“Lady, what the hell are you doing here?” The voice came from a little way behind her, and she whirled around, dropping her bags into the sand, to stand staring, mouth agape.
He took a step toward her, glaring, that offensive tone still rich in his voice. “I said, what are you doing here? This is private property; off limits to tourists. Understand? Comprende? Capisce?” She continued to stare at him blankly, and he shook his head in disgust. “Just my luck, to have a dimwit show up on my doorstep. Listen, lady, leave. Get out, vamoose, scram!”
Rachel just continued to stare at him, transfixed. He was both exactly what she had expected and something far different. He still had blond hair, but it no longer hung in lank curls halfway to his waist. It was cut short, too short, and shaggy, with streaks of gray lightening it. The hazel eyes that stared at her were Emmett’s color, but the look of trust and gentle good humor was gone, replaced with a mocking hostility that grieved her. He was taller than she remembered, closer to six feet, and his shoulders had filled out. His legs were long and tanned beneath the cutoff jeans, and the chest exposed by the tattered shirt was muscled and covered with a thin mat of sandy-colored hair.
But it was his face that mesmerized her. Battered, lined, with a blunt nose that had been broken at least once since she’d last seen him, and a cynical, world-weary mouth, he was still far more attractive than she had ever remembered. And more dangerous. Those hazel eyes that looked as if they had seen too much looked straight through her, and his cynical mouth curved in disgust.
“Listen, lady, am I going to have to remove you forcibly? Believe me, I wouldn’t have any qualms about it. So, if you don’t want a few bruises on that pretty white skin, I suggest you hightail it out of here.”
That threat, absurd though it was, managed to galvanize her. Not that he wasn’t capable of violence—it only took one good look at him to recognize him as a man capable of whatever was needed to get the job done. But he also wasn’t the sort to beat up on a lone woman lost on the beach. She found herself smiling, with sudden relief and joy. This was her Emmett.
The smile didn’t escape him. “Lady, are you out of your mind? I’m threatening you and you just stand there grinning like an idiot. If you aren’t going to go away, then why don’t you tell me who the hell you are and what you want?”
Rachel’s smile moved from her mouth to her entire face, filling it with a light that made Emmett draw a sudden, startled breath. “I’m Rachel, Emmett. Your sister.” And she ran into his arms.
Chapter Three
Emmett had taken one look at the slim, rumpled, undeniably feminine figure in white who stood staring at his cottage and muttered a pungent curse under his breath. This was the last thing he needed—another idiot tourist lost in his backyard. He had pushed himself too hard and too long today. Harris’s unexpected visit had banished any last trace of weariness, filling him with a nervous energy that made it impossible for him to spend the afternoon lying in a hammock and drinking beer as he had planned to do. He had jumped up the moment Harris had left, pushing his protesting body further still, forcing the cramps in his legs to loosen up, making another mile down the beach and back in the still, humid air. At that moment there was nothing he wanted more than to stagger to the refrigerator, grab another beer and collapse into the hammock. He wasn’t in the mood for another unwanted visitor.
And then she had turned around at the sound of his voice, and for a very brief moment any claim to rational intelligence left him. Those huge brown eyes staring up at him in shock in her pale, sweat-streaked face, the rumpled white suit that almost disguised the clean, strong, feminine lines of her body, the astonished mouth that looked as if it ought to be kissed, and often. Emmett stared back, taking a moment to marshal his defenses.
“I’m Rachel,” she had said. “I’m your sister.” And the feel of her hot, strong body in his arms, the scent of jasmine on her slender white neck, the tremors that shook her as she wept against his shoulder made his arms tighten instinctively around her, holding her closer. This was one thing he hadn’t anticipated, and a small groan escaped him.
