Читать книгу Wanting Something More - Kathy Love - Страница 9

Sheer relief washed over Marty as she finally slid her key into the door and stepped into the old house. Tentatively she reached for the light switch, silently praying that the storm hadn’t knocked out the electricity. This place was notorious for losing its power. Again, relief flooded her as the ceiling light in the center of the large kitchen snapped to life.

She stepped farther into the room, looking around. Despite the house’s uninhabited state, it still felt the same. Homey. Comforting. Safe. If not a little chilly.

Marty let out a long, grateful breath, then headed into the front hallway to the thermostat. She turned the dial to seventy-four. Then, as if her grandmother were right there, admonishing her for wasting energy, she turned it back to seventy-two. That would be warm enough.

And she’d be even warmer once she got her wet shoes off. The deep snow in the driveway had worked up her pant legs and had encrusted and frozen her cuffs and socks. Her ankles and calves burned from the cold.

She sat down in one of the kitchen’s worn ladder-back chairs and tugged off the snow-caked sneakers and icy socks, then rubbed the reddened, painful skin of her feet.

If she was going to stay here any length of time, she’d have to buy some proper winter boots. She glanced over at the two small overnight cases and tote bag, which she’d dropped just inside the doorway. She’d probably have to buy quite a few things. Life in arctic Maine was very different from her life in New York City. And very different was exactly what she wanted.

But right now, she wanted to rest. She grabbed her bags and headed upstairs to her old bedroom. Even her original plan to sit down with a hot cup of tea seemed like too much effort after that harrowing drive. Her car was as ill suited to Maine as her shoes.

She threw her bags onto her bedroom chair with more force than necessary. As childish as it was, she didn’t want to agree with Nathaniel Peck about anything. Even something as silly as the bad handling of her car in the snow.

The only positive thing about seeing that wretched man was that it served to remind her why she was going to avoid men for a good long while. Nathaniel. Rod. They were cut from the same loathsome cloth.

Marty unzipped one of her cases and pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. As she changed into the warmer clothes, she considered both men. Even with her intense dislike of Nathaniel, she had to admit it wasn’t fair to compare him to Rod. What Nathaniel had done to her was the cruel prank of an immature teenager. Rod was an adult, and there were no excuses for the hurtful things he’d done to her.

She shivered. Would this cold ever leave her? It seemed to have collected in her veins. In her bones.

She crossed back to her packs and dug around for a pair of socks. The bedsprings squeaked as she sat on the edge to pull on the thick knee-highs. The snow was still falling hard, and she crossed over to the window to watch it for a moment.

She hadn’t recognized Nathaniel at all. And it hadn’t been just the dark and snow. His hair was longer than she’d ever seen it. He’d always been the type to sport a very short military cut, even in high school. That was how it had been at her sister’s wedding. Of course, she hadn’t recognized him there either. Not until he opened his rude mouth. God, she disliked that man!

She moved from the window to the bed.

Tossing back the quilt made up of different squares of blue, she started to crawl onto the mattress, then paused. Something clanked downstairs.

She remained perfectly still, the covers clutched in her hand, one knee up on the bed.

The sound repeated, this time closer. Maybe in the hallway? It was hard to tell; the sound seemed to echo through the whole house.

Marty held her breath.

A loud clatter rang out directly behind her. She squealed and spun around to stare at the door. Nothing. But she continued to watch the door, waiting for a shadow to move in the hallway. For a figure to appear.

Clank! Marty jumped. Then she laughed, pressing a hand to her chest.

The radiators.

The ancient radiators had always clanged and banged and made all sorts of noises. How could she have forgotten? She’d spent many nights listening to this old house moan and groan and complain.

Shaking her head and letting out another unsteady laugh, she slid into bed. She’d never been a skittish person, and certainly nothing about this house had ever felt eerie to her. But she did feel a little nervous tonight.

It was just the stress of the day, she decided. And running into Nathaniel Peck. He’d make anyone uneasy. But she didn’t ever have to talk to him again. In fact, he was the easiest of her problems to ignore, to forget. Just like he seemed to have forgotten that dance years ago.

