Читать книгу Little Girl Lost - Marisa Carroll, Marisa Carroll - Страница 8

“CAITLIN SEEMS TAKEN with your renter,” Peg said, peering out the window above the kitchen sink. Hugh Damon had been staying in the cottage for several days now, over the long Memorial Day weekend, and the third anniversary of Mark’s death.

“She’s taken with anyone who spends time swinging her.” Faith was standing in front of the open refrigerator, enjoying the blast of cool air as much as searching for juice for Caitlin’s afternoon snack. It was 85 degrees, and the still air was heavy with humidity and the threat of approaching storms.

Faith snared the plastic bottle of apple juice from behind the milk where it had been hidden and shut the refrigerator door, coming to stand beside her sister. She had made up her mind to ignore her first disquieting reaction to Hugh Damon, but it didn’t mean she was comfortable talking about him.

Faith watched him push Caitlin in her tire swing, as Addy lolled in the shade beneath the picnic table. The muscles in his back and shoulders moved smoothly beneath the light fabric of his shirt. His thick, dark-gold hair lay heavy and straight against his forehead. He wore no jewelry except a serviceable-looking wristwatch. That was another direction she didn’t want her thoughts to take. He was a good-looking man, who didn’t wear a wedding ring.

“She’s usually a little shy around strangers,” Peg observed, running cold water into a glass she’d taken from the cupboard. Peg had started a wallpapering and painting business when she’d moved to Bartonsville and it was doing well. She was on her way home from a job and was wearing paint-splattered jeans and an old, long-sleeved white shirt of her husband’s. Her hair was tucked up under a ball cap and the smell of solvent and paint scented the air around her.

“She likes him,” Faith admitted. She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand. A storm coming always affected her that way, a tightness in her muscles, pressure behind her eyes.

“She’s female. Even a two-year-old woman can spot a stud like that one.”

Faith laughed. “Hey, you’ve only been married five months. You aren’t supposed to be ogling other men already.”

“I’m married, not blind. Steve’s a dear but not fantasy material. Put a leather kilt on that guy, give him a sword and he’d give Russell Crowe a run for his money any day.”

“Does this mean you’re taking back your warning about renting the cabins to single men?”

Peg drained her glass and shook her head as she set it in the sink. “Nope.” She tilted her head in Hugh’s direction. “Men as good-looking as that one are trouble. I ought to know—I married one the first time around, remember.”

“Men like that one are engineers,” Faith said, putting two Oreos on a paper plate for Caitlin.

“Engineer? I admit that sounds respectable enough.” If Peg had been a grasshopper her antennae would be quivering. “What kind of engineer?”

“The kind who build shopping malls, I guess. He’s working on that fancy new complex they did a feature on in the Cincinnati Enquirer a couple of months ago. You know, the one with all the high-end stores.” He’d told her that much the afternoon he’d inquired about continuing to rent the cottage for the month of June, since his work on the project would last several weeks.

“Has he asked you out yet?”

“No. Of course not.”

Her sister didn’t look convinced but she didn’t say any more. Faith had perfected the talent of sounding very sincere when she lied. And this was just a little white lie, not a universe-size one, like taking another woman’s child to raise as your own. Hugh Damon hadn’t asked her out on a date. Not officially, so her conscience was clear.

But he had offered to take her and Caitlin out to eat. It was while he was helping to rehang the baskets the day after he’d arrived. They had talked as he worked and she tallied the day’s receipts. She was alone in the greenhouse and it would have seemed churlish to refuse his offer of help. Or so she told herself.

He’d been wearing an old University of Texas T-shirt that stretched tight across his chest and shoulders, she remembered, and faded jeans that hugged his long legs. “Where do you find a good meal in Bartonsville?” he had asked. She brought out muffins and bagels, orange and grapefruit juice, and made coffee in the greenhouse every morning for herself and Steve and Peg, or whoever was around. Guests at the cabins were welcome to them, as well. Painted Lady Farm was as close to a bed-and-breakfast as you got in Bartonsville.

