‘How old is he?’ Jake asked, when Eve said nothing, and she gave him a scornful look.
‘He’s a she,’ she said, unlatching the gate and attaching a halter. ‘Storm Dancer. And she’s twenty-eight. My—Mrs Robertson used to breed from her when she was younger.’
Jake stepped back to allow her to bring the horse out, and Storm took the opportunity to nip his ear. She didn’t bite him. She was amazingly gentle, actually, and he saw Eve watching her with some surprise.
‘She seems to like me, anyway,’ he said, finding a reluctant humour in the situation. ‘Sorry.’
‘I imagine females usually do,’ retorted Eve hotly, and then turned scarlet when she realised what she’d said.
‘You don’t,’ remarked Jake drily, following her and Storm Dancer along the row of empty stalls, but Eve didn’t look back.
‘I neither like nor dislike you, Mr Romero,’ she said, the words drifting back over her shoulder, but Jake could tell she wasn’t half as indifferent as she was trying to sound.
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ he said, as they emerged into the morning air again. He held her gaze when she darted a glance towards him. ‘That gives me some hope.’
Eve swallowed. ‘Hope—for what?’
‘That you might come to like me.’ He glanced about him, allowing her to return to her task. ‘Where are we going now?’
‘I’m going to take Storm into the paddock,’ she told him, concentrating on controlling the mare to avoid another visual confrontation. ‘I think you ought to go back to the house. Cassie will be wondering where you are.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘At ten after seven in the morning?’ He grimaced. ‘I doubt it.’
Eve tugged on the halter, causing Storm Dancer to toss her head in protest. ‘You’d know, of course.’
‘Because I’ve slept with her?’ suggested Jake flatly, and once again he saw that he’d disconcerted her.
But he also saw the way she tried to disguise it. ‘Well, you have, haven’t you?’ she demanded fiercely, and instead of feeling angry he knew an almost irresistible urge to take her face between his cold palms and kiss her.
Her mouth looked soft and vulnerable, despite her desperate bid for control, and he wondered how she would taste. He already knew what she smelled like. She probably hadn’t showered before coming to attend to the mare, and the clean scent of her woman’s body was overlaid with the faintest trace of perspiration. He found it an incredible turn-on, incredibly sexy, but it wasn’t a good feeling. Dammit, he’d come here with one woman and now he was lusting after another. What kind of an animal was he when he got a hard-on just being with Eve? What the hell was the matter with him?
The fact that he hadn’t wanted to come here was some comfort, but Cassandra would spit blood if she even suspected he was attracted to her mother’s companion. She’d been trying for more than six months to get him to commit to a relationship, and it was only because he’d had the excuse of business meetings in various parts of Europe that he’d been able to avoid any serious entanglement.
He liked her well enough. She was good company when she wasn’t continually trying to get into his pants. And he’d been glad of her company at many of the parties and social gatherings he’d been invited to while he was in London. But this…This didn’t bear thinking about, and, abandoning any idea of helping Eve to clean out the mare’s stall and spread the fresh straw, he jammed his hands deep into the back pockets of his jeans.
‘Does it matter?’ he asked dispassionately. Then, deliberately emptying his face of any expression, he added, ‘But I guess I’d better go and let her know I haven’t forgotten about her.’
As if that was likely, thought Eve painfully as he strode out of the stable yard. She had the feeling that, however he felt about her, Cassie would make sure she was not easy to forget.
She wished she hadn’t taunted him now. Although she knew she was asking for trouble, something about Jake Romero got under her skin. And, despite her determination not to let him get to her, she’d enjoyed their verbal baiting. Enjoyed being with him, she thought, tugging rather viciously at Storm’s halter again.
And how sick was that?
CHAPTER FOUR
JAKE went up to his room, showered, and changed into navy chinos and a long-sleeved purple polo shirt. He was downstairs again, having breakfast in the morning room, when Cassandra finally made her appearance.
