“And what you do know is awful.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t know anything that’s awful about you.”
I felt the bridge of my nose prickle with tears that wanted to be shed. “The idiotic way my husband died—”
“But that wasn’t you, that was his idiocy. And while I'd like to claim you know everything about me since I narrated what felt like my whole life story this afternoon, probably still one or two events remain that you haven’t heard about. I admit I can't think of anything quite so spectacular as what Kerry Sue described, but some of mine are fairly idiotic.
“Now, come on. Let’s close that front door that should have shrieked like a banshee when we opened it but didn’t. I'll make you some of my famous cocoa if we can find anything to make it with, or tea if not. And we’ll sit down and relax for the first time in, what is it, twenty-four hours? A week and a half? When did I walk into that grocery store anyway?”
He took my hand, led me back into the other room and over to the love seat. Gently he pushed me down onto it; it felt good to settle into the cushions. Jack immediately jumped up beside me. “Good boy,” Bob told him, “you keep Louisa company for me.” He gave Emily Ann’s head a quick stroke as he passed her. He closed the front door and moved over to the kitchen area.
This was tiny, with a small stove and refrigerator, a microwave, some open shelves on the wall. Dark brown tiles topped the counters, and under the window a single porcelain sink gleamed. I watched over the back of the love seat as Bob busied himself opening all the cabinets, the refrigerator and freezer. Mother Hubbard would have felt right at home—nothing to make cocoa, no tea, no coffee. However, a full bar was set up in an old dry sink under a window looking out to the side yard. Bob opened a bottle of pinot noir and poured generous amounts into two glasses.
“I wonder if I should drive back to that little town we passed,” he remarked as he set the glasses on the table in front of the couch. “I don’t know about you but I will need coffee in the morning, and the operative word here is need.”
He went to the fireplace and struck one of the matches from a box on the mantel. The paper and kindling laid under the logs crackled and lit.
“I doubt you’d find anything open this late,” I told him, looking at my watch. My internal clock had taken a vacation, it could have been anything from 6 p.m. to midnight, but my watch said it was 9:30. “Besides, look what happened the last time you went into a grocery store at night. That should put you off shopping forever, if the music in the Food Right hadn’t already done it.”
He grinned as he stood up, his face lit by the flames leaping around the log on the hearth. “I wonder where they get the stuff they play,” he remarked. “The first time I went in I swear I heard the theme from Jaws played as a tango.”
“My favorite was ‘Sheep May Safely Graze’ done dance-mix style.”
He looked around the room, apparently for lamps. He turned on the one beside the chair where Emily Ann reposed, and another near the love seat. He went to the light switch by the door and switched off the overhead fixture. The room instantly became a cozy nest.
“You’re right though,” he said, returning to where I was sitting. “I may never go into a store again. I'll have to figure out how to buy groceries on the Internet. Jack, get down now,” he added, and with a reproachful look Jack hopped off the couch. Bob took his place beside me. “Good boy.” He reached down and gave Jack a scratch on the chest before picking up the two glasses of wine and handing one to me. “Here you go. I doubt if it will hold a candle to my cocoa, but it no doubt is fine in its own way. What should we drink to?”
“I don’t know…world peace and dry clothing,” I chose at random. We touched the rims of our glasses together and a merry crystalline note chimed out.
The wine was indeed fine, probably the best I'd ever tasted. Ambrose obviously didn’t search out the best three dollar merlots that money can buy. I could feel dark red warmth trickling down my throat and spreading to my arms and legs and face. I sank against the back of the couch and took another sip.
“I'm bushed,” Bob sighed, leaning back as well and twisting his wineglass in his fingers. Shots of ruby light glinted in the crystal. “For some reason it's hard to relax when you’re tied to a chair. I didn’t intend to fall asleep in the barn. I sat down to rest and the next thing I knew Jack was giving my face a bath.”
“You should go to bed,” I told him. He nodded.
“In a bit. I'm tired but I'm so wired I doubt if I'd go to sleep.”
“What was it like being kidnapped?”
