by Tami Hoag
“I want you, Bronwynn,” he said, his voice dropping to a guttural growl as he dragged his mouth from hers. Their future together may have been uncertain, but they had here and now.
His fingers speared into her hair, loosing the fine strands from their ponytall. His gaze locked on hers, her eyes so exotic with their almond-shaped tilt. They glittered like jewels—an emerald and a sapphire—glazed with sudden passion. Damn, but she made his blood burn. No other woman had inspired such a reckless sexuality in him. She did it with a look. “I want to take you right now, right here.”
“Oh, Wade.” A whisper was all she could manage. She suddenly felt about as strong as an overcooked noodle. If Wade hadn’t had her locked against him, she probably would have slithered down the side of the truck into a boneless heap on the lawn. She couldn’t resist him, and she didn’t want to. It didn’t matter that a loose piece of chrome was jabbing her in the back.
A wicked chuckle rumbled low in Wade’s chest. He ran a hand over her hip and teased the top of her bare thigh with the tips of his fingers. “You’ve been driving me crazy running around in these cutoffs. Do you have any idea what it does to me to look at your legs?”
“What?” she asked on a breathless whimper.
“It makes me ache to be inside you,” he murmured in her ear.
“What’s with you two?” a booming voice fairly shouted across the lawn. Wade’s head snapped up. Wizzer strode toward them from the woods, his kilt, striped socks, and cotton shirt with billowing sleeves a blaze of red against the green of the forest. His blue eyes twinkled merrily. “Every time I come here I catch you two in a clinch.”
“Maybe you ought to call ahead,” Wade suggested through gritted teeth. He eased away from Bronwynn to lean his elbows on the hood of the truck. Bronwynn tried to scrub the blush from her cheeks with the heels of her hands.
Wizzer laughed heartily, as if Wade’s suggestion was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “Where do you suggest I call from?”
Wade flashed his even white teeth. “I hear Rangoon is nice this time of year.”
“You want me to go there and miss all this fun?” Wizzer grinned unrepentantly and thumped a hand on the side of the pickup. “Grin and bear it, College Boy. You’re young. A little frustration is good for you, keeps you hungry.”
Wade’s muttered opinion of that bit of wisdom brought another chuckle from the hermit. Mimicking Wade’s stance on the other side of the truck, he plunked a plastic container down on the hood and shoved it across. “Hey, Red, did you pick up those batteries for me? I haven’t been able to listen to my Beach Boys tapes for two weeks. I’ve forgotten the words to ‘Surfer Girl.’”
Wade peeled back the lid on the container and made a face. “Uck! What is this? It looks like something the cat coughed up.”
“Marinated fern fronds,” Bronwynn answered. “Wizzer says they’ll be good for your stomach.”
“As long as I don’t eat them,” Wade added under his breath as he stared with distaste at the green balls swimming in vinegar.
Bronwynn pinched his bottom. “Don’t be such a baby. Did you pick up those batteries?”
“They’re in my car.”
The three of them strolled to the front of the house where Wade’s Lincoln was parked. The driver’s door stood open. Tucker sat behind the wheel, panting happily until he saw his master. Immediately he slunk out of the car and crawled under it. Muffin stood on the hood, methodically shredding a carton of cigarettes. She looked up and bleated a greeting with a cigarette dangling from her lip.
Staring into the car at the demolished brown paper bag and the animal footprints all over the beige leather interior, Wade felt his blood pressure skyrocket. He muttered an awe-inspiring string of expletives that rose in a crescendo and concluded with “Four-legged fuzzball!”
Like an overprotective mother, Bronwynn rushed forward to place herself between Wade and her pet. Turning around and backing toward the Lincoln, she said, “You must have left the door unlatched.”
“That’s not the only thing that’s unlatched around here,” Wade said, fixing her with a burning glare. “Who in her right mind gives a sheep free run of her yard? I sweated for two days building a pen for that rampaging rack of lamb so incidents like this could be avoided.”
