A Distant Summer (3 page)

The cab pulled from the curb into the flow of traffic, and Kris knew he watched until her taxi rounded the corner.

Only then did she let her head drop back against the cushioned seat.

Only then did she rub the tension from her forehead.

Only then did her shoulders slump and the quiet panic swirl helplessly inside her.

She had broken the cardinal rule, the one absolute in her life: “Don’t look back.” Today, for reasons she didn’t completely understand, she had. And the consequences stretched before her like a deserted highway on a misty night. She couldn’t see him again; she couldn’t
not
see him again.

A trembling finger relived the brief caress of his kiss.

Tomorrow. He would call tomorrow.

What was she going to do?

Chapter Two

There were no messages waiting for Kris when she returned to the hotel the next afternoon. She had left early and spent the day out. By three o’clock she had walked past the courthouse twice, fighting a private battle of her own. At last, she’d decided not to complicate one mistake by making another. If Tucker phoned, she’d tell him she wasn’t interested in furthering their acquaintance.

But Tucker hadn’t phoned. The room clerk checked and said there were no messages. Standing at the front desk, Kris breathed a sigh of relief. But as she stepped inside the elevator, she admitted a definite splinter of disappointment.

She loosened the tension of her braided chignon with a restless fingertip and glanced around the confining cubicle. She was alone. The thought slipped through her mind; the feeling settled inside her. She was often alone. By choice, for the most part, but still alone. Perhaps it was a deeply ingrained defense left over from a childhood smothered in abundance but deficient in meaning.

The elevator doors opened, and she stepped out, determined to leave her sudden attack of self-pity behind. What was wrong with her?
No messages
, her heart answered. Maybe it was time to think about going home.

Home. Even in silence it sounded good, soothing and geared to forgetfulness. She had sometimes thought she would have drowned in the impersonal atmosphere of the world outside the Maple Ridge city limits. She had gone there in search of a hiding place and found a home and friends and, in many ways, a family.

Kris inserted her key and opened the door of her hotel room. It looked nice, neat, but it offered only a token welcome. What was she doing in a lonely hotel room in Denver, Colorado? Her friend Ruth insisted a yearly vacation was necessary for sanity, and usually Kris returned from a trip in total agreement. But not this time.

After tossing her purse on the bed, she slipped off her shoes and curled wearily into a chair. If she canceled her plans and went home a couple of days early, was there any possibility of avoiding Ruth’s probing questions? No. Kris knew her tongue would run like a river the moment she heard Ruth’s perceptive
“You met someone, didn’t you?”

She hadn’t met
someone,
though. She’d met Tucker, and that was the reason for her longing to run home, to seek a hiding place. Kris sighed and reached for the entertainment guide on the dressing table.

When the knock came, her heart jumped in startled surprise and the booklet slid from her hands to the floor. Who could—Tucker?

No.

But it might be—

No. Disordered thoughts scrambled for recognition; a confusion of emotions accompanied her to the door. She touched the lock. Paused. The knock came again.

“Who is it?”

“Tucker.”

Her fingers trembled. The lock was stubborn; her powers of reason were even more so. Finally, she opened the door to the dark-haired, blue-eyed reality of her past and faced again the private war of wanting things she couldn’t hope to have.

Tucker was unprepared for the uncertainty he saw in her expression. Wispy strands of silvery gold feathered her face and neck. Her brightly patterned skirt looked somewhat crumpled; her blouse was unbuttoned to the shadowy cleft of her breast, as if she’d absently loosened it to a more comfortable level. Her feet were bare, her legs a creamy tan. He noticed the details of her appearance in that first moment, but her questioning gaze allowed him to do no more than notice.

The shadows were there, yet he thought there was a shy gladness, a definite welcome in the soft gray eyes. The mystery of her intrigued him, her casually disheveled beauty captured him, and all he could do was smile. “Hello,” he said. “It’s tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

Why did he feel so awkward with her? “May I come in?” he asked. She hesitated, and he held his breath. He’d had a suspicion she would ignore his messages, so he’d come in person and waited in the lobby for her to return. When finally he’d seen her at the front desk, an unexpected attack of nerves had kept him in his seat until she’d entered the elevator and disappeared from view. He’d followed slowly, knowing he wanted to see her but unsure if she would want to see him. And now it seemed as if she might close the door in his face.

