"I thought men were ready any time, any place, for any reason. Gee, I'm a little disappointed," she said, dragging the tips of her nails down his stomach toward the thick dark curls of hair between his legs.
Ryan opened his eyes at that. Taking her by surprise, he tossed her on her back like an awakening lion, pressing both of her hands back against the bed. Then he stared at her long and hard, so intently she wondered what he was seeing in her face, in her eyes.
"You're staring at me," she said.
"I'm memorizing you."
"So you won't forget." She couldn't keep a note of sadness out of her voice.
"I'll never forget you. I just want to remember every detail, every glorious inch of your face, your body, your heart." Ryan put his lips to her heart, kissing the beats as they came faster and faster.
"Oh, Ryan, love me."
"I intend to."
Then he spread her legs and buried himself inside her. "I never felt like I had a home until now. This I could call home," he whispered.
Ryan released her hands and she pulled him down to her, stroking his back with her fingers, pulling his buttocks more closely into the curve of her hips until there was nothing separating them.
Kara barely made it into her bedroom before Angel and Josephine came home. She dashed into her private bathroom and turned on the shower, hoping to avoid questions, to disguise the joy in her eyes, the pleasure in her face, and any other signs that she had spent the last two hours making love to a man who was leaving in the morning.
She sighed, letting the water pour over her head and down her face, her skin still sensitized to Ryan's touch. She could remember every moment of their lovemaking, every mutter, every cry. He had been a generous lover, a man willing to give as much as take.
The moisture welled up behind her eyes. She was not going to cry, she told herself firmly. She had gone into this with her eyes open. One night he had asked for, and one night she had given him. It would have to be enough.
When the water began to run cold, Kara stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a peach-colored terry cloth towel. She walked into the bedroom and began to comb her hair. She could hear Angel talking to Ryan and hoped her daughter hadn't burst in on him unawares. But they were laughing about something, and Ryan didn't sound embarrassed or annoyed. He sounded amused.
Ryan and Angel got along well, their sense of humor and adventure connecting them. And beneath it all they had an underlying respect for each other. Kara hoped his departure wouldn't hurt Angel again. The last thing Angel needed in her life was more rejection, especially from a man.
Kara slipped into her silk robe and tied the knot. She hesitated at the door, torn between wanting to be alone and her motherly duty of getting her daughter ready for bed.
"Kara? May I come in?" Josephine asked with a brief knock.
"Of course." Kara opened the door. "How was dinner?"
"It was nice. Angel told lots of stories. She should write them down. They're wonderful."
"Yes, they are."
"You didn't eat dinner," Josephine said, her sharp eyes taking in Kara's appearance. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. I wasn't hungry."
"I'll put Angel to bed before I go, if you like."
"Thank you." Kara felt an inordinate sense of relief. She felt so many emotions at this moment, happiness mixed with regret, desire and longing, and a terrible sense of guilt. She was supposed to be a responsible parent. She wasn't supposed to make love to a man just passing through.
Josephine smiled with the wisdom of her years. She touched Kara's cheek in a gesture of affection. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Kara. You're only human."
"I'm supposed to be sensible and logical."
"Who said that?"
"I don't know, but I'm sure someone said it."
"Probably someone sensible -- "
"And logical," Kara finished as they laughed together in commiseration. "Why is the love stuff so hard?"
"It's not. That's the secret. You just have to let it happen." Josephine turned to leave. "Oh, Kara, the walls are pretty sound in this house -- if you know what I mean."
"Aunt Josephine!"
Kara turned to the mirror as Josephine left, noting the flush on her cheeks, the light in her eyes. Aunt Josephine didn't need a crystal ball for this one. Love was written all over her face.
It was almost two in the morning when Ryan walked into the garden and sat down on the bench under the old oak tree. The rain had stopped, but the plants and bushes still dripped with raindrops, and the scents from the garden were accentuated by the cool night breeze.
He felt closer to Kara here. She smelled like this garden -- sexy, beautiful, and lush. How could he leave her? How could he walk away from this house, from the people who lived here, from Angel and Josephine and the puppies that crawled all over him in bed every night, somehow finding their way out of the sun porch and up to his room.
But how could he stay? He was a man who prided himself on having no furniture, no ties, no commitments. A man who had sworn never to live in a town smaller than Los Angeles. A man who fell asleep to the sound of sirens, not the sound of crickets.
