by Cindy Gerard
Geezer snorted. “I know three night’s the record for a man t’ stay there and you’re pushing it.”
“You’re not going to tell me you buy into that spirit-of-a-soiled-dove nonsense.”
“Me? I don’t have t’ believe it. I’m not sleeping in there. I’m only holding the money. So what was it?” he persisted, as he hobbled over to the dock to untie the bow line on a boat for the party of departing fishermen.
Colin moved to help him. Squatting on his haunches, he reached for the slip knot and tugged it free, just as the last man clambered into the boat with a bucketful of bait.
“Don’t catch ‘em all,” Geezer grumbled over the roar of the outboard motor as they pulled away. “Just more work for me when they bring ’em in,” he sputtered, then ambled back to his deck chair in the shade of the boat house.
Once he was comfortable, he closed his eyes and tugged his hat down low. “Shakin’ bed or open window?” he asked again.
“The window,” Colin admitted. Staring out over the lake, he dragged a hand through his hair. “But there’s a perfectly logical explanation.”
“Humph.”
“Those windows are ancient. Double hung. Strung with old rope and weights and pulleys,” he insisted, walking through all the possibilities as he spoke. He’d already played this game with himself—several times—just like he had during the night when he’d wakened repeatedly to find rain beating in the very window he’d shut an hour earlier. He’d felt like a Ping-Pong ball, he’d bounced in and out of bed so many times. “Something’s out of alignment.”
“Just like something’s out of alignment with the door t’ Belinda’s room?”
Colin scowled. He’d had trouble getting it open again this morning. “The rain made the wood swell. I’ll plane it again today.”
“Got an answer for everything, don’tcha?”
“All it takes is a little deductive reasoning.”
“Same kind you used when you put the moves on that little lady last night?”
Colin glared at him.
“I can’t help what I seen. I was awake. My gout was fired up. So I was pacing it out. Good thing, too.” He slanted Colin a look that said he was lower than the lake bottom, in Geezer’s book. “I knew you was slippery.”
“What happened last night between Scarlett and me is none of your business.”
“You don’t listen so good, boy. I warned you, first off, that she is my business and you’re not t’ do anything t’ cause her hurt.”
“And I told you, first off, that it is not my intention to hurt her.”
“Then keep yer distance.”
“Look, not that I owe you an explanation, but I didn’t plan to kiss her. And I don’t plan on a repeat. We both know it would be a mistake, all right? We’ve both got our own agendas, and they aren’t compatible.”
Geezer snorted. “I don’t know nothing about no fancy words like agendasand compatible, but I know the way she looks at you, and it looks like heartbreak t’ me.”
Geezer’s assessment fostered a guilt Colin had been trying to avoid. To combat it, he glared at the old man. “What are you to her, anyway?”
Geezer pursed his lips, then laced his fingers across his middle. “It ain’t so much what I am t’ her as what she is t’ me.” The affection in his voice relayed the depth of his feelings for Scarlett. “She give me a job when everybody else told me I was used up. She took me in when I had no place t’ go. And she loves this lake like I do, and she wants t’ keep it the way it is.
“What she is t’ me is a fine woman and my friend. If she was my own daughter, I couldn’t care about her more.”
Colin considered him for a long moment. “I’d say she’s a lucky woman to have such loyalty.” He drew in and let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t want to hurt her, Geezer. I just want to get through the next week and a half and then get back to my business.”
Geezer eyed him critically, then averted his gaze to the lake. “So stick t’ the plan. But as long as you’re here, it wouldn’t hurt you none t’ help her out a bit.”
Colin nodded. “Hard as it might be for you to believe, that’s one more thing we agree on.”
“Then get to it, boy.” He tugged his cap over his eyes and settled in for a mid-morning nap. “Time’s a wastin’.”
Seven
The next morning Colin’s day started out with the door to his room—again. If he accomplished nothing else in the next week, that damn door was not going to stick, although he’d be damned if he could figure out why it never presented a problem when he went into the room. It was just when he wanted to get out that it gave him trouble.
