TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

by Sharon Mignerey

  "Let me see if I've got this straight," Hilda said, pinning him with a long glance. "The whole idea of coming here was to get Annmarie out of sight until after her mama has testified."

  He nodded, in agreement that the plan was as flawed as Hilda made it sound.

  "And you've already been found out."

  "You can't stay here, then," Mama Sarah said. "I think you should take little Annmarie to the village."

  Rosie shook her head.

  "What village?" Ian asked, immediately catching that she hadn't referred to Lynx Point.

  "We'd stick out like sore thumbs," Rosie said. "We need someplace we can blend in with the scenery for two or three weeks. Lily thought she would be called to testify next week, two weeks from now at the latest."

  "What village?" Ian asked again.

  Rosie glanced at him. "A Tlingit village—"

  "Where your uncle Raymond lives?" Ian's gaze rested on Rosie's blond head. She was right. She would be as conspicuous as a nun on Sunset Strip.

  Rosie nodded.

  During one of her melancholy periods, Lily had shown him pictures of the village, and he had been fascinated with her stories of family. She had given him a glimpse of the kind of family he had always dreamed about, who stood up for one another and cared for one another. Despite being one of six children, he'd never had that.

  Ian's oldest brother, Eric, had looked after Cara, both children from his mom's first marriage. Eric had taken his anger and his frustration of losing his father out on Ian, an unwanted baby who was the result of a fling his mom had after Eric and Cara's dad was killed. The twins, Adam and Aaron were the result of a short-lived marriage that ended soon after they were born. Ian always figured he was the most like Micah, the youngest and also the result of an affair. But ten years separated them. Hard to imagine the scrawny nine-year-old brother he remembered was now twenty-three.

  Lily's stories of her eccentric aunts and rowdy cousins seemed to help her through the grieving for her husband, and they'd been a balm to Ian—that not all families self-destructed in times of crisis.

  He looked from Rosie to Hilda and realized the conversation had gone on without him. They were back to making plans that didn't include him.

  If anybody thought he was leaving, they were in for a surprise. The morning that Lily had shown up on his doorstep with Annmarie and a bag that she had already packed, she poured out the whole story. The murder, the secrecy that had surrounded her and then the threats she hadn't wanted to believe were real. In that moment Ian felt as though he'd fallen backward into an abyss that held his darkest secrets. Fifteen years earlier he had run with a gang, and one night rivals came to his street looking for him. When they hadn't found him, they had taken their revenge out on his sister and one of the twins. His sister had survived, but his brother hadn't. It was the final straw in his tenuous relationship with his mother and his older brother. Fifteen years between then and now.

  Aware that his thoughts had wandered once again—a sure sign he needed sleep, he went to the counter and poured himself another cup of coffee.

  "I think Annmarie and I should visit my folks," Rosie said. "And, since we know I'm being watched, I could use some help with a little subterfuge." She met Ian's glance briefly, then turned her attention to Hilda and Mama Sarah. "Let's assume for the moment that nobody knows Ian and Annmarie are here. With a little chaos and confusion, I think we could sneak them out without them being noticed."

  Ian watched the kids play in the yard, utter tiredness washing over him, as Rosie laid out a plan where she would hide Annmarie with a shipment of seedlings scheduled for the following day, then leave with her. Adjustments were made as either Mama Sarah or Hilda offered a suggestion. Rosie altogether ignored Ian. Not that she needed his advice. Her idea to surround herself with enough people that she would be hard to keep track of made sense. She had the resources to pull it off and the bases covered. Except for one. She hadn't included him in her plans. Regardless of what she thought, she wasn't taking Annmarie anywhere without him.

  As if anticipating the direction of his thoughts, she caught his gaze. "You'll go with Hilda's husband who will take you to Wrangall. From there you can catch the ferry back to Seattle."

  "And just when is all this supposed to happen?" he asked, deciding for the moment to let her think he was in agreement with her.

