Beowulf accompanied her every move, even to sitting with his great head on her knee as she blow-dried her hair. He was comic and adorable, and by the time she had finished with her laborious toilet, she had fallen into the habit of talking aloud to him. It was uncanny how he managed to respond appropriately to various spoken statements.
Sara was soon heading out of her bedroom door and attempting to limp down the stairs when Greg appeared with a coffee mug in hand and several papers in the other. He immediately put them on a side table and jumped up the stairs when he took in her involuntary winces of pain. He reached out, and she felt his hands take hold of her in a firm grip, then the world swung around as he hauled her up in his arms to carry her down the rest of the stairs.
She felt shy and awkward. All of the reactions from last night that she normally would have felt but had been too upset to bother with came rushing up. She remembered Greg’s bare muscular body as he had angrily shrugged into his jeans and sweater from last night, and her face burned. She felt the natural embarrassment for putting someone out, someone that she hardly knew. It coloured her voice.
“Good morning,” she began, but was cut short.
“Honey child, it’s hardly morning,” he told her, amusement threading his voice. “In fact it’s well into the afternoon.”
Her face, already flushed, turned even more red. “I’m sorry—”
Greg stopped in the middle of the hall, with Beowulf behind him, half on and half off the bottom of the stairs. His dark gaze caressed her. “Don’t start that again, Sara. I’ve had enough humility and contrite embarrassment to last me a long time!”
Her eyes twinkled tentatively. “All right.” Greg resumed walking down the hall and Beowulf was able to finish coming down the stairs. Neither had noticed him.
She was asked, “Are you feeling hungry?” to which she responded with a nod. “Good! How about keeping me company in the kitchen while I fix us something to gobble?”
“Please.” He put her down on a bar stool beside a butcher block table and she soon had a steaming cup of coffee in front of her to nurse while he moved efficiently around the kitchen. Sara swung from side to side in an effort to see the stove clock, but with Greg moving around so much she couldn’t see the time.
He caught her movement out of the corner of one eye and turned to contemplate her sardonically. “Practising to become a pendulum some day?”
She chuckled. “I’m trying to see what time it is. I have this very nagging desire to see how much of the day I’ve missed.” He obligingly moved out of the way, and she yelped. It was two-thirty in the afternoon.
“Want to lay odds on whether you’ll be sleepy or not around ten this evening?” Greg asked her with a crooked smile.
She hesitated. “N-no. It was hard enough to get out of bed just now. I think I’ll be only too ready for bed tonight.”
He reached out for her cheek in a quick caress. It was an absentminded gesture, but it still sent a thrill through her. “You went through a lot last night.” Her eyes slid away from his and she watched tiny motes of dust dance along a yellow sunbeam that peeped through a curtained window. “Hey,” he said, “cut it out. Don’t think about it now, d’you hear?”
“Okay.” It was an empty promise, though, and they both knew it.
“What do you want to eat?” Greg was perusing the contents of his refrigerator, head cocked and foot tapping slowly.
“What have you got?” Sara’s stomach was beginning to make sharp demands and she rubbed it unobtrusively.
“Does an onion and mushroom omelette sound good to you?”
“It sounds wonderful,” she sighed. “Can we eat it now and cook it later, to save time?” His dark eyes laughed at her as he juggled items to the table. She watched while he chopped the mushrooms and laughed when her eyes watered as he peeled the onion. The aroma of eggs nicely browning in butter made her mouth salivate. When he slid a steaming plate of food her way, she tucked in with a neat concise eagerness that made him smile to himself. He sat across from her. After they had finished their meal, he stood and fed Beowulf, who swiftly gobbled his portion of dog food with an avidness that made her ask Greg if he had been starving the poor hound.
“It’s the second time he’s been fed today,” he replied dryly, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. “That ‘poor hound’ gets fed three times a day. I don’t think he’s hurting any.” Looking at Beowulf’s sleek shiny coat and firm rippling muscles, Sara had to agree. He looked trim and fit, but he certainly didn’t look thin or weak from lack of food.