For the next two days and nights he did everything he could, short of rudeness, to avoid Scarlett. He made brief appearances at breakfast, then he’d haul out the tool chest and go to work. He started on the windows—specifically the one in his room. Every day, he’d work until lunch, slip into the dining room, eat a quick bite, then work the rest of the afternoon. He’d repeat another eat-and-run at dinnertime and then make himself scarce—even from Casey, who’d gotten into the habit of tagging along and was wheedling her way into his heart despite his resolve not to let her. At night, after a trip to the dock that was beginning to feel like a ritual, he’d turn in and tell himself there was nothing strange going on in his room.
Except that there was.
One night he’d awakened several times with the odd sensation that the bed was shaking. The moment he’d wakened, whatever it was that had roused him had stopped. It was only in the morning, after being repeatedly jerked out of sleep by a vibrating sensation, that he’d accepted the fact that the bed had moved a good three feet toward the middle of the room.
“The floor in that room slopes downward,” he’d told Geezer, when he’d pressed him about his nights in Belinda’s room. “For that matter, there’s not a level floor in the whole place. And the hotel does a little more settling every day.”
Geezer had just harrumphed his usual cynic’s response, sat back and asked Colin how many times he’d planed the door.
The next couple of nights were relatively uneventful—unless he considered that like every night since he’d been there, his dreams had been vivid, colorful and arousing. While he’d been relatively successful in keeping away from Scarlett between dawn and dusk, his nights were filled with her. Her taste. Her scent. The promise of her fierce and sultry passion.
He woke up one morning to fire searing through his blood—and a room so cold he expected to see frost on the windowpanes. He threw back the covers, walked shivering to the window and opened it. The warmth of the July morning rolled in through the window, sweet, cleansing, fresh. He stood there for a long moment, his face to the sun, an arctic chill at his back, and told himself it was all in his imagination—like a subconscious cold shower to help cool the effects of his erotic dream.
He got the hell out of there, just the same. He tugged on his running clothes, fought with the door until he swore, and finally managed to jerk it open. He didn’t look back; he didn’t think about the room or about Scarlett. He just ran. And ran until he slumped against a tree in exhaustion. And then he went through the rest of the day the way he planned to go through every remaining one until his two weeks were up: with a single-minded determination to keep his distance.
Only, his plans, like his resolve, were destined to be broken.
It was the day Scarlett had been dreading. The hotel was empty. The party of fisherman had limited out, packed their catch in dry ice and headed for home. The women had maxed out on their vacation time and had reluctantly bid her goodbye until next year. The man and his sons weren’t due back from the boundary waters until the day after tomorrow, and her next bookings weren’t due to arrive for two days. Even Geezer, taking advantage of the short break in the action, had decided that he couldn’t put off a visit to his sister in Bordertown any longer.
And then there was Casey. She deserved some time away from the hotel. When Mackenzie
had contacted Scarlett on the shortwave radio and asked if Casey could spend the weekend with them, Scarlett’s immediate response had been yes. She couldn’t deny her daughter this chance to have some fun with the Greenes.
Mark arrived early, just a little past eight. He took the time to wolf down a couple of caramel rolls, then helped load Casey and the pups into the boat.
“Did you remember to pick up the basket of goodies I made for you to take along? There’s a casserole for dinner and some fresh bread and enough rolls for breakfast for a couple of mornings.”
“Don’t worry, Ms. Morgan. I’d forget Casey before I’d forget to pack your rolls,” Mark assured her with a grin and an exaggerated “ouch!” when Casey playfully punched him in the arm.
She couldn’t help but smile at Mark’s teasing. Mackenzie was right. He’d come a long way from the sullen and surly and very troubled kid Mackenzie had dragged there from California last December.
“How many times have I asked you to call me Scarlett?” she prompted good-naturedly. “This ‘Ms. Morgan’ business makes me feel old.”
