Running Scared Part 32

She moaned and he dropped to his knees, pressing his face into the folds of her skirt, smelling its sweet fragrance, wrapping his hands around her legs. She seemed to pulse in his hands.

"Daegan-oh, Daegan, please..." she whispered and he stopped again, moving his arms upward to surround her waist, still holding her close as he tried to regain the composure that had rarely failed him throughout his life. But with her, with this one woman, that fierce, dependable self-control slipped through his fingers and he was suddenly lost with wanting. The thought eroded whatever pride he had left, and this time, he told himself as he gritted his teeth and straightened, when he released her, he wouldn't be so weak as to draw her into his arms again. Slowly he stood, closed her jacket, and stepped away from her. It was all he could do to keep his distance.

"I-I think I should go."

He nodded, shaken to the roots of all that he'd held as true. He'd spent the better part of his life convincing himself that there wasn't a woman who could touch him in the way that he'd just been touched. For years he was determined that no woman would ever change his way of thinking, but Kate had proved him wrong. So very wrong.

She cleared her throat and glanced into his eyes for a fleeting second. "I'll take a raincheck on the drink."

"Fine," he agreed, then laughed mirthlessly when he heard the plop of raindrops on the old s.h.i.+ngles of the roof. He watched as she ran across the yard and disappeared into the barn. By the time she and Jon emerged, Daegan's breathing was more normal, his heartbeat a more even rhythm. He waved to the boy and his mother and wished to G.o.d that he'd never made the mistake of kissing Kate Summers.

Kate spent the night staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows s.h.i.+ft against the curtains and wondering where the common sense that she'd honed since she was eleven had flown. Didn't she know better? Didn't she remember?

Grabbing her robe from the end of the bed, she padded into the kitchen and poured a gla.s.s of juice. As she sipped, she stared through the gla.s.s to the black night and the rain drizzling down the panes.

She remembered her mother, Anna, a beautiful woman who had been widowed far too young. Abruptly, their idyllic life on the farm was over. Anna couldn't work the acres herself or pay the mortgage, so she sold the rolling fields, the duck pond, the old barn with its swallows and owls, and the rambling two-story farmhouse. The small family had been forced to move to the city.

With two daughters to support, Anna juggled two, sometimes three jobs, and when she wasn't dead tired, she dated lots of different men, few of whom Kate ever met. But she did remember the one man-Riley had been his name, Pete Riley-the man who had changed the course of her life irretrievably.

Big and brawny, with a thick brown moustache and long sideburns, he was a truck driver, on the road a lot, but when he was in Des Moines, he and Mama would go out dining, dancing, and drinking. He was loud and sometimes would stumble on the stairs. Kate always suspected he was drunk, but Mama always said he was just a little clumsy.

One late summer night while Kate and Laura were sleeping in their bunk beds, Riley brought Mama home. They were loud-laughing and talking, b.u.mping into the walls-and woke Kate from the fitful sleep that overcame her whenever Mama went out late at night.

"Shhh, you'll wake the girls," Mama said when the door slammed shut.

"No way." Footsteps. Riley's heavy tread. Kate frowned and slipped through the open window to the fire escape. She hated Riley and his loud ways. His voice was too gruff, and sometimes when Mama wasn't looking, he'd touch Kate on the shoulders or neck, sometimes her face. One time, when he'd come over before Mama got off work and let himself in with his own key, he'd insisted Laura sit on his lap, and while he talked to her, he played with her hair and s.h.i.+fted around a lot, rubbing himself on her. Laura tried to climb down, but Riley held her firmly in place, and only when Mama burst through the door did he move sharply enough to send Laura careening to the floor.

Music from the stereo drifted down the hallway and seeped into her room. "Come on, baby, light my fire..." Jim Morrison's voice seemed to wrap around Kate like a deep mist and Kate stared down the metallic stairway four stories to the deserted alley below. In the street-light she noticed a cat sliding through the shadows and from inside the apartment there were sounds of an argument. Not the first. Recently Mama and Riley argued as often as not, and Kate found herself wis.h.i.+ng again that Daddy were still alive.

