Kitabı oku: «Suddenly Reunited», sayfa 3

Being with her again was, for Drew, like feeling the sunshine on his face after a winter of cold, dreary Montana weather. She was his rainbow after a thunderstorm, his home and his hearth and the love of his life. He was grateful to have her back, so grateful that he would make any promise, swear any oath, to ensure Gabrielle would never leave him again.

Was it an accident of fate, some curious coincidence, that her soft voice and gentle touch seemed to him a signal that meant she’d come home to stay? That she expected him always to be part of her life—welcomed, wanted, loved—despite the despicable things she’d accused him of?

She deserved a strong man. A good man.

God had blessed him with a good, strong body, and in gratitude, Drew had used it to its fullest potential. Not that there was any honor in it; lately, hard work seemed to be the only thing that took his mind off missing her. But had he paid so much attention to exercising his body that he’d neglected to exercise his spirit? Was that the reason he’d sobbed like an orphan after she’d left him? Was that why a sob threatened to escape his throat even now?

Drew knew something about how time could sharpen the keen edge of yearning. He’d brooded and sulked for years after his mother left home. And done the same when Gabby ran off—for months.

And now she was back, more beautiful than ever.

“I’m going to take a hike, first thing tomorrow—see if I can’t find that wol—”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He knew only too well her love of wolves. Knew, too, about the one she’d heard nearly a year ago. It would break her heart to know he’d found a scraggly wolf a few months back. Living out here, he’d seen it before. Lone wolves, starving for affection as much as food, usually ended up like that one.

Her smile dimmed in response to the edginess in his voice. “Why not?”

“Doc Parker said you should take it easy for the next few days, remember?” Drew made a concerted effort to lighten his tone. “Hiking through the foothills isn’t exactly following doctor’s orders, now is it?”

She tucked in one corner of her mouth, shoved a wide, ruffle-edged noodle around on her plate. “No,” she sighed, “I suppose not.” Gabrielle sat back in her chair, lay her fork beside her plate. “But the wolf was close, Drew, real close.” Leaning forward, she rested both hands on his forearm. “You’re gonna think I’m nuts, but I want to see it, up close.”

He’d refused to let her track wolves before, citing the danger involved—another piece of evidence in her mind that he didn’t consider her feelings the least bit important. “Tell you what,” he began, “when Doc gives you a clean bill of health, we’ll look for the wolf…together.”

Drew focused on her ringless fingers, which were pressing gently into his skin. Until now, he’d hoped that she’d rented that little apartment in town just to cool off. That she’d pull herself together and realize what had happened between them didn’t have to put an end to their marriage.

But if that were true, would she have taken off her wedding band and her engagement ring? Drew didn’t think so.

He swallowed, hard.

Drew had never known anyone like Gabrielle. When she set her mind on something, she was like a puppy to the root. He didn’t see any point in telling her they’d had a similar conversation, before she left.

He’d try to move Granite Peak, lasso the sun, change the course of the Fishtail River if she asked it of him. Disappointing her was the last thing Drew wanted to do.

It hadn’t been the rage that gave her melodious voice a ragged edge, the memory of which, even as recently as last night, kept him awake for hours. It hadn’t been the heat of the angry words themselves that made him feel more ashamed than he’d ever felt to date. No, it had been the disappointment in her eyes that haunted him, wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace. If the Good Lord would see fit to give him a chance to make it up to her, Drew had vowed night after lonely night, he’d never make the same mistakes again.

“We can go tomorrow, Drew. It’d be safe—if you were with me.”

Gabrielle waited for his response, a sweet smile curving her lovely lips.

She had come back to him. What more proof did he need that God had answered his plea?

“I dunno, Gabby. Doc said—”

“I’m not a baby, Drew,” she snapped, snatching back her hands. “I don’t need to be coddled.”

The truth came spilling out, like the rapids spilling over timeworn rocks in the bend of a river. “Gabby, sweetie,” he said, reaching for her, “I’m sorry if it sounds like that. I don’t mean it to, honest. It’s just that I love you and I’m worried about you. I know how you push yourself. I’ve had a concussion, myself, so I know you can feel terrific one minute, dizzy as a drunkard the next.”

She gave him a halfhearted grin. “Do I smell a compromise in the air?”

