Callaghan's Way Page 12

  The pugnacious chin that echoed hers shot up. “I can do what I want to.”

  Kirk dropped a tool into the box, and it clanked loudly, drawing two sets of eyes in his direction. “As long as it doesn’t mean talking back to your mother.” He hadn’t raised his voice an iota, but there was no mistaking the fact that it was a direct order.

  Ethan looked down at the ground, embarrassed, confused. He thought he liked the man who was his mother’s friend. At least he liked the way Kirk treated him as if he was a grown up.

  But he didn’t like being told what to do.

  Kirk’s eyes skimmed over Rachel slowly, lingering on her legs. Her long, firm, tanned legs. She was barefoot, wearing a pair of faded white cutoffs that had lost a little more of themselves with each washing. They were now dangerously close to shredding completely. As it was, they adhered to her body like a soft second skin and brought an itch to his hands that shouldn’t be there. Kirk looked away, aware that his mouth was dry.

  That shouldn’t be, either, he thought.

  Rachel felt as if she had suddenly been divested of her clothing. Licking her lower lip, she nodded toward the house behind them.

  “Do you realize that in all the years we’ve lived next door to each other, I’ve never been inside your house?” She said it only to have something to say, to smooth over the nervous ripple she had felt. She knew damn well that Kirk was aware that she had never stepped inside his house. Nothing that really mattered ever slipped past Kirk.

  He shrugged. “There wasn’t much to see.” Except a drunken father, he thought. Kirk dropped the rest of the tools into the battered box he normally kept in the back of his van. He looked at Rachel, careful to keep his eyes on her face. “There’s even less now.”

  She rocked back on her heels, hooking her thumbs in the loops of her shorts. “As long as you don’t charge admission, I won’t feel cheated.”

  Rachel hid her surprise when Ethan picked up a tool from the far end of the driveway and deposited it in the box. She thought it best not to comment, but her eyes met Kirk’s in a silent thank-you. Somehow, he seemed to have gained more influence over her son in a short two days than either she or Cameron had managed to exercise in the past six months. But then, Kirk had always had a presence about him.

  When Ethan began to head toward Kirk’s front door, Rachel laid a hand on his shoulder. “You gave me a scare this morning, Ethan.”

  Small, dark brows drew together. “How?”

  He really didn’t know, did he? “When I couldn’t find you.”

  He shrugged and managed to slip away from beneath her hand. “No big deal.”

  “Yes, it is,” she insisted quietly, her eyes intent on his. “Not finding you is a very big deal.”

  He flushed, embarrassed. Ethan slanted a look toward Kirk to see his reaction.

  Kirk wondered what was going on in the boy’s head. When he was Ethan’s age, he would have willingly cleaved to his mother if she had displayed the slightest inclination to take his side. Instead, she had left him to fend off his father himself.

  “In case you don’t recognize the signs,” Kirk told the boy as he closed the toolbox and snapped down the two locks, “it means she loves you.”

  Ethan shoved his hands in his back pockets awkwardly, caught between being a little boy and being a man who had burdens to shoulder that he didn’t quite understand.

  “I really gotta go do stuff,” he mumbled to both of them without looking at either. Ethan toed a pebble with his sneaker, pretending to be riveted by the task. His stomach rumbled loudly.

  “How about breakfast?” Rachel suggested. “I’ll make you both breakfast.” She looked up at Kirk. “Provided that you have something to work with.”

  He had bought a carton of eggs, a loaf of bread and some orange juice when he went to the store to pick up the wine yesterday. “I’ve got a few things,” Kirk volunteered. “But I haven’t gotten around to finding where the pots and pans are.”

  He’d been back—how long? Two days? “How have you been eating?”

  “I took most of my meals with you,” he reminded her. “That fast-food place right outside the development took care of breakfast yesterday.”

  She winced. “They use lard to make everything.” Then she grinned as she flicked a finger down a bicep that was accented by his sleeveless sweatshirt. “Of course, on you it hardly shows.”

  “Hardly?” he echoed, raising a brow.

