Shadowed Stranger

by Carole Mortimer

  She checked the contents of the box on the way over to Orchard House, finding quite a few easily prepared meals. Well, at least he was going to start eating now. Her mother had also put in an individual steak and kidney pie. Robyn shook her head; her mother was never happy unless she was trying to fatten someone up.

  Rick Howarth answered her knock today. ‘Well, well, well,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘If it isn’t Little Miss Castle!’

  She gave him an impatient glare. ‘I brought your groceries.’

  ‘I’d given up on them,’ he held up the apple he had been eating.

  ‘Here you are,’ she held out the box towards him.

  ‘My father had a little trouble with his delivery van.’

  He made no effort to take the box from her, opening the kitchen door wider for her to enter, which she did, reluctantly, shooting him a suspicious glance as he closed the door behind her.

  ‘I’m not staying,’ she told him stiffly, once again unnerved by him.

  His eyes were narrowed to grey slits. ‘Why aren’t you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to be accused of snooping again.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘So you hold grudges, do you?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ Her eyes flashed her indignation. ‘I just didn’t think you liked company.’

  ‘I don’t,’ he acknowledged abruptly. ‘Or at least, I didn’t.’

  Her eyes widened, some of her resentment leaving her. ‘Are you saying you don’t mind my being here?’

  ‘Exactly.’ He threw the half eaten apple in the bin, holding up the steak and kidney pie. ‘What do I do with this?’

  Robyn took it out of his hand, flicking the switch on the cooker and putting the pie inside. ‘I know what I’d like to do with it,’ she said vehemently. ‘And it isn’t anything pleasant.’

  ‘I didn’t think it would be,’ Rick Howarth said dryly.

  ‘Well, I can’t believe you’re so helpless.’ She peeled a couple of potatoes from the box and put them on to cook. ‘You look so—so—well, capable,’ she finished lamely.

  ‘Oh, I am,’ he leant back against the sink unit, ‘at some things. Cooking isn’t one of them.’

  ‘Neither is ironing, by the look of you,’ she grimaced at his clean but creased shirt.

  He looked down at it too. ‘They turn out this way from the launderette.’

  ‘That’s because they should be ironed afterwards,’ she sighed. ‘They look expensive shirts too.’

  ‘Do they?’ his tone was distant. ‘It never occurred to me.’

  Once again he had clammed up when she had got too personal. ‘Well, they do,’ she persisted stubbornly, wondering at her own nerve. This man had shown her more than once that he didn’t like any sort of interference from her, any reference of a personal nature. ‘You should iron them before wearing them,’ she added.

  ‘Are these ready yet?’ He lifted up the lid of the saucepan to look at the potatoes.

  ‘No!’ She angrily replaced the lid. ‘What on earth do you do here all day on your own?’ she asked with exasperation.

  His expression became remote, his eyes cold. ‘This and that,’ he evaded tautly.

  Robyn sighed. ‘Why are you so secretive?’

  ‘Why are you so nosey?’ he rasped.

  She drew in a ragged breath, looking very young and vulnerable in a fitted light blue tee-shirt—one that definitely showed her curves!—and a navy blue and white cotton-print skirt, her short blonde hair newly washed, her face bare of make-up.

  Rick Howarth was obviously aware of her youth too, his eyes narrowing ominously. ‘I must be insane,’ he muttered. ‘Or desperate,’ he added disgustedly.

  ‘Why?’ she asked in a puzzled voice, realising his mood had changed yet again. He certainly was a moody person!

  ‘Wasting my time talking to an eighteen-year-old,’ he answered bluntly.

  Robyn gasped, paling at his intended insult, her hands shaking as she clenched them at her side. ‘You’re not only rude,’ she quavered, ‘you’re deliberately hurtful too!’ She ran to the door, intending to make her escape before she made a fool of herself.

  ‘Robyn—’

  She swung round, her bottom lip trembling precariously. ‘It’s all right, Mr Howarth,’ she choked, her look defiant. ‘I’ll leave and save you the trouble of wasting any more time.’

  ‘Robyn …’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I’m thirty-six. Do you know what that means?’

  ‘That you’re old!’ she retorted childishly.