Then there was the river, the heart of his bad memories. But in the past four days he had made new memories. He had talked to Angel by the river and been helplessly captivated by her imagination, her innocence, her loneliness. He had made love to Kara, drowning his fears in the warmth of her skin, the sultriness of her mouth. And he had made peace with his brother by the river.
Ryan sat back on the bench and picked up his saxophone, desperately needing an outlet for the emotions ripping through him. The air filled with music as he played all the things he wanted to tell Kara and couldn't. Maybe she would hear the music. Maybe she would understand.
Kara curled up on the window seat in her bedroom and looked out into the garden. The scattered clouds parted and the moonlight lit up Ryan's shadowy figure. She opened the window wider so she could hear him play. The music didn't sound as lonely tonight, not as blue. There was more melody, more harmony, more joy.
She closed her eyes and fell asleep to the sound of his saxophone, dreaming of the two of them together, making their own kind of music.
As Kara flipped pancakes the next morning, she reminded herself that she would be cool and calm when Ryan left. No tears. No regrets. Maybe a kiss on the cheek good-bye, a friendly smile, but that was it. He would never know that her stomach was churning, that the thought of not seeing him again was breaking her heart.
She looked up at the clock, wondering how much time she had left. It was past eight. Maybe it would be better to go upstairs and say good-bye in private, but the thought of seeing his bed again, remembering how much love they had made there, convinced her that the kitchen was a much better setting for good-byes.
With quick, deft hands Kara slipped the pancakes off the griddle and onto a plate. She was about to cook the next batch when the doorbell rang. Wiping her hands on a towel, she went to answer it.
A man and a woman stood on the front step, one with camera equipment, the other with an overnight bag.
"Can I help you?" Kara said.
"Madeline Mills from Channel 7 News in San Francisco," the woman said, handing Kara a card. "And that's Warren O'Brien. We've just arrived to cover the flood, and we need a place to stay the night. Do you have any openings?"
The woman spoke in crisp, no-nonsense, unemotional terms. Her expression was as cool as her frosted blond hair and ice blue eyes. Even at eight o'clock in the morning, her face had the spotless, pimple-free complexion of a television personality, and Kara instinctively reached toward her own face, wondering if she still had flour on it.
"Well?" Madeline tapped her foot impatiently.
"Of course I have rooms available, but as you can see we're not far from the river. We may have to evacuate."
"No problem. Do you have any rooms with a view of the river? Maybe Warren can take some shots from there."
"Yes, you're in luck. Most of the guests left yesterday after the Centennial Celebration."
Madeline brushed past Kara. She cast a sweeping gaze around the house. "Quaint," she said.
Kara cleared her throat and walked over to the desk. "If I could get some information from you and a credit card." She handed Madeline a form to fill out. When she was done, Kara inputted the data into her computer and rang up the credit card. As she finished the transaction and handed Madeline a key, Ryan walked into the living room.
Her heart skipped a beat. He looked impossibly gorgeous, his hair still wet from a recent shower, his face bright and shiny, his eyes so green. And he looked at her in such a way that told her he was remembering every second of their time together. Her entire body tingled as if he had touched her with his hands instead of his gaze.
"Ryan Hunter?" Madeline said, stepping between them, breaking the connection as abruptly as an unexpected downpour.
"Madeline?" Ryan's voice revealed his surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"Covering the flood. You, too?"
"No, this is my hometown."
"This little place? I can't believe it. Warren, can you believe that Ryan Hunter grew up in Serenity Springs?"
Warren shook his head. "No, but man, I love your work. Great stuff. Some of the best."
"Thanks. Since when does Channel 7 cover a small town a hundred miles north of San Francisco?"
"Since the weather service predicted another hundred-year flood sometime this week. We have people up and down the river. I think my boss got something on ..." She turned to Kara. "What was it you said just ended?"
"The Centennial Celebration," Kara said.
"That's it. Carl thought it would be cute to use some of the stuff we got off the wire about the centennial and show how people are now suddenly fighting for their lives. What a difference a day makes, that kind of thing."
The possibility of a flood was not a "cute" story; it was a potentially life-threatening situation, Kara thought with disgust, but she tried to be pleasant. "Can I help you with your bags?"
"In a minute." Madeline took Ryan's arm. "You're staying here, too?"
