Читать книгу Private Lives - Gwynne Forster, Gwynne Forster - Страница 9

Brock tested the locks. Satisfied that to enter the house, an intruder either had to use a key or take the door off its hinges, he headed out to the seven-foot-high fence that protected the back deck. If Allison Sawyer was living in a state of denial, he definitely was not. It took him only a couple of minutes to loop the chain through the welded-wire fence and hook it with a heavy-duty padlock. He brushed something from his shorts and went back into the house without knocking.

Allison looked up at him. “Mind if I clean my hands somewhere?” he asked, barely able to control his urge to laugh. “Oh, yeah, and if we’re going to have a picnic, please fix a couple of extra hot dogs. I’m starving,” he said over his shoulder, aware that he’d unsettled her.

“Thanks for replacing the locks and fixing that fence,” she said, when he came out of the bathroom. “I feel a lot safer.”

“My pleasure. If I were you, I wouldn’t leave food scraps in that trash can back there. It’s a good idea to put it on the road around nine in the morning. The garbage collector passes here at ten. You’ll attract fewer wild animals, although that’s hardly avoidable in the cold months.”

“How long have you been coming up here?” she asked Brock.

“This will be my sixth summer, but it’s the first time I planned to spend the winter here as well.”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why?”

Brock explained that he was trying to finish a book, but didn’t tell Allison what it was about.

“If you need peace and quiet while you write, this is definitely the place for it,” she said.

He hated small talk and he could see that she was comfortable with it. “Want me to help you prepare the food? I’m handy in the kitchen.”

“It’s about ready. I suspect you’re handy with a lot of things,” she said and winced, apparently realizing the embarrassing double entendre.

He rewarded her with a grin and a wicked wink. “Like I said. I’m real handy around the house.” He would stop meddling with her if she’d come down off her high horse, but he had a feeling she didn’t plan to do that, so he said, “Are you going to make me call you Mrs. Sawyer forever? I’d be a lot more comfortable eating your hot dogs if you’d call me Brock.” He looked around. “Where’s Dudley?”

“Out back on the deck with Jack. I’d better check. I don’t want Dudley near that fire.”

“If he went too close to it, Jack would bark. My dog knows the danger of fire.” And he could feel a different kind of fire circling around them, hemming them behind an emotional barrier from which they might never escape.

“Are you married?” he blurted out, even though he knew it wasn’t the time for that question.

“Not any longer.” She looked up at him, open and vulnerable. “Are you?”

“I’ve never been married.”

“But you must be—”

He interrupted her. “I’m thirty-four, and we’d better get to that picnic before things change here.”

“Yeah.” She handed him a plastic tablecloth and napkins. “There’s a table on the deck,” she said, and headed for the kitchen. At least she hadn’t denied the heat between them.

As he set the table, he marveled at Dudley’s affection for Jack and the gentleness with which the dog played with the child. “Don’t ever get rough with him, Dudley. Treat him the way you want him to treat you.”

“Oh, I won’t hurt him, Mr. Lightner. He’s my friend.”

Allison put strips of carrots, sliced tomatoes, warm hot dog rolls, potato salad and sliced hard-boiled eggs on the table, and removed the hot dogs and toasted marshmallows from the grill and put them on the table. She looked at him. “I don’t have any beer. Would you like some white wine?”

“Thanks, but I don’t drink anything alcoholic midday. Lemonade or something like that will do the trick.” He didn’t say that he rarely drank anything, other than wine at dinner; for the time being, she’d learned enough about him. She brought iced tea for them and ginger ale for Dudley.

“What can I give Jack?” Dudley asked them.

He didn’t allow anyone to feed his dog, because he didn’t want Jack to obey anyone but him. “He’s not hungry. I fed him a short while before we left home.” He beckoned to Jack. “Sit here.” Jack settled on the floor beside Brock and closed his eyes.

“We have raspberries for dessert,” she said and served them with a dollop of whipped cream. “I bought them yesterday morning, so they’re still fresh.”

