A Temporary Arrangement

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A Temporary Arrangement Page 11

by Roxanne Rustand


  "Again," she demanded. She pulled him closer and this time, she took the lead—exploring his amazing mouth, her hands framing his lean face. The shattering stars overhead had nothing on the explosion that shot through her when he responded and tugged her into an even deeper kiss.

  Finally, he pulled away with a sound of regret.

  "I...just wanted to make sure," she managed to say. "I thought maybe it was my imagination." She took a steadying breath. "But of course, you're absolutely right. This was a mistake, and we certainly shouldn't repeat it."

  She leaned down to gather her purse, thankful for the darkness and hoping it hid the warmth in her cheeks. "I.. .think I'll check on Keifer."

  Another fireworks shell shot into the air as she hurried down the hill. Three or four deafening reports shook the ground, then it burst into colorful sparkling streamers.

  When the reverberation faded she thought she heard Ethan chuckle. Well, so be it. He probably

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  thought she was running from him, but nothing could be further from the truth.

  She was running from herself.

  "Can't we go listen to the band? Just for a while? Please r

  Keifer jogged backward in front of Ethan with a sticky cone of cotton candy in one hand. "Troy told me they blocked off a whole section of Main Street!"

  "Careful, you're going to fall." Sure enough, Keifer's shoe caught on something and he started to pitch over. Ethan caught and steadied him. "It's already after ten, son."

  "Like that's bedtime or something? It's Friday night and I'm ten years old."

  The kid had arrived from Minneapolis with a cocky attitude that gradually faded. After an hour with those other boys at the fireworks, some of that attitude was back. "We've still got a long drive home, and I haven't done evening chores yet."

  The park was on the edge of town, a good six blocks from Main, but even here the music was loud. Downtown, it had to be deafening. Ethan hesitated when they reached his truck. How often did the boy get to enjoy a live band? Would he ever be here for another Fourth of July?

  "Abby, do you mind? I know you had a long day at work. Maybe just a half hour?"

  She'd avoided meeting his eyes since that error of judgment during the fireworks. No wonder. He'd

  probably startled the hell out of her, kissing her like that. And what right did he have, anyway? She was simply a boarder at his place, for God's sake. Living out at his isolated place, she was probably more afraid of him than she'd ever been of the wildlife.

  And when she'd kissed him back...even now, he felt his blood rush south at the thought. Why she'd done that, he didn't know, but he'd had a damned hard time pulling away, because in an instant, she'd made him think of long, hot nights and of everything he'd love to do until dawn.

  Too many months of unplanned abstinence.

  She rounded the front of the truck for the passenger side, scooted Keifer in first and climbed in after him. "If you want to go listen to the band, it's fine with me."

  Ethan eased into the slow train of bumper-to-bumper vehicles exiting the park and took a back street into town. Sure enough, he found a parking space in the First Methodist parking lot a block from the dance, despite the tourists jamming the streets.

  "Now stay close," he warned Keifer as they reached the barricaded section of Main. Hundreds of people were already out on the street, rock 'n' rollin' to a fair rendition of an Elvis oldie. "I know you're a big guy, but I don't want to search for hours to find you. Okay?"

  Keifer nodded, his eyes already scanning the crowd for his newfound friend. Sure enough, a red-haired boy grinned at him and beckoned. "I'll just be over there. Promise!"

  Before Ethan could reply, Keifer wound his way through the tightly packed crowd.

  "I shouldn't have given in," Ethan muttered under his breath as waves of more people arrived.

  "I'll help keep tabs on him," Abby shouted over the noise as she moved forward. "But look, it seems like a pretty sedate crowd. He'll be fine."

  Fine maybe, but not that easy to find. He watched her disappear into the crowd, calling Keifer's name.

  There were plenty of gray-haired folks out on the street, merrily fox-trotting to rock 'n' roll music. Young kids were flinging each other around and acting silly while lovestruck teens danced way too slow and far too close despite the fast beat.

  And somewhere, Keifer was lost in this mass of people.