“Sorry, Ms. M—I mean, Scarlett.”
“Much better. You two have a good time, and, Casey, I’ll see you in a couple of days, sweetie.”
She stood on the dock, watched the boat diminish to a silver speck in the midst of blue water and fought the significance of Casey’s departure. Casey had been her last wall of defense. She was now alone with the one man she couldn’t afford to be alone with.
Turning slowly, she looked toward the hotel, drew a bracing breath and told herself to shape up.
“You have nothing to worry about,” she assured herself. Since that night on the dock when he’d kissed her, Colin had kept his distance so well that the Grand Canyon could have been between them. She’d only caught glimpses of him—as he’d finished his run, as she’d walked down the hall and found him determinedly planing the door to his room, as he’d grabbed a quick bite, then disappeared.
If he could do it, so could she. All she had to do was keep her own distance and it should work out just fine.
With the determination that had gotten her into her sixth season at Crimson Falls, she pushed back her sleeves and set out to do a little recreational gardening and, unfortunately, a lot of wondering. What would it be like, making love with Colin Slater?
She got rained out at noon. The clouds moved in quickly. So quickly she got soaked in the downpour. Gathering the armload of snapdragons she’d cut for centerpieces, she sprinted to the kitchen door and ducked inside.
After dumping the flowers in the sink, to deal with them later, she scooted from window to window, shutting them against the rain. That done, she ran up the back stairs to the second floor and closed the windows in her quarters. Only then did she strip off her soggy clothes and step into the shower.
The last she’d seen of Colin had been a glimpse of him going into the boat house down by the dock. Grateful that the rain had caught him there, instead of in the hotel with her, she toweled her hair dry. Not bothering to run a brush through it, she slipped into her robe and, barefoot, walked back downstairs to the kitchen.
The clouds, plump and black and swollen with rain they had yet to shed, scudded across the afternoon sky, darkening the day to gray, twilight hues. Thunder rolled across the lake land. It was the kind of afternoon that cried out for a good book, a cup of hot tea and a comfortable chair to curl up in. Wishing she could indulge herself in that very lazy activity, Scarlett put the flowers in water to keep them fresh and set the teakettle on a burner to boil.
A few minutes later, with her cup of tea in one hand and a small vase full of snapdragons in the other, she ambled back upstairs to settle in to some much-neglected bookwork.
Just as she reached the top step, lightning flashed like a strobe. Thunder clamored in its wake, rumbling like a squadron of kettle drums, shaking the windows and rattling the doors.
She walked down the hall to her room and was about to burrow in for the duration, when she realized she hadn’t checked the window in Belinda’s room.
Setting her tea on a hall table and, on a whim, deciding to leave the vase of flowers for Colin, she approached his closed door.
He’d been in the boat house glazing windows when he’d noticed the clouds roll in. He’d almost made it to the verandah when the first big downburst let fly. By the time it was raining in earnest, he was inside, the door shut soundly behind him.
The empty hotel spelled trouble. Avoiding Scarlett would be damn near impossible now. It had been hard enough with people around as a buffer. With nothing but the walls and his good intentions between them, his restraint would be stretched to the limit.
The safest place at the moment appeared to be his room. He decided to wait out the storm there until it passed and he could go back about his business. By himself. Away from Scarlett. Safe. Sane. Solitary.
Shrugging out of his wet shirt, he toed off his shoes and, wearing only his slacks, lay back on the bed. Lacing his hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling and listened to the rain pepper the windows. And the sound of the back door slamming shut. Of Scarlett hurrying through the first floor closing windows. Of her muffled footsteps on the back stairs, the distant hiss of her shower and the complaint of ancient water pipes.
He closed his eyes to block the picture of her in the shower, the water sluicing over her bare skin, her face tipped to the steamy spray, her hands running the length of her body, soapy, slippery...
