She felt a twist of guilt toward Walter’s memory at the direction of her thoughts. Would he want this for her?
But of course he would. He’d told her early on that, with their age difference, he wouldn’t be her final love—that she had years ahead of her for many relationships, after he was gone.
Not that she was talking about love with Paul. Mustn’t confuse healthy lust with love.
“Isn’t the cabin somewhat dusty?” she asked him.
“I can live with some dust.”
“I can get a crew up here in the morning, get them to give the place a good going-over.”
“I said it’s fine,” Paul replied, his words clipped. “And if it needs dusting I’ll do it myself.”
“But you’re already working so hard.” She took two plates down from the cabinet and began to pile them with food.
“I’ll do it on my own time.”
Puzzled by his sudden vehemence, she set down the spatula. “Paul? What is it?”
He shrugged, scowling. “It’s just that you have this Mercedes and you can hire a crew—” he snapped his fingers “—just like that. You can buy anything, Kayla. All I have to offer is a strong back and my two hands.”
“What’s this? Class warfare?” Irritated, she slapped her hands on her hips. “And when did we begin talking about what I can buy and you can’t?”
“Just now.”
On the verge of engaging in an argument with him, Kayla paused to consider just what his words meant. The fact was, he had a point. Up to now, the difference in their economic status hadn’t really entered into her thinking, mostly because she didn’t feel like a wealthy person, not in her heart. She’d only recently been shown a life of privilege. Deep down, Kayla was still a coupon-clipping, bus-riding, buy-on-sale-only person.
She nodded. “I got it. Okay, then. Clean to your heart’s content. Meantime, food’s on.”
Afterward, while Paul washed up, she ran upstairs to change for the fund-raiser. She was tired of her jeans and sweats. This afternoon, for once, she wanted to look like a girl. Except for one business suit and one “little black dress,” there was a limited selection of choices up here in the cabin—her good stuff was back in Albany.
She managed to find a print skirt and a short-sleeved pink silk blouse. She slid her feet into soft leather boots, threw a light sweater over her shoulders, then fussed with herself in the mirror. As she combed her hair, leaving it down, and applied lipstick and mascara, she studied her reflection and liked what she saw. She was different than she’d been these past months since Walter’s death. Younger, somehow. More alive.
Good loving, she told herself with a grin. Great for the skin, got that tired blood racing, the heart pumping. But there was another, much more important benefit that the last couple of days had brought to her: the ghost of Jerry Donley had finally been laid to rest. Nothing her rapist had done to her would ever again have any effect on her life. Kayla smiled into the mirror. At last, she was free.
Paul stood at the foot of the staircase, and as she descended, she could see the masculine appreciation in his eyes. It had been a while since she’d been on the receiving end of a look like that, and she preened inside.
“You look good,” he said in his gruff way.
“Thank you, sir,” she said with a wide smile.
Before they went to the fund-raiser, they stopped at Paul’s cabin to pick up his stuff. It took only a minute; all he possessed were two pairs of jeans, two work shirts, two T-shirts, a pair of tennis shoes and the boots he wore, plus a toothbrush and razor.
By the time they got to the event, the park was full of happy celebrants. Paul carried the tin of cookies, and Kayla held on to his arm as they joined the party.
Paul really, truly, deeply did not want to be here. He felt uncomfortable about Kayla’s hand on his arm, about being seen in public with her. What they did when they were alone, well, that was private and no one else’s business. But she was known up here, known as Walter Thorne’s well-to-do widow. There would be gossip about the two of them, no avoiding it; he didn’t care for that, not for her, not for him.
But it was obvious that she’d not only been looking forward to this but had been determined to attend, and his main concern had to be for her safety. He considered himself on guard duty. For all he knew, anyone here today could be responsible for the mysterious incidents at the Thorne cabin. As the two of them made their way to the baked-goods booth, he kept an eye out, although for what, he had no idea.