He looked at me and frowned. “You know, I keep asking myself why I didn’t just refuse to go with her when she accosted me in the store. It's unlikely she would have shot me in public, in a grocery store of all places. If it had been Walsh I would have tried to resist. It's hard to explain. She looked desperate. Miserable. This sounds stupid but in a way I wanted to help her out. Or maybe I thought someone who looked that desperate really might shoot me, I don’t know.” He shook his head.
“You have fine gentlemanly instincts,” I told him. “Look how nice you were to that crazy woman who tried to steal your car a couple of weeks ago.”
“Yeah, but she had a very handsome dog with her. I can never resist a handsome dog.” He sipped some more wine. “One thing about last night…”
“Yes?”
“It didn’t seem—planned.”
“What do you mean?”
“She had rope to tie me up, but a hotel room is an odd place to take someone you’ve kidnapped. What if I'd done a lot of yelling and people in the adjoining rooms heard? And wouldn’t you expect some kind of torture to go along with kidnapping and interrogation?”
I gave a little shudder. “Ig, don’t even say that. Think of all the kidnapping stories where they mail off some body part if the ransom isn’t paid.”
“I admit I'm pretty attached to all my parts. Anyway, if not torture, at least some kind of pressure. All she did was keep asking me where the tape was, and I kept refusing to tell her. Ransom didn’t come into the picture at all.”
“It does sound like an awfully genteel kidnapping,” I said. “I wonder if Ambrose is right, and she and Carl are working at cross purposes.”
“Could be, but I'm damned if I know what those purposes could be,” he said. “I'm convinced Walsh wants to remove me as a threat to his prosperous lifestyle, but what’s her story?”
“I hate not knowing stuff, or at least not having a way to find out.”
“I know. Is she an accomplice? Maybe she was an accomplice and he double crossed her. Or vice versa.”
“If I had been his accomplice, I'd be looking for something to protect me from becoming his next victim,” I said.
“Good point. Ian’s stepfather has not exhibited a lot of—what was it?—fine gentlemanly instincts.” He took another sip of wine, then set the glass down. A big yawn forced its way out of his mouth. He looked exhausted. I set down my glass beside his.
“You’re tired, you need to get some sleep,” I repeated.
“First things first, though,” he said, and wrapped his arms around me. He kissed my temple, my forehead, then zoned in on my mouth. He tasted like very good wine. I could feel myself start to react very much as I had to the wine, a gentle warmth flowing down all my limbs, a buzz in my head. I hadn’t had a kiss like this in a very long time.
Hell, I hadn’t had a kiss like this one ever.
I discovered my arms had encircled him, and we were leaning into each other. After a long, long time we paused for air. “Louisa,” he murmured, coming in for another kiss. One of the voices in my head asked me if I knew what I was doing, if I was ready for this, and did I remember I was in a cabin in the woods with only one bed, but I could barely hear it over the rushing of blood in my ears.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
The alignment of the stars that day dictated that my fate would turn on the actions of small mammals with long tail
s.
Fabulous kisses could not distract me from the mouse that ran over us just then. The creature started its foray at Bob’s end of the love seat, dashed straight across us, and leapt off my end. Bob jumped and I gave an embarrassing shriek and somehow levitated up onto the couch. Jack bayed, and both dogs gave chase to the rodent, which dashed and zigged all over the cabin, finally disappearing under the stove. Emily Ann tried to dig it out, but the wide boards of the polished floor were unyielding. She remained for some time with her rump in the air and her nose glued to the bottom of the stove. Jack tried back-trailing, sniffing along the mouse’s track, which led him on an eccentric path to Bob and me.
The action took less than a minute, but as a spell breaker it was as good as a bucketful of cold water. Bob looked at me standing on the furniture.
“Don’t you dare say anything,” I warned him. “I can't help it. It's a visceral reaction to small, fast moving objects. Just because I'm acting like a cartoon character does not mean this is funny.” Embarrassment put a crabby note in my voice.
