Housebound

by Anne Stuart

“A trip into town would be wonderful. I’m out of Coke.”

  “You and that bellywash. Why can’t you make do with coffee like me?” he demanded.

  “Because mediocre coffee isn’t worth drinking, and the stuff in your thermos would be deeply flattered to even be called bad. What do you need in town?”

  “We’re about ready for kitchen cabinets. And unless you want to try your hand at building them you’ll have to go pick out some ready-mades at the home-building center.”

  “Could I build them?” she asked curiously.

  “You could. But they’re a pain in the butt. I won’t do ’em anymore, and if I were you I’d settle for store-bought. They’ve got some nice ones down there—take your pick.”

  “But doesn’t the owner want to choose? Or his wife?”

  “Ain’t got a wife. At least, not yet. That’s why he’s building this house, to try and win her. And I guess he figures that one woman’s opinion is as good as another’s in these matters.”

  “That kind of attitude is hardly going to endear him to the lady in question,” Anne observed wryly. “You sure you don’t need any more help?”

  “Nope. I’m just going to finish hanging the bedroom door and then head on home. You do the same—don’t bother coming back after you place the order. You’ve had a long week.”

  Anne stretched her weary muscles, a slow, luxurious stretch like a cat’s. “True enough. I enjoyed it, though.”

  Sam snorted inelegantly. “Glutton for punishment, I’d say. Get on with you.” Anne was halfway out the door when his rough voice called her back.

  “By the way, young lady,” he said, and she waited for the ax to fall. He only used that tone of voice when he was about to point out some incredibly stupid mistake. “You did a damned fine job on the windows.”

  A slow grin lit her face at his unaccustomed praise, and she surveyed the wall of windows with unrestrained pride. “I did, didn’t I?” she replied, in a perfect mimic of Sam’s laconic tones.

  He gave a bark of laughter. “See you Monday, squirt. Seven o’clock and no later.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  As she pulled into the home-building center she gave her yellow Volvo an affectionate pat on its peeling dashboard. It had served her well the last few months, once she’d replaced the muffler. Even now it was still a little noisier than she would have liked, but she accepted the fact that its engine would herald her appearance. She was already somewhat of a conversation piece in the small seaside town, she realized, casting a quick, untroubled glance at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her long black hair was caught in a single braid down her back, though the heat and humidity had combined with the day’s exertions to leave a halo of wisps around her face. With her deep tan, slightly hollow cheeks and straight, strong nose she looked like an exotic Indian. Until one took in the deep-green eyes, the baggy carpenter jeans that rode low on her hips, and the sleeveless jersey that exhibited an expanse of long, muscled arms. She did love her muscles, she realized with a sigh. If she ever went back to a desk job she would miss the exercise.

  She didn’t take long in her choice of cabinets. Matthews had more than enough money, and while the rustic oceanside house was in no way elegant, no corners had been cut, either. She chose solid oak cabinets with a raised panel door, consulting the little plan she’d drawn up earlier several times as she chose the pieces that appealed to her. Too bad if the future Mrs. Matthews didn’t like to cook—she was getting a food preparation center that would hold a mixer, food processor and blender within a modicum of space. Too bad if she preferred a single sink—Anne picked out the champagne of double sinks, with every accoutrement a dedicated cook could ask for. The only thing that stumped her was the countertops—she couldn’t decide whether she wanted Formica in a nice primary color with a matte finish or solid wood butcher block.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and send this out on Monday and I’ll let you know about the countertops,” she said finally, signing her name to the order with a scrawl.

  “That’s the old Matthews place, right?” The teenaged clerk staggered back under the weight of the first cabinet, and it was all Anne could do not to come to his aid. Sternly she repressed the urge, waiting until he dropped it with an ominous thud. She knew how fragile male pride could be at that age, and she’d always had a fondness for that particular clerk.

  “That’s right,” she said pleasantly. “We’ll be there to give you a hand unloading.”

  “Oh, I won’t need any help,” he said righteously, mopping his sweating brow. “How’s the house coming?”

