nothing to feed him. Nothing. She’d have to run by the supermarket and choose a couple of rib eyes, some ingredients for the salad, potatoes for baking. Sullivan could bring the wine.
She could wear the new blue loose-knit sweater and suede skirt if they had dinner at her place; if he wanted to go out, she’d wear the daring netted V-backed black silk. It was sexy and elegant and Sullivan was sure to like it.
Heart full of love, head full of plans, Kay’s warm eyes left the spectators, lifting almost shyly to look at Sullivan. His gaze was resting on the red, blotchy flesh of her white shoulder and his jaw was set, though he wore a smile.
“Don’t worry about it,” she whispered gaily. “It’s only a small abrasion.”
His eyes flicked up to hers, but he said nothing. It was Kay’s first warning that things were not going to be as wonderful as she’d thought.
The parade came to its conclusion at the far end of Broadway. There, Janelle Davis, behind the wheel of Sullivan’s gray Mercedes, waited to drive Sullivan, Kay and Jeff back to the station.
Kay was stunned when Sullivan, after helping her down from the horse, turned the mount over to a waiting stable boy and walked to the car. Wordlessly, he climbed into the front passenger seat, leaving her standing.
A warm hand gripped her elbow and Jeff’s familiar voice said, “I see ole ‘strong and silent’ is cranky again.” He laughed, walked Kay to the Mercedes and handed her inside, following her.
Janelle, turning to smile and speak to Kay and Jeff, gasped and asked bluntly, “Kay. Your shoulder! It’s all pink and raw. What happened to you?”
Kay, her face turning as pink as the punished shoulder, said evenly, “I suppose it’s some sort of allergy.” Sullivan, his long arm draped along the car seat, gritted his teeth as his hand tightened on the plush upholstery.
Jeff hit Sullivan’s shoulder and said wickedly, “Yeah, she’s either allergic to horses or to Sullivan, and I’ve never seen a horse that…”
A dark head swung around and Sullivan fixed Jeff with a hard stare. “Your stale humor may go over with your listeners, but I find it offensive. I told you earlier, shut your damned mouth or I’ll do it for you.” Sullivan turned back around, moved his arm from the seat and lit a cigarette.
Unruffled, Jeff winked at Kay and laughed. Janelle, shaking her head, drove back to the radio station and Kay, confused, uneasy, thought that surely when they arrived, she’d get the chance to speak to Sullivan alone.
It was not to be.
To her shock, Sullivan slid under the wheel as soon as Janelle got out. “I’ll see you guys later,” he said, and before Kay, standing numbly beside the car, could speak, he’d driven away.
“There goes a real jerk,” Jeff said, laughing, and put his arms around Kay and Janelle. He added, “Let’s all go over to Leo’s and drown our troubles. What do you say?”
Both women declined.
By the time Kay had changed back into her jeans and was driving home to her apartment, the bright sunshine had departed. Ominous clouds now blanketed the city and the temperature was rapidly dropping. A cold winter rain was beginning when Kay pulled the red Porsche into the underground garage below her apartment building.
Kay stepped into her dim living room, tossed her bag and car keys on the marble-topped table in the entranceway and sighed. Not bothering to turn on any lamps, she went directly to the long white sofa and stretched out wearily, hands folded beneath her head.
She stayed there for the rest of the long, dreary afternoon. Hurt and disappointed, she felt lifeless, unable to move. She could only lie there, prone, puzzling over Sullivan’s mercurial moods. How could he be so passionate and loving one minute, so cold and uncaring the next?
All afternoon, Kay’s unhappy eyes kept going to the silent telephone. Why didn’t he call? Why didn’t he come over? Why did he torment her so?
It was dark, though
She could wear the new blue loose-knit sweater and suede skirt if they had dinner at her place; if he wanted to go out, she’d wear the daring netted V-backed black silk. It was sexy and elegant and Sullivan was sure to like it.
Heart full of love, head full of plans, Kay’s warm eyes left the spectators, lifting almost shyly to look at Sullivan. His gaze was resting on the red, blotchy flesh of her white shoulder and his jaw was set, though he wore a smile.
“Don’t worry about it,” she whispered gaily. “It’s only a small abrasion.”
His eyes flicked up to hers, but he said nothing. It was Kay’s first warning that things were not going to be as wonderful as she’d thought.
The parade came to its conclusion at the far end of Broadway. There, Janelle Davis, behind the wheel of Sullivan’s gray Mercedes, waited to drive Sullivan, Kay and Jeff back to the station.
Kay was stunned when Sullivan, after helping her down from the horse, turned the mount over to a waiting stable boy and walked to the car. Wordlessly, he climbed into the front passenger seat, leaving her standing.
A warm hand gripped her elbow and Jeff’s familiar voice said, “I see ole ‘strong and silent’ is cranky again.” He laughed, walked Kay to the Mercedes and handed her inside, following her.
Janelle, turning to smile and speak to Kay and Jeff, gasped and asked bluntly, “Kay. Your shoulder! It’s all pink and raw. What happened to you?”
Kay, her face turning as pink as the punished shoulder, said evenly, “I suppose it’s some sort of allergy.” Sullivan, his long arm draped along the car seat, gritted his teeth as his hand tightened on the plush upholstery.
Jeff hit Sullivan’s shoulder and said wickedly, “Yeah, she’s either allergic to horses or to Sullivan, and I’ve never seen a horse that…”
A dark head swung around and Sullivan fixed Jeff with a hard stare. “Your stale humor may go over with your listeners, but I find it offensive. I told you earlier, shut your damned mouth or I’ll do it for you.” Sullivan turned back around, moved his arm from the seat and lit a cigarette.
Unruffled, Jeff winked at Kay and laughed. Janelle, shaking her head, drove back to the radio station and Kay, confused, uneasy, thought that surely when they arrived, she’d get the chance to speak to Sullivan alone.
It was not to be.
To her shock, Sullivan slid under the wheel as soon as Janelle got out. “I’ll see you guys later,” he said, and before Kay, standing numbly beside the car, could speak, he’d driven away.
“There goes a real jerk,” Jeff said, laughing, and put his arms around Kay and Janelle. He added, “Let’s all go over to Leo’s and drown our troubles. What do you say?”
Both women declined.
By the time Kay had changed back into her jeans and was driving home to her apartment, the bright sunshine had departed. Ominous clouds now blanketed the city and the temperature was rapidly dropping. A cold winter rain was beginning when Kay pulled the red Porsche into the underground garage below her apartment building.
Kay stepped into her dim living room, tossed her bag and car keys on the marble-topped table in the entranceway and sighed. Not bothering to turn on any lamps, she went directly to the long white sofa and stretched out wearily, hands folded beneath her head.
She stayed there for the rest of the long, dreary afternoon. Hurt and disappointed, she felt lifeless, unable to move. She could only lie there, prone, puzzling over Sullivan’s mercurial moods. How could he be so passionate and loving one minute, so cold and uncaring the next?
All afternoon, Kay’s unhappy eyes kept going to the silent telephone. Why didn’t he call? Why didn’t he come over? Why did he torment her so?
It was dark, though
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