by Nora Roberts
“I love it when it’s like this.” Pandora balanced the shovel on her shoulder and plowed through the woods. “It’s so quiet, so—separated. You know, sometimes I think I’d rather live here and visit the city than the other way around.”
He’d had the same thought, but was surprised to hear it from her. “I always thought you liked the bright lights and confusion.”
“I do. But I like this, too. How about this one?” She paused in front of a spruce. “No, the trunk’s too crooked.” She walked on. “Besides, I wonder if it wouldn’t be more exciting to go into the city for a week now and again and know you had someplace like this to come back to. I seem to work better here. Here’s one.”
“Too tall. We’re better off digging up a young one. Wouldn’t it put a crimp in your social life?”
“What?” She studied the tree in question and was forced to agree with him. “Oh. My social life isn’t a priority, my work is. In any case, I could entertain here.”
He had a picture of her spending long, cozy weekends with flamboyant, artsy types who read Keats aloud. “You don’t have to come all the way to the Catskills to play house.”
Pandora merely lifted a brow. “No, I don’t. This one looks good.” She stopped again and took a long study of a four-and-a-half-foot spruce. Behind her, Michael worked hard to keep his mouth shut. “It’s just the right size for the parlor.”
“Fine.” Michael stuck his shovel into the ground. “Put your back into it.”
As he bent over to dig, Pandora scooped up a shovelful of snow and tossed it into his face. “Oh, sorry.” She smiled and batted her eyes. “Looks like my aim’s off.” Digging with more effort, she began to hum.
He let it go, probably because he appreciated the move and wished he’d thought of it himself. Within fifteen minutes, they had the hole dug.
“There now.” Only a little out of breath, Pandora leaned on her shovel. “The satisfaction of a job well done.”
“We only have to carry it back to the house, set it up and…damn, we need something to wrap the roots and dirt in. There was burlap in the shed.”
They eyed each other blandly.
“All right,” he said after a moment. “I’ll go get it, then you have to sweep up the needles and dirt we trail on the floor.”
“Deal.”
Content, Pandora turned away to watch a cardinal when a snowball slapped into the back of her head. “Sorry.” Michael gave her a companionable smile. “Aim must be off.” He whistled as he walked back to the shed.
Pandora waited until he was out of sight, then smiling smugly, knelt down to ball snow. By the time he got back, she calculated, she could have an arsenal at hand. He wouldn’t have a chance. She took her time, forming and smoothing each ball into a sophisticated weapon. Secure in her advantage, she nearly fell on her face when she heard a sound behind her. She had the ball in her hand and was already set to throw as she whirled. No one was there. Narrowing her eyes, she waited. Hadn’t she seen a movement back in the trees? It would be just like him to skirt around and try to sneak up on her. She saw the cardinal fly up again as if startled and heard the quiet plop of snow hitting snow as it was shaken from branches.
“All right, Michael, don’t be a coward.” She picked up a ball in her left hand, prepared to bombard.
“Guarding your flank?” Michael asked so that this time when she whirled back around, she slid onto her bottom. He grinned at her and dropped the burlap sack in her lap.
“But weren’t you…” She trailed off and looked behind her again. How could he be here if he was there? “Did you circle around?”
“No, but from the looks of that mound of balls, I should’ve. Want to play war?”
“It’s just a defense system,” she began, then looked over her shoulder again. “I thought I heard you. I would’ve sworn there was someone just beyond the trees there.”
“I went straight to the shed and back.” He looked beyond her. “You saw something out there?”
“Michael, if you’re playing tricks—”
“No.” He cut her off and reached down to pull her to her feet. “No tricks. Let’s have a look.”
She moved her shoulders but didn’t remove her hand from his as they walked deeper into the trees. “Maybe I was a bit jumpy.”
“Or expecting me to be sneaky?”
“That, too. It was probably just a rabbit.”
