As the silence lengthened, Erik gave an inward sigh. Perhaps he'd misunderstood, this past week. Madeline had seemed comfortable with him. Tonight she did not.
He finished his beer. Trace and his wife were using his apartment, the band occupied spare rooms all over town, and the Conestoga House was bursting its seams. Amelia had said he could come out to her place, sleep on the sofa. Her single guestroom was occupied by an in-law or something. It seemed like every house in Garnet Falls contained at least one relative from somewhere, all here to see the legendary Trace Pickett perform.
He sighed again, involuntarily and aloud. Time to go. Picking up the six-pack, he stood. It wasn't so much that he dreaded the sofa at Amelia's, but that he wanted Madeline to trust him.
"I'll have to change the sheets," she said.
He sat down again, aware that he'd been holding himself tightly and had suddenly relaxed. "No. Don't do that. I'll be fine."
"Erik, I don't think you know what you might find in a six-year-old's bed. I'll change the sheets." She went indoors.
Erik let his head fall back against the wall behind him. When he'd decided to come here instead of going to Amelia's place, he'd told himself it was because he was too tired to drive the seven roundabout miles to get there. Now he had to admit it was because he simply wanted to be with her.
He wanted to be with her in every sense. This week had taught him how much he wanted her in his life. No longer based on a memory of one delicious night, his need for her went far beyond the merely physical.
Then he remembered whose bed he'd be sleeping in tonight. Her son's.
Kids. She had two, he reminded himself. That was two more than any of the women in his life had ever had, for he'd always shied away from dating women with children. He didn't know how to relate kids, wasn't comfortable talking to them. Never had been, even when he'd been a kid himself. Except for Gail. She'd been far more than a sister; she'd been his best friend.
Madeline's kids were certainly a complication to anything beyond mild friendship. But then maybe that's all Madeline wanted from him, anyway. Erik admitted he was confused as hell. Sometimes he'd swear she wanted him as much as he did her. Then again, she seemed to be wholly self-contained and without any sort of sexual needs at all. Especially for him.
Well, he wouldn't worry about it tonight. Once his head hit that pillow, he'd be dead to the world. Planning a hometown festival was more work than any of the project management he'd done, even when he'd had to integrate several firms' personnel into a functioning environmental assessment team.
He didn't miss the consulting business. The last six years had been enough to teach him that it wasn't his particular can of worms. Of course, an occasional project, where he could work with other dedicated wetlands preservation professionals, kept his skills honed and his contacts current.
Walt had called him just last week about a wetland in Minnesota. It was time for him to be moving on. He'd been in Idaho more than a month now, and that was longer than he'd stayed anywh....
"Erik. Erik?" At a touch on his arm he swam out of the doze into which he'd fallen. "Your bed's ready."
Shaking his head, he looked around at unfamiliar surroundings.
"Erik?" The hand on his arm was warm, somehow comforting. "Wake up and go to bed." The voice was amused.
Another shake of his head and reality resumed. God! He hadn't been this out of it for a long time. "Thanks," he said. "Sorry I zonked like that."
Madeline's smile seemed to light up the darkness. "Let me show you the way," she said, leading him into the house.
The kitchen was dark, but a light in the hall made a bright path. She had put a robe over her nightgown, he noticed. Even silhouetted as she was, he could no longer see the shape of her body as he had when she'd come to the front door, outlined by the same hall light.
He followed her up the stairs and along another hall. She indicated the bathroom. "I'll leave the night light on for you. Your towels are on the bar at the end of the tub."
"Thanks," he said, just as she opened a door and stood aside. The room was a typical boy's, or at least it looked like his had when he was a boy. Sports posters, a bird's nest sharing one shelf with thin books with bright spines, a soccer ball on another, and in the corner a cage that looked as if it might hold a rat or a gerbil. The important part was that there was a bed. Two beds, but it was the nearer one, sheets turned back invitingly, that mattered to him. "Thanks, Madeline."
"I could take King Alfred," she said, gesturing at the cage, "if you think he'll bother you."
