Rising Darkness
Page 22
“I have my moments,” she said.
“When can I get the full treatment?” he asked.
Her breath caught. Maybe she wriggled a little. “When do you want it?”
A slight smile eased the haggard lines of his face. He said, “Anytime you feel like starting.”
Slowly she turned her hand, underneath his, and the sensation of his skin sliding over her sensitive palm was so shockingly erotic, her heart started to pound. She whispered, “That’s a dangerous thing to say to someone who might have compulsive fussing tendencies.”
“A woman with a hint of danger.” His voice had deepened and turned rough. Moving his hand over hers, he rubbed her forefinger with his thumb. “That’s pretty hot.”
She thought, I am flirting with a man who wears a gun and knows how to use it.
That was just about as alien to her as, well, discovering she was an alien.
She had the impulse to remove her hand. She didn’t, but she did back away from the flirting. “Okay, maybe I am fussing a little,” she confessed, her voice turning serious. “I have things I need to tell you, and I’m concerned.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “That’s one of the reasons why I agreed to stop.”
She nodded, biting her lip. “How far away is this place where we’re going?”
“It’s about an hour away. We’ve got to go through Big Rapids first.”
They fell into silence. She watched the growing dawn. They were allies now. All it had taken was one long, strange night. She hadn’t even known he existed two days ago. She hadn’t known who she was. How can someone exist in such rampant ignorance? She had stepped out of the painting, and the painting shattered.
The early morning traffic thickened as they neared Big Rapids. They passed through the city at a quick pace and into the quieter landscape beyond.
“Tell me what your life has been like,” he said. “You said you worked an ER shift.”
She stirred. “I work—I worked at a community hospital. Cue back to the fussing. People got better out of self – defense.”
“You’re good at your job.”
He hadn’t phrased it as a question. She gave him a quick glance and a wry, lopsided smile. “Actually, yes. I had my choice of residencies at more prestigious facilities, but I liked the idea of contributing something to an underprivileged area.”
The rare pleasure that had lightened his expression vanished. He became the hard-edged soldier again. “You said your house burned down.”
Her fingers jerked under his. “That’s right.”
He flicked a finger in the direction of the dashboard. “I heard about it on the news too. Missing doctor’s house burned in the St. Joe/Benton Harbor area. In the news segment on the radio, the police had yet to—” His words cut off.
His abrupt silence had her twist in her seat to face him. She searched his profile. “Police had yet to, what? What happened?”
He gave her a quick glance under slanted brows, his mouth grim. He said, “The police have yet to issue a positive identification on a body they found in the house. All the newscast said was that it was a six-foot male between twenty-five and forty-five years of age.”
“Oh shit,” she said. Her eyesight blurred.
His long hard fingers curled around hers. “You know who that was?”
“It had to have been Justin, my ex-husband.” She pinched the bridge of her nose as hot tears spilled over. After a moment, she could speak again. “He—we—it’s a long, stupid story, but we figured out fast we never should have gotten married, and we ended up friends instead. I knew he was going over to my house yesterday afternoon, but I left anyway. I’ve been so worried about him.”
After a blank pause, he said, “I’m sorry.”
She bent her head to wipe her wet face on her shirtsleeve. “Why was he killed? What purpose did that serve?”
He tightened his hold on her hand, a sure steady grip. “We may not ever know the answer to that. But when we can, we’ll try to find out.”
Silence descended in the car. She looked out the window as she struggled with grief and rage. Finding comfort in the contact, she kept her hand on his thigh. He covered it with his own whenever traffic allowed.
Some distance north of Big Rapids, he signaled and exited the northbound highway, turning west. A large portion of Michigan was National Forest. With the turn, they entered old-growth woods then they turned north again onto a gravel road. Soon she saw a small cluster of cabins and buildings, and a sign that said Wolf Lake.
Michael pulled into the gravel lot of a small building with the words WOLF LAKE STORE painted on the side. He said, “Stay in the car. Your photo may have been released in the news. I’ll be right back.”
