A Distant Summer (5 page)

In the pause after he had called her name, Kris let a delicious fantasy wrap about her. She was going out to dinner with a man she’d just met—a man whose good looks pleased her; a man whose innate masculinity excited her; a man whose smile cloaked her in velvet. She, Kristina DuMont, had no past before this moment, no future beyond the next few hours. The golden present was all that she had to consider.

“Hello, Tucker.” Her voice drifted forward with the carefree effort of a cloud. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting so long.”

“It didn’t seem long at all.”

The throaty denial came as he walked forward to reach her. Kris felt a spiraling awareness open inside her. “Which way to the ski slopes?” she asked lightly. “And just as a matter of interest, do we pass any hot dog stands on the way?”

His smile was slow, easy, and very, very nice. “Trust me. I know a place where the hot dogs are truly worthy of their mustard. And the root beer is served in thick frosted mugs.”

“How long will it take to get there?”

“Anywhere from twenty minutes to several hours, depending on whether we decide to walk or drive.”

“I was hoping you’d suggest a drive. My feet already have an intimate acquaintance with the grass roots of Denver.”

His gaze dropped to her feet, lingered on the bare strips of skin not covered by her strappy sandals, and Kris had a sudden loss of breath. His dark hair was attractively disheveled; his expression, subtly sensual. His clothing was a well-tailored contrast of tans and navy blue, but his appeal lay in the determined self-confidence, the sense of purpose, that defined his features with gentle strength. He was vulnerable at the moment—she recognized that—but she didn’t think anything could interfere with his life for long.

His eyes returned to hers with a ready mischief. “If you’re having trouble with your feet, I can carry you to the car.”

“Thanks, Tucker, but I believe I can hobble as far as the street.”

“I parked quite a distance from the door.”

“I’ll manage.”

He fell into step beside her, amusement a subdued slant at the corners of his mouth. Although he didn’t touch her, there was a feeling of closeness, an intangible communication as if he knew he
could
touch her but preferred to savor the knowledge rather than test its truth.

And in truth he didn’t need to touch her. The mere fact of his nearness kept her heart pounding, kept her breath shallow. Kris couldn’t help noticing the way his movements corresponded with hers, even down to his timing as he stepped ahead of her to open the door. She and Tucker were in tune, one with the other. But then, wasn’t that just as it should be in a fantasy?

During the following hours, though, Kris found it increasingly difficult to remember that she was in the midst of a fantasy. Tucker was decidedly real, genuinely eager to talk to her about important and not so important issues of everyday living —like the advantages of using brown mustard in preference to yellow; like the vagarious nature of the weather; like the fundamental differences between listening to a talk show on the radio and watching one on television.

By the time they returned to the hotel, long after the moon cast a silver shadow on the Denver skyline, Kristina felt completely comfortable with him. Or at least as comfortable as it was possible to be with her body on a natural high of awareness. Inevitably there had been moments throughout the evening when memory caught her unprotected, when she remembered things she didn’t want to remember. But more often the moments had been composed of subtly enticing looks or light, exhilarating touches, casual in their inception but intimately serious as they lingered.

Tucker
was
special.

There was no denying it, no wishing it were the simple imagining of her heart. If she had
met him for the first time yesterday, she would still have felt the same sense of discovery, this same magic. Eleven years before, she had taken his tenderness and understanding for granted, not truly appreciating the special spark of attraction between them—a spark that she had searched for in other men since, but never found. Did Tucker feel it, too? Even after all this time?

Kristina knew she didn’t need to ask. As she walked beside him down the hallway toward her room, his steps matched hers in procrastinating slowness. Their easy come-and-go conversation had lagged into a hesitant silence when they entered the hotel, and
goodnight
already hung heavy in the surrounding air.

Her numbered door came into view, and a thick indecision swelled in her throat. Should she invite him in? No, she couldn’t. Not now, not until she was more sure of herself. Not until the question of invitation faded into the answer.

“Here we are.” The husky inflection of his voice swept her thoughts to oblivion. The brush of his hand against her arm swirled through her like the warning rumble of a distant thunder.

