At the Midnight Hour (19 page)

She deepened the kiss, slanting her lips across his, dueling slow and elegant with his tongue as she thanked him for his gift, and wondered at the tightness slowly squeezing her chest.

Such a dark, brooding man. Cold and controlled. But strong and protective, as well, with his own brand of caring. She’d seen it when Andrew had disappeared. And sometimes, by the midnight fires, she had seen him look at her with a slight shift in the depths of his eyes. He had so much to give, and yet he would never give any of it because he was so determined to keep it all locked inside. He didn’t believe in love.

Her hands trembling on his shoulders, her eyes squeezed against the pain, she softly, reluctantly, pulled away.

Instinctively, his hands came up to pull her back, but after a long, frozen moment, they dropped back to his sides. When she opened her eyes at last, she saw something in his face that might have been pain. Then abruptly, harshly, his features froze over once more.

“This picnic had better be good,” he muttered softly, “because the price is getting to be high.”

She could only nod, not trusting herself enough to speak. She should never have gone along with his game, she knew. Except that she’d wanted to. Even now, she wanted to crawl back into his arms and find his lips once more. He was so warm and hard and masculine—strong and rough and dark, and she liked his touch,
needed
his touch.

When had Nick gone so far from her mind? When had she begun kissing this man, without thinking of Nick at all? She didn’t know anymore.

More and more, it was Richard who filled her thoughts, Richard who made her breathless with anticipation. Except Richard didn’t believe in the softer emotions. He just knew lust, and she couldn’t seem to convince him otherwise.

She shook her head unconsciously, wondering at herself more than him, and the fool she seemed to have become. Then before he could ask any questions, she simply turned and walked down the stairs on unsteady legs.

One of these days, she was going to have to learn his control.

* * *

Andy wasn’t Andy today, and it was beginning to worry her. His round blue eyes were nervous behind his thick glasses, and he was practically glued to her side all morning, seeming anxious to be near her. He was too agreeable, as well. She’d told him about the picnic, and he’d simply nodded. No statistics on the number of people who died of pneumonia each year, no thoughts on the number of colds inflicted on little boys forced to go outside by their dreadful nannies. Nothing.

She’d even asked him to change from his suit into jeans and a warm sweater, and he’d simply nodded. His only condition had been that she come help him pick it out. Liz figured that request had more to do with the fact he couldn’t stand for her to be out of his sight. She’d asked him several times if he was all right, but each time, he would nod while his eyes darted around the room with renewed nervousness. Yesterday had clearly spooked him, and she was beginning to miss the old Andy.

At twelve-thirty, he helped her pack the picnic basket with the soup, sandwiches and hot chocolate. Liz had even gotten old Dodd to throw in some rich homemade shortbread for dessert. Already, the anticipation of the picnic was making her feel better. She hummed a little as she and Andy tucked in the last of the silverware.

Then, abruptly, she felt Andrew fit his hand into hers. She looked over to smile at the child, only to see his eyes riveted to the doorway. She turned, and sure enough, Richard was standing there.

He’d also changed to a pair of jeans, coupled with a dark gray flannel shirt and wool coat. He even had hiking boots on his feet. From scientist to outdoorsman in thirty seconds or less, Liz thought dryly. But the thought didn’t stop her pulse from pounding at her throat.

She swallowed heavily, and willed an easy smile on her face.

“You look ready to go,” she said casually, hoping her own easygoing smile would transmit to Andrew. Ever so slightly, she felt the child relax.

Richard was looking from Liz to Andrew, his eyes at last settling on the bright blond hair of the little boy. Richard frowned. The child looked downright spooked, as if he were looking at a monster. On the heels of that thought, came the guilt. He’d wanted to keep himself distant from the child, hadn’t wanted to hurt the boy. But it seemed he was failing miserably at both. He forced himself to appear more relaxed.

“Is there anything you need me to do?” he asked in a low voice.

Liz shook her head. “No, I’d say we’re just about done. Oh, wait, we need a blanket. Preferably something very warm in case the wind blows up.”

Richard nodded, then paused. “What if we built a fire?” he asked casually.

