But he didn’t budge. If a squirrel or a bird should decide to perch in the branches of the tree just beyond the roof, there was no telling what the cat might do.
All her life Taylor had been afraid of heights. But what choice did she have? It was either climb out there and grab him, right now, or wait and take a chance he’d fall.
She eased her upper body through the window and, trembling, brought up her knee. When it rested on the warm, sandpapery shingles, she swallowed. Hard. “Please, God,” she prayed, “get the both of us back inside safely….”
Alex didn’t know what prompted him to do it, but instead of turning left at St. Johns Lane, he hung a right. At the first intersection he made another right, which put him on Taylor’s street. If he remembered correctly, her house was third from the corner.
If her car was in the driveway, maybe he’d stop by. Just to make sure everything was all right…since she’d disappeared so quickly from the brunch….
The red compact was there, all right. He noted the relief that coursed through him.
Movement on the roof caught his eye.
What on earth did she think she was doing up there!
He parked on the street, in the shade of the big maple in her front yard. Even from this distance he could hear her, making kissing noises. When he got closer, Alex grinned. “What’s up?” he asked as Barney maneuvered nearer the roof’s edge.
Taylor only gasped.
“Cat got your tongue?” he added.
“Funny,” Taylor said. “Real funny.”
But by the look on her face, he reasoned she hadn’t found his comment the least bit humorous. On closer inspection, he could see that she was terrified. Of losing the cat? Or of being up so high?
The latter. No, both, he decided.
“You want I should come up there? See if I can get her to come to me?”
“Him. His name is Barney.”
“Pardon me,” he said, smiling, hoping to ease her tension, “but we were never formally introduced.” Waving one arm above his head, Alex said, “Pleased to meet ya, Barn.”
He was still grinning when the cat launched itself from the roof, legs flailing, tail twitching, claws extended to get a grip on something.
Alex turned out to be that something.
Ignoring the stinging, piercing pain, he wrapped both arms around the cat and held on tight. “Is the front door open?” he asked, wincing and clenching his teeth.
Taylor nodded.
“Good. I’ll meet you inside, then.”
Thirty seconds later she was beside him, relieving him of the cat, who made a beeline for the living-room sofa.
“Oh my goodness,” Taylor gasped. “Just look at you.”
He glanced in the hall mirror. “Mmm, mmm, mmm,” he said. “Looks like I’ve been—”
“In a catfight?”
They shared a moment of nervous laughter, and then she took his hand. “Come with me,” Taylor said. “Let’s get something on those scratches. We don’t want them to get infected.”
Her hand was warm. And despite her size, she had an amazingly strong grip. Alex liked that.
For the next five minutes he sat in one of her kitchen chairs, alternately cringing and sucking air between his teeth as she swabbed his cuts with antiseptic. Taylor leaned in, brow furrowed in concentration, as if she were a skilled surgeon and Alex an unconscious patient.
His own mother hadn’t fussed over him this gently when he’d skinned his knees as a boy. She’d put Mercurochrome here, bandages there, a slap on his behind and a warning to be more careful next time. And he’d had his share of minor accidents over the years—no surprise, considering what he’d chosen as his life’s ambition. A wide variety of nurses had doled out medication, changed the dressings on his wounds. But like his mother, there had been a matter-of-factness to their ministrations.
What made Taylor’s attentions seem so…different? Maybe the way her hands shook, ever so slightly, as she touched the swabs to his cuts. Maybe it was the way her voice trembled, just a little, when she asked, “Does that hurt?” and “Am I being too rough?”
And maybe, just maybe, it was the look in her eyes that said even something as insignificant as cat scratches were important…because he was important.
Right here, right now, Alex thought he could look into her pretty face forever. If only—
“You were the answer to a prayer,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.
“Who? Me?”
She tossed the swab into the trash can and recapped the brown peroxide bottle. And pressing one small hand against her chest, Taylor sighed. “I’d been up there…”
She closed her eyes, and when she did, Alex felt as if someone had turned off the sun.
“I don’t know how long I’d been up there,” she finished, eyes wide again. “Seemed like forever!”
Alex said a silent prayer of thanks heavenward, amazed, because he hadn’t asked God for diddly in who knew how long, yet he’d asked Him to make Taylor open her eyes. He was even more amazed at the rush of warmth he felt swirling around inside his chest when she did.
“If I’d been up there another minute,” she said, laughing, “you’d probably have had two people to rescue.”
He could think of worse things than having a woman like this beholden to him for rescuing her. Because a woman like this—
Barney sauntered through the room just then, stopping only long enough to give both Alex and Taylor a look that said, “Who are you calling people?”
Laughing, Taylor added, “Well, you would’ve had two somethings to rescue.”
He was about to say she was as far from a “thing” as a woman could get when she said, “What’re you doing here, anyway?”
You’re a magnet, he thought, and my innards seem to be made of iron ore. “You left the church brunch just like that—” he snapped his fingers “—without a word.” He was beginning to sound to himself like a guy who’d fallen head over heels. Couldn’t have her thinking that, he decided. And so Alex gave a nonchalant shrug. “Just checking, makin’ sure you’re okay, is all.”
She laid a hand on the shoulder he’d shrugged. “Thanks, Alex.” And her voice was sweeter than honey when she added, “That was really nice of you.” Then, as if she thought maybe she sounded like someone who’d fallen head over heels, she spread her arms wide. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine.”
You can say that again, he thought. But “I’m glad” is what he said.
She clasped both hands in front of her. Small gesture, really, and yet because it seemed sweet and old-fashioned and feminine all rolled into one, it made his heart pound.
One hand on the refrigerator door handle, Taylor said, “Would you like a soda? Coffee? Tea?”
He chuckled, relieved to have something to focus on besides her dainty hands, her gorgeous eyes. “You sound like the stewardess on our flight back from Ireland.”
“Flight attendant,” she chided good-naturedly, her fore-finger moving like a silent metronome. “You don’t want a ticket from the Politically Correct Police, now, do you?”
Alex slapped himself in the forehead. His intended “Wash my mouth out with soap” was replaced by a “Yeee-ouch!” inspired when he hit one of the still-smarting cat scratches.
She