Night Scents by Carla Neggers

Author:Carla Neggers [Neggers, Carla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, General, Contemporary, Fiction
ISBN: 9780743496322
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2004-02-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 11

Rain slashed the windshield, lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled, but so far as Clate could see, Piper still wished she'd ridden her bike home. "I'll get my bike. No need for you to get wet."

She slid out of the car into the pounding rain. Clate waited two seconds, then decided to hell with it and climbed out, basically ignoring the rain as he joined her at the trunk. She was wrestling with her bike, which had twisted around on itself and didn't exactly fit anyway. A determined woman. He eyed her clamped jaw, the tensed muscles in her arms, her soaked hair and shirt, and wondered why in hell he didn't just scoop her up and carry her inside.

Without asking, he grabbed hold of the handlebars and helped her pull the bike out of the trunk. "I can do it," she said.

"Just smile and say thank you."

She scowled at him, and he laughed. That defiant pride and independent streak were something they had in common, although they'd developed the qualities for different reasons. He because he was alone in the world, she because she wasn't.

"You're getting wet," she said.

"I'm from the South. Thunderstorms don't bother me."

"I'd like to see the South."

Lightning and thunder came together in a crash, the storm moving over their heads. The hard, steady rain dripped off her nose and her hair and made her skin seem paler. They were both drenched. "You'll have to come to Nashville. It's a good city. There's more to it than country-and-western music."

"Are you a fan?"

They were standing in the pounding rain, discussing Nashville. "Absolutely. I'm also a fan of the long, beautiful Nashville springs."

"Summers are hot."

"Hot and humid."

An unexpected flash of memory, Irma serving him fried apricot pies on a hot, still summer night when he'd refused to go home ever again. Thirteen years old and he'd had enough. He'd ended up walking home in a thunderstorm, bringing his mother one of Irma's pies, because Irma had taught him—had almost made him believe—that kindness was its own reward. His mother had cried, sobbing over her own inadequacies and dashed dreams.

"I have a place on the Cumberland, a couple of dogs." With one ringer, he flicked rainwater off the end of Piper's nose, then skimmed along her cheek to her dripping hair. He kissed her lightly, softly, tasting the cool rain on her, on himself. "You'd better get inside before you get struck by lightning."

"Too late," she said under her breath, and kissed him hard, fiercely, before darting off into her house.

Reeling, Clate climbed back into his car. He could pour water out of his shoes. The air-conditioning gave him a much-needed chill. When he arrived home, the storm had abated, the rain already dying down to sprinkles, bringing out the smell of roses, honeysuckle, mint, wisteria, grass, pine pitch, seawater. The mix of scents swirled around him as he walked out back and stared out at the bay, choking back the sudden sense of isolation, of strangeness. He didn't belong here any more than he belonged anywhere else.

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