by P. G. Forte
“Oh, I don’t know.” She waved the question away. “You’ll have to ask Seth about that. He’s the one who got the phone. Probably just some telemarketers or something.”
“No matter,” he said quietly as he straightened up again. “It couldn’t have been anything important. But speaking of Seth, he could walk the dog once in awhile, couldn’t he? I mean, he was the one who wanted a dog in the first place. It seems to me he does little enough to help out around here.”
“Oh, please.” Lucy scowled, watching as he went to the sink to wash his hands and then crossed to the refrigerator for a beer. “He’s not spending enough time on his school work as it is. The last thing he needs right now is any more distractions.”
“You’re probably right, I guess.” Dan shook his head, wearily. “Okay, well, doesn’t sound like I have much choice. At least it’s stopped raining. I’ll take the dog out in a couple of minutes. He can wait that long, can’t he?”
“He can wait until after you’ve finished eating,” Lucy said, spooning chicken and sauce over the grilled polenta she’d been keeping warm. “Too bad I can’t say the same for this polenta—it’s like shoe leather now. You could have called you know, to say you’d be late.”
“I tried. It was busy.” Dan took a long swallow of beer and leaned back against the counter. “And never mind about dinner, babe. Truth is, I’m not all that hungry tonight, anyway. Just tired.”
Lucy snorted. “Right.” So maybe I ought to start carrying my cell phone around the house with me now? Between the two kids and all their friends, even call waiting couldn’t keep up with the demand. It seemed no one could get through anymore. Except for telemarketers, of course. Funny how the phone was never too busy when they called.
She shook her head as she thought about it, and sighed inwardly. She took an extra minute to arrange sprigs of fresh rosemary on top of the chicken. Hungry or not, she doubted if he actually intended to skip dinner altogether. That really would be something different. “Could you get the salad out of the fridge?” she called over her shoulder as she carried the plates over to the table. “And then come and sit down.”
Dan frowned. “Luce, I just—”
“What?” she snapped, turning to glare at him. “You’re not gonna eat anything?”
“No. Never mind. It’s nothing.” He shook his head and reached for the refrigerator door. “So... how did your day go?” he asked after he’d seated himself.
“All right, I guess.” She poured herself a little more wine. “I’ve decided I really am going to get into beekeeping. At least in a small way. I ordered some equipment and I’m looking into buying some established hives. You know, to jump start things a little.”
“Bees, huh?” He didn’t sound terribly enthused about the idea. She watched as he helped himself to a small portion of salad. “Well, if that’s really what you want to do.”
“What’s the matter, Cavanaugh? No witty little quote about bees or honey? You disappoint me.”
“Actually... no.” He looked thoughtful as he passed her the salad and picked up his fork. “Sorry, Luce. The poets are surprisingly mute on the subject. In fact, at the moment, I can think of only one line. Something about ‘the honeyed middle of the night’ I think.”
“The middle of the night, huh? Well, that sounds promising.” She smiled at him encouragingly.
He glanced up from his food, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I guess it’s not too bad, come to think of it. They told her how, upon Saint Agnes’ Eve, young virgins might have visions of delight, and soft adorings from their loves receive, upon the honey’d middle of the night,” he recited softly. “It’s from... oh, now that is interesting. Hmph.” He forked up some chicken, with a distracted look on his face, and chewed pensively.
“What’s interesting?” she prompted when he’d been silent for a couple of moments.
“Well, it’s from a poem by Keats, called The Eve of Saint Agnes, and it has to do with this tradition that on that particular night, young women might expect to dream about their future husbands.”
“Uh-huh. And what’s so interesting about that Cavanaugh? It sounds kind of sexist, if you ask me. You’re saying men don’t dream about their future wives? Or is this your way of telling me you’ve got some other woman dreaming about marrying you now?”
