Joyce Sullivan – In His Wife's Name (страница 9)

To his relief, Mary wasn’t paying him any mind. She was scanning the drive and the lawn leading down to the lake, the S-shaped frown he’d noticed yesterday inching between her brows. “Hey, I just noticed you’re on foot this morning. Did someone drop you off?”

“No, my car’s parked at my cottage down the way. Bill Oakes had a vacancy, so I moved in last night.”

“Oh, I thought maybe you were visiting the area with a friend you hadn’t mentioned.” Luke groaned inwardly at the hint of interest in her voice. Was she subtly inquiring whether he was involved in a relationship? It was bad enough that he felt some feelings of attraction for Mary. He didn’t want them to be reciprocated—even if it might facilitate getting some answers out of her! The situation was complicated enough. “I’m staying here alone,” he admitted finally, figuring the less he elaborated, the better.

She flashed him another beguiling smile. “That’s great you got a cottage. Which one?”

“Small one, in terrible need of repair. I’ve heard trains that were quieter than the pipes knocking in the walls when the shower’s turned on. But the price was right.”

“That’s Abner’s cottage. The oldest brother. He’s tightfisted, apparently. Can’t see why he should spend good money on improvements for other people to enjoy.”

Luke studied her closely as she took a sip of coffee. Hair framed her face in tousled disarray as if she’d combed it with her fingers when she’d risen from bed. She wasn’t wearing any makeup. There were lavender smudges under her eyes. From fear? Sleeplessness? Pushing herself too hard? “Bill Oakes didn’t mention it,” he said.

“Can I get you some coffee?” She started to rise.

He waved her to stay seated. “I’ll get it. You keep working. Mugs are in the cupboard above the sink, right?”

Luke saw uncertainty flash in her eyes. Why? At the prospect of him entering her home?

She settled herself back into her chair. “Yes, help yourself. Sugar’s in a bowl on the counter and there’s cream in the fridge.”

Luke nodded and ambled toward the front door. Conscious of the ticking seconds, his steps quickened once he’d stepped inside the cottage. The phone was mounted on the wall at the end of the kitchen counter. An old white pitcher crammed with pencils and a notepad was positioned near the phone, but there was none of the daily minutiae he expected to find: an address book, a calendar, letters, bills, bank statements. The day planner she’d had yesterday was nowhere in sight.

He quietly eased open the cupboard doors and the drawers nearest the phone. They held craft supplies and mismatched dishes. He surveyed the kitchen, dining and living areas for her purse, but didn’t see it. Her worktable was covered with partially painted signs, but no files or books that might contain business records. Luke decided she probably kept her purse and her business records in her bedroom, out of her daughter’s reach. Maybe she had a computer.

He’d have to find another opportunity to look. Luke found a mug and filled it with coffee. He noticed there weren’t any photographs stuck to the refrigerator when he took out the cream. Not even a picture of Samantha. Luke found that odd. Most people who had kids plastered their homes with photos of their offspring.

As he stepped back outside, coffee in hand, he complimented Samantha on her progress at making a second turtle. Samantha beamed up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief beneath the brim of her hat as she tipped over the mold. Sand spilled out and formed two mounds that looked more like a snowman than a turtle. Samantha giggled.

“Uh, oh,” Luke said, not the least bit fooled by her attempt to entice him to play with her some more. He glanced back over his shoulder at Mary. “Your daughter’s pretty cute. She has your nose, but the rest of her must be her father.”

“She definitely has her father’s eyes. The rest…I don’t know, but I’ll keep her just the way she is.” Mary’s reply was characteristically vague, but her face glowed with motherly pride.

“Did you name her after her father?”

“No, I’ve just always liked the name Samantha. You’re good with her. She’s usually shy around men. Especially when I take her to the doctor.”

“It doesn’t matter what age you are, you don’t like doctors poking at you.” Luke took a sip of his coffee. The conversation had the level of intimacy he wanted if he hoped to get Mary to open up to him, but he could feel her skating around the edges of his questions about her husband as if aware danger lurked beneath them. “What did your husband do?” he asked.