"No need. I've slept with critters all my life," he assured her. He started unbuttoning his shirt. "I really appreciate this," he said, wishing she'd go so he could collapse onto the bed.
"I...well, goodnight," she said. "Sleep well." She stepped out the door, pulling it closed behind her. Then she opened it again, just as he was pulling his shirt off. "Ah...what time...." She licked her lips, and despite his exhaustion, he felt a shaft of fire spear in his belly. "What time do you want to get up?"
"I don't care," he said. "But early." He could feel her gaze, almost physical on his bared chest.
Again her tongue flicked out. "Six?"
"Fine." Damn! He was too tired for this.
"I'll set the...the clock." Suddenly she was out the door and slamming it behind her.
Leaving Erik thoroughly awake.
Insomnia was probably much easier to endure, Madeline thought, back in the days when clocks ticked and their hands went silently and invisibly around. The bright red digits of her clock reproached her as she pounded her pillow yet again, wondering where all the rocks had come from. Eleven-thirty, and she hadn't slept a wink.
She didn't even feel tired. The blood was zinging though her veins and her mind was going a mile a minute. She'd thought about every possible thing that might go wrong tomorrow and had come up with half a dozen ways to prevent or solve each and every one of them. The sleepiness that had almost overtaken her just before Erik's arrival was lost, driven away with the awareness of his presence, just across the hall.
Had Emaline remembered to arrange for the sawhorses? Just this afternoon they'd realized they needed something to block the service road that went behind the athletic field at the high school. Sawhorses would have more authority than just a rope.
Was Erik asleep?
She wondered what time Jon and Janine would get to town. This afternoon when Janine had brought in the ice cream, she'd said Jon wanted to come in early so they could go home early. He'd given the hands the day off and had to get back to milk their one cow and check the siphons on the hayfield they would be irrigating.
Was Erik comfortable? Kyle's narrow bed was probably too short and too narrow for him.
Where had she put the key to the high school? She was supposed to go over and open the north corridor in the morning. Was it in her purse, or still on her desk, where she last remembered seeing it?
A floorboard creaked. Another. Erik?
She pummeled her pillow again, determined to beat it into comfortable submission. The bathroom door rattled shut. Water ran. The shower? At this time of night?
Her mind on hold, Madeline listened until the water stopped. Small sounds told her he was brushing his teeth, flushing the toilet. Then the distinctive rattle of the door again. She really should get it fixed. That rattle could bring her out of a sound sleep.
Waiting for the floor to creak again, she wondered what he was doing. The only boards in the house that gave notice of being walked on were between Kyle's bedroom and the bathroom. Their silence meant he hadn't gone back to bed.
Where was he?
She rolled out and went to her door. Carefully she turned the knob, not wanting him to know she was, well, spying on him. Inching it open, she peered into the dim hallway. The small night light in the bathroom lit the hall only enough so you could see not to run into the wall. But her eyes were used to the dark, and so she saw him.
He was waiting for her, standing across the hall from her bedroom door. She didn't have to ask what he was waiting for. She knew, for she'd been waiting too.
"Madeline," he said, his voice low and just a little hoarse, "I tried." He shrugged. "Even a cold shower didn't help."
"I've always thought they were vastly overrated," she said, stepping back so he could come into her bedroom.
He stopped at the foot of her bed. In the dark, she could only see his eyes as a glimmer.
"Wait," she said. Quickly she pulled the shades and lit the small crystal lamp on her dresser. It gave just enough light to make the room warm and mysterious, with shadows occupying the corners.
"I don't have anything to protect you," he said, standing a scant foot from her. He hadn't yet touched her, nor she him.
"I don't either," she said, wondering why she didn't. If only she'd acknowledged the inevitability of this happening as soon as he'd come to town.
"I guess we'll have to contrive, then, won't we?" He reached out a finger and touched her cheek, traced a line to her mouth, and down her throat to the demure neckline of her nightgown.
Her last hesitation vanished. "I guess we will." She took a fateful step forward and found herself caught and held. The solidity of his chest, the thrust of his erection, and the stroking of his eager hands were all familiar. Her body had remembered, even when she denied this need.