Drew hung his head and chuckled softly. Leave it to Gabby to put her own spin on it. “Okay. Okay. I know when I’m licked,” he admitted, grinning. And crouching beside her chair, he wrapped her in a hearty hug. “But honest, Gabby, if anything ever happened to you,” he whispered against her freckled cheek, “I don’t know what I’d do.”

Gabrielle turned to face him, putting her lips no more than an inch from his. And bracketing his face in her warm hands, she gazed lovingly into his eyes. “Nothing is going to happen to me,” she stated matter-of-factly. “You’re forgetting that I’m a Lafayette!”

“You were a Lafayette,” he corrected, praying his words wouldn’t jog her memory.

She kissed him then, not the way friend kisses friend, or parent kisses child, but the way a woman kisses the man she loves. “You’re absolutely right,” she said on a sigh. “I’m a Cunningham now, and mighty proud of it.”

Her mouth was soft and searching, her breath whisper-sweet. Drew’s heart pounded as she leaned back and combed her fingers through his hair, and he was shocked at his eager response to her scrutiny.

“You know what I’ve been thinking?”

He cleared his throat. The more things change, he quoted silently, the more they stay the same. Why did she always pick times like these to get chatty? But God help him, he loved her with everything in him. If talking’s what she wanted, then talking’s what she’d get. Despite himself, he smiled. “What’ve you been thinking?”

Her delicate forefinger traced the contour of his upper lip, the angle of his jaw, the slope of his nose. Raising one well-arched brow and grinning mischievously, she began in a breathy voice, “That it’d be awfully nice to hear the pitter-patter of little feet around this big, old, empty ranch house.”

Drew blinked, stunned into openmouthed silence at her suggestion. Was she kidding? Was this part of some cruel, vengeful joke? Or had he misunderstood her entirely?

“Y-you…you want to—”

Gabrielle tilted her head, her smile broadening slightly as she looked over his left shoulder and focused on some spot near the ceiling. “I’ve been experiencing some very strange sensations the last couple of days…” She snuggled closer, rested her cheek against his chest.

He held his breath for a moment before saying, “It’s the concussion.” Nodding, Drew added, “Normal. Very normal. Dizziness and—” He cleared his throat. “Is your stomach queasy?”

She tilted her head back, sending that gleaming, luxurious hair cascading over one shoulder like a fiery waterfall. “Well, no-o,” she singsonged, “but it co-o-ould be, if you’ll just cooperate a little.”

Much as he wanted to take her upstairs—and he wanted that a lot—Drew couldn’t let himself give in to the temptation. Wouldn’t be fair to Gabby, he told himself. It’d be like using her. And as he stared into her loving eyes, he admitted it wouldn’t be like using her, it would be using her. She was vulnerable right now, weakened physically and psychologically by the concussion, and certainly in no emotional condition to be making decisions as life-altering as having a baby!

He remembered the times she’d asked that question, on their wedding night, and weeks after the honeymoon, and every other day, it seemed. “Not yet,” he’d said each time, citing their small savings account and everything that needed doing around the ranch as reasons to wait.

Besides, if her “strange sensations” managed to produce the results she seemed to want them to, it wouldn’t be fair to the child, wouldn’t be fair to Drew, because if she got her memory back and changed her mind again after they were sure a baby was on the way—

“Drew? Honey?” she crooned, fingers playing in his hair.

He cleared his throat again.

“You love me, don’t you?”

“’Course I do,” he said, a little rougher than he’d intended. “You know I do,” he added more gently.

“When you proposed to me, you said you wanted us to have a family. A big one. You meant it, didn’t you?”

The idea of Gabrielle bearing his children, of having little Gabby and Drew look-alikes running around the house, appealed to him more than he cared to admit. But he wanted to be sure. Sure of a lot of things before they started having kids. For one thing, he wanted to know there’d always be enough money in the bank to keep a tight roof over their heads, plenty of food in the pantry. But more than that, he wanted—needed—proof that Gabrielle wouldn’t up and leave when some good-looking musician came to town, the way his mother had.

He had nothing to go on now but blind faith, because she’d already left him. And if not for the concussion, Gabrielle wouldn’t be here now, in his arms, asking him to help her make a baby.

Blind faith.

Lord, he prayed silently, You’ve got to help me out here, ’cause I’m skatin’ on thin ice.

“Yes, Gabrielle. I want to have a family with you. I want that more than you’ll ever know,” he answered at last.

