Читать книгу Midnight Sun - Kat Martin - Страница 11

Gold! We leapt from our benches.

Gold! We sprang from our stools.

Gold! We wheeled in the furrow,

fired with the faith of fools.

Fearless, unfound, unfitted,

far from the night and the cold,

heard we the clarion summons,

followed the master-lure—Gold!

—Robert W. Service

Call laughed so hard his eyes began to tear. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed this way—certainly not in the past four years. Nothing he could imagine was as funny as Charity Sinclair in ugly rubber waders being washed like a rag mop down the creek. If he hadn’t realized she was about to get into a deep, rocky section where she could actually get hurt, he might be laughing still.

Instead, he sloshed into the stream just as she splashed by him, grabbed hold of the neck of her soggy sweatshirt, and hauled her out of the water. The sweatshirt molded to her breasts, which were even nicer than he had thought. There was a funny little panda on the front whose ears seemed to sag as she staggered to her feet, spitting and flinging water.

He couldn’t help it. He started laughing again. “Nice work, hotshot.”

She tried to stand up but the waders were so full of water, she floundered and toppled back into the creek. Call grabbed her again, hauled her up, and jerked down the suspenders, freeing her from the heavy, water-filled rubber pants. She shoved them down her legs and stepped out of the cumbersome gear, and he tossed them up on the bank.

Dripping water and shivering with cold, she climbed out of the stream, wet clothes plastered to her body, which was, he saw, very nicely curved. Her hair was a soggy blond mess, her teeth were chattering, and as she sloshed by him, he couldn’t help feeling a little bit sorry for her.

“You all right?” he asked.

She swayed a little, steadied herself with a hand against his chest, then drew away, her expression a study in misery. “More or less.”

He saw Maude Foote scurrying toward them, her wrinkled face lined with worry.

“Get a blanket, Maude,” he said. “She’s more cold than anything.”

Her legs were wobbly. He considered picking her up and carrying her up to the cabin, but figured she probably wouldn’t like it if he did. Instead, he slid an arm around her waist and she leaned into him, letting him guide her up the hill. He noticed she didn’t protest. Maude met them halfway and draped an old olive-drab army blanket around Charity’s trembling shoulders.

“You’re not hurt, are ya?” Maude asked.

She managed to muster a smile. “Just my pride.”

“It’ll be easier once the weather warms up. Most folks don’t start dredgin’ quite this soon.”

“I’ll get the hang of it,” Charity told her. By then they had reached the porch. Buck Johnson was already there and Call didn’t miss the smug expression on his face. Buck didn’t much like women, except, as he’d once put it, on their backs with their legs apart. Call had a sudden suspicion that Buck had somehow engineered the scene at the creek and was amazed to feel a shot of anger.

“You must be freezing,” he said to Charity as her slender body trembled against him. “You’d better go in and get out of those wet clothes.”

She nodded, looking utterly bedraggled. “Thanks for helping me down there.”

“No problem.”

“I guess I did look pretty funny.”

His mouth edged up as he remembered the incident again. “Yeah, you did.” She gave him a watery smile. Her lips were pink and plump—so soft-looking, he thought, and his body began to stir.

“If you hadn’t helped me get out, I probably would have floated all the way to Dawson City.”

“Maybe not quite that far.”

She started up the steps to the porch, sloshing water with every step.

“Charity?” She turned to look at him, surprised at his use of her first name. “What is it? Why the hell are you up here?”

Something shifted in her features. He caught a flash of uncertainty and something else he couldn’t name.

“I don’t know. I just had to come. There didn’t seem to be any other choice.”

It was an odd answer, one she seemed as puzzled by as he was. He watched her climb the stairs, noticed the way the wet jeans molded to her legs and bottom, and felt a jolt of lust he hadn’t felt in years.

She’s trouble, he thought again. And after what he’d been through the last four years, trouble was the last thing he wanted.

“I thought I was going to drown—in three feet of water.” Wrapped in her soft yellow bathrobe, Charity stood in front of the fireplace in the living room, rubbing her hair with a towel. “And he had to be there. God, it was so humiliating.”

She was finally warm again, having just stepped out of a nice hot shower. Unfortunately, the plumbers had been less successful with the toilet. It still didn’t work, but they were scheduled to bring out a new one on Monday.

Assuming, of course, the sun didn’t shine and they decided to go fishing instead.

Maude chuckled. “Call ain’t really a bad sort. He’s got his own set of problems, just like you got yours.”

“Actually, he was fairly decent today.” She tossed aside the towel, picked up the brush she had set on the arm of the sofa, and began to pull it through her hair. “I’d probably still be in the water if he hadn’t pulled me out when he did.”