Liz looked at him, genuinely impressed. “A bonfire. Of course, why didn’t I think of that? How completely perfect. What do you think, Andy?” she asked, looking down at the little boy who was still clutching her hand.

Slowly, his eyes never leaving the huge presence of his father, he nodded. “And marshmallows,” Liz thought out loud. “If we have a fire, we definitely need marshmallows.”

The decision made, Liz untangled herself from Andy to search for marshmallows, while Richard went to steal a pile of wood from the library. Andy followed Liz into the pantry. Ten minutes later, they were ready to go.

They walked out for about a half mile, trudging along the grass while their cheeks reddened from the crisp fall breeze. They stopped at the top of a low rolling hill and declared it the official picnic site. From that location, they could look around to the rolling hills of the rest of the kept grounds. Just beyond the grass, to the left, there was the tall fringe of a field and the thick pines of a forest were on the right. It was beautiful.

Humming softly to herself, Liz laid the blanket down while Richard went about building a fire. Andy remained with his eyes fixed on his father in total concentration.

After a moment, Richard looked up, noticing the child’s eyes on him. “Would you like to help?” Richard asked softly. Andy paused, the nervousness in his eyes warring with worship. Abruptly, he nodded. Richard handed the boy some of the smaller twigs for kindling, and explained how to arrange them all in the center. With serious eyes, Andy set about the task. Liz watched as discreetly as possible under her lashes, trying to keep the self-satisfied smile off her face. Perfect, it was all going so perfect.

Perhaps that should have been her first warning of the trouble to come.

Once the fire was going merrily, Liz dished out the tomato soup in the coffee mugs she’d brought along. They drank the soup in silence, but it wasn’t an unpleasant one. Liz was letting the bright sun beat out all the tenseness of the past few days, while Richard was content to watch the warm smile that spread across her face. Picnics and outings suited her. She was at home outside, and at home with Andy.

In short, she was everything Alycia had never been—warm, vivacious and compassionate. He found the combination unsettling. How much easier to believe in the darkness, than in the light.

He looked over to see Andrew watching him with his solemn blue eyes. God, the child looked so much like Alycia, sometimes it hurt to see him. And sometimes, when the child gazed at him with a look so somber and ancient, the pain in Richard’s chest had nothing at all to do with his past wife.

He looked away, not knowing how to confront the child after all the years and not understanding the fierceness of the emotions ripping through him. Instead, he passed out the tuna fish sandwiches, grateful for something to do.

Presently, as Liz was prone to do, she engaged them all in conversation. Having learned her lessons from the past, she didn’t even try small talk, but went straight to asking Richard about his work. Richard automatically began telling them about his newest experiments, mixing the mica with cyanide to see what kind of dielectric the combination would yield. Andrew sat and listened with enraptured eyes, occasionally throwing in a fact or two that revealed
Winnie-the-Pooh
wasn’t his sole bedtime reading. Liz brought out the marshmallows.

“All right,” she declared, “time to roast marshmallows. We’ll need three twigs.”

Andrew looked shocked, his blue eyes blinking. “What for?”

“To put the marshmallows on, of course.”

“But twigs have germs!” the child exclaimed. Liz smiled, the real Andrew was back. Funny how she had missed his academic prudishness.

“We’ll brush off the twigs,” she assured him, already looking through the remnants of the woodpile to find suitable candidates. Andrew turned to his father. Surely this brilliant man wouldn’t let him down, the boy’s look said.

“Wood has dirt,” Andrew reiterated to Richard. To his relief, his father nodded.

“It does,” Richard agreed easily. “But I’ll show you some tricks to take care of that.” Immediately, Andrew sat up straighter, obviously intrigued. His father was going to show him some tricks. So Richard did, teaching Andy how to peel back the bark to reveal the raw wood beneath.

“But it’s still wood,” Andy said, his eyes visibly disappointed at this revelation. Richard nodded again, beginning to fully understand Liz’s point on Andrew’s needing to get out more. The child clearly had a one-dimensional understanding of life.

“Once the bark has been pulled away,” Richard explained patiently, “the wood beneath is completely clean. Did you know that in earlier times, this would be used as a toothpick or a toothbrush?”

