Читать книгу Missing: One Bride - Alice Sharpe, Alice Sharpe - Страница 10

Thorn’s head hurt in a major way, as if a great big bull were tap dancing inside his skull. The sofa was too short and too narrow to offer much of a retreat. In fact, when he tried turning over, he came close to sliding off onto the floor. Head pounding, he gave up trying to sleep and sat on the edge of the cushion, listening for a moment to the barely perceptible sound of Alexandra’s breathing.

This was not the way he’d imagined this particular night would pass, him on a sofa, a virtual stranger in his bed, and Natalie with some other guy.

Hell, this whole thing didn’t even seem real. Real things were the fences he mended, especially the one running east to west near the stand of fir trees marking the southern border of his land. He liked throwing the lumber and tools into the back of his pickup, liked the bumpy road that crisscrossed through the cattle fields, liked finding, a broken post or a sagging wire and fixing it. It was satisfying work, clear-cut, over and done with. And afterward, there was the shade of the trees, a perfect place for a cool drink and a well-earned lunch. Life reduced to basics, understandable, his to control.

Not like this. Not like wondering what the hell was happening to him, not like having his fate in someone else’s hands. Damn Natalie! He would never let himself be this vulnerable again. Never.

He popped to his feet and paced for a few minutes. Five steps to the wall, five steps back, over and over again while his thoughts jumped around in his miserable brain.

He was suddenly flooded with memories of her. The first time he’d seen her in the flower shop, standing behind the counter, all smiles and green eyes with those beautiful strawberry curls surrounding her face. He’d needed flowers sent to his grandmother. He remembered how she’d insisted on showing him every photo in a book full of floral arrangements, how she had touched his arm with her hand when she spoke, and how, when he’d finally asked her to dinner, she had smiled up at him as though she knew something he didn’t.

He remembered her in a bathing suit, all delicious curves and sun-warmed skin. She wouldn’t go in his swimming pool, said something about chlorine and her suit, but when he’d suggested they go down to the pond, she’d laughed at him. Women were such mysteries to a man like him, such intricate mazes with twisty corridors and high walls, full of secrets.

Natalie in a sundress, Natalie in his lap, Natalie’s eyes and her mouth and her perfect fingernails tapping against his arm. For four months there had been nothing and no one but Natalie, as if she’d cast some spell over him. Well, never again, he reminded himself. Never, never again.

He stopped pacing and crossed to the balcony doors, stopping on the way to look at Alexandra. Moonlight flooded her bed, kissing her face, so peaceful, in slumber. Her hair was fanned out on the pillow, surrounding her face like a soft, dark cloud. Natalie hadn’t talked about this woman much. For that matter, she hadn’t talked about any of her women friends. Why hadn’t he noticed that before?

Alexandra. Such a long, fancy name for a woman so upfront and sweet, though she did seem to have a streak of humor that bubbled to the surface at odd times. She was sure being a good sport about all this, but he was ready to bet a bundle that come morning, she’d expect him to take her home. Maybe he’d just give her his keys and let her drive herself. At any rate, one thing was for certain—he wasn’t leaving this place until he’d faced Natalie. He did not leave loose ends and right now, Natalie Dupree was one gigantic loose end.

Alexandra. On second thought, he liked the name. It fit her, for he sensed in her slight body a strong will and a fierce streak of independence that probably defined her to herself. The name was bold in a way, reminiscent of Alexander the Great. If memory served him right, old Alexander had been the king of Macedonia, the conqueror of the Persian empire. Tilting his head, Thorn stared at the face on the pillow before him, her soft and feminine features blurred by the moonlight.

The outside air was crisp and clean and did a lot to clear his head. As he leaned against the rail, he acknowledged the certainty he felt that Natalie was in this building. There was no real proof, of course. He’d tried looking for her car, but there were dozens of red compacts and he had no idea what her license number was. Tomorrow, he’d stake out the restaurants. If that didn’t work, he’d start knocking on doors.

His headache all but disappeared as he stared up into the night sky. It was amazing that these ocean-hugging stars were the same ones he saw at home. For a second, he was back on the ranch, alone in the rambling house he’d built with his own two hands, out on the balcony that ran along the back of the house, gazing upward, picking out Orion and the Pleiades. He found these constellations now, smiling up at two old friends who didn’t tell him that he should have known better, that he was a fool. “Thanks, guys,” he whispered. “I appreciate it.”