She could still remember the way he’d sloshed into the icy stream, as if he were immune to the freezing temperature or the creek was actually warm. He was amazingly strong and his chest was as hard as granite. She still remembered the tingle of awareness she had felt when he slid his arm around her waist.

“At least I know what I did wrong. I should have gripped the pipe farther back, put more length in the water instead of bending over so far.”

Maude frowned. “Buck should have told you that.”

The brush stilled in her hand. “You don’t think he—”

“No, not on purpose. Not that he wasn’t happy to see ya fail. Tomorrow you’ll do it right, show him just because you’re a woman don’t mean you can’t hold your own.”

Charity turned. “That’s what you’d do, isn’t it, Maude?”

She laughed. “Honey, that’s what I been doin’ all my life.”

It was late in the afternoon two days later that Charity saw Call again. From the start of this endeavor, her plan had been to take Saturdays and Sundays off. She had come to see this rugged country and as excited as she was with the prospect of actually finding gold, she also wanted to enjoy herself.

Friday had been a good day. As she and Maude had planned, she had pulled on her ugly waders and gone back into the stream, and this time her turn with the suction pipe had gone off without a hitch. Buck had glared at her, but eventually he would get used to the idea that they would be working on this project together.

By the end of the day she was tired but satisfied with her progress and really looking forward to having Saturday and Sunday off.

When morning finally arrived, she slept in late, then built herself a fire and sat down in front of it to read one of the new adventure novels she had received as a member of the Glenbrook Action Readers’ Club. She had already made the address change to her post office box in town for the four action series books a month she got through her subscription.

The day was overcast and rainy, usual weather for this time of year, but not so cold she couldn’t sit for a while out on the porch. Call’s big husky-wolf, Smoke, surprised her with a visit and she fed him some ham bone scraps from the beans and biscuits Maude had cooked for supper the night before. Afterward, she climbed a little way up the hill to get the best reception possible on her cell phone.

She called her dad, as she did once a week, and told him she was well and getting settled in. She asked about Patience and her dad said she was dating a lawyer, but he didn’t think it was all that serious. The conversation ended a little while later. Long distance calls were expensive up here and her dad had remarried several years ago and had a busy life of his own.

She phoned her apartment to speak to her sister, but Hope wasn’t in. She called her best friend, Deirdre Steinberg, an editor at Simon and Schuster, and they talked about happenings in New York.

“Jeremy’s been calling,” Dee said. “He seems lost without you. I didn’t tell him you had a cell phone, but maybe I should. He’s desperate to talk to you. I could give him the number and—”

“Please, Dee—I don’t want to talk to Jeremy, and besides, the reception out here is really bad. The phone doesn’t work unless you’re outside the house, so he probably couldn’t reach me even if you gave him the number.”

“I take it that means you’re planning to stay.”

“I’m staying, Dee. For the full six months, at any rate.”

Something beeped on the other end of the phone. “Darn it, my other line is ringing,” Dee said. “I’ll pacify Jeremy for as long as I can, but call me again—soon. I worry about you, you know.”

“I know, and thanks, Dee. The only thing I really miss up here is my family and friends.” Charity rang off and walked back to the house, feeling a little bit lonely. It wasn’t unexpected. She was miles from home and living on her own, but it was exciting, too.

In the afternoon, the rain stopped and the sun came out. Since the toilet still wasn’t working, she walked out to the little wooden shed she was growing to hate more every day. She was finished and heading back to the cabin, dodging the mud puddles that lined the path, when she heard a rustle in the bushes behind her.

Charity stopped and turned, searching the thick green forest on the hill. “Smoke? Smoke, is that you, boy?” God, she hoped it was. But Smoke didn’t appear and the rustling grew louder. When she spotted a patch of long brown fur moving among the branches of a tree, Charity screamed and started running.

Unfortunately, she forgot about the protruding branch of a shrub she had stepped over on her way to the latrine. Her pant leg caught. She tripped and went sprawling—right into a puddle of mud. Charity jerked her head around, too frightened to care about the murky stuff sticking to her clothes, certain that a bear was about to charge out of the woods any minute and chew her into little pieces.

Instead, a cute little furry brown creature the size of a cat jumped down from a rock and raced away, its long, fluffy tail dragging behind its small body.

Charity groaned in frustration and slammed her fist into the mud, sending up a stream of brackish water.

She was muttering, silently cursing as she dragged herself to her feet. Her clean, white turtleneck was covered with mud and so were the jeans she had dried overnight in front of the pellet stove. Mud clung to her boots and oozed between her fingers.

“I don’t believe this,” she grumbled, slinging mud from her arms and knocking it off her pant legs.

“Somehow I don’t have the least problem believing it.” The sound of Call Hawkins’s voice jerked her gaze toward the trees.

He crossed his arms over that granite-hard chest. “I swear, sweet pea, if you’re that afraid of a cute little weasel, what’s going to happen when you run across a bear?”

