by Renee Roszel
With a shrug, Raine began picking up the bottles. “Okay. How do I get to the cellar?”
Nordie straightened and began flexing her foot. “Just go through the kitchen. It’s the door on the left. There are some stairs, and then when you get into the basement, it’s the door with a little barred window right beside the steps.”
Arms full of bottles, Raine turned, a quizzical smile parting her lips. “Barred window?”
Nordie grinned. “That’s where we keep all our valuable wines and our most deranged family members. Cotter keeps threatening to put me down there, but I think he knows I’d get revenge by drinking everything dated before 1850—which is only two bottles.” She lifted the injured leg to stretch it along the rail. “It’s not much, but they’d sure give me an expensive hangover.”
Raine laughed. “Nordie, you’re not a person, you’re an experience.”
“I know.” She stretched like a contented cat. “Say, thanks for your help. It’s a dirty job, but somebody has to do it.” She twirled her foot. “I think it’s getting better already. Maybe I should help.”
“Oh, don’t bother. You take it easy. I can manage.”
Nordie turned away to scan the undulating seascape. “Well, if you’re sure.”
Raine found the basement door and trudged down the flight of stairs under the dim light of a single bulb. The door with the barred window stood ajar and a light glowed from inside.
She shifted the bottles into a better position as she entered the room. It was small, perhaps eight by five feet. From where she stood she could see several tall racks, containing hundreds of bottles of wine turned on their sides, each resting in its own curved slot.
She heard a rustle behind the first rack and saw the movement of a shadow. She froze, clutching the bottles before her like a shield. “Who—who’s there?” she called, knowing that there weren’t really any “deranged” Hunts around, but not quite convinced of her safety.
“What?” A silver head appeared from around the side of the rack. Cotter looked almost as surprised to see her as she was to see him. With a curious frown, he came out and leaned against the end of the rack, scanning her burden. “What are you doing with those?”
“Nordie—”
Her explanation was jarred out of her mind with the loud slam of the door at their backs. Startled by the unexpected explosion of sound, she let go of the bottles, and they crashed to the cement floor, popping and shattering around her sandaled feet.
Openmouthed, she stared down at the mess. “Oh, no!”
“Ooooh, noooo!” She heard her words repeated at her back, but it was less of an echo and more like a banshee’s wail. She spun around to see Nordie’s face pinched between the center bars. Her hands were curled around the outer two. She was looking in forlornly at them, her expression one of total distress. “I—I hate to say this, folks. But I think the door’s locked.”
Chapter Ten
“Locked?” Raine questioned, feeling vaguely uneasy.
“Nordie.” Cotter walked forward, past Raine, his shoes crunching glass as he moved to the door. “This isn’t funny. Open up.”
She regarded him soberly. “Cot, I’m not kidding. I was on my way down with the last two empty bottles when the wind just blew it shut. And that big lock slid in with the force.” She moved her hands down to curl around the thick pine window frame. “You know how rusty the sea air can make things. I’m afraid it’s stuck.”
“Nordie, there’s no wind down here,” he growled, lowering his voice so that she had to strain to hear him.
“Well, of course there is—I mean with the patio doors open, and the front door, and the kitchen. It was a freak wind.” Nordie screwed up her face in a puzzled frown. “What is it they have at airports?”
“For God’s sake, Nordie, open this door.”
“I’m trying to explain, Cotter.” She looked put out. “What do they have…at airports?”
“Hell, I don’t know. What? Moonies? Insurance machines? Who cares!”
“Well, I do! I mean those dangerous, big winds—you know.”
“What dangerous, big winds? Campaigning politicians?”
Raine bit her upper lip to keep from smiling. She didn’t know why Cotter’s exasperated tone was funny, but somehow it was. Apparently Nordie thought so, too. She burst out laughing. “No, wind sheets…shorts. Oh, I don’t know.”
“Shears. Wind shears.” Raine helped.
“Right!” Nordie held up a finger. “Anyway, Cotter. It was probably a wind shear. Or even a convection current.” She lifted her chin and offered her brother a superior smile. “I bet you didn’t think I learned anything when I dated that meteorology student.”
