Hold on Tight

  “The way you make fun of me for laying out my clothes at night!” She wiggled and shoved.

  His fingers did a spider walk up the back of her thigh, and he chuckled fiendishly. “Panties on the left,” he said in a high-pitched imitation of her voice. “Bra on the right. Slip in the middle.” Chuckling harder, he let his voice drop to normal. “You never do it any different. I’m gonna rearrange everything and watch the next mornin’ to see if you get bumfuddled and put your panties on your head.” He turned his mouth toward her squirming hip, howled like a wolf, and bit the silk-covered curve gently.

  “Rucker!” Struggling, convulsing with laughter, she tried to kick, but he clamped her long legs with one arm and let his fingers tickle the quivering, naked rump at the top of them.

  “Giggle,” he ordered. “Come on, Madam Mayor. You can do it. Any woman who thinks books about economics are light reading needs to learn to giggle!”

  “I don’t like to giggle!”

  He began gnawing at her hip, taking the nightgown between his teeth and growling. Dinah pressed her hands over her mouth and fought the sounds that wanted to burst out. This scene was representative of the past four weeks with Rucker—giddy, joyful, light-hearted. They spent every spare day together, every spare moment, and talked for hours on the phone when he was out of town making a speech or at home in Birmingham. She had never been so happy before in her life.

  “Guggle!” he demanded again, his voice muffled by a mouthful of silk. “Guggle!”

  She giggled, her hands fell loosely down his back, and she pressed her face into his sweatshirt. “H-happy now, y-you idiot?”

  “Uh-huh.” His hand roamed over her rump with disarming intimacy. He spat out the fabric. “Got a little extra paddin’ here,” he observed in a rakish voice. “ ’For you know it, you’ll get those little dimples and then things’ll start to sprrrread, and—”

  “I’m very disciplined and I work out with weights! I’m not going to spread!”

  “Aw, yes, Miss Discipline. Hmmm. Let’s see. This muscle feels okay, I guess.” His fingers dipped and explored with unfettered delight. “That one is tight. Ooooh, and that one is plumb athletic!”

  “Put me down!” Giggling uncontrollably now, she pinched his flat, masculine hips lightly through his jogging pants. Yelping, he set her back on her feet. Her face flushed, she grasped his shoulders and looked up at him with a wobbly grin. “You adolescent fiend,” she said.

  His eyes glowed with devotion that she cherished. In the skillet the chicken made a robust, sizzling sound. Rucker glanced at it, then back at her. “Thank you for lettin’ me teach you how to cook,” he said sweetly.

  “Mr. McClure, I know how to cook. This”—she waved her hand at the array of his favorite foods—“is not cooking. This is … this is a cholesterol nightmare!”

  He looked a little crestfallen, and she hugged him. “But I love it,” she lied.

  “You’re tellin’ a big fat fib,” he noted with, exaggerated petulance.

  “Never say ‘big’ or ‘fat’ to a woman who’s about to eat her weight in fried chicken.”

  “I’ll love you even if you spread a whole lot,” he said, and hugged her back. “I love you, Dee. Love you. Hmmm, hmmm.” He rocked her from side to side, his arms tightening. “What a gal. Had a four-point average in college. Always looks chick. That’s chic, if you say it in French.”

  Dinah sighed contentedly inside the strong circle of his arms, but a nagging inner voice made her say, “I wish life would stay this pleasant.”

  She felt Rucker’s lips on her dark hair. “You got a cynical streak, Dee. Don’t look so hard for trouble.”

  “I’m sorry. I suppose I feel that everything happy comes to a tragic end.”

  His hand stroked her back as the mood between them quieted. Rucker knew that she meant her mother’s early death from meningitis and her father’s horrible accident in the private plane, but there was something else, too, something he’d learn one day when she was ready to talk. “This is too heavy a discussion before dinner,” he teased gently. “Heavy food, heavy talk, whew! You want to be bloated?”

  She looked up at him wryly. “You writers have such a charming way with words.”

  After dinner he turned the small console television in the living room to a Saturday night game show and collapsed on the couch with his bare feet on her ottoman. Dinah harumphed audibly at his choice of entertainment, got a book from the nightstand in her bedroom, and returned to lie down with her head in his lap. He rested one big hand atop her right breast and caressed it from time to time.

