by Anne Stuart
"Hold on, Willie!" he shouted in a desperate voice.
"He can't hold on!" Katie shrieked back at him. "How can a man hold a car…?"
The seat belt released. The dark stranger hauled her out of the car with raw force, the sheer momentum sending the two of them tumbling into the mud. Katie lay beneath him, winded, as she heard the deep groaning sound that could only mean her car was finished.
The man rolled off her hastily, scrambling to his feet, but she lay there dazed for a moment as the heavy rain soaked her. She sat up in time to watch the taillights of her Subaru disappear over the cliff, pulling a heavy chain and a moderately sized tree with it.
"You're incredibly stupid, did you know that?" her rescuer said, looming over her. "We all could have been killed."
She looked up at him in the blinding rain, biting her lip. "Gallantry is clearly not your strong point," she said in her calmest voice.
She doubted it had any effect on him. He held out a hand for her, and much as she would have liked to disdain his aid she wasn't sure she could manage to get to her feet without it. She was feeling weak, shaken and, yes, very stupid indeed. Not that she was going to tell him so.
She put her hand in his, letting him haul her upright with an appropriate lack of grace. He released her immediately, and she did her best to control the slight wobble in her gait. "Do you want Willie to carry you?" he asked in that cool, disembodied voice.
She looked around her in the teeming darkness. She could only assume the massive, mountainous shape a few feet away was Willie, the man who had managed to keep her car from tumbling over the cliff for those much-needed moments. If he could hold a car he could probably carry her one-hundred-and-forty-five pounds of womanhood up to safety, but she wasn't about to chance it.
"I can walk," she said.
"Fine." Her less-than-charming hero turned his back on her and started up the slippery slope, leaving Katie with no choice whatsoever but to follow him as best she could.
Her sneakers slid in the mud, despite the state-of-the-art tread on their patented soles, and the rain had turned her into a drowned rat. Somewhere in her car was a raincoat, a heavy sweater, even an umbrella. Most likely the fishes would be enjoying them at the moment.
The huge stone building loomed before them, and Kate had the gloomy feeling it wasn't a nice safe school, or even a reformatory. The place was too dark, too deserted. But it was better than nothing, and she slogged through the deep puddles after her reluctant hero, concentrating on staying upright and keeping her teeth from chattering. She'd deal with her surroundings when she had to.
He pushed open a door, but the light from beyond was dim and unwelcoming. However, it had to be drier in there, even if it was dark and cold, and she didn't even hesitate, rushing past him only to stumble over the doorsill.
Bad luck, she thought. Katie Flynn enjoyed her superstitions, and she reached for the heavy gold cross that hung beneath her soaked shirt as an automatic protection. It was gone, and her sense of despair deepened. It was the one thing of value she owned, though its worth was more sentimental than anything else. It had belonged to her Irish great-grandmother, passed down through the generations, and its loss was a wound that left her bereft.
The door slammed shut behind her, and she was alone in the darkness, with him, her less-than-charming rescuer. And it seemed as if both of them were entirely incapable of polite conversation.
It would have been nice if she'd been a Victorian heroine. She was cold, frightened, thoroughly freaked-out by her near-death experience, and it would have been lovely to sink to the floor in a graceful faint.
Except that her host would have probably stepped over her body and abandoned her in this pitch-black hallway. And even an ungracious snot was better company than being alone in this strange place.
In the darkness her other senses were heightened, and she could smell the rain-soaked wool, the faint lure of brandy and wood smoke. If there was wood smoke clinging to him, then there must be a fire someplace. Warmth and brandy in this huge dark house, and she almost wept with longing.
She had the odd sense he could see her in the darkness, while she could focus on nothing more than a dark, looming figure. For a moment there was silence, broken only by the rush of the wind beyond the heavy door, and then he spoke.
"Come along, then," he said abruptly.
Not very welcoming. "Come along?" she echoed. "Where are we?"
"At the back side of hell," he replied. And he disappeared into the darkness.
