The Eden Tree

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “Who died and left you boss?” he said grumpily.

  “Dr. McCarthy put me in charge.”

  “Neil has no mercy.” He sat up and tried to slide his injured leg off the bed.

  Linn paused in her path to the sink. “And where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.

  “I have to use the lavatory,” he said uncomfortably, flushing faintly.

  “You can’t go by yourself. I’ll take you.”

  “The devil you will!” he roared. “I’m not a cripple yet.”

  “Dr. McCarthy said you were to stay off that leg. You can use me for a crutch.” Linn went to him and helped him stand, propping up his bad side by slipping her arm around his waist. “Don’t be afraid to lean on me,” she said to him. “I’m strong.”

  Con looked down at her. “You are that,” he said softly.

  Linn pulled him closer, trying to get a better grip on him. He was still holding back, reluctant to let her take his full weight. “Con, you must let me help you,” she said, glancing up at him.

  His blue eyes held hers. “You have helped me,” he murmured. “I’d be in a bad way right now if it weren’t for you.”

  Linn dropped her eyes, acutely conscious of his muscular body pressed against hers. He turned her chin up with his free hand, forcing her to look at him.

  “I’m afraid I’ve given you a rough time,” he said quietly. “I’m a notoriously nasty patient.”

  “Anyone in pain can be forgiven for being nasty,” Linn answered evasively.

  “Am I forgiven then?” he asked.

  “You know you are.”

  “Show me.”

  “Con, you shouldn’t be standing this long and…” Her words were cut off by the pressure of his mouth. His lips touched hers briefly, warmly, and then he raised his head, leaving her aching for more.

  “Aislinn aroon,” he whispered. “You’re a treasure.”

  Linn allowed herself the luxury of turning her face against his chest and hugging him for a second. Then she straightened and said briskly, “I believe you wanted to take a walk.”

  “That I did.” Linn led him to the lavatory in a lurching duet as he hopped on his good leg and she did her best to keep up with him. She opened the door and handed him inside, then leaned against the wall to wait. There were water sounds and muffled curses followed by a loud, splintering crash.

  “Con!” she called. “Are you all right?”

  “I am not,” he answered in a spirited tone that indicated he wasn’t at death’s door, either. “I just broke this bloody bottle of mouthwash.”

  “Will you forget that stuff and come back to bed before you trash the whole bathroom?” she asked.

  The door was yanked open and he faced her. “I just scared myself with a glance in the mirror,” he announced. “I look like I’m coming off a five day drunk.”

  “I can stand it,” she replied dryly, slipping her shoulder under his arm again.

  “Mind the glass if you go in there,” he said. “The floor is strewn with shards.”

  “I’ll clean it up later.”

  They struggled back to the bed and Con settled on it with a heartfelt sigh. Linn lifted his bad leg gingerly and laid it on the coverlet.

  “How do you feel?” she asked him.

  “Like my leg has a separate existence,” he replied. “I’m here with you and my leg is in a baker’s oven.”

  “I know it hurts,” she said soothingly. “I’ll get your pill.” She returned with it and a glass of water. He swallowed it obediently.

  “I’m sorry about all this, Aislinn,” he said. “You’ve better things to do than babysit me.”

  No I don’t, Linn thought. Aloud she said, “Are you hungry? I could fix you something to eat.”

  He made a face and shook his head. “No. All I want is you up here next to me.” He held out his hand.

  Linn hesitated.

  “Oh, come on, girl. I’m in no shape to threaten your virtue,” he said wearily. “I just need to feel you close.”

  His use of the word “need” decided her. She moved up next to him, being careful not to jar the bed. He lifted his arm and she curled into his body, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “Ah, that’s better,” he said, satisfied. Then after a pause, “I missed you.”

  So he’d been lonely too. After their explosive meeting his indifference had been terrible. It was good to know that it had been feigned.

  She felt his lips brush her forehead. “I finally get you into bed with me and I can’t move,” he said grimly. “A fine thing.”