Greg poured her another cup of coffee, and they lounged in the kitchen without saying much. It was a perfect opportunity for her to study him in depth. She was genuinely puzzled.
The barrier, so obvious yesterday evening and the first time she had met him, was missing today. He was showing himself to be a warm, compassionate man, sensitive to her needs and caring about her. His eyes were warm and sparkling, not hard and repelling. His face was still hard; nothing could soften those features after a point, but his expression was relaxed and easy, not wary and guarded.
He was an enigma. He was tantalising and unknown. In many ways he was a contradiction in terms. She couldn’t get her mind off him. There was a power of being about him that manifested itself in certain ways: in the hard line of his jaw, in odd inflexibilities of his speech, in his quicksilver intelligence that forced her mind into a high gear of thought, in his quiet self-confidence. After a prolonged study of the lines of his face, Sara realised that he was like steel tempered by fire. The lines were not from maturity in years, but rather from suffering and hardship. She guessed that he had been through some kind of hell, and very probably was still dwelling in a private prison of damnation.
By the end of the afternoon, she had come to think of him as being beautiful, and she watched for every change in his mobile face, every different expression. He soon picked her up and carried her off to the downstairs bathroom, plunking her down decisively on the stool. She was laughing breathlessly, her hair all over her face, and she asked him with a mock sternness in her voice that was betrayed by a slight quiver, “Just what do you think you’re doing? If you think I’m going to go to the bathroom with you in here, you’ve got another think coming, buster! Beowulf’s just the same. He insisted on coming into the bathroom with me when I took my shower.”
Greg knelt at her feet with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and started to remove her socks. “I’m going to have a look at the bottoms of your feet. I should have done this last night, but you were out like a light as soon as you hit the bed, and I didn’t have the heart to disturb you.” He turned one small foot over gently and studied her bruises and lacerations.
It looked very small and white, held like that in his big-boned, darkly tanned hands. The delicate arch of her foot was mottled with black bruises and red cuts.
Sara wasn’t thinking about her foot, though. She was still mulling over Greg’s words. It must mean, she thought, with a squirm and a sudden rush of red, that he put me to bed last night. No wonder I didn’t remember changing into my nightgown! His dark head came up and he sent her a slanting, mocking glance as if he knew what she was thinking. She said hurriedly, “I made sure they were clean when I took my shower.”
“That must have hurt. I think we would be wise to put some antiseptic on those lacerations, just in case, since we left them a while before checking. Besides, I’d like to wrap them in gauze bandaging to keep them clean. That way you won’t stick to your socks by the time you get ready for bed.” He turned, opened a small cabinet, and took out a first aid kit and soon was applying antiseptic to her feet. It made her eyes water from pain in spite of his obvious attempts to be gentle, and she took in a shaky breath when he finished one foot and wrapped it several times before sliding it back into her sock. By the end of the second foot she was gripping the edge of the sink and holding her lips so tightly that there was a white line around them.
Lookin
g up, he caught sight of her pain, and took her unhesitatingly into his arms. The onrush of warmth from his caring and sympathy had her clinging to him with something akin to desperation. It felt so safe. He drew in a breath, looked down at her face so close to his own, and brought down his mouth. He was warm and his lips were firm and yet mobile. It shook her. He brushed her mouth over and over, then deepened the kiss with a gentle persuasion that had her responding almost before she realised it.
Afterwards, he helped her into the den, and Sara knew without any words being spoken that he had retreated once again.
Chapter Five
Greg was very thoughtful. Sara was made comfortable and he brought her a paperback to read, and she had never felt so alone before in her life when he closed the door to his study after explaining that he needed to do some work.
Some time later she knocked on his door softly and was rewarded with an immediate and rather short, “Come in.” She poked her head around the edge of the door after opening it halfway and Greg leaned back in his swivel chair, gesturing impatiently. “I said come in, not peep at me like a mouse!”