He contrived to look innocent. “I wasn’t going to say a word,” he lied. I glared at him. I could tell he was struggling to keep a straight face as he held out his hand to help me descend. I stepped down as haughtily as I could, pretending I wasn’t ready to leap back onto the love seat should the mouse be foolish enough to reappear.
The dogs gave up their chase, though I would have preferred that Emily Ann remain at her post by the stove all night, to prevent the mouse’s return. The burst of exercise made them think that a trip outside would be a good idea, and they went over to the door and stood looking expectantly at us.
I shot one last look at the stove. “I’ll take them out,” I said firmly. Bob started to protest. “No, I'll do it. You stand guard and make sure the mouse doesn’t come back. We’ll just be a couple of minutes.”
I leashed the dogs, not wanting them to take off into the woods after some enticing smell or sound. “You guys have had enough hunting for one night,” I told them. The creaking porch swayed beneath us. They led me down the steps and across the small yard, away from the direction of the road. I walked about thirty feet from the house to let them accomplish what we’d come out for. We paused, and I looked up at the sky. The storm clouds of this morning had blown away, and a million stars gleamed overhead, so intense away from town where no lights clouded their brilliance.
I took a deep breath of chilly night air. Behind me loomed a cabin with a man in it that I liked a whole lot, and only one bed. We’d had two perfectly wonderful kisses. And I was scared. I could remind myself over and over that Bob was not Roger, and that Roger was dead; but even if there are no ghosts, the dead still can haunt us.
I don’t know how long I stood shivering in the night. Long enough for Emily Ann to finish following her nose around the circle allowed by her six foot leash, and to come and lean against the back of my legs. She was so tall that her head curved around my hip at waist height. Jack too gave up exploring the ground, and came to sit in front of me.
“So, pups, what do you think?”
Emily Ann yawned.
I inhaled, smelling damp leaves and wood smoke. “You’re right,” I told her. “It's time for bed. Let’s go.” We trooped through the yard, up the creaking steps and across the porch. I opened the door and stepped inside.
I didn’t see Bob at first. The light from the fire was dim, and he had left on a single lamp. Before I could panic over his disappearance a rather loud snore came from the bed. He was lying on top of the covers. His shoes were neatly lined up by the bedside table, and his shirt and jeans folded and placed on the floor. He was still wearing a tee shirt and boxers and socks.
I unleashed the dogs. Emily Ann climbed back onto her chosen chair. Jack went over and nuzzled Bob’s hand, which was hanging over the side of the bed. Bob didn’t move, and after a second nuzzle Jack walked to the fireplace and curled up in the glow from the fire.
I decided I should get Bob under the covers. It was warm enough now, but in October the room would grow cold before morning.
Moving him wasn’t easy. Kidnapping at gunpoint, a night with no sleep, and half a glass of good wine had done him in. I shoved him to one side to get the covers and sheet out from under him, then I arranged his legs under the linens. One arm kept falling off the edge of the bed and dangling. By the time I had him tucked in, I was wide awake and out of breath. I sat down on the love seat to finish my wine. Maybe I should sleep here, I thought, ignoring the fact that the love seat was several inches shorter than me and that either my head or my feet or both would hang off the ends. I remembered the mouse, and shook my head.
Yes, I was scared to climb into that high four poster bed with a man I hadn’t known very long.
But I was more scared of that damned mouse.
At last I rose to get ready for bed, carrying a canvas bag into the bathroom that Kay had packed with some necessities. I unzipped the bag and pulled a long silk night dress out of the bag. I'd never seen this garment before. The chandelier gleamed on its lace and tucks and yards and yards of almost-sheer fabric. Kay had raided her own dresser drawers instead of packing the old knee-length tee shirt I keep at her place to sleep in. “Kay, you wretch,” I muttered, letting the gossamer fabric slide through my hands.
Closing the door, I started to unbutton my jeans. Movement opposite made me stop. The entire room, including me and the chandelier, was reflected in the glass wall separating me from the darkness beyond. One of the voices in my head said chattily, “Gosh, that looks just like a one way mirror.”
