Authors: Beth Cornelison
Claire considered briefly speaking to Kevin tonight about Mrs. Proctor’s persistence in testing the limits of her endurance. Maybe Kevin, with the influence he had with his elderly friend, could get through to Mrs. Proctor and convince her to slow down. Claire feared the woman would reinjure herself if she kept up this pace. Why wouldn’t she let Claire help her?
Claire had only to think of her own situation to understand. Pride. Self-respect. No one wanted to admit they were dependent on someone else for survival. Especially, Claire figured, an elderly woman who’d taken care of herself for years. No doubt Mrs. Proctor saw asking for help as tantamount to admitting defeat, a step away from curling up and waiting to die. Claire admired the old woman’s tenacity and determination, but she still worried about Mrs. Proctor hurting herself.
Sighing her frustration and indecision, Claire shouldered her purse strap and headed inside. She’d made it as far as the porch when she heard Mrs. Proctor yelp.
Her heart jumping, Claire turned, expecting to see the woman sprawled on the pavement. Instead, Mrs. Proctor stood by the mailbox shaking her hand.
"Are you all right, ma’am?"
"I’m fine!" the woman snapped back. Mrs. Proctor poked the side of her hand in her mouth and sucked it. "Damn bee stung me!"
Tucking her mail under her arm, the old woman started back up the driveway.
Claire winced in sympathy. "Baking soda paste is what you need. I’ll get it ready."
Mrs. Proctor paused and glanced up. Claire waited for the sniping retort that her landlady didn’t need her help. But Mrs. Proctor heaved a sigh, shook her offended hand again and muttered, "Thank you, dear. I appreciate it."
Well, miracles never cease. First Ray actually put in a hard day’s work and treated Kevin with a modicum of respect. Now Mrs. Proctor was accepting Claire’s assistance, even thanking her. Grinning, Claire pushed through the front door and charged into the kitchen, determined to have not only the baking soda paste ready, but a tall glass of iced tea as well.
When Mrs. Proctor finally hobbled into the house, Claire gasped at the sight of the woman’s hand.
Already the hand had swollen to almost twice its normal size and turned a flaming red. "Good Lord! How awful! How many times did the bee sting you?"
"Once…maybe twice. Hurt like fire though." Mrs. Proctor dropped wearily into a kitchen chair, and her cane clattered to the floor. Claire noted that her landlady was breathing hard, as if she’d sprinted into the house. She accepted the tea Claire handed her with a smile. "Oh, thank you. That’s just what the doctor ordered."
Mrs. Proctor tipped up her glass and sipped while Claire settled in the chair across from her. She carefully lifted the woman’s hand and examined it. "Gosh, it’s been years since my grandmother treated the only bee sting I ever had. Do I just pat this stuff on there?"
Mrs. Proctor nodded. "Or a compress."
She retrieved a thin towel, then following Mrs. Proctor’s instructions, she made a compress with the paste and the make-shift bandage. When she was finished, Claire grimaced at the amateur first aid attempt. "Maybe I should take you to the doctor. You know, just in case."
"I’ll be fine. Go on with whatever plans you have for tonight."
Plans for tonight. For the briefest moment, distracted by her landlady’s bee sting, she’d forgotten the plans she and Kevin had made.
Dinner together. Conversation. And...
Her pulse quickened just thinking about the steamy kisses they’d shared that morning. The press of Kevin’s hard body along hers, the smoky desire that burned in his eyes when he looked at her. Claire’s mouth went dry.
"I actually do have plans tonight. With Kevin. For dinner. But..." Claire took another look at Mrs. Proctor’s puffy hand and groaned internally. How could she leave the woman alone tonight with her bee sting? "I can change my plans. Kevin will understand."
Already Mrs. Proctor was shaking her head. "No. Don’t change your plans on my account. I’m fine."
Claire didn’t bother to tell the woman she didn’t look or sound fine. The swelling had moved up the old woman’s wrist and her lower arm was turning red. It looked extremely painful.
"I really think—"
"Will you be gone all night?"
Claire looked up at the woman with what must have been a guilty expression. Though what she had to feel guilty about, she wasn’t sure. She was an adult. Her private life was her business.
When she didn’t answer the older woman’s question, Mrs. Proctor added, "Are you sleeping with him?"
"I— ... we— ..." Startled by her landlady’s bluntness, Claire blinked, unsure how to respond.