So she limped in and leaned against the back of the chair in front of his desk to take the weight off her feet. “I’m going back to the house now,” she began, and paused, and Greg came forward out of his chair with a resounding crash. It was quite an effective silencer and it had her staring at him with wide eyes.
“Like hell you are!” he shouted furiously. “You’ve got to be crazy to even contemplate staying there after what happened! No way, lady, you are going to stay right here!”
She cocked an eyebrow, attempting to hide the flush of anger that suffused her mind. It had been a good eight years since anyone had dared to talk to her like that. Her mother was the last, and it had been a decade since she had heeded anything delivered to her in that tone of voice. She wasn’t about to stand for it now, not from Greg or anyone else for that matter. “Thank you for hearing me out,” she said sarcastically. The biting edge to her voice was keen. She knew her own voice intimately; she had to, to perform as well as she did. She used her voice inflections to advantage now, and she saw him wince slightly. “But I was about to finish with ‘pick up a few things.’ Now that you mention it, though, I might add another thank you for your kind hospitality last night, but I really must be going.” With that statement, she closed her mouth in what she knew to be an infuriating manner, turned her back on Greg, and limped with dignity out of the room. He caught up with her faster than she had expected.
She was whirled around and pushed against the nearby wall, imprisoned with two strong arms one to each side. Incensed with his cavalier manner, she brought up a stiff warning forefinger to stick it in front of his nose with a hiss through bared teeth, “Watch it!”
He ignored the finger hovering near his nose. “Where are you going?” It was a harsh tone of voice, one that she resented like she resented his attitude.
She answered him snappily, “I’ll let you know when I decide!” He was very big, she realised suddenly. His lower body was leaning against hers to keep her in place, and she found it quite distracting.
“Are you wanting to check into a motel, or are you going to go home?” he insisted, a thread of urgency colouring his question.
Sara’s eyes dropped with a suffusion of doubt, and something in his face made her answer him seriously, “I don’t know, really. I hadn’t thought about it.” With a quick sideways look up at his shadowed expression, she admitted tersely, “You made me very angry.”
“I know,” he responded absently, “Sara, don’t feel you have to go home just because of this. Don’t cut your vacation short. You can stay here if you like, for as long as you want. You’d be safe. Even if I needed to leave the house for a while, Beowulf is here and he would protect you.”
She stared at his shirt front, longing to stay so badly that she could taste it in her mouth. Uncertainties were undermining her thinking, though, and she couldn’t seem to come to any rational decision. “What—what about your privacy? I’d be an imposition, I’d upset your routine, I’d…”
He interrupted. “You wouldn’t be an imposition. Sara, do you want to stay?” An insistent hand was forcing her chin up, compelling her to look into his very serious eyes. She did so and found she couldn’t look away.
“Yes.” It was a bare thread of sound, but he heard it anyway.
He said in a low voice, “Then stay.” It was most persuasive, the intent and almost pleading way he spoke.
Sara closed her eyes and nodded.
Greg didn’t accompany her back to the house since he had several things that he needed to do, but he insisted that she take Beowulf with her and let him run through the cabin before she entered. It was a good suggestion, and she accepted gratefully.
He told her not to be surprised if she found items in the house moved around a little. “I took the liberty of calling the police this morning while you were in bed,” he explained, “and they went through the house to check for fingerprints, but didn’t find any. Whoever it was had to be wearing gloves. They also determined his mode of entry. He’d picked the lock, I guess.”
The front door swung open silently and the house loomed so quiet and empty in front of her that she was more than happy to let the huge dog bound ahead and sniff out the place. While he disappeared, she inspected the front lock like Greg had suggested, and noticed the scratch marks around the lock. It was immensely frightening, those small, telltale marks.