Alex awoke during the night, unsure what had called her back from a restless dream she could no longer remember. For a second, she lay beneath the satin quilt, placing herself in the honeymoon suite of the Otter Point Inn, alone in a huge bed meant for lovers.

Gradually she became aware of a cool breeze blowing in from the glass doors, and raised herself on her elbows to find long sheer curtains billowing back into the room, which meant the doors were open. The balcony was lit by the moon and she could just make out a dark shape standing at the rail.

An instinctive gasp died on her lips as she realized the shape was actually Thorn. His back was to her as he stared out at the sea.

He wouldn’t throw himself down onto the rocks, would he?

No. As upset as he obviously was, he didn’t act suicidal, just humiliated and angry. Now, if Natalie was here, that might be a different story. Natalie he might very well like to toss off a balcony.

Would he, or do I just want to believe he would?

This second question came from nowhere and left Alex feeling shaken.

She heard him close the doors as she slowly lowered her head back to the pillow and feigned sleep. His footsteps hardly made a sound on the plush carpet as he crossed back to the sofa. She heard the creak of old furniture as he lowered his weight and tried to get comfortable. He was paying for the room and she was half his size—why hadn’t it occurred to her to take the sofa and let him have the bed?

Should she get up and offer the bed to him now? Would he want it? Maybe the sofa was a better place for a jilted bridegroom. She fell asleep again while trying to figure out what to do.

The next time she awoke, it was morning and sunlight streamed through the glass. As she got out of bed, Alex looked over at the sofa, half expecting to find Thorn gone again, but apparently his late-night reverie out on the balcony had taken its toll. He lay asleep, half on the sofa, one arm hanging off to the side, both feet dangling over the end. He’d kicked off the blanket she’d given him the night before and it lay in a heap on the floor. Thankfully, he at least slept in his underwear.

She stared at him longer than was strictly necessary. His hands and forearms were tanned the same deep color as his face, the rest of him a shade lighter. He had very nice legs, well shaped, muscular. She liked his ankles. He stirred and she turned away at once.

False alarm. When she dared to take another peek, he was sound asleep again, on his side, all arms and legs, his head half buried under an arm. Alex let herself out onto the balcony, anxious to escape Thorn.

The rocks below were black and jagged, the ocean that swirled around them, sapphire blue. For some time, Alex stared at the water. She was wearing the robe—indeed, she’d slept in the robe—and she tightened the belt around her waist. What was she going to put on this morning? Would Thorn have any clothes that would fit her? Maybe she could borrow his gold card and buy herself something in the gift shop—shorts and a T-shirt, a touristy dress printed with whales or dolphins. Anything!

She winced when she thought about the prices she knew she’d find. A confirmed bargain hunter, she tended to wait until clothing was marked down so far, it was a giveaway. Well, desperate situations called for desperate measures and all that.

As she turned to go back into the room, she caught sight of a small yellow sports car pulled up to the front of the inn. Then she realized what had really drawn her attention was the driver. He was a very tanned man with long white hair caught in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He was facing the inn, a striking man in his fifties with eyes dark enough to stand out at a distance. He looked like the male lead in a spy movie.

She was about to turn away when a woman in a kneelength coat approached the passenger door of the car. The coat was an unusual shade, more orange than red, vibrant, eye-catching, hemmed in heavy black braid. A distinctive coat, a familiar coat, one Alex had seeh every morning for the past six months. With a feeling of inevitability, her gaze traveled from the coat to a swirl of reddish-blond hair, and then, as the woman turned, to an upturned nose and a pair of huge dark glasses.

Alex raced back into the room, calling Thorn’s name as she ran. By the time she got to the sofa, he was blinking the sleep from his eyes. She stood above him and pointed outside. “Natalie,” she managed to say.

In a flash, he was on his feet and out the doors. She saw him peer over the railing, then back into the room toward her.

“Where?”

“Getting into a yellow car.”

He looked over the railing. His expression as he faced Alex confirmed what she was afraid of.

“Too late?” she asked as she joined him.

“Apparently. Are you sure it was her?”

“Absolutely positive.”

He nodded briskly. “Okay. Tell me what you saw while I get dressed.”

Following him back into the room, she said, “There was a man in a yellow car.”

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned again. “A man,” he repeated woodenly.

