The Baron

by Sally Goldenbaum

  Halley watched curiously. At first Nick looked surprised, then uncomfortable. Mickey didn’t notice and simply grinned and tugged Nick’s arm until he could grasp firmly on to his fingers. Then he bounced along contentedly beside him. When Halley finally caught Nick’s eye, all she could detect were dwindling traces of the passion Mickey had dampened so quickly, and the odd uncomfortableness. Well, she thought as she smiled regretfully at him, so her Baron wasn’t very used to children. Most bachelors probably weren’t. It took exposure, that’s all.

  “Mickey is explaining gravestone rubbings to me,” he said solemnly over the sandy curls covering the youngster’s head. Halley nodded, and they walked toward the group of people gathered around Archie in the small cemetery.

  Nick was still ill at ease, Halley could see. “Mickey’s an expert at this,” Halley said.

  “It seems like a strange pastime,” Nick answered.

  They walked up to the edge of the crowd, and when Mickey left them to crouch down in the front row, Halley looped her arm through Nick’s and squeezed his hand. “Nice to have you back again,” she whispered in the brief second before Archie hushed them all and began his short lecture.

  “This is Whisper Cloud’s grave,” Archie explained carefully and thoughtfully, so the kids wouldn’t miss a word, “She was a brave Indian maid who lived many, many years ago.” He pointed to the dates on the gravestone.

  As Nick and Halley listened, the kindly hobo retold the tale of the young girl and how she courageously left her family to travel many, many miles through a devastating winter to bring back medicine for the tribe.

  Then he showed them how to place their paper on the letters of the gravestone and rub with the lead until the words appeared in relief.

  “Mr. Harrington will try it first.” Archie swept the air with his hand, motioning for Nick to step up to the gravestone.

  Nick was startled at first, then walked toward Archie, looking, Halley thought, as if he were afraid to step on something he shouldn’t. When he reached the gravestone, he seemed reluctant to touch it. She stood still, watching the incongruous scene: the tall, handsome man whose strength was visible in his very stance, hesitant to participate in the children’s exercise. Then, for just a fraction of a second, she saw pain in his eyes.

  Halley was stunned.

  “We rub with even pressure,” Archie explained in a gravelly voice, and the moment passed.

  “You did very well,” she said, smiling up at Nick when he returned to her side.

  “I’m a quick learner.” He returned the smile, and Halley breathed easily again. Perhaps it had been her imagination playing tricks on her.

  They passed from grave to grave, with Archie filling the youngsters’ minds with wonderful, colorful stories, and they in turn carefully rubbed meaningful epitaphs off the gravestones to take home with them where they’d retell the stories to brothers and sisters and parents.

  “How does he know so much?” Nick asked.

  Halley grinned proudly. “The Thorne Estate Library reading room. He’s a smart man, and living here where he can nourish his mind sure beats skid row.”

  Nick thought about that for a minute, and then, as the group started to walk back to the library, he held Halley back with a quick, sudden hug.

  She smiled. “What’s that for?”

  “Things. Things you do. And are.”

  Halley slipped her hand into his and walked on. They kept several yards behind the others, close enough to hear, far enough to be lost in their own world.

  “Well,” Halley said as they approached the gazebo, “I guess you have to go.”

  Nick glanced at his watch. “I have twenty-seven minutes left. Are you trying to get rid of me?” He traced a finger along the lovely rise of her cheekbone. He couldn’t remember when minutes started being so important to him, but he knew it was a recent phenomenon. Minutes were things to get through, to savor, but now Halley had him counting minutes and seconds, and each one with her was becoming more and more special.

  “Of course I don’t. But—”

  “Hey, you two!’ Mickey yelled as he skidded to a stop at Nick’s feet. “Wanna have a sack race with us?”

  Halley pulled away quickly.

  “A sack race?” Nick asked.

  “Yeah, it’s great!” Mickey assured him. “It’s the last activity for the Friday Club. Aunt Halley?”

  “We’ll see. Run along, Mick,” Halley said with a smile.

  “Sack race?” Nick furrowed his brow and swung her hand lightly.