She nodded, sliding down in a self-conscious hunch in her seat as he strode into the building. Even though she kept a wary eye out, she didn’t see anybody.
Less than ten minutes later, he stepped outside, carrying two full grocery bags in each hand. He set the bags in the backseat before climbing back into the car. They drove at a gentle pace in silence for a few more miles, until he turned onto a drive that was guarded by a weathered NO TRESPASSING sign.
She had rolled down her window in the growing heat of the morning. The forest was alive with an old green presence that wrapped around them in welcome.
They pulled up to a rough-looking cabin. Michael turned off the engine, and even though the car ran at a soft, powerful purr, in that quiet place the change seemed loud.
She sighed at the peaceful sounds of birds singing, and the soughing wind as it braided fronds of leafy branches. The sunlit, green clearing emphasized a huge absence as the weight of stress lifted off her body.
“I’m never living in a city again,” she said. “This place is wonderful. Is it yours?”
“Yes. I come here when I can. The lake is about a third of a mile down a path that ends behind the cabin. Sometimes I fish.”
He got out of the car and she followed. He handed her the four grocery bags. As she took them, she saw that two of the bags were filled with food, and the two other bags were stuffed with simple, new clothes. She caught a glimpse of a gray sweatshirt, and a packet of white women’s socks.
Then he reached into the backseat again, and he pulled out two large black canvas bags. One of them seemed an ordinary bag one might pack for a weekend. The other was longer and he hefted it with more effort, so it had to be heavy. She looked at that bag for a thoughtful moment.
He turned and walked up the porch steps to the door, warning over his shoulder, “The cabin is pretty rustic.”
“Is there any chance of hot water?” She followed him onto the porch.
He unlocked the door and shoved it open with a foot. “In about a half an hour.”
“Then it sounds like heaven on earth to me,” she said.
He stood back and let her walk into the cabin first. She stopped in the middle of a large room, pivoting to look around as he brought in his bags and tucked them out of the way.
He was not exaggerating when he called the cabin rustic. The walls were wooden with a few built-in bookshelves. A table and a few chairs sat in the middle of the floor. Two corners at one end of the room were filled with a wide bed and a dresser.
Against the far wall a counter, a small stove, sink and refrigerator comprised a kitchenette area. More bare shelves were under the counter, stacked with a variety of canned foods. A large fieldstone fireplace took up most of the third wall, with wood stacked in a nearby box. A package of long matches sat on the mantel.
A closed door was in the last corner. Michael walked over to the door and disappeared. He stepped back in the room moments later.
“This is the bathroom. I’ve turned the water heater on,” he said. “We’ll be able to wash in comfort soon.”
“Thank God,” she said. She felt like she had picked up twenty miles of road dirt. “I like your cabin. How long have you owned this place?”
“Eight years. It’s only a day’s travel from Astra’s place, and it’s private and independent. Sometimes I need to get away from everything, even her. Especially her.” He walked over to the refrigerator, opened the door and looked in the freezer. “The fridge is working fine. Aside from what I picked up at the store, I have some frozen stuff, mostly steaks, ground beef and vegetables. I keep the coffee in the freezer, and there’s the canned stuff under the counter.”
“It all sounds terrific,” she said.
She set the grocery bags on the table and unpacked the food he had bought. Most of the items were off-brand, just good, plain food, enough for several meals. There were containers of flavored yogurt, eggs, a small tub of butter, another small container of half-and-half, apples, cheese, a package of pasta noodles, a jar of spaghetti sauce, crackers, a loaf of bread and a few packets of fresh vegetables and fruit.
Asparagus, mushrooms and strawberries.
Her eyes moistened as she stared down at the fresh produce. He had bought ingredients to make her wish breakfast at a dream hotel: a mushroom and asparagus omelet, fresh fruit and coffee with cream.
She gathered up the perishables and tucked them into the otherwise empty fridge.
