Читать книгу Cat's Cradle - Christine Rimmer - Страница 6

Dillon McKenna climbed down from his Land Cruiser, ignoring the dull throb in his artificial hip joints as he did it. The snow on the ground made a crisp, crunching sound under his boots.

The house looked good, he thought. From this side, it was all natural colored wood and soaring angles. The other side, which faced the deck and a deep ravine, was floor-to-ceiling windows so that even on the darkest days, the place was full of light.

Dillon took in a big breath, savoring the cold, mountain freshness of the air. From a nearby fir tree, a chickadee trilled at him. And from somewhere not far away came the thwacking sound of an ax splitting wood. Be- neath a spruce tree at the side of the driveway a blue pickup was parked: the caretaker’s, Dillon imagined. Dillon shut the door of the Land Cruiser, flipped up the collar of his sheepskin jacket and followed the sound of the ax.

He didn’t have to go far. Around the other side of the house, on the little ledge of level ground that extended below the deck before the land dropped off into the ravine below, he found the caretaker. The man’s back was turned to Dillon and for a moment, Dillon stood and watched him.

Rhythmically and efficiently, the man sunk his ax into a log, lifted the log high and brought it down on the chopping block. Bemused, Dillon admired the grace of movement, the economy of each stroke.

He smiled to himself. Nineteen months ago, he wouldn’t have looked twice. But there was something about having half the bones in your body broken, about being put back together with plastic and metal and a good surgeon’s gall, that made a man appreciate the simple things—like watching a skinny caretaker whack up the firewood.

Just then, the caretaker seemed to sense that he was being observed. He brought the ax down so it bit into the block. Then, leaving the ax stuck there, he straightened and turned.

Dillon noticed right away that the fellow had delicate features and smooth golden skin. But it took him a few seconds to register that the man also had breasts—high, round breasts, which very nicely filled out the front of his—er, her—worn red flannel shirt.

As Dillon gaped, the man who had turned out to be a woman removed the work gloves she was wearing and shoved a hand through her shock of short, raggedly cropped straw-colored hair. Then she squared her slim shoulders and strode purposefully toward him.

As she drew closer, he noted that her eyes were the shimmering gray-blue of a scrub jay’s wings. Recognition dawned in those eyes at precisely the moment he realized who she was: Adora’s overprotective big sister, Cat Beaudine.

Home at last.

The thought rose from the depths of him and bloomed on the surface of his mind. It occurred to him that he’d dreamed of her, though he couldn’t remember when or what the dream had been about.

“Dillon? Dillon McKenna?” Her disbelief was clear in her voice.

He felt a wide smile break across his face. “The very same. Hello, Cat.”

Now she was the one gaping. Dillon could understand that. Aside from a possible occasional glimpse of him on the news or in a magazine, she hadn’t seen him in about sixteen years. She very well might have been at his father’s funeral seven years ago, but he didn’t remember seeing her then. In any case, it had been a long time. It would naturally take her a minute or two to get used to the changes time makes. Seeing her again had sure given him a jolt.

Dillon stuck out his hand. They shook. Her palm was rough, callused from hard work. Her bones, though, were fine and long. He let his gaze wander, noting the dew of moisture on her upper lip and the charming way her pale hair curled, damp and clinging, at her temples. Her body heat came off of her in waves after her efforts with the ax. Her scent, on the cold winter air, was both sweet and faintly musky.

Within his own, her hand jerked a little. He realized he’d held on longer than was probably appropriate. Reluctantly he let her go.

She forged ahead with the pleasantries. “How are you?”

“All grown-up now.”

A small vertical line appeared between her brows. “Yes. Yes, I see that.” She sounded preoccupied suddenly—and not pleased at all that he wasn’t a kid anymore.

Dillon felt jubilant. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. She was exactly the way he’d remembered her. Except for one thing: back then, he hadn’t thought her intriguing in the least.

“Ahem. Well.” Now she was making a big deal of pulling her gloves back on—to let him know she was returning to the chopping block, he imagined. “This is a surprise. When the agency called to tell me to open up the house, I figured—”

“That the new occupant was just another one in the endless chain of short-term tenants?”

She nodded. “But then, I suppose I should have expected it might be you, now I think about it. We heard you were looking for a little time away from it all.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

She looked away for a moment, as if she hesitated to tell him. Then she shrugged. “You said it. On some late-night TV show a few weeks ago.”

He couldn’t resist a little jab. “I’m surprised you were watching. You never were a big fan of mine.”

She looked right into his eyes then. “Hey. Out here in the wilderness, we like to keep informed about the ones who made it big. And you picked the right place if you want to be alone. Six miles outside of Red Dog City in the dead of winter is about as alone as anybody could want to get.”

He chuckled. “It’s less than forty miles to Reno, in case I get too lonely.”

