“Rob tried to line me up with you as well.”
“Nancy did this whole song and dance about it being two years since Michael…and that there was this old school buddy of Rob’s who was in town.”
Cain grinned, thinking it had been a good long while since he’d had reason to smile about anything. “I guess we showed them.”
“I guess we did.” Linette laughed softly and waved her hand in front of her face. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”
Standing in front of the softly flickering fire might have had something to do with why she was uncomfortably warm, but Cain didn’t mention that. Instead he took her by the elbow and guided her outside to a small balcony that overlooked San Francisco Bay. The lights on the Golden Gate Bridge outlined the well-known landmark, illuminating the skyline in a postcard-perfect silhouette.
A cool breeze drifted off the water, and the sky was crowded with stars that seemed determined to dazzle them with their brilliance.
Linette gripped hold of the balcony railing with both hands, closed her eyes, and tilted her head upward. When she exhaled, her shoulders sagged appreciatively.
“Nancy said something about you being out of the country a lot of the time. That must be hard.”
“It’s my job,” he said.
“You don’t miss home?”
In the last year, he hadn’t thought about the ranch enough to miss it. Nor had he hurried to Montana when the opportunity arose. He was a man without ties, without roots. That was the way it had to be.
“I’m too busy to think about it,” he answered after a moment, and looked to her, wanting to divert the subject away from himself. “Do you work?”
She nodded. “I own a knitting shop called Wild and Wooly, on Pier Thirty-nine.”
A knitting shop. It fit. He could easily picture Linette snuggled up on a rocking chair next to a fireplace, her long needles clicking softly as she expertly wove yarn. He found the image inviting, as if she’d asked him to cozy up next to her.
Cain wished he could pinpoint what it was about Linette that conjured up fantasies of domestic bliss. Homespun women didn’t generally appeal to him.
It was the season, he decided, when goodwill toward men flourished and a man’s thoughts turned to hearth and home. Christmastime seemed to bring out the best in people, himself included, he reasoned, willing to accept the explanation.
“Would you care to dance?” Linette asked him.
“Dance? Me?” Her invitation flustered him. He flattened his hand against his chest as the excuses worked their way up his throat. “I’m not much good at that sort of thing,” he managed after an awkward moment.
“Me either. But we don’t need to worry about making fools of ourselves, out here.” She held up her arms, and before a second protest could form, she was in his embrace.
He tensed, but she didn’t seem to notice. Tucking her head under his chin, she hummed along with the music, and gradually he relaxed.
Their feet made short, awkward shuffling movements until Cain realized that there was actually some kind of rhythm to their motions.
The tension slowly eased from his limbs, and he pressed his chin against her temple. She smelled of wild-flowers and sunshine. He’d never held anyone more incredibly soft. So soft, she frightened him. He absorbed her gentleness the way a thirsty sponge did water. With her in his arms, he could close his eyes and not see the mangled bodies of men who’d died at his hand. With her he heard the soft strains of joyous music instead of the screams of dying, bitter men as they cursed him on their way to hell.
His grip tightened, and she trembled. Pulling her flush against him, he felt her breath moisten the column of his neck. The tips of her breasts caressed his chest, and Cain closed his eyes and savored the feel of a woman in his arms. Linette clung to him, too. He realized, gratefully, that her hold on him was as tight as his on her.
He knew what was happening. He could spend a few hours with this woman who was lovely and pure and forget who and what he was. He could relish her softness and ignore the bitterness of the truth and the hard life he’d chosen.
All this wasn’t one-sided. Linette could hold him and forget the man she’d loved and lost. He was her haven just as she had become his.
As much as he’d like to deny it, Cain needed this woman’s touch. He was desperate for her gentleness. His heart, perhaps even his soul, needed this time with her.
The music ceased, but he kept moving. It felt too damn good to have her in his arms. Linette broke away from him, and for an instant he resisted, tightening his grip until he realized what he was doing.