“Nordie!” Cotter’s hands went up to the bars, and Nordie immediately stepped away from the window. “I hope you own plenty of black clothes—to wear in memory of your dear, departed sanity! Now open this damn door or, I swear, this time…” He let his words fade and then proceeded to whisper to her. Raine tried to hear but couldn’t.
“Maybe one of the boys could help?” Raine suggested.
“Aw, darn,” Nordie intoned sadly, “they insisted on going with Carl and Cammie to help move some of the heavier stuff in. But they’ll be back in three or four hours—maybe five.”
Cotter rattled the bars menacingly. Raine couldn’t see Nordie from her vantage point and wondered if she was intimidated by Cotter. She decided to intervene in her behalf. “Really, Cotter, you can’t blame the girl. Another minute and she’d have been trapped in here with us.”
Cotter peered at Raine over one shoulder, taking in her slender form with a pitying gaze. “You think so?”
She nodded. “Why, of course.”
He smiled wanly and shook his head in wry amusement before he turned his attention back to his sister. “Okay, Nordie. Then go get Ike Noonan.”
“Ike?” She said the name as though she’d completely forgotten his existence.
“Yes, you know—the ‘hunk.’”
“Ooh! Ike. Uh, I…” Her voice faltered, and she paused for a moment. “Okay, I’ll go look for him.”
“Nordie,” Cotter warned, “try to look in places he might be.”
“I sure will. What do you take me for?” Her giggle grew dim. And Raine could hear her brisk footsteps disappear up the steps.
Cotter turned away from the window and leaned heavily against the door. He was silent, apparently deep in thought, his eyes on the broken glass between them.
The silence loomed. Raine decided to speak first. “There wouldn’t be a broom in here, would there?”
Cotter looked up. “A broom?”
She spread her hands. “For the glass. I thought we could sweep it into a pile.”
He shook his head, stepping over it. “No.” He took her elbow. “There are some cases of wine against the wall back here. While we’re waiting, why don’t we sit? We could even have a drink.”
“No…thanks.” She removed her elbow from his grasp, deciding that it would be better to keep busy, keep moving. “I’ll find a piece of cardboard or something and get this glass in a pile. You go ahead and sit.”
He crossed his arms and gazed thoughtfully at her. “You know, you’re going to have to stop throwing yourself at me like this, or people will start to talk.”
The vaguely belligerent remark took her so by surprise, her lips parted in a stunned “oh.” After a few seconds, he answered her silence with a long exhalation. “Don’t panic, professor. I was being sarcastic.” He took her arm again and led her toward the back where four wooden crates were stacked, two on two. He suggested quietly, “Why don’t we just sit down and wait to be rescued.”
There was a patchwork quilt folded neatly on top of one. “Hmm.” He cocked his head to one side, staring at it.
“What?” She asked following his gaze.
“That quilt doesn’t belong here.” He stuck it under one arm as he lifted the top two boxes off. Putting the folded blanket on top of one of the crat
es, he swept an arm toward it. “But as long as it is…” Though he smiled in invitation for her to sit, he seemed edgy, preoccupied.
She felt uneasy but sat down.
He startled her by settling on the crate beside her. They were so close, she had to draw away to keep their arms from brushing. Agitated, she closed her hands in a tight ball in her lap. Just then all the lights went off, leaving them in complete darkness. Raine gasped.
Cotter groaned deep in his throat. “Cover your ears,” he said. “I’m going to get my sister’s attention.” He sat forward and she thought she could see him cup his hands at his mouth. “Nora Diane Hunt! Raine will have you brought up on charges of kidnapping if you don’t cut this out right now.”
They listened to the silence long enough to know that there would be no answer. Raine whispered, “Why do you believe Nordie is behind this?”
Cotter’s chuckle held no humor. “Just a wild hunch.”
“I can’t imagine why you’d think such a thing. What could she possibly hope to gain by trapping us in the wine cellar?”
