by Ruth Wind
"That's a pentagram and I'm not sure what the other is, but it's associated with devil worship."
"Devil worship?" Maggie repeated, bewildered.
"Does Proud Fox write music that could be interpreted that way?"
Maggie shook her head. "Not at all." She folded her arms. "I've objected to their music because of the way they reinforce the idea that drugs and drunkenness are glorious—some kind of alternative to a deadend life." She'd studied the lyrics of the band exhaustively. "There are even references to God as a kind of sorrowing figure. Nothing like this."
Joel narrowed his eyes and meditatively looked down the street. In his stance, Maggie saw lingering traces of the dangerous aura he'd assumed. A ripple of amazement at his physical power traveled through her as she stared at him, perplexed. Who are you, Joel Summer? she thought. For the first time, his hidden past was a little disturbing.
He touched her arm. "Let's go see if there's anything else inside."
"Inside?"
"Look at your front window."
Maggie turned. Her curtains billowed out on a current of wind, the fabric catching on corners of jagged glass. "Terrific," Maggie said with a tsk, and headed for the house. "This has all gone far enough. I'm tired of it."
"We need to call the police."
"You'd better believe it." She paused with her hand on the door, cocking her head. "It just occurred to me I have a valuable source I haven't used at all," she said. David would know if there had been plans to vandalize her home. Whether he would tell or not remained to be seen—but unless she'd seriously misjudged the boy, he wouldn't approve of this kind of violence. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this."
Joel measured her for a moment. "I hope you'll be careful."
The next morning, Joel entered the mews where healing and permanent resident birds were housed. The enclosure was made entirely of redwood and divided into spacious cages. In all, several dozen birds could be accommodated. Presently, forty-two birds lived in the mews, all raptors, ranging from gigantic bald eagles and turkey vultures to tiny screech owls. As Joel made his way down the graveled path between the two halves of the building, he spoke to each of the birds by name, pausing at the cage of a bald eagle who'd been permanently injured four years ago. Named Quanah after the mixed-blood Comanche chief, the eagle had thrived in the center, making peace with his limited surroundings with a rare grace. As Joel stood in front of his quarters, Quanah lifted his head and croaked in greeting, the high, weak call oddly appealing from such a fierce-looking bird.
"Good dreams of the old days, Quanah?" Joel said with a smile. "There are kids coming today—thought you might want to practice looking ferocious."
The eagle ruffled his shoulder feathers, croaking as if in disappointment. Across the way, a great horned owl hooted. Around its ankles was a restraining device to keep it from flying, and it glowered at Joel when he glanced over. "Won't be long now, Jeremiah. You'll see."
The owl blinked and Joel laughed. He joined a dark-haired woman in the cubicle of a golden eagle. "Is she ready?" Joel asked.
The woman grinned. "Chomping at the bit."
The eagle, recovered from a gunshot wound to the shoulder, moved toward Joel in anticipation. Around her leg was a jess, a leather thong used in the ancient art of falconry—training hawks to hunt. Joel took the attached leash in his left hand and offered his right arm, securely covered with a thick leather glove, to the bird. She climbed on immediately, grasping the leather with long talons. With a noble straightening of her feathers, she looked toward the door.
"I love this part," Joel said.
He carried the eagle outside to the yellow field surrounding the mews. The bird's alert eyes swept the landscape and the sky with an eagerness that matched Joel's.
He let her fly on the leash in a few circles, to test the analysis he'd made two days before. Her wing was strong again, with no weakness or favoring. She'd flown on the leash for hours the other day with no problems.
She returned to his arm, the talons making a scratching sound against the leather. For one moment, Joel admired her red-gold feathers and noble head, the penetrating dark eyes and hooked beak. Then he took the jess from her ankle and lifted his arm. "A long life to you, beauty."
The eagle flapped powerful wings to gain altitude, then circled above him. Joel watched her test the wind currents and the feel of her unfettered freedom. She called loudly, as if in farewell, then rose high and sailed away.