Irritated with himself, he dropped his arms and stepped back. Linette Collins made him weak, and that was something he couldn’t allow.
“Thank you,” she said softly. She didn’t need to say it had been a long time since anyone had held her. He knew. This wasn’t the kind of woman who bed-hopped. She’d deeply grieved the loss of her husband. Cain also knew she’d grieved alone, without seeking the solace of a lover.
In one way, Cain envied her husband. There would be no one to mourn his passing. No one to stand over his cemetery plot and weep. That was the life he had chosen. The way it had to be. There was no room for gentleness in his life. Not now, not ever. Not if he planned to survive. And he did.
For what?
The question came at him like the pinpoint beam of a laser slicing through his mind. All at once he hadn’t a clue why he found it so damned important to stay alive. He had no immediate family. No heirs.
As far as money went, he could retire now and it would take two lifetimes to spend what he’d accumulated in the last several years with Deliverance Company.
By tacit agreement, he and Linette wandered back to the party, which seemed to be in full swing. Without a word, they went their separate ways. Which was for the best, Cain reasoned. Linette was a sweet thing and deserved happiness. It wasn’t likely she’d find that with him. By nipping this attraction in the bud, he was doing her a kindness.
Cain caught sight of Nancy and Rob dancing on the other side of the room. Small clusters of groups were involved in chitchat, something at which he felt completely inept. With little more than a backward glance, he retrieved his coat and left. Later, he’d send Rob and Nancy a Christmas card and thank them for the party. He was half tempted to mention meeting Linette, then decided against it.
In the hallway outside, waiting for the elevator, he sensed someone’s approach. It shouldn’t have surprised him to find Linette rounding the corner, but it did. She seemed startled as well, and her round eyes widened.
“So we meet again,” he said.
When the elevator arrived, they stepped aboard together. He pushed the button for the lobby. Stepping back, he studied the woman who stood before him. Within a matter of seconds, they would each go back to their separate lives.
Cain experienced a sense of desperation that was foreign to him. Even worse, he felt like a world-class fool. If Mallory knew what he was thinking, or Murphy, Bailey, or Jack, either, they’d lock him up until this bout of insanity had passed. Men like Cain simply did not become involved with women like Linette Collins.
On the ground floor, Cain watched Linette hurry across the street and climb inside her car. He stood rooted, unwilling and unable to move as her Toyota turned the corner and disappeared from sight.
After a moment he drew in a deep breath, then headed toward the rental car he’d picked up at the airport three days earlier.
His name was Cain, and right then he felt aptly christened. His namesake had been the son of Adam and Eve. The first child born outside the gates of paradise.
2
Linette was busy at her shop early Saturday morning when the phone rang. Although she wasn’t due to open for another half hour, she reached for the receiver and tucked it between her ear and her shoulder as she unloaded skeins of brightly colored cashmere wool.
“Wild and Wooly,” she said automatically.
“I w
ish you hadn’t left the party so early,” Nancy mumbled on the tail end of a yawn. It was apparent she had recently rolled out of bed.
“I had to be to the shop this morning,” Linette explained. She hadn’t slept well, but only because she couldn’t stop thinking about Cain McClellan and the short time they’d been together. She toyed hesitantly with the idea of asking her sister-in-law what she could tell her about Cain. So much as a hint of curiosity about the other man might prove to be potentially embarrassing. Nancy was sure to make something out of Linette’s inquisitiveness.
If Linette were a little more sophisticated, a little more at ease with the opposite sex, she might have found a subtle way of quizzing Cain himself. She hadn’t because he hadn’t seemed keen on talking about himself. What questions she had asked had received answers that were evasive and vague. She’d noticed how he’d quickly turned the conversation to subjects away from anything personal.
She knew he was in the military. Nancy had told her that much when she’d first mentioned him. Linette speculated that his work was involved with intelligence. Probably top-secret stuff that prevented him from discussing details. Funny she could spend so short a time with him and feel as if she understood him.
