Enright Family Collection (23 page)

It terrified her to feel so safe. She was torn between losing herself in him, letting his kisses take her further and further away, and regaining her firm footing in the present, in reality. And yet was this not reality, this warmth spreading through her like molasses?

His thumbs caressed her face on either side and she slid her hands to the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer,
needed him closer. She parted her lips slightly and drew him in, the taste of him turning her inside out and making her want only more. When she arched to him he lowered her down onto the sofa and covered her with his long body, his tongue running along the back of her front teeth, making her gasp softly, filling her with a heat she had read about but wasn’t sure really existed until she had met him. A large hand on her hip caressed her through her silky dress, and she knew it was itching to move one way or the other, up or down. She couldn’t decide which she’d prefer; she wanted his hands on her everywhere at once.

From somewhere through the fog of need that had wrapped around her, she heard a voice whispering, “I think this is not a very good idea.”

Opening one eye, she focused on what was closest— Nick’s face—and raised an eyebrow.

“As much as I would just about kill right now to slide that silk over your head and do what comes naturally, I think it would be a very bad idea.”

“Excuse me?” she squeaked.

Surely she had not heard him clearly.

“Something tells me that you will not be happy in the morning if you let yourself get carried away tonight. You will, I suspect, back off me as if I am diseased and retreat behind your trial list, and any hope I’ll ever have of keeping you will be lost.”

She made a face and tried to make a protest at the same time, but she knew he was right and wondered how he got so smart.

“I need you for more than one night, India, and I want all of you. I’m not going to let things happen too soon and make you turn away from me.” His voice was as sweet and soft as his kisses, and she leaned back to watch his eyes. “There are things eating away at your heart, and we are going to resolve them. But I don’t know if you’re ready to talk about those things, and until you feel close enough to me to show me where it hurts, we’re going to go step by step. And that means I will sleep on the sofa, and you will sleep upstairs with Corri. And tomorrow I’ll make you both a big breakfast. But right now, we’re going to sit up and you’re going to tell me about the case you’re trying this week.”

“You are not like any man I have ever known,” she whispered.

“Good. That’s a good start, Indy.” He grinned. “A very good start. Now, tell me about the case.”

He retrieved the mugs of tea he had made and she told him about Alvin Fletcher. And about his victims, and their families, and the pain this evil man had spread through so many good people. He watched her face, watched her eyes, and listened to the passion in her voice. By the time she had finished, Nick Enright had a very good idea of the nature of the beast he would have to slay in order to win the heart of India Devlin.

He was ready to do whatever it took.

The morning unmarred by the good colonel’s rousing early-morning march, it being Sunday, and the wonderful aromas drifting up the stairwell made India believe, for a moment, that she was waking up in heaven. Or at the very least in Devlin’s Light. She stretched her legs and hit a lump—a tiny lump, but a lump all the same—twisted up in the blankets at the end of the bed. Corri.

India sat up and looked at the sleeping child, then crawled to the end of the bed to look at her. Sweet Corri. So trusting and so vulnerable. So many heartaches for one so small. Overwhelmed by the need to protect her, to make things right for her, Indy sighed. Nick had been right last night. It had been too soon for them. All things in their own good time. How clever he was to have sensed that, to understand.

And how desirable. Kissable. Hugable. Lovable.

She turned her head at the soft sound in the doorway, where the kissable, hugable, lovable one stood, a soft smile on his face, brown hair tumbled over his forehead. He leaned back against the doorframe, the sleeves of his light gray sweatshirt pulled up to the elbows, his long bare feet, still lightly tanned from a summer spent in the sun, sticking out from his faded blue jeans.

A Sunday morning mirage if ever there was one
, she couldn’t help but think.

“Are you two going to get up, or do I have to come in there and get you up?”

“Corri’s still asleep,” she whispered.

“No she’s not.” The child stretched, her thin arms reaching out from under the blue and white blanket.

“Are you ready for waffles?”

Corri’s head shot up.

“With warm syrup?” she asked hopefully.

“And blueberries,” Nick told her.

