Everything But Marriage

by Dallas Schulze

  He knew the precise instant that she left the bedroom, but he didn't lift his head from the book. He'd had plenty of time to familiarize himself with his guest's features over the past twelve hours or so, still he was reluctant to see her awake. Alive. It might make her real in a way he'd prefer not to see. He didn't want to see her as a real person. It was much simpler to view her as a package he had temporary care of.

  He couldn't just pretend she wasn't there. Devlin lifted his head slowly as she stopped on the other side of the breakfast bar. His robe was ludicrously big on her. It wrapped around her thin torso more like a blanket than a garment. One side had slipped down to

  reveal her collarbone. There was something very vulnerable about that wedge of pale skin covering the too-prominent bone.

  His eyes lifted to her face. He realized he'd made a mistake in assuming that seeing her awake and conscious was the same as seeing her alive. Except for the fact that her eyes were open, her face was the same pale, emotionless oval it had been.

  The eyes that should have given her features life were just as empty as they had been the night before when Ben Masters had been here. They were blue-green, widely spaced and thickly lashed. The kind of eyes a man could drown in.

  He'd heard that one's eyes were windows to their soul, revealing who the person was. Annalise St. John's eyes were nothing but beautiful mirrors, reflecting only his own image back at him.

  He blinked and drew his eyes away, uncomfortable under that expressionless gaze.

  "Have some coffee," he said, by way of greeting. He reached out to snag the pot. He lifted a cup off the rack that sat on the tiled bar and poured it full of steaming black brew, pushing it toward her. "Black okay?"

  "Yes." She stared at the cup as if not quite certain what to do with it.

  "Pull up a stool," Devlin suggested. She did as he suggested, pulling a stool from under the counter and sitting down across from him. He waited, but she didn't say anything. She just sat there, her hands in her lap, her eyes on the coffee cup.

  "Fve got tea, if you'd prefer it/' he said, when the silence had stretched.

  She reacted slowly, lifting her head to stare at him with those beautiful, expressionless eyes. "Coffee is fine.''

  She reached for the cup, lifting it to take a sip. He had the feeling she'd taken a drink more because he seemed to expect it rather than because she had any interest in the coffee.

  "How are you feeling?"

  "I'm fine, thank you."

  "You could have taken a chill," Devlin said, watching for some reaction.

  "I'm fine," she repeated as if it were a phrase she'd learned from an English translation book.

  "From the river, I mean."

  "River?" The word rose at the end, indicating a question, but there was no flicker of interest in those smooth features.

  "Don't you remember?"

  "I'm not sure." This time, her look was wary. It made him think of a small animal who'd learned to suspect a trap close on the heels of any kindness.

  "You fell in the river yesterday. Last night, really. Or you jumped," he added deliberately, thinking to spark some reaction.

  But she only blinked slowly, digesting his words as if they were about someone else. "I don't remember."

  It was left to Devlin to interpret just what it was she didn't remember. Did she not remember being in the water at all? Or not remember whether she'd jumped?

  "I pulled you out/'

  "Oh. Thank you," she added politely.

  And that seemed to be the extent of her interest in the whole subject. Devlin wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her out of the apathy that seemed to have swallowed every spark of life in her.

  He wanted to call Ben and tell him to come get Ms. Annalise St. John. Take her to the hospital. Take her and sell her to white slavers. He just wanted her off his hands and out of his life. He didn't need the kind of aggravation she provided. He didn't need anything or anyone disturbing the hard-won tranquility he'd achieved in his life.

  *'You look like you could use something to eat," he said abruptly.

  He got up without waiting for a response, if she had one. It was obvious that, for the moment at least, the best way to deal with his houseguest was to simply take charge. He didn't know whether she'd ever been capable of making decisions, but she didn't show any ability in that direction right now.

  He'd get some food into her and then decide what the next step should be. One thing was certain, he wanted her off his hands as soon as possible.