As he ate the berries, he looked at her, hoping for a hint as to the direction she wanted their relationship to take, but she looked everywhere except at him. He wished she wouldn’t be so nervous, that she’d feel comfortable with him. He figured that because she’d been married, at least long enough to produce a child, she should know how to hold her own with a man. He’d get to the bottom of that, but he sensed that she was not a worldly woman and he’d better tread with care. He took his plate to the kitchen, rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher. As he turned to leave the kitchen, he saw that Dudley had followed him.

“Can I clean my plate, too, Mr. Lightner?”

“Absolutely. Little boys should do everything they can to help their mother, and that includes obeying her.”

“Yes, sir.” He stood on tiptoe to rinse the plate and then put it in the dishwasher. “Will you come to see us again, Mr. Lightner?”

“If it pleases your mother, I will.” At that moment, he saw from his peripheral vision that she stood just behind him and made a snap decision to go home. He didn’t crowd women, especially if they weren’t on equal footing with him. He was in her house and he wanted her to know that he knew he didn’t belong there.

“Thanks for your hospitality, Allison. If you need me for anything at all, you have my cell-phone number.” To Dudley, he said, “Be a good boy and obey your mother. Don’t go out of this house unless she’s with you. Got that?”

“Yes, sir. I got that.” The boy hugged Jack and then looked up at him. He hunkered in front of the child and put his arms around him. “Thanks for inviting me to your picnic. I enjoyed it. Bye for now.” He stood, looked down at Allison, winked at her and left.

Brock left Allison in a dilemma. If he’d moved to Indian Lake at the behest of her ex-husband, would he make it impossible for him to get into her house without her permission, and would he have to remain in that tiny hamlet for eight or ten months in order to accomplish his mission? It didn’t seem likely, but she had learned that Lawrence Sawyer would go to great lengths to get what he wanted. Brock Lightner had a worldly, almost jaded, demeanor that fascinated and excited her. Young, strong, muscular and sensitive, too. What was it like to have that kind of man make love to you?

She’d married a man twenty-two years her senior. In her youthful innocence, their long and romantic walks in Washington, D.C’s Rock Creek Park had seemed idyllic. And his delight in reading to her beside her parents’ fireplace on cold evenings had seemed to her like domestic bliss. It had not occurred to her that his willingness to postpone sexual intimacy until after their marriage wasn’t necessarily a good thing; her married girlfriends didn’t discuss their sexual experiences with her. But once married, she learned that Lawrence considered sex his right no matter how she felt about it, and that in their bed, he took selfishness to the extreme. She bought some books on the subject and confirmed her belief that she wasn’t getting her due. He didn’t want children, and after she had Dudley, he showed no interest in her, other than to parade her at his social and business affairs. He had no patience with their son, and when Dudley should have been reprimanded or corrected, Lawrence abused him with physical punishment. Although she had long since stopped loving Lawrence and realized after little more than a year that their marriage could not last, it was for his treatment of Dudley that she divorced him.

“Mommie, can Mr. Lightner come to see us again?” Dudley asked her, interrupting her reverie of the past. “I like Mr. Lightner.”

“We’ll see,” she said. “Right now, I want you to take a nap. After you wake up, you must read for an hour and then we’ll go to the post office.”

“All right, Mommie. Can you get me a book about dogs and puppies?”

She told him she would and watched in awe as he pulled off his shoes and clothes and started to his room. “Can I have a kiss?” she asked him. He turned back, kissed her quickly and said, “I have to hurry and finish my nap, so I can read.”

Was this her Dudley? Normally, he had a fit when she told him to take a nap. “Is Providence playing a joke on me?” she asked aloud. “Brock told him to obey me and look at him.” She threw up her hands and went back to her computer. Revising that book had become a chore, one that she wanted to finish as quickly as possible. The telephone rang. She saw her editor’s phone number on the caller ID screen and lifted the receiver.

“Hi, Layla.”

“Hi. You’re not going to like what I have to say, but it will make your book a top seller.”

Allison blew out a long breath and pounded her right fist on her desk. “What is it?”

“Best Bet Publishers just released a dessert cookbook almost identical to yours. We won’t be able to sell yours unless you include pictures of the finished products.”

“What? You’re suggesting that I make all the desserts again just to photograph them? I’m not even using the same oven and that means—”

“I know. I know. And it isn’t in the contract, but if you want the book to sell, this is what you have to do. Go along with us on this and we’ll advertise it and support it to the hilt.”

