Ain’t Misbehaving

Chapter Five

“So when are you going to tell me who the man is?” Susan asked. Plopping down three bulky parcels, she slid into the booth across from Kay. Hurriedly, she finger-combed a disordered set of bouncing blond curls in a characteristic gesture.

“What are you talking about?” Kay returned, as she nodded a thank-you to the waitress for delivering two steaming mugs of coffee. Unbuttoning her jacket, she wrapped her freezing hands around the warm mug.

“For openers, we’ve been shopping for two hours and you haven’t bought a single thing. On top of that, you’ve been crabby for two weeks. On top of that, you made a date for lunch with me last week, called an hour later to make the same date again and then forgot to show at all. I haven’t seen you in such bad shape since high school. So what’s his name?” Susan’s eyes danced over the rim of her mug.

“My car’s name is Bertha. And if I’ve been distracted, it’s only because she needs a new transmission,” Kay said wryly.

“That would explain the crabbiness,” Susan agreed, and added demurely, “Stix says that the man could be a lethal weapon in the wrong hands. He seems to have the terrible feeling you could get burned. Why do you have all the luck?”

“Is there nothing sacred in this town?” Kay wondered aloud, and took a small sip of the steaming brew. The coffee felt scalding on her tongue, but she welcomed it. After two hours of shopping on a frigid Saturday afternoon, she wasn’t absolutely certain her toes still existed. They were certainly numb.

“We’re waiting to hear a name,” Susan probed.

“So was Rumpelstiltskin,” Kay returned cheerfully. “How’s the new job going, anyway?”

“Kay.”

“If I really decide to redecorate my living room, do you think I should have the couch reupholstered?”

Susan, bless her, was diverted. Kay leaned back against the booth, savoring her hot drink. After a moment, she let her coat slide behind her. Her white angora sweater was tucked into maroon cords; both were new. Her hair had a center part, a style equally simple but otherwise different from the one she usually wore.

The white hat and white mittens were also new, and she’d sprayed a mist of expensive perfume between her breasts and in other places where no one would notice it on a Saturday spent shopping in a heavy coat.

Occasionally, a woman had to work herself out of a little depression. Change helped. Usually. But then, Kay wasn’t usually depressed.

“Well…” Susan set down her mug and reached for her coat. “I’m broke-I guess I’ll have to go home. Unless you want to do some more shopping?”

Kay shook her head. “I’ll probably hit the bookstore, but that’s it.”

Susan grimaced. “You’re going to buy more books for the kids at the hospital, aren’t you?”

“It’s almost Christmas,” Kay said defensively as she counted out change for the waitress.

“It’s only a week after Thanksgiving, and you spend half your salary on stuff for those kids. If you’d save a little, I could really do that living room up right for you.”

“Next year,” Kay promised.

“Bull.”

They both chuckled, and at the entrance to the little café parted ways. Kay started walking toward the bookstore, tugging the collar of her coat around her chin, jamming her mittened hands into her pockets. Shoppers milled around her, laden with packages. Moscow had put up its Christmas lights, and everyone seemed infected with the holiday spirit. As the small town’s main street had been closed to cars, people were free to wander to and fro, crisscrossing streets, hats bobbing, coats pulled tight against the whip of cold wind. Laughter and red cheeks seemed to surround her. She loved it. As much as she’d loved anything these past few weeks.

Ducking her head against a sudden burst of wind, Kay surged forward. There was no real reason for her to be depressed. She was never depressed. So he hadn’t called. So he’d grabbed a few kisses and split. She’d handed out a few kisses of her own and split more than once.

She’d thought they had something, that was all. Something she’d never had before, something she couldn’t quite define. Something that left her feeling ridiculously breathless when he was around, like a schoolgirl with a crush. Silly.

She pushed open the door to Bookpeople and felt an instant rush of warm air caress her freezing cheeks. She pulled off her mittens and sat cross-legged in the children’s section. The Little Engine That Could was a must. So was The Giving Tree. And she’d need a book for Robert, the new boy she’d met at the hospital that morning; she could tell at a glance he wasn’t the best of readers. Tugging The Rainbow Goblins off the shelf, she checked it for easy words. The pile of books next to her kept growing.

There were plenty of other fish in the sea. She didn’t need a mystery man with sad eyes who was stingy with his last name, who had to be coaxed into laughter, who played poker like a Las Vegas dealer and climbed fire towers.

Her book pile kept growing.

If he called tonight, she’d turn him down. She didn’t like games and never had. There were enough men who did call that she didn’t have to sit around waiting for Mitch whatever-his-name-is to be in touch.

