A Love for Rebecca (15 page)

“Yes, so what? He’s also Sophie’s father, remember?”

“Well, I smell smoke. And where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

“Oh, really? I’d say the only thing burning around here is between your legs!”

ANYTHING FOR A KISS

Around six that evening there was a knock at the door. Lola ran to open it, expecting to see Rory. But it was Kenzie, and her astonishment only increased when he asked for Rebecca.

Lola yelled to her in Spanish. “Rebecca! There’s someone here to see you!” She turned back to Kenzie and added, more softly but still in Spanish: “The hot drummer who plays like a wild man.” She smiled and he smiled back, a little disconcerted.

It was Rebecca’s turn to be surprised when she came to the door and saw Kenzie there, fishing rod in hand.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go fishing with me,” he said.

Rebecca threw a quick look at Lola, who realized she wasn’t wanted and stepped back but didn’t leave. The invitation had caught Rebecca off guard. A thousand thoughts ran through her head. She decided to make an excuse, a legitimate one, not to go, explaining that she needed to get things ready for the following day. Then, in spite of herself: “Will you be at the same spot as yesterday?”

“Yes,” he replied softly. She bit her lip. The gesture drew his attention to her mouth.

“If I get everything done soon, maybe
 . . .
”

Kenzie smiled and turned to go. Rebecca closed the door, fully aware of what was coming.

Lola was in front of her, dumbfounded. “Why would you say that if you’re not planning to go? You’re a tease.”

“Because she’s planning on going,” Berta shouted from the kitchen.

“She wouldn’t dare,” Lola said. “That would be like a mortal sin for her.”

“She spent most of the afternoon with him yesterday,” Berta said.

Lola threw her arms out to her sides in a gesture of surprise. “No way! You, with that tattooed Scottish hunk?”

Rebecca tucked her hair behind her ear; it was a nervous habit she had. “We were just talking, so get your mind out of the gutter.”

“It’s not about where my mind is, or even yours, for that matter; yours would never let you think anything dirty. It’s his I’m worried about.”

“You’re assuming, once again, that everyone’s like you.”

Lola moved her hands to her hips. “No, he’s not like me. He’s a guy. And believe me, guys aren’t that interested in ‘just talking.’ ”

Berta came over with a dishrag in her hand. “I am getting concerned about you, Rebecca. You’re letting an infatuation get the better of you.”

“Berta, I told you yesterday—”

“I know what you told me, but things can get out of hand.”

“So, maybe it would be good for her to go,” Lola said.

Berta shook the rag at her. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how certain she is about her feelings for Mario. Fortunately, she isn’t married to that dullard yet. So maybe this hot Scot will show her there’s a difference between affection and love.”

Rebecca couldn’t take any more. She went back to the bedroom to pack her clothes for the camping trip. It felt like everyone else was trying to run her life. Lola had never been convinced that her love for Mario was genuine and had been quick to tell her so multiple times.

She finished packing and left the house, slamming the door on her way out. She still wasn’t sure if she should meet up with Kenzie, but it didn’t take her long to decide. She wanted to go find him, talk to him. She didn’t know Kenzie MacLeod very well, but she felt strongly that he wasn’t what Lola took him for. Lola thought she knew everything about men, but her experience wasn’t that extensive, nor her instincts that accurate.

The only thing Rebecca knew with certainty was that she enjoyed Kenzie’s company. She liked their conversations and the flattering way he looked at her. And, sure, she liked the way he looked; his well-proportioned, masculine face. But that, she kept to herself.

This time, thoughts of her future didn’t rescue her from the temptation; neither Mario nor her wedding could surpass the thrill of going to see Kenzie. Even William’s warning had no effect. She was convinced that Kenzie just wanted some company while he was fishing, someone to talk to. But she wondered if she was fooling herself.

When she reached the spot, there was Kenzie squatting on a large, flat rock, preparing a hook. He looked surprised but glad to see her. Kenzie watched her approach and smiled at her greeting.

She bent down next to him to see what he was doing and looked on with interest. Kenzie was tying a fly to the line and making sure it was strong enough to support the weight of a large salmon. He glanced up a couple of times from his task to look at her, risking a hook in his finger.

