So Little Time

by Doreen Roberts

  She slept fitfully, waking more than once with her nerves on edge, listening for noises that might or might not have been in her imagination. When she finally awoke to the sunlight peeking through the slats in the blinds, she felt as if she hadn’t slept at all.

  She showered quickly, one ear pricked for any sounds from the upper floor. Granger Deene had to be sleeping soundly, she decided, when she could hear no signs of movement.

  When she made her way down to her roomy kitchen she was surprised to find him standing by the fridge, fully dressed in the same ill-fitting clothes.

  He had the fridge door open, and was staring at the contents as if he’d never seen food before.

  “You must be starving,” Corie said, when he looked at her. “I can cook you some eggs, bacon and pancakes, if that sounds all right?”

  Granger let the door close with a soft plop. “That sounds very good.” He ran a hand over his bristly chin. “I’m afraid I don’t have a razor—”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I should have thought of it. There’s one in my bathroom. It’s the room next to the stairs on the second floor. Just go in and help yourself, you’ll find it in the medicine cabinet.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have any shaving cream...”

  “I’ll manage.”

  His eyes seemed lighter, brighter than she remembered. She felt a small shiver dance down her spine when he looked at her. “I’ll cook your breakfast while you’re gone,” she said, more for something to say than anything.

  Granger continued to watch her for a moment, and Corie wondered if he wanted to tell her something. Then he gave a brief nod and left the kitchen.

  Gathering her senses, Corie set about preparing the meal. The appetizing aroma of fried bacon filled the kitchen by the time he came back, looking slightly less dishevelled with his dark hair slicked down and combed back from his forehead.

  To her dismay he sat down on one of the kitchen chairs at the dinette table, which was cozily tucked away in the alcove of the bay window. He seemed engrossed in the morning newspaper lying there, and picked it up to study the front page.

  Wondering how to approach the problem, she waited until the eggs were sizzling in the pan, then said casually, “If you’d like to take the newspaper into the dining room, I’ll bring you your breakfast in a couple of minutes.”

  She had her attention on the pan, so didn’t see his expression. But she heard the wariness in his voice when he said, “I would prefer to eat out here with you, if you have no objection?”

  “Oh, I’m just having a bowl of cereal,” she said quickly. “I don’t eat a big breakfast usually.”

  “Where do you eat your cereal?”

  “Right there at the table.”

  “Then this is where I’ll eat mine, if that’s all right with you?”

  She flipped the eggs onto the warmed plate, aware of an odd sensation of just having lost a battle. “Of course,” she said, carrying the plate over to the table. “If you don’t mind eating in cramped quarters.”

  “After some of the places I’ve eaten in, this is paradise.”

  It wasn’t the words that surprised her, as much as the expression on his face. He seemed disturbed by what he’d just said, and sat staring at his plate for several seconds before picking up the fork she’d laid at his elbow.

  He was quiet for so long she began to feel worried about him. She sat playing with the granola in her bowl without tasting a single spoonful. He ate steadily without comment.

  When she could stand the silence no longer, she cleared her throat. “What would you like me to pick up for you at the store? Jeans? Shirts? Underwear?”

  He flicked his gray gaze at her, gave her a brief nod, then went on eating.

  Deciding he didn’t like to talk and eat at the same time, she waited another five minutes until he finally pushed the plate away from him with a grunt of satisfaction.

  “That was an excellent breakfast,” he pronounced, in the same deep, husky voice she’d heard in her dreams last night.

  Pushing away her frivolous thoughts, she said lightly, “Thank you. You must have been hungry to enjoy it so much.”

  “I was. It has been a very long time since I remember eating a home-cooked meal.”

  Grasping the opportunity, she said casually, “And where is your home?”

  In the silence that followed she heard the drone of a helicopter overhead. Granger appeared to have heard it too, for he tilted his head on one side as if trying to distinguish the sound.

  “That’s the Channel Two news team doing a traffic report,” she said, determined not to be put off. “Do you come from the East Coast?”

  He looked at her as if he hadn’t really heard her. But he must have done as he said fairly quickly, “Philadelphia. I come from Philadelphia.”

  “Really?” She frowned. “So do I. But you don’t sound as if you’re from Philly. Were you born there?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes. I mean I was born there.”

  Wondering exactly what that meant, she studied his face. He looked more rested, though she could still see signs of strain around his mouth and at the corners of his light gray eyes.

  “What were you in the hospital for?” she asked abruptly.

  “I...had an accident. It left me a little disoriented for a while. But I’m quite well now. In fact,” he rose to his feet in a swift movement that surprised her, “I would like to start work now. I want to get the best out of the daylight hours.”

  Getting to her feet, she gathered up the dishes on the table. “There’s not a lot you can do until I pick up the supplies. The grass needs cutting, perhaps you can do that while I’m gone?”

  He looked surprised, but gave her a somewhat hesitant nod of agreement.

  Carrying the dishes over to the sink, Corie braced herself for the next ordeal. “I’ll get my tape measure,” she said, “and take your measurements. That’s if you still want me to buy you some clothes?”

