Less of a Stranger Page 12

  understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

  “It’s time you moved out into the world, Megan, time I let you.” Pop reached in the pocket of his shirt and took out carefully folded papers. After spreading them out, he handed them to Megan.

  She hesitated before accepting them, her eyes clinging to his. The instant she saw the papers, she knew what they were. But when she read, she read each sentence, each word, until the finish. “So,” she said, dry-eyed, dry-voiced. “You’ve sold it to him.”

  “When I sign the papers,” Pop told her, “and you witness it.” He saw the look of devastation in her eyes. “Megan, hear me out. I’ve given this a lot of thought.” Pop took the papers and set them on the table, then gripped her hands. “Katch isn’t the first to approach me about selling, and this isn’t the first time I’ve considered it. Everything didn’t fit the way I wanted before—this time it does.”

  “What fits?” she demanded, feeling her eyes fill.

  “It’s the right man, Meg, the right time.” He soothed her hands, hating to watch her distress. “I knew it when all those repairs fell on me. I’m ready to let it go, to let someone younger take over so I can go fishing. That’s what I want now, Megan, a boat and a rod. And he’s the man I want taking over.” He paused, fumbling in his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his eyes. “I told you I trusted him and that still holds. Managing the park for Katch won’t keep me from my fishing, and I’ll have the stimulation without the headaches. And you,” he continued, brushing tears from her cheeks, “you need to cut the strings. You can’t do what you’re meant to do if you’re struggling to balance books and make payroll.”

  “If it’s what you want—” Megan began, but Pop cut her off.

  “No, it has to be what you want. That’s why the last lines are still blank.” He looked at her with his deep-set eyes sober and quiet. “I won’t sign it, Megan, unless you agree. It has to be what’s best for both of us.”

  Megan stood again, and he released her hands to let her walk to the window. At the moment, she was unable to understand her own feelings. She knew agreeing to do a show in New York was a giant step away from the life she had led. And the park was a major part of that life. She knew in order to pursue her own career, she couldn’t continue to tie herself to the business end of Joyland.

  The park had been security—her responsibility, her second home—as the man behind her had been both mother and father to her. She remembered the look of weariness on his face when he had come to tell her that the park needed money. Megan knew the hours and endless demands that summer would bring.

  He was entitled to live his winter years as he chose, she decided. With less worry, less responsibility. He was entitled to fish, and to sleep late and putter around his azaleas. What right did she have to deny him that because she was afraid to cut the last tie with her childhood? He was right—it was time for the change.

  Slowly, she walked to her workbox and searched out a pen. Going to Pop, Megan held it out to him. “Sign it. We’ll have champagne with the trout.”

  Pop took the pen, but kept his eyes on her. “Are you sure, Meg?”

  She nodded, as sure for him as she was uncertain for herself. “Positive.” She smiled and watched the answering light in his eyes before he bent over the paper.

  He signed his name with a flourish, then passed her the pen so that she could witness his signature. Megan wrote her name in clear, distinct letters, not allowing her hand to tremble.

  “I suppose I should call Katch,” Pop mused, sighing as though a weight had been lifted. “Or take the papers to him.”

  “I’ll take them.” Carefully, Megan folded them again. “I’d like to talk to him.”

  “That’s a good idea. Take the pickup,” he suggested as she headed for the door. “It looks like rain.”

  Megan was calm by the time she reached Katch’s house. The papers were tucked securely in the back pocket of her cutoffs. She pulled the truck behind his car and climbed out.

  The air was deadly still and heavy, nearly shimmering with restrained rain. The clouds overhead were black and bulging with it. She walked to the front door and knocked as she had many days before. As before, there was no answer. She walked back down the steps and skirted the house.

  There was no sign of him in the yard, no sound but the voice of the sea muffled by the tall hedges. He’d planted a willow, a young, slender one near the slope that led to the beach. The earth was still dark around it, freshly turned. Unable to resist, Megan walked to it, wanting to touch the tender young leaves. It was no taller than she, but she knew one day it would be magnificent . . . sweeping, graceful, a haven of shade in the summer. Instinct made her continue down the slope to the beach.