Gabrielle stood, held out her hand to him and smiled sweetly. Drew didn’t know what possessed him to put his hand into hers, or why he so willingly let her lead him down the long, narrow hall into the foyer, or why he followed her up the curved mahogany staircase.

But he did.

He wanted nothing but good things for her—happiness, fulfillment, robust health. It was only because he believed with everything in him that he was good for her that Drew prayed, Lord, if it means she’ll leave me again, don’t ever let Gabby get her memory back.

Even as the words formed in his mind, he admitted the selfishness of them. But he needed her every bit as much as he loved her; he’d make it up to her in a thousand ways, for the rest of his days.

“I hope I won’t be sorry in the morning,” she whispered, her voice husky and trembly as she back-stepped into their room.

Sorry?

His heart thundered against his ribs. Sorry about what?

“For letting the dishes wait. Mozzarella cheese gets like concrete when it sits.”

His earlier concerns that this might be a mistake—a big one—were blotted out by velvet sighs and fluttering hands that caressed his face, his shoulders, his back. Pulse pounding and heart hammering, he gave in to the moment, but not so completely that he didn’t hear those words ringing in his ears: “I hope I won’t be sorry in the morning.”

Chapter Three

Sleep—what there had been of it—came that night in fits and starts, for Drew didn’t want to take the chance that while he dozed, she might remember the months she’d forgotten.

Almost from the moment she’d fallen asleep, Gabrielle had snuggled close, the way she used to in the early weeks of their marriage. In this position—nose tucked into the crook of his neck, one arm across his chest, a leg flung over his thigh—he couldn’t see her face, despite the bright swath of moonlight slicing into their room.

But he didn’t need to look at her to see her, for he’d watched her sleep countless times before she’d left him. After she was gone, he’d seen her with his mind’s eye, night after lonely night: thick lashes that dusted lightly freckled, sleep-flushed cheeks; lush, velvety curls against porcelain skin; the hint of a smile that turned up the corners of her mouth. Too many nights to count, Drew had listened to the slow, steady breaths that sighed softly past her luscious, slightly parted lips.

Her breathing was so shallow, so faint that he often found it necessary to hold his own breath to hear hers. Some mornings he’d tease her, pointing out how odd it was that a gal who bubbled with energy and chattered like a chipmunk during the daylight could grow so still and silent while she slept. On those mornings, Gabrielle would yawn and shrug daintily and, voice still morning-hoarse, grin and whisper, “Guess that’s just one of my womanly mysteries.”

Smiling now, Drew nodded as he admitted just how right she’d been. Everything about her had been a mystery to him, from the way she seemed to fall boots-over-bonnet in love with him right from the get-go, to the way she made him feel like a smitten schoolboy every time she aimed that innocent-yet-womanly gaze of hers in his direction.

Gabrielle stirred in his arms as a sigh rustled from her, reminding Drew of the musical murmurings she’d hummed into his ears hours earlier. “’Oh, let me hear thy voice, for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is lovely,’” he quoted from Song of Songs. “‘Thou art fair, my love, thou art fair…. My beloved is mine, and I am hers….’”

But was she his?

And if she was, for how long?

He’d known from the instant her car disappeared from view that fateful night that he would miss everything about her, from her generous nature to her drive toward perfection.

Was the heat of their marital love a result of her determination to be the best? Or was it exactly what she’d called it at the conclusion of every interlude: physical proof of the love in her heart?

They’d been apart a long time, but not so long that he’d forgotten she liked having the window open, even on cold nights, so she could feel the breath of the cool wind on her face. She liked the sheets folded neatly over the comforter, too, and hated for the covers to be tucked too tightly over her feet.

Drew glanced at the window, where a crisp autumn breeze had set the sheer white curtains to billowing gently, like a sail that’s been filled by an obliging sea breeze. But the blankets, unencumbered by hospital corners, had gotten twisted, and he tidied them now, straightening the top sheet until it lay smooth.

His efforts roused her briefly, causing her to cuddle closer still. “I love you, Drew,” she murmured, kissing his neck before drifting off again.

He didn’t know its cause or source, but a sob swelled in his throat. Blinking back stinging tears, he managed to croak out a quiet “Ah, Gabby, I love you, too.”

He’d told her he loved her before, hundreds of times, and had meant it each time. But never more than now.

