Reckless

by Amanda Carpenter

  Scott’s quiet voice came from just behind her. She turned her head, not having heard him get out of the car. “Are you all right?”

  She nearly answered an automatic affirmative, and then wondered why she should bother to lie when it was so obvious. “I don’t know,” she replied shortly. “I’ll just have to take it one step at a time.” She then tried a few, using the cane awkwardly, her face a white mask.

  “Don’t overdo it,” he advised, watching her with a frown. “The doctor said that you were to rest as much as possible. Give the leg time to heal before you use it.”

  “After all, I’m not going anywhere, am I?” she said, with a bitter half laugh. “You had this well planned, didn’t you?”

  Her question echoed rhetorically as he turned away, not bothering to reply. Instead, he mounted the steps on the porch and unlocked the front door of the cabin. Tired, depressed, in pain, Leslie just stared at the five porch steps and then grimly started forward. She felt foolish as she had to take each step with her left leg and pull her right up after. She didn’t dare put that much strain on the wound. It was hurting badly enough as it was. On the third step she was gritting her teeth and leaning more on the cane than anything else. She heard an exclamation and Scott came forward to gently swing her up into his arms.

  “I was only checking to see if the cabin was cleaned, like I’d ordered,” he scolded. “I would have come back to help you if you’d waited.”

  She lost hold of the cane and it clattered down the steps to rest on the ground as he carried her into the small cabin. Something greater than weariness impelled her to let her head sink to his broad shoulder. He could take the weight.

  The front room was a comfortable living-room, and he deposited her on the couch, which sank down, invitingly soft. She looked around her with interest. To her right was the front of the cabin, and a large waist high picture window that looked on to the porch. To her left was a counter with a tiny kitchen behind it. Dead ahead were two doors, and judging by the dimensions, she guessed that whatever was behind the two doors was about it as far as the floor plan went. There wouldn’t be room for anything else.

  “Will you be all right while I bring things in?” Scott stood, looking down at her. She nodded and he disappeared.

  He had to make several trips. First came her suitcase, cane and things from the hospital, which had been in the back seat. Then came another suitcase of hers, along with his luggage from the trunk, and she glowered at it. Wayne had a lot to answer for when she got back to Chicago. She’d trusted him with that apartment key. Scott then brought in several paper bags and spent some time in the small kitchen, putting supplies away.

  Frustration welled up in her, and then abruptly faded away. She was too exhausted to deal with the emotion. The day had taken more out of her than she cared to admit. Despite her throbbing leg, she stood and carefully limped over to the first of the two doors, using the doorpost as a support while she looked inside. A small bedroom with a single bed and dresser, a closet door and a door that led to a bathroom was all it held. She limped to the other door and peered in briefly. It was almost exactly identical, in reverse, to the other room. The bathroom connected the two rooms. The bed appeared to be made, but that could have been just a spread covering a naked mattress. She edged painfully forward, lifted a corner of blanket and stared at the neatly tucked in sheets. She crept on to the bed with a sighing of bed springs, and trembled as she stretched out. Her whole body ached. She turned her face to the wall and closed her eyes.

  Some time passed while she drifted, and her leg insistently, exhaustingly, painfully throbbed. She slept fitfully as images chased through her mind. She tensed and started to sweat. The dark and the glaring light in her eyes, the guns and the cruel hands slapping her—

  She jerked and cried out in fear as a hand descended to her shoulder. Then her eyes flew open and she stared at Scott, who towered above her, eyes compassionate. “It was bad?”

  She swallowed. “It was bad.” His hand caressed her shoulder and then cupped her neck, falling away when he felt her tensing protest.

  “What do you want from me?” she whispered.

  He smiled at her easily. “To eat supper. It’s ready. Are you feeling hungry?” She was and nodded, and he picked her up to carry her into the kitchen. There was a small table with two chairs pushed against the other side of the counter, and he put her in one while she experienced the intense frustration of an invalid who wishes to do more than the body will permit.

  The meal was already served and waiting, and she started to eat cautiously, then with great enthusiasm as she found the pork chops deliciously seasoned. A salad, and fluffy mashed potatoes completed the meal, with iced tea and coffee later on to drink. “This is wonderful,” she said with her mouth full.

  She was treated with a particularly captivating grin. “I know,” he said impudently, and laughed at her speaking look. “I will not be falsely modest. I freely admit that I like my own cooking.”

  She smiled dutifully and then asked him quietly, “What do you want from me?”

  He merely smiled back and said nothing, as he swallowed the last of his supper and then stood to pick up the plates. She automatically started to help stack the dishes, but he forestalled her. “Stop it,” he ordered. “I do the work around here, and don’t you forget it.”

  She had to stare and then laugh, in spite of herself. It was such a funny thing to say. “I’m not arguing,” she told him, holding up both hands in compliance.

  She watched him wash the dishes, body moving with an economy of effort that was soothing to contemplate. But then she found her eyes travelling down his length, noting the snug fitting jeans against his buttocks and thighs, the shoulders occasionally straining against his plain shirt as he stretched to put away the dried utensils. She saw the long blond hair lying against his collar, and she wanted to run her fingers through the silky mass. She jerked her eyes to the coffee mug in front of her and concentrated on drinking it, movements jerky. Silence from Scott’s direction. She looked up.