He felt, as he watched her, a tightness in his chest, a swell of gratitude and joy so great he could hardly contain it. This was the moment he had missed most desperately in the dark years, the moment when a recovered bird could take to the sky once again. It reinforced his belief that man could be a friend to the earth and all her creatures and brought home the pattern of his own life.
At his feet, Joel saw one long tail feather. He stooped to pick it up. The honeyed color was just the shade of Maggie's hair. As he looked at it, he thought he'd like to bring her here, show her these birds. Perhaps then she might understand a little more of him.
He sighed. The situation was growing more and more complicated. As he'd mapped out his plan in those first days of freedom, it had all come together so clearly. He'd been unable to foresee the violent chemistry that had bloomed instantly between them. If he'd ever imagined her at all, it was as a plain but pleasing woman who'd be good company for him if they could form a normal kind of relationship on the outside. It was enough for him that they'd shared such a close alliance on a mental level.
His only reason for hiding his past in the beginning had been to give her space to accept or reject him as she would any other man. Somehow, that had backfired, and now he felt trapped in a lie he'd never intended to perpetuate. Last night, he'd seen the speculation in her eyes over the change in him—it had frightened her.
Still absorbed in his thoughts, he wandered back into the mews. "Now what?" he asked Quanah. Had he gone too far already to confess his lie? Would it be better to tell her now, get it done, accept the consequences? Or should he wait a bit longer, until he knew her love had grown strong enough to survive the blow?
What if it never grew that strong? his conscience prodded. The thought made him feel breathless.
Samantha's summer gear was loaded into Paul's Mercedes, the crowd had been fed, and now they all gathered on the porch to say goodbye.
As she joined the others, Maggie felt the pull of loneliness. Looking at David, she knew he felt the same thing, and she touched his arm gently as she stepped forward. Anna hugged Sam hard. "You be good, sugar."
"I will, Gram."
Paul, an elegant, slim man in his forties, cleared his throat, rattling his keys in a restless manner that Maggie hated. Ignoring him, she took her turn with Sam, keeping her farewell hug as brief as possible. Although Sam would be gone just six weeks, Maggie chose not to intrude on Paul's time with his daughter, and this was the last she'd see of Sam until the end of July—unless Galen came. The thought enabled her to pull back. "Have a good time, sweetie—but be good. Your dad has enough gray hair as it is."
"I'll miss you, Mom…" Sam whispered. "I'll call every Saturday."
"I'll be here."
Samantha looked at David. Constrained by the adults around them, they were forced to say goodbye with hands and eyes. David touched the golden broken heart on a chain around Sam's neck, and she touched his. They said not a word. "I'll start my first letter today," she finally said softly.
"Me, too." David let go of her and swallowed. Watching them, Maggie was deeply touched.
"Bye, everybody," Sam said, heading over the blackened sidewalk toward the car. Unable to remove the ugly marks, Maggie had spray painted over them.
A whistle, bright and clear, sounded from down the street. Maggie glanced up to see Joel, riding hard on his ten-speed toward them. Under his arm was a brown bag. Samantha waved at him and he let go of the handlebars to straighten and wave. Maggie smiled wryly to herself. He was an irrep
ressible show-off sometimes.
He guided the bike into a driveway and rode up to the knot of people at the end of the sidewalk, delivering the brown paper bag into Samantha's hands. "Glad I caught you," he said.
Sam peaked inside. "Photography magazines!" she exclaimed. "Thanks, Joel," she said, beaming.
Paul met Maggie's eyes in question. Maggie cleared her throat and stepped forward. "Joel," she said, "this is Samantha's father, Paul Henderson. Paul, this is—um—my neighbor Joel Summer."
The two men shook hands uneasily. Next to Joel, Paul looked like a slender sapling. A sapling, she thought with a repressed smile, that had been deprived of good sunlight. Though he traveled ceaselessly to exotic locales in his career as a photographer, his tan looked somehow sallow next to the vigorous good health Joel exuded like a personal scent.
"I have dinner reservations for us this evening, Samantha. We need to get rolling," Paul said. "Take care, Maggie." He kissed the top of her head.
