Читать книгу His Sleeping Beauty - Carol Grace - Страница 10

At eight o’clock the next morning a loud roaring sound woke Sarah with a start. She sat bolt upright in bed and blinked. She’d been dreaming. She was wandering through a forest in the moonlight, dressed in a long white gown, lost and alone until she saw a dark, mysterious man through the trees. He took her arm and they strolled farther into the trees until…he kissed her. A most amazing kiss that made her tingle all over. That made her want to kiss him back. But before she could, he was gone and it was too late. He’d disappeared, leaving behind only the memory of his shadowy face and the way he tasted, of wine and cigar smoke and coffee.

She was surprised she was able to taste and smell in a dream. That was a first. Also a first to wake up and find her heart pounding and shivers running up and down her spine. Not only that, she’d awakened with her lips still tingling, but with a feeling of disappointment, disorientation and unfulfillment. Where was she? Who was he? What was wrong with her?

One good thing. She hadn’t had an asthma attack in the middle of the night. She hadn’t had one for a long time, but the memories of gasping for breath, staggering into a steam-filled bathroom and the ever-present inhaler she kept at hand even now, just in case, would always be there.

The sun was shining on unfamiliar, faux-finished, pale yellow walls. The air coming through the open window was perfumed with roses—instead of the traffic fumes she was used to. Considering her black thumb, the roses couldn’t possibly be hers. The antique armoire in the corner was smoothly finished in an aged patina and not hers, either.

Then it all came back to her. Instead of sleeping in her own bed in her tiny apartment in crowded, foggy San Francisco, she was house-sitting at Aunt Mary’s sprawling home some thirty miles south in Portola Valley, a suburb of the City by the Bay. And that buzzing sound? That was the man next door cutting down Aunt Mary’s three-hundred-year-old oak tree! She’d been warned he might take advantage of her aunt’s absence and attack the tree just because it was shading his swimming pool. Not on her watch he wouldn’t. That was her primary job while she was there, to protect and preserve one defenseless tree.

She bounded out of bed, tore off her white cotton nightgown and tugged on a pair of drawstring pants, a comfortable faded T-shirt, and her large glasses, and ran on the filed floor through the house and out the back door.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” she shouted across the fence. She was wasting her breath. He didn’t see her. He didn’t hear her. But she saw him, all six-foot-something of muscular man, naked to the waist of his low-slung jeans.

She blinked. And stared. It was him. The man in her dreams. Then she shook her head. No, it couldn’t be, because the man in her dreams lived in a forest, loved trees and would never hurt one. He didn’t hear her, this tree killer, but she heard him, the whole neighborhood heard him.

Finally he turned off the chain saw, wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked over the fence.

“Hello,” he said with a dazzling smile on his tanned face that she supposed charmed every woman he encountered. And made them forget he was doing something he shouldn’t. But not her aunt. Not her, either, unless he put that chain saw down and swore never to use it again. “Did I wake you?”

“Me and the rest of Portola Valley. Yes, you did.”

He didn’t seem to get the message. Instead he merely set the saw on the ground and let his gaze roam over her baggy clothes. “Sleep well?” he asked as if this was an important question. He was anxious to hear her answer.

What did he care if she’d slept well, unless this was a chain-saw related question. Still, it was an odd question to ask a stranger. What did that have to do with anything? She decided he was just trying to change the subject. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. As if she didn’t know.

“Just trimming the tree,” he said, bracing his arms on the fence between the two properties. “Before it trims me. It’s got some dead limbs I wouldn’t want to fall on my house or yours for that matter. I’m new here.” He reached over the fence to shake her hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. Or have we?” He was staring at her intently as if he wasn’t sure. But she was. They had not met anywhere, any time. Except maybe in her dream. If it had been in real life, she would have remembered. She didn’t meet that many good-looking men. And when she did, she was tongue-tied and shy. Not today. Today she had something to say.

“No, I’m sure we haven’t.”

“Max Monroe,” he said.

Gingerly she extended her hand and shook his, her small hand immediately engulfed in his, while trying not to stare at the rivulets of sweat that dripped across the well-defined muscles on his chest. What did the man do to keep in such good shape? Was he a professional athlete? Or did he go to a gym and work out with a personal trainer? Things she might have done if she weren’t afraid of having an attack triggered by exercise. Never mind. She did what she could to keep in shape by walking to work in the city.

She couldn’t remember what Aunt Mary had told her about him. She really hadn’t been listening. Now she wished she had so she could pigeonhole him, and put him in a category the way she, as a social scientist, would do with a piece of historical information.