Kate closed her eyes and rocked on the cold metal grate. She didn't want to hear the fight, didn't want to be afraid, but the voices, angry and loud, chased through the apartment and out the window to surround her.

"You're a tease, that's what you are, Anna, acting like some G.o.dd.a.m.ned virgin when you got two half-growed daughters. Well, I'm sick of it, y'hear. d.a.m.ned sick of it."

"Shh, Pete, the girls will hear-"

"So let 'em. Who cares?"

"Look, maybe you'd better go now."

Yes! Leave and don't ever come back!

"Is that what you want, baby? 'Cause if I walk out that door, I'm not comin' back through it. That's the last you'll see of Pete Riley."

Kate crossed her fingers and prayed.

"Of course not, Pete, but be reasonable..."

"They're asleep, they'll never know." Then there was quiet and Kate s.h.i.+vered, imagining them kissing and touching. This was how it always went, Mama would say no, and Pete would change her mind and somehow she'd make him happy and he'd leave before morning. Mama always looked tired and unhappy the next morning, sitting in her bathrobe, staring into her coffee cup, and sometimes crying. For Daddy. She'd admitted that she still missed him every day.

So did Kate. Living in the city was exciting, the smells of exhaust mingling with the sweet aromas wafting from restaurants and bakeries, the cars, trucks, bicycles, and motorcycles wheeling through the streets, so different from the slow pace of the farm, where she and Laura would help Mama weed the garden, or watch as Daddy plowed and harrowed a new field.

She missed the rattling old clunk of the tractor-the one that always broke down and made Daddy so mad, and the sound of the rooster crowing before dawn. She missed baby chicks hatching from eggs and the fresh-faced calves as they b.u.t.ted and romped in the pasture surrounding the barn. She and Laura would listen to the sounds of frogs and crickets in the evening and catch water skippers on the pond- Slap! The sound of flesh smacking against flesh brought her up short. "b.i.t.c.h! I'll show you I mean business." The sound of flesh smacking against flesh brought her up short. "b.i.t.c.h! I'll show you I mean business."

"Get out, Pete. Just get the h.e.l.l out."

"Not until you give me what I came here for."

Again the slap, this time followed by a stream of guttural oaths that turned Kate's stomach.

"I'll show you-"

Mama screamed and Kate crawled back through the window. Something hit the wall and gla.s.s shattered. "No! No! No!" Mama cried. "Oh, G.o.d, help me."

Heart hammering, Kate opened the door a crack and peeked through. Pete's fist was clenched around Mama's hair and he was dragging her kicking and screaming to her bedroom. Mama's fingers were b.l.o.o.d.y, her nails ripped as she scratched the plaster walls to try and stop him.

Pete's face sported a red handprint and his eyes were narrowed in anger.

Mama saw Kate and choked out a cry. "No," she whispered, her eyes terrified as they touched Kate's. Her face turned the shade of death. "Don't-" She made a shooing motion, trying to get Kate to slide back into the room, but Pete, as he kicked open the door of Mama's bedroom, didn't notice, just yanked her into the dark interior.

Her insides twisting into painful knots, Kate sneaked out of the room and into the kitchen. She heard slaps and oaths and her mother sobbing. Biting her lip, sweat drizzling down her spine, Kate picked up the telephone receiver and with unsteady fingers dialed the only number she knew by heart besides her own, that of her aunt June.

Scared so bad she was shaking, she stretched the cord as long as she could, crawled into a closet, and shut the door while she waited. Uncle Cliff answered on the fifth ring.

"You've got to come," Kate demanded in a harsh whisper though she was trying with all her might not to let panic strangle her. "Riley's gonna kill Mama, I know he is."

"Is this Katie?"

"Yes, but you've got to come and-"

"Calm down," Uncle Cliff commanded. "Now start over and tell me everything."

"There's no time. He's got her in the bedroom and he's. .h.i.tting her and she's crying and you've got to come." Hysteria caused her voice to rise to a squeak and she was crying, begging her uncle to come and save Mama. Then, once Uncle Cliff promised to drive across town, Kate held the receiver tight against her chest and prayed, long and hard, that Mama wouldn't be hurt. Only when the horrid screams subsided did she slip out of the closet and hang up the phone. Throat dry with fear, she planned to sneak back to her room when she nearly ran into Pete standing in the doorway.

