Brenda Novak - When Summer Comes

“Who’s taking care of the studio?” he asked. “Or did you close it for the summer?”

“We couldn’t miss bridal season. So I have an assistant—more like an apprentice, I guess—who’s handling things for me.”

“While you work out here, taking pictures of nature and getting the farm in shape.”

“Basically.”

She wasn’t wearing any makeup. He got the impression she’d climbed out of bed, pulled her hair up and headed outside. But he liked her this way. She looked fresh and dewy and soft.

Suddenly, he craved some of that softness. A moment of tenderness. A respite from the bitterness that had left his own heart so hard. It felt like forever since he’d lost himself inside a woman.

But the only woman he’d known in that way was dead because of him. So was the baby she carried—his baby.

He tried to steel himself against the memory he avoided more than any other, but nearly swooned beneath the vision that broke on his mind. Being around Callie made it almost impossible to forget what happened. Although she looked nothing like the woman he’d loved, the two had a similar spirit.

“Are you okay?” Callie’s voice was soft, practically a whisper.

He opened his eyes. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. This wasn’t Behrukh, he reminded himself. And what had happened in Kandahar? There was nothing he could do to change it.

“Fine,” he managed to say. He wanted to get away from Callie, needed to get away.

Soon, he promised himself. As soon as he fulfilled his obligation. “Where’s the paint?”

Although she didn’t look convinced that he was as fine as he said, she didn’t inquire further. She dusted off her knees and got to her feet. “I’ll get it for you. After we have breakfast.”

6

Callie turned on some music while she made fried potatoes, omelets and toast. She’d always enjoyed cooking, but having someone to fix a meal for was even more fulfilling. Had she been on her own, she would’ve settled for toast and juice, since she often felt nauseous after a big meal.

“You don’t have to go to so much trouble.” Levi spoke from where he was cleaning up his bedding in the other room.

She didn’t bother to come up with a response. She’d awakened this morning feeling inexplicably happy just to be alive. Part of it was the sunshine pouring into the old farmhouse. She loved it here, was glad she’d moved. But Levi was another reason she felt so good. Trying to help someone else gave fresh purpose to her own life. It also dragged her attention away from her various worries and complaints—and the inevitable, should she be unable to find a liver donor.

“Did you hear me?” he called.

“I heard you,” she replied.

“Why didn’t you answer?”

“Because I’m going to make what I’m going to make.”

“Okay, forget I said anything.”

She smiled at the pique in his voice. She had no idea what his story was, or if he’d tell her before he left. Most likely not. She didn’t care either way. He had a right to his privacy. She simply liked thinking that she’d made a positive impact on someone, if only in a small way—giving him a place to stay, some food to eat, a few days of peace.

“We need to go into town so I can get a new rod for your shower,” he said.

“Why not take the one from the other bathroom?” she suggested.

“We have to get parts for my bike, anyway.” Having folded his bedding, he was now standing in the doorway. She could tell by the sound of his voice, but she didn’t turn.

“Callie.”

She was pretty sure it was the first time he’d called her by name. She cast a glance over her shoulder. “Hmm?”

“What’s really going on with you?”

The gravity in his voice told her this wasn’t a casual question. He could sense that something wasn’t ideal. But she didn’t want him to know about her diagnosis any more than she wanted anyone else to know. She couldn’t say why. Maybe she was afraid he’d see her as flawed or defective. Why would he choose to spend even a few days with a woman who wouldn’t be around in a couple of weeks or months? And she didn’t want him to go. She was intrigued enough to hope he’d finish out the week.

“What’s really going on with you?” she asked, turning his own question back on him. “There’s got to be a reason a handsome, capable guy goes rambling around America.”

When he grunted, she took it to mean “Touché,” and chuckled to herself.

“You’re not like other women,” he said.

She got a plate out of the cupboard. “Are you like other men?”

“I like the same things they do.”

There seemed to be added significance to this statement, as if he was talking about liking women, liking sex, but she chose to ignore that—just as she chose to ignore the way he was looking at her. “Good. Then you should enjoy your breakfast.” She carried his omelet to the table before returning to the counter for his toast and hash browns.

“Where’s yours?” he asked when she sat down with only half a glass of juice.

She’d been so eager to see him eat that she hadn’t prepared anything for herself. “I’m not hungry.”

“You didn’t eat much last night.”

“I was too tired.”

“And now?”

“I ate earlier.”

He glanced around the kitchen, but said nothing about the lack of evidence.

She nodded toward his food. “Go ahead while it’s hot,” she said. Then she stood. “I’ll shower so we can drive to town when you’re finished.”

“I’d feel better if you’d eat.”

She couldn’t imagine why it would matter to him. “I’m fine,” she insisted, and felt his gaze follow her out.

* * *

Levi hadn’t felt much physical desire in the past year. He hadn’t cared whether he lived or died, let alone whether he satisfied his sexual appetite. After Behrukh, he’d figured he’d never want a woman again. He certainly didn’t deserve to go on without her, especially in that way.

But sitting in Callie’s house knowing she was standing naked under the shower, gave him his first erection—that wasn’t a dream—since Kandahar. He kept picturing the spray running between her full breasts, cascading over her flat stomach to roll between her legs, where he wanted to touch her, to feel her slick, wet body close around him.

Listening to the whine of the pipes in the old house, he stopped chewing and put down his fork. His heart was pounding, and he was finding it difficult to breathe. Did such a sudden, unexpected rush of lust mean he was recovering? Or that he was an even worse person than he’d thought?

A phone rang. Callie’s cell phone. She’d left it on the kitchen counter.

To distract himself, he got up to see who it was. A picture of Kyle filled the screen. It was her boyfriend, or whatever she wanted to call him, no doubt checking in to see if she was okay.

Kyle’s intrusion reminded Levi that he had no business thinking about Callie in that way. He didn’t know her. And, other than her one throwaway statement about his being handsome and capable, she’d certainly given no indication that she’d welcome his advances. Why would she want to be touched by a vagrant? Someone who’d essentially abandoned any kind of normal life?

He couldn’t act on his desire, even if she extended an invitation. He’d feel far too guilty.

Taking a deep breath, he returned to the table, where he finished eating in slow, deliberate bites. From that moment on, he was extradiligent about keeping his mind blank, but it didn’t help. He was still rock-hard when the water went off, so he quickly cleaned up the kitchen and fled to the barn.

* * *

“Your boyfriend called while you were in the shower.”