Ryan's Return (7 page)

"She's scared, Andrew. She's just a kitty."

"Why did you name her Trillion?"

"I figured it was as close as I'd get to a trillion dollars." She smiled at him again, warmly, pleadingly.

He looked at the tree. The bottom branch was a good five feet off the ground. Even if he could hoist himself up that high, he'd still have to climb halfway up the old oak. With his luck he'd fall straight into the trash cans on the sidewalk. "Why don't you call 911?"

"You think Will Hodgkins is going to rescue my cat?" she asked in disbelief. "He hasn't spoken a word to me since I started to show. Afraid he'll get named as the father, I guess, and that wife of his will toss him out on his ear."

"Is he the father?"

Loretta gave him a steady look. "Does it matter? If I say yes, you won't believe me, and if I say no, you'll still wonder if I'm telling the truth." Her voice turned hard, filled with disillusion and bitterness. "Most of the women in this town treat me like the scarlet woman. Like none of them are having sex in their cozy little houses with the shades drawn. God, sometimes I hate this place. Now, are you going to get my cat down, or do I have to climb up that tree myself?"

"You can't climb a tree in your condition. I'm just not sure I can do it either."

Loretta's expression changed from bitter and defiant to soft and caring. It almost took his breath away.

"You can do it, Andrew," she encouraged. "I have confidence in you."

God, no one in his life had confidence in him. How could he say no?

"Do you have a ladder?" he asked.

"No. When Pop died, I got rid of his tools and stuff. His ladder was falling apart, so I used it for firewood."

Great, she had just reminded him that she was all alone in the world, and he would be a complete jerk if he walked away and left her little kitten stuck in the tree.

Hands on his hips, he surveyed the tree from various angles. The cat started to meow pitifully. Andrew sighed. He grasped the branch with his hands and tried to hoist himself up. It took three tries, and he felt as if he needed an oxygen tank when he finally got up.

Loretta beamed at him. "You're almost there."

He looked over his head. The cat was a good four feet higher. Tentatively he put his foot on the next branch. It held his weight, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Another step up took him even closer. He maneuvered his way onto the next branch and finally got close enough to stretch out his hand and call to the cat.

"Here, kitty, kitty. Come on down, now."

The cat stared at him without blinking an eye or moving a muscle. She was not making this easy on him. Andrew stretched flat out on the branch, sliding his stomach along the rough-hewn oak until he could grab the cat.

"I've got you," he said. As he grabbed for the cat, she swiped at him with her paw, drawing blood from the back of his hand.

"Ouch! Dammit."

"Are you okay, Andrew?" Loretta called.

"Your cat clawed me."

"She doesn't like strangers."

"Now you tell me."

"Just sweet-talk her, like a man trying to get a woman into bed."

As if he had had much luck in that area, Andrew thought cynically.

"Okay, baby," he said softly. "Don't embarrass me. Just come along now. I'm going to take you down, then I'll go home and we'll never have to see each other again. I promise."

The cat hissed at him.

"Now, don't be doing that." He tried to hang on to his temper. "You gotta come with me."

Andrew grabbed the cat. She clawed his face. He jumped backward, completely unbalancing himself, and made a desperate grab for the branch. His hands grabbed nothing but air, and Andrew toppled from the tree.

The spiked leaves of the hedge made his landing feel like a bed of nails. The force of his fall took his breath away, and for a moment all Andrew could feel was a hundred sharp pins sticking into his body, sending pain down his back and along his legs, reminding him that he was not a kid and he should not be climbing trees.

Just as his breath began to fill his chest, the cat landed on his stomach, her sharp claws sinking through his shirt to burn a line of fire down his abdomen. He swallowed back a curse as Loretta grabbed the cat and knelt down next to him, her face a picture of apologetic thanks.

"You got her down. Thank you, Andrew."

"You're welcome." He groaned.

"Are you okay?"

He watched her squeeze the cat in a loving embrace and wished she'd squeeze a little bit tighter, preferably around the cat's neck.

"Fine. Just great." He tried to sit up.

Loretta put the cat down and helped Andrew into a sitting position. She wrapped her arms around him as he tried to catch his breath. He rested there for a moment, enjoying the soft fullness of her body, the scent of her shampoo. Her face was just inches away. If she turned a tiny bit, his mouth would touch hers. Good God, what was he thinking?

Just then the front door of the house next door opened and shut. Ralph Kramer, one of Andrew's former classmates, came out on the porch.

"Hey, what's going on over there?" he yelled as he came down off the porch and walked over to the fence.

Andrew and Loretta broke apart.

Ralph's jaw dropped in disbelief. "Andrew Hunter. Good God. You? You're the one?"

Andrew scrambled to his feet. "Now, don't get the wrong idea, Ralph."

"I didn't think you had it in you," Ralph said with a leer in Loretta's direction.