She had replied without hesitation. “The Golden Sheaf. It’s run by a family of old order Mennonites who make everything from scratch. The mashed potatoes are my daughter’s favorite. I’m surprised you haven’t found it already. All you have to do is follow your nose down Main Street.”

Caitlin had been sitting at the small table Faith kept for her behind the counter coloring in a SpongeBob SquarePants book. “Eat,” she’d said at the mention of food.

“Maybe the two of you could join me for dinner there this evening?” Hugh had said as he tested the strength of the chain extension before rehanging the planters. The invitation was offhand, but it caught Faith by surprise and she immediately said no. The refusal hung harsh and unfriendly in the air between them and she hurried to soften its uncompromising sound. “I mean, thanks, but I already have dinner started.”

“Some other time then. Do you recommend the meat loaf?”

“It’s the specialty of the house.”

He’d looked pleased. “Homemade meat loaf. Nothing better.”

“Don’t forget to try the pies. The coconut cream is to die for.”

“I’m a banana cream man myself,” he’d answered with a smile.

Faith had managed a smile in return. Her eyes had been drawn to the hard muscles of his thighs as he worked, and suddenly, from out of nowhere, she remembered the feel of legs and bodies tangled together in lovemaking, and she nearly dropped the stack of receipts she held in her hand. The flash of eroticism had come and gone in a heartbeat, but the aftereffect left her shaken. In her vision the arms holding her hadn’t been Mark’s. They’d belonged to this man.

She’d mumbled something about liking banana cream, too, and made some excuse to leave the greenhouse. Her legs were wobbly as she picked Caitlin up to carry her to the house, her breath coming in quick little gasps that couldn’t be blamed on the heat or the slight weight of the child in her arms. It was lust. Something that for three years had been completely absent from her thoughts.

That incident wasn’t the last erotic thought she’d had about Hugh Damon, but it was the last one she had let get the best of her. Perhaps because she also couldn’t quite forget the disquieting certainty that he was here, not just to avoid spending several weeks at an interstate off-ramp motel, but for some secret reason of his own.

A rumble of thunder announced the arrival of the storms that had been predicted all day. Peg angled her head to check the sky visible between the branches of the big maple outside the kitchen window. “Nasty-looking clouds,” she said, forgetting, at least for the moment, her fixation with Hugh Damon. “I have a feeling we’re going to get a real bad storm out of this cold front.”

“I think you’re right,” Faith agreed.

“You’re sure you don’t need me to watch Caitlin Wednesday and Thursday?”

Those were the days Faith was scheduled to work at the hospital. It was going to be her last week of duty until the fall. She would be busy with her own businesses from now on and had taken a leave of absence until September. “No, thanks. Martha’s going to watch her.” Martha Baden was Peg’s mother-in-law.

“Well, then she’ll probably end up at my house part of the day anyway.”

“Probably.” Faith laughed as they headed outside.

“Introduce me to your engineer,” Peg said under her breath as she held the screen door open for Faith.

Faith continued on into the yard, setting the paper plate of cookies and the sippy cup on the picnic table. She introduced her sister to Hugh Damon and then followed her to her truck to say goodbye.

“My Lord, he’s even better looking up close than he was from the kitchen window,” Peg said fanning her cheeks with her fingertips. “If he asks you out while he’s here, you go. You’ve been alone for three years, that’s long enough.”

“I don’t want another man—”

“That’s what I said, too, until I met Steve.” Peg switched on the engine and drove off. She loved having the last word.

Faith walked slowly back to the big maple. Caitlin dragged her little sneakered feet in the wood chips layered under the tire swing to slow its movement. She was wearing a pink top and darker pink shorts. Her fine silvery hair was in pigtails, and she looked like a spun sugar angel to Faith. An angel, but a mischievous one.

“Juice,” she squealed as Hugh stopped the swing so that she could hop out and come dancing across the grass to Faith. “I want juice. I’m hot.”

Faith bent down and gathered her daughter against her heart. “That’s because it’s hot outside and you’ve been swinging and laughing and talking real hard.”