“Hm? What?” He looked at her blankly for a moment, before his face cleared. He smiled fleetingly. “Oh. Yeah, that’s it, babe. You found me out. No, what’s interesting is that, it just so happens tonight is Saint Agnes’ Eve. It’s kind of funny, when you think about it, isn’t it?”
“Oh. Yeah, that is strange.” She watched as he settled back into an abstracted silence.
“Too bad about this tradition thing, though,” she said, at last. “But I guess, since we’re already married, it’s not too likely I’d be doing any dreaming about you tonight anyway, huh?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” He smiled at her again – the really good one, this time – and his eyes gleamed wickedly. “I bet I could give you something to dream about.”
Lucy felt a familiar warmth blossom inside her as she returned his smile. “Talk’s cheap Cavanaugh. What are you waiting for?” she asked, softly.
But a little of the warmth drained away when he looked pointedly towards the door where the dog was sitting, an expectant look on his face. “Well, for one thing, I still have to walk the damn dog. Don’t I?”
“Oh. Right.” Lucy dropped her eyes to her plate and stabbed viciously at a mushroom. “You know, I told you keeping that dog was gonna be a mistake.”
“Yes, you did,” Dan said, getting up from the table with his dinner only half eaten. “So, tell me something, Luce. You think you’ll ever get tired of being right all the time?”
She glanced up at him, startled, and not altogether certain he was teasing her; but his smile gave nothing away.
“Well, I’ll let you know,” she answered after a moment. And then added, “You won’t be too long though, Dan, will you?”
He shook his head. “Not a chance, babe. No longer than I have to be. Even without the rain, it’s a miserable night to be outside. Not exactly the stuff dreams are made of, you know.”
Back to Top
* * * *
Chapter Three
* * * *
It was going to be another wild night. Ryan took note of the rising wind and the gathering clouds that signaled a new storm’s imminent approach. He picked up his pace. He wanted to take full advantage of the break in the weather and the fact that his leg was momentarily numb to work off the excess energy that still surged through his body in the aftermath of his treatment. And to work off some of the dog’s excess energy as well.
A fitful, wet wind played havoc with the dog’s coat as Ryan tramped along behind her. She was clearly enjoying herself and seemed intent on exploring every inch of the winding path that edged the marina.
The air was brisk and invigorating. Ryan took several deep, grateful breaths. He was feeling better and more optimistic about his recovery than he had in several days. Who’d have guessed that anything as weird as acupuncture would be the only thing that offered even temporary relief? But at this point, he was willing to give almost anything a shot.
At the other end of the leash, the dog left off nosing at a couple of crabs that had been cast up on the rocks to growl menacingly at something on the beach below them. Ryan followed the direction of the dog’s gaze and was surprised to see a woman walking slowly through the shallow surf. Her head was downcast, and her eyes scanned the ground around her as though she were searching for something she’d lost along the shoreline.
She was carrying a five-gallon plastic bucket in each hand. As he watched, she stopped, put the pails down, and then bent to fumble with something at the edge of the waves. Water surged around her. What the hell was she doing down there? Ryan’s guts tightened with apprehension. The damn woman was likely to get herself drowned if she wasn’t careful.
“Hey!” he called to her, but she appeared not to hear him. She hauled a dripping object out of the water and dropped it carefully into one of the buckets. He called again, but she still took no notice of him, just went back to feeling around for something below the surface of the water.
Beside him, his dog set up a weird high-pitched howling, and that the woman did seem to hear. She straightened suddenly. To Ryan’s surprise, she turned to look not back towards the shore, but out to sea. He shook his head in annoyance. What in God’s name did she think she was going to find out there?
He watched as she scanned the horizon. She took a single step forward, and then another – as if she were searching for the source of the sound in the depths of the ocean. The wind whipped long strands of red hair across her face and she pushed at them with an impatient hand. Watching her, Ryan grew more and more uneasy. There was no way in hell he wanted to go down there, but he wasn’t a cop for nothing. And he couldn’t just walk away and leave her where she clearly had no business being.
