Luke (19 page)

Without thinking about it, she began to notice details of the picture he made as he stood at the end of the boat. Descriptive phrases for what she saw began to rise in her mind with no conscious effort
on her part, emerging as naturally as the fish coming to the surface of the lake.

The light of the day's end painted shadows under the ridges of his cheekbones. It tinted the white of his T-shirt with purple and gold, and gilded the sweat that glazed his skin until he had the look of a bronze statue. Infinite patience overlaid the concentration in his face. The calm certainty that was an integral part…

April got up and moved into the cabin, returning a moment later with a yellow legal pad and her favorite fountain pen. Maybe she would work just a little, after all.

“What the hell?”

That sharp exclamation jerked April from a succinct phrase describing the reaction of the hero of her book to the heroine's treachery. She looked up to see Luke squatting before his tackle box with a frown meshing his brows over his nose. He was staring at the empty slots in one of the middle trays.

Show time.

“Missing something?” she asked with innocence suffusing her voice.

“Yeah. Several somethings.” He gave her a brief glance. Then he looked again as he registered the expression on her face. “I suppose you wouldn't know anything about it?”

“I would, as a matter of fact.”

“You took my baits?”

“I don't know that I'd put it that way, exactly.” She shifted slightly on her seat.

“How would you put it?”

“I liberated them, since I couldn't liberate my
self. If you're really lucky, you might find one next time you go swimming.”

He came to his feet with a slow uncoiling of hard thigh muscles. “Are you saying you threw my baits overboard?”

She lifted a brow, though it was sheer bravado.

“They belonged to my dad.”

“You should have thought of that before you dragged me out here.”

“I can't believe you did it.” He shook his head, a slow movement of amazement as he put his hands on his hips.

“Believe it,” she returned with a lift of her chin. “What did you think? That you could do whatever you like and I'd take it? It doesn't work that way!”

“I was only—”

“So you say. But you can't make decisions for me and expect me to go along just because you think it's best.”

He watched her a long moment. “I never expected you to be underhanded about it.”

“Didn't you? When you sneaked out of here at dawn without a word or a decent goodbye? What else did you leave me?”

“Is that what this is about? That I didn't wake you up to tell you I was going?”

“It's about lack of choice. It's about you being high-handed and tight-lipped and all the other macho idiocies that keep me from having a say in my own fate. It's about—”

She stopped as her voice failed her. Turning her head, she looked away from him out over the water.

“April,” he began with a quick stride in her direction.

“No,” she said as she faced him again. “You took something from me that I valued, my free will. I took something not quite so hard to replace—a few pieces of antique tackle. We're still not even, but at least we're a little closer to it.”

He gave a slow shake of his head. “I don't think so.”

“What do you mean?”

“What you took was pieces of memories of fishing trips with my dad before he died. That's added to all the hopes for the future that I used to have way back when. Things like that aren't replaceable at all.”

Her voice not quite steady, she said, “I had hopes, too. And dreams.”

“Did you?” There was a minute adjustment of the planes of his face before he inclined his head. “Maybe we're even after all.”

He picked up his rod and reel, then went back to his fishing. After a moment, April retreated into her writing once more. By dark, she'd filled three pages and Luke had caught two more bass. While he cleaned and filleted the fish, she mixed the cornmeal coating that would go on them, and peeled and sliced potatoes. He fried the fish and potatoes in the peanut oil on the outside burner that was part of the charcoal grill, while she chopped cabbage and carrots for cole slaw, then made hush puppy batter. They worked as a team, with little discussion of the various tasks or who would do them, perhaps be
cause the division of labor was traditional and they both knew exactly what was required.

April could have let Luke do all the work himself. She was there under protest, after all, and having fish for dinner was his idea. Her sense of fairness wouldn't allow it. They both needed to eat, and her help speeded the process. Anyway, she'd made her point and saw no need to hammer it into the ground.

The thunder had faded away to an occasional far-off thud, but heat lightning flickered on the horizon, playing among the clouds at treetop level. It made a fascinating show to watch while they ate, even if the bright light they'd left on in order to watch for fish bones toned it down. Later, after the galley was cleared, they turned off the lights and took their iced tea out onto the dark front deck, the better to see the weather show.

Talk between them was sporadic. The smell of hot oil, fried cornmeal and onions from the hush puppies lingered on the air. The night seemed to crowd around the boat though, at the same time, an expectant feeling permeated the dense, muggy atmosphere. April thought it was the effect of the ozone released by the distant lightning, or perhaps the stillness of the night creatures as they hovered, waiting to see if it would rain. Now and then a frog croaked out an inquiry, but that was all.

April glanced once or twice at the man beside her, and also at the long bench on which they sat. The padded plastic had started out as his bed the night before. Where would he expect to sleep tonight? Would he brave the lightning that threatened or was he counting on sharing her bed in the cabin? His
comment earlier made the latter seem likely, but there was no way to be sure.

Should she wait to see if he was going to make a move in that direction, or do the charitable thing and invite him inside? Did she want to continue where they'd left off, or should she force him to make the first move then see how she felt about it?

Make up your mind, he'd said, but it wasn't that simple. She felt somehow that she'd succumbed too easily to his blandishments. She'd allowed herself to be influenced by propinquity and wayward emotionalism instead of making a rational decision. Having done that, it seemed illogical to maintain her distance now. Still, she wasn't sure she wanted to continue.

A particularly vivid lightning flash disturbed Midnight who had been performing his evening toilette while sprawled on the carpet in front of April and Luke. The cat stared toward the night sky a fixed instant, then rose with a maltreated air and sprang up between them.

As a familiar smell wafted from the animal to April's nose, she frowned across at Luke. “Have you been feeding him raw fish?”