“Hugh’s hot, too.” That went without saying. Faith was glad she had her face buried in Caitlin’s neck. She was having more and more trouble controlling such unsuitable thoughts. “He needs a juicy,” Caitlin declared.

“I’ll settle for a drink of water.” Hugh moved toward the old-fashioned hand pump that stood by the gate. Once there he took the antique ladle off the hook and began working the long handle up and down. The well was as old as the house, but the water was pure and spring fresh. Faith had it channeled into the greenhouse to water the plants and keep the waterfalls topped off.

As soon as a steady stream of water began to rush out of the pump into the shallow stone trough that had once held chicken feed a century before, Caitlin wiggled out of Faith’s arms and darted over to Hugh. “Swim,” she said loudly. “Let’s swim.” She squatted down and started to untie her shoes to wade in the trough.

“No way, Kitty Cat. The water’s too cold and I’m too big for the basin.”

Faith followed Caitlin to the pump. She wondered when Hugh had started using her pet names for Caitlin. The endearment came so naturally to his lips she felt churlish in mentioning anything about it. “No playing in the water now. It’s going to storm and you have to help Mommy bring in the plants and shut up the greenhouse.” Peg had offered to help before she left but Faith knew she was anxious to get home before the rain so had assured her she could manage on her own. Besides, she didn’t want to answer any more questions about Hugh Damon. Since she’d remarried, her sister’s mind was focused entirely too much on sex, especially Faith’s lack of it.

“Would you like a drink of water?” He rinsed and refilled the ladle and held it out to her.

She took it gratefully. It was hot and she was thirsty for something that wasn’t full of sugar or caffeine. Her hand brushed his knuckles and she felt a tremor like a tiny earthquake rattle her bones, just as another long rumble of thunder boomed overhead.

“It’s getting close,” Hugh said, raising his eyes to the sky.

“I have a feeling the cold front is going to get here ahead of the weatherman’s prediction.” She handed the ladle back to him. “Please excuse me, Mr. Damon. I think I’d better batten down the hatches in the greenhouse.”

“I’ll help. And I think we’ve known each other long enough to drop the honorifics. My name’s Hugh.”

“Thank you, Hugh.” She liked the way his name sounded on her tongue. “And please, call me Faith.”

Addy grabbed her much chewed Frisbee in her teeth and trotted along at Hugh’s heels as they walked toward the greenhouse, obviously hoping for a game of catch. So Faith could add her faithful sheltie to the list of females at Painted Lady Farm who had fallen for her guest.

“I can manage,” she started to say, but he was already moving the remaining flats of bedding plants off the old farm wagon she used to display them. It had grown noticeably darker in the ten minutes they’d been standing in the yard. And the clouds were moving fast, roiling like water in a saucepan. The green cast to their undersides was more pronounced than ever, a sure sign of hail.

Faith deposited Caitlin at her table behind the counter and went to help Hugh. They were both soaked by the time all the bedding plants were inside. She struggled to close the wide panels that were usually folded back against the side of the greenhouse. Hugh reached a hand over her shoulder and unhooked the panel, then tugged them into place. He had just closed the final one when the hail came pelting down.

The roof of the greenhouse was made of the same industrial weight plastic as the sides and the hailstones, small ones thankfully, bounced off harmlessly. But the roof of the butterfly habitat was made of glass. It was reinforced and supposedly shatterproof, but so far it hadn’t been put to the test. Faith picked up Caitlin and hurried into the chrysalis room. The sound of hailstones on glass was deafening. She’d reached for the handle of the pressurized door when Hugh spoke from behind her.

“It might be better if we get back to the house in case there’s a tornado.”

“Oh, God, don’t say that.” Ohio wasn’t technically a part of Tornado Alley, but they still had their share of the deadly storms.

“Back in Texas this is the kind of weather that has us heading for the nearest storm cellar. You do have a cellar, don’t you?” His tone was ordinary, for Caitlin’s sake, Faith realized. There was even a tinge of laughter beneath the faint drawl, but his eyes were grim.