Ah, how lonely she'd been, with no one to caress her, no one to hold her and keep the nightmares at bay. As his hands slid over her skin, cupping her breasts, teasing the nipples, shaping and molding her to fit against him, she knew she was made for twoness, not a solitary life.
A brief flare of anger burned within her. Life was so damned unfair! First taking Jesse away, then sending her this man who would never stay. Then the flame turned to a fire of another sort, as his fingers brushed across her belly and whispered across her lower curls.
Her legs grew weak, until she was clinging to him lest she dissolve into a puddle of desire at his feet. He seemed to sense her bonelessness, for he lifted her and laid her gently across her bed, tossing the tangled linens to the foot.
He returned to her breasts, worshipping them. Every touch of his mouth hurt, a delicious pain shooting thorough her. As he suckled her, she arched against him, offering more...all. Anticipation built within her, as heat suffused her body and threatened to consume her. Each flick of his tongue against her hypersensitive nipples enhanced the blaze, until she wanted to scream at him to stop...don't...stop...don't...don't stop!
His fingers left a blistering trail wherever they went. Between her breasts, down the line of her midriff to her navel, and then to her thighs. She knew she was writhing, moaning, in need as he slipped his hands under her, as his mouth left her breasts. The night air was cold on her wet skin, tightening her nipples even more, until they were yet another in a galaxy of aching hungers.
"Erik! Oh, please!" Was that her voice? That hoarse entreaty? That guttural demand?
"Tell me, Madeline," he said, stroking his hands along her thighs, behind her knees, along her calves. He was kneeling between her legs, lifting her legs to rest on his shoulders.
"Tell...." He kissed her foot, turned his head and kissed the other.
"...me...." He nibbled her ankle.
"...what...." As his hands cupped her buttocks, his mouth was etching a moist trail up to her knees.
"...you...." He bent forward as he lifted her.
"...want." His mouth was hot as he kissed her intimately, his tongue flicking her pulsing femininity.
He seemed to pull her outside of herself, until she was caught in a force so vast, so irresistible that she could only let herself be swept along to wherever he led.
Her spasms almost sent Erik over the edge. He fought his body's reaction as he gently brought her back to herself. What a wonderfully responsive woman she was.
As he lay beside her, stroking her relaxed body and willing himself to patience, he accepted that his memories had not played him false, after all. Over the years, whenever he'd remembered the single night with Madeline, he'd told himself that nothing could be that good. But something could. Someone could. Even without coming to climax himself, he was more satisfied than he could have imagined.
A tentative touch brought him to full attention. A light caress along the still-hard length of him played hell with his patience. "Careful," he said. "I'm a little touchy."
Madeline's laughter was warm, cocky. "I know," she said.
When her hand circled him, squeezed, Erik felt it clear to his toes.
"Tell me what you want," she said, her fingers exploring.
When she found even more sensitive flesh, she clasped it within her hand. Breath exploded from him, but he was able to contain the implacable force. Barely.
He drew a deep gasp of relief when she took her hands away. And disappointment. When her lips touched his navel, he inhaled again, spasmodically. His chest hurt, his heart pounded. He reached for her.
"Ah-ah!" she said, pulling back. "Mustn't touch. It's my turn, now." She swung herself astride him, holding herself just clear of his belly. Leaning forward so her breasts scarcely skimmed his chest, she kissed him, pulling his tongue into her mouth, simulating the joining he so desperately wanted.
He arched upward, his body demanding completion, but she was too quick.
"Oops," she said, "This wasn't such a good idea." Rolling aside, she stationed herself alongside him, still on her knees, twisted so her breasts again pressed lightly against his chest. Her lips closed his eyes, one at a time. Teased the tip of his nose. Lightly grazed his mouth. Her teeth nipped gently at his chin, her tongue wetted his Adam's apple.