  Hands in his pockets, he stood, watching the swiftly incoming tide. As if sensing her, he turned.

  “I was standing here thinking of you,” he said. “Did I wish you here?”

  She took the papers and held them out to him. “It’s yours,” she told him calmly. “Just as you wanted.”

  He didn’t even glance down at the papers, but she saw the shift of expression in his eyes. “I’d like to talk to you, Meg. Let’s go inside.”

  “No.” She stepped back to emphasize her refusal. “There really isn’t anything more to say.”

  “That might be true for you, but I have a great deal to say. And you’re going to listen.” Impatience intruded into his tone. Megan heard it as she felt the sudden gust of wind that broke the calm.

  “I don’t want to listen to you, Katch. This is what Pop wants, too.” She thrust the papers into his hands as the first spear of lightning split the sky. “Take them, will you?”

  “Megan, wait.” He grabbed her arm as she turned to go. The thunder all but drowned out his words.

  “I will not wait!” she tossed back, jerking her arm free. “And stop grabbing me. You have what you wanted—you don’t need me anymore.”

  Katch swore, thrust the papers in his pocket and caught her again before she’d taken three steps. He whirled her back around. “You’re not that big an idiot.”

  “Don’t tell me how big an idiot I am.” She tried to shake herself loose.

  “We have to talk. I have things to say to you. It’s important.” A gust of wind whipped violently across Megan’s face.

  “Don’t you understand a simple no?” she shouted at him, her voice competing with pounding surf and rising wind. She struggled against his hold. “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to hear what you have to say. I don’t care about what you have to say.”

  The rain burst from the clouds and poured over them. Instantly, they were drenched.

  “Tough,” he retorted, every bit as angry as she. “Because you’re going to hear it. Now, let’s go inside.”

  He started to pull her across the sand, but she swung violently away and freed herself. Rain gushed down in torrents, sheeting around them. “No!” she shouted. “I won’t go inside with you.”

  “Oh, yes, you will,” he corrected.

  “What are you going to do?” she demanded. “Drag me by the hair?”

  “Don’t tempt me.” Katch took her hand again only to have her pull away. “All right,” he said. “Enough.” In a swift move that caught her off guard, he swept her up into his arms.

  “Put me down.” Megan wriggled and kicked, blind with fury. He ignored her, dealing with her struggles by shifting her closer and climbing the slope without any apparent effort. Lightning and thunder warred around them. “Oh, I hate you!” she claimed as he walked briskly across the lawn.

  “Good. That’s a start.” Katch pushed open the door with his hip, then continued through the kitchen and into the living room. A trail of rain streamed behind them. Without ceremony, he dumped her on the sofa. “Sit still,” he ordered before she could regain her breath, “and just be quiet a minute.” He walked to the hearth. Taking a long match, he set fire to the paper waiting beneath kindling and logs. Dry wood crackled and caught almost insta
ntly.

  Regaining her breath, Megan rose and bounded for the door. Katch stopped her before her fingers touched the knob. He held her by the shoulders with her back to the door. “I warn you, Meg, my tolerance is at a very low ebb. Don’t push me.”

  “You don’t frighten me,” she told him, impatiently flipping her dripping hair from her eyes.

  “I’m not trying to frighten you. I’m trying to reason with you. But you’re too stubborn to shut up and listen.”

  Her eyes widened with fresh fury. “Don’t you talk to me that way! I don’t have to take that.”

  “Yes, you do.” Deftly, he reached in her right front pocket and pulled out the truck keys. “As long as I have these.”

  “I can walk,” she tossed back as he pocketed them.

  “In this rain?”

  Megan hugged her arms as she began to shiver. “Let me have my keys.”

  Instead of answering, he pulled her across the room to be in front of the fire. “You’re freezing. You’ll have to get out of those wet clothes.”

