by Jane Toombs
“I have a dinner meeting on the mainland this evening with the owners of the carriage company I lease my horses to, so I can’t see you until morning. Breakfast at our usual café around eight?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice still sounding breathless.
He sighed. “It’s going to be a long night.”
Chapter Eight
Back at home after the meeting, Russ couldn’t sleep. Tired of tossing and turning, he rose and padded out to the enclosed back porch, where he stared up at the nearly full moon shining through the tall pines his grandfather had planted as a young man. Grandpa Ed had been an honorable man. Russ’s father was, too. Why, then, had he asked Russ to vet Marigold Crowley?
Spying might be an old profession and even a necessary one, but, as applied to himself, Russ couldn’t think of it as honorable. The only possible good that could come from this was a healing of the breach between himself and his dad, which was why he’d agreed to do such a thing in the first place. Maybe he was right in thinking that was why his father had asked for the favor, as a way of letting Russ know he was ready to let bygones be bygones. It was certainly the only reason he’d agreed to do it.
Mari was meeting him for breakfast in the morning. How he wished she were in his bed here and now. They could snuggle together after their lovemaking and he’d tell her—what? That he was a plant, a mole from the enemy camp, sent to spy out her scheme and thwart it? He grimaced.
Despite himself, he was beginning to believe in the possibility that she might be Joe’s granddaughter. If that turned out to be true, then they’d be seeing a lot more of each other. Which was fine with him, except he could hardly expect her to be thrilled about ever seeing him again if she learned why he’d finagled an acquaintance with her. Even if she wasn’t a Haskell.
Best not to tell her. It was only a lie of omission.
Great, not only a spy, but a liar, too.
Dammit, he wanted to go on seeing her. Making love in the cupola had done nothing to ease his need for her. Made it worse, as a matter of fact. They ought to be together right now. He leaned against a post, closing his eyes, remembering the softness of her skin, smoother than the velvet of the chaise….
Shaking his head, he opened the screen door and sat on the top step. The night air was cool, moonlight silvered the shrubs and the scent of lilacs from the beginning-to-bloom bushes wrapped him in the memory of Mari’s scent, of how she fit into his arms, of the passionate response she brought to their mating.
Fine, now he was aroused as well as sleepless. The neighbor’s yellow tomcat padded up the steps, rubbed his head against Russ’s knees for a moment, then took off into the moonlit night.
“Hope you’re luckier than I am,” Russ muttered as he reentered the house, where he paced from room to room. He didn’t want to believe in Mari, but he did. At least to the extent that she really did believe she might be Isabel’s daughter. Whether she was or not remained to be proved, but he was convinced she had no part in a scam. What the hell, even her uncle might really believe she could be a Haskell, in which case there was no scam at all. Which was what Russ intended to tell his father when he called him in the morning.
But what, if anything, was he going to tell Mari?
His father’s phone call woke him up at seven.
“Good news,” Lou Simon said. “Joe’s agreed to have the girl tested before he goes back to the island. He’s doing well. Shouldn’t be more than a few days before he’s discharged. Of course, he’ll still have to have the bypass when he’s fully recovered from this episode.”
“Glad to hear he’s improving,” Russ said, smothering a yawn.
“What about the girl?”
Russ told him his conclusions.
“Sure you’re not smitten?” Lou demanded.
Smitten. What a word. “I like her,” he admitted. “She comes across as honest. The point is she could be Isabel’s daughter.”
Lou snorted. “The DNA results’ll take care of that in a hurry. Come on, Son, she’s just another scam artist. The seventh one to date. I told Joe not to go on TV—knew it would attract impostors—but he’s always been a stubborn so-and-so.”
“I think you’re wrong about Mari.”
“To get you going she must be even prettier in person than in that picture her uncle sent. Thought you swore off women.”
“Mari is different,” Russ insisted. “She might not be Joe’s heir, but she definitely isn’t a scam artist.” Aware that he was getting riled, and not wanting to argue with his father, he changed the subject. “Are you coming back with Joe?”