Chapter Two
« ^ »
She made sloshing noises when she walked. The man ahead of her moved in absolute silence, but Katie squelched and squooshed as she hurried after him. She no longer worried about shivering—after all, the man might be able to see in the dark but he couldn't have eyes in the back of his head. And he very obviously didn't give a damn about her comfort.
It was gradually growing lighter as they moved through the dank, dark hallways of the huge old building, though her host blotted out most of the light. In truth, he wasn't that tall—probably around six feet, and Katie was used to tall men. He certainly wasn't bulky or overly muscled beneath the rain-soaked coat. But he seemed to absorb the light and warmth, keeping any from reaching Katie, and she wanted to reach out and grab his coat like an importunate beggar.
Instead she sneezed. Three times in a row, quite loudly. The man didn't even hesitate.
They must have climbed three narrow flights of stairs at the very least, traversed miles of hallway before they finally came out into a huge, dimly lit room. He halted, turning around to face her, but in the dim light she still couldn't see much more than his general shape.
"Don't you have electricity?" she asked, peering up at him through the darkness.
"Occasionally. Power supplies are temperamental out here, particularly when a hurricane is coming. Besides, we weren't expecting guests. Most sensible people stay put during this kind of weather."
"We've already figured out that I'm not sensible," she said. "I'm sorry I dragged you and your friend out in the rain. I'm sorry I nearly drove off a cliff. I'm sorry I was out driving when I should have been holed up in some hotel. I'm sorry I'm dripping all over your floor. I'm sorry I'm getting hysterical, but I'm cold and hungry and frightened and upset and I need a bathroom!"
He didn't move, didn't raise his voice, but the sound of it carried eerily through the cavernous room. "Mrs. Marvel!"
"Yes, sir?" The voice was surprisingly close, comfortable sounding. Katie felt some of her edginess fade.
"We have an unexpected guest," he said, moving away from her and stripping off his sodden raincoat. He moved to the fire, his back toward them both. "Take her someplace to clean up, and see if you can find her some dry clothes."
"Yes, sir. And how long will the young lady be staying?" the woman asked with a strong Maine accent.
"God knows," the man said wearily. "I suppose it depends on the storm."
She obviously wasn't going to get a good look at her less-than-charming host, so she turned and flashed her most gracious smile at the woman standing behind her. Mrs. Marvel looked just like her voice—comfortable, elderly, warm and sensible.
"You look half-drowned, poor dearie," the woman said. "You come along with me and we'll see to your comfort. It must have been a terrible fright for you. I'm just glad O'Neal and my Willie heard you out there, or you would have been lost."
Katie shuddered, though she tried not to. She cast a last, curious glance behind her at the tall, lean figure of the man who must be O'Neal. He was leaning against the mantel, staring into the fire, and he'd obviously forgotten her existence.
She wanted to see his face. For some reason it was terribly important, more important than getting warm, even more important than a bathroom.
"O'Neal?" she said.
He looked up in surprise, across the shadowy room, and she knew with sudden trepidation that she'd made a very big mistake.
He was beautifu
l. There was no other word for it. His hair was long, dark with rain, pushed back from a face composed of planes and angles, features of such stark splendor that Katie was, for one brief moment in her determined life, struck dumb. Everything about the man was gorgeous, from his winged eyebrows, high cheekbones and narrow, strong nose, to his full mouth.
He was gay, she decided flatly. No one that good-looking was ever straight.
He was still looking at her, with deceptive patience, and the one thing she couldn't see clearly were his eyes. She was just as glad. "As you said, you're dripping on my carpet," he said in that cool, Irish voice that should have been charming. "If you want to stand there gawking like an idiot you may certainly do so, but I thought you needed a w.c."
His voice managed to startle her out of her trance. She spun around without a word, drops spraying from her rain-soaked clothes, and stomped off after Mrs. Marvel.
