massive mahogany table and carved chairs. Masculine, elegant, the furnishings suited his personality. Next they went into the living room, filled with more dark furniture. One entire wall was covered with weapons.
Marilee halted and gazed at the guns, knives, and miscellaneous objects of mayhem. “You must like violence.”
“No, I find weapons interesting, so I collect them. I don’t use them,” he added dryly.
She moved closer. “I don’t like guns. If they’d never been invented, think what the world might’ve been.”
He chuckled. “Probably uninhabited, undefended, men would’ve killed each other off with stones and rocks.”
“You have a bee de corbin, and a jousting helmet … I can’t imagine people actually using such things.” She glanced at him to find him staring at her intently.
“How do you know a bee de corbin?”
“My father’s a gun collector. I’ve read about these in his books.”
“And he’s a violent man?”
“I deserved that one.” She laughed. “Somehow it seems different with you. He doesn’t have all the other weapons.”
Cole reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear, letting his finger trail down her cheek. His touch was lighter than a summer breeze, yet it made her tingle. His fingertips made her aware of the silence around them, the intimacy of their closeness in the empty house. She sidled a few feet away to view more of the collection. “You have two powder horns decorated with maps! My dad has tried to find one. He has two Kentucky rifles he values. One’s a Jacob Dickert.”
“I’d like to see your father’s collection.”
“He’d love to show it to you. He spends hours over it.” She shivered. “I don’t like guns.”
He stood on his toes and removed a large pistol from a high shelf. “This one’s loaded.”
Horror-struck, she gazed at the weapon in his hand. “You keep a loaded gun here?”
“This is for emergencies. It’s too high for kids to reach. It’s no use to have one that isn’t loaded. Look here.” He broke it open, removing the cartridges. Snapping it closed, he released the safety. “All you do is pull the hammer to cock it and squeeze the trigger.”
His blunt, tanned finger squeezed the trigger. The gun clicked and he held it out to her. “Try it.”
Chilled, she rubbed her arms. Cole looked perfectly natural handling the gun, but she didn’t want any part of it. “No, thanks. I don’t need a gun in my line of work.”
He reloaded and replaced the weapon, his shirt stretching tautly over his arm and back while he reached upward. Turning back to her with a smile, he said, “Let’s go sit on the patio.”
She chose the chair she’d sat in earlier. He pulled his beside hers and propped his booted feet up on the edge of another chair.
Night had come with a full moon. It was a cool summer evening filled with the lingering smell of woodsmoke from the smoldering grill. Overhead stars twinkled brilliantly, hundreds more visible in the clear country air than in town. It was beautiful, but filled with danger. Marilee knew now was the time to ask Cole to take her home, to walk out of his life and see him only for professional reasons when she came to paint and tutor. Instead she sat in silence, every nerve alive to the slightest movement, the simplest touch of the man beside her. Only several kisses had passed between them, nothing more. She could easily forget them she told herself, ignoring a jeering little voice in her mind that laughed contemptuously.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
If he only knew! “It’s nice here.”
“I know.” His voice was a deep rumble in the dark. He reached over to take her hand, his warm fingers closing around hers. “I like it here. This is the only place that’s really home to me.”
“When you were growing up, did you spend much time here?”
“About half my life. Especially the early years. When my parents fought, I could get away from them and not hear the
Learning to Kill: Stories