But it was with scant regard to the roads, after glancing at her watch, unable to believe she had been away for gone two hours, that Arden put her foot down.
With no clear idea in her head of why she should want to short cut the thoughts Blane must be having on the untrustworthiness of women, and to name but one, Arden Kirkham in particular, she tore over rutted tracks, treating the suspension of the Morris Traveller in a manner to which it protested indignantly.
Skidding as she tore to a halt on an icy patch that was thumbing its nose to the rays of the winter's sun, Arden was abruptly leaving her self-congratulations that she had missed the wall of the cottage by mere inches. For just as abruptly, Blane being nowhere in sight, she would swear when she had driven up, she found she was leaving the car as, his face more thunderous than she had ever seen it, he was suddenly there to jerk open the door and yank her violently out.
'You maniac!' he blazed, the fire of fury burning in his eyes frightening, as he bellowed. 'You stupid bloody idiot!' And, as her heart beat violently with the knowledge that he was going to hit her, he shook her roughly as he let fly, 'You could have killed yourself!'
'Well, I didn't, did I?' she found enough wind to retaliate, shock at the violence in him, not to mention the rough way he was treating her, flushing out a fury in her. 'And if you're that worried, why didn't you think of putting some salt down—you knew I'd be coming back,' she threw at him, when it had been a touch-and-go decision.
She felt satisfied to see he looked dumbstruck that, in the face of him looking ready to strangle her, she was daring to answer him back. But she wasn't waiting around for him to get over his surprise at her cheek, or for him to shout at her that the time she had taken she could have been there and back half a dozen times. Sticking her nose in the air, she marched off and left him to turn the car engine off if he was so minded.
Up in her room she sat down angrily on her bed. Rough brute! Who the hell did he think he was anyway? she fumed furiously, rubbing at the shoulders he had so fiercely grabbed hold of.
'You could have killed yourself!' shot into her head. And a groan left her, and with it, every scrap of anger. Oh God, she mourned, he must have been watching her approach. He must have seen, from wherever he was standing, that it looked likely, when she'd started to skid, that she was going to make it inside the house without the use of the door—the car coming in with her!
Arden remembered in shame what she had forgotten, at the time, that Blane's ex-wife had been killed when his car had smacked into a brick wall. She was appalled to think she could have been so heated, even if he had roughly manhandled her out of the Morris, to have forgotten too that Delcine's death was still preying on his mind—she didn't have to look beyond his, 'I still have to work a few things through,' to know that. Another groan escaped as she saw clearly that her own near car crash must have brought it all rushing back to him. It had all been there, she saw only now, in that hoarse, 'You could have killed yourself!'
Chastened, all her sympathy going out to him as she berated herself for not thinking first before putting her foot down, her only thought then was that she must go and see him. If he had relapsed into shock, then, if he would let her, she wanted to help.
Wanting to get to him quickly, Arden raced down the stairs, wondering where she might find him. Her first guess of the sitting room proved wrong. But her second, that of the kitchen, had her eyes observing that here not only was Blane there but that his face wore a shuttered look, which could cover shock or whatever else he was feeling.
Suddenly needing an excuse to break into what she saw was his grim world as, just as if he hadn't seen her there, he continued with his task of putting the groceries away, she saw that as well as bringing in the cartons of food she had purchased, he had brought her shoulder bag in from the car too.
Retrieving her bag, she dipped inside it, keeping her eyes on him, not missing that he had nothing he wanted to say to her, as she offered:
'Your—your change.' A glower was all she received. That he wanted help from her or no one else he was making patently obvious. 'I'll put it on the kitchen table, shall I?' she tried again.
She did not care at all for the way she might just as well have not been there for all the notice he was taking of her. And at any other time she might well have left him to get on with it. But she was sure he was covering up what he was feeling, having seen him vulnerable, even if he was now looking as if nothing had the power to touch him, and she knew that he was bruised inside. She was the cause, thoughtlessly, of that knife turning in his wounds.
'Shall I help you with that?' she offered, taking a step nearer to him.
'No,' he said nastily. Just that, and no more.
'I'm sorry about…' Arden broke off as he gave her a short look that had little liking in it. But anticipating that at any moment Blane would tell her to take herself and her prattle out of his sight, stubbornly, she stuck in there. 'I don't usually drive like that,' she said gently. 'But…'
The hostile look he threw her, his mouth a tight angry line, had her feeling niggled, when she didn't want to feel niggled. But she could not stay the thought—why was she wasting her time? She could be back at Chalmers Hollow well before tea time if she set off now. Blane Hunter wouldn't miss her, that was for sure.
Illogically, memory shot into her head of his mouth when it had warmly touched hers. Curving and generous it had been then; she remembered it as if that kiss had taken place only a second ago.
'What happened to that new leaf you were going to turn over?' she heard herself trying to tease, as the charm he had mesmerised her with disappeared.
Another hostile look came her way. But Arden could have sworn that his expression had lightened fractionally, and that she was getting to him. Though when the unpacking was finished and the two cartons ready to be disposed of, and he was no more forthcoming than he had been, she could not deny that she was beginning to feel a shade exasperated with his sullen attitude. One last try, she was thinking, then—then she'd be off.