Andrew couldn't help but move in front of Loretta, protecting her from the look of pure lust in Ralph's eyes. How could she stand living next to this creep?

"Now, hold on," Andrew said. "I was just getting the cat out of the tree."

"Yeah, right." Ralph hitched up his jeans over his beer-belly gut.

"You don't understand," Andrew said.

"Hey, I not only understand, I say go for it. From what I hear, she might teach you a thing or two."

"Now, look here, Ralph -- "

"Forget it, Andrew," Loretta said. "Ralph is going to think what he wants no matter what you say."

Before Ralph could reply, his wife, Arlene, opened the front door. "Ralph? Who are you talking to? If you're making time with Loretta again -- "

"I'm not. I'm talking to Andrew."

Ralph grinned at Andrew. Andrew sighed as he heard the surprise in Arlene's voice.

"Andrew Hunter? Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Does Kara know where you are?" Arlene demanded. She didn't wait for him to answer. "I didn't think so. Well, I bet she'd like to know about this. Ralph, if you want dessert, you better get your butt back in here and take out this trash for me," Arlene added.

"I'm coming, honey," Ralph said, hurrying back to the house.

"Guess you'd better go to Kara's and explain before Arlene cuts your reputation into little pieces and feeds it to the dogs," Loretta said.

"Kara will understand."

"She probably will." Loretta paused. "I like Kara. And she's the right kind of woman for you -- upright, honest, decent. It's no wonder you want her. She wears a white hat, just like you. Me and Ryan -- we always wore black." Loretta walked back to her house with the kitty ensconced in her arms.

Andrew watched her go in silence. Loretta was right. He and Kara were a perfect match. Kara was the kind of woman he'd dreamed about -- a woman content to live in a small town. They could have more children. They could build a life together. It would be comfortable and peaceful, not unpredictable and scary, the way it had been with Becky Lee. Becky Lee had turned his world upside down. Kara would keep it right side up.

Maybe Loretta and Ryan would hit it off again. They both had shady pasts, bad reputations, and too much to say. They didn't know when to stop talking, when to stop trying to change the rules of the game and just play them the way they were written. Yes, Loretta and Ryan were a good match. As he and Kara were.

It still bothered him to think of his little brother staying in Kara's house, eating her food, and making her laugh, no doubt. Ryan had a way with women that Andrew could only dream about. He knew he should confront Ryan, tell him to stay away from Kara. In fact, he should have seen him earlier, set things straight between them.

Andrew glanced down at his watch. It was almost eleven. He wondered if it was too late to go back to the Gatehouse.

It was almost eleven that night when Angel raised her hand to knock on the door to Ryan's room. She hesitated, taking a quick look down the hall at the door leading into her mother's bedroom. It remained closed.

Visiting Ryan probably wasn't a good idea, but she needed to talk to a man, and there wasn't anyone else around to help. Besides, she liked Ryan Hunter. He had listened to her story and not laughed or anything. That made him okay in her book. She felt as if she could trust him, and she hadn't felt like that about anybody in a long time.

Angel knocked on the door.

After a moment the door opened. Ryan looked at her in surprise. He was still dressed, thank goodness. She didn't think her mom would approve of her talking to a man wearing only pajamas.

"What's up, Angel-face?" he asked.

"I have a problem."

"Maybe you should talk to your mother."

"This is a boy problem."

"Then I think you should definitely talk to your mother."

Angel ducked under his arm and walked into his room.

Ryan sighed. Angel wore a long-sleeved flannel robe with big, pink, fuzzy slippers. She sat down on his bed and looked ready to settle in. Ryan deliberately left the door wide open. "Okay, what's the problem?"

"I don't know how to dance with a boy, and tomorrow night's the dinner, and I think Billy is going to ask me to dance, and I don't want to look stupid."

Ryan looked at her in confusion. "What do you want me to do about it?".

"Show me how a guy dances with a girl." She stood up and walked over to him. "Where do I put my hands?" She held them up for his inspection.

Ryan hesitated. "Look, Angel, I think you should ask your mom."

"She hasn't danced in years. And I can't ask my dad, because he's away, you know, saving our world from being swallowed up by evil dictators. Otherwise I'm sure he'd teach me how to dance."

Ryan sighed, knowing he was beaten. "All right. One quick lesson, then you're out of here."

"Deal."

Ryan took one of her hands and placed it on his shoulder. The other he took in his hand. He deliberately held her about a foot away. "This is the way you do it. Okay?"

"We're awfully far away," Angel complained, her arms straight out.

"Believe me, that's close enough at your age."

She frowned. "I'm almost twelve."

"And going on forty, I'd say."

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

"Okay, now show me a few steps."

"If I do, will you promise to leave?"

She nodded.

"All right." He showed her what he remembered of the box step.

