Turn To Me (9 page)

A knock sounded at the door and I froze, my mouth agape in horror.  It would be so incredibly awful if Martha walked in, I didn't think I could withstand the sheer embarrassment.  Before I could voice my fear, Blane had pulled me upright and wrapped the quilt around me.  I saw him quickly zip his pants back up and fasten his belt before he called out, “Come in.”

Martha reappeared in the doorway, holding a stack of clothes.  “You're clothes are dry, dear,” she said, sitting them on a nearby wooden chair.

“Thank you,” I said, blushing to the roots of my hair.  If she hadn't known what we'd just been doing, no doubt my bright red face clued her in.

With a knowing smile, she turned and left again.  When the door shut, I hid my face against Blane's chest, groaning in embarrassment.  He chuckled softly.

“I can't believe we just did that,” I said with dismay.  “We're never going to be able to come back here again!”

“Speaking of which,” Blane said briskly, “you get dressed and I'll see about getting that tree.”

“You're not going back to get the one you cut down, are you?” I asked in surprise, abruptly sitting up so I could see him.

“No,” he said with regret, “though it was the perfect tree.  They have some precut ones.”

“It's really not a big deal,” I protested, knowing he'd had a long day as well, “we don't have to get a tree.”

“I promised you a damn Christmas tree and I'm not leaving here without one,” he said stubbornly.  He set me from him and rose from the bed.

“All right,” I capitulated with a sigh, “but don't say 'damn' and 'Christmas' in the same sentence.”  He looked at me.  “It's sacrilegious,” I explained, as if it were obvious.  His lips twitched in a small smile before he pressed a quick kiss to my mouth, then he was gone.

I made use of the tiny half-bath attached to the bedroom, dressing in the thankfully warm and dry clothes and finger-combing my hair.  My French braid was long gone and my hair now hung in waves down my back.  Examining myself in the mirror, I was a little paler than normal, but I had fair skin anyway so that wasn't saying much. 

My shoes were nowhere to be found and I grimaced when I realized there was no way they were going to be dry yet.  Looking at the rumpled bed, I made a quick decision, folding up the quilt I'd been wrapped in and on which Blane had made love to me.  Carrying it in my arms, I headed downstairs.

The tiny wooden staircase led down into a brightly lit kitchen and I saw Martha bustling around the stove.  I cleared my throat and she turned around, a bright smile on her face.  She reminded me of my grandma, and I returned her smile.

“Thank you so much for the hospitality,” I said. 

“You're welcome,” Martha said, “I'm just glad you're all right.  That man of yours was fit to be tied when he came back and you weren't here.”

I grimaced.  I bet he had been.  After all, who gets lost on a Christmas tree farm, for crying out loud?

“George told him we'd put together a search party to find you, he knows this land like the back of his hand, but he wouldn't wait,” she continued.  “Was determined to go back into the woods by himself to search.  And when you came staggering out, collapsing like that in the snow...”  She shook her head as I waited, engrossed in her story.  “Well, I've never seen anyone move so fast.  He had you in his arms, carrying you inside here before we hardly knew what had happened.  Like something out of one of those romance movies.”

“Really?” I asked, wondering if she was stretching the truth a little.

“Oh my, yes,” she said with a chuckle, turning back to stir a pot of something steaming on the stove.  “I'm sure he wouldn't like me telling you this, he seems as though he likes to play his cards close to his chest and believe me, I know the type.  But he was worried something fierce, sweetie.  Terrified, I think, that you weren't going to wake up.  He refused to leave your side.  Of course, I knew you would.  We raised five boys here with the Indiana winters and I knew you'd be just fine once you warmed up.”

“Huh,” was all I could think to say, my mind still trying to wrap itself around Blane's reaction to my accidental dousing. 

“He certainly loves you a great deal,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, turning back to me.  I stood, stunned, as she moved closer and gestured to the quilt in my arms.  “Here, let me take that for you.”

I finally found my tongue.  “No – I mean, I really love the quilt and was hoping I could buy it from you?”  My mind scrambled for equilibrium after hearing her assertion that Blane loved me.

“You like it that much,” she said, “you can have it.  It's the least we can do after all you've endured today.”

“Thanks,” I said gratefully.  “Um, do you know where my boots are?”