  The hair at the back of Ethan's neck stood up. He turned slowly, bumping into a bulky, violet-haired woman and her Ichabod Crane companion.

  A trio of tall, burly young men lounged against the corner of the drugstore, their bare arms thick with dark tattoos. Late teens or early twenties, probably, exuding arrogant belligerence.

  If he remembered right, they'd been among the four poachers he'd caught on government land last winter.

  One of them glared back at him, poked his buddy in the ribs, and then the second one stared, too.

  It wouldn't be any surprise if they'd been the ones to tamper with his padlocks.. .or if they'd had something to do with the dead calf.

  But he'd called the sheriff's office about the padlocks, and there'd been no fingerprints and no proof.

  Besides, there were other possible suspects in the area. A couple of farmers who'd turned in highly suspect wolf-depredation claims that he'd denied, back when he'd still been working for the state, and who'd resented his stand on the wolves ever since. There were also some guys in town who'd claimed their hunting dogs had been killed by wolves, but again, no proof.

  Gritting his teeth, Ethan scanned the crowd for Keifer, then started toward the drugstore.

  But before he'd made it halfway through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, the three guys had disappeared.

  Abby glanced over her shoulder to where Ethan had been, but saw only a press of people moving toward the dance area. Grace had mentioned the huge influx of tourists every summer. Every one of them and their brother had to be here right now.

  Nervous, she craned her neck to look for the top of Keifer's strawberry-blond head. Nothing—but he was a good head or two shorter than the adults here. She pushed on in the direction where she'd seen him last. The kid with the red hair was taller, fortunately, and she'd caught sight of him just a moment ago.

  With luck, she could collar Keifer and haul him back to his dad, and then they could all escape to the blessed silence and peace of the country.

  Where she could flee to her cabin, lock the door and wallow in her utter embarrassment over what she'd done. After a month or two, she might actually be able to face Ethan again without blushing ten shades of red.

  She stumbled over someone's foot, caught a passing sleeve to right herself. Apologizing profusely, she edged forward until she reached the corner of Main and Elm. Ahead, the crowd thinned and the streets were dark. But hadn't the redhead gone this direction?

  She stopped to scan the sidewalks.

  Someone lurched into her, nearly knocking her off her feet. She staggered into the trunk of a tree, its rough bark clawing at her shoulder.

  An unfamiliar man loomed close, and she was assailed by a miasma of stale beer, sweat and tobacco as he exhaled a bleary, "'Scuse me," inches from her face.

  But despite the alcoholic stench of him, his small, narrowed eyes were alert and a smirk twisted his thick lips. "Bad company you're keeping, if you ask me. Better be careful, Sugar." He stared at her, rubbed his groin, then moved on, his gait unsteady as any dead-end wino's.

  She watched him until he disappeared into the crowd, her pulse hammering and her hands trembling. He'd been drinking, but that hadn't been the half-conscious rambling of some drunk.

  She'd heard the threat in his voice and she'd seen

  it in his eyes, and now Blackberry Hill no longer seemed like a safe place to be.

  Spotting Keifer and his friend at last, she hurried across the street. "Your dad and I have been looking for you, Keifer. It's time to go home."

&
nbsp; "Did you tell her about Ralph?" Ethan asked as he rinsed the last supper plate and stowed it in the dishwasher.

  "Nope." Keifer finished wiping the kitchen table and looked across the room to where Abby was pum-meling a football-size lump of bread dough.

  She'd been dutifully making supper almost every night, though she hadn't been kidding when she said she wasn't a great cook. And then she stayed until Ethan returned—usually around midnight—before heading to her own cabin.

  But she'd been tense and jittery, and she certainly wasn't one to chatter.

  And given the way she was giving that dough hell, this was probably going to be another loaf of bread with the digestibility of an anvil.

  Ethan gave Keifer an encouraging smile. "Go ahead. Tell her."

  "You, Dad. Your job."

  Abby dropped the dough into a big bowl and draped a towel over it, then turned toward them with her hands on her hips. "What?"