“Yes. A much older man.” She left out the part about the way the man looked, the square set of his shoulders, his distinctive mane of hair. The man might be older than Thorn, but he was no slouch and he certainly didn’t look like anyone’s father. Of course, Thorn standing there only half-dressed didn’t look like a slouch, either!

“Go on,” Thorn said as he picked up his suitcase and threw it on the bed.

“In a second. I don’t suppose there’s anything in that suitcase I could wear?”

Thorn had grabbed the first clothes he came to—a white shirt and a pair of khaki slacks. With Alex’s question, he turned to look at her, and for the first time, he seemed to notice she was in a robe, seemed to remember than she had no luggage. “I don’t know, I’m a lot bigger than you are—”

“What about this?” Alex asked as she pulled a bright red-and-white Hawaiian shirt out of his bag.

“Sure, I don’t care. Take anything you want. Just hurry.”

As he dressed in the bathroom she described the rest of what she’d seen, her voice raised so he could hear through the wooden door. As she spoke, she put on the shirt and dug through his suitcase, emerging with a pair of baggy white swim trunks. They had a cord at the waist and she slipped them on, tightening the cord, then knotting the shirt. His shoes were impossibly big for her and she couldn’t face the heels, so she decided to go barefoot.

By the time this was done, Thorn was out of the bathroom, completely dressed, looking like a million bucks. Again.

They opted for the stairs when the elevator took too long to answer the call. Thorn was at the desk before Alex. By the time she got there, the desk clerk was being grilled.

“Yes, I know who you are, Mr. Powell, and might I offer my heartfelt congratulations on your marriage.”

This clerk was middle-aged with thinning black hair and a clipped mustache. Alex had seen him watch her approach the desk in Thorn’s wake. When she stopped beside Thorn, the clerk actually gave her a double take, as though he couldn’t believe the Thorn Powell was hitched to this frizzy-haired woman swimming in men’s clothes. Alex smiled pleasantly and said, “Good morning.”

“Morning, ma’am,” he said. His name was Alfred. To Alex, he looked like an Alfred. She couldn’t imagine anyone calling him Alfie.

“Yes, yes,” Thorn said. “I want to know about the woman who just left here. About five-eight, reddish hair, orange coat—”

“You mean Miss Blackwell,” the clerk interrupted.

“Miss Blackwell?”

“Jasmine Blackwell. She’s here with her father, Gerald Blackwell.”

Alex leaned forward. “A man in his fifties with long white hair and black eyes?”

“Yes, that’s him,” the clerk said.

Thorn, his hands in tight fists, said, “How long have they been here?”

“Since yesterday afternoon,” the desk clerk answered as he punched up the information on his screen.

“Did they arrive together or separately?”

Alfred gave a pained little smile and sighed. “Mr. Powell, I must assure you that I would not have answered even this many questions if it wasn’t for the fact that you are such a valued guest and Mr. Hanks has left explicit instructions that we accommodate you in any way we can, but really, sir—”

“Together or apart?” Thorn repeated.

The desk clerk must have heard in Thorn’s voice the same note of authority tinged with recklessness that Alex heard. He said, “Apart. Mr. Blackwell checked in several hours before Miss Blackwell.”

Thorn stared at his feet. Alex knew he was reviewing facts in his mind. Then he said, “Where did they go?”

“Now, sir—”

The clerk slid Alex a loaded glance that clearly said, This man is your husband. Get him off my back! Alex smiled and shrugged.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” the clerk said at last.

“And I’m sure you do!” Thorn thundered.

Alex pulled on his arm. “Now, honey, this poor man is just doing his job, protecting the privacy of everyone, you know how it is. Remember when you got that other man fired, what was his name, Phil? Maybe it was Bill. Anyway, we don’t want this man’s job on our conscience now, do we?”

Thorn looked down at her and said, “Sure we do.”

“To the airport,” the clerk blurted out.

The answer surprised Alex and apparently Thorn, as well, for he stared at Alfred a full thirty seconds before demanding, “Why?”

“To catch a plane.”

“Of course. But what plane and to where?”

Another moment of silence as the man thought about his options, threw Alex a glance more furtive than the previous one, then finally heaved a beleaguered sigh. “Miss Blackwell wanted to shop. I overheard them talking. They said something about Seattle.”