  His mouth quirked with humour. ‘I think I deserved that. Being thirty-six doesn’t necessarily mean I’m too old, it just means you’re too young.’

  She frowned. ‘For what?’

  He sighed his exasperation. ‘For—for this!’ His head lowered and he caught up her lips with his, moving them slowly against her in a slow, drugging kiss.

  It was so unexpected that Robyn just froze, accepting the kiss although not exactly responding to it. She had been kissed in the past, although never by an expert as this man obviously was. His hands rested possessively on her hips, holding her to him, the pressure of his mouth increasing now, becoming more demanding. And she wasn’t able to meet that demand; her inexperience held her back.

  Rick sensed her lack of response, raising his head to move savagely away from her. ‘I told you I was insane,’ he ground out. ‘Now I’ve just proved it.’

  She blinked hard to clear her head. ‘How did you do that?’ she asked huskily.

  ‘Use your head, Robyn,’ he snapped, running his hand through his already untidy hair. ‘What I just did was totally out of character—’

  ‘Kissing me?’

  ‘Kissing the child you still are,’ he corrected harshly. ‘God, I have to get back to civilisation!’

  She swallowed hard. ‘But—’

  ‘Would you leave?’ He turned his back on her, his shoulders rigid.

  ‘Rick—’

  ‘Now, Robyn!’

  ‘But your supper—’ she said dazedly.

  ‘I can see to that myself. Will you just go!’ He raised his voice enough to make his point forcefully.

  She went. What had happened in there? One minute they had been arguing as usual, the next Rick had been kissing her with a hunger that had made escape impossible. Not that she had really wanted to. That kiss had been devastating to her peace of mind, in fact she was still trembling from the contact of his hard body, his muscular thighs bruising against hers.

  But he was hiding something, or from someone. Whichever it was he wasn’t the ideal man to be attracted to. And she was attracted, had been since the moment she first saw him, blazing anger and all. The harshness, the bitterness, shielded the natural sensuality of his nature—that much had been obvious from the way he had kissed her just now. That he rarely gave in to that sensuality was also obvious.

  She would be curious to know what work he had done before coming here, what sort of life he had led. Whatever it was it had been vastly different from the way he was living now.

  ‘You’re looking a little flushed, love,’ her mother said worriedly when she arrived home a few minutes later.

  Robyn blushed even more. ‘It’s just from the walk, Mum.’

  Billy looked up from doing his homework on the dining-room table. ‘Sure it isn’t a case of loveitis?’

  She frowned. ‘A touch of—? No, it isn’t!’, she snapped angrily, blushing bright red after the intensity of the kiss Rick Howarth had just given her.

  ‘I bet it is,’ her brother taunted, sitting back in his chair to eye her mockingly. ‘What have you been doing over at Mr Howarth’s place all this time?’

  ‘Mind your own business!’ Robyn said tautly.

  Billy’s interest quickened. ‘Why are you so defensive if he didn’t—’

  ‘Shut up!’ she ordered shrilly, still in a state of confusion, remembering firm lips on hers, the warmth of Rick Howarth’s tongue as it ran tantalisingly over the sensitivity
of her lower lip. The memory of that was too private to share with anyone, especially her tormenting little brother.

  ‘Robyn!’ her mother reprimanded.

  She bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. But he goaded me,’ she glared at Billy.

  ‘Boys will be boys,’ her mother sighed.

  And men would be men! And at the moment Rick Howarth was a man seriously in need of a woman. His impatience with her inexperience had been evidence enough that it wasn’t really her he had been kissing, just a presentable female with a passable body. If he was married, as she suspected he was, then he would be used to—to a certain physical relationship, and that he was missing that relationship was obvious.

  Billy grinned mischievously. ‘I only wanted to know if you and Mr Howarth—’

  ‘Billy!’ his mother cut in. ‘Take your books and do your homework upstairs.’

  ‘Oh, but, Mum—’

  ‘Go on,’ she ordered. ‘And you aren’t going anywhere until it’s finished.’