  "Remember when we talked about our deal?"

  "Right."

  "Tomorrow's the day."

  "What day—?" Her gaze flew to the oversize calendar on the wall, and her shoulders slumped. "The cabin. I've been so busy, I just forgot."

  "Both cabins will be full starting tomorrow afternoon, Abby, but you're still welcome to the guest

  room here in the house. Or, if you're not comfortable with that, we can consider our deal done."

  "I promised I'd stay through the summer." She sighed heavily. "But would you rather I left? I could try to find a place in town. Without Belle, maybe I—"

  "Stay, Abby."

  "Yeah, stay," Keifer chimed in. "We'll be stuck with hamburgers and hot dogs if you go.. .and what would I do when Dad's gone at night?"

  She stood silent for a long moment, apparently weighing her options. "Then I guess I'd better move my things to the house tonight, because I'll be at work all day tomorrow."

  "I'll help, and Dad can, too."

  She laughed, but there was little humor in her eyes. "No problem, pal. Now that I have my car back from the shop, I've got plenty of room. I can toss everything in the trunk."

  "I'll help anyway," Keifer insisted.

  Ethan looked down and realized that he'd been white-knuckling the back of a kitchen chair, sure that Abby would decide to go back to town.

  It was hard to imagine coming into the house at six and not finding something simmering away on the stove. Or coming home late at night and not finding her with her nose in a book, curled up at the end of the sofa.

  But it would only last until the end of August, he said to himself as he followed Abby and Keifer out the door. What would it be like when both of them were gone?

  He didn't want to imagine.

  Abby unpacked the last of her lingerie and stowed it away in a drawer, then shook out her favorite comforter onto the bed. The guest room was pleasant really, with its antique mahogany four-poster and matching mirror-topped bureau, and it had its own half-bath for privacy. Its location just off the kitchen was perfect, because Ethan and Keifer were both in a distant part of the house.

  She was grateful for a decent place to stay, even if it was a long drive into work every morning, and the free room and board meant she could save even more toward the high cost of real estate in California.

  The difficulty was staying in the same house as Ethan. He'd certainly been offhand about that embarrassing moment in the park a couple weeks ago. It hadn't meant a thing to him, but she'd made an absolute fool of herself—with hundreds of people nearby.

  And apparently some of them had noticed.

  Since then, she'd received some good-natured ribbing at the hospital about her wild, passionate affair out in the forest, and even a few raised eyebrows among the older staff.

  Her private life was no one's business, but after years of carefully maintaining her professionalism, she felt the loss of some of the associated respect and deference.

  But they could all think what they liked. Moving to Ethan's cabin had helped her save Belle, and moving into the main house would give her security now that her dog was gone.

  Hearing a knock, she turned to find Ethan

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  standing at her door, backlit by the single light she'd left on over the kitchen sink. "Have everything you need?"

  "Thanks for the queen-size sheets. Mine are in storage back in Detroit."

  "Help yourself to anything you need from the linen closet."

  "Thanks."

  An awkward silence lengthened between them until he finally flashed a grin. "We're glad you decided to stay."

  "This works well for me, too. An even trade."

  "And..." He seemed to choose his next words with care. "I want you to know you're perfectly safe here. Things got a little out of hand at the fireworks, but it won't happen again."

  "Certainly not." She smiled to soften her words. "It was just one of those crazy things. It was dark and the fireworks were romantic. That's all."

  "Good. Friends?"

  She accepted his handshake and ignored the warm tingles that raced up her arm. "Absolutely. Nothing more than that."

  With summer in full swing, Ethan's two cabins were filled by a constant rotation of fishermen. They came alone or with their buddies, prepared their own meals and fished from dawn until past dusk. For those who contracted his services, Ethan served as a fishing guide. While working as a wildlife biologist he'd re-

  stricted these fishing expeditions to evenings and weekends. This summer, he'd scheduled them more often. And now that he was free of his bandages and his arm was nearly healed, he was finally able to follow through.