What choice did she have? “All right, but you’ll have to push back the publication date.”

“We’ll give you three more months.”

She hung up and would have screamed in frustration if screaming would have helped. She put the manuscript aside. Who was going to eat the desserts she had to make? Previously she sent them to the church for their Sunday morning coffee hour, but she hadn’t been to church in Indian Lake. She made a list of her immediate needs and when Dudley awoke, she told him that their afternoon plans had changed and took him to the supermarket.

“This is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon,” the deep masculine voice said. She turned around knowing she’d see Brock. “Say, why so glum?” he asked before she could greet him.

“That’s not the half of it. You’re a writer. How’d you like being asked to redo your book before your editor even saw it?”

“Don’t you have a contract?” She told him about her editor’s request and her reasoning. “I can see her point, but that’s rough.”

“I don’t have a photographer, my oven’s just so-so and who’s going to eat all the desserts I make?”

“I can get you a first-class photographer and I sure can eat whatever you cook that’s got chocolate in it.”

“I can, too, Mr. Lightner,” Dudley said and went to stand beside Brock, who smiled at the boy and patted his shoulder. “I don’t think Mommie is happy, but I love chocolate.”

She tried to keep her eyes away from his long, muscular legs. Her eyes disobeyed her and roamed up his body until her gaze settled on his face.

His knowing expression did not match his words. “Why don’t you make this easy on yourself and get a decent stove.”

“Where? The general store carries two woodstoves. I need a gas stove.”

“Why don’t I take my SUV and drive us down to Lake George. You’ll definitely find one there.” She asked him how far it was and when he questioned her, he realized that she hadn’t left Indian Lake since she arrived there in late April. When she hesitated to accept his suggestion, he said, “All right, you go without me, but how are you going to bring the stove back in that Audi of yours?”

If she let him drive her and Dudley to a big town where she didn’t know her way around and could easily become confused, how much of a risk would she be taking? At her hesitation, his shrug said she could do as she pleased. Sorry for what may have appeared to him as her discourtesy, she put a hand on his bare arm and jerked it back when she felt the electricity emanating from their contact. He grabbed her hand.

“You and I had better get used to this,” he said. She looked beyond him to a safe object.

“Let’s go get in the SUV. I can sit in the back with Jack,” Dudley said.

Brock gazed steadily at her until his expression changed from accusing to awareness and bored into her like a hot dart. Without thinking, her right hand rubbed her breast and he took a step closer to her. She realized what she did and, embarrassed, she swung around, putting her back to him. For the first time, then, she felt his hands on her, strong and possessive, kneading her shoulders.

“Brock. Please!”

He released her at once. “I’m not sorry, Allison. I had to touch you. Shall we go to Lake George or not?”

“All right,” she said, hating to give in but wanting to accept his offer. “I’ll leave the Audi at my place.”

Later, as he strapped Dudley in the backseat, Jack jumped into the front passenger seat. “Look here, buddy,” Brock said to the dog, “You can’t deprive a guy of an opportunity to sit with the object of his affection.”

“I’ll be comfortable back here with Dudley,” Allison said.

“At least you acknowledge one fact,” he said, grinning at her. “Move over, Jack.” He motioned for the dog to move and he did.

“Come on and get in,” he said to Allison, holding the front passenger door open. “No way are you sitting back there behind me.”

During the one-hour trip to the city of Lake George, he noticed that she didn’t object to the occasional pressure of his leg against hers—he didn’t do it intentionally—but seemed comfortable with him. So he was taken aback when she asked him, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

If he had been a man to show his hand at every opportunity for one-upmanship, he wouldn’t have been so successful as a private detective, so he opted not to give her a straight answer. “Dudley couldn’t possibly love chocolate as much as I do and he can’t eat as much of it either.”

“Well, you’re certainly going to have to eat a lot of it. Half the recipes in my book use chocolate.” She didn’t pursue the question and he’d known she wouldn’t.

He let a grin float over his face. “How good a cook are you? My dad and my brother are certified chocaholics, so not to worry.”

“How big is your brother, Mr. Lightner? Can he come to play with me?”

