by Unknown
Insanity. Wild and impossible, but if he took her in his arms right now, she might succumb to the sensual stranger inside herself.
Silence, staring into his shadowed eyes, feeling his touch as if words were physical. When he finally turned away from her, she felt his movement as a pain somewhere deep inside. No words. She watched from above as he went down the staircase to the living room. Dark head, broad shoulders. He stopped and stared back up at her. She could have sworn he could see straight into her thundering heart.
It was dark up here. He could not see. But he did. She knew he did. She heard the door close when he left. Then silence. Was he waiting outside, knowing she would have to come out to her van? When she did, would he enclose her in his arms in the darkness outside? If he opened his arms, would she walk into their trap?
She looked down and saw her hands clenched together. Deliberately, she loosened her grip, slowly felt reason crawling back. Temporary insanity, that was what had happened to her. Molly Natham had never melted, had certainly never burned for a man in her life. Until tonight.
No! After twenty-six years of keeping her head, she was not going to start making a fool of herself now!
CHAPTER THREE
He wandered through her dreams. There were trees, big cedars with branches drooping down over her, a dark sun, and the shadow of the man.
He was stalking Rex and Bronty, although with their caricature dinosaur fierceness they should have been the hunters.
She ducked behind a tree. Its massive trunk concealed her from the dinosaurs and the black-eyed man. Saul was sitting on a stump, laughing and telling her that the key was in the drawer, but there was a reason for it all. She heard the stranger then, but Saul was gone, no help at all. That was when she realized the stranger was stalking her, not Bronty and Rex.
Through the jungle. Pounding, drumming. Drum beats, warning of the dangers. She heard them, felt them pulsing her blood. He was there, in front of her! She had been running, flying, straight into his arms. He touched her and the sky turned red and hot.
Her eyes flew open and she was sitting bolt upright in the bed, the covers tumbled around her, sunlight streaming in. Cold air on her breasts. She shivered and pulled the blankets close. A dream. Of course it had been a dream. Only a dream. Not real, any more than the sense of being pulled into danger last night had been real.
Reality was the pounding. No, the knocking. It must have been magnified by her dream.
Someone at the door downstairs. She stumbled out of the bed, pushed at the sheet that wanted to come with her. So cold. Freezing. She caught up Saul's robe and tied it tightly as she padded down the stairs in bare feet.
She knew who it was before she opened the door. Knocking on the back door seemed so much more intimate than a stranger calling at the front.
'Good morning, Molly.'
He was smiling, tall and broad and handsome. He was wearing a pale blue shirt and a darker blue tie, a navy mohair cardigan over dark, immaculate slacks. Even his hair was brushed smooth and wavy. Civilized, she thought, and knew she must have imagined last night's wild danger. Her fingers curled around the edge of the door, but she forced herself to stand her ground. She was not going to step back and let him in.
'Good morning?' She made it a question and his lips twitched. His eyes dropped to her bare feet, shifting uncomfortably on the cold floor.
'Did I wake you up? Sorry. I brought you some fresh eggs.' He held out a carton. 'Farm fresh,' he added. 'And I'm sorry about last night. I guess I must have seemed a bit intimidating.'
'Intimidating?' He had haunted her sleep with sensual danger. She stared at the egg carton, then her eyes flew up to him, but he was looking at the spot where Saul's robe crossed over her breasts.
His eyes moved to hers, direct and warm. 'I'm sorry about last night, Molly. I don't usually hassle my neighbour's guests. And - ' He cleared his throat and she had the idea that he actually was embarrassed. 'I didn't mean what I said.'
She felt herself starting to smile. 'You didn't mean your threat to steal me away from Saul?' It was crazy, his thinking she was Saul's latest affaire de coeur.
'Did I actually threaten that?'
'It sounded like it.' His body language more than the words. That sensation of breathless foreknowledge pulsing through her veins. 'Yes, you did, and I'm not anybody's possession, so - '
He stopped her words with a gesture, long fingers spread out to silence her. 'I don't - I was having an odd day and . . . well, there was a certain chemistry - Still is,' he admitted with a low grumble as his eyes strayed again. 'Look, this is pretty damned - I am sorry for the melodramatics last night. Will you take the eggs?'
