Chapter 37 – Midnight

Colin expertly bandaged the hole in my leg (yes it was a hole; definitely a hole) and again I felt care radiating through his hands as he expertly fixed me up.

"There," he said, patting my knee. "Good as new. Just keep it dry, change the dressing daily." He held up the tube of ointment. "You're nearly out of this. I have some at my house. I'll bring it by tomorrow when I get your bike back from the path."

I admired the way he'd cleaned my injury with peroxide, patted it dry, slathered it with cream, and then covered the raw spot with two gauze pads and then strips of adhesive tape. "You're a pro."

He shrugged. "Naw. Not."

I smiled at him. He was a man of many talents. "So, the pub… is that all you do?" I asked, "Besides the occasional rescue and home first-aid?"

"Oh," he sighed, "I do other things." He got up, crossed the room, and pawed through books that were part of furnishings.

I wondered what he was looking for.

After a minute or two, he grunted, "Ah." He walked back and handed me a glossy travel book, a bit dog-eared from wear. The cover was a photo of the sea, with a green cliff next to, and a gravel footpath, along with an Ordinance survey map snippet. The title was 'Treks and Rambles in Historic Cornwall' followed by Colin's name. "This."

"You wrote this?"

He bowed. "Yes milady; 'tis mine."

I flipped through the book. It was chock-a-block with photos and text, along with way pointed maps, keyed to points of interest. "My goodness, this was a lot of work. You did this recently?"

He turned the book over in my hands and pointed to the line '3rd Edition' on the cover. "Workin' up in Manchester, I found I missed my home. So…" he waved a hand, "I had to write about Cornwall. Took five years to get it done and published. I suppose it was found useful," he said modestly. "Publisher's got me workin' on a book on the moorland as well. I spent a few weeks out there walking around; taking pictures and talkin' to locals." He sighed. "I figure the new one will take me about a year to get right." He cleared his throat. "You see I touched on the moors, but ramblers want more of that." He chuckled. "More on the moors."

"A very capable man, then, Bravo."

"Thank you," he said, clearly uncomfortable with my words.

"You don't like taking praise?"

He shrugged. "I rather not be any different than any of the others hereabouts. I grew up the other side of Delabole. Local boy."

"I see." A modest man. "Good for you."

He nodded. "How's the leg feel?"

"Fine." I tried to stifle a yawn. "Better now."

He sighed. "Well…" he said as looked at his watch. "Getting late. You need your rest." He jumped up. "I'll do the washing up and be out of your hair."

"Colin," I got up and followed him into the kitchen, "there's no need…"

Without a word, he scraped the dishes and the pan, and ran water into the sink. "My mum used to say if you make a mess, clean it up. Then she'd add, 'don't make a mess.'"

"She sounds a lot like mine. Does she live around here?"

He shook his head as he started to wash the tea mugs. "Charles, my step-dad, got made redundant about ten years ago, but there was a grievance. Unlawful termination, they called it, when his freight company got bought up. Seems there was dirty dealing on the hands of the purchasers." He shook his head. "When they closed the place, worst day of his life, of course, and the next winter was pretty grim with rain and cold. By then he was already looking for sunnier climes. Just about the time the lawsuit got settled, he and mum had taken jobs in a resort in Majorca." He laughed aloud. "So, they're down there running a beach supply store for some Belgian owner. Turned out alright in the end."

I picked up the kitchen towel and took a washed mug from his hand after he rinsed it. "Leaving you here."

He grinned. "Oh, but I've visited them four or five times. And of course…" his face darkened. "When Tim…"

I set the dried mug on the counter and hugged him around the waist. "I know."

His jaw worked but he said nothing, until a few seconds later he cleared his throat. "I got the pub and the book stuff, and my sister-in-law, that's Roswyn, lives outside Bath with her daughter, Nancy." He looked over his shoulder and I released him. "She's Tim's widow."

And with that I'd heard a good bit of Colin's family history. "How old is your niece?"

"Seven, and the brightest little girl you've ever seen. Tim had hair like mine, dark, but Nancy somehow got her mother's fair-hair." He laughed. "She calls me Col. When she little she couldn't get her tongue around Colin. So, I'm Col to her. She's a darling child and quick as a whip." He shook his head. "Aren't they all at that age?"

My ghost girl had flashed into my head as he told me about his niece. "Right, they can be." I turned away to get the towel back in business, but I felt sad; for him and me. When I looked at him again, he had an inquisitive look on his face. "I'm fine," I told him automatically.

"Oh – kay. Right," he said, but he still looked dubious.

"I am. Fine." My ghost girl smiled and then slowly disappeared as I looked into his eyes.

We didn't say much else to each other until the washing up was done. He rinsed the sink of suds then carefully hung the towel over the oven door handle. "There," he said, "spick-and-span once more."

I took a deep breath and said, "So, Colin…"

Just as he said, "So, Rachel…"

We laughed at once.

"Nearly midnight," he told me as he yawned. "Bedtime, I think."

He was a nice man, but there were holes in his heart, just like mine. "Yes, uhm, Colin…"

He was trying to look anywhere than at me. "Rachel?"

Then I reached out, pulled him into a close hug, and kissed his cheek. "Thank you – for everything." His cheek was stubbly with short whiskers, and he smelled of damp clothing and male sweat. I felt my body begin to respond just holding him.

He started to recoil, but then he relaxed and his arms wrapped around me. "Sure," he said softly, as his lips kissed my ear. "Glad that things, uh, worked out."

After a few seconds, I let him go and he broke his part of our embrace. He quickly left the kitchen and practically ran to the front door, without a word. I knew I'd torn it, just the way he reacted. Damn. Damn it all! Stupid, Rachel, the first time a man comes around... and you do that? Idiot!

I chased after him. "I mean, Colin, uhm, thank you, and I do mean it."

He put his hand on the doorknob and started to turn it.

"Look. Sorry about the kiss, back there. That was silly of me," I blurted out.

"Right. Glad to be… helpful." He ducked his head. "I'll get your bicycle back in the morning." He went out the door, but he stopped after one step. "I'm not."

"Not?"

"Not sorry – for the kiss. It… it was good, Rachel," he said softly, then he touched his forehead in salute. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight Colin." I watched as he drove away. I closed the door, switched off the front room lights, and got ready for bed, too aware how quiet the house was. In bed at midnight I started to read Colin's travel guide.

After a time, I set the book down, turned off the light and settled for sleep. But it was no use; two things intruded into my thoughts. One was the waves that had tried to drown me and the helpless feel of losing control.

The other thing was the empty side of my queen size bed, and then all I could think of was the feel of Colin's body and his scent. So, it took a very long time for sleep to take me.