by Alicia Scott
“But she’ll come back.”
“She?”
He looked at her stubbornly, his face pale.
“She will.”
“How about we leave on one light?” Liz said slowly. In spite of her best intentions, she was beginning to feel a little bit nervous herself. She? Why had he called the ghost a she? She shook her head firmly to clear the thought. Andrew was a spooked child, they would turn on some lights, that would be the end of it. “What do you say, Andrew?” she tried again, keeping her voice confident and light. “Will that help?” He still looked less than certain, but finally he gave in with a small nod.
Throwing back the covers, she took his hand and led him to the door separating their rooms. She had to feel her way carefully in the dark, going around her bed, and then over to the wall. Suddenly, looking around, she began to understand just how scary the rooms might seem to a six-year-old boy. In the blackness, the ornate carvings of the armoire began to take on the twisted bearings of gargoyles and the floor of the old house squeaked beneath her feet, echoing through the empty old house.
Andy tightened his grip on her hand, and she squeezed his as much to comfort him as herself. Slowly, she pulled open the door.
Andrew’s room was even darker than her own, the curtains pulled tight across the window until only a sliver of light crept through. The dark closet seemed like some hideous, gaping mouth, and the table and chairs blended together into a hairy gothic beast. Suddenly, she wasn’t feeling so confident anymore and phrases she’d heard all too recently began to sound off in her head.
“Alycia was murdered.”
“I doubt we’ll ever know who did it.”
She swallowed heavily. It was just the house, she tried to rationalize. It was an old house, and with its creaky boards, vaulted ceilings and ornately carved trim, well...it fed the imagination.
But then something moved suddenly on the left, and she jumped, causing Andrew to yelp.
Their reflections. It was just their reflections in the mirror. Her nerves couldn’t take any more; she looked desperately for the light switch. Her hand found it and gratefully flipped it—nothing.
No light. Nothing. Oh, boy.
“What was that?” whispered Andrew shrilly. “What was that sound?”
“I don’t hear anything,” Liz whispered back, but in that instant, she did.
Something was scratching at the window. Or someone.
“Alycia was murdered.”
“I doubt we’ll ever know who did it.”
Oh, this was not a good time. Desperately, she flipped the switch again and again. And still the darkness reigned, still the scratching sounds whispered across the room.
Andrew whimpered slightly at her side, his grip on her hand now cutting off any hope of blood supply. Grimly, Liz swallowed and squared her shoulders. She did not believe in ghosts, and she was not going to let a creaky old house with faulty electricity get to her. Besides, Andrew needed her. That simple realization lent her strength.
“Stay here,” she said to him now. “I’m going to open the curtains.”
But Andrew shook his head frantically in the darkness, his grip on her hand tightening even more. “Don’t go,” he whispered desperately. “The ghost will get you. She will, she will, she will.”
“Andrew,” Liz managed to say calmly enough given the fact she was standing in a pitch-black room where the lights wouldn’t work and strange noises were coming from the window. “You read all the science books. You know ghosts don’t exist.”
“But they do,” he said softly. “She does.”
In spite of herself, she shivered in the darkness. She? Must he continue to call his fictional ghost a she?
“I’m going over there, Andy,” she said at last. “Now, you can either come with me, or stay here.”
There wasn’t much hesitation; he went with her. Together, hand gripped tightly in hand, they crept their way along the wall, Liz using her other hand to guide them.
The scratching grew louder.
“I want my dad,” Andrew whimpered, and quite honestly Liz agreed with him wholeheartedly.
“It’ll be okay,” she tried to reassure him, but was reaching the point where she could barely reassure herself.
“Alycia was murdered.”
“I doubt we’ll ever know who did it.”
She was beginning to hate her own imagination. Ghosts do not exist, she tried repeating to herself over and over again. Not even in spooky old houses. But then the scratching grated across the window again, and her heart stopped beating in her chest.
