waved it away. “They were right. That piece of junk was only worth a hundred and fifty.”
“This is all my fault,” he said, setting the heated dinner in front of her. “I’ll make it up to you.”
She nibbled at the turkey. “Yum. Maybe I wasn’t depressed. Maybe I was just hungry. I’m feeling lots better. Any more dressing? Did you bring gravy?”
“Shoot, for a minute there I thought I had to marry you to get you cheered up, but hell, all I had to do was feed you.”
“Hmmm. So, you’re thinking about marrying me?”
“Actually, I’m thinking about thinking about marrying you. I’m working my way up to it.”
“Gee whiz, how exciting. Do you have dessert in your bag?”
He produced an entire pumpkin pie. “It’s scary, Meg. All those years in school, and then internship. I never thought past graduation. Now all of a sudden I’m a doctor, and I’m sort of bowled over by it.”
“I understand,” she said, slicing herself a wedge of pie. “I really do. I’ve spent the better part of the afternoon sitting on a step, trying to get a grip on things and not succeeding. I thought I was sure, but now I don’t know. Do you think indecision is catching?”
“Definitely. I had an entire course on it in pre-med. Indecision 101.” He rinsed her empty plate and put it in the dishwasher. “I’d better get going. I have to be at the hospital early tomorrow, and it’s a long walk home.”
“You walked here?”
“Tomorrow I get my car. It wasn’t badly damaged. They hammered out the fender and fixed the radiator.”
“Lucky duck.”
He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Hang in there,” he said, hating himself for saying it. It was a feeble cliché. He’d smashed her car, ruined her weekend, and told her he was thinking about thinking about marrying her. And she’d been nice to him, thanking him for the food and understanding his panic. Hunter, he told himself, you’re a crumb.
Megan burrowed under her pillow. She was having hallucinations. It was the middle of the night, and she could have sworn she’d heard Pat making a racket at her front door. That was ridiculous. Timmy was gone. Pat had no car. There was no explanation for the noise in her front yard.
She dragged herself out of bed and squinted into the predawn blackness. There was a taxi idling in her driveway, and yes, the lunatic doctor was at her front door. Now what? His house had burned down? Extraterrestrials were invading Tarplay’s Store? She felt a smile creep through her body. It was nice to see him at her doorstep, no matter what the reason.
“Something wrong?” she asked, opening the door.
Pat stepped inside and groaned. Her mussed hair fell over her shoulders, forming a glowing frame around a face still soft with sleep. Her shoulders were bare and waiting to be kissed. One thin strap of her peach-colored satin nightie slid down her arm in erotic invitation. The gown was short, barely covering her bottom, leaving him to wonder if her outfit included panties. He’d intended to do a good deed, but it was a mistake. He could see that now. The memory of this nightie was going to keep him in a state of constant arousal. He’d have to wear a smock all day.
“Megan,” he said. His voice sounded an octave higher than usual to his ears, so he cleared his throat and started again. “I can’t stay. I’m on my way to the hospital. I just wanted to drop off some breakfast.” He hefted several grocery bags from the front porch and placed them at her feet. A mischievous look came into his eyes. “About this sultry little number you’re wearing…”
“Mmmm?” she purred.
His voice grew conspiratorially low. “Does it have…I mean, are you wearing…”
She smiled. “That’s privileged information.”
“Remember what you told me about a man’s finding out things for himself?”
“Mmmm.” Another purr.
He took a step toward her, and she retreated. When she spoke her voice was husky and hinting of laughter. “I can’t help feeling cuddly about you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to allow liberties.”
Pat thought he could go on looking at her forever. He loved seeing her laughing and rumpled from sleep. For two cents he’d tell the taxi to take a hike. Unfortunately, there were babies waiting for him at the hospital. He’d stayed longer than he should. He sighed heavily. “I don’t have time for liberties anyway. Darn.”
Megan deliberately yawned and stretched, lifting her arms above her head and raising the hem of her nightie high enough to elicit a another groan from Pat. “Thanks,” she said. “It was nice of you to think of breakfast.”
Pat staggered into the cold air and firmly closed the door behind him. He leaned against it for a moment to take a deep breath. He was being tortured. He was still paying the price for sending Dave home on a doughnut. Fate was g
etting even with him.
Megan carted a bag into the kitchen and unpacked it, thinking about how cute Pat had looked standing there in his crisp white shirt and red striped tie under his leather jacket and red scarf. His hair had been falling boyishly across his forehead in unkempt bangs.
He must be a real heart-breaker at the hospital, she thought. All the nurses were probably in love with him. Well, she had some advice for those nurses. Don’t get your hopes up, girls. The man is not the marrying type. The man is strictly the love-’em-and-leave-’em type.
She lifted a carton of orange juice from the bag and reconsidered. Not exactly love ’em and leave ’em, she decided. More like love ’em and let ’em dangle. She wanted to be mad at him, but she couldn’t. He couldn’t help the way he felt, and he was being honest with her.
She put a half gallon of milk in the refrigerator and sighed. When she was done unpacking the groceries she was going back to bed. She was suddenly so tired, she could hardly breathe. There was a sadness inside her, so all-encompassing and overwhelming, it left her weak. It was enervating to have been surrounded by so much love and activity and then to have it suddenly stripped away.
Several hours later she once again dragged herself out of bed to stare out her window. Now what? It sounded like more cars in her driveway. She hadn’t had this much company since her neighbor, old Mrs. Wipple, had mistaken the plume of black smoke spewing from Megan’s tail pipe for a barn fire and phoned a false alarm in to the fire department.
A young man saw Megan at the window and waved. “Just delivering your new car, ma’am.”
“I don’t have a new car.”
“You do now,” he said, smiling. “I’ll leave the keys in the glove compartment.”
She pulled on jeans and a sweat shirt, hopped into a pair of boots, and ran downstairs. She threw open the front door and gaped at the shiny red car sitting in her driveway. It was one of those little Japanese cars, brand new, with a big white bow stuck to its door handle. A card had been taped to the window. It said: “Meg, sorry I smashed your car. Pat.”
“Oh, hell.” He was being nice again.