With a groan, he tried to concentrate on the storm. The only thunder he heard was that of his rampaging heart. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, when he heard soft footsteps approach his door.
As still as stone he lay there. As silent as midnight, he waited. Slowly the brass knob turned. Slower still, the door eased open. Telling himself he was dreaming, hoping against hope he wasn’t, he turned his head toward the door.
She was standing there—the woman who had haunted his nights.
Just as in his dreams, she wore a red silk robe, softly slipping off one shoulder, slightly parted to reveal a length of long, tanned leg. Her hair was wet, her eyes were huge, the flowers she carried as fragrant as the flesh beneath all that sultry silk.
“I-I’m sorry. I...I thought you were in the boat house. I...I was just going to check your window and...and leave these for you.”
He raised up on an elbow, unable to take his eyes off her as she waited there, hesitant, vulnerable, and as beautiful as she was every night when she came to him in his sleep.
“I-I’ll just-I’ll just set them on the table... over... there.”
Her eyes asked for permission, relayed her awareness... of the intimacy implicit as she stood in his room in only her robe, of him lying half-dressed on the bed, of the magic a man and a woman could make in each others arms.
Silk shifted over her lush curves as she crossed the room and, with trembling hands, set the flowers on the table by the window. For a long moment she stood there. Her back to him. Her head down. Her hands clasped around the vase as if it was her anchor and she was adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Her shadow dancing across the faded wallpaper in the darkening afternoon.
Wind, rain and thunder clashed outside the window. The battle of elements was nothing compared to the war he waged within himself to keep from asking her to stay.
Everything about her was captivating: the slender curve of her hip, the sheen of her hair, tumbling in wild, damp curls about her face. And when she turned slowly away from the window, her lashes lowered, her breath rapid and shallow, pressing the sweet tight peaks of her nipples against thin silk, he thought he’d die of wanting her.
With a tortured oath he fell back on the bed. “Leave,” he croaked in a guttural command and flung an arm over his eyes. “Leave now, or so help me, Scarlett, we’ll both regret it.”
Time passed in fragments of silence and sound. The hushed rustle of watery silk against the smooth, tanned satin of her skin as she walked hesitantly across the varnish
ed oak floor toward the door. A gust of wind splattered the rain against the window. A ghostly creak of protest from ancient door hinges. A long humming moment, before the finality of her decision to leave him, was punctuated by the fit of the door to the jamb and the click of the latch bolt slipping home.
Thunder rolled. Regret eclipsed any feelings of relief as he dragged in a ragged breath, let it out...then opened his eyes in disbelief when the sigh of silk drifted across the room from the closed door.
He lifted his arm and saw her standing there. Watching him. Waiting for him to say the word that would sanction her decision to stay and bring her to his side.
“Scarlett. This would be so wrong for you.”
Shattered pride, searing need. He saw it all on her face as she took the first step that led her to his bed.
“How can something that feels so right be wrong?”
With a groan he tore his gaze from hers. He couldn’t look at her searching eyes without wanting to touch her. He couldn’t breathe without wanting to be inside her.
“You’re asking the wrong man. I’m not the one who’s going to end up hurt. I’m not the one who’s going to be left here with my regret and yours for company.”
“Regret,” she echoed with such poignant entreaty he physically felt her need. “Yes, I’ll probably regret it if we make love. But it will be nothing compared to the regret I’ll have if we don’t.”
He swallowed hard and turned back to her. She was beside him now. So close he could see her pulse beat at the hollow of her throat. So close he could smell the fragrance of her shampoo.
She eased a hip onto the bed beside him. Her slight weight and the sudden contact stole his breath. Her heat seeped through the fabric of his slacks to his skin. The burn was like liquid lightning, searing his blood, arching to his groin.
“It’s been so long,” she confessed in a voice made plaintive with need and husky with desire. “I want...I I want to feel like a woman again. I want to know what it feels like to be wanted for something other than—” her voice broke before she managed a wavery smile “—than my good cooking and my hospitality.