  "I'd like today, but all the likely boats we could take are long gone. First thing tomorrow morning. We'll follow the usual schedule of the fishing boats pulling out. I'm down at the docks a lot this time of year—shipping seedlings out, so nothing would seem out of the ordinary." She paused, her gaze searching his face. "Assuming nobody saw you and Annmarie come here with me, there's no reason for anyone to think you're here."

  He nodded, and fought back a yawn. Except that he'd been outside scouting around. Except that somebody had been watching the place.

  "You see anybody when you were outside earlier?" Hilda asked.

  "Just you," he responded.

  "It's a good plan."

  "It'll do," he agreed.

  "Oh, such praise," Rosie said, arching an eyebrow. "Do you have a better idea?"

  He met her gaze. "Like I said, it'll do."

  She motioned toward the stairs. "There's a bed all made up in the back bedroom upstairs. You could probably use some sleep."

  "Are you finished here?" he asked.

  "Here?"

  He gave a sharp nod. "Making plans. Are you finished?"

  A wave of red pulsed through her cheeks, the color nearly as intense as the hot-pink of her T-shirt, and she averted her gaze. He waited. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, she cleared her throat and nodded.

  He managed a smile, though he figured she was lying. "Sleep would be good, but not until I've had a shower."

  "There's a bathroom upstairs, too," she responded. "Clean towels are in the closet next to the sink."

  He gave her another long stare, sure she wanted him out of the way so she could do whatever she wanted without his interference. Even so, now was as good a chance to get some rest as he was going to have—especially if she was right and they'd managed to arrive without being seen. Except, since this was their destination, sooner or later, somebody would be around to check. Ian could only hope for later.

  He headed in the direction she had pointed, pausing at the doorway. "Promise you won't leave while I'm asleep. Or take Annmarie away."

  "Now, what makes you think I'd do something like that?" Rosie demanded.

  He shrugged, offering her another of his practiced smiles. "Simple. You don't trust me."

  She wanted to deny the truth of that, but she couldn't. He held her gaze another long moment and she realized he wouldn't be going anywhere until she promised.

  "Okay."

  "Promise?"

  Damn the man. "Yes."

  His deadly serious expression vanished, and he winked. "Thank you." His gaze searched her face an instant longer as though he somehow knew her promises were not lightly given. He turned away, and a scant second later she heard him climb the stairs.

  "You've got your hands full with that one," Hilda commented, refilling her coffee cup and holding the pot toward Rosie in a silent offer. "For what it's worth, I think he's on the up and up."

  Rosie agreed with her friend. She crossed the room and picked up her mug from the counter, allowing Hilda to refill the cup, mostly because she needed to keep her hands busy.

  "That, my children, is a fine-looking man," Mama Sarah murmured.

  "Mama!" Hilda scolded, her wide smile at odds with her shocked tone.

  Mama Sarah shrugged. "I'm not dead, and a woman would have to be not to notice." She cocked an eyebrow at Rosie. "You're sure you don't want to take him with you to Petersburg?"

  "Positive. I don't need him. He can go back to San Jose." She wasn't dead, and the fact that her own assessment of Ian's attributes mirrored Mama Sarah's annoyed her to no end. Just what she didn't need or want. A fine looking
man on the "up and up."

  "The man couldn't keep his eyes off you," Mama Sarah said.

  "All the more reason to get rid of him." Rosie had been all too aware of the way he looked at her. His eyes dark and warm. She hadn't wanted to notice, but she had. And, damn, she had liked it. She recognized the warm, prickly sensation melting through her veins—the first stage of desire.

  Nothing could have frightened her more.

  Mama Sarah seemed unable—or unwilling—to let go of the topic. "Now, if I was a year or two younger—"

  "A decade or two," Hilda interrupted, with a dry chuckle.

  The older woman laughed. "You're grounded, my daughter."

  "By last count, until I'm about 199."

  Above their heads Rosie heard the shower come on in the upstairs bathroom.

  "I'd better leave you some ointment for that wound," Hilda commented. "An infection's the last thing he needs."

