Читать книгу A Husband Worth Waiting For - Grace Green - Страница 9

WHERE on earth was Jedidiah Morgan?

Sarah shivered in the bone-chilling rain as she banged the wolf-head door knocker for the umpteenth time. She’d come all this way to throw herself on the man’s mercy—he just had to be at home!

“Mom—” Emma’s voice was plaintive “—I’m hungry.”

Sarah glanced wearily at the six-year-old sagging against her on the lamp-lit stoop. Rain streamed down Emma’s yellow slicker; ran down her wistful, upturned face.

“Honey, I’m sure your uncle will have a big fridge packed with food, if this fine house is anything to go by.” She’d carried three-year-old Jamie from the car and now, as her left shoulder cramped, she shifted his weight.

Stirring, he murmured, “Mommie, I wanna go bed.”

Sarah cuddled him closer. “Soon, sweetie. Soon.”

She wanted to go to bed, too. She’d driven over three hundred miles since leaving Quesnel and for the last seventy the foul weather had reduced visibility to almost nil. The drive up Whispering Mountain to Morgan’s Hope had been a nightmare; the stress of it had left her totally drained.

She squeezed back a welling of tears. What a mess she’d made of things. And what a fool she’d been to make this trip, using up precious dollars for gas on what was turning out to be nothing more than a wild-goose chase.

Turning, she looked despairingly into the pitch-black night.

The storm wasn’t letting up—if anything, it was becoming even more savage. She flinched as lightning flashed across the sky. For a fleeting moment, the zigzagging strobe lit up the wide graveled sweep, her rusted blue Cutlass, the surrounding forest of evergreens—

“Mom!” Emma’s eager voice reached her over the rising gale. “The door’s not locked!”

Sarah swiveled around.

Emma had opened the door a crack.

“Honey!” Sarah shot an arm out to stop her. “Don’t—”

Too late. Emma had swung the door inward and had already moved forward into the shadowy entranceway.

Sarah hesitated. Then with a grimace, she stepped nervously after her daughter, jumping as a draft caught the door and slammed it shut behind them.

In the glow through the fanlight from the lamp outside, she saw a switch on the wall. Heart thudding, she flicked it on.

Emma was already walking ahead into a large foyer decorated with sleek, pale oak furniture and graced by an elegant curving staircase. Rain dripped from her daughter’s slicker, leaving a trail of dime-size stains on the taupe Berber carpet.

“Wait!” Sarah called softly.

“Let’s find the kitchen, Mom.”

Sarah glanced at Jamie and saw he’d fallen asleep. She bit her lip undecidedly. She knew she ought to go over to the staircase and shout, ‘Helloooo?’ But if she did, she’d waken Jamie. Besides, it was obvious nobody was at home; she’d hammered the door loudly enough to waken the dead.

And the house had that unmistakably ‘empty’ feel to it.

Emma sat down and tugged off her pink rubber boots. Scrambling to her feet, she tossed her wet slicker on top of the boots and padded determinedly along a corridor to the left that led to the back of the house.

Sarah expelled a wry sigh. From the moment Emma Jane Morgan had drawn her first breath, she’d gone doggedly after what she wanted and tonight was apparently to be no exception!

Following in her wake, Sarah flicked on another light, revealing an open doorway at the far end of the corridor.

“It’s down here, Mom!” Entering the room, Emma rose on her tiptoes and had just hit the light switch when her mother caught up with her.

If Sarah hadn’t been so tired, she knew she’d have drooled over this kitchen. It could have been lifted straight off the glossy cover of Fabulous Homes.

Black. White. And chrome. Everything sparkling, spotless and dazzling. From the white-tiled floor, to the granite countertops, to the state-of-the-art appliances.

The recessed dining area was furnished with black leather–cushioned banquettes and a granite-topped table, while sleek white miniblinds on windows and patio door closed out all sight of the storm raging outside.

The shiny black fridge was zero clearance.

And Emma had already opened the door.

The child’s gaze widened as she stared inside. “Mom!” Her voice cracked. “You were right. It’s loaded!”

Sarah unwrapped Jamie from his slicker and settled him on one of the banquettes before moving to join Emma.

