Bougainvillea (8 page)

“Because I came home first. I had to get the cat, you know.”

“The cat!”

“I wanted to get ahead a bit, too, on the strip. So that when I go, I can have a real vacation.”

“Vacation, huh?” Jen sniffed. “Sounds like you're going to be living there.”

Kit was silent for a moment, feeling the little rush of being wildly, ecstatically in love. But then, even the feeling of total euphoria that threatened to overtake her was dampened.

She was still uneasy about the place. Almost as if Bougainvillea was the same as the bogeyman.

“I don't know,” Kit murmured.

“He's with you, right?”

“Yes, he's here.” Kit glanced toward the bedroom. David had been up most of the night, faxing back and forth to the Sea Life offices in Florida. He'd shown her some of the sketches for a sailboat they were working on, and then gone back to crunch numbers himself.

He hadn't gone home—or back to his office—since the convention.

He'd stayed in Chicago for almost three weeks, despite her suggestion that it would be all right for him to go home, that she'd hop on a plane as soon as she was caught up and ready.

But he had lingered anyway, assuring her that in this age of e-mail and high-tech communications, there was little that he couldn't do while waiting on her. Kit
couldn't help but be pleased, because it seemed that he was loathe to leave her, to be away from her for any time at all. It was also heartening to see that he completely understood and supported her career.

“Has he asked you to marry him?” Jen demanded.

“Jen! We've only been together a little over three weeks!”

“But three perfect weeks,” Jen reminded her.

Kit was silent.

“Chemistry. It's right, or it's not right. You're too careful, young lady. You don't take risks, and you don't get ahead in life if you don't take risks.”

“Jen! Personal relationships are not about getting ahead in life.”

“Same point,” Jen said with exasperation. “Sometimes, when you want something, you have to dive right in.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“Marry him!”

“He hasn't asked me.”

“He will.”

“We'll see.”

“It'll be winter soon, Kit. You're in wretchedly cold Chicago and I'm in wretchedly wet Seattle. I need a great place to go for winter.”

“Hmm. I've got it. I'll send you down to Bougainvillea as my scout. Tell them you're my representative or something. Bask in the sun—”

“Why don't you want to go down there?” Jen demanded flatly.

“I do!” she protested.

But Jen was right. She was procrastinating. Because…

There was something dark about all that sunlight.

“Gotta go,” Jen said. “Keep me posted. And don't let everything slip through your fingers!”

“I'll stay under your wisdom and advisement,” Kit assured her.

She hung up and walked into her office, and over to her drafting table. She glanced down at the strip she had just finished. She was ahead now—way ahead. She'd been able to practically churn out really good little strips at an incredible rate.

Because she was happy, she thought. And because she actually knew something about a relationship once again.

She was sitting in her chair staring at the last strip when she became aware of David standing in the doorway in his terry-cloth robe. His dark hair was tousled and he had a bit of five-o'clock shadow. He still appeared every bit as arresting as he ever had, if not more so. She reflected that the longer she was with him, the more exciting he became. Familiarity was not breeding contempt, but making her more aware daily of just what she had. She was tempted to rush up and slip her arms through the V of the robe, feel his flesh, bury her face against it.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.”

He walked into the room and stared down at her strip. “Very good,” he mused.

She looked up at him. “You would say so no matter what.”

“Actually, no, I wouldn't. Ask Josh. I tell him when I think a design sucks. Wait—let me think. You can't ask Josh. You don't know him. Or don't remember him.”

“I will meet him again, or see him again,” she said.

“When?”

“I'm almost ready to go,” she said. She hesitated then. “David, is there a reason I shouldn't want to go there? Did something terrible happen?”

He looked away from her, staring at the strip again. “You know something terrible happened,” he said. “Your mother died.”

“No, of course, but she drowned. That was terribly tragic. But not…dark,” she said at last, unable to think of another word.

“Any death is terrible, and Marina's rocked everyone there,” he told her.

Then Kit said, “She wasn't liked, was she?”

He looked at her then, and offered her a strange, wry grimace. “There were moments when she could be very cruel, but she was young, you know, when she first met the Delaneys. I think sometimes she was just unsure of herself. She was rash, impetuous—and gorgeous. No, she wasn't always liked. But she was also adored. Mary thought the world of her. I was in awe of her—Josh, too. Seamus adored her. She was human, Kit. She had her bad points, but she had her very good points, too. You must know that. She meant everything in the world to your father.”

Kit nodded.

“You're afraid to go there,” he said.

“No, I'm not afraid,” she said. “Really, I'm anxious.”

“We'll get there then,” he said lightly. He walked to
the door. “Sorry, hope I didn't disturb your work. I'm going to shower and get on the computer.”

He left her alone in her office.

That night, she dreamed of Bougainvillea again. She was with Mary, who seemed to have been crying, but the old woman was holding her, and trying to reassure her. “Just the birds, love. They're so loud. You can always hear those wretched creatures.”

Then she was running on the sand, and she was trying to get away from someone. She was terrified, and she didn't know why.

She woke with a start again, then bit her lower lip, trying not to move. She felt David's arm tighten around her. Instinct?

If she had awakened him, he gave no other sign of it, and she fell uneasily back to sleep.

* * *

The next evening, as they walked along the lake, he spun her around to face him.

“Marry me,” he said softly, dark eyes intent.

“Marry…?” she murmured.

“Yes, you know. Become man and wife.”

“I…”

“I love you, you know. I mean in all honesty, I thought you were the most desirable being ever created from the moment I saw you. And it might not have been the greatest idea, seeing as how my mission was to bring you home, but sleeping with you had been at the top of my mind every moment we were together. But I never realized myself how deeply I could need you every moment, how your scent would linger or haunt me in the midst of all else. So…you see, I am madly,
deeply and passionately in love with you. I want to marry you.”