Rachel was laughing and crying in his arms, her fingers clutching his shoulders in disbelief. Now that she could see him, touch him, hold him, it was like coming home. It hadn’t taken long for her to recognize the haven he represented, and she didn’t even stop to wonder if he was glad to see her. He felt strong and alive beneath her clutching fingers, and he smelled of hot sun, sweat, and beer. She felt his arms tighten around her, felt rather than heard the small groan, and in sudden self-consciousness she moved away, backed out of his arms, with a light, nervous laugh. Looking up into the face she had waited so long to see again, she couldn’t make out a thing from his expression. The hazel eyes looking down at her were unfathomable, the cynical mouth was a thin, straight line, and his whole body radiated extreme wariness.
Rachel ran a nervous hand through her rapidly escaping hair. “I guess I surprised you.”
He continued to stare at her. “You could say so.”
“But you and Uncle Harris couldn’t think I’d just stay in northern California? Not when you finally showed up? I couldn’t, Emmett, I just couldn’t.” His stillness as he watched her added to her nervousness, and she rubbed her fingers against her damp palms. This wasn’t going the way she’d so often imagined it; she was somehow making a mess of it, and she didn’t know how to remedy the situation.
“I thought you were too terrified of airplanes to ever fly?” he drawled, and Rachel flushed.
“I am,” she admitted. “But I had to do it. It’s been fifteen years, Emmett. I haven’t seen you since I was twelve years old; I barely remember you.”
The wary look around his eyes dwindled somewhat. “If you’ve waited fifteen years, don’t you think you could have waited a few weeks longer?” He watched that hopeful expression on Rachel’s face begin to crumple.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Don’t you want me here?”
Once a sucker, always a sucker, he told himself in disgust. “It’s not that. You just came as a surprise. Where are you staying?”
She looked up at him, her crushed expression warring with the faint stirrings of hope in her deep brown eyes. “Here?” she said softly.
This time Emmett didn’t hide his reaction. “Damn!” The expletive was muttered under his breath, and Rachel flinched.
“I don’t have to stay here,” she said hurriedly. “I could always find someplace else. Perhaps with Uncle Harris, or the local priest said he could help me. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”
“You could go back to the mainland.” He tried to steel himself against the barely hidden pleading in her face.
She shook her head stubbornly, and for the first time he saw a trace of the strength of will that had driven her family crazy on more than one occasion. “I’m staying here. I have no intention of getting on another airplane until I recover from my last trip.”
A curious resignation filled him. “Why?”
“Because I want to be with you. I won’t bother you, I promise, Emmett. But I’ve missed you so much, and I need you.” Her voice shook an infinitesimal amount, and with sudden self-consciousness she cleared her throat. “You’re the only family I have left.”
“What about our thousand and one aunts and uncles and cousins?” He was stalling, and he knew it.
“You don’t remember very well if you think there’s much family feeling in them. You and I were always outsiders. Please, Emmett.”
He stared down at her for a long, meditative moment. “I must be out of my mind,” he muttered, reaching down for her suitcase. He hefted it easily, shooting her a curious glance. “Is this all you’ve got? It’s not very heavy. How long were you planning to stay?”
“Until you’re ready to come home.” She was still unsure of him. “I figured I wouldn’t need much—just some bathing suits and shorts and stuff.”
“Great,” Emmett growled, picturing that strong, lithe body roa
ming around the tiny cottage in nothing more than a skimpy bathing suit. Someone up there took sadistic pleasure in trying his endurance. Melea had only begun to take the edge off a six-month hunger; it was just his luck that this beautiful, shyly sexy creature would turn out to be Emmett Chandler’s sister.
“Come on, kid.” With a jerk of his head he signaled for her to follow him as he made his way back to the cottage. She scrambled after him, her bare feet silent in the sand. He stopped on the wide porch, dropping the suitcase unceremoniously and turning to look down at her. “I suppose we’d better try and let Uncle Harris know you’re here. We’ll have to drive over there; I don’t have a telephone.” He hesitated a moment. “We may as well wait till after dinner. Are you hungry?”