  “You okay?” He was watching her closely.

  She nodded, eyes falling away. When she looked up again, he was back at work, putting away the drainer and hanging the cloth towel up to dry. He turned and asked her, “Would you like to move to the couch for a while?”

  “No, I—I think I’ll just finish my coffee here, and sit.”

  “All right. Call me if you need or want anything.” He left the room. If she stretched her neck and looked over the counter, she could see him taking the luggage to the rooms and clearing the living-room. He put her chocolate on the table in front of the couch and disappeared for some time, first in one bedroom and then another. She could hear faint noises from each, and she tried to divine his actions. She pondered. The thing of it was, she had started to trust his judgement as she had come to know him better on the island. People reacted differently to stress, and a lot of the character could be inadvertently revealed when one was under pressure. She had admired his quick reactions and calm strength. To be in the profession he was—and good at it, too—he had to have that core of stability.

  She proceeded to the next step of her analysis. Her judgement had been sound. He had some objective, and it had to do with her. Seduction? She was not exactly what one could call devastatingly alluring with the multicoloured bruises abounding on her tired body. An involuntary grin quirked her lips. That surely could not be it, then. She had just reached the point where she was wondering if he was doing all this out of purely friendly motives, actually wanting her to have a nice, peaceful rest away from the pressures of civilization and city noises, when he entered the kitchen again.

  He leaned against the counter and smiled down at her so warmly that she found herself responding back. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, white teeth against dark face. “Have you come up with any conclusions yet?” he asked.

  She felt surprised and then impatient with herself. Of course he would see that she was puzzl
ed at all this. She got the nasty feeling that she was being manipulated, and she didn’t like it. “No,” she replied shortly.

  “Keep trying,” he advised her, and then sighed, oddly weary. “If you don’t mind, I believe I’ll go to bed now. The evening has slipped away rather unexpectedly. Do you want help to your bedroom?”

  “No, thank you. You go on. I want to think some more, and it’s not really that far. I can hop.”

  “Don’t be ashamed to admit that you’re in pain, Les. I am within earshot, you know, and willing to help. I have a light touch and would be glad to give you a back and leg rub, if you’d like?”

  She smiled reluctantly. “It sounds good, but not tonight, thanks. Maybe later.”

  “You have pain medication?” She nodded. He came forward and squatted in front of her, took her hands, and pressed a quick kiss into each palm. Then his head tilted up and he stared deeply into her eyes before smiling one last time. She got the strangest feeling that he was trying to convey some sort of wordless assurance and comfort. She was completely bewildered. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  “Good night,” she whispered, as he left. She sat there for some time, and her mind went around and around in circles and in endless conjecture as she tried to fathom out this strange man she was with. She came up with exactly nothing, and finally, wearily, made her way to the empty dark bedroom that was hers. She switched on the light and looked around, smiling in gratitude as she took in the turned down covers, the laid out nightgown, the stuffed animal sitting on the pillow. He had even unpacked for her. Then her eyes went to the dresser and something bolted electrically through her chest. She nearly fell over from it, as her eyes stared and her heart pounded, and her breath left her lungs in an involuntary gasp of surprise.

  There, sitting in solitary splendour, propped in a prominent position, was her framed photograph of Dennis and Jenny, laughing in the sun.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, after waking, Leslie propped herself against the headboard and stared at the photograph of Dennis and Jenny thoughtfully. She smiled reminiscently at Jenny’s cherubic countenance, the little girl’s bright hair, her merry eyes. Her own filled suddenly.

  “She is a beautiful child,” Scott said from the doorway. His eyes were on her, not the picture, compassionately.

  Leslie bit her lip, feeling the ache in her chest, scrubbing at her cheeks hastily. He had caught her in a vulnerable moment. Her mouth trembled. “You would have liked her,” she whispered, looking back at Jenny. “She was so beautiful, so good natured and loving. She loved people. She would go to anybody and just give them that sweet smile of hers, holding her arms out for a hug.”

  “She sounds like a special person.” That quiet voice came again, gentle, unobtrusive.

  “Oh, she was. She was that rare child who can hardly ever be spoiled. She never threw temper tantrums. Do you know, the one thing I’d always expected, the one thing I took for granted, was that she would always be there.” A great wet drop splashed down her cheek, and she never noticed. Scott’s eyes were filled with a huge sympathetic sadness. “I always thought that I would get to watch her grow up, that surely she would outlive me, her mother. I’d counted on that.” Another tear shed; for Jenny, there would always be tears. “Now all I have is cold glass and a dead impression. I’ll never hold her warm little body again, never. The ache never goes away.” She put her empty arms around her middle. “Please, just go away.”

  Footsteps. Weight sinking to the bed. Scott leaning over, blocking her view of the photograph, vital, thrusting his presence on to her awareness. “I can’t do that,” he said lowly, gathering her up slowly and carefully. “Your daughter is dead, but I am not. She can’t hold you anymore, Leslie, but I can. Put your arms around me.” She didn’t move. “Do it. I’m alive and I’m warm, and I’m here. Hold on to me.”