He’d have hugged her tighter, but she needed her rest, and he couldn’t chance waking her. He’d be nudging her in a few minutes, anyway, as Doc Parker had instructed. Every hour on the hour, he’d given her a gentle shake, just enough so he could pry open one eye at a time and study her pupils under the flashlight beam. Once he’d returned the light to the nightstand, he reset the alarm. But he hadn’t needed to: he hadn’t slept a wink all night.

He’d lain awake to do what the doctor had ordered—that much was true. But it was only part of the truth. The main reason for his sleeplessness was terror—cold and grim and hard as steel. Because what if, as he slumbered peacefully, Gabrielle woke up and got her memory back? She’d hate him, that’s what, and she’d leave again.

He never would have admitted it—not even to Gabrielle—but being abandoned by his mother twenty years earlier had left its mark. There hadn’t been one visit, one phone call or one note in all that time, so Drew and his only brother had had no choice but to take his father’s word that her leaving was proof she’d never cared a whit about any of them.

He’d been twelve at the time, young enough to hope and dream that she’d come back someday, old enough that it cut like a knife when “someday” never came.

When Gabrielle stormed out, all those feelings he’d repressed—fear and hurt, anger and confusion, and a powerful mistrust of women—came rushing back with the force of a mile-wide tornado. The biggest difference was that his mother had left without so much as a “See you later.” At least Gabrielle had shouted out a list of explanations for her decision to end their life together. Even with those reasons echoing in his mind, Drew still didn’t understand why she’d gone away any more than he’d understood his mother’s sudden departure.

What Gabrielle had said as she quietly closed the front door behind her confused him most of all. “I love you, Drew Cunningham, and I probably always will, but I can’t live with a man who thinks so little of me.”

That made no sense to him at all, because he thought the world of her. Didn’t she know that? Why, he loved her with everything in him, and would gladly have done anything to protect her, to give her the feelings of security and stability she’d never known as a girl.

What’s a man to do, he wondered, when the things he’s done to provide his wife with what he believes she needs are the very reasons she walks out on him?

Exhaling a ragged sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, as Gabrielle mumbled something in her sleep. He hoped it wouldn’t be just a matter of time before who he was drove her away again. God, he prayed, let me change. Don’t let me botch it this time. His concern was forgotten the moment she nestled against him, tangling her limbs with his. For the moment, at least, it didn’t matter that her absence had sent him into a black despair for three-quarters of a year, because it felt so good holding her close, so good that the only thing he really gave a hoot about right now was making her happy, any way he could.

She’d lived a hard life, and he had no right making it harder still by being thick-headed and narrow-minded. With a little luck and a whole lot of prayer, maybe he’d have the puzzle figured out by the time she got her memory back, and those things that drove her away would become the reasons she’d want to stay. Heart throbbing with hope, he touched his lips to her temple, as if sealing the prayer with a kiss.

The first rays of daylight now spilled over the windowsill, flooding the room with a deep purple hue. By the time he woke her for the next examination of her eyes, the sun would have crested the horizon. And because she’d always been an early riser, there’d be no more shushing her, no kissing her closed eyes to convince her to go back to sleep once she saw the bright light of day, as he’d done after every other time he’d checked her out.

Drew hoped his heart, thumping hard against his spine and onto the mattress, wouldn’t wake her before the daylight had a chance to. He willed it to stop pounding, but it was no use. Much as he wanted to see her open those big beautiful eyes of hers, he wished she would stay this way forever—peaceful and quiet and wrapped in the arms of his love.

Because when she woke up, would she have her memory back? Would she realize he’d taken advantage of her vulnerability?

“Good morning, handsome.” Gabrielle ran her fingers through his hair. “Did you sleep well?”

Relief coursed through him; for the time being, it seemed, she hadn’t remembered.

Drew gave a shaky nod. “I slept fine.”

Grinning, she gave his chest a playful slap. “Fibber. You didn’t sleep a wink, I’ll bet, what with your insistence on subjecting me to hourly torture sessions.” She snickered. “Now I know why detectives in all the movies use that bare lightbulb when they’re interrogating bad guys.”

Chuckling, he shook his head. “It was for your own good.”

She combed her fingernails through his chest hair. “So what’s the diagnosis, Doc? Did I pass muster?”

He tried to ignore the hunger her delicate touch aroused. “You’re mixing your variables, but yes, you seem okay to me.”