A shadow darted across her expressive eyes. She tilted her head to one side, the sunlight striking her hair and turning it to corn silk as she met his gaze directly. “I know you’re just making conversation so we can get to know each other, but I’d rather not talk about my husband. He…” She paused, her lips twisting into a rueful smile. “It’s hard to explain, but losing him taught me how important it is to live life in the here and now and live it to the fullest.” As she spoke her shoulders squared as if threaded with an iron rod. “The past is over, done with, you can’t change it—sometimes you can’t even explain it. And the future, well, the future is something everyone assumes they’ll have, but the truth is that the only sure moment we have is the right now. For me, that’s my daughter and my business and the letter boxes that need to be cut today.”

“Is that your subtle way of telling me to quit jawing and get to work?” Luke quipped, feeling a wave of admiration for her, even though she’d just firmly barred the door on further questions about her husband.

“Yes.” The smile she gave him was pure, sweet and undeniably flirtatious. Luke promptly forgot about the past, the future and the need to cut the letter boxes in the present. The only thought on his mind in the here and now was that she had the most beautiful face, freckles, violet smudges and all. And those lips…would they feel as warm and sweet as the woman they belonged to?

Mary dug a key from the pocket of her shorts and handed it to him. “I hate to disturb Samantha when she’s happy in the sand. Can you unlock the garage and pass me the key before you leave for the day?”

“Sure. I’ll get started on the letter boxes right away.” Their fingers brushed lightly as he accepted the key, and Luke felt his limbs tingle with a slow anticipatory heat that made him patently aware, once again, of how delicate and feminine she was and how long it had been since he’d held a woman in his arms.

But he’d never hold this woman in his arms. Over time, even the best liars slipped up. And Luke had all the time in the world when it came to finding out Mary’s true identity.

CONCEALED BEHIND THE TREES, he watched them talking in front of her cottage. Anger rippled through him at the way she smiled at the man, as if she had no reason to be afraid. As if she didn’t deserve to be punished. Did she think having a man around would protect her from him?

No one could protect her from him. He was too smart. He’d proved last night that he could rattle her whenever he wanted. He’d heard the fear in her voice when she’d answered the phone. He was in control.

And that was only just the beginning.

WITH LUKE NEARBY in the garage, Shannon felt undeniably safer than she had last night after that unsettling phone call. She felt protected in the same way she had when she was a child learning to ride a bike without training wheels, and her father had walked beside her, a hand ready to catch her bike and steady her should she need it. After the way Luke had come to her aid yesterday, she knew that if Rob suddenly turned up on her doorstep, she could trust Luke to help her.

Not that she could tell Luke everything. It was highly improbable that the phone call last night had been Rob, but she’d learned the hard way never to underestimate what her ex-husband was capable of doing. Shannon tried to concentrate on sketching the design for a scarecrow crafted from a four-by-four recycled fence post, but even the slightest movement in the trees surrounding the cottage set her on edge.

Her experience with Rob had made her paranoid, and the only effective way to deal with it was to acknowledge the fear as a self-protective instinct and let it ride itself out. A few weeks from now the phone call would be just another insignificant wrong number. In the meantime, she’d be vigilant as always.

Samantha, who was practicing her new walking skills, toddled unsteadily around the sandbox, babbling to her toys like an excited bird. Her round face was damp with perspiration from the rising heat of the morning sun. Shannon decided to give up all pretense of working. “You look hot, baby. Let’s go inside and get you some juice.”

As she leaned down to place her sketchbook on the grass at her feet, something whizzed past her head. A second later, it struck the big terra-cotta pot she’d planted with petunias and alyssum with a sharp crack, putting a ding in the pot.

Shannon stared at the object. It was a rock the size of a golf ball. If she hadn’t bent over, it would have hit her in the head. It could have killed Samantha.