'Stop sulking,' she ordered in her best schoolma'am voice.
Oh, my goodness, she thought, as, looking completely astounded, as though to be accused of sulking, to be so spoken to, was something he had never thought to hear, Blane Hunter stared thunderstruck at her.
But any reaction was better than nothing, and his utter amazement only served to egg her on to believe that the best way through to him was by the use of shock tactics.
'Stop sulking,' she repeated, his full attention still hers, 'and,' she added outrageously, 'and—give me a kiss!'
Looking stunned, as if this was something else which he could not believe he had heard aright, Blane Hunter continued to stare at her.
But it was in the next second that Arden was the one to be stunned; although poleaxed was more aptly what she felt. For as Blane recovered from his astonishment, there was a sound that had never been heard in the kitchen, or in the cottage before. It was a sound, too, that Arden had never before heard, not from Blane Hunter.
For he laughed. Shaken, it was her turn to stare when he just tipped back his head and roared at her impudence. And never was she more glad that he did not take her up on her invitation to give her a kiss. Because, as the harsh expression left him and his laughter echoed around the room, she knew staggeringly as she watched the difference in him, as laughter lit his face, exactly why it was she had been so mixed up, so apprehensive about coming back!
'I was only joking,' she squeaked, sidestepping quickly as Blane came up to her as though to give her the kiss she had requested.
'I never touched you,' he said, his dark eyes all at once serious.
Never more shaken, hurriedly lest he should guess at the truth that had just come to rock her, she lowered her eyes. It was that same truth that had her desperately searching for anything she could latch on to so he should not know that it was her turn to be in a state of deep shock.
'That's a—very good store—the one I got all the shoppi
ng from,' she said, now more than ever needing time away from him.
She was thankful that he apparently saw nothing wrong with her abrupt change of subject. 'I thought it must be,' he remarked. But Arden was so stewed up, she missed entirely any significance behind his comment, and she moved to collect potatoes, hoping he would leave the kitchen now that she looked to be busy preparing lunch.
'They sell everything,' she went on, when Blane stayed put. And, uncaring then that he didn't care for her 'prattling', she told him of the various items she had come across in the store. And when he still stayed, afraid she was going to run out of steam, she even told him about the magic painting book and, like she had told the shopkeeper, told him how she had always wanted one.
But eventually, run out of steam she did. It was then that the significance behind his, 'I thought it must be,' hit her. He must have been wondering where on earth she had been, considering all the time she had been out! Still floundering from the discovery that somehow or other, crazily—because she just wasn't the type of woman he would give a second glance to—she had fallen headlong in love with him, Arden ceased babbling, and told him honestly:
'I—needed to be—by myself for a while.' And hoping he would understand, 'Don't you ever feel like that— that you need to be alone?' she asked.
'Frequently,' he replied, his equally honest answer sinking her.
Fear gripped her then that, when the decision to go or stay as she pleased had been hers, now, with Blane frequently wanting no company but his own, he might want her to leave. Her upside-down world spun another semi-circle, and her love for him too newly discovered for her to be practised in not begging for crumbs, Arden found she was asking:
'But you don't want me to—go?'
That Blane stared at her for long, long moments before he answered had her heart thudding painfully. Dread grew in her that he had changed his mind about wanting her there. Dread that she would have to find pride from somewhere to give him some snappy retort and depart, never to see him again.
'Now who the hell else,' he answered at last, bending to pick up the two empty cartons, 'is going to cook for me if you aren't here?' He didn't wait for her reply, but carried the two cartons outside.
The fact that Blane had cooked breakfast and, now that he had his appetite back, would not starve if she left, made his remark sound warmer to her ears than he had made it sound.
But later, up in her room where she had disappeared to after lunch, Arden was well on the way to seeing that falling in love was not the joyous happening she had thought it would be when it happened to her. She had her parents' sublimely happy marriage, the wonderful partnership of Aunt Louise and Uncle Tam, to thank that she had only ever seen the day when she should fall in love through rose-tinted glasses.
Love, it was fast being brought home to her, was a joyous, wonderful happening—when it was mutual. She had just not given thought to the pitfalls when a love given was one-sided. Accepting that she had been crass, idiotic, stupid even, to have fallen in love with Blane Hunter uninvited, Arden saw that she was going to have to do something about the way she saw some warmer meaning in anything he said. It was quite clear, now, that his 'Who the hell else is going to cook for me?' was nothing more than a plain statement of fact.
His remark about being lonely if she wasn't there didn't mean a thing either, she thought unhappily. He had made no effort to talk to her, had he? There had been none of that charm about him that had so astonished her at breakfast time, when she had served him his lunch. Nothing about him, she recalled, to say anything other, as he had tucked into his meal, than that he was a loner who just happened to appreciate good cooking.
She should have left when she had the chance, Arden saw. She could have been away without ever realising what had begun in her that first night when she had heard him shouting and in distress, and had gone into his room and had her sensitivities aroused.
That she could still leave was not a thought she considered. The knowledge was there without her having to think about it, that it was too late to leave. She wanted to stay and hoard to her every minute of the time she spent with Blane.