Then she rummaged through the other full bags. He had bought a petite-sized pair of jeans, two T-shirts, a hooded gray sweatshirt, the white socks she had glimpsed earlier, a packet of pink underwear and a set of three sports bras. There was also a new toothbrush, antiperspirant and a travel-sized tube of toothpaste.
The sports bras looked a bit big, and the T-shirts and sweatshirt would be baggy but useful enough, and hopefully the jeans might fit. The socks and underwear should be fine. They were all treasures.
“I already had soap and shampoo. Is it okay?” he asked. He had picked up the lighter of the two black bags and paused with it in his arms. He was watching her with an uncertain expression that looked odd on his normally confident, decisive face.
“It’s more than okay. It’s amazing. Thank you so much for thinking of it.” She looked with longing at the bathroom door. “Do you think the water has warmed up enough by now?”
He shook his head. “I doubt it. If you want, you can shift things in the dresser to make a space for your clothes.”
“Thanks.”
She rifled through the dresser. It felt odd to handle his clothing, adding another layer of intimacy to their already convoluted and confusing relationship. She took one of the new T-shirts and a pair of underwear from the packet then tucked the rest of the clothes, still in their plastic packaging and labels, in the top drawer. The T-shirt looked like it was long enough to reach her upper thighs.
Clutching the clothes in her hands, she turned to him. “I can’t wait any longer. Do you mind if I go ahead and use the bathroom?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Help yourself, but I’m sure the water isn’t warm enough yet to bathe in comfortably.”
“That’s okay. I’ve got an agenda,” she said. His well-cut mouth widened in a smile. His unshaven jaw lent his features a rough appearance, and his wide shoulder and chest muscles flexed under his black T-shirt as he moved around the cabin.
She was fascinated by all the evidence of his existence, by the sight of him, by the quiet sounds he made as he moved around, his warm fragrant male scent, by her own response to him. It took an effort to yank her gaze away and slip into the bathroom. Once inside, she leaned against the door and shook her head back and forth.
Too much, too much going on.
On the bright side, a lot of items on her fix-it to-do list had been wiped out. She didn’t have a dirty house any longer that needed cleaning. She couldn’t feel guilty about not finishing any of her quilting projects, and going to work was out of the question.
On the dark side . . . She thought of Justin again, and her eyes filled.
Then she shuddered and scrubbed her face with one hand, closed the door on her grief for the time being, and looked around. The bathroom was utilitarian and somewhat outdated, with the water heater in one corner, and a bath and shower, and a white sink with a small mirror, but it was mercifully clean, which gave it a five-star rating in her travel book for this trip. A small cabinet hung over the toilet. When she opened it, she saw towels and washcloths on the two shelves inside.
Stripping naked, she scrubbed her panties, bra, socks and T-shirt in the sink. Then she tackled washing her dirty jeans, wrung all of the wet clothes out as best she could, and hung everything along the top of the warming water heater so it would dry faster.
Cleaning her teeth with her new toothbrush was nothing short of heavenly. By then the water had heated enough to make bathing comfortable, so she ran a bath and stepped in as soon as she could. The various scrapes she had acquired throughout the previous day and night stung as they came in contact with the water, and her bruises throbbed. Still, soaking in hot water eased some of the aches. When the water began to cool she soaped her hair and body.
The soap and shampoo in the bathroom were as utilitarian as the rest of the place. She knew she would pay for that later as her unruly hair dried, but she was so grateful to be clean that she didn’t care. She would have to wrestle the tangles into submission while her hair was wet and then braid it back. With any luck—she paused in the middle of rinsing and her breathing halted—with any luck she would live to wash her hair again with a decent conditioner soon.
The small bathroom had warmed to a toasty temperature by the time she dried, slipped on the new T-shirt and panties and wrapped her hair in the towel. As she walked into the main room she discovered that Michael had built a fire that crackled as it banished the damp chill from the cabin.
He had made even more coffee with an old-fashioned percolator on the stove, and he sat at the table with a cup near his elbow. She had thought that the challenging years of her residency had turned her into a heavy coffee drinker, but he had her beat by a mile.
