Jennifer Greene - Sunburst

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Why didn’t you say anything?” She was finished in short order, though Kyle took the brushes from her hands and cleaned them before she had the chance to do it herself. “What do you want to show me?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.” He swung an arm around her shoulders as they left the old building, both of them blinking to adjust to the sudden bright sunlight. She could sense just from the feel of Kyle’s hand that his earlier, brighter mood had returned. He led her back to the house, through the front door and up to the kitchen, where he detached himself only long enough to raid the cookie jar.

“I see. We both only have a thousand things to do. I can certainly understand why you wanted to show me chocolate-chip cookies,” she said pleasantly. “I haven’t seen one in nearly two days-”

He pushed her, none too gently, out the front door ahead of him. “The talk we’re about to have couldn’t take place without your cookies,” he informed her. “We’re nearly out,” he added sadly.

“Is that supposed to be a less than subtle hint…?”

“Certainly not. You think I’m some kind of male chauvinist, demanding that my woman be in the kitchen all the time?” He hesitated. “I have heard that cookie withdrawal can be one of the most painful experiences known to man. Some people even die from it.”

“They do.”

“You’re not doubting me?”

“Whatever would make you think that?”

“This morning, lady, I don’t need anyone to doubt me.” He led her about a hundred yards east of the old workshop building. The McCrery property was surrounded by woods; the clearing where he stopped was overgrown with wild flowers and tall grasses, and bordered on the road. Since she saw it every morning, she couldn’t imagine why he’d brought her here. “Sit,” he urged her.

“Here?”

“Okay. Stand.” He was brushing the cookie crumbs from his hands, looking more relaxed than she had seen him in an age.

But the soft grass was suddenly very inviting. She sat down, pulling her knees up to her chest, watching him with mixed amusement and curiosity. Kyle hadn’t shown his whimsical side in months; she loved it.

Kyle paced out about twenty yards from her and then stopped. “The people will come in here.” He gestured. “For a display area-your arena, Erica. No more of that hands-and-knees nonsense in the back room. Not that you have to do anything at all, but this job will at least give you time for the other things you like to do-”

“Kyle-”

“The antiques will be off to the side. Here, I think. Lumber stocked here…”

It took her a moment to catch on. Kyle was pacing out an imaginary building, three times the size of the original shop. Where a person could walk in and find anything he or she wanted in the way of wood, whether it was new cabinetry or a refinished antique, a hand-crafted headboard or a do-it-yourself project. Mesmerized, Erica listened, catching Kyle’s enthusiasm as he talked. From zebra wood to teak, he was lining up the imaginary shelves, stocking only the finest lumber, the best available tools and implements for anything anyone could want in the way of wood.

“Well?” he demanded finally, as he settled down beside her, snatched up a long strand of grass and stuck it lazily between his teeth.

“I love it,” she said warmly. I love you, she wanted to say. “It’s a terrific idea, Kyle. And in time…”

“Next week.”

“Pardon?”

The teasing turquoise faded from Kyle’s eyes; he took out the strand of grass and tossed it aside. “The bank likes the idea, Erica. Of drawing in all the separate markets under one roof. At the rate we’re going, we’ll be out of the red in a month-and left precisely nowhere. Unless we expand, our business will only eke out a middling income.” At her startled expression, he said quietly, “I merely had to show the bank what we’ve already done. I researched the markets myself, Erica. We can bring in people from a good distance by producing something unique, something they can’t get anywhere else-”

“Darling, it isn’t that.” Her lips felt dry. The volatile tension she’d seen in him so often lately seemed to vibrate from every pore. “Kyle, you’re driving yourself so hard. You haven’t had a full eight hours’ sleep in months, and to take this on so soon-”

Restlessly, he lurched back up to his feet, motioning toward a spot behind the house. “I figure we can have a swimming pool back there in a few years. Maybe not as large as the one your father has, but certainly large enough to cool us off on a day like today. After that-”

“Kyle, I don’t want a damn swimming pool. I like what we have.” She stood up, too, suddenly feeling as vulnerable as satin under the blade of a knife. He had shut himself away from her again; she could feel it.

“I don’t,” he said flatly. “Erica, look at your hands.”

She looked. Of necessity, the nails were short, unpolished. At the moment, the skin seemed to be at its worst, after a solid week of working with varnish and turpentine. She could tolerate gloves for only so long.

“You’ve been working like a slave. That’s going to stop,” he said harshly. “I couldn’t do anything before…” He raked his hand through his hair, his head flung back, and for a second his eyes closed. When they opened again, they focused so intensely on hers that she felt frozen. “There’s no going back to the way we were in Florida, Erica. You know that, don’t you?”

She felt the color leave her face. The way they were in Florida? When he had invited her to take his love for her for granted, she had never doubted that love. Now she was beginning to feel there was nothing she could be sure of.

His voice grated like sandpaper against the grain, reacting to her silence. “I can imagine what you’re thinking. The swimming pool-that was a stupid thing for me to say, Erica; you haven’t a materialistic bone in your body. I know that. But you grew up in a certain environment…any child in your family had a choice of Yale or Harvard; financial security was an automatic given in life; fine paintings, sterling… beauty is what you grew up to. A softness no one can understand as much as I can…”

“Those things mattered to me. I can’t deny it,” she said warily. The midday sun glared down on her strawberry-blond hair. The heat seared, odd hot beams that prickled her skin, seemed to deplete her energy. She didn’t know how to convince him of anything. “Yet not as much as I thought they did,” she said finally. “Kyle, I like it here-”

“I know you do. For now.”

“For more than now. Safety isn’t money, Kyle. You’re the one who’s working like a slave. You’re going to drive yourself into the ground if you keep on this way…” Her voice faltered; she was aware that she was making no headway. Aware that they’d begun the whole conversation with his asking for her support for something he believed he needed to do.

Confused, her mind stepped back five paces. Suddenly, nothing was simple. She loved his idea for the new building, and they were bursting the seams of the old shop as it was. Hold the man back? Never. And as far as fear of the actual venture in terms of security-no, just as she had never felt any fear at their change in financial circumstances. Shock, yes; fear, no. In a world of famine, she knew Kyle would find the last loaf of bread, and give her the larger portion. And if he thought the expansion a good business proposition, she knew it was.

Unconsciously, they’d both fallen in step together, walking back toward the shop. “Kyle?” They were about to veer in different directions, and she didn’t know how to stop it. He turned at the insistence in her tone. “We haven’t argued in a long time,” she said softly.