  “Well, it’s kind of a tradition,” Halley reluctantly explained. “The kids like it when I join in with someone as my partner. They like to beat me is what they like to do,” she said with a laugh.

  “What do we do?”

  “Well, the partners get in a sack together—”

  Nick’s eyes lit up, and he laughed with enthusiasm. “Now you’re talking! Count me in.”

  “A potato sack! And mind your manners, Mr. Harrington. I’m ticklish!”

  The raggedy line of contestants was already formed when they got there, two small, wiggling bodies in each huge burlap sack. Archie ceremoniously handed them the last one. “Here you are. Now we shall see which generation is more adept.”

  “Hah!” Halley said, and climbed in beside Nick. “We accept the challenge.”

  They drew the rough fabric up around their waists and tied it firmly, while Archie fashioned two fingers into a mighty whistle that Joe Finnegan always claimed he could hear clear over in his shop.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, on your marks,” he bellowed loudly.

  “I think I’m going to like this,” Nick whispered into Halley’s ear.

  “How could you have gotten through childhood without sack races?” Halley asked, trying to ignore the tight press of his thigh against hers.

  “How I got through puberty without you is more the question.”

  “Nick, get your mind on the right track!”

  “In the sack, you mean?”

  Halley groaned.

  “Get set,” Archie intoned, and when he brought his fingers to his lips and blew gustily into the clear air, the race began in earnest.

  Mickey and his partner took an early lead, followed closely by the seven other youthful sack racers, while Halley and Nick attempted their first hop. “Come on, Nick, together now!” Halley shouted above the noise of the laughing kids and the senior citizens and parents who had settled on the grass to watch.

  Finally Nick got the hang of it, and the two hopped sluggishly across the lawn. “Hey, I think I could get good at this!” Nick yelled breathlessly. The feel of her body pulled close to him was wonderful; he reveled in having her hips and the long length of her leg pressed against him. He looked ahead and saw the line of kids turning around at the edge of a wooded area and heading back to the finish line. Nick picked up a little speed.

  “Hey, my legs are shorter, don’t forget,” Halley yelled, her mind blurring as their limbs rubbed against one another again and again.

  “But spectacular just the same,” replied Nick with a sensuous grin. “Come on, Contessa, they’re passing us on their way back!”

  It was when they got ready to turn around that they took the tumble. Halley felt it coming first.

  “Nick!” she screamed, her arms flying out in front of her as a mighty hop brought them just to the edge of the woods.

  Their legs were one tangled mess, and when she opened her eyes, Nick’s face was an inch from hers. He was smiling.

  “These sack races aren’t bad at all.”

  Halley tried to move, but it only brought her body into closer contact with his. She felt hot all over. “How … how do we get out of this?” The clean, sweet smell of leaves and matted grass drifted around them. Beneath her, Nick’s head was cradled in a puddle of sunshine.

  “I’m rather enjoying it.” Nick’s hands moved into her hair, his fingers threading through the tangled waves.

  “Nick … the kids …�
�� she murmured in the tiny sliver of space between their faces.

  “Are long gone, my love.”

  Halley lifted her head an inch and looked beyond the trees, over the wide expanse of green grass. In the distance she could hear the shouts of childish laughter as the children joined their parents and said their good-byes to Archie.

  “They’ve given us up for losers, I’m afraid,” Nick said with no trace of remorse in his voice.

  “Losers, hmm?” Halley felt dreamy and wonderful. Gravity had pressed her whole length against him, and she could feel all of him keenly, ankle to ankle, thigh to thigh, belly to belly.

  “You’re so beautiful, Halley.”

  “You make me feel that way,” she answered simply. She smiled as he drew her head down and kissed the tip of her nose, then each cheek, her eyelids, and finally captured her smile completely with his full and loving kiss.

  “Do you suppose we could stay here forever?” Halley asked when she finally pulled her head up for a needed breath of air.