  “I will not. You’re crazy if you think I’m going to take off my clothes in your house.”

  “Suit yourself.” He stripped off his own sopping T-shirt and tossed it angrily aside. “You’re the most hardheaded, single-minded, stubborn woman I know.”

  “Thanks.” Barely, Megan controlled the urge to sneeze. “Is that all you wanted to say?”

  “No.” He walked to the fire again. “That’s just the beginning—there’s a lot more. Sit down.”

  “Then maybe I’ll have my say first.” Chills were running over her skin, and she struggled not to tremble. “I was wrong about you in a lot of ways. You’re not lazy or careless or glory seeking. And you were certainly honest with me.” She wiped water from her eyes, a mixture of rain and tears. “You told me up front that you intended to have the park, and it seems perhaps for the best. What happened between then and now is my fault for being foolish enough to let you get to me.” Megan swallowed, wanting to salvage a little pride. “But then, you’re a difficult man to ignore. Now you have what you wanted, and it’s over and done.”

  “I only have part of what I wanted.” Katch came to her and gathered her streaming hair in his hand. “Only part, Meg.”

  She looked at him, too tired to argue. “Can’t you just let me be?” she asked.

  “Let you be? Do you know how many times I’ve walked that beach at three in the morning because wanting you kept me awake and aching? Do you know how hard it was for me to let you go every time I had you in my arms?” The fingers in her hair tightened, pulled her closer.

  Her eyes were huge now while chills shivered over her skin. What is he saying? She couldn’t risk asking, couldn’t risk wondering. Abruptly, he cursed her and dragged her into his arms.

  Thin, wet clothes were no barrier to his hands. He molded her breasts even while his mouth ravished hers. She made no protest when he lowered her to the floor, as his fingers worked desperately at the buttons of her blouse. Her chilled, wet skin turned to fire under his fingertips. His mouth was hungry, hot as it roamed to her throat and downward.

  There was only the crackle of wood and the splash of rain on the windows to mix with their breathing: A log shifted in the grate.

  Megan heard him take a long, deep breath. “I’m sorry. I wanted to talk—there are things I need to tell you. But I need you. I’ve kept it pent up a long time.”

  Need. Her mind centered on the word. Need was infinitely different from want. Need was more personal—still apart from love—but she let her heart grip the word.

  “It’s all right.” Megan started to sit up, but he leaned over her. Sparks flicked inside her at the touch of naked flesh to naked flesh. “Katch . . .”

  “Please, Meg. Listen to me.”

  She searched his face, noting the uncharacteristically grave eyes and mouth. Whatever he had to say was important to him. “All right,” she said, quieter now, ready. “I’ll listen.”

  “When I first saw you, the first minute, I wanted you. You know that.” His voice was low, but without its usual calm. Something boiled just under the surface. “The first night we were together, you intrigued me as much as you attracted me. I thought it would be a simple matter to have you . . . a casual, pleasant affair for a few weeks.”

  “I know,” she spoke softly, trying not to be wounded by the truth.

  “No—shh.” He lay a finger over her lips a moment. “You don’t know. It stopped being simple almost immediately. When I had you here for dinner, and you asked to stay . . .” He paused, brushing wet strands of hair from her cheeks. “I couldn’t let you, and I wasn’t completely sure why. I wanted you—wanted you more than any woman I’d ever touched, any woman I’d ever dreamed about—but I couldn’t take you.”

  “Katch . . .” Megan shook her head, not certain she was strong enough to hear the words.

  “Please.” She had closed her eyes, and Katch waited until she opened them again before he continued. “I tried to stay away from you, Meg. I tried to convince myself I was imagining what was happening to me. Then you were charging across the lawn, looking outraged and so beautiful I couldn’t think of anything. Just looking at you took my breath away.” While she lay motionless, he lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips. The gesture moved her unbearably.

  “Don’t,” she murmured. “Please.”

  Katch stared into her eyes for a long moment, then released her hand. “I wanted you,” he went on in a voice calmer than his eyes. “Needed you, was furious with you because of it.” He rested his forehead on hers and shut his eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you, Meg—to frighten you.”