Then her breath was warm on his chest as she dropped kisses at random, working her way down again to his navel. She tickled, she sucked, she bit, she tasted. Millimeter by millimeter, she crept lower and lower, challenging his restraint. Whenever he bucked in reaction to a particularly stimulating touch, she pulled away and let him calm himself.
When her breath warmed the hair at the base of his shaft, he shuddered in anticipation. Touch me! his mind screamed. "Ahhhh!" was all his mouth could manage. He released his grip on the sheets, no longer willing--nor able--to obey her stricture against touching. His hands found her head, tangled in the curls. "Now!" he commanded.
"Now," she agreed. The single word held anticipation, passion, and triumph. She touched him with her tongue. Took him into her mouth.
She toyed with him, drawing him deep, then releasing him and sitting back on her heels when he bucked against her hold. When he was still again, she traced from the base of his shaft to the tip, her fingers both curious and knowing. Once more she kissed him, looking along his body in question.
He took her hands in his, clasping them tightly around him. When she moved to lower her head again, he gasped, "No. Look at me, Madeline. I want to see your face."
But he didn't see her face. Once he released the tremendous control he was exerting, it took but a tightening of her hand about him for him to explode, his consciousness shattering as he gave himself up to the release he'd been denying himself ever since he'd found Madeline again.
* * * *
Madeline woke to a kiss and the smell of coffee. She stretched, aware of having slept better than she had in a long time. "Mmmm?" she said, without opening her eyes.
"Is that a way of being safe?" Erik's voice was amused. "In some book or other, the hero always made a noise like that when he didn't remember the name of the woman in his bed."
"Madeline Elaine Pierson," she said, wondering why she didn't feel even a smidge of regret. She opened her eyes and scooted up to lean against the brass headboard.
"Huh?" He set a cup on the bedside stand and, carefully balancing another, slipped into bed beside her. His jeans were half unbuttoned and his feet and chest were bare. He looked as if he belonged.
"The name of the woman in your bed." She sipped her coffee, grateful. Although she'd fallen quickly into deep sleep almost as soon as Erik had wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close, she knew she'd need all the help she could get today. Even with a good night's sleep, it was going to be a long day. With fewer than six hours, she would be a zombie by eight tonight. "How can you look so cheerful on so little sleep?"
He slipped his free arm behind her. "I'm a morning person, I guess. I always wake up raring to go."
"Today that's probably for the best. I keep wondering what I've forgotten." Another sip. Surely there was something she needed to be doing, but she couldn't think of a single one. Having a half-naked Erik beside her in the bed was an instant and effective mind wipe. She drank more coffee, thinking that she really needed to get started. The Committee was meeting for breakfast at eight-thirty, and she had to get together with Amelia before that.
Erik lifted the cup from her hand. "You've had a half cup. That's enough." He pulled her close and kissed her, a hot, wet kiss full of promise and longing.
For a moment, Madeline responded, wanting him just as much this morning as she had last night. Then reality intruded, in the sound of jake brakes on the highway. Today was the Fourth and she was in charge of the Social. She could let nothing interfere with her responsibility to her town. "Stop, please," she said, once she could pull her mouth free from his. An almost impossible task, because she hadn't really wanted to. "We can't. Not this morning."
Erik looked over her shoulder at the clock. "You're right, damn it. It's almost seven."
"Oh, no!" She rolled out of the bed, hardly noticing she was stark naked. Grabbing her robe, she headed for the bathroom. If she hurried, she could get her shower and still have enough time to go over everything with Amelia before breakfast.
* * * *
By the time the Social officially opened at noon, Madeline was already convinced that their estimates of attendance were going to be exceeded. People had been coming into town steadily since about ten, and already the fairgrounds parking lots were full.
The parade went well. She imagined people from Boise weren't too impressed, but as far as she was concerned, it was the biggest and best ever. The visiting high school bands played loudly and with enthusiasm, if not always strictly in tune. Each riding club was followed by rowdy clowns, wielding their scoops with smelly flamboyance. There might not be many floats, but the wagons full of costumed children and the clowns made up for the lack. Every Halloween costume in Sunset County must have been put to use. And how had the coach convinced the entire football team to paint their faces? Not that most of the boys didn't do a lot of clowning around anyway, even without makeup. Phil Cohoon was the cutest, with his bulbous red nose and Emaline's old purple satin dress straining at his broad shoulders.
