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"I'll take you home--but not until I've enjoyed a little more of what you just gave." He lunged again to seize me, but I was up and running, running for his car, running to seize my purse so that when he got there I held my manicuring scissors ready to stab with.

He grinned, reached out and wrested them from me. "They would deliver a nasty scratch," he mocked. "But I don't like scratches except on my back. When I let you out you can have your little two-inch scissors back again."

In front of my cottage he handed me the scissors. "Now, do your worst. Cut out my eyes; stab me in the heart--you might as well. Your kiss has begun it, but I still demand my total payment."

Tiger by the Tail

. Early on a Sunday morning a few days later I was warming up at the barre in my bedroom. My small son was earnestly trying to do as I did. It was sweet to watch him in the mirror I'd moved from the dresser over to the barre.

"Am I dancing?" asked Jory.

"Yes, Jory. You are dancing!"

"Am I good?"

"Yes, Jory. You are wonderful!"

He laughed and hugged my legs and looked up

into my face with that ecstatic rapture only the very young can express--all the wonder of being alive was in his eyes, all the wonder of learning something new every day. "I love you, Mommy" It was something we said to each other a dozen or more times each day. "Mary's got a daddy. Why don't I have a daddy?"

That really hurt. "You did have a daddy, Jory, but he went away to heaven. And maybe someday Mommy will find you a new daddy."

He smiled because he was pleased. Daddy's were big in his world, for all the children in the nursery school had one . . . all but Jory.

Just then I heard the front door bang. A familiar voice called my name. Chris! He strode through the small house as I hurried toward him in my blue tights, leotards and pointe shoes. Our eyes met and locked. Without a word he held out his arms and I ran unhesitatingly into them, and though he sought my lips to kiss he found only my cheek. Jory was pulling on his gray flannel trousers, eager to be swept up in strong, manly arms. "How's my Jory?" asked Chris after he kissed both round, rosy cheeks. My son's eyes were huge as they stared at him. "Uncle Chris, are you my daddy?"

"No," he said gruffly, putting Jory again on his small feet, "but I sure wish I had a son like you." This made me shift around uncomfortably so he couldn't see my eyes, and then I asked what he was doing here when he should be attending his patients.

"Got the weekend off, so I thought I'd spend it with you; that is, if you'll let me." I nodded weakly, thinking of someone else who was likely to come this weekend. "I was as good as a resident can be and was rewarded and given a weekend without duty." He gave me one of his most winning smiles. "Have you heard from Paul?" I asked. "He doesn't come as often as he used to, and he doesn't write much either."

"He's away on another medical convention. I thought he always kept in touch with you." He put just a little stress on the "you." "Chris, I'm worried about Paul. It isn't like him not to answer every letter I write."

He laughed and fell into a chair, then lifted Jory up on his lap. "Maybe, dear sister, you have finally met a man who can get over loving you."

Now I didn't know what to say or what to do with my legs and hands. I sat and stared down at the floor, feeling Chris's long, steady gaze trying to read my intentions. No sooner did I think that than he was asking, "Cathy, what are you doing here in the mountains? What are you planning? Is it your scheme to take Bart Winslow from our mother?"

My head jerked up. I met his narrowed blue eyes and felt the heat that sprang up from my heart. "Don't question me like I'm some ten-year-old without a brain. I do what I have to--just as you do."

"Sure, you do. I didn't have to ask, I know. It doesn't take a crystal ball to read you. I know what makes you tick and how your thoughts range--but leave Bart Winslow alone! He'll never leave her for you! She's got the millions and all you have is youth. There are thousands of younger women he can choose from--why should he choose you?"

I didn't say anything, just met his scowling look with my own confident smile, making him flush, then turn aside his face. I felt mean, cruel and ashamed. "Chris, let's not argue. Let's be friends and allies. You and I are all that's left out of four."

His blue eyes grew soft as they studied me. "I was only trying, as I am always trying." He looked around, then back to me. "I share a room with another resident at the hospital. It would be nice if I could live here with you and Jory. It would be like it used to be, just us."

What he said made me stiffen. "It would be a long drive for you every morning, and you couldn't be on immediate call."

He sighed. "I know --but how about the weekends? Every other weekend I have off-duty time--would that bug you too much?"

"Yes, it would bug me too much. I have a life of my own, Christopher."

I watched him bite down on his lower lip before he forced a smile. "Okay, have it your way . . . do what you must, and I hope to God you won't be sorry."

"Will you please drop the subject?" I smiled and went to him and hugged him close. "Be good. Take me as I am, obstinate as Carrie. Now, what would you like for lunch?"

"I haven't had breakfast yet."

"Then we'll eat brunch--and that can do for two meals." From then on the day went swiftly. On Sunday morning he came to the table ready for the cheese omelet he favored. Jory, thank God, would eat anything. Despite myself I thought of Chris as a father to Jory. It seemed so right to have him at the table, like it used to be . . . him and I playing at being parents. Doing the best we could, all we could, and we had been only children ourselves.