Danger, Sweetheart (31 page)

“No, no. Not when I've at last gotten you in my bed. I had to fake an infection and a fever—”

“And two days of delirious bullshit, and almost running Gary down like a gopher, and inadvertently helping your mom and grandma bond.”

“See the lengths I'll go to in order to have you?”

“Idiot. You're not fooling me. You didn't plan shit.” She curled into his side and felt herself relax for the first time in two days. “I'm so glad you're better.”

“Mmmm.”

He's better, yeah, and that's a good thing, a wonderful thing, but it's time to make good on my promise.

“Uh … Blake.”

“No.”

“Listen, I don't think you'll remember, but you said a bunch of crazy stuff—”

“No.”

“—and I promised I wouldn't hold you to any of it—”

“No.”

“—and I wouldn't want you to think anything has to change between us.”

“No.”

“I mean, I hope you can forgive me for lying and tricking you, I'd like
that
to change, but as for the rest of it—”

“Nothing has changed.”

“Oh.”
Don't cry. At least, not lying beside him like you are. Find an excuse and get the hell out of here and then have your breakdown. Then find Gary's stash of cookie dough and gobble every bite.
“Okay. Listen, my teeth feel like they've got little tiny sweaters on, so I'll just hit the bathroom and—”
What? Never return to the attic
? Return but accept that she loved him too late and would pay the price by never seeing him again? Pretend they were pals and wave and smile when he went back to his life? “So I'll just, um, go? I guess?”

“Nothing has changed,” he said again, sounding so confident and calm she wanted to smack him, then kiss him, then burst into tears. And maybe smack him again. “You're in love with me. I'm quite certain I'm in love with you. I'm going to kiss every inch of you, and have your baby somehow.” He turned to her and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. When he spoke, his deep voice vibrated all through her. “I. Remember. Everything.”

And just like that, she was crying
again
. But this time, the tears didn't scald. They seemed to sweep away doubt and fear. She hadn't known crying could do that. She thought her mom might have known.

*   *   *

“When did you know?”

It was twenty minutes later. He had insisted on walking to the bathroom under his own power and emerged after a few minutes with a clean, scrubbed face and minty breath. Natalie had done the same. What she really wanted was a shower, but she wasn't willing to leave him that long and wasn't yet prepared to share a shower with him.

Soon, though,
she thought, and the certainty filled her like a warm glow.
After we make love for the first time, then we'll take a long, hot shower together.

“Know what?” she said, stifling a yawn.

“That you…”—he paused, then continued almost shyly, “loved me.”

“Well.” She drummed her fingers on his chest, thinking. She loved resting her ear against his heart, hearing his baritone rumble through her. She hadn't known before Blake that she had a voice kink. “I don't know the exact day. Your mannerisms started changing, if that's the right word. Don't spit out a dictionary definition of ‘mannerisms,'” she added in alarm as Blake's lips parted. She kept going so as not to give him a chance to interrupt her with an Oxford definition. “I almost
didn't
notice until it was too late. One day I realized you used to ask, ‘Where do you keep the pitchforks?' ‘Where do you keep the BENGAY.' Like that. But after a while it was ‘we.' ‘Where do we keep the BENGAY? What did Gary do with my pitchfork?'”

“We keep it in every medicine cabinet in every bathroom in the farmhouse,” was his prompt reply, which earned him a bright smile, “and some in Main One. We're almost out. Again,” which earned him a snicker. “So my constant need to smear terrible-smelling ointment all over my aching muscles endeared me to you, eh?”

“Irresistible. Naw, that's a lie; you were pretty cute before that, too. But I was able to tell myself it was strictly physical. It's okay to find a jerkass physically attractive if you tell yourself it's only about his broad shoulders, his hair the color of late-summer wheat, his piercing blue eyes, blah-blah.”

“Why were you at the B and B my first day here?”

She burst out laughing. “God, that's right; you saw me in a suit and everything. You looked so
weird,
high up in that damn truck; you looked so out of place but kind of determined, too. I liked you right away.”

“Until you found out I was Banaan spawn.”

“Well.” She coughed. “We had to close the bank for a couple of days; they found asbestos.”