Like her, he was alone. Like her, he needed someone to hold.
In the entire two-year period without Michael, Linette had never felt more alone than she did now. At first she’d assumed it was because the anniversary of his death was approaching, but gradually she realized it was the Christmas season itself.
“Did you enjoy the party?” Nancy asked, cutting into her thoughts.
“Very much.” Thanks to Cain. Forcing her attention back to Nancy, she asked, “How did everything go with Rob’s boss and his wife?”
“Great. They’re nice people,” Nancy said, and then, turning to the apparent reason for her call, she added, “Didn’t I see you talking with Rob’s friend?”
“Yes, we found each other despite your and Rob’s best efforts to keep us apart,” Linette said with a small smile.
“I saw the two of you one minute and the next thing I knew you’d both disappeared.” Linette pictured Nancy jiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
“We left. Cain’s not much of a party person either.”
“So you snuck off together,” Nancy said, her voice dipping with implication. “That’s great.”
Before Linette could correct her sister-in-law’s impression, Nancy spoke again. “How about the two of us getting together for lunch this afternoon? That way you can tell me all about you and Cain, and I’ll let you in on my own little secret.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Linette protested. “Besides, I don’t know if I can get away. The shop’s been terribly busy, and I don’t feel like I can leave Bonnie alone, especially on a Saturday.” It sounded as if she were hedging, but what she said was true. Since this was the last weekend before Christmas, it could possibly be the busiest day of the year for her shop. Lunch would consist of a bite or two of a sandwich between customers.
“I’ll pick up something and bring it to you, then,” Nancy argued. “I’m dying to hear what happened between you and Cain McClellan.”
“But, Nancy—”
“Don’t argue. I must say, he’s a hunk.”
“But—” Before Linette could explain it might be a wasted trip, Nancy had hung up.
Replacing the telephone receiver, Linette sank onto the chair by the cash register. She loved Nancy and deeply appreciated the support and love Michael’s sister had given her, but she didn’t want to discuss Cain McClellan.
He’d come into her life briefly, and it was unlikely they’d meet again. Ships passing in the night and that sort of thing. He was a man without an anchor, and she was a dock. A concrete dock. Stable, permanent, lasting. Even if they had struck up a relationship, it would be a long-distance one. He’d told her himself he was only in town for a few days.
Linette’s prediction about this being the busiest sales day of the year proved to be accurate. From the moment she unlocked the door, she was inundated with customers. Many of the handcrafted items she’d knitted over the autumn months had already sold, but the limited number of wool scarves and baby blankets left were gone by ten that morning.
“Has it been like this every Christmas?” Bonnie asked, sinking onto the chair and removing her left shoe. She rubbed her toes and mumbled something about getting what she deserved for wearing new shoes.
“I don’t remember,” Linette said.
“Linette,” Bonnie said, and exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I forgot. It was Christmastime when your husband died, wasn’t it?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Linette said quickly, not wanting to discuss Michael. She liked Bonnie, who was in her mid-fifties and grandmotherly with short gray hair and a thick waist. Her face was round and warmly hospitable. It helped that Linette’s lone employee had been knitting for years herself and was knowledgeable about the craft. Linette felt lucky to have her.
The bell above the door jingled, and Bonnie automatically replaced her shoe. “I’ll get it,” Linette said, pressing her hand against her employee’s forearm. “Pour yourself a cup of coffee,” she said. “You deserve it.” They’d been so busy, neither of them had taken time for a coffee break.
“You’re sure?” Bonnie asked, glancing longingly toward the back room.
“I’ll be fine.”
Linette realized she’d spoken too soon. This latest customer was Nancy. “You’re not the least bit busy,” her sister-in-law admonished.
