“It came to the scene where Doris Day is considering changing into something ‘more comfortable’ and coming back to his room. Jason was actually joining us that night, which was pretty unusual, but I think it was probably because Jasmine was home, and of course she is absolutely beautiful, a fact not lost upon dear Jason. Anyway, he made some snide comment to Jasmine about the scene and they starting snickering. Mr. Parnell got really upset. I mean very, very upset. He demanded an apology from Jason, as if he were protecting the honor of Doris Day. I don’t remember what all was said, but it really rattled Mr. Parnell. He was just.... off, for several days after that.”
“What do you mean, ‘off’?”
“Not his usual jovial self. Very short tempered. Forgetful, too. I know he’s getting older and more forgetful, some days more than others, but for about a week after that, he was really distracted. I didn’t want to make him feel bad about not locking my door, so I never said anything about it to him.”
“So you don’t know if he went in your apartment that day or not?”
“No, but he did go in at some point, because about a week later, he told me everything looked fine and I could start running the air.”
“What did Madison say when all this happened?”
“Some rather unkind things. Called him old, and made remarks about his obsession with Doris Day and with his garden, especially his daisies. I do have to say, the man takes great pride in those plants. Feeds them some special diet mixture that he stirs up himself. It smells awful, but it must work, because our gardens are absolutely fabulous. Have you ever walked our gardens?”
“No,” he admitted, thinking that was something he probably should have done. He made a mental note to explore the extensive backyard of Daisy House when they returned.
“The property line actually goes back all the way to the street behind us. There are some amazing flower lined trails, and Mr. Parnell has a vegetable garden back there, too. Every spring and fall, the gardens are open to the public during the Richmond Home and Garden Show. We even shot a summer episode of Ashli’s Kitchen in the gardens last year.”
“You say it goes out to Redmond Street?”
“Yes. If you’ll notice, there’s what looks like an empty lot between the gingerbread house and the two story brick on Redmond Street, but really it’s just the tree line behind the gardens.”
“Hmm, I’ll definitely check that out. That might be how your stalker is approaching the house.”
“I-I hadn’t thought of that.” Ashli released a heavy sigh. “The gardens are so beautiful, especially the different varieties of daisies. Now I guess I’ll have to think of those as sinister, too.”
Hating the sound of dejected woe in her voice, Lange attempted to lighten the mood. “So the old man has a thing for Doris Day, huh?”
“I suppose. He has all her movies and records and even some autographed photos of her.”
“I was once accused of having a thing for her, too,” he admitted, recalling Diane’s tirade the night he broke up with her. Had that really only been a few days ago? He hadn’t given his former on-again, off-again lover as much as a thought since then.
“Which of her movies is your favorite?” Ashli asked.
“I like the comedies.”
“Really?” Ashli cocked her head sideways and spoke in that whispery voice that sounded so much like the movie star herself. “I would have thought you more the Midnight Lace sort. Or a The Man Who Knew Too Much fan.”
“Not when it comes to Doris.”
***
They reached the farm about an hour later.
As they pulled into the white gravel drive, Ashli’s sigh of relief was audible. She was home. She was safe here, away from the prying eyes of her stalker, away from the dangers of the city. There was no feeling in the world like the one she had now, this feeling of utter and complete security.
As her eyes eagerly roamed over her family’s home and she drew strength from its very sight, Lange’s sharp eyes surveyed the scene before them. A neat, modest yard with blooming flowers and a covered porch swing. A sturdy old white farmhouse that had weathered the years and the elements and the people who lived there, sheltered beneath a half dozen ageless old trees. He instinctively knew that this was a home where love abided, where a stranger was always welcome. Lange felt something tug at his heart, stirring up memories of how it had once felt to have had a home, to truly belong. Those memories, along with the image of his grandmother’s similar homestead, had been long buried within the empty pit of his heart but were awakened again by the sight of Ashli’s childhood home.
“Now remember,” she whispered as they walked up the cobblestone path to the front porch, “not a word about why you’re really here.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” he crooned softly, taking her elbow and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I am, after all, a professional.”
The door opened before they ever reached the porch. Even without the introductions, Lange knew the smiling faces belonged to Ashli’s parents. She took her coloring from her father, a fair haired man with a fatherly countenance and kind, gentle eyes. Her features were those of her mother, a woman whose beauty had matured with age and whose smile could still turn a man’s head.
After hugging both parents, Ashli made the introductions. “Mom, Dad, I want you to meet a friend of mine, Lange Sterling. Lange, my parents, Alice and Albert Wilson.” Ashli was nervous, once again afraid of what they might read into his presence. She was even more afraid of how he might deliberately act to confirm their misguided suspicions.
“Nice to have you here, young man,” Albert said, extending his hand. He liked the way Lange gripped his hand in a firm, steady grip and the way he looked him right in the eye to speak.
“Thank you for having me, sir. Ma’am, nice to meet you. You have a lovely place here.”
