Sommersgate House

by Kristen Ashley

  She stopped abruptly and turned around slowly, the melting look in her eyes now long gone. She glanced around the room, down at herself and then up at him.

  “You seem bright-eyed this morning,” she commented warily.

  “I’ve been awake for ten minutes.” He watched her eyes widen in angry amazement. “Maybe fifteen,” he allowed.

  She stood there a moment, shocked speechless and then she smiled.

  “You cad!” she cried, her voice filled with humour.

  Her unusual word choice almost made him smile.

  “Cad?” he asked.

  “Yes, ‘cad’,” she replied. “I’m practising not cursing. I don’t want to pass any foul words to the children.”

  She pulled the towel off her head and whipped her hair around while she grabbed her comb. He found her reaction to his spying on her while she put on her underwear bizarre in the extreme.

  “You aren’t angry.” It was a statement, rather than a question and she turned to him.

  Then she looked in the mirror as she pulled the comb firmly through her hair.

  “Oh, yes, Douglas Ashton, I’m angry. Although I find I can’t make room to be even angrier at you now that you’ve taken the liberty to spy on me while I put on panties. I’m already angry enough that, when you arrived home last night, not only had you been shot but your companion was pointing a gun at me.” Julia’s eyes moved from her reflection to Douglas. “Not that I would mind nocturnal visits from gunshot victims or having firearms mistakenly levelled at me in dark hallways…” she paused, straightened and skewered him with a look, “if I lived in some war-torn, third-world country and you were a rebel fighting for our freedom against the nasty federales!”

  She took a breath and continued staring at him. He was having some difficulty dealing with the intimate sensation he felt whenever he heard her say the word “home”. Not to mention trying to keep his face straight at her dramatic tirade.

  When he made no response, she went on.

  “So, I hope you’ll allow me to vent my anger at today’s antics some other time.”

  “Certainly.” He inclined his head, still trying hard not to smile.

  At that, she threw her comb at him. He ducked, the quick movement sending a jolt of pain through his shoulder as the comb went flying over his head.

  Apparently, she wasn’t finished.

  “To start, do you want to explain last night?” She put one hand on jutted hip, her eyes flashing.

  “No,” he responded.

  “That’s not going to do,” she fired back.

  “It’s going to have to,” he replied calmly, because it was the truth. He watched as her eyes blazed. “Julia, there are some things you can’t know.”

  “That’s not good enough,” she retorted, walking toward him angrily. “In case you don’t remember, even though I can’t imagine you forgetting because I keep reminding you, but you’re also responsible for three other human beings on this earth. Whatever you’re doing that puts your life in danger has to stop. They’ve lost enough; I’m not going to let them lose you!”

  He watched her eyes flare and she had ended her tirade by using one long, slim finger to poke him painfully in the chest.

  She needn’t have used her physical exclamation point; he felt each word like a blow. An odd feeling stole over him, a feeling that he vaguely identified as guilt.

  Julia continued. “Furthermore, what if one of the children had happened on you last night instead of me? I can imagine the years of therapy that would ensue at having a gun pointed at one of them or seeing their uncle bleeding and delirious.”

  “I wasn’t delirious,” he felt it important to point out, although this conversation was beginning to be very uncomfortable, mainly because she was right.

  “It doesn’t matter! Whatever it is you do with your life now affects the lives of three other people and you can add me to that list because if something happened to you, I would be left with your mother! And if that, whatever it is, happens to bring danger into this house, I have something to say about it and guns are frankly unacceptable in a house where there are children.”

  He shifted uncomfortably.

  “Point taken,” Douglas allowed, staring directly in her eyes and not believing his own words. He wasn’t in the habit of being wrong, must less admitting he was. Although this wasn’t an admission, it was the closest he would get.

  She simply kept staring at him like she was a schoolmarm and he was a disobedient student.

  “It won’t happen again,” he bit out.