Despite her obvious pain, the woman’s narrowed gaze was direct. "I want nothing more than for Kevin to be happy. If you make him happy, then you have my blessing."
Claire swallowed the urge to tell her landlady she didn’t need her blessing to be with Kevin if it was what they wanted. But she guessed this woman was as close to a mother or grandmother as Kevin had now, so her concern was understandable.
She gave the older woman a polite smile. "Thank you."
"But–" Mrs. Proctor drew a deep, labored breath. "If you hurt him, I’ll snatch you bald!"
Claire sat back in her chair, both stunned by the threat and, biting her bottom lip, trying hard not to laugh. She recognized the woman’s violent threats as so much bluster. Her growling mama-bear way of showing she cared for Kevin.
Claire grinned wryly. "I’ll remember that. And yes, there’s a chance I’ll be out very late. Perhaps all night."
Between rasping breaths, Mrs. Proctor’s mouth curled up at the corner. "Good. About time that boy...stopped living like a monk." Mrs. Proctor waved her good hand at Claire. "Go on. Get dolled up...for your evening. Don’t let...me keep you."
Hearing how short of breath Mrs. Proctor sounded caused a swirl of apprehension to tighten Claire’s stomach. Claire’s gazed shifted back to the other woman’s swollen hand. "But you–"
"I’m fine! Go!" The old woman’s tone brooked no resistance. Not that Claire needed much to persuade her. She was dying to get over to Kevin’s, throw herself into his arms, kiss him wildly and not come up for air until sometime tomorrow morning. Her body thrummed with anticipation, jangled with raw energy.
She hurried through her preparations, only touching up her make-up and changing into a comfortable, gauzy blouse to go with the slacks she’d worn to the store today. She dusted a touch of her favorite rose-scented body powder on her midriff and back. The powder helped keep her feeling cool and dry, since merely imagining the night ahead brought a fevered heat to her skin.
After a quick appraisal in her bathroom mirror, Claire decided she was ready and headed out front to bid Mrs. Proctor a goodnight.
Her landlady still sat in the same kitchen chair, though now she clutched her arm to her chest and wheezed with every shallow breath. The swelling from the stung hand had spread past her elbow and the arm flamed red.
Claire gasped in dismay.
The older woman’s eyes were desperate and frightened when she glanced up at Claire.
"Can’t...breathe..." she rasped.
"Dear God!" Claire snatched up the phone and punched in 9-1-1. "You must be allergic to bees. Sit tight. I’m calling an ambulance."
Claire’s pulse hammered a frantic cadence waiting for the emergency operator to answer. Mrs. Proctor needed help fast, should have been on her way to the emergency room as soon as Claire realized the woman was short of breath. Why had she ignored her instincts and pushed aside her duty to care for the old woman? If anything happened to Mrs. Proctor...
"9-1-1 operator. What’s your emergency?" a female voice said on the phone.
As calmly as she could, Claire asked for the ambulance and gave Mrs. Proctor’s address. Silently she added a prayer that her landlady would be all right and vowed to be more attentive to the woman’s needs, despite her protests, in the future. Sometimes a person needed help, and no amount of bluster or pride changed that. She’d have to make Mrs. Proctor see there was no shame in accepting a little assistance from time to time.
When the ambulance arrived moments later, Claire followed the ambulance as it carried Mrs. Proctor to the county hospital. Her stomach stayed knotted with worry as she waited for some word of the old woman’s condition and prognosis. She wanted to call Kevin and tell him what had happened, explain why she was late, but Mrs. Proctor had told her Kevin didn’t have a phone at home. She’d have to stop by his place later to explain.
When her thoughts drifted back to Mrs. Proctor, struggling for a breath while they waited for the ambulance, Claire’s gut churned. She should have recognized the seriousness of the woman’s reaction to the sting sooner. Much sooner. But she'd been preoccupied with her thoughts of Kevin. And she'd let the older woman’s stern manner and reassurances deter her from acting when she could have made a difference.
Claire swallowed bitter tears that rose in her throat.
If Mrs. Proctor died, it would be her fault.
