One Summer’s Knight

Chapter 9

“Take a deep breath,” Summer ordered. “Calm down. Now-she can’t just vanish, can she? So she has to be here somewhere. Unless-” She looked at Riley.

He shook his head. “She couldn’t get past the perimeter of the grounds, not without setting off the alarm.”

“Okay, then. She has to be here. Tell me where you looked.”

David lifted his hands and hitched up his shoulders as far as they would go. “I told you-I looked everywhere.”

Summer straightened and threw Riley a look of apology. “She does this sometimes. When she’s angry, or afraid she’s in big trouble, she…hides. Right now-” an ironic smile tugged at her mouth “-she’s afraid she’s in big trouble because she thinks she may have killed you.” She drew a deep breath and gave her son’s shoulders a squeeze. “All right, I think we should start in the house, don’t you? Come on-we’ll take it one room-” And she was already turning to hustle the boy ahead of her out of the bathroom. She stopped, though, as Riley struggled to his feet, and shooed him back with a wave of her hand. “No, no-that’s okay, stay there. No need for you to bother yourself. Here-” Distracted, she paused at the sink where she’d dumped the tray of ice cubes, pulled up the stopper and turned on the tap, then dropped in a washcloth. “Put this on your foot I’m sure David and I can find her.”

Riley reached over and turned off the water. “If she’s hiding because she’s afraid she’s hurt me,” he said reasonably, “then seeing me alive and well ought to reassure her. Maybe she’ll come out of her own accord. And if she doesn’t-” he bit on his lip as he tested his foot, decided the pain was entirely manageable and then nodded “-then I probably know some hiding places you don’t. This house has a few odd nooks and crannies.”

For a moment she hesitated, and he could see the struggle in her eyes-a brief one, an automatic rejection of the idea of anyone helping her more than a real objection, he thought. Then she nodded in acceptance and abruptly pivoted, following her son from the room. Riley raised his eyes skyward in a silent appeal for patience and hobbled after her.

As they were passing through his bedroom, he observed what looked like a fat furry pillow squarely in the middle of his bed. Summer saw it, too, and halted dead in her tracks.

“Oh, Lord, I’m sorry. Here-just let me take her-” She threw him a look of pure misery and bent over to pick up the cat, trying her best, it seemed to him, to do so without letting any part of her touch any part of the bed. No small feat, given the size of his bed.

Riley’s mind suddenly became crowded with images and associations, all having to do with Summer and her proximity to his bed, thoughts he had no business entertaining, even for a moment. His belly grumbled ominously. “Leave her-let her sleep,” he growled, waving Summer out of his bedroom with an impatience bordering on urgency.

They commenced the search at one end of the upstairs hall, taking it one bedroom at a time, opening doors and drawers and cupboards, peering into closets, behind draperies and under beds-any space a five-year-old body could possibly squeeze into as well as a few it couldn’t. They’d finished the two empty rooms on the north side of the house and were about to move on to the one Summer was occupying when Riley noticed that the dog Beatle appeared to have taken an interest in one of the doors across the hall. He paused to watch her as she sniffed and snuffled at the bottom of the closed door, then raised her head and gave a soft “Wuf.”

Summer looked down at the Chihuahua, then up at Riley. He raised his eyebrows; she shrugged a who knows?

Then David, with a faith born of innocence, said, “Hey, Beatle, did you find her? Huh? Find Helen, Beatle-where’s -Helen? Come on-let’s go find Helen.” And he turned the knob and opened the door. Beatle scampered into the room. Riley and Summer exchanged a look, then followed.

It was very warm in the room. Riley knew it could get downright hot in those south-facing rooms in the summertime, in spite of air-conditioning and the huge magnolia trees that had been planted on that side of the house long ago to provide shade for the tall casement windows. It was precisely why Riley had given his guests quarters on the north side, though the south rooms were larger and certainly brighter.