  “See that it doesn’t,” she demanded and he nearly burst out laughing when she ruined her well-expressed diatribe by whirling dramatically away and searching in vain on her dressing table for something. “Now where’s my damned comb?”

  “I believe you threw it at me,” he informed her helpfully.

  She strode back in the direction she came.

  “You’re not funny,” she snapped as she walked by him.

  “I’m not trying to be,” he replied in all seriousness.

  “Good.” The word was clipped and he wondered how she’d feel if he kissed her. From the angry line of her back he assessed that wasn’t the brightest strategic move at that particular moment. Still, she was magnificent and he longed to do it.

  “Who’s Nick?” she asked, tearing her retrieved comb through her hair and interrupting his pleasant reverie.

  “Nick’s a friend.”

  She eyed him, her brows raised, doing a bloody good impersonation of him.

  Douglas decided to elaborate. “Let’s just say Nick’s a sort of… bodyguard.”

  “If that’s the case, you need a new one,” she replied glibly and tramped back into the dressing room.

  Sensing his setting-down was complete, he sought to change the subject.

  “May I use your phone?” he asked courteously.

  “Be my guest, it is your phone we’re talking about,” she replied, obviously not feeling less angry after her rant and Douglas was glad of it. He had to admit he was enjoying this. Julia was deeply amusing when she was in a pique.

  He went to the writing desk and picked up the phone, punching in Sam’s number. There was a knock at the door and he watched as Julia strode back through, opening it and taking some clothing from Carter. She closed the door and tossed the clothes on the bed before sauntering angrily back into the dressing room. He was enjoying just watching Julia, even if she was angry (in fact, especially when she was angry), as he listened to the phone ring. He dropped his eyes and saw the e-mail she’d been writing.

  Joe, you’re a darling, what would I do without you…

  He didn’t read any further as he felt his stomach clench and his lips thin in an angry line.

  Who the bloody hell was Joe?

  Sam answered and he spoke curtly to her, “I’m out of commission for a few days. I’ll be in my office at Sommersgate.”

  “You okay?” Sam asked, her voice filled with concern but he put down the phone on her question and read further.

  You can’t imagine how much I needed a smile. Things could be better here…

  “What are you doing?” Julia asked, back in the room and looking at him in disbelief.

  Douglas lifted his eyes to her.

  “Who’s Joe?” he asked in return.

  Her eyes went from his to her computer and they narrowed.

  Then Julia flew to the laptop and slammed the top shut before looking back at him and demanding, “Are you reading my e-mail?”

  “Who’s Joe?” Douglas asked again.

  “You’re impossible,” she announced in a voice that said, eloquently, that she meant it.

  It was his turn to raise an eyebrow but he did this instead of throwing the laptop across the room, which was, for some absurd reason, precisely what he wished to do.

  “Joe,” she started, exuding wounded patience when she realised he wouldn’t let it go, “is a friend. An assistant coach for the Indianapolis Colts
who was instrumental in getting a number of players to do a fundraiser for us last year.”

  “And what is he to you?” Douglas asked, his voice very level, so level it had an edge.

  “I told you, he’s my friend,” she retorted.

  “What kind of friend?” That edge was now dangerous.

  Julia threw up her hands in exasperation.

  “The kind of friend who helped me offer more scholarship money to students from disadvantaged backgrounds who wanted to be nurses!” she replied, angrily. “The kind of friend who also happens to be married to my best friend from high school, Molly, since he got her pregnant at eighteen when the condom broke. The kind of friend who didn’t realise he was in love with his wife and family until their son was diagnosed with leukaemia and I spent six months making lasagne and tuna casseroles for them so they’d remember to eat while their boy had treatment. The kind of friend who paid me back by helping me score a major point at work by convincing a bunch of big jocks to use their big hearts to help some aspiring nurses rather than the kids they preferred to raise money for. That kind of friend. Would you like to know more? I don’t know his shoe size but I could ask Molly.”

