by Sun Chara
“No.” She laughed. “Not another bite.”
“Troy?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her face.
“Na-a-a.” Troy pushed his chair back and jumped up. “Let’s roast marshmallows, Dad.”
Stella picked up her steaming mug, and accompanied Troy and his father to the library. A fire in the hearth blazed its welcome. She sat on the sofa, Stan hunkered down on the opposite corner from her and Troy stood drinking his cup of cocoa. Almost done, he gazed at them expectantly over the rim and burst out laughing. It was infectious and they joined in, the joyous sound enfolding them like a warm blanket.
“Where are the marshmallows?” Troy asked. “Come on, Dad, you know where Minni keeps her treats.”
“She’s changed hiding places on me.” He smothered a chuckle, looking a little rueful. “Why don’t you and Stella search the cupboards while I go out and get us three roasting sticks.”
Stella slammed her cup on the coffee table, Troy and Stan picking up her cue, did the same.
“Last one’s a roasted marshy.” She scrambled up and hurried to the kitchen with Troy nipping at her heels.
“You’re on,” Stan called back.
Troy rummaged through the pantry and within minutes, emerged victorious, clutching a bag full of marshmallows in his hand. He dashed back to the library, Stella cheering him on, just as Stan strode in.
“We won! We won!” Troy exclaimed, stuffing a white blob in his mouth.
Smiling at his son, Stan shook snowflakes off his hair and shoulders. “Brr… sure is coming down out there.” He placed three twigs on the table. “Winners get first choice.”
After Troy grabbed a stick, Stan pierced a marshmallow with the second spear and held it out to her. “For you.”
“Thank you,” Stella whispered, a little flustered by his thoughtfulness.
“Mmm, yummy.” Troy licked his sticky fingers and extending the stick over the flickering flames, singed four marshmallows. Unconcerned, he pulled them off two at a time and stuffed them in his mouth, smacking his lips. “That was good.”
“It certainly was. Now it’s time for bed, sport.”
“Aww, Dad,” Troy argued. “You and Stella haven’t eaten your marshmallows yet. Besides, I’m not a baby. I’m eight years old.”
“What a grand old age, m’ boy.” Stan ruffled his hair. “To bed.”
Troy made motions of getting up while his father marched in front of him to the door. “Come on, son, I’ll see you up.”
“I’ll clear the dishes,” Stella murmured.
“No rush,” Stan said. “I’ll help you when I come back.”
The last thing Stella wanted was to be alone with him. She worked quickly and just as she folded the tea towel and placed it on the kitchen rack, Stan walked in.
He glanced around the spotless kitchen. “You’re a quick worker, Ryan.”
She patted the towel in place and remained silent.
“About some things,” he amended in a quiet voice.
Stella’s head shot up and her eyes met his. Her heart pulsed off beat. His gaze darkened and he took a step nearer. Thick tension filled the room, seeming to draw her closer to him, imprisoning her.
Stella lowered her lashes and with unsteady fingers began removing her apron. “Look, Rogers—” Her fingers fumbled with the knot.
“I am.”
“I’m in no mood to spar with you.”
“Here, let me.” He reached behind her back and covered her hands with his, putting an end to her inept attempts to untie the knot.
She smelled the subtle scent of his aftershave, fresh as outdoors. She felt his heat. She held her breath. Slowly, she raised her lashes and he slammed into her with the intensity of his gaze. She took a step backward, her pulse racing.
He moved a step closer.
She edged further back, bumping against the counter.
He advanced.
“No.”
“Yes.” He untied the ribbons and with one swift flick removed the apron and threw it behind him. Then, he encircled her waist with his arms and drew her closer.
Stella raised her hands to ward him off and her fingers splayed against his chest. Heat penetrated the material of his shirt and shot into her, throwing her emotions into a tizzy.
Stan lifted his hands to the nape of her neck and removed the pins from her hair. It tumbled down, a golden mass of curls trailing through his fingers. A breathless moment, and he cupped her face between his hands, gazing deep into her eyes, then a notch lower targeting her lips.