  He almost, but not quite, could have been her son, Anne mused, but the look in his eye was faintly swaggering. Maybe she should have helped him with the cabinet—it would have cooled his ardor a bit. She gave him her easiest smile. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Another few weeks and we should be just about done.” She didn’t like to think about it, didn’t want to think about leaving her house by the ocean and the small town of Wilbury that she had come to love.

  “Hey, that’s great. I can’t wait to see it. Is it a real palace?”

  “Actually, it’s quite simple. Very pleasing aesthetically.” Almost too pleasing, she thought mournfully. “But nothing fancy.”

  The boy shook his head. “Sure am glad old Matthews decided to sell. It’s been great for business and it’s brought some welcome strangers into town.” His puppy-dog glance left no doubt as to who the welcome stranger was.

  Anne smiled uneasily. “You’re very kind. Now, I think I’d better—” Suddenly the rest of his words penetrated. “Did you say old Matthews decided to sell? When was this?” Perhaps his lady had turned him down after all. Perhaps Anne wouldn’t have to lose the second house she’d poured her life and blood and soul into. So far she had steadfastly refused to accept any part of the money from the sale of the old farmhouse. Her share came to over a hundred thousand dollars—she had no idea what Matthews would charge, but that would surely be enough to cover a goodly share of it. She could…

  The boy shattered her dreams a second later. “He sold his place three years ago. It’s taken this long to get the old ruins torn down and the new house started. It’s a lucky thing Mr. Grant finally got around to it—that place was dangerous, sitting around unused, with the floors caving in and all. After all, there aren’t any neighbors around, and kids used to go out there all the time. To…you know…neck and all.” He smirked lasciviously, but Anne was beyond noticing.

  “Grant?” she echoed, her voice a hoarse croak. “Noah Grant?”

  “Sure. Didn’t you even know whom you were working for?” The boy stared at her in amazement.

  “I do now,” she said grimly, turning on her heel and stalking toward the door.

  “Hey!” the boy called after her. “What time do you want these delivered?”

  Anne’s reply was succinct, obscene and quite loud before she sailed out the door, slamming it violently.

  How could he have done it to me again, she demanded in white-hot rage as her battered Volvo tore down the road. Did he get some sort of perverse pleasure in using her, making a fool of her? Or maybe, worst of all, he felt sorry for her. He carried such a burden of guilt already, maybe he simply added her to it, drumming up this job as therapy and to absolve himself of his responsibility in ripping her house from her.

  Well, this time he wasn’t going to get away with it. Hadn’t Aunt Lillian suggested revenge? Though Aunt Lillian’s part in this was none too pure, she realized belatedly. She’d been in on the setup all along, sending her straight into the lion’s den without a second’s hesitation. The traitor.

  Well, revenge might not be sweet, but it would be infinitely satisfying. Noah Grant was not going to live in the house she had sweated over, wasn’t going to bring one of his New York sweeties to live in her house.

  The Volvo raced at forty miles an hour down the rutted road that led to the house. In her red-hot fury Anne heard several pieces of metal fall off with a crash, and
her foot pressed even harder on the accelerator. She wasn’t going to let second thoughts stop her this time. She’d leave Noah Grant a clear message as to what she thought of him.

  Sam had left long ago by the time she pulled up with a screech. She slammed the car into first and wrenched out the key, stalking from the car like a hunter stalking its prey. And even through her haze of anger she recognized the beauty of the house as it stood there in the late afternoon sunlight. The cedar shingles were stained a light gray; the row of windows reflected the setting sunlight with a rosy glow. For a moment Anne hesitated, tears of rage and pain bright in her eyes.

  Give it a minute or two, she ordered herself, trying for a semblance of calm. Make sure you want to do it.

  She started off down the beach, half walking, half running, trying to drive the demons of anger and hurt from her heart. She ran until she dropped, sinking into the sand, her breath coming in short, deep gasps, her heart pounding. She lay there for a long, long time, listening to the sound of the ocean lapping on the beach and the slow, steady pounding of her heart, her eyes following the trail of the sun as it dipped slowly in the west.

