Читать книгу Home For A Hero - Mary Anne Wilson - Страница 7

Luke walked away with his arms full of damp clothing and hurried back to the utility room. Having Shay Donovan in his house was unsettling, but her taking a shower here…? He had to be rational about the situation, but it made him edgy. No one had been in the house since he’d arrived, except for the cleaning crew. When they arrived, he left and didn’t come back until they were long gone.

He stuffed the clothing into the dryer, and dropped something. He reached down to pick up a pale pink bra, stared at it, then shook his head. He should have just driven her away from here. Now he was stuck with company for at least an hour.

Closing the dryer door, he turned it on. As the drum began to tumble, he returned to the kitchen and took time making some coffee—he could use it. He thought of Shay shaking from the cold and knew she probably could use it, too.

Luke stayed in the kitchen as long as it took to brew the coffee, then found two mugs and poured the steaming liquid into them. God, he was acting as if he were civilized. That almost brought a wry smile to his face. Him? Civilized? He didn’t think so. When he got back to the bedroom, the door to the bath was still shut. He crossed to it and knocked.

“Yes?” he heard her say faintly from within.

“There’s coffee out here and a robe in there somewhere in the closet. Help yourself until your clothes dry.”

He expected her to just thank him, but he didn’t expect her to slide the door back enough to look out at him. He sure as hell didn’t expect her to smile at him, either, or to show the dimples on either side of her full lips. She reached for the closest mug, gripped it, then said, “Thank you so much. You’re really a lifesaver in more ways than one.”

Then she closed the door and he was left standing there with his own coffee and wondering what he’d gotten himself into inviting her into his house.

When he’d gotten his first clear look at her, he’d felt uneasy. Tall and slender, with eyes that weren’t really dark but a rich shade of amber mixed with green, she’d been so vulnerable. The freckles across her straight nose had stood out against her pale skin, and her hair—a rich chestnut shade—although soaked and matted to her temples, had started to curl at the ends. But even then, he could tell that if Shay Donovan were dry and clean and warm, she’d be a striking woman to look at.

Luke went to the great room and headed to the French doors that led out onto a secondary patio with a stunning view of the sound. He opened one of the doors, but just stood in the entry, letting the deep chill touch his face and invade the room. He had been alone so long that he’d made his own rules.

He could have dealt with finding a seal on the beach. He wasn’t a people person at all, and now he just wanted this over with. He wanted Shay Donovan back in town in some trendy bed-and-breakfast, dry and safe. He didn’t want her here, and he sure as hell didn’t want her getting any closer.

SHAY KNEW ABOUT loneliness and being alone, but the man who had found her on the beach seemed almost empty. As she dried off, she realized he was angry, too. He hated her being here. While showering, Shay had wondered if he were the mysterious caretaker. Maybe her presence would jeopardize his job, or maybe he was working at an isolated estate because he just simply hated people, period.

She looked around the expansive bathroom, appreciating the stone walls and the large tub at the top of two steps. The doorless shower that was big enough for four people to use at once had been heavenly. She had barely noticed the bedroom, but it was just as imposing. With its stone walls and massive dark furniture made it was practically medieval, she thought with a smile. It wouldn’t surprise her if there were dungeons below. That thought made her smile more.

She found the closet, a walk-in as large as most bedrooms but with few clothes in it. A couple of pairs of jeans had been folded and stacked on a side shelf, three or four chambray shirts were on hangers and a dark jacket hung in the far corner. Near the door were two white terrycloth bathrobes and she grabbed the closest one and slipped it on. It was soft and luxurious and she almost sighed. She belted it and stopped to take a look at herself in the multiple mirrors that lined the wall to the right. She wished she hadn’t.

She was pale and the freckles she’d always hated stood out starkly against her skin. Her hair was a tangled mess, even though she’d done her best to finger-comb it. She turned away, wondering where the roughly dressed man who’d found her on the beach lived. Surely not in this suite or in this house. Based on what she’d seen so far, this whole estate didn’t fit him. Then again, she didn’t fit in here, either. Luxury and wealth weren’t keystones in her life.

She turned away from the mirror and went into the bathroom, reluctant to leave the heat from the shower that lingered. But the man wanted her out of here, and she wanted to get some answers from him before he drove her into town. It wouldn’t be so bad to know his name, either, she thought and smiled to herself. She padded barefoot into the bedroom area. It was dark outside and it wasn’t until she glanced at her wrist that she realized her watch must have fallen off when she’d been in the water.

