She had been alone at Ivywild while it was happening. She must have been terrified. But she hadn’t called him, hadn’t stayed to tell him. She had driven off to the beauty salon as if her appointment was more important.
He wished she had been here, wished she had met him at the door yelling and shouting about how he had deserted her so that it was his fault the pieces of pottery she had been so proud of had been destroyed. Maybe he could have wallowed in his guilt, then gotten over it. Maybe he’d even have been angry enough to forget he had failed her.
She had sent him away. That was why.
No matter how many million times he told himself that, however, it made no difference. He never should have gone. He had known then it was wrong; known he should follow his instinct and stick close. Instead, he had let pride force him into walking away, and this was what had happened.
Regardless, he had learned something important from it. He had learned how much Laurel needed him, and how little she was able to admit it.
Alec had come into the shed looking for whatever she had been working on lately, hoping she had completed something he could hang in place of what had been destroyed. This new plaque wasn’t it. The female figure was too private, too harrowing, to be displayed so casually.
He put it down, then stood with his hands at his waist as he looked around for something else. His gaze raked across a box on a high shelf. It had been pushed back, almost out of sight, but he was taller than Laurel, and could see and reach farther.
He was stunned when he opened the box and saw his own face staring up at him. No wonder she had hidden it. God, she was good. Too good. All the dewy-eyed sensitivity he tried so hard to hide stared at him from the plaque. Overlying it was his crass lust for her body and stupid male certainty that it was a prize to be won rather than a gift she might give freely.
“What are you doing?”
He swung sharply to face Laurel. Her arrival was a surprise, but even more startling was that he had been so fascinated with what he had found that he hadn’t heard her car drive up. Voice even, he answered, “Looking.”
“At what?” She came forward into the shed, away from the doorway where she had been little more than a silhouette against the bright sunlight outside.
He blinked, his gaze focusing on her head. “What have you done to your hair?”
She put up a hand to rake her fingers through the high waves and sausage curls, flattening one side even as she tossed the mass of it over her shoulder. “Never mind my hair. I want to know why you’re in here.”
He was silent a moment longer, distracted by the image of Laurel as both angel and wanton, torn by the need to have her look as he was used to seeing her and the urge to take her to bed and explore this different female. Finally, he said, “I came in here looking for another plaque to put up, but there doesn’t seem to be one.”
“No. Now, if you’ll—”
“If you wanted to hang the one with my face, I wouldn’t mind. I might even be flattered.”
“That was not the idea,” she said flatly. “Believe me.”
“Just what was?” As her face tightened, he added hastily, “I’m not playing dumb—at least I hope not. I’d really like to know.”
“Nothing,” she said. “I was just…playing with the clay. The equivalent of doodling, I guess.”
“I’d love to see what happens when you get serious.”
Her gaze went to the female plaque on the side bench. “I doubt it. The results could be too much like a gargoyle, something to scare away the demons. Or people.”
He shook his head. “Don’t sell yourself short. You have a gift.”
“I have a knack,” she corrected him. “But it doesn’t make any difference, so long as I enjoy it. Now, if you have nothing to do, I’m sure I can find something.”
“Actually,” he said, grinning as he moved toward her, “I had a few ideas. But I’m willing to listen to suggestions.”
“Stop!”
She put out her hand as if she thought that would keep him away. He kept walking until her fingers were resting on the wall of his chest. “Stop where?” The words were tinged with irony. “Don’t you think it’s a little late to draw the line here when we’ve been much closer in other places?”
“I thought we agreed to be—”
“Discreet, yes, in public. But not in private, not always.” He looked thoughtful. “At least, I don’t remember that part of the bargain.”
“You know very well that’s what I meant.”
Her hand was trembling where she touched his chest. He could feel the shivers of her distress all the way to his toes. It affected him in many ways, not all of them admirable. With a wry smile, he said, “I know a way to make it all right.”
“I’ll just bet you do,” she retorted.
His smile widened. “Oh, Laurel, you’ll be the death of me. What do you think I meant?”
“I have no idea,” she said, her lashes flickering, “but I expect it’s something…”
“Sexy,” he supplied as she paused.
“Lecherous, to say the least,” she answered, raising her chin in defiance.
He caught her fingers that rested against him and lifted the tips to his mouth for a quick kiss. Still holding on, he said, “Well, I don’t think so, but I suppose it all depends on why you get married.”
Her fingers clenched involuntarily on his as her eyes snapped wide with shock. “Married!”
“It’s a holy state ordained by God and consecrated—”
“I know what it is! I’m only surprised that you would mention the word.” She tried to drag her hand free, but he wouldn’t permit it.
“I’m not just mentioning it,” he said deliberately. “I’m asking you to marry me.”
She became perfectly still. “You aren’t serious.”
