Kane (26 page)

Weariness hit him like a hard right to the heart. He didn't know why the few words she'd spoken should affect him that way, but they did. Maybe he was weaker than he knew. His voice toneless, he asked, “What are you suggesting, Regina?”

“Whatever you like.” She gave a small, helpless shrug. “I owe you so much that—”

“You owe me nothing.” The fans of her lashes were like rust-and-gold moths, shadow fine against her skin. He wanted to touch them, to run the edge of his tongue along them, more than he'd wanted anything in a long time.

“But I do. Without you, I would never have seen
Stephan again, at least not without knuckling under to Gervis and doing exactly as he wanted. You were hurt, might even have been killed, because of me.” She looked up with rose color flaring across her cheekbones. “There's nothing I wouldn't do to make it up to you.”

“No.” It was the hardest word he'd ever spoken, but also the most necessary.

“No?” Her glance was shadowed, hesitant. “But you said the other night that you expected it. You seemed to want—”

“No. Not now, not ever again. I didn't go after your son for the sake of having you in my bed. I went to make up to you for what I did to you, for what I took from you.”

Speaking so softly he had to strain to hear, she said, “You didn't take anything I wasn't ready to give.”

He stopped breathing, almost forgot to start again. He wondered how much it had cost her to make that simple statement and exactly what it meant. Asking didn't seem like a good idea, however; he preferred to keep a few illusions. “Good try,” he said in wry salute, “but I know differently.”

She lifted her chin as she stared at him. He held her gaze, wondering if his own was as hard to read. He thought it must be, for it felt stiff and unnatural, like a mask to hide his doubt and pain.

“I'd still like to do something, somehow, to repay you,” she said after a long moment.

He closed his eyes, resisting the urge to squeeze them tight. “Forget it. I don't have much use for sacrificial lambs.”

The plane vibrated, cushioned on air and nothing else, as it held its course in the dark, star-spangled night. The engines made a deep, steady roar. After a long, long time, she replied in toneless understanding, “No, I don't suppose you do.”

S
acrificial lamb.

The phrase came back to Regina again and again in the hours that followed. It was with her as the plane finally landed at the airstrip outside Turn-Coupe. She couldn't get it out of her mind as she lost an argument with Kane over whether she and Stephan were going to the motel or continuing on with him and Luke to let the doctor look at Stephan at Hallowed Ground. It echoed in her thoughts while they all, including Mr. Lewis, waited for the doctor to arrive.

Was that really how Kane saw her? Did he think she had endured the love they'd made with gritted teeth? She had meant to, had thought it would be necessary at first. It hadn't turned out that way.

Kane had freed her from her crippling fears and taught her the sweet, untrammeled pleasure of loving. She would never forget that. At the same time, she never expected to find another man she could ever trust in the same way, never expected to love again.

She loved him.

She loved him, and it wasn't about sex or gratitude for what he had done, or even because he had risked so much for her sake and been hurt in the process. She loved him for all the things he was, for his strength
and sense of right, for his bone-deep honor and his attachment to the place he lived, for the way he protected his grandfather and stood steadfast with his family and his friends against the things that threatened them. She loved the way he smiled and the way he frowned, the way he touched her and held her, and even the way he didn't do it when he felt it wasn't right. And more, so much more.

How had it happened with all that lay between them? She didn't know. It was simply there, a bedrock certainty in the hidden center of her heart.

It seemed impossible that he couldn't see. She had been so afraid that he would. If he thought it had been a sacrifice for her to be with him, however, then he could have no idea.

The urge to tell him the truth hovered inside her. She didn't dare risk it. That would be to presume it mattered. It could also force him to tell her that he didn't care for her at all. She didn't think she could stand that just now, wasn't sure she could ever face that particular truth.

Stephan, curled up in an overstuffed chair, began to stir as he tried to wake. He whimpered, and she went to him at once and gathered him in her arms. He opened his eyes, stared into her face for long seconds, then his sweet, joyful smile spread over his face.

“Mama.”

The amazed happiness in the single word shredded her heart and filled her eyes with tears of love and grief for all he had been through and anguish that she had let it happen. Beneath them burned a fierce resolve that nothing and no one would ever touch him again.
“I'm here,” she whispered against the silk of his hair. “I'm here, and I'll never, ever leave you.”

Kane, lying on the sofa across from her, turned his head toward where she sat. His movement drew her attention and she met his dark gaze over her son's head. There was a suspended look on Kane's face, as if he was struggling with some conclusion that didn't sit particularly well with him. He glanced at Luke, who lounged, face impassive and long legs stretched out before him, in an armchair between them. For an irrational moment, she thought he seemed impatient, as if he wished they were alone.

