Читать книгу Paternal Instincts - Elizabeth August, Elizabeth August - Страница 9

Eric switched off the lamp on the table beside his bed and lay on his back staring into the dark. Although he was supposed to be settled in for the night, he was still dressed in his jeans, T-shirt and socks. His hostess’s image was strong in his mind. She’d told him to call her Roxy and the name fit. Living with her was a lot like living with a block of granite. He’d been at the farm for four days. It had been a Sunday when he arrived. Beginning on Monday, Roxy went into town to work each day. She’d be gone from six-thirty to three-thirty or four. When she arrived home, she’d prepare dinner. While it was cooking, she’d inspect the work he’d done that day. Then they’d eat and work on the house until dark. After that, they’d have a snack and go to bed.

She was like a robot that went about its business on its own and expected others to behave in the same fashion. Even during mealtimes she rarely talked. It appeared that she’d told him all she was willing to relate to him on Sunday and had little else to say. She wasn’t unfriendly. But she made it clear by her actions and her body language that she didn’t want to be his friend, either. It was as if she’d constructed a barrier around herself and he was not allowed past it.

Since Sunday, everything he’d discovered about her was from observation and tidbits she felt necessary to tell him. So far, he knew she worked at the local grocery store as a cashier, that she’d come to the farm about five years earlier and that she did have family in Philadelphia.

The part about the family he’d learned because of a series of phone calls on Tuesday night. From what he’d heard of the conversation with her first caller, he’d realized she was talking to her mother. He’d gathered that the woman wanted Roxy to sell the farm and move back home or get a house or apartment nearer her parents. The firm set of his hostess’s jaw had told him that her mother was wasting her breath.

A few minutes later the phone had rung again. This time the caller had been her grandmother. Since she’d addressed the caller only as Grandmama, he didn’t know if it was her paternal or maternal grandparent, but he guessed it was better than a fifty-fifty chance it was her maternal grandparent, since they spoke of her mother’s call.

Again Roxy had held firm to her determination to remain on the farm and he’d begun to wonder why. If she sold the place, she could buy something smaller but in much better condition and probably have a little cash left over. Surely a more financially stable position would aid her in getting the boy back. Then his question had been answered.

“Even if the social services people insist on keeping us apart, someday he’ll come looking for me and I want to be here,” she’d said. Her jaw had hardened even more, and he’d had the feeling she was holding back a flood of tears. “I know he’ll come.”

The conviction in her voice had apparently convinced her grandmother that she could not be dissuaded, because there had been no further discussion of her selling the farm.

His mind returned to the present as the sound of a door being quietly opened caught his attention. It was followed by softly padded footfalls coming his way. They paused outside his door, then turned toward the stairs and grew faint as they descended to the first floor.

Each night he’d been here, his hostess had followed this same routine. In about half an hour or so, she’d return to her room and settle in for the night. The first couple of nights he’d been too tired to really think about her actions. Only the many years when his life had depended on him always being aware of his surroundings so that, even when asleep, he would wake instantly to any sounds of movement had caused him to wake enough to realize she’d risen. But he’d sensed no danger and, assuming she was a worrier and merely double-checking to make certain all the doors were locked, he’d gone back to sleep.

Last night, however, when they’d come upstairs, he’d made a point of mentioning that they were securely locked in. Still, about half an hour after they’d retired, she’d gotten up and gone downstairs. That was when he’d asked himself why she stopped by his door and listened for a moment as if to reassure herself that he was asleep. If she was merely checking the locks, what difference would it make if he was awake or asleep?

All day that question had bothered him. He’d told himself that what she did on her nightly rounds didn’t matter. But in spite of the distance she was obviously determined to keep between them, he found himself more and more intrigued by Roxy Dugan. He wanted to know more about her. Curiosity could be a dangerous thing where this woman was concerned, he’d warned himself. Her attachment to the boy Jamie continued to make a strong impression on him. He could begin to feel a commitment he didn’t want to feel. He was a loner and he planned to stay that way. But he hadn’t heeded his warning, and tonight he would have his answer to what she was up to.

Slipping out of bed, he made his way quietly downstairs. There was light coming from the small room that had been Maude’s private parlor. Remaining in the shadows, he looked inside. The light was being provided by a small lamp on a round table in a corner of the room. Roxy was seated at the table shuffling a deck of oversize cards. As she laid them out and began to turn them over, surprise registered on Eric’s face.

“I would never have pictured you as the fortune-teller type,” he said, emerging from his hiding place.

Roxy’s gaze jerked to him. His skin had taken on a healthy glow and the T-shirt showed off the strength building in his arms and shoulders. Embers long dead within her began to glow with life. Allowing herself to feel any attraction to him was only going to lead to pain, she warned herself curtly. Aloud she said frostily, “I thought you were asleep.”