“You may not be in the mood for sparring,” he whispered, “but you’re in the mood for this.” He bent his head and claimed her mouth.
On the brink of surrender, Stella found the will power to twist away, her knees almost buckling. “I didn’t come here to entertain you, Rogers,” she bit out, voice wrought with emotion, heart hammering against her ribs.
Stan drew in a sharp breath. “Your words tell one story, your body another.” He skimmed his gaze over her, then turned away and strode from the kitchen.
Stella sagged against the counter, clutching the edge and sucking in mouthfuls of air. Her temples pounded, her mouth went dry and she licked her lips. Long moments later, she trudged up the stairs to her room and threw herself on the bed. Tears flowed down her face and soaked the pillow. She sniffed, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and turned over, glaring at the ceiling. She didn’t want to feel all tangled inside whenever he came near. She wanted her life on easy drive. Didn’t want this man to overhaul her life’s work, by one look, one touch … one kiss.
At twenty-seven, Stella wondered if she’d made the right choices in life. She’d seen what marriage had done to her friends. The majority ended in divorce and most of the rest went from day to day, living an existence they didn’t want, either from fear of being alone or feeling guilty because of the kids. Stella had no intention of falling into that trap. If and when she did marry, she wanted it to be with both eyes open, wanted to feel alive, truly alive with her man. A little voice prodded her mind. Wasn’t that how Stan made her feel, and wasn’t that why she fought him so hard?
She flicked a stray strand off her forehead, flipped onto her stomach and punched the pillow. She was wary of getting involved. Sure, she’d had boyfriends in the past; some had wanted to get serious, others had been out for a good time. She hadn’t liked being pressured and constantly fighting to keep her virtue.
At present, she had no desire to complicate her life with anyone, especially Stan Rogers. Her path had veered in a different direction than most and she used her energies to fuel her career, rather than to get her man. Perhaps one day the paths would cross. She didn’t look forward to it, certain it would be explosive.
“Blast you, Rogers.” She curled up, sniffed and pulled the bedspread over her quivering body. Shifting her head to a drier spot on the pillow, she closed her eyes and a lone tear slid down her cheek, then another.
Next morning, wind whistling through the trees awoke Stella. She dragged her eyes open and peeked at the window from beneath the covers. Snow blew against the misty pane. She smothered a yawn, pulled the bedspread under her chin and huddled in the warmth for a few more minutes.
A knock on the door startled her and she rubbed her eyes. “Who is it?” She patted her tangled hair in place and slid from the bed, clutching the sheet close to her bosom. She walked to the door, kicking the folds from her path.
“It’s me, Ms. Ry … uh … Sensei,” Troy said, his voice filtering through the wooden panel.
She opened the door a crack and peered at the boy’s freshly washed face. Dressed in brown corduroy pants and a red pullover sweater, he stood in the hallway, gazing up at her. His small feet were wrapped in woolly slippers and she smiled, noticing how he rubbed one foot a little nervously on the floor.
“I’ve brought you a cup of coffee,” he offered. “My dad thought you might like it.”
“Thank you.” She reached out and took the steaming mu
g from his outstretched hand. The man had a heart after all, maybe. She shook her head. The man had a heart of stone. Best she remember that and remain distant, aloof, detached. She’d stay out of his way and she’d survive this ordeal. Yes, she would, she must.
“My dad said to ask if you wanted me to show you Minni’s room.”
“Yes, that’d be nice.” She sipped the coffee and leaned against the doorjamb for a moment. “Mmm, this tastes so-o good.” She sighed and smiled. “I’ll meet you in your room in about twenty minutes, okay?”
Eagerly, he nodded and dashed off.
Stella closed the door and stepped next to the heat vent on the floor. Warm air filtered through, toasting her toes. It took awhile for the room to warm up this early in the morning and she stayed there for a few minutes, savoring the bittersweet brew.