“They're still wet,” she said, “but I have some old ones you can wear to get home.  Let me get them for you.”  She disappeared and returned moments later with a well-used pair of boots.  I pulled them on, glad they fit well enough for the trip home.

“I'm going to take this outside to the car,” I said, heading to the door with the quilt in my arms.  “I'll be right back.” 

It was dark and cold outside, the snow had finally stopped and I could see the stars twinkling above me in the clear moonless sky.  Without the city lights I could see so many more than usual.  It was beautiful.  I walked to the car, my steps crunching on the thick snow, and put the quilt in back.  I could hear Blane talking with George and saw them carrying a tree towards me.  I smiled, wrapping my arms around myself to stay warm.  As I turned back to go inside, something tucked under the wiper blade caught my eye.  I reached for it, realizing it was a piece of paper.

Curious, I turned it toward the light spilling from the barn, realizing there was some writing scribbled on it.  As I read it, my mouth ran dry.

“What's that?” Blane asked, coming up behind me.  George was tying the tree to the top of the SUV.  Blane glanced over my shoulder when I didn't respond, still staring at the paper.  Gently, he took it from me, turning it so he could read the words as well.

Watch your back.

He didn't move for a moment, seeming as stunned as I was, then quickly pocketed the note.

“Let's get out of here,” he said crisply.  I nodded my head in agreement, following him as he walked quickly to the kitchen door. 

“We'll be going now,” he said with a wide smile for Martha after we'd entered the kitchen.  Again I admired how effortlessly he could turn on the charm, no matter what the situation.  “Thank you so much for your assistance today.”

“I'm glad we could help,” Martha said, handing him a large paper sack.  “I put some dinner in there for you, just some bread and soup I made.”

“Thank you,” I found my tongue, the shock of the note wearing off.  “Have a Merry Christmas.”

“You, too,” Martha said, giving me a hug while George and Blane shook hands.  “Don't forget to invite us to the wedding, won't you?”

“Wha-?”  My confused question was abruptly cut off as Blane pushed me unceremoniously out the door.  He wrapped his arm around me, holding me close against his side as we walked quickly to the car.  I couldn't shake the feeling that he was using his body as a shield for mine.  It was only after we'd gotten in and started down the road toward the highway that I found my tongue.

“Wedding?”  I really didn't think I had to add anything else.

Blane glanced at me uncomfortably.  “I had to tell them we were engaged,” he explained.  “Otherwise, she wasn't going to let me stay with you while you were naked.”  He hesitated before adding gruffly, “She said it wasn't 'proper.'”

I couldn't help grinning.  The idea of a little old lady like Martha telling Blane he couldn't do something struck me as funny indeed.  I wished I'd been conscious to see it.  The thought of being engaged to Blane made butterflies dance in my stomach, but I ignored them.  Best to let the conversation drop there.  I was well aware of how men viewed women who talked about marriage mere weeks after dating, and it wasn't good. 

I cleared my throat before changing the subject.  “The note...” I began, then was at a loss for anything else to say. 

“I know,” was all Blane said, his voice flat and without emotion.

The rest of the trip was quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts.  It wasn't until we'd reached my apartment and were hauling stuff inside that Blane spoke again.

“You have the quilt?” he asked, pulling it from the back seat.

I shrugged.  “I asked and she let me have it.”

He nodded before wordlessly carrying it upstairs for me.  After another twenty minutes, we were looking at a naked Christmas tree standing in a corner of my living room.

“Where are your decorations?” Blane asked.

“Downstairs in storage,” I answered, “but let's eat first.  I'm starving.”

Martha's soup was incredibly good, a thick and hearty vegetable beef that made me sorry I hadn't asked for the recipe.  The bread was homemade – crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside.  The meal was fantastic and my mood was considerably better when I was finished.  After all, I'd gotten to spend the day with Blane, we'd found a great tree, made love and had a homemade dinner.  Yeah, I'd fallen through ice and nearly froze to death, and yes someone had shot as us, but I chose to look at the positive.