  Rosie shuddered, remembering how raw it had looked when she had finally loosened his shirt away from it. The bruising at the base of the wound had looked remarkably like the heel of her hiking hoot. Of course, that wasn't likely to be the only place he was bruised. Unwanted images of him standing naked in the shower filled her mind. She had seen his chest and arms. A scar bisected his chest, stark against a dark mat of hair, testimony of a major injury. Tanned skin stretched over well defined muscles and tendons. The veins on the back of his hands and his arms were equally well defined. Completely masculine. Completely fascinating.

  And she was completely out of her mind.

  Abruptly she set her mug down and pushed herself away from the counter, glancing at Hilda. "If that man calls you looking for Annmarie, what are you going to tell him?"

  "That I haven't seen her."

  Rosie smiled. "So far, that's the truth."

  "And he's not answering the number he left for me, so I figure I've got a few questions for him the next time he calls. Preferably questions he can answer in person."

  "I don't know whether to hope he shows or not."

  "We'd all be better off if we knew where he was," Hilda said. "Your going away for a few days, that's a good idea. There's just tonight to deal with. I could take the two of them back to town."

  "If nobody saw them, we're better off here." Rosie shook her head and managed a smile. "They can hide in my wine cellar." It was the name she had given to the bomb shelter hidden beneath the den, complete with an exterior entrance hidden a hundred feet away from the house, partway down the hill.

  Hilda grinned. "Finally. A use for that room, never mind the cold war has been over for years."

  Rosie smiled back. The old man who had built the house had poured a fortune into his insecurities. Never once had she imagined she would use the room for anything other than storage—certainly not for an escape that sounded like something out of a movie.

  "We'll be okay," she said. "I've got work to do to get ready."

  "You know we'll keep an eye on things," Hilda said. "I don't want you worrying while you're gone."

  "I know you will." Unexpected emotion welled within Rosie, and she gave Hilda a quick hug.

  The next few hours passed all too quickly. There were a hundred things to be done beginning with a call to her folks to let them know why she was bringing Annmarie for a visit and ending with a long list of the scheduled shipments of seedlings that needed to go out over the next three weeks, not that she intended to be gone that long. But just in case, she wanted to be prepared.

  Hilda and Mama Sarah, bless them, provided the extra hands she needed to get everything in the greenhouse organized.

  Rosie checked on Annmarie several times, who slept deeply, as though she had been kept awake for days. Each time she checked on the child, Sly sat up and watched her with inquisitive eyes as if expecting to be released from his command of "guard." That he didn't move from the room when she left gave Rosie a small measure of reassurance.

  The upstairs was equally quiet, so much so that Rosie crept softly up the stairs to check on Ian. He slept sprawled on his stomach across the double bed, his feet and one arm hanging over the edge. His feet stuck out from the sheet, which had come untucked. His ankle bones were sharply protruding on either side of the Achilles tendon, the ankle itself looking oddly fragile in comparison to the rest of his musculature.

  Unexpected memories swamped her, making her brace a hand against the doorjamb. Powerful … sweet feelings she hadn't experienced in years. The whisper of a man's breath against her cheek, the sweep of his hand against the inside of her thigh, his weight pressed against her.

  She watched a long moment, her mouth dry. There had been a time when she was normal, seeking and enjoying the physical completion that came with being so close to a man. Once, a whole lifetime ago, she had imagined that she would one day have the kind of terrific marriage Lily and John had.

  Rosie hadn't wanted to remember.

  Everything about this man made her remember.

  If she allowed a man in her life again … and that was a very big if … he wouldn't be anyone like Ian Stearne. She'd want someone she could feel safe with, someone who would cherish her, someone who would love the solitude here on the island as much as she did.

  Within reach of Ian's hand was his gun, a reminder this man had no more trust than she did. Remembering what had happened the last time she startled him, Rosie crept into the room and picked up the pile of clothes on the floor next to the bed. Since these were all he had, the least she could do was wash them.

  He sat up in a fluid move, the gun once again in his hand, no trace of sleep in his eyes.