“Studies have shown sometimes it's actually safer to leave the asbestos where it is, assuming it's intact, of course, and—”

“Yes, Blake, I know, it was my bank and my asbestos, and I paid for a couple of expert opinions and did my own research, too, okay?”

“Sorry.”

“Show-off,” she said without heat. “Anyway, it worked out fine—that one thing worked out fine—but we were working out of the B and B for a couple of days. It's down to me and a couple of part-timers now, so it wasn't a perfect solution, but it was what we had.”

“I liked you at first sight, too,” he said, pulling her more firmly against him. “God, you feel good. Dammit, I have to insist Dr. Wen issue me a clean bill of health immediately.”

“So we can perform coitus on each other?”

“Wow. Rake is right. That is terribly unromantic.”

“Coitus me, Blake. Coitus me till I scream. Coitus me all over!”

“Point made, my God, stop it.” He poked her in the ribs, smiling when she giggled. “I'm half-afraid
this
is the fever dream. That I'll wake up and you'll be back to hating me again.”

“Nobody hates you. Not even Margaret of Anjou.”

He had been leaning in for another kiss and snickered against Natalie's mouth. The snickering turned into kisses, and though they didn't exactly insert Tab A into Slot B, they explored each other's bodies with gentle hands and light touches, and sighed into each other's mouths, and at one point she was trembling so hard she thought she might die from it, and what a sweet death it would be, and Blake whispered over and over, “Natalie Lane, Natalie Lane, I love you. I love you.” And maybe Blake was right to worry; maybe this
was
the fever dream. In which case, Natalie hoped they never recovered.

Oh, that's not healthy,
was her last drowsy thought. But she couldn't work up enough concern to truly fret and so slept instead.

 

Thirty-eight

Gary worked tirelessly, which Natalie and Blake giggled over and chastised each other for. “It's awful: He's scared to death; he thinks you really tried to kill him.”

“I know; I've tried to approach him to apologize, but he just runs away from me and works on something else.”

Dr. Wen came, examined, pronounced Blake much improved, left.

Harry kept sending up the most delicious invalid food Blake had ever tasted. “What, exactly, is my incentive to get better?” he asked, moaning around a mouthful of poached egg. Harry had gently simmered the farm-fresh eggs, with their bright orange yolks, in water. When the yolks were runny, but the whites were firm, he slid them onto two thick slices of perfectly toasted homemade potato bread, then topped them with chopped prosciutto. The day before he had simmered a gorgeous chicken soup all afternoon on the stove, tormenting everyone with working nasal passages, and Blake's bowl was thick with noodles and fresh vegetables and meat so savory and tender it nearly dissolved in his mouth. The Darrel twins had dropped off five pounds of strawberries, so the household enjoyed fresh fruit smoothies for breakfast (blended with yogurt, ice, orange juice) and strawberry milk shakes (berries + homemade frozen custard =
oh my Gawwwd
) for dessert.

“Just when I thought he couldn't top the chilled cucumber soup.” He slurped down the rest of the egg. “I'm sorry; I'm aware this is disgusting to watch.”

“It's not disgusting to watch. I'm glad to see you feeling better.”

“And I repeat, where's the incentive to get well? I have you all to myself; my mother and grandmother are getting along; Gary is doing an insane amount of work; Margaret of Anjou almost doesn't loathe me.…” He paused, finished his toast, considered, and then said in all seriousness, “I think these last two days have been the happiest in my life. Isn't that wonderfully insane?”

“No. And the incentive is missionary for intimacy, me on all fours for intensity, me on top for fun.”

He had frozen in mid-chew, then gulped and managed, “Fun?”

“I just really like to bounce around up there, y'know? Have a good time. You can hang on to my hips and watch. Jeez!” She dived and barely caught his plate in time.

“Sorry. I lost all sensation in my hands because the blood left my fingers and rushed somewhere else. Now I feel vulnerable and scared. Hold me?”

“I still want to hear how you're going to have my baby.”

“Practice,” was the solemn reply. “Hold me? Never mind. I'll hold you. It's easier to hold you when you're naked.”

“A-
hem
.”