“You must be Mary’s niece. She told me about you,” he said. There she was at a disadvantage. He knew all about her, she knew nothing about him. Sarah wondered what her aunt had told him. That she was a nerd? That she didn’t date and had no social life to speak of? That she worked too hard and needed a break along with some new clothes and a new attitude? Was that why he was looking at her as if he was trying to figure her out, as if she might be a creature from another world.

“Did she also tell you that’s her tree you’re hacking at?” Sarah asked.

“It’s our tree,” he said pleasantly, slapping the bark with one hand. “And I offered to keep it trimmed so it doesn’t endanger either of our houses.”

“That’s good of you, but my aunt is more worried about the tree than her house. You can replace a house, but a tree like that…” She looked up into the branches that towered above her, and felt a little dizzy. That’s what came from sleeping in a strange bed and being awakened so rudely and so suddenly. She’d been working long hours, too, trying to finish a project. Because of her past medical problems, she always tried to avoid the stress of deadlines by getting her work done ahead of time. Her aunt had said she looked pale and hoped she’d get some rest while she was house-sitting. Not with this Paul Bunyon next door, she wouldn’t.

Sarah had been bogged down researching a paper about the gold rush for the next meeting of the Northern California Historical Society. She loved the subject, but with the hint of spring in the air and the promise of warm weather just around the corner, she’d been distracted.

Maybe she’d be able to concentrate better away from the office. She hoped so, because she’d informed the staff she’d be working from her aunt Mary’s this week. Her boss wasn’t too happy about it. In fact, Trudy had been in a bad mood for the past six months, uncharacteristically taciturn and closed off from the easy camaraderie they’d shared in the past. Still she agreed to Sarah’s working from home for a week. After all, Sarah hadn’t taken a vacation in three years.

She didn’t need time off, no matter what other people thought. She might be a little dizzy right now, but it was only because she’d changed her environment. She’d gone from city to suburb, from concrete to grass and from tall buildings to tall trees. Speaking of trees, she really had to be firm with this man.

Sarah put her hand on the fence to steady herself and her arm brushed against his. She felt a zing of electricity run up her arm, but from the look on his handsome face, Max didn’t feel anything at all. She really had to get a grip on her reactions. She jerked her arm away and took a deep breath.

“Just to give you some background, the tree is older than any building standing around here,” she said, gathering her thoughts at last. “The tree was standing when the Ohlone Indians lived here. Why, they might have danced around it to celebrate the beginning of spring. They’d have their skin painted, and their long hair bound and dyed.” She stared off into space, easily imagining the scene, almost hearing the beat of the drums. Her enthusiasm made her one of the foremost experts in her field; she lived and breathed the history of early California. If that made her a nerd, so be it.

“Really?” he said, raising an eyebrow, a half smile on his lips. “Funny you should mention it, because that’s just what’s going to happen here this afternoon.”

“A Native American ceremony, here?” she asked, wide-eyed. Now that would be something to see.

“I don’t know about the Indians, but there will be dancing, and you might see some dyed hair and some painted skin. You’ll come by, won’t you?”

“Come by?” she repeated. What on earth was he talking about? Why would she want to come by unless it was for real?

“To the pool party I’m throwing this afternoon. This house happens to be a great place for parties. Part of my job is entertaining clients and courting new ones. I’ve been afraid the noise of a party would disturb your aunt, so knowing she was going on vacation, I planned it for today. Now that you’re here, I don’t need to worry. See you at four.”

“Uh…I’m not sure. I usually work on the weekends,” she explained. No way was she going to a party to hang around a pool with a bunch of half-naked strangers. She hadn’t come to the quiet of the suburbs to be forced into awkward and stressful social situations. She learned long ago to avoid anxiety-producing situations whenever possible. Let people think she was antisocial. Her life was just the way she wanted it. Besides, she had much too much work to do.

“Work, on a day like this?” he asked, with a glance at the blue sky above. “Three hundred years ago you wouldn’t catch the Ohlone Indians working if they had a chance to play, would you?”

“Probably not,” she admitted. “They took every opportunity to dance and sing and feast, but I’m not a Native American.”

“But you know a lot about them,” he said, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

“I should. It’s my job to know about California’s history.” It’s my life also, she thought. She never understood why anyone, Aunt Mary included, thought it wasn’t enough of a life. Living in the past, some people said about her, shaking their heads. So what was wrong with that? The past was full of exotic characters, ranchers and explorers, swindlers and miners, spellbinders and promoters. In Sarah’s experience, people today weren’t all that exciting.

“So I heard,” he said, leaning over the fence and studying her with narrowed gray eyes. She couldn’t help thinking how unusual that was. She’d never known anyone with gray eyes. Gray eyes, a firm jaw and broad bronzed shoulders. What a combination. She suddenly felt breathless again. She inhaled deeply. She was fine. No wheezing, no reduced air flow. Just a case of jitters. Pretty silly for a twenty-five-year-old historical scholar. She’d better pull herself together and remember why she was there.