While Riley stood frowning in the doorway, thinking about that, Summer walked on into the room, calling, “Helen? Honey, are you in here?” She opened a wardrobe door. David dropped to his hands and knees and peered under the canopy bed.

Meanwhile, the dog Beatle hesitated only long enough to give the rug a sniff, then scampered over to the window, put her paws up on the sill and uttered that same small but decisive “Wuf.”

It was then that Riley realized the window was open. “The balcony,” he said, and started forward.

Summer, too, was moving toward the window, moving like a sleepwalker. “Helen? Honey…?” She put her hand on the window casing and leaned out.

Riley’s house had been built in the sumptuous twenties, in a Southern Gothic style more typical of Savannah than Charleston. All the upstairs windows had narrow balconies trimmed with wrought iron, meant more for decoration than actual use. Still, he thought, a child might easily hide on one, crouched below the level of the windowsill…

Summer was looking down, up, all around. But it was obvious the balcony was not occupied. She stepped onto it and peered over the railing. She looked down…and Riley could feel his heart trying to bang its way out of his chest. But there was no scream of horror and grief, and moving up behind her, he could feel her body relax slightly.

And then…go absolutely rigid. In a spasmlike reflex her hands clutched the railing, so hard the knuckles went white, and she cried out, “Oh, my God…”

Never, in all his life, had Riley heard such terror in a human voice. It had to be the worst sound he had ever heard. He went icy inside as his mind struggled to form the terrible question. But by then Summer had turned blindly into him and was hiding her face against his chest. And without thought he folded his arms around her and held her tightly while his eyes searched for what she’d already seen that had frightened her so.

Leaves. All he could see was those damned leathery, greeny-bronze magnolia leaves. The huge tree filled the window, its branches in some places extending over the balcony railing to scrape against the walls of the house. Oh, hell-and the gardener had just mentioned something to him last spring, he remembered now, about it being time to trim those back. He’d been in the middle of a tricky court case and hadn’t wanted to be bothered just then with calling the tree people. And had apparently forgotten about it. Damn.

He saw it now-splashes of hot pink and lemon-yellow, colors Mother Nature never put in a magnolia tree. He even remembered the outfit-one of the ones he’d bought-pink shorts with a pattern of tiny cartoon characters, Disney, he thought, and a yellow sun top with a large version of the same characters on the front.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured hoarsely, stroking Summer’s hair. He could feel her trembling. “She’s all right. I can see her. She’s all right.”

She jerked away from him with a loud sniff. “She’s not making any noise,” she said in a strained voice as she leaned over the balcony railing, trying to see through the leaves. As if, he thought, she were clenching her teeth together to keep them from chattering. “That’s not Helen. You don’t know-”

He gave a short, ironic laugh. “I think she’s too scared to move. Talk to her-keep her calm. Tell her we’re gonna get her down, okay?” But Lord in heaven, how?

Summer called in a high, thin voice, “Helen? Mommy’s here, honey…Mommy’s here. Are you okay? Answer me, sweetheart.” For a moment, it seemed, they all stopped breathing. And then they heard it-a barely audible whimper. Riley saw Summer close her eyes. Her face was bleached bone-white and shiny with sweat, as if she were about one deep breath away from fainting, but her voice sounded calm enough. Only he would hear the knife edge of panic in it as she called, “Okay, that’s my girl. You just hang on tight, now, okay? Don’t try to move. We’re coming…”

Riley put a hand on her arm, then gripped it tightly. “Not this way, we’re not,” he said in a tight undertone. “That branch will never take the weight.”

“But I can see her-”

“So can I.” The kid was stretched out flat on her stomach with her bottom toward the window, her head toward the trunk, arms and legs clamped tightly around the limb. “She’s too far out to reach from here. We’ll have to get her from below.”

“If she falls…” Summer’s face was a mask of terror.