A growl of frustration rose from her throat. “What are you doing here? And by the way, you’re trespassing. Do you realize that?”

“I was looking for Smoke. He used to hang around when Mose lived in the cabin. I thought I might find him over here.” He eyed her muddy clothes and she heard him chuckle, sending her temper up a notch.

Charity stomped toward him, slinging mud with every step. She didn’t stop till she was inches away and staring into his face. “So you think this is funny?”

He reached out and wiped a splatter of mud off her cheek. “Yeah, I do.”

“It could have been a bear instead of a weasel. I only saw the fur.”

“It could have been a squirrel, too. And technically it wasn’t a weasel, it was a marten.”

Charity ignored the unwanted information. “What is it with you? Why do you always appear at exactly the wrong moment? You’re like … like some kind of evil genie or something.”

He laughed and she wanted to hit him. “Evil genie. I’ve been called a lot of things, but never anything close to an evil genie. I think I kind of like it.”

She poked a finger into the middle of his chest, which was as hard as she remembered. “I know I’m new out here, but I’m not stupid. In time, I’ll figure things out.”

His smile slid away. The bluest eyes she’d ever seen were staring at her mouth. “I’m sure you will,” he said a little gruffly.

“If you were any kind of neighbor, you’d try to help me instead of causing me trouble.”

“Listen, doll face, if anyone’s trouble around here, it’s you.”

She swallowed. His gaze moved slowly down her body and fixed on her breasts, and her nipples peaked as if they could feel it. He was breathing a little faster than he was before and suddenly so was she. She could feel the heat emanating from his big, hard body, smell his scent. It wrapped around her like smoke from a fire, heating her up from the inside out. His mouth was so close she could measure the fullness of his bottom lip. If he bent his head he could kiss her.

Something shifted in the air between them. It felt thicker, heavier. He was so tall and male, so damned handsome. Desire coiled through her limbs, tugged low in her belly. His eyes locked with hers, as blue as the tip of a flame. For several long seconds, neither of them moved.

Then Call stepped away. “You’re right,” he said roughly. “This isn’t easy country and as you say, we’re neighbors. If there’s something you need, let me know.”

“Wh-what?”

“I said, if—”

“I heard what you said.” She eyed him with no little uncertainty. “You mean it?”

He sighed, raked a hand through his thick, dark brown hair, dislodging several shiny strands. They curled as they fell across his forehead. “I suppose so.”

“Why?”

“Because at the rate you’re going, you’ll wind up getting hurt and I’d hate to see that happen.”

“I’m tougher than you think.”

His mouth curved and her stomach floated up beneath her ribs. “I’m beginning to believe that. I saw you working the dredge yesterday.”

She couldn’t help a smile. “I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“Keep your eye on Buck.”

She didn’t have to ask what he meant. “I will.” Charity didn’t say more and neither did he. She watched him walk away, thought how sexy he looked in a pair of jeans, and felt a renewed shot of lust. Her heart was thumping and her palms felt damp. It was ridiculous. The man was arrogant and pushy, cranky, and most of the time, downright unfriendly.

She couldn’t remember ever feeling such an unwanted attraction to a man.

Sally Beecham slid into the leather seat of Call’s black Jeep. The vehicle wasn’t flashy, but it was obvious he had spared no expense when he bought it. Equipped with a powerful, thick-cabled winch on the front, super-wide, ten-ply tires, a roll bar, and a black vinyl top, there wasn’t a four-wheel drive in Dawson that could compare. Her teenage son, Jimmy, and all his high-school friends were hoping she and Call would get together just so Jimmy could try it out, see what it could do.

Sally was hoping she and Call would get together, too, because she was crazy about him. Besides, everybody knew he was rich.

“You ready?” Call asked. She’d had to trade shifts with Betty Tisdale to get Saturday night off, and work a late shift for Betty next week, but if things turned out the way she planned, it would be worth it.

“Just let me get my coat.” Sally went into the bedroom of her small, wood-frame house on Queen Street and grabbed her coat out of the closet, stopped in front of the mirror long enough to fluff out her curly black hair and make sure she didn’t have lipstick on her teeth, then headed back down the hall.

Call was looking good tonight, freshly shaved, his dark brown hair still damp from the shower. God, he was handsome, and those eyes … One look and she practically came. In the summer once, she had seen him with his shirt off. He had a beautiful body, suntanned and lean, his chest wide and muscular, his back hard and sculpted. He had big hands and she knew what that meant.

Maybe tonight she’d find out if it was true.

Sally smiled as he led her out to the Jeep, and Call smiled back, but he seemed a little distracted.