He sat back against the wall. “I’ve given up on trying to understand her. Maybe she’s practicing on us for a bigger caper. Or even more insidious, maybe she wants us to be alone together so that we can make amends.” He sounded totally disgusted.
Raine caught her breath. His malevolent tone hurt. She stammered, “Why—why would she do that?”
“Which?”
She felt provoked and managed to whisper, “You know which.”
His big shoulders, clothed in white, lifted in a shrug. Looking up, she thought she could make out his features now. His eyes, though dark, were gleaming. And she could tell that he was watching her closely. “She’d like to have you in the family. It’s painfully obvious we need more brains.”
Raine’s pride was hurt by his continued sarcasm. She countered churlishly, “Maybe you’d better tell her brains aren’t what you want in a woman.”
“Hey!” Nordie called from far away. “What’s with the lights? It’s dark all over the house.”
“I wouldn’t know, Nordie. I’m trapped in the wine cellar, remember?” Cotter called crossly. “Have you found Ike?”
“No. He didn’t answer when I knocked on his door. I figure he’s either out patrolling the grounds—like a typical cop, never around when you need him—or else he’s passed out in a drunken stupor somewhere.”
“Oh, good.” Cotter didn’t sound at all pleased. “Well, you do your best. And when I get out of here I’ll reward you.”
“My very plan, Cot,” she shouted. “Say, I have an idea. Why don’t I drive into Portland and help unload Carl and Cam, and then bring the guys back. Together I bet we can get you two out.”
Cotter bolted to his feet. “Don’t leave this house, Nordie Hunt! Nordie?”
When the echoes of his sister’s name died away, it was so quiet Raine could hear Cotter gritting his teeth.
“Damn!” he muttered, sitting down again. “It’ll be hours now.”
It was obvious that he didn’t relish the idea of being left alone with her. Her fingers tightened in her lap. “Don’t mind me,” she bit out. “I won’t bother you.”
He turned to face her. “Actually, I was thinking of you.”
She laughed shortly. “Your sarcasm is getting a little thin.
“I mean it, Raine,” he admitted more softly. “I’m really sorry about this prank.”
Her hands were becoming sweaty, and she unclasped them, rubbing them on her legs. “You don’t really expect me to believe Nordie did this on purpose?
“No? And, why did you bring those empty bottles down here?” he probed.
“I don’t know. Nordie asked me to. She’d hurt her ankle—”
“Her ankle?” he interjected, incredulously. “She recovered mighty fast, then.” Raine frowned in thought as he went on. “Of course, I could be wrong. I don’t have the education you have. Maybe wind shears in basements are fairly common.”
She pushed her glasses more securely on her nose and peered over at his face. She couldn’t see his features very clearly, just his eyes. They seemed to be narrowed. She couldn’t tell if the expression was one of anger or skepticism.
Maybe—maybe he was right. Maybe Nordie actually had done it. If she had, it was a childish thing to do. Terribly embarrassing for both her and Cotter. He didn’t want to be here any more than she did. Clearing her throat, she returned her hands to her lap, not quite knowing what to say.
They sat for a long time in silence before Raine was startled by a wry chuckle. “Say,” Cotter suggested glibly, covering Raine’s hands with his own, “when she gets back, let’s tell her we’re engaged. I’d love to see her face.”
The unexpected touch was warming against her icy fingers. She hadn’t realized how cold she was until he touched her. Feeling annoyed, she jerked away and jumped to her feet. If he was going for shock value, he would appreciate her sudden response. Angrily, she hissed, “Why must you forever be conniving? If you want to know the truth, Cotter, I blame you, and you alone, for this!” She backed into a wine rack, bracing her arms out at her sides, whispering harshly, “Who could really blame Nordie for this? After all, monkey see, monkey do!”
His shadowy features closed in a grimace as he slowly stood up. “Damn it all!” he raged. One step brought him directly in front of her, and only inches away. “I wish I could make you understand—about everything—but I told you once, I can’t.”
“No,” she corrected with a proud lift of her chin, “You told me once, you won’t. I don’t want to—to talk.”