Set amid a grove of tall trees, the large grassy area was dotted with booths and tables, offering up all kinds of goodies—food as well as jewelry, knitted items, paintings, ceramics. Apparently, Cragsmont was home to not a few artist types and they’d taken that day to show off what they’d been working on.
Not bad, he thought, studying an oil painting of a reclining nude while Kayla chatted with the baked-goods volunteers. The model was far more voluptuous than Kayla, but the painting took him back to a couple of hours ago and how she’d looked lying on the bed, her arms above her head as she stretched, her milk-white body washed in pale afternoon light. Her breasts were smaller than those of whoever had posed for the painting, but they were deliciously round and utterly responsive to the slightest touch—as was all the rest of her.
Not surprisingly, he found his groin area tightening—for the nth time that day, it seemed—so he switched his attention to a still life of pumpkins and grapes. Safer, he figured. Less potentially embarrassing.
Kayla came up to him, towing a short woman with curly red hair and freckles. “Paul?” she said. “I’d like you to meet Lou McAndrews. She’s Bailey’s doctor and my dear friend.”
Nodding, he took the smiling woman’s proffered hand and shook it. “Lou.”
“Paul.”
“How’s Bailey doing?” he asked.
“Resting comfortably, as the saying goes. He’s had a rough time, poor thing. And he’s kind of old, you know.”
“You’re not saying…?” Kayla began.
“Nothing of the sort. I’m just saying his recovery will take a while. But no—” the woman grinned again, her brown eyes brimming with life “—that feisty little thing isn’t ready to greet his maker, not for a while.”
“Oh, good. When can I get him back?”
“Let’s give it a couple more days, okay?” She gazed around happily. “Isn’t this great?”
Kayla said, “Yes, it is,” and Paul could tell that they both really thought it was one terrific place to be. Not him. Too many people, too much cheer occupying one small area.
“I’m going to browse through the used books,” he said. “See you in a bit,” he told Kayla, then nodded to Lou and took off.
Both women stared at his back as he walked away, and Kayla found herself sighing. Without a doubt, Paul was taller, more muscular and more dangerous-looking than anyone else on the green, and she felt possessive and proud and sort of shocked at the notion that he was hers. For now, at least.
Lou whistled softly. “That the handyman you told me about Friday night?”
“Yes.”
Both women had yet to look at each other; they were still gazing at Paul, who now stood off to one side of a long table covered with paperbacks and some hardbounds, his arms crossed over his chest as he studied the titles.
“Hoo-eeey,” Lou said appreciatively, “it’s like you ordered him out of a catalog of hotties, subheaded, Hunky Handymen.” She turned to Kayla, raised an eyebrow, her expression sly. “And is he? Handy?”
She felt the heat rising on her neck and cheeks. So much for keeping anything from Lou. “Very.”
The redhead nodded knowingly. “So I see. Well, you’ve needed some decent loving.”
She chuckled. “Glad you knew that. I had no idea.”
“So, where’s he from? Come on, tell Aunt Lou all about him.”
Kayla hesitated, reluctant to share the entire truth with her friend, that the man she’d taken to her bed las
t night was just out of jail. Kayla knew the whole story, but she also know how it would sound. It might make Lou worry, and Lou’s worry might prick her own bubble of happiness.
“Albany, I think. Originally. I’m not quite sure.”
“I see.” With a knowing smile Lou continued, “You didn’t bother with the ‘where are you from?’ and ‘what’s your sign?’ thing, huh? Just got right to it.”
“Don’t, Lou.” Her face must be beet-red by now.
“Couldn’t resist. Sorry.” The teasing expression left the other woman’s face, replaced suddenly by a frown. “Wait a minute. A handyman? He’s not one of Hank’s guys, is he? I mean, you wouldn’t let an ex-con on your property, would you?”
“He’s not really an ex-con.” She felt defensive and knew she sounded it.
“So, he didn’t serve time?”