  She laughed, enjoying the playful mood. “I think I came along just in time to rescue you from a fate worse than death. How about French toast?” The question was directed more to Ethan than to Kirk, since she knew that was his favorite.

  The indifferent shrug wasn’t quite convincing. “Sure.”

  Kirk held up a hand before she could work up a full head of steam, the way he knew she was wont to do. “One small problem, I haven’t got powdered sugar or syrup. And I’m not sure if I bought any margarine.”

  She nodded. It sounded as if he kept the same sort of refrigerator Cameron did. Cameron took most of his meals with her, bringing armloads of groceries along and looking like a helpless puppy. She fell for it every time.

  “Lucky for you two, I do. Just give me ten minutes to get everything together, and I’ll be right over.”

  Kirk glanced over his shoulder at the house. He wasn’t really prepared for company. Ethan was one thing. Rachel was another. For Rachel, things had to be...different. “Won’t it be easier just to make breakfast in your kitchen?”

  “Uh-uh.” Mischief played at the corners of her mouth. It looked incredibly appealing and tantalizing to him. “I already know what my kitchen looks like. It’s too late to back out now.”

  With that, she hurried away.

  Kirk wondered if her words were somehow prophetic.

  Chapter 9

  Rachel quickly gathered together all the things she needed in order to make breakfast for Kirk and her son. Depositing everything in one of the grocery bags that she kept stashed in the kitchen drawer, she hurried back to Kirk’s house.

  It felt odd, standing on the Callaghans’ doorstep, ringing the bell. To her recollection, she had never done it before. Mr. and Mrs. Callaghan had not received visitors, had not welcomed uninvited callers. Cameron had told her that years ago. She couldn’t remember if it was something he had heard, or had been told firsthand by Kirk. She just knew that neither of them had ever been invited over to Kirk’s house.

  Rachel smiled to herself as she hugged the bag closer. She would be lying if she denied that curiosity was coloring her eagerness to make breakfast for Kirk and Ethan in the Callaghans’ kitchen.

  She rang twice before the door was opened by Kirk.

  “Hi.” She peered around Kirk’s shoulder and saw that what furniture there was was covered with sheets. Still? It seemed unusual to her, and just a little creepy.

  She shifted the grocery bag as it began to fall. “I was beginning to think that you’d changed your mind about breakfast.”

  “We were just in the back room and didn’t hear you.” He took the grocery bag from her as he stepped back, allowing her to walk in.

  Kirk studied Rachel to see her reaction to the house. There was no reason why there should be this tiny chord of anxiety strumming through him. Yet it was there, vibrating insistently. He hated this house, but there was no denying that he was part of it, that his life was tangled up with it and had been formed by the events that had transpired here. He didn’t want it to repel her.

  Whatever she thought would be there for him to see. Rachel had a very expressive face. It reminded him of a flower opening up to the sun, or a child’s face, absorbing the various sensations around her.

  He’d always enjoyed watching her face. In a movie theater, the few times he, Cameron and Rachel had all gone to see a show together, he could gauge the action taking place on the screen just by looking at Rachel’s face. She could keep nothing locked inside.

  Honesty. There was no other word for it
. Hers was the face that honesty wore.

  Rachel glanced about. In a way, what she saw was exactly what she had expected without fully knowing why. It was a house people left, a house people came from, not a house people came to. The building felt cold to her, and it had nothing to do with lack of heat. It was almost as if the sun were hesitant to enter, reluctant to embrace the room.

  Sorrow had lived here, she thought. Perhaps, in a way, it still did.

  Kirk rested the bag on his hip, waiting for Rachel to make a comment. When she didn’t, he prodded her. “Well, what do you think?”

  There was no pride in his voice, no attachment of any sort. It was the kind of tone a homicide detective might use when asking the coroner to speculate as to a victim’s cause of death.

  She wanted to say something genial, something nice. But they had been much too close for her to assume the role of the polite, distant visitor now.