They looked over and Blake saw the color rise in Natalie's cheeks. He'd been so busy picturing her charms bouncing around that he hadn't heard his mom and grandmother come up the stairs. “Away, harpies!” he commanded. “I'm not well enough for visitors.”

“Shut up, boy; say hello to your guest.”

Roger, the last one up the steps, peeked around Blake's mother and waved. “Hiya, Blake. Feelin' better?”

“You can't take the White Rose of York!”

“
Blake Tarbell!
” his mother hissed.

“Hello, Roger, I'm feeling quite a lot better, thank you so much for asking, and if you touch my piglet I will break this plate over your head. Then I will unleash my love, Natalie Lane, upon you and you will feel as if the Furies are plucking at your internal organs. Death will be a welcome respite.”

“I don't know if I'd do all that,” she confessed, elbowing him. They had been sitting on his bed, knees touching, while they ate breakfast. Now Natalie stacked their plates and beckoned the visitors closer. “We were just—”

“Yes, we heard your plans for the afternoon,” Ruth said, eyes gleaming as she smiled. “So sorry to interrupt.”

“Liar.”

“Well, yes.”

“So guess who I ran into?” Roger said, making himself comfortable in one of the several chairs Natalie had brought up when townies starting showing up to pay their respects and wish Blake a speedy recovery.

“Sandy Cort,” Blake replied at once.

“Dang, you're good. Said you and your grandpa got into it downtown the other day.”

“Apparently I was feverish even then. It's the only explanation for why I didn't wring his wattled rooster neck.”

Shannah burst out laughing, checked herself, and tried to reestablish her stern
mind me, boy
expression.

“Before he left he was tellin' everybody that he guessed you were a real man on account of standing up to him, and maybe Shannah hadn't done such a bad job.”

“Oh-ho,” Natalie said. She had such a mischievous look on her face Blake almost forgot his deep regret at letting Mitchell Banaan live to see the sun come up. “So that's how he's playing it.”

“I don't understand.” Nor did Blake care, but he did adore that expression on her face, and resolved to do whatever he must to cause it to reappear.

“His little ambush didn't go how he planned, so he's putting the ‘you stood up to me; that was the test' spin on it. You know, pretending that he provoked you to
make
you stand up to him, as opposed to what really happened: You were disgusted with him, unafraid of him, and he knew it, and everybody knows it, and he's humiliated while pretending he's not. He won't be back. Uh, sorry, Shannah, I didn't mean—”

“That,” Blake's mother replied, “is a dead-on analysis. Why in the world are you apologizing?”

“Social pressure,” she confessed, and now it was Blake's turn to poke his elbow into her side. “Oof! I didn't know you were back, Roger. That was a quick vacation.”

“Oh. Yes. The ticket was nonrefundable, so I didn't want— But it wasn't as much fun as— I mean, I didn't know how long your mama was going to visit, and didn't want to miss— I can go back anytime.”

My, my. Roger, you balding dog, you've got designs on my mother.
That alone would be intriguing enough, but from the way his mom was blushing and looking everywhere but at Roger, it appeared to be mutual.

Blake supposed if he were a better son he would be overprotective and bristling and give off a strong
you hurt her, I'll kill you
impression. But the thought of his lonely mother liking someone, and someone as pleasant as Roger, was a welcome one. Now that Blake had Natalie

(I cannot believe she loves me I should fall prey to infection every week)

he wanted nothing more for his mother (and yes, Rake, too, terrible as the man was) than the happiness he had been fortunate enough to find. Stumble into. Blunder onto. Whatever.

“Yes, but where do you go when you visit these places?”

“Oh, just…” Roger made a vague gesture. “You know.”

Not at all, actually. Perhaps the townspeople are right; perhaps he is a former spy disguised as a former pig farmer.

“About the White Rose of York.” Roger cleared his throat and the rocking chair creaked as he fidgeted. “Didn't come here to snatch her back. It's fine if you want to keep her; I just didn't have the heart to let her starve when her litter rejected her. But what will you do with her? I mean—” He looked around the attic. “What happens next? Where will you go?
Will
you go? I only ask because of the piglet.”