The fridge was, indeed, ‘loaded.’

Sarah’s stomach felt hollow with hunger and the knowledge that Emma’s probably felt the same squashed her qualms as she rummaged among cheeses and packaged meats, cartons of milk and bottles of orange juice.

She found a bowl of homemade soup, rich with carrots and tomatoes and rice. In a chrome bread bin, she found a whole-wheat loaf.

Minutes later, she and Emma were seated at the table, the homey smell of toast and savory soup filling the kitchen as they tucked in voraciously.

“What time is it, Mom?” Emma talked in a whisper to avoid waking Jamie.

“Almost midnight!”

“Holy moly!” Gray eyes round as saucers, Emma asked, “Have I ever been up this late before?”

“Not that I recall.” Sarah’s gaze flitted to a calendar on the wall just above Emma’s head. It was bare of notations except for one on the last square of the month, where someone had hand-printed: MINERVA LEAVING.

“Mom, what are we going to do after we’ve eaten?”

Sarah directed her attention back to Emma. “We’ll find a room with a sofa—armchairs—somewhere we can sleep.”

“Can’t we sleep in a bed?”

“No. Your uncle might not like that. But I’ll go upstairs and look for some blankets so we can be cozy.”

“How come Daddy never brought us here?”

“I don’t know, honey.” Which was, and was not, the truth. She knew that Chance had kept away from Morgan’s Hope because he and his brother were estranged, but she had no idea what had caused the estrangement because Chance had always refused to discuss it.

“Where is our uncle?” Emma tugged free a strand of rain-damp hair that was stuck to her cheek.

“He can’t be far away.” The front door had, after all, been unlocked. Although that could have been an oversight. The man could be in Timbuktu! But no, if he’d gone on a trip, he’d have gotten rid of the perishables in his fridge.

Emma licked the last drops of soup from her spoon. “Maybe he went for a walk.”

“I shouldn’t think so. Not in this storm.”

But if he hadn’t gone for a walk, reflected Sarah—and it would be crazy to think he had!—then where in the world was Jedidiah Morgan?

Jedidiah Morgan swept his palm smoothly across the woman’s alabaster-white shoulders. Running a caressing fingertip over her collarbone, he let it linger in the valley between her breasts. And then, eyes narrowed, he scrutinized the breasts themselves. Tilting his head, he examined the voluptuous curves before moving his gaze to the peaks.

An ironic smile played around his mouth as he flicked an erect nipple with his thumb pad.

“Perfect,” he said.

And finished. At last.

He stretched, yawned, and squinted at his watch.

Midnight.

He’d lost all sense of time. It was always the same when his work was going well.

“Hey, Max.” He whistled to the black Lab snoozing on the mat by the woodstove. “Time to go.”

The dog lifted his head, fixed his golden-brown eyes on his master. Then he stretched, yawned and pushed himself up. Black tail wagging, he trotted to the studio door.

Jed could hear the rain drumming on the roof as it had been doing all day. Shrugging on his anorak, he scooped up his heavy-duty flashlight from the bench.

When he stepped outside, needles of rain spiked his face. Ducking his head, he made for the path through the forest. Max snuffled away into the bushes. He’d catch up soon enough, Jed reflected as he played the beam of the flashlight ahead to light his way over the muddy path. And sure enough, by the time he got to the house a few minutes later, Max was panting impatiently on the front stoop.

“Right, boy.” Jed opened the door. “Snack and then bed.” He flicked on the foyer light…and froze as a couple of things hit him like a punch on the jaw.

First…the sight of dark, wet tracks on his carpet.

Second…the smell of toast from his kitchen.

Max growled.

“Quiet!” Jed snapped his fingers. “Sit!”

The dog sat.

With soundless steps, Jedidiah headed along the shadowy corridor to the kitchen. Ahead, the kitchen door was ajar; the room in darkness.

He halted just outside the doorway and listened. He heard nothing but the faint hum of the fridge. The room had that ‘empty’ feel to it.

Nerves jumping nevertheless, he snapped on the light.

Everything looked as it had when he’d left.

