“How’s the car running?” he asked.
“It’s great,” she said without turning.
She had left the Jaguar in Baltimore and bought a Pathfinder. Judd had driven her to pick it up—in the Blazer, which turned out to be his. He had also driven her around town numerous times, shuttling her from the office to the quarry, to Boulderbrook, and back. She kept thinking that she would get used to him, that the novelty of his looks would wear thin, but that wasn’t happening.
She didn’t understand how she could be six weeks pregnant, feel nauseated most of the time, and still find a man attractive. She told herself it was wrong. She told herself it was unhealthy. She told herself it was ludicrous, given her mission in the Notch. Still, her blood rushed faster when he was around.
She tried to ignore him, but that was hard to do. His eyes were dark and direct. She could feel them on her back even now. Never one to be self-conscious, she was so with him. She was sure he could read every thought in her mind, including the lascivious ones. It was all she could do not to squirm.
“When are the computers coming?” she managed to ask.
“Any day.”
“Good.” She’d had him order one for her. “I could use mine as soon as possible. I’ve been writing letters by hand, but I want to do follow-ups and mailing labels by computer.” She turned from the window and gestured toward a spot beneath one of the skylights. “I’m putting my drafting table there. It’s being delivered this afternoon. Do you think one of the men would set it up for me? I have to be in Manchester all afternoon, but I’d like to use it over the weekend.”
“It’ll be set up,” he said.
Much as she cursed the attraction she felt, Chelsea was finding Judd’s competence to be welcome. With so many things on her mind—getting business for Plum Granite, keeping up with Harper, Kane, Koo and her own designing, overseeing work on Boulderbrook, not to mention working out every morning, falling into bed exhausted every night, and somewhere in the middle brooding about Kevin, missing Abby, worrying about her baby, and wondering who had wanted her to have a silver music box key—it was good to know that she could ask Judd Streeter to do something and have it done.
“You look tired,” he said.
Her eyes flew to his face. She felt a catch inside—those eyes touched her—and swallowed again. “I’m fine.”
“Maybe you’re working too hard.”
She thought of the deal. “Is that wishful thinking?” She wiped her forehead with her arm. It really was warm. He was right about the fan. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m okay. A little heat never hurt anyone.”
His eyes were steady on hers. “The city is air-conditioned. Do you miss it?”
“No. The nights here are cool.”
“It would cost a fortune to air-condition this house.”
“No one’s saying we should.”
“You may, after a week working up here.”
“I can hack it,” she said, but she was having trouble breathing, and it had nothing to do with Judd’s presence. Her lungs seemed filled with hot air and plaster dust. Intent on seeking relief, she crossed to the spiral stairway and wound her way to the second floor. Men were at work there, painting the walls. The smell of the paint was overpowering.
Passing through what would soon be Fern’s office, she continued on down the front stairs. On the stone steps outside, she finally found fresh air. She went down the front path, taking one breath after another. When she reached the sidewalk, she leaned against the low fence post.
She felt him come up behind her, not so much a rising of hairs on the back of her neck as a tingling along her spine. She didn’t look around. She didn’t dare. Knowing he was there was bad enough.
She gestured toward the women on the green. All had broad-brimmed hats on their heads, spades in their hands, and flats of impatiens on the ground by their knees. “They’re out en masse today.”
“That’s the garden club,” he said. “They’re getting ready for the Fourth.”
She thought of Kevin and Abby and all the fun Fourths they’d had at Newport. It hurt to think that Kevin didn’t want to preserve the tradition. Even Carl had other plans this year.
She took another breath of the Norwich Notch air. “You folks go in for the Fourth in a big way.”
“Yup. Pancake breakfast at the church, box lunch at the school, barbecue on the green at night.”
She could have sworn she heard sarcasm in his voice and looked up at him. “Don’t you like it?”
His face gave nothing away. “It’s fine. But you’d be bored.”
“Bored? With nonstop activity?” Everywhere she went in town there were notices for holiday events. Among those on the agenda were a parade, a beauty pageant, a trash-and-treasure sale, an art show, a basketball game, and a dance. She didn’t know how anyone could be bored. “It’s pretty exciting for a newcomer.”
He eyed her strangely. “You’re not seriously planning to hang around for it, are you?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“I thought you’d be taking off.”
“No.”
“You must have somewhere better to be.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“No family?”
She felt a twist inside. “Not this year.”
“No boyfriend with a house on Nantucket?” The sarcasm was there, no doubt about it this time.
She shook her head.
“No glitzy parties in the city?”
Sarcasm was one thing, scorn another. Emboldened by that, she looked him straight in the eye. “Not this year. Or ever. I was never the type for glitzy parties. Why do you have me pegged for someone I’m not?”
His eyes didn’t give an inch. “Because you’re slick, and you’re savvy. You’ve been around more than most anyone here.”
“ ‘Been around’?” she asked. The phrase conjured up something soiled.
“Lived.”
“If you mean traveled, okay. Anything else, and you’re wrong.”
He stared at her for a minute before glancing off toward the green.