C
HAPTER
T
EN
Seven o’clock came and went. Then eight o’clock. And nine. The lasagna Kevin had heated had long since grown cold again, and he’d rewrapped it and put it back in the refrigerator for another day. He had no appetite. His stomach had no room for food considering the large serving of reality he’d swallowed around eight-thirty when he could no longer pretend Claire was simply running late. She wasn’t coming. Not for the first time, his expense-cutting decision not to have a phone chafed, and worry crept through him. What if Claire had been in an accident? Should he ride over to Mrs. Proctor’s to check on her?
Kevin sighed tiredly as he unbuttoned his best shirt and carefully hung it in his closet. Then he slipped off his slacks, a pair of khakis that were older than he was, and put them away. The tan pants had been his father’s and were still in pristine condition thanks to the special care his mother had taken to preserve them. Kevin only pulled them out for special occasions. Weddings, funerals, first dates with the woman of his dreams.
A knock sounded at his door as he hung the slacks in the closet, and his pulse jumped.
Pulling on his jeans, he hurried to answer the knock.
"Kevin?" Claire stood on his stoop, and the sight of her fired a fresh spark of hope. "I’m so sorry I didn’t make it tonight. Truly. But something came up."
He noticed the drawn look on her face and furrowed his brow. "Claire, what’s wrong? What happened?"
"I was at the hospital with Mrs. Proctor."
His heart leaped to his throat. "The hospital? What—why?"
All forms of disaster flashed through his mind in an instant.
"A bee stung her, and she had an anaphylactic reaction. Apparently she’s allergic to bees. She’s going to be all right. In fact, they’ll probably send her home in about an hour, so I have to get back. We had a scare though."
"Geez. You’re sure she’s okay now?"
"She’s not one-hundred percent, but she’s much better. They gave her a shot of epinephrine and a large dose of antihistamine, and they’re just watching her now. She can breathe fine, and the swelling has gone down considerably in her arm and hand."
"Listen, I can follow you back—"
"No! Don’t come. She didn’t want me to worry you. But I had to let you know I hadn’t stood you up."
A sweet spiral of relief loosened the tightness in his chest.
She hadn’t stood him up.
He tried to speak, to answer her, but the tightness that left his chest moved up to close his throat.
"Kevin," Claire’s voice took on a softer, more intimate quality that washed over him like a caress.
His body thrummed like a well-tuned engine.
"Kevin, I really had wanted to spend the evening with you. Spend the night..." She sighed lightly, and the breathy sound was incredibly sexy.
"Yeah, me too."
"I couldn’t think of much else all day," she added, and his heart thundered. "But don’t tell my boss that I was daydreaming about your kisses when I was at work, okay?"
He managed a semblance of a laugh, though he saw nothing funny about the idea that Claire had spent the day thinking about his kiss. He took that very seriously. "Mm-hm, mums the word."
"Do I get a rain check?"
That made him laugh. Like he'd tell her no! "You bet."
"Tomorrow maybe?"
Anytime. Anywhere
.
Some moronic, responsible part of him said, "I’ve got class tomorrow night."
"Friday then?"
He loved the hopeful note he heard in her tone.
"Friday’s good." He tipped his head. "Are you sure I can’t go to the hospital with you? I’d like to check on Mrs. P."
She raised a hand to his chest. "Thanks, but I’m going to take her home soon, and she’d be upset with me if she knew I’d gone behind her back and told you, after she asked me not to."
He nodded. "In that case, I’ll give her a call from the store in the morning to check up on her."
"Good idea. Well, goodnight, Kevin. Sweet dreams." She gave his cheek a kiss and hurried back to her car.
Sweet dreams? Oh, yeah. Real sweet. Dreaming of Claire couldn’t be anything but.
***
Friday evening took an eternity to arrive. Enough time for Claire to go nearly crazy with anticipation. And nervous jitters.
She'd had sex with Blaine when he'd pressured her, though the experience had left her seriously questioning what all the fuss over sex was about. But from her first kiss with Kevin, Claire had been blown away. He gave 'thrilling' new meaning.
On Friday afternoon she tried to focus on the receipts she was reconciling with the cash in her drawer before she left for the day, but her thoughts strayed over and again to the evening ahead. Wound tight and ready to explode, she jerked and gasped when Kevin touched her back.
"Whoa. Easy. Didn't mean to scare you." His easy smile left her feeling warm and gooey inside.
"Sorry. I'm just...I didn't hear you coming."
He groaned and pulled her closer for a kiss. Through the haze of her desire, she reluctantly pulled away. Reaching up, she stroked the side of his face. "You know what I'd love?"