Ashli resisted the urge to turn around and stare. Was that really Lange Sterling speaking in such cordial, respectful tones? She nearly stumbled over her own feet as she followed her parents inside, but Lange’s hand caught her elbow in a firm, possessive grip. Had she not known it was only pretend, her heart might have melted right then and there when he looked down at her with tender concern.
Ashli soon discovered that when it came to keeping his cover, the man was, indeed, a professional. No one could have guessed that his presence there was for business reasons only. For the first time, Ashli saw a glimpse of what she suspected might be the real Lange Sterling, a man of charm and grace and genteel breeding. There was no sarcasm in his voice when he talked with her two younger brothers Adam and Andy, no harsh clipped tones when he visited with her parents. He appeared relaxed and at ease in the home she had grown up in, and if he noticed the dazed expression of disbelief that occasionally crossed her face, he never showed it.
Instead he gently teased her, as if he found everything she said and did utterly fascinating, as if he really were an adoring boyfriend who had come to make a good impression on her family. He did not smother her with embarrassing kisses or clinging hands, but he played his part of a smitten suitor with great finesse. It was mostly in the way his hand touched hers, the way he hovered at her side without being intrusive, the way his eyes followed her when she left the room. It was the way he said her name, the way his eyes lingered on her lips when she spoke, the way a slow smile would spread across his face whenever her eyes lifted to his.
By day’s end, the Wilson family was convinced that Lange Sterling was the best thing that had ever happened to Ashli. He was a hard worker, picking twice as many berries as anyone else. Along the fence rows and down the small country roads, blackberries grew wild and thick, and it did not take long for their buckets to be filled with the plump offerings. Lange carried the harvested berries back to the house, where he covered them with towels on the back porch to keep them moist and cool. When they broke for a light lunch, Lange insisted on helping Albert with a few chores around the house, and when they finished picking berries f
or the day, he asked for a tour of the farm. While he went off with her father and brothers to see their pride and joy, Ashli spent the afternoon hearing how much her mother liked the young man she brought home.
“Mom, I know how much you want grandchildren, but don’t read too much into this. I’ve only known him a few weeks and I just brought him along so he could help with the berries,” Ashli warned her mother as they sat in the kitchen peeling vegetables.
“Your father used to look at me like that,” Alice said, a far-away smile on her face. “We had only known each other for a few days, but somehow we knew we would spend the rest of our lives together. Your young man reminds me of your father at that age, so dashing and charming. And so handsome. His eyes are so dark and mysterious...”
Ashli murmured a denial, but the truth was, his eyes were dark and mysterious. And despite herself, she found it impossible not to be effected by those eyes and the way they followed her every move. She knew it was all pretend, that Lange was just keeping his end of the bargain, but for the life of her, she could not keep her heart from fluttering when he acted out the part of the adoring boyfriend. She found his dark, watchful gaze as tantalizing as any kiss he might give her, his light touch as possessive as any grip he might hold her with. The man truly was a professional, attacking his assignment with a thoroughness that was leaving her nerves distraught and her heart badly out of rhythm.
When the men returned, Ashli found a moment to pull Lange aside and whisper a warning to him. “You’re going just a little over-board on this thing, aren’t you?”
“Why, darlin’, I don’t know what you mean,” Lange drawled, his eyes tracing the curve of her lips with infuriating fascination.
“Stop it!” she hissed, her heart beginning to thud in a way that made her all the more angry. “Just stop it!”
“But honeybunch, I thought you wanted your family to think I was your boyfriend, not your bodyguard.” He reached out to encircle her waist with his arms and drag her up against him. His voice was low, the tone a murmured caress so that no one could ever guess what he might really be saying.
Knowing her family was already gathering around the dining room and could easily see into the living room where they stood, Ashli tried her best to look relaxed in his embrace. “The way you’re acting, they’re going to think we came here to announce our engagement!” she whispered in exasperation.
“I told you I was a professional,” he said, finding her discomfort amusing.
“Yes, but I thought you meant private detective, not a professional gigolo!” she hissed.
When he chuckled, she could feel the rumble of his chest against her own. It occurred to her that today was the first time she had ever heard him truly laugh, and she cocked her head to one side, wondering for the hundredth time about his past and who he really was, deep beneath the rough exterior.
“Have I done one thing to suggest anything but respectful intentions? I thought I was being a perfect gentleman. Besides, I think your family likes me.”
“I know they do. So how will I explain your behavior a month from now, when this mess is all cleared up? They’ll want to know why you never came back, why we aren’t still dating, why we’re not married by then, for Heaven’s sake! You’ve done such a convincing job of being my boyfriend that they’ll never believe our break-up!” she complained in a hiss.
“We’ll say the fresh air and sunshine went to my head and I was temporarily intoxicated,” he teased. Yet when he lowered his head to nuzzle the blond strands, he knew the joke was on him.
God, he was intoxicated. He was intoxicated with her, with her very essence, her very nearness. Today had been the easiest assignment of his life, pretending to be falling in love with her. Even though he knew it was impossible, that it could never and would never happen, it was easy to pretend otherwise. All he had to do was pretend that he still had a heart, that he still had the capacity to care about a woman, that he still believed in love and dreams and being part of a family.