Apparently more interested now, Andrew shook his head. “For that matter,” Richard continued, “the bark of some trees can be boiled into teas, like some Native Americans use to cure illnesses and aid healing.”

Andrew looked at the remnants of the bark on the ground, his small face frowning as he was apparently trying to imagine this. “Have you ever done that?” the child demanded.

Serious, Richard shook his head. “No, but I wouldn’t mind having the opportunity to try. There’s more about plants and animals that we don’t know, than we do know.”

Andy was clearly hooked. “Where did you read this?”

Richard shrugged, already knowing the reasoning behind the question. “You can find some of it in
National Geographic,
or in various books on herbal remedies. Not to mention the studies and stories on Native American culture.”

Andy nodded vigorously, and Liz could see him making the mental list. “Great,” she told Richard. “Now you’re going to have to expand both your magazine and book collection to satisfy his curiosity.”

Richard looked at her, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “It’s not a bad thing,” he said, “to want to read and learn like this.”

“No,” she said softly, “it’s not.” She smiled at him, but he had to look away, not quite able to handle such warmth. He busied himself with putting a marshmallow on the end of his stick. Andrew watched intently, then followed suit. Andy, however, looked at the results with a more skeptical eye.

“Now what do we do?” Andrew asked, holding up his dubious creation.

“You put it in the fire,” Liz said promptly. “To roast it.”

“When is it done?”

“Whenever you want it to be.”

Andrew frowned, trying to translate this vague recipe into more concrete terms. Watching him, Richard could almost see himself at that age. So serious and intense, wanting to know everything, but never quite mastering an understanding of all the adults who populated his world.

“Watch this,” Richard found himself saying, plunging his marshmallow into the merry flames. “I like mine nicely toasted all the way around, so I keep the stick toward the outer flames and rotate it.” He nodded toward Liz. “Or you can try the burn-to-a-crisp approach.”

Andy looked over to see Liz pulling out a flaming torch from the fire.

“Your marshmallow’s on fire,” Andrew exclaimed, clearly alarmed. But Liz simply blew it out with a smile in his direction.

“Exactly,” she told him. “None of that evenly toasted stuff for me. Marshmallows are serious business. And everyone—” she gave Richard an arched look “—
everyone
knows that marshmallows are best all burnt on the outside and gooey on the inside.”

Andrew stared at the blue flame surrounding her marshmallow as she blew it out. “The sugar,” he said abruptly, earning a nod from Richard and a puzzled glance from Liz. “The sugar in the marshmallow burns hotter than the wood, giving off a blue flame and melting the marshmallow.” He nodded his head intently, as if he’d just puzzled out the origin of the cosmos.

“It tastes better,” Liz reiterated promptly.

Both Richard and Andrew gave her such skeptical looks at the comment, she had to laugh. They didn’t even know how much alike they were, she realized. She waved her marshmallow at them both. “Don’t knock it until you try it,” she told them sweetly, then promptly devoured her burnt masterpiece with a look of complete satisfaction on her face.

Richard felt the impact of that look in the unexpected tightness of his jeans. Shifting slightly, he tried to appear relaxed. Did everything about this woman have to turn him on? Looking for a diversion, he turned back to the marshmallows. He looked at Andrew.

“What do you say?” he asked the boy. “She seems to be the expert.”

Andrew gave in with a skeptical nod. Closing his eyes, he thrust his stick deep into the flames. He managed to peel one eye open enough to watch. Sure enough, his marshmallow burst into flame.

“Not yet,” Liz exclaimed when he pulled the stick back. “You want it to get nice and melted on the inside. Takes a minute.”

Nodding solemnly, Andrew complied, watching his experiment with serious eyes. Liz could practically hear him counting off sixty seconds in his mind. Sure enough, exactly one minute later he pulled out his blazing marshmallow, blowing on it with timid little gasps. Finally giving up, Andrew held up the marshmallow to Richard, who promptly complied by blowing out the flames. Then Andrew held up the puffy, blackened remnants of his marshmallow with clear suspicion.

“I agree with you,” Richard told him. “It certainly doesn’t look edible to me.” They both turned to Liz, their serious blue eyes once more in sync. Liz rose from the blanket, shaking her head as she sought to get more comfortable.