“You always blame Muffin!” With an indignant sniff, Bronwynn turned and took her sheep by the collar, coaxing her down off the hood of the Lincoln. “Poor Muffin. Some people would rather see you locked up and miserable.”
“Some people would rather see her in a crock pot.”
Wizzer chuckled at Wade’s dry remark and Bronwynn’s offended gasp. “I have a great recipe for herbed mutton and new potatoes,” he offered.
“Does it go well with fern fronds?” Wade asked casually.
Wizzer nodded, straight-faced. “If you have a wine that’s not pretentious.”
“Come along, Muffin,” Bronwynn said haughtily, unwilling to have her pet be the butt of any more jokes. “Let’s go back to your pen.”
“Closing the barn door after the horse has escaped?” Wade asked. He picked up the tattered remains of the cigarette carton and raised an eyebrow.
Bronwynn shot him a look of annoyance. “I don’t own a horse or a barn.”
As she strode stiffly for the backyard with Muffin at her heels, Wizzer leaned against the looted car and laughed from his belly up. Wade’s brows lowered, but the corner of his mouth quirked up in a reluctant smile. “Some day I’m going to send her to a class in remedial maxims.”
“Well,” Bronwynn said, forcing a smile while she fought against the reflex to gag. “They were certainly . . . unusual.”
“Nnn,” was the best response Wade could come up with. They had reached a truce over the sheep and car incident. Bronwynn had helped clean up the mess the animals had made on the upholstery of his car, and he had eaten fern fronds to make up for his nasty remarks about Muffin. He silently vowed never to say another word about that sheep for as long as he lived.
Bronwynn decided to give in to her true feelings. She pushed her plate away. “Uck. Yuck. They not only looked like something the cat coughed up, they tasted like it too. I’m sorry I made you eat them, Wade.”
“Me too.” He pushed his own plate away on the top of the work island and automatically reached to his pocket for a cigarette, then remembered the sheep had shredded them. Instead of feeling impatient, he decided he hadn’t really wanted one anyway. Glancing around the kitchen he said, “This room is really shaping up, sweetheart. You’re doing a great job.”
A pleased flush bloomed on Bronwynn’s cheeks. The kitchen was beginning to look new. The cupboards had been stripped and repainted white. The walls had been sanded and sized and now awaited the pretty wallpaper that was still in rolls on a table. Ugly lineoleum had been removed, revealing a beautiful parquet floor that had required a good scraping and polishing. The room was coming to life with the promise of character and beauty. And Bronwynn had done much of the work herself—with help from Wade.
“I can’t take all the credit,” she said, reaching across the counter to twine her fingers with his.
“I provided a little muscle, that’s all,” Wade said, discounting his part. It really was Bronwynn’s doing anyway. If not for her resolve, Foxfire would have been nothing but a memory by now. Looking around at the half-finished kitchen, seeing the potential charm and style of the room, he felt no regret for the abandoned ski lodge plan. His gaze landed back on Bronwynn. “I owe you an apology. If it hadn’t been for your determination, this place would have slid the rest of the way into ruin. I misjudged you at first; I really didn’t think you’d stick it out. You proved me wrong. I’m proud of you.”
Her heart swelled with a warm full feeling again. It was love, wasn’t it? Surely it had to be the real thing if four words like I’m proud of you could make her feel so happy.
Suddenly her nose began to twitch. She sniffed. “Do you smell something funny?”
“You mean besides new paint, polyurethane, and marinated fern fronds?” he asked dryly. “No. What do you smell?”
Bronwynn sniffed again, puzzled. “I’m not sure—”
A racket in the front yard intruded on the discussion. There was the crunch of tires on gravel as a car drove in. Tucker barked tiredly from the porch, in accompaniment to the unmistakable sound of a sheep bleating.
“Sounds like company,” Wade said as they headed down the hall to the front door. “Too bad they didn’t get here sooner; we could have foisted fern fronds off on them.”
Bronwynn stepped out onto the porch and her smile froze on her face. Parked in front of her steps was a gunmetal gray Jaguar. Muffin had somehow managed to escape her pen and now stood with her front feet on the driver’s door of the car, staring directly into the face of Ross Hilliard.
