“Sit down over there and put on a life jacket,” he instructed curtly.
“I can swim,” she responded in a tone to match his.
“So can I. But you can get knocked cold if you're thrown from a boat. Put on the life jacket.” He waited until she began fastening the buckles on the bulky orange vest, then turned his back and slipped into a vest hanging on the back of the seat.
The wind on the river was cold, and it stung her cheeks. Margaret was thankful for the scarf and the sunglasses that helped keep the wind out of her eyes. Chip lounged behind the wheel of the boat, seemingly immune to the cold. She was aware that the trees grew tall on each side of the river and that an occasional house nestled among them, but that was all.
Here I am, she thought, in a boat on a river that bends and twists through this beautiful wilderness, and all I can think of is the cold-blooded, calculating way he spoke about me. The power he had over her petrified her. He could engulf her, crush her, set a fire under her that would consume her. So why was she staying? Was she like a moth, compelled to flit ever closer to the flame?
Chip slowed the boat. Ahead a wooden dock jutted out into the river, and a large brown dog ran back and forth barking furiously. As they moved closer to the dock the trees gave way to a view of lawn sweeping down to the river. A log house was set back amid the pines. It was long and low with brown shakes and several cobblestone chimneys. The house seemed to be built around a huge patio with a large outdoor fireplace. It was a blend of old and new, and it looked settled, comfortable in its surroundings.
The nearer they came to the dock the more excited the dog became. As it dashed back and forth, still barking, it suddenly occurred to Margaret that the dog recognized both Chip and the boat and was barking a welcome. She barely had time for the thought to register before the boat picked up speed, shot ahead, and passed the wooden jetty. She looked back at the dog, which stood in surprised silence on the end of the dock. Of course the dog would know Chip, Margaret reasoned. Everyone from miles around would know him and the boat. Then why did she get the feeling that the dog had expected him to turn in and tie up to the dock?
She glanced at Chip, the question in her eyes hidden by the dark glasses, and studied his set profile. Slowly, as if feeling her appraisal, he turned his head and his narrowed eyes swept her face. A shiver unrelated to the cold wind shimmied down her spine, and she looked away quickly before his eyes could read the misery in hers. She felt the boat slow, and then he turned it in a wide arc and headed for home.
Back at the company house Chip silently helped her out of the rocking boat. She left him to moor it and walked up the path. Feeling lonely and miserable, she removed her coat, went into the living room, and stood with her back to the glowing coals in the fireplace. She was cold, chilled from the ride on the river, but her cheeks burned as she remembered how she had surrendered, willingly, eagerly, to his possession of her. She wanted to weep. What must he be thinking? There had been no challenge. She had simply been there for the taking. How could she face him here in this room? Her eyes wandered to the couch, and then she dashed for her own room, sighing with relief as she closed the door behind her. Tears flowed down her cheeks. What had made her declare that she was going to stay here? She had to go! To be with him and have him treat her so coldly tore at her heart. It couldn't be worse not to see him at all, she decided—although that thought was almost unbearable. She knew she had no choice, because if she stayed it wouldn't be long before those mocking sky-blue eyes would see that she was head-over-heels in love with him. She took her case from the floor of the closet and placed it on the bed. Methodically she began to pack. She had control of herself now. She'd had her moment of weakness.
She was pulling clothes from the closet when a sharp rap sounded on the door, which then swung open. Chip stood there, seemingly at ease, yet giving the impression he was as alert as a cat about to spring.
“I'm glad to see you're getting rid of the expensive duds. Be sure and lock the case—not that I think Penny or Dolly will snoop, but it's best to make sure.” His cool glance went over her clothes and the toilet articles on the bed.
“Don't worry. Your troubles will soon be over,” she answered in a softly controlled voice.
One brown brow arched. “Running away, princess?” Before she could say anything he continued, “I thought you'd at least last out the week. Can't take the primitive life, is that it? No servants to bring you breakfast in bed, no marble stairway to glide down, no one to stand at attention when you walk by?”