“Those can be very rough miles when the heavy snows come.”

“I know that. I was raised in these parts.” He dared to tease her. “Are you trying to get rid of me already, Cat?”

She didn’t smile. “No, of course not.”

“Good. Because I’m here to stay—for a while, at least.”

“Well, that’s your business.”

“You’ve got it right there.”

They stared at each other. Then she coughed. “Listen, I’m sure you want to get comfortable. You’ll find the house was cleaned from top to bottom.”

“By you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t clean houses. The agency hires a service for that.” She went on briskly, “The water’s on and I turned on the heat a couple of hours ago, so it should be pretty warm by now. I was just trying to get in a little more wood, in case you’d also like a fire. I don’t know who took care of delivering your wood for you, but most of the logs are too big for your stove.”

Dillon experienced the most ridiculous urge then. He wanted to march over to where her ax was embedded in the block and hack up a few logs himself, just so she’d know he was as much of a man as she was. The urge totally astonished him. Lately Dillon thought of himself as grown beyond minor displays of masculine ego.

And besides, he’d probably only end up doing damage to himself if he started showing off with an ax right now. He was still learning to control all the new pins and balls he had where a lot of his joints used to be.

“So anyway,” she was saying, “I’ll just get back to work. I’ll finish up here, then carry a load inside and lay the fire for you.”

He had a better idea. “Listen, forget splitting any more wood for now.”

“But I—”

“Just bring a load into the house and get the fire started. I’d appreciate that.”

“Okay, I—”

“And then we’ll have a beer.”

It took her a moment to absorb that suggestion. Then the protests began. “No, I—”

“Come on. For old times’ sake.”

Her glance collided with his for a moment, then shifted away. “No, really, I—”

“Yes.”

She looked at him again, stared straight into his eyes and tried to shake her head. She didn’t succeed. “All right.” The minute the words were out, her face flushed a captivating shade of pink beneath her tan.

“Good.” He strode toward her and brushed past, leading the way before she could change her mind. “The beer’s in my truck. I’ll get it and join you inside.”

From behind him she made a strangled little sound that was probably the beginning of a protest. He didn’t wait to hear the end of it, but trudged away from her as quickly as his rebuilt hips and reconstructed left knee would carry him.

By the time he’d put the Land Cruiser in the garage and let himself into the kitchen, she was standing on the other side of the glass door that opened onto the deck, her arms loaded with firewood. She spotted him through the glass and telegraphed a questioning look. He set down the bag of groceries and the six-pack of long necks he’d brought in with him and hurried across the huge main living area to let her in.

Once inside, she tossed the wood into the box by the wood stove, then pulled off her gloves and stuck them in a back pocket. Dillon went to get two beers from the six-pack on the counter as she knelt to lay and light the kindling. He took a few minutes to empty the bag of groceries and when he returned, she was feeding in a couple of midsize logs. That done, she rose.

He handed her a beer. They both drank. Through the window of the stove, the fire licked at the wood, a cheerful sight.

Dillon gestured in the general direction of a couch and two chairs, which were grouped nearby. “Have a seat.”

Cat shook her head and looked down at her old shirt and khaki work pants. “That couch is beige. And I’ve been under the house checking the pipes.”

He started to tell her he couldn’t care less about the damn couch. But then he decided that the state of her clothing was only an excuse. She didn’t want to sit down. She didn’t want to get too comfortable.

He let it pass and stared out the wall of windows. Beyond the deck the world seemed to drop away into a sea of snow-laden evergreen. In the distance, the mountains overlapped each other, disappearing into a gray veil of afternoon mist.

“I can hardly believe I’m here,” he mused aloud after a moment. He glanced around the big room and then out the windows at the spectacular view once again. “God. It’s beautiful.”

“Yes.”

He lifted the beer and drank, then found himself telling her, “I bought this house seven years ago.”

She made a sound of polite interest, but said nothing.

“It was after my father died. I saw an ad for the place while I was here, so I drove out to see it. I fell in love with it and took it. I think it made me feel that I’d arrived, the fact that I could buy a vacation house just because the mood struck me.”

She spoke then, her tone matter-of-fact. “You’ve done well for yourself, Dillon. You have a right to be proud.”

He studied her, thinking about changes. Pondering the effects of time. Deciding that the way a man saw the world sometimes changed more than the world itself. Like the woman before him.

Sixteen years ago, he hadn’t seen the deep inner calm she possessed. Or the world of strength and dignity in her eyes. Hell. Back then, he hadn’t given a damn for strength and dignity in a woman. He’d thought her tough and mean—and she had been. He was sure she still was when circumstances demanded.

“We heard you had a bad accident a while ago,” she said.

“Yeah. I jumped a man-made volcano at the Mirage in Las Vegas. The jump was a success. Unfortunately my landing left a lot to be desired.”