Beowulf was trotting back into the living room easily, his demeanor placid, so she went in and locked the door behind her, only afterwards realising how futile that really was. She had a competent guard dog with her, though, and she felt more or less at ease. Even so she didn’t want to waste time.
She went straight to the phone and dialed long-distance to California, and soon she heard Barry’s voice, sounding as if he was speaking through fuzzy cotton. “Barry?” she asked.
“Sara!” he exclaimed in understandable surprise. “Love, this is unexpected but rather sweet of you. I had an uneventful flight, nothing unusual.”
She had to laugh. “That’s not why I’m calling, you muttonhead!”
He grunted. “Figured as much, but you can’t blame a fellow for trying. What’s wrong? Spent all your money already?”
“I wish it was that simple. Barry, I had a midnight intruder last night.”
A brief silence. “Are you all right, babe? You weren’t—I mean, nothing occurred—oh hell!”
“No, I wasn’t raped, if that was what you meant. I couldn’t sleep and when I heard someone in the living room, I crawled out my bedroom window and ran to a neighbour’s house. We came back later and things were ripped up in my bedroom, but nothing was stolen, and frankly that scares the hell out of me. Barry, I’m afraid it might have been someone who knows who I really am.”
He asked her, “Are you coming back right away? Where are you now, at a motel?”
“No, I’m back at the house getting a few things.”
“You little idiot!” he exploded. She had to hold the phone receiver away from her ear slightly. “Of all the damn-fool things to do, that takes the icing right off the cake…”
“Hold your spittle, Barry,” she protested, chuckling. “I’ve a very big and very black Doberman panting at my side at the moment, and I don’t plan on staying. What I’m calling about is to tell you that I’m staying a while longer in the area with a friend, and if you want to get in touch with me just write here. I’ll be over for mail every day. But Barry, use my real name, just in case someone decides to look at my mail. Also, I want you to do something else for me. Do you remember those crazy fan letters that I was getting around six months ago?”
“Sure, I remember,” he responded immediately. “Do you think the guy who wrote those could be your intruder?”
“I don’t know. He would have had to fly out here to do it, but if he happened to be following me, then I suppose anything is possible. What I want you to
do is to find out for me. Hire a private detective from there to check out the fellow—I think he lives somewhere in Pasadena. The letters are filed with the rest of the fan mail. It’s a good thing we’ve made a point to keep it all! Barry, I want whoever did this found out, and I don’t really care how much it costs. Do you realise how my freedom could be impaired if we don’t find out who did it? I would never know if I was safe or not!”
A sigh wafted over the receiver. “I know, babe, I know. I’ll get someone checking on that fellow right away. In the meantime, though, couldn’t you get in touch with the local police and tell them who you really are? I think you need some protection, kiddo.”
She smiled. “For the moment, Barry, I have protection. Don’t you worry about me. I’m not going to go to the police unless something dire happens. That has to be avoided at all costs right now. Don’t ask me to explain.” It would be, she thought, disastrous. “My friend called the police this morning and they’ve already been here to dust for fingerprints. The place was clean, so there’s no lead here. I’m afraid it’s up to you.”
“And I’m half a continent away!” he groaned. He would be clutching at his hair, she guessed.
“Let go of your hair and relax,” she said calmly, and grinned at his startled exclamation. “Private detectives know how to board planes, too, you know. If they happen to come out here, get a message to the house somehow and I’ll try to arrange a meeting time with them. Tell them to stick it under the garage door—I’ve got the car and the garage is empty, so there’s no reason for anyone to try to break in. We can work out something, I’m sure. I’ve got to go now, Barry. See you, and thanks, old boy.”
She had nearly replaced the receiver when she heard distant yelling. She brought the phone curiously back to her ear. “Whoa, Sara! Don’t you want to hear about contract negotiations with the television network? I think they’re going to agree with your demands, kiddo. They’re breathing fire and stomping around right now, but I think it’s just a ritual rain dance, nothing more. Sooner or later we’re going to have ’em!”
The Wall Page 9
