She wheeled into her carport and slipped from the car, bag in hand. She’d just drop the purse into the cottage, speak to the dogs on the way by, and then go up to Mrs B., she thought.
Inside the cottage, she paused only long enough to unpin her hair, slip out of her office gear and into a casual pair of slacks and a shirt, then she walked towards the kennel block, whistling a soft greeting to the dogs.
Her eyes, gradually regaining her night vision as she walked, widened in suspicion at the unusual silence from Nick’s isolated kennel, and then in horror at the snuffling sounds of greeting from Anna’s.
Alix ran to the wire gates, unable to credit what her eyes revealed. It was impossible! It simply could not be—but it was. The two dogs were together in Anna’s kennel.
Together! And the movements created by Alix’s involuntary gasp of alarm revealed the awesome truth. For a moment she stood in silence, closing her eyes and opening them again as if that action could somehow make the tableau disappear.
Water. A bucket of water ... but even as her mind stirred in a bid for action, any kind of action, another part of it shrugged aside everything in an empty, almost nauseous reality. It was too late. Purely and simply too late. But she couldn’t just ignore it.
‘Nick! Damn you Nick, stop it! Stop stop stop!’ she shrieked, lunging at the wire and clawing, smashing at it with her hands.
‘Leave it.’ The voice came from behind her shoulder like the crack of doom and she turned to face Quinn Tennant. His eyes were like flaming green coals as he looked from her to the dogs and back again. Anger had made him rigid as a statue.
Alix recoiled at the sight of him, something inside her trembling at the anger that seemed to emanate from him like an aura, white-hot and livid. His tie was pulled open below the unbuttoned throat of his shirt, one hand still held his briefcase, but it was half raised, almost like a weapon.
And his eyes were accusation itself, a cold/hot glare that flamed and curdled with hidden, raging fires that seemed to sear her to the very soul.
‘Just... leave it,’ he said coldly through clenched teeth, then he turned on his heel and strode away, moving like a man going into battle, each step a menacing movement of its own.
Alix stood as if rooted, unable to think, unable to move. Her fault ... it was all her fault. He would blame her, certainly. Blame? He would hate her, despise her.
‘But it isn’t my fault,’ she whispered. ‘It isn’t ... oh, it isn’t!’ How could it be? She had faithfully kept the dogs apart. They had been apart when she left that morning. Mrs Babcock must have ... but she wouldn’t
‘And I didn’t,’ she whispered, and then louder, ‘It isn’t my fault. I didn’t ... I didn’t … It isn’t my fault!’
And she was running, across the lawn and up the stairs to the rear of the house. She would tell him, and he would — he must — beieve her. He must!
Alix reached the back door, breath coming from her in hoarse, gulping gasps. But even as she put her hand on the latch she heard his voice, coarse with anger, and paused.
. . bloody interfering bitch. Bitch! I would never ... never have believed she could do such a thing. How could anyone do such a thing? She will never set foot in this house ... on this property again ... or I’ll personally wring her neck!’
Alix stood transfixed, wanting to run, wanting to go into the house and throw herself upon his mercy, wanting to ... to die. And his voice continued, out of sight but boring into her brain ... into her soul.
‘... capable of such a breach of trust. Oh, God! How could I be so damned blind? That bitch! That ...’
Alix heard no more. She turned and fled back down the stairs, leaping down them two at a time, heedless of the risk and ignoring it. Compared to the risk of staying, it was nothing. Into her cottage she ran, slipping on the lights as she plunged through the door.
She must get away. Now! She couldn’t stay, daren’t stay. Rushing around the rooms like a demented animal, she flung clothing haphazardly into suitcases, bundled dirty clothing and clean alike, thrust cosmetics into their case without a thought of whether they might be open or closed.
A tube of lipstick lost its cover on the way in; she ignored it, as she did the bottle of nail polish that somehow came open and spilled all over everything else.
Get out. Get out! The words roared through her mind over and over and over. One suitcase was filled, then the other. Her jewel box, her cosmetics case. She rushed out of the cottage, flung everything into the back seat of the vehicle, turned back for more.
Emerging the second time, she rounded the comer and floundered straight into ... him. She didn’t need her eyes to know it, her every sense, her every inner feeling told her. The scent of him, the touch of strong hands that clasped her shoulders before she could fall, the voice that was overridden by her terrified scream.