"Actually I was planning on leaving today."
"Where are they sending you?" Madeline asked, her face lighting up with the kind of adoration Kara was becoming used to seeing on other women's faces.
"I don't have an immediate assignment, although I may go to Japan in a few weeks," Ryan replied.
"Japan. I'd love to travel more. I'm hoping to get in at CNN. I have an interview with them next week."
Kara's heart grew heavy as Madeline and Ryan talked about their respective careers, about a world that was so far removed from hers, Serenity Springs could have been Mars for all they had in common. She had been kidding herself to think even for a moment that Ryan could be happy here with her. He needed so much more than this small town. He needed the whole damn world. She could hear it in his voice as he told Madeline about his last trip to Greece, and the boat that sank and the train that derailed and the wedding of two ninety-year-old people.
"Kara?"
Ryan's voice brought her head up. "What?"
"I thought I might stay a little longer, maybe till tomorrow or Wednesday."
"Really?" Her heart sped up as she met his questioning eyes.
"Is that all right with you?" His question went way beyond the surface words, and Kara wasn't sure how to answer. She had prepared herself to say good-bye. She had promised herself a good cry. Now he wanted to stay.
"You do whatever you want to do," she said carefully. She would not ask him to stay. It had to be his decision.
"Then I think I'll stay."
She couldn't hold back the pleasure that his words brought forth. "Good."
"Maybe you can show me around, Ryan," Madeline said. "Introduce me to the right people."
"You've already met the most important person in this town, Kara Delaney," Ryan said, giving her a tender smile. "She's the president of the chamber of commerce and the heart of this town."
"Well, that's great," Madeline said. "When can we talk?"
"After breakfast," Kara said, touched by Ryan's respect for her, his faith in her. "You're welcome to join us."
"I'll just get my things. Warren, can you help me out?" Madeline asked.
Ryan turned to Kara as soon as they left. "I packed my bags, but I couldn't bring myself to carry them downstairs. I never thought it would be so difficult to leave."
"Because of the flood? Because of the news media arriving in town? Is that why you're staying? To capture the story on film for one of the magazines you work with? I mean, suddenly you have this great opportunity to -- "
"To what?" Ryan demanded, his expression turning suddenly angry. "To further my career? I don't need Serenity Springs to do that."
"You have to admit you're in the right place at the right time."
"To get a photograph, maybe. To get you, no. If this were really the right place and the right time, I wouldn't be leaving in a few days."
"You don't have to go."
"I do." His eyes filled with pain. "It's in my blood. I have to keep moving."
"That's just an excuse. You don't have to do anything. You can make a choice. You can make a decision to stay, but you're afraid."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"I've been where you are, Ryan. I know how easy it is to drift in life, to keep doing what you're doing because it's just too damn scary to try something else."
"That's not it," Ryan said. "I like my life the way it is. I'm doing exactly what I want to do." Ryan wished he felt as strong as his words.
"Then there's nothing more to say." Kara paused. "Except this. You can travel around the world, Ryan, but I guarantee you will never find anything that's better than this."
Kara stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the mouth with passion and persistence and determination, all the things he had come to love in her. And when she broke the kiss, when she walked away from him, he had a feeling she was taking his heart with her.
By noon on Monday, Ryan was more concerned with his aching arms than his heart. For three solid hours he had shoveled sand into bags, helping a grim line of volunteers place them around the lower parts of the city.
Although he had planned to shoot some photos, Ryan quickly realized that while there were more than enough photographers recording the events, there were not nearly enough active participants, and for the first time in a long time he chose to participate instead of observe.
By one o'clock the river had risen another two feet. By three o'clock heavy winds had knocked out some of the electricity in the downtown area, sending residents to the local stores to stockpile canned goods and bottled water. With the exception of the media, most of the tourists had gone home, leaving the townspeople to battle the river. This was no longer a game or an event. They were fighting for their lives, for their homes, for their memories, for their futures.
There was no more division in the town. The raging river brought both sides together. It no longer seemed to matter who wanted a Taco Tommy's on Main Street. There wouldn't be a Main Street if the river flooded. So they worked together, the men and the women, the old and the young, the Applebornes and the Woodriches and the Hunters. And Ryan stayed right in the middle of it, sweating, straining, living each moment.
At five o'clock Kara stopped by. Her face was as dirty as his, her eyes filled with worry and exhaustion. "Angel and I are going home for a while," she said. "Are you coming?"
