Sunburst (12 page)

Erica burst out laughing as Martha finally ran out of breath.

“The idea died out around decades ago,” Martha admitted. “God knows why. Everybody jumped to take part when I called. It’s been on my mind for an age. You see, the last one I heard of was organized by Joel McCrery, and he did it up right, on the night my parents were married. I wasn’t, respectfully, born then—but I’ve heard about it for years. I’ve just been itching for an excuse—”

“You sweetheart!” Erica said warmly.

“You probably won’t say that later. Everyone’s supposed to bring their own refreshments, but a blind bat could see they’ve brought more bottles than food. I can just picture the mess a few hours from now!”

Erica could see it with her own eyes, those few hours later. The noise and confusion and hilarity had just died a few minutes ago, and Kyle and Morgan were sprawled next to her with their backs propped up against packing crates. The litter in front of them included an incredible variety of debris—half-eaten cakes, half-empty bottles, enough crackers and cheese to last a year, an empty, dripping keg…and in one corner, an eighteen-year-old boy sleeping peacefully with his head cradled in his hands, snoring.

“I’m going to have to take him home,” Kyle said ruefully, but he made no immediate movement to get up.

“You know where he lives?” Morgan questioned.

“On the other side of town.”

“Naturally.”

There was a definite hierarchy of intoxication in the room. The worst was obviously the boy, then Morgan and Erica, and last, Kyle. Morgan, who by nature livened up a party, was one of few this time who had not been in a celebratory mood. Though he’d drunk every toast to Kyle and the new venture, he’d offered none, and his head was bent down in moodiness now…or perhaps headache.

Erica had joined the hilarity with gusto, quickly separating from Martha to take over as hostess. She’d glowed, showing people through both new building and old. The support and enthusiasm and warmth the people showed to Kyle warmed her inside, filling her with pride in her man for the respect he’d earned, and the way people just seemed naturally to like him made her want to gravitate toward him.

She was not fond of beer, but it was hardly the time to be picky when her husband was being toasted. So she had drunk more than she wanted to, and now there was a slight cast of double vision everywhere she looked…but it was not the beer that had altered her mood three-quarters of the way through the party. Perhaps it was the way Morgan kept looking at her oddly every time she turned around; perhaps it was the moment Kyle’s arms were around her and they were cheered as a couple… Suddenly, as on the downgrade of a roller coaster ride, her heart had stopped for a single beat, and then she had heard the sound of her own laughter, high and joyous.

The whole day had been upbeat, as if nothing were wrong…but of course, that was an illusion. She was bubbling on about Kyle’s plans as if she were a part of them; the whole boisterous welcome to the neighborhood included her…and yet it didn’t. For the past few days, Kyle had been so much the energetic, spirited, dynamic man she married that she had almost forgotten—or tried to forget—that she wasn’t sure how long she was going to be in this cozy small town in Wisconsin. How long did he want her there?

Choices; we can’t go on the way we have been; there’s no love without active choice… Her laughter, so right and easy moments before, was suddenly a sham, and a hollow ache had wrenched inside as she saw herself as hostess to a celebration she had no right to.

Kyle stood up abruptly and viewed the sleeping boy with hands on hips, wry smile on his face. “God knows I should have seen it coming. Johnny never was away from the keg, but I don’t know what I’m going to tell his parents.” He shook his head in rueful exasperation, glancing at Erica.

She lurched up to a standing position, absently touching her fingertips to her temples at the unexpected dizziness, swearing off beer in the afternoon for the rest of her life. Silently. “I’ll help you get him to the truck, and then I’ll go after this mess.”

“Hell—just relax, Erica; it isn’t going anywhere,” Morgan insisted. “I’ll help with the boy,” he said curtly to Kyle.

The two men managed to half carry the boy to Kyle’s truck while Erica started trying to make sense of the chaos. The late afternoon sun faded in dusty shadows on the debris, not the best of mood-breakers. She started carting trash bags out to the back, each cumbersome but none heavy. She was in a hurry suddenly. She wanted the room cleared, back the way it was earlier that afternoon, when the scent of brand-newness had touched her: newness had hope in it.