  “And they’ll find us millions of years hence, like a piece of petrified wood,” Nick said, his thumbs caressing her cheeks. “Woodland creatures twined together—”

  “—in a potato sack! What an interesting cultural exploration we’ll start.” She laughed, feeling bubbly with happiness and tingly with the excitement of Nick lying beneath her. She felt hot all over and it was becoming more difficult to breathe, but she couldn’t seem to get herself to move.

  “The Sack Era.” Nick kissed her again, long and passionately, then squirmed beneath her body.

  “I’m too heavy for you,” Halley said quickly, and slipped over to the side.

  “It’s not that.”

  “What, then?” When she looked into his eyes, she knew the answer before he spoke, and bit softly on her lip. It wasn’t only she who was hanging on to restraint by a thin thread.

  “There’s just so much a man can take … you understand?”

  Halley began wiggling out of the sack. “Of course. Women aren’t so terribly different, you know.” Her heart was beating quickly. Petrified wood, bosh! Lying on top of Nick Harrington had released a million fireflies that spread their flickering light to every nerve ending in her entire body.

  “Smokey the Bear would be proud of us,” Nick said, but his voice was strained with emotion. He pulled the sack from around their ankles and helped Halley to her feet.

  “For putting out the forest fire?” She smiled shakily and reached for Nick’s arm.

  Nick nodded.

  “I guess we should go back.” Halley brushed the leaves and twigs off Nick’s sweater. “You have to leave.”

  “I guess I do. We seem to have a terrible problem with timing, Halley.”

  “Well, maybe we’ll get better with practice,” she said huskily.

  “No doubt.” Nick filled his lungs with air and willed his body to calm itself.

  The sweet-smelling breeze drifted through the woods and gently massaged their backs as they walked slowly along the path. It was easier to breathe up here, Nick decided absently, but then, everything was easier here. Walking and talking and moving through time. The unplanned days had a richness to them that his hectic, jammed-packed schedule hadn’t allowed for. But that was the kind of life he’d wanted since Anne died, wasn’t it? Busy, propelled, filled with activities to keep his attention shifting from one thing to another. Diversionary tactics.

  The kind of simple peace here was something he’d wanted to steer clear of. Stillness allowed thoughts to balloon into life and emotions to rage.

  Then why wasn’t he raging?

  Hell, who was he kidding? No, it wasn’t really the place at all. It was Halley Finnegan. She was the simpleness, the beauty he felt, the peace that was making him feel loose and comfortable.

  Their hands, fingers entwined, swung lightly as they walked, and Nick Harrington began to hum.

  Beside him, Halley smiled.

  Eight

  Halley slept in short spurts that night—starts and stops that her mother used to call “angel naps.”

  “Devil naps would be more like it,” she mumbled as she groped her way to the small kitchen shortly before dawn to fix herself a glass of milk.

  She had thought that by this time Nick would be on his way, with the wind at his back. And she’d be the wind, she and the Thorne Estate Library and the very plain life she lived, pushing him away by their very ordinariness. He was still around, though, and Halley was finding it more and more difficult to imagine it any other way.

  She took the hot milk off the stove and poured it into a mug Rosie had given her that read, “Good friends hang together.” It had a picture painted on it of two shirts hanging on a clothesline, arms around each other.

  She stared at it for a minute, then hugged her robe to her slender body and walked to the window shaking her head. “No, Finnegan, just who are you trying to kid, anyway? These aren’t friend-type feelings you feel toward your Baron. These are feelings you’ve never felt toward anyone.” She sipped the hot milk and looked out the curtained window toward the huge golden moon that seemed to be hanging just above the library. The rest of the sky was inky black, with only a single star dotting the galaxy.

  “Star light, star bright …” she said dreamily, as the milk took its toll.

  Miles across the city in a penthouse apartment that would hold Halley’s cottage in its bosom and hardly know it was there, another sleepless dreamer watched the moon and the single star.

