Firefly Nights

That was a stupid thing to say. What did he know about women’s clothes? Only that the hip-hugging pants and top that Kitty wore had to be the most unforgiving garments he’d ever seen on a female. If she’d had a blemish anywhere on her torso, he’d have seen the outline through that fabric. But the more he looked, the more he concluded that she was awfully pretty.

She grinned bashfully and turned her attention to heating something on the stove. “Thanks, Mr. Oakes. These clothes certainly aren’t fashion statements, but they’re comfortable.”

Kitty Watley was strange. He’d expected her to blast him for what some women would have interpreted as a snide comment about her appearance. That’s exactly what Diana would have done if, heaven forbid, there had ever been a reason for him to question her impeccable taste. And yet Kitty had taken it like a compliment.

Once again he found himself searching for the right words. “I wish you’d stop calling me ‘Mr. Oakes,’” he finally said. “It makes me feel old, as well as lame.”

She slathered something on two pieces of bread. “Okay. You’re certainly not old, Campbell. And once your leg heals, you won’t be lame, either.”

If only the doctors were as confident, he thought. “When you’ve got that food ready, you can leave it on the end table. Then you and the kid can take yours and go.”

A few minutes later Kitty quietly set a tray on the table without disturbing his reading as her oblivious son had done. But this time it wouldn’t have mattered, since Campbell hadn’t done anything but stare at the pages as if they were blank. She brought him a glass of water and his pain pills and then took her own food and left with Adam, who had spent the past minutes zipping through the channels on his remote.

Almost as if he owed Kitty some consideration, Campbell forced himself to eat the cheese and bologna sandwich and, of all things, chicken soup.

When he finished eating, Campbell took his pills and watched a few minutes of the baseball game before shutting off the TV. He picked up his book, slammed it closed and set it down again. He glared at the useless leg, which prevented him from going outside in the cleansing mountain air and walking off the restlessness.

And then he opened the end table drawer and took out the half dozen postcards from Diana that for some stupid reason he’d saved over the past few months. He flipped through them, staring at the typical tourist photos again. The Piazza San Marco in Venice. The Place Royale in Bordeaux. The Grote Markt in Antwerp. Beautiful places that, at one time, he could have imagined visiting with Diana.

Once he finished reading, Campbell ripped the cards into shreds before realizing he’d have to pick up all the pieces from the floor.

He blamed Kitty Watley for this infuriating and completely uncharacteristic emotional outburst. Before this darn accident, when work occupied his days, he’d convinced himself that he was finally over Diana Matheson. Cool, sophisticated, boarding school–bred Diana, who’d knocked him for a loop the first time he saw her. He had adored her since the night she showed up at her father’s estate, home from her European trip.

The day she agreed to become his wife had been the happiest of his life. He’d given her a ring and urged her to set a date. He was anxious to settle down with her, have a family. She kept putting him off, and she did it so cleverly he hardly noticed. Or maybe he just wasn’t smart enough to read the signs.

Eventually Campbell realized that Diana would never be his. She’d never commit to a simple ex-military type like him, who worked for her father. To preserve what was left of his dignity, he told Diana goodbye. And then, weeks later, the postcards started to arrive, and Campbell resented the heck out of the fact that Diana didn’t want him but wouldn’t let him go.

It wasn’t Kitty’s fault that her very femaleness sent Campbell spiraling down to that dark period after he’d packed his bags and left the Matheson estate. When he settled back in Sorrel Gap, he gave himself time and permission to think of Diana. He missed what he’d hoped they would have together with a deep ache that stole peace from his daylight hours and sleep from his nights. But he didn’t regret his decision, any more than he regretted tearing up those postcards today. In Sorrel Gap he’d hoped to start over. But he wasn’t doing such a bang-up job of it so far.

Kitty and Diana were nothing alike except that they were both women. Diana had everything she’d ever wanted. Kitty obviously survived on the barest essentials. Campbell had sworn off all women for now, but especially rich, spoiled ones who would choose money and possessions over everything else.

The phone rang again, jolting Campbell from his pathetic self-pity. He picked it up. “Hello.”

“It’s Virgil. Just wanted you to know I got the phone turned on in unit six so you can reach Kitty when you need her. Here’s the number...”

Campbell scribbled it down on a pad, though he wasn’t likely to use it. He was a long way from admitting that he needed anyone.

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_46dc243b-35b2-5b58-8a95-6d60b6d5dce1)

“I DON’T LIKE HIM,” Adam called from the shower where he was supposed to be scrubbing the tiles with the contents of an old can of Comet.

Kitty fluttered a clean sheet over a newly laundered mattress pad. She breathed deeply, grateful the linens smelled as promised on the bottle—mountain fresh. “Why don’t you like him?”

“He’s grouchy.”

“A little, maybe.” She tucked the ends of the sheet between the mattress and box spring. “But mostly I think he’s sad.”

Adam’s disparaging snort was amplified by the tile walls. “What’s he got to be sad about? He’s got a satellite dish.”

“I don’t know, but I think it’s something more than the plane crash. Although that would be enough.”

Adam popped out of the bathroom. “He should have our problems. Then he’d have a reason to mope.”

“Be patient. We should all try to get along for the time we have to be here.”

Adam frowned at his mildew-stained sponge. “Yeah. I guess there’s no escape from Motel Psycho, is there?” He gave Kitty a ghoulish look and made stabbing gestures with his free hand. “Just be careful when you take a shower, Mom.”

“Never mind,” she said, genuinely smiling for the first time that day. “If you’re done in there, come help make the beds.”

When they were finished, Adam left for Campbell’s place to see if Wanda had stocked potato chips. Kitty sat on the worn but fresh spread and picked up the telephone. A dial tone! Things were definitely looking up even if her contact with the outside world was an antiquated gold princess phone. She punched in Bette’s number and nearly cried with relief when her mother’s cousin answered.

“You’re going to need some money,” Bette said after hearing about Kitty’s plight. “I can send you a check.”

Kitty had known she could count on her relative, but it was reassuring to hear that trust in Bette’s words.