Holiday Kisses. Gwynne Forster
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Название: Holiday Kisses
Автор: Gwynne Forster
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781472019493
isbn:
Nothing pleased him more than the fact that Kisha seemed to like him for himself. She’d soon learn more about him, and she might not like what she learned, but he’d take that chance. They needed to talk. She agreed to go out with him for the second time, but neither had asked the other that most important question. She hadn’t asked him if he was married. And she had the trappings of a single woman, but he also had to be sure.
He rushed to answer the house phone when it rang. “Hi, Mom. How are you, and how’s Dad?” He always asked that question.
“We’re fine. We’re having a rather heated argument about the Dred Scott Decision. He says Roger Taney was chief justice when he wrote the majority opinion that blacks, whether slave or free, were not and never could be citizens of the United States, and that an angry Lincoln retaliated with the Emancipation Proclamation. Is he right? I thought John Marshall was chief justice at the time, but that Taney wrote the majority opinion.”
He had to laugh. “Mom, not even a college law professor would argue with Dad about Supreme Court decisions. Remember he’s argued cases before the Supreme Court, and he’s correct, but I give you credit for guts. Taney succeeded Marshall as chief justice, and he was chief justice when he wrote that opinion.”
“You lawyers always gang up on me, but remember more people need doctors than lawyers…or journalists.”
He imagined that she shook her finger at him. “Go hug Dad and tell him that he’s right as usual.”
If he could have the kind of relationship with a woman that his parents had shared for as long as he’d known them, he shouldn’t ask for anything more, including a network news job. But he knew himself, and he’d never give up his dream.
He didn’t question why he thought of Kisha just then as if she were the one, because he knew himself and his responses to women. She could be if their relationship developed. Hampered by the worst pain he’d ever experienced, he opened his eyes, imagined looking up at her and felt a charge all the way from his head to his toes.
Kisha didn’t question the reason for the casual phone call she received from Craig. It was as if he’d phoned her so that she wouldn’t forget about him. But she would be patient, and when he made a move—as he surely would—she’d be ready. His call had come the previous morning around eight o’clock. When she got to know him better, she was going to ask him what time he usually awakened. She’d bet good money that he woke up around seven o’clock and called her before he got out of bed.
She got up a little later than usual that Sunday morning, too late for church, so she stuck her hand outside the front door, and picked up the Sunday newspaper. She thought of Craig, and his love of fresh coffee floated through her mind while she sat on the kitchen stool waiting for hers to percolate. She wondered why he didn’t buy a percolator and learn to use it. After toasting a bagel and spreading margarine and apricot jam on it, she ate what passed for breakfast, drank a cup of coffee and headed back upstairs. Unsettled, and at a loss as to why, she’d decided to go to the museum and read the paper later.
Dressed in dark blue stretch jeans, a red-cashmere turtleneck sweater, a knee-length gray storm jacket and a pair of Reebok shoes she covered her hair with a red knitted cap and headed for the Baltimore Museum of Art. She frequented the museum as much to study as to enjoy the work of great artists, and she especially enjoyed going there on Sunday afternoons. On her way to the European collection, she glimpsed paintings by Jacob Lawrence, a noted African-American, and turned into that hall. For more than an hour, she let her eyes feast on the works of Lawrence, Joshua Johnson, Horace Pippin, Henry Tanner and other African-American painters.
As she left that hall, she bumped into a hard, moving object and would have fallen backward if a hand hadn’t grabbed her and steadied her on her feet.
“Well, I’ll be damned. I nearly killed you, Kisha, for goodness’ sake. I’m so sorry.”
She couldn’t say whether it was his weight or the excitement of seeing him unexpectedly that had knocked her out of sorts. “Craig, you must weigh a ton.”
“Well, not quite. Two hundred pounds is more like it.”
She flexed her arms to be sure she still had both of them. “Two hundred moving pounds is a heck of a lot of power.”
He stepped closer to her and grasped her with both hands. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine, if I can ever breathe normally again. Don’t tell me you like to hang out in museums, too.”
“I like museums, but I’m working on a story about the museum’s relationship to the community, and I came here to observe the free Family Sundays hands-on workshop. This particular program is unusually creative. I’ll be reporting on it in a segment of an upcoming newscast. Are you heading any where special after you leave here?”
Seconds before she opened her mouth to say yes, she was busy, she remembered her resolve to either get things going with him or to forget about him. So she said, “What did you have in mind?”
Craig stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets, looked down at her and grinned. “It’s a wonder I recognized you.” As discombobulated as Kisha, he stared at her for a minute. “Look. Could we go somewhere for coffee or a drink?” he asked her, more as a gentlemanly gesture—he assured himself—than as a means of appeasing his ever-growing attraction to her. “I…uh…it would be nice if we could spend a little time together.”
“It would be nice, but you’ve got on a business suit and tie, and I’m dressed for the supermarket.”
“You look great to me. We don’t have to go to the snazziest place in town. What about the Barbecue Pit. It’s practically empty on Sunday afternoons.”
“I…All right.”
He took her hand as they walked down the steps. “It’s not too far from here, so we can walk. My car is closer to the restaurant than it is to the museum.” He hoped that she wouldn’t attach too much significance to such a casual invitation, but the woman was not stupid, and she could figure out a man’s motives from his behavior.
“Since I’m here,” he said when they had seated themselves, “I may as well have some barbecued ribs. I doubt I’ll ever get enough of them.”
“Excuse me a minute, please.” She left and a few minutes later returned with her knitted cap in her hand and her hair swinging around her shoulders.
“I was wondering if I was going to get used to your little-girl look,” he said. “What would you like?”
“You’ve influenced me. I’ll have barbecued ribs, a biscuit and coffee.”
“So you like art, Kisha. That says a lot about you. Do you see it as beauty or as a technical achievement?”
“Both.” She described what it expressed to her. “It’s like the Empire State Building reigning over the skies of mid-Manhattan, СКАЧАТЬ