Chapter 2
BREAKFAST
She
woke very fast, as was her habit. Her eyes opened without a movement
from the rest of her body, and looked quickly from side to side.
She wasn’t in her own bed. Her body tensed for action as her eyes
searched for movement in the room. Then she relaxed slowly.
The first aid kit was sitting where Johner had left it, and memory returned.
As she moved for the first time, her shoulder reminded her sharply of the
events of the previous night.
She got up soundlessly, and turned to survey the room. Johner lay asleep on the bed in the far corner. Her eyes widened slightly as she glanced around. The room was orderly, and noticeably clean. Even the kitchen area was policed. No dirty dishes, no food left out. And her pants, with her underpants beside them, were hanging on a clothes line stretched across a corner of the room. So that’s what he had been doing in the kitchen last night. She crossed to her pants and felt them. Dry. Still stained, but clean and dry.
She took them down and quickly pulled them on. As she tucked in his shirt, she turned to look at him. He was watching her, his eyes following her movements.
"Hungry?" He asked. "Breakfast will be ready in a minute. If I can get my aging carcass out of the sack." He yawned and stretched, and threw the cover off. He was nearly nude, wearing only briefs. He got out of bed without self-consciousness, and walked across the room to the bathroom. Sarah watched him all the way, stunned admiration in her eyes, sorry when the door closed behind him. His body was beautiful; broad shouldered, heavily muscled, long legged, and his movements had a feline grace. ’Aging, my foot!’ she thought.
She spotted the coffeepot, and opened cupboards, looking for coffee. The same order and cleanliness prevailed behind the cupboard doors as in the rest of the room. Amazing.
By the time he returned from the bathroom the coffee was nearly ready. He had put on pants, but she found that she was happy to see he was wearing no shirt. His chest was profusely covered with gray hair, and she was conscious of a passing desire to touch it.
"Coffee smells good," he said. "Do you want bacon with your eggs?"
"You’re cooking?"
"Got to eat. No one else here to cook it, I’m cooking."
The breakfast was delicious, eggs scrambled with onions and green peppers, crisp bacon, toast with strawberry jam. She mopped up the last bits of onion and egg with the last corner of toast, sighed, and said, "Could you move in with us? A cook as good as you are is worth anything. And you do surgery also. Not to speak of being a great housekeeper. Is there anything you can’t do?"
He looked down at his plate for a moment, then looked up and grinned. "I can’t carry a tune."
"That is a skill not necessary to make a great housemate---except if you sing in the shower." She looked around the room. "I’ve never seen bachelor quarters like this before. Usually they’re not fit for human habitation. How do you explain this weird behavior?"
"Easy. I’ve lived for years on a ship. Quarters there are about one fifth the size of this room. If you don’t keep it in order, you can’t get in the door after a while; I’ve seen it happen. And on a ship with a small crew, cooking is a chore that’s usually divided up among everyone. If you want to be able to stomach the food, you learn to cook it yourself."
While he talked she became conscious of how much she liked listening to his voice. Velvet, that was the description that fit. Deep, soft, gray velvet. Her attention came back to what he was saying with a little start.
"The skill at sewing up people---that comes from the kind of ship I was on. We hauled some cargoes that weren’t exactly welcome at the delivery point---and some cargoes were loaded on board with objections from people who thought they owned them."
"A pirate?"
"No, I wouldn’t say that, exactly. Just right on the edge all the time." He paused and leaned back in his chair. "It was a good time for a while, but I was getting too old for it even before we---we encountered a cargo that we couldn’t handle. They’re mostly all dead now."
"Who?"
"The crew. My shipmates."
"What happened?"
"It’s a long story. It doesn’t matter any more anyway. They’re dead."
She thought, ‘They were family. He’s grieving.’ and her heart hurt for him suddenly. So she smiled brightly, and said "Let’s do dishes. I’ve got to go home sometime today. What time is it, anyway?"
"About three, I think."
As they worked in the kitchen, finishing up the dishes, she asked, "Were you serious about wanting a job?" When he nodded, she continued, "I’ll talk to George Roberts. He’s the boss. You’ll have no trouble getting the job; you’re qualified. It’s a small firm, pretty relaxed atmosphere. We do mostly bodyguarding, transporting valuables, some investigation. No patrolling warehouses. I think you’ll like it and they’ll like you. But of course I’ve been wrong before. We’ll see. Call me tomorrow." She gave him her business card.
In a few minutes all was shipshape again and she was ready to leave. As she reached the door, she turned to him. "Thank you, Johner. You’ve been a friend." On an errant impulse, she reached up to kiss his cheek. He turned his head quickly, and his mouth found hers. The kiss lasted only a moment; he raised his head, smiled, and said softly, "There. That’s a big return on a little investment of time."
She raised her hand to his cheek, caressed it lightly, and was gone.
Johner leaned against the door, his eyes shut, waiting for the pounding of his heart to subside. ‘God, what have I got myself into. She’ll never look at me; she could have anyone she wants. How could I want her so much, so quick?’
And Sarah walked slowly down the
street, feeling again his mouth on hers, hearing that velvet voice, seeing
him cross the room naked, with feline grace.