  The wealthy clients who came from Minneapolis or Chicago with five-hundred-dollar fly rods from Cabelas were willing to pay exorbitant rates for guaranteed success.

  He knew every lake, every stream in the region like the layout of his own house. And with myriad live insects darting over the water, you needed an especially enticing fly and the right presentation technique.

  So he helped his clients hone their casting skills and took them to the right spots at the right time of day, gauging the water temperature and selecting the best flies for that moment.

  Ralph, a retired neurosurgeon with a keen eye but slowly advancing Parkinson's, was one of his favorite clients.

  "I see you've got your boy with you now," Ralph said as he lifted a last duffel bag and his fly rod case out of his trunk. "Cute kid."

  "Thanks." Ethan bent to pick up a duffel and tackle box.

  "Whoa—maybe I'd better get that." Ralph settled his glasses higher on his nose and inspected the angry, dark pink lattice of surgical scars on Ethan's arm. "What did you do, play with a shark?"

  "Auger." Ethan headed for the cabin and held the door for Ralph.

  Ralph looked closer at the wounds and nodded in approval. "Someone did a damned good job of sewing you back up. In time, those scars will barely show."

  "I just wanted it to heal fast."

  "So are we still on for tomorrow?"

  "You bet. With a slight problem, though. I can take you out at dawn, but my son would have to come along because he can't stay home alone. Otherwise, we could go in the evening, when there's someone here to stay with him."

  Ralph chortled. "Wouldn't be that pretty little gal I saw on your porch when I drove in, would it?"

  "She's a...tenant. Helps out in exchange for staying here."

  This time, Ralph laughed out loud. "So that's what you young bucks call it these days."

  Ethan could well imagine Abby's reaction if Ralph teased her about this. "Uh, Ralph—"

  He waved away Ethan's concern. "Don't worry. I won't bring it up. I'd hate to perturb the young lady and leave you high and dry. God knows, it's a long hike to town if you decide you want a little—"

  "Ralph" Ethan tipped his head toward the doorway of the cabin, where Abby stood with an armload of sheets and towels. "Hi f Abby. Come on in."

  She nodded politely to both of them as she stepped ju
st inside the door. A faint blush stained her cheeks. "I expect you'll need these?"

  "I surely do." With a devilish gleam in his eyes, Ralph took the linens from her. "I don't believe we've met, Miss—?"

  Ethan quickly made the introductions and then headed out the door with his hand at the small of Abby's rigid back. He waited until they were well out of hearing range of the cabin. "You'll have to excuse Ralph. He's been widowed for years and he's quite an old coot, but he means no harm."

  "Oh, I'm glad to be part of any risque jokes around here. Believe me."

  "I'm sorry, Abby. It won't happen again." He looked over at her, expecting to see her eyes flashing in anger.

  Instead, she bumped his good arm with her shoulder and laughed. "This was nothing. You wouldn't believe the gossip chain at the hospital, or what people are saying about me living here. Not that it's their business."

  "Then I'm sorry about that, too."

  "I suppose it's because I'm new in the area and have a managerial position. Easy target. Ironic, isn't it? As far as the gossips are concerned I'm the wanton woman of the woods—and, here I am, leading the life of a nun."

  We could definitely fix that. The thought came out of nowhere and hit him with the force of a speeding truck.

  The truth of it hit him just as hard.

  He'd promised her a safe place to live. She'd made her disinterest clear. And now he was sharing his

  house with a woman he wanted more than any woman he'd ever met.

  The next seven weeks were going to be hell.

  On Thursday morning the weekly staff meeting at Ollie's was canceled in favor of a meeting with the committee heads of the hospital's dinner dance and silent auction fund-raiser. So far, only Abby and Dr. Edwards had arrived at the conference room in the hospital, though the others were expected at any minute.

  Jill leaned against one of the large round tables and folded her arms. "How's it going?"

  Abby looked up from the stack of papers she was counting out and placing in front of each chair. "Regarding...?"

 

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