  “Comfortable?” she asked coyly. “Hand happy?”

  “In heaven,” he replied, and tweeked her nipple through the sheer material. Dinah smiled. Life with Rucker was a mellowing, sensual experience. He had wonderful, expressive hands that enjoyed touching, stroking, and massaging even when no sexual overture was involved. He had a way of conveying worlds of affection and comfort with those hands.

  “What you readin’?” he asked. “Looks like more heavy stuff to me. Don’t you ever read for fun?”

  “I read the comics in the newspaper.” She flipped a page in her paperback, lost in concentration. Suddenly his breast caressing hand turned traitor and whisked the book away from her. “Hey! Stop! Give that back!”

  She sat up, reaching in vain for the book that he held just out of arm’s reach. He grinned with malevolent glee. “Let’s just peer at the back cover of this intellectual lookin’ book.” he told her. He began to read. ‘Two-fisted adventurer … sexy, greed-crazed vixen … non-stop action …’ Hmmmm, sounds like a date I had whilst I was in the army.”

  “Rucker, that book is complex science fiction.”

  “Let’s just take a gander at the teaser on the inside page.” Rucker cleared his throat, which ached with the need to laugh heartily. “ ‘Alexandra turned toward the huge android, her breasts heaving as she watched his unwavering approach. He wasn’t flesh and blood, but her feminine instincts didn’t notice that. “Zandrake,” she hissed, “If you touch me, a Muluvian princess of the eighth order, I’ll have my lieutenants turn you into a factory robonate.” Zandrake took her in a fierce hold and crushed her to his chest. “For a few minutes of your pleasures,” he growled in Muluvian trade lingo, “I’ll risk that chance.” ’ ”

  Rucker clutched the book to his stomach and guffawed until tears slid out of his eyes. Smiling tightly, Dinah liberated her book and smacked him across the shoulder with it. “There’s much more to it than that!” she protested.

  “Zandrake!” he called in a high-pitched voice. “Zandrake, y’all take them nasty hands off my Muluvian mounds before my daddy gets home from Mars, or he’ll split your head like a bad watermelon!”

  Dinah huffed with good-natured defeat and stretched out on the couch again. “It’s a serious book,” she protested smuggly. “Be quiet.”

  “Aaah, Dee.” Rucker’s fingers sank into her loose, wavy hair and smoothed it tenderly. “You’re full of surprises. I love it.”

  “Hmmm. Well, smart aleck, speaking of surprises, I happen to know that you have public TV shows on videotape. I found the collection the last time I was at your house. The tapes are hidden under your Willie Nelson albums.” She counted on her fingers. “Masterpiece Theatre, MacNeil/Lehrer NewsHour, American Playhouse, Nova. Very impressive.” She paused, suddenly sputtering on laughter. “C-Captain K-Kan-garoo—”

  “Captain Kangaroo is a classic!”

  “S-Sesame S-Street—”

  “Sesame Street is a classic too!”

  “It’s all right, big guy. You have great taste!” She sat up and kissed the embarrassed little smile on his mouth, then draped her arms around his neck and snuggled her face into the hollow of his shoulder. “Why didn’t you want me to know that you watch serious television shows?” she asked softly. “Bad for your Wheel of Fortune image?”

  “Yeah,” he huffed. “And I don’t like to look pretentious. Figured you’d think I was jus
t tryin’ to impress you.”

  “Oh, Rucker.” She drew her head back and gazed at him tenderly. “You impress me, regardless.”

  He smiled, one of his big smiles that showed a nice row of blocky white teeth under his mustache. His hands splayed down her back and came to rest where it merged with the flare of her hips. “Read your silly old ‘lust in space’ book, and leave me be,” he ordered sternly.

  Dinah lay down again and got her book from the floor. “There’s a nice wildlife special on PBS tonight,” she prodded.

  “I wanta watch the next show on this station first.”

  “There’s a good movie on channel six.”

  “Oh, no, ladybug. I know your taste in movies. You think that if it ain’t old and in black and white, it ain’t worth watchin’. I like my movies with color.”

  “Blood and guts,” she corrected wryly.

  “Yeah. Red blood. Not black-and-white blood.”