Now her eyes were kind. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey. Breaks of the game.”

“Well, at least you look as if you’re recovering well enough.”

“More or less. Everything works, just slower and stiffer.” He raised his beer and drank. “So tell me about home.”

“What about it?”

“Well, the Beaudine family, for starters, I suppose. You can tell me how your mom is and how all your sisters turned out.”

She fiddled with the label on her beer bottle, as if she suspected he’d just thrown her a trick question. “My mother’s remarried.”

“No kidding?”

“Yep. Just a few years ago, to a retired housepainter. She met him playing bingo over at the community hall. You could say he sort of swept her off her feet, I guess. They tied the knot a few months after they met and they live in Tucson now.”

“What about the little ones?”

“Phoebe and Deirdre?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re not so little anymore. Both married, as a matter of fact. Deirdre lives in Loyalton. And Phoebe’s in Portola.”

“Not too far away, then?”

“Right.” She took another sip of beer.

“And how about you? Are you married?”

“Me?” She looked surprised that he’d ask such a question. “No, not me.”

It was the answer he’d expected, but still, he’d wanted to be sure. He was tempted to probe a little deeper on the subject, to ask her why not? just to see how she’d answer. But he decided against that. She was too edgy. Any probing on his part would probably send her flying out the door.

He kept it light and predictable. “How about nieces and nephews? Got any of those yet?”

“Five.” She was fiddling with the bottle’s label again. “Deirdre has three daughters. And Phoebe has two boys.”

“Wow. Now that’s hard to picture. Not only married, but with kids. They were just little girls when I left.”

She sipped from her beer again, looked away and then back.

He went on with the next question. “And what about Adora?”

He saw that he’d blown it as soon as the name was out of his mouth. Cat’s hand tightened around the beer bottle. A moment before she’d been edgy, but now she was ready to get the hell out. He knew exactly what was going through her mind: What in the world was she doing here, sharing a beer with her sister’s old flame?

She forced a tight smile and proceeded to tell him all about Adora. “Adora is just fine. Still single. She has her own beauty shop, right in town on Bridge Street. It’s called the Shear Elegance Salon of Beauty. She lives in an apartment above the shop.”

He cursed his careless mouth, yet saw no choice but to blunder along in the same vein. “So she’s doing well, then?”

“Yes, very well.” Cat set her nearly empty beer on a side table. “Listen, it really is getting late and I have to get going.” She turned for the door.

All Dillon could think of was that she was getting away from him. He reached out and grabbed her arm. “Wait.”

She froze, then whipped her head around to gape at him. Her stunned expression told it all: men rarely dared to touch her. And now that a man was touching her, she didn’t know what to make of it.

She was what—? A year older than he was, if Dillon remembered right. Thirty-five, maybe thirty-six. And right now, looking in her face, he could swear that in all those years, she’d never once moved in ecstasy beneath the hands of a man.

“What?” she asked in an astonished whisper.

Dillon said nothing. He really had nothing to say, except Don’t go, which he knew wouldn’t keep her there. The silence expanded, seeming to fill the large room.

“What do you want?” Her voice still sounded amazed, but there was a little more force in it than a moment ago.

Again, he didn’t answer.

Under the heavy fabric of her shirt, her skin was warm and supple, the muscles beneath like flexible steel. She was strong. “Let me go.” This time it was a command.

Dillon’s hand dropped away. There was no further point in holding on, anyway. The moment he’d stolen through the sheer audacity of daring to touch her had passed.

Like a person stirring from a waking dream, Cat blinked and shook her head. He wondered what she’d do next, if she would get mad because he’d grabbed her arm.

He didn’t think she would. Not if he handled it right. Not if he gave her an out she could live with—like pretending that nothing at all had occurred. Which it hadn’t. Not really. Not yet.

“Listen, thanks for warming things up.”

She studied him narrowly for a moment, then shrugged. “No problem.”

Her eyes were cool and level. He thought of the winter world beyond the window. To the untrained eye, it might seem a frozen expanse of white. But warm-blooded things moved there, if you knew where to look.

“Is there anything else I can take care of, before I go?”

A provocative remark occurred to him; he chose not to utter it. “No. Everything looks fine.”

“Well, then...”

“Thanks again.”

She gave a brief, tight nod. Then she turned and left him alone.

Dillon stood before the wall of windows for a long while after Cat was gone. He was feeling good. The best he’d felt in a long, long time.

After the wreck and the disappointments, after the long months of pain and sweat and fear as he forced his legs, through endless hours of physical therapy, to learn to carry him again, it was good to stand by a window in a house he loved and look out over the mountains in winter. It was good to be here. To be home.

And it was also good that Cat Beaudine was so damned competent. Because he’d already decided he was going to need a lot of help from the caretaker to get himself settled in.