“You didn’t want to tell me. I’m guessing you still don’t.”
“True, but something’s wrong if you don’t want to know.”
“I respect your privacy.”
“So...now that we’re done making love, you’ve had enough of me?”
“We have to separate sometime! We’d both be better off keeping that in mind!”
“Why?”
He was so endearingly disappointed, the compulsion to kiss him became almost overpowering. It didn’t matter that they’d already made love. She wanted to be with him again. And he seemed to feel the same.
Dropping his gaze to her mouth, he put a finger under her chin as if he’d bring his lips to hers, and she automatically swayed toward him. “See that?” he murmured.
She remained mute as she stared up at him.
“This—” he motioned to the bedding “—is bullshit. I’m not sleeping on the couch.”
“Excuse me?”
He ran his lips lightly over hers. “Tell me you don’t want me in your bed.”
She couldn’t think of anything except getting a real kiss. “It’s not that, it’s...it’s that I think we should be careful.”
“To hell with careful!” he growled. “Love and war don’t work that way.”
“How do they work?”
“It’s all or nothing,” he said, and carried her into the bedroom, where he took off her clothes again.
* * *
Somehow Callie didn’t get sick that night. Having Levi beside her might’ve helped. His steady breathing was soothing, and she loved the springiness of the hair on his legs as they brushed against hers almost as much as she liked to touch the smooth skin covering the muscles of his arms and chest. At one point, when she allowed herself to snuggle closer, he rolled toward her to scoop her into the curve of his body.
“You okay?” he murmured.
When she pretended to be too groggy to answer, so he wouldn’t feel he had to wake up, he fell back asleep, and she smiled as she turned to study his face in the moonlight. That rawboned look he’d had when he first appeared on her doorstep, when he’d reminded her of an alley cat, was already changing. She liked that he seemed so much healthier but admired all the things that hadn’t changed just as much—the high arch to his nose, the golden stubble on his cheeks and chin, the small scar on his lip, which he’d probably gotten in some fight. She wanted to get her camera, to capture him on film to help her preserve these memories, but she doubted he’d appreciate being photographed in the middle of the night.
Around four, she finally drifted off, convinced that she’d gotten what she’d asked for. The universe had granted what she’d most wanted to experience before she died—to know what it felt like to be deeply in love. Given that, she felt greedy asking for anything else so she simply braced herself for the worst. She knew the happiness they’d found together couldn’t last but, God, was it good while it did.
Nothing terrible happened in the next three days. The week continued to pass in the same idyllic fashion as that perfect night. She and Levi got up early and laughed and talked while they gardened, and occasionally had a water fight. After that, they showered together, sometimes they made love if they had time, and Levi went to work at the Gas-N-Go. While he was gone, she cleaned, visited her parents, met with the insurance adjuster about the barn and ran errands, which included a trip to the mall to get him some clothes and a trip to the grocery store. But she was always home and had dinner waiting for him when he got off. Then they slept in each other’s arms, making love whenever the desire struck either one of them.
Maybe it was because she was so careful to take her medicine at the correct intervals and to watch what she ate, but she didn’t get sick in all of that time. She was feeling so good she was almost convinced that she’d taken a turn for the better, that her liver was somehow regenerating like the livers of healthy people. Medical miracles happened occasionally, didn’t they?
She wanted to believe she might be one of those lucky few, was determined to believe. But she feared she’d been leading them both down a path destined to end in misery when, on Friday, Levi came home early with a gift for her.
“What’s this?” she asked as he thrust a plush blue box into her hand.
The grin he gave her made her heart skip a beat. “Open it and find out.”
“I hope...” She cleared her throat. “I hope you didn’t spend a lot.”
“I’m only making two hundred dollars a pop, so—” he laughed “—you don’t have much to worry about.”
But when she opened the box she could tell he must’ve spent at least one day’s labor on it. Any necklace from Hammond and Son Fine Jewelers, a store located not far from her studio, wasn’t cheap. This one had a gold hummingbird pendant with a small diamond for the eye.
“It reminds me of those birds you told me about in that book,” he explained.
“I remember.” He was referring to the thorn birds, the ones who sang their most beautiful song as they died.... Fortunately, he had no idea there was any kind of parallel. He just associated that story with the first full night they’d spent together and her interest in a strange bird.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
The lump in her throat made it difficult to speak. “I do.”
He tilted his head to look into her face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
She took the necklace out of the box and turned, both so he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes and so he could help her put it on. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever been given,” she said. But with that little gold bird, reality had come crashing through. She’d assumed it would take him a long time to fall in love, to get past the loss of the woman he’d been with before. She’d lulled herself into believing that so nothing could ruin these precious days.
But after he fastened the clasp on her new necklace, he slid his arms around her waist and kissed her neck as she leaned back into him, making her wonder if she’d underestimated his ability to heal.
“They had other stuff, really nice stuff,” he told her. “One day I’ll take you there and you can pick out something more expensive.”
One day? That didn’t sound as if he planned on driving off in the near future.
23
“What’s this called again?” Baxter grimaced as he donned his glasses. He looked good in them. He was so classically handsome he looked good in anything. But usually his vanity dictated he try to get by without them.