“He asked me to, so I’ll stay on here until he’s discharged, but I’ll arrange for a lab technician to go to the island to get the blood and DNA samples right away.”
“Okay. See you soon.”
After hanging up, Russ took a quick shower and dressed, knowing he’d have to break the news about the tests to Mari at breakfast.
Mari slept through most of the night, but woke from a bad dream when it was getting light. In her dream, she thought she’d been with Russ, but then he turned his back to her. When he faced her again, it wasn’t him at all, but a stranger with green eyes who told her to go home, she wasn’t wanted here.
She sat up in bed, hugging herself. True, when she’d arrived on Mackinac, she hadn’t felt she belonged on the island or in this house. But gradually that had changed. Now the house seemed familiar. Pauline and Diana were friendly, and Russ…
She sighed. Somehow her perspective had shifted until, though she still wished to learn about her parents, Russ and what he thought of her meant more to her than anything else. She hadn’t planned for that to happen, but somehow it had.
Shaking her head as though to dispel the shards of the dream as well as her thoughts, she rose and began to ready herself for the new day. With Russ.
Later, as she walked down the hill to the café where they were to meet for breakfast, she found herself hurrying faster and faster, impatient to be with him again.
He was outside the restaurant waiting for her, and immediately ushered her through the door, leaving her a bit disappointed. While she hadn’t expected a passionate embrace on the busy main street of the village, she’d anticipated at least a quick hug. He’d hardly smiled.
After they were seated, she decided he looked troubled. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
Instead of answering, he said, “Do you think your uncle might remember more of what happened the day your aunt found Ida Grant in the casino rest room? Where the bus she got off came from, for example?”
Somewhat taken aback, Mari said, “I don’t know.”
“It might give us a clue to where your father was at the time.” He frowned. “What did you mean yesterday when you said you didn’t want a ‘Danny Boy’ father?”
The waitress brought coffee, a welcome respite for Mari. No way did she want to tell him about Danny Boy.
She watched Russ take a swallow of coffee and then look at her with raised eyebrows.
“Well, if you know the words to the song,” she said resignedly, “you know Danny Boy went away and didn’t come back.”
“That’s all you meant?”
To her distress, she blushed, something she often did when she tried to be evasive.
“So there is more.”
“Not much,” she snapped, irked at his persistence. “I went with a guy named Danny for a while, till I found out he’d deserted a woman and child in another state. Not only did I lose all respect for him, but I can’t stand to be lied to. That’s when the song came to mind. Now I can’t help wondering why Elias Grant wasn’t there for Ida.”
Russ glanced down at the menu. “What’re you having?” he asked.
She stared at him. He had no comment, after he’d dragged the information out of her? What was the matter with him?
“Buttermilk pancakes,” she muttered.
Breakfast was not a tremendous success, even though the food was delicious. As they sipped a second cup of coff
ee while waiting for the check, Russ set his cup down so hard the coffee splashed onto the table.
“My father called this morning,” he said. “Someone will be coming in the next day or so to take a blood and DNA sample from you.”
“Oh.” She thought about it and added, “It’ll be a relief to get that over with.” Thinking some more, she said, “Did you think you were the bearer of bad news? Is that why you’re so glum?
His smile was wry. “In the old days they used to shoot the bearer of bad news.”
“I never learned to shoot a gun, so you’re safe. And, anyway, it’s really good news. I’ll soon find out one way or the other and stop lingering in limbo.”
After they left the café, he took her hand and she smiled at him, happy to think that what had bothered him was nothing for her to be upset about.
“Since our sail yesterday got sidetracked,” he said, “I thought we’d try the boat again.” He slanted a look at her. “Best reason I ever had for turning back to harbor.”
“Uh, yes, it was pretty good.”
“Pretty good?”
“Well, actually, indescribable.”
