“Really, that won’t be necessary, Mr. . . .” The name she meant to say evaporated as she felt her legs turn to pudding.
He smiled. “Gentry, but you were going to call me Travis.”
Somewhere on the edge of Robin’s vision, Nigel Sudbury cleared his throat. “Yes, well, since you seem to be unharmed, perhaps later you’ll allow Mr. Gentry to take a peek at the famous bow. He fancies himself quite the collector, and yours is a fine specimen.”
Robin tried to think, tried to look away from the end-less pools of blue. She failed miserably at both. “Bow?” she whispered.
“The family treasure,” Sudbury said quite impatiently. “Surely there is only one Locksley bow.”
“Of course.”
Again, she’d acted the fool. What in the world was wrong with her? These feelings, this silly behavior went against all she held dear. The mere act of standing this close to one so masculine broke more than one promise she’d made to herself and to the Lord.
“I’d be forever in your debt if you’d just give me a few minutes,” Gentry said, and she wanted right then to give him all the time in the world.
“I can’t,” she said, as much to him as to the Lord.
“I understand,” they both seemed to answer at once.
Tears threatened as another blue-eyed man crept into her memory. Shoring up the dam before the waters burst through, she tried to muster an answer that would send Sudbury and his specialist packing. Unfortunately, her good intentions couldn’t be forced into words. The old familiar urge to lean into him and test the width of his shoulders against the length of her arms rose instead.
Father, help me. Lead me not into temptation. Not again.
“Nonsense. We’ll be up to give it a look and be gone in two shakes, Lass,” Sudbury said.
Up? Shakes? Robin allowed the picture to crystallize and saw no good in it. “No,” she said. “My flat looks a fright.”
And so do I.
“Sudbury, I believe the lady’s answered us,” he said.
Her gaze left his blue eyes and flitted over a pair of cheekbones chiseled from the finest granite, finally settling on lips nearly full enough to be feminine. And yet, the effect when viewed askance stood the test of masculinity quite well.
Sudbury rattled his keys. “Ahem, yes, well, if you’ll just let the lad loose then, Miss Locksley, we’ll be on our way.”
Robin looked down at her hand, horrified to see she still held tight to the darkly tanned fingers of the American. “Oh, forgive me, I—”
She mumbled a few more words, then made a hasty retreat out the back door. Just past the end of the building she paused to collect her thoughts. With heat singeing her cheeks, she picked her way down the familiar garden path toward the solitude of her flat. At least the rain had ceased, and the twilight of the evening was upon her.
Only the motion of a lantern shining in the distance diverted her from her mission to hide from the world. Along with the light came a soft sound, something akin to metal striking newly plowed dirt.
“Miss Locksley, is that you?” came the soft voice of Annabelle Priory, the eldest among the group of children at the Special Needs Day School and the most likely to wander off at all hours. Thankfully, she lived nearby and had only a brief walk up the lane to be home.
“Annabelle, Darling,” Robin called as she veered off the path, “have your parents any idea their daughter’s roaming about in the night?”
“Miss Robin, do you fancy a bit of digging in the garden?”
The girl’s wide smile and unabashed innocence combined to make a lovely package. If only she realized the effect it had on others—especially males. At nearly fourteen, Annabelle’s blossoming attributes had been attracting quite the attention from the local youths.
Robin knew too well what sort of action that reaction brought about. She also knew the consequences.
“I will ask again,” Robin said sternly. “Do your mother and father know where you are?”
“They do,” Annabelle said as she dropped the trowel. “I told ‘em I had a yen to pick carrots for the mutton stew.”
A second voice, this one an octave deeper, joined in the laughter. “I might not be from around here, but I think you’ll have trouble if you put those in a stew.”
The American stepped out of the shadows, and Robin gasped. Alarms rang loud in Robin’s mind, and she had to force herself to walk and not run toward Annabelle.
“Mr. Gentry, I really don’t appreciate you bandying about and frightening innocent persons.”