  Rachel turned toward him and saw the look in his eyes. She had the distinct feeling that even the worst comment would have no effect on him. Not about this house. “I think I saw this room in Great Expectations. Just before the fire.”

  He knew exactly what she meant. It was a cold, bloodless place. “That’s kind of the way I see it.” He turned and led the way to the kitchen.

  Rachel followed, still looking around. The kitchen was neat and clean and completely devoid of personality. She tried to envision the way it might have been when he had lived here with his parents. She couldn’t.

  “Why don’t you take off the sheets?”

  He set the grocery bag down on the counter before answering. “I’m not sure I’m staying that long.”

  His words saddened her. Even after just two days, she had gotten used to the idea of having him back. She sighed, forcing away the pang.

  “You could still take off the sheets, you know.” She gestured toward the room they’d just walked through. “At least out there.” From where she stood, Rachel could see the back of what looked to be an armchair, covered by a faded white sheet. “It looks like a scene from a grade B horror movie. All you need is a ghost to pop up.”

  Her assessment seemed in keeping with the way he felt. “Maybe it will.” He began to unpack the bag.

  Rachel stared at him. “What?”

  “Hmmm?” He looked up, as if she had interrupted some train of thought. “Did I say something?”

  Rachel shook her head. “Don’t play innocent with me. You know you did.” She crossed to the refrigerator. “I think you like being mysterious.” With a tug, she opened the door, and was pleased to see that the light came on. “Well, at least the power’s on.” She surveyed the interior. Except for a carton of eggs, a container of orange juice and a loaf of bread, there was nothing there. Rachel took out the carton of eggs and then released the door. “Looks like you’re going to have to go shopping for food, or your next meal is going to be the light bulb.”

  He was opening cabinets, looking for a pan for her to use. Kirk glanced at her over his shoulder. “I can always go next door and beg a meal.”

  “You would never have to beg.” Folding the bag, she tossed it to one side. Like a surgeon preparing for an operation, she carefully laid everything out on the counter. Behind her, Rachel heard the sound of a pan being placed on the burner.

  They were in business, she thought.

  Rachel glanced up at Kirk as he moved past her. “By the way, what have you done with my son, aside from making him human.”

  The boy had had a difficult time masking his interest as Kirk began unloading his van. It was filled to capacity with camera equipment and everything necessary to transform his van into a studio on wheels, right down to the chemicals used in the darkroom.

  “Ethan’s human on his own, Funny Face.”

  Rachel moved the bowl closer and broke an egg over it. “Yes, I know, but I haven’t seen or heard him do anything but scowl and grumble for so long, it was getting rather hard for me to remember.”

  Since there didn’t seem to be a place for garbage, she opened the folded grocery bag. Dropping it to the floor, she tossed the empty eggshells in it. “You didn’t answer my question, where is he?”

  He nodded toward the other side of the house. “I left him in the back room. I’m thinking of using it for a studio. Temporarily.” He’d felt bound to toss in the qualifying word. “Ethan’s helping me set up my equipment.”

  Rachel stopped beating the egg and stared at him in disbelief. “You trusted him with your equipment?”

  Was the boy clumsy? He hadn’t appeared to be. Amused, Kirk leaned a hip against the counter and watched Rachel work. It occurred to him that watching her soothed him. And stirred him at the same time. “They’re not exactly the crown jewels, Funny Face.”

  She began listening for the sound of things falling. Breaking.

  “They might as well be.” Well, if he wasn’t worried, why should she be? It wasn’t as if Ethan were going to have a fit and start throwing things. Fortunately, they were past that stage by a couple of months. “They’re your claim to fame.” She poured oil into the pan and turned up the heat. “That and your unerring eye.”

  Kirk frowned as he thought of his failing. Of how he had watched when he should have acted. Of the life that had been lost because of him.

  “It’s erred plenty.”

  He said it so solemnly, Rachel instantly knew she’d treaded somewhere that was too tender to bear any traffic, at least for now. She retreated.

  Satisfied with the consistency of the batter, she dipped in the first slice of bread. “Shouldn’t you be supervising him?”

