Looking Through Darkness (11 page)

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Leigh Ann arrived at Melvin's while there was still daylight. As she pulled up, she saw Melvin, shirtless and wearing low-slung jeans, standing on his back porch. He looked beautiful in an earthy way, as much a part of the New Mexican desert as the sun-drenched mesas on the southern horizon. His copper skin glowed in the half-light and his muscular chest looked hard and toned to near perfection. Everything about him spoke of strength and the courage to endure.

Shrouded in equal parts of light and the long afternoon shadows, there was an air of mystery and danger about him. He lived at the edge of a perpetual mist so vast she couldn't even begin to fathom it.

She sighed.

Then he turned toward her and waved.

Of course he'd heard the car—the Jeep's engine had a definite roar and there were no other sounds out here except those that came from nature. She laughed as she got out of the Jeep.

“Be right with you,” he said, turning to go back through the house.

Fingers crossed, she hoped he wouldn't stop to put on a shirt. He'd looked so sexy—a man alone at home, listening to the quiet.

“I'm glad you came,” he said, meeting her by the door. He'd put on a shirt, but it hung open, teasing her imagination.

“I tried calling first—”

“I disconnected the phone,” he said.

She heard the odd, hollow sound in his voice. For a second he looked … haunted. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep. “Are you okay?”

He nodded and led her inside his house. “While searching for an idea for my next sculpture, I tested out a few concepts, but I wasn't satisfied with any of them. This time around, I'd like to create something different. I want a figure that speaks to the loneliness in all of us.”

“Any idea what kind of figure you'd like it to be?”

“I've never sculpted people before, but that's what I want to do next. I won't be duplicating a person or using a model. What I want to depict is something more elusive … a human figure that captures a longing for something destined to remain out of reach.…” He took a breath, then said, “What I feel when you're near.”

For a moment, she found it hard to breathe. To have him sculpt a figure based on his feelings for her … the possibility was thrilling—and a little scary.

“No one would know the part you played in its creation but us,” he said, his voice seductively husky. “Will you help me?”

“How?” she managed after a beat.

“At this point you won't have to pose, or model. What I'd like you to do is talk to me. Let me listen to your voice. Or you could sing.”

“Sing? Oh, good heavens, Melvin. I'd drive you straight out of the house!” she said and laughed. “I don't sing, I wail.”

“Not true, I've heard you singing to yourself at the trading post a few times. You can carry a tune, and you have a beautiful voice that resonates with happiness, or sadness, depending on your mood. That's part of what I want to keep in the foreground of my mind as I sculpt. Will you do this for me?”

She swallowed hard. “Yeah, I'd like that, but remember, I work full time.”

“Then come over in the evening. It doesn't make that much difference to me. One more thing—you won't be able to look at my work until it's finished. Agreed?”

“Oooh, that's going to be really hard,” she said, her voice trembling with excitement.

“Once it's done, you'll be the first to see it, and I'll want your honest opinion. If you think it's no good then it'll never leave my workshop.”

“Melvin, I'm not exactly unbiased. I like all your work, but I have a feeling this one's going to be amazing.” Instinct also assured her that this would be an experience she'd never forget. She might even learn something about herself in the process. Yet there was no denying the danger … for her … for him.

He stepped closer and ran his hands over her face with a tenderness that made her weak at the knees. “You're excited and looking forward to this.”

“I am,” she said, not bothering to deny it. The low, masculine sound of his voice, his touch and nearness filled her with a delicious longing.

“First, I'll see the image in my mind, then I'll feel it become a part of me. Once that happens, we'll begin.”

“You'll let me know when you're ready?”

“Yes.”

To see herself as he did … What an amazing thing that would be. More than anything, she wished she could have commissioned it right there and then, but there was no way she could afford anything she didn't absolutely need.

As her thoughts returned to finances, she remembered the reason she'd come. Leigh Ann told Melvin about the special display they could set up using his maquettes if he allowed it. “It would be an easy way to drive business to you on a more regular basis, but of course, it's up to you.”

“The models aren't very detailed. They are more like an architect's blueprints or an artist's preliminary sketches.”

“If you were just going to get rid of them, like John said, why not allow us to use them? Most people have never seen something like that and it'll generate interest in you, your work, and the creative process.”

He considered it silently.

“If my opinion counts, they're beautiful,” she said, looking at the ones that had been placed up on the shelf.

“They're fragile and tend to crumble. They're not finished sculptures and will never be fired.”

“They're still beautiful,” she said.

He came closer. “You're easy to please,” he said, standing before her, just inches away.

She knew he was attracted to her. His voice always gave himself away, even when he wasn't flirting. And now he was tempting her. Melvin's shirt hung open and the urge to touch him, to run her hands over his beautiful hard chest, was nearly overpowering.

“You're holding your breath. Just relax, I won't run away,” he murmured.

The temptation to touch him was too great, and now they were alone. She placed her palm on his chest and ran her hand lightly over his skin, feeling his muscles tense in the wake of her touch.

Raw masculinity … that's what he was. She'd dreamed of a moment like this. He was all hardness and strength. Using only her fingertip, she traced the top of his waistband, seeing his body strain against the fabric of his jeans and imagining what lay just beyond her reach.

Leigh Ann heard him suck in his breath and that's when she suddenly realized that she'd crossed a line and was playing with fire. She stepped back quickly.

“It's okay. Nothing will happen. You have my word. Touch is just another wonderful way for us to … communicate. You can see my face and know my thoughts, but all I have to go by is your voice and your touch—and in brighter light, your presence. Communicate more, if you wish.”