  “I wish I may, I wish I might …” Nick murmured as he took another drink of Scotch. “Might what? Might go to bed with my Irish Contessa and love her through the dawn.” He took another drink. “Might sweep her off on a mighty steed and conquer the world … might settle down with her in a vinecovered cottage …”

  He slipped one hand into the silky sash of his robe and leaned against the French door that led to his rooftop patio. “Might …” His mind was groggy, but it wasn’t the drink; he’d had only one. It was Halley Finnegan who was blurring his mind, drugging him. Slowly he returned to his wide bed and removed his robe. It was his Contessa who was haunting his dreams, and the dreams were no longer enough.

  “… get the wish I wish tonight.” Halley closed her eyes tightly to make a wish. But what would it be? That she might have an affair with Nick Harrington, ex-baron, rich man, banker? Or a life with Nick the wonderful? A week? A day … Her eyelids drooped. Or a dream about the two of them together, twined as tightly as a vine …

  She smiled groggily as she set down the mug and padded off to bed. “Good night, my Baron,” she murmured into her pillow, then fell asleep with a lovely smile on her face.

  When she awoke in the morning, Halley grimaced against the morning light. Angel naps didn’t make one feel very angelic. Nor rested, she decided tiredly.

  She showered, put on a soft, forest-green warm-up suit, and gulped down a glass of milk, half expecting to hear Nick’s knock at the door.

  He had gone off the previous day without mentioning their “date” again. Maybe, she thought hopefully, the family deal had fallen through and she could talk him into a candlelit pizza dinner for two. Or maybe … maybe there wasn’t to be a date tonight. The last thought caused a swift sadness to pass through her.

  The ringing of the phone was a welcome sound in a room that suddenly felt too quiet.

  “Rosie, hi!”

  “Halley, you sound too pleased to hear from me. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, you dope. I am glad to hear from you.”

  “I thought I’d start your day off right by telling you mine started out with a real treat.…”

  Halley slipped down into the chair beside the phone and curled up her legs beneath her. One never knew how long Rosie’s tales would take.

  “I ran downtown to the Hyatt Towers early today to deliver some dresses for an ultra-fancy affair being held there tonight—”

  “That’s great, Rosie! Business must be booming.”

  �
�Wait! That’s not the treat. As I was leaving, just whom should I spot crossing the lobby but …”

  Rosie paused for dramatic effect, and Halley groaned. “On with it, Rosie!”

  “Baron Nicholas, the Hunk, that’s who!”

  “Nick …”

  “Aha! I can tell by the way you say his name, Halley, that soft, sexy sound … there’s more going on here than an exploration of the Dewey decimal system! Oh, Finnegan, I hope—”

  “Rosie, stop.”

  “You like him a lot, Halley. I can tell from your voice and the wonderful look in your eyes these days.” Rosie’s voice had lowered to a steady, caring tone. “We haven’t been friends from toddlerhood for nothing, Finnegan. I know. I know he’s different from the other men who’ve moved in and out of your life …”

  “Okay, I do like him, Rosie, a lot. But—”

  “But you’re worlds apart. Who the hell cares, Finnegan? You can hold a candle to anyone.”

  “But it’s not just that, Rosie. Sometimes I feel I only know a tiny part of Nick, and that’s what I’ve become enchanted with. It’s the unknown that scares me—”

  “Then get to know him better! Heavens, Halley, there are plenty of women who would covet that job!”

  “Oh, Rosie, you do have a way of simplifying things—”

  “I happen to think love is simple, Halley.” Rosie’s voice was strangely calm. “It’s only we complicated folks who tend to muck it up sometimes. Don’t, Halley.”

  “Rosie, you are ridiculous! Who said we’re talking love here?”

  “Whatever we’re talking, Finnegan, it is right and good. Incidentally, the way you say his name is nothing compared to the way he says yours!”

  Halley laughed softly. “Oh, Rosie, you’re the eternal romantic. Was Nick alone?”

  “Nope. He was with a delightful woman.”

  Halley felt a quick stab of disappointment, then shoved it aside quickly. “Oh?”

  “Yes, a lovely gray-haired lady whom he calls Aunt Syl. You’ve met, he says.”

  Halley tried not to notice the feeling of relief she felt. “Yes, Syl was the mystery-party hostess. She is lovely. Nick is quite close to her.”