  He’d rather be out here with her. “I gave him a few basic instructions. Don’t worry, he’s just unpacking some boxes of supplies.” Kirk smiled at her concern. “There’s nothing in his hands that can be damaged seriously, and it makes him feel good.”

  Testing the oil, she watched a bead of water dance on it. The reaction reminded her a great deal of the way her pulse felt whenever Kirk touched her. Gingerly she deposited the coated slice of bread and picked up another. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  Compliments and gratitude of any sort made him feel uneasy, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. “For what?”

  Rachel laughed. Was it so hard for him to just say “You’re welcome”?

  “Endangering your equipment, for one thing.” A second slice joined the first. “I think you’re giving his self-esteem a tremendous boost.”

  He attempted to shrug off her words. “I could use the help.”

  A skeptical look entered her eyes. “Yeah, right.” Rachel shook her head. “I never knew you to need help in anything.” In all the years they’d known one another, she couldn’t remember Kirk ever asking for help. Not even when she’d felt he needed it.

  I need help now, Funny Face. I need it and I don’t even know how to ask, or what to ask for. Everything’s so damned messed up.

  “Now there you’re wrong, Funny Face.”

  The smile faded from her lips. Rachel stopped dunking the bread and let it slip back into the bowl. Her eyes were on his. He wasn’t teasing her. He was serious. “You’ve never admitted something like that before.”

  It had just slipped out. He hadn’t meant to let it. Instant regret urged him to shore up his defenses. “Must be hunger.” He dipped a pinkie into the box of powdered sugar and sampled it. “They say they get their best confessions from people who are being starved.”

  She was going to have to proceed very lightly if she didn’t want to frighten him off, she thought. Like a naturalist attempting to get a close look at a deer, she moved cautiously forward.

  Rachel raised a brow in his direction as she resumed working. “What else will you tell me if I threaten to withhold your French toast?”

  He’d already said far too much. As willing an ear as she was, his problems were his own to work out. She had enough to contend with without his burdening her. Just being around her was enough.

  Perhaps, he thou
ght, suddenly catching a whiff of her perfume, more than enough.

  He nodded toward the frying pan. “Start cooking.” He began to edge out of the room. “As you pointed out, maybe I’d better get back to supervising.”

  “Coward.” But her eyes were laughing at him. Whatever was bothering him, she had a feeling they’d get to it soon enough. She sensed that, beneath it all, he wanted to talk. She’d just have to be patient.

  He only grinned. “I’m not rising to the bait, Funny Face.”

  “Damn,” she muttered good-naturedly.

  With a toss of her head, she attempted to send her long hair over her shoulder. Both her hands were covered with batter and unsuited to the task. Hair rebelliously fell back into her face. With a huff, Rachel tried again. And failed.

  “Want help?” he offered.

  “Please.”

  He crossed to her and slowly threaded his fingers along her temple, then pushed her hair back. Rachel thought that she had never felt anything so sensual, so unsettling, in her life. She had to struggle to keep her eyes from drifting closed. Fingertips coated in batter, oil snapping in the pan at her back, Rachel had transcended the kitchen and was in a place that had nothing to do with food or cooking.

  And everything to do with desire.

  She let out a long, languid breath that hitched in her throat at the end. “Much better,” she murmured.

  He sincerely doubted that, he thought. Not for either of them. But he was beginning to have difficulty keeping his distance from her. Keeping from touching her.

  Once again he shoved his hands into his pockets to keep himself from giving in to his feelings. It was getting to be a tiresome habit, Kirk thought, but a necessary one. He didn’t want to abuse what was offered in friendship. He already knew he couldn’t ever be Rachel’s future. She deserved better than a burned-out shell of a man.

  “Don’t mention it,” he told her, turning to leave the kitchen.

  Rachel began humming, and Kirk stopped just beyond the threshold to listen to her. The tune she was humming seemed to waft into his system through cracks he’d had no idea were there, as if he were a watertight vessel that had somehow developed fissures.