“She’s not going to fall.” And if she did-Dear God, if she did?-he was never going to forgive himself. Never. He leaned over the railing and looked down. Lord, it was a long way down. And the kid was so small… He drew a deep breath. “There’s a limb below this one. Big enough to stand on. If I can climb up to it-”

She threw him a wild look, which he imagined was about equal parts surprise and doubt. “Are you sure you… I mean, maybe I should-”

Well, he thought, who could blame her? Climbing trees didn’t exactly fit the image he worked so hard to build for himself. Would she even believe him, he wondered, if he told her there’d been times he’d slept in one?

“Hey,” he said in a cracking voice, “you may find this hard to believe, but I have climbed a tree or two.” His smile felt cramped.

It was the first time she’d ever seen that smile, Summer realized; a dark, off-center smile, with haunted, remembering eyes. Something about it shook her even then, a small earthquake that rocked the underpinnings of her most basic conceptions of the man, and she filed it away for pondering over…later.

“There’s a ladder,” said David. Summer and Riley both turned to look at him. He nodded, eyes round with eagerness and bright with fear. “I saw it. Over behind the garage. It’s a big one, too.”

Summer clamped a hand to her mouth, stifling a small whimper. Riley touched her arm and said in a low voice, “Stay here-keep her calm. Young man-” he put his hand on David’s shoulder as he passed him “-you come with me. Show me where you saw this ladder.”

“Come on!” David was so wired he seemed about to jump out of his socks. He’d be feeling it, too, Summer realized as she watched them go off together, Riley’s hand on the back of David’s neck seemingly all that held him to the ground. He’d feel the guilt, the sense of responsibility for this. Her heart ached for him. If anything happens to his sister, he’s going to blame himself-

Nothing is going to happen. She’s going to be all right. She has to be all right.

Somewhere way off in the distance, thunder grumbled. A breeze sprang up, making the magnolia’s leaves rustle with a dry, crackly sound. Helen whimpered and uttered a thin, terror-filled cry. “Mommy!”

Summer spun back to the railing. “Helen, it’s okay-I’m right here. Mr. Riley’s gone to get a ladder, okay? We’re gonna have you down in just a minute-you just stay right where you are and hold on tight, you hear me? Hey, I know what-let’s sing a song. Okay? You sing, too, sweetie. Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh…”

Though it couldn’t have been very many minutes before she saw Riley and David come jogging around the far corner of the house, each holding one end of an aluminum extension ladder, those were, undoubtedly, the longest minutes of Summer’s life. Through every one of those minutes she had to fight the compulsion to climb over that balcony railing and onto that limb against all common sense, somehow convinced that, if she could just get her hands on her child, if she could just touch her, everything would be all right. Through every one of those minutes the terror, unspeakable, unthinkable, unimaginable terror, held her heart in a grip of ice. Through every one of those minutes, as she spoke her calm words of encouragement and sang her daughter’s favorite songs in a quavering voice one good breath away from hysteria, she prayed. Oh, God please…

She watched, helplessly leaning over the wrought-iron railing, as far below, Riley placed the ladder against the tree limb, set it firmly and began to climb. He was wearing neither shirt nor shoes, she saw with a small sense of shock; she’d forgotten all about his injuries, and so, it seemed, for the moment at least, had he. Spots of sunlight dappled his naked back and shoulders as he climbed, so that he seemed almost a part of his surroundings, a half-wild creature of the forest primeval, and a far, far cry from the Riley Grogan whose normal habitat was the courtrooms and ballrooms of Charleston. And yet, no less graceful, no less confident. As if he were as much at home in this world as that one.

It all happened rather quickly then. Making it look easy, Riley pulled himself from the ladder onto the limb and unfolded himself until he was standing upright. Then, holding on to and climbing through smaller branches, he moved along it until he was directly below the place where Helen clung to her precarious perch. Summer heard the low, soothing murmur of his voice; leaves rustled and branches thrashed; and then came the cry she had prayed for: “Okay-I’ve got her!”

