not. And it was too late to dwell on such things now, anyway.
Disgusted with himself for his uncharacteristic bout of self-pity, he tuned out Lucy's warm, happy voice and stepped onto the porch, ignoring the cold that seeped through his sweatshirt and jeans. His breath hung in front of him as he stood at the top of the steps, watching Hulk halfheartedly give chase to a fat squirrel.
Banner stuck his hands in his pockets to warm them and studied the damage the ice had done to the surrounding trees. Broken limbs littered the ground and hung precariously from the tallest branches. Most of the ice had melted into splotches of mud, though frozen patches still gleamed in some of the deepest shadows where the sun hadn't yet penetrated.
The sky was clear, the almost blinding blue of a crisp winter day. He could smell the tang of bruised evergreens and the wood smoke that drifted lazily from his chimney.
Hulk seemed to be in no hurry to go back inside, having been cooped up for the past couple of days. Banner knew the feeling. He wouldn't mind going for a long run, himself. He seemed to be in need of some heavy physical activity to take his mind off…well, other things.
He was lucky no limbs had crashed through his roof, he thought as he surveyed the mess on the ground to distract himself from what had gone on inside the house. He had a lot of cleaning up to do in the next few days. Damage control, he thought.
He would be wise to limit the damage to broken limbs, rather than risk any personal scars left behind by a certain kissable Christmas elf. He just wasn't so sure he had any more control over that than he'd had over the weather.
Lucy was watching the back door when she hung up the phone. Banner had gone outside almost ten minutes earlier and he hadn't been wearing a coat. He must be half frozen by now.
If he'd left to give her privacy, it hadn't been necessary.
She hadn't said anything to her father that she would have minded Banner overhearing.
She opened the door quietly, catching her breath when a gust of cold air rushed inside like an impatient visitor. Banner must not have heard the door open. He had wandered into the yard and was studying a small tree that looked to have broken nearly in two beneath the weight of the ice.
Lucy would have been shivering like crazy out there in a sweatshirt and jeans, but Banner seemed indifferent to the temperature. Was he really that tough or just that good at blocking his feelings?
As if he had sensed her standing there, he looked around, his eyes meeting hers. Even with the distance between them, she felt the impact of his intense gaze like a physical touch.
“Aren't you cold?” she asked after clearing her throat. “Would you like me to bring you your coat?”
“No. I'm coming in. C'mon, Hulk, leave that squirrel alone and let's go get warm.”
Lucy moved out of the way as Banner and the dog came back inside. Banner passed almost close enough to brush against her, and she could feel the cold radiating from him. What had driven him outside so impulsively that he hadn't even stopped for his coat?
She followed him into the living room, where he threw another log on the fire and then stood there soaking in the warmth. “Looks as though there was a lot of damage to your trees,” she said to start him talking again.
“Yeah.”
“Was there any damage to your house? Are all your water pipes okay?”
“They're well insulated. I think everything is fine.”
The dog gave a huge yawn, turned around a couple of times and settled down for a nap on the hearth rug. Banner looked down at the beast as if he were considering joining him.
Lucy settled into the rocker where Miss Annie had spent so much of the past two days. It was amazingly comfortable, the slat back and solid oak seat carved to cradle her. An easy push of her foot set it in motion, probably giving her an appearance of relaxation she didn't feel just then.
The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, shining on the glittery stars Joan's children had left behind. The scent of cedar wafted from the corner, drawing Lucy's attention to the cheery little Christmas tree, and the fire popped and sputtered merrily, as if trying to do its part to lighten Banner's tense mood.
It didn't seem to be working. He just stood there, staring moodily into the fire, apparently oblivious to the decorations…and to her. It seemed the game she had so impulsively initiated was over, ended by her switch from casual, impersonal questions to a more personal-and more painful-subject.
Maybe she should go. In Springfield, she would be welcomed with smiles and open arms, unlike the strained atmosphere of this room.
She had never been one to hang around where she wasn't wanted-and she did eventually take a hint, though sometimes she was a bit slow to give up when she had set her sights on something. Maybe this was one of those times when she should throw in the towel.
There was only one way to find out how Banner felt about it. Placing her hands on the arms of the rocker, she pushed herself to her feet. “I think it's time for me to let you have your privacy back. I'll just get my things out of the bathroom, and I'll be on my way.”
He reached out unexpectedly to catch her arm when she would have walked past him. “Wait.”
She looked up at him with a renewed hope. “Something else you want to say?”
“Something else I want to do,” he corrected after a rather lengthy hesitation. And then he drew her against him.
“You're really not one for conversation, are you?” she murmured, smiling as she slid her hands up his still- chilled chest.
“Sometimes it's better not to talk,” he muttered in return, and proceeded to demonstrate.
Okay, this was definitely promising, she thought, letting herself sink into his kiss. Maybe Banner had trouble with words, but he communicated beautifully this way.
Standing on her tiptoes, she clung to his neck and allowed her mind to shut down. To paraphrase Banner: sometimes it was better not to overthink things.
Once again it was the shrill ring of the telephone that brought an end to the kiss before it flared out of control.
Aroused and somewhat disoriented, Banner glared at the insistent instrument. Damn it, he hadn't had half a dozen calls in the past month. And now the stupid phone rang twice in one afternoon, each time interrupting a very interesting interlude?
It was probably an omen that he should heed. Instead, he heard himself urging, “Just let it ring this time.”
Lucy rolled her eyes and motioned toward the table where the telephone sat. “We can't do that. It could be an important call.”
He shoved a hand through his hair and tried to regain control of his raging hormones as he reached reluctantly for the receiver. “Hello,” he said, frustration making his voice even more curt than usual.
“Hi, Rick. I just called to say merry Christmas.”
He recognized his paternal half sister's voice after only a momentary hesitation. “Thanks. You, too. How's it going, Brenda?”
“My sister,” he mouthed to Lucy, who was hovering close by in case the call was for her again.
She nodded, then turned to leave the room, obviously to give him privacy.
Banner turned his attention back to the call, hearing his sister say, “Everything's fine, I suppose. We wish you could have joined us for Christmas, of course. We missed you at the dining table.”
Banner doubted that was true. As little as he usually contributed to one of the lively, and most often political, mealtime discussions at his father's table, he couldn't imagine that his presence had been missed. His sister was simply being polite. “Tell everyone I said hello,” he said.
He wasn't particularly surprised that his father hadn't called. Richard Banner wasn't exactly supportive of his eldest son. He had never approved of Banner's decision not to attend college and to attain limited success as a woodworker rather than in the higher-profit and higher-profile careers Richard's two younger offspring were pursuing.
Banner's mother hadn't called, either. That, too, was no surprise to him. His mother was sulking because he hadn't attended her Christmas dinner, even though she usually wasted their time together criticizing his appearance, his lack of interest in social skills and his decision to live in rural Arkansas “like some backwoods hillbilly.” Her words, not his. She had always been miffed that he preferred the simple existence of his great-uncle to the social climbing lifestyle she and her husband maintained so frantically.