So had she. Kyle had been so loving the night before… She thought of the intricately carved vase, of the half-finished sunburst; she thought of that crazy moment when he had vaulted her up into the tree at Martha’s.

But nothing was quite that simple. He cared; she had never believed he hated her. They were not
enemies
. Yet she knew in her heart that his feelings had changed for her since they moved here; he had excluded her from every decision that counted. He didn’t want to speak of his real feelings… It was a little too easy to make a lot out of shared passion on a single night. If the man didn’t love her, she couldn’t stay.

An exasperating tear spilled onto her cheek as she battled with the last of the bags. Her head ached from the beer, and the late afternoon sun seemed curiously harsh, eye-blinkingly bright, showing up the emptiness of the rooms that had been filled with dreams before.

“Oh, Erica…”

Morgan was next to her in long, swift strides. She had completely forgotten him, assuming he had gone with Kyle to help with the boy. The deep, husky sympathy in his voice was the last straw; not to mention being caught in the midst of tears, weariness, the wretched beer hangover. He had his arms around her in seconds, stroking her hair, listening to her cry. “I
hate
to see you so unhappy. And I hate to see you doing things like this!” He made a motion that encompassed her efforts to pick up after the party, which seemed relevant to absolutely nothing.

“It was the stupid beer,” she tried to say, desperately trying to stop crying.

“It wasn’t the beer. You deserve more than this, Erica. I know the life you were meant for, and it wasn’t this. I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to see it…”

She barely heard him as she snatched the handkerchief he offered, mopping at her face and taking great gulping breaths. It worked. The tears stopped, though her control was still shaky. She felt even shakier as she suddenly realized that Morgan’s arm was still possessively around her, and heard something disquieting in the tone of his voice. It occurred to her that Morgan was very, very drunk.

“I
need
you, Erica. Surely you’ve known that for an age? And no more working yourself ragged, no more living on hamburger, no more being stuck in this little burg…”

Suddenly, he sounded too much like Morgan and not enough like a drunk. Confused, she saw his eyes above hers, fever-bright, aimed like darts, and she felt every nerve ending in her body recoil…

It was just too much. She couldn’t cope with the harshness of sunlight, much less instantly bounce back from the despair she felt as a result of the difficulties between herself and Kyle. The last thing on her mind was old lessons on how to treat a man as villain. And Morgan was no villain; he’d offered comfort so many times as a friend; he’d given Kyle his time and back-breaking work… She simply didn’t know how to begin a wrestling match with him now.

“Morgan—”

She felt a bleak helplessness inside when his lips pressed on hers, when he roughly tried to mold her stiff form closer. Almost detached, she realized what he was doing, noted that his fingers were frenetic in an effort to arouse her sexually. Arrogant hands, so full of confidence… In that single instant, she saw a thousand flashbacks: affection she had innocently invited, sexual innuendos she had unwittingly parried, touching allowed that could be interpreted as her wanting and needing Morgan. She
had
wanted him—for Kyle. Not for herself. Never in that way.

“Please—”

His mouth tasted like the beer he had had too much of. It was distasteful to her, smothering. Her own guilt almost numbed her…yet not enough. The shorts and top she wore were insufficient covering against the onslaught of his hands, determined on intimacy, claiming her breasts, twisting in her hair, sweeping over her stomach to her hips. Fear warred with a feeling of nausea, of panic. He was far stronger than she was, and his roughness caused her to shake. Her frantic breathing seemed to give him all the wrong messages.

“Morgan!”

“You’re trembling, Erica,” he hissed. “You didn’t think it would be that way only with Kyle, did you? I knew…I knew…”

“
Stop
it! Let
go!
” She pushed desperately with her hands, wrenching away from him.

Morgan took a step back, breathing heavily, his eyes black with arousal, running his fingers through his thick mat of blond hair. His shoulders arched back as he stared at her, seeing her arms locked protectively across her chest, her wild mane of hair, her blouse hanging open where a button had popped. Her eyes stared at him disbelievingly, waiting for the apology that didn’t come.