They were a few feet from the dark hanging curtains and there was only one way to do it. Liz drew a deep breath, closed her eyes and yanked the curtain back.
Andrew screamed, she jumped, and came face-to-face with several long, ugly tree branches.
“Geez Louise,” she breathed, her heart coming back to rest in her chest, where it thumped madly. “It’s only a tree, Andrew. Only a tree.”
By the silver moonlight that was streaming in, she could see his face. It was chalk pale, his eyes the size of saucers. She shook him gently, and he immediately buried himself in her arms.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she told him in a soft Carolina voice meant to soothe his nerves. “Honestly, Andrew. Everything is all right. Now take a deep breath. Relax.”
But just as she said the words, the door banged open with a crash and both she and Andrew jumped once more in fright.
“What’s wrong?” demanded the unmistakable voice of Richard. Liz sagged against the wall in relief, Andrew still wrapped tightly around her.
“Good God,” she breathed. “Don’t ever do that again. You just gave me a heart attack!”
The candle he was holding flickered until it caught both her and Andrew in its wavering light. “I thought I heard someone scream,” Richard said tersely, his winter-blue eyes slicing through the darkness. “Is everything okay?”
Liz nodded, even though Andrew was still shaking against her. “A tree outside Andrew’s window just gave him a fright. But it’s all right now, isn’t it, Andy?”
The boy’s pale face turned to peer out from the comfort of her stomach. “I w-w-want the lights on,” he said tremulously.
Richard set the candle on the dresser, taking in the boy’s ashen features. The child was honestly terrified and it occurred to him all at once that this was the first time he’d seen Andy act as a child. The sudden urge to reach out, to stroke his hair in parental comfort was almost overwhelming. He fought it grimly, willing himself to keep his hand at his side. The boy didn’t need him. Richard could see just how tightly Andrew clung to Liz. The child trusted her, trusted her as absolutely as Richard had seen him trust anyone. And he also noted the way Liz reacted to him, one arm curved around his shoulders, offering him the comfort and security he needed in the jumping shadows.
He couldn’t quite take his eyes from the picture, even as he willed himself not to be affected by it.
“The electricity is out,” he said. “Will a few candles do?”
But the candlelight merely flickered across the room, casting light and shadows at random. It added to the spell more than it helped. Andy pressed closer to Liz. Her hand stroked the top of his head to soothe him.
Richard watched the motion, feeling raw emotion surge through him. Why did she look so right with the child? Why did she look as if she cared? Didn’t she know she was just a nanny? Didn’t she know she wasn’t supposed to belong?
He’d been avoiding her all day, trying to forget last night and the way she’d felt in his arms, the way she’d looked at him in horror immediately afterward. He wanted her out of his dreams, out of his mind. He’d even avoided the library, determined to prove to himself that it didn’t matter. But he’d thought of her just the same. Hunched over his damn equations, it was her picture that burned into his mind.
And now she was here, standing just seven feet away with a terrified child wrapped around her leg and nothing bu
t a thin T-shirt for cover.
His grip on the candle holder tightened.
“Are any of the lights working?” Liz asked.
Her hair was tumbling down, framing her face in sleepy disarray. He turned his face away. “I haven’t checked the whole house,” he said shortly. “But I assume the problem is with the power lines, and therefore, yes, the whole house is without electricity.”
“What if we go back to the library?” Liz suggested. “We could light another fire in the fireplace and sit down together there.” She looked at Andrew’s drawn face. “Would that make you feel better, Andrew? Maybe we could even roast some marshmallows.”
He looked uncertain, but after a moment, he nodded. “All right,” he said quietly.
She looked at Richard. “How does that sound?”
It sounded like a cozy domestic scene. It sounded like three souls huddling up together against the cold, dreary darkness.
It sounded like something he definitely shouldn’t do.
But he found himself nodding, anyway.