“I got thirsty,” he lied, not wanting her to guess he’d been spying on her. At the moment she looked a great deal like a Gypsy, he thought, continuing into the room. Her face was cast in shadows, causing her brown eyes to appear nearly ebony. Her long tresses fell freely down around her shoulders and onto her back in a carefree, feminine array and, with a bit of imagination, her loose-fitting cotton robe could pass for a fortune-teller’s gown. The effect was very appealing.

“The kitchen is down the hall to your left,” she said, fighting a bout of embarrassment. She preferred to keep this part of her life very private. Most people, she knew, thought Tarot-card reading was a foolish superstition.

Eric ignored the dismissal in her voice, his attention caught by the artistry of the cards. “Those look as if they were hand drawn.”

“They were,” she admitted stiffly. “My greatgrandmother made them for me.”

Eric grinned. “So she was the Gypsy.”

“She was a hardworking farmer’s wife,” Roxy corrected curtly. Again dismissal entered her voice. “I thought you said you were thirsty.”

Again Eric ignored her unspoken demand that he go away. This was a side of his hostess he’d never expected, and his curiosity was whetted. Not wanting to offend her further, he hid his skepticism behind a mask of interest. “Are you any good at doing readings?”

Roxy expected to see cynical amusement in his eyes. It wasn’t there. Still, she wasn’t ready to believe he had any real respect for the reading of the cards. She judged his nature to be too conservative for that. Guessing that he was merely being polite, she said, “I don’t do readings for other people. They expect the cards to tell them too much.”

Eric was intrigued. She honestly believed in the cards. “But you read them for yourself. What do they tell you?”

“They warn me if my path is following a dangerous course and they give me signposts that will guide me in the right direction.”

Eric’s gaze had locked onto one of the turned-up cards. “What does that one represent?”

She considered lying, but instinct warned her against it. She was certain he would know. “You.”

The realization of why he was there hit him full force. “You allowed me to stay because it was in the cards that I should?”

She frowned at the array on the table. “Somehow you’re to be involved in my getting Jamie back.”

Eric’s skepticism grew stronger. Clearly she was using the cards as a way of keeping her hopes up. “And which card represents him?”

“This one.” Roxy tenderly touched a card to her right. Fear rippled through her. “Lately the cards warn of a stronger sadness and danger surrounding him. I have to get him back soon.”

“You were going to turn another card over,” Eric said, recalling how she’d quickly dropped the last card back on its face when he’d made his presence known.

“It was one of no consequence.”

Before she could stop him, he flipped the card over. The image was that of an unclothed man and woman. Beneath was written The Lovers. “Us?” he asked, finding himself wondering what her lips would taste like.

“The cards merely suggest routes we can take. They don’t determine our destinies,” she said in clipped tones, and began to gather the deck together.

The ice in her voice told him that she fully intended to ignore the implications of the last card. For a moment he experienced a rush of disappointment. In the next instant he was mocking himself. He didn’t need any complications in his life at the moment and Roxy Dugan would definitely be a complication.

“Good night,” Roxy said firmly as she rose and reached for the switch on the lamp.

This time he did take his cue, reminding himself to head into the kitchen for the drink of water he’d claimed he wanted. As he filled the glass then took a drink, he marveled at the many-faceted Ms. Dugan.

He was aware that some very powerful people believed in the various arts of prophecy but he’d thought she had a more practical nature. A suspicion he didn’t like began to nag at him.

Lying in her bed, Roxy couldn’t get Eric’s image out of her mind. With it came the memory of The Lovers card. “Thoughts like that are only going to lead to disappointment and embarrassment,” she grumbled at herself. She’d thought she’d accepted the fact that she would have to live out the rest of her life without male companionship. Apparently her mind had, but her body hadn’t. “Well, get used to it,” she growled, looking down at herself. “Nobody wants something as mangled and useless as you.”

Her jaw forming a hard line, she ordered herself to sleep.

The next morning Eric was sitting at the kitchen table drinking his second cup of coffee when Roxy entered. He’d woken early and already eaten. As she began to scramble her eggs, he studied her. Dressed in slacks and a plain white blouse with her hair pulled back and tightly braided, she moved with rigid efficiency. There was no evidence in her appearance or her manner reminiscent of the Gypsy-like creature he’d glimpsed last night. A part of him was disappointed.

Abruptly she turned to him. “I wish you’d quit staring at me. Just because I read Tarot cards doesn’t mean I’m a kook.” She grimaced self-consciously. “Eccentric maybe, but not daft or crazy.”

“To be honest, I’m not certain what you are,” he said bluntly. “We’ve barely spoken since my first day here.”

“I’ll admit, I’m a private person.” The way he continued to study her as if she had an eye in the middle of her forehead caused a rush of fear. What if he decided to leave? The cards seemed insistent that his presence was necessary for her to get Jamie back. “I’ve had a few hard knocks in my life. They’ve made me very cautious about people.”