“Kay, you have to be joking. Even for you,” said the cashier.

Kay raised her eyes above the pile of books, smiling faintly. “Um. You won’t cash my check before Monday, will you?”

“Monday night,” the cashier answered wryly.

“That’ll do.” Enough time to transfer some savings into checking, although the Lord knew what she was going to buy groceries with. She swung her purse strap to her shoulder and picked up the overstuffed plastic bag and held it in both arms. It was too heavy to carry in one hand.

“Hey. Want some help?” the cashier asked.

“Believe me, I’ve managed worse,” she called after him, tucking her chin on top of the pile to balance it. Her arms ached instantly from the weight of the books. Somehow a few choice children’s stories had multiplied into a couple dozen. Well, not somehow. Rampant enthusiasm was definitely the weak point in her character, and in the meantime there was a full mile to walk home.

A stranger held open the door for her; she tried to nod a thank-you and failed, offering him a smile instead. Snowflakes pelted her cheeks as she maneuvered carefully outside; the air had turned colder, the sky darker. People were hurrying suddenly, bustling all around her, as if shopping no longer took precedence over getting home to hot cocoa and a crackling fire.

She bumped into someone, apologized. The top book shifted; she righted it with her chin. She’d forgotten to button her coat, and the wind stole around and in like a bandit, sneaking a chill under her sweater.

Someone else brushed her arm and she nearly stumbled. She had to stop and readjust the entire bundle. A mile? She was going to make it a mile this way? Kay, this is really it. as of this instant you are going to turn into a rational, sensible person, she informed herself.

Mitch saw her from across the street and three stores down. First a glimpse of swinging soft hair, almost lost in the bustle of people. Then he saw that her arms were full. Her lips, so red, were parted in embarrassed apology to someone she’d collided with, and then she was lost in the crowd again.

He frowned. Swinging his bulky package under his arm, he gave in to a full-blown scowl and kept on walking.

For another very long minute.

Waiting at a crosswalk, flanked by a group of kids and harried mothers, Kay closed her eyes as she waited for traffic to pass, mentally counting to ten. You will hold up, arms. If you go another quarter-mile, I’ll give you a rest. That really doesn’t sound so far, now does it?

The cars passed; the kids surged forward and around her, bumping her left elbow, then her right thigh. Her aching arms had been just looking for an excuse. Almost in slow motion, the books shifted in a long, undulating wave; she knew in one glum moment that it was all over. The flimsy plastic bag had already split; now a book surged out through the hole, flying for the street.

She grabbed for it, which freed the rest of the books to tumble in a skittering mess all across the street. If she hadn’t been so exasperated, she would have cried.

Frantically, she glanced back for approaching cars, and found a lazy, disarming grin bearing down on her instead. “You never do anything halfway, do you?” Mitch shoved his odd-shaped package at her and bent to retrieve the scattered books. “Button your coat,” he ordered.

She buttoned, silently eyeing him with all the bristling awareness of a porcupine. If he thought he was going to just show up in her life again…

“Where’s your car?” he asked.

There were a lot of problems with answering that question. The first of which was admitting that she hadn’t driven. The second of which was implying that she needed his help.

“Was that too hard a question?” he asked mildly. “We could start out with easier ones. Have you ever considered buying stock in a bookstore? And in the meantime, I take it we’re walking this library home? Or do you just want to stand there and glower at me?”

She did want to stand there and glower at him. He was carrying the books as if they were cotton balls. There was nothing more annoying than a male male.

And that was the disgusting problem about Mitch. The way his collar stood up against his cheeks, for instance; the way his skin was windburned, his dark hair careless… Primitive instincts announced themselves in her bloodstream. She felt swamped by his virility. It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t even touched her.

“I can carry them myself,” she informed him.

“I have no doubt you can do anything you want to. And if you’re in an independent sort of mood, I’ll give you back your books and just trail behind you, separate but equal.”

Now when did he sneak in that boyish grin? Separate but equal, indeed! She had no desire whatsoever to smile at him, and to hide the twist of her lips she glanced down, finding herself suddenly staring at the odd-shaped package he’d shoved into her arms. “What is this, anyway?”

“A football. For Robert.”

When she peered up, only for a second, Mitch’s dark eyes were sliding over her features as if claiming private property. Most irritating. “For Robert? You weren’t even at the hospital this morning.”

“Yes, I was. Before seven. I left early, so that later in the morning I could pay a visit to Peter at his house.” He started walking while she was trying to figure out why she wasn’t still furious with him for not calling.

Furthermore, he was walking fast. When you were going uphill against the crowd, you either walked slow or died from hyperventilation. Apparently, no one had ever mentioned that to him. “Was Peter okay?”