“I can accept that.” He began swinging her hand as they walked, and her heart lifted with her spirits.
In the marina she noticed the name of his boat again, and this time it registered. “Evening Star,” she said. “I just realized you must have named her after that old legend you told to me about the Sky People. You are a romantic.”
He grinned at her. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
But his own words reminded him of what he still hadn’t told her, and his grin faded. He didn’t want to make the confession and, since the sailboat wouldn’t be the best place for it anyway, he decided to put it off for the time being.
“So we’re going to sail all around the island today?” Mari asked as they cleared the harbor.
Russ, troubled by his own thoughts, nodded. Since the wind was in a different direction than the day before, he opted to go round the opposite way. The sun was shining through thin clouds, too thin to hint of rain.
“This is the coolest the weather’s been since I got here,” she said. “You know what, though?”
He shook his head. “What?”
“The lilacs are finally starting to bloom. I was beginning to wonder if they ever would.”
“Sooner or later, they always do.” Pulling himself out of his unwelcome reverie, he began to point out sites of interest along the island’s coastline.
They’d rounded the far end when Mari cried, “Oh, look at the bridge—isn’t that weird?”
She gestured, and Russ, who hadn’t so much as glanced at the Mackinac Bridge until then, saw that both ends were shrouded in fog, so that it seemed to be a bridge from nowhere to nowhere. He could have appreciated the sight more if he hadn’t also noticed the grayness spreading toward them. At the same time the deep-throated, warning moans of the foghorns began sounding.
If they got caught in fog, he wouldn’t be able to get back into the harbor until it cleared. The breeze was carrying them along at a decent clip, but they might not make it in time. It wasn’t a big deal, so he decided to pick one of the tiny coves on this side of the island and anchor in it until the fog lifted.
“We may have to drop anchor and wait it out,” he told Mari, belatedly noticing she was hugging herself. “Cold?” He reached out and drew her next to him.
As the fog reached gray tentacles toward the boat, he spotted one of the coves and tacked part-way in, telling Mari what she could do to help. He dropped the sails and set the anchor just as grayness closed around them.
“The foghorns sound so mournful,” she said. “I’ve never heard them before. Nevada does get fog, especially in the winter—a frost fog the Paiute call pogonip. It’s not good for your lungs to be out in it. But we don’t have foghorns.”
“As long as we’re anchored here close to shore, we’re safe enough.”
“I’m not worried, just a tad cold.”
“We’ll go down in the cabin where the blankets are,” he said. “Watch your head.”
The tiny cabin was so dark it might have been night outside. Holding Mari’s hand, Russ was groping for the lantern with his free hand when she stumbled over something and fell against him. He staggered into the bunk, involuntarily sprawling across it, Mari with him.
She began to chuckle. “I’d accuse you of planning this,” she said, “except I can’t figure out how you managed the fog.”
“We romantics have our secret ways,” he murmured as he shifted them both into a more comfortable position and then kissed her the way he’d been longing to do all morning.
Her enthusiastic response triggered a rush of need so acute he had trouble reining himself in. Holding Mari was like nothing else. She was like no other woman.
“Lilacs,” he whispered into her ear. “You and lilacs.” It didn’t express the passion she evoked in him, passion mixed with a tenderness that surprised him, but those were the only words he could find.
His warm breath tickled Mari’s ear, sending a series of tiny thrills along her nerves. She didn’t understand what he meant, but that didn’t matter because his whisper was part of their lovemaking. All that mattered was their being together, wrapped in each other’s arms. She wanted him so much she trembled with need.
She could sense he was holding back, trying to restrain himself, but with her desire flaring like wildfire, restraint wasn’t necessary. Sliding her hand down, she closed it around his arousal. He groaned, took her hand away and stripped off his clothes. By the time he finished undressing, she was naked, too, pressing against him, telling him with her body what she wanted.
When he thrust inside her she matched his rhythm, until he followed her over the crest. Holding each other, they coasted down, snuggling together under a blanket.
