Remember the Time (42 page)

“MITCH!” Paul’s scream is swallowed up by the deafening flash flood
.

His legs pump hard in the crumbling dirt as he speeds
toward his friend. His fingers greedily close on the waistband of Mitch’s jeans and he hauls him upward with all the strength he has. Mitch’s boots scrabble to find a toehold as the first surge of muddy debris bears down on them
.

Paul’s Virginia driver’s license was the first thing she saw. Except for the haze of dried mud, it looked much like hers. The lamination had held together, and as she wiped her thumb across the surface to clean it, Paul’s smiling face emerged. While her own photo looked like a mug shot taken on her worst hair day, his was wonderful. He always managed to look perfect, and she remembered joking with him about it more than once.

There was a Chevron credit card and his American Express Platinum card. An almost indistinguishable proof of insurance had glued itself into the only other slot he’d filled. Kate removed the brittle paper money. The bills were stuck together in places and as she peeled them apart she placed them in a tidy row on the blanket. A twenty, four ones, a five, another one. The last two five-dollar bills parted company and revealed a tiny, perfectly preserved wildflower. It was a vivid purple and its delicate petals were flattened to form a one-dimensional representation of its species. Kate carefully slid the flower onto her palm. Inexplicably, she knew it had been meant for her eyes, and Kate smiled at the thought of Paul putting it away. It was his final gift to her. A final glimpse into the past. This had been the Paul she’d fallen in love with. Paul, before the success and all the lying and cheating that had seemed to come with that success. She knew just where the little flower belonged.

Kate rose from the bed and walked to the dresser. A Limoges box made to resemble a life-sized pansy blossom sat next to her jewelry box, and she opened it and placed the wildflower inside. Paul had given her the porcelain box for her twenty-fifth birthday. It had come
from Shreve, Crump, and Low in San Francisco and he’d picked it out himself, a rarity in their years together. The present had been very special for that reason. Usually, Mike had been consulted in the gift-giving department.

Kate gently closed the lid and went back to the wallet. She spread open the cash compartment. There was nothing else in it. A small feeling of disappointment came over her. There had to be
something
. He certainly hadn’t gone back for forty dollars.

She found the photograph of Matt when she pulled out the American Express card.

M
ike had gone to sleep with a desperate need for Kate pervading all his senses. His last thought, as he drifted off, had been,
At least let me dream about her
.

And now he was. The dream was so real he could feel her warm fingers on his forehead, her hot breath as she bent to kiss the corner of his mouth, her weight as her body settled next to his. She was whispering his name. He spoke her name in return. When her hand slid across his chest, he moaned. He heard her say, “Make love to me.” He opened his eyes. In the twilight, between sleep and waking, Mike slowly smiled and whispered, “Katie. You’re real.”

She responded by wrapping one bare leg around his thigh, trailing kisses along his shoulder until she reached his mouth. There was nothing tentative about her lips on his. Her tongue slipped inside, assaulting him with sensual ferocity. Mike roughly took her face in his hands and let her devour him.

Kate’s leg moved, opened, to grip him tighter and he could feel her sex on his thigh, steamy and wet. He groaned and moved his hands to her buttocks, holding her there. But her hips wouldn’t stay still, as she urgently strained against him. She’d slid a hand between their
bodies, cupping his balls and then running a smooth palm along the underside of his erection. Another groan escaped him, and he heard himself say, “No … don’t, Katie,” because he knew if he didn’t stop her, he’d come.

But she was already moving her hand. Across his belly, up the side of his chest, down his arm. Her mouth held his, parted momentarily, came back. Short, breathless kisses. He instinctively knew what she wanted, even if she wasn’t quite sure herself. When he clutched her arms and pushed her upright, forcing her to straddle him, she made a small, sorrowful sobbing noise at being torn from him.

And then she rose up slightly, took him in her hand once again, and guided his cock inside. She let the full length of him fill her and he heard her deep gasp of satisfaction. Right then, she owned him completely and he knew nothing would ever be the same.