They departed amid waves and shouts. Anna pleaded church commitments and headed for her car, leaving Joel, Maggie and David standing on the blackened pavement like misarranged chess pieces. "I'll see ya," David mumbled.
Maggie stopped him with one hand on his shoulder. "I'll be missing her, too," she said. "Come by for dinner or something sometimes, okay?"
His pale eyes lightened with relief, and he gave her a wry grin. "I will, Mrs. Henderson." He paused, bit his lip. "I might also know something about your story sometime soon."
"Good. Thanks."
He ambled off with carefully careless strides.
Maggie turned toward Joel and found him heading toward the porch with his bike. An emptiness pinched her chest. It had seemed the past week as if he'd been avoiding her. Had she misread his signals that night in the lilac bushes? She bit her lip. No. She might be somewhat inexperienced with men, but she knew he'd wanted her that night. Affecting a casual attitude, she followed him back to the porch. "It's always hard when she leaves for the summer," she said in opening.
He half smiled as he bent to secure a chain around his bike wheels. "I'll miss her, too."
"Would you like to have a cup of coffee with me?"
Joel stood, rubbing one hand against his jeans with a curiously nervous gesture. "I have some paperwork I need to get done," he said.
Maggie looked at him for a minute, then backed toward her door, nodding. "Maybe another time."
"Yeah," he said. "Thanks."
Maggie fled into her living room and closed the door on the cloudy afternoon, her face burning with embarrassment. What had she done? His mood with Samantha had been cheerful, but as soon as she'd approached him, a wall had slammed into place.
When the worst of her mortification had passed, Maggie went to the kitchen to begin cleaning the mess left from lunch. As she stacked plates and sorted silverware, she wandered back over the time she'd spent with Joel, especially the night last week in the backyard. It had seemed, to her at least, a turning point.
But this entire week, he'd been scarce. She had seen him working in the garden, had heard his music playing and watched him come and go. Once, she'd been on her way outside to speak with him, and he'd headed straight for his door, even though Maggie had been certain that he'd seen her.
She scrubbed a pan with unnecessary force. Chances were, she'd simply pegged him wrong—he'd only seemed sincere. He was probably a charmer, after all.
The trouble with that picture was that a charming man, seeing the goal of seducing Maggie nearly complete, would not back away but rather forge ahead with gusto.
Damn. She peeled her rubber gloves off with a sense of confusion and frustration. At the moment, she'd prefer a charmer. Somewhere in the past week, she'd ceased to care if she ever found a flaw in Joel. She didn't care what he was hiding. She didn't mind that he kindled within her a passion she feared was dangerous and perhaps unhealthy.
She wanted him with every beat of her heart. A restlessness dogged her steps every moment that she couldn't be with him; it crawled under her skin and kept her from sleeping.
Thus far, she'd managed to keep herself from analyzing the emotion too deeply for fear of what she would find. And she didn't allow much now, only an admission that she not only liked and respected Joel Summer, but she definitely wanted to share his bed—right or wrong.
Was it wrong? If it wasn't, would she have held off in Samantha's presence?
Her wandering gaze caught on the framed photograph that Samantha had had published in the city daily. Sam had a rich future awaiting her—and Maggie had done almost everything she could do to make sure her daughter would make the right choices when adulthood overtook her. From here on out, Maggie's role would consist of being there for Samantha to lean on as she began to decide her life.
Therein lay the trouble, Maggie thought. For ten years, her life had been centered upon Samantha—and she regretted not a whit of it. But now, her own needs were clamoring for satisfaction. It was time for her to acknowledge them. No, she didn't take lovers lightly. But a grown woman could form responsible alliances with men similarly inclined.
Thus fortified, Maggie straightened her shoulders, found her jacket—and headed for her car. After all, in the absence of courage, there was always work.
* * *
Chapter 9
« ^ »
As afternoon deepened into evening, a hard rain began to fall. Maggie had worked with dedication for several hours, but the gray storm stole the last of her motivation. She locked up the newspaper office firmly and headed home, planning to view a movie she'd rented from the video store and eat everything in sight.