He was that way all evening, she discovered, first through dinner in the Bonanza Room at the Eldorado Hotel, then on the drive back to her house. She wished she could scoot over next to him, but the seat belt wouldn’t stretch that far and she didn’t think he’d like it if she took it off, considering a car crash had killed his wife and kid.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” she finally asked. “You been kinda quiet all evening.”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“What about?”

He flicked her a glance from behind the wheel. “Taking you to bed.”

Her breath snagged and her body began to heat up. Little twinges started throbbing between her legs. She reached across and rested her hand on his thigh, gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ve been thinking about it, too, Call.”

He turned the corner, pulled the Jeep up in front of her house, and turned off the ignition. He caught her hand and eased it off his leg as he turned toward her on the seat.

“I’ve been thinking … as much as I’d like to sleep with you … I don’t … I’m afraid I’m just not ready.”

The heat she’d been feeling deflated like a punctured hot air balloon. “We could go nice and slow. Take it real easy. You know what they say—it’s just like riding a bicycle. Once you learn, you never forget.”

He looked at her with those piercing blue eyes, leaned across the seat, and very lightly kissed her. She loved the way his lips felt, sort of hard-soft, the bottom one full and sexy. She kissed him back and thought for sure he’d weaken.

Instead, he pulled away.

“I’ll give you a call in a couple of days.”

“Sure.” She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “No problem.” She popped open the door and started to get out, but Call was there before her feet touched the ground.

“I’m sorry, Sally, I really am.”

“Don’t be.” Pride straightened her shoulders. “You’re not the only man in Dawson, Call, you know what I mean?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

She said good night to him at the door and slipped back into the house. It was quiet inside, the rooms still smelling of the cabbage she’d cooked for supper. Jimmy was out with his friends and wouldn’t be home till late.

It was early yet. It pissed her off that Call had turned her on, then left without doing anything about it. She glanced at the phone on the wall next to the stove in the kitchen.

Maybe Farley was home. He wasn’t much to look at, not like Call, but he was always up for a good time. She thought of his eagerness in bed and grinned at the pun. Maybe she’d give him a jingle.

Sally reached for the phone.

As the Jeep rolled through the darkness, Call slammed his hand down on the wheel. Sonofabitch! What the hell was the matter with him? He had promised himself tonight he would satisfy the sexual desire that had finally begun to stir to life inside him again. Instead, he had apologized to Sally and headed back home.

He could tell himself it was Susan, that he felt like he was being unfaithful, even after all these years, but it wouldn’t be the truth. Sex had never been that important in their marriage. At least not to Susan. Call had always had a high sex drive, but Susan had never placed much value on intimacy, aside from having kids. They’d had other things in common, other dreams and goals that had drawn them together. Since he was the kind of guy who didn’t believe in cheating on his wife, he had sublimated part of his drive with work.

Not that that was any excuse for the sixteen-hour days he had put in.

Since the accident, depression and guilt had kept him celibate, but in the past few months he had finally begun to overcome those feelings and start moving ahead with his life.

The truth was, his wife was gone and he was a single man again. He was ready for some hot, uninvolved sex—he just didn’t want it with Sally Beecham. He wanted it with Charity Sinclair and that posed a definite problem.

Call raked a hand through his hair. Charity wasn’t a bar-maid who had offered him a no-strings relationship. She wasn’t some divorcee who hopped from man to man, looking for a good time. If there was ever a poster girl for the all-American, clean-cut girl-next-door, Charity Sinclair was it.

Of course, he could be wrong.

The thought started his blood pumping. He hadn’t felt a single moment of lust for Sally, but he was hard just thinking maybe Charity might be up for a little casual sex. Even the low-cut blouse Sally had been wearing, showing off a set of plump, milk-white breasts, hadn’t done it for him.

Not like this morning when he’d stared at Charity’s luscious mouth, measured the tantalizing breasts beneath her mud-spattered shirt, and wanted to drag her down on the ground. He’d wanted to rip off her clothes, wanted to bury himself inside her.

“Jesus.” Call turned off Hunker Road and started the slow, bumpy drive up Dead Horse Creek. Coming back to the real world was proving more of a problem than he’d imagined. After four years of going without, he figured just about any warm, willing woman would do. Maybe he was worried that after all this time he wouldn’t be any good, but he didn’t think so. Like Sally said, having sex wasn’t something a man forgot how to do.

Hell, if Sally wasn’t the one, there were other women in Dawson. What about the little redhead waiting tables at Klondike Kate’s? Toby had offered to introduce him, said she was a real party girl and she wanted to meet him, that she would be moving away in July and just wanted to have a little fun in the meantime.

Whatever he did, the last thing he wanted was any sort of emotional entanglement—with the redhead or anyone else. Making love to a woman who lived in the house right next to his was asking for serious trouble.

Trouble. It was Charity Sinclair’s middle name.