Finally, she set the mug on the dresser, tossed the sheet on the bed and shivering, walked to the bathroom. In no time at all, she’d showered and run a comb through her hair. Groaning at her puffy eyes reflected in the mirror above the sink, she splashed cold water over them and blotted them dry with a soft, pink towel. Make-up would do the trick. She hoped Minni had a few creams and lotions she could borrow. Grimacing, she slipped into her old, still slightly damp jogging suit from her dunk in the pool. She took a moment to straighten the bed and then hurried out to meet Troy.
For most of the day Stella and Troy rummaged through Minni’s closet. Troy giggled at her modeling antics and her wiggly toes. Finally, she found two dresses, and although large and much too short, she could hold them in place with a belt tied around her waist. Shoes proved more difficult, but if she didn’t venture outside, she could get by with her battered running shoes, once they dried out.
She hadn’t seen Stan at all, except once when he passed her in the hallway. He’d glanced at the bundle in her arms and with a curt nod, continued on his way. Which was just fine by her.
Early on Monday morning, before Stan and Troy were up, Stella ran her daily two miles in the gym, followed by an hour’s workout. Afterward, she took a quick dip in the pool and ambled to the kitchen for breakfast.
Stan stood by the stove, flipping flapjacks in the air, while Troy very carefully poured orange juice in their glasses. It turned out to be a quiet meal, except for the satisfied sounds from Troy gobbling his pancakes.
“Slow down there, Troy, m’ boy,” Stan advised, an indulgent smile on his lips. He raised his cup, took a sip of coffee and leveled his sights on Stella. “I’m going to hike to the parking area near the road today. I’d like to see what condition the truck’s in after the snowfall.”
“Can I come too, Dad?” Troy piped up, syrup dribbling on his chin.
Stella hid a smile.
“No,” Stan said in a firm tone. “It may be dangerous, and wipe that sticky stuff off your chin.”
Stella shifted in her seat.
“Concerned for me?” he asked her.
“Don’t take it personally.” She lowered her lashes, camouflaging what her eyes might reveal. “I’d be concerned for anyone who traipsed out in that snow-covered and pot-holed trail.” A pause to control her emotions, and she flashed him a cool gaze.
“I see.” He studied her for a few seconds and pushed his chair back. “Keep an eye on Troy for me, will you?”
“Of course,” she said, but he’d already stomped through the door. A tense breath staggered from her, and she contemplated the dark liquid in her cup.
Stella filled the morning hours by flipping through magazines with Troy in the library. About an hour before lunch, she gave him a lesson in the gym, and laughed when he, too, asked the familiar question.
“How long will it take to get my black belt?”
“It could take from two to five years, depending on how often you work out and how you view Karate,” she said. “It’s an art form.”
“What happens after I get my black belt?” He flicked out a front kick, excitement shining in his eyes.
“Then, my young karateka,” she said, “is when you really begin to learn and understand the wisdom behind Karate. It’s the beginning of the long journey to Shehan.”
“Master?”
“That’s right.” She threw a punch at him.
He stepped back and blocked it.
She smiled. He was catching on fast.
Later that afternoon, after Troy lay down for a nap, Stella hurried back to the library. She stopped in her tracks. A cell phone was on the alcove by the window. Stan must’ve forgotten it there, accidentally or on purpose? Didn’t matter. She could make use of it … call someone, but who … one of her friends … and tell them what … that she’d been kidnapped … that wasn’t entirely true … and she didn’t feel in any real danger.
Except maybe to her heart.
Stella stepped closer, her hand hovering above the phone. A deep sigh, and she stroked the receiver, the metal cold and smooth beneath her fingertips. She was about to flip it open, when it jingled. Startled, she jumped back. It rang for several seconds, and finally she lifted it to her ear.
“He-ello.”
“Hello, hello,” an impatient voice spoke from the other end of the line. “Give me, Stan Rogers.”
“He’s not available,” Stella said, hair on her nape rising. “Is there a message?”
“No.” A heavy moment, and then the woman’s words crackled through the airwaves. “On second thought, yes. Tell him it’s his adoring wife.
Chapter 7
“Wife?” Stella gripped the receiver, blinking rapidly to banish the blackness from her eyes, the emptiness from inside her.