She fell back against the pillows and pulled the covers up to her chin. The weight of the quilt felt good as the tension escaped her tired body.

It took her a few moments to get the energy to turn off the light, but after she did, she curled onto her side and watched the snow continue to fall, the flakes reflected against the streetlights. Despite everything, it was so good to be home.

Marty had no idea what woke her. She didn’t even remember falling to sleep. But now she was suddenly awake. And she had a weird feeling. A sensation no more substantial than the creep of static electricity over her skin, but it was there nonetheless.

She started to sit up when she heard it—a creak. Just a faint sound. Far less noticeable than the loud knocks of the radiators.

Marty pushed the covers off herself and cautiously stood up, her stocking feet silent on the worn wood floor. She tiptoed toward the door, then she heard it, a sharp squeak like someone stepping on a mouse’s tail.

Marty might not have remembered the other noises of the house, but she knew this one. Someone was coming up the staircase.

Pausing, she scanned the room, looking for something to use as a weapon. The room was decorated just as it had been when she was in high school, meaning she’d have to beat the intruder to death with either a stuffed animal or a poster of an eighties pop idol.

She shuffled closer to her bureau and saw a box filled with old odds and ends, including a couple of dust-covered records. She sidled closer and grabbed one.

As far as weapons went, it was a bad one, but better than nothing. She crept back to the door, album raised over her head. Through the crack of the door, she saw the light shift. Her heart hammered in her chest. There was someone out there.

She waited a second, trying to stay calm, as the shadow moved past her door and farther down the hall. Then she threw open her door and lunged at the dark figure.

The intruder spun around and disarmed her just as she was about to whack the album against the back of his head.

“Whoa, there,” the tall form said.

Marty didn’t need the prowler to say anything more. She recognized the voice immediately. She’d already cursed having heard it once tonight.

“I can’t believe this,” she muttered, stepping back from him. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”

Nathaniel Peck blinked, then squinted at her makeshift weapon. “Apparently about to get brained with…” He squinted. “A Quiet Riot album?”

Even in the shadowy light, she could see his smile was so winsome that for a moment she forgot that she hated this man. And that he had broken into her house in the wee hours of the morning. But only for a moment.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded again, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“This is my house.”

“Why aren’t you staying with one of your sisters?”

Anger tightened her chest. He was questioning her? This was unbelievable. “Nathaniel, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Nate.”

“Excuse me?”

“I prefer to be called Nate now.”

Marty gritted her teeth. This man was a lunatic. Absolutely nuts. “Okay, Nate, let’s forget why you’re here and move on to when you’re going to leave.”

“I have to be in to work at noon.”

Marty blinked. Was this a dream? A nightmare? It had to be. “No, you are leaving—” She pretended to think it over. “Now.”

Nate crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking her stance almost exactly. “I’d rather not. It’s a little too cold to sleep in my cruiser.”

The man was apparently both crazy and homeless. “Why don’t you just go home?” Marty asked slowly. She was pretty sure he was indeed nutty enough to be Millbrook’s vagrant chief of police, but she thought she’d take a chance and give the suggestion a try.

Nate shook his head. “Can’t get there from here. At least not tonight.”

“So, when you can’t get home,” she knew she sounded like she was talking to a simpleton, which it appeared she was, “you just break into people’s houses?”

“I didn’t break in. I have a key.”

Marty frowned. “What?”

“A key. I have one.”

“Why?”

“To open the door. So I don’t have to break in.”

Absolutely frustrated, she fought the urge to scream.

Nate knew he was being annoyingly obtuse. But he couldn’t resist aggravating her a little. He’d been worried about her, and he didn’t really care for worrying. That was one of the things he wished had stayed the same as before the attack. Being apathetic had been—well, less worrying.

If she had just agreed to let him drive her to one of her sisters’, or here, he’d have been in bed already. Instead, he’d been driving all over Millbrook in a raging snowstorm, looking for her vehicle in a ditch somewhere.