He opened the fridge door. And was about to close it when he noticed that yesterday’s leftover soup was gone.

Frowning, he opened the dishwasher.

The soup bowl was in the lower rack. Along with two soup plates and two side plates. Two spoons and a knife were slotted in the cutlery rack.

Adrenaline rushed through his veins. Someone had been here. Had eaten in his kitchen—

From the foyer came the sound of Max growling. A low, menacing sound, deep in the animal’s throat, a growl that stirred the hair at Jed’s nape.

He headed back along the corridor, keeping close to the wall.

Max was in his line of sight.

The intruder was not.

The Lab’s hackles were up, and he was staring at somebody Jed couldn’t see. Max’s fangs gleamed white as he pulled his mouth back in a hostile snarl.

Warily, Jed edged forward, inch by inch, till he could peek around the corner—

The intruder was a woman. And one he had never seen before.

His astonished gaze flicked over her. Young and attractive, the stranger had a petite figure swamped in an oversize white shirt that billowed out over a pair of jeans. Her hair was honey-blond and long. Her face was heart-shaped and white. Her eyes were dark-lashed and gray.

And those dark-lashed gray eyes were fixed, with a wide look of terror, on Max.

Max was glaring, equally intensely, at her.

She took a cautious half step forward. Max growled.

She swiftly stepped back. Max barked.

She looked as if she was about to start crying.

Jed muttered, “Damn!” and walked into the foyer.

When she saw him, she almost jumped out of her skin. Good grief, he thought, she’s a bag of nerves. But what the hell was she doing in his house?

“Max, shut up!” He signaled and the dog slunk over. “Kitchen!”

The Lab departed. With obvious reluctance.

Jed turned again to the stranger and felt a jolt of alarm when he saw that her face had gone from deathly white to a sickly green. She was staring at him as if he were a specter. For the first time he noticed the purple shadows smudging the skin under her eyes—eyes that had taken on the glazed expression of somebody in deep shock.

Was she going to pass out? He poised to move and catch her if it became necessary.

She pressed the fingertips of her left hand to her throat. He saw she was wearing a plain gold band on her ring finger.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice came out in a raw whisper. “It’s just that…I thought for a moment…”

He glowered at her. “Thought what?”

“I thought—” she cleared her throat of its huskiness “—I thought…for a second…that you were…Chance.”

Chance? Now Jed was the one who was shocked. Shocked and utterly confused. What did this woman want? And why was she standing, in his house, talking about the one person in the world he hated with an obsession that bordered on insanity?

“Who the hell are you?” He clenched his hands into fists…and saw her flinch.

Drawing in a sharp breath, she stared at him. “I’m Sarah.” Her voice held a tremor. “Sarah Morgan.”

“Morgan?”

“Your…sister-in-law.”

“Sister-in-law?” He was beginning to sound like an imbecilic parrot.

“Yes.” Her voice had steadied somewhat. “I’m Chance’s wife—” she grimaced “—Chance’s widow, I mean. I find it difficult to get used to saying that, after—”

“Chance is dead?”

“He died, in a car accident, seven months ago.”

Sarah had never seen anyone lose color so quickly.

But even as she felt a surge of compassion for him, she struggled to regain her own equilibrium after the shock she had just received. It had never occurred to her that Chance and his brother would be so alike.

The hair was the same: coal-black, rich. The features were the same: lean, rugged. The eyes: green, deep set. The nose: ridged. The figure: tall, rangy…

The only difference she could see was one of attitude. Whereas Chance had had the con man’s built-in charm, his older brother had a dark, brooding aura reminiscent of a character in some Gothic novel.

“You just turn up here, out of the blue, to tell me my brother’s dead?” His tone was harsh with animosity. “Okay, you’ve told me.” His black eyebrows beetled down over his hostile eyes. “So now you can go.”

Good grief, the man was a Heathcliff clone! Sarah speared him with an incredulous glare. “You’d put us out in this storm?”

His lips thinned. “Ah, yes. Us. Two plates, two spoons. So…who did Goldilocks bring with her? A lover perhaps?”

Sarah’s mouth fell open. She’d just told this man her husband was dead and he was accusing her of—oh, unbelievable! Her outrage almost choked her.