“Metaphors,” she said, kissing his throat, “not variables.”

His brow crinkled. How did she expect him to think, let alone talk sense, when her fingertips continued drawing little circles on his chest? “Meta—”

She kissed him full on the lips, then said, “If I have to choose between a guy who knows the difference between variables and metaphors…” Gabrielle pressed as close as her satiny nightgown would allow and, with her lips lightly touching his, said on the heels of a raspy sigh, “Let’s just say I choose you, hands down.”

If she didn’t quit it, she’d get another dose of last night, right now.

No, he couldn’t let that happen. It wasn’t fair to Gabrielle—not in her condition, not under these tenuous circumstances.

“Do you have any baby names in mind?”

He swallowed. “Baby names?” Drew took a deep breath, because if anyone had asked him to describe what a woman’s voice might sound like when she asked a question like that, he’d have said it would come off as cheery, lighthearted—a little giggly, even. But seductive? Sultry? He’d never have guessed that in a million years, and yet passionate was precisely the way his wife’s voice sounded now.

What’s a man to do with a li’l gal like this? he asked himself. Dear God, tell me, what’s a man to do?

The answer came sandwiched between her lingering, breathy sigh and the kiss she placed—of all places—on the tip of his nose. Love her, said a voice from deep inside his heart. Just love her.

And so he did exactly that.

“Drew, do we have company?”

He finished buttoning his shirt as he walked toward the window. Standing beside her, he followed her gaze to the driveway below. “No. Why?”

Gabrielle pointed. “Whose little red sports car is that?”

Both brows drew together as he studied her profile. And then it dawned on him: he hadn’t bought her the car until a week before she’d left, and if she didn’t remember leaving, then she didn’t remember how all-fired mad she’d been about that car.

Should he tell her the truth? No, Doc Parker had made it perfectly clear: “Keep her as quiet and calm as possible. Don’t let her do anything that might cause another blow to the temple. Don’t even let her rattle her brain by jostling her head.”

Drew didn’t want to talk about that car. Fact was, he’d come to hate the sight of it, crunching up the gravel drive every Saturday morning as she headed in for her weekly ride with Triumph. In his mind, the vehicle was the beginning of the end of them. If he told her it was her car down there, the knowledge might jog her memory, start a whole domino series of memories toppling—if remembering now made her half as upset as she’d been on the night she’d left.

“Lie, steal and cheat if you have to,” the old doctor had insisted. “Do whatever it takes to keep that girl calm.”

The possibility of causing further damage to his delicate, defenseless wife made Drew’s heart ache. She looked so beautiful, standing there with the morning light gleaming in her hair, her narrow shoulders wrapped in a pink robe that matched her satiny nightgown. He was about to tell her so, when she faced him and smiled the way she had as they stood at the altar, hand in hand, ready to exchange wedding vows.

“Well?”

Without thinking, he reached out and wrapped a lock of her hair around his forefinger. “Well…what?”

Giggling, Gabrielle gave him a good-natured poke in the ribs. “The car, silly. Whose is it?”

Drew’s cheeks felt hot, because he took pride in the fact that he could count on one hand the number of times he’d deliberately lied in his lifetime. But what choice did he have? If a lie would keep her calm…

“It’s, uh, it belongs to a guy.”

“A guy? What guy?”

“Somebody, uh, someone in town. He, um, he asked if I’d take a look under the hood and—”

She threw herself into his arms, gave him a good long squeeze. “It’s your own fault, you know.”

With his chin resting atop her head, he prayed, Don’t let her remember, Lord. Because if she remembered, she’d leave him. And this time, it might be for good. It hadn’t been easy, going on after she slammed out of his life. But he’d plodded along, hoping that God would answer his only prayer: Bring her home. Just bring her home.

After last night, after this morning, he didn’t think he could pretend the past hadn’t happened. Didn’t know if he had the strength to try.

Reminded again of the selfishness of his prayer, Drew closed his eyes in shame and revised his heavenly plea. Don’t let her remember…at least not yet.

He was as afraid of the answer as he was of the question, but Drew asked it anyway. “What’s my fault?”

With a tilt of her head and a saucy grin, she said, “If you hadn’t developed this—this reputation for being so good with motors, people wouldn’t always be asking you to fix their tractors and their cars and their lawn mowers.” She squeezed him again. “But your helpful nature is just one of the reasons I love you.”