  The predator was back.

  She swallowed and held his clothes away from her.

  "I thought—" She cleared her throat. "I thought I'd wash your things."

  The bed covers pooled around him. There was no doubt he was naked beneath the sheet. The instant she realized she was staring at his well-formed chest, her gaze slammed back to his face.

  "Okay." He reset the safety on the weapon and watched her as she left the room. She was more than halfway down the stairs before she heard the mattress creak as he settled onto the bed.

  Her heart pounding, at once again having a gun pointed at her, she went to the laundry room, emptying the pockets of his jeans before throwing everything into the washer. The pockets held nothing out of the ordinary … loose change, a Leatherman, a package of gum, a wallet. Nothing much that told her about the man—though what she had hoped for, she couldn't have said.

  Admitting distrust as much as curiosity drove her, she opened his wallet. It contained more cash than she had ever carried, a couple of major credit cards and his driver's license, his address indeed next door to Lily's. The face in the picture was smiling as though he didn't have a care in the world. An expression far different than the predatory one he'd had a couple of minutes ago. Would the real Ian Stearne please stand up, she thought.

  Behind the cash she found a couple of loose stamps and a laminated card. She turned it over—a photograph that was worn around the edges and creased as though it had once been folded for a long time before being protected behind the plastic. A group of children faced the camera, and she immediately picked out Ian. He looked ten or eleven. Two older children stood behind him, a boy and a girl, well into their teens. Two other boys, maybe five and dressed identically, were seated beside him. In his lap was a toddler, the only one of the group smiling. Remembering that her mother always wrote the date and their ages on the back of photographs, Rosie turn this one over. Nothing was written there. Whoever these people were, they were important to Ian—otherwise, why would he have had the old photograph laminated. Cousins, maybe, she decided, unable to see any family resemblance except between the two older kids and the five-year-olds.

  A fishing license, receipt for a cash withdrawal from an ATM machine, and a permit for the gun he carried were the only other things in his wallet. Compared to the clutter and endless sheets of paper that filled her own, it didn't seem
like much to Rosie.

  By the time twilight came, nearly all that could be done in preparation for their departure had been. Rosie glanced around the greenhouse at the orderly rows of seedlings that would be planted within another few weeks. Knowing she held the future for hundreds of acres of forest within her small greenhouse filled her with satisfaction. The realization always pleased her, even today when her mind hadn't been on work at all.

  "Now I know why I became a nurse," Hilda commented, rubbing the small of her back. "Better hours. Easier work."

  Rosie smiled, briefly touched the resilient needles from one of the baby trees. "You'd rather save lives than watch things grow?"

  "What I'd rather do is marry a millionaire and retire to a cabana on a tropical beach." Hilda followed Rosie.

  "Not me. I wouldn't give up this view for anything." As was her habit, Rosie strolled toward the water's edge, her gaze sweeping the panorama in front of her. Water and sky. Misty clouds and steeply rising mountains. The variegated shades of mauve that defined a soft sunset.

  Hilda walked beside her, silent within her own thoughts.

  Rosie turned toward the house where a light shone through the window. Inside, she could see Mama Sarah moving around the kitchen, the aroma of cooking onions wafting on the air. A couple of the kids had gone inside, but two others still played in the yard—their activity much less exuberant than it had been hours ago. Finally she raised her gaze to the hillside.

  "I hate this," she murmured. "Being afraid and suspicious."

  "Not much choice if you want to keep that little girl safe."

  "Yeah. I know."

  "It's pretty odd I was never able to get hold of the guy who reported his little girl missing." Hilda clucked her tongue. She had gone back to her house a couple of hours earlier to check on messages. "I did get one answer back," Hilda added. She glanced at Rosie, deliberately extending the pause.

  "Okay, I bite. And the question was?"

  Hilda grinned. "You've got a bonafide hero on your hands with Ian Stearne. Honorable discharge and a number of medals." At Rosie's raised eyebrow, she added, "You know how trusting Lily is—I just wanted to make sure this guy was legit."