“When can I get the full treatment?” he asked.
Her breath caught. Maybe she wriggled a little. “When do you want it?”
A slight smile eased the haggard lines of his face. He said, “Anytime you feel like starting.”
Slowly she turned her hand, underneath his, and the sensation of his skin sliding over her sensitive palm was so shockingly erotic, her heart started to pound. She whispered, “That’s a dangerous thing to say to someone who might have compulsive fussing tendencies.”
“A woman with a hint of danger.” His voice had deepened and turned rough. Moving his hand over hers, he rubbed her forefinger with his thumb. “That’s pretty hot.”
She thought, I am flirting with a man who wears a gun and knows how to use it.
That was just about as alien to her as, well, discovering she was an alien.
She had the impulse to remove her hand. She didn’t, but she did back away from the flirting. “Okay, maybe I am fussing a little,” she confessed, her voice turning serious. “I have things I need to tell you, and I’m concerned.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “That’s one of the reasons why I agreed to stop.”
She nodded, biting her lip. “How far away is this place where we’re going?”
“It’s about an hour away. We’ve got to go through Big Rapids first.”
They fell into silence. She watched the growing dawn. They were allies now. All it had taken was one long, strange night. She hadn’t even known he existed two days ago. She hadn’t known who she was. How can someone exist in such rampant ignorance? She had stepped out of the painting, and the painting shattered.
The early morning traffic thickened as they neared Big Rapids. They passed through the city at a quick pace and into the quieter landscape beyond.
“Tell me what your life has been like,” he said. “You said you worked an ER shift.”
She stirred. “I work—I worked at a community hospital. Cue back to the fussing. People got better out of self – defense.”
“You’re good at your job.”
He hadn’t phrased it as a question. She gave him a quick glance and a wry, lopsided smile. “Actually, yes. I had my choice of residencies at more prestigious facilities, but I liked the idea of contributing something to an underprivileged area.”
The rare pleasure that had lightened his expression vanished. He became the hard-edged soldier again. “You said your house burned down.”
Her fingers jerked under his. “That’s right.”
He flicked a finger in the direction of the dashboard. “I heard about it on the news too. Missing doctor’s house burned in the St. Joe/Benton Harbor area. In the news segment on the radio, the police had yet to—” His words cut off.
His abrupt silence had her twist in her seat to face him. She searched his profile. “Police had yet to, what? What happened?”
He gave her a quick glance under slanted brows, his mouth grim. He said, “The police have yet to issue a positive identification on a body they found in the house. All the newscast said was that it was a six-foot male between twenty-five and forty-five years of age.”
“Oh shit,” she said. Her eyesight blurred.
His long hard fingers curled around hers. “You know who that was?”
“It had to have been Justin, my ex-husband.” She pinched the bridge of her nose as hot tears spilled over. After a moment, she could speak again. “He—we—it’s a long, stupid story, but we figured out fast we never should have gotten married, and we ended up friends instead. I knew he was going over to my house yesterday afternoon, but I left anyway. I’ve been so worried about him.”
After a blank pause, he said, “I’m sorry.”
She bent her head to wipe her wet face on her shirtsleeve. “Why was he killed? What purpose did that serve?”
He tightened his hold on her hand, a sure steady grip. “We may not ever know the answer to that. But when we can, we’ll try to find out.”
Silence descended in the car. She looked out the window as she struggled with grief and rage. Finding comfort in the contact, she kept her hand on his thigh. He covered it with his own whenever traffic allowed.
Some distance north of Big Rapids, he signaled and exited the northbound highway, turning west. A large portion of Michigan was National Forest. With the turn, they entered old-growth woods then they turned north again onto a gravel road. Soon she saw a small cluster of cabins and buildings, and a sign that said Wolf Lake.
Michael pulled into the gravel lot of a small building with the words WOLF LAKE STORE painted on the side. He said, “Stay in the car. Your photo may have been released in the news. I’ll be right back.”