  Linn shook with silent laughter. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not as sorry as I am,” he answered. “You’re a beautiful armful, my lady.”

  “I’m not beautiful,” she said before she thought about it.

  There was a moment of silence, and then he said, “Indeed you are. How can you think otherwise?”

  “My husband didn’t want me,” she blurted, and then was mortified at her candor. Why was she telling him this? Was it the warmth, the closeness, the dark? She had never trusted another person with this painful memory.

  “You were married?” he asked, his voice deep and very near above her head. She felt the rumble in his chest beneath her ear.

  “Yes.”

  “I wondered...” he said, his words thoughtful. “You didn’t seem very…”

  “Experienced?”

  “Aye.”

  “He wasn’t very good at it.”

  There was a stunned pause. Then, as if he couldn’t believe his ears, “What?”

  “He wasn’t interested,” Linn said unhappily. Why had she begun this confession? She felt foolish, humiliated.

  “Then he was a fool!” Con spat vehemently. His hands moved over her back, caressing. “And have you carried that around with you ever since?”

  Her silence was his answer.

  “Was he a poofter?”

  “A what?” She half laughed at the Irish slang.

  “A nancy boy, one of those who don’t like women.” He stirred slightly. “I don’t understand them myself,” he added, sounding genuinely puzzled.

  “He was confused.”

  “He must have been,” Con replied violently. He turned her in his arms to face him. “Come here to me and I’ll show you how confused I am.” He pushed her down and rolled her under him, shifting to favor his injured leg. He moved his mouth over her face and then took her lips with his.

  “Con,” she protested weakly, turning her head, “don’t. You’re sick.”

  He bent his head and his mouth seared her throat. “I’m never that sick,” he murmured.

  “Your whiskers are rough,” she whispered, not caring at all.

  “My hands are gentle,” he replied, sliding them along her body. He mouthed her breasts through her clothes. “I’ll make you forget him. I’ll make you forget everything but me.”

  He had already accomplished that. Linn held his head as he kissed her everywhere he could reach without moving, awkwardly trying to undress her.

  “Help me,” he finally ground out in frustration.

  “Con, no,” she protested. “Dr. McCarthy said…”

  He yanked on her blouse, popping the top button, and tongued the valley between her breasts. “The hell with Neil McCarthy,” he muttered. “I want you. Now.” He pushed aside her chemise, seeking her soft flesh.

  “But...” The word was lost in a sigh as he took a sensitive nipple in his mouth and sucked, running his hard palm down her back underneath her loosened blouse. Linn moaned and closed her eyes, succumbing to the exquisite sensation. He lowered his head and left a trail of kisses down her body to the waistband of her skirt, encircling her waist with his hands and nudging aside the material covering her skin.

  “Take this off,” he rasped. “Get up and take this off.”

  Linn stood quickly and shrugged out of her blouse, then slid her skirt over her legs to the floor. She lay back on the bed and reached for h
im, wearing only her camisole and pants.

  “Those too,” he growled, pulling the top over her head in one smooth movement. Linn tensed to object but when he saw her creamy nakedness he forgot everything else and bent, pulling her swiftly into his arms, caressing her with his hands and mouth until she was sobbing aloud.

  “It’s not enough,” he said thickly. “Tell me it’s not enough.”

  Linn whimpered in reply. The soft, helpless sound of passion inflamed him. He pushed her down and slid along the bed, pressing his burning cheek to the skin of her stomach, his face rough with stubble, his arms and shoulders knotted with the strain of self-discipline. He wanted desperately to plunge lower; when her fingers slipped from his hair to the back of his neck, he shuddered wildly, his whole body trembling.

  “Aislinn,” he moaned, gripping her hips and running his mouth over her abdomen and thighs, never lingering, teasing her with feather touches that drove her mad. When he knew that she was past the point of resistance he reached for the wisp of lace that covered her.