“Yes, there’s a cellar. Have you always lived in Texas?” Faith kept her tone as light as his. She was determined not to allow her own fear to be transmitted to Caitlin.

“From time to time,” Hugh said. He turned to go back into the greenhouse. “My dad was in the military. We lived in a lot of places, but Texas was where I went to high school and college. My mom and my half sister stayed on there after I left home. When I got back to the States last time it seemed as good a place as any to hang my hat.”

“Back to the States? You build malls overseas then?”

His laugh was short and held little amusement. “I’ve only been building malls the past couple of years. Before that I worked all over the world. Dams in China, bridges in South America. Never more than a year or two in one place, and most of them were pretty far off the beaten track.”

Faith wanted to ask him more about what sounded like a fascinating life, but a blinding flash of lightning and the earsplitting crack of thunder that accompanied it brought her back to the situation at hand. This was no time for conversation, fascinating or otherwise. She gave one more troubled glance through the chrysalis room window into the habitat. The insects were on their own now. She couldn’t risk injury to Caitlin staying where they were. But how was she going to get her daughter safely back into the house?

The hailstones weren’t that large but they were coming down so thickly she had to shout to be heard. And the wind was picking up, too. There would be blowing leaves and twigs, perhaps even falling tree branches to contend with between here and the house. She didn’t even dare to consider what damage the storm was doing to the crops in the fields. “I can’t take Caitlin out into the storm.” She indicated the sleeveless top and shorts her daughter was wearing. Caitlin had her face buried in Faith’s shoulder. She didn’t like thunder and lightning, but she wasn’t unduly afraid of them. That might change if she had to go out in it unprotected.

“No umbrella or raincoat in the greenhouse?”

“Nothing like that.” The radio on the counter began to vibrate with the sirenlike alert that signaled a weather update. A disembodied voice announced a funnel cloud had been spotted about ten miles west of Bartonsville. It was moving northeast at thirty miles an hour. Everyone in the area was to take immediate cover.

“If it stays on course it will probably miss us but we need to get into the cellar,” Hugh said. She didn’t for a moment question the accuracy of his pronouncement. It had taken Faith weeks to orient herself to the land around Bartonsville after she’d moved to the farm, but it appeared Hugh had had no such difficulty.

She racked her brain for something to use to cover Caitlin. “I suppose we could wrap her up in one of the those nylon garden flags. They’re heavy enough to give her some protection.”

“It’s better than nothing.” Hugh reached out to slide the nearest off its pole, a springlike design of pink and yellow tulips on a green background. Faith’s eyes flicked past the display to the shelf of hummingbird and butterfly statues.

“Wait a minute. I have a better idea.” Faith darted around the counter. She pulled out a roll of packing material. “Bubble wrap! I keep it around to pack the figurines. We can wrap her in it.”

She was rewarded with one of his heart-stopping grins. “Great idea. Here, give her to me.”

Faith didn’t let herself hesitate. She couldn’t hold on to Caitlin and wrap her head and shoulders at the same time. Hugh held out his arms and Caitlin tumbled into his embrace. “Bubbles,” she giggled. “Poke the bubbles.”

“You can poke all the bubbles you want in the house, Kitty Cat,” Faith promised. “Just hold still now like a good girl.” Thirty seconds later Caitlin grinned out at her from a cocoon of packing material.

“Hey, you’re Cocoon Girl now,” Hugh said admiringly.

Faith laughed despite the anxiety that made her hands shake and her throat close. “Not Cocoon Girl. She…she needs to be Chrysalis Girl. We don’t want to take the chance that she’ll hatch into a plain old moth. We want her to be a beautiful butterfly, don’t we, sweetie?” She leaned forward and touched noses with her daughter. The spontaneous movement brought her close enough to feel the heat of Hugh’s body and the evocative smell of his soap and aftershave. She straightened quickly, taking a step back.

Hugh didn’t seem to notice her awkward movement. “Okay, Chrysalis Girl it is. Up, up and away!”

