She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. A wave of dizziness swept through her, then passed, and she stood up, testing her weight on her injured ankle. It was still sore, but the pain had eased considerably. If she leaned against the wall, she could go down the stairs without putting more strain on it.
She found her brush and forced it through her tangled hair, then slipped into her bathrobe and limped through the door and into the hallway. She was surprised at how giddy she felt, as if she’d just had three glasses of champagne. She sagged against the wall for a moment, taking deep breaths of warm, summer air. A door opened below; she heard a thumping sound and then the scrape of a kitchen chair. She loved the sounds in Isabel’s house. They made her feel comfortable, content. More relaxed than she’d ever felt in Cabot’s home, she thought suddenly.
She tottered her way down the stairs and stepped into the kitchen. Her eyes widened. Brent was seated at the table, bent over a plate heaped with pancakes.
“Allison!” Isabel turned from the stove and rushed across the room to embrace her. “What in the world are you doing up? You’re supposed to stay in bed!”
Allison knew that Brent’s head had come up and swiveled toward her, but she couldn’t bring herself to return his glance.
“I wanted to get up. I’m starved.”
Isabel touched her forehead and nodded knowingly. “Well, your fever’s gone, dear. You probably are hungry.” She scurried to the table and pulled out the chair next to Brent’s. “Come on, then. Sit down and have some pancakes.”
From his chair, Abel fixed her with a long, approving stare. “You look prettier than a spring morning, Allison. The rest has done you good.”
“Thanks.” She smiled past Brent, aware of the clean, masculine scent emanating from him. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bring her eyes to meet his. If only she’d known he was here, she would never have ventured downstairs.
“Allison.” Brent’s voice, low and serious, forced her to turn toward him. He was looking at her with a gravely earnest expression. She felt another wave of dizziness and swayed away from him slightly.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Brent! Let the poor girl eat first.” Isabel placed a huge plate of pancakes in front of Allison and handed her a blue pitcher brimming with maple syrup.
“Eat first? Before what?” Allison felt a wave of panic. She looked first at Isabel, then Abel. “What’s wrong?”
“See,” Isabel chided, sitting in the chair beside Abel, “what did I tell you? You’ve got her all upset over nothing.”
“Tell her, boy. Get it over with.” Abel’s low growl was muffled as he took a bite of pancake. He pointed his fork at Brent.
Allison turned to Brent. His face had become even more somber, almost sad. Her throat knotted; she put her hand to her chest.
“It’s Martha, isn’t it? Something awful’s happened.”
“Oh, goodness no, child,” Isabel snorted. “No one’s hurt. Will you get on with it, Brent? Deliver your message.”
“I will, if I can get a word in edgewise.” His voice was tight, hard. He reached for Allison’s hand and tucked it peremptorily into his own. “I wired Cabot yesterday about your illness. This morning I got word from him. A telegram, actually.” He jammed his free hand into the front pocket of his jeans, pulled out a yellow slip of paper, handed it to her. “I’m afraid he’s not coming.”
She took it with trembling fingers. She felt a strange bubble of gaiety form in her chest.
“He says he’s ‘unavoidably detained.’ I’m sorry.”
She opened the telegram, scanned it quickly. She could have predicted it, down to the exact wording. The business merger was in its final stages; he couldn’t get away for another week. But she knew it was more than the merger; Cabot didn’t like awkward situations. And her injury and illness were certainly awkward, something that he wouldn’t want to face.
“Well, I’m sure he’ll come as soon as possible, dear.” Isabel pushed a plate of fresh butter across the table toward her. “In the meantime, your job is to get well.”
Brent squeezed her hand under the table. She glanced at him, saw his pitying smile. A jolt of anger went through her. She resented his sympathy. It was all an act, to prove to her how little she wanted Cabot’s presence on the island. Brent wasn’t really sorry at all, and he didn’t expect her to be.