  “Let me love you in the only way I can tonight,” he panted. “I can wait no longer.”

  Neither could Linn. She shifted to accommodate him, moving her leg, and her foot jarred against his thigh. Con doubled up in pain, rolling away from her. He was silent but she saw that the beads of sweat were forming on his forehead with the effort of controlling himself.

  Linn seized the opportunity to break free of him. She stood unsteadily, slipping into her blouse, mortified by her own weakness. How could she do such a thing? The man was practically a hospital case, and she was such a pushover for him that she’d almost let him…Her face flamed at the thought of what she’d almost let him do. What she’d wanted him to do. In her entire life she had never lost control like that; he was a drug, an aphrodisiac that turned her into a needy, hungry stranger.

  “I hurt you,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m all right,” he responded quickly. “Don’t fret.”

  “It’s just as well,” she continued in a restrained voice. “I don’t know what I was thinking…I guess I just wasn’t thinking at all.” Linn paused to take a deep breath. “I’m going to go in and clean up the mess in the bathroom, and you need a chance to recover your strength. Go to sleep.”

  “Go to sleep!” Con yelled, his voice incredulous. His fist crashed against the wall next to the bed. “Woman, you are driving me to distraction!”

  “I must be making progress,” Linn said tartly. “I’ve gone from ‘girl’ to ‘woman’ in one evening.”

  Con’s eyes closed, his lips moving. Then he opened his eyes and said aloud, “Aislinn, I’m warning you…”

  “Go to sleep,” she cut him off abruptly. “You can warn me in the morning.” Before he could answer she fled to the bathroom and shut the door.

  Once inside she listened intently, half afraid that he would try to follow her. But all was silence. She made a great project of cleaning up the glass, taking twice as long as necessary. When she finally emerged he was sleeping, as she’d hoped.

  Linn went to his bedside and stood looking down at him. His clothes were in tatters, one pants leg cut off at the knee, the stained gauze bandage bound awkwardly below the ragged edge of the material. His hair was disordered and wild, and the dark beard obscuring the lower half of his face blunted the effect of his strong jaw. He looked like a highwayman out of a Victorian melodrama and she loved him beyond belief.

  Linn brushed back a lock of his dark brown hair, and he stirred slightly. Why am I resisting him, she thought, when I want him so badly and care so much? But she knew the answer. He was the one she had feared for five years, the man who would force her to stop running and face herself. There were no half measures with Con; he wouldn’t allow her to hide and dodge the emotions he had aroused in her. She would be vulnerable again, open to the hurt she had managed to avoid since Rick. Linn kissed her fingertips and pressed them to his mouth. She loved him, but she was terrified.

  Linn remembered Bridie as she was wrapping the pieces of shattered glass in an old newspaper she’d found. She called Bridie at home and told her what had happened. She reassured the housekeeper that Con was fine, though she couldn’t make that same statement about herself. She told Bridie that she would see her the next day and said goodnight.

  Linn curled up on one of the sofas and tried to go to sleep, but it was no use. She wanted to be with Con. Stealthily she slipped onto the bed next to him, and when he didn’t stir she allowed her head to move onto his shoulder. He sighed in his sleep and pulled her close.

  Linn listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing and drifted off thinking that she hadn’t felt so comfortable in a long time.

  Chapter 5

  Linn woke first in the morning and slipped off the bed, taking care not to disturb Con, who slept on peacefully. His beard was even darker now but the blue shadows of fatigue under his eyes seemed less pronounced. Linn was afraid to touch the dressing on his leg, but she convinced herself that the skin surrounding the wound looked better.

  She went to the kitchenette and made a light breakfast, eggs and toast, brewing instant coffee for herself and a pot of tea for Con. The smell of the meal roused him; he stirred and propped himself up on one elbow, obviously feeling improved enough to express an interest in food.

  “Good morning,” Linn said brightly. “How are you feeling?”

  “Smashing, thanks to you,” he replied.