She stared at him, incredulous. The emotion in his dark eyes was so intense, so serious. So very real.

“Oh!” she whispered.

“Well?”

“Um…ditto.”

He smiled, still the master of composure, always his own man, strong in success, and failure.

If he ever failed.

“So—does that mean you will marry me?”

She nodded, still stunned. “Um…what were you thinking? Here, Florida? A year, six months…what?”

“Now. Tonight. We can get a plane to Vegas. And fly home from there.”

“Home?”

“Bougainvillea.”

“I still have the cat.”

“He can be best man.”

She finally had to laugh. “This is crazy. Insane. I mean, my folks are both dead, but really, don't you want to see your family?”

“My folks are both gone as well.”

“But you're part of…of an enterprise, or an extended family, or something.”

“Actually, they're your family,” he reminded her.

“Tonight?”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he said. “I know it as I've never known anything before in my life. I believe that you feel the same way. So marry me, tonight.”

“We will need a ticket for the cat, you know,” she told him.

He wrapped her into his arms. And it seemed the most natural thing in the world then, to fly to Las Vegas. To marry, that night.

* * *

Lenore let out a cry of rage.

Michael, sipping coffee and reading the paper, nearly jumped out of his chair.

“What?” he demanded.

She was standing next to the phone. She gripped the receiver so tightly the veins were standing out on her hand. Her free palm covered the mouthpiece.

She shook her head at Michael, her face dead-white. “How lovely,” she said into the phone. “We're—well, yes, we're stunned, but…delighted.”

Like hell she was delighted, Michael thought, and he didn't even know what she was talking about.

“Naturally, I'll tell Seamus right away.”

“My dear, what is it?” Michael demanded as she set the receiver down.

Lenore spent several minutes looking as if she was about to have apoplexy. She was trying to speak. Her mouth was working, but words wouldn't come. Then finally, she said, “He's married her!”

“What?”

“David has gone and—and
married
Kit Delaney.”

“Wow. That was fast,” Michael said.

“That was fast? That's all you have to say? It was wretched…horrible…that he was bringing the little… the little…”

“Hey, anybody seen my keys?”

Josh chose that moment to walk in. His keys were forever lost on some piece of furniture.

“Mom, who are we talking about? Let's see… wretched and horrible, that little…little
—bitch
would probably be the right word. Who's she talking about?” he asked his father cheerfully.

“Kit Delaney.”

“Hey, she was a cute little kid. Mischievous, but hey, you expect that in a kid. Why is she a bitch?”

“Apparently, David has married her,” Michael informed his son.

“Married! David went off and married her?”

“That's what your mother says.”

“I'll be damned. David. Married. Hmm. That will dampen a few expectations around here, won't it?” he said, and laughed. “So have you seen them?”

“Seen what?” Lenore asked.

“My keys.”

“David Moore has gone off and married Kit Delaney, and all you're concerned about is your keys?” Lenore said, incredulous.

“Can't drive without them,” Josh said. “Hey, does Seamus know yet?”

“No,” Michael told him.

“Well, I tell you, you've got to give it to David. Send him off to retrieve someone, and he sure goes all the way. When are they coming here?”

“I don't know!” his mother said icily.

Kaitlin came breezing in, walking toward the liquor cabinet. “Good evening, all,” she said, then paused, studying them. “Did someone's dog die?” she asked.

“Worse,” Josh said gravely. He stared at Kaitlin, a
wry grin curling his lips. “David has gone off and married Kit Delaney.”

It was a good thing Kaitlin hadn't picked up a liquor bottle—she would have dropped it. Her mouth gaped for a moment before she thought to snap it shut.

“You're joking,” she said.

“No, we're not.” Lenore's voice remained grim.

“But…how? When?” Kaitlin demanded.

“In Las Vegas. Last night,” Lenore said. “But…I don't believe it,” Kaitlin said.

“Why not?” Josh asked. “If she looks anything like Marina, which she definitely did as a kid, she must be stunning. And why not keep it all in the family, as they say?”

“She's not our family,” Lenore protested.

Michael looked at his wife. “She's a Delaney, my dear. Just the same as I am.”

Lenore stared at him, started to speak, and clamped her lips shut.

“I just don't believe it!” Kaitlin said. “It's just David. He's called with this jest to yank our chains. I mean, all right, Seamus wants to see Kit. He's filled with remorse over all the arguments and the fact that Marina died here. But David must be aware that…well, that no one else could possibly want her around!”

“Does anyone matter but Seamus?” Josh asked lightly.

At that moment, the phone rang. Michael strode past his still-stiff wife to answer it. “Hello?”

“Michael, it's Shelley. David just called, and told me about Kit, then put me on the phone with her. I'm so excited. I was thinking about planning a party for
when they come home—except that I don't want to step on any toes. I thought that you might want to plan the party. Isn't it wonderful? It's just incredible. After everything that happened, Kit will still be coming back here to live. Isn't it just great?”

“Who is it, Michael?” Lenore demanded.

He turned the phone away from his mouth. “Shelley. She's sure we're just ecstatic about David marrying Kit,” he told her, his expression totally deadpan. “She wants to plan a party.”

“A party?” Lenore all but exhaled fire.

He spoke to Shelley again. “She thinks it's a wonderful idea.”

“Please, either let me plan it, or be in on the planning,” Shelley said. “Can you imagine! She was my best friend in first grade. But I hardly remember her. She sounded wonderful on the phone. And she's going to be really famous, you know. Her comic strip is in syndication. More and more papers are picking it up.”

“Yes, seems like she must be very talented.” He thought of his own love of drawing. For him, it was design. For Kit, a comic strip. Mark Delaney, the scholar, had sketched great sailing ships and landscapes. Seamus still doodled constantly.