by Renee Roszel
Drew drove home while her father and her husband debated, challenged, and discussed the most advanced techniques of experimentation in their field. She pulled up and parked in their drive, following them toward the small A-frame as Dr. McKenna demanded, “What about the deleterious changes?”
The wooden porch reported their arrival in the darkness with a loud hollow clomping as Rolf unlocked the door, turning on the porch light for Drew. He stood back, motioning Dr. McKenna to precede him into the house.
Mounting the steps, Drew noticed a letter in the mailbox and lifted it out. Glancing absently at it, she stopped short, sucking in a breath. It was from Jim! There was no mistaking his heavy-handed script.
Rolf registered her small sound of shock and looked down at her, a puzzled frown marring his handsome features. “What is it, Kindchen?”
Drew motioned rather stiffly for him to go in with her father, whispering only, “Give me a minute.” Her voice sounded oddly hoarse to her ears.
He didn’t move for a moment, eyeing her narrowly. Then he seemed to make a decision. “A minute,” he repeated, his expression one of concern. Turning without another word, he stepped inside the door closing it between them.
Shaky fingers tore open the letter. It had been over three months since she had heard from Jim. After he had received a suspended sentence for his assault on her, he had returned to his job in California without a word. She had not expected to hear from him again. Leaning heavily against the paneled door, she looked down, concentrating on the scrawled words. It read:
Drew,
This is not easy for me. But it is something I have to do. First, I want to apologize for all the harm I have done you. I am seeing a therapist, and I believe I am beginning to come to terms with my problems.
Tell Rolf that I bear him no hard feelings. And I hope that someday he will be able to do the same for me. I can see now that he was right to file charges against me. That experience, painful though it was, prompted me to ask for the help I needed to begin to get myself straightened out. I am grateful to him for that.
And, Drew, please don’t worry about my bothering you again. This letter will be my last contact with you. I just want to let you know that I wish you the happiness with Rolf that I did not know how to give you.
It was signed, simply, “Jim.”
Drew did not realize that she was crying until a tear splashed against the letter’s slick surface. Blinking back other threatening tears, she lifted her head, mechanically folding the page and slipping it into the pocket of her dress. Turning the knob on the door, she gave a quick wipe at her eyes and walked inside. Breathing a long sigh, she squared her shoulders, feeling as though a tremendous burden had just been lifted from them.
When she stepped into the living room, she saw that Rolf and her father had settled themselves on the small white couch. Because Jim’s letter had left her feeling almost giddy in her relief, she had to press her lips together struggling with a smile to see her large-framed husband perching on the cramped little couch. He always looked so terribly oversized for the small two-seater. The pink velvet throw pillows that Drew had selected so carefully as accent pieces, were lying discarded on the rug beside the wicker coffee table.
Though it had been Rolf’s habit to remove the small pillows every time he sat on the couch in an effort to make himself comfortable, he had never complained about her furniture, or even commented on the singularly feminine surroundings. Drew loved him all the more for his silent suffering—a very masculine man living under the cruel yoke of womanly frills.
Rolf was speaking as she closed the door. “We need to test that structural alloy. I feel it would provide a high level of plasma purity. . .” His voice trailed away, and he looked over toward the door, his expression questioning.
She smiled reassuringly, waving away his concern. “Good news, Rolf. I’ll tell you later.” Turning toward the kitchen she finished, “You go on with your work. Dinner won’t be long.”
His nod was lost to her back. She heard only the excitement in Madder McKenna’s high-pitched voice. “My boy! I believe you’ve hit on something there. We must get started on that hypothesis tomorrow!”
Pushing through the door, she felt herself smile. Her father hadn’t even noticed she had come in.
“Soup’s on, fellows,” she called ten minutes later.
“Good.” Rolf stood and stretched. “It smells. . .different.”
Drew laughed. He’d reminded her of what she had said when he had first prepared Kohlsuppe for her in East Germany.
“I assure you, the taste will not disappoint you.” She batted her lashes teasingly, repeating what he had answered, so long ago.
Missing their play, Drew’s father stood. “My goodness, Drew, what is that smell?”
She was ladling the thick soup from a steaming tureen into three bowls. “It’s cabbage soup with smoked sausage, Daddy. Believe me, it’s good for what ails you. Once this soup nursed me back from death’s very door.”
Dr. McKenna took a seat, speaking matter-of-factly, “Your mother always did that with chicken soup.”
Rolf helped Drew into her chair as he answered, “It never hurts to have two life-support soups in a family, Madder.”
Dr. McKenna took up his spoon, tasting. “Now, Rolf, about that alloy.”
Drew sat back, smiling to herself. She was, once again, thankful that she was a trained physicist. At least she could understand the conversations that would, no doubt, dominate the waking hours of her life from now on.
She felt a light hand on hers pulling her out of her thoughts. “Dear, thank you for your invitation to dinner.”