She nodded, sliding down in a self-conscious hunch in her seat as he strode into the building. Even though she kept a wary eye out, she didn’t see anybody.
Less than ten minutes later, he stepped outside, carrying two full grocery bags in each hand. He set the bags in the backseat before climbing back into the car. They drove at a gentle pace in silence for a few more miles, until he turned onto a drive that was guarded by a weathered NO TRESPASSING sign.
She had rolled down her window in the growing heat of the morning. The forest was alive with an old green presence that wrapped around them in welcome.
They pulled up to a rough-looking cabin. Michael turned off the engine, and even though the car ran at a soft, powerful purr, in that quiet place the change seemed loud.
She sighed at the peaceful sounds of birds singing, and the soughing wind as it braided fronds of leafy branches. The sunlit, green clearing emphasized a huge absence as the weight of stress lifted off her body.
“I’m never living in a city again,” she said. “This place is wonderful. Is it yours?”
“Yes. I come here when I can. The lake is about a third of a mile down a path that ends behind the cabin. Sometimes I fish.”
He got out of the car and she followed. He handed her the four grocery bags. As she took them, she saw that two of the bags were filled with food, and the two other bags were stuffed with simple, new clothes. She caught a glimpse of a gray sweatshirt, and a packet of white women’s socks.
Then he reached into the backseat again, and he pulled out two large black canvas bags. One of them seemed an ordinary bag one might pack for a weekend. The other was longer and he hefted it with more effort, so it had to be heavy. She looked at that bag for a thoughtful moment.
He turned and walked up the porch steps to the door, warning over his shoulder, “The cabin is pretty rustic.”
“Is there any chance of hot water?” She followed him onto the porch.
He unlocked the door and shoved it open with a foot. “In about a half an hour.”
“Then it sounds like heaven on earth to me,” she said.
He stood back and let her walk into the cabin first. She stopped in the middle of a large room, pivoting to look around as he brought in his bags and tucked them out of the way.
He was not exaggerating when he called the cabin rustic. The walls were wooden with a few built-in bookshelves. A table and a few chairs sat in the middle of the floor. Two corners at one end of the room were filled with a wide bed and a dresser.
Against the far wall a counter, a small stove, sink and refrigerator comprised a kitchenette area. More bare shelves were under the counter, stacked with a variety of canned foods. A large fieldstone fireplace took up most of the third wall, with wood stacked in a nearby box. A package of long matches sat on the mantel.
A closed door was in the last corner. Michael walked over to the door and disappeared. He stepped back in the room moments later.
“This is the bathroom. I’ve turned the water heater on,” he said. “We’ll be able to wash in comfort soon.”
“Thank God,” she said. She felt like she had picked up twenty miles of road dirt. “I like your cabin. How long have you owned this place?”
“Eight years. It’s only a day’s travel from Astra’s place, and it’s private and independent. Sometimes I need to get away from everything, even her. Especially her.” He walked over to the refrigerator, opened the door and looked in the freezer. “The fridge is working fine. Aside from what I picked up at the store, I have some frozen stuff, mostly steaks, ground beef and vegetables. I keep the coffee in the freezer, and there’s the canned stuff under the counter.”
“It all sounds terrific,” she said.
She set the grocery bags on the table and unpacked the food he had bought. Most of the items were off-brand, just good, plain food, enough for several meals. There were containers of flavored yogurt, eggs, a small tub of butter, another small container of half-and-half, apples, cheese, a package of pasta noodles, a jar of spaghetti sauce, crackers, a loaf of bread and a few packets of fresh vegetables and fruit.
Asparagus, mushrooms and strawberries.
Her eyes moistened as she stared down at the fresh produce. He had bought ingredients to make her wish breakfast at a dream hotel: a mushroom and asparagus omelet, fresh fruit and coffee with cream.
She gathered up the perishables and tucked them into the otherwise empty fridge.