He leaned back against the wall, lazily shifting his feet forward. “I think we can safely take it that you’re not in the mood,” he murmured wryly. His smile suddenly slid across his face like a shutter, masking that predatory look in his eyes, inviting her to be calm and make light of it.

She didn’t smile. “Don’t…touch me again. Ever, Morgan,” she said in a low, menacing tone.

He didn’t like that, and his dark eyes suddenly flickered with steel. He shook his head, still smiling. “Kyle and I go back a long time, Erica,” he said roughly. “But if you’re not with him, I have no obligation to hide my own feelings. The marriage isn’t working anymore—or do you want to try to tell me that everything’s fine between the two of you?” His tone was so heavily sarcastic that she flinched. “It’s obvious that it’s over.”

She could feel the color drain from her face. Was it obvious that her marriage was over? She had thought it a well-guarded secret and still couldn’t believe it herself.

“So you thought that gave you certain rights?” she demanded bitterly. “I don’t love you, Morgan; I could never love you that way.” He took a step forward, and she stiffened. “Just leave me alone. I thought you were Kyle’s friend—”

“Friend! As if Kyle needed one! He’s always gotten every damned thing he went after.” Morgan took a rasping breath. “Don’t be a fool, Erica. You’re shook up, maybe, but you know I really care for you. You know what I can give you—”

“Nothing,” she said tightly. “Ever.” She saw the cold black glint in his eyes again and felt a chill run through her body. “I want you to go home. Leave us alone.” She saw his eyes riveted below her neck and snatched shakily at the torn yellow fabric of her blouse. “Morgan, please. I don’t want to tell Kyle. I don’t want him to know. Please, just go away—”

“Tell Kyle,” he suggested, very softly. “You think he’ll believe you, Erica? You’re so absolutely sure he wouldn’t believe something entirely different happened? That we’d both had our share to drink at the party…”

With a sick sense of horror, Erica started backing away from him, edging toward the door of the shop. What
would
Kyle believe? Kyle had always trusted Morgan; it was only his wife he’d pushed out of his world lately, as if he could no longer trust her. Behind her, her fingers reached for the doorknob and curled around it, something solid in a very shaky world. “You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t suggest anything like that to Kyle—”

“Are you asking me not to?”

For a price, she thought bitterly. “I’m asking you to leave us both alone.”

“And I will, Erica. I intended to leave in the morning, regardless. You know that. There isn’t any problem, unless you create one.”

He smiled. She felt nauseated. She spun around and wrenched open the door, leaving it ajar as she stumbled out into the yard toward the house. She was halfway there when she heard the engine of Kyle’s truck.

It was like a nightmare. She wanted so desperately to run to him, to throw her arms around him and be sheltered and soothed… Yet she stood stock-still for that instant, too terrified that Morgan would take his revenge, and that Kyle wouldn’t believe her.

In the next instant, she lost that choice. Kyle was a statue, freezing halfway out of the truck when he spotted her. He didn’t so much as move, taking in the torn blouse, her tousled hair and tear-streaked face… She caught the deadly chill in his eyes before he averted his face and turned toward the open door of the new building where Morgan stood.

The truck door slammed. In tears, she ran for the house.

Erica sat at the small dressing table in the loft where she usually put on her makeup. For an hour, she had been waiting to hear Kyle enter the house. She’d all but thrown off the clothes she’d been wearing, listening. She’d showered, listening. She put on a simple white shift and sat down, still listening.

It seemed unbearably warm and she threw her head forward, lacing her fingers behind her neck to lift off the heavy weight of hair. She ought to get it cut. When she’d first met Kyle it had been cap-curl short; he had coaxed her into letting it grow until haircuts had become trims, and finally only Kyle took the scissors to even it. Her mane, he called it on occasion. Hair! she shrieked silently. The last thing on her mind was hair…

She kept waiting, ready to spring up the moment she heard his footsteps downstairs. She had a dozen speeches prepared…

Kyle, I don’t care what it looked like. Please listen…

Kyle, your best friend attacked me…

Kyle, I wrecked that yellow blouse on a nail; the thing just ripped. Wasn’t that stupid?