She blinked her eyes up to meet her father’s, surprised by the unexpectedness of the remark. He had stopped speaking, appearing thoughtful for a moment as he stared unseeing at the orchid plant that served as the table’s centerpiece.
Finally he went on, “You know”—he was vaguely nodding now—“you’ve grown up to be very like your mother. She was a woman of quality, too.”
“Too?” Drew swallowed with difficulty, unable to say more as a flush of happiness warmed her cheeks.
THE last Saturday in September, at two o’clock in the afternoon, Drew served as matron of honor for her friend Beverly Atkins at a small but lovely ceremony at Tom Groverton’s home. Now, in the late afternoon, Rolf and Drew decided to take the short drive out to their newly purchased property. After thirty minutes of roaming, Drew walked back up the gently sloping wood inhaling deeply of the pine and pungent earth. Her moccasin oxfords sounded a subdued crackle as they pressed dry needles and leaves deeper into nature’s fertile mix.
Ducking under a stunted pine bough, she looked up to see Rolf coming toward her. He was smiling, and the beauty of it immobilized her. She straightened, breathing deeply to slow her heart. The low moan near the tree tops momentarily covered the crunching sound his boots made as a northern gust of wind carried to Los Alamos autumn’s first brisk weather.
The same gust that sang above, tugged playfully at Rolf’s khaki chamois jacket and ruffled his dark hair, laying a thick lock across his tanned forehead. She watched him, mesmerized as he moved toward her. His long strides, maneuvering him through the dense growth of trees, were as graceful and supple as the movements of a magnificent stag.
She leaned back against the rough pine bark and waited as he approached. Putting his arms out he drew her away from the support of the rough trunk into his musky embrace. The cotton turtleneck felt soft and inviting against her cheek. “Fine country.” His warm breath feathered her forehead.
Nodding, she slipped her arms beneath his jacket, circling his back, enjoying the increasing rhythm of his heartbeat with her nearness.
Another whistle above their heads turned into a lonesome moan, and Drew felt a chill through her sweater, shuddering. Winter was coming early to Los Alamos this year.
Feeling her shiver within his arms, Rolf pulled her closer. “Would you like to go home, love?”
&n
bsp; She turned her face up to his, and felt her lips lift in a dreamy smile. “I am home, Rolf.” She pulled up on tiptoe to brush a light kiss on his jaw. “We’re standing in our kitchen, and I am in your arms.”
He lowered his face to capture her lips. His kiss—a kiss that had now become as familiar and as welcome as a rescuing hand in the darkness—swept any thoughts of chill away, replacing them with a rush of blood-firing desire. His mouth clung to hers just as urgently as hers to his. Drew pressed herself even closer to him as his hands moved tantalizingly over her back and along the curve of her hip.
A new moan high above them spoke even more clearly of the growing cold. Rolf lifted his head slowly and reluctantly from hers, a sound very like the wind escaping his throat. “My love, I am happy you think of this as our home. But until a structure is built here next spring, we could get very cold making love under the pines.” He moved his eyes to a rapidly darkening sky. “Snow is on its way.”
She nestled her head against the soft cotton knit that covered his muscled chest, sighing, “Snow. . .” Squeezing him tightly to her, she admitted almost shyly, “For some reason, Rolf, I have become very fond of snow—especially storms that rage on for days and days.”
She felt his deep chuckle as he stepped away, proving without further need for words how sharply the temperature was dropping. He took her hand, which she realized was very cold, within the larger warmth of his own. “Come, Kindchen.” They walked up the gentle incline to the narrow road that wound toward Los Alamos.
Back at their new, sleek silver sedan, Drew stopped, reaching into the driver’s window and taking out the rolled house-plans.
“Drew, it’s too cold—”
In her enthusiasm for the project, she ignored Rolf’s doubtful comment as well as the knife-sharp air. “Oh Rolf, won’t it be wonderful!” She opened the plans, scanning the virgin landscape lovingly before returning her eyes to the architectural drawings.
The elevation they had chosen was well suited to the natural setting—a traditional two-story to be constructed of stone and red cedar, giving the house a rustic country look. It had been inked onto the page, far back among the trees. A drawing of the proposed lower floor pictured a large combined family room, dining area, and kitchen, with an exposed beamed ceiling and tall windows allowing for ample natural light.
The walls were to be made of random-width pine boards, rough cut and lightly stained to achieve a rich, aged look. A huge, open fireplace of Rolf’s design, would be built of native stone. Its massive beam mantel would span half the room’s length and stand over five feet high, solidly anchoring one end of the family room.
Four spacious bedrooms covered the upper floor. The master suite pictured an expansive redwood deck that would face the distant Sangre de Cristo mountains, allowing Rolf and Drew a never-ending procession of fiery sunsets to enjoy.
Yet, beyond all this, Drew’s favorite room was relatively small. To be located on the back, at the south side of the house, was a skylighted sunroom—or as they had already dubbed it, the “Orchid Room.” She smiled, fairly sure it had occurred to Rolf, that it would be the perfect place for them to locate all of her pink and white furniture.
