In retrospect, Brand was willing to admit why he’d asked her out to dinner.
It was the kiss.
Her response, so tentative in the beginning, so hesitant and unsure, had thrown him for a loop. If Casey was ever to find out Brand had kissed his red-haired daughter, there would be hell to pay. The sure wrath of his friend hadn’t altered the fact Brand had wanted to kiss Erin. And kiss her he had, until his knees had been knocking and his heart had been roaring like a runaway train.
What had started out as a challenge had left him depleted and shaken. Numb with surprise and wonder. Erin had flowered in his arms like a rare tropical plant. She was incredibly sweet, and so soft that he’d been forced to use every ounce of restraint he possessed not to crush her in his arms.
This dinner date was a different story. She could hardly wait to get out of his car. Fine. He’d let her go, because frankly he wasn’t much into cultivating a relationship with a woman who clearly didn’t want to have anything to do with him.
He pulled off First Avenue onto the lot and left the engine running, hoping she’d get his message, as well.
Her hand was already closed around the door handle. “Thank you for dinner.”
“You’re welcome,” was his stiff reply. His tone bordered on the sarcastic, but if she noticed she didn’t comment.
“I’m sorry I was such poor company.”
He didn’t claim otherwise. She hesitated, and for a wild moment Brand thought she might lean over and gently kiss him goodbye. It would have been a nice gesture on her part.
She didn’t.
Instead she scooted out of the car, fiddled with the snap of her purse and retrieved her key chain, all while he sat waiting for her. When she’d opened the door to her Toyota, she twisted around and smiled sadly, as if she wanted to say something more. She didn’t, however. She just climbed inside resolutely.
Brand had to back up his car in order for her to pull out of the parking space. He did so with ease, reversing his way directly into the street. She came out after him and headed in the opposite direction.
His hand tightened around the steering wheel as she drove off into the night.
“Goodbye, Erin. We might have been friends,” he murmured, and regret settled over his shoulders like a heavy wool jacket.
Once he was back at his room in the officers’ quarters, Brand showered and climbed into bed. He read for a while, but the novel, which had been touted as excellent, didn’t hold his interest. After fifteen minutes, he turned out the light.
He should have kissed her.
The thought flashed through his mind like a shot from a ray gun.
Hell, no. It was apparent Erin didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Wonderful. Great. He was man enough to accept her decision.
Forcefully, he punched up the pillow under his head and closed his eyes.
Before he realized what he was doing, a slight smile curved his lips. She should count herself lucky he hadn’t taken it upon himself to prove her wrong and kiss her again. If he had, she would have been putty in his hands, just the way she had been the first time. Erin MacNamera might well have believed she had the situation under control, but she hadn’t. She’d been tense and uneasy, and for no other reason than the fear that Brand was going to take her in his arms again.
He should have. He’d wanted to. Until now he hadn’t been willing to admit how damn much he had longed to taste her again.
Brand rolled over onto his stomach and nuzzled his face into the thick softness of the pillow. Erin had been feather-soft. When she’d moved against him, her breasts had lightly cushioned his chest. The memory of her softness clouded his mind.
Burying his face in the pillow added fuel to his imagination, and he abruptly rolled over. He firmly shut his eyes and sighed as he started to drift off.
It didn’t work. Instead, he saw Erin’s sweet Irish face looking back at him.
Her eyes were an unusual shade of brown. Man-enticing brown, he decided. With her curly red hair and her pale, peach-smooth complexion, her eye color was something of a surprise. He’d expected blue or green, not dark brown.
Beautiful brown eyes…so readable, so clear, looking back at him, as if she were suffering from a wealth of regrets just before she’d climbed into her car.
Brand was suffering from a few regrets of his own. He hadn’t kissed her. Nor had he suggested they see each other again.
Damn his pride. He should have done something, anything, to persuade her. Now she was gone….
Sleep danced around him until he was on the verge of drifting off completely. Then his eyes snapped open, and a slow, satisfied smile turned up the edges of his mouth.
He knew exactly what he intended to do.
Erin remembered Marilyn Amundson from the first session of the Women in Transition course on Tuesday evening. The middle-aged woman with pain-dulled blue eyes and fashionably styled hair had sat at the back of the room, in the last row. Throughout most of the class, she’d kept her gaze lowered. Erin noted that the woman took copious notes as she outlined the sixteen-session course. Every now and again, the older woman would pause, dab a tissue at the corner of her eyes and visibly struggle to maintain her aplomb.
At nine, when class was dismissed, Marilyn had slowly gathered her things and hurried outside the classroom. Later Erin had seen a car stop in front of the college to pick her up.
It was Erin’s guess that Marilyn didn’t drive. It wasn’t unusual for the women who signed up for the course to have to rely on someone else for transportation.
Most of the women were making a new life for themselves. Some came devastated by divorce, others from the death of a loved one. Whatever the reason, they all shared common ground and had come to learn and help each other. When the sessions were finished, the classes continued to meet as a monthly support group.
The greatest rewards Erin had had as a social worker were from the Women in Transition course. The transformation she’d seen in the participants’ lives in the short two months she taught the class reminded her of the metamorphosis of a cocoon into a butterfly.
The first few classes were always the most difficult. The women came feeling empty inside, fearful, tormented by the thought of facing an unknown future. Many were angry, some came guilt-ridden, and there were always a few who were restless, despairing and pessimistic.
What a good portion of those who signed up for the course didn’t understand when they first arrived was how balanced life was. Whenever there was a loss, the stage was set for something to be gained. A new day was born, the night was lost. A flower blossomed, the bud was lost. In nature and in all aspects of life an advantage could be found in a loss. A balance, oftentimes not one easily explained or understood, but a symmetry nevertheless, was waiting to be discovered and explored. It was Erin’s privilege to teach these women to look for the gain.
“I was wondering if I could talk to you?”
Erin paused. “Of course. You’re Marilyn Amundson?”
“Yes.” The older woman reached for a tissue and ran it beneath her nose. Her fingers were trembling, and it was several moments before she spoke. “I can’t seem to stop crying. I sit in class and all I do is cry…. I want to apologize for that.”
“You don’t need to. I understand.”
Marilyn smiled weakly.