Jennifer Greene - Sunburst

She didn’t know what to do, what to think, what she was supposed to feel. She hurt, she suffered-it was a raw, confused, nameless sensation. Unwillingly, she closed her eyes in exhaustion, and finally made her way back to bed.

Erica cracked an egg against the counter and plopped it gently into a pot of boiling water, bounced a slice of bread into the toaster, snatched up knife, fork and napkin, and set them on the counter in front of Morgan. In another few seconds, she had two cups of coffee poured, an apple sliced and a glass of juice waiting for Morgan. The poached egg was ready by the time the slowest toaster in the Midwest noisily popped up one browned slice of bread. She handed Morgan’s plate to him as she perched on a stool on the opposite side of the counter. “Now eat,” she ordered as she picked up an apple slice and motioned to his plate with it. “It’ll give you something to do besides bore that dead-man stare of yours into my back. Didn’t you sleep well?”

“I just don’t understand how anyone can move so fast first thing in the morning.” Morgan’s blond hair was rumpled, and he had put on his suit pants but nothing else. A dangling St. Christopher medal hung from his tanned neck, and on one hand he sported a full-carat sapphire. High-class disheveled, Erica privately labeled him. As much as she cared for him, she was in no mood to entertain anyone this morning, much less Morgan, who seemed determined to study the hollows of fatigue beneath her eyes.

“Honey, those jeans couldn’t get much tighter.”

“Oh, hush.” The jeans were old, white and ideal for applying varnish to a roll-top desk. Her navy top was another paint-spattered T-shirt, and today, in deference to Morgan, she wore a bra.

Kyle was gone. When Erica awakened, the bedroom had been empty; there had been no sound or sight of him. A squirrel had been chattering outside the glass wall, a pair of robins had been pecking at the dew-drenched grass for a gourmet breakfast of worms, and the brilliant early morning sunshine had promised a lovely day; it had all been rather annoying. When one’s life was falling apart, nature should at least have the courtesy to provide a mucky, rainy day. Instead, a seven-thirty sunlight was streaming into the bright kitchen, and Morgan’s brown eyes were steady on hers like admiring beacons. Worse, he was already full of his particular brand of nonsense.

“One small smile, eked out after three sips of coffee and an apple,” he observed. “I think it was the lady who had a little problem sleeping last night.”

“A little,” she admitted. “Oh, Lord!” She glanced furtively at the front door as they both heard a scratching from behind them, and in a second she was off the stool, grabbing a bowl from the cupboard and opening the back door. The cat stopped scratching instantly and leaped in to tangle herself around Erica’s legs as she reached out to get the milk from the refrigerator and pour some into the bowl. “We will not mention this to Kyle,” she said severely to Morgan.

“I take it Kyle doesn’t like cats.” Morgan leaned back with his cup in hand, grinning broadly. “Does the thing have mange, or has it just been in an accident?”

“Not you, too!” Erica protested. “Hurry,” she urged the creature. The cat was a skinny faded calico, with strangely long legs and tufts of fur at intervals. When the bowl was empty of milk, she curled around Erica’s legs again. Erica crouched down, stroking her. “What could I do?” she said helplessly to Morgan. “She comes every day.”

“You don’t suppose it’s because you feed her, do you?” Morgan suggested helpfully.

“She was starving!”

“So are all those children in China.”

“Morgan!” she said disgustedly as she shooed the cat back out the door.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” he assured her with a grin. “Although you’re kidding yourself if you think Kyle doesn’t already know you’re a sucker for lost causes. Now quit jumping around for two seconds and sit down with your coffee. I want to talk with you.”

“What about?” she asked. She washed out the empty bowl and put it away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked abruptly.

“Pardon?”

He sighed impatiently. “I’ve known Kyle for twelve years and you for better than nine. Kyle looks as if he’s carrying the world on his shoulders, and you, love, are more tense than that cat could ever be.”

“Nothing’s exactly wrong,” she protested, as she drank her coffee. She sipped too quickly, the scalding liquid fiery on her tongue, meeting his probing eyes only for an instant over the rim of the cup before she looked away. She was not good at lying, and Morgan had been a friend for too long for her simply to tell him to mind his own business. “Kyle’s just terribly tired,” she said finally.

“So he’s driving himself to the limit. Why? You two chose to come here. You left a successful business…”

“Yes,” Erica interrupted rapidly. “And this one is doing well, too, Morgan. It’s just that we started out with so many…”

“Debts,” Morgan supplied smoothly.