“I don’t like being used.” Eric stated openly the suspicion that had been nagging at him ever since last night. “If you’ve involved me in some plan or scheme, you’d better tell me about it now.”

She met his gaze levelly. “There is no scheme or plan. I don’t even know why your presence here should matter. In fact, it’s started causing gossip.”

Eric raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“I’ve told everyone that you’re merely helping me repair the house, but I’ve noticed a few skewed glances,” she elaborated. “The truth is, I’ve considered asking you to leave. I don’t want my reputation questioned. That could cause trouble. But in the past I’ve ignored the cards and lived to regret it.”

Her frustration obviously was genuine. The depth of her belief in the cards was again also evident. Eric didn’t like encouraging that, but he hated seeing her so upset. “Maybe my helping you get this place in shape is why I’m here. They say timing is everything. It could be that you were running out of time for the repairs.”

Roxy shrugged. “Maybe.” Her chin trembled. “Or maybe I’m looking for things in the cards that aren’t there.”

At least she wasn’t totally impractical where the cards were concerned, he thought with relief. But, although she’d opened the door for him to voice his own skepticism, the anguish in her eyes made him want to comfort her. “I’m not convinced anyone can read the future, but I do believe in instincts,” he said. “With me, it’s a prickling sensation on the back of the neck that warns me when I’m headed for trouble. What do your instincts tell you?”

They tell me that having you here could cause me a great deal of frustration and grief, her inner voice responded, admitting that in spite of the harsh talk she’d had with herself the night before, she continued to be attracted to him. A part of her wanted desperately to believe that she’d misread the cards and it was safe to send him on his way. But she knew that part was allowing itself to be guided by fear. After a moment’s hesitation, she said aloud, “They tell me to believe in the cards.”

He wasn’t certain he’d done her a favor by reestablishing her belief in the Tarot, but the relief he saw in her eyes brought pleasure and he smiled crookedly. “Then that’s what I’d suggest you do,” he heard himself saying.

His smile was infectious and she started to smile back. Careful, her inner voice warned. He’s getting very close to breaking down the wall of protection you’ve built. Her jaw tensed, stopping the smile, and she turned back to the stove.

Eric frowned at her back. He could almost see the icy barrier she was determined to keep between them, and he experienced a rush of frustration. You don’t really want to get involved with a woman who lets a deck of cards guide her life, do you? he chided himself. The frustration lessened and he rose. “I’ve got a lot of work to do,” he said, carrying his cup to the sink and rinsing it out. “Have a good day,” he added, and left.

Alone in the kitchen, Roxy looked down at her overly cooked eggs. “How do nuns do it?” she muttered. Maybe she’d stop in at the video store and get a tape on yoga or meditation or maybe one of each. “Or I could just picture the expression of horror on his face that will appear if he ever sees me disrobed.” This thought brought a cold chill and her barrier once again grew strong.

A few minutes later Eric watched from the ladder as Roxy drove away. He didn’t understand why the urge to help her was actually growing stronger. She wouldn’t even allow him to be a friend. He concluded that Maude and the boy Jamie were behind his increasing desire to help. The boy’s story reminded him of his own youth. As for Maude, she’d liked Roxy enough to leave her this place. That meant Maude would have wanted him to help, and he owed Maude.

Returning his attention to the window frame he was caulking, he considered the Tarot cards. Although he was skeptical about them, he couldn’t make himself entirely discount the fact that some people had a sixth sense. The cards could simply be Roxy’s way of communicating with her inner voice.

As he’d told her, with him it was a prickling on the back of his neck. A couple of times the effect had been so intense he’d known that when he turned around he’d be facing the criminal he was after. Sometimes it had taken a while to collect the evidence before he could arrest the man or woman, but at least he’d known who to keep an eye on and who never to turn his back on again.

He grimaced self-mockingly. The problem was knowing how to interpret that prickling. He’d felt it when he’d dated Susan Irving, but he’d believed it was because he thought she wanted a commitment.

“And it could be that Roxy’s instincts aren’t working properly this time and she’s interpreting the cards incorrectly,” he muttered under his breath. Besides, he admitted, as open-minded as he tried to be, he still couldn’t make himself believe that a deck of cards could tell anyone anything. It was too much like looking into a crystal ball or using some other conjurer’s trick.

And maybe he was trying to help the wrong person. He’d always been a sucker for a maiden in distress, but just maybe the attachment between Roxy and the boy was more one-sided than she’d led him to believe and Jamie might be happier without her. Maude had a soft heart and preferred to see the good in everyone. She could have overlooked or missed the faults that had caused the social services people to take Jamie away from Roxy. On the other hand, it had been Eric’s experience that the social services people sometimes made mistakes.

And consulting his instincts didn’t help. Roxy Dugan caused a confusing mix.

“I’ll just bide my time for a few more days and see what develops,” he decided.