Faith tugged open the main door, the swirling wind working just as hard to keep it closed. Addy started barking, backing away, stiff-legged, as hailstones clattered on the paving stones just inside the door. “C’mon, dog. Move,” Faith ordered, but Addy was too excited and too frightened of the storm to be her usual tractable self. Faith made a dive for the sheltie but Addy bounced out of range. “Addy! Come. Or you’re going to get blown to Oz.” This time Addy obeyed the stern command and Faith lifted the little dog into her arms.

Hugh motioned her through the open door first and then pulled it shut with one hard jerk. The sting of hailstones against her cheek and head made Faith gasp. She took off across the gravel parking lot at a run, the dog squirming and whimpering in her arms. Hugh’s Blazer was parked under the big maple that shaded the back yard. Faith hoped a limb didn’t come down on it. Thank heaven, her own dependable Caravan was parked in the barn.

The ground was an inch deep with marble-sized hailstones. The footing was treacherous, almost as bad as it had been the day Caitlin was born. What a terrifying trip home that had been, the tiny newborn clutched tight to her chest, nothing to protect her from the sleet and wind but the sweatshirt she was wrapped in.

Faith didn’t dare look back to see how her daughter was faring in Hugh’s arms for fear of turning an ankle and ending up on her bottom with an armload of indignant sheltie. She shoved open the wrought-iron gate to the yard and went directly to the house. Inside the kitchen she motioned Hugh to follow her down the steep, narrow cellar steps. The big whitewashed room contained her washer and dryer, the hot water heater and a huge old boiler that she was hoping would provide heat for one more winter before it died. Otherwise, the low-ceilinged, stone-floored room was empty except for some of Caitlin’s toys, an old castoff sofa and a small TV and VCR. She often brought Caitlin down here to run around and let off steam on rainy days. Faith hit the light switch inside the door. Thankfully the two overhead lights came on.

She kept a powerful flashlight and some candles and a lighter on a shelf by the stairs for an emergency such as this, but she hoped they didn’t have to use them. She turned on the TV, and muted the sound so that Caitlin wouldn’t become alarmed by storm bulletins. A map of the county filled the screen, and a dark red blotch, the indication of the strongest storm cell, was superimposed over Bartonsville, but it had begun to move off to the east. “I think the worst of the storm’s passed, thank goodness.” She glanced out one of the small windows, placed high in the thick, stone walls of the cellar. The hail had stopped; now it was only raindrops hitting the wavy glass.

She turned back to find that Hugh had set Caitlin on her feet and hunkered down beside her to unwind the bubble wrap cocoon.

As soon as she was free Caitlin bolted for the stairs. “Need Barbie.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Hugh’s long arm shot out and his fingers curled around the child’s wrist. Faith’s heart leapt to her throat. Caitlin was such a tiny thing, her bones so delicate he could easily hurt her and not even realize it. She almost cried out, but she needn’t have worried. His grip on Caitlin’s wrist was so light it scarcely touched her skin.

“I think I see Barbie over there.” He pointed to the seat of the old couch and let Caitlin go skipping off to retrieve the doll.

“She’s smart and fearless, isn’t she?” he said with a note of wonder—and love?—in his voice that sent shivers through Faith.

“She was born in the middle of a terrible ice storm.” Faith hadn’t meant to let that slip. She had perfected her story of Caitlin’s birth, but she never volunteered details. His actions had thrown her off balance, and it was too late to take back the words.

“Tell me about it,” he said, standing up, towering over her it seemed, although there was no more than three or four inches difference in their heights. The tone of his voice didn’t change, nor the look in his eyes, but Faith felt compelled to answer as though bidden by some unspoken command.

Suddenly she was afraid, completely and unreasoningly afraid, and the fear had nothing to do with the storm, but was caused by the man before her. She felt for a moment that he could see right through her and that he knew what she would say next was a lie. Her throat closed and the litany of carefully constructed half truths and fabrications that was her fortress, as well as her prison, wouldn’t come.