She couldn’t hold back a gasp, and it was more than half a sob. But it wasn’t over yet, she knew that. As if her gaze alone could keep them from falling, she did not take her eyes off Helen’s lemon-yellow top and Riley’s sweat-glistening shoulders until she saw that they’d made it safely to the top of the ladder. Then she tore herself away from the balcony railing, dove through the window into the bedroom and dashed headlong for the stairs.

He was just stepping off the bottom rung when she got there. She’d been running full-tilt, not even aware of her feet touching the ground; now, a few feet away from her goal, she halted. Afraid if she took one more step the shaking would catch up with her and her legs lose the strength to support her. Afraid if she tried to speak a single word she would burst into sobs. So instead she stood and looked at the two of them-at the man whose face and body were streaked now with dust and sweat; and at the little girl who was clinging to him, her legs clasped around his torso, her arms in a death grip around his neck, face buned against his chest, like a large, brightly colored starfish.

“Wow,” David was yelling. “Wow, you did it! Boy, was that cool!”

Riley spoke in a soft-gruff voice to the top of Helen’s head. “Hey-here’s your mama. You can let go now.”

He was walking toward Summer, and she could see him trying, without success, to peel Helen’s arms from around his neck. Summer burst out laughing-and finally into tears

“Hey, missy,” said Riley firmly, “you’re on good old terra firma now-you’re gonna have to let go of me.” But then Summer saw him give up trying to pry his burden loose and suddenly wrap his arms around her and envelop her in a comforting hug, much as he’d enveloped Summer just a short while ago. And after a moment she saw her daughter’s small body relax.

Then all at once Helen drew back and looked at Riley’s face. Alarm sparked fleetingly in his eyes as she took dead aim, then pounced forward and kissed him-hard-on the nose.

Clearly shaken and teary-eyed from the blow, he croaked, “Uh…well, you’re welcome,” while Helen turned to grin valiantly over her shoulder, her dusty, tear-streaked face not the least bit vanquished. But she went on clinging to her rescuer’s neck until the last possible second, making it plain that it was only with great reluctance she was allowing herself to be transferred to Summer’s arms.

To which a hot, sweaty, grubby little body had never felt so welcome, or so sweet. Summer tried to scold. “Helen-honey, what on earth where you thinking of?” But then she had to bury her face in her child’s hair just once more, breathe in the dusty, salty, little-girl smell-liberally laced with chlorine, naturally. And nothing had ever smelled so wonderful.

At her elbow, David was beside himself, waving his arms and screeching, “What did you do that for? Helen, sometimes you are such an-”

“David,” Summer warned in a tremulous voice, “not now. Not another word, do you hear me?”

He threw her a furious look, then frowned at his feet and muttered, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Helen, did you say thank-you to Mr. Riley?”

They all turned, but Riley was no longer there.

When they went back into the house, Summer heard the sound of water running upstairs in his bathroom. A little later, while she was shampooing the dust and spiderwebs out of Helen’s hair, she heard footsteps on the stairs and the distant sound of a door closing. And from the window in the children’s room she watched the Mercedes back out of the garage and roll away down the long, curving drive to finally disappear under the canopy of live oaks and their waving fronds of Spanish moss.

I don’t blame him for leaving, she thought What are we doing to him? What am I doing?

She felt such a heaviness inside. And at the same time, wired and edgy, as if her skin had been charged with electricity. Yes, like that, she thought as thunder rumbled suddenly outside. Just like that.

Though that particular storm passed them by well to the north, the thunderclouds lingered through the afternoon, hanging over them like a threat while the heat and humidity became almost palpable and the sun played a malicious little game of hide-and-seek with poisonous-looking clouds. Summer finished mowing the lawn with one eye on the sky, her skin prickling with that peculiar sensation of awareness, as if every nerve and cell were listening…

Afterward, with the thunder still keeping its distance, she gave in to the children’s pleadings and let them swim, even joining them in the pool, wearing the streamlined white tank suit Riley had bought for her. It wasn’t the first time she’d worn it, but for some reason today everywhere it touched her, with her skin in that strange, sensitized state, it seemed to itch and burn, as if she’d broken out in an all-over rash.