“Yum!” The blankets fairly flew from the end of the bed, and Corri’s little feet hit the ground running. “My favorite breakfast. My very favorite breakfast.”

She was down the steps before India had a chance to sit up. When she did, Nick was leaning over her, his lips seeking hers.

“I cannot resist a tousled woman,” he told her, kissing her softly at first, then with more persistence than she had expected. “Maybe I was a little too gallant last night. Maybe I need my head examined.”

“Maybe we should eat those waffles before Corri does,” she said, smoothing the hair back from his face.

“Hmmm.” He grunted. “It’s the story of my life: ‘You’re cute, Nicky, but given the choice between you and your waffles, well, it’s, Please pass the syrup.’”

“Somehow I doubt that very much.” She laughed and emerged from the cocoon she had made from blankets and sheets.

“You really are adorable in the morning, you know that?” He took two steps toward her and she hesitated just long enough for him to catch her by the arms and kiss her again. The same three alarms that had gone off between her ears the night before began to whine.

“Nick…”

“Hey you guys, the syrup is all bubbly all over the stove,” Corri called up the steps.

“Stay away from it, Corri. I’ll be right there.” He kissed India’s nose and frowned. “I’m beginning to wonder if this kid is a blessing or a curse.”

India laughed and watched his handsome form trot down the steps.

“Hey, you guys both have sweatshirts and jeans on,” Corri observed as India strolled into the kitchen ten minutes later. “I’m going to wear a sweatshirt and jeans too.”

She hopped from her chair and sped up the steps.

“How were the waffles?” India touched Corri’s shoulder fondly as the child passed by.

“Dee-licious.”

“Brush your teeth,” India called up the steps as Corri’s small figure disappeared around the corner of the bedroom door.

“Those are cold.” Nick pointed to the two waffles remaining on the plate in the middle of the kitchen table. “I’ll make a few more.”

“These are fine,” she told him. “I’ll put them in the microwave.”

“Won’t they get soggy?” He frowned.

“Nah, they’ll be fine.” She opened the glass door to the small appliance, slid the plate in and set the timer. “I take it you ate with Corri?”

“There are some things a man cannot wait for.” He grinned. “Waffles are one of those things.”

He poured her a cup of coffee and placed it before her on the table and she smiled her thanks. The microwave beeped that it had completed its task. She removed the plate and poured syrup over the waffles.

“I see you’re not a butterer,” he observed.

“What?”

“You don’t butter your waffles before you pour on the syrup.”

“Which are you?”

“Oh, I’m a butterer.” He nodded as if they were discussing something of great importance. “Corri is a butterer too, just for future reference.”

“These are great,” she told him. “Wonderful. But where did you find stuff to make waffles with? I haven’t shopped in weeks, except to grab the hamburger and salad things from the food market on my way home Friday night.”

“I found all this”—he waved his arm across the counter—“in the market at the corner two blocks away.”

“Thank you, Nick.” She put her fork down and watched him as he picked up his plate and began to rinse it off. “Has anyone ever told you that you are one amazing man?”

“Certainly. But darlin’, when I decide that it’s time to amaze you, you won’t believe your—”

“See? Now we all are dressed alike,” Corri said brightly as she dashed into the room.

“We see,” India said, both she and Nick laughing at the child’s timing.

“Can I play in the leaves outside?” Corri peered through the kitchen window. The day was clear and crisp, and an overnight wind had dotted the back yard with a carpet of colors, which could be raked into a pile just right for jumping into.

“Sure,” India told her, “there’s a rake in the shed. Just stay in the back yard, Corri. Don’t go out front.”

“Okay.” Corri tugged at the back door and Nick unlocked it for her.

“Is the shed open?” he asked.

“I don’t remember.” India frowned and started to rise.

“I’ll do it. Stay and finish eating before your waffles get cold again.”

As the door closed behind him, India took her plate and fork and went to the window, watching Nick stride across the yard.

Admit it, you like his rear view
, she chuckled.
And the front view ain’t bad either.

By the time he had returned to the kitchen she was seated at the table, polishing off the last of the waffles.