So far--knock wood--everything was going smoothly. All the first shift volunteers had shown up, the equipment donated by local merchants was all working, and the truck from the beer distributor had just arrived. They wouldn't open the beer garden until four, but she was relieved to know that they would be ready to do so.
Even the hurriedly built tables and benches looked good. Erik made a call to Portland and convinced the company president that Hells Gate Timber should contribute to the Social, a first for the town. Ever since the original owners had sold it, about thirty years ago, the sawmill had used Sunset County trees and labor, but had done nothing else to be part of the community. Today there was seating for several hundred picnickers, put together practically overnight with materials and labor supplied by Hells Gate.
Madeline checked her watch. Almost one and everything was still going smoothly. Now, where were Janine and the kids?
"Linnie!" Madeline craned her neck, trying to see who had called her name. "Linnie! Over here!"
A hand was waving over the crowd, from the direction of the Baptist Church booth. She wove her way through the crowd. "What's the problem?" she asked the aproned woman behind the counter who was holding the end of an extension cord.
"We can't keep it plugged in. Every time someone walks between the booths," she pointed next door, where tempura and teriyaki chicken on skewers were selling like hotcakes, "they trip on our cord and unplug the coffee maker."
Madeline measured the distance between the booths with her eye. "Why don't you pull one of your cars into the space a little way, then run the cord under it? Then you could stretch some flagging tape across whatever gap is left. I'll see if I can find Erik and send him over with the tape."
"That ought to work. Thanks, Linnie." The woman dropped the cord and spun around to call to a co-worker, "No, not those onions. Use the ones in the blue container first."
Madeline was heading for the high school, to check supplies in the rest rooms, when she heard her children calling her. Turning around, she saw Kyle and Ginger racing across the picnic area, dodging adults and tables. Janine and her children were following at a more leisurely walk. She knelt and waited, marveling again that these two wonderful children were hers. When they reached her, they bowled her over with their enthusiastic greeting.
"Mama, did you know Phil's wearing a dress!" Kyle demanded, as soon as he'd given her a big hug. "And one of the guys has his hair dyed purple and tattoos all over his tummy."
"And...and...and we saw a bee-u-tiful black car with its top down and a license plate that said 'ZOOM,'" Ginger added, showing where her interest always centered. Jon swore she'd drive the Indy 500 some day.
"I want a hamburger," Kyle said, still hanging on her, even though she'd stood. "And lots and lots of ice cream and a hot dog and some cotton candy, and--"
"And maybe I should leave them with you tonight," her cousin's wife said, giving Madeline a quick hug, "if he's going to eat like that."
"Oh, Jan, if only you could, but I've got to--"
"I was kidding," Jan said. "You'll be on the go until all hours, if this is anything like it's always been." Janine had done her share at the Social in years past and she knew whereof she spoke.
Madeline was guiltily conscious of relief. If the children were to stay with her tonight, Erik wouldn't. And she so desperately wanted him to.
After the confusion of the Social was over, she wouldn't dare let him stay in her house, unless the children were there. And she wouldn't ever, ever let him make love to her if there was a chance in a million that her children might discover them together. Tonight would be all they had.
Perhaps ever.
"I see some of the guys from school," Jace said. "Can I go to the carnival with them, Ma?"
Janine dug in her purse and handed him some money. "Go ahead honey. Just be sure you meet me at Aunt Linnie's at five o'clock."
He was gone almost before he could agree.
"I'm really, really hungry, Ma," Abby said, tugging on Janine's free arm.
"Me, too." Ginger rubbed her tummy.