'A peace offering?' Could he hear her heart beating?
'Yes, a peace offering. '
'Farm fresh, you said? The eggs, I mean. Do you have chickens?' She grabbed the carton, wishing she could think of comfortable words, conversation. Words seemed like mine fields at the moment. She muttered, 'Your clothes don't exactly go with mucking out the chickens.'
'My family. The farm down the way.' His words were stiff, too. He jerked his head in the general direction of the road.
'The McNaughton farm?'
'That's right. My older brother runs it. I didn't introduce myself last night, did I? I'm Patrick. Patrick McNaughton.'
No introduction, but he had held her close against him with one strong arm. She might be dreaming those eyes, the sensation of his arm against her, for years to come.
'No,' she agreed. 'You didn't introduce yourself.'
'All in all, poor hospitality. And Gabriolans have a reputation for hospitality.'
'So you came to tell me I'm safe?' Now why had she brought that up again? As if she wanted to walk into danger with him. 'Have you - I haven't seen the cat. It didn't come here all night.'
'I peeled her off my screen again this morning.' His laughter was low and warm. 'If you put out some milk, and leave the door open, she may come in. Be careful of her claws, though. She's laid tracks on my arms more than once.'
'I will.' She pulled the robe closer around herself. 'Thank you. And thank you for the eggs.'
He nodded. 'If you have trouble with the water, let me know. Saul was having a problem with the pump.' He glanced down at her cold feet and frowned. 'You have got the heat going, haven't you?'
She shook her head. 'There's a wood stove of some sort in the living room, but - '
'Where in Ontario are you from, Molly?'
'Ottawa. And Toronto.' His lips twitched and she admitted, 'Electric baseboard heaters. I couldn't get the wood to burn.'
'Put something on your feet,' he commanded gently. 'Socks. Shoes. I'll get the fire going for you.'
She shook her head. 'No, I'll - you don't need to.'
'Do you want to shiver all day?'
'No, but - ' She frowned. 'You'll mess up your clothes.'
'That would be a disaster, wouldn't it?' He laughed. 'Go on, get something on your feet.' She hesitated and he seemed to read her mind. 'Just good neighbours, Molly. Don't worry about it.'
Upstairs, she changed quickly into jeans and a thick sweater, socks and shoes. She could hear little sounds from down below as she hurriedly brushed her hair. When she came down the steps, he was standing up, brushing his hands together. She could hear the crackle of fire, the sound of metal expanding. The stove-pipe?
She said hesitantly, 'Thank you, Patrick.'
'Close that vent in about ten minutes time, when it's going well. Then around noon, open up and add two or three more pieces of wood on top of the coals and it'll keep you warm until this evening.'
'Thank you.' She could feel the beginning of warmth radiating, but she made herself walk away from the fire, moving with him towards the back door. 'Could I get you to show me sometime later? How to start it myself?' She stood, holding the door open for him, not wanting him to leave yet.
'Sure. I'll come this evening.' Once outside her door, he turned back to smile at her. 'And if you need an
ything today, my sister Sarah's along the way at the bed and breakfast. You must have seen the sign when you came in yesterday? She could spare you some bread and milk and so forth until you get to the store.'
'Thank you.' Neighbours. It was a warm feeling.
He said, 'I take it back.' His voice was strained.
'What? Take what back? The fire?' She shook her head in confusion, knowing that was nonsense.
'I told you I didn't mean what I said last night.' He was still brushing his hands absently against each other.
She trembled and whispered, 'You mean about taking me away from Saul?'
'This morning I thought I must have been mad, but I was wrong. I meant every word.'
'I'm not - ' She dragged in an painful breath and found some kind of force behind her words. 'I'm not some kind of toy, you know. A possession to - and I'm not interested in - '
'Anyone but Saul?'
'I love Saul.' Of course she loved her father, but this was insane, using him as a defence against Patrick McNaughton.