Blane carried up my boxes of ornaments and decorations from the apartment building's storage room while I threw the quilt in the washing machine.  Though it was getting late, we strung lights on the tree and hung the ornaments.  Many of them had a story and I told Blane about them, showing him the ornament my parents had gotten from their honeymoon in Niagara Falls, the first ornaments they'd given each other while still dating, the one commemorating my first Christmas and the one they'd purchased when they'd moved into their first house. 

“This must be you,” Blane said with a smile, holding up a handmade ornament with a tiny school picture of myself glued on.

I laughed at the sight.  “Yes, I think I was eleven when that was taken,” I said.

Blane studied it.  “You were cute.”  He glanced back at me, mischief in his eyes.  “I would have pulled your ponytail, put frogs in your desk, done anything to get a scrap of attention from you.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn't resist the rush of pleasure his words gave me.  “I think you and I would have been in completely different crowds,” I said dryly.  I imagined him being with the popular kids, the football player all the girls drooled over and only the head cheerleader had a shot with.  I, on the other hand, had been a quiet loner for the most part.  Books had been my friends.  Shy and reserved, I'd rarely sought attention and had avoided it if at all possible.

We finished the tree, standing back to admire our work once the lights had been lit.  Blane wrapped his arms around me, pulling me back against his chest.

“It's beautiful,” I said softly.  “This is the first time in a long time I've had a tree large enough to put all my parents' ornaments on.”  I looked up at Blane.  “Thank you.”

His arms tightened around me.  “You're welcome, Kat,” he said, his voice gentle in my ear.  We stood in the dark, the only light coming from the strands wrapped around the tree.  I leaned my head back against him, my hands resting on his arms across my abdomen.  It was a moment I knew I wouldn't soon forget.

The shrill ring of his cell phone shattered the silence and the mood.  With a sigh, Blane released me, reaching into his jeans' pocket for the phone.

“Kirk,” he answered.  I tried to step away but he reached out, grasping my hand in his and tugging me back. 

I couldn't hear the other side of the conversation so just stood in front of him, watching his face.  I grew concerned as his expression turned hard, his jaw clenching tight.

“No,” he said angrily, “That isn’t what we agreed on.”  Dropping my hand, Blane turned away and took a few steps toward the window, quiet again as he listened.

“That's none of your fucking business,” he growled, fury now etched in every line of his body, starkly outlined against the glowing whiteness of the snow outside.

I grew tense as I watched him on the phone, his emotions emanating from him.  Blane's charisma and presence ensured that he set the tone and atmosphere of any room, and it was no different when I was the sole audience.

“You do that and I'll have Judge Reynolds chewing your ass in his chambers tomorrow at dawn, you fucking prick,” Blane threatened.  A pause and then, “Watch me.”  Blane flipped the phone closed with enough force to make me jump.

“Who was that?” I asked, my eyes wide.

Blane hesitated before answering.  “James,” he finally said.  “He likes to create problems, try and keep me off balance.”

“So what was 'none of his business?'” I asked.

Blane's face turned into that expressionless mask I knew very well when he replied, “He wanted to know if I was with you tonight.”

I was so surprised I didn't know what to say.  James had been complicit in nearly having me murdered by Jimmy Quicksilver, a hit man his father had used to kill my friend Sheila and her boyfriend Mark.  Not to mention the fact that James had punched me in the face and would have strangled me if not for my neighbor at the time, CJ, who had intervened – with a gun.

“Why would he want to know that?” I asked weakly when I finally found my voice again.

Blane shook his head.  “Don't worry about it,” he said.  “James isn't foolish enough to try anything with you.  He's just trying to goad me into doing something stupid.”

I wanted to ask more questions, but Blane interrupted me. 

“I have to go,” he said.  “I need to check on Kyle.  Here, take this.”  He reached under his sweater and lifted his gun from its holster before handing it to me.

“Why are you giving me your gun?” I asked, alarmed.  I stepped back, but Blane caught my hand, pulling me back and placing the gun in my grip.

“Because this case is a high-profile one and volatile,” he explained quietly.  “We've already had someone shooting at us today.  If it happens again and I'm not around, I want you to be able to shoot back.”

I swallowed hard, the gun feeling cold and heavy in my hand.  I wasn't unfamiliar with guns, my dad had taught me to shoot when I was a teenager, but I didn't know if I could actually shoot someone, should the need arise.  Not deliberately anyway.