She had never intended to say that, but she could tell from the expression on Morgan’s face that he had already guessed.

“I would have to be a fool not to have realized that there was more to the move here than Kyle’s sudden love affair with wood,” Morgan continued. “Woodworking may have been in his blood for generations, but it sure as hell didn’t show up until now. So how bad was it, Erica?”

Totally unhappy with herself, Erica drained the coffee cup and turned away to set it in the sink. Kyle had chosen not to tell Morgan about their circumstances; knowing that made her feel helplessly disloyal. But Morgan was Kyle’s best friend; perhaps another man’s perspective was exactly what Kyle needed. Maybe he should talk out his feelings with Morgan. Taking a breath she said quietly, “Joel didn’t have any health insurance. The doctors performed open-heart surgery three times to try to get his heart going, but it was too badly damaged. He spent months in the intensive care unit…and before that he had bought thousands of dollars’ worth of lumber, none of it paid for. Other debts he seemed to have just accumulated… Of course, toward the end, Joel wasn’t well enough to work,” Erica said awkwardly. “But in the meantime, it couldn’t have been a worse time for Kyle to sell his business, with the economy so sluggish. He had a lot of capital out, or something; he’d just started another little plant…” Her voice trailed off. Then, chin lifted, she determinedly met Morgan’s eyes. “We’re out from under now,” she assured him. “For that matter, when I see the way Kyle works with a piece of wood, when I see what he can do with his hands…I wonder how he could ever have been really happy with a suit-and-tie sort of life. You wouldn’t believe what he’s been able to accomplish in six months, but there’s been so much stress…” She took a breath. “Perhaps if you talked to him, Morgan…”

“That was a hell of a pair of shoes to leave you,” Morgan said abruptly, as if he hadn’t even heard her suggestion. “But is that all that’s wrong, Erica?”

His sharp brown eyes looked intensely into hers. “Of course that’s all,” she said.

“Is it?”

She nodded nervously. “I like working with Kyle.”

“I still don’t understand. Erica. Kyle’s one story, but you’re another. You can’t possibly like it here, a tiny country town with nothing to do. It’s not just the lack of entertainment, but security, everything you grew up accustomed to…”

He was like a dog worrying a bone. All she wanted was for Morgan to give Kyle moral support-as Kyle had done for him a thousand times. “Morgan, we both like it here. We like working with wood. And Kyle has roots here…”

“You don’t,” Morgan said bluntly.

“I have Kyle.” But it sounded wrong, suddenly. She wasn’t at all sure she did have Kyle anymore.

“Yes.” Morgan stood up, lazily stretching, the silver metal on his chest glittering in the morning sun. “Well, kiddo, I’ve got to hit the road. This time, though, it’s not going to be such a long lapse between visits.”

“Super,” she said brightly, relieved he’d changed the subject. “You know we’re always glad to see you.”

He snatched at her hand as she moved past him. “So give us a goodbye kiss to tide us over,” he said swiftly.

She raised her cheek obediently for his peck and instead found his mouth on hers, the still-warm aroma of coffee mixed with a fractionally too intense pressure of lips. Somewhat startled, she stared up at him, as if searching his face for some assurance that it hadn’t been the kind of kiss it seemed to be. His hands lingered on her shoulders, and then he dropped his arms to his sides, pure Morgan in his cool expression, the usual hint of deviltry in his eyes. “You know, I’ve been waiting nine years for you to find some fault with that Irishman,” he teased.

Somehow it did not have the playful ring that it should have had. Still, she found the smile for him that she supposed should be on her face. Morgan was just…Morgan. He’d be stealing from the cookie jar when he was ninety.

A walk in the sunshine inevitably lifted Erica’s spirits. A squirrel was scampering across the dew-drenched grass, chattering to her the entire time it took her to get to the shop. The brisk morning air cleared the mental cobwebs, and she mounted the steps still smiling at the little animal’s antics.

Inside, she paused, inhaling the smells of the trade with a sensual pleasure. Sawdust and turpentine and wood and varnish…not exactly the smells to appeal to a romantic nature. But they appealed to hers, she thought fleetingly.

Kyle had rarely talked of his family or his past. It hadn’t mattered until she knew they were moving here, and then she’d put together some of his rare family anecdotes and historical information she’d gathered at the library. Particularly in the mid-1800s, Europeans had flooded to the Midwest, seeking relief from famines and military rule. They weren’t urban dwellers but simple country people, wanting only to pursue the lives they knew-farming or trades-with a decent chance for their families’ survival. People who knew hardship but still had the courage and strength to follow a dream…