Of Eve there was no sign, but as it was already after nine o’clock he guessed she’d probably left for work. Mrs Robertson was still in her room, of course, resting her ankle. Which was a shame, he reflected, because he would have welcomed the chance to avoid a teˆte-a`-teˆte with her daughter.
Cassandra trailed into the room, still wearing her dressing gown. A red silk kimono that she’d told him some admirer had brought her from Hong Kong, Jake doubted it was warm enough for Watersmeet in November. But he knew she liked the garment. She thought it flattered her fair colouring. And, as she didn’t appear to be wearing anything under it, Jake guessed where this was going.
‘Darling,’ she exclaimed petulantly, ‘where have you been? I came to your room earlier but you weren’t there, and I was worried. Now, here you are, scarfing down bacon and eggs as if you didn’t have a care in the world.’
‘I don’t.’ Jake had got up at her entrance, but now he subsided into his seat again. He didn’t usually eat a big breakfast, but Mrs Blackwood seemed to think he needed fattening up, and he hadn’t the heart to refuse her. ‘This is good.’
‘It’s also very bad for your arteries,’ said Cassandra irritably. ‘So—where were you?’
‘When?’
Jake was being deliberately obtuse, but Cassandra was like a dog with a bone. ‘Earlier on. When I came to your room,’ she said, running the cord of her robe through her fingers. ‘And don’t tell me you were in the shower, because I looked.’
Jake finished the last morsel of sausage and put his knife and fork aside. ‘I went out,’ he said, relieved at having avoided another confrontation about their sleeping arrangements. Then, in the hope of diverting her, ‘Why don’t you get dressed and go and see how your mother is this morning?’
‘Do I care?’ Cassandra was bitter. ‘She obviously doesn’t give a damn about me. Did you hear her making fun of me—of my acting career last night? Just because I had more sense than to be satisfied with life in this provincial backwater, she takes every opportunity to make me feel small.’
Jake shrugged. He couldn’t deny that Mrs Robertson had been provoking. But he didn’t know the family history, so it was difficult for him to have an opinion. Eve was the one he felt sorry for—caught in the middle of two women who seemed determined to rub one another up the wrong way. Yet Eve had defended Cassandra to her employer, despite the way she’d spoken about her this morning.
‘Anyway, it’s early yet.’ Clearly Cassandra had other matters on her mind. Coming round the table to where he was sitting, she loosened the kimono. It fell open, revealing that his initial suspicions had been right. ‘Why don’t we go back upstairs?’
Jake pushed back his chair and got to his feet. Then he grasped the two sides of the kimono in his hands. But, although he knew she expected him to pull her closer, he jerked the two sides together instead. ‘Go take a cold shower, Cassandra,’ he told her flatly. ‘I want to go out and see something of the countryside around here. If you want to come with me, say so. I’ll give you forty minutes to get dressed.’
He suspected she swore then, but he couldn’t be sure of it. Whatever, she wrapped the kimono about her and marched towards the door. ‘I’ll need at least an hour,’ she said, glancing back at him. ‘Do you think you can entertain yourself for that long?’
It was not a good day. Fridays usually were, but today Eve found it almost impossible to concentrate on her work. The children knew it, and consequently played her up more than usual, and she was forced to use her strictest voice to bring order to the class.
The day did
n’t get any better when she was summoned to a staff meeting when lessons were over for the day. They never had staff meetings on Friday afternoons. Most of the teachers who were employed at the small primary school were eager to get home to their families at the end of the working week. But the head teacher’s face was grave when she joined them in the staff room, and Eve had the uneasy premonition that whatever they were about to hear was not going to be good.
She was right. It appeared that Mrs Portman had heard, just that afternoon, that Falconbridge was to be merged with a larger school at East Ridsdale. The local education authority had decided that their school had simply not enough pupils to warrant the expense of keeping it open, and although every effort would be made to find the teachers new posts, by the end of next term Falconbridge Primary would be closed.
There was a stunned silence after Mrs Portman had finished speaking. The women who worked at Falconbridge—and they were exclusively female—considered themselves almost family, and the idea of being split up and sent to different schools was almost as bad for them as it was going to be for the children.