When everything was ready, he stood and cast the line out. Then he moved the fly against the current. His father had taught him when he was a boy that the movement of the fly is what attracts the salmon. The strategy quickly bore fruit, and over the next hour they caught two medium-sized fish.

“I think I could get to like this,” Rebecca said.

He searched her face before he replied. “Fishing like this, there’s something that satisfies me. Even though we return the fish to the water
 . . .
I don’t know
 . . .
It’s exciting.”

“I know,” Rebecca said. “There’s something powerful about it. Just at the moment you’re about to take its life, you give it back. If fish could think, at first, when you hooked one, it would be like ‘Oh, no, I’m going to be someone’s supper!’ Then it gets released, and it’s like ‘Wow! I just got away by the skin of my teeth.’ ” She looked at Kenzie and grinned.

“Yeah, something like that.”

But her humor must have fallen flat, she thought, because Kenzie seemed to become pensive. Rebecca’s smile faded as she wondered what he was thinking.

“Thanks for the tortilla,” he said finally. “You really made my father happy. You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, you know.”

This time, she didn’t look away. She sensed Kenzie was more vulnerable than he appeared. He gave off the laid-back vibe of someone who didn’t care what other people thought. But at that moment, she saw something else in his eyes.

“Your father loves you a lot,” she said, as he prepared another fly.

“Aye, a ken,”
he answered quietly to himself. Rebecca looked at him questioningly. “Oh, sorry. I know, I said.”

After catching a third fish, he removed the fly, done fishing for the day. They sat down again on the rock, and he got the flask from his backpack.

“More whisky?” groaned Rebecca.

“Beer’s too heavy to carry
 . . .
and not as effective against the cold.”

It was true that it always felt colder along the river. And in her hurry, Rebecca had forgotten to grab her jacket. She was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt, as Kenzie was, but it wasn’t enough.

“Go on,” he insisted. “I won’t let you get drunk.”

“Right,” she said, taking the flask. “You only do that to sheep.”

“And the random turkey,” he added. “But turkeys aren’t as good for company as sheep.”

Rebecca almost choked, laughing. “It never occurred to you to invite a friend?”

“I didn’t have many friends then. Besides, sheep and turkeys never tell you what to do.”

“You were a rebellious child, huh?”

“That’s what my grandfather said.”

“What about you? Do you think you were?”

He bent his head and picked up some loose stones. “Yeah, I think I deserved a thrashing every once in a while.”

“I don’t believe it.”

He got up and threw a rock into the river. It skipped across the surface, making jumps that were big at first but got shorter and shorter. Each impact created ripples that spread out until they disappeared.

“I never was good at skipping stones,” Rebecca said.

“ ‘Rock skipping,’ we called it on Skye. We kids were supercompetitive. Whoever lost went into the water.”

“Did you ever get wet?”

“Nope,” he said, smiling.

“From what I just saw, I’m not surprised.”

“Do you want to learn?”

Before Rebecca could answer, Kenzie had handed her a rock and was helping her up. He began with a theoretical lesson about the basis and fundamentals of the aquatic frog hop. Evidently, the key was the angle. It was about getting the perfect angle on impact so the rock would throw up enough water from underneath it that it would re-emerge and repeat the cycle.

Rebecca found the theory too confusing, so she simply threw the rock as best she could, with no regard for her teacher’s advice. The rock entered the water with a soft plunk and immediately sank.

Kenzie cocked his head to the side and studied her quizzically. “You’re not a very good student.”

“I know, but I didn’t understand anything you said.”

“Hmm. Well,” he murmured, rubbing his chin. “Then we’ll have to move straight to the hands-on training.”

“Hands-on?”

“Yes,” he said, approaching her with another rock in his hand. “Because you wouldn’t listen to instruction.”

“What are you doing?” she asked as Kenzie stepped in behind her.

“Do you want to learn or not?”

“Yes, I want to learn.”

“If you can’t understand the explanation, maybe you can feel the movement.”

Rebecca felt Kenzie against her back. From behind, he wrapped his left arm around her. Rebecca felt his body heat, his power. Her senses were on high alert.

“Kenzie,” she stammered.

“Shhh,” he whispered in her ear. “Relax, as if we were one body.”

