The dogs climbed halfway onto the porch before they shook themselves off, sending a spray of muddy water all over Harlan. He cursed, springing to his feet and dumping the tabby.
“They’re unmannerly, I know.” Beth laughed.
“You’re laughing.”
“Well, it is funny....”
“How’ll you explain a load of laundry hanging in your yard?”
“You don’t think I have a washer and dryer, do you?”
“I suppose you wash your clothes in the stream.”
“Nope. Wouldn’t be good for the environment. I take my laundry up to Julian or Adam’s and do it there. Given your behavior the past week, I wouldn’t recommend the same to you. My brothers think you’ve gone off the deep end.”
Harlan brushed himself off as best as he could. “No doubt they’re not far wrong. You’re going to tell them I’m here?”
“Not necessarily. I can assume you figure you aren’t putting me in any danger by being here?”
‘You can assume.”
“What about yourself?”
“I’m trying to keep myself out of harm’s way, for the time being.”
“You could be wrong,” Beth said.
“I could be.” His drawl was liquid, sexy, utterly confident.
It would be so easy to turn her body and soul over to him for safekeeping. She’d done that once with disastrous results for them both. “Why didn’t you go back to Coffee County?”
“Too obvious under the circumstances.”
Beth waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, she knew for sure she wasn’t getting the whole truth from him. Maybe not even half the truth. Maybe he’d spun her in so many circles that even he had lost track of what was true and what wasn’t.
“I suppose,” she said carefully.
“So what’s your verdict?”
She threw the last of her coffee over the rail into the grass. Instinct warned her to throw him out, too. Even if he was telling her the truth—and he wasn’t—their lovemaking in the rain should have been proof enough that the man had a deleterious effect upon her life.
Where would he go if she threw him out?
Why had he come to Mill Brook? Tossing him into the street wouldn’t give her the information she wanted.
He had involved her in his troubles.
“Jimmy Sessoms is back in town,” she said, her back to Harlan.
“Is he?” Harlan’s tone was noncommittal.
“I thought your mother had pulled him off the case.”
“Maybe she has. I wouldn’t know.”
“Then why isn’t he off it?”
“Probably hasn’t touched base with Mother.”
Beth supposed it was possible. “Do you want to talk to him?”
“Sessoms? No.”
“But if your mother...”
“She hired Jimmy Sessoms. She can deal with him.”
“She doesn’t know you’re here?”
“No.”
“What about Saul?”
“No.”
“What if he needs to reach you?”
“I check in with him periodically.”
She swung around, hard and fast, and found herself smack up against Harlan’s chest. He was so damned strong these days. More muscular, harder. The feel of his arms around her... well, she couldn’t think about that right now.
“What’s your answer?” he asked softly.
She looked into his face, into the green eyes that used to drive her mad with wanting him. “I’m here, if you need me. Of course you can stay. Not upstairs, though. It’s too obvious, should anyone come looking for you.”
“No one will.”
“Jimmy Sessoms did yesterday.”
“He’s different.”
“I think it’s safer if you camp out in the woodshed.”
“With the chickens?”
‘Well, no, not exactly. They have the run of the yard and seldom go inside during summer. I’m building them a coop for winter.”
“Don’t chickens peck out eyeballs?”
“I don’t think they’d touch your eyeballs.” She gave him a steady look. “You can always bar the door. Should be enough air, so you won’t suffocate.”
“Comforting.”
She refused to budge. “Those are my terms.”
He put his hands upon her hips and squeezed gently, not the squeeze of a lover, but of a friend. It felt good. It made her wonder what it would be like if she and Harlan Rockwood could actually be friends, or even lovers. Was such a thing possible? “I accept,” he said, “on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“The next time we make love, it’s in a dry place.”
She laughed, knowing there would be a next time. “Granted.”
“I’m not finished.”
“You said one condition.”