There was a small shift then, Andrew releasing his death grip on Liz at last. The boy walked forward tentatively, attempting to be brave. But with the shift, Liz became fully exposed to Richard’s gaze for the first time. Like a drowning man, he took in the sight, the short jersey T-shirt just skimming the top of her thighs, her legs, long and slender stretching out before him. He’d seen women in silk and he’d seen women in lace. But he’d never seen a woman as sexy as this.
He thought his knuckles might break with the effort at control.
“Couldn’t you at least put on a robe?” he managed to ask tightly.
Liz glanced down at her old football T-shirt, apparently just realizing how little she was wearing. “Sorry,” she muttered, heading for the door that connected her room to Andrew’s.
“In future,” Richard cut in, “perhaps you should consider more appropriate sleepwear when on duty.”
“You’re right,” Liz told him dryly. “From now on, I’ll sleep in all those lovely uniforms you purchased.”
She vanished into her room before he could reply, which was probably just as well. His nerves were wound impossibly tight, too tight, to deal with such things as Liz in only that T-shirt.
“Let’s go downstairs,” he said abruptly. Andrew nodded, but it seemed to Richard that the child’s eyes looked slightly accusatory, and he felt even worse. Then suddenly the little boy glanced at the jumping shadows, and stuck his hand tightly in Richard’s grip.
Richard nearly jumped himself at the unexpected gesture. Andrew had not touched him since his arrival. Richard had thought that it was best. But now, the little hand tucked so securely in his own massive grip, Richard felt something strange and tight grip his chest. It felt almost like pain.
His face grim in the darkness, Richard led Andrew downstairs in complete silence. With studied detachment he noted that the scared little boy disappeared with each step, until soon it was the somber child-genius that walked by Richard’s side.
It’s better this way, Richard reminded himself. Yet in his mind’s eye he could see the scared Andrew, clutching at Liz. Liz, in her simple T-shirt, holding the child, giving him the comfort he needed.
She was the first touch of warmth this old house had ever seen. But she was six years too late.
Chapter 5
Sometime shortly after six, the lights came on with a small flicker. Liz’s eyes had already drifted shut and Andrew was curled next to her on the leather sofa. Only Richard was still awake, sitting in the chair by the fire.
As her vision cleared, Liz had the impression of a lone man, his gaze dark and intent on the dancing flames. Even now, in the dawning hours of the morning, nothing gave him away. His features were as impenetrable as before, his hand tapping lightly on the arm of the chair to the silent rhythm of his own private thoughts. He glanced up only when she finally raised her head.
“The lights,” she said softly, her voice husky with sleep.
He nodded, his eyes skimming briefly over her bathrobed figure before returning once more to the flames.
“It’s morning now,” he said, his own voice quiet in the vaulted room. She and Andrew had been asleep for the past hour, curled together so softly and snugly it had almost hurt to look at them. How was it that one woman could integrate herself into things so quickly? Even looking at her now, her hair mussed, her eyes soft with sleep, he could feel his stomach tighten, his pulse leap.
He’d looked at her a hundred times in the past hour. And each and every time he’d thought of how her lips had tasted beneath his own. Sweet, lush and willing. His body hurt with the relentless ache, and there was nothing he could do about it. Not after the way she’d looked at him after that kiss, her eyes filled with such horror. He wouldn’t go through that again, he simply wouldn’t. Besides, now golden boy Blaine was back, and he’d seen how Blaine looked at her....
It would only be a matter of time. Not that he cared. The tenth sharpest mind in the country was much too smart for such emotional drivel as that.
“You should go back to bed and get some rest,” he found himself saying, his voice expressionless and curt.
She nodded, glancing over at Andrew.
“He almost looks like a six-year-old when he sleeps,” she whispered.
Richard could only nod his head in agreement. Lost in slumber, Andrew’s defensive posture was gone. Now he was simply a little golden-haired boy, worn out by the day’s activities. He was curled into a little ball, his glasses lying beside him. He looked...vulnerable. Once more, Richard felt his chest tighten. Once more, he steeled himself against the intensity of the emotion.