Kyle, I love you.

Where
was
he? What was he thinking? Another half hour passed, and still he didn’t come. Restlessly, Erica got up and walked to the window. Dusk had already fallen. She couldn’t see Morgan’s trailer, but the truck was no longer parked in its customary spot, nor was Morgan’s car. She stood and stared until it was too dark to see, and then moved aimlessly to the bed. She didn’t often have headaches, but at the moment her temples were pounding so badly it hurt to move. She lay down and stared at the ceiling. Her whole body felt like a massive electrical system on overload. Anxiety overload. Only gradually did that emotion shift to anger.

She’d be damned if she was going to lose Kyle because of Morgan. Problems between herself and Kyle…perhaps. But not Morgan.
That
man… She’d scrubbed and scrubbed in the shower, trying to get rid of the sensation of being forced, the humiliating horror of being helpless. Over and over, she’d relived her own guilt in the ugly morass. Could her own actions have led him to believe she was interested? The hugs she’d thought meant to be only affectionate… She played all of it over and over in her brain. Perhaps he had misinterpreted her actions, but she had intended only friendship. It mattered.

But nothing mattered now except her own relationship with Kyle. She closed her eyes. Anger was soothing the terrible anxiety. Anger had always been missing before; she hated the emotion and gave it a wide berth. She shook at the first shouted word, would a thousand times prefer to turn the other cheek. Assertiveness was a nice buzzword, easier said than done.

For more than six months, she’d tiptoed around Kyle, believing he needed her understanding, forcing no issues because she was afraid of the answers. Those tactics hadn’t worked, and she wanted her mate back. She’d remained passive, being gentle and careful and tentative. Softness was just a little too much of a luxury now. She was no child. She knew what she wanted.

She remembered the look on Kyle’s face in the truck as he caught sight of her standing in the yard, her blouse ripped… Were they together at the moment? Was Morgan telling him…?

She and Kyle had gained ground in a thousand ways, she thought fleetingly. When they’d made love; the dozen little incidents when they’d found themselves happy together; she’d learned of his background from Martha, and several times she’d thought he was trying to open up, tell her his feelings… She wasn’t going to lose him because of Morgan, and she didn’t care what Morgan told him.

Of course she did. Because if Kyle thought she had been unfaithful…

Heartsick, she thought about fighting and felt like crying. Her eyes stayed closed.

Bright sunlight streamed in onto the bed. Erica’s eyes fluttered open, and she came to immediate wakefulness when she found herself staring at Kyle’s sleeping face, as she felt the weight of his arm around her. She didn’t breathe for a moment. Deep shadows were etched beneath his eyes; his clothes were strewn all over the floor. The sheet barely covered his hips as if he’d hardly cared the night before if he was covered or not. So he had come to bed in exhaustion. But he had come…

Silently, she edged out from under his arm and got out of bed. Padding to the bathroom, she ran a comb through her hair and brushed her teeth, then drew on panties and a pair of crisp white jeans. Her heart was doing triple time as she walked back to the bed and sat down gingerly next to Kyle’s hip. She took a breath before running her fingertips up his chest. He didn’t stir. But his blue eyes opened promptly enough when her bare breasts brushed his chest and her lips found the hollow between his bristly chin and his neck.

“Good morning,” she murmured. “It’s seven o’clock, Kyle. Thursday. We have a date with a Cessna at ten, and neither of us has packed item one.”

He said nothing, just stared at her with sleep-laden eyes. There was no smile to match her own, just an effort to waken, to reach out from the disorientation of sleep. She pressed a kiss in the hollow of his throat again and then stood up, stretching with all the lazy sensuality of an accomplished stripper. Well…amateur stripper.

