With Strings Attached (Gabriola Island)

by Vanessa Grant

  “This will be better,” he promised as he bent to take her lips with his.

  Chapter Six

  She thought she would die from the sensations. The flames kept surging higher, flooding with responses, with joy and need, then a raging desperation that she knew she could not endure.

  Her own voice, whimpering, whispering ragged words that were not words at all. His lips. Heat and loving and need, the explosion echoing closer and closer. A confusion of sounds and sensation. Touch. Caress. Kiss. His lips. Hers. His nipple under her teeth. Her breast drawn inside his mouth.

  Her hip thrusting restlessly, finding the hard caress of his hand. Her thighs, sensation, twisting, needing, gasping as his fingers slid closer, caressed the centre of her pulsing need. Sounds. Fire, crawling along her veins as it consumed the wood nearby. Bells somewhere, ringing.

  “Please, no... “ His voice, low and driven, but when her lips stilled, he bent to take her mouth in a deep, consuming kiss that was only a symbol of the joining their bodies hungered for.

  The bell. Again. He stilled, lying against her, his breath coming in short, harsh explosions that slowly quieted.

  “Patrick? What?”

  He touched her lips, took her mouth in a slow, tender kiss. “Telephone.” His eyes closed painfully as the sound came again. “This time of night, no one would call unless it were urgent.”

  He tore himself away from her, all but his eyes reflecting the flames. He turned away abruptly.

  How could she fall in love in two short days? Had she known him in another place, another time, another life? Loved him before, forever? Inevitable, that this one man was the only one for her, that she had waited all her life, not knowing that the emptiness was only a waiting.

  In the next room, Patrick’s voice changed from question to decision. “No, Sarah, don’t wake the kids. I’ll be right there. Yes. No, I’ll drive you.”

  Molly found her skirt tangled with Patrick’s clothing on the floor. Her blouse lay in a jumble at the end of the sofa. Patrick said patiently, “I know it’s almost midnight. Don’t worry. I’ll call the ferry terminal. They’ll have it ready to go for you by the time we get there. Yes, Sarah. I’ll call David to come look after the kids. Yes. Five minutes. Bye.”

  Molly handed Patrick his shirt. He took it in one hand, the other punching out numbers on the telephone. She thought he looked concerned, but not shattered. Not a total disaster, then.

  “Thanks,” he said, lifting the shirt in a gesture. “My sister,” he explained as he waited for an answer to the number he’d dialed. “She’s expecting, and it looks like tonight’s the night. Edward’s on a trip to Calgary, and—Hello? Patrick McNaughton here. We’re going to need the ferry for a medical evacuation to Nanaimo, a pregnant woman in labor. Yes, Sarah Hollison. Yes. Yes, that’s right, she’s calling the doctor right now. I expect he’ll meet her at the ferry ... No, I’ll drive her myself.”

  As he started to dial again, Molly said quickly, “If you’re calling your brother- I’ll look after Jeremy and his sister.”

  He dropped the handset into its cradle and pulled her close for one quick, hard kiss. “Thanks, love. Let’s go, then.”

  She followed him out to his car. “Don’t you want to lock your house?” she asked, turning to look back worryingly.

  “No need.”

  She climbed into the passenger seat and Patrick reversed to turn around. As they started along the drive, he covered Molly’s hand with his. “Sorry about this, Molly.”

  Her flesh still tingled from his caresses. She flushed in the darkness and whispered, “It’s all right.”

  “No it isn’t.” She glanced and saw a half-smile on his lips. “We’ll make it up next time,” he promised, bringing her hand to his lips.

  “Yes,” she agreed.

  Sarah Hollison was waiting at the door of her house with a small suitcase in her hand. She was a tall woman who would have been slender but for the large swelling of her pregnancy.

  “I called the doctor,” she told Patrick breathlessly. “He’ll meet us at the ferry terminal. I couldn’t get Edward on the phone. Pat, I can’t possibly get into that car. We’d better take my wagon.”

  “All right,” he agreed easily.

  “The children—”

  “Molly’s come to look after them.” He reached out to draw her forward.

  “The dinosaur lady?” Sarah was doubtful. “Jeremy will be thrilled, but...”

  Sarah herself obviously was not thrilled about it.

  Molly said, “I’ll look after them, and if they wake, shall I tell them you’ve gone to the hospital to have the baby?”

  “Oh, I...” Sarah gave Molly another doubtful look, but Patrick had the station wagon started and was waiting. “Don’t give Sally more than a sip to drink,” worried Sarah. “She’s been pretty good about wetting her bed, but sometimes...”

  “I won’t,” promised Molly. “I’ll take good care of them. Good luck, Sarah.” Who could blame Patrick’s sister for being uneasy? All she knew about Molly was that she painted dinosaurs, and that she was the erratic Saul Natham’s daughter. Not much of a recommendation for a baby-sitter.

  “I’ll be glad to get rid of this load,” muttered Sarah as she maneuvered her awkward body into the passenger seat.

  “I’ll phone,” Patrick promised.

  “Drive carefully,” said Molly, as if she saw him off every day.

  “Don’t worry.” He grinned and indicated Sarah beside him. “With cargo like this, I will.”

  The car disappeared down the driveway and left the world silent.

  Molly started up the stairs to the house, her silhouette throwing a long shadow from the yard light. With her hand on the doorknob, she suddenly turned back and went to Patrick’s car. Just as she had suspected, his keys were in the ignition. She supposed it wasn’t a Gabriolan sort of thing to do, but she took the keys and locked his car. Then she let herself inside the house.