“Oh, he didn’t frighten me at all, Miss Robin. Actually I think he’s quite the looker.”
Annabelle attempted a step toward the Yank, but Robin held her in place. “I hardly think that an appropriate answer, young lady,” she said. “We shall speak of this at length on Thursday.”
The Yank moved forward and held his hands out as if to surrender. “Hey, I didn’t mean to scare you two,” he said. “Just checking the perimeter.”
Checking the perimeter? What sort of idiocy was that?
Once more Annabelle tugged at her arm. “He sounds like a movie star, don’t he, Miss Robin?”
“Doesn’t he,” she corrected.
“Do I?”
Her gaze connected with the enigmatic Mr. Gentry’s, and even in the dimness of twilight, the collision rocked her to her toes. Shaken, she turned her back on the intruder and offered a quick prayer for strength.
“Let’s set this to rights, Darling,” she said as she ignored the Yank, “and then I’ll see you get home safely.”
Annabelle knelt and began to dig at the soft soil with her hand trowel. “I’ll repair this straight away, Miss Robin,” she said. “It’ll be good as new. You’ll see.”
“Actually it looks like she picked something you didn’t want growing in a vegetable garden anyway,” Mr. Gentry said. He stepped between them to retrieve the muddy lump.
“Oh,” emerged from her lips like a mouse’s squeak as she identified black nightshade, the pesky plant she’d been fighting since the spring thaw. “I didn’t realize.”
“Miss Robin says we’re farmers because we provide food for people.” Annabelle offered the American an-other grin. “Would you care for a bunch of carrots or possibly some beans of some sort for your dinner?”
The Yank chuckled. “No, thank you,” he said as he set a toppled tomato cage upright. “I’m still on Texas time.”
“Are you a farmer too?” Annabelle asked.
Gentry’s broad grin could have lit the sky had the moon not done it for him. “Darlin’, that’s the last thing I’ll ever hope to be again. I’m one hundred percent city boy now.”
With her free hand, she poked Robin’s arm. “I knew it. You are a movie star. My mum took me to the cinema and I saw a—”
“He’s a specialist, Dear. He’s helping Mr. Sudbury.” Robin tightened her grip on Annabelle’s hand. “Now let’s leave him to his work and get you home, shall we?”
Annabelle fell into step beside Robin and began chattering on about movies and farming as they left the garden area and headed for the lane. Only the strongest of wills and a continual recitation of the Twenty-Third Psalm under her breath kept her focused on the path ahead.
As their feet left the soft grass and began their walk down the cobblestone lane, Robin realized there were three sets of footsteps rather than the two there should have been. She turned to see Mr. Gentry trailing them and froze. Annabelle continued to skip ahead, her giggles echoing in the quietness of the evening.
Turning on her heels, she placed both hands on her hips and gave him her most authoritative stance. “Surely you’ve other duties to attend, Sir,” she said.
“No.”
In three long steps, he passed her. She whirled about in time to see him take Annabelle’s outstretched arm. Before she could react, he’d seen the girl to her gate and bade her good evening. With a wave, Annabelle skipped off toward the door, oblivious to the trouble she’d caused. T
rouble in the form of a darkening sky, the golden glow of lamplight, and a tall and quite handsome Yank.
He didn’t walk toward her but rather stalked like a panther on the prowl. His face lay hidden in shadow, but her memory served to fill in the blanks darkness hid.
A feeling began to bubble just beneath the surface, settling into a rhythm not unlike the pounding of her heart. “No,” she whispered as she did the first sensible thing that came to mind.
She ran for home.
The moment the door closed behind her, she set about turning on lights and brightening the flat, as much from necessity as from lingering irritation. Before she shed her filthy clothes and stepped into the tub, she made certain the bathroom door was locked, even as she’d been careful to bolt the front door.
While the warm water washed away the garden grime, she allowed prayer to begin the process of removing the fear of defeat. Moving away from the city and all its temptations had kept her on the straight path. Now that temptation had come strolling in, she could only pray and turn the rest over to Him.