With his other hand, he placed the rock in her right hand and held it.

“When I tell you, let go,” he said.

She nodded and realized she was holding her breath.

He held her tightly around the waist and drew her right arm back. “Ready?”

“Yes.” She took a breath.

“Now!”

Kenzie whipped her arm toward the river, and Rebecca let go of the rock. They watched it skip once, twice, three times before sinking.

He lifted her arms in triumph, and she squealed with delight as she turned to face him. In one smooth movement, Kenzie pulled her against his chest, picked her up, and spun her around. Then he stood still, not releasing his embrace.

Rebecca’s hands were on his shoulders; she pushed herself back slightly. “Kenzie, please
 . . .
”

“I know
 . . .
I’m sorry,” he said as he let her go.

Flustered by their spontaneity, she lowered her gaze. “May I have some more whisky?” she asked, without looking at him.

“Sure.”

He took out the flask and handed it to her. She grabbed it, unscrewed the cap, and took a large gulp. Some of the liquor ran down her chin, dripping onto her T-shirt.

Kenzie took the flask from her. “What are you doing?”

“It’s for the cold,” she said, her voice choked by the alcohol. She coughed.

“You want to pass out?”

“It wasn’t that much,” she protested.

“We’ll find out shortly. Come on, sit down. In a few minutes I don’t think you’ll be in any condition to stand.”

They sat on the rock and he looked at her, his brows drawn together. “I can apologize again if you want, but don’t ever throw back whisky like that again. It’s meant to be sipped.”

“No further apology needed,” she said, trying to make light of it. “Friends can hug each other. We were just celebrating.”

Kenzie took a sip, then said, “Rebecca, I don’t want to be your friend.”

If he intended to disarm her, it worked. Lola’s words were pounding in her head. Or maybe it was the whisky. Suddenly she was dizzy. The river, the trees, even Kenzie turned into a merry-go-round. Her stomach churned.

“Oh, God
 . . .
I feel horrible
 . . .
Everything’s spinning
 . . .
”

“Yeah, you drank half a glass of whisky all at once. What do you expect? Especially for someone who doesn’t drink.”

“I think I’m going to be sick
 . . .
”

Kenzie hurried to move her to the edge of the rock, just over the river. He advised her to kneel. With one arm, he held her so she could lean over the water without falling in. With the other hand, he held her forehead as she began to feel the first violent waves in her stomach.

“Come on, get it out,” he said.

Her body expelled the liquid over the water. Fortunately, liquid was the only thing that came up. She collapsed back and lay sprawled on the rock, face up, with her knees bent and her hands on her stomach. Kenzie looked at her, watching for any more symptoms. She felt sweat forming on the back of her neck and a stifling heat spreading across her face.

“I will never drink another drop of whisky, ever.”

“I believe you. But for now, just keep your eyes closed.”

Things stopped swirling around her when she closed her eyes, but she still felt dizzy. Kenzie offered her a sip of water, which she gratefully accepted.

After a few moments, she put both hands to her head and looked up at Kenzie. “My head,” she moaned. “What’s in that stuff? Rat poison?”

“Edradour is one of the best whiskies there is, so you don’t get to criticize. I’ve never seen anyone drink it like that, not even die-hard drinkers. You’re lucky you’re even conscious.”

“OK, I’ve learned my lesson.” She stifled a groan. “Now I know how Sally the sheep felt.”

“Sally was a smarter drinker than you. She drank a little at a time, and even then, you know how that ended.”

“Fine, so sheep hold their whisky better than I do,” she said, slurring her words a little. She yawned.

“Don’t go falling asleep or I won’t be able to wake you until tomorrow, and I don’t want to return you to your friends passed out.”

“What do I do?”

“Tell me about your family.”

She held back a snort. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“How about the beginning? We’ve got time before you’ll be able to stand.”

Rebecca looked at him again. He stretched out his hand and moved a lock of hair that was covering her right eye. She grabbed his hand and tried to stare at it.

“The drummer’s hand,” she mumbled, almost incomprehensibly. “It’s big.” She compared it to her own, putting their palms together. “How do you play with seven fingers?”

Kenzie smiled. “Don’t worry. In a little while there will be five again.”