“Terrific. He said to give you a hug. He doesn’t really miss us, though. With his mom getting around again and all his friends calling, he’s doing fine.”

“Mitch.”

“Hmm?”

“Are you some kind of physical fitness maniac?”

He stopped instantly, his thick eyebrows shooting up in alarm. “I was going too fast?”

“I don’t know. Are you training for the Olympics?”

Actually, he was only trying to make sure she didn’t take back her books and disappear. He didn’t blame her for being a bit touchy, after the vanishing act he’d pulled two weeks ago.

Every instinct told him he was risking acting like a fool. Every instinct but one, and that one told his heart not to let her out of his sight, that to let her go again would be like losing part of himself.

Nothing could go wrong if he simply pursued a friendship. A platonic relationship.

“Are you?” she repeated.

“Am I what?”

“Obsessive about physical fitness.”

He hesitated, looking down at her. A wisp of hair had escaped her hat and curled sensually around her throat, inviting the touch of his hand. Platonic, his head echoed morosely. “No,” he replied absently, trying to remember her question. “I run a little, play a little racquetball. Not for any fitness medal, but for the sheer pleasure of it. You see, there was a time when I-” He clammed up abruptly.

Kay slid him an exasperated glance when he stopped talking. She halted in the middle of the sidewalk. “Don’t do that,” she ordered him.

“Do what?”

“Start to say something about yourself and then back off. Heck, I’ve seen you in action prying out other people’s secrets. Now talk to me,” she demanded.

Startled, he felt a slow grin forming on his lips. “Of course I’ll talk to you,” he said dryly. “What do you want to know?”

“Your last name.”

“Cochran.”

“What do you do for a living?”

He hesitated. “Collect stones. Kay?” He shook his head ruefully. “You have the most beautiful eyes.”

She dropped his football.

Since the man had come into her sphere again, Kay had every intention of teaching him a few things about relationships. Lesson one: A man didn’t kiss a woman with the impact of Vesuvius, disappear from her life and expect to show up again without retribution.

Retribution began when she opened her front door and watched Mitch’s jaw sag slightly. If he expected privacy, he certainly wasn’t going to get it.

Stix was sprawled on the sofa, the two teenagers from across the street were flat on the floor and Mrs. O’Brien from next door, in her favorite polka-dot apron, was curled up in the Morris chair. The African Queen was playing on the DVD player, and the group was munching on doughnuts. Hepburn was removing the leeches from Bogart’s back, and no one gave Kay more than a cursory look.

“You’re late,” Stix mentioned, unnecessarily.

“I knew you’d start without me.” Most efficiently, she introduced Mitch, stole his coat, piled the books in the dining room and headed for the kitchen.

A few moments later, Mitch leaned in the doorway, a look of wry amusement on his face. “You often have people just…occupy your house like that?”

“Yup. About four weekends each winter, everyone pitches in to rent a DVD. A neighborhood thing. I don’t know who decided my house was central, but somehow they always end up here. It’s my mother’s fault, really.” Flicking back her hair, she peered into the refrigerator.

“Your mother’s fault,” Mitch echoed.

“Not for renting the movies, but she always had an open-door policy around here. All ages, anytime.” Her head twisted around the refrigerator door with a quick, studying glance at him. “You look like the lasagna type. Are you staying for dinner?”

“I…yes.”

She beamed approval at him. That yes was a straightforward answer. That was lesson number two. Straightforwardness and honesty were critical to a relationship. Mitch was about to get a good solid dose of her lifestyle, and she was about to take the mystery out of the man.

“The lasagna just needs to be heated up, but it’ll still take a while. In the meantime…” She tossed a head of lettuce to him and started humming, whipping around the kitchen with practiced ease. “Shred,” she ordered him.

He shredded. She grilled…him.

He was twenty-eight, a passionate football fan; he’d lived most of his life around Coeur d’Alene but had recently bought a house in Moscow; his politics were dead wrong; he knew wonderfully crazy stories about outlaws in Idaho…and that lazy half smile was becoming a fixture.

She thought he’d be thrown by the continual hustle and bustle around the place, but she was obviously wrong. He listened soberly to Mrs. O’Brien’s arthritis woes, gave a tactful opinion on Sandra’s and Bern’s newly purchased jeans, answered the phone three times and managed to slaughter Kay in an impromptu trivia quiz while they were eating. No one else ever remembered that Babe Ruth had been a coach for the Dodgers after he retired from play.