It’s the weather, she told herself; all this electricity in the air. Sure, they all felt it-the children were wired and nervous, Cleo was shrieking dire warnings from the living room, and Beatle was upstairs shivering and shaking under David’s bed. California-raised, none of them had quite adjusted yet to thunderstorms. Why should she be immune?

By early evening Riley still hadn’t returned. The sky had turned the ugly blue-black of bruises. It was as dark as if night were falling, even though Summer knew that at that hour, somewhere up there beyond the clouds, the sun must still be high in the sky. Thunder rolled and rumbled almost continuously; the wind picked up, howling and moaning around the house like some wild creature denied entry, lashing out at the trees in its disappointment and rage. Summer covered Cleo’s cage with a cloth to calm her and while the children watched with round, worried eyes, made popcorn in the microwave. And all the time, her skin prickled, the back of her neck tensed, and her ears seemed to hum with…listening.

When the popcorn had finished popping, she poured it into a big wooden bowl and carried it upstairs. Then they all-including Beatle-climbed onto Summer’s bed, pulled the edges of the comforter around them and settled down to watch Walt Disney’s The Jungle Book, Helen’s favorite video, on the VCR. David and Helen had already watched it several times-Summer had asked Riley to rent it for them a few days ago and he’d purchased a copy instead, so she’d made up her mind not to ask him for another one. And now, seeing it herself for the first time in years, she began to get an inkling of what might have inspired Helen to crawl out onto that tree limb!

Meanwhile, the storm hit like an artillery barrage. The thunder no longer rolled and rumbled; it cracked and boomed and shook the house. Rain rattled against the windows and the wind screamed like a creature in agony. Beatle crawled under the covers and the children huddled closer against Summer’s side-but she noticed they never once stopped the methodical relay of popcorn from the bowl to their mouths, or took their eyes from the television screen.

Through all that terrible din, Summer bumped up the volume with the remote control and sat tense and still, trying her best to concentrate on the movie. But every nerve ending in her body vibrated…listening.

Right in the middle of the climactic battle between Shere Khan and Mowgli, there was a crr-aack! that rattled the windows, and the lights went out. Both children yelped-partly in fear, Summer was sure, but also in outrage that their movie had been so cruelly interrupted. Though it wasn’t late enough for the darkness to be total, she sent David next door to his room to fetch the flashlight she’d given him to keep under his pillow-a bit of extra security to take the place of his bunny blanket. After all, who knew how long the electricity would be off? Then, to pass the time and help allay the children’s disappointment, they sang all the songs they could remember from the movie, and Summer let them pretend to be Kaa, and hypnotize her with the flashlight.

Somewhere in the midst of that, the lights came on, but they were having so much fun, instead of starting the movie going again, they just kept on with their game. So it was, that David was crooning “Come to me-e-e…Mom-cub…” while Summer walked around on top of the bed in stiff-legged circles with her eyes crossed and her arms thrust limp-wristed straight out in front of her, and Helen was rolling around on the comforter shrieking with laughter, when Beatle suddenly gave her soft “Wuf!” of welcome, jumped off the bed and scampered over to the half-open door.

The door opened slowly inward. Summer froze, and for several long seconds before she remembered to uncross her eyes, stared at the twin Rileys that hovered there, framed in the doorway.

David broke off in midsentence and Helen’s giggles subsided, and in the stillness they heard the thunder, which they’d all completely forgotten about, go grumbling away in the distance. In that stillness, Summer felt her heart beating hard and fast. Because at that moment she knew at last what it was she’d been listening for.