He caught her chin with lean, strong fingers. She could feel his breath on her face. He smelled of soap and fresh, clean male mixed with the faint tang of his after-shave and a breath of wood smoke.
'Why, Molly? Why Saul Natham? He's the most inconstant man alive, and he's far too old for you. You need . . . more than he could ever give you.'
She had always needed more than Saul could give, but she was a grown woman now and didn't expect perfection from her father. She should tell him - she should -
She knew what was going to happen. Only seconds away. His lips. She could not take her eyes off them until they were too close, then she was staring wide-eyed into his black magnetism.
'I thought your eyes were blue,' he murmured in a husky, deep voice. 'But they're green, too. They change colour like cat eyes.'
She had time enough to step back, but she was motionless, waiting, heart beating, lips parting. His mouth covered hers slowly and she felt herself soften, accepting his caress. Warm, dizzy sensation. His hands were resting on the door frame, supporting his weight as he leaned towards her. He covered her lips with dry warmth and she trembled deep inside. His kiss was seductive, drawing her deeper. Her heart was thundering, her body drawing closer, needing his arms to take her to him.
When he pulled away from her, she could feel her lungs straining, empty.
'You see?' he demanded huskily, holding her eyes.
'What?' She touched swollen lips with the tip of her tongue.
'Saul isn't the only man who can stir you.'
'You're . . . crazy,' she whispered. She was aching for him to kiss her again, pull her close. She hugged herself with nervous arms and muttered, 'Get out of here. Go away.' She felt tension grow like wildness in her veins.
'I'll be back,' he said softly. 'So expect me, Molly.'
She spent the morning trying to shake the feeling that he would return at any moment. Whenever she touched her lips with her fingers, she could feel the soft tingle, the echo of his kiss. A solitary morning, and yet with every sound, she jerked and felt her heart thundering.
Patrick McNaughton. Did he actually think she would just open her arms and . . . It would be explosive when she did. Shattering. Overwhelming.
When she did?
'Never!' she muttered. She didn't even like him.
That was a lie, but liking had nothing to do with it. Something deep inside her had recognized him, wanted him. It made no sense at all and she would shake it pretty quickly. Chemistry, that's what it was. Some men had it, she supposed, and her new neighbour was certainly one of them.
He had her at a disadvantage, tired and disoriented from the long cross-country drive, and then this morning - well, she'd just woken up. Hardly fair tactics to kiss her when she was half-asleep! It was six o'clock in the morning! He'd woken her up at an unearthly hour. He had a lot of nerve, this neighbour of hers!
She would fry some of his eggs for breakfast. He owed her that much after those dreams last night.
She scrounged around in the cupboards for something to go with the eggs, but found no bread, no crackers, no vegetables. The refrigerator was turned off and it smelled terrible inside. She closed it quickly. There were tins of flour and baking powder on the counter. A gas stove with an oven, but she couldn't figure out how to light the oven, so gave up on the idea of biscuits for breakfast.
She had the eggs alone, then she found a tin of apple juice in the cupboard over the sink and washed down her breakfast with warm juice.
She found the hot water tank in the bathroom. It seemed to be gas, too, but the pilot light was out. She had no matches left. How had Patrick lit the fire this morning? She would have to boil water on the stove top to clean, but first she would use that telephone. She still couldn't see where the wires came into the cabin, but Saul had both electricity and telephone up here.
Molly dialled through to Toronto, thinking she would leave money to cover the call, then remembering that it was her house now. She was the lady in residence. She smothered a chuckle, knowing that she would eventually find Saul's telephone bills in the mail. She would be the one paying.
Aunt Carla answered on the first ring, demanding, 'Molly? Where are you?'
Molly reassured her, but Aunt Carla was still muttering about Saul's inconsiderate ways when the conversation ended, adding a final resentful, 'He could have waited for you to get there, at least.' Or left a key, added Molly silently, but she wasn't about to add fuel to Aunt Carla's perpetual state of outrage with her brother.