She continued to stare into the distance, so heedless of the rising swells that broke around her that she was nearly knocked her off her feet by an especially large wave. That decided the matter for him. Cursing under his breath, he made his way down the rocky slope and splashed toward her.
“Excuse me, Ma’am,” he’d begun, when she staggered back a step at the impact of yet another swell. He grabbed her arm just above the elbow to keep her from falling.
She whirled around swiftly, not unbalanced at all now, arms and legs working in precise harmony to sweep his feet out from under him. In the next instant he was on his ass in the water. Pain shot up his spine from the rocks he’d landed on. He was aware of a cold, wrenching sensation in his injured leg. Oh, fuck, that could not be good.
“You!” She stared at him, an expression of shock on her face. “But what—” With a flash of copper fur, his dog erupted out of nowhere and barreled straight into the woman. And then she was no longer towering over him, but glaring back at him from eye level, as the dog romped around between them barking excitedly.
“Oh, Christ. Not you again?” Ryan groaned. He recognized her now, and an incontrovertible feeling of doom settled over him. Things would never come easy for him and this woman, nor ever run smooth. He knew it in an instant, and could only wonder that he hadn’t figured it out the very first time they’d met. Things between them would not be simple, or straightforward, or even sane. In the long run, they’d be lucky if they didn’t drive each other nuts.
He should be running like hell to get away from her. But in his present condition, running anywhere was a non-option. Instead, he found himself wondering how long it would take him to get her to smile this time, or if she’d even smile at all?
“Just what in the hell were you trying to do?” Siobhan demanded. “And how dare you sneak up on me like that!”
Both the Quinn sisters could have benefited from a little of his father’s philosophy, Ryan decided. His father had been a firm follower of the Yoda School of Thought. Do. Or do not. There is no try. It was a lesson he’d had drummed into his head at an early age.
“I wasn’t trying to do anything,” he informed her crossly. “My objective was to keep you from drowning yourself.”
She looked startled. “Drowning myself! But I wasn’t— shit!” She broke off as another wave crashed over them.
The sea was getting rougher by the minute. Ryan suppressed a shiver as the wind sliced through his wet clothes. Enough of this chitchat. He had to get them both out of this water. Right now.
“Sonofabitch,” she spluttered as his dog licked helpfully at her face and dripping hair. “Can’t you at least control your dog?” She tried pushing the dog away, but it wouldn’t be budged. “And I was not trying to drown myself, you idiot. For your information, I happened to be working.”
Working? That was a good one. “Oh, yeah? Nice job you got,” he sneered, barely even listening to her as he felt around on the slippery rocks; trying to find the purchase he’d need to lever himself to his feet. “Never mind that now. Can you get up?” He wasn’t altogether certain he could.
“Well, of course I can— wait.” She lifted one dripping foot. “Where’d my boot go?”
He nodded at the black object floating on the surf. “There it is. No!” he ordered, as she started to get up. “Just stay where you are. I’ll get it.”
There was no way in hell he was going to let her go stumbling around in the water barefoot. She’d likely twist her ankle, or maybe cut her foot open on a piece of shell. And he seriously doubted whether he could carry her any distance. He heaved himself to his feet. Not too bad, he thought, pleased that his leg didn’t immediately give out.
“Thank you,” Siobhan said quietly, when he’d retrieved her boot for her. He extended a hand towards her. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it. His hand was wet and cold, just like her own. It was probably as numb as her own, too, she thought.
She was conscious of a faint sense of disappointment as her fingers closed around his. She felt as though she’d grasped nothing more animate than a piece of hard rubber. But she was altogether too uncomfortably aware of his strength as he hauled her to her feet. She’d been lucky, knocking him off balance like she had. Or maybe lucky wasn’t the right word, either. She was a little embarrassed that she’d gone right into attack mode, without taking the time to assess the situation. But he’d startled her and she’d reacted without thinking.
