blinked, twice, and looked at Kat as if he was
surprised he held her in his arms.
"Fuck!" he hissed and pushed away
from her. This time, it was her grip on his shoulders that kept her
from falling.
Charles stared at her in horror, as if she'd
grown another head. A glance at her reflection in the glass of the
window showed he wasn't far from wrong. Her face was smeared with
the same yellow paint as his and her chocolate brown curls were now
streaked as well.
As soon as he released her, the
overwhelming passion she'd felt began to recede and sanity
prevailed. And why shouldn't it? Between his curse and shove and
horror stricken face, she felt about as sexy as a snail, yet not so
lucky as the slimy little mollusk. She had no shell to crawl into
and hide.
"Who put you up to this? You're
not one of us," he accused.
"That's a relief. I wouldn't want
to be whoever the hell you think you are," Kat snapped. She was
humiliated and furious with him and with herself for whatever it
was that came over her and made her act like a common…
Something in the other room caught Charles'
attention. "Quick. Wipe your face," he ordered. He scooped the
paint spattered rag from the floor, tossed it to her and began
tucking his shirt back into his pants.
Kat scrubbed the rag, now stiff with dried
paint, viciously over her nose and lips. It was too late to
remove the paint which had dried to a thin crust, but that wasn't
why she scoured her skin and it sure as hell wasn't because he
told her to.
She could still smell him and the lingering
scent of woods and meadows irritated her nose. She could still
taste him, coffee and bacon and that unique flavor that was all his
own and she was sure she'd never look at breakfast the same way
again. Damnit! She still wanted him and that angered her more than
her initial lapse in judgment.
Her cleaning efforts only added the faint
odor of paint to the mix. Kat scrubbed harder. Foul words were on
the tip of her tongue when she heard the heavy front door in the
foyer open.
"You just set those right there, Buddy, and
go on out and get another load while I see what's what." The voice
was a woman's, high pitched and sing-song with a no nonsense tone
about it. "I can see right off this front hall won't do. Yes sir,
Buddy, we've got our work cut out plain as day. Go on, now, move
that truck and get those things under roof before it rains."
Chapter 6
Kat stood straight and hid the paint covered
rag behind her back as the woman came through the door to the room
where they stood and greeted them with a judgmental "humph".
Taking them in with hawklike eyes, her head
snapped from side to side like the predatory bird she resembled.
She folded her skinny arms over her nonexistent bosom and tapped a
foot that looked too large for her long, skinny legs.
Holy smokes! It was one of those dour
housekeepers from those awful gothic novels. If she'd been wearing
gray bombazine, Kat would have wet her pants.
This woman wore a cotton print dress buttoned
up the front to just below her neck and cinched at the waist with a
matching belt. Her shoes were black, heavy heeled and sturdy, the
kind Kat remembered the nuns wearing in the school she attended
until she was nine.
"Humph," the woman said again and there was
no doubt about the opinion expressed in that one sound. "Looks like
I wasn't a minute too soon." She looked them over again,
pursing her lips into a disapproving frown, and pointed a bony
finger at Charles who stood there with a belligerent look on his
yellow face.
"You, young man, had best be about your
business. Save your foolishness for the Road House and your
hanky-panky for a motel room. And you!" she turned to Kat. "You
look to be an intelligent young woman, once you get that paint
off. Not the kind to be charmed by a handsome face
and lustful body. You want to keep your reputation here
abouts, you'll use that sofa for settin' and nothin' more."
She ignored Kat's flaming face and looked
Learning to Kill: Stories