But when she reached the top stair of her porch, her feet carried her to Joel's door instead of her own, and her hand lifted itself to knock with a good deal of authority on the screen door. Beyond the sound of the pattering rain, she heard his music.
A fit of panic slammed into her chest. What if he was entertaining another woman? There had been no signs of one in his life, but one never knew—perhaps that was the reason he'd seemed distant. She dipped her head, trying to think of a reason for knocking. A cup of sugar—that was a time-tried, but worthy, excuse. Mentally, she rehearsed her lines.
When Joel swung open the door, wearing a sleeveless T-shirt the color of his incredible eyes, her lines fled. She swallowed. "Can I come in?" she blurted out.
Casually, he pushed open the screen. "Sure."
Maggie brushed the wet from her jacket, then took it off and stepped inside, smelling coffee. The air inside was moist and warm, and the sound of a mournful ballad playing on the stereo added a smoky atmosphere. "I hope I'm not interrupting your dinner," she said.
"No." He shifted a stack of books from the couch to the coffee table. "Have a seat."
Gingerly, Maggie settled on the edge of the couch, her hands folded in her lap. Now what? Moses circled around her legs, and she reached down to pet his glossy back.
Joel settled in one of the chairs by the window. He said nothing.
Maggie took in the thick fall of hair over his high forehead, his blunt nose and full lips. In his huge hands, he shifted a paperback book back and forth restlessly.
"You're sending me mixed messages, Joel," she said finally. She forced herself to meet his eyes. "I don't know how to act when you do that. I can live with it if you've changed your mind and don't want to see me, but I'd like to know."
Joel looked at her. Her tiger eyes glowed as if they held their own light, and her hair was slightly damp with rain, her skin dewy with its mist. He put the book down and crossed the room, unable to resist the lure of her honest confusion or the promise of the harbor she offered. "Changed my mind?" he echoed with an ironic note. He took her hand and tugged her to her feet. "You act like there was a choice involved."
He crushed her against him, feeling a sweet explosion as their bodies met—hers strong but rounded against his, her solid height filling his arms, covering a lifetime of cold places. As she melted against him, he let go of
everything but the moment, unable to resist her unguarded coming.
Upon his mouth, her hair felt heavy and smelled of rain. Her breasts thrust against his chest, and he let his hands wander over the dip of her spine to the full swell of her bottom, allowing the generous flesh to fill his hands for a moment before he pulled her more tightly into him.
He nudged away the hair over her ear and tasted the spare arc of skin at her earlobe, suckling gently until she sagged against him. At that instant, Joel felt her hands slip under his T-shirt in the back, and her cold fingertips ran up the length of him. He nipped her earlobe and heard her laugh with throaty enjoyment.
All the desire that had been building within him now slowly filled every molecule of his body with the realization that it was Maggie, his sweet, sweet Maggie, in his arms. He tightened his hold. "I won't let you go this time," he growled, and took her lips with a nearly unbearable hunger—a hunger deeper than anything physical, one unlike anything he'd ever known. With Maggie in his arms he felt whole, as if all the worn, raveled wounds of his soul were being healed.
Maggie drank of him, opening her lips to his seeking, searing tongue. Her arms looped hard around his neck. Her feet barely touched the floor as one of his arms anchored her waist against his body.
A fierce desire swept through her, as if all the vivid imaginings she'd indulged since meeting him had narrowed to this moment in his arms. "Make love to me, Joel," she murmured, and raked her fingernails lightly down his sides.
He groaned and Maggie thrilled to the evidence of his arousal pressed against her belly. His mouth bruised hers in dizzying promise. "You know I want you," he said against her lips. "But I'm not prepared."
Maggie dipped her head shyly and whispered, "That's okay." Then, lifting her eyes to his, she added, "I am."
His grin was dazzling. He scooped her up into his arms. Maggie gasped as he headed for the steps that led upstairs.
"I can walk," she protested. "I was only kidding about Tarzan."