She was leaning back slightly, gripping his thighs, pushing against him. He reached up to cup her breasts. Her back arched as his fingertips circled her nipples. Out of nowhere, her hand was on his, pulling it down, taking it to the edge of her pubic bone, showing him where to press. Throaty moans came from above him and, slowly, her body curled forward. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. His fingers dug into her hips.

It was the friction fires were made of. She ground into him. Her voice was a deep-toned groan as she said his name over and over again. And suddenly everything about her went quiet. Her movements became economical and deliberate. The only sound was her panting. And then it started. A slow, murmured mantra that repeated, “Oh, God … oh, Michael …” and built into an eruption that he felt to his core.

But she wasn’t finished with him. She kissed him deeply, frantically, saying, “More … more …”

Still inside her, Mike could think of nothing else he
wanted but more, and he sat up, bringing her with him. He leaned back on one arm, and with his other arm, held her to him. As much as he had held back a few moments ago, that was how much he unleashed himself into her. His thrusts were deep and hard, and through the haze of his own need he could hear her gasping as another wave of orgasm hit her.

His arm began to tremble. As he swiftly rolled on top of her, he slipped out. Kate’s cry, and Mike’s curse echoed through the bedroom. As he found her again and drove into her, reality finally hit him. He was making love to Kate Moran Armstrong, and she had come to him with only one thought.

He came so hard that he called out her name in a strangled sob.

Mike watched her struggle not to wake up. She would turn over, snuggle into the pillow, sleep a little, then the process would start all over again. At the moment, her back was to him and he ran his middle finger down the scar until he reached the edge of the quilt that covered the rest of her. His morning erection stiffened even more and he smiled at the effect just touching her skin had on him.

They had fallen asleep tangled around each other, exhausted. The last thing he remembered was kissing her damp forehead and Kate whispering, “Thank you.”

Kate shifted again, and he moved down to kiss the small rise where her back met her buttocks. Sliding his hand up the curves of her body, he pulled her into his arms and fit the length of his body against her. She nestled into him. With sleep, her voice was huskier than usual. “What time is it?”

“Time to make love again.”

She smiled to herself. “That could become my favorite time of the day.” Kate turned to face him.

Their lips met, and he whispered, “Mornin’, darlin’.” A slit of sunlight knifed across the bed, setting her hair on fire, and he took a strand in his fingers.

The same sun turned his gray eyes to flawed diamonds. “What are you waiting for?” she whispered back.

A slow grin spread over his face. “I’ve got to wonder what the hell happened last night between the time I left and the time you showed up here. Not that I’m complaining, you understand …”

Kate brought a hand to his face and traced the lines around his eyes. “Later.” She kissed the corner of his mouth. “I’ll tell you later.”

She told him over breakfast.

“I want to talk to Matt,” he said.

“He may not want to talk to you,” she said.

Mike snorted impatiently. “He’s my nephew. He’ll have to talk.”

“What you mean is, he’ll have to listen. Let me talk to him first. I’ll see what he wants to do.”

“What
he
wants to do?”

Kate’s eyes narrowed. “Look. He’s really hurt. He’s not going to believe anything you, or Sheryl, or Dan, have to say right now.”

“And he’ll believe you?” Mike asked angrily.

“Why is that so hard to understand?” Her voice grew tight. “I wasn’t the one who lied to him his whole life.”

“Hey! I had nothing to do with that and you know it!”

“But in his eyes you’re implicated. You’re family.” She paused, trying to collect herself. “Besides, he still thinks you’re harboring a secret desire to rip him apart for what happened between us. Let’s face it, Mike. You’re never going to forget it. You may have a perpetual hard-on for me for the rest of your life, but somewhere deep inside you’ll be thinking about the time Matt almost fucked Kate—”

“Cut it out.” He pushed away from the table. The two things he felt for Matt—anger and love—were hard to put into some kind of perspective.

“See? You get mad just thinking about it, Mike, so let me go talk with him.” Mike didn’t respond and she drew in a deep breath and looked away.

“Tell him I love him,” Mike finally said.

When Kate entered her house, it was too quiet. She ran upstairs to the spare room. The bed had been made. She slowly walked back down to the kitchen. The only sign he’d been there was a half-drunk mug of coffee sitting on the counter and an IOU for the ten dollars he’d taken out of her purse. Matt was gone again.