“A rabbit with big feet,” he murmured as he looked down at the tracks. They were clear enough in the snow, tracks leading to and away from the spot ten yards behind where they’d dug up the tree. “Rabbits don’t wear boots.”
“So, we still have company. I was beginning to think they’d given the whole business up.” She kept her voice light, but felt the uneasiness of anyone who’d been watched. “Maybe it’s time we talked to Fitzhugh, Michael.”
“Maybe, in the meantime—” The sound of an engine cut him off. He was off in a sprint with Pandora at his heels. After a five-minute dash, they came, clammy and out of breath, to what was hardly more than a logging trail. Tire tracks had churned up the snow and blackened it. “A Jeep, I’d guess.” Swearing, Michael stuck his hands in his pockets. If he’d started out right away, he might have caught someone or at least have caught a glimpse of someone.
Pandora let out an annoyed breath. Racing after someone was one thing, being outmaneuvered another. “Whoever it is is only wasting his time.”
“I don’t like being spied on.” He wanted physical contact. Longed for it. Frustrated, he stared at the tracks that led back to the main road. “I’m not playing cat and mouse for the next four months.”
“What are we going to do?”
His smile spread as he looked at the tracks. “We’ll spread the word through Fitzhugh that we’ve been bothered by trespassers. Being as there’s any number of valuables on the premises, we’ve decided to haul out one of Jolley’s old .30-.30’s.”
“Michael! They may be a nuisance, but they’re still family.” Unsure, she studied him. “You wouldn’t really shoot at anyone.”
“I’d rather shoot at family than strangers,” he countered, then shrugged. “They’re also fond of their own skin. I can’t think of one of them who wouldn’t hesitate to play around if they thought they might be picking buckshot out of embarrassing places.”
“I don’t like it. Guns, even the threat of guns, are trouble.”
“Got a better idea?”
“Let’s buy a dog. A really big, mean dog.”
“Great, then we can let him loose and have him sink his teeth into one of our favorite relatives. They’d like that a lot better than buckshot.”
“He doesn’t have to be that mean.”
“We’ll compromise and do both.”
“Michael—”
“Let’s call Fitzhugh.”
“And take his advice?” Pandora demanded.
“Sure…if I like it.”
Pandora started to object, then laughed. It was all as silly as a plot of one of his shows. “Sounds reasonable,” she decided, then tucked her arm through his. “Let’s get the tree inside first.”
Chapter Seven
“I know it’s Christmas Eve, Darla.” Michael picked up his coffee cup, found it empty and lifted the pot from his hot plate. Dregs. He bit off a sigh. The trouble with the Folley was that you had to hike a half a mile to the kitchen whenever the pot ran dry. “I know it’ll be a great party, but I can’t get away.”
That wasn’t precisely true, Michael mused as he listened to Darla’s rambles about a celebration in Manhattan. Everyone, according to her estimate, was going to be there. That meant a loud, elbow-to-elbow party with plenty of booze. He could have taken a day and driven into the city to raise a glass or two with friends. He was well ahead of schedule. So far ahead, he could have taken off a week and not felt the strain. The precise truth was, he didn’t want to get away.
“I appreciate that…you’ll just have to tell everyone Merry Christmas for me. No,
I like living in the country, Darla. Weird? Yeah, maybe.” He had to laugh. Darla was a top-notch dancer and a barrel of laughs, but she didn’t believe life went on outside of the island of Manhattan. “New Year’s if I can manage it. Okay, babe. Yeah, yeah, ciao.”
More than a little relieved, Michael hung up. Darla was a lot of fun, but he wasn’t used to being clung to by a woman, especially one he’d only dated casually. The truth was, she was just as attracted to the influence he had with certain casting agents as she was interested in him. He didn’t hold it against her. She had ambition and talent, a combination that could work in the tough-edged business of entertaining if a dash of luck was added. After the holidays he’d make a few calls and see what he could do.
From the doorway, Pandora watched as Michael ran a hand along the back of his neck. Darla, she repeated silently. She imagined the women his taste leaned toward had names like Darla, or Robin and Candy. Sleek, smooth, sophisticated and preferably empty-headed.