But the rest loomed every bit as large as an oversized blue-eyed Texan with a knack of knocking the breath out of her, both literally and figuratively.
When the temperature of the bath water sent her hurrying for her warmth, she dressed in her most comfortable Oxford rowing club T-shirt and leggings. Padding to the kitchen with bare feet, she washed the teapot and put water on to boil. Somewhere between hello and humiliation, the dual encounters with Nigel and his specialist had left her quite without appetite. Perhaps a spot of tea would be just the thing to settle her stomach and allow her to sleep.
While she waited, she brushed the tangles out of her hair and caught as much as she could in a hasty braid.
Unbidden, the thought of the Yank returned.
“Oh, my, I played quite the fool,” she said aloud as she poured hot water over the tea leaves and set the tray on the table. Slowly, while the liquid darkened, she gave the matter a bit more thought.
A man is a man is a man, her mother used to say. Until you meet the right man.
Robin had certainly become an expert in the former. As for the latter, she had her doubts.
“Preposterous,” Robin declared as she sipped gently at the too-hot liquid and listened to the tick of the mantel clock.
Releasing a pent-up breath, she swirled the spoon about in her tea and watched the leaves dance in the amber liquid. Robin took another sip and turned her thoughts to a more cheerful topic, that of the children. She’d have to have a stern discussion with Annabelle, and there would definitely be some weeding to be done in the garden, but overall the class’s regular Thursday visit looked promising.
Tomorrow morning she’d ring Miss Lawrence to inform her the money had become available. The Day School director need not know the temporary removal of the famed Locksley bow to the vault of the Simpton-Wright Gallery would be financing the trip.
The clock struck nine as Robin washed the pot and put away the tea tin. Already her eyes felt heavy, as if the weight of the previous few days sat squarely upon her eyelids. Still, she felt too restless to sleep.
“Perhaps I’ll watch a spot of telly,” she said as she turned off the kitchen lights. As an afterthought, she nabbed a raspberry pastry to fend off the hunger pains. “Just until I feel ready for bed. After all, it’s not too late.”
* * *
“Are you sure we’re not here too late, Mr. Sudbury? Maybe she’s just gone to bed.”
The old man shook his head. “I make it my business to know the habits of people here, and this one burns the lamps late into the night. I say if she’s not answering, there’s trouble.” He gave Travis a long look. “Pure luck the cab hadn’t arrived to take you back to London.”
“Indeed.”
Travis leaned against the ancient oak beam that ran the length of the upper floor and watched the funny little man try to play security guard. He thought about the pretty redhead and the smudge of a bruise he’d seen forming on her otherwise pale forehead.
Maybe she’d been hurt far worse than she let on. After all, she’d behaved a might strange out in the garden. Could be a head injury. A defensive tackle in high school had hit him hard, and when he came to, he didn’t even remember he’d been at the football game.
She could be lying on the other side of the door unconscious at this very moment. His instincts went on alert, and his gaze scanned the perimeter for another means of entry.
“Aye, looks like we have a winner,” Sudbury said as he fit yet another key into the lock.
Travis looked away and decided he’d give the man five minutes to prove his worth before he put his own size thirteen boot to the door and broke it down. As the moments clicked away, the second thoughts began.
What an idiot he’d been. If he’d been paying attention instead of thinking about the legendary weapon, the pretty girl would never have been run over like a rookie in a Pro Bowl game.
The least he could do was check on her—and take a look at the bow before he left for London. He cast a quick glance at his watch and tried not to calculate the time back home in Texas and the jobs being left undone by this side trip.
He had big plans to expand his business and less than three weeks to finish his work in England and get back to Texas to take the first step in that direction. He’d have greater challenges and all the work he could manage if this deal went through. The way he looked at it, joining forces with Daniels Security would allow him to do more it than just protect rich, pampered clients who couldn’t keep their doors locked.