Her wallet! If that was gone, too, she had no money, no credit cards and no way to pay for a hotel for the night or a rental car in the morning. Her cell phone was either still on the boat or at the bottom of the sound. The soles of her feet felt tender as she headed for the bedroom door. The man had been right—the steps had been too rough for her, but she’d stubbornly insisted on climbing them anyway. Now she was paying the price.

She made her way back to the utility room, noticing more details of the house now, but seeing nothing that did away with her original impression of luxury and wealth. When she stepped into the great room, she was struck by how massive the fireplace really was as it extended to a ceiling that looked as if it belonged in some chapel or church. Painted on the stone were intricate murals that she thought had to have been done when the house had been built.

Just as she was about to leave, she stopped when she saw the man standing in front of an open door. He was staring out at the night, and the cold was seeping into the room, making it almost uncomfortably cool.

“Hello,” she said. Shay knew that the man hadn’t heard her at first, not until she was within about six feet of him. “I’m done,” she said.

He turned quickly, and for a moment his gaze looked unfocused, then it quickly sharpened on her.

She thought she could read people, that she could pretty much tell what was going on in another person’s mind, but this man gave away nothing. His eyes hid any indication of what he was feeling, and despite the crackling intensity she could sense, his face seemed oddly neutral, even when he was being abrupt with her.

It struck her that she’d seen people like this man when she’d been in therapy in the months following Graham’s death. She’d reluctantly visited a psychologist and gone to group therapy for a while. A man who’s name was Roy had been there. He’d come twice, then had never shown up again. This man’s expression was an echo of Roy’s, down to the totally unreadable eyes. Shay tried to remember why Roy had been there, but couldn’t.

Unable to take the odd silence any longer, she said, “The shower was wonderful. Thanks so much.”

He nodded, his usual way of responding to any thanks she gave him she realized from the short time she’d been around him.

“One more thing?” she said.

His eyes narrowed as if he were wary of what she’d ask for this time. “What?”

“Your name. You never told me your name.”

There was the oddest hesitation before he finally said, “Luke.”

Just Luke. At least now she knew he must be the caretaker. “Do you think you could give me the owner’s address or maybe phone number so I could thank him for all you’ve done for me?”

He studied her, then said succinctly, “No, I can’t.”

“Please, I really should thank him.”

He shook his head, his back still to the open door and the cold air that was getting almost unbearable for Shay. “He wouldn’t expect that,” he said.

“Then at least tell me what his name is?”

“It’s on the mailbox,” he said.

There wasn’t a mailbox—she knew from her trips out here to try to talk to the owner. “If I wanted to get in touch with the owner, how could I do it?”

“Write a letter,” he said and turned to the open door.

“Okay,” she said softly, trying to stem her growing anger. “Then will you thank him for me?”

“Sure,” he said, his back to her.

She looked away from him and turned to sit on one of the heavy leather sofas arranged in a half circle in front of the hearth. The leather was chilly, and the coldness seeped through her. “One more thing?” she said.

He turned slowly, frowning at her. “What?”

Asking him anything else about the owner clearly wasn’t an option. She swallowed. “I was just wondering if we could turn on the furnace. It’s so damp and—”

Before she could finish, he closed the door. “Sorry,” he said.

“I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that I was noticing the art and antique collection the owner has and it seems that maybe they shouldn’t be exposed to the cold and the dampness.”

He looked at her as if he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, then shrugged. “Whatever.”

A buzzer sounded deep in the house, and Luke moved to go past her. “Your clothes are ready,” he said and headed toward the kitchen. When he came back, his arms were full, and she stood to meet him halfway across the room. He handed her the clothes that were still warm from the dryer.

“Thanks,” she said, and hurried back to the bedroom and into the bathroom. She dressed quickly, relishing the heat against her skin wanting to hug it to herself. Then she felt something in her jeans pocket and pulled out her wallet. It was distorted and still very damp, but when she opened it, she found crumpled bills and her credit cards. If she only had her shoes now. She didn’t remember them coming off, but she likely pushed them off when she was in the water so she could swim better.

Her jacket was still damp, but she shrugged it on over the white shirt and jeans, then hung the robe back in the closet. She headed to the great room, but when she got there Luke was nowhere in sight. She looked around, and if his jacket hadn’t been lying over one of the couches, and his boots hadn’t been on the floor, she would have wondered if he existed at all.

She crossed to the door he’d been standing in front of, and the fog outside was so thick it looked like a solid wall. “Luke?” she called as she opened the door and stepped out onto the flat terrace stones.

As she opened her mouth to call out again, he materialized out of the fog without a sound. “Ready to go?” he asked.

“As ready as I can be,” she said and turned to go back inside.