Margaret almost gasped at his attack. Then anger burned through her. Who did he think he was?
“I'm not leaving!” The words just popped out, and she stopped, shocked by her own statement. Only minutes before she had been determined to go back to Chicago. “I'm merely doing as you suggested. Now get out of my room and leave me to it.”
“Funny, I'd have sworn you were packing to leave.” He paused, then added slowly, “I'm sorry about last night. I had no way of knowing of your…innocence.”
Margaret blanched as if he had struck her. She turned her back so he couldn't see her face. “So? You got a bonus for your troubles,” she said coolly. “Isn't it every man's ambition to deflower as many maidens as possible?”
“Stop talking like that,” he said sharply. “I didn't think any young woman today reached the age of twenty-five and remained innocent. I said I was sorry for your sake. I'm sure you'd rather have had the experience with a man you loved. I'm sorry if I've taken something from you. I mean that, though I'm glad I was first.” He came into the room and stood behind her. She walked to the closet and took out the blue silk suit. He took it from her hand and flung it onto the bed. “Maggie! Leave the damn clothes and look at me!”
She whirled on him. “What more do you want me to say? I'm staying, I'm staying, I'm staying,” she shouted. “Are you on a guilt trip, Mr. Thorn? Don't be. I knew exactly what I was doing. I used you as much as you used me! Get it? I started out later than most girls, but believe me, I intend to make up for lost time. You were the first, but you'll not be the last! You can count on that!” She sucked air into her lungs in jerky gasps. Distress was plain in her voice, and there was no way she could hide it.
He looked at her searchingly. “Do you feel better now?” His voice was lower than before. “Lashing out with rash statements is the act of a spoiled child.”
In retaliation she said the first thing that came into her mind. “You didn't think I was a child last night!” Hating him, hating herself, she watched with fascination as light danced in his eyes and she realized he was actually trying to subdue his mirth. “Don't you dare laugh at me!” She balled her fist and prepared to swing.
He grabbed her wrist. Holding her eyes with the blue flame of his, he said softly, insinuatingly, “I certainly didn't think you were a child last night.” The hand that curved around her waist drew her against him. He lowered his head, and his lips pressed tightly together.
“Okay. You're staying.” His eyes were on her face; hers were on the hollow at the base of his throat. “We've still got to play our game so the others will believe you're my…ah…girlfriend. Do you think you can hide your resentment and pull it off?”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide, clear, and challenging. “Can you?”
“No doubt about it.” His mouth widened in a slow smile that had more than a hint of satisfaction in it. One brow rose inquiringly. “And you?”
She nodded, words locked in her throat by a strong welling of emotion.
He left her, and she stood beside the bed staring at the closed door. She was emotionally shaken. Her only clear thought was that, if she'd had half the brains she was born with, she'd get the hell out of there.
Although she felt rather sick, nerves dancing like demons in her stomach, Margaret managed to walk calmly down the hall and stand quietly in the doorway, waiting for Chip to acknowledge her presence. He was listening attentively to a little girl with long blond braids and
a pixie face.
“Grandma said she knew she was coming. Why didn't you tell me?”
“I thought your grandma would. How is she, anyway?”
“Fine. Beth said you won't be coming here anymore? Beth said you're going to marry her. Are you, Chip?”
“Marry who? Your grandma?”
“No, silly.” The child giggled, revealing missing teeth.
“Her.” She turned her head and focused wide brown eyes on Margaret.
Chip's head swiveled around. His smile was so charming, so full of welcome, that sharp shards of pleasure splintered along Margaret's veins. She reminded herself that he was pretending for the sake of the little girl—and the woman who stood nearby scrutinizing Margaret.
“Hi, sweetheart.” Chip held out his hand. “Come meet Penny and Arlene.”