  Her head pillowed on Rucker’s thigh, Dinah became engrossed in her book again and tuned out the television audio. A few minutes later her concentration shattered when she heard, “And I’m Todd Norins bringing you the tragic story of a Montana woman who says visitors from another planet are behind the disappearance of her twelve children, her cat, and her Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Did state authorities cover the incident up? We’ll tell you tonight, on USA Personal.”

  Dinah sat up swiftly, dislodging Rucker’s hand from its cozy place inside the low-cut neck of her gown, and swiveled to look at the television. A handsome, though rather fleshy, face looked back at her with unforgettable coldness. Todd Norins had pale hazel eyes, eyes like an anemic hawk, she had decided long ago. His blond hair was carefully styled to appear thick in places where it was obviously thin. Her nostrils flared in disgust. Todd had gained weight and lost hair, but his eyes hadn’t changed one iota. They still had the power to wrench her stomach. For years she’d managed to avoid seeing the man’s face or hearing his voice. And now Rucker had brought him right into her living room. Why?

  “You don’t want to watch USA Personal, do you?” she asked in a wavering voice. “It gives journalism a very bad name.”

  “I know, I know,” he admitted. Rucker pondered whether to mention his conversation with Todd Norins to her, but decided that he wouldn’t. She’d just wonder why I was snooping, he told himself with a twinge of annoyance. “Relax,” he coaxed, trailing the back of his hand across her cheek. She’s turning pink, he noted with concern. Either she’s embarrassed, mad at me for some reason I don’t suspect, or upset at Todd Norins.

  As she gazed, seemingly transfixed, at the television Rucker studied her expression closely. She purely dislikes Norins, he decided. What the hell did that sack of malarkey do to her years ago? The article he wrote had been complimentary and objective, so that wasn’t the problem.

  “I just wanted to see what makes this show so good,” he told her.

  “Lies and rumor,” she said curtly. “Those always make a good show. Change the channel. This makes me sick.”

  “Why, Dee …” His voice trailed off, and he simply stared at her. He’d never heard that tone of voice from her before.

  Rucker knew that part of Dinah’s secrecy was tied to an old, deep-seated distrust of reporters, but this Norins situation didn’t add up. Maybe—his chest tightened—maybe the Norins situation was personal. As in romantic.

  “You know that guy?” Rucker asked casually, knowing that she did, of course.

  “He wrote an article about me a long time ago. He covered the Miss America pageant for Amazing World magazine.” She pointed to the screen. “Turn it to something else, Rucker.”

  Rucker’s anxiety eased. If she’d denied knowing Norins, he didn’t think he could have hidden his anger. “Bad article?”

  She shook her head, her eyes never leaving the television. “Good article. Just basics.” Her mouth curled in a hint of sarcasm. “I told him I wanted to change the world. Childish, idealistic hogwash like that.”

  “Not childish, Dee. Not hogwash.” A commercial came on. Very subtlely, her shoulders sagged. She looked away from the television set, all the light and happiness gone out of her.

  “Childish hogwash,” she repeated. “And he knew it.” She got up and wearily tossed her book on the hearth. “All right. Watch that trash if you want to. I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”

  Rucker stood up, studying her with a puzzled, worried frown. This sudden, moody retreat was totally unlike her. She didn’t indulge in moods. That was one of the things he loved about her. “Am I invited along?” he asked grimly.

  She didn’t even look at him. “Do what you want.”

  He was amazed at the apathy in her voice. Rucker watched her glide down the hau toward the bedroom, her head lowered. Tension radiated from her like the shimmer around a candle. “Damn it, Dee,” he whispered in distress, as if he were asking a question.

  Rucker quickly checked the house for the night, shut Jethro in the kitchen with Nureyev, turned off the lights, then walked to the back of the house and entered the bedroom. She already had the lights off, and only a tiny, butter-yellow nightlight showed her shape under the bed covers. She lay on her side with her face turned away from the door. Away from the door and away from me, Rucker noted. He could almost feel her anguish, and it bewildered him.

  Rucker undressed silently and slid into bed beside her. “Cold night,” he whispered in a tone that forced lightness. “Good snugglin’ weather.” He moved close to her back, cupped himself to her spoon-style, and found her body as rigid as he’d expected. She still wore the creamy gown, and it gave him immense pleasure to know that she liked it.