"Well, me, three," Madeline agreed. "So. Where do we eat?" Usually there were only two food booths to choose between, besides the ice cream stand. This year there were the Baptist booth, where hamburgers and hot dogs were featured, the Obon Festival booth with its Japanese food, a barbecued ribs and baked beans feed put on by the Larch Mountain Grange, and an Idaho Spud booth, where one could get potatoes fixed every way but raw. That was not to mention the cotton candy stand, two soft drink stands, and the beer garden, which would feature pizza by the slice along with its domestic and imported beers.
"Ice cream!" Denny said.
"Hangoobers," Kyle demanded, using a pronunciation from his terrible threes.
"I want some of that stuff on sticks," Ginger said. "And curly fries."
"Can I have a hot dog, Ma?"
Madeline laughed. "Let's make a list. Then you kids can go save us a place at a table and Aunt Janine and I can get all the food, okay?"
They all agreed and repeated their requests for Janine to write down. With happy shouts, they ran toward the picnic area. "I'm not sure we are going to be able to carry all this," Jan said. "Or that they'll be able to eat it all."
"Probably not," Madeline agreed. "I never could, but Gran and Gramps always let me have whatever I wanted, just this one day."
"That's what Jon said, too. Oh, well." She chuckled. "if we have an epidemic of belly aches tonight, he can get up with 'em." They parted to get the varied foods for their children.
* * * *
Erik caught Madeline between the First Aid tent and the not-yet-open beer garden somewhere around three. As she was passing the beer truck, an arm snaked out and pulled her into the narrow gap between it and the tent.
"C'mere, you gorgeous morsel." His voice imitated a movie gangster's.
"Ooooh," she sighed, fluttering her eyelashes, "please don't hurt me!"
"Baby, what I want to do to you won't hurt a bit," he growled, before taking her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss.
She melted. The temperature was still in the low seventies, but she felt herself sizzle as his kiss deepened. Caught between his body and the truck behind her, she didn't quite trickle down into a puddle at his feet, but she felt as if she should.
"There," he said against her lips a long time later, "that should hold me for a little while."
She kissed his bearded chin. "An hour or so," she agreed. "Not one second longer." He felt so good. All she wanted to do was stand here in the circle of his arms and let him turn her blood to fire and her body to fluid compliance.
"But what I have to do is get on back to the stage. There's some problem with the sound system." He released her, leaving her standing shakily on legs that had somehow lost their starch.
"And I've got to deliver this sunscreen to the First Aid tent." She shook her head. "I can't understand why people don't come prepared. Our most common medical emergency is sunburn."
"Be glad it's nothing worse," Erik said, reluctantly releasing her. "Gotta go." With one hand he caught her nape and kissed the tip of her nose. "Catch you later."
His leer promised an unspeakably delicious later. Madeline knew she was grinning like a clown as she went on her way.
* * * *
Erik had to admit that this was at once the most exhausting and the most interesting day he'd spent in years. Despite the constant need to cope with minor emergencies, he was having the time of his life. Getting to know these people was the best part of it. He'd lived in the Washington, D.C. area for eleven years now, on and off, and he knew fewer people there than he did in Garnet Falls--and not nearly so well, either. He couldn't think of a place he'd ever been where he felt so at home.
Madeline was a big part of his feeling like he belonged, he was sure.
He stopped to purchase a cola, glanced at his watch, and headed across Jefferson Street. His feet were tired and he could use the excuse of making sure the kids' games were going smoothly to sit on the bleachers for a while, as soon as he solved the sound problem.
Most of the foot traffic between the park and the playing field was children running pell mell in all directions. Several times Erik had to step out of the way or be run down. The third time it happened, the boy--ten or so, he estimated--begged his pardon before running off. Three smaller children were pursuing him, yelling.
My god! That little girl had to be one of Madeline's twins. Her black, curly hair and stubborn little chin were duplicates of Madeline's, and her mouth had the same sweet little curve that made her look as if she were about to smile.
But it was the younger boy who held his attention. Who was he? Erik knew he'd seen the child before, seen him many times, but where?
He followed the children, or tried to. Since the playing field was the only likely destination in this direction, he kept on going that way. When he arrived, he climbed higher in the bleachers than he needed to, just so he could look over the crowd.
Where have I seen that child before?
