He knew she wouldn’t come to the tree again. As soon as she got back to her house, she’d probably instruct Martha not to let him in the door.
As if that would stop him.
When she was safely inside, Hunter climbed into his car and drove to Loyola. Dr. Brent Myers was still in his office, bent over his Braille writer.
“Hello,” he said, removing his thick glasses and rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Did she get the letter?”
“Yes. I delivered it in person.”
“May I be so bold as to ask what her response was?”
Hunter had no qualms about answering such a personal question. He had liked the man on sight. When he’d gone to the university earlier seeking help, Myers had been perfectly blunt.
“I will help you only if you’re sincere about this woman,” he’d said. “I have no intention of being a party to a cruel hoax.”
It hadn’t taken long for Hunter to convince Myers of his sincerity. Nor for Myers to win Hunter’s respect. Legally blind, Myers still taught nineteenth-century literature to the sighted as well as working in his spare time with the blind.
Now, straddling a chair, watching the professor polish his glasses before returning them to his nose, Hunter answered the question. “Her response was exactly what I expected; she told me to leave.”
“A proud woman.”
“Yes. And a fighter. One day Kathleen will again be the world’s greatest ballerina, and I will be at her side.” Intense, Hunter leaned toward the older man. “Can you teach me to read Braille?”
“Yes. When do you want to start?”
“Now.”
“You have the first criterion of a good student, an eagerness to learn.” He motioned for Hunter to move his chair close to the desk. “And so... let us begin.”
o0o
Martha had become a totally shameless woman. First, she was happy to be back in the Deep South, even if it meant leaving her brother behind on the dark continent, and now she was accepting bribes.
“I really shouldn’t take these,” she said, knowing perfectly well she would. How Hunter La Farge had found out she loved Godiva chocolates better than anything else in the world was beyond her. And roses! He’d brought enough roses to fill her bedroom and half the kitchen. “You’re the very devil himself.”
“At your service.”
With a wicked grin that confirmed her diagnosis, he bent over her hand and bestowed a kiss that warmed the cockles of her old heart. Lordy, she was bewitched, and her sixty-eight years old.
“She’ll kill me when she finds out,” Martha said, knowing Kathleen would do no such thing. Her temper would definitely get in a stir, but she was too much a lady to resort to violence.
Music poured from Kathleen’s studio. They could hear the slap of her ballet slippers against the wooden floor and an occasional crash followed by an expletive.
“She needs me,” Hunter said, as if he’d read Martha’s mind. “When we were children, I’d sit for hours and watch her dance. She used to say I was her courage.”
Martha had always prided herself on being a good judge of character, and she’d be willing to stake her life on Hunter’s sincerity... and his determination.
“I figure you’re going to see her whether I give permission or not.” The look in his eyes told her she’d spoken the truth. “We could use some more milk, and the bathroom supplies are getting low.”
“Good. It’s settled. I’ll stay with Kathleen while you’re shopping. And Martha... take your time. She’ll be in good hands.”
Martha buried her face in her roses, then smiled at him. “I never doubted that for a minute.”
o0o
Sweat soaked the front and back of Kathleen’s leotard and inched from under her heavy hair. She reached for a towel on the barre to wipe her face. With her hand in midair, she froze.
The haunting sounds of the adagio from Sleeping Beauty filled the room. Or was it her imagination? The towel fell from her hand, and she pressed her hands over her ears, afraid to trust the miracle.
To hear music again... to move in time to the beautiful rhythms... to soar through the air on wings of melody... It was a dream beyond imagining.
“Please, God,” she whispered. Then slowly, ever so slowly, she took her hands away.
The sounds were there, just as she had imagined, not faint and faraway, but as clear as the chimes that echoed through Jackson Square.
“Martha,” she yelled. “Martha!”
She heard the sound of hurrying footsteps in the hallway. Oh, blessed sound.
“I can hear... I can hear!”
“Then I want these to be the first words you hear. I love you, Kathleen.”
All the months she’d waited in silence for the return of her hearing, she’d dreamed of what she wanted most to hear. And always, it had been the sound of Hunter’s voice. Even before the music.
Mesmerized, she stood absolutely still while sound washed over her—the majestic melodies of Tchaikovsky, the tick of the hall clock, the song of a mockingbird outside her window, the scratch of a tree branch along the side of the house, the distant barking of a dog. And Hunter’s voice.
“Did you hear me, Kat? I love you. I never stopped loving you and I never will.”
“I heard you, Hunter. And it doesn’t change a thing.”
