Carrie stood with it in her hands, looking at him.
“It’s all right. I have another one,” he said gently, pushing her in the direction of the bathroom. “We’ll put your wet things in the dryer. I’m afraid slickers aren’t much good in weather like this; in a driving rain you still get soaked.”
Carrie did as he’d instructed, shutting the bathroom door behind her and leaning against it. She held the robe to her face and inhaled his scent, closing her eyes. After a few self-indulgent moments she took off her clothes and donned it, snuggling into the terry softness and rolling up the sleeves, which cascaded over her wrists. She folded her skirt and blouse, put her underwear on the bottom and picked up the pile. She padded barefoot down the hall and handed the neatly arranged garments to Jason, who was tucking in a dry shirt.
“Here you are,” she said, trying not to consider the picture she made in the oversized robe.
Jason grinned at her. “You look like Shirley Temple in Little Miss Marker,” he said, accepting her clothes.
“I feel like a mermaid,” she replied.
“These seem like they would fit a Barbie doll,” Jason teased, hefting the lightweight burden.
Carrie smiled. She was used to such remarks. “My brother always called me ‘Thimblena,’ because my wardrobe would fit in a thimble.”
Jason disappeared into the adjacent laundry closet and she heard the hum of machinery.
“They’ll be ready soon,” he said, returning. “It doesn’t take long. Do you want a hair dryer?”
Carrie’s hand flew to her disarranged shoulder length bob. “Oh dear, do I look like I need one?”
His eyes moved from her head to her feet, then up again to lock with hers. “No, you look fine. It’s just that you’re always so perfect, it’s odd to see you... a little messed up, that’s all.”
Is that how he saw her? Carrie wondered—as a prim guardian of proprieties who would become hysterical if her bun became unpinned? I’m not like that, she wanted to cry. Just give me a chance and I’ll show you I’m not like that.
“Did I say something to upset you?” Jason asked suddenly, his head tilting to one side.
“No, no, I’m just feeling...hungry,” she said, seizing upon the one explanation for her behavior that she knew he could accept.
“Right, what’s wrong with me?” Jason replied, pulling open the refrigerator door and taking out a platter covered with aluminum foil. “You must be starving. Rose left this for us to make sandwiches. Just let me put something together for John and we’ll eat, okay?”
He always thought of his son first. Carrie watched as he took bread from the keeper and made the boy a sandwich. He put it on a tray with a glass of milk and a slice of cake. He even added a carefully folded napkin and a handful of wrapped candies from a jar. Carrie looked away, her eyes filling. Everything he did brought her to the verge of tears.
While he was in his son’s room she got her things from the dryer and dressed again, feeling clammy and uncomfortable in the damp clothes.
“The card shark is in there whetting his knives for the kill,” Jason announced as he returned. “He bolted his meal in thirty seconds and is now practicing shuffling and dealing. He told me you promised him a game. Is that the truth, or a wishful interpretation of some careless remark you made?”
“A little of both,” Carrie replied, laughing. “He says you always let him win.”
“That’s because he persecutes me when he loses,” Jason said, reaching for plates to set the table. “He had me in there for three hours one night trying to show him what he did wrong in a game I was foolish enough to claim when he blew it. He can’t seem to accept that I have twenty-five years on him. He wants to know everything and he wants to know it all right now.”
“Are you like that?” Carrie said conversationally, watching as he put tomatoes and lettuce on a cutting board.
He turned to face her, setting the board on the counter next to him. “No, his mother was like that. She didn’t exactly believe in delayed gratification.”
Carrie usually dodged such remarks but this time she confronted him. “John never mentions her,” she said softly. “I didn’t think it was my place to bring up the subject, so I haven’t. I didn’t want to do any harm.”
Jason’s gaze settled on her, his green eyes warm with feeling. “How could you possibly think you could do any harm?”
“Well, I’m not trained. Does he discuss her with his therapist?”