  Annalise dabbled her spoon in the bowl of hot cereal Devlin sat in front of her. He'd told her his name while he was preparing the cereal. Maybe she should have asked before that. Devlin Russell. She should remember that. He'd think it odd if she didn't.

  She knew her responses hadn't been what he'd expected. She could see that much in his eyes. She tried

  to remember how she should act. How she would have reacted a year or two ago. But that time seemed centuries ago. It was hard to stretch her monory back that far. She abandoned the effort.

  She caught Devlin's eyes on her and dipped into the cereal, spooning up a mouthful and swallowing it without tasting it. He'd been kind to her. The thought penetrated the haze of confusion that seemed to surround her these days.

  He'd pulled her out of a river, he'd said. That had been kind of him. He couldn't have known that it really didn't matter one way or another. There was no one to care, no one to moum her death. Least of all her.

  There'd been times when she'd thought it would be nice if the haze simply deepened and darkened, sucking her into its depths, swallowing her forever. He'd said she might have jumped into the river.

  She frowned down at the coolmg cereal, trying to remember the night before. But she couldn't remember anything clearly beyond her car dying. And then there'd been the rain. Or had it been more than rain? Did she remember being in the water? A strong arm snatching her up into the air?

  She shook her head. She was tangling memories with imagination. She didn't ranember falling into the river. Or jumping? No. She didn't think she'd jumped. If she'd wanted to take that way out, she could have done it a long time ago. It wasn't a fear of death that had stopped her. It was just a feeling that killing herself would hardly be worth the effort. She was all but dead anyway.

  Wasn't she?

  Devlin watched the faint expressions chase across her face, but he couldn't read anything from them. At least they proved she wasn't an android. He'd begun to wonder, half expecting her to turn down the cereal in favor of a lube and an oil change.

  He shook his head at the absurdity of the thought. Maybe he'd been spending too much time alone lately. Maybe he'd just forgotten what the rest of the world was like. But he didn't think Annalise's reactions were normal, no matter how long he'd been away from the real world.

  She seemed to sense him watching her. She looked up, afaint frown creasing her wide forehead. Devlin waited for her to speak, but she returned her attention to the cereal without saying anything.

  As soon as she was done eating, he'd ask her what she wanted to do, where she wanted to go. If she didn't know, then he'd call Ben Masters and let him come deal with the problem.

  But somehow, once she was done eating, he found himself providing her with an old shirt of his and a pair of sweatpants to put on. She accepted the clothes with the same polite thank-you she'd offered for his saving her life. One seemed to mean just as much as the other to her.

  And then, he really did want to get started on the shingles. There was no rush to call Ben. He certainly wouldn't be able to dash out right away. It would probably be better to wait until lunchtime anyway.

  Maybe all Aimalise needed was a little time. Maybe she was still feeling the effects from her fall into the river, though she didn't even seem to remember it. A few hours one way or another wouldn't make any difference.

  Devlin kept an eye on her from his perch on the ladder. Certainly no host could complain about her being an overl
y demanding guest, he thought with a half smile. She'd put on the clothes he gave her and settled herself on the half-finished front porch. She'd been there for two hours now, and as near as he could tell, she hadn't moved in all that time.

  She hadn't questioned his allowing her to stay. There wasn't any arrogance about her acceptance of his hospitality. If he'd told her to leave, he was sure she'd have accepted that with the same indifference. She just didn't care where she was.

  She sat in the lawn chair that constituted his full supply of outdoor furniture, her hands in her lap, her feet neatly together, and stared at nothing in particular. For a while, it had been interesting to try to guess how long it would be before she moved. But for the past hour, he'd found himself watching to see if she was still breathing.

  Depression, Ben had suggested. Comatose seemed like a better description. Devlin set a shingle in place and steadied a nail for the hammer blow. Out of the comer of his eye, he could see Annalise, still as a statue. Was it possible for someone to sit down and simply go into a coma?