‘But can they do this?’ asked Jennie Salter worriedly. Jennie was a mother herself, and her children were still young enough to come to school with her. ‘I thought I read somewhere that parents were fighting these closures.’
‘Well, they are,’ agreed Mrs Portman ruefully. ‘But I doubt if the parents whose children attend this school will be prepared to fight our education authority—particularly if it means their council tax is going to go up. There simply aren’t enough of them to make a difference.’
‘So the school closes at Easter,’ said Eve, her heart sinking at the thought of having to look for another job.
‘Officially,’ agreed Mrs Portman. ‘But naturally I don’t expect you all to wait until then to look for other posts. Besides, as soon as the news gets out parents will start looking for alternative schools. Not all of them will want their children to travel to East Ridsdale every day—not when there’s a private school in the vicinity.’
‘That’s okay if you can afford it,’ muttered Jennie gloomily, and Eve put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
‘It’s months away yet,’ she said, trying to be optimistic. ‘You never know—you may get a job at Ridsdale and then you could continue taking the children to school yourself.’
‘Fat chance!’
Jennie refused to look on the bright side, and Eve couldn’t really blame her. It was hard enough to find work in this area as it was, without a dozen other people doing the same.
In consequence, she was in a rather downhearted frame of mind when she walked home later that afternoon, and she was in no mood to respond favourably when the Aston Martin swept through the gates ahead of her. Romero was at the wheel, of course, and Cassie was sitting proudly beside him, lifting a languid hand—almost as if she was royalty and Eve was just a paid retainer.
She wasn’t jealous, Eve assured herself fiercely. She’d never had anything from Cassie in the past and she didn’t want anything now. But just occasionally she wished the woman would acknowledge her responsibilities.
The squeal of brakes brought her out of her reverie. The Aston Martin had stopped and was now reversing back towards her. Oh, God, they were going to offer her a lift, she realised sickly. And she could guess whose idea that was.
A window was lowered and Romero looked out. ‘Get in,’ he said. ‘We’ll give you a ride up to the house.’
‘That’s not necessary,’ said Eve stiffly, and Cassandra gave a protracted yawn.
‘I told you she’d say no,’ she declared in a bored tone. ‘Come on, darling. Close the window, can’t you? I’m getting cold.’
Jake’s jaw compressed. Having spent most of the day humouring Cassandra, he wasn’t in the mood to listen to her griping now. But, dammit, Eve wasn’t making it easy for him either, and he was tempted to make some excuse and hightail it back to London before he did something he would surely regret.
Eve looked cold, he thought. Her exotic features were unnaturally pale in the light of the lamps that lit the driveway, and, although she was wearing a navy duffel, the coat didn’t look substantial enough to keep her warm. He forced himself to suppress the irritation he felt at her evident unwillingness to allow him to help her, and, ignoring Cassandra’s protests, he thrust open his door and got out of the car.
‘It’s a good half-mile walk to the house,’ he said, aware that Eve had taken an involuntary step backwards when he approached her.
Her dark brows arched. ‘So?’
‘So it’s cold, and you look tired.’
‘Gee, thanks.’
‘You know what I mean.’ His eyes darkened impatiently. ‘I guess it’s been a long day at the chalkface.’
Had it ever? Eve pressed her lips together, wondering why she was so reluctant to get into the car. It wasn’t just because of Cassie, though she knew the other woman was watching her with coldly narrowed eyes. She just knew she wouldn’t be doing herself any favours by allowing this man to get close to her.
‘I need a walk,’ she said at last, meeting his challenging gaze with more defiance than honesty. ‘You go ahead.’ She licked her dry lips. ‘But—thanks, anyway.’
‘I wish I thought you meant that,’ he muttered, but short of picking her up and bundling her into the car, there was nothing he could do.
Then he remembered something, and, opening the car door again, he leant into the back and extracted the long black woollen scarf he’d bought at one of the mill shops they’d visited. He’d been glad of its warmth when he’d climbed the hill to the ruined Roman fort at Housesteads—Cassandra staying in the car, nursing the headache she’d complained about ever since they’d left the house—but he didn’t need it now.