"Well, well, well," he said, his eyes slitted as he glared at her from his tremendous height, "what have we here? Hmm, Katie girl, what're you doing up?" He plopped himself on a bar stool and lit a cigarette.

"I...I was thirsty."

"So you got a drink."

"Yeah."

He frowned and let smoke roll out of his nostrils. Kate had never been so frightened in her life. Wearing only dingy jockey shorts, his hairy torso scratched from being raked by fingernails, he studied her. "So where's your gla.s.s?"

"What?"

"The one you used to get a drink. I don't see a gla.s.s in the sink."

"I-I-um, just put my head under the faucet, but don't tell Mama, she doesn't like that."

"Oh, these days your mama doesn't like much," he said, and the scent of stale whiskey and smoke filled the room. "Including me. Imagine that-your good old uncle Petey isn't good enough for her anymore."

"You're not my uncle."

He sucked on the cigarette. "That's right. I'm not anything to you, am I? You're a smart girl, Katie, do you know that, real smart. I like a girl with some brains." His eyes moved from her face and inched lower where his gaze rested on her small b.r.e.a.s.t.s, just beginning to form. "You ever kissed a boy?"

She shook her head.

"Why not, you're pretty enough, and when you grow up, I bet you'll be a real looker." He rubbed the underside of his chin very slowly. "Yep, a real looker."

"Are you leaving?" she asked suddenly.

"In a little while." His expression darkened with concern. "But I don't want to leave your mother as she is. She had a little too much to drink and got a little out of hand." He smiled as if they were best friends. "But she'll be okay. You want me to leave?"

She nodded. "I can take care of Mama."

"I imagine you can. You're a big girl, aren't you?" He tossed the b.u.t.t of his cigarette into the sink and it sizzled as it died. "Why don't you come over here and tell me why you want me to go? Do I scare you?"

"No," she lied, s.h.i.+vering inside.

"Good. That's real good." He reached forward, his hand stinking of smoke, to stroke the side of her face. She ducked. "Oh, Katie, come on. I want to show you something, something you've never seen before, something you'll learn to like."

He reached for her arm. "I don't want-"

"Leave her alone!" Mama ordered. "Take your filthy hands off her and get out! Now! Now!"

Riley swiveled on the stool. "I think it's time she learned a few things."

"Touch her again and I'll kill you." Mama's voice was barely audible, just a low growl.

He laughed and grabbed Kate. In a split second, Mama reached for the knife rack on the counter, slid out the butcher knife, and plunged it deep into his shoulder. Blood bubbled out of his skin.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

"Anna!" Uncle Cliff's voice boomed over the pounding on the front door. "Anna, are you in there?"

"Oh, thank G.o.d!" She ran to the front door and threw it open. Riley, clad only in his skivvies, yanked the knife from his shoulder and staggered after her, leaving a trail of blood.

Uncle Cliff's eyes rounded to the size of silver dollars, and Aunt June, who was standing primly behind him, white-faced and worrying her hands, didn't venture inside. "What the devil happened here?" Reverend Cliff demanded.

"The b.i.t.c.h tried to kill me!" Riley said, then realizing he was holding the weapon, flung it onto the floor. Snagging his s.h.i.+rt from the back of the couch, he jabbed it at his wound, trying vainly to staunch the flow of blood. "Call a d.a.m.ned ambulance!"

"Now, just stay calm," Uncle Cliff insisted. "The police have already been called."

"Cops?" Riley repeated. "What the h.e.l.l for?"

As it was, his question was answered with the arrival of the police, the ambulance, and a social worker. Kate, while trying to save her mother, had unwittingly unleashed the hounds of h.e.l.l on their little home.

Pete Riley ended up in the hospital, where he was treated and released. Anna Rudisill was tried and acquitted of a.s.sault with a deadly weapon, but her children were stripped from her and placed in Uncle Cliff and Aunt June's small parsonage.