“There’s a part two. No animals. I’m not going to make love to you, worrying about chickens pecking my eyeballs out and dogs shaking their muddy selves off on me—and cats. I won’t even mention what they can do.”
“A dry place, no animals.” Unexpectedly she felt giddy and acutely aware of him, “I don’t know, Harlan. We might not get another chance if I have to meet those two criteria.”
“Where there’s a will,” he said, his mouth millimeters from hers, “there’s a way.”
His lips touched hers ever so lightly, then again, and she murmured, “I accept your conditions.”
“The hell—I’d make love to you right now in a thunderstorm, with every damned one of your animals looking on.” He pulled himself away, snatching up his coffee mug from the porch floor. “You’ve got to get to work. I’ll move my things into the woodshed.”
“Harlan...”
He was clearly aroused. “Go on about your business and pretend I’m not here.”
Deciding it was pointless to argue now, she nodded. “All right.”
But later—tonight—she’d make certain that he knew damned well she understood he was holding back on her. Next time she’d insist he talk. She’d have the whole day to plan her strategy and get her hunger for him under control.
She’d had nine years to stop yearning for the rich, debonair, impossible Tennessean she’d loved. What made her think she could accomplish in one day what she’d failed to accomplish in close to a decade?
He went up to the attic, and she yelled goodbye and climbed into her Chevy before he had a chance to answer. Glancing around her yard, she realized he hadn’t come by car. Though she’d demanded to be told everything, she’d never even asked him how he’d gotten to Mill Brook this time.
Naturally he hadn’t volunteered the information.
“Oh, Harlan,” she muttered. “You’re as deadly as ever.”
I think I’m as much in love with you as ever.
It wasn’t a comforting thought.
It was a long day at the mill.
Absolutely nothing happened. Beth wondered if she was getting addicted to excitement—the Harlan Rockwood influence. Mill Brook Post and Beam carried on its business as usual. Adam and Julian didn’t bring up the subject of her jaunt to Tennessee, and neither did she. Not that she didn’t think about her ex-husband. She did.
Strangely enough, she found herself perfectly capable of concentrating on her work. Whatever her feelings for Harlan Rockwood—and she couldn’t have defined them herself—she no longer permitted them to incapacitate her. She would continue to function. She wasn’t going to turn into a pile of mush for anyone.
Only on her way home that afternoon did she indulge a fleeting moment of panic. Suppose he’d packed up and gone into hiding someplace else? She’d sent him off to the woodshed, for heaven’s sake. He could have easily decided that wasn’t for him and packed off to an out-of-the-way motel with room service and hot running water.
If he did stick around, it had to be because of her. There was no getting around it. There were better hiding places than her ramshackle house in Mill Brook, Verm
ont.
Having him stick around because of her brought its own measure of panic.
What would happen if one of the men on his trail caught up with him? If Jimmy Sessoms had thought to look for Harlan in Vermont, so could they.
What about Sessoms? What if he’d come poking around again and discovered Harlan sacked out in the woodshed? What if he reported back to Eleanor Rockwood? Presumably Harlan had lied to her for her own safety.
Beth sighed. Life with Harlan Rockwood would never be dull. He had said much the same about her on many occasions.
The rain had long stopped, and the last of the clouds had cleared out. The afternoon, with its cloudless, blue sky and warm, dry air, had become an ideal, late-summer day. Her windows rolled down, Beth drove slowly along Maple Street, avoiding the pits and ruts. Her car was in desperate need of a tune-up. One good bounce could dislodge the entire exhaust system, or even the engine, for all she knew. She planned to spend Saturday underneath it, having a good look.
Who knew what she’d do with Harlan around?
Her heart thudded when she turned into her driveway and parked alongside the Ford Taurus sedan with New York plates.
New York. She gripped the steering wheel, debating whether to back out of her driveway, while she had the chance, and get to town, to the police.
Then she spotted Jimmy Sessoms on her porch, his legs propped on the railing.