“As a preacher,” he assured her. “I can’t think of a better way to stop the talk, can you? Besides that, think of the advantages. Since I’m a decade younger, we have the same life expectancy. You won’t ever have to be a widow again. I adore mature females who prefer golden oldies and know their own minds—and just look at you, perfect in every way.”
“Alec—”
“Then there’s that question you raised of sexual compatibility—”
“I didn’t!”
He gave her a look from under his lashes. “No? I thought you did. You’re a woman who requires a lot of loving, and guess what? I just happen to be the right age to provide it. And then some.”
She stared at him as if waiting to be sure he was finished before she tried again to reason with him. He wasn’t done yet, but it was only polite to let her have her say.
“You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?” she said finally, lips tight.
“It didn’t take a genius, especially after I realized exactly how I feel about you.”
“You love me, I think you said.”
The words held no joy. She didn’t believe a one of them. In grim acknowledgment, he answered, “Yes, I do.”
“You’ve loved me from the first moment you saw me.”
His agreement was even, watchful.
“You will always love me, even when my hair is gray and I haven’t a tooth in my head.”
“I don’t care if you’re bald—or have enough hair for three women,” he said with a glance at her hairstyle.
“Touching. But are you sure things are supposed to last that long?” she demanded, her voice turning strident. “Or should I plan on committing suicide when you get tired of having me around? And if I don’t find the idea too attractive, will you be there to help me?”
He felt the blood drain out of his head, felt his breath stop as if he had been kicked in the chest. His brain reeled, then steadied, but the sickness rising inside him grew stronger.
“Who told you that?” he asked softly.
“What does it matter? I know.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“She died, didn’t
she?”
“Yes, she did.”
“By her own hand?”
“She was sick. Already dying, anyway.”
“And you were arrested for her murder.”
He looked away from her, putting a hand to his head, which had begun to throb. “It’s a long story. But I didn’t kill my wife.”
“You weren’t found guilty, you mean.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth! What happened in California has nothing to do with us. This is different. You’re different in every way from Mrs. Chadwick. You’re so young in so many ways that I actually feel years older—not that this has anything to do with age, yours or mine. It’s about two people who can laugh and talk and enjoy the same things. A man and a woman who actually like each other but, most of all, can come together and make magic.”
“Is that it?” she asked, the words only a breath of sound. “Or is it about money and being safe?”
“Laurel,” he began, taking a step forward in spite of her restraint as he searched for the patience and endurance to try again.
“No.” She backed away from him. “Just—no. I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to marry you or any other man. Not now, not ever.”
He moved after her. “Is it really me,” he demanded, “or is it you? Maybe the whole idea just scares you to death.”
“Maybe it’s everything. I don’t know,” she replied. “But the answer is still the same.”
She swung away from him, heading toward the house. To her departing back, he said, “What happened? What did your Howard do to turn you off marriage for life? Yes, and here’s another question while we’re on the subject—Was it enough to make you kill him?”
She heard him, he knew she did. But she didn’t answer.
Alec stood where she left him, staring at nothing. After a moment, he turned to glance at the two plaques Laurel had done, his face and her own, leering male and trapped female. A short laugh left him. Picking them up, he took them to the Italian garden and hung them side by side where the Bocca della Verità had been. It seemed appropriate.
Afterward, he took an ax and attacked the woods that grew close to the back of the house. Clearing the undergrowth would leave less cover for whoever was sneaking around. Most of all, it provided the exertion he needed to keep him from doing something violent that would get him in trouble.
That was where he was, in the woods again with an ax in his hands, when the police car drove up. He stood perfectly still as he watched the man in uniform get out and make his way through the front garden, then mount the steps to the house.
Laurel looked up from paying her bills when the hard, steady chop of the ax stopped. She was already on her feet, moving toward the front of the house, when she heard Maisie open the door. By the time she reached the hall, the housekeeper and the sheriff were standing just inside while Dan Tanning, his hat in his hand, answered the usual queries from Maisie about the state of law enforcement in Hillsboro. He turned with a smile on his broad features as Laurel moved forward to greet him.
“Hope you don’t mind me dropping by,” he said in his slow, deep voice. “I heard about the problems you’ve been having out here and thought I’d check into it.”
“You’re always welcome, you know that,” she said easily. “But I think you must have been talking to Zelda.”
He ducked his head, flushing a little. “She lowers my ears for me now and then—as my dad used to call getting a haircut. I was by there this morning not long after you left. She’s worried about you.”
“I appreciate you coming by, but doubt there’s anything you can do. I never caught sight of whoever was out there.”
“Maybe I could just check out the damage, anyway.” He waved his hat in a vague gesture that encompassed the outside of the house.
“There’s not much left to see,” she said doubtfully as she indicated they would go out the front door, then moved ahead of him onto the veranda.
“It’s all cleaned up?” He gave her a narrow look from under his thick brows.
She nodded. “First thing this morning.”
“And who did that?”
“Alec, when he got here.”