She yanked her hand out of his and reached for the butter. “It shouldn’t take me long to get better with this kind of down-home care.” She gave Isabel her brightest smile.
“You show ’em, girl,” Abel said. “That boyfriend of yours ought to know better than to leave a beauty like you unprotected. If I was thirty years younger, he wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Abel Cutler!” Isabel gave his arm a playful swat. “You just keep your thoughts to yourself!”
“Yes, ma’am.” He poked his fork into another layered chunk of pancake, his blue eyes dancing merrily.
Allison poured syrup over her pancakes, watching the clear dark liquid roll over the pile and across the plate. She sensed that Brent was still watching her. Was he gloating, amused?
But he didn’t say a word to her for the rest of the meal, and before she finished her own pancakes, he had excused himself from the table, kissed his grandmother good-bye, and left the house.
She felt an immediate sense of loss, as if some vital ingredient had been abruptly removed from the air. She pushed the feeling away and smiled across the table at Isabel. “These pancakes are absolutely delicious. I wish I could cook like this.”
“Oh, you will, dear. It just takes practice. And an appreciative man.” Isabel grinned at Abel and stood up. “Now you’ll have to excuse me. I’ve got a lot to do before Martha gets here.”
“Martha? Oh, that’s right! She’s coming home today!” Allison took a final bite of pancake, pulled herself to her feet. “I’d better go pack my things and get moved back to the Hollingsworth house.”
Isabel’s hand was instantly on her shoulder, pushing her back down into her chair. “Nonsense! You’re doing no such thing! Martha’s staying here with us until you’re both back on your feet. I’ve already fixed up the back bedroom.”
Allison opened her mouth to protest, then shut it when she caught sight of Abel’s knowing grin.
“No use fighting with her, girl,” he said. “When my wife makes up her mind, there’s no moving her. It’s like trying to set a mast in a hurricane. Can’t be done.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Allison murmured. “I’ve imposed on you both so much already.”
“There’s nothing to say.” Isabel took Allison’s empty plate to the sink. “And it’s never an imposition to have young people around. It keeps us young.”
Abel lounged back in his chair, pulled his pipe out of his pocket and regarded Allison with a bemused smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you grew up on this island. You fit right in, smooth as a hand in a glove.”
“Enough of this jibber-jabber.” Isabel’s hand descended on Allison’s shoulder once again. “This girl belongs in bed if she’s going to be well enough to mind those children come Monday. And you, Abel Cutler—go take that stinking pipe outside if you intend to smoke it!”
Chapter Thirteen
At four o'clock Allison was lounging in bed, trying to make herself believe that the hero of the romance she was reading didn’t look anything like Brent Connors. When she heard Martha’s excited voice in the kitchen below, she dropped her book, got to her feet and limped quickly into the hall.
“Martha!” she called, leaning over the rail at the top of the stairs.
She heard Martha’s answering whoop of enthusiasm, and then Isabel’s voice.
“Brent, go get Allison. She shouldn’t come down those stairs all by herself again today.”
Brent instantly appeared at the bottom of the steps. “My pleasure, Gran.” He grinned up at Allison, then took the stairs two at a time and scooped her quickly into his arms. When she
started to protest, he shook his head. “If you’re going to be in shape by Monday, you can’t keep running up and down these stairs. Sprained ankles don’t heal by themselves, you know. Besides, these are Gran’s orders.”
As he carried her down, Allison felt her body relax instinctively into his strong arms. He brought her into the kitchen and deposited her in the chair beside Martha.
“There,” he said. “The two beautiful invalids. Happy once more.”
“Invalids!” Martha shrieked. She leaned over to hug Allison. “We’re both healthy as horses!”
“Right.” Brent dropped into the chair opposite them. “And crazy as loons.”
“I’ll have you know that I’ll be the life of the party by the Fourth of July Social this year, Brent Connors! So there!” Martha stuck out her chin defiantly.
“You must be dreaming. The fourth is only three weeks away. You’re going to be on crutches for the rest of the summer, my sweet.”