  Distracted by the thought, he brought the hammer down, missing the nail by an inch and his thumb by a

  much less comfortable margin. Startled, he released the nail, and both it and the shingle dropped past the ladder to join the debris on the ground.

  The curse he muttered was succinct and obscene. He glared at Annalise. She couldn't just sit there. That was all there was to it.

  She didn't stir as he climbed down the ladder. It wasn't until he stopped on the porch directly in front of her that she seemed to become aware of his presence. She blinked slowly and tilted her head to look up at him.

  "Can you do me a favor?"

  The question seemed to confuse her. He didn't know if it was because she didn't understand him or because she couldn't imagine what favor she could do him.

  "A favor." It was more a flat repetition than an agreement, but Devlin took it as such. Maybe if she had a reason to do something, she'd come out of that damned shell a little.

  "I'm expecting something in the mail," he lied without hesitation. "Could you walk down to the end of the road and see if it's here yet?"

  She blinked at him again, her eyes going from his face to the smooth dirt road that stretched out behind him.

  "I'd appreciate it," he said, in case she was thinking of refusing. In truth, he doubted she was thinking anything at all.

  After a moment, she nodded. It took a moment more for her to stand up and move uncertainly off the

  porch. She seemed slightly confused to find herself doing something more than staring into space.

  Devlin frowned, wondering if he should have left her alone. He probably should have called Ben first thing this morning. It was obvious she had real problems. Maybe a hospital would be the best place for h^, someplace where people understood what she was thinking, what she was feeling. But he couldn't quite separate hospital and prison in his mind. And the last thing he wanted was to be a part of anyone bdng committed—mstitutionalized.

  It wasn't as if he'd sent her on a walk across the continent, he roninded himself. From the ladder, he could see the half mile to the end of the road, so he could ke^ an eye on her. And since he didn't know of any dangerous animals lurking in the fields of Indiana, the worst that was likely to happ«i to her was that she'd have a walk on a beautiful spring day.

  Part of Annalise was aware of the beauty around her. Sunshine poured down on the empty fields, a warm golden shower that bathed everything m sight. She could feel the same sunshine on her shoulders, warming her face. But the warmth couldn't penetrate to the chill she carried deep inside.

  When she'd locked away the part of her that felt pain, she seemed to have slammed the door on every other feeling. She sighed, scuffing her bare feet over the surface of the road, which was still damp from last night's rain.

  She'd seen the way Devlin Russell looked at her, sensed the puzzlement in his eyes. She couldn't blame

  him. Sometimes she felt a sort of puzzlement herself. She could remember another Annalise, someone who'd laughed much more than she cried, someone who'd thrown her arms open to life.

  She shook her head, pushing the memories away. That Annalise was gone. It was like remembering someone she'd known a long time ago. It was safer not to remember, not to feel.

  The mailbox was empty. Annalise stared at it for a moment before slowly closing the door. She pushed her hands into the pockets of the baggy sweatpants and looked up and down the empty road. Should she wait for the mail carrier or go back to the house?

  Before she could make a decision, a rustling in the tall grass beside the mailbox drew her attention. It seemed more than the light breeze could account for. She would have ignored the movement, as indifferent to it as she was to virtually everything else around her, but some small sound accompanied it. Not quite a whimper, nothing as demanding as a cry, it held a plaintive note that pierced straight to feelings Annalise had thought all but dead.

  She moved closer and crouched down, peering into the growth of weeds and grasses. It was impossible to see anything, nevertheless she knew the sound hadn't been a product of her imagination. She held out her hand, rubbing her fingers together coaxingly.

  "Hello in there," she whispered. She scooted closer. "Who are you?"

  There was silence and then a scratchy mew of inquiry.

  *'A cat, huh?" She rubbed her fingers together again. "Why don't you come out and let me take a look at you?"