  Rucker sensed that his good taste had surprised her, and that she’d never hurt his feelings by saying so. He loved her for that too. She relaxed a fraction, shifting her body against his so that they were closely meshed. He knew then that she needed to communicate with him but was afraid to let her emotions go.

  Rucker carefully curled his arm over her and unwound the hands she had burrowed against her chest. He held one of them, intertwining his fingers with hers and rubbing the back of her hand in slow, soothing circles. He nuzzled his face into her hair. “I’ll let you keep some clothes on tonight,” he teased gently. “I don’t care if you’re nekkid or not, long as I get to hold you.”

  She began to cry then, in a soft way that made barely any sound, and her fingers squeezed his fingers hard, as if she were trying to apologize for her odd mood. “Let it out, hon,” he murmured, kissing her neck. “Whatever it is, just give it a good ol’ cry.”

  She cried harder and, between gulps, managed to whisper, “You … have … the … best … voice in the world. And the best … touch.”

  “Rucker McClure, have voice and touch, will travel,” he quipped softly. “Talk to me, hon. I don’t know what’s goin’ on inside you, but I know you hurt like hell.” His arm wound tighter around her. “Makes me hurt, too, you know.”

  “My father would have been sixty years old next week.” Her voice was raspy and thick. “When the searchers found his plane, they … couldn’t even tell who he was. Later, I went to see … for myself.”

  Rucker inhaled in sorrow and more puzzlement. What was it about Todd Norins that provoked this grief about her father? “Was that necessary, darlin’?”

  “No. It was just something I had to do. It … I’ll never forget … seeing him like that.” She’d never forget the way Todd Norins had been waiting for her outside the morgue, either, but she couldn’t tell Rucker that. “I was … so angry at Dad.”

  “Angry, hon?”

  “Angry … because he was careless. The crash was due to careless error.” Dinah felt raw fury surge through her, the old fury that she thought she’d learned to suppress. There was so much to be angry at her father for. Angry, confused, and bitterly disappointed. Hurting from the old wound, she began to pound the mattress with her fist, the action so fierce and uncontrolled that Rucker let go of the other hand and grabb
ed the violent one.

  “Ssssh,” he crooned, holding her balled fist. For a second she struggled against him. “Dee!” he called in shock. She relaxed, almost whimpering.

  “Rucker,” she whispered sadly. “I’m s-sorry for being like this. I must seem so strange.…” Her voice rose. “I hate being at the mercy of other people!”

  “You’re not at my mercy, Dee,” he answered, feeling hurt.

  “Not you, sweetheart. Not you.”

  “Who, Dee? Todd Norins? Your father? Who?”

  She was silent for several seconds, and Rucker realized that he’d reached the core of the old secret. The core, and the wall she’d built around it. “All right,” he whispered. “You don’t have to tell me … yet.”

  Several more seconds passed. “I can’t talk about it now,” she managed in a choking voice. “Someday I will.”

  “I’ll be a-waitin’,” he said with more cheerfulness than he felt. Her body, which had been cold and tense, now began to return to pliant warmth, and he sensed that she’d worked her crisis out, at least temporarily.

  “I love you,” she said firmly, and turning her face toward him, gave him a slow, gentle kiss. Rucker swept the tears off her face with his tongue.

  “And I love you, possum queen.” She laughed wearily and twisted around to snuggle deep inside his arms. “Just tell me one thing, Dee.”

  “Yes?” She sounded exhausted.

  “Is Todd Norins somebody I should beat up on your account?”

  “Rucker, you lovely Neanderthal, I don’t want you to beat anyone up on my account. But you’re awfully dear for wanting to. No other man has ever offered.”

  “This Todd Norins—”

  “Don’t.” Her body stiffened with new tension. “No more. Let’s just … go to sleep.”

  Rucker rocked her back and forth, cajoling her to relax, hiking the gown up to her hips and slipping his knee between her thighs to make his cajoling more effective. He had gotten no firm answer, but that was answer enough. Todd Norins, for some reason he didn’t understand yet, was Dinah’s enemy. And that makes the bastard my enemy, too, Rucker decided.