“Not a lover?” He raised the dark eyebrows cynically. “Then just…a friend?”

“No.” She sent him a look as hostile as any of his own. “I have my children with me. Emma and Jamie. They’re sleeping, at the moment, in your sitting room.”

He looked at her for a long, stark moment, and then he laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “So you’ve brought children with you. Chance’s children, I presume?”

“Of course!” Anger sent blood racing to her cheeks. “Of course they’re Chance’s children!”

“Then you have even more nerve than I’d imagined, Mrs. Sarah Morgan.’ His face had become completely devoid of emotion. “Now if you’ll tell me what you’ve really come for, we can get it over with and you can be on your way.”

Her expression must have told its own story.

His smile was grim. “How did I know? Well, if you’d just wanted to tell me my brother was dead, a phone call—even a letter—would have done the trick. So, Mrs. Morgan, what is it that you want from me?”

She hated him. Didn’t even know him but hated him already. “I need money,” she said in a frigid tone. “When your brother died, I discovered he’d left a mountain of unpaid bills. I can’t afford to pay them, and—”

“How cleverly put,” he jeered. “‘My brother.’ Let me put that another way for you. Shall we call him…your husband?”

Hateful, despicable…malicious. “All right,” she retorted. “My husband. But he was your brother.”

“So,” he said. “How much?”

It was a huge amount. She tried not to stumble over it.

He shrugged. “Fine. When you get where you’re going, send me the request in writing, and I’ll courier you a certified cheque.”

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “I appreciate—”

“If that’s it—” his tone was brusque “—I’d like you to get in your car—I assume you came by car?”

“Yes, but—”

“I’d like you to take your children, and get in your car, and get off the mountain right now.”

Sarah tried not to wither under his glittering green gaze. “The children are exhausted. Could we possibly stay here, just for tonight?”

“And have me risk being stuck with you if the track gets washed out before morning? No way!”

“Please?” She hated begging, but hated even more the prospect of waking Emma and Jamie and then trying to maneuver the Cutlass downhill in the stormy dark. And where to go from there? She suppressed a shudder. “I promise,” she said, “I’ll be out of here first thing in the morning.”

His lips compressed so tightly they almost disappeared.

“All right,” he snapped. “You can use the sitting room and the main floor powder room, just for tonight. But in the morning, you’re history. Understood?”

“Heard and understood.” She almost added a sarcastic ‘sir,’ but thought better of it. He was, after all, doing her a favor. So she just said, “Thank you. And thank you for agreeing to pay Chance’s debts—I’ll pay you back no matter how long it takes….”

But he’d already taken off, heading for the kitchen. His steps were purposeful. The steps of a man who knew where he was going and would let no one stand in his way.

Sarah slumped, feeling as if she’d been put through a wringer. But she’d achieved one goal—though it wasn’t the main one that had drawn her here, the one that was far more important than borrowing money to pay off Chance’s debts.

He’d never know her real reason for seeking him out. He’d never know how she’d hoped and prayed that Jedidiah Morgan would turn out to be a kindly man. A man who’d give his brother’s family a warm welcome and let her stay at his home, with her children, till such time as she could once more cope with the difficult time that lay ahead.

What a fool she’d been. ‘Kindly’ was the very last word anyone would use to describe Jedidiah Morgan. The man was heartless. And whatever the cause of the estrangement between him and his brother, it was obvious the bitterness of it still remained, even now that Chance was gone.

Jed stared out into the dark, his hands braced against the side frames of his bedroom window.

Chance was dead.

It was the last thing he’d expected to hear.

Six years now since Jeralyn’s death. Six years since his younger brother had fled and disappeared without a trace. Six years during which time he’d let his hatred of Chance build and build and build till now it almost consumed him.

His lips twisted in a bitter smile. So…Chance had never changed. Even in death, he left trouble in his wake. “A mountain of unpaid bills,” she’d called it. Well, to Sarah Morgan it might seem like a mountain; to him it was peanuts. And he was glad to pay the bill. Anything to get rid of that woman and her family, get them off the mountain.

All he wanted, in this life, was to be left alone.