  It took her a lot longer to walk back to the house than it had taken her to run from it, and as she walked her determination crystallized. She was going to take a rock and smash every one of those windows she’d worked so hard on. It didn’t matter that it was her own handiwork she was destroying; indeed, she couldn’t have brought herself to hurt either Sam’s careful work or even Noah’s weekend projects. She only had the right to destroy her own efforts, and destroy them she would, with a fine crashing of glass.

  There were stones piled in the living room, waiting for the mason to build the massive fireplace that was the heart of the house. Her sneakered feet were silent as they bounded up the steps to the balcony that surrounded the house on three sides. The house was dark and silent in the twilight, all of Sam’s tools put away with his customary care and neatness. Forcing herself to move forward with careful deliberation, she picked up a good-sized rock and moved to face the wall of windows.

  The house sat facing southwest on a spit of land jutting into the ocean, and the setting sun reflected on the sea in front of her, gilding the water with a fiery glow. It would be a beautiful room for Noah and his memories, she thought bitterly. He could lie there in front of the fire with whatever short-term fling accompanied him, watching the ever-changing ocean through the expanse of windows. She hefted the rock in one hand, staring mesmerized out at the ocean. And then she let it fall out of numb fingers. She sank down on the plywood subfloor and dropped her head in her hands.

  “I knew you couldn’t do it.” Noah’s voice came from directly behind her.

  Anne’s back stiffened and slowly she raised her head. “How did you know?” she asked in a conversational, of somewhat hoarse, voice. “I didn’t know it myself.”

  “In some ways I know you better than you know yourself.” She felt him kneel down beside her, and she kept her face staring out at the ocean, frightened to look at him, frightened of the overwhelming emotions that swept over her—anger, betrayal, regret and love, all tied up in a jumble that left her hopelessly confused.

  She could see his long legs stretched out beside her, clad in a pair of faded corduroys. He was wearing an old pair of running shoes that had definitely seen better days. What would his face look like if she turned to see him, she wondered. Better wait until it was darker. It wasn’t so much the problem of her seeing him, great as it was. She already knew every inch of his body, had it emblazoned into her memory. No, even more dangerous would be his knowing blue eyes looking into hers, all vulnerable with love and longing. She would just as soon keep that from him for as long as possible. He was right—at times he did know her better than she knew herself.

  “I’ve missed you, Annie,” he said, and she gritted her teeth.

  “I’m sure you did,” she replied evenly, tonelessly. “And of course there’s no need to ask where I’ve been. Aunt Lillian must have been more than helpful.”

  “Don’t blame her—it’s not her fault I talked her into helping me.”

  She couldn’t stop herself; she had to turn at that. Immediately she regretted it. His face was lean and strong in the waning sunlight, his eyes glowing with a blue intensity that took her breath away. And his mouth, that beautiful mouth that knew so well how to give her pleasure, was parted slightly, waiting for her.

  Quickly she scrambled to her feet, moving out of his reach. “I’m sure you were very persuasive,” she said bitterly. “I know just how persuasive you can be.”

  “That’s not fair,” he shot back, jumping to his feet in one fluid move. She backed farther away, and he ran an exasperated hand through his curly mop of hair. She could see strands of gray in the black curls, gray that hadn’t been there last time she’d seen him. “Don’t be afraid of me, Annie,” he added in a gentler tone. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “That’s right, you’re not. Not ever again.” She headed for the door, but he was there ahead of her, his tall figure blocking the exit.

  “Are you going to listen to me?” he demanded hoarsely.

  “No.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Annie. You’re acting like a child!” he shot back angrily, all his well-planned explanations vanishing in a burst of frustrated temper.

  “That’s my prerogative,” she said sweetly. “And you can’t keep me here. There are five different doors to outside, and I can reach one of them before you can stop me. Not that you should want to. You’ve accomplished what you set out to do.”