“That’s right,” the woman repeated. “Tell him I want to see him. He’ll know what I mean.” She gave a husky laugh and hung up.
Static sounded in her ear, and slowly Stella flipped the cell off. Chills crawled up her spine, numbing her. Stan was married. Yet, he wore no ring, and his behavior hadn’t been that of a married man. A sharp sound left her stiff lips … more fool she. Nausea churned in her stomach.
She heard a muffled sob and turned, the flash of red darting out the door snapped her into action.
“Troy!” She jogged after him. “Troy, wait!” By the time she got to the hallway, he was gone. After a hasty search, she rushed back, re-checking all the rooms on the main floor. He was nowhere to be seen.
Stella sprinted to the gym. A sigh of relief burst from her lips at the sight of the clear surface of the pool. She trotted back to the house and uncertain of what to do, paced the hallway.
“Stan, where are you when I need you?” She ran a hand through her mussed hair and a moan fluttered from deep within her. As much as she denied it, this man had become an integral part of her life. But she had to nip it now. End it. But first she had to find his son.
Where was Troy? A thought flashed through her mind and a feeling of unease gnawed her insides. She grabbed Minni’s coat from the wall hook, draped it over her shoulders and hurried outside.
“Troy!” She searched the garage, then the woods surrounding the lodge. Panic clawed her nerves. Could someone have taken him? Was he out there in the bush? Dusk was settling and it was getting colder by the minute. Although it had stopped snowing, the air was icy crisp, the snow deep. And what of the wild animals … a little boy lost in a dark forest. A whimper squeezed from her mouth, and she wrapped her arms around herself, pulling the coat closer about her.
Soaked to the knee, she trudged back to the verandah and paused a moment to contemplate her next move. A sharp sound burst from her and she ran inside taking the steps two at a time. She rushed into his room and flung the closet door wide open. Relief washed over her. His coat and boots were still there. He couldn’t have gone far.
A sinister image flashed in her mind. She pressed her fingers to her pounding temples. She hadn’t seen any footprints in the snow. If the child was carried out, he’d leave no tracks in the snow. Any others could have been brushed away with a branch. Shivering, she paced the floor, her snow-soaked sneakers s
quelching. When she heard the front door click, she flew out and down the stairs.
“Troy, is that you?” She leaped off the last two steps and smacked into Stan stomping through the door.
“Steady there.” He gripped her shoulders, checking her headlong rush and booted the door shut. Glimpsing the distraught look on her face, he steeled his hands on her flesh. “What’s going on?”
“I-I-I don’t know.”
“What d’ you mean?” His eyes turned blue granite. “Where ’s my son?”
Stella blinked at tears trembling on her lashes and began an incoherent explanation.
“All right, all right.” Stan pulled her into his arms. “Start again, from the beginning. I want the whole story.”
The warmth of his embrace penetrated the panic gripping her and words tumbled from her mouth.
“Troy couldn’t have gone far.” He released her, his mind seeming miles away, his jaw sharp. “He wouldn’t. Knows better.” He frowned. “You searched everywhere?”
“Yes. Upstairs, downstairs, outside, the gym, the pool … all over.”
“Troy has been drilled not to go near the water on his own and without a key he can’t …” His shoulders drooped as if a heavy weight had landed on him. “Still, we’ll have another look.” He seemed to look right through her. “Check upstairs once more, while I retrace your steps outside.”
After inspecting the top floor, Stella peered behind the shower curtain in her bathroom and felt deflated. She retraced her steps, leaned out the window but Troy wasn’t crouched on the roof as she’d imagined … hoped. She scanned her bedroom. If she were a child, where would she hide?
A flutter of hope.
In two seconds flat, she crossed the floor, knelt down and peeked under the bed, squinting at shadows. She heard a whimper. He was curled up like an abandoned puppy in the far corner.
“Troy.” She reached out, brushing his shoulder with her fingertips but he jerked away. “Hey there, young karateka,” she said, in a gentle, firm voice. “Come out. Your father and I have been looking for you.”
“Don’t want to.”