“Aunt Blanche had a word she used to describe the way you looked at breakfast,” she said after a time. “Glum.”
Russ ran a hand over her hip. “I’m cured.”
“Was it only because you had to tell me about the tests? You were still pretty quiet until the fog caught us.”
He cupped her breast. “Because I wanted to do this and couldn’t.”
“The truth?”
“Part of it, anyway.” He lifted his head and kissed her, a long, slow kiss she felt clear down to the soles of her feet. If he was trying to convince her that actions spoke louder than words, he was certainly succeeding.
Their lovemaking the second time was slow and sensual, as she explored all the sensitive parts of his body while he caressed hers. Once they joined together, though, the journey to the top was wildly satisfying. He still held her afterward, his arms around her even after she could tell by his breathing that he’d drifted off to sleep. Content and drowsy, she closed her eyes.
Mari woke to find a ray of sunlight slanting in through the open hatch. She glanced at Russ and found him awake, looking at her. For a moment she thought his green eyes looked troubled, but then he smiled.
“First time I realized fog could be a sailor’s friend,” he said. Raising his head, he gave her a quick kiss and then slid off the bunk to start dressing.
Mari waited until he was on deck to retrieve her scattered clothes and get into them.
Their run back into the harbor was uneventful. “Lunch?” Russ asked as they disembarked in the marina.
“I don’t know about you,” she said, “but I plan to take a shower before I do anything else.”
“Think Diana will feed me as well as you?” he said. “If so, we can shower together.”
The thought of being naked in a shower with Russ made her knees weak, but it wouldn’t be appropriate at the Haskell house. She slanted him a look.
“I take it that means no. Dinner tonight, then? You haven’t been inside the Grand Hotel yet.”
“I thought you said the Grand was for special occasions.”
“Having dinner with you isn’t special? Or don’t y
ou think having dinner with me is special?”
Mari made a face at him. “Special was your word, not mine. I’d enjoy going there.” As she agreed, she silently thanked heaven she’d brought along the one dressy outfit.
After he dropped her off at the Haskell cottage, Mari met Pauline in the entry. “I won’t be in for dinner this evening,” she told he housekeeper. “Russ is taking me to the Grand Hotel.”
Pauline smiled. “I’ve always thought of the Grand as the most romantic hotel in the country.”
Mari sighed. Romantic. How like Russ.
That evening Russ arrived at the Haskell house in a surrey with a fringe on top, one with a driver—the island equivalent of a limo. Feeling like a teenager going to her first prom, Mari let Russ, who looked gorgeous in a red blazer, navy-blue tie and white slacks, escort her down the steps to the surrey.
“In my father’s vernacular, you look smashing,” he told her. “The lilac lady.”
He was right about the color of her sleeveless silk shift with matching short jacket. The boutique clerk where she’d found it on sale in Reno had commented, “You’re one of those rare gals who can wear this deep lilac shade. Lucky you, this is a terrific buy.”
Under Russ’s admiring gaze Mari did feel lucky. This promised to be a fabulous evening, maybe even the best of her entire life. She refused to wonder how many more evenings they’d spend together. As the Nevada Paiutes put it:
Yesterday is ashes.
Tomorrow is wood.
Only today can there be fire.
Chapter Nine
The interior of the Grand Hotel was every bit as impressive as its white-columned exterior. More impressive, actually, Mari thought, than any of Reno’s big casinos, because the decor was restrained elegance, not gaudy sumptuousness.
“How long is that front porch, anyway?” she asked as they headed toward the dining room.
“A bit longer than two football fields.”
She shook her head in amazement, noting that while diners in Nevada tended to wear mostly jeans, with the occasional black leather outfits of bikers, here there was no casual dress in the dining room, which added to the impression of elegance. They were shown to their table, where the waiter seated Mari. Shortly thereafter the wine waiter approached, and Russ discussed champagne with him, then ordered a bottle.