  “And what did I set out to do, Annie? What have I accomplished?”

  “Why, you appeased your conscience and got your house built at the same time. Very efficient, if I do say so. And I can assure you, I’m a lot better off than I was three months ago. I’ve resigned myself to the loss of the house, resigned myself to—”

  “To the loss of me?” he questioned softly.

  “I never had you to lose,” she replied flatly, ignoring the searing pain that swept through her when he looked at her like that. “Why did you do this, Noah? Why did you trick me?”

  “I owed you a house,” he said stiffly. “I helped take one from you. I thought I could give you one in return.”

  “I don’t need your help, Noah, or your condescension. You can finish your house by yourself and live in it with your guilt and your memories.” She started for the door, but his voice, rich and vibrant and unbearably seductive, stopped her.

  “I only want to live in it with you,” he said.

  She turned very slowly, halfway across the room from him, determined not to move closer. “This is a small house, Noah. I don’t think there’s room for the three of us.”

  “Nialla’s gone, Annie. Laid to rest, as she deserved to be long ago. There’s only me here, waiting for you.”

  She stood very still. She wasn’t going to settle for crumbs, for half measures after all this time. Her family thought she was strong, and she was about to prove them right. She was strong enough to make it without him. It would hurt, it would hurt like hell, but she could do it if she had to. No, she couldn’t, she thought suddenly. To tell with pride. She took a small, symbolic step toward his waiting figure. “What do you want from me, Noah?”

  Slowly he moved toward her in long, measured strides, and firmly she held her ground. “I have no right to ask you, Annie love,” he said. “I want you to marry me and live with me in this house. But you’re right, it’s too small for three. I have to be honest with you. I don’t want children. It’s wrong of me to ask you to be with me anyway, but I can’t help myself.”

  “Why don’t you want children?” She kept her voice level with an effort.

  “Because I’d be too afraid of losing you.” He was standing directly in front of her, and the heat from his body radiated outward, penetrating her bones, which had been so cold for so long. “I love you, Annie, and I can’t live without you. I should have left you alone, let yo
u marry Wilson and have lots of babies, but I couldn’t. Please, Annie, stay with me.” There was just the faint hint of a break in his voice, and she melted.

  He could have told her anything, put any restrictions on their relationship, and she would have given in. Without hesitation she consigned all her babies to the four winds, moving another step toward his lean, waiting figure, the tension in his body pulsing like a highly strung wire.

  “You want to marry me?” she said doubtfully, not quite believing him.

  He made no further move toward her, content to let her come to him. “As soon as possible. I’m tired of being celibate,” he said lightly, a small hint of a smile flashing across his face.

  “Celibate? The great lover celibate?” she scoffed.

  “If you don’t believe me ask your sister. I haven’t slept with anyone since that night in Philadelphia.”

  “Goodness, you must love me,” she breathed, a hint of laughter in her voice.

  His hands reached out then to catch her shoulders, drawing her slowly against his lean body, and there was an answering glint in his eyes. “I do,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers with a slow, tantalizing pressure she had thought never to feel again. “And you love me, don’t you, Annie?”

  “Do I?” she murmured beneath his mouth, and in reward his strong white teeth bit into her lower lip.

  “Witch,” he whispered. “You’ve already told me so.”

  “When?” Somehow her arms had slid around his waist, her hands trailing up under the cotton knit shirt to explore the flesh that had been denied her for so long.

  “That night in Philadelphia. I realize a gentleman shouldn’t pay any attention to words uttered in the throes of passion, but then, I never was a gentleman.” He’d managed to pull her top free from the loose jeans, and as his mouth still traced tantalizing little kisses around her lips his hands were deftly pulling the shirt up her torso.

  “You said a few things at the time,” she protested huskily as she pulled back to allow him to draw the shirt over her head.

  “Then why didn’t you believe me?” He buried his face against her full, soft breasts, his mouth seeking and finding one aroused bud beneath the wisp of lavender bra.