“All right.” She ran her hands slowly over his shoulders and upper arms and caressed his chest again, loving the way his muscles rippled and tightened.

His breathing quickened, but she knew he was a man of his word. He would allow her to caress him and enjoy that magic for as long as she wanted without making any demands.

After a moment, her heart racing, she moved back. “That's what
I
feel when I'm with you.”

He smiled. “As with me, your heart's in your touch. You've just told me everything I wanted to know.”

Although he seemed to have an iron grip on his emotions, the same couldn't be said for her. She took another step back, trying to stop trembling.

With effort, she forced her voice to remain even. “So tell me, may I take some of those models to the trading post?”

“Sure, but hand each one to me first and let me check them in case they're damaged.”

She did as he asked, and watched his hands glide over the hardened clay pieces, feeling for nicks, bumps, or edges. After making sure they were okay, he gave them back to her.

Carefully wrapping each piece using some of Melvin's packing supplies—tissue paper and foam packing peanuts—Leigh Ann placed the maquettes into cardboard boxes.

“I have some photos of the finished pieces, too, after they were done. John insisted on that, but they don't do me much good. Would you like them?”

“Absolutely. They'll show how you transform a simple concept into a beautiful, finished sculpture.”

He went to the shelf and brought out a big scrapbook, almost dropping the cumbersome volume before catching himself. “You'll have to look through this.”

She took it from him, placed the scrapbook on the table, and began to leaf through the pages. She'd seen this before on the shelf, but had never asked to see it, observing the boundaries of their friendship. The early pages held photos of Melvin in high school. “So you were a football player?”

He laughed. “Don't sound so surprised. I was a pretty decent receiver once upon a time.”

“It's hard to think of you as a jock. Your hands create such beautiful things.”

“Catching the pigskin is a thing of beauty, too.”

She laughed.

“The photos John took are in the back, I think.”

She flipped to the end and found the photos of Melvin's sculptures. “These are great! I'll design a special display and when you get the chance you can come inspect it. I'll describe how it's laid out and you can give me your feedback.”

“Great.”

The change of light in the room told Leigh Ann that the sun was now setting. Though she'd previously traveled the roads to and from his home in the dark, she decided that today, she didn't really want to be out on this stretch of empty desert alone after the sun went down. “I'm going to have to get going.”

“The sun's set?”

“Almost, yeah, but how could you tell?”

“The shapes of objects begin to fade and I lose any sense of depth of field in what vision I do have. In many ways, this time of day is the toughest for me. The shapes of close objects just slip away and all I can do is accept it.”

Her heart went out to him, but instinct told her that the last thing he wanted from her was pity. “Melvin, have you ever considered one of those laser-type canes for getting around in really low light? I saw one on TV.”

“That's pure fiction. They don't exist for the public, not yet. But to be perfectly honest, I'd rather have your hand or arm,” he added with a grin.

“And you're welcome to them,” she said, “but for when I'm not around? Maybe there's something besides the white cane…”

“Someday there might be, but right now, the white cane's all that's available. I have one, but since I can discern the presence of most larger objects during the day and navigate around a room, I don't need a cane. I might use one at night, yes, but normally I'm not out and about at that time,” he said, then added, “The bottom line is that I don't want to become reliant on an aid.”

“There's nothing wrong with doing whatever you can to retain your independence.”

“Some say that seeing-eye dogs and canes increase independence, and maybe they do that for other people, those with even less vision, but I see it as relying on something else that could be taken from you.”

She considered this. That stubborn pride defined everything about Melvin. Although life had tried to force him down to his knees, he continued standing, fighting the odds.

“If you were me, would you find it easy to depend on an aid?” he asked.

After everything she'd gone through with Kurt, both during their marriage and after his death, she found it hard to completely trust anyone or anything outside herself. “No, I guess not. In that way, you and I are alike.”

“That's what I thought.”

“I better get going,” she said, picking up the box, ready to load the maquettes into her Jeep.

He walked her to the door.

“Would you like me to pick you up sometime tomorrow and drive you to the trading post so you can check out the display?”

“No, that's not necessary, Leigh Ann, I trust you. But I enjoy it when you drop by, so come over anytime.”

Leigh Ann drove away slowly to avoid jostling the box. Her visits to Melvin's were always filled with the unexpected and today had been no exception. She still wasn't sure if she'd made a mistake by agreeing to let him sculpt her, but saying yes to him had come as naturally as the next beat of her heart.

 

— SEVEN —

Leigh Ann drove down a narrow, wavy asphalt lane between two thick rows of poplars that must have been thirty or more years old. They were sickly looking and in need of pruning.

The trees lined the road near an abandoned housing development that had been built for employees of a natural gas company long gone from the area. The entire place gave her the creeps. Decades ago, this complex could have been overrun with children, but now there was only emptiness and an eerie silence.

A pickup pulled onto the road from one of the turnoffs to the development. It turned half toward her, blocking her way, then stopped.

“Crap, now what?” she muttered, tensing up.

The driver stepped down out of the pickup and Leigh Ann saw, despite the fading sunset, that he was wearing a ski mask and carrying a baseball bat, or club.

She slammed on the brakes and put the Jeep in reverse. Looking in the side mirror, she discovered that she was cut off behind, too, by a van that was parked across the asphalt. It must have come from a street behind her while she was watching the pickup.

The second driver was also wearing a ski mask and carrying a club of some kind, maybe an axe handle.

This was no carjacking; this was an ambush. She reached for her purse, then remembered that her .38 was still at home. Without a concealed carry permit, she hadn't wanted it around when the sheriff's department stopped by to question her.
Stupid!
She should have kept it in the Jeep.