“You should have been here ten minutes ago,” Linette countered. She straightened a row of white wool, replacing it inside a brightly painted wood bin stacked beneath a large picture window overlooking Fisherman’s Wharf. Linette loved the view the window afforded her. With its colorful fishing fleet, the wharf reminded her of a quaint Mediterranean seaport. There’d been plenty of times when she’d gazed out this very window, transported to a world outside her grief.
“I brought goodies,” Nancy said, holding up a grease-stained brown paper sack. “The deli packed us sandwiches and enormous dill pickles.”
“I didn’t think you liked dill pickles.”
“I don’t,” Nancy said casually, “unless I’m pregnant.”
It took Linette far longer than it should have to make the connection. “You and Rob are having a baby?”
Nancy’s eyes brightened with tears, and she nodded enthusiastically. “I didn’t want to say anything until after Christmas, but I can’t keep it a secret any longer. We’d almost given up trying. Christopher’s eight, and we were beginning to think we couldn’t have more children when, whammo.” She tossed her arm into the air, grinning broadly. “Another rabbit bit the dust.”
The two women hugged, and to her surprise Linette felt tears filling her own eyes. She knew Nancy and Rob wanted another child, but neither one had mentioned a baby in so long that she wasn’t sure what they’d decided.
A baby.
She and Michael had yearned for children, but early in their marriage they’d decided to wait a couple of years. Every aspect of their lives together had been carefully planned. All too soon, however, Michael had been diagnosed with leukemia. Afterward everything had changed. The days came and went, the seasons ebbed and flowed and every sunrise had become a sunset as Michael’s life became consumed with dying.
“Be happy for me,” Nancy said, hugging her close.
“Of course I’m happy,” Linette said, wondering at Nancy’s apprehensions.
“It’s just that…well, I know how badly you and Michael wanted a child, and I guess I was afraid you might feel like you’d been cheated.”
“How could I possibly feel cheated, having loved Michael? I’m sorry we didn’t have children, but I’d never begrudge you and Rob your happiness. I’m thrilled for you both.”
“Thank you,” Nancy said, rubbing the moisture from her face. Her shoulders shook, and it took a moment for Linette to realize Nancy was laughi
ng, not weeping.
“I cry so easily lately. Rob doesn’t know what to make of me.”
Knowing how Rob idolized his wife, Linette strongly suspected he’d think he’d married the most perfect woman in the world no matter what she said or did. Especially now.
Bonnie wandered out from the back room, bringing a freshly brewed cup of coffee with her.
“Bonnie, do you think I can steal Linette away for a few minutes?” Nancy asked, and looped her arm through Linette’s.
“Might as well,” Bonnie said with an agreeable smile. “We seem to be experiencing something of a lull, but I don’t expect it to last long.”
Linette led the way into the back room, which was stacked with empty boxes, most of the skeins of yarn having been sold even before the boxes had had a chance to be emptied.
A badly scarred wooden table stood against the concrete block wall with two equally dilapidated chairs. Linette couldn’t remember where they’d found the set, but it had been a welcome addition to their small space.
Nancy claimed the ladder-back chair while Linette scrounged up paper plates and two clean coffee mugs.
Nancy drew out thick sandwiches from the brown paper sack. They were subways covered in wax paper and held together with large toothpicks, with gaily decorated tops.
“Did I mention my appetite’s improved?” Nancy said, smiling gleefully at Linette. “Pickles aren’t the only thing I find appealing. I swear if this continues, I’ll resemble the Goodyear blimp by July.”
Linette inspected her half of the sandwich and discovered three different kinds of meat and an equal number of cheeses, plus the usual lettuce, thick slices of tomato, and a variety of other goodies, including sliced green olives.
“All right, tell me about you and Cain,” Nancy instructed now that she was settled.
“I already explained there isn’t much to tell,” Linette said. Juice ran down her forearm when she took her first bite of the dill pickle.
“I saw the two of you together, remember?” Nancy insisted. “And then you were gone. Where did you take off to?”