  Another silence answered her. She waited patiently, aware that her heart was beating much too fast. She was prepared to kneel beside the road all day, if necessary. She hadn't thought she had it in her to care about anything anymore, but she could no more have walked away from the animal than she could have flapped her arms and taken flight.

  Aiiother hesitant inquiry, a Uttle louder this time, gave Annalise new hope. The grass stirred, and a pair of golden eyes peered unblinkingly out at her. There was something in that gaze, an almost human wariness that brought a tightness to her chest, as if a fist were squeezing at her heart. Or perhaps as if a terrible pressure were suddenly being eased.

  "Come here, kitty. I won't hurt you. Are you all alone out here?" She kept her hand extended and continued the soft patter.

  It seemed terribly important that the cat come to her. She couldn't have said quite why. Maybe something in that lonely little cry, in the need that underlay the animal's suspicious gaze, had spoken to some part of her that she'd thought numb forever.

  She'd felt a tiny crack in that wall this morning when she'd looked into Devlin Russell's eyes. He'd provided her with food, clothing and saved her life, even if she didn't recall that. He'd asked few questions, made no demands.

  The cat crept a few inches closer and Annalise felt the crack widen. She'd never been proof against

  someone else's need, whether that someone was human or animal. It was one of the things Bill had said he loved about her and part of what had eventually destroyed their marriage.

  But she didn't want to think about Bill right now. He was part of another life, part of the hurt she'd tried so hard to lock away. Right now, she was only concerned with the cat, with convincing it to trust her. Maybe she could help the cat even though she'd failed so miserably at helping herself.

  Devlin looked over his shoulder and saw Annalise walking back up the driveway. She'd been gone so long, he'd begun to wonder if she'd just kept walking. He'd told himself that it was fine with him if she didn't come back—it would certainly eliminate the problem of what to do with her. But he couldn't deny the relief he felt when he saw her slight figure returning.

  Maybe it was the fact that he'd saved her life; maybe it was just that she seemed so helplessly inadequate when it came to taking care of herself—whatever it was, he seemed to feel responsible for her. He didn't want to feel that way, but he didn't appear to have much choice in the matter.

  Devlin drove a nail into a shingle and turned to look at her again. Her arms appeared to be crossed in f
ront of her body. Her head was bent downward over than. He frowned. Had she injured herself? Fallen maybe?

  He slid the hammer through a loop on his leather tool belt and started down the ladder. He was going to feel guilty as hell if he'd sent her off to get the mail

  he'd known wasn't there and she'd managed to hurt herself.

  Devhn reached the ground at the same time that AnnaUse entered the yard. He started toward her, his quick, urgent strides slowing when he saw that she was uninjured.

  Instead of clutching the hideously bleeding wound of his imagination, she was holding a cat. Devlin stopped, letting her cover the remaining distance between them.

  Annalise stopped in front of him, lifting her eyes from the cat to meet his. Devlin felt the impact of that look like a blow to the solar plexus. This wasn't the blank stare he'd seen all morning. Her eyes were dark with concern.

  "She was down by the mailbox," she said.

  "She?" He had to drag his eyes from hers. He stared at the unprepossessing lump of scruffy gray fur in her arms. So she had beautiful eyes. So what. They were just eyes. Blue-green and deep as the ocean, but they were still merely eyes.

  "I couldn't simply leave her there," Annalise said, her voice uncertain. "I'm sure she's hungry."

  Devlin forced his attention to the cat, who was regarding him with deep suspicion from the safe harbor of Annalise's arms.

  "I've got some tuna," he offered, holding out his hand to allow the cat to sniff his fingers. "She's pregnant."

  "I know. Do you think someone abandoned her because of that?"

  "Probably."

  Distress flared in her eyes. Devlin lowered his hand, clenching his fingers against the urge to smooth the frown from her forehead. He'd thought nothing could be more disturbing than the blank lack of expression she'd worn since waking. But he was discovering that Annalise St. John was infinitely more disturbing with life in those wide-set eyes.