Which made a nonsense of her being up in her room having deliberately left him downstairs. Though she had needed to be alone. She found it impossible to get her thoughts together when she was in the same room with him.
More composed than she had been, Arden eventually left her room when her watch told her it had gone four. Determined that not by word, deed, or look would Blane know how it was with her, she weakened at the first hurdle when, as she decided he could make himself a cup of tea, a small voice reminded her that he had not long left hospital and was still not fully recovered.
'Tea,' she announced brightly on going into the sitting room, hoping that her voice had always sounded that way.
'Are you joining me today?' he asked to make her heart flutter. And a trace of that charm he had sunk her with appearing briefly. 'Or did my swearing at you this morning earn me solitary confinement?'
The flutter inside her turned into a riot. Was he apologising for the rough treatment he had meted out when he'd yanked her from the car? Was he really lonely for her company?
'You're sure my prattle won't annoy you?' she asked, wishing she was able to hold back a smile, but finding her smile wasn't interested in any instruction from her.
The corner of his mouth quirked, his look remaining pleasant as his eyes went from her eyes to linger on her gently curving mouth.
'Bring your tea in here,' he commanded.
Wings on her heels, Arden went. But she stayed a few moments in the kitchen to give herself a talking to. Then, needing to be back where he was, she went more slowly to join him.
That Blane no longer wore that half smile was no indication that his mood had changed, she was to discover when she took a chair opposite him. For it was in the next half hour that, using only the smallest particle of the mammoth charm at his disposal, he drew her out to tell him something about herself.
On learning her age, and that her parents were dead, he then went on to ask for how long had she lived at Hills View with her aunt.
'Twelve years,' she replied, and remembering, 'I was a thin leggy ten-year-old when Aunt Louise and Uncle Tam came and took me to live with them.'
'You're quite leggy at twenty-two,' he remarked, his eyes seeming to appreciate that she had changed into a skirt while she had been upstairs.
Having been expecting him to ask about Uncle Tam, since this was the first time her uncle had appeared in the conversation, Arden's felt her heart again beating giddily that Blane's remark had to be some sort of a compliment to her length of shapely leg. Hastily she looked into the fire so he should not know how the smallest crumb from him pleased her.
'You like the work you do?' he then thought to ask, causing her to steady herself.
'I've never really thought about it. It was—just there—so I did it.' She turned her head to look at him, then found that it was more than she could do to prevaricate with him when he was in this relaxed, easy mood. 'Actually,' she found herself confiding, 'I was going to go to university. But sadly, when I was sixteen, Uncle Tam died.'
'Your aunt didn't want you to leave her?'
That made it sound as though her aunt was selfish, she thought, which was the last thing Louise was. 'I told her I didn't want to go,' she quietly set him straight.
'But you did want to go to university,' he stated, rather than asked. And as her eyes caught what must surely be a warm look, she was again looking into the fire.
'Aunt Louise,' she said, sure now she wasn't looking at him that he hadn't been looking at her warmly, or any other way, 'hasn't—er—much of a head for figures. She didn't know how bad things were—financially—at Hills View.'
'But you soon saw.' It was a statement again.
'I—couldn't tell her,' she answered, uncomfortable with the subject suddenly, and wishing they could talk of something else. But hoping he would see how it had been, tha
t there had been no thought of sacrifice in her mind, she felt compelled to go on, 'My aunt and uncle loved each other so much—she was distraught, in a state of collapse, when he died.'
'So from that time you've struggled to keep Hills View ticking over.' And with sharp perception, 'Without Mrs Browning ever knowing., just how desperate things are.'
Sensing censure, sensing that, not knowing how she had sometimes tried to get her aunt to see what a struggle it was to balance the books, he thought that she was being less than honest with her aunt, Arden had no defence. And, since she wanted only his good opinion of her, it was she who abruptly changed the subject.
'That's enough about me,' she said, forcing a lightness she was suddenly not feeling. 'How about you, Blane? Might I ask about…'
She broke off, aware that his mood had, on that instant, undergone a swift alteration as darkly he frowned at her. She knew then, before he spoke, that he was not going to answer one single solitary question about his formative years.
'I wouldn't want to bore you with the story of my life,' he told her curtly.
'Thanks,' Arden said sourly—and would not have stayed in the same room with him then if he'd paid her in gold to do so.
With tears of hurt in her eyes that he had got her talking and had then, quite plainly, let her know that the story of her life had bored him, she had raced to her room before it occurred to her how sensitive she was to anything he said.
She had seen him vulnerable in sleep. But oh, how vulnerable she was where he was concerned! she was thinking some ten minutes later.
What an idiot she had been to charge from the room like that! If she had stayed to dissect his dark look at her first intimation that she wanted to know about his life, she would have realised then that with his ex-wife so recently dead—with him at the wheel when that crash had killed her—he was still so wrapped up in what had happened that he wouldn't see it was his earlier life she had been interested in hearing about. In his present state of mind, his past life before that accident just didn't exist.
Drying her eyes, she left it until she was certain that there were no telltale signs that she had been crying, and then went down the stairs to prepare the evening meal.
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