“Yes, he did, but—”
Lou finished her sentence for her. “But he was innocent? Oh, Kayla. This isn’t good.” Her frown deepened. “Did he have anything to do with what happened to Bailey? I mean, these ex-cons usually have quite a temper, and a barking dog might make him go over the edge. Heck, barking Yorkies make me want to snap.”
Kayla’s mouth dropped open in dismay. “You think Paul attacked Bailey? No.” She shook her head for emphasis. “No way.”
“And you’re so positive because…?”
“Because he just wouldn’t. He’s not like that.”
“Not like what?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say he wasn’t quick-tempered and violent, that he wasn’t anything like the classic ex-con. That he was gentle and compassionate. But of course she’d also seen him quick to anger and knew he was capable of using his fists. As he’d said, he’d had to become a brute just to survive.
“You don’t understand,” Kayla said weakly.
“Enlighten me.”
The fierce skepticism in Lou’s normally warm brown eyes made Kayla’s heart sink. How could she explain? The raw facts weren’t in Paul’s favor, and she knew how it would sound: Paul was framed, he’s really innocent. He had to become a gang member in jail, had to get the tattoos. He’s out on a technicality and might have to go back. He’s hell-bent on revenge. He seems ready to use his fists anytime his anger is aroused.
Not a great résumé for an innocent man.
She sighed. “It’s too complicated.”
Lou snuck another look at Paul then leveled a sharp eye at her friend. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.” Holding up her hand as Kayla began to protest again, she said, “Hear me out, okay? When you brought poor little Bailey in, didn’t you tell me that there had been other incidents? Noises in the night? A dead rat? And didn’t this all happen since this guy showed up? Isn’t that just a bit too much of a coincidence?”
And she didn’t even know about the snake, Kayla thought with dismay. What would Lou say then?
“Please,” Lou continued, “bust out of that morning-after daze and give it some thought. It’s possible, just possible, that you’re wrong about this guy.”
She tried, really she did. Turning her head, she studied Paul as he browsed among the used books, picking up one, examining it, setting it down and picking up another. As always, his face was stern and unsmiling, his body language restless, edgy. A man in no way at peace with himself or his surroundings.
But swift mental images paid the lie to her friend’s theories: Paul’s agonized face when she returned from town after taking Bailey to Lou’s. His quick response when the snake slithered out of the package, and the way he’d taken care of her afterward. The way he’d listened as she talked about her childhood traumas. The way he’d gone after the snake in the shower.
And what had happened between them after that.
If he’d been in any way responsible for the recent attacks on her, then he deserved the award for best actor in the world. Besides, she reminded herself with relief, she hadn’t even met Paul when the first incident—The Case of the Chicken Bones in the Night, as she’d come to think of it—occurred.
On the other hand, Kayla was aware he kept some secrets from her. It was nothing obvious, just a sense she got once in a while, a moment here and there when he seemed on the verge of revealing something, but always cut himself off before following through.
Lou’s hand on her arm broke her reverie, and she turned back to face her. Although the other woman was only a few years older than she was, she’d seen her share of heartache and had good instincts when it came to people. “Be careful.”
“I am being careful,” Kayla insisted.
“Are you? You’re grieving and you’re vulnerable. You’re up here alone. Not to mention you’re major-league wealthy. A perfect target.”
Her back stiffened. “Paul’s not after my money.”
For a quick moment, the skeptical look flashed again. But then Lou backed down as though understanding that if she pushed any more, it would be counterproductive. Shrugging, she said, “Whatever you say.”
“Lou, I’m not a victim. And I’m not a child.”
“Oh, honey, we’re all innocent when it comes to sex. Especially great sex. It feels so liberating, we forget to ask the right questions.”
Too much of the comment hit home. It was true. Kayla was in sexual thrall to Paul, and she knew practically nothing about him, except what he’d told her about being in jail. Nothing about his life before. If he liked music, movies, rooted for a team.