O'Neal watched her go. That was all he needed, he thought morosely. An unwanted visitor, a female, stuck for the duration of the storm. He could only rely on his hated instincts to guess how long this current blow would last, and for some reason he was having a difficult time reading his senses. The hurricane should blow itself out upon southern New England, giving them only a few days of high winds and lashing rains. Mrs. Marvel or her son could drive the tiresome creature into town in the morning, assuming things let up just the slightest bit. Even if it didn't, by daylight one of them could manage to drive at a slow crawl.
If worse came to worst, Willie could sling her over his back and carry her to Sealsboro. As long as he got her out of this house and away from him.
The heat from the fire slowly began to penetrate his bones, and he ran a hand through his long wet hair, pushing it back from his face. Stupid female, he thought. At least she hadn't screamed. The situation had been desperate enough, with that bloody car of hers hanging over the edge of the cliff. If she'd started yowling he would have been tempted to tell Willie to let the car tumble over.
And Willie, poor obedient soul, would have done it
He needed hot, strong coffee, he needed a glass of brandy, he needed warm food, but most of all he needed his privacy. It was the worst time of all to be having an unwanted guest, but there was nothing he could do about it until morning. He could only hope Mrs. Marvel would have enough sense to keep the woman out of his way.
She'd looked like a drowned rat. A frightened, angry, slightly plump little rat, with her hair plastered to her pale face and her eyes huge and angry. He didn't want to see her when she was dried off. He didn't want to see her or anybody else, if he could help it.
Unfortunately, fate, or the wicked guardian angel who seemed to delight in making his life a misery, seemed to have other ideas. The interloper was there, and there was nothing he could do about it but be as unwelcoming as he knew how to be. In hopes she'd be just as desperate to leave as he was to get rid of her.
Willie appeared in the doorway, his huge bulk filling it. "Where is she?" he asked in his deep, slow voice.
"Your mother's seeing to her comfort," O'Neal said. "Are you all right?"
Expressing concern for Willie's well-being was usually a waste of time, as it was now. He simply nodded, shuffling back into the darkness, and O'Neal went in search of the brandy. If he was going to have to see her again, at least he'd be well fortified.
Katie didn't bother to ask how a house without electricity could manage to provide a hot shower. She didn't care—all she wanted to do was enjoy it. By the time she stepped from the steaming water her shivering had stopped, and she felt almost halfway human.
The clothes Mrs. Marvel provided her with were absurd, and Katie could only guess they came from her own closet. The gray skirt was so huge it settled low on Katie's ample hips, practically trailing along the floor, and the twin sweater set was vintage fifties and moth-eaten. But gloriously warm. She towel dried her hair as best she could, pulled on the thick kneesocks Mrs. Marvel had provided and went in search of the one friendly member of the household she'd met.
She wasn't alone in the cavernous kitchen. Seated at the table was a huge, silent creature that Katie immediately guessed was Willie. He looked to be in his late twenties, with a strange, slightly vacant expression on his broad face, which managed to be completely devoid of sweetness.
"You've already met my Willie," Mrs. Marvel said in her cheery voice. "The best son a mother could ever have. He's not too bright, but he's strong as an ox, and he always minds me. Don't you, Willie?"
He nodded, his eyes shifting over Katie and then skittering away. "Yes, Ma," he mumbled.
"Thank you for helping me earlier, Willie," she said in her most gentle voice. "You saved my life."
He looked up, and his eyes were flat and emotionless. "He doesn't want you here," he said. "He doesn't want anyone here. He should have left you out there if he didn't want you here."
"Willie!" Mrs. Marvel's voice carried a gentle warning. "You know O'Neal wouldn't begrudge anyone shelter from a storm, even if he's far from hospitable. Don't you pay Willie any mind, miss. He gets a bit overzealous in trying to please O'Neal. And I, for one, am glad to have another woman's company for the night. It gets lonely with only a hermit and a—and Willie to talk with."
Katie managed a smile in response. She'd had the oddest notion that Mrs. Marvel had been about to refer to her disabled son disparagingly, but she must have imagined it. The woman was looking at her son with a doting smile.
"You really think I'll be able to leave in the morning, Mrs. Marvel?" she asked, as the wind whistled beyond the thick stone walls of the huge old house.