“Want to bet?”
“Sure.” Brent leaned toward Martha, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, his eyes dancing wickedly. “If you’re on your feet by the fourth, I’ll escort you to the dance. Personally. How’s that?”
“It’s a date. You can mark it on your calendar.”
He chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”
Allison looked down at her hands, aware of a sudden tightness in her chest.
“Cabot should be here by then,” Martha said, putting her arm around Allison’s shoulder. “We’ll double date.”
“Great idea.” Brent looked at Allison, grinned. “We’ll paint the town red.”
Allison smiled weakly. She tried to imagine dancing with Cabot while she watched Martha in Brent’s arms. A wave of hot jealousy spilled through her. She looked at Martha, noting the bright pink spots on her cheeks. Going with Brent would give her plenty of incentive to be ready to dance by the fourth.
Still, there was one consolation. Allison loved dancing, and Cabot was a fantastic dancer. Together, they were graceful and fluid, the envy of onlookers. Maybe Brent was passionate and handsome, but she doubted he could hold a candle to Cabot when it came to dancing.
Isabel bustled in from the living room, waving a disapproving hand at Brent. “Now, shoo. I told you I didn’t want you hanging around this afternoon, tiring these girls out. I’ve got Martha’s room all fixed up and she needs to rest. So does Allison. I intend to keep things strictly under wraps around here until everyone’s hale and hearty.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Brent got to his feet and headed for the back door, grinning broadly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early, at the schoolhouse.”
“You certainly will.” Isabel gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “And don’t expect to be socializing all day with that Potter girl. You’re coming to work, make no mistake about it.”
He gave a mock sigh. “You sure do drive a hard bargain, Gran.”
“Shoo! Out!” She waved her hand at him again, and he laughed out loud, winked over her shoulder at Allison, and left the house.
“Now,” Isabel said briskly, handing Martha’s crutches to her. “Off to bed with the two of you until suppertime.”
“Oh—but we have so much to talk about!” Martha wailed.
“You’ll have plenty of time later. Now, I’ve got the back bedroom all fixed up. You just go through the living room—”
“I know where it is.” Martha pulled herself to her feet, adjusted the crutches under her arms, gave Allison a beleaguered look. “Guess we don’t have a choice, amigo. When Isabel Cutler says jump, you jump.”
Allison laughed and stood up. “I’ve found that out.” She appreciated the chance to retreat to her bedroom; her feelings were in such an uproar, she wondered if she would ever feel calm again.
By suppertime she felt better able to face the onslaught of Martha’s probing questions. After Abel had helped her slowly down the stairs, Allison sat across the table from Martha, thoroughly enjoying the pot roast and vegetables heaped on her plate. When she offered to do the dishes, Isabel refused and shooed the two girls into the living room for a “real heart-to-heart.” Allison curled up in the easy chair, while Martha stretched out on the couch, and soon they were giggling together like old times.
When Allison finally fell into bed, it was past one in the morning. Exhausted, she lay thinking about the day ahead; it was Saturday; the big cleanup was scheduled at the schoolhouse. She realized, with a start, that no one expected her to go. Everyone was assuming she wasn’t up to it.
Yet it was exactly what she needed. All this bed rest and relaxation was wearing her out. What she needed was exercise and fresh air, not more lazing around and enduring gossipy conversations about Martha’s love life. Her ankle was much better. A little stiff, maybe, but the pain was almost completely gone. And she wanted to be busy doing something, to get her mind off the whirling confusion within.
She couldn’t forget the pitying look Brent had given her when she heard the news about Cabot’s delay. If she didn’t know better, she might almost have believed he was sincere. But he had spoken too many times about how he believed she didn’t truly love Cabot, so clearly his expression of sympathy was intended to mock her. And then there was her own strange reaction to his flirting tone with Martha. Her odd twinge of jealousy didn’t make any sense. It was Cabot she was in love with. She didn’t care who Brent flirted with or took to the dance. What she was feeling, she assured herself, was disappointment over Cabot’s telegram. She had let it color her feelings about everything throughout the day.