  “Whatever you decide will do just fine,” Granger said.

  His expression suggested he felt uncomfortable, and Corie wondered if he felt awkward about her buying his underwear. It was rather an intimate undertaking, she thought, feeling her pulse jump at the idea. But she could hardly let him wander around in the same clothes every day.

  Trying to make him feel more at ease, she said carefully, “Don’t worry about me getting you something outlandish to wear. I’m used to buying men’s clothing. I did it all the time for my husband when he was alive.”

  “I’m sure you did a wonderful job of it.”

  He still didn’t look convinced, and she tried again. “I imagine the police will have a hard time tracking down whoever took your stuff. You may not get it back any time soon, if ever. You’re certainly going to need clothes while you’re waiting.”

  “Of course. Please keep a careful record of whatever you spend, and I’ll see that you’re reimbursed in full.”

  So it was the money that worried him. Feeling more secure by the second, she hastened to reassure him. “Oh, please don’t worry about that. I’ll put it on the credit card and by the time it comes through, you’ll probably have your own money sorted out. I know how long-winded banks can be when you don’t have any identification. I suppose it was all stolen with your money?”

  “Yes, it was.” He started for the door, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll start working on the grass. Where will I find the...?”

  His last word was drowned out as Corie dropped the pan in the sink. Assuming he’d asked for the mower, she waved a hand at the window which overlooked the backyard. “You’ll find it in the shed back there. It’s a bit rusty, I’m afraid. I left it out in the rain for too long, but it still works. You just have to give it a good kick now and again.”

  Granger started to go out of the door, and Corie called out after him. “I’ll bring the tape measure out as I leave and get your measurement
s.”

  He said something as the door closed behind him that she didn’t catch. She stared thoughtfully after him, wondering what she’d missed. He certainly didn’t care for questions, that much was obvious. Was he just naturally closemouthed about his personal life, she wondered, or did he have something to hide?

  Impatient with herself, she finished stacking the dishwasher with dishes. If she started doubting all her guests just because they didn’t conform to her idea of normal behavior, she would be a nervous wreck by the time the season ended.

  Dropping her tape measure into her purse a few minutes later, she went in search of her handyman.

  She found Granger standing inside the garden shed, rubbing the back of his head in a gesture of frustration. The mower still stood in the corner where she’d left it. Frowning at the offending machine, she asked, “What’s the matter, won’t it start?”

  “Start?”

  Corie met his puzzled gaze with a shrug. “I was afraid of that. I suppose you already checked to make sure there’s gas in it?”

  He continued to stare at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

  The nervous flutter of her pulse was becoming a habit. “I have a can of gas somewhere,” she said, trying to ignore the uneasiness churning her stomach. She searched the cluttered shelves, all the while conscious of Granger’s hard gaze boring into her back.

  Finally she saw the can pushed to the back of the shelf, and moved a coil of hose to one side to reach the gas. Squatting down by the mower, she unscrewed the cap and tilted the can to let the gas run into the container.

  All this time Granger stood quietly watching her, saying nothing. She would have dearly loved to know what he was thinking, but knew better than to look up into his face.

  The acrid smell of the gasoline made her eyes tear, and she wiped them with the back of her hand. At last the container was full, and she righted the can, screwing the cap back on. “It might start now. Try it again. But perhaps it would be better if you took it out onto the grass first.”

  Holding her breath she got to her feet, then made herself look at him. For a moment or two he stared at the mower, a look of uncertainty on his face. Then he slowly took hold of the handle and pulled the machine back onto its wheels.

  She watched him wheel the mower out to the grass. He made no move to start it, but stood watching it as if he expected the thing to move by itself.

  It looked very much as if she’d made a major mistake in agreeing to swap room and board for his help with the repairs, Corie thought dismally. He certainly couldn’t be called a fast mover.

  The lawn wasn’t that spacious, broken up as it was by straggly flower beds. The marigolds she’d planted were choked with weeds, and the single rose bush badly needed pruning. A wooden fence bordered the corner lot. Some of its slats were missing, and at least two of the posts leaned drunkenly to one side, their bases having rotted out.

  There was enough work out here to keep a man fully occupied, Corie thought, as Granger continued to study the mower. At this rate, it would take him a year just to get the yard under control.

  Deciding she didn’t have time to wait around any longer, she hurried over to him. “I’ll just get your measurements then I’ll leave you to it,” she said, reaching into her purse for the tape measure.

  Now that she had to get close enough to him to wind the tape measure around his chest, it seemed less like a good idea. “Unless you’d rather do it yourself?” she said hopefully.

  Granger’s face was expressionless as he said quietly, “I would prefer that you take care of it.”

  Her heart began hammering like crazy as she moved closer to him. “Lift up your arms,” she ordered, doing her best to sound calm and collected.

  Very slowly, he raised his arms and stood quite still as she reached behind his back with the tape, pulling the end forward to meet the rest of it in the center of his chest.

  Taking a mental note of the measurement, she lowered the tape and measured his waist. She was quite sure he could hear her heart pounding as she dropped the end of the tape.

