never had such a terrible sense of foreboding. She took away one of the crutches, ducked under his arm, and prepared to take the weight of his whole body.
“Ready?” he said.
“Ready,” she answered. “One, two, three!”
He gave a cry of pain as they rose unsteadily to their feet. Katie struggled to keep him upright.
She glanced up and gave him a desperate smile of encouragement. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. His face was as white as the bed sheets.
He clutched her shoulder with the tightness of desperation. “It’s nice to stand beside you,” he said, but his face showed terrible strain.
She knew exactly the moment when he gave up the impossible struggle. His legs crumpled up awkwardly beneath him, the useless crutch splayed out across the bedroom floor, and they both crashed to the floor. Katie was flung against the edge of the bed, and Michael cried out in pain and frustration.
She thought her heart would break in two at that sound.
Katie’s wrist was sore and she had ruined her stockings. Michael flung away the wooden crutch in anger and frustration, hearing it crash against the dressing table legs. His head went down in despair.
“Michael, don’t!” She didn’t think she could bear to see him cry. She moved nearer, and tried to touch his arm.
She wanted to touch the nape of his neck where his honey colored hair had been cut short. She wanted to do something, anything , before he let vent to his grief. Determined to console him, Katie impulsively tilted his face to hers, and kissed him hard. Her mouth locked onto his with a desperate, crazy yearning not to see him vanquished. Her hands cupped his face as she continued to press her mouth on his, ignoring any signs of surprise.
She felt a ripple of movement and a response — a passionate, masculine response. She felt the pressure of his lips on hers, and his tongue searching and finding hers. His kiss was wild and desperate, and it was everything she’d secretly imagined. She gave a soft moan and let a powerful wave of sensation wash over her.
He seemed encouraged by that sound and he kissed her again and again, one kiss melting into another. Soon she realized that his arms were around her, and his fingers were tangled in her hair.
“Katie,” he said, and opened his blue eyes to look at her. His face was a portrait of astonished rapture.
Consumed with regret and embarrassment, Katie put her hands up to her face. “Forgive me, sir, forgive me!”
“It’s all right,” he said, and his blue eyes spoke of a new understanding between them.
“It isn’t! It was a dreadful liberty I took. Please sir, I only meant to take your mind off what happened.”
“You did,” he said, and he smiled at her. He put a finger to his own mouth, just where her lips had been, and then he reached out and touched her lips with his fingertips. He seemed to be in a state of dazed amazement.
“I didn’t stop to think,” Katie said, in a scared whisper. “I only did it so you wouldn’t be so sad!”
“It’s all right, Katie. Really. You meant to be kind — and it was extraordinary.” He struggled to reposition himself, dragging at his useless legs with his left hand. “Help me up, now, my love. I should like to get up off the floor.”
“Of course, of course!” She flustered around him, getting him onto the edge of the bed. The “my love” slip filled her with guilt.
“You must be cold, sir,” she said to cover her flailing emotions. She could hardly look him in the eye, but she found his pajama top and began doing the buttons up for him, as if he was one of the children. He placed a hand over hers.
“It was a good kiss,” he said, and gave her a direct, penetrating look. “We’ll share another one some time, won’t we?”
She couldn’t answer him. He looked so hopeful, just as he had desperately hoped for a full recovery, and she felt like such a fraud. She would have to tell him that it was all a terrible mistake. She
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
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Brenda Sinclair
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