Mindlessly Margaret walked to him and put her hand in his. She was watching his eyes, and she saw something there she couldn't quite interpret. It confused her already tired mind. Chip drew her against his side and slipped an arm around her waist.
“This is Maggie. Honey, this is Penny and one of her teachers, Arlene Rogers.”
“Hello.” Margaret smiled at the child, then lifted her gaze to the teacher. The woman was hurting—Margaret could see that at once. Her rather plump, makeup-free face was set, her hand was clenched at the back of the couch, and her dark eyes were shifting from Chip's face to Margaret's. She's in love with him, too, Margaret thought. How many more women have given their hearts to him?
“Hello, Miss Rogers.” Margaret held out her hand. She tried to sound calm and collected, but she wasn't sure she was pulling it off. The woman touched her hand and then released it quickly. She was wearing a maroon velveteen blazer and a plaid skirt, paired with a frilly pink blouse and four-inch heels.
“Hello.” Arlene's face was suffused with color, and Margaret hoped that Chip didn't notice. “I must be going. I've a million things to do this afternoon. Dolly will be coming home tomorrow, Chip. She said to tell you she has a ride and she'll be here by the time Penny gets home from school.”
“Don't rush away, Arlene. Maggie and I can scare up some lunch.” Chip's arms tightened, and his hand spread out on the side of Margaret's waist, preventing her from moving away from him.
“I really don't have the time, but thanks just the same.” Arlene paused at the door and looked down at Penny. “Don't forget your homework, Penny. There's a spelling test tomorrow.”
“I won't, Miss Rogers,” Penny said reluctantly, instantly conveying that spelling was almost as bad as having one's mouth washed out with soap. “Maybe Maggie will help me with it.”
“Of course. I think Chip has some work to do this afternoon. You and I will concentrate on the spelling.”
“Can we pop popcorn? Chip, can we?”
“I don't know about that.” Chip grinned down at Margaret. “Maggie may not know how to pop it in a pan on the stove.”
“I'll show her how.” Penny slipped a small hand into Margaret's, and she squeezed it tightly.
“I think that between us we can get the job done, don't you, Penny?” Margaret spoke to the child, but her glance traveled upward. Chip was watching her with lazy indulgence. “One more new and exciting experience for the puppy.” Her voice was a bare whisper, but he heard. His response was to gently pinch her waist.
CHAPTER NINE
THE AIR WAS crisp and cold. A light dusting of frost sparkled in the morning sun. Margaret stood on the porch and watched Penny skip down the lane toward the big yellow school bus. The little girl turned and waved before the door closed behind her. Margaret waved back and waited while the bus moved on down the dusty road.
Being the complete idiot that you are, she told herself wryly, you've not only let yourself fall in love with Chip, but you've also allowed yourself to go off the deep end about that child. Granted, she'd had little contact with children except for those of the people who worked on the estate. There had always been a summer picnic and a Christmas party for the staff and their families, but there had been no chance to really get to know the children. Was her fondness for this child another new and exciting experience for the puppy?
The day before, Chip had left the house shortly after lunch, and Margaret and Penny had spent the afternoon and evening together. Margaret had needed the time away from him to get her thoughts organized and her emotions under control once again. Penny had proved to be the perfect diversion. They'd made the popcorn, studied the spelling words, and then Penny had proudly exhibited her new Sunday school dress and shoes. They'd eaten warmed-up stew for dinner and spent the rest of the evening playing Candyland. Chip hadn't returned by the time they went to bed at nine o'clock.
This morning when she came into the kitchen Chip had been dishing scrambled eggs onto a plate for Penny. They both looked up and smiled; then Penny jumped out of her seat and ran to Margaret, wrapping her arms about her waist.
“I was afraid you wouldn't get up before I left for school.”
“Of course I was going to get up. I've got to brush and rebraid your hair,” she said, looking at Chip over Penny's head. She could feel the warmth rising under her skin.