The instant flare of turquoise in his eyes said she wasn’t doing too badly. Before he really woke, before he remembered…anything, she went on talking as she opened and closed drawers. “I thought I’d just pack a few clothes in duffel bags. We won’t need much. I have to take the cat to Martha’s.
Don’t
say anything; I’m not leaving Nuisance out if it rains. I know you’ve got a tent somewhere; I aired out the sleeping bags yesterday morning. I never thought to go to the bank. Did you get money?”

She turned, still smiling. He was no longer impressed with her bare breasts gleaming in golden sunlight, with her hair like fire brushing against her shoulders, with the snug jeans she had chosen for exactly what they did for her thighs and bottom. Betrayal was in his eyes, a chill so cold, an accusation, a silence… She turned back to the drawers, neatly folding the few things she needed on top of the dresser. Her heart had plummeted to the lower depths…

“Are we going to be able to get fishing equipment into the plane? I thought I’d put together a box of staples. Drinks and peanut butter…the kind of stuff we’d need to eat outside. Paper plates. Where we’re going doesn’t exactly sound like restaurant country. Did you hear the weather report yesterday? It’s supposed to be hot—”

“Erica…”

She lifted her chin stubbornly, as she turned one more time from putting the last of her clothes in the small bag. She lifted it. “Would you believe this is all I need? I figured a change of jeans and a couple of tops.” Her voice was faltering in spite of herself. “I’ll wear tennis shoes and take along a pair of sandals. I’ll put your stuff together as soon as I’ve made us both some breakfast…”

“What the hell are you playing at?” He had lurched up to a sitting position in bed, his bare chest soaking in the morning sun, his black hair tousled and boyish. But there was nothing boyish about his face, his eyes. His look was grim, and his shoulders were tense, and his blue eyes pierced hers, trying to make sense of her magpie chatter. “You seem to be under the impression we’re going somewhere together this morning,” he interrupted harshly.

Her stomach promptly made three somersaults. She turned away quickly, absently running a hand through her hair. “I think that’s really all I have to remember, Kyle. There shouldn’t be any trouble getting it all together in a couple of hours. I’ll make bacon and eggs—”

“Erica—”

She beamed a radiant smile at him from the doorway. “Obviously, though, I’ll have to get on the stick if we’re going to be ready on time—”

“You are not going anywhere.”

“We
are
, dammit!”

Her furious tone seemed to come out of nowhere, startling Kyle. That cold-blooded stare of his seemed to die as he became aware of exactly what her cheerfulness cost her. No matter what he believed she had done, she knew he was reacting to her, to Erica, to years of shielding his lady from trouble she couldn’t handle. Mixed emotions seemed to run through his head, and then he sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at her. “All right, we are,” he agreed grimly. “God knows we’re not going to solve anything at this particular moment. Here. Now.” Almost reluctantly, a faint hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. “But, no, Erica, you’re not going anywhere.”

“I—”

“Like that.”

It took a moment for her to understand. She glanced down to see the white jeans that were perfectly appropriate. Somehow that was all there was. Her bare breasts were as tense as the rest of her body, her small, dark nipples pointing right at him. But then, her breasts and Kyle’s hands had always had this magnetic relationship all their own…
You’re thinking as clearly as a mentally deranged person,
she informed herself crisply. But she had won; she understood that. They
were
going. Somehow she had gained ground, even if it was only an inch of the mile she needed to go.

More than once during those hectic two hours of packing and organizing Kyle started to say something. She didn’t give him a chance. She played roadrunner in tennis shoes, chattering as if nothing could possibly be wrong, worrying aloud about every detail. She didn’t want him to bring up Morgan, not until she had him alone, in a place where he would have to listen. In the meantime, all she wanted was to keep Kyle off-balance. How could he possibly imagine an unfaithful wife, when a chattering magpie was carting a cat around and handing him tennis shoes?

He gave up trying to talk, and finished the packing and other details with a silent, cold efficiency that would have won praise from a computer. She thought unhappily that she could read his mind. All along they had regarded their mini-vacation as a chance to go to a private place to have time to talk seriously about where they stood with each other. What he believed had happened with Morgan didn’t change that. They needed to talk—badly. He no longer cared where.