“Popularity’s such a strain, isn’t it, darling?”
Michael turned in his chair to give her a long, narrowed look. “Eavesdropping’s so rude, isn’t it, darling?”
She shrugged but didn’t come in. “If you’d wanted privacy, you should’ve closed your door.”
“Around here you have to nail it shut for privacy.”
One brow raised, head slightly inclined, Pandora looked as aloof as royalty. “Your phone conversations have absolutely no interest for me. I only came up as a favor to Charles. You’ve a package downstairs.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t bother to hide amusement at her tone. If he knew Pandora, and he did, she’d listened to every word. “I thought these were your sacred working hours.”
“Some of us schedule our work well enough that we can take some time off during the holidays. No, no, let’s not bicker,” she decided abruptly before he could retaliate. “It is nearly Christmas after all, and we’ve had three weeks of peace from our familial practical jokers. Truce,” Pandora offered with a smile Michael wasn’t sure he should trust. “Or a moratorium if you prefer.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say I’m a sucker for holly and ivy. Besides, I’m relieved we didn’t have to buy a big drooling dog or a supply of buckshot.”
“For now.” Not completely satisfied, Michael tipped back in his chair. “Fitzhugh’s notion of notifying the local police of trespassers and spreading the rumor of an official investigation might be working temporarily. Or maybe our friends and family are just taking a holiday break themselves. Either way I’m not ready to relax.”
“You’d rather break someone’s nose than solve things peaceably,” Pandora began, then waved a hand. “Never mind. I, for one, am going to enjoy the holidays and not give any of our dear family a thought.” She paused a moment, toying with her braided chain of gold and amethyst. “I suppose Darla was disappointed.”
Michael watched the way the stones caught the thin winter light and made sparks from it. “She’ll pull through.”
Pandora twisted the chain one way, twisted it back, then let it go. It was the sort of nervous gesture Michael hadn’t expected from her. “Michael, you know you don’t have to stay. I really will be fine if you want to run into New York for the holiday.”
“Rule number six,” he reminded her. “We stick together, and you’ve turned down a half-dozen invitations for the holidays yourself.”
“My choice.” She reached for the chain again, then dropped her hands. “I don’t want you to feel obligated—”
“My choice,” he interrupted. “Or have you suddenly decided I’m chivalrous and unselfish?”
“Certainly not,” she tossed back, but smiled. “I prefer thinking you’re just too lazy to make the trip.”
He shook his head, but his lips curved in response. “I’m sure you would.”
She hesitated in the doorway until he lifted a brow in question. “Michael, would you become totally obnoxious if I told you I’m glad you’re staying?”
He studied her as she stood, looking slim and neat in the doorway, her hair a riotous contrast to the trim sweater and stovepipe pants. “I might.”
“Then I won’t tell you.” Without another word, she slipped out of the doorway and disappeared.
Contrary woman, Michael thought. He was close to being crazy about her. And crazy was the perfect word. She baited him or, he admitted, he baited her at every possible opportunity. He could imagine no two people less inclined to peaceful coexistence, much less harmony. And yet…and yet he was close to being crazy about her. Knowing better than to try to go back to work, he rose and followed her downstairs.
He found her in the parlor, rearranging packages under the tree. “How many have you shaken?”
“All of them,” she said easily. But she didn’t turn because he might have seen how pleased she was he’d come downstairs with her. “I don’t want to show any preference. Thing is,” she added, poking at an elegantly wrapped box, “I seem to have missed my present from you.”
Michael gave her a bland smile. “Who says I got you anything?”
“You would have been terribly rude and insensitive otherwise.”
“Yep. In any case, you seem to’ve done well enough.” He crouched down to study the stacks of boxes under the tree. “Who’s Boris?” Idly he picked up a small silver box with flowing white ribbon.
“A Russian cellist who defected. He admires my…gold links.”