‘My God, Alix, what are you doing? Alix?’ She was held immobile, unable to flee, unable to run, unable to ... what? The strength drained from her; the bundles fell limp from her nerveless fingers. Her entire body slumped in the weariness of total ... nothing.
‘Alix. Alix! What is it, my love? What’s wrong?’
The words filtered into her mind, but they made no sense, had no real impact. Then strong hands had plucked her up, cradling her as if she were a child, and the scent of his after-shave strengthened as he snuggled her close to him.
There was movement, like being astride a huge, powerful horse that cantered easily up, up, up.
‘Brandy. Get brandy, Mrs B. Oh, hell ... Alix! Alix, come out of it ... oh, God, Alix!’ The voice was louder now, stronger and somehow ... compelling.
Alix tried to open her eyes, failed at first. Then there was a light, tentative touch at her lips and she opened them to feel the sudden sharp bite as brandy rasped into her throat. She gasped aloud, felt the warmth as some of it spilled down the front of her.
The shock of it forced her eyes open, and she shut them just as quickly. There, only inches away — him! Whimpering, she tried to writhe away, but arms like iron bars held her captive.
‘Alix! What’s wrong, love? Mrs B., call the doctor, immediately. My God, what’s wrong with her?’
‘Noooo.’ The word escaped in an ululating croon, then she repeated it, somehow. ‘Nooo!’
She was drowning, being pulled down into a blackness that loomed awesomely below her. And then fingers, light, searching fingers like spider webs played across her face, her throat. ‘Alix, my love, please …’
She managed to open her eyes, seeing before her two green orbs that slowly swam into focus. Eyes. And a nose, a mouth, a face that she barely recognised for the lines of strain, the softness, the compassion that seemed to float out from those eyes and into her own.
‘Not, not, my, fault,’ she whispered, shaking her head weakly, fearfully. ‘Not my fault.’
‘What are you saying? Oh, Alix, my love! What’s happened? What are you talking about?’ His voice seemed to sear into her soul, but the burning was not painful, but somehow comforting, soothing.
‘Dogs,’ she whispered. The ... the dogs … Anna.’
‘Dogs? What the hell?’ For an instant there was again that furnace blaze of anger, but it flared and died almost at once. But he shook his head angrily, then wearily.
‘Alix ... my God, love. Surely you can’t have thought that I blamed ... oh lord, of course you did. Oh, Alix, what have I done to you? Of course it wasn’t your fault; I never thought it could be. Alix, I love you ... I couldn’t ever have believed …’
‘L-love. I ... love you too,’ she whispered, something deep within her forcing out the words. She was hardly aware of having spoken.
And then those gossamer fingers were on her cheek again, trailing down to caress the muscles of her throat. She felt his lips as they descended to touch her own, ever so lightly, and the taste of him, the feel of his mouth, his fingers, did what his voice had been unable to manage.
Inside her, something exploded, forcing out the la
ssitude, the emptiness, the fear. Her fingers moved, her arms lifted to wrap around his neck as her lips parted to accept him.
‘1 love you.’ The words, his words, floated m her brain, repeating themselves over and over as they drove off her fears, seeped throughout her very being, demanding that she accept them.
His lips caressed her mouth, her face, her throat, kissing away the saltiness of her tears, the hot spill of the brandy.
And her own lips responded as her arms locked around his neck, holding him against her, locking his body against hers, his mouth against hers.
It seemed a long time, such a very, very long, before both of them floated back to some semblance of reality, away from the nightmare turned to dream of perfection.
She was sitting, no longer cradled in his arms but held close by an arm firm around her shoulders. A glass of brandy, warm in her hand, could be lifted to tip its soothing fires into her, though she was warm enough.
‘Michelle,’ said Alix, still unbelieving. And she ... she knew, when I saw her at noon.’
‘Too damn right she did, the bitch!’ Quinn s voice was stronger, now that he no longer had to hide his anger My fault, naturally. I’d arranged to do some business for her in Brisbane, and when I talked to her this morning I told her I’d be home some time tonight because you’d already done too much in caring for Anna. I even told her why I didn’t want Anna bred, because I was planning a honeymoon and I damned well didn’t fancy having half a dozen puppies for company. My God! I still can’t imagine anybody being so vindictive. She knew there was nothing relevant between me and her. There hasn’t been anything between us since you got here, and certainly there never was any ... understanding.’