Then she rummaged through the other full bags. He had bought a petite-sized pair of jeans, two T-shirts, a hooded gray sweatshirt, the white socks she had glimpsed earlier, a packet of pink underwear and a set of three sports bras. There was also a new toothbrush, antiperspirant and a travel-sized tube of toothpaste.
The sports bras looked a bit big, and the T-shirts and sweatshirt would be baggy but useful enough, and hopefully the jeans might fit. The socks and underwear should be fine. They were all treasures.
“I already had soap and shampoo. Is it okay?” he asked. He had picked up the lighter of the two black bags and paused with it in his arms. He was watching her with an uncertain expression that looked odd on his normally confident, decisive face.
“It’s more than okay. It’s amazing. Thank you so much for thinking of it.” She looked with longing at the bathroom door. “Do you think the water has warmed up enough by now?”
He shook his head. “I doubt it. If you want, you can shift things in the dresser to make a space for your clothes.”
“Thanks.”
She rifled through the dresser. It felt odd to handle his clothing, adding another layer of intimacy to their already convoluted and confusing relationship. She took one of the new T-shirts and a pair of underwear from the packet then tucked the rest of the clothes, still in their plastic packaging and labels, in the top drawer. The T-shirt looked like it was long enough to reach her upper thighs.
Clutching the clothes in her hands, she turned to him. “I can’t wait any longer. Do you mind if I go ahead and use the bathroom?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Help yourself, but I’m sure the water isn’t warm enough yet to bathe in comfortably.”
“That’s okay. I’ve got an agenda,” she said. His well-cut mouth widened in a smile. His unshaven jaw lent his features a rough appearance, and his wide shoulder and chest muscles flexed under his black T-shirt as he moved around the cabin.
She was fascinated by all the evidence of his existence, by the sight of him, by the quiet sounds he made as he moved around, his warm fragrant male scent, by her own response to him. It took an effort to yank her gaze away and slip into the bathroom. Once inside, she leaned against the door and shook her head back and forth.
Too much, too much going on.
On the bright side, a lot of items on her fix-it to-do list had been wiped out. She didn’t have a dirty house any longer that needed cleaning. She couldn’t feel guilty about not finishing any of her quilting projects, and going to work was out of the question.
On the dark side . . . She thought of Justin again, and her eyes filled.
Then she shuddered and scrubbed her face with one hand, closed the door on her grief for the time being, and looked around. The bathroom was utilitarian and somewhat outdated, with the water heater in one corner, and a bath and shower, and a white sink with a small mirror, but it was mercifully clean, which gave it a five-star rating in her travel book for this trip. A small cabinet hung over the toilet. When she opened it, she saw towels and washcloths on the two shelves inside.
Stripping naked, she scrubbed her panties, bra, socks and T-shirt in the sink. Then she tackled washing her dirty jeans, wrung all of the wet clothes out as best she could, and hung everything along the top of the warming water heater so it would dry faster.
Cleaning her teeth with her new toothbrush was nothing short of heavenly. By then the water had heated enough to make bathing comfortable, so she ran a bath and stepped in as soon as she could. The various scrapes she had acquired throughout the previous day and night stung as they came in contact with the water, and her bruises throbbed. Still, soaking in hot water eased some of the aches. When the water began to cool she soaped her hair and body.
The soap and shampoo in the bathroom were as utilitarian as the rest of the place. She knew she would pay for that later as her unruly hair dried, but she was so grateful to be clean that she didn’t care. She would have to wrestle the tangles into submission while her hair was wet and then braid it back. With any luck—she paused in the middle of rinsing and her breathing halted—with any luck she would live to wash her hair again with a decent conditioner soon.
The small bathroom had warmed to a toasty temperature by the time she dried, slipped on the new T-shirt and panties and wrapped her hair in the towel. As she walked into the main room she discovered that Michael had built a fire that crackled as it banished the damp chill from the cabin.
He had made even more coffee with an old-fashioned percolator on the stove, and he sat at the table with a cup near his elbow. She had thought that the challenging years of her residency had turned her into a heavy coffee drinker, but he had her beat by a mile.