  He collected up his books and moved to the door, poking his tongue out at Robyn as he moved out of sight of their mother. Robyn couldn’t really blame him, though. Normally she could take any amount of his teasing without complaint, usually gave back as good as she got. But not tonight, and not about Rick Howarth, not when she was feeling so raw about him.

  ‘Anything wrong?’ her mother asked gently.

  ‘Er—no. No, nothing is wrong,’ she managed a casual shrug. ‘I was a bit delayed getting back from Mr Howarth’s because I—I offered to get him his supper. He’s a bit helpless around a cooker.’

  ‘So I noticed, by the food he ordered. Everything out of a tin or packet.’ Her mother shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t do for your father.’

  Robyn felt sure it didn’t really ‘do’ for Rick either. There was an air about him, a feeling that he usually demanded and received perfection in everything. Oh, she Wished she knew what the mystery was surrounding him!

  * * *

  They were particularly busy at the library the next day, this being the day for the local market, something guaranteed to bring more people into town, and consequently into the library. Robyn was on the check-out desk, stamping the books and taking in the cards, finding herself with a constant stream of people, so she was quite relieved when morning coffee-break came round, less pleased when she saw it was Selma and another girl in the staff-room.

  ‘Did he come round last night?’ Selma asked instantly.

  Robyn wished, and not for the first time, that the other girl wouldn’t take quite such an interest in her love-life. By all accounts Selma had enough trouble keeping up with her own stormy relationships, apparently having found herself yet another boy-friend. Besides, Robyn was conscious of Joan’s interest in this conversation.

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ she replied stiffly, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  Selma shrugged dismissively. ‘Find yourself another one.’

  She wished it were as simple as that. She just couldn’t get Rick Howarth out of her mind. He said he had to get back to civilisation—did that mean he would be leaving today, have disappeared from Sanford as suddenly as he had appeared? She knew she didn’t want him to do that, knew that for all her antagonism towards him she found him fascinating.

  Things were still hectic after her break, and Mr Leaven took her off the front desk and put her on to tidying the non-fiction shelves. After Monday he seemed reluctant to allow her anywhere near the fiction section. He knew very well the medical section wouldn’t interest her at all, especially when she dropped one of the huge volumes on her toe.

  She swore loudly, receiving a reproving look from Mr Leaven as she picked up the book, muttering to herself as she replaced it on the top shelf.

  ‘What did you say?’ Selma stood behind her, eyeing her flushed face curiously.

  ‘I said damn Oliver Pendleton. He wrote this book,’ she explained. ‘And I just crushed my toe with it.’

  Selma tutted. ‘Never mind that now. He’s here,’ she announced triumphantly.

  Robyn frowned. ‘Oliver Pendleton?’ she asked in a puzzled voice.

  ‘No, silly,’ the other girl sighed her impatience. ‘Your boy-friend, he’s here.’

  ‘Boy-friend?’ She gulped. ‘You mean—’

  ‘Yes!’ Selma pulled her along beside her. ‘He just came to the enquiries desk,’ she appeared not to notice Robyn’s reluctance to follow her. ‘As soon as he said his name I knew who he was.’

  Yes, it really was him. Standing authoritatively by the main desk, an air of detachment about him, was Rick Howarth.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AFTER the way they had parted the evening before Robyn was unsure of Rick’s reaction to seeing her again—after all, he had more or less thrown her out of his house. But she had a curious Selma looking on, obviously waiting for the big reunion.

  ‘Well, go on!’ Selma urged her forward.

  There was nothing else for it, she would have to continue this charade—even though Rick wouldn’t have the faintest idea what was going on and would probably expose her for the liar she was.

  She swallowed hard and moved determinedly forward, seeing Rick’s eyes narrow in recognition, his expression instantly one of wariness. ‘Hello, darling,’ she greeted huskily, colour flooding her cheeks at her use of the false endearment. ‘If you’ve come to take me out to lunch you’re a little early.’ She looked at him appealingly, hoping he would understand her silent plea.

  He hid his surprise very well, his. gaze shifting momentarily to Selma as she stood several feet away from them, obviously listening avidly to their conversation, although trying to give the impression that she was interested solely in the row of books in front of her.