She could imagine the way he walked by the sound of his boots on the wooden floor, emphatic, measured sounds of a man with a purpose. Suddenly he was beside her, his body heat mingling with hers, his hands upon her face.
“It changes everything,” he said, tracing the path of moisture from her cheekbones to the corner of her lips.
She hadn’t been aware of tears, only of being drunk with sound.
“No,” she whispered.
“Yes.” He circled her lips with his index finger. “Now I can say all the things to you that I couldn’t put in a letter.”
“You’ve said everything you need to say.”
“Except I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ever left you in the first place, sorry the letters stopped, sorry I came home too late.” With one hand on her cheek and the other around her waist, he drew her close. “But most of all I’m sorry for letting the music stop for you, Kathleen. I made a sacred vow to you, and I broke it. Can you ever forgive me?”
His voice could persuade saints to turn in their crowns. She imagined how it would be to let herself be persuaded. No more bruising herself against the walls, no more dark lonely hours, no more being one against the world. Just the blessed peace of hiding in the shelter of his love and letting Hunter fight her battles.
“I forgave you a long time ago, Hunter.” She hoped he didn’t see how dangerously close she was to being persuaded. “For a while I hated you for coming back too late, but Earl was a wonderful man and a good husband. There was no room for hate in my life.”
“Did you love him, Kathleen?”
“I married him. That’s all that matters.”
“Did you love him?”
“What do you want me to say, Hunter? That I never loved another man but you? That I never made love to my husband without wishing he was you?” She drew apart from him. “Yes, I loved Earl Lennox.”
It was no lie. She had loved him as much as she could ever love another man.
“I’m sorry, Kat. I had no right to ask that question. Earl Lennox deserved your loyalty.”
“How do you know?”
“I kept up.”
“You had me watched?”
“Yes. For a while. Until I was certain he would be good to you. And I make no apologies.”
“I’d forgotten that about you, Hunter. That you like to be king of the world.”
“That’s one of the things you loved about me.”
She wiped her face with the towel, remembering. He’d been like the young lion they used to visit in Audubon, sleek, beautiful, powerful, sure of his superior position. How she had loved his boldness. And how she loved it still.
But Hunter must never know.
“Loved is the operative word.”
“Your eyes give you away when you lie.... So does your body.”
Silently she cursed her own folly. Her leotard would hide nothing, neither the taut ripening of her breasts nor the heavy flutter of her pulse. Casually she flung the towel over her shoulder, then threw back her head and laughed.
“Dancing always excites me, Hunter. I suppose that’s one of the many things you’ve forgotten.”
“I’ve forgotten nothing. Nor have you, Kathleen.”
“Dancing is better than sex, Hunter,” she’d once teased. She’d been onstage at the high school, rehearsing for the ballet sequence in Oklahoma! long after all the other cast members had gone home.
“Better than sex?” A fierce light gleamed in the center of his eyes as he stalked her.
“Yes.” Her laughter was breathless, and already her blood was humming with anticipation.
“Beautiful lying vixen.”
He was standing in front of her now, his feet widespread, his thighs touching hers. Her breath sawed through her lungs.
Kathleen caught his dark head as he bent over her. His kiss sent her spiraling upward.
Suddenly he was laughing down at her.
“Shall we dance, Kat?”
“Where is the music?”
He touched his heart, and then hers. “There,” he said.
She shoved her leotard aside and wrapped herself around him.
“Let’s dance, Hunter.”
Joined, they’d waltzed around the stage until the music became a frantic jazz rhythm that sent them to the floor. Afterward Hunter lifted himself on his elbows.
“Better than sex, Kat?”
She kissed his lips. “I lied.”
“Lie to me again. I want to prove you wrong.”
Remembering, Kathleen faced the man she could no longer see.
“No, Hunter, I haven’t forgotten. We were magnificent together. But all that’s in the past.”
“And in the future. We will be magnificent together again.”
“I’m no longer sixteen. I don’t believe in that particular fairy tale anymore.”
He didn’t answer, but stood for a while searing her with his overwhelming presence. Then she heard him prowling the room. Hunter could never be still when he was disturbed.
“Please leave,” she said, even while a part of her mind begged him to stay.
“Not yet, Kathleen.”
His measured steps reverberated through her. The path of warmth she’d been standing in vanished, and she knew he was at the window, blocking the sun. Backlit by the sun, he used to look like a god descended from Mount Olympus.
Suddenly darkness overwhelmed her, and she had to bite down on her lips to keep them from trembling. How easy it would be to let herself depend on Hunter.
She felt the sun on her face once more, and the solid disturbing presence of Hunter.