Riley had been dismayed, to say the least, to arrive home at the height of the storm to find his security system shut down and his front gate locked up tight. He’d immediately called the security company from his car phone, and was told that the automatic lockdown in the event of a power interrupt was a fail-safe feature of the system, to prevent intruders from gaining access by cutting off the power. The gate could, he was assured, be opened manually, with a key. Which, of course, Riley did not happen to have with him. Which meant he had no choice but to sit in the car and wait for the storm to pass and hope the power would be restored soon. If it didn’t, as soon as the rain let up, he planned to climb over the damn gate and walk to the house and get the damn key.

He was uneasy about Summer and the kids, though, alone in the house and without power in the middle of one of the worst storms of the season At least he had the assurances of the security company that the house alarm system would remain active on its backup batteries for a minimum of two hours. Although what in the hell good that would do anybody was beyond him, when the “armed response” unit wouldn’t be able to get through the front gate!

Needless to say he was out of sorts and edgy as hell by the time the perimeter lights flashed bright and the courtesy light came on again above the intercom and keypad. He punched in his code, waited, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in rhythms that were in no way in sync with the Vivaldi concerto on the CD player and, once the gates were open, gunned through them with an angry little spurt of gravel.

By the time he pulled up in front of the garage, the rain had slackened off to a light mist. When he opened the car door he was greeted with the busy dripping, rustling, rushing sounds of the earth setting itself to rights, and off to the west, a strip of crimson sky showed through between indigo clouds and lavender earth. He popped the trunk, got out and locked up the car. Then, taking with him one of the smaller, if heavier of the boxes from the assortment in the trunk, he went into the house.

All seemed quiet. Although there were lights on and remnants of an appetizing smell, the kitchen was empty. Then he heard sounds-voices, laughter-coming from upstairs. A woman’s voice…children’s laughter-until recently, alien sounds to him and to this place, and yet, somehow incredibly alluring. Drawn as if by a siren’s song, Riley hefted the box and began to climb toward the laughter.

Just outside Summer’s room he halted. Through the half-open door he could see them, the children laughing, rolling around on the bed like puppies, Summer-a grown woman!-walking around on top of the bed as if she were in some kind of trance, with her arms out in front of her and her eyes crossed and a goofy smile on her face, that sun-streaked hair out of its ponytail and tousled all over the place. Something shivered inside him.

He couldn’t intrude; he knew very well what an outsider he’d be in that room. He was about to do it-just back away and leave them to their game, when that silly little beetle-dog gave him away. Then, of course, he had no choice but to push the door the rest of the way open and announce himself.

They all froze when they saw him. Of course they would. The laughter died, and he heard the soft gasps of breath drawn and held. He had an impression of eyes bright with mischief, of smiles struggling to hide, but it wasn’t the children’s faces he was looking at. The only face he really saw was crimson with embarrassment; the eyes that met his-once they’d uncrossed-were wide and almost black with dismay. And the mouth…ah, that mouth. She had no way of knowing how beautiful she was to him then, crossed eyes and all. How incredibly sexy. And thank God, he thought, for that.

Then everyone moved at once, it seemed, like a tableau coming to life. David sang out, “Hey, look-it’s Mr. Riley!” as he scrambled off the bed and ran to meet him, at the same time Helen was chanting, “Hi, Riley, Hi, Riley,” in time to her frog-hops across the mattress. And as for Summer, well…there is no sedate way for a grown woman to get down off a bed when she’s standing upright in the middle of it.

Riley watched her ponder the problem, trying to decide whether to crouch down and scoot, or just do it in one big giant step, and he realized that for the first time all day he actually felt like laughing. He wondered whether, if not for the presence of the children, he might have put the box down and gone over to her, put his hands on her slender waist, perhaps, to help her down. It amazed him, how much he wanted to.

“Whatcha got in the box, Mr. Riley?” The boy was standing in front of him, fidgety, torn between curiosity and good manners. Riley set the box down on the floor and folded back the flaps.