Uncle Cliff was a preacher and Aunt June a devout servant of the Lord. No profanities were ever issued, no questions ever asked, they all just did what Uncle Cliff told them. He, the ordained minister, knew what was best, and Aunt June never once raised her voice to him.

Whenever Aunt June spoke of her sister, it was in a pitying voice, and Mama's visits, always painful and filled with tears, stopped abruptly when she took an overdose of sleeping pills and ended her life.

Kate remembered the service with Uncle Cliff sermonizing on the wages of sin and eulogizing Anna Rudisill as a tortured being who was finally at peace with her G.o.d and joined in heaven with her loving husband.

Kate, grief-stricken, didn't buy it. She and Laura remembered their idyllic life on the farm, their mother's warm smiles, the kind woman who had tended her garden and children with care.

Kate refused to pity her mother or think of her as tortured. Nor did she accept Uncle Cliff's strict, archaic rules about dating, makeup, and school dances. She rebelled as wildly as she could, and on her eighteenth birthday she moved out of the house and married the boy she'd been sneaking around with for two years, Jim Summers, fresh out of college and ready to take on the world. They moved to Boston and a year later Laura joined them.

Cursed as sinners, Kate and Laura never heard from their uncle or aunt again.

Kate tried to build a new life for herself, her husband, her sister, and eventually her little girl. She hadn't been so happy since those early years on the farm, and even Tyrell's unwanted advances were something she could handle.

Then tragedy had struck, her daughter and husband cut down unthinkably by a hit-and-run driver. She remembered that her last words spoken to her husband were in anger over who would pick up Erin from the babysitter. Darling, precious Erin.

Even now, years later, she felt a deep mind-numbing pain when she thought of her baby. The day of the funeral it had rained, and as she stood over the coffins of those she loved most, she'd sworn that she'd never again let herself get close to anyone, because everyone she'd ever loved, except for her sister, had died.

Then Tyrell Clark had offered her a second chance, another baby. Kate had opened her heart to the tiny, unwanted infant and never regretted it for an instant.

But this-this relations.h.i.+p with Daegan-was different. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the window. For the first time in over fifteen years, Kate Summers knew she was about to break the promise she'd made on her husband's grave. "Lord help me," she whispered, but knew it was already too late.

She'd already begun to fall in love.

Chapter 18.

"Aren't you worried?" Frank demanded, his stomach grinding. He reached for a bottle of antacids he kept in his desk and washed four pills down with a splash of Kentucky whiskey.

"There's nothing I can do if Uncle Robert wants to locate Bibi's kid." Collin didn't seem the least concerned, just stood at the window squinting past the snow-dusted high-rises of the city to the bay beyond, where white caps played. Leaning against the gla.s.s, his hands in the pockets of his suit pants, his jacket pushed back to show off the flat stomach beneath his oxford cloth s.h.i.+rt, he could have pa.s.sed for one of those d.a.m.ned models in any of the upscale catalogs that Bonnie kept all over the house.

Sometimes he wondered if this fair-haired boy was his. Collin didn't seem to have an ounce of Sullivan gumption-that same fighting spirit that had forced the family to flee from oppression and starvation in Ireland centuries ago, the fire in the belly that had pushed his ancestors to work harder and climb ever upward, stepping on whatever pathetic souls got in their way until late in the nineteenth century when, after decades of hard work, some wise savings, and a few lucky gambles, they'd made enough money to buy a slot in Boston society-a slot that each succeeding generation had made more prestigious until now.

None of that Sullivan drive, that fire, appeared in his washed-out son. Too much of Maureen in the boy.

"I didn't know Bibi had a baby."

"That's just the point. None of us did. Back then Robert had some sense and he found a way to ensure that the kid never showed his face here again, never darkened our doorsteps, never expected to collect a penny of any of what he might consider his inheritance, but all that's changed. Robert seems to think his power will live on if he can find an heir, replace Stuart."

Collin winced a little, but tried to hide it, and Frank experienced that same burning doubt he underwent years ago when Stuart had been alive, when the boys had been close and shared secrets. "If you ask me, Robert's blown a gasket and probably needs to see his shrink again."