Well then, she would talk to him later, find out all about him. Fill in some blanks. Her instincts about him weren’t wrong, she just knew it.
Mind made up, Kayla smiled at Lou. “Okay, I hear you. Now, how about we change the subject?”
“You got it.”
“Okay if I ask about your mom? Any change?”
“No. She’s the same.” Her ready smile turned bittersweet. “She keeps saying she doesn’t want to put me through this, like she should go away somewhere, grab a canoe, float out to sea and die alone. And I tell her she raised me by herself all those years, so it’s payback time. Whether she likes it or not, she gets to see my ugly face every day until the end.”
The two friends, one a veterinarian, the other a nurse, were able to talk about death in a matter-of-fact way, which most civilians had trouble with. From the beginning, it had been an important part of their friendship.
Kayla gave Lou a quick hug. “You’re the best.”
“Nah. Mom’s the best. I’m just her kid.”
“Dr. Lou!” A small child with a tiny gray puppy in her arms was tugging on Lou’s sleeve. “Gandalf wants to say hello.”
“Talk to you later,” Kayla told her friend, after stroking the wiggling animal and getting soft puppy kisses for the effort.
She made her way over to Paul, who greeted her with a nod. Together they ate chicken on skewers and home-grown, deep-fried zucchini slices, then browsed some more. In a corner of the park, a poet was reading his latest epic, and they stayed to listen for a while.
As the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, Hank showed up. He said hello to several people, then his gaze lit on Paul and Kayla. Waving, he made his way over to them, his face creased in a big, gold-toothed grin. “Hey, Miz Thorne. Paul.”
“Hey, Hank,” Paul said, obviously glad to see someone else he knew. “Where you been?”
He winked. “I spent some time with my lady friend in Susanville.”
“You have a lady friend?” Paul asked.
“That so hard to believe?” The gold teeth gleamed again. “You young studs don’t have the market cornered on sex appeal.”
“Is she here?” Kayla asked, looking around.
“Nah. Maggie’s not much for these shindigs.”
“Neither am I,” Paul said ruefully.
“But you’re here, aren’t you?”
“If you gentlemen will excuse me for one moment,” Kayla said, “I see a scarf that has my name written on it.”
As Kayla walked away, Hank favored P
aul with another wink. “I see you’re in with the widow, huh?”
He didn’t care for the comment, but he kept his expression neutral. “She’s a good person.”
The other man nodded in agreement. “That she is, yes, for sure. I’ve always liked Miz Thorne, she’s always treated me well. Which is why it’s so nice one of my boys has landed on his feet. And with a rich woman.” He gave him a guy-to-guy shove in the ribs with his elbow.
Inwardly, Paul cringed. Hank was insinuating what most people here today were assuming; all afternoon, he’d heard whispers and observed various fair attendees staring at Kayla and him with unabashed curiosity. All of them, including Hank, probably thought Paul was using her for his own ends.
Which he was.
Although not for her money, dammit. Far from it.
That niggling sense of guilt, never far from the surface, smashed into him this time in a way that he couldn’t bury. He needed to tell Kayla about his original reasons for wanting this job. He didn’t feel guilty about his motives for doing so, only that he’d let too many days go by, had allowed the two of them to become increasingly intimate, without telling her the whole story.
Paul was no saint; if he could get away without filling her in, he would. But as soon as he found her brother, she would know, anyway. Better now than later.
He made a silent promise to himself that he wouldn’t take her to bed again until he’d gotten it off his chest.
Of course, then, she might not want to let him take her to bed. Ever again. Which would leave a huge void in his life, one he wasn’t sure he wanted to face.
“You must be about done at the Thorne place.”
Hank’s question swiftly brought him out of his inner debate. “No. I have at least another week’s work there.”
The older man frowned. “Really?”
“In fact, I’m going to be staying on the property for a while, in a separate cabin,” he was quick to add.
Hank’s frown grew deeper. “Are you?”
“Something wrong with that?”
Whispers in the Night Page 17