“He was hungry,” he said in lazy answer. “Anyway, I made sure it had no bones.”

“It's bad for him!”

“A vicious tale put out by the pet food industry to deprive cats of their natural food—or it's only true if the fish bits are left lying around long enough to attract flies.” He reached out to scratch along the cat's chin. “Isn't that right, Midnight, old boy?”

April's pet eyed Luke a moment, then he deserted
her to climb onto his lap. The cat settled down along one jeans-clad thigh and began kneading Luke's knee with his extended paws.

“Maybe, maybe not,” April said, then added, “I thought you didn't like cats.”

“I don't—especially when they use me for a scratching post!” He reached out and removed a paw with its claws extended. “Damn it all, cat, stop that.”

“It's a sign of favor,” April said, hiding a smile.

“You sure it's not jealousy because I'm here with his mistress? Or maybe bloody revenge for bringing him along?” When Midnight retracted his natural weapons, Luke released the paw again.

April wasn't sure of the answer, but didn't intend to admit it. “More likely it's cupboard affection. Next time maybe you'll leave his feeding to me.”

“You can have the honors,” Luke said, wincing as Midnight dug in again. “By the time he gets through I'm going to need first aid. Or will after I take a bedtime dip.”

She glanced at the dark water and disturbed sky. “You're going to bathe in the lake again? I thought you brought more fresh water today.”

“Only another fifteen or twenty gallons. That won't go far if we both shower all the time. You can have that privilege as well as the cat feeding. The lake is fine for me.”

“For me, too, if we need to conserve water,” she answered.

He didn't object, which she took to be a sign of agreement. Neither moved, however, but returned to their contemplation of the heavenly fireworks that
lit the underbellies of the dark clouds filling the night sky. April drank a swallow of her tea, and the tinkle of the ice against the sweat-coated glass seemed loud in the strained quiet.

She contemplated several subjects for conversation, but could settle on nothing that seemed natural—if there was such a thing under present circumstances. The silence grew steadily more uncomfortable. She was about to opt for something totally mundane like books or swamp creature movies, when Luke spoke.

“I'll bed down out here, in case you're wondering.”

“Why?” She hadn't meant to ask; the word just popped out.

He turned his head where it rested on the back of the bench as he sat slouched down with his legs stretched out before him. “What do you mean, why?”

“Is it out of consideration? Or did I do something to turn you off? Is it a trick, maybe? Or some kind of test?”

“Lord, April,” he said on a cross between a laugh and a groan. “You think too much.”

“And maybe you don't think enough.” She looked away in annoyance.

“It isn't an intellectual exercise. You have to go with how you feel.”

“I've tried that before, and look what it got me.”

“What's that?” Wary curiosity was in his voice.

She crossed her arms over her chest as she said, “A failed first love, a disaster of a marriage, and a waning career as a romance author.”

“I don't know about all that,” he said judiciously. “Could be it's the exact opposite, it all came about from going with brain power instead of instinct.”

“That's a nice clear answer, isn't it?” she inquired as she turned back to him again. “If you're such an expert, then what is it you
feel
now that made you decide to sleep out in the weather again?”

He gave a slow shrug. “I don't know that I can put it into words. Or that I want to try.”

She filtered through the sound of his voice for clues, but found none. “That's no answer.”

“All right,” he said after a taut moment, “I guess I feel that I took advantage of the situation I created here, okay? I rushed you into something you maybe weren't ready to accept. It seems like a good idea to back off a little and regroup while you catch your breath.”

“That's very—”

“Dumb?” he supplied as she paused.

“Generous,” she said in correction. “Understanding, even.”

“Don't get carried away. I haven't given up.”

His dry tone carried a welcome touch of humor. “I didn't think you had.”

“Fine,” he said evenly as he removed Midnight and set him on the bench. “As long as we know where we stand.”

April had nothing to say in reply. It was just as well, since Luke didn't wait to hear it. He got to his feet and walked to the railing where he kicked off his deck shoes and stripped away his shirt and jeans. He stepped over the railing, then, and hit the water
in a fast, clean dive. It was a long time before he surfaced, so long, in fact, that April got to her feet to search the dark, shimmering surface with a wide, strained gaze. A sigh left her when he finally bobbed up with his head as wet and sleek as a turtle's.

Luke turned toward the boat with a splashing swirl, slicking his hair out of his eyes with one hand as he treaded water. Raising his voice across the gently undulating waves, he called, “Throw me the soap, will you? Or bring it.”

April thought there was just the barest hint of a dare in the request. She wasn't fool enough to answer it, however, not this time. Fetching the soap, she stood hefting it in her hand, strongly tempted to heave it at his head. The risk of it being lost was too great, however, and she wasn't entirely sure there was another bar on board other than the extra sliver in the bathroom that she meant to use. Taking careful aim, she lobbed the soap to him and watched him snatch it out of the air. Then she turned and went into the cabin.

It was sometime later, well after she'd had a quick wash while clinging to the swimming ladder then gone to bed, that she felt the boat rock as Luke came back onboard. She wasn't too surprised at the delay, since at her last sight of him, he'd been swimming strongly toward the bottleneck entrance and the open lake as if he meant to seek the lightning. That hadn't boded very well for his mood, she thought, but it could have dissipated some of his extra energy. The question was whether it had gotten rid of enough.

She tensed, waiting, but he didn't come inside.
By slow degrees, she relaxed again. Sleep wouldn't come, however. She lay staring at the window above her bed, watching the intermittent glimmers of lightning and listening to the booming of distant thunder. The last, she thought, sounded like an irregular throb in the heartbeat of the earth.

Immediately she wondered if that rather purplish gem of expression was worth the effort of getting up to scribble it on paper. It didn't seem likely.