By the time they were doing the dishes, Kay had totally forgiven Mitch for not calling; she had the feeling she would forgive him just about anything when she heard his uninhibited laughter for the first time. Stix was the only one still hanging around by then. Standing in the doorway, he was absently tossing his car keys up and down, watching her and Mitch bicker over the number of presidents who’d had Franklin in their names.

“Benjamin wasn’t,” Stix whispered to her dryly.

“Well, he should have been.” The two men exchanged glances as Kay looked at the clock. “Stix, are you crazy? You’re going to be late. You said you had a date at eight and it’s already past.”

“So give us a kiss.”

She stretched up and got a stranglehold around her neck for her trouble as she walked him to the door. “Be good,” he ordered her. “Don’t do anything I would do. Try to remember to lock your door tonight…”

“The trouble with you is that you don’t have any sisters.”

“Is that my problem?”

Mitch collapsed on the couch a few minutes later. Keeping up with Kay occasionally required a rest period. Her house had everything he’d missed for years-noise and energy and bubbling laughter. Only it wasn’t the house; it was Kay.

She served him popcorn, with white wine to wash it down, then curled into the huge overstuffed chair across from the couch, her knees drawn up and her arms around them. The chair swallowed her up. She looked as feminine and helpless as a tiny kitten, but like a relentless prosecuting attorney she kept the questions coming.

He felt rusty, as though he was just learning to talk again. Of course, he’d talked to people for years-about politics, geology, sports, local affairs. On any number of topics, he could talk knowledgeably-it was talking about himself that he’d shied away from. Kay kept coaxing up things he barely even remembered.

“I don’t believe it, Cochran. You were actually kicked out of kindergarten?” She giggled.

“I skipped out during rest hour. Who wanted to nap? And one day I put a napkin full of butter on the teacher’s chair…” He shrugged, then cleared his throat. “I just didn’t seem to be cut out to sit in a classroom.”

“But you’ve got degrees, you said. In geology and mineralogy. You speak German and Italian and Chinese. You must have turned into a student sometime.”

“Well, I did. The other was before-” He checked himself.

They’d been doing so well! Kay could have cheerfully dumped the bowl of popcorn over his head for clamming up again. At least they seemed to be safe talking about their childhoods. She was willing to settle for that. For a while.

“The only time I ever got in trouble was in fifth grade,” she told him. “Judy Whitaker called me skinny. I glued her desk shut.”

“Were you?”

“Skinny?” Kay nodded morosely. “I started out a plump kid, but then it all disappeared. Every other girl was getting these nice little bumps on her chest and I was still concave. I probably would have gotten into a lot less trouble if I’d said I was sorry for sealing the desk, but I told the principal I was glad, glad, glad.”

“What happened?”

“The PingPong paddle.” She lifted her wineglass in salute. “They don’t allow that in the schools anymore. Child abuse and all that, but to tell the truth, it was only my pride that hurt for a week. The principal was shaking with laughter the whole time.”

“Ours was a ruler. I cashed in for decking Stoney Laker. He hit my girl.”

“How old?”

“Second grade. My first and only engagement,” he added. “God, I loved her.” He popped a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “She could play the best damn game of marbles…” He kept his voice deliberately serious, because that seemed to make her laugh and he loved the sound, loved the way the corners of her eyes crinkled and her hair cascaded back. Only by accident did his eye suddenly wander to the windowed wall, where a clay pot filled with dirt stood, a scrawny stick emerging from it. “What is that?” he asked.

“My fig tree.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. I absolutely adore plants. They refuse to grow for me, but that one-that one-is coming back. I feed it, water it, talk to it, turn it…” She uncurled from the chair long enough to refill his glass. “Cochran,” she remarked as she set down the bottle, “I wouldn’t say what you’re thinking if I were you. That plant is coming back.”

“Are we-” he cleared his throat politely “-talking reincarnation or…?”

“Not to threaten you or anything, but I’ve strangled little old ladies who cast aspersions on my fig tree,” she informed him.

She was close, oh so close, when she bent over to set down the wine bottle. Her lips were damp from her last sip of wine.

And she was laughing. He wanted to capture that laughter, bottle it, never let go of it. A warning bell in his head told him not to touch her; he didn’t want to start something. He wanted her…too much. And he couldn’t bear the thought that he might be awkward with her.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” Kay said lightly, “but I’ll warn you one more time. I’m more than a little sensitive on the subject of my brown thumb. Retaliation for insults will be both prompt and devastating.”

“You’ve got me terrified,” Mitch said, smiling.

She knew it was coming. She could tell from the look that had been in his eyes all evening. And suddenly he wasn’t smiling anymore.

He was reaching for her.