He was right behind her, then passed her to grab his jacket. He stepped into his boots, pulled on his jacket and started back the way they’d first come into the room. “Don’t you want me to close the back door?” she called after him.

“Don’t bother,” he said over his shoulder as he kept walking.

She went after him, through the utility room and out the open door. She stepped out and felt the slippery cold of the stones at the steps under her feet and pulled the door shut after her. The chill in the air cut right through her still-damp jacket, and she barely covered a shudder. Luke was crossing the side terrace, dissolving into the night and fog, and she hurried to catch up. She paid for it when her tender feet objected to the roughness of the stones under them, but she didn’t break stride.

“Can you walk a bit slower? I don’t have any shoes on and it’s so dark out here, I can’t see where I’m going.”

Luke slowed, but didn’t turn. A flashlight was suddenly in his hand and he aimed it back in her direction and on the ground. “Thanks,” she said.

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll get the truck.” Then he was gone, taking the light with him.

She would have thought that a house like this would have at least a six-car garage and access from the house itself, but that obviously wasn’t the case. She waited in the isolated darkness until she heard the faint rumble of an engine. The next thing she knew the glow of headlights cut through the fog and darkness.

The low beams caught her for a moment before they swung left and an old pickup truck slid up beside her. The passenger door opened, almost hitting her.

“Get in,” Luke said from behind the wheel with his usual abruptness.

She grabbed the door and got into the cab. Sinking back in the hard seat, she let the heat that came from under the dash wrap around her sore feet.

Luke drove off, inching along, obviously seeing where he was going even if she couldn’t. The next thing she knew, the massive entry gates suddenly appeared in front of them out of the fog. The truck was literally within inches of striking the barrier when it came to a shuddering stop.

She turned to Luke, expecting him to hit a remote to open the gates. He just stared at the barrier. “Do you want me to get out and open the gates?” she offered, despite not wanting to step on anything wet and cold again.

“Dammit all,” Luke muttered as if she hadn’t spoken.

“What?” she asked. “Do you want me to get out and help with the gates?”

She reached for the handle, but Luke stopped her when he said, “We aren’t going anywhere.”

“I thought you said you’d drive me into town?”

He finally turned to her, and the low glow from the dash cut odd shadows around his eyes and mouth. She’d been so thankful when he’d first found her on the beach, then excited about being in Lost Point, but now she felt a bit afraid. She remembered right then why Roy, the man in her therapy group, had been there. He’d returned from being overseas, had settled back into his life, then he’d gone to work one day and erupted over his boss’s choice of coffee for the office.

She’d almost laughed at him when he’d explained it to the group. At the time, she’d been there because of her husband’s sudden death, and she had been floundering in a life that had made no sense to her. Roy had been mad at his boss? Then she found out more about his background in the army and the troubles he’d had since being discharged.

Now she could see that tension in Luke, and something she should have thought about from the start came to her in a rush. She was alone with a stranger, a man she didn’t know. Her stomach clenched. She made herself take a breath, calm down, and speak gently, the way the therapist had spoken to Roy. “That’s okay, I can open the gate,” she said. “Not a problem at all.” Before she’d wanted to stay longer, but now she knew she just wanted to get into Shelter Bay.

SHAY’S OFFER WAS SIMPLE, but Luke had heard that tone before, far too many times. The don’t-make-him-mad placating tone that people took when they were afraid of upsetting someone they perceived as irrational. He hated it. “We can’t leave because the fog’s too heavy. I almost didn’t see the gates in time to stop.”

“Okay.” Still the tone of her voice ran over his nerves in the most unpleasant way. “Then what do you think we should do?”

Stay right here. But he didn’t want that. He wanted her gone. He’d lived on Shelter Island long enough to know that driving in this fog was a stupid thing to do. If they’d left earlier, maybe he could have taken her into town before it had gotten this bad. Now there were no choices left except to stay right here…both of them. He’d learned the hard way that there were few options in this life. His last decision had been to stay where he could be found or come here. He’d chosen here, Lost Point. From then on, his options had been simple—get up in the morning or don’t, live or don’t.

He knew she was staring at him, waiting for something. Anything.

“What are we going to do?” she asked again patiently.

“Go back,” he finally said. He’d drop her where he’d picked her up, park the truck, then figure this all out. But as he turned the wheel, she grabbed at his arm. “Wait, we can figure out—”

He didn’t have any control over his reaction. He jerked away from her touch so sharply that he pulled the wheel left—hard. He braked but it was too late. He heard the squeal of tires on the wet cobbled drive, then a jerk up at the curb, followed by the truck hitting the ground with a thud.

The front end of the old truck started to sink into the muddy ground immediately. The land was so soggy from the persistent rain over the past week, the tires spun uselessly.