“How long will it take you to make a comeback, Kat?”
“I don’t know.”
“Make a guess.”
“Now that I can hear, perhaps no longer than six months.”
“I’ll make a bargain with you.”
“I’ve already made my bargain—with myself.”
“You were never a coward, Kat.”
“No. And I don’t intend to be. Don’t you see, Hunter? You’re so easy to depend upon. If you stay, I’m in danger of becoming a sniveling coward.” She held out her hands, and he took them. “Please... if you have any regard for me at all, give me the dignity of doing this on my own.”
“Can there not be dignity if you have the help of a friend? We were best friends, Kat, long before we ever became lovers.”
“Yes, Hunter. We were best friends.” He squeezed her hands, nothing more, just the good solid comfort of a friend.
“Let me be your best friend again, Kat, for six months. If at the end of that time you want me to leave, I’ll go.”
She was tempted, so very tempted. Hunter had taught her to swim and to ride a bike. He’d taught her to swing like a boy with her fists and to bait a fishhook without being squeamish. They’d skipped rocks on the river and sneaked their first smoke together behind the school cafeteria. Once he’d smuggled her into the boys’ locker room at the gym because she’d told him she wanted to see if she was getting the best bargain of the bunch.
“I have Martha, who should never have let you in. How did you get past her?”
“I insisted.” He turned her hand over and traced a heart in her palm. “Will Martha take you skinny-dipping in the river and motorcycling around the lake? Will she take you flying after dark so you can touch the moon?”
“Don’t tempt me, Hunter.” She released his hands and stepped back, aware of the burning imprint of the heart.
“Do I tempt you, Kat?”
More than you’ll ever know.
It was her turn to prowl the room. Was she strong enough to send him out of her life? Could she survive the pain of losing him once more?
Perhaps not. Perhaps something vital in her would die if she knew for certain that he would never be a part of her life again. Always, always, she’d held on to the dreams, even while she was lying in the hospital bed begging Martha not to let Hunter and her friends know she was alive.
She braced herself against the barre, gripping it with both hands behind her back.
“You broke your word once, Hunter. Even then, I waited for you. Two years without a word, not a single letter.”
“I spent those two years in a Congo jail.”
“Why?”
“For being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“How do I know you won’t be in the wrong place at the wrong time again?”
“The dream I was chasing is dead, Kathleen.”
“Your father is dead?”
“I don’t know. I never found him. All I know is that it’s not important anymore. I am Hunter La Farge.”
The long silence screamed through her. Hunter made no move to come close. She remembered how he used to look while he waited, darkly handsome, brooding, filled with subterranean currents she could only imagine. He’d had his say. He would not try to persuade her, either by touch or further conversation.
The choice was hers. Slowly she released the barre, certain of what she had to do.
“I’ll give you six months. Just friends.”
“Just friends. Unless you ask for more.”
“I won’t ask.”
“I intend to do everything in my power to see that you do.”
“You always were a gambling man, Hunter.”
“You’re more than worth the gamble.”
Dangerous currents flowed between them, currents that threatened to sweep her off her feet and suck her under. The gamble she was taking was enormous, bigger even than her gamble to return to the stage. Her blood sang with challenge. She tipped her chin up, her eyes blazing.
“I won’t let you move in. Martha is staying.”
His chuckle sent shivers through her. How full of self-confidence he was. How full of life. How tempting.
“I like Martha,” he said. “We’ll teach her to smoke a big cigar and ride a Harley-Davidson.”
One of the things she’d always loved about Hunter was his ability to make her laugh. The laughter bubbled up inside her and spilled over, a merry peal that soon had her holding her sides and gasping for breath.
“We might even take her skinny-dipping,” he added.
She held up her hands. “Stop before I collapse.”
“I used to dream about your laughter, Kat. It’s good to hear it again.”
“It’s good to laugh again. But it’s not getting the work done.”
The Tchaikovsky ballet had ended and the room was silent.
“I’ll put on another song for you. Which one do you want?”
“No. I’ll do it. I’m blind, not helpless.” She walked to the tape player, counting her steps. “If you’re going to be my best friend, the first thing you have to do is to let me be independent.”
There was silence. When Hunter finally spoke, his voice was filled with a steely determination.
“Not only will I let you be independent, I will set you free.”
“How?”
“If you’re going to be my best friend, you have to learn to trust me again.” He walked to her and tipped her chin up with one finger. “Trust me, Kat.”
It took all her willpower to keep from twisting her hands into his hair and pulling him close.
“I’ll try, Hunter.”
Trusting him was the least of her worries. It was herself she didn’t trust.