“Regina—” he began.

The chiming of the doorbell interrupted him. Mr. Lewis, who had been waiting in the long entrance hall for the doctor, ushered his friend into the room. The moment passed.

The elderly physician was introduced as Dr. Tom Watkins. He grumbled from the moment he set foot in the house, a rumbling and irascible undertone that carried as much caring as it did complaint. After a cursory examination, he informed Kane that he'd have to give him something for pain while he explored the wound and cleaned it thoroughly, then stitched it closed. The surgery would be better performed under sterile conditions, but since Kane had been dumb enough to get himself shot, then he'd have to risk the infection. Seeing as how he, Dr. Watkins, was about ready to retire, he was more than willing to “forget” to inform the authorities that he'd treated a gunshot wound, but there was no way to keep the thing secret if they went through the hospital. And he'd thank Kane to follow his grandpa's example and heal quick
as he was able, not go fretting himself into a high fever that required some danged young emergency room intern to ruin all his good work.

Kane insisted that Stephan be looked after before the doctor set to work on him. Regina's son was pronounced healthy except for the lingering effect of some potent tranquilizer. There should be no lasting harm, Doc Watkins said, ruffling the boy's soft hair. Fluids, food, and a watchful eye until the drug wore off were the only recommendations. If Stephan seemed inclined to fall asleep again, it would likely be the result of long-term stress as much as the drug. In that case, they weren't to fret, but just let the boy be, let him rest.

Turning to Kane then, the elderly physician ordered him to find a bed to use for the necessary procedures and get in it. Mr. Lewis offered his own downstairs bedroom, and Luke gave the patient a shoulder to lean on as he headed in that direction. Regina offered to help, but was refused with gruff kindness and then barred from the makeshift surgical center by a firmly closed door.

She concentrated instead on Stephan, who roused from his tranquilized stupor by rapid degrees. He claimed to be hungry and followed Dora into the kitchen to watch with intent interest while she stirred up a batch of pancakes and put them on the table. He also had a million questions to ask, as if he had bottled up the need to talk for months and was now letting it all pour out. Eyes bright with curiosity, waving a fork on which he had speared a huge bite of pancake dripping with butter and syrup, he fired off salvo after salvo as fast as he could get them out. He not only
demanded to know exactly where they were and how they got there, but seemed determined to extract every particle of information anyone could give him about the wonders of Hallowed Ground. Exhausting Regina's scanty knowledge in short order, he turned to Dora. He soon had the dour housekeeper laughing, telling him stories, and promising to take him to see the new litter of kittens in the old carriage house by the back garden, kittens sired by Mr. Lewis's cat, Samson.

Stephan rushed through the rest of his meal, then turned to Regina and asked to be excused in the careful way that he'd been taught. When she agreed, he swung to Dora, his expression expectant yet doubtful as he asked, “May I see the kittens now, please?”

The housekeeper raised an inquiring brow in Regina's direction. She nodded at once, but couldn't control the grief that rose inside her as she realized how restricted, how endlessly corrected and controlled, her son had been to make him so terribly polite or doubtful about such a simple pleasure.

The housekeeper's gaze held compassion as she met Regina's eyes. “Don't you worry, honey,” she said as she took off her chef's apron and tossed it over the back of a chair. “I'll take good care of him.”

“I know,” Regina said over the lump in her throat. The housekeeper had carefully avoided mentioning the fact that she'd had to wash the bloodstains from Stephan's clothes before he could wear them. They both knew it was a detail from which he needed to be protected.

“It'll be all right, you'll see,” Dora said. “This boy
stays around here, we'll have him running and ripping in no time.”

It was all Regina could do to retain her smile as the housekeeper handed her son a napkin to wipe his milk mustache, then took his hand and led him away. Stephan would not be staying long enough for the running and ripping. There was nothing for either of them at Hallowed Ground or in Turn-Coupe.

She heard the front door close a short time later. Thinking it might be the doctor leaving, she rose from the table and went in search of Mr. Lewis to find out if everything had gone all right with Kane. As she passed through the parlor, she saw the older man still outside on the front drive where he was seeing off his friend and physician. Regina watched the two a second, but made no move to join them. She had already thanked Doc Watkins for looking at Stephan and could think of nothing to add to her fervent expression of gratitude.

Whatever was under discussion out there seemed to be taking a while. Turning away from the window, Regina moved down the hall to the bedroom where the doctor had been working over Kane.

The door was shut tight. She hesitated, then turned the knob and stepped inside.