“Have they checked out of the hotel?” Alex asked.

“No.”

“Then they’ll be back?” Thorn added.

The clerk nodded. “Mr. Blackwell said they would return this evening.”

Alex mentally prepared herself for a day of lobby sitting, but Thorn took her arm. “Thanks, Alfred.” He looked down at Alex and added, “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

Suddenly ravenous, Thorn ordered a big breakfast of steak and eggs, damn the cholesterol. He was a little surprised when Alexandra echoed his choice. She was smaller than Natalie and he’d expected her to eat the same way her friend did, which meant dry toast and tea for breakfast.

Once the food was consumed, he sat back in the leather armchair and stared out at the ocean, a second cup of coffee on the table in front of him.

“Thorn?”

He turned back to face Alexandra.

“I think I should go home,” she said softly.

He leaned his arms on the table. “I can’t drive you back now,” he said. “I have to see this through.”

“I know you do. But I don’t belong here, and besides, I don’t think you really need me hanging around.”

He stared into her eyes and felt a stab of panic assail him at the thought of her leaving. “Yes, I do,” he said. “You’re Natalie’s friend and you have to be here to keep me from throttling her.”

“You’re not going to throttle her,” she said with a slow smile.

“Okay, I’m not going to throttle her. Still, I wish you’d reconsider. Besides, it’ll be over tonight.”

“But I work tomorrow—”

“I’ll drive you home after we see Natalie.”

She bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know—”

“I’ll make the wait worth your while,” he said suddenly.

This earned him another smile. “How?”

“We’ll do something fun today. No reason we have to sit in the lobby when they won’t be back until tonight.”

She regarded him with her steady gaze that reminded him of the stars. “You’re different this morning,” she said.

“How?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. More lighthearted. Less…broken.”

“Well, let’s see. My fiancée is staying here under an assumed name with a man old enough to be her father, who may actually be her father—and if you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you. I spent yesterday in a daze, and tonight I’m going to hear her side of the story, but today, here I am at the beach with a pretty girl and a few hours to kill. Let me assure you that inside, I’m still shattered, enraged, perplexed and boondoggled, but damn, I’m tired of wallowing in it. Allow me this charming front.”

She laughed. “Okay.”

“And stay with me, please.”

“As a distraction?” she asked, her eyes now mocking.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Will you? You’ve come this far. Of course, if there’s someone at home who will miss you, parents or friends you need to call, or pets to care for—”

“Nothing like that,” she said, interrupting. “I live alone, my parents are in Arizona and my only plans for today involved laundry. Okay, I’ll see it through.”

“Good. Finish your steak, Alexandra, we have a lot to arrange.”

“I’ve eaten all I want.”

He nodded. For a man who should be feeling dumped and dismal, he felt remarkably good. Of course, a hearty breakfast always did wonders for his morale.

“There is one problem,” Alex said. “I don’t have a comb or a toothbrush.”

He looked at her hair, really looked at it for the first time that morning, and grinned. She was a mess, all right. Of course, a few stray hairs didn’t really detract from her face, but he could see that she needed some personal items.

“Then that’s where we’ll start,” he told her.

They found a sundries store on the floor below the lobby and Thorn stood by as Alex picked out the three or four things she needed. He couldn’t help but notice how modest her choices were or how often she told him she’d repay him. He tried telling her that she was there because of him, but in the end, he let it drop. If it made her feel better to repay him thirteen or fourteen dollars, then so be it.

He sent her up to the room by herself, then went back to the lower-level shops and found one that sold women’s clothing. There wasn’t a whole lot to choose from, but as this was the only store he could shop at, he adapted to the limited selection.

Estimating her size, he chose a blue bathing suit with lots of little straps around the back. The only sweatshirt without a picture of some big-eyed animal plastered on the front was a bright purple one with pink sleeves, which he kind of liked. He grabbed a pair of red pants that looked as though they were made out of parachute material and should be cool or warm depending on the situation, then found the only sandals in the place—gold ones with flowers on the toes.

“Oh, Mr. Powell,” the clerk told him as she rang up his purchases. “Are these things for the new Mrs. Powell?”

Thorn was bent over a rack, trying to decide what SPF the suntan lotion should be. He looked up at the clerk and said, “No.”

“What!”

The woman’s shocked voice roused him. He said, “What?” back at her.