  Douglas immediately relaxed and then tensed again as he contemplated his reaction.

  Julia was staring at him, her expression brooding.

  “I don’t know what to make of you,” she finally admitted.

  “I think I’ve explained quite clearly what you can make of me and what my intentions are of making you. There’ll be no ‘Joes’ in your future,” Douglas declared. He knew he was being irrational but he was in no mood to be anything else and, furthermore, he didn’t bloody well care.

  At that announcement, she gaped at him, a study of angry astonishment, just as there was a tap on the door.

  “Yes?” he called as he moved around her and toward his folded clothes on the bed.

  Carter looked around the edge of the door.

  “Sir?” Carter asked.

  “Give me a minute to dress,” Douglas ordered and Carter retreated, closing the door.

  His hand went to the waistband of his jeans and Julia cried, “You aren’t changing in here!”

  Douglas carried on with what he was doing because he knew if he didn’t get dressed and out of that room he might not be responsible for what he did do.

  And this was even more absurd. It had been so long that he’d been in complete control of his thoughts and actions that he found it inconceivable that now, he was not.

  Nevertheless, he was not.

  She watched him, eyes wide, for only a brief moment before she forced out an exaggerated sigh, stomped to the dressing room and slammed the door.

  And he was left with a mental list of things not to think about and not a clue how to get his own bloody shirt on.

  * * * * *

  When Douglas arrived back from his doctor’s appointment much later, which had included some minor, on the spot surgery for which he only allowed a local anaesthetic and refused the doctor’s demands that he spend the night at hospital for observation, Julia was gone.

  “At work,” Mrs. Kilpatrick informed him in a nasally voice, her eyes red and running, “she should be back around four.” She glanced at his arm in its sling. “Are you… okay, sir?” She sounded ill-at-ease with her own question.

  “I’m fine,” Douglas started to walk away then turned back. “Are you ill?” he asked and found himself uncomfortable with the personal question. He couldn’t remember Mrs. Kilpatrick ever being sick, not, he had to admit, that he would have noticed if she was or was not.

  Mrs. Kilpatrick looked stunned at his question.

  “Why… no,” she said then she belied her words with a succession of three quick sneezes. “Just a head cold,” she wheezed when she was done.

  Too exhausted to pursue it, Douglas let her be. He wanted to go to his study to catch up on work but was too tired for that as well. Instead, he went to his room, took a painkiller and went to bed.

  He woke several hours later feeling slightly better but also acutely feeling the pain in his arm.

  And he was hungry.

  He walked down the stairs in search of food and heard Julia’s voice coming from the lounge. He turned to the right, rounded the corner and saw her standing in the room addressing the children who were all sprawled on the sofas watching television.

  “I’ve asked Mrs. Kilpatrick to go home, she’s unwell, so it’s Chip Shop Night,” she announced.

  The room rang with the children’s boisterous response to this piece of news and Douglas saw Julia smile.

  “Uncle Douglas!” Lizzie called as her eyes found him and her face turned worried when she took in his sling. She got up and then sat back down immediately, visibly unsure of what to do or how to behave.

  “Unka Douglas,” Ruby shouted. Never unsure of how to behave, his youngest niece ran toward him, hell bent for leather, but Julia caught her about the waist and swung her back.

  “Uncle Douglas has been hurt, you must go gently,” she warned and Ruby’s eyes widened. Douglas watched and noted that Julia was avoiding his gaze.

  When Julia let her go, Ruby approached more cautiously and gave his legs a hug. He patted her affectionately on the head in return.

  “What happened?” Willie was standing now and his eyes were on the sling. They, too, were worried.

  “Nothing,” Douglas replied, “It was an…” He was about to say “accident” but stopped himself. “Nothing,” he repeated. “I’m fine.”

  At the children’s reactions to his injury, Julia’s words of the morning came back to him and so did the feelings of guilt.