Neither of them mentioned that Morgan’s car and trailer were gone. Erica barely took time to breathe; they had to be packed and on their way by nine-thirty. When Kyle’s foot pressed on the accelerator to get them to the airport on time, she felt a strange rush of exhilaration, of relief. She knew he’d wanted to walk away, but he hadn’t; it made her believe all over again there was something to fight for. Her heart snatched at that mood and held it until they reached the airport.

A very few minutes later, they were standing in front of the plane. It resembled a shiny white toy in the morning sun, with a dozen shiny dials that would have caught a child’s eye.

“You’ve forgotten?” Kyle questioned. “Just step on the mark on the wing.”

The wing dipped as Erica put her weight on it. “I’ll bet this thing runs by remote control at a baby airport,” she marveled aloud.

For the first time all morning, she saw him give a hint of a smile. “Now don’t tell me you’re nervous. You’ve flown in dozens of these.”

“A while back. I loved carnival rides as a kid, too.” She felt a gentle swat on her bottom that pleased her enormously. He was trying, and no matter what his feelings, she knew he wouldn’t allow them to affect his concentration while he was at the controls. Kyle had earned his license a long time ago through Morgan’s father. Flying freight runs paid good money when he was in school. Afterward, Mr. Shane had been both disappointed and a little angry when Kyle refused to join him, preferring to go into business for himself. Morgan’s father had wanted Kyle more than he’d wanted his own son in the business…but at the moment all Erica could think of was how long it had been since she’d actually flown in one of these little puddle jumpers. Kyle was stowing sleeping bags, totes, a food box, tent, first-aid kit… When he was done, he just looked at her, and there was a second smile. “I think we should have hired a seven-forty-seven.”

“Listen here. I expected a lot of praise for packing so light—”

“You did, Erica. You packed lightly for snow, rain, tropical conditions, illness, health, starvation, plague, snakebite…” He vaulted lightly into the seat beside her. “You even remembered to put on a blouse.”

She thought he was giving the little white camisole a lot of status. Nevertheless, she smiled. His door was closing; they
were
going. Kyle started the plane’s engine and she could feel a thrill of anticipation in her stomach. He held up the mike to announce his departure to the terminal, and let the engine rev for a moment as he handed her a stick of gum.

“Thank you. By the way, you do remember how to fly one of these?” she asked blandly. “It’s been a few years…”

“You
are
nervous.”

“I’m not. Really. You know what you’re doing,” she said easily.

“Fine. Do you want to tell me what the hell you’re doing, Erica?”

Somehow they were no longer talking about planes. “Do you really want to know?” she asked absently.

“Yes.” The word was short, succinct and chill.

She took a breath, looking at him painfully. “Shaking inside, Kyle.” So much for prepared speeches.

“Erica…” He ran a rough hand through the hair at his neck, all anger and impatience. In that quick silence, she sat frozen, but when he finally turned to her there was a half-smile on his lips. “You can stop shaking.”

“All right.”

“We’re going to have a nice easy flight. Lots to see. Neither of us will worry about anything while we’re in the air.”

“All right.”

He sighed, leaning back. “So buckle up.”

She buckled up.

“Put the smile back on. A real one.”

The smile hovered, became real when he reached over to kiss her mouth. A minute later, the plane trembled as Kyle forced power to the engine, anticipating takeoff. Very few minutes after that it was gliding down the runway, then up. She could feel everything, every vibration, every hum, in the little Cessna. It was a sensual feeling, almost as if she had a bird’s freedom to fly.

They were both quiet for a time, simply taking in the landscape as Kyle piloted the Cessna toward Wisconsin’s generously harbored shore on Lake Michigan. Along the way, the rich-colored earth and forests intrigued Erica. From the air, the small country towns seemed to pop out of nowhere, as if pioneers had just cleared the forests yesterday to make room for them and their fields and buildings. But when Lake Michigan suddenly spread across the whole eastern horizon, she could not hold back an audible gasp of pleasure.