As he’d thought, the boy was lonely. “I’m sorry, Dudley, but my brother is older than I am.”

“What does he do? Is he also a writer?” she asked.

“No. Jason’s a lawyer and a good one. Here we are,” he said as he passed the Lake George sign. “If you don’t find a stove here, we can drive up to Rutland tomorrow morning. It’s a bigger town.”

“Don’t spend so much of your time helping me out when you should be working,” she said with a note of concern in her voice.

He was still driving when she made the statement, so he had to settle for a reassuring glance at her. “Every minute I spend in your company is time well spent.” When he reached the shopping mall, she still hadn’t responded to his efforts to draw her out. He parked and turned to her. “I do not play games with women, children or animals, Allison. Life’s too short for that kind of nonsense.”

She looked him in the eye and said, “I’m glad to know it. It’s comforting to know that you’re a man of your word.”

“I see you know how to play hardball. Good. It’s my style as well.”

“All right, Brock. Let’s stop it before it gets out of hand.”

He wished she hadn’t backed down, but perhaps she was right. If they continued, they would definitely get into a fight, and even though he wanted to get a rise out of her, he didn’t want to annoy her.

“Sorry. I’ll take my cue from you.” He’d put his hand on the door, but now he withdrew it, turned and looked at her. “I mean that in every way. Stay there.” He got out, walked around to the passenger door and opened it. Jack looked at him for instruction and he let him out. “Sit, Jack.” He reached across Allison, unbuckled her seat belt—surprising her when he did it—and held out his hand to her. His jaw almost dropped when she took his hand without a word and got out of the car.

“Which store do you recommend?”

He told her, opened the back door, lifted Dudley from his car seat and walked along with her, holding Dudley’s hand and Jack’s leash.

“We’ll sit out here while you shop.”

“I…uh…I’d hoped you would go in with me.”

He was waiting to be asked. “Wait here.” He tied Jack to a canine hitching post, told the dog to sit and went back to Allison.

“I hope somebody at the general store will be able to hook up this stove,” she said as they headed back to Indian Lake. “If I touch it, I’ll probably blow up the house.”

He took that as a cue that she didn’t want to ask him to do it and he decided not to offer. He was getting fed up with their cat-and-mouse foolishness. But he wished she’d lighten up and accept that he would gladly do whatever he could to make her life easier.

He saw a fast-food restaurant off the highway and drove into its parking lot. “Will a scoop of ice cream ruin Dudley’s dinner?”

“Probably, but he seldom gets out…Why not? He’ll love it.”

He put the car in Park and turned toward the backseat. “Say, buddy, I’ll buy you some ice cream, but you have to promise your mother that you’ll eat all of your dinner.”

Dudley clapped his hands with glee. “I will, won’t I, Mommie? I’ll eat everything.”

“If your mother tells me that you broke your promise, I’ll be very disappointed in you.”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” Dudley said. “I’ll eat all of my dinner. Can I have chocolate?”

“You may, indeed.” He tried to imagine the expression on Allison’s face as she gazed at him. If he were egotistical, he’d swear that she admired him. He shook it off. “You want to stretch your legs?” They got out of the car and Dudley surprised him when he grabbed his hand and said, “Can you go with me to the bathroom before we get the ice cream?”

He glanced at Allison, realized that Dudley’s request had surprised her as well, and said, “Sure,” as casually as he could. The boy had already become attached to him, which could become difficult the longer he was around Dudley.

As they walked away from the car, he said to the child, “I’m glad to go with you, but why didn’t you ask your mother?”

“’Cause she has to take me to the ladies’ room and I don’t like going there. I want to go to the men’s room.”

“You’ll soon be old enough to go to the men’s room by yourself.” What else could he say? He remembered how much he’d hated it when his mother took him to the ladies’ room. They found Allison leaning against a bubble gum machine in the front of the restaurant.

“It’s different, Mommie,” Dudley said as they approached her. “You oughta go see it.”

“He wants chocolate ice cream,” Brock said, changing the subject to one certain to engage the child’s attention.

Allison wasn’t talkative by any means, but as they ate their ice cream, he noted her unusually quiet manner. Distant. He’d almost call it standoffish. “What’s the matter, Allison? I’m not trying to undermine your authority or to make a place in his life. But I love children, and when they turn to me, I’m not ever going to push them aside.”