“Do you believe me?” she asked. It meant a lot to her that he did. “I know that I come from a different place, and that my experiences in life have been different, but I’ve tried not to wave those differences like a red flag in front of people.”
His gaze fell to her breasts, then rose slowly. “Is that why you were running along Old River Road this morning wearing skimpy shorts and a tank top?”
Her heart skipped a beat. She wondered when he’d seen her. More meekly she said, “That’s standard running gear.”
“Not around here it isn’t. The guys aren’t used to women showing themselves off.”
“I wasn’t showing myself off. I was running.”
“You were the main topic of breakfast conversation at Crocker’s. Didn’t you notice the trucks slowing down? Most of those guys are quarrymen. You didn’t leave much to their imagination.”
She didn’t know what to say. It hadn’t occurred to her that she would cause a stir. She had been running, just running. But he looked angry. She didn’t understand.
“I thought you were doing aerobics at the church,” he said.
“I was. I am. But I miss running, so I thought I’d alternate.”
“Can’t you wear something a little more conservative?”
“That’s standard running gear,” she repeated, bewildered.
“Well, it’s all wrong here. Keep it up and you’ll be hearing more than little kids’ voices in that farmhouse at night. You’ll have half the men of the Notch panting at your door.” A pulse beat at his temple. “Maybe that’s what you want.”
His suggestion was like a slap in the face. “It’s not what I want,” she cried, “not what I want at all. But I have a right to run, and I have a right to wear whatever I want when I do it.”
He lifted one large shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Then be prepared to accept the consequences.”
Chelsea felt an anger growing inside. She felt wronged by Judd, wronged by the town, wronged by Kevin and Carl, and suddenly defiant. “I won’t do any such thing,” she said, straightening from the fence post to face him. “Maybe it’s time Norwich Notch came out of the dark ages. Women nowadays run, and when they do, when it’s hot out, they wear the coolest clothes possible. They also drive Jaguars, and own companies, and believe it or not, there are places where they even hold public office. Good God, what kind of backward mentality are you talking about?”
He drew himself up, rising that much taller than she. His eyes were darker than ever and impassioned. “I’m talking about Norwich Notch. You call it backward. I call it conservative. Whichever, it isn’t about to change just because you’ve shown up.”
“I’m not asking it to change. I’m perfectly happy to let it go its own way. All I ask is that it lets me go mine.”
“That’s all? I wonder.”
She gave him a puzzled look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he said, “that your being here is strange. There’s no need for it. Oliver was right. You could be doing your part of the job in Baltimore. It’d be a hell of a lot easier working there than working on that rolltop desk in your room at the inn.” His mouth slanted. “How do I know you’re doing that?” he asked just as she was wondering it. “The maid who cleans your room is the little sister of one of our men, and she tells him about the crumpled yellow tissue paper in your wastebasket every morning. So I know you’re trying to work, and I know you’d be better off in a studio, and I keep asking myself why you’re suffering up here. Were you run out of Baltimore?”
Chelsea was feeling exposed. “No.”
“Man troubles?”
“No!”
“Then what? What would a successful, talented, beautiful woman like you want with a place like this?”
Successful, talented, beautiful. She was flattered. Others had used the words, but never begrudgingly, as Judd did. That gave them more weight. And because he’d said them, she felt she owed him something.
“In the last five months,” she said simply, “I’ve lost the better part of the three most important people in my life. There is nothing to keep me in Baltimore.”
“So you’re running away.”
“No. I choose to be here.”
“For how long?”
“For however long I want.” When the roar of Hunter Love’s cycle preceded him around the corner, she tore her eyes from Judd’s. “He’s not conservative. He does what he wants.”
“He’s a special case.”
“Well, so am I,” she said, and crossed the sidewalk to the grassy berm just as Hunter pulled up. “How’s it going?”
He took off his helmet and wiped his face with his arm. “There’s a problem. I need you out there.”
“Okay. I’ll get the car.” But the words were no sooner out than she had a better idea. He had offered her a ride once, and she had refused. Now she had a statement to make.
She looked at the spare helmet that was secured behind the seat, then at Hunter. “Any objections?”
He shrugged. “It’s your life.”
It was more than that. It was the life of her baby, too, but Chelsea was feeling rebellious enough just then to risk it. Without another thought, she climbed on the cycle behind Hunter, fitted the helmet to her head, and gave Judd a final, defiant look.
If the set of his jaw meant anything, he was furious—which was poetic justice for the way he haunted her nights, she reasoned, and flipped down the visor. Hooking her hands on Hunter’s belt, she sat confidently behind him while he revved the engine and zoomed off. They made a full circle of the green, raising garden club heads and passing Judd once again before heading out of town.
The first few minutes were fun. Chelsea hadn’t been on a motorcycle in years, and Hunter’s was a good one. It roared smoothly, hugging the road, bringing back the sense of exhilaration that came with freedom and speed. The whip of the air cooled her body, which moved with Hunter’s and the cycle from one turn into the next.
Then the curves started coming more frequently. They leaned right, then left, right, then left. It occurred to Chelsea that she didn’t recognize the road as one that led to Boulderbrook. It struck her that she didn’t recognize the road, period. She grew uneasy.