A frown creased Wade’s forehead as he watched the driver emerge from the passenger’s side of the car. The man was tall with meticulously combed dark hair and expensively tailored clothes. He wore a petulant frown as easily as he wore his Canali original raw silk jacket.
“Do you know him?” Wade asked Bronwynn, who stood at attention beside him like a Doberman ready to attack.
“Oh, yes, I know him,” she said sharply, never taking her eyes off Ross’s face. “That’s the creep I almost married.”
Muffin bounded up the steps ahead of Ross and stood at the top bleating at him as if she fancied herself to be a guard dog. Ross scowled at the sheep. Muffin sniffed at him and stamped her feet.
“Bronwynn, what is this creature doing running around loose?” he asked in a Boston Brahman accent that was as dry as a good martini.
Bronwynn lifted her nose. It might have been dusted with freckles, but it was still patrician, and the gesture of icy disdain was unmistakable. “Muffin is my pet; she may run where she chooses. She belongs here. What’s your excuse?”
“Your sister expressed a certain amount of concern over your determination to stay away from home. Naturally I felt compelled to check up on you.”
“Get off it, Ross.” His explanation was so absurd, she almost laughed out loud. “About the only thing Zane would express to you would be a swift kick. What did you do, sneak through her mail to find out I was up here?”
“I refuse to dignify your question with an answer.”
She had to give him points for having mastered a hurt look. Not many people would have noticed the impatient lines that tightened ever so slightly around his mouth.
“Compelled to check up on me, were you? How thoughtful—nearly a month after the fact. What happened, Ross? Did Belinda get bored with you and run off with the tennis pro to Mazatlán?”
“You’re hardly the one who should be slinging barbs, darling.” He fixed his pale green stare on Wade but spoke to Bronwynn, anger accenting his speech. “Obviously the muck-raking press knew what they were talking about when they suggested you’d run off with another man. How long has this little affair been going on?”
Outrage made her pull her fists out of the pockets of her shorts. The urge to go for his throat was overwhelming. “You philandering pig! How dare you accuse me of running off with someone else, when you were panting after my own cousin behind my back. What were the two of you planning, Ross? Draining my trust fund, then a tidy divorce, or was I going to have an unfortunate accident on our honeymoon?”
“Really, Bronwynn,” he said with a huff. “You completely misinterpreted my relationship with Belinda. I could have explained everything. In fact, I came here to do just that. However, I can see now that you were only looking for an excuse to leave me at the altar so you could dash off with this common Casanova.”
Bronwynn was ready to start swinging. People may have questioned her sanity from time to time, but no one ever questioned her integrity. To have Ross do so was more of an insult than she could stand. While she was busy deciding where to hit him first, Wade stepped in front of her.
A red haze clouding his vision, he grabbed Ross Hilliard by his overstarched collar and backed him toward the steps. Never in his life had he felt such rage. The overbearing ass had hurt Bronwynn, and now he had the gall to be angry with her! Wade wanted to turn him inside out.
“I think you’d better leave, pal,” he said tightly.
In spite of his pallor, Ross tried to brazen it out.
“Or what? You’ll break my nose?”
“Actually I had something nastier in mind, but I’d rather not waste my energy on a worm like you.” With a little shove, he sent Ross stumbling down the steps. “For the record: Bronwynn didn’t come up here to be with me. She came up here to get away from you. Devious bastard that you are, you would manage to read something suspicious into it. You’re not trustworthy, so how can you expect anyone else to be? Bronwynn wasn’t cheating on you. You’re the one who blew it, Hilliard. Be a man and face up to your mistake instead of trying to blame someone else.”
In the fading twilight, Ross looked very much like a sulky little boy, Bronwynn thought. How could she ever have believed she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him? It made her skin crawl to think of it.
“It would have served you right if I had run off with Wade,” she said. “But I wouldn’t stoop to your level. I couldn’t get that low if I were run over by a steamroller. And for your information, Wade is hardly a common Casanova. He’s a congressman.”