She lifted her gaze to his and stared, unsmiling, into the cloudy twilight of his eyes. “Yes,” she murmured. “Thank you, Tucker.”

“For what?”

“For tonight.” It was difficult for her to catch her breath, hard to speak over the faint echoing beat of her heart. “For the dinner. For the drive. For everything.”

“My motives were entirely selfish, Kristina.” A wry lift at one corner of his mouth gave the illusion of a smile. “I don’t want you to forget this vacation ... or me.”

The knot in her throat grew even tighter, and she placed a palm against the wall behind her for support. “I won’t forget.”

He took a step nearer, his hand coming to rest on the doorjamb beside her, his expression softening with exquisite promise. “I’m not taking any chances. By Saturday there isn’t going to be a single doubt, in my mind or in yours.”

Kris moistened her lips, and her eyelids began to feel weighted with helpless expectation. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

“Yes. I guess I am.” A thread of surprise wove his agreement into a caressing warmth that came close—very close—to her waiting lips. She looked down and away from his softly searching regard, wanting, yearning to taste the remembered texture of his kiss and afraid, so afraid to yield to the moment. She stared hard at the dark pattern of his tie until his thumb nestled a gentle pressure beneath her chin. Then slowly, carefully, at his insistence, she raised her face to his and relinquished her apprehension to the hands that now cupped her shoulders, drew her closer.

“Kristina.”

Never had she heard a sound so low or so wondrously tender. Never had she needed a kiss so desperately or felt as if she were melting with the sheer knowledge that she was about to receive one. And with the first, tentative blending of lips she knew she would never forget these stolen seconds of enchantment. As his arms went around her, pulling her into his embrace, she moved willingly to savor the feel of his body against hers. A sensation of quiet pleasure rippled from her neck down her spine and ended in a faint tremor along her thighs. It was followed by a second and a third, and Kris found herself holding Tucker for the strength he represented.

An endless spool of responses wound upward from her toes, downward from the heated joining of her lips with his, and outward from her soul. In those timeless moments Kris knew the magnitude of her bonding to this man. It was past mistakes and a future that could never be. It was lies and truth, deception and honesty, all the things she should have told him and all the words she would never say. He held her by a slender thread, a once-in-a-lifetime emotion, that stretched from her wild and reckless youth to the restraints and responsibilities of her present. It wasn’t going to end on Saturday. For now and always a part of her belonged with Tucker, and reclaiming it was beyond her ability ... and her will.

The kiss deepened, became a languid desire, and ebbed to a reluctant retreat. When he drew back, then returned with a clinging, almost teasing series of caresses, Kris let her palms slide inside the nubbed fabric of his jacket. The silken lining against the backs of her hands felt warm; the pulsing heat beneath her fingertips was a heady rhythm that ached inside her. Tucker’s sigh whispered first to her tactile senses before she felt its breath on her face and heard its echo in her heart.

She rested briefly in the sensual shelter of his arms before she looked up and lost her transient contentment to the tilt of his smile. A restless urgency tangled with years of carefully learned control. Kris pulled away and began a mindless rummaging through her purse for the room key.

Without a word Tucker ended her search, unlocked the door, and gallantly offered the key. The cool metal against her fingers brought her gaze to his once again, but she could read nothing beyond the midnight intensity in his eyes. “Good night, Kristina,” he said, and bent to brush her mouth with tenderness one last time. Then he turned and walked away.

She watched him walk out of sight before she stepped inside her room and closed the door. With movements that trembled more than a little, she secured the lock and laid her purse on the dressing table. She started to place the key beside it but paused. With a contemplative fingertip, she traced the outline of the key and wondered if Tucker had thought about coming in with her. Reason told her that he had. Intuition told her that even if she’d asked, he would have refused.

It was unsettling, yet Kris was glad for the interlude. Tonight she would think about him, relive the past few hours, and fall asleep with the memory of his kiss. Whether he had sensed her doubts or simply offered her time to savor a sweet anticipation, Tucker had given her one more special moment to ensure that she would always remember. And as long as the fantasy lingered, she wouldn’t even try to forget.