She’d likely said “I love you” a hundred times since he found her standing at the stove yesterday afternoon. How many more times would she say it before everything came back to her?

“Has he been here before?”

“No. Why?”

She shrugged. “Because that car looks…familiar.”

Drew swallowed, hard.

“When will he be picking it up?”

Lost in the depths of crystal-gray, long-lashed eyes, Drew’s mind swam with memories of his own. Gabrielle had told him all about her gypsy-like past, how painful it had been, trying to fit in every time her father plunked her down in a new town; how, just when she’d started feeling like a place could be home, he’d up and move the little family again.

Drew’s childhood was anything but nomadic. “Stability” might as well have been his middle name. His great-grandfather had bought the parcel of land that eventually became the Walking C, and Cunninghams had worked that land ever since. Drew remembered the accusations she’d hurled at him that night. If only she had let him explain, she’d have seen that—

A light tapping on his chest roused him from his thoughts. He looked down to find her pinching the bridge of her nose. “Earth to Drew, Earth to Drew…”

Chuckling, he shook his head. “Sorry. I was—”

“Thinking about last night?” She sighed dreamily and nestled closer. “Another one for the memory book, wasn’t it.”

Memory book? he repeated silently. The mere mention of the words jarred Drew as if she’d broadsided him with a two-by-four.

He chose to concentrate on what she’d implied, rather than the fear her question evoked. “That’s putting it mildly,” he said, forcing a grin. Fact was, he hadn’t realized how precious a gift they’d shared, all those nights before she’d left. If he’d known then what a treasure she was, how priceless and irreplaceable her love would be—

“So when…is…the…man…coming…for…his…car?” She enunciated each word individually.

Another blast of heat warmed his cheeks, his ears, his neck. “He—I, ah, I told him I’d drive it to town today.”

She wrinkled her nose. “But Drew, how will you get home?”

He had to think about that for a minute. Lying wasn’t something he’d gotten much practice at over the years, and he’d told her two in as many minutes.

Grinning, Gabrielle ran her thumbs over his whiskered cheeks. “I’ll just bet you’re about to ask me to follow you into town in the pickup and wait while you make your Little Red Car delivery.”

Too many chances she’d have a memory jog. “No.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so, that’s why.”

He saw the flash of hurt in her eyes and was immediately reminded what she’d said that night, about how he thought he knew the answer to every question. No wonder she left, he admitted silently, regretfully.

Drew shook his head, knowing how ridiculous, how bullheaded he’d sounded. “It’s just, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” That, at least, was the truth. “I’ll get Troy to follow me.”

She wiggled her eyebrows and snuggled closer still. “But if I drive you, we could have lunch at the diner. I haven’t had one of those soft ice-cream treats they serve in days.”

Dread pounded in his heart. Those first days after leaving him—before she’d hired on as a loan officer at the bank— Gabrielle had taken a job as a waitress at the diner. What if going in there, being surrounded by all that black-and-white tile and chrome, brought everything racing back?

He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Absolutely not. You suffered a concussion, don’t forget, and I don’t want you driving the truck yet.” Another truth to add to the good side of his lies-v.-honesty ledger.

But there was something dark in her eyes. Anger? Resentment? Was it any wonder, when seconds ago he’d admitted how bullheaded he’d sounded, and here he was doing it again?

He quickly added, “That old jalopy doesn’t have power steering or power brakes. I want you to rest today.” Almost as an afterthought, he tacked on, “Okay?”

She frowned. “Honestly, Drew. Why do you always treat me like I’m made of spun glass?” Doubling a fist, she shook it under his nose. “I’m tougher than I look, mister. So I got a little bump on the head.”

“Gabrielle,” he began, one brow high on his forehead and a finger to the tip of her nose, “Doc said you weren’t to exert yourself in any way.” He drew her nearer to add, “I’ve already broken that rule by allowing you to talk me into, um, exerting yourself, twice in twelve hours. You want him to take a poke at me?”

Hiding a grin behind one hand, she shook her head. “And he’d do it, too, wouldn’t he.”

She must have remembered the story he’d told her, about the time when he was six or seven, and Doc Parker whacked his behind for climbing to the top of his TV antenna. “You do anything like that again,” the man had warned, “and I’ll paddle your bottom.”