"This is awfully hard without music." Angel stepped away from him, walked over to the clock radio by his bed, and flipped it on. She punched the channels until she hit on a big-band station. "I think this is the kind of music the old people will dance to," she said, returning to his arms. "Okay, lead away."

Ryan tried to waltz her around the room, but they stumbled over the carpet, tripped over their own feet, and burst into a fit of laughter when the beat got so fast that Ryan ended up spinning Angel around in circles.

"What is going on here?" Kara demanded.

Ryan and Angel stopped abruptly. After a moment Kara walked over to the radio and turned it off. Silence filled the room.

"Would you like to tell me what you're doing?" she asked.

"I wouldn't." Ryan looked at Angel. "How about you?"

Angel shook her head.

"I'm waiting." Kara folded her arms across her chest.

"I think your daughter should explain," Ryan said, nudging Angel on the shoulder. "Go on, tell her."

Angel offered her mom a bright, winning smile. "It's like this, Mom. Did you know that Mr. Hunter was named the best dancer at Serenity Springs High School? He once set a record for ..."

Ryan listened in amazement as Angel's tale took life. By the time she finished, he almost believed he had won the state dancing championship with Conchita Gonzalez.

Silence once again filled the room.

Kara shook her head once, twice, three times. Ryan felt sorry for her.

"So that's it. Good night, Mom." Angel fled from the room before Kara could catch her breath.

"What am I going to do with her?" Kara threw up her hands in bewilderment.

"Give her an A for effort?"

"She's telling lies."

He smiled mischievously. "How do you know I didn't win the dancing title with Conchita?"

"Oh, please."

"I am a pretty good dancer." He switched the radio back on, thus time finding a station playing love songs. "Why don't you find out for yourself?"

"No thanks."

"Scared?" he asked softly.

"Not on your life."

"Prove it."

"I don't have to."

Ryan took her hand in his and pulled her up against his body. Kara held herself stiff, every muscle tight with tension. Her gaze fixated on his chest, and he could see the pulse beating in the base of her neck.

Ryan held his breath as Kara slowly raised her head, as a strand of her red hair brushed across his chin, as the scent of her perfume filled his senses, as her breasts brushed against his chest.

Suddenly he didn't want to dance at all. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to make love to her.

Andrew looked up at the Gatehouse, at the second-story window. There was a light on in one of the guest rooms. He could see two shadows in silhouette, standing apart, then stepping close together. His mouth turned dry. It looked like a man and woman about to embrace, about to kiss, about to make love. His heart began to race and he turned away, unable to bear the sight, to contemplate the notion of Ryan and Kara together. He walked down the street, away from her house, away from Loretta's house, away from his own house.

Suddenly he was twenty-five again and spying on Ryan and Becky Lee. He couldn't do it. He couldn't make the same mistakes.

His speed picked up. The river called to him as it always did when he was upset or worried or scared.

There he could banish his thoughts with the roaring sound of the water. There he could shout out and no one would hear, because the river kept all his secrets.

"That's enough," Kara said breathlessly as she pulled herself out of Ryan's arms. Her hand shook as she tucked her hair behind her ear and tried to look as if nothing had happened between them. But they both knew it was pretense. Something had happened. She just wasn't ready to admit it. Neither was he.

"I'm going to bed," Kara added.

"If that's what you want."

"Alone."

He tipped his head. "Of course."

Kara took a step back. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't encourage Angel. She misses her father, and I'm afraid she's eager for male attention."

"Is her father still in Cairo?"

"What?" Kara looked confused. "I don't think Michael has ever been to Cairo."

"I didn't think so. Where is he, then?"

"It's a long story, and it's late, and ..."

"And I think the puppies are barking," Ryan said, putting a hand to his ear.

Kara rolled her eyes. "Oh, dear. I have guests arriving tomorrow for the centennial and a sun porch full of barking dogs who are definitely not house-trained. What else could go wrong?"

Ryan offered her a wicked grin. "Andrew could find you here in my bedroom in a very sexy robe."

Kara pulled her silk robe around her body. "Andrew trusts me."

"But does he trust me?"

"You're only here for the weekend."

"A lot can happen in three days."

A lot could happen in a few hours, Kara decided as she tossed and turned in bed that night. She felt too keyed up to sleep, too excited about the upcoming centennial, and much too attracted to Ryan Hunter.

With a groan she pulled the pillow over her head, but even that couldn't keep his image from floating in front of her closed eyes or drown out the increasingly loud beating of her heart or the sudden piercing sound of music. Music?

Kara sat upright in bed, wondering if the wind roaming through the trees was mimicking the sound of a saxophone. Then she remembered Ryan.

She swung her legs over the side of her bed, wincing at the cold floor beneath her warm feet. She grabbed the afghan off the bottom of her bed and wrapped it around her T-shirt as she walked over to the window.