“I don’t think that. It’s…This is moving so fast, as if it’s going to have a life of its own and as if I have no control over it. I had a life that I didn’t control, and I don’t want that again.”

He could see that something ate at her constantly and if she said otherwise, he wouldn’t believe her. He’d thought that she could be hiding out in Indian Lake. What other reason would she have for secreting herself and her son away from civilization?

“I don’t want to control you or anyone else, Allison. I assume you’re familiar with the words no, don’t, stop and leave. You can use any of those words with me and I’ll understand.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. You can control a person in many ways, including by being nice, all the while using subtle means to keep that person in line. Some people are skilled at it.” She stopped eating and leaned back in the chair. “Did you see Alfred Hitchcock’s Gaslight?”

He nodded. “I saw it. Did you experience something similar?”

“Not similar, but just as vicious.”

“Mr. Lightner, shouldn’t we go check on Jack? Suppose somebody steals him?” the worried little boy said.

“I pity the person who’s stupid enough to try that. Jack can definitely hold his own. All the same, we’d better go.” He reached over and stroked the back of Allison’s hand. “I’d like you and me to have an understanding. As far as I’m concerned, a casual friendship between us is unlikely. Are you ready to go?”

She nodded. “I hope someone at the store can install my stove this evening. Otherwise, what will Dudley and I eat?”

“Use the one you have tonight, and tomorrow we’ll get a guy who installs appliances. I’ll get a dolly from the hardware store and put the stove in the corner of your kitchen.”

Later that evening Brock defrosted a Swanson TV dinner for his supper. Alone, he thought about Allison’s reluctance to accept his friendship, even when he offered help that she sorely needed. It wasn’t as if she had the option of calling a handyman. There was no one for maybe miles around who could help her if the man in the hardware store didn’t come to work. He’d install the stove, but only if she asked him.

Early the next morning, the birds chirped and a soft cool breeze energized him. He sat on his back deck with Jack at his feet thinking of Dudley and of how easily he developed affection for the child. He didn’t need further proof that he would enjoy fatherhood. The raspberry bushes rustled in the breeze and he remembered a white wicker basket that he’d put in his pantry the previous summer. He went inside and got it. He was looking at what seemed like a bushel of raspberries and because Allison liked raspberries, he figured he’d pick some for her that were really fresh. In less than half an hour, he had filled the basket with large, plump, sweet berries. After forcing himself to wait until ten o’clock, he put the leash on Jack and patted the dog’s rump. “Come on, boy.”

A seemingly harassed and frazzled Allison answered his knock at the door. When she saw him, she put her finger to her lips for quiet.

“Hi,” she said. “Dudley’s in his room doing his math assignment and if he hears your voice, that will be the end of it. Come on in.”

“You didn’t call someone to install your stove,” he said, sensing the reason for her frustration. She shook her head. He handed her the basket piled high with raspberries. Her eyes sparkled.

“I picked these for you a few minutes ago and my fingers are all scratched up. Don’t I deserve a kiss?” She clutched the basket as if it held diamonds. He took it from her and put it on the table beside them.

“Look at my fingers,” he said, pretending to beg for sympathy. “Don’t I deserve a kiss?”

A smile crawled over her face. “You do, but I think it’s best that you and I avoid playful kissing.”

He sobered at once. “Let me tell you, Allison, when I kiss you, there will be nothing playful about it.” A gasp escaped her lips as she sucked in her breath. “That’s right, and it’s what I want to do to you right here and right now.”

She stared at him and moved her lips, but not a word escaped her mouth. “Come here to me, Allison.”

Her trembling lips parted. “Brock. Brock, I…”

Her arms seemed to rise of their own volition as he stood gazing down at her with desire ablaze in his eyes. She couldn’t stand it. She needed him and had from the first time she saw him.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he said, the soft words barely audible.

Her only thought was that he was tantalizing, all man, and she wanted him. Somehow, he had her in his arms, his fingers pressed into her flesh, and he continued to stare down at her. Why didn’t he do something?