“Fine.” He covered her white-knuckled hands, adding, “Then we won’t.” To her utter astonishment, he pressed himself boldly against her. “We get along much better when we don’t.” His voice had become a husky whisper, taking on a strange finality.
As he lowered his face to hers she felt as if she were in a dream. Her lips were poised and invitingly opened. His hands moved up her arms until they were entwining around her back, one moving up to caress the nape of her neck softly, the other, down, covering the curve of one soft hip.
“I wish…” she whispered in a breathless voice, unable to finish, to actually say the words. She wished they possessed what each of them was looking for. But they didn’t. Nevertheless, she was slipping into the hopeless tangle of his arms. Knowing their satisfaction would be only temporary, she fought against her building passion, forcing her eyes to flutter open. With an effort born of desperation, she spread her hands against his hard chest, pushing, to remind him of their differences. “I—I’m nothing…you want….”
“Don’t.” He groaned, lowering his lips to her throat, eager to show her tenderness. The muttered word became a plea.
A slight tug at the top button of her blouse, and her thin barrier against him began to fall silently away. She sighed against the warm pressure of his searching touch as his hands moved to the other buttons and slipped off her blouse, exposing her to the tingling caress of his tongue.
Dropping to his knees, he deftly removed her glasses and held her to him. His silver hair felt thick and soft against her fingers as she gently stroked the head that suckled and teased her yielding softness.
A quiet cry carried his name as they parted briefly. And then, quickly, he was lifting her into his arms, placing her on the surprisingly soft quilt, which protected her from the cold cement floor.
She lifted her hands to his shirt, astonished at how surely and swiftly her fingers parted the cloth. In a concert of movement, they relieved each other of the rest of their clothes and joined completely. With a long, dreamy sigh, she knew again the length and breadth of their mutual need. She curled her arms about the quaking muscles of his back as he led her farther into the swirling sea of their lovemaking.
He turned slightly, and she found herself riding the crest of their seething sea, rising and dipping, tossed along on their own tactile ocean. On waves of pleasure she rode, her head high, as she reveled in the sto
rm, drenched and glistening.
Crying out, she shuddered her delight, and as she did, she felt his large hands come up and press her softness down to his chest. His lips against her forehead kissed and nipped lightly at hers. They lay entwined, breathing heavily, their hearts pounding like surf on the rocks in the aftermath of a storm. But the memory of their union lingered in the sweet, wet tingling of their bodies.
She glowed, then cooled, shivering in his arms. He held tightly to her as he turned her slightly, covering her body with his. “Better?” His low whisper was hoarse with desire.
She ran a hand along his back. It felt solid and slick. Nodding, she turned her face away. But the lump in her throat would not allow her to speak. She loved this man and knew he could inflame her. At this moment, she refused to let thoughts of their differences invade her mind. This was something she would accept as a singular experience.
She held tightly to him, wondering if he’d found what he was looking for in any other woman. Had women always flocked to Cotter? It was a discouraging thought. He lifted a hand to her jaw, turning her face up to his. She couldn’t avoid looking into his dark, glistening eyes. “We must be out of our minds,” he muttered against her cheek before lightly kissing her there. “Any minute now Nordie and her entourage could come back and the world would know about this. They’d never allow us to forget it.”
Never allow us to forget it! She closed her eyes and tried to push the thought away. But there it was in a nutshell. Their lovemaking was something to be forgotten, not a symbol of a deep emotion.
As her arms dropped listlessly from his back, she murmured sadly, “Yes, we shouldn’t be forced to remember.”
“Hmm?” He turned his head slightly, kissing her cheek—wet with tears. Lifting his head, he licked the moisture from his lips and peered down at her. “Talk to me now, Raine.”
She had told Cotter once that she hated fighting, and it was true. But she hated being used, deplored the emptiness of their act. Cotter seemed to have no idea what was wrong. He had no inkling that she had not been able to deny him because she loved him. He didn’t understand what it was to love someone hopelessly. He only understood how to use her.