She shut off the engine and climbed out, not sure whether she should be relieved or not.
Sessoms waved to her. “Afternoon, Mrs. Rockwood.”
She didn’t wave back and remembered that he’d flown up from Tennessee, presumably arriving in Albany and renting a car there to drive up to Mill Brook.
Dogs, cats and chickens ambled out to greet her. She absently patted heads and let her legs be brushed by furry bodies as she squinted in the bright sun.
She joined Sessoms on the porch. He was sipping a glass of iced tea. A tabby cat snoozed in his lap. His grin was disarming. “Helped myself. Hope you don’t mind.”
Beth vowed to visit the lock-and-key section of Hank’s Hardware Store as soon as she got a free minute. Had Jimmy Sessoms restricted himself to an inspection of her kitchen? Or, once inside, had he snooped around for any signs of Harlan? Harlan hadn’t vacated yet, but had promised he’d clean up the breakfast dishes before he did. It wouldn’t take anyone, never mind an experienced private detective, very long to notice pairs of dishes in the sink of any unattached woman, such as herself. Why was she worried about Jimmy Sessoms discovering Harlan’s presence? The man is on our side, she told herself yet again.
It was a matter of taking simple precautions. The fewer the people who knew Harlan was in town, the less chance that word would get out to the wrong individuals.
“Do you always go into people’s houses when no one’s at home?” she asked.
Sessoms’ cheerful expression didn’t waver. “Guess I’m forward by nature. Have a hard day at work, ma’am?”
“Mr. Sessoms, I’m not annoyed because I’m cranky. I’m annoyed because I have a right to be. You keep invading my privacy after I’ve made it as clear as I can that Harlan’s business is no business of mine. Neither is whatever trouble he’s in. So, if you don’t mind, I have things I need to do.”
Jimmy Sessoms dropped his sneaker-covered feet to the porch floor and dumped the cat off his lap. “I think you’re lying. Not much I can do about it, though, is there?”
Beth adopted her iciest, most businesslike demeanor. “Goodbye, Mr. Sessoms.”
His eyes were much colder than the rest of his expression. “You should talk to me, you know, before Harlan gets himself into the kind of trouble he can’t get himself out of.”
“That’s not my problem. If it’s yours, I trust you’re being well paid for your efforts. Now, please go look under another rock for Harlan Rockwood. He’s certainly not here.”
She started inside, her back to him, assuming he would take what was much more than a hint and leave quietly.
“You change your mind,” he said in his middle-Tennessee drawl. “You know where to find me. I’m not leaving town just yet. I’m a professional, Mrs. Rockwood. I can help your husband before he gets in over his head.”
She turned, holding the screen door open. “Should he turn up here, I’ll pass along your message. That’s the best I can do. If I were you, Mr. Sessoms, I’d take my search elsewhere. If you decide to bother me again, don’t be surprised if I call the police and report you for harassment.”
She felt his gaze steady on her. “Just doing my job.”
“Do it elsewhere.”
Beth went inside, shutting the door hard behind her, careful not to slam it. She wanted to appear emphatic, not out of control. She heard Jimmy Sessoms on the creaking steps of her porch and his amiable whistling of a country and western tune and at last, the sounds of his rented car.
Only then did she get herself an orange soda and flop onto her couch in relief. She hated lying. She hated strange men creeping around her house.
Had he bugged the place?
“Lord, you are getting paranoid.”
Life with Harlan was often unsettling.
“You upstairs?” she called loudly.
No answer.
She finished her drink. She would not go anxiously searching for Harlan. First she would rest for a minute and get her bearings. Jimmy Sessoms would have turned up in Mill Brook whether Harlan had come back or not. Finding Sessoms on her front porch had been entirely Harlan’s fault. She wouldn’t have had to lie if she hadn’t made love to Harlan in the field that very morning. Lying always made her hot and flustered.