“Just remember,” she warned sweetly, reaching up to smooth away an imaginary wrinkle from the breadth of his shoulder, “I have to live down whatever you make up.”
Her touch seemed to take him by surprise. When her hand lingered for a moment too long, she could feel the sudden pounding of his heart. Stunned, she looked up into his eyes and felt her breath catch in her throat. The teasing light was gone now, replaced by a glow so tender and so new that she knew it had to be real. There was nothing ‘pretend’ about the shudder of realization that passed between them, settling somewhere in the weakened support of her knees, echoing poetically in the ragged intake of his breath.
“God, so do I.” The words could have been spoken aloud on a sigh, or held forever silent in his eyes. She tasted the words on his lips, as ever so slowly his mouth descended upon hers. He kissed her slowly, and the act was so sweet and reverent that Ashli felt a bittersweet longing seep into her heart. Even as he kissed her, she wondered how something could feel so beautiful and so painful, all at one time.
It was not a passionate kiss, not like most they had shared. This kiss was a cool drink of water on a warm summer day, a long draw of bourbon on a cold rainy night. It was warmth and shelter and a place to come home to. It was slow and meaningful, and it was totally intoxicating.
In the drunken euphoria that followed, they pulled slowly apart, both of them trembling. A silly smile broke between them, making words unnecessary. It was perhaps the single most beautiful moment in her entire life, but its magical spell was broken when Ashli’s mother called them for dinner.
Lange ate his meal with a healthy appetite, but it was not the food that held his attention. It was the family gathered around the dining room table, it was the laughter and good conversation, it was the feeling of belonging. Watching Ashli argue good-naturedly with her brothers, Lange wondered what it would have been like to grow up with siblings and not as an only, lonely child. He wondered what it would have been like to have parents who smiled at you with pride in their eyes. He wondered what it would be like to raise his own family, to have his own children gathered around the table for a family meal. A table where Ashli joined him.
An intense longing swept over him, stealing his very breath away, shattering his aloof shield of indifference. Just for a moment, the raw need to belong was revealed in his eyes, eyes that searched out the face of the woman responsible for his vulnerable state of mind. He realized then that she had been watching him, that she has seen his deepest, innermost thoughts, that he had been naked before her. What was that in her eyes, compassion?
Or was it pity?
Hell, he could stand anything except her pity. He didn’t want her to feel sorry for him, he didn’t want her to coddle him like some little boy without a mother. In that instant as he struggled for control of his emotions, he convinced himself he didn’t want anything from her, that he didn’t need her at all.
A defiant light flared in his eyes as he gaze suddenly turned cold. He knew that his abrupt change would take her by surprise, even before he saw the shock register on her face. He knew he was hurting her, even before he saw her eyes turn a clouded, murky blue. He knew he was being cruel, but it was his only choice. Let her think he was a cold, uncaring bastard.
Just don’t let her pity him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ashli’s family was oblivious to the sudden strain that erupted between her and Lange. Andy and Adam got involved in a heated debate about football and wanted him to settle their argument. He went along with their request, his demeanor toward her family not changing, but Ashli now knew him well enough to detect the tightness around his mouth and the clench in his jaw. Both belied his relaxed attitude.
It was a relief when the meal was over. The boys excused themselves, citing plans in town, and Alice recruited Albert’s help with the dishes, which left Ashli alone with her silent, brooding guest.
With an entire evening stretching out before them and her parents expecting them to sp
end time alone, Ashli decided to take Lange on a historical driving tour of her hometown. It was too late to go inside many of the places, but she drove him past Farmers Bank that had been built in 1817, pointed out the Siege Museum, drove through the historical district of Old Towne and past many of the fine old homes that graced the city. Finally they ended up at the National Battlefield, where she parked her mother’s borrowed car near the Ranger’s station and proceeded to take him on tour by foot. As darkness began to hover, they found they were the only visitors in the park at so late an hour.
A hush seemed to fall around them on their self-guided walking tour. It was near twilight, a peaceful time of day when even the birds seemed to be paying reverence to the shrine of human sacrifice. Only an occasional whippoorwill broke the stillness of the evening, somehow making the battlefield of so long ago come alive with its misery and pain. When they reached the Crater, they stood near the sunken earth that had meant death for thousands of brave soldiers and listened to the chilling account of war as it was related in the automated recording. Even now, it was difficult to look at the pit where 4,000 Union soldiers had perished in a grave of their own making. The winds of war had blown away, the passage of years had mended the deep rip within the country’s fabric, yet the deep cavity in the earth remained.
Staring into the sunken remains, Ashli shivered, and Lange turned cynical.
“That’s what happens when people get too confident, when they think they have out-smarted the enemy. The minute they let their defenses down, the minute they get careless – bam! -- the enemy strikes again. And this time he wins.” His voice was cold and bitter, leaving Ashli with a chill.
He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not Page 10