Kane was alone and apparently asleep. He lay perfectly still except for the steady rise and fall of his chest. The white bandaging around his torso made a stark contrast with his sun-darkened skin as he lay naked to the waist, his arms on top of the sheet. His color was much better now that the frightening pallor he'd acquired during the long flight had receded. His jaw was firm beneath its obscuring stubble of beard,
and his hair was crisp and black against the monogrammed cream linen of the pillowcase.

He wasn't, and never would be, an easy person to know, Regina thought as she sat down carefully on the edge of the bed. He appeared so vital and self-contained, even in sleep. No one could get behind his guard unless he allowed it, and that seemed unlikely to happen. He was formidable in his certainty about truth and justice. Unyielding. It was doubtful he could ever understand, much less forgive, the conflicting needs and beliefs that had brought her to this place.

Regardless, she wouldn't have him any other way. Too many people allowed far too much in the way of excuses these days, it seemed. They spoke disparagingly of hard-and-fast judgments while taking advantage of the multiplying shades of gray. Such sophistry was no substitute for what was right and true. Absolutes had their place, as did drawn lines and firm stands. They were the necessary bedrock of civilization. She applauded the fact that Kane believed in them, even if it meant they could never agree, never be together.

She had to go. She couldn't stay here at Hallowed Ground, couldn't continue to accept the hospitality of these people she had tried to harm. She had no right to expect special consideration or to take advantage of the fact that it was offered in spite of her transgressions.

She would love to stay, would love to sink into the comfort and caring, to become a part of the vast encompassing warmth of Kane's family. Not just his Pops, of course, though she liked him so much, but all the others, as well: Luke and Betsy and Miss Elise,
and the endless circle of Benedicts who knew and respected each other, depended on and looked out for each other. She longed to be one of them, both for herself and for her son, needed it in some way she couldn't begin to explain, with a yearning too deep for words, almost beyond imagining.

It wasn't going to happen. She was alone, and it was time she realized it, accepted it. She might as well start now.

Still, she couldn't quite force herself to move, not yet. So she watched the man on the bed, thinking of all he had done. His protection, his caring, his courtesy. The gift of loving he had given her, and the gift of getting her son back.

The need to touch him one last time was so powerful, so necessary, that she reached out to place her fingers on his hand. It was not enough. She smoothed her hand along his arm, carefully avoiding his bandage, then up his shoulder. Pressing her palm to the steady beat of his heart, she closed her eyes an instant, then opened them again to trail the backs of her fingers upward over the strong curve of his neck and his beard-rough chin. His lips were incredibly smooth and warm. She brushed the firm contours with her fingertips.

He didn't stir. There was no change in his breathing. Holding her breath, she leaned down and molded her mouth gently to his.

For an instant, she was swamped in remembered sensations. In bittersweet memories flavored with regret.

Gone. Never again. A single tear seeped from under her lashes, fell on his cheek. She lifted her head, used
the soft stroke of one finger to brush away the salty track. Then she eased herself to her feet and turned away.

Lewis Crompton stood watching her from the open doorway. Worry grooved his face, but there was compassion in his eyes.

“I was just…checking on him,” Regina said as the heat of a flush surged to her hairline.

“Yes.” Kane's grandfather cleared his throat with a rasp. “He'll be all right, you know. Tom—that is, Doc Watkins—says all he needs is rest. Kane won't let this get him down. He's got things to do and he'll be ready to get after them as soon as he wakes up.”

“I'm sure you're right.” Before he could say anything more, she went on, “You must be tired, especially after your accident. I could watch Kane if you'd like to go back to bed yourself.”

“No, no, I'm fine. Never did have much use for lying around. Anyway, I don't think Kane will need much watching now except for checking to be sure he doesn't run a fever.”

She agreed without looking at him. Pops was looking after Kane as Kane had looked after his Pops. It seemed right. To fill the awkward silence that threatened, she said, “Where's Luke?”

“He went on home soon as he was satisfied Kane would be okay.”

“I should probably go, too,” she said, adding awkwardly, “I—expect you think I have a nerve, coming back here anyway, especially to this house.”

“Why would I think that?”

“After all that I've done,” she amplified with heat riding her cheekbones.

“I'm afraid,” he said gravely, “that I don't know much about it. My grandson and I are close, but his confidence doesn't extend to keeping me informed about his personal life. Or vice versa.”

Her gaze returned to his face. “You mean he hasn't told you about me?”

“Apparently not.”

She wished she hadn't mentioned it, but since she had, there was nothing for it but to go on. “I…came here under false pretenses.”