  Julia spared him a quick (and amusing) “I-told-you-so” glance but Ruby was talking. “Auntie Jewel has the best thing for an owie, don’t you Auntie Jewel?”

  “What’s that, Ruby?” Douglas asked, more out of politeness than curiosity.

  “I hurt my elbow,” she showed him by jutting out her bent elbow and pointing to a spot that still was a bit pink, “right there and it felt a lot better when Auntie Jewel kissed it. She said her kisses have magical powers.”

  Julia’s face paled and Douglas nearly laughed at her horrified expression.

  “I bet they do,” he murmured in response to Ruby.

  “You should kiss his owie,” Ruby declared authoritatively to Julia.

  Julia blanched and Douglas grinned.

  She recovered quickly. “Maybe later, I’ve got to get your supper. Orders please,” Julia stated, firmly closing the subject on any kissing of Douglas’s “owie”.

  “I’ll come with!” Willie offered.

  “Me too!” Ruby jumped up and down.

  “We’ll all go, get your coats,” Julia announced as the children scattered.

  “Do I get to go too?” Douglas asked as she approached the door. He was standing in its frame and had moved aside to allow the children to race through but he resumed his position when she came near him.

  “No, not enough room in the car,” she lied. The Range Rover would easily hold them all. He smiled and she gave him a disgruntled look. “Anyway, you should be resting. What did the doctor say?”

  “I’m fine,” he replied simply and she looked at him closely, narrowing her eyes.

  She decided to let it go but he could tell it cost her and he grinned again.

  Then she asked, “Do you want something from the chip shop?”

  What Douglas wanted was a nice, juicy steak, cooked rare, potatoes dauphenois, asparagus smothered in hollandaise sauce and a huge glass of full-bodied, dry, red wine. Then he wanted to sleep for three days, preferably with Julia’s furnace-like body pressed to his side.

  What he did not want was fish and chips.

  “Yes, of course,” he said.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  He wasn’t sure what to say. He’d never actually been to a chip shop. He figured his choices were either chips or fish and chips.

  “Whatever you’re having,” he answ
ered.

  For a moment, Julia regarded him curiously.

  She opened her mouth to say something when they both heard Nick’s voice. “How you doin’, mate?”

  Nick was strutting toward them and with some disappointment Douglas had to turn away from Julia toward his friend.

  He was tired of telling everyone he was fine so he didn’t say anything at all. Nick was used to him and didn’t mind not getting a response. What Nick could see was Douglas alive, breathing and standing and that was good enough for him.

  “All right, Jules?” Nick asked and Julia gaze moved to him but her brows rose at the familiar use of her name.

  Nick had a habit of either shortening someone’s name, if he liked them, or giving them a nickname, if he didn’t like them, usually something foul. Clearly, somewhere in their short acquaintance, Julia had passed the Nick Test.

  Apparently, she accepted his shortened name and his silent offer of camaraderie after the tense night they all shared for she responded, “Yes, all right Nick.” Then she looked from Nick to Douglas and back again. Douglas had no idea what was going around in her head but he found he would give half his fortune to gain this knowledge. Fortunately, before he could make that asinine offer, Julia continued speaking. “I’m going to the chip shop. Are you going to be here for awhile?” she asked Nick.

  “Don’t know,” Nick replied, rocking back on his heels and crossing his arms on his chest.

  “Well I do, you’ll have dinner with us,” Julia returned firmly. “What do you want from the chippie?”

  The chippie? Douglas thought and glanced at her, suddenly realising she was adapting quite well to her new environment. They didn’t have chip shops in America, at least not on every market street as they did in England. If they did, Douglas doubted they called them by the shortened “chippie”.

  Then he realised she’d pulled off a nice manoeuvre. Company would mean she would have less chance of being alone with him.

  This time he only nearly grinned. She was good.

  “Battered sausage for me, make that two and don’t let them skimp on the chips,” Nick ordered, breaking into Douglas’s thoughts.