Rachel considered it for a moment. On the one hand, her stomach was in a complete knot from nerves and apprehension, on the other, she wanted to delay as long as possible his ejecting her. “How is Uncle Harris?” she queried, stalling for time. Maybe she could pretend to sprain her ankle, making it impossible for her to go to the hotel tonight. It had been such a long time…. She didn’t want to lose him so quickly.
As swiftly as the thought entered her mind she banished it. She had never been a devious person, and that would have been a rotten way to renew her relationship with her long-lost brother. “I’m more thirsty than hungry,” she said truthfully, her eyes still watching him as if they couldn’t get enough.
There was a strained silence between the two of them, only the sound of the surf breaking on the sand filling the humid air. “I imagine you’d like to wash up,” he said finally. “Your room is on the right. We’ll have to share the bathroom—this isn’t the Hilton, you know.” He grabbed her suitcase and disappeared into the cottage, almost as if he was afraid he’d change his mind.
Rachel stared after him for a moment, disbelief and joy filling her. And then she rushed after him.
For a moment the darkness of the room was blinding after the bright sunlight. He was standing in a doorway, staring at her. Without a moment’s hesitation she ran to him, flinging her arms around him.
“Thank you, Emmett,” she babbled happily. “I promise, I won’t get in the way, and I’ll cook for you, and clean for you, and won’t ask any questions that you don’t want to answer.”
He suffered her embrace for a long moment. She felt him withdraw a moment before his strong hands came up and unclasped her arms from around his neck. He put her away from him, firmly but very carefully. “I don’t need you to cook or clean for me, Rachel,” he said gently. “I can take care of myself—I have been for years. And you can ask all the questions you want; if I don’t want to answer, I won’t. And one more thing…”
“Anything,” she said rashly, smiling up at him starry-eyed with happiness.
“You’ve come as quite a surprise to me. I think it would be a good idea if you didn’t make a habit of hugging me all the time—at least not until I’m used to you. It’s going to take a little while to realize that my baby sister has grown up into a lovely young woman.” His voice was surprisingly gentle, but Rachel flushed anyway.
“Of course, Emmett.” She met his wary gaze straight on, smiling. “I’ll do anything you want me to.”
His cynical mouth curved in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sure, kid. In the meantime why don’t you clean up, and I’ll meet you on the front porch in a few minutes with a beer. That is, if you haven’t developed your uncle’s patrician disdain for beer. ‘Cause that’s all that’s here and cold.”
“Beer would be great.” She watched his retreating back for a moment, her eyes filled with tenderness. He was limping slightly, and she almost called out to him with sudden concern. At the last moment she stopped herself. There would be time enough for all her questions, she realized, turning into her room and shutting the door behind her.
The room was small and spotlessly neat. The narrow bed was covered with a rough cotton bedspread and the rag-rug on the unfinished pine floor was a bright splash of color. The small sturdy dresser would more than hold the little amount of clothing she had brought with her. There was only enough room for a small rocker besides the bed and dresser, and moving around would be more than a little cramped. No curtains were on the window to keep out the lush greenery surrounding the house; there was no closet to hang her one dress. The only other door led to the bathroom she’d be sharing with her brother.
Her brother, she echoed to herself, smiling dreamily. She was finally here with her brother, and she had him all to herself. As she moved to unpack the suitcase that Emmett had dumped on the bed, she found herself humming softly and happily under her breath. She felt happier than she ever had in her entire life, she realized. Like a girl on her first date, like a bride on her honeymoon, like a woman who’s just discovered life.
She didn’t stop to recognize the danger of those comparisons. Still humming, she headed for the bathroom, her bare feet silent on the rough wood floor.
Emmett stood in the kitchen, two open beers in his hand, listening to the sound of her moving about her room, the quiet sound of her humming. Moving toward the porch, he caught sight of himself in the mirror, recognized the look of expectation on his own battle-worn face. He stopped for a moment, staring into his reflection. “You’re a damn fool, you know,” he said softly. The man in the mirror nodded his agreement, and then he headed out onto the porch.