  “I don’t suppose you know your inseam?”

  His gray eyes regarded her with the intent stare that so unnerved her. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  Swallowing hard, Corie crouched in front of him and pressed the end of the tape to the inside of his thigh as high as she dared go. Praying he wouldn’t notice her hand shaking, she dropped the tape to his shoe, then shot to her feet. “I think that will take care of it,” she said, her voice a little too loud.

  “That certainly will,” Granger said, quite seriously.

  She had to get out of there, Corie thought frantically, before she made a complete fool of herself. “I’ll be as quick as I can. Help yourself to whatever you can find in the kitchen if you get hungry or thirsty.”

  She didn’t wait for his response, but turned and practically ran to the garage. She didn’t breathe properly again until she had backed the car out onto the road and was heading for town.

  Granger watched the vehicle vanish around the corner, then turned back to the strange machine in front of him. It was odd what his mind remembered. Some things seemed familiar, some did not.

  Since he didn’t remember where he had lived before, he didn’t know if he’d ever used a mower. Right now, the important thing was to find out how the damn thing worked, before Corie Trenton came back with her too sharp mind and probing questions.

  Thinking of Corie reminded him of his physical response to her touch. Her firm thumb on the inside of his thigh had seemed to burn right through the fabric of his trousers. She had just about driven him crazy. It had taken every ounce of his control not to let her know how she’d affected him. One inch higher and she’d have been in no doubt.

  It had been both painful and pleasurable. The sensations she’d aroused in him were familiar, yet he couldn’t remember any woman having such an effect on him. He wasn’t even sure if he’d ever had a physical relationship with a woman.

  Granger still didn’t trust her, but he felt certain that she didn’t know who he was. At the moment, that was. He assumed she would have to go back to work, and could very well learn about his disappearance then. It would be a simple matter for her to put two and two together.

  He considered the possibility of holding her prisoner in the house until he learned what he wanted to know. On the other hand, she could not find the answers for him unless she did go back to that place. Until then he would have to stay close enough to find out exactly how much she did know.

  In the meantime, he had to deal with this infernal machine. Squatting down on his heels, he scrutinized the various parts of the mower. He saw a small handle at the back of the machine, and tried turning it, but it wouldn’t budge. Then he tried pulling it, and to his immense satisfaction, the thing sputtered, then died.

  It took several tries, but finally the engine caught and held, settling into a rather noisy, uneven growl. Grasping the handles, Granger eyed the lawn. It looked shaggy, and had a definite slope on the left side.

  Deciding to tackle that first, Granger gave the mower a push. The darn thing was so heavy he could barely move it. A lever caught his eye, close to his thumb. More out of curiosity than anything, he flipped the lever forward.

  To his amazement, the machine started forward of its own accord, almost getting away from him. Grabbing the handles, Granger held on while the mower charged down the slope. More intrigued by the minute, he turned the machine and guided it back up the slope with no effort at all. How in thunder, he wondered, had he forgotten such a marvelous invention?

  Beginning to enjoy himself, he set a pattern to follow, shearing wide swaths of grass in even rows. The sun felt warm on his back, and the wonderful fragrance of freshly cut grass mingled with the sharp, salty smell of the ocean.

  Time passed pleasantly as he trudged back and forth across the lawn, until suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head. Afraid that he might fall again, he pul
led the lever back on the mower, shutting off the engine.

  The rubber handles bit into his curled palms as he grasped them for support. The ground seemed to sway beneath his feet, but this time he managed to stay upright. The vision came without warning, bursting into his mind like an explosion.

  He saw the green fields again...long grass...thick smoke...buzzing flies. The acrid smell of burning stung his nose. It was hot, much hotter now, the dense moisture in the air making it difficult to breathe. His clothes felt heavy and seemed to drag him down.

  A loud noise shattered the eerie silence, deafening, painful to his ears. He was carrying something in his hand, its smooth wooden handle nestled into his palm. He could feel the weight of it...now he could see it. And he knew what it was. It was a revolver, and he had just shot a man....

  * * *

  Corie turned onto the street, expecting to hear the roar of the lawn mower. A quick glance assured her that the slope had been cut, making her think Granger had completed the chore after all, since she couldn’t hear the mower.

  The wall of the garage prevented her from seeing the entire yard as she climbed out of the car. Gathering up her packages, she carried them into the kitchen and dropped them onto the dinette table. Then she looked out of the window.

  Granger stood in the middle of the lawn, unnaturally still, like a panther watching its prey. He seemed to be staring at something, yet she could see nothing that would command such riveted attention.

  Her blood chilled as she watched him. He appeared to be in a trance, held by some invisible demons that imprisoned his mind. Several anxious seconds ticked by, then Granger Deene appeared to shudder. The next moment the roar of the lawn mower destroyed the tranquil peace.

  Corie watched him for several more minutes as he guided the mower back and forth across the cropped lawn. Whatever it was that had held him transfixed, it now appeared to have vanished. Even so, she couldn’t quite get rid of the image of him standing there with that odd, watchful expression on his face. In fact, it bothered her all afternoon.