“Books!” David yelled as he sank to his knees on the rug. “Oh, man-Mom, lookit this! Here’s Stuart Little and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Indian in the Cupboard…and a whole bunch of Black Stallion books, Mom! Isn’t this cool? Now you can finish readin’ it to us. Will you read to us tonight? Huh? Please?”

Summer had come slowly, incredulous and silent, to peer over her son’s shoulder. Now she straightened to give Riley a dark, desperate look. “I can’t let you do this.” She muttered the words for him alone.

He shrugged and answered her the same way. “Fine. If you don’t want ’em, you can just use ’em while you’re here-or not, that’s your choice. After you’re gone I’ll find some children’s hospital to give ’em to.” And he felt disappointed without knowing why.

He bent down to scoop up a great big picture book about dinosaurs and handed it to Helen, who was watching round-eyed and, for once, silent “Here, little girl, this one’s for you.” He left her looking as if he’d just conked her with a mallet and turned to tap her brother on the head. “You-come with me. I’ve got some things in the car you can help me with.” And he walked out of the room.

With his longer legs and a head start, he made it to the stairs before they’d all untangled themselves enough to follow. He could hear them coming behind him on the stairs, like a small elephant stampede, but at the bottom David passed him and got to the car first. Riley heard him shout. ‘Oh, cool!” while he was still making his way through the kitchen.

“Is this a computer? It is, isn’t it? Did you buy a computer?”

“Sure did,” said Riley, joining him at the Mercedes’ open trunk. “You convinced me. Okay, now-”

“Mom! Mr. Riley bought a computer! Isn’t this cool?”

“Okay, here-you can carry this one. It’s the keyboard, I think. And you, kiddo-’ he fished a smaller box out of the trunk and thrust it at Helen “-think you can manage this? It’s the mouse.”

“Mouse.” She giggled.

“Okay-you can take those to my study. And don’t run!” They went running off at top speed. And that left Riley alone and face-to-face with Summer.

She was standing beside the car, one hip leaning against it, arms folded on her chest, her face, with the light from the kitchen behind her, in shadow. She’d gathered her hair up and scraped it back into that damned ponytail again; suddenly he wanted to take the rubber band, or whatever she’d used to hold it together, rake it off and throw the damn thing away somewhere where she’d never find it. And then he wanted to comb his fingers through her hair, bury his hands in it…let it fall like cool silk against his skin.

“I can’t let you do this,” she said again in a gravelly voice.

It was the second time she’d said that. The first time, he’d felt it like…fingernails across his skin, raising his hackles and a few goose bumps. This time, it got under his skin. He felt himself go cold and still. Leaning his hands on the edge of the trunk, he raised his head and looked at her and said softly, “Mrs. Robey, are you telling me I can’t buy myself a computer if I choose to do so?”

She shook her head and gasped, “I didn’t… ” then turned and walked into the house. And he felt as if he’d slapped her.

He didn’t see her again until later that evening. He was in his study, surrounded by various pieces of computer hardware, scowling through his glasses at an instruction manual the size of a dictionary and counting teeth in a multitoothed plug when she appeared in his doorway.

He put aside what he was doing at once; he’d never seen her look quite like this before, and he didn’t know whether to be alarmed or stimulated. Her body seemed tense, as if, he thought, she’d rather be anywhere than where she was. Her expression was multilayered and indecipherable.

“Excuse me,” she said softly, “I’m sorry to bother you…”

“You’re not What is it? Something wrong?”

She shook her head. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. And-oh damn.” She closed her eyes, took a breath and started again. “I really hate to ask this of you-”

Riley’s heart beat faster. Ask something? Of him? He could hardly wait to hear what it might be.

“Do you suppose-would you mind if…” Another dead end. Another deep breath. And then out it came in a rush. “The children would like you to tuck them in.”