Jason nodded, leaning back against the sink. He folded his arms and crossed one ankle over the other.
“The poor kid has to talk to somebody,” he murmured. “I can’t help him. I love him so much, but I can’t seem to...” His voice trailed off and he bowed his head, his shoulders slumping.
Carrie cleared her throat. “You’re helping him. No one could do more.”
He looked up and searched her face, his expression grave. “Do you really mean that?”
“I really do.”
A sudden rush of wind rattled the window frames and blew a gust of rain against the glass panes above the sink. They both started, glancing around as the drumming on the roof increased to a dull roar. Carrie could hear the sound of rushing water in the gutters beneath the eaves and the groaning of the trees as their branches bent and swayed in the gale. She shivered involuntarily.
“Are you cold?” Jason asked instantly. “I could turn up the heat.”
“No, it’s just the storm.”
“The storm?”
“Yes. On a night like this I always feel like Jane Eyre, wandering the moors in the rain.”
“I’ll build a fire after dinner,” he said, resuming his preparations. He put the rest of the food on the table and joined her, sitting down across from her and reaching for the jar of mayonnaise.
Carrie made a sandwich to bolster her claim to hunger and nibbled at it, watching him eat. He noticed her lack of appetite and said, “Would you care for something else? I know this isn’t exactly haute cuisine.”
Carrie shook her head. “No, this is fine, really. I’m just not as hungry as I thought I was.”
Jason shook his finger at her. “Good thing Rose isn’t here. Those words can’t be spoken in her presence. She goes into a decline when anyone passes up a meal. John has gained six pounds since she came to work here.”
“Her influence hasn’t affected you, though,” Carrie said, commenting on his slimness.
“Oh, she tries. But I burn it all off, I guess. I’m a constant challenge to her culinary abilities. She doesn’t understand that chasing a bunch of horses around consumes a lot of calories.”
“Do you like your work?” Carrie asked, dabbing her lips with her napkin.
“I wouldn’t do anything else. I’ve been crazy about horses ever since I was a kid. When I was twelve I saw some Polish Arabians in a show and started to save my paper route money. Six years later I bought my first blooded stallion. I’ve been building up my stables gradually and now I have some of the best stock in the state. I just got an Appaloosa, and that Indian pony is the smartest animal I ever saw. The other day I…”
He stopped short, pressing his lips together. “Sorry. I forget that not everyone is as fascinated by all this as I am.”
“Go on, please.”
But his communicative mood had passed. He stood. “I don’t want to bore you. Connecticut is not the livestock capital of the world, and sometimes I wind up a little short of interested listeners.”
“I can understand that you miss having someone to talk to,” Carrie said softly.
He paused in the act of clearing the table. “I never had anyone to talk to,” he said quietly. “You can’t miss something you never had.”
“But John’s mother,” Carrie began.
“She had her own interests, and they didn’t include the price of feed or the availability of Western saddles,” Jason said shortly. “Would you like some coffee?”
Carrie nodded, rising to help him. She followed
his lead as they put things away and stacked the dishes in the sink, working in silence. Carrie’s mind was racing, trying to put together the clues he dropped like random pebbles into a pool. His lovely wife had not been concerned with his business, then. What of it? A husband and wife could share enough in bed to make everything else insignificant.
“Dad, when are we going to get started?” Johnny’s voice rang out stridently from the back of the house.
Carrie chuckled. “I hope he doesn’t play for money,” she said to Jason.
He plugged in the coffeepot. “He certainly does. Are you solvent?”
“I have about twelve dollars in my purse.”
Jason sighed. “That sounds a little short. He takes IOU’s though. He’s into Mark for ten baseball cards and a trip to the Hartford Auto Show. Are you ready to face The Gambler?”
Carrie squared her shoulders in mock resolution. “I’m ready.”
They joined Johnny in his bedroom, where he had cleared a space on his blanket for the game.
“What took you guys so long?” he complained. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”
“I doubt that, John,” his father said. “No cheating, now. You’re playing with a lady.”