"I think O'Neal will see to it," she replied cheerfully. "And what's your name? I don't want to keep calling you miss, now do I?"
"I'm Kathleen Bridget Moira O'Monaghan Flynn," she said. "Most people call me Katie."
"Irish!" Mrs. Marvel said. "Like O'Neal."
"Generations removed from the Auld Sod," Katie said. "It sounds like Mr. O'Neal is a new arrival."
"Just O'Neal, dearie," Mrs. Marvel said. "He doesn't like being called anything else. And he's not that recently come over. He's been in this house for the last fifteen years, and he hasn't left for more than a few days at a time."
Katie stared at the older woman in disbelief. "You're kidding!"
"On my honor," she said. "He seldom leaves, and no one ever comes to visit."
"But who else lives here?"
"No one. Willie and I have an apartment in the basement, but we're the only ones who come. O'Neal lives alone and likes it that way."
"But this house is huge!"
"And there's a guest house down the other way that's empty. I wanted to live there with Willie but O'Neal wanted it kept empty. He said it was too near the sea. Ridiculous, of course. This place is perched out on a spit of land with the sea all around it. The guest house is a good ways back. Ah, but who's to argue with the man when he's made up his mind? We're cozy enough here, Willie and me," she said comfortably. "I'll just need to find out where he wants me to put you for the night. There are a dozen empty bedrooms upstairs, but only a few of them have furniture, and I must admit, my dusting isn't what it should be in those deserted rooms."
"I don't blame you," Katie said. "I'm a devoted slob. I think housekeeping warps the brain."
"But, Katie," Mrs. Marvel said gently, "I'm a housekeeper by profession."
Put her foot in it that time, Katie thought. "I didn't mean—" she began, but Mrs. Marvel overrode her protests with cheery good sense.
"Don't worry about it," she said. "I'm not offended. Your generation is always so busy, it's no wonder standards have gotten a bit lax nowadays. And what is it you do for a living, Miss Katie? What brings you this far down east on a stormy October day?"
Katie made a face. "Let's just say I'm in the midst of a midlife crisis. I got sick of what I was doing, sick of living in cities, away from the ocean, away from nature. Things were just too fast paced for me. I decided I needed a career change, and I'm tryin
g to find out what it is I want to do for the rest of my life. Where I want to live."
"You wouldn't want to live in a place like this," Mrs. Marvel said with absolute certainty. "It's one thing for the likes of Willie and me. And O'Neal's a hermit. He hates to be around people. But it's too quiet for a lively young thing like you."
"I don't know," Katie said with a sigh. "There are times when it seems like this rocky coast is exactly where I belong. I've never been a person who needs to be surrounded by other people. I need a certain amount of solitude."
"Don't you want to get married? Have children? Children are the joy of a woman's life." Mrs. Marvel cast a fond gaze at the oblivious Willie.
"People raise families in Maine. As a matter of fact, it seems like the best possible place for it."
"You wouldn't be happy here," Mrs. Marvel said with great certainty. "Take my advice, dearie. Marry a rich man. There's nothing better than a pile of money."
"I wouldn't know," Katie said, glancing around her. "I've never had any to spare."
"Neither have I, but I can guess," Mrs. Marvel said. "Too often money is wasted on those who don't appreciate it. Like O'Neal. Ah, but then, no one ever said life is fair, did they?" she said with a hearty sigh. The sound of a tiny, musical bell interrupted them. "That's himself. You'd best come with me and we'll see what he wants to do with you."
"Won't I have some say in the matter?" Katie responded with a trace of humor.
"No," said Willie morosely from his spot at the table. He looked up at her, and his eyes were bleak and dark and soulless.
And Katie found there was still a stray shiver in her newly warmed body.
She didn't even see him in the room when she followed Mrs. Marvel back. The fire was blazing gloriously beneath the heavy marble mantel, casting eerie shadows about the huge room, but O'Neal was nowhere to be seen. Until she heard his voice emanating from one corner.