“Hunter?”
He didn’t hear. She wondered if she’d been reckless entrusting him with her life. But he was Oliver’s troubleshooter. He was third man at the quarry behind Judd. And he was doing a good job at Boulderbrook, which said that he was responsible, didn’t it?
“Hunter?” she called louder.
He turned his head to the side.
“Where are we?”
“Seben Road. Behind Acatuk. It’s the scenic route.”
The road had narrowed. The turns grew sharper. Chelsea imagined them rounding a curve and hitting a car head on, but if Hunter was aware of that danger, he was ignoring it. If anything, he pushed the cycle faster.
Holding tighter, she watched the road. It climbed, then swooped low before resuming its twists and turns. When she began to feel dizzy, she called, “Can you slow up a little?”
The motorcycle bucked, then caught in a lower gear and sped up another hill.
Dizziness became nausea. Chelsea tugged at his waist. “Stop for a minute, Hunter.”
He drove on.
She put her head against his back and closed her eyes, hoping that she wouldn’t feel as sick if she didn’t see all that they passed, but it wasn’t more than a minute before she felt worse than ever.
“I’m going to be sick, Hunter!” she cried, and tugged at his sides. “Pull over now!”
She didn’t know what finally got through to him, whether it was the frantic sound of her voice or the urgent clutching of her hands. But he slowed the cycle, pulled up on the shoulder of the road, and stopped with seconds to spare. She barely had time to run for the foliage at the side of the road, tossing aside the helmet as she went, before she was dismally sick.
She hated being sick. Her doctor said that nausea was a healthy sign, that it indicated the baby had taken a good, strong hold of her insides. But the doctor wasn’t the one hanging over the toilet or, in this case, bracing himself on shaky arms over a patch of moss. And the doctor wasn’t the one who was alone. That was the worst of it. She didn’t think she would have minded if someone had been with her, for moral support if nothing else. But she was alone. Other than the doctor and Cydra, no one even knew about the baby.
Sitting back on her heels, she brushed wisps of hair from her cheeks with an arm. She jumped when Hunter’s voice came to her. It was quiet, not at all defiant or mocking.
“There’s a brook over there.”
Now that the heaving was done, she could hear it. Following the soft trickle, she worked her way through the low-growing foliage until she reached it. Then she sat on a flat rock by its edge and bathed her face.
Oh, yes, she hated being sick, but the one good thing about this particular sickness was that it passed. It would be back, no doubt by the end of the day, but for now, other than feeling weak-kneed, she was all right. A cracker or two would have helped. Since she was without, she settled for rinsing her mouth before making her way back to the road.
Hunter was leaning against the motorcycle. His helmet was on the handlebars, hers was back on the seat. He regarded her cautiously, clearly unsure of what she would say, but she didn’t know, any more than he. What had happened hadn’t been all his fault. If she hadn’t been pregnant, she would have been fine.
Looping her hands in her lap, she looked first at him, then, squinting, at the undulating road. “That was some ride.”
In the same quiet voice he’d used to tell her about the brook, he asked, “Are you all right?”
She nodded and gazed off toward the horizon. “Why did you do that?” When he didn’t answer she said, “It wasn’t very nice.”
“You said you were experienc
ed.”
“I am.” She pointed to her nose. “See this? It was reconstructed once, then a second time when it didn’t set right after a motorcycle accident. The accident was my fault. I was going too fast. I was seventeen at the time and reckless. What’s your excuse?”
Hunter tucked his hands under his arms. “Bad genes.”
She laughed.
“Think that’s funny?” he asked, looking hurt.
“It is. It really is. I was adopted. I have no idea who my biological parents are, but not once did I ever blame what I did on bad genes.” Neither had her parents, bless them. “Blaming behavior on genes is a cop-out. You are what you make of your life.”
“Not around here. Around here, you are what your name is.”
“It doesn’t look to me like you’ve done so badly with Love.” He had a solid position with Plum Granite, and he was serving as general contractor for her house—actually, more than general contractor. Many an evening or weekend she found him doing the work himself. At those times she wondered about his personal life. Judd had said that he had his own place, that he wasn’t married, and that he was a loner, but nothing more.
Not that she was interested for any but incidental reasons. Hunter Love was a nice-looking man, but nothing about him affected her the way Judd Streeter did.
She was grateful she hadn’t been sick in front of Judd. That would have been humiliating.
“So,” Hunter asked, “do I still have the job?”
“Of course you still have the job.” She thought quickly. “But I want to be in on the third of July.”
“That’s little more’n ten days off!”
“You don’t have to have the whole house done, just my bedroom and bathroom. I can do without a kitchen, but I’m sick of the inn.”
“You wanted an oversize tub in that bathroom. There’s no way I can get it so quick.”
“Give the supplier a call. Twist his arm.”
Hunter shook his head. “I’ll need a month.”
“No, you won’t. Set your mind to it, and I’ll be in in a week.” Because he had deliberately tried to frighten her on the cycle, she added, “Unless the little voices slow you down.”
The Passions of Chelsea Kane Page 17