“I never cheat,” Johnny replied, outraged.
“That’s not what Mark said,” Jason replied loftily, catching Carrie’s eye.
“He’s a sore loser,” Johnny said disgustedly, shuffling the cards. “Do you want to deal, Miss Maxwell?”
“You can do the honors,” Carrie answered, taking the seat Jason offered her next to the bed. When Jason sat down also Johnny flexed his fingers and began spitting out cards like a Vegas blackjack dealer.
“Let the game begin,” Jason intoned. Carrie giggled.
Johnny glared at both of them, offended. “Are you going to be serious, or not?”
“Not,” Jason said, and Johnny stopped dealing.
“Just kidding,” he amended, and the boy resumed the action. Jason glanced at Carrie, who looked away to keep from laughing.
They played three games and Carrie won two of them. Between hands Johnny allowed them to pause long enough for Jason to bring the coffee in from the kitchen. Otherwise he was all business. At the conclusion of the last game Carrie fanned her cards on the bed and said, “Gin.”
Johnny tossed his cards into a heap. “I give up.”
“No, you lose,” his father said.
“You owe me two thousand, three hundred dollars,” Carrie announced.
“I thought we were playing for pennies!” Johnny said.
“Did we agree to that?” Carrie asked Jason, wrinkling her forehead.
He shrugged. “You should have gotten it in writing, John.”
“Very funny,” Johnny said sourly. “Boy, Miss Maxwell, you sure can do a lot of things for a teacher.”
“Thank you,” Carrie said. “I think.”
“Bedtime, boyo,” Jason said, standing up and collecting the cards.
“Oh, no, Dad. Come on. Miss Maxwell is here.”
“And you have a therapy session at nine in the morning. Do you want to sleep through Dr. Weston’s visit?”
“Not a bad idea,” Johnny observed darkly.
Carrie helped Jason straighten the room, which was littered with magazines and books as well as the remains of several snacks.
“I can’t wait for you to get back on your feet, kid,” Jason said, tossing a brown apple core into the trash can by the door. “You’re going to clean this room with a fire hose.”
“It’s not my fault I’m laid up,” Johnny said, smiling slyly.
“Oh yes, and how you hate being waited on all the time,” Jason replied. “It must be a terrible trial.”
“My cast itches,” Johnny said trying to distract his father from the subject of his indolence.
“It will be off soon,” Jason said. “I’ll be back in ten minutes and I want your light out by then. And no reading under the covers or I confiscate the flashlight.”
Johnny sighed dramatically. “Good night, Miss Maxwell. Thanks for the game.”
“You’re welcome. Sleep tight.”
She left with Jason, who shut the door behind them. He held up a forefinger, listening for suspicious noises, but they heard nothing.
“Last week I got up in the middle of the night and found him watching television with an ear jack Rose had given him,” Jason said to Carrie as they went back to the living room. “My Friend Flicka at three in the morning. The kid is amazing.” He bent to pick up a bundle of kindling from a storage space in the wall and began to lay firewood.
Carrie sat in one of the wing chairs that flanked the fireplace and watched him work. When he had it ready he put a match to the pile and it blazed reassuringly.
“That will take the chill off,” he said, standing and dusting his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “I’d better check on Johnny. Be right back.”
Carrie heard his footsteps fade and then return. “He’s passed out cold,” Jason reported.
“What did you expect? He bet the homestead and lost.”
“He’s really a pretty good player for his age, though, don’t you think?” Jason asked, a note of pride creeping into his voice.
“Very good,” Carrie said, smiling.
He sat on the floor at her feet and hugged his knees, staring into the blaze. “It was nice of you to spend the time with him,” Jason said quietly. “I appreciate it.”
“I enjoyed myself,” Carrie answered.
They fell silent, and there was no sound except the snap and hiss of the logs and the distant beating of the rain on the roof.