Chapter Four
Emmett might announce he could cook, but in at least that one area he was less than truthful. Rachel dutifully took another forkful of the dried-out hamburger, still doing her best to avoid the soupy instant mashed potatoes and the canned peas that had been cooked almost beyond recognition. Even the beer that accompanied the meal was warm. Emmett had eaten quickly, with the no-nonsense attitude of one performing an unpleasant duty, and after one taste Rachel could understand why. He now sat, tipped back against the wall, drinking his third beer and watching her out of hooded, unfathomable eyes.
She had spent as long as she had dared on her appearance that night. The cool water she had splashed on her flushed face would have to suffice—she didn’t want to risk the time to take the shower that she longed for. Brushing out her silky mane of hair, she considered leaving it hanging around her shoulders, then discarded the idea. The air was still hot and heavy around them; if Emmett saw her with a thick curtain of hair down her back, he’d think his sister was playing with not quite a full deck. Resignedly she re-braided it in one thick plait, pulling out a few softening wisps to frame her high forehead. A touch of mascara and clear lip gloss and she would have to do, she thought critically, surveying her reflection in the small, slowly unsilvering mirror that hung over the bathroom sink.
What had Emmett called her? A lovely young woman? He must have been possessed of more brotherly feeling than he gave himself credit for—no one in his right mind could have called her lovely, she thought critically. Her eyes were brown, her hair was brown, her figure neat but undistinguished, her features even and boring, boring, boring. No high, luscious cheekbones—they were right there in her face where most people’s cheekbones were. Only her mouth could claim distinction, being slightly too large for her face. Not the best choice for a distinctive feature: in her early twenties she would have given anything for an aristocratic, aquiline nose with a genteel little hook in it. Anything to give her face the character she thought it lacked.
Rachel hesitated for a moment over what to wear. She had only brought one dress—a bright yellow sun dress with thin spaghetti straps—but the occasion deserved her best. After all, her first dinner with her brother after fifteen years should be something to celebrate.
She had practically raced out of the bedroom, still in bare feet, terrified that he might have changed his mind, might have decided to send her packing to Uncle Harris’s after all. But he hadn’t said a word, handing her a Heineken with an unreadable expression on his face.
Rachel broke off another piece of overdone hamburger, bringing it to her mouth
gamely. Emmett obviously hadn’t considered the occasion worthy of celebration: he was still wearing the same disreputable clothes, although he had shoved his feet into a ratty-looking pair of sneakers and buttoned a few buttons on his worn khaki shirt. Several days’ growth of beard still adorned his chin, and he made no attempt at dinner conversation. He just sat and watched her, drinking his beer.
He was watching her now with hooded eyes and what looked suspiciously like the beginning of a smile hovering about his mouth. “You can stop now,” he said suddenly, and the sound of his voice in the stillness startled her into dropping her fork with a noisy clatter. “You don’t have to eat any more to prove you’re a good sister.”
“It’s very good,” she lied, washing down the last dried-out piece that still stuck in her throat. “It’s just that I’m not very hungry after all the excitement.”
“It’s edible, but that’s about all,” he stated flatly. “Are you any good as a cook?”
“Pretty good.” Sudden hope flared in her. “I like to cook, and if you do something you like, it’s easy to be good at it. I’m not a terribly efficient housekeeper, though,” she added doubtfully, aware that this was a mild understatement. If she didn’t allow herself the sinful extravagance of having someone come in and clean her cluttered apartment once a week, she’d live in complete chaos. “I could try, though.”
“That won’t be necessary. You can take care of the cooking; I’ll do the cleaning. Sounds like a fair division of labor to me,” he drawled.
She held her breath. “Does that mean you want me to stay?”
He shrugged, his eyes still watching her flushed, eager face. “It’s up to you. I imagine you’ll want to get back before too long.”
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