“I bet. And Roger?”
“Roger Madison.”
His mouth dropped open, but only for a moment. “The Yankee shortstop who batted .304 last year?”
“That’s right. You may’ve noticed the silver band he wears on his right wrist. I made that for him last March. He seems to think it straightened out his bat or something.” She lifted the blue-and-gold box and shook it gently. “He tends to be very generous.”
“I see.” Michael took a comprehensive study of the boxes. “There don’t seem to be a great many packages here for you from women.”
“Really?” Pandora took a scan herself. “It appears you make up for that with your pile. Chi-Chi?” she asked as she picked up a box with a big pink bow.
“She’s a marine biologist,” Michael said with his tongue in his cheek.
“Fascinating. And I imagine Magda’s a librarian.”
“Corporate attorney,” he said blandly.
“Hmm. Well, whoever sent this one’s obviously shy.” She picked up a magnum of champagne with a glittering red ribbon. The tag read “Happy Holidays, Michael,” and nothing more.
Michael scanned the label with approval. “Some people don’t want to advertise their generosity.”
“How about you?” She tilted her head. “After all, it is a magnum. Are you going to share?”
“With whom?”
“I should’ve known you’d be greedy.” She picked up a box with her name on it. “Just for that I’m eating this entire box of imported chocolates myself.”
Michael eyed the box. “How do you know they’re chocolates?”
She only smiled. “Henri always gives me chocolate.”
“Imported?”
“Swiss.”
Michael put out a hand. “Share and share alike.”
Pandora accepted it. “I’ll chill the wine.”
Hours later when there was starlight on the snow and a fire in the hearth, Pandora lit the tree. Like Michael, she didn’t miss any of the crowded, frenzied parties in the city. She was where she wanted to be. It had taken Pandora only a matter of weeks to discover she wasn’t as attached to the rush of the city as she’d once thought. The Folley was home. Hadn’t it always been? No, she no longer thought of going back to Manhattan in the spring. But what would it be like to live in the Folley alone?
Michael wouldn’t stay. True, he’d own half of the Folley in a few months, but his life—including his active social life—was in the city. He wouldn’t stay, she thought again, and found herself annoyed with her own s
ense of regret. Why should he stay? she asked herself as she wandered over to poke at the already crackling fire. How could he stay? They couldn’t go on living together indefinitely. Sooner or later she’d have to approach him about her decision to remain there. To do so, she’d have to explain herself. It wouldn’t be easy.
Still, she was grateful to Jolley for doing something she’d once resented. Boxing her in. She may have been forced into dealing with Michael on a day-to-day level, but in the few months she’d done so, her life had had more energy and interest than in the many months before. It was that, Pandora told herself, that she hated to give up.
She’d dealt with her attraction to him semisuccessfully. The fact was, he was no more her type than she was his. She jammed hard at a log. From all the many reports, Michael preferred a more flamboyant, exotic sort of woman. Actresses, dancers, models. And he preferred them in droves. She, on the other hand, looked for more intellectual men. The men she spent time with could discuss obscure French novelists and appreciate small, esoteric plays. Most of them wouldn’t have known if Logan’s Run was a television show or a restaurant in SoHo.
The fact that she had a sort of primitive desire for Michael was only a tempest in a teapot. Pandora smiled as she replaced the poker. She couldn’t deny she enjoyed a tempest now and again.
When a small one erupted behind her, Pandora turned in disbelief. A little white dog with oversize feet scrambled into the room, slid on the Aubusson carpet and rammed smartly into a table. Barking madly, it rolled over twice, righted itself, then dashed at Pandora to leap halfheartedly and loll its tongue. Entertained, Pandora crouched down and was rewarded when the puppy sprang onto her lap and licked her face.
“Where’d you come from?” Laughing, and defending herself as best she could, Pandora found the card attached to the red bow around the puppy’s neck. It read:
My name is Bruno. I’m a mean, ugly dog looking for a lady to defend.