“Yes, of course. Please, come in.” She stepped back, and he walked into the hotel room, not overly encouraged by her polite tone.

As she closed the door and moved toward the window, an aura of intimacy drifted into the air he breathed. He had never before been so aware of the fragility of a moment or of the many different levels of communication possible in a movement, a look, a silence. It was suddenly vital that he convince her to spend the evening with him.

“What happened today?” Kris turned her back to the curtained window and offered a tentative smile to conceal her disquiet. “At the courthouse.”

“The insurance company settled with Abernathy yesterday afternoon.”

“What? Just like that? But what about the trial?”

The rueful shrug of broad shoulders beneath a somber frown expressed a tightly controlled frustration. “Jury selection was just beginning. The trial hadn’t actually begun, but my attorney thought it would be best to settle and avoid accruing any further expense.”

“But the legal fees would have been taken care of in a judgment, wouldn’t they? And you would have won the case. I’m sure of it.”

A touch of gratitude lightened the sapphire of his eyes. “The insurance company isn’t blessed with your foresight or your faith, Kristina. They played it safe. So as of this morning, the suit’s been dropped, and for all practical purposes it’s over.”

“You don’t sound as if you believe that.”

His brows formed an arch of disillusionment. “Just because something has ended doesn’t necessarily mean it’s over.”

Kris dropped her gaze, feeling the truth of his words in a dozen memories. She knew firsthand that some things were never over. “Despite the fact that the whole thing seems grossly unfair to you, I’m glad it’s settled. I know you must be relieved.”

“I’ll feel better about it if you’ll agree to celebrate with me tonight.”

How could she refuse? Kris licked dry lips. “I’d love to, Tucker, but I can’t. You see, I planned to— to—”
What?
She couldn’t think beyond the moment and the tension clenching along his jawline.

“Is it the lawsuit? Does it bother you that I was accused of malpractice? Is that the reason you’re so reluctant?” His voice was edged with impatience as he shoved a hand into a trouser pocket in frustration. For a heart-hammering instant he held her gaze, and then control straightened his shoulders. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. It’s just that I want very much to share this evening with you.”

Her breath hung precariously at the base of her throat, and the thought that this wasn’t really happening spiraled aimlessly inside her. Oh, God. She’d never dreamed she would see him again. She’d thought it was over long, long ago. If she’d had any idea of the sheer physical attraction that would scintillate between them.... If she’d even suspected the emotional pull he could evoke in her....

Even had she realized the danger, Kris admitted, it wouldn’t have changed this moment of self-knowledge. Elemental longings drew her to Tucker now, just as they had drawn her to him years before. She’d been naive, innocent, then. But she’d been only slightly less so in thinking she could see him again without igniting embers that should long since have grown cold. And now she was helpless before the tiny flicker of warmth inside her.

She pressed her lips together before drawing a low breath of courage. “I’m flattered by your interest, but the truth is....” And there the impending lie faltered with the cautiously self-protective angle of his chin.

When she didn’t continue, the corners of his mouth lifted in a rueful smile. “The truth is there’s someone else, isn’t there? Someone waiting for you in Arkansas.”

“No.” She denied it without understanding why she did so. Her hand went to her temple, brushed distractedly at the wispy blond strands that had strayed from the chignon. “And it has nothing to do with your lawsuit. If I were looking for a vacation romance, Tucker, I’d like to believe I might find it with you, but I’m not looking.”

Seconds ticked past in leisurely succession, but his blue eyes didn’t waver in their intense regard. “Somehow I don’t think that matters, Kristina. Whether or not we were looking, we’ve found something. Something special. I can’t explain how I know that or why I think you know it, too, but I can tell you that I have no intention of letting it end here.”

Her logic stumbled into a solid wall as she tried to understand his persistence, tried to think of a believable refutation. She stroked the back of the chair beside her with restive fingers. “I’m not good at social games, Tucker.”