“About the tree,” she said, shifting from one foot to the other. After all, that’s what this was all about—the tree.

“Beautiful tree. Don’t worry, I’d never do anything to endanger it. Especially now that I know what it’s been through in the past three hundred years. You’ll have to see it from this side.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary, the view from here is enough. I appreciate it just fine so don’t count on me, I mean…”

“Come on over anytime,” he said, as if she hadn’t explained she wasn’t coming at all. “The band will be tuning up around four.”

“A pool party would be wasted on me,” she said. “I don’t swim.”

“Don’t or can’t?” he asked, drawing his eyebrows together in a puzzled look.

“Both. Either.” There. That ought to get him off her case. She didn’t have to explain why she didn’t swim, run, jog or ride a bike. All she wanted to do was to stop him from cutting down the tree. She didn’t want to socialize or go to any parties. She had piles of paperwork to do. Besides the research, she was also editing a pamphlet on the Missions of the Bay Area.

“No problem. Swimming is not required. In fact, most of the women I know don’t want to get their hair wet. But schmoozing is required. You do schmooze, don’t you?” He was leaning so far over the fence, she could see the laugh lines around his eyes and the stubble of beard on his chin.

“I’m not sure,” she said, taking a step backward. “In any case, I won’t be schmoozing today. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I have work to do.”

“It’s Saturday,” he said. “Don’t tell me you have to work all day.”

“Wait a minute. Don’t sound so shocked. You said entertaining was part of your work. So you’re working on Saturday, too.”

He held up his hand. “Touché,” he said.

“I love my work,” she said, and turned to go. Besides, she didn’t know how much longer she could be exposed to his bare chest without staring as if she’d never seen a half-naked man before. He was having an unsettling effect on her. It must be that she hadn’t had her coffee yet.

“That’s what your aunt said about you,” he said.

I’ll bet she did, Sarah thought. I bet she told you all about me. Aunt Mary might have even told him she needed to go to a party with a bunch of people she didn’t know so she could expand her horizons. Funny how people always seemed to think they knew what was best for you. Her parents sure did. They had hovered over her for years, giving advice and checking up on her daily even after she’d left home and had a life of her own.

Sarah loved her aunt dearly, but why couldn’t she see that she was doing just fine the way she was? She turned back to face him. “Did she also tell you I’m here to keep an eye on you?”

“Can’t keep an eye on me from over there at your house. You’d better come to the party or I’ll have to come and get you.” He grinned at her which annoyed her.

“I’ll think about it,” she said firmly, and this time she made it back to the house without a backward look. But even then, she couldn’t shake the view she’d had of his tanned torso, quizzical gaze and granite jaw.

Yes, he was some hunk of man. If her aunt had mentioned that, she hadn’t heard it. And if she had, she wouldn’t have done anything differently. She hadn’t drooled over him, she’d merely confronted him about mutilating the tree. Hopefully she could last the week without another run-in. One thing was for sure, she had no intention of going to his party. She looked forward to a long, peaceful afternoon immersed in another century.

Max stood at the fence, absently scratching his jaw, watching Sarah walk across the lawn, shoulders back, hips swaying gently under those baggy pants. It was her. Sleeping Beauty. Only not such a beauty behind those awful glasses and that oversize T-shirt. He was torn between immediately blurting out what had happened last night and keeping his mouth shut for the moment. Sooner or later he’d have to tell her. It looked like it was going to be later.

She was certainly an unusual type, even without the sleepwalking. Ms. Plain by day, a beauty by night. Definitely not his type. But then who was, these days? He hadn’t had a girlfriend for almost two years, and he wasn’t looking for one.

He had firsthand knowledge of how a seemingly perfect marriage could go sour and ruin the lives of not only the couple, but everyone else around, including children, friends and extended family. His parents’ marriage had shown him that, and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

Anybody with his job would naturally be discouraged from getting serious about anyone. Sure there were divorce lawyers who were married. Most of them married more than once. Who needed that kind of complication in their life? Alimony payments, recriminations. Unfair settlements. Child custody battles. Not for him. He saw enough of it. He wanted no part of it in his personal life.

Which was why he avoided serious relationships. Casual affairs, good times…sure. As long as both sides were consenting and had no unrealistic expectations, why not? But after the train wrecks he’d seen in divorce court, the fights, the broken homes and broken hearts, marriage was definitely not for him.

The way it was, his time was his own. His choices were his own. No compromises. No tears. No tantrums. No sleepless nights. He was a lucky man.