A grunting sound that could have meant anything came from his chest. “I’ll just look around, anyway, if you don’t mind. Might be something that jumps out at me.”
She led him from the house. As she walked, she was aware of his solid bulk behind her, as well as his close scrutiny. He was a straightforward man, she thought, with nothing particularly complicated about him. Whatever he said, he would mean—no more and no less. It was a relief, in its way.
A few inane remarks about the weather occupied them as they walked toward the back. Then they were at the Italian garden. Laurel felt her nerves tighten as she stepped through the portal and saw the male and female plaques hanging there, side by side.
Alec, of course. No doubt he was making a point. Unlike the sheriff, he was not a simple man.
Taking a deep breath, she explained about the pieces of terra-cotta that had been broken. The sheriff nodded his understanding. His gaze remained an instant on the two new plaques, but if he saw any resemblance in them to real people, he made no comment. Instead, he said, “You didn’t find anything lying around that might have been used to cause the damage?”
“You mean a stick or something?”
“Length of firewood, baseball bat, hammer, crowbar, anything.”
She shook her head.
“Too bad. Could have given us an idea whether it was just kids or somebody that meant business. We might even have been able to scare up a fingerprint or two from it.”
“I can ask Alec, but I’m sure he’d have mentioned it if he had come across anything.”
The look he gave her was intent, but he made no answer. Turning, she left the Italian garden and walked to the side of the garage where the Bacchus fountain had been. There was nothing of interest there now. Alec had shut off the water, leaving the basin sitting empty and forlorn beneath the raw pipe of the spout.
Dan whistled as he stared at the scars in the wood of the garage wall where blows had been struck to break the mask. “I don’t like this, Laurel. It’s got a bad feel to it. I know it’s none of my business, but I really wish you weren’t out here alone at night.”
“I’ve been alone since last year when Evan went off to school. Now is no different.”
“I think it is, and I’m not just talking after Zelda, either. I went by to see Miss Callie, too, and she’s up in arms about the whole thing. Then Howard’s mother bent my ear about it a few days back. Maybe you should see about getting somebody out to spend the nights.”
“Who? Mother Bancroft? Zelda?” She kept her voice light with an effort. “I don’t think so.”
“What about Evan? He could drive back and forth to summer school for a couple of weeks, maybe. Or could be your daughter and son-in-law could stay around.”
Evan was a possibility. As for Marcia and Jimmy, her daughter might be all right, but not with her husband in tow. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” He paused. “Meantime, I’ll put one of the girls in the office on the computer, see what they got in California about—certain people.”
“You mean Alec?”
“And the brother.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Maybe, maybe not. If they’re clean, it’s no big deal. If not—well, it’s best to know.”
There was nothing she could do to stop him. “You may find a problem or two, but it isn’t anything I don’t know about already.”
“We’ll see,” he answered noncommittally. “But you’re not to worry too much. I’ll do my best to swing by here more often on rounds, or else send one of my deputies.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t,” he said, his tone low, “but I always was crazy about you, Laurel, you know that. I thought once, there, a year or so after Howard died, that we might get togeth
er, then…” He left the sentence unfinished as he looked away from her.
He was thinking, she supposed, of his bad luck in being caught with Zelda. Laurel might not have remembered if her sister-in-law hadn’t mentioned the incident lately. Not that it had made any real difference, as far as she was concerned. She liked Dan well enough, could see his good qualities, but there was no chemistry between them. At least there wasn’t from her point of view. Standing beside him did absolutely nothing for her heart rate. Unlike standing near Alec.
“I value the thought,” she said quietly, “but I guess some things just don’t work out.”
He cut his eyes in her direction, then away again. Off in the woods behind the house, they could hear the sharp crack of an ax against wood once more. With his gaze fixed on the spot the sound was coming from, Dan spoke again. “So now you’ve got Miss Callie’s grandson hanging around. I guess you’re old enough to know what you’re doing.”
“I like to think so.”
“You’ll be careful?”
“Yes, I’ll do that.”
“Good.” He reached up to rake a hand through his hair, then replaced his hat and pulled the brim low. “Guess I’d better be getting along. You think about what I said, now.”
She agreed, then walked with him back along the wall of the garage and through the rose garden to where his black and white was parked on the front drive. He gave her a brief smile and a salute, then got in and drove away. It was a long time before she turned and went back into the house.
15
When Laurel walked out of the bathroom, Alec was lying on the bed in the darkened bedroom. He was propped up on her pillows with his hands behind his head, wearing only a pair of jeans. His smile was meltingly intimate.
She stopped, hovering with her hand clenched on the coarse-toothed hairbrush caught in the long, tangled skein of her wet hair that hung over her shoulder. Her heart began to do wild somersaults in her chest. Her mouth was suddenly dry. The first thing that flashed through her head was to wonder if the white cotton of her gown was as transparent as she suspected. As if it mattered.
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