She knelt on the window seat and peered out at the garden and the lawn leading down to the river. It was a night cursed with more clouds than stars, but in the pale moonlight she could make out a shadowy figure under one of the trees, and the shining gold spark of a saxophone.

After a moment she raised the window a few inches so she could hear him better.

Ryan played with power and purpose, the same things Hans Grubner had told her were essential to playing the piano. There can be no doubt in your movements, no hesitation, he had said. You do not play with your fingers, you play with your heart.

Listening to Ryan now, Kara knew that he didn't play with his mouth, he played with his soul. The music was beautiful but somewhat sad. He didn't play like a cocky, arrogant SOB. He played like a man who was lonely, who was calling out to someone with his music.

His mother? Another woman perhaps? A lover? He must have had many in his lifetime. He didn't look like a man who spent many nights alone. Then again, one didn't get that good on a saxophone without having lonely nights in which to practice.

Kara knew a lot about loneliness, about pretending to be happy when the middle of night brought such intense feelings of aloneness that she couldn't sleep. She had thought getting married would end those feelings, but even with a man sleeping next to her, she had still felt alone and, in the end, abandoned again.

Kara leaned her head against the wall and wrapped the blanket more tightly around her as she listened to Ryan play the lilting sounds of love and loneliness, joy and anger, passion and despair. She heard them all, and she understood. She wondered if he knew how much he had just confided in her.

When she opened her eyes again, it was morning.

Jonas Hunter got up early that morning and set up his fishing pole on the old dock just below his house. The river was higher today, moving faster by the minute, but he enjoyed the rush. After baiting his hook, he cast into the water and sat back on a deck chair that creaked with his weight and protested every time he moved. It was an old chair and, just like him, showed distinct signs of wear and tear. Maybe he should get rid of it instead of trying to fix it. What was the point of fixing something that probably wouldn't last much longer anyway?

With a shake of his head, Jonas sat back in the chair, deliberately testing it with his weight. It held, at least for the moment.

For a long time he sat there, watching his line drift in the water, listening to the sounds of the birds as they woke up the other animals in the forest, as the squirrels ran up and down the tree branches, searching for food. The familiar sounds comforted him like an old song.

He heard Andrew's car pull into the driveway, but he didn't look up until his oldest son had reached the dock. Without a word Andrew took out his pole and cast it into the water. They sat without speaking as they had done almost every morning of their lives.

Andrew was a comfort, too. He didn't ask questions He didn't rock the boat. Not like Ryan.

By all rights Jonas should love Andrew more. And he did, he told himself. But deep down Jonas had a pang of regret for his youngest son and a strange longing to see him again. Not that he had any intention of confronting his son. He either wouldn't go to the dinner or he would ignore Ryan, make him so uncomfortable thai he would have to leave.

The last thing Jonas wanted in life was a mirror to look into, and that's what he got whenever he saw Ryan -- sharp, twisted reflections of the past. The past twelve years had been blessedly silent after more than a decade of Ryan's relentless questions, his insatiable need to know the truth.

Maybe that's why the boy took pictures. Ryan couldn't understand something unless he had it on paper, where he could see every detail.

When an hour had passed, Jonas stood up, laid his pole down on the dock, and picked up a large Hefty trash bag and his walking stick. "You coming?" he asked Andrew, who made no move to get up.

"Not today. I have things to do."

"Things more important than taking care of our river?"

"Yes."

Jonas felt a keen sense of disappointment, though he would never admit it. "All right then."

"Kara needs help decorating the recreation center. Are you coming to the dinner tonight?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Andrew sighed. "If you do -- just lay off the whiskey beforehand, okay?"

"Who the hell are you to tell me how much to drink?" Jonas demanded, angry and offended by Andrew's comment. He knew he had been drinking a bit much lately, but that was his business. He had things on his mind, problems made lighter by a nightcap.

"For what it's worth, I'm your son. And Dr. Appleborne has called three times to schedule your annual physical, and three times you've canceled. The last time he called, he told me he wants you to see a cardiologist in Sonoma, a Dr. Steiner. He's worried about your heart, and so am I. You're not a kid anymore; you have to take care of yourself."

"You're my son, not my mother. Lay off."

Andrew's face shut down. "Fine, do what you want. You will anyway." Andrew gathered his things and walked up the steps that led to the house and his car. After a moment Jonas heard him leave.

God, what was he doing -- driving away the only person he had left? But he couldn't seem to stop himself.

Squaring his shoulders, Jonas picked up his walking stick and headed downstream. He stopped now and then to catch a candy bar wrapper or an empty milk carton on the sharp edge of his stick and put it into the garbage bag that he carried over his shoulder.

After awhile he began to feel winded, so he sat down on a boulder and waited for the sudden tightness in his chest to go away. He didn't like the sensation of getting old, feeling weak, but the last thing he needed was some damn doctor telling him his ticker was slowing down. As if he didn't know that.