He’d gone to her sisters’ houses first. But when he hadn’t seen her car, he’d gone back to Gory Boar Road to make sure she wasn’t stuck somewhere, and he’d somehow missed her. He should have thought of coming here, but he’d never considered that she’d come here instead of staying with one of her sisters.

He watched Marty. She looked as if she was ready to grab the album from his hand and pummel him to death with it. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. And behind her fierce scowl and tightly crossed arms, he got the feeling she was very tense and very wary.

Nate supposed she should be. He was a virtual stranger standing in her house in the dead of night, uninvited. At least by her.

“Listen, Ellie and Mason gave me a key and told me if I was ever working late and need a place to crash, to stay here,” he explained.

She studied him for a moment, then tightened her arms around herself a bit more.

Nate could tell she didn’t believe him.

“Why would you need a place to stay?” she asked, suspicion clear in her voice. “Does your girlfriend kick you out or something?”

He smiled. Was she fishing around trying to see if he was single? “No. No girlfriend.”

She looked unimpressed and not surprised.

Nope, no fishing there.

“It’s nothing so dramatic,” he said, shifting his weight slightly. She stepped back as if she expected him to pounce. He remained still. “I live on a dirt road, and when the weather’s bad, I sometimes have a problem making it in. Tonight would be impossible.”

She regarded him again, her wide, dark eyes scanning his face. Finally she nodded. “Okay.”

He smiled again, somehow relieved that she believed him. Again, old Nathaniel wouldn’t have cared. Old Nathaniel would already be in bed. With her, if at all possible.

Not that the new Nate wouldn’t like that too. Now, he just had enough sense to know she wasn’t interested. And likely wasn’t going to be anytime soon.

“So you’re okay with me staying?”

Marty shrugged, the gesture as indifferent as he’d once been. “I don’t really have an option, do I? Like you said, it’s too cold to sleep in your car.”

“Oh, if it were only a few degrees warmer, huh?” He offered her another smile and received a cold stare in return.

He lost the grin, then sighed. “Okay, well, I’m sorry I woke you. I had intended to sneak in and sneak back out in the morning without disturbing you.” He paused, waiting for a response.

She continued to watch him with those distrustful eyes.

“I hope you can get back to sleep all right.” He leaned forward to hand back the album, even though he still wasn’t positive she wouldn’t hit him with it.

She hesitated, then reached forward and practically snatched the record out of his hand. She stared at him, the album clutched in both hands. Just when he felt like maybe she expected him to say something more, she nodded slightly. “Good night,” she said woodenly and half walked, half backed into her room.

Nate frowned as he watched her disappear inside, soundly closing the door behind her. He knew she didn’t like him, but he hadn’t expected her to actually seem frightened of him. Especially after he explained why he was there.

After all, chauvinist pig or not—and he liked to think he was not, now—he was still the chief of police. That had to be slightly better than the average intruder.

He turned and limped toward the bedroom at the end of the hall when he heard a scraping sound and the doorknob to Marty’s room rattle.

She was barring her door.

He shook his head. Was she really that afraid of him, or was Marty Stepp nervous around all men? He actually hoped it was just him; he didn’t like to think what would have had to happen to her to make her wary of all men.

He stepped inside the bedroom that he’d always used when he’d stayed here and clicked on the bedside light. The room was cozy, with an antique wrought-iron bed covered with a thick quilt nestled under the eaves. He liked this room.

But even as he stretched out onto the soft mattress and nearly groaned at the weariness in his bones, he knew he wouldn’t sleep. Another side effect from his attack. If he could get a couple of hours a night, he was doing well.

He reached over and turned off the light. The wind had really picked up. The tall oak tree outside the window cast eerie shadows on the walls. The chill and dampness in the air still caused his knee to throb.

It should have felt good to have someone else in the house with him on a night like this. Just to know there was another living soul there. Maybe even help him sleep. But it didn’t feel better. It just made him realize how alone he really was.

Reaching his hand up to his face, he touched his finger to the scar that started at his temple and curved around his eye to his cheekbone. He knew it was still red and puckered, and there were faint lines where the stitches had been. He touched the mark for a moment longer, then folded his hand behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

It was going to be a long night.