  First one arm crept up around his neck, and then another. Her face went down to his shoulder. Both his arms were full around her. His face went to her hair, hid there for a while, and then emerged and he started to kiss her. The kisses were gentle, soothing, giving, a soft rain down on the curve of her cheek, the arch of her neck, her forehead. When her face at last emerged, she was composed, though sad. “The pain is an old one,” she told him. “I’m sorry. I am not usually so grief stricken, but occasionally it does get to me.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?” she asked. She smiled wearily as he remained passively silent. “Yes, I somehow think you do. Do you have any children? I know so little about you.”

  He grinned faintly. “To the best of my knowledge, no.” At that she had to laugh, shakily. “Did you have anyone to share your grief with, Leslie—when they died?”

  “I don’t remember,” she said ruefully. “I was pretty numb for a while. I don’t think I did much talking about it. I’m not in the habit, you see.”

  He sent her a look. “I had noticed something of the sort.” She watched him as he seemed to hesitate, and then, “I am not an effusive man. But, Leslie, I want you to know something. It’s a small thing, nothing earth shattering, nothing I will ever impose upon you. I would say this one thing, and say it only once. The rest is up to you. I care. You can be alone if you would like, but you aren’t alone now. If you want to talk, I will always listen. If you don’t, then listen to the silence. This is a nice place for silence. I don’t offer my friendship and allegiance lightly, but if you would have it, it is yours.”

  Quiet. She felt as if she had been offered a precious gift. She was utterly still as she listened to the profound implications of his words. Scott was the kind of man that lifetime loyalties were made with. For the first time, she put her arms around him and simply hugged him tight. And he sat still as the implications of that washed over him. Then she pulled back and stared deeply into his eyes. “Thank you, my friend.”

  The words trembled between them before melting into memory. Nothing more was said on it, but they both knew. A pact had been sealed.

  “I’ve had my breakfast,” he said presently. “Ham and eggs. Do you want some?”

  “It sounds terrific. I’ll get dressed.” She hopped to the bathroom and quickly donned her clothes after washing, and then brushed her hair out. Then she took her cane and slowly limped into the other room. Scott was working in the kitchen, cheerfully whistling. With a sigh, she eased down into a kitchen chair, feeling as if she had trekked a mile. The cabin was sparsely furnished, but nice. Did he own the place, or rent? She knew so little about him. Her eyes went to the counter and she stared in surprise.

  There sat the ring of car keys, quite out in the open. She leaned forward and picked them up, cradling the cool metal against slim fingers as she wondered. She turned and stared, eyes narrowed, at the back of the man fixing her breakfast. He was fully aware that she was there and watching. He must have heard her pick up the keys, for they had jingled musically. By his very deliberate movements, she knew that he was quite fully aware. He didn’t turn to look at her. She jingled the keys louder, as she slouched comfortably in her chair and propped her sore leg forward. Scott looked briefly over his shoulder, and then turned to crack two eggs into the heating pan.

  “This is a message,” she said calmly. “What does it mean?”

  He didn’t bother to look around again. “You know.”

  “Yes, I do, but I want you to tell me.”

  “It means that you are free to go whenever you like.” The eggs hissed. The fragrant smell of ham frying wafted to her nostrils, making them quiver. She sniffed the air appreciatively.

  “And was that a recent development, or a planned manoeuvre?”

  “I had never planned on keeping you here a prisoner.”

  “Your methods on getting me here were rather unorthodox.” Leslie was beginning to be entertained, whereas yesterday she had been shaky, thrown off balance, and feeling unwell.

  He chuckled softly. “You’re the type of person that always needs a little excitement in your l
ife. What would you tell your family, otherwise?”

  She threw back her head and laughed at that sally. “You know,” she said, “you’ve been manipulating me for a day and a half now. I must say, you’ve gauged my reactions well! I even know I’m being manipulated now, and do you know what? I don’t care. I know that you’ve guessed what my reaction to this must be, and you are right, and I really don’t care. You knew that I wouldn’t be so callow minded as to pick up and scatter, not now. You waited until I had swallowed the bait, the serenity of this place and the curiosity, as I’m wondering just what you intend to prove or gain by all this. It’s all gone just as you’d intended, right down the line.” She tossed the keys and they plinked on to the counter, skidding for several inches and stopping, splayed in solitary display. She did not look at the keys once after that. “At least,” she concluded, with a strange half smile, “so far it has.”

  Scott turned around with the steaming, delicious smelling plate of ham and eggs and set it in front of her, with coffee, utensils, and the salt and pepper. Then he poured himself a cup of coffee and eased into the seat across from her. He was smiling. For a brief instant, she thought she saw deep relief in his eyes, but the impression passed by with a blink, and she couldn’t be sure.

  She asked again, and by now it was an automatic question, not one she really expected him to answer, “What do you want from me?”

  “If you have to ask, you aren’t ready for the answer,” he replied simply. She stared at him while she reflectively chewed a bite of ham. He bore her scrutiny patiently, as if it was only what he’d expected, which, she was sure, was exactly the case.