Unable to contain his anger, he rose from the sofa and strode around the room, pacing like a caged animal.
If you don’t settle down I’ll be calling the doctor again and telling him to come after all — for you!’ Mrs Babcock snarled, shouldering her way into the room with a tea-tray in her hands. ‘Personally, I’ve got very little sympathy for either of you. None of this would have happened if both of you had listened to me in the first place. And as for your honeymoon — well, I’ve cared for puppies before in my life, and I suppose once again won’t be too difficult. Or you can still—’
‘No!’ they both said together. The housekeeper gave them a scathing, I-told-you-so glare and shook her head wisely.
They drank the tea in silence, a warm, companionable silence shared by Mrs Babcock, now that she’d had her say.
And Quinn suddenly grinned, a glowing, boyish grin of pure deviltry. ‘Damn, I almost forgot,’ he muttered, and rushed from the room, only to return a moment later to hand the startled Alix a heavy manila envelope.
Present!’ he said. ‘I was going to save it for a wedding gift, but perhaps now is a better time.’
Puzzled, she slid open the envelope and turned it up so that the contents spilled out into her lap.
It took a moment for comprehension to filter through. ‘My drawings! But how ... you did see Bruce. You … but ... what did you do?’
Quinn shrugged modestly. ‘Just brought certain ... pressures to bear,’ he said. ‘I have some fairly powerful contacts overseas.’
‘Unbelievable, absolutely unreal,’ Alix whispered, and then stacked the drawings into a neat pile which she ripped in half, then in quarters, before anyone else could move.
‘Oh, Quinn, I do thank you,’ she whispered almost shyly. ‘But these are from the past; they don’t matter now.’
‘Well, I suppose it’s the thought that counts,’ he replied with a rueful grin. ‘Speaking of which, I’ve just thought up the ideal revenge for our bitchy little friend — something that might even make it up to Anna for her name.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Alix.
He grinned mischievously. ‘Anna’s proper kennel name is Holzer’s Irmgard Anna Carina,’ he said. ‘The bloke I got her from said he named her after his first wife. Well, what better than to name one of the female pups from this litter after the world’s foremost bitch?’
‘No!’ Alix’s tone and eyes made it adamant.
‘Well, why not? It would go down a treat at obedience classes later on.’
‘No! I would not—repeat ... not... do such a thing to any puppy. And especially not to a GSP If you insist on naming anything after Michelle, go out and buy yourself a mongrel, preferably one with Samoyed blood.’
‘Whatever you say, my love,’ Quinn replied. And as Mrs Babcock discreetly left the room, he sealed the bargain with a kiss that left no doubt at all of his sincerity.
~~~
About the Author
Victoria Gordon is the pseudonym and muse for Canadian/Australian author
Gordon Aalborg’s more than twenty contemporary romances.
As himself, he is the author of the western romance The Horse Tamer’s Challenge (2009) and the Tasmanian-oriented suspense thrillers The Specialist (2004)and Dining with Devils (2009)
as well as the Australian feral cat survival epic Cat Tracks.
Born in Canada, Aalborg spent half his life in Australia, mostly in Tasmania, and now lives
on Vancouver Island, in Canada, with his wife, the mystery and romance author Denise Dietz.
More on www.gordonaalborg.com.
THE BOOKS
As Victoria Gordon
Wolf in Tiger’s Stripes (2010)
Finding Bess (2004)
Beguiled and Bedazzled (1996)
An Irresistible Flirtation (1995)
A Magical Affair (1994)
Gift-Wrapped (1993)
A Taxing Affair (1993)
Love Thy Neighbour (1990)
Arafura Pirate (1989)
Forest Fever (1986)
Cyclone Season (1985)
Age of Consent (1985)
Bushranger's Mountain (1985)
Battle of Wills (1982)
Dinner At Wyatt's (1982)
Blind Man's Buff (1982)
Stag At Bay (1982)
Dream House (1981)
Always The Boss (1981)
The Everywhere Man (1981)
Wolf At The Door (1981)
The Sugar Dragon (1980)
as Gordon Aalborg
Cat Tracks (Hyland House: Melbourne: 1981)
(Delphi Books: U.S. edition: 2002)
The Specialist (Five Star Mysteries: 2004)
Dining with Devils (Five Star Mysteries: 2009)
The Horse Tamer’s Challenge (Five Star Expressions: 2009)
The Everywhere Man Page 20