She shoved her foot back into her wet boot and reached for the buckets, intending to pour off a little of the excess water they contained.
“Leave those,” he ordered, brusquely.
She turned to stare at him, embarrassment and concern incinerating in a flash of amazed fury. Just who the hell did he think he was, giving her orders? “No, I will not leave them! I’ve gone to a lot of trouble collecting this stuff. They’re coming with me.”
“Look, the tide’s coming in fast and the temperature’s dropping. We need to get off this beach and out of this weather. Now. Hypothermia is nothing to play around with, you know. Anything that slows us down too much could be deadly. Besides, those rocks up there are dangerous. You could easily twist your ankle if you tried to carry anything over them.”
“Oh, really?” She glared at him. She was well aware of the tides and the temperature and the dangers of hypothermia. And as far as the rocks went, “Listen, you, I can keep my footing up there just fine. Probably better then you can, in fact.”
“Yeah? I’ll be the judge of that,” he said sullenly, twisting the handles out of her hands. “Give them to me, then. I’ll take them. You go up first.”
She continued to stare coldly at him, as she tried to get her temper under control. Then, just as she was about to mention the gently graded trail that she planned on taking up from the beach, his scowl deepened.
“Well, what’re you waiting for?” he asked. “Let’s move it!”
She shrugged. “Fine. Have it your way.”
She turned and scrambled up the embankment. Let him carry them, then. The stupid ass. Let him carry the buckets and the weight of all that extra water right up over the rocks, if that was what he wanted to do. With any luck, he’d give himself a hernia. She reached the path with relative ease, and stood there, shivering with cold, as she watched his laborious ascent.
“Jesus, what in God’s name do you have in here?” he muttered when he’d finally reached the top. “Rocks?”
She smiled at him sweetly. “Yes. Exactly.”
His eyebrows drew together in a thunderous frown. “D’ya mind telling me why?”
“Like I said before. It’s my work. I run the nature center down here at the marina. Tomorrow morning I have a class of fifth graders coming to learn about Marine Biology. These are some specimens I collected for them to study.”
“You’re gonna make ‘em study rocks. What the hell for?”
She felt her lips stretch into a smile again. A real one, this time. This was ex
actly the kind of response she’d probably get from half the fifth graders tomorrow, too. Especially the boys. It was probably what she loved best about teaching; watching as skepticism turned to wonder.
“Carry them back to the center for me and I’ll show you,” she offered, cheerfully.
He stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he stirred. A shudder wracked his frame and he shook his head wearily. “Okay,” he muttered. “Why not?”
They started off down the path together, but after only a couple of steps Siobhan realized something was wrong. He wasn’t limping, exactly, but he was definitely favoring his left leg. Her own feet felt like blocks of wood within her boots, but experience told her that his problem was probably a little more complicated. With an uneasy qualm she remembered the injury he’d received last September while saving her sister’s life. It couldn’t still be bothering him, could it? Was this a result of the kick she’d just given him? Or had he gotten hurt carrying the buckets up from the beach, after all?
She bit her lip as she sneaked another surreptitious look his way. Shit. She should never have made him climb up that stupid embankment. Despite the provocation she should have held onto her temper, swallowed her pride, and told him about the trail.
“Here, give me those,” she said, as she reached for the buckets.
He shot her a swift, angry glance. “And why would I want to do that?”
With a sudden flash of insight she realized he’d probably rather die than admit to any weakness. “How about... because, unless you want to go back in the water after her, you really should be holding onto that dog of yours?” she suggested, grasping at the first straw that presented itself.
“Look, at least let me take one of them,” she said, gently prying one out of his hand when he continued to hesitate. “That way you’ll have a hand free to hold her leash.”
He released it, at last, with a resigned sigh, and she thought she saw a momentary gleam of relief in his eyes. But a minute later, watching the way his mouth tightened when the dog tugged at her leash, she wasn’t so sure it had been relief she’d seen there, after all.