* * * *

Morning came with the irritating jangle of the phone and the soothing tone of Tucker’s voice. “Were you dreaming of me?”

Kristina stretched beneath the crisp sheets, feeling a wave of sleepy arousal drift through her awakening limbs. “If I were, would I tell you?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“No, I don’t think I would.” She cleared the night huskiness from her throat. “If nothing else, it might keep you from awakening me so early. This is my vacation, you know.”

“And you’re dreaming it away. I’ve been awake for hours.”

“Hours?” she questioned, raising herself on an elbow and allowing the sheet to slide slowly to her waist as she squinted at the clock.

“Actually it’s been only about twenty minutes, but it seems like hours.”

At the hint of impatient humor in his words, her toes curled with an unexpected tingle of pleasure. “Why don’t we make it hours and I’ll go back to sleep?”

There was a pause, and then she heard the rough texture of his voice. “You’re teasing ... and so early, too.” Another less certain pause followed. “You don’t really want to go back to sleep, do you?”

“No,” she said softly, with a fleeting image of awakening in his arms. “How soon will you be here?”

“A half hour? Less? I’ll come upstairs.”

“That won’t be enough time, Tucker.”

His sigh was revealing. “All right, I’ll wait in the dining room. I’ll order coffee or something, but Kris….” His tone deepened seductively. “Don’t keep me waiting too long. Please?”

Any further protest she might have made dwindled to incoherence with his quiet persuasion. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. And, Tucker?”

“Yes?”

“Good morning.”

She could feel his smile singing through the telephone wires to reach her. “Good morning,” he answered.

* * * *

The morning progressed into afternoon at a lazy pace, and Kristina enjoyed the novelty of sharing a leisurely day with Tucker. She felt simultaneously relaxed and exhilarated. The anticipation of private moments together flavored their conversation with unspoken urgency, but the hours slipped past with no sense of haste.

Kris resolutely turned a deaf ear whenever conscience intruded into her thoughts. Logic had no part in her impulsive break from reality ... until Saturday, when she would have to sweep the cobweb dreams from her heart.

Tucker made it easy to pretend that the world was theirs for the asking and that “tomorrow” was merely a synonym for “today.” There was only one blemish on the golden glow of her day, and it occurred while she and Tucker window-shopped in Larimer Square.

“I thought real doctors always had to stay in constant contact with their office,” she said teasingly. “In case of emergencies.”

His answer followed a sobering pause. “Not always.”

“Come to think of it,” she persisted with innocent cheerfulness, “I haven’t seen you even glance at your phone, much less check messages.  Are you off duty or out of practice or something?”

“Out of practice about sums it up.” The bitter inflection in his voice caught her unprepared, but in an instant he regained control “Actually I’m just taking a breather from my medical practice right now. It feels pretty nice not to be on call, especially when I’m with you. This is one time I’d resent the intrusions.”

Kris didn’t doubt his sincerity, but she did wonder if perhaps he resented the absence of intrusions more. “Tell me what happened, Tucker,” she asked quietly.

For a moment she thought he was going to ignore or deliberately misunderstand her request, but then slowly his defenses lowered, and as they walked past store after store, the story of Sarah Abernathy unfolded.

Sarah had been referred to Tucker by another doctor, a trusted colleague. The facts had seemed straightforward and concise. He’d concurred with the diagnosis and agreed with both the other doctor and Sarah that a hysterectomy would solve her problems. The surgery was performed; the early stages of a malignancy were arrested. No complications. Case closed.

He’d been astounded when the lawsuit was filed, furious when it wasn’t immediately dismissed, and frustrated as hell when he realized his inability to halt the widening ripple of consequences. John Abernathy alleged that he had suffered a loss of love, trust, and conjugal fellowship in his marriage because he had not been consulted
by the physician
before such a “radical” treatment as surgery was performed.

“Alienation of affection” and “consortium” were the legal terms bandied about most often. But the words that drew sympathy from the general public seemed to be those spoken ostensibly in private and then subsequently printed in the newspaper—words like
“Sarah’s emotional distress,” “sanitarium,”
and
“the children we will never have.”