“Bully for you,” Ross said snidely.
Bronwynn tried to tamp down the urge to dismember him with her bare hands. “I’ll ask you to leave now, Ross.”
“You haven’t heard the last of me, Bronwynn,” he said in warning, jerking his tie straight. “I won’t take public humiliation lying down.”
“Really?” She arched a delicate brow above her blue eye. “I would have thought that your favorite position.”
“How amusing,” he said with a sneer.
“Just so you don’t have an excuse to come back here and harass me, I’ll give you back your suitcase.” She ducked inside the front door and returned from the hall closet dragging Ross’s ruined bag. She heaved it down the steps, stood back, and dusted her palms. “I want you out of my life, bag and luggage.”
“Baggage,” Wade murmured under his breath. A broad grin took command of his mouth as he watched Ross’s face when the man looked at the expensive case and clothing Bronwynn had set ablaze.
“What—what have you done?” Ross asked, sputtering as he peered through the hole in the top of the bag. Slowly he pulled a custom-tailored shirt out and stared, aghast at what was left of it. Ross lifted his gaze to glare at Bronwynn. “My luggage. My clothes. How could you?”
“You’ve heard of being burned in effigy?” Bronwynn said. “Think of this as being burned in Gucci.”
“Can you believe the nerve of that man?” Bronwynn demanded, fuming as she paced the length of the parlor. She jammed her hands on her hips, then crossed her arms over her chest, then dragged her hands through her hair. “Thought he could come up here and worm his way back into my good graces. Accuses me of humiliating him! Boy, that’s rich. Arrogant, obnoxious . . . argh!”
Wade stood at the end of the new rose sofa and watched her, his temper cooling slowly. “He didn’t win any points for charm in my book. Why did you ever get hooked up with him, Bronwynn? If you were looking for a relationship like the one your parents had, I can’t believe you thought you’d find it with him. He’s the last man—”
He broke off as Bronwynn stopped and stood stock-still in the center of the room. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind as she tried to fit the puzzle pieces together.
Bronwynn scarcely dared breathe. She had caught the end of the thread that had eluded her, the one that would weave everything together. If she had been looking for a relationship like her parents had had . . . she wouldn’t have chosen Ross. Why had she chosen him?
Wanting desperately to help her sort it all out, Wade thought back to the day she’d told him about her parents. He could still s
ee the haunted look in her eyes when she’d spoken of her mother letting go of life after the car crash that had killed her husband. He went to Bronwynn and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Ross was safe—”
“Because I knew I would never love him so much that he could destroy me,” she said softly, melancholy seeping through her. “Isn’t it strange how perfectly clear it all is now?” She closed her eyes and stepped into his embrace, resting her cheek against his chest. “Oh, Wade, what a terrible mistake I would have made for me and for Ross. What an insult it would have been to my parents. What they had together was so wonderful.”
He stroked a hand over her hair. “So wonderful it was frightening. You were protecting yourself, honey.”
Protecting herself from love. It wasn’t the way she wanted to live her life. It was better to live a short time with the kind of love that was deep and real than to live forever without it. Looking back on the last year, she could see it had been pale and passionless. She had been safe, but she hadn’t been alive, not in the way she had been since she’d come to Foxfire—since she’d met Wade.
Everything was in focus now—not just her past, but her present as well. And the future wasn’t just something she would drift aimlessly into. She could see what she wanted with startling clarity. It all began with the man before her. She wasn’t positive of his feelings, but she was sure of her own.
Slowly she lifted her head to gaze up at Wade. “Wade, I—” Suddenly she sniffed, her brows knitting in concern. “There’s that smell again. It’s kind of musty and acrid and it sort of smells like—”
Wade’s eyes went wide with realization. “Smoke!”
NINE
THERE WAS WATER everywhere. It dripped from the ruined kitchen ceiling, ran down the wall that had been so carefully prepared to receive the new wallpaper—the new wallpaper that was sitting on the table in a puddle of water. Another thin puddle spread from the west outer wall about halfway into the kitchen, seeping into the parquet floor.