"Later. I want to check on Jonas."
"Okay."
Ryan caught her hand and squeezed it, wanting to kiss her, to hold her tight, to erase the lines of worry that creased her face. But Angel was watching them as well as the rest of the town, so he let her go.
"I thought you'd be taking pictures, not shoveling sand," Kara said.
"I think I can do more good filling these bags."
"You do care about this town, don't you?"
"Maybe a little."
"I'm glad." Taking Angel's hand, Kara led her daughter away. Ryan watched them go, wishing he could go with them. But he needed to see Jonas. He needed to make sure his father was all right.
When Ryan arrived at Jonas's house, he found his father kneeling on the floor surrounded by half-packed boxes, holding his mother's fragile bud vase between his old, lined hands with an expression of intense sorrow.
As Ryan looked closer, he realized that the man was actually weeping. Ryan couldn't believe what he was seeing. The emotion on his father's face was so stark, so painful, and so utterly private. Ryan instinctively backed up to the front door and knocked.
Jonas covered his expression as soon as he saw Ryan in the doorway, but Ryan knew he would never forget the sight of his father on his knees, cherishing a bud vase. The intimidating man from his youth had vanished. In his place was a lonely, frail man.
Maybe Jonas deserved to end up this way, old and alone. He had been cruel and hard most of his life. It was no wonder that the townspeople feared him more than they loved him, and that his own sons felt more wary than warm.
But as Ryan faced his father now, he knew that he no longer had the energy or the desire to carry a grudge. He felt sorry for Jonas, for all that they had had and all they had lost.
Jonas set the bud vase down in a box and cleared his throat. "I thought you had gone."
"I decided to stick around a while. See what happens with the river." And with you.
Jonas continued packing, ignoring Ryan, but the silence wasn't as cold as it had been before. Ryan sat down on the couch. "So how are you?"
"Fine."
"Do you need anything?"
"No." Jonas shook his head.
"Where are you putting those boxes?"
"Upstairs."
"I'll help you."
"Why?"
Ryan counted to ten. "Because I want to talk to you."
"About what?"
"About Becky Lee and Mom."
Jonas stiffened. "I don't talk about your mother."
"Fine, let's start with Becky Lee then." Ryan handed his father the masking tape as Jonas pulled the corners of the box down. "Andrew said Becky Lee had a long talk with you just before she left him. I want to know what she told you, and more importantly what you told her."
"You think I remember every conversation I've had in my life?"
Ryan smiled. "Yes, I do. Did Becky Lee tell you I was the father of her baby?"
Jonas lifted his head, and after a slight hesitation he said, "No, she didn't say that."
Ryan let out a sigh of relief. "Then Billy really is Andrew's son?"
"Yes."
"But you never assured him of that fact."
"I didn't know he had any doubts."
"Of course he had doubts. I'm sure you did, too."
Jonas shrugged. "In the beginning I thought you were letting Andrew clean up your mess, the way you always did, especially when you left town so fast. It never occurred to me that she hadn't told you she was pregnant."
"Because you liked to believe the worst about me."
"It was easier that way."
Ryan read the truth in his father's eyes. Yes, it was easier to hate than to love, and much safer. Jonas set the box down on the floor and reached for his stack of fishing magazines on the coffee table.
"There's one more thing," Ryan said.
"I told you I won't talk about her."
"Angel thinks there's a ghost at the river. She thinks this ghost is Mom. In fact..." Ryan dug into his pocket. "Angel found this by Tucker's Bridge." He held up the Mickey Mouse watch.
Jonas stared at the watch as if it were a snake about to strike. Finally he took it from Ryan's hand and sat down heavily on the couch. "Angel found this?"
"Yes. I threw it in the river twenty-five years ago. Suddenly it's back."
"You're not telling me you believe this crazy story?"
Ryan sat down on the other end of the couch. "Is Mom dead?"
Jonas turned white at the word. "How the hell would I know? I haven't heard from her since the day she walked out on us. Why don't you ask Kara Delaney?"
"Kara doesn't know. She didn't even know her father..." Ryan stopped as he saw the look of discomfort cross Jonas's face. "Her parents split up right after the flood, and although she received occasional cards from her father, she never saw him. When he finally did come back into her life years later, he was alone, and he never mentioned Mom."