Standing there in the kitchen, Margaret felt the curl of excitement, which had started the moment she'd heard Chip's voice, build inside her. She couldn't stop the feeling of happiness that washed over her, and she felt almost grateful to the unknown Dolly for allowing her this time alone with Chip and Penny. Oh, God, she thought. I can't believe that this is really me, Margaret Anthony, standing here in this kitchen feeling thankful for a small crumb of pleasure. Is this what it's like to have a man and a child of your very own? I almost feel as if this tall, blue-eyed man and this pixie child are mine! Her thoughts shifted into another direction. Had her arms really been about his neck, and had she boldly pressed her lips eagerly to his, and had he seen and touched her as no other person had ever seen and touched her? I must surely be going mad, she told herself, to feel so wildly happy, knowing I was only an evening's diversion for him.
When the school bus disappeared down the road, Margaret went back into the house, closed the door, and turned to see Chip watching her. He stood with his mackinaw looped over his shoulder, his legs slightly apart, and brushed a lock of hair back from his forehead. His eyes appraised her.
“You shouldn't go out without a jacket across your shoulders.” His voice was softly chiding.
“I'm tougher than I appear to be. I seldom get sick.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Oh?” seemed to be all Margaret could manage. She was held immobile by the compelling look in his eyes.
There was something different about him this morning. He seemed to be on edge, nervous, unsure of himself. For long seconds they were silent. Everything faded into insignificance for Margaret—everything but the still face and the quiet eyes looking at her. Then he turned and shrugged into his mackinaw.
“Will you be all right alone here for a short while? I've got a few things to do, and then I'll be back to take you to the mill.”
“I'll be fine.”
“There's absolutely nothing to be afraid of.” He was lingering beside the door.
“I know. I wasn't afraid last night. I didn't give it a thought.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said for the second time. “I was over at Keith's.” He jerked his head toward the other houses that made up the small complex. “I was keeping an eye on the place. I wouldn't have gone off and left you and Penny alone out here.” He seemed to be waiting for her to say something, and when she didn't he continued, “Keith and I had to go over the prints for a building we're going to put up as soon as the mill shuts down. Ordinarily we would have done that on Saturday, but—”
“I'm sorry if I've interrupted your work schedule. I'm sure that by the first of the week I'll have seen enough to make up my mind about the shares, and you can get back to normal.” She said it quickly and breathlessly and wondered at the strange look that sped across his face.<
br />
He looked at her silently, and the seconds ticked by. Something seemed to flow between them, and she was caught up in the blazing sensuality of promise in his eyes. She felt a melting sensation in her belly.
“I'll be back in about an hour. Wear something warm.” He opened the door. “Wear your boots…and your glasses. There'll be a lot of sawdust flying around at the mill, and it's bound to get under those pesky contact lenses.”
Margaret tried to make her mind go blank, shutting off memories of his sweet warm breath, firm lips, and fingers trailing lightly across her collarbone and down between her breasts. Drawing a deep, painful breath, she realized that he was still waiting beside the door.
“Okay.”
She stood in the middle of the room after he left her. Okay? Did I really say that? she wondered. What's the matter with me? I know what's the matter. I'm so in love with him I can't even think, much less get out a complete sentence, when he looks at me like that.
Margaret could hear the mill long before they came into view of it. The scene of activity that met her eyes on rounding the last curve in the road was a total contrast to the peace of the last few miles from the house. They had turned off the main road and taken a track through the trees that was anything but smooth. Chip explained that the mill was situated on a stream that flowed down from the north and connected with Flathead River to the south. This stream winding through a curtain of trees was the principal carrier of the timber cut in the logging camps up north.
Chip left the car in a parking area strewn with woodchips, and they walked toward the river. As far as the eye could see, the water was covered with logs sweeping majestically down into the broad basin of what appeared to be a man-made lake, to be caught by men wielding long, hooked poles. The logs were steered toward other men, who ran lightly over the floating logs and guided them into the calm waters of the lake.
Wishmakers Page 11