‘Here,’ he said, going back to where Eve was waiting and thrusting the scarf at her. ‘Do yourself a favour and wear it.’ And when she didn’t say anything he added, ‘We’ll see you later, right?’
Eve nodded, but she waited until the Aston Martin’s taillights were some distance away before unfolding the scarf and winding it about her neck. He was right. She did feel cold. But it was an inner cold as much as an outer one. Even so, the scarf was luxuriously thick and soft. Unfortunately, it also had his scent on it, an equally luxurious mix of expensive shaving lotion and clean male heat. But, despite her earlier misgivings, she buried her nose in its warmth and, after repositioning her backpack, thrust her gloved hands into her pockets and marched up the drive towards the lights of the house.
Thankfully her grandmother was alone in the library when Eve went to find her. Mrs Blackwood had volunteered the information that Mrs Robertson had insisted on phoning the hospital in Newcastle and cancelling the ambulance Eve had arranged.
‘She said her ankle was feeling much better this morning,’ went on the housekeeper ruefully. ‘Then the next thing I know she’s downstairs, pulling photograph albums out of the cupboard. When I asked her what she was doing, she said she was trying to remember what Miss Cassie looked like at your age.’
Eve stifled a groan. ‘Did—did she say why?’
‘No.’ Mrs Blackwood shook her head. ‘I expect she was just feeling sentimental, that’s all. What with Miss Cassie being here and all. But she oughtn’t to be doing so much at her age. I told her that.’
‘No.’
Eve had acknowledged that fact, but now, when she let herself into the library and found her grandmother staring idly into space, apprehension stirred again. The old lady had something on her mind, and Eve hoped it was nothing to do with her.
‘Hi,’ she said, her own problems fading into insignificance when faced with a greater threat. ‘I hear you refused to go and have your ankle X-rayed, after all. So how are you feeling now?’
Mrs Robertson blinked, and then stared at her granddaughter as if she was seeing her for the first time. ‘I’m all right,’ she said. And then, more gently, ‘Have you just got home, my dear?’
‘A few minutes a
go,’ agreed Eve, without mentioning the fact that she’d already been up to her room and put the scarf Jake Romero had loaned her into her wardrobe. She would have to give it back, but maybe not immediately. ‘Um—Mrs Blackwood says you’ve been downstairs all day. If you insist on ignoring the doctor’s advice, you should at least rest.’
‘Because I didn’t have that handsome young man to help me?’ queried the old lady tartly. ‘I managed.’ She picked up the walking stick beside her chair and waved it meaningfully. ‘I’m not helpless, you know.’
‘All the same…’
‘All the same, nothing.’ Mrs Robertson sounded weary now. ‘Stop grumbling at me, Eve.’ She paused. ‘Did I hear a car earlier?’
Which meant Cassie hadn’t bothered to check on her mother, thought Eve unhappily. Didn’t she care about her at all? Or, more importantly, didn’t she realise she was playing with fire? For some reason, maybe because she was getting old, Mrs Robertson didn’t seem to care what she said, and the previous evening’s unpleasantness could be just the tip of the iceberg.
‘Oh, I expect it was Mr Romero’s car,’ she said, striving for a bright smile. ‘It—-passed me on the drive.’
‘So Cassie’s back?’
‘I imagine so.’ Eve didn’t want to get into a discussion about her own encounter with them. She glanced about her. ‘Have you had tea?’
‘I didn’t want any,’ replied the old lady moodily, pushing the box at her feet out of the way and stretching her injured ankle. ‘Where is she now?’
‘Cassie?’
‘Who else?’
Eve sighed. ‘I expect she’s gone upstairs to take off her coat,’ she murmured awkwardly. ‘She’ll be down in a minute.’ At least she hoped so. And without the disturbing company of her guest, if she had any sense.
‘And has he gone upstairs, too?’ asked Mrs Robertson evenly, although Eve knew she must know the answer to that as well as she did.
‘Mr Romero?’
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