“This was wonderful.” She sighed. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Hey, what kind of a man would accept a night’s lodging without earning his keep?” He grinned. “Besides, I wanted to impress you with my many talents. I’m a very good cook.”

“Do you do everything as well as you cook?” She grinned back.

“Most things. Of course, there are some things I do even better.”

“Hmmm. I guess it’s up to me to figure out what those things might be.”

“And one of these fine days you will, Miss India. Now pour yourself another cup of coffee and turn those teasing eyes away from me or young Corri will get the shock of her life when she comes back through that door and finds us
both on the kitchen floor, you up to your ears in my talents.”

India laughed again, wondering when she had ever laughed this much in one single morning. It must have been a very long time ago. The thought sobered her and she spun the spoon around and around in her coffee until the swirls resembled a tiny mocha-colored whirlpool. She felt younger today than she had in a very long time. It felt wonderful.

“What did you say?” She tuned back in at the sound of his voice.

“I asked you why you freaked out on that man, Carson, yesterday at the museum.”

“I don’t know.” She turned her face from him abruptly. “Of course you do.” Nick sat down next to her at the table. “What did you think he would do to Corri?”

“Hurt her,” whispered Indy.

“Why?”

“Because it happens. Because children are hurt by strangers who look every bit as respectable as Mr. Carson looked. Child molesters are ministers and they are teachers and librarians, and you can’t trust anyone with a child.” She was unaware that her voice had risen until Nick took her hands. “I have to protect her, Nick. I can’t let anything happen to her.”

“Nothing will happen to her, Indy. We will take care of her. Nothing will happen to Corri.” There was a sureness about him that made her almost believe him. “But I would like you to tell me why you are so afraid for her.”

India struggled to get a sound out, but nothing would come.

“India, come here.” Nick turned his chair around and pulled her onto his lap, holding her like a child. He put his big arms around her and she felt safe, really safe. “Do you trust me enough to tell me about it?”

She sat listening to his heart for what seemed to be a very long time. When she realized that she could finally speak of the unspeakable, she began in a very soft small voice.

“It was such a hot day that you couldn’t walk barefoot on the beach, the sand burned your feet. Lizzie and I had played all day, but not on our beach.” She gestured as if
sitting on the back porch of August’s house, pointing in the direction of the beach at the end of Darien Road. “It was the beach over off Longview. It’s right on the bay, and there’re better shells there. And more driftwood. We collected driftwood and pretended we were pioneers, gathered around the campfire. We took seaweed that had washed up on the shore and pretended it was logs for our cabin. We laid out a cabin on the sand, outlined with seaweed. We played house all afternoon. Several times I went home and got popsicles for us. The last time Aunt August said we’d had enough, that we’d spoil our dinners. But we wanted just one last one anyway. Lizzie wanted to come with me, but I told her to wait for me on the beach, since it would be easier for me to sneak into the kitchen alone. And I left her there, left Lizzie on the beach and went back to the house. I waited on the back porch until I heard Aunt August go upstairs, and I snuck in and took two more popsicles out of the freezer and ran back to the beach. Lizzie wasn’t there. I called and called, but she wasn’t there. I figured maybe her brother had come to get her. So I sat down on the dune and I ate both popsicles. Mine and Lizzie’s. Then I washed my hands off in the bay—they were sticky and red from the popsicles—and I went home. I ate dinner and I caught lightning bugs in the back yard with Ry.”

She leaned back in his arms and sighed. Her voice was steady, but it had a dreamy sort of quality, as if she was telling of something she could see through a haze.

“Lizzie’s brother came over around seven-thirty. He’d come to get Lizzie to walk her home. Lizzie hadn’t gone home.”

She stopped again and sat up, her breath coming a little faster now, though she was clearly striving for control.

“When she hadn’t gotten home by eight, all the grownups were worried, and one by one, all the parents sort of drifted out to look for her. I stayed home with Ry and we watched TV. I remembered feeling very, very scared. I had no idea where Lizzie had gone, but I knew—I KNEW—that something very bad had happened. They didn’t find her that night. I don’t think anyone in Devlin’s Light got a wink of sleep. All the parents went out again in the morning to look.”