He scanned the crowd. If he could only get another look at the boy, he would know.
The miniature Madeline was at the side of the field, jumping up and down. Another girl was beside her, carroty hair a beacon in the bright sunlight.
Where was the boy? Ah, there, pulling a gunnysack over his legs, with a dozen or so other boys, all much bigger than he.
Erik watched, straining to make out the child's features. Even his motions seemed familiar. He half kept his eye on the boy as he made his way down to ground level, almost afraid he'd disappear before he was identified.
The sack race began before he could get near enough to see the boy's face well, so he stood as close to the two little girls as he could, assuming the boy would return to them, since he'd seemed to be their companion.
The short course was littered with fallen children before the race was decided. The boy whom Erik was watching fell about a third of the way through the race, and lay on the ground, laughing uproariously while the other boys hopped and staggered their way along. The winner was a tall, skinny kid with a gap between his front teeth, and the boy who'd collided with Erik was second.
After awards were presented to first, second, and third places, with lesser prizes to all the contestants, the two boys returned to the little girls. Erik watched as the smaller one approached. Watched, and wondered if he were seeing a ghost.
Gail and Erik had not been twins, but might as well have been. Less than two years apart, they'd been inseparable. If Gail had been a little bossy, Erik had been a good follower. His big sister never left him behind when she went places with her friends. She had never called Erik a baby, or told him he was dumb, or even beat on him, as some of her friends did on their little brothers and sisters. Erik and Gail were a unified front in the face of their mother's gloom and despair. It had been to Gail that Erik owed what laughter and happiness his childhood had held.
He still missed her, and it had been twenty-six years since...damn! He still felt as if he'd failed his sister!
The child came closer. Erik met his eyes and lost touch with here and now. Gail's eyes had been an unusual color, lighter than Erik's own dark brown, the rich yellow-brown of Baltic amber. Her nose, even at ten, had been long and straight, with a faint indication of a cleft at the tip. A matching cleft, deep enough to be called a dimple, marked her chin. Erik was blond, but Gail's hair had been lighter, almost silvery, and dead straight, lacking even the slightest wave.
Erik looked into his sister's eyes. "Gail?" He heard his voice tremble as his hand reached out to the tow-headed child.
"Uh-uh. I'm Kyle."
"Let's go," the larger boy said. "I want to show Ma my prize."
"We're gonna do the three legged race," the red-haired girl said. "You're just gonna have to wait, Denny."
"Aw," he began.
"You promised, Denny," Madeline's image said. "You promised, and you gotta stay. So there!" Her little chin was set, just as he'd often seen Madeline's.
Erik licked suddenly dry lips. "Kyle?" He touched the younger boy on the shoulder. "Do you live here?"
"Who are you, mister?" Denny's voice challenged him. He moved to stand between Erik and the girls, and was trying to push Kyle behind him as well.
"I'm Erik Solomon," he said. "Who are you?"
"I'm Virginia Elaine Pierson," the dark-haired girl said, "and that's my cousin Denny and my cousin Abby and my brother Kyle." She smiled with heart-stopping pride. "We're twins."
"Ginger, you're not supposed to talk to strang...."
"He's not a stranger, Denny. He's Mama's assistant. I saw 'em talkin' earlier." Her smile was as lovely as her mother's.
But Erik couldn't appreciate her smile, for he was, as always, tongue-tied and unable to think what to say to this charming little girl. He was also still mesmerized by the uncanny resemblance between the boy--Kyle Pierson--and Gail.
Could he be....No! It was impossible! His mouth was dry, his heart throbbing heavily in his chest. He had to ask.
"How old are you, Kyle? Seven?"
The boy looked to his sister, reminding Eric of how he'd always let Gail take the lead. "Not for a while yet."
"Our birthday's the third of August," Ginger said.
"Mine's next week," Abby said, obviously not liking the twins to hog the spotlight of his attention. "I'm older."
"Pooh," Kyle scoffed. "Only three weeks."
The children's squabbling only registered peripherally. Erik was mentally counting on his fingers.