  Megan lay still, aware of the turmoil in him. Firelight played over the skin on his arms and back.

  “It seemed impossible that I could be so involved I couldn’t pull away,” he continued. “But you were so tangled up in my thoughts, so wound up in my dreams. There wasn’t any escape. The other night, after I’d taken you home, I finally admitted to myself I didn’t want an escape. Not this time. Not from you.” He lifted his head and looked down at her again. “I have something for you, but first I want you to know I’d decided against buying the park until your grandfather came to me last night. I didn’t want that between us, but it was what he wanted. What he thought was best for you and for himself. But if it hurts you, I’ll tear the papers up.”

  “No.” Megan gave a weary sigh. “I know it’s best. It’s just like losing someone you love. Even when you know it’s the best thing, it still hurts.” The outburst seemed to have driven out the fears and the pain. “Please, I don’t want you to apologize. I was wrong, coming here this way, shouting at you. Pop has every right to sell the park, and you have every right to buy it.” She sighed, wanting the explanations to be over. “I suppose I felt betrayed somehow and didn’t want to think it all through.”

  “And now?”

  “And now I’m ashamed of myself for acting like a fool.” She managed a weak smile. “I’d like to get up and go home. Pop’ll be worried.”

  “Not just yet.” When Katch leaned back on his heels to take something from his pocket, Megan sat up, pushing her wet, tangled hair behind her. He held a box, small and thin. Briefly, he hesitated before offering it to her. Puzzled, both by the gift and by the tension she felt emanating from him, Megan opened it. Her breath caught.

  It was a dark, smoky green emerald, square cut and exquisite in its simplicity. Stunned, Megan stared at it, then at Katch. She shook her head wordlessly.

  “Katch.” Megan shook her head again. “I don’t understand . . . I can’t accept this.”

  “Don’t say no, Meg.” Katch closed his hand over hers. “I don’t handle rejection well.” The words were light, but she recognized, and was puzzled by, the strain in the tone. A thought trembled in her brain, and her heart leaped with it.

  She tried to be calm and keep her eyes steady on his. “I don’t know what you’re asking me.”

  His fingers tightened on hers.
“Marry me. I love you.”

  Emotions ran riot through her. He must be joking, she thought quickly, though no hint of amusement showed in his eyes. His face was so serious, she reflected, and the words so simple. Where were the carelessly witty phrases, the glib charm? Shaken, Megan rose with the box held tightly in her hand. She needed to think.

  Marriage. Never had she expected him to ask her to share a lifetime. What would life be like with him? Like the roller coaster. She knew it instantly. It would be a fast, furious ride, full of unexpected curves and indescribable thrills. And quiet moments, too, she reflected. Precious, solitary moments that would make each new twist and turn more exciting.

  Perhaps he had asked her this way, so simply, without any of the frills he could so easily provide because he was as vulnerable as she. What a thought that was! She lifted her fingers to her temple. David Katcherton, vulnerable. And yet . . . Megan remembered what she had seen in his eyes.

  I love you. The three simple words, words spoken every day by people everywhere, had changed her life forever. Megan turned, then, walking back, knelt beside him. Her eyes were as grave, as searching as his. She held the box out, then spoke quickly as she saw the flicker of desperation.

  “It belongs on the third finger of my left hand.”

  Then she was caught against him, her mouth silenced bruisingly. “Oh, Meg,” he murmured her name as he rained kisses on her face. “I thought you were turning me down.”

  “How could I?” She wound her arms around his neck and tried to stop his roaming mouth with her own. “I love you, Katch.” The words were against his lips. “Desperately, completely. I’d prepared myself for a slow death when you were ready to walk away.”

  “No one’s going to walk away now.” They lay on the floor again, and he buried his face in her rain-scented hair. “We’ll go to New Orleans. A quick honeymoon before you have to come back and work on the show. In the spring, we’ll go to Paris.” He lifted his face and