“A moment more, Mr. Gentry,” Mr. Sudbury said. “I’ll have this latch open in two shakes of a pony’s tail. Oh, my.” He jammed another ancient skeleton key into the door lock and tried in vain to turn it, then repeated the process on another of the multitude that hung from his giant metal ring. “Mayhap this key will do the trick.”
Travis sighed. At least this one knew how to keep her doors locked.
This Miss Locksley, what was her first name? He searched his mind and came up without a clue. He’d been too busy fighting the urge not to touch her curls and stare into the depths of those green eyes to remember mundane details.
“Ah, here we are,” Sudbury said as he turned the key and pressed against the ancient door. This time it creaked and groaned like sound effects in a bad horror movie before it swung open.
“Right this way, Lad. The Locksley bow’s over the mantel on your right.” He froze. “Oh dear, and it appears things are worse than I anticipated. Is that blood?”
Chapter 3
A raspberry pastry.
Travis smiled as he leaned away from his desk at the London offices of Gentry Security Specialists, Inc. and pictured the moment all over again. Had it already been two weeks since the incident at Lowingham Manor?
The ancient security guard had almost come unglued when he found the pretty horticulturist curled up under an old blanket with a smear of red, later determined to be raspberry jam, near her lower lip. She’d been plenty mad, the sleepy little English redhead, and for all her fussing, he’d been lucky he hadn’t been hauled off to the dungeon for trespassing.
His smile broadened as he remembered her saying those exact words, and he whispered the word in the same way she had, “Tres-puh-sing.” Funny, he’d never much appreciated spunk in a woman until he came across this one. Funny too how she’d only paid attention to his “tres-puh-sing” and not old Sudbury’s.
It was almost as if. . .
“Forget it, Gentry,” he said under his breath as he powered up his computer and typed in his password.
After a half-hour of work, someone came around with a box from the bakery on Bond Street. Two bites into a raspberry-filled pastry and the little redhead was back in his mind all over again.
To move his thoughts in a more productive direction, Travis decided to place a couple of E-mails to a few of the dealers he’d done business with before. If he couldn’t have the Locksley bow, maybe he could lo
cate a substitute before he flew home tomorrow.
Before he sent the e-mail, he hit delete. To a man who demanded perfection, there would never be a substitute for the Locksley bow.
Disgusted, he stood to stretch out the kinks. Every time he made the trans-Atlantic trip, jet lag hit him a little harder. It seemed as though he’d just about get rid of it in time to get on the plane and develop it all over again. That must be why, even after three weeks on English soil, he couldn’t think straight. It had nothing to do with Robin Locksley and her missing money.
That he’d put off important work to check out a heist that turned out to be punk kids and petty theft was a minor irritation compared to the reason he remained in London. Three times he’d tried to make a reservation, only to have it canceled. A client had offered his plane only to withdraw its use at the last moment due to mechanical trouble.
Finally, a commercial flight had been secured for tomorrow morning, and as a backup he had a private jet on standby, an extravagance he rarely allowed but deemed necessary given the looming meeting with the Daniel folks. In the meantime, he’d taken a corner office and decided life, and his work, must go on. London was a beautiful city, if you could get past all the old buildings cluttering the skyline.
Without warning, thoughts of Miss Locksley once again drifted past like the clouds outside his window. He pushed them away with a shake of his head. Tomorrow he’d be on his way home, God willing, and she’d be an ocean apart. Why this mattered to him was a mystery, and more than once during his time in London, he’d thought of phoning her.
He hadn’t, of course. He had neither the time nor the inclination to strike up a friendship with anyone, least of all a British beauty with an obvious dislike of men.
Besides, she lived out in the middle of nowhere.
Life in the big city was about as sweet as it could be, and Travis had no plans to leave it. He’d lived in nowhere before. No way would he ever go back. That would be like admitting defeat, something a Gentry would never do. Besides, his brothers would never let him live it down.
Robin's Garden Page 2