“I asked if these items were for your new wife. The hotel grapevine, you know.”

Oh, brother. “Ah—well, of course they are,” he mumbled.

The woman, tight-lipped because she obviously didn’t believe a word he said, wrapped his purchases in tissue paper, ran the hotel credit card through a machine and handed him the bag. “I’m sorry if I pried into your personal life,” she said, her eyes downcast.

Great, Thorn thought. Now the entire hotel will think I’m cheating on my wife of one day. “You don’t understand,” he began, but then he dropped it. What was the use? When this was over, he’d just have to stay away from the Otter Point Inn for a while. But after the confrontation he envisioned with Natalie tonight, he doubted very much that he would want to come again anyway.

Back in the lobby, he cornered Alfred and arranged for a picnic and a couple of Boogie boards and wet suits to be delivered to his car. Then he took the elevator back to his room. Instinct told him what he needed was some sort of physical activity to make the time pass, to take his mind off what was to come. For a second he wondered if all his plans would blow up in his face—maybe Alex was as cautious about the water and the sun on her skin as Natalie was, but somehow he doubted it. Still, he’d skip the details until it was too late for her to back out.

Alex spent the time alone in the room to move her maidof-honor dress and the truss to the empty closet where Thorn wouldn’t have to constantly see them. She was just getting out of the shower when she heard a loud knock on the bathroom door. After wrapping herself in a towel, she opened it to find a blue sack in Thorn’s outstretched hand.

“For you,” he said. “Put the bathing suit on under your clothes. By the way, I looked in my suitcase but I can’t find my suit. Were you wearing it this morning?”

His suit, which she’d used as shorts, was neatly folded and lying on the counter. “Yes,” she said as she handed it back to him.

“Thanks.”

“What’s in the sack?” she asked as she opened it.

“Clothes and a bathing suit, like I said. I had to estimate your size. I hope everything fits.”

“I can’t accept—”

He cut her off. “Spare me all the protests, please. Just put on the clothes and let’s get out of here.”

She closed the door on him. “Where are we going?” she asked as she dumped out his clothes. What she needed was a pair of sunglasses—the clothes were all bright colors. Very bright colors. Damn near fluorescent! How could a man who dressed himself so well choose such strange clothes for someone else?

She heard him answer, but his voice was muffled and she guessed he’d moved off toward the glass doors and the balcony. At any rate, she didn’t catch a single word. The bathing suit was a size too small, but she pulled it on anyway, a little confused at first as to where all the little straps were supposed to go. A bit tight in the bust, but not too bad. The other clothes were baggy, the sandals a size too big and a lot too fancy seeing as they were shiny gold with silver and black silk daisies glued to the toes. She tried pulling off the flowers but they were stuck on there for good. Resigned, she slipped them on and avoided her reflection.

“Oh, my,” Thorn said, as she opened the door and he caught sight of her. “I guess I got a little carried away, didn’t I? Well, you look nice in bright colors, Alexandra, and it seems as though everything fits. Kind of, anyway…”

He was wearing his swim trunks and a pair of rope sandals and nothing else. His chest was covered with a soft dusting of dark hair, which clung to his pectoral muscles and inflamed Alex with the incredible urge to touch him. He pulled on a knit shirt, which effectively saved the day.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“All that steam made me dizzy,” she mumbled as-she fanned herself with an open hand.

“You okay now?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She held up the suntan lotion. “Listen, Thorn, we’re on the Oregon coast, where it’s windy half the time and cold the other half. Why do we need bathing suits and this stuff?”

“Don’t ask. It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises.”

“Not really?”

“Yes, really.”

He grinned at her. “Surely you can humor a jilted man?”

“You’re not acting terribly jilted.”

“Smiling through my tears.”

She shook her head.

“I need to get away from here, Alexandra,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “I keep thinking about Natalie and the guy with the white hair. I need to get out in the open with the fresh air and the wind. If there were horses, I’d go riding, but there aren’t. However, there is an ocean. Can’t we just go?”

Instantly contrite, Alex gathered two towels from the bathroom and followed Thorn out of the room. Twice that morning, she’d assumed his banter was lighthearted; she hadn’t considered the possibility that he was trying to make her feel comfortable or, perhaps more accurately, that he was hiding from the deep betrayal he must surely feel. She must stop calling him on it and just let him go. If he could have fun on a day like this, so could she.