She curled the plans into their original tube. “You are happy about the house, aren’t you, Rolf?”
“Very happy, love.” He put a hand to her back and walked with her around the car. “Now, before you turn to ice, please indulge me by getting into the car.” Opening the door, he helped her inside.
She looked up at him through a fan of thick lashes, her lips opening in a knowing smile. “You forget, Rolf. No woman married to you has a chance of turning to ice.”
He paused, looking down at her, a glint of golden promise sparkled in his eyes. “There is only one thing that could make me happier than I am at this moment.” Her sense of humor bubbled forth. “I know. You can’t wait to get my frilly furniture into the Orchid Room so that you can get a giant leather couch, right?”
He let out a hearty laugh. “That too. But, no.” He rested a foot on the door frame and reached in to touch her cheek, stroking it softly with his thumb. “I want to start filling those extra bedrooms with little American citizens—to secure my position in this country.” His eyes were warm and earnest and Drew felt her heart leap with his surprising revelation. He had never mentioned children to her before. And because he had not, she assumed that he had not wanted any.
She opened her lips to speak, but couldn’t trust her voice. Circling her dry lips with her tongue, she tried, “Children? I—you?”
He bent his head toward her, ducking into the door, “Yes. You, I—We.” He dropped a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth, and when she turned her face to meet his, he repeated the circling of her lips with his own tongue before whispering, “Does the idea upset you?”
She held her hands up to circle his neck, caressing the silkiness of his hair. Slowly she shook her head, brushing her lips back and forth across his mouth as she did, “Hardly, darling.”
The touch of their lips as she moved from side to side was infinitely light, infinitely pleasing, sensuously so. Finally Rolf halted her motions with a deep kiss, sending a charge of raw longing surging through her body. Strong fingers moved to the nape of her neck, massaging, relaxing her into the total security of his possession as he tempted her lips opened further. The questing of his tongue, exploring, delighted the ultra-sensitive confines within her mouth. He tasted good, and she pressed her hands to his head, holding him closer to her, wanting him more urgently.
With some effort, he lifted his head, groaning her name in a passion-edged whisper. She let her head fall back as he moved his molten kisses to the responsive skin of her throat. Her lips throbbing, Drew realized in some panic that she must stop this quickly, or they would find themselves melting the defenseless snowflakes that were beginning to fall as they made love with oblivious abandon in the open country.
With great difficulty, she dropped her hands to Rolf’s chest, feeling his heart hammering as wildly as her own. Pushing him firmly away—but not far away—she inhaled a ragged breath in an effort to bring her voice under control. Opening her eyes, she couldn’t help but smile when she saw the confused frown that marred his handsome features.
“What is it, Kindchen?’ he asked in a decidedly husky voice.
Looking up, she saw the question smoldering in his eyes, and she was struck by the unexplainable power she seemed to have over him—Rolf Erhardt—a man whom she had seen use iron-bound control over his emotions on a number of perilous occasions. She recalled vividly his frightening ability to exhibit exactly the emotion necessary for the parts he had played, be it domineering commander of men, kidnapper and blackmailer, or even devoted husband for a pack of cynical newshounds.
But now he hid his feelings behind no mask, played no part. She could read the vulnerability in those golden-brown eyes. He was as helplessly in love with her as she was with him. He needed her as badly as she needed him, and this knowledge thrilled her to her core. Rolf was her perfect mate—and he would be the father of her children.
A tiny spark of mischief crinkled her eyes as she answered him, “I was just conducting a small experiment.” She paused to slide her hands back up to rest on his shoulders allowing her gaze to fall recklessly into the deep golden liquid of his warm eyes.
“What experiment?” A tender smile curved his expressive lips, melting the worried frown.
“It has to do with finding the ignition temperature of a fusion scientist.”
He tilted his head, amusement twitching at the corners of his mouth. “And what did you discover?”
Her voice was almost as husky as his as she answered, “I’m not sure. We need to do more. . .research.”
His intense golden gaze traveled lovingly over her face. “By coincidence, research is my area of expertise.”
A light laugh escaped her throat as she lifted her eyes up past his face into the dusky darkness of growing night. She could barely see the
feathery invasion of winter’s first snow as it silently frosted the wooded mesa.
Sliding her arms possessively around to Rolf’s broad back, she nuzzled her face against his ear, finding herself hoping that this first of winter’s lacy offerings would be one for the record books.
Warming his earlobe with a teasing kiss, she murmured, “That, my love, I know.”
Also available as eBooks from Renee Roszel:
Legendary Lover
Wild Flight
Another Heaven
Wind Shadow
No More Mr. Nice
Valentine’s Knight
Prince of Delights
Nobody’s Fool
A Bride for Ransom
Another Man’s Treasure
Dare to Kiss a Cowboy
Unwilling Wife