“Do you think you can carry him back to his room?” Liz asked, keeping her voice low. “It seems a shame to disturb him.”
He should have said no, but instead, he found himself nodding. He got up, and picked up the weight of the child easily. The boy barely stirred, his head falling soft and comfortable on the solid expanse of his father’s shoulder. Richard followed Liz out of the library, and willed himself to be strong.
Carrying the child, however, he felt himself assaulted by a thousand and one sensations. Years ago he had carried this same child, but then the small one-year-old frame had been a whisper against his chest, a tiny, fragile burden. Now the very same child was a solid weight against him, firm and warm with five years of growth. The smell of baby powder was gone, but the simple burden of a child’s trust remained.
They came to the bedroom. Liz smoothed back the rumpled covers of the twin bed, silently gesturing for Richard to lay Andrew down. As gently as possible, he complied, setting the boy down.
Abruptly he felt the loss, the warmth of his small charge replaced immediately by a rush of cold air. He’d come in as a father, but stood now as a lone man; he hated himself for noting the difference.
Andrew stirred, muttering in his sleep. But then, with a sigh, he rolled over and Liz pulled the covers snugly over him. Wanting to keep him warm, she tucked the edges of the blankets securely around his neck.
She glanced up in time to catch Richard staring at the child with the most intense look on his face. And for a moment, there was a flash of rippling emotion in his pale blue eyes that could only have been yearning.
Then suddenly it was gone, and once again his face was the smooth dispassionate slate of before. She still couldn’t stop herself from reaching out her hand and laying it on his arm.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
His eyes fell to her hand, small and feminine on his arm. Emotion ripped through him once more and the temptation to take her into his arms, to hold her if only for a fragile moment, was almost too strong to resist. He steeled himself against desire willing the weakness away. He was a solitary man; it was the way it was meant to be.
Looking up, he met her expectant gaze with his own dispassionate stare. “For what?” he asked tonelessly.
“For coming to Andy’s room when you heard the commotion. For taking him do
wn to the library for comfort. For carrying him back up to bed still asleep. He needs those things, you know.”
Her voice was beguiling, the soft, velvety drawl trying to penetrate his control to find the emotion she’d witnessed so briefly. But his control was too strong, and once more he was the cold, intimidating man she’d known before. He simply shrugged, looking at her with his wintry blue eyes. “You should get some sleep, too,” he said simply. “It’s been a long night.”
She nodded, letting her hand fall away. Whatever he had been thinking was lost. He’d already told her that his relationship with his son was not her concern, and he seemed intent on keeping it that way. Still, she’d seen the look in his eyes. The man obviously cared for his son more than he was willing to admit. She just needed to show him the way, and he would come around. She was convinced of it. This night made it clearer to her more than ever just how much Andrew needed his father. And how much Richard needed his son.
“You should get some rest, as well,” she whispered, leading the way out of the room. “You work too hard, as it is, and tomorrow—well, today—is going to be a big day.”
“What time are you coming to the lab?” he asked.
“Let’s say two or so. And we’ll bring the promised brownies.”
She saw his face twitch into what might have been a wry smile. It made the remembered words of beratement for his earlier cold treatment of the brownies die on her lips.
“Yes, the brownies,” he repeated dryly. “See you then.”
She nodded, the words suddenly making her nerves tingle. See you then. They sounded so full of promise. His pale gaze was on her, and abruptly she became aware of the limited clothing beneath her robe. Unconsciously, her hand clutched the top of the terry cloth together, and his eyes looked at her with a knowing glint. She blushed, thinking she ought to disappear into her room now, but standing in the hall like an idiot instead. Then, without any direction from her, her own eyes settled upon his lips.
The air sparked, and a stomach-tightening burn of awareness filled the dimly lit hall. And just when she should have stepped back through her doorway, she found herself taking a small step forward.