She yawned, rolled over and tucked her hand under the pillow. She had to get a good night’s sleep if she were going to work at the schoolhouse in the morning.
Allison was up at dawn. She dressed quickly in jeans and a short-sleeved green knit shirt, went to the window and opened the screen. She leaned out over the dew-splashed sill, gazing down at the row of rooftops that led down to the harbor. The tide was out; it was a clear, cool day. Brent’s boat waited at its mooring, its blue and white curves reflected in the still water. She had never thought of boats as being beautiful before, but the Blue Lady had a grace that seemed to belong to nature, just as surely as the big white pine that towered over the general store. Her eyes picked out Brent’s house. His truck was parked in the driveway; she wondered if he was eating breakfast. She remembered the morning she had eaten with him, the deliciously spiced scrambled eggs, the comfortable coziness of his kitchen.
Her heart lurched. She couldn’t think about such things. She deliberately brought Cabot into her mind, concentrating on his fine features, his slim shoulders, the refined carriage of his head.
She took a deep breath and closed the screen. Good hard physical labor was exactly what she needed to take her mind off her confusion. She went to the door of her room, opened it. There was no sound from the kitchen below. Apparently Isabel and Abel weren’t up yet. Instead of waiting for them, she’d grab a bite and start out for the schoolhouse right away. The early morning walk would do her good.
Allison was surprised at how vigorous she felt as she walked up the hill toward the school. She munched an apple as she went, its crisp, pungent scent filling her nostrils. Her ankle was only mildly noticeable; an occasional dull throb reminded her that she had injured it just three days ago.
She was watching three white gulls circle overhead when the sound of a truck made her turn and step onto the shoulder of the road.
It was Brent. He slowed the truck to a crawl and leaned his head out the window. “What are you doing out here?” He was frowning. The truck shuddered to a halt.
“Walking.” She forced a cheery smile and took another bite of her apple.
“Get in.” He reached across the passenger seat and yanked open the door.
“Excuse me?”
“Get in. I’m taking you back home.”
She straightened her shoulders. “I’m not going back.” She turned away from him and started to walk on up the hill.
She heard the truck door open and slam shut, then the hard crunch of his boots on the road behind her. It was only the tenderness in her ankle that kept her from running.
He spoke just before his hand fell on her shoulder. “Where are you going?” He spun her to face him. She Was startled at the concern in his eyes; she had expected to see anger and criticism reflected there.
She lifted her chin. “To the schoolhouse.”
“Didn’t Gran tell you to stay put today?”
“Yes, but I feel much better. I want to help with the cleanup. I’m not an invalid, you know. I don’t like being treated like one.”
“I can see that.” There was the hint of approval in his eyes. His hand drifted down her arm. “Okay, then at least let me give you a lift.”
For a split second she was tempted. His fingers on her skin were sending little jolts of delight along her arm. Which was, she realized, precisely why she couldn’t accept his offer. “No thanks,” she said firmly. “I’d rather walk.”
His hand slid down to her wrist, curled around her palm. “You don’t need to be afraid,” he said softly. “I’d never do or say anything to hurt you.”
Something choked her suddenly, as if a stone had fallen into her throat. She jerked her hand away. “Yes you would,” she declared. “You say things all the time that hurt me, that are meant to get me confused and upset.”
He shook his head and touched her cheek lightly with his palm. “No, Allison, you’ve got me all wrong.”
She whirled away from him and stalked up the hill, but her whole body was trembling. She felt his eyes on her back, raking over her, and she forced herself to concentrate on putting one foot down in front of the other, very precisely. After what seemed like hours, she heard the sound of the truck door banging shut and then the engine starting. A moment later Brent’s truck roared past her up the hill.
Island Summer Love Page 14