Beth went onto the porch. The animals had settled down. Dogs and chickens had found spots in the shade, two cats were curled up on Louie’s rickety porch chairs, the rest were off prowling. She supposed she’d have to take in the welcome mat soon; she couldn’t manage many more strays without feeling overrun—especially human ones.
It might have been a perfect, hot, breezy, summer afternoon but for her churning stomach, Harlan Rockwood and his troubles. She could have sat peacefully on the porch and read a book, then listened to the Red Sox game on the radio, enjoying her solitude after a day’s work.
Now she was stuck thinking about Harlan and trying to figure out a way to stop herself from falling into his arms again.
She had to preserve the fulfilling, stable life she had fashioned for herself since coming back to Mill Brook. She didn’t want it to change. She liked it the way it was.
Her gaze drifted to the woodshed. It looked decrepit, even more so than the house. She’d patched the leaking roof and then made shelves, hung hooks and otherwise fashioned proper spaces to store her tools and equipment. There were those in town who still didn’t understand why she hadn’t put in hot water first. They were people who’d never lived on their own. First you took care of your tools. Personal comfort wasn’t number one on her priority list.
All in all, she could have foisted a worse place upon Harlan—Louie’s crumbling barn, for instance. At least the shed was dry and in no danger of falling in on his head. Still, it was dank and windowless, and Harlan Rockwood was accustomed to finer living. He might have taken one look at his new quarters and lit out for a nice country inn.
Lit out, how? He had no car as far as she knew, not nearby, at least. He’d have had to go on foot.
Jumping lightly off the porch, she headed up the grass path to the woodshed.
The shed door was made of rough-hewn boards, and had a wooden latch near the top on the outside. The latch was secure. Even Harlan couldn’t have managed that from the inside.
Evidently he had rejected his accommodations and had gone on his way—before he could asphyxiate himself within their confines—before they could end up making love there and collapse. Even as she told herself it was for the best, her heart sank. She checked inside, anyway. Every tool and piece of equipment she’d accumulated over the years was in its proper place. The chickens�
� half of the shed was unoccupied and only smelled of fresh hay.
She started back to the house, determined to make herself a wonderful supper and to have the kind of evening that would make her relish being alone. She had brothers, nieces, a nephew, cousins, parents, aunts, uncles, friends. Living alone didn’t mean you were lonely. Life could still be wonderful, She knew that.
So why did she feel so damned miserable?
You have chores to do. You know from experience that life does go on without Harlan.
She pulled open the screen door and jumped back with a start. She heard Harlan singing an old tune from The Band and saw him cranking pepper into a steaming frying pan.
He looked up at her and grinned, and his eyes were as mesmerizing as the day she’d practically run over him at the Vanderbilt library. She’d been hell-bent on getting somewhere, and he’d been ambling along, as he always did, taking life and its ups and downs in stride. Apparently, at least. Harlan had never been as easygoing and un-Rockwood as he’d seemed.
“I feel like Old Mother Hubbard,” he said amiably, “but I’ve managed to pull together enough fixings for a pretty decent chili. You like your food hot enough to melt your eyeballs, as I recall.”
She’d stopped in the doorway. “Where did you come from?”
“Back door.” He pointed.
“You were in the woodshed?”
“God forbid. Not to be an ungrateful guest, but I checked out the accommodations and found them woefully lacking in the basic comforts—i.e. air.”
“Then...”
“I pitched your tent.”
“I don’t have a tent.”
“Well, then, that explains its condition. Must be something Louie left behind—looks like a relic from World War II. I found it in the attic.”
Beth wished she didn’t feel so much like giggling. Honestly. Why couldn’t she just be neutral about finding Harlan cooking in her kitchen? “Where are you camped?” she asked.
“At the edge of the woods, over the ridge out back. There’s an old hunter’s lookout in a tree. I spent the better part of the afternoon up there, reading and thinking. Nice view.”
“You saw Jimmy Sessoms?”
That Stubborn Yankee Page 12