  Rick’s eyes flickered with something that looked like anger, and for a moment Robyn thought he was going to denounce her as a liar. Then he smiled, a smile that didn’t reach the hardness of his eyes, although that wasn’t visible to anyone but her. ‘I don’t mind waiting,’ he drawled deeply. ‘After all, you’re worth waiting for.’ His eyes clearly mocked her now.

  Her flush deepened, and she looked selfconsciously at Selma. ‘You can’t wait for me here,’ she told him abruptly. ‘I—I’ll meet you down at the café in the square in half an hour.’ She held her breath as she waited for his reply.

  ‘Okay,’ he shrugged. ‘Half an hour it is.’ He nodded abruptly and was gone.

  She began to breathe easily again. Rick had no reason to do so, and yet he had helped her out. But she doubted he would actually go to the café, he had only agreed to help her save face in front of Selma. She was very grateful to him, though, and would have to go round to his house tonight and thank him—and explain! Explaining her deceit wasn’t going to be easy.

  ‘He’s gorgeous!’ Selma said ecstatically, her eyes dreamy.

  Rick had looked rather handsome today. He always did to her, but today his clothes, fitted brown trousers and shirt, a cream jerkin zipped partway up his chest, had been quite smart. His hair was still too long, of course, but didn’t detract from his looks at all. Selma was right, he was gorgeous.

  ‘I wish I could meet someone like him,’ Selma added eagerly. ‘Do you think he has a brother?’

  ‘No. I—Well—He could have. I don’t know,’ Robyn finished lamely.

  The other girls’s eyes were wide. ‘You don’t?’

  ‘No,’ Robyn answered abruptly. ‘We—we haven’t really discussed his family.’

  Selma grinned. ‘I think I’d have better things to do when with a man like him too!’

  Robyn blushed as the other girl’s meaning became clear to her. ‘Oh, I don’t—We don’t—I haven’t known him very long,’ she said awkwardly.

  ‘With a man like that I shouldn’t think you would need to.’

  Her gaze sharpened. She didn’t like the way Selma kept referring to Rick. ‘A man like that?’ she queried tautly.

  Selma smiled. ‘Well, he isn’t likely to want to just sit and hold your ha
nd, now is he?’

  No, he wasn’t, she had known that from the hard demand of his kiss. There could be no gentle prolonged wooing with this man, he was far too experienced to accept such an insipid relationship.

  Robyn turned to leave; she still had the Art section to tidy. ‘I have to get back to work,’ she said stiffly. ‘And I think you’d better do the same,’ she added with a warning look in Mr Leaven’s direction.

  Selma grimaced. ‘I don’t think he was ever young,’ she muttered, but went back to work anyway.

  Only half Robyn’s mind was on what she was doing now, her thoughts all of Rick. What had he been doing here? The obvious answer was that he had come to take out a book!—but he hadn’t left with one. But he hadn’t come to see her either, because although the emotion had been quickly masked he had been surprised to see her here. She would ask him tonight, fully intending to go to Orchard House and thank him for his help.

  When the time came for her to go to lunch she knew she would have to go out or arouse Selma’s suspicions, although it was her usual practice to have a read in the staff-room.

  Curiosity took her round to the coffee shop in the square, hating the rush and bustle of the people as they pushed roughly past her on their way to the market. As she had known, Rick wasn’t outside the café, and although she had been expecting it she still felt a sense of disappointment.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he suddenly muttered beside her, scowling at the crowds of people.

  Robyn blinked up at him, her eyes as huge as pansies. ‘Rick …’ she said stupidly.

  His mouth twisted. ‘Your powers of deduction are amazing,’ he scorned. ‘You told me to be here and here I am.’

  ‘But I—I didn’t mean it,’ she said haltingly.

  ‘I know that, darling,’ he mocked. ‘And when we get away from here you can explain exactly what you did mean. If your youthful body is wondering when it’s next going to be fed,’ he taunted, ‘I have your lunch right here.’ He held up two paper bags and two cans of Coke. ‘Ham salad rolls and fresh cream cakes.’

  ‘Chocolate éclair?’ she asked hopefully, not wanting to appear too eager to fall in with this unexpected bonus of his company during the day.