K
ate trawled the streets of Staunton, hoping to catch Matt. In the early afternoon she spied his lanky form ducking into a bus shelter. She pulled up to the curb, rolled down the passenger-side window, and said, “Get in.”

Matt’s cheeks, ruddy from the cold, turned a deeper shade of red. “Forget it, Kate. I can take care of myself.”

“Is that why you took ten dollars from me? Get in, damn it.”

He sat still a second and then hunched forward and stood. The warmth of the car felt good to him, but he sat up stiffly, trying to maintain some sense of pride.

Kate pulled away from the bus stop and made a U-turn into a parking lot across the street. Putting the car in neutral, she turned to Matt. “Mike wants to see you, but I won’t take you to his place unless you tell me to.”

Matt stared straight ahead, the muscle in his jaw working. “Kate, I know he’ll never forgive me. I know he’s still madder’n hell.”

“Not quite,” Kate stated wryly. Matt glanced at her, then turned his eyes back to the windshield. “Look, Matt. This is all tangled up with Paul now. It’s about a
longtime rivalry that he’s only just now beginning to admit to himself. Someone’s got to take the first step to clear the air. Why don’t you play the adult for a while?”

The car windows had fogged up with the heat of uncertainty that emanated from Matt’s every pore. Kate pushed in the defrost button and waited.

Finally, Matt cleared his throat and grimly said, “Okay. Let’s go. But he has to come to your house.”

Kate replaced the receiver in its cradle and looked at Matt. He sat at her kitchen table nervously twisting a mug of lukewarm coffee between his hands.

“He’ll be here in a minute.”

Matt nodded, his throat so dry he was afraid any sound would come out as a croak.

“I’ll leave the two of you alone. Wherever you want.” Again, Matt nodded, and Kate tried to hide her amusement. “And try to remember that this whole business has taken him by surprise, too. We all get a little crazy when we’re confronted with a truth we don’t want to hear.” The doorbell rang and Kate started for the front door, saying over her shoulder, “He may be your uncle, and thirty-eight years old, but right now his brain may very well be stuck at sixteen.” As Kate reached for the door handle, and she recalled the feel—the strength—of Mike the night before, she smiled and said to herself, “And that might not be such a bad thing.”

“What’s that incredibly lewd grin on your face for?” Mike asked, stepping inside.

“For you.” She stepped close to him. Her hand slid up his thigh and paused between his legs. “For last night.”

His eyes widened momentarily and then a corner of
his mouth turned up. “Shucks, darlin’. T’weren’t nothin’.”

“I wouldn’t call this …”—Kate’s hand cupped his erection—“nothing.”

“What would you call it?” His voice lowered.

“I’d call it a great Christmas present, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to open it a little later.” She began pulling away from him. “He’s waiting for you in the kitchen.”

But Mike wrapped his arms around her and whispered into her hair, “Shit, Kate. I don’t want to deal with anything except you right now.”

“I’ll be here when you finish.” She paused, then quietly said, “He doesn’t know about the photo in Paul’s wallet. Don’t tell him. I want to give it to him as a Christmas gift.”

Mike walked into the kitchen, while Kate followed and then leaned against the doorframe. Matt stood tall in the middle of the room, hands in the pockets of his jeans, but his eyes gave away the uncertainty he was feeling.

“Matt?” Mike said by way of greeting.

Kate broke the ensuing silence. “Mike. Take your jacket off and stay awhile.”

Matt said, “Can we go into the den to talk?”

When the door closed behind Mike, Matt walked to the window and leaned against the radiator. His hands had gone cold. He gripped the warm metal and stared out at the lengthening shadows of the early winter afternoon, trying to figure out how to begin. Before he had a chance, though, Mike was talking.

“I’ve spent most of my adult life making old, broken buildings whole again. With all the effort I put into fixing inanimate objects, I’ve never really had enough energy left to deal with the people in my life.”

“You were always good to me,” Matt said.

“I was always good to everyone that I didn’t have to deal with on a daily basis.”

Matt turned. “What do you mean?”