Sunburst

She was so used to a certain kind of life that she’d never thought about it, never realized how Kyle had always sheltered and even pampered her, indulging her every whim, ferreting out wishes she hadn’t even known she had. She hadn’t confronted him that day-she couldn’t. Uppermost in her mind had been her own sudden and overwhelming feeling of inadequacy. For how long had she behaved like a mistress instead of a wife? It hadn’t occurred to Kyle, apparently, to level with her about their changed circumstances. Did he think she wouldn’t see, wouldn’t understand?

She hadn’t then and didn’t now understand his anger when he first found her washing windows, taking on projects. Obviously, he didn’t have time for the antiques, and those were less a matter of skill than time, patience and work. And in spite of all the problems they’d had lately, she had slowly and almost unconsciously built up a love affair with wood that was almost equal to her husband’s.

With her hands stuck in her back pockets, she wandered toward Kyle’s shop, a long, narrow side room that ran the length of the building. Every chisel had its place, the power tools were protected and hung on hooks; excellent lighting had been installed, and the wood lathe gleamed like dull pewter from its proper oiling and care. Kyle had changed so much, so quickly… She would have been beaten just looking at the shop when she first saw it. He had savored the challenge. The market for handmade wooden products had supposedly disappeared after mass production became common, but people seemed to be tired of houses that looked alike, perhaps were again beginning to value things that endured. In a plastic world where so little was natural, wood had qualities to offer-it was lasting, beautiful, real. A chair unearthed from the attic and refinished would last another thirty years, and no one else had another like it; a wooden cradle could be a link between one generation and the next, lovingly passed on as people used to do, because they had the sense and sensitivity to do it…

She noticed a massive piece of mahogany in the shape of a sunburst at the far end of Kyle’s workbench and wandered toward it, curious as to what he was working on. Her hands slipped out of her pockets as she neared. She’d never seen it before. The huge sunburst was nearly finished. The sun’s points were smooth and sharp and exact, but Kyle was hand-chiseling the center into a three-dimensional design to create the effect of leaping flames. The longer she stared, the more fascinated she became. There seemed to be a face in the flames, a cameo hidden in the intricate work.

The flames looked alive, with the illusion of a woman’s profile…she was the woman, the sun itself-life, warmth, radiance. Shoulder-length hair swirled and became part of the fire, almost as if it had color. Reverently, Erica touched the arc of one perfect sun point.

She felt a sharp hand connect with her backside before she was whirled off-balance. “You didn’t see that.” Kyle’s arms hooked around her shoulders, preventing her from turning and seeing it again. His eyes hinted at turquoise this morning and had that very private brightness she saw only when he was working…or seducing.

Either way, she relished it, grinning up at him. “I didn’t see it.” Well, that wasn’t going to work. “Kyle, that sunburst is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t know when you could possibly have found the time to work on something like that-”

“I have been working exclusively on cabinets for one Jonas Henry.”

“I mean the sunburst-”

He kissed her forehead. “There isn’t any sunburst. I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about.”

“Kyle, I-”

“If you’re smart, lady, you’ll keep in mind that you didn’t see a thing. Unless you want a bonfire for your birthday.”

She nodded rapidly. “I never saw a thing.”

For that she rated a single swift kiss on the lips, far too short. Her hands lingered on his shoulders. His black hair gleamed under the fluorescent lights, last night’s sleep not sufficient to erase the hollows beneath his eyes. They didn’t matter. Those hollows only accented his good looks, those beautiful eyes of his… Yet his eyes changed suddenly as his hands tightened around her waist and then released her. “Erica, last year on your birthday I gave you an emerald…”

“And it was lovely,” she said quietly. “But this-this is worth more, Kyle, can’t you see that?”

He lifted one eyebrow. “What’s worth more?” he demanded.

“Nothing. Nothing. I didn’t see a thing!”

“And for that peek, it’ll be a long time before I forgive you.” Another short spank on her backside somehow ended as an intimate pat instead. “For once, Erica, I have to urge you back into your own workroom.”

“You’re not trying to get rid of me, are you?” she asked teasingly, but she headed for the door. The oak desk was waiting for varnishing, and Kyle had his own work to do.

Five minutes later, she was kneeling on the tarp in the back room, the can of varnish open beside her and her gloved hand holding a brush. An hour passed before she lifted her head, startled to find Kyle standing in the doorway. He was a different man again; she didn’t know what had happened. The turquoise was gone from his eyes, and the brooding look was back; his sinewy shoulders were taut beneath the navy shirt he wore.

For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes skimming over the pieces of furniture waiting for their turn after she finished the desk: a Jenny Lind couch, an old cradle, a huge antique spinning wheel some farmer had unearthed from his attic. Her own advertising had brought in that business, and she was itching to get at her work. But Kyle’s eyes were cold, shifting from the furniture to his wife, kneeling on the rough tarp in a frayed T-shirt and paint- spattered jeans. A bleakness seemed to come over his features, masked quickly by that steel-hard look she’d come to fear. “Kyle?”

“Erica, did you ask Morgan to come here?”

The question seemed to come out of nowhere. “Of course not.” She half smiled. “I can’t remember a time Morgan ever waited for an invitation to visit us. Every time he feels a little restless, he just zeroes in.”

Kyle stared out the window. “Wisconsin happens to be a little farther than Florida, as far as just dropping in goes.”

“He explained that. The Shanes’ business is expanding, and the Midwest is the direction it’s going.” And since Morgan’s family was in small aircraft, it had always been a simple matter for Morgan to fly wherever he wanted to go. Erica frowned. Kyle knew all of that. She wasn’t sure what he was trying to say. “You would rather he hadn’t come?” she questioned. “And I thought you would be so glad to see him after all this time. You two have been friends for so long…”

“Yes. And we shared a lot for a very long time.” The conversation on that subject was evidently over. Kyle strode forward, crouched down beside her and took the brush from her hands. His stroke was the stroke of a lover, sensitive and sure, as he finished the side she had been working on and viewed the result with a critical eye. “Your work is perfect, Erica. Exactly right to bring out the texture of the wood.”

Her heart played John Philip Sousa under his praise. “It’s a beautiful piece to work on.” She promptly forgot about Morgan.

“And you’re my beautiful lady.” He leaned over to kiss the tip of her nose, and then handed back her brush. Standing up again, he watched as she finished the last side.

She was promptly unnerved. For one thing, Kyle never stood idle; for another, he never watched what she did; and for another…one of these years of marriage she was going to stop feeling that butterfly reaction to the sheer sex appeal of her husband. It was ridiculous, of course. She knew exactly what Kyle looked like in every mood and type of dress. Still, her heart soared at the proud way he always held his shoulders, was painfully aware of the way his dark shirt showed off his bronzed skin, savored the intense blue of his eyes.

“You want lessons?” she inquired finally, tongue-in-cheek.

He chuckled. “I want your attention. When you’re done, Erica-God knows I hate an interruption. But this morning…I just want to show you something.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Why didn’t you say anything?” She was finished in short order, though Kyle took the brushes from her hands and cleaned them before she had the chance to do it herself. “What do you want to show me?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.” He swung an arm around her shoulders as they left the old building, both of them blinking to adjust to the sudden bright sunlight. She could sense just from the feel of Kyle’s hand that his earlier, brighter mood had returned. He led her back to the house, through the front door and up to the kitchen, where he detached himself only long enough to raid the cookie jar.

“I see. We both only have a thousand things to do. I can certainly understand why you wanted to show me chocolate-chip cookies,” she said pleasantly. “I haven’t seen one in nearly two days-”