'Don't worry,' she reassured Carla. 'It's beautiful here. The cabin is gorgeous, electricity and running water and the whole bit, and I'm going to get in a full day's work today, then take a walk through the trees. Anyway, here's the phone number and hang onto my mail until I figure out the mailing address, would you?'
In Ottawa, her domain had ended at her apartment door. Now Molly wandered in and out of the cabin, locating a bucket, then filling it and scrubbing floors with water heated on the stove top. A full day's work, and Carla would have assumed she meant sketching and painting, not scrubbing Saul's neglected floors.
After she had the kitchen clean, Molly wandered through the cedar stand behind the cabin with a mug of coffee in her hand. Fantastic smells, the tang of cedar mixed with other extravagant, natural scents. Was that a honeysuckle vine tangled in the branches overhead? Wild mushrooms growing under the trees. She would have to get a book to find out if they were edible.
She heard the telephone ringing and hurried inside to answer it. Aunt Clara calling back, she thought, or one of her father's women friends, wondering where he was and why he had not kept his promises.
'Molly? Ça va?'
Molly sank down onto the sofa with the receiver against her ear, smiling at the sound of his voice. 'Where are you, Saul?'
'Airport.' He was laughing and she shrugged. If he didn't want to say, he wouldn't. He had greeted her in French, which meant he would be en route to Montreal or Paris. She knew his ways.
'The cabin's great,' she told him. 'Thank you.'
'Hmm.' Saul was always uncomfortable with gratitude. 'Has anyone been looking for me? Calling?'
'No. I just got here. Listen, Saul, the cat - '
'Don't tell anyone where I am, will you?' There were sounds around him, anonymous airport sounds.
'How can I? I don't know where you are. Who's looking for you? And why?'
'I just need peace and quiet for my painting. Take care, Mo - '
'Saul, hold on! Don't hang up! The mail? How do I get mail? Where? And keys? Where are the keys to the house?'
'Check around, the neighbours will help you out. Next door - My plane's going. Better fly. And Moll - don't tell anyone where I am.'
Was he running from a woman? Usually Saul had the sense to pick women who were as transient as he was, but every now and then he found himself entangled deeper than he wanted to be. She had known there would be some reason for his gift, that it would be more tha
n the impulse to give his daughter a birthday present. Even assuming a woman in hot pursuit, why should Saul give the cabin away? Why not just lock up and go?
The cat? No. Saul wasn't heartless, wouldn't actually abandon the cat forever, but he was quite capable of charming someone into taking over custody without having to give away his home. Molly frowned, knowing that all the hassle of the lawyer and the paperwork of the property transfer was completely out of character for her father.
Why go at all? Why not unplug the telephone and lock the door, ignore any unwanted women who came knocking? She remembered other times, other women coming. Back then it had been Molly who went to the door, sending interruptions away while her father painted and sealed out the world.
If this was another woman problem, Molly would have expected Saul to stay put until his September showing, painting like mad and oblivious to the rest of the world. He said he needed peace and quiet? What did he call this? The rat race?
She went upstairs and worked on clearing away Saul's things, disturbed by the fact that he had left behind his brushes, his oils and his palette. He had told her he needed to paint, but had left behind both his studio easel and his sketching easel. So why -
She stopped to glance through the tall cathedral windows, searching for the impression of movement she had sensed in the clearing outside.
A deer.
Softly, Molly moved along the narrow walk to the balcony. The animal was motionless on the far side of the clearing, head lifted, ears alert. Molly stopped breathing, wanting to move closer, but afraid movement or sound would panic the golden animal into flight. No antlers. Did that mean it was a female? A doe? It lifted its head and stared directly at Molly, then turned and slowly wandered into the trees.
Saul had promised there would be deer.
A few moments later, Molly found a set of keys in Saul's paint-box. Front door key. Back door. A small unmarked key. For a padlock? She shrugged and moved on to the two General Motors keys. Car keys? Where was Saul's car? She shrugged that problem away. It was years since she had trailed behind Saul, keeping track of his keys and his timetable and his finances - all the things he habitually forgot.