  “And Dr. McCarthy.”

  “Neil had less to do with it than you did,” Con said. “What have you there?”

  “Something for you to eat.”

  “Smells good.”

  “I hope it tastes good,” Linn said doubtfully. She plugged in the can opener to open a tin of peaches and as the appliance began to hum the lights dimmed. She had noticed the same thing the night before when she used the electricity. She looked up, puzzled.

  Con smiled slyly. “Think you’re going blind?”

  “You’ve noticed it too?”

  He waved a hand in the air. “I rewired the place myself and didn’t know what I was doing. If you plug in too many things at once the lights go dim. It’s like living in the Addams Family house.”

  Linn chuckled. His reference to the old American television show reminded her of the time he’d spent in the States.

  “Thank you for telling me,” she replied, dishing up the fruit. “I was beginning to feel like Ingrid Bergman in Gaslight.”

  He laughed delightedly. Linn joined in, idiotically pleased with herself for having amused him. She had noticed that although he had a finely tuned sense of humor, he didn’t laugh all that much.

  “I can think of pleasanter ways to drive you crazy,” he said lazily, his voice heavy with remembered passion.

  Linn ignored that. She walked to his bedside and set the tray she’d prepared on the night table, then propped his pillows behind his head and helped him to sit up. She put the tray in his lap.

  Con watched her fixedly all the while. When she wouldn’t meet his eyes he said with resignation, “I see. We’re going to pretend that nothing happened last night.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Linn said. She looked up defiantly. “You know, the way you don’t want to talk about how you hurt your leg.”

  He eyed her narrowly. “Quite the saucy little baggage, aren’t you? As fresh as paint.”

  Linn stared him down. She wasn’t going to back off on this one.

  Con pressed his lips together and bent his head, conceding defeat. Linn felt a flash of triumph. He must care about her to accede to her wishes like this. He was not a man to give in so readily.

  “All right, Aislinn,” he sighed. “As they say in the States, let’s make a deal. I’ll tell you what you want to know and then we’ll discuss what’s happening between us. Fair do?”

  “Fair do,” she replied, smiling slightly at his idiom.

  He took a huge gulp of his tea. “I was called in to spring Christy from t
he truck taking him to Mountjoy,” he said simply. “We ambushed it and set him free.”

  “And how did you open up the leg?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “I had to jump off the transport while it was moving,” he explained. “I landed on my bad side and the next thing I knew it was bleeding. I just managed to hitch a ride back here.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “With friends. I’ll get it back when the heat’s off.”

  “Oh. And is the heat on?”

  He glanced at her quickly. “No one is after me, Aislinn. This is a different country, you know.”

  “I understand. You run up north and do your dirty work and then scamper to safety back here.”

  “It isn’t dirty work to help a friend.”

  “The finer points of your scruples escape me,” she said sarcastically. “All I know is that you are involved in that awful situation.”

  “I’ve never hurt anyone, Aislinn,” he said quietly, putting down his cup. “Believe me on that. There are things that can be done to help without tossing grenades.”

  “Why do you have to help at all?” she burst out. “Why did you have to do this to yourself?”

  He had picked up a piece of toast but he set it back down again. He pointed to the bookshelves behind her.

  “Over there,” he said, “is a book on the American civil rights movement. One of the marchers in Selma was asked why she felt she had to get involved. She answered, ‘You have got to stand up. Freedom is not something which is put in your lap.’”

  “But you’re dashing back and forth across the border like a child playing snatch-the-wallet, just asking to be picked off!”

  He shook his head. “No more. I told you once that I was done with that. But I had to help Christy. He’d have done the same for me.”

  “That’s very noble,” Linn said. “ ‘Greater love than this no man has, that he lay down his life for his friend.’ ”

  “I didn’t lay down my life. You needn’t be so dramatic.”

  His implacability was infuriating. “Con, I don’t care about noble sentiments or the cause of freedom. All I care about is you!”