“Then we’ll skip the games and start the evening with a little honesty.”

Her chin lifted; her gaze locked with his in a second of startled precognition. He was going to mention the past,
their past.
She could almost see the words forming on his lips and knew she had to stop him. She wasn’t prepared for honesty. It was
her
secret, her mistake, her regret. He had no right to remember.

“Kristina?” he said in a hushed, throaty tone. “There’s not a subtle way of bringing up this subject, but I think we should get it into the open.”

For all her resolve, not a sound would come from her lips. She stood, watching him, aware of the betraying tension in the casual combing of his hand through his hair, aware of her own spiraling doubts. “Don’t, Tucker, please.” She had no idea if the words were whispered about the room or simply echoed in her mind.

“I know we’re virtually strangers, but we were lovers once.” His voice, husky with decision, was like the first sip of a summer wine, and it became a slow reminiscent ripple through her veins. “I know you must have thought I’d forgotten, and I’ll admit that I didn’t recognize you when you first walked into the courtroom yesterday; but it has been a long time, and you’ve changed.” The wry tilt of his mouth was touchingly brief. “I know I’ve changed a little myself. But you seemed different, so reserved. Not like the winsome girl I remembered.”

His gaze drifted past her shoulder and returned to touch her in confession. “The day I met you was special for me, too, Kristina, but at this moment I wish to God that day had never happened. I wish we were strangers, taking the first steps toward a vacation romance.”

She wanted to turn her back to him. She wanted to close her eyes to the sincerity in his. She wanted to feel a healthy indifference toward this man who was in every way a stranger to her. Yet she remembered the long-ago feel of him in her arms and knew he had never truly been a stranger at all.

“It did happen, Tucker,” she whispered softly, thinking that if she were honest, if she told the truth, he’d leave and she’d never see him again.

“Yes, but I can’t see any reason to let that stand between us now. We were different people then. I know I looked at life through much narrower eyes in my premed days. There wasn’t time for relationships, for anything except ambition.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, and a frown creased one lean cheek. “We had one short weekend together. At the time that was all I could offer. Now I can only wish I’d had the foresight to realize just how special that one weekend was.”

She
had known. Kris focused sightlessly on a tiny flaw in the carpet and wondered how, in her adolescent frenzy to grow up, she had recognized emotions that were far beyond her experience. She had gone in search of a purely physical awakening and found tenderness, understanding, and a communion of thoughts and feelings. For one weekend, however fleeting, she had belonged with Tucker.

The muted sound of his footsteps reclaimed her attention, and she glanced up to meet his gaze, closer now and penetratingly clear. “I want to know you now, Kristina. I want to discover the woman you’ve become. Do you think we could start over? Forget we’d met before yesterday?”

Forget?
What sweet ironies fate could play. Tucker had given her the perfect opening to tell him why she couldn’t forget. And in the same instant he’d offered a temporary but tempting forgetfulness.

“I’m leaving at the end of the week, Tucker. That’s only two days away.” It was a weak argument, hardly worth her effort. She could see the glimmer of relief ease across his expression; she could feel an old recklessness stirring inside her.

“If two days is all you can offer, then that’s all I’ll ask for.” Tucker made himself smile to reassure her. She was still hesitant, still unsure of him, and he wanted her to be sure. He wondered what or who had hurt her to create such a convincing veneer of solitude. But it was just a veneer; he sensed that she was reaching out to him despite herself.

And oh, how he wanted to reach for her and hold her in his arms. Or was it that he wanted to be held by her? She was a part of something he’d lost a long time ago, something he felt he had to recapture. “Who knows?” he said casually, carefully, “You might decide Denver is worth a little extra time.”

“I’m leaving on Saturday.” Her voice was steady and definite.

“Then let’s not waste a minute,” he said, making his tone just as steady, just as definite as hers. “What would you like to do? A late lunch, an early dinner, the theater, a movie, a drive, a walk, cross-country skiing, a night-time hike, a noisy crowd, or quiet conversation?”