“Open your mouth and let me in,” he said and plunged his tongue into her eager lips. She felt his hand at the back of her head as he possessed her and then his other hand fastened her hips to his aroused body. Heat spiraled through her. Tremors shook her and he tightened his grip on her buttocks. She wanted…She needed…Moans spilled from her throat as he let the wall take his weight and gripped her to him, possessing her as if he owned her, and in that minute she knew he did. Her hips moved against his, seeking, practically begging for friction, for anything that would soothe the burning inside her. He didn’t spare her when she pulled his tongue deeper into her mouth, but let his hand stroke her left breast until, besotted and weakened by desire, she slumped against him.

He looked at her for a long minute, kissed her forehead and her eyelids and said, “Don’t be upset, Allison. Some people live a lifetime without experiencing what just happened between you and me.”

“I know.”

He gazed steadily at her, almost as if he tried to read her thoughts. “If you need me for anything, even if you only want to say hello, you have my cell number. Be seeing you.” He patted Jack, picked up the dog’s leash and headed toward the road.

Allison watched him go, all the while wishing she had the courage to tell him to stay there with her. She carried the basket of fresh raspberries to the kitchen, placed them on the table and sat down. She had to get a hold on herself; falling for Brock Lightner could be dangerous. Who was he? He had the manners of a gentleman, the charm of a rascal and the bearing of a stud. And she had a feeling that when he wanted to, he could be honey sweet. He was trouble, all right.

In the darkest days of her marriage, she had fantasized about having a man like Brock in her life. But as she mulled over the past few days, she admitted that her daydreams fell far short of Brock the man. She’d never imagined what she had felt while he had her in his arms. Now that she had tasted him, felt his masculine strength and experienced his heat, she knew he’d give her what she had wanted and longed for all these years. But if she opened herself to him, would she risk her life and that of her child?

Her sister, Ellen, said that her willpower, for which Allison was famous, was about to be tested. Ellen didn’t know the half of it. When Brock Lightner held her in his arms, she’d had no willpower. She took a shower, not realizing that in doing so, she tried to wash away all that had happened to her that morning.

“He’s still in me,” she said to herself, as she sat down to work. But work held no interest, so she phoned the hardware store hoping to speak to the man who installed stoves.

“He doesn’t work here on a regular basis, miss,” the young male voice said. “He just comes when we tell him there’s an order. Did you call before?” She told him that she had and asked for the repairman’s telephone number. “I don’t have it,” he said. “We don’t have that many calls to install stoves. I’ll put a note on the board telling him to get in touch with you. You ought to hear from him sometime this week.”

She did not want to call Brock and ask him to install her stove. But what choice did she have? She had three months in which to test two hundred recipes, and every minute that passed was a loss of precious time. She remembered Brock’s offer to find a photographer for her, and used that as an excuse and called him.

“Lightner.”

“Brock, this is Allison.”

“Hi.”

He said nothing and the silence made her more annoyed. He could at least make it easy for her. “You said you knew a good photographer. Would you please give me his name and phone number?”

He immediately gave it to her. She realized that he’d memorized the number and reasoned that the man was probably a friend. The thought comforted her. She jotted down the number and weighed the idea of asking him to install the stove.

“Did you get someone to install your stove?”

“Not yet. They don’t know when he’ll be in town and no one knows his telephone number. It seems that installing a stove is a rarity here.”

“I don’t see the point in contacting the photographer until you know when you’ll have something for him to photograph. I was going to suggest that he come twice a week and shoot what you’ve prepared between visits. That would be cheaper than having him fly up here every time you bake a cake.”

“Are you trying to push my buttons?” she hissed.

“No. But I see I did just that. If you weren’t so damned stubborn, your stove would already be installed.”

“If I were near you, I’d poke you,” she said and kicked the garbage can.

“I imagine you would. Any kind of contact would be better than none. Right?”

“Listen, you! Oh, all right. Would you mind installing my gas stove? And you’d better live up to your promises, too.” She didn’t know why she was so angry, but she was, and he’d done nothing to cause it.

“I’ll be up there around four o’clock. I have to finish this chapter. And don’t worry, I’m not in the habit of letting people down, and I certainly have never disappointed a woman. Bye.”

“What did you say?”

He’d hung up.