Another one added, “Yeah, could be bleachers full of spectators. They’re going to love your strip show.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snapped back, “nothing is out there but empty woods. Nobody’s watching.”
I went over to the glass wall and tried to peer out. The reflections made it impossible. I turned back to the door, opened it a few inches, and turned off the chandelier. In a moment my eyes adjusted to the dim light coming from the other room. The reflections were gone from the window. I went over and peered out again, seeing only a tangle of trees in the light of a frosty moon that had just cleared their tops. Nothing moved that I could see, so I stripped off the jeans and sweater I had put on hours or days ago. My bra joined the pile. Kay’s silly nightie slid over my head with a silken whisper.
This garment was so voluminous that anyone could have worn it. The length hit me a few inches above my ankles, though on Kay it would have been close to the floor. I felt more ready for a costume party than for bed. All I needed, I thought, was a pair of fluffy high heeled mules, a tiara and a lorgnette and I'd be ready for Mardi Gras—or to run a high class brothel.
Crossing the room yet again, I turned the light back on, blinking in the brightness. I fished a toothbrush and toothpaste out of the bag and did my teeth, brushing long enough to remove a layer of enamel along with any lingering plaque. I rinsed the brush and laid it by the sink. I opened the medicine cabinet to see what Ambrose kept in it. It was as bare as the one at Bob’s house. The men of my acquaintance seemed singularly healthy. As I closed the mirrored door I noticed some water spots on the glass. I got a wad of toilet paper and polished them away. My reflection in the mirror showed that my hair was in disarray. I found a hairbrush in the bag and started brushing. The bristles felt good against my scalp. I closed my eyes and kept brushing. After a while I realized I was counting strokes. Forty-two, forty-three…had I reverted to being a pioneer woman, giving my hair its hundred strokes before going to bed?
Ah. Yes. Going to bed.
I know that many women would climb into bed beside a man they hadn't known long without a second thought. I suspected that if I didn’t like Bob so much I wouldn’t be so diffident. That liking made the stakes too high. But the alternative of staying up all night was impossible, and the sofa was too short, and a pile of sofa cushions on the floor would render me too accessible to the mouse. It would have to be the bed.
&
nbsp; The main room of the cabin was quiet. Bob had turned onto his side and was no longer snoring, but appeared just as soundly asleep. Jack had managed to get up onto the high bed and was a nearly perfect circle at Bob’s feet. Emily Ann blinked sleepily at me and thumped her tail on her chair when I crossed the room to caress her head and to turn off the lamp by the sofa.
I put another log onto the remains of the fire and heaped some coals around it. Little blue flames erupted. My feet had gotten cold in the bathroom, and I held my toes toward the warmth of the flames. Jack jumped down from the bed with a thump. He came and leaned against my leg and stared into the fire with me.
“Go to bed,” I finally muttered at myself. I must have said it out loud; both dogs looked up. “Sorry, guys,” I whispered, “go to sleep.”
Jack turned and hopped onto the love seat and curled up with his nose over his flank.
I crossed the room to the bed and turned back the covers on the side opposite the sleeping Bob. The steps for climbing onto the high mattress were on his side, but I figured I could scramble up without them.
If I hadn’t been wearing that silk nightie I might have made it, but the bed was too high. I stepped back to look at it. How utterly ridiculous that I couldn’t get a knee securely up there. I turned my back, put my hands on the mattress, and gave a hop, but I slithered back down. I turned back and grasped the covers to pull myself up but they shifted toward me, leaving Bob partially bare. I went around to get the steps. They weighed a ton. I could barely budge them. They appeared to be made of wood, but felt like they had been cast from cement. I tried pushing them, but they made a loud scraping noise on the wooden floor that had both dogs awake and alert. I stopped trying to move the steps to consider other options.
Maybe I could get Bob to roll over to the other side, I thought. A tentative nudge had no effect. I pushed. No reaction. Remembering how hard it had been to get him where he was in the first place, I wouldn’t have put good odds on my chances of moving him another two feet.
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