“We’re stuck,” he said, thinking that was one of the most obvious truths he’d ever stated. He grabbed the door handle to get out.

“What happened?” she asked.

He couldn’t tell her that she’d caused it, that her touch had panicked him. Instead, he lied as he jumped out, “I don’t know.”

He took one look at the situation, then reached back into the truck to turn off the engine. “Mud up to the axles,” he said without looking across at her.

“This isn’t exactly a 911 incident, so I guess using the phone to call for a tow truck is out?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. As out as driving her into town as soon as the fog lifted.

“Don’t you have a cell phone or something?”

“No.”

“Everybody has a cell phone.”

“Then where’s yours?” he asked, looking right at her.

She shrugged. “It…it got lost when I went overboard, but it was dead before that.”

“I rest my case,” he murmured.

“Well, if you don’t have a working phone and there’s no cell phone, what does the owner do when he—?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, his nerves frayed by her constant questions about the owner.

She sank back in the seat. “Then what?”

He knew what they had to do, and he hated the thought. “We’ll just have to wait until morning, then I can walk into town.”

“That’s an awfully long walk,” she said.

He frowned at her. How did she know that? She hadn’t mentioned being on the island before, but then again, he hadn’t been the gracious host, either. “You’ve been on the island before?”

“I’ve been here a few times to talk to beach owners and do some studies. But even I know that it would take you a long time to get into town from here.”

He’d walked the distance a couple of times when he’d needed the physical exhaustion. “I can do it,” he said, and drew back, swinging the door shut after him.

Shay got out and came around to where he stood, limping slightly as she moved closer to bend over and take a look at the tires trapped in the mire. “Whoa, it really is stuck.” She turned, straightening, and grimaced as she shifted her feet.

He could tell that even on the soggy ground, her feet were tender. If he’d been gallant, if he’d been more polite, he would have offered to help her, maybe even carry her so she wouldn’t have to walk. But he wasn’t any of those things anymore. Or maybe he hadn’t forgotten good manners as he’d first thought. When she shifted again, she flinched. He flashed the light down at her feet, at the dirt and grass clinging to them, and caught a glimpse of pale pink polish on her toenails. Then he stepped toward her and picked her up.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a woman, but he knew that he never should have done this. Everything in him backfired. He’d thought he was doing the right thing, proving to himself that he could still be human, but the moment she was in his arms, he felt his whole being clench. She gasped and twisted to look up at him. “What are you doing?”

He wasn’t at all sure himself, but he knew that he felt his whole body brace as hers leaned into his. Then her arm was around his neck, and he hurried up the driveway to the terrace and headed for the door. He pushed it open, then put her down, and backed up, unconsciously rubbing his hands together as if to free himself of that connection he’d found for a few moments. He sucked in a deep breath, then looked at Shay.

She brushed at her hair as those amber eyes lifted to him. “Thanks,” she said in a soft voice.

“Sure.” He turned from her, and his stomach was roiling so painfully he thought he was going to be sick. He went farther into the house without looking back, stepped out of his boots in the great room and stripped off his peacoat, tossing it over the arm of the nearest couch. When he looked back, Shay was standing across the room, far from where he stood. She was slowly taking off her jacket, but she was watching him.

She looked like a waif, pale and shaking, shifting from foot to foot again on the wooden floor, her hair wildly curling from the moisture. Luke seemed to see her so clearly at that moment that it almost made him ache. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want her here, and mostly, he didn’t want to feel any sort of pity or concern for her. He’d passed that point in his life. He’d vowed not to care about anyone anymore, and he wasn’t going to start with this woman.

He wouldn’t remember her coming into this house, standing in front of him, her eyes huge, her hair clinging to her face and neck. He closed his own eyes tightly. He felt that fragmenting sensation he used to live with all the time, but had managed to push away the past few months.

“Luke?”

The sound of her voice jarred him, and his eyes opened immediately. She was still there, frowning as she came closer. That’s when he moved himself, walking right past her and toward the kitchen. He reached the huge double sink, pressed his hands to the cold tile counter and swallowed hard. He knew Shay was nearby and he made himself speak without turning. “We’re going to be here for a while, so I’ll make some hot soup.”

“That sounds blissful,” Shay said, closer to him than he wanted, but still at a distance.

Blissful? Had he ever felt blissful? He decided that blissful was outside his range of emotions. He opened the cupboard by him, reached for the nearest can of soup and stared at the label until it blurred as he waited for Shay to leave. When he heard her walking away, he exhaled and was able to get air in his lungs. Blissful? No, he never had experienced bliss.