“You’ve been awfully good about getting stranded tonight,” Jason commented after a while, without looking at her. “I know it’s an inconvenience for you.”
“No problem,” Carrie managed in a whisper, not trusting herself to say too much.
He turned his head to gaze up at her. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said huskily.
“So am I.”
He looked back at the fire, and after a moment he shifted to lean against the leg of her chair. If she moved her hand from the armrest she could have touched his head. Her fingers curled in on themselves with the urge to caress and she balled them into a fist. Firelight danced in his hair, infusing its golds and browns with a reddish hue. Carrie tore her eyes away.
I am so in love with him, she thought. How could she have fallen so hard, so fast? She had met him just a month ago and already he had changed her life forever. But somehow that knowledge was not as alarming as it should have been. She was with him now, if only for this night, and she was secure and peaceful, sharing the room and the ruddy blaze with the person whose company she most desired. Words were not necessary. She sighed contentedly and settled back in the chair, lulled by the sound of the rain and the comfort of Jason’s quiet presence. The flames blurred before her gaze and she was asleep.
* * * *
Carrie opened her eyes to see Jason above her, his face only inches away. He was leaning over her chair, his tawny hair rumpled and his features softened by the dying firelight behind him.
“Let’s go to bed,” he said.
Chapter 4
What?” Carrie said, struggling awake.
“I said it’s time we went to bed. It’s almost midnight and the fire is going out. You dozed off.”
“Oh,” she responded, sitting up and looking around her. The hall and the kitchen beyond it were bathed in a rosy glow. “What’s that red light?” she asked, as he took her hand and helped her up.
“The auxiliary system. The power lines must be down. It came on while you were asleep.” He released her hand.
“It’s still raining,” Carrie observed, listening to a rumble of thunder echo in the darkness.
“I’ll show you to your room,” Jason said, standing aside and waiting for her to join him.
Carrie followed him to the room across from Johnny’s and just down the corridor from his. He opened the door and she looked i
nside. It was comfortably furnished, with an emergency lamp in the ceiling emitting the same red light.
“There’s a bathroom through there,” he said, pointing. “You’ll find a fresh toothbrush and towels.”
“Thank you,” Carrie said, looking at him. He was dimly outlined by the eerie, sunset illumination.
“Good night,” he said softly.
“Good night,” she replied, and he shut the door.
Carrie made her way to the bed and took off her outer clothes, deciding to sleep in her underwear. She was just turning for the bathroom when a knock came at the door. She went to it and opened it a crack, standing behind the screen it provided.
“Yes?”
“I thought you might be more comfortable in this,” Jason said, handing her a peignoir set through the opening. “It was my wife’s, left behind at the cleaner’s when I gave away the rest of her things. I’ve been meaning to get rid of it but perhaps you could use it tonight.”
“That was very thoughtful,” Carrie said, accepting the night wear, still covered by the cleaner’s plastic bag.
“Well, good night again,” he said awkwardly and moved away.
“Sleep well,” Carrie responded, thinking that she certainly wouldn’t. A flash of lightning punctuated her musing, followed by a crack of thunder loud enough to make her wince. The storm didn’t seem to be letting up at all. She closed the door slowly and put the clothing on the bed, stripping off the covering to examine it.
Carrie was not too familiar with expensive lingerie, but even she could tell that the peach gown and its matching coat were of pure silk, appliquéd with handmade Belgian lace. A faint scent still clung to the garments, heavier than anything Carrie would have chosen, but doubtless it had been appropriate for the imposing and seductive Mrs. McClain. Louise had had everything, including the one man on earth Carrie wanted. She let the pieces slip to the floor.
Stop it, she told herself, bending to pick them up quickly. Stop behaving like a baby, put the nightgown on and go to bed. When she slipped it over her head the exquisite material drifted past her skin like an April breeze, settling around the middle of her legs. This was supposed to be a shortie set; as Carrie had suspected, Louise had been taller than she was. Carrie left the robe at the foot of the bed and climbed under the covers.
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