  A notice in the entrance directed guests to the left for registration, straight ahead for dining. Were there guests in residence? No one had mentioned any. Molly moved into the little office where registrations apparently took place, hoping to find a registration book. Nothing. The desk was immaculate, the surface empty except for a gold pen and pencil set. Was April too early in the season for guests? Well, she wasn’t about to go looking in drawers. She would worry about guests if any raised their heads or wandered out into the corridor. Her job was the children.

  She went up the stairs and found several bedrooms, all with open door, each one empty. Made up for guests, she supposed, but vacant now. The children must be downstairs somewhere.

  She found them in another section of the big house, back behind the kitchen. This was obviously the private family area, more cluttered than the immaculate rooms in front. Molly followed a vague sound of muttering and found Jeremy’s room. The boy slept in a tangled mass of bedding, his arms hugging a pillow, his black hair a messy riot on his head. The muttering seemed to be something about a cave, and a pencil. He was asleep, dreaming, but almost smiling. She smiled too, watching him, feeling tenderness well up.

  Sally slept in the next room, arms and legs tossed out under the blankets in a casual sprawl. The girl had long, fine blonde hair. She must take after her father, decided Molly.

  Bathroom. Kitchen. Master bedroom. A family room strewn with books and Lego blocks. It must be difficult for Sarah to bend and pick up when she was so largely pregnant. Molly found the box that contained the collection of building blocks and started clearing them up. She was still at it when the telephone rang.

  The man at the other end rattled off a number and a question. Molly confirmed. “That’s right. You’ve got the right number.” The man obviously hadn’t expected a strange voice, so she asked, “Are you Edward Hollison?”

  “Yes. I got a message. Who is this? Is Sarah-”

  “She’s at the hospital. The baby’s coming. Patrick took her on the ferry. Everything’s fine.”<
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  He seemed stunned, then said worryingly, “Could you get a message to her?” He went into a complex description of the complications of timing airline flights to get home, ending with, “I’ll get there as soon as I can. You’ll tell Sarah?”

  “I’ll make sure she gets the message.”

  “The children—”

  “They’re fine. Sleeping, and I’m staying here to look after them. I’m Molly.”

  “Molly?”

  “A neighbor.” After Sarah’s doubtful reaction, she wasn’t about to announce her surname.

  “Oh.” He sounded confused, probably knew every neighbor in miles, but recovered and said, “Thanks, Molly. We appreciate your help. You’ll call the hospital?”

  “Right away,” she promised, and after he hung up, she searched through the telephone book, wondering which hospital until she found there was only one.

  Only one hospital, but there were over a dozen telephone numbers, everything from radiation to patient information. She decided on the information one, dialed and was routed back to a switchboard, but finally received a promise that Mrs. Hollison would get the message as soon as she arrived at the hospital.

  Time must have stretched out. They might be on the ferry still. She worried about that for a minute, wondering if Patrick might have to deliver the baby. Sarah could do worse, she thought, because Patrick would be calm and confidence-inspiring. Then she remembered that Sarah had said the doctor would be on the ferry as well.

  She was dozing in a comfortable easy chair in the family room when the telephone rang again. “Molly? “ Patrick’s voice. “Did I wake you?”

  “Only half. How’s Sarah?”

  “Now we’re here, I think it’s going to be a long go.” His voice was rueful. “She’s fine, but the doctor says don’t expect anything before morning. Is everything okay there?”

  “Fine. Jeremy’s tangled up in a knot of covers. Sally looks like an angel.”

  He laughed. “She must be sleeping. Don’t let her fool you. That one can be a real trouble-maker. Something like your cat, sweet but tricky. I’ll be here until morning. You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.” What would he do if she weren’t? “Edward called. Did Sarah get his message?”

  “It was waiting for us when we got here. Sarah says thanks, and don’t let Jeremy have two sandwiches in his lunch. Apparently he stops off on the way to school and feeds David’s chickens. David is worried about their diet. The chickens” diet, I mean. Not the kids.”

  Molly curled her legs up and cradled the receiver against her ear, loving that sound of suppressed laughter in his voice, not wanting him to hang up. “Is David a worrier?” Would his family ever become her friends? Neighbors, yes, but would Sarah ever smile and offer her coffee and easy talk? Would David frown at her the way Sarah had?

  Patrick said wryly, “David worries more about the cows than the chickens. And Sarah worries about her children.”

  “Edward, too,” said Molly, thinking of his call earlier.

  “Hmm.” She realized he didn’t want to hang up, either. Strange how intimate it felt, talking on the telephone. He said, “I’m not sure if Edward worries, or if it’s just a habitual way he has of speaking. He has the look, too, his head tilted a bit to one side and his eyes hazy. But I think Sarah does the worrying for both of them.”

  “What about you, Patrick? Do you worry?” Not a lot, she thought. He would be more inclined to act than to waste time agonizing.

  He did not answer, said instead, “You do. I’ll have to teach you there’s no need, Molly.”

  She didn’t know what to say.

  “It’s going to work, you know.” His voice had lost the relaxed ease of a moment ago. “You and I, Molly. We’re important to each other. “

  She closed her eyes.

  “Molly?”

  She thought of the doubt in Sarah’s eyes, of the way Patrick had believed at first that Molly was one of Saul’s lovers. She thought of her upbringing, her scattered, shallow roots; his, deep and secure. It might work for a while, but in the end Patrick McNaughton would realize Molly Natham did not belong in his world.

  “Molly?”

  She licked her lips. “Edward might call again. I’d better hang up, hadn’t I?”

  She knew he would be frowning, listening to more than her words, trying to see inside. He said, “Consider yourself kissed goodnight,” and she heard the click of the line disconnecting.

  Lunches, she thought, getting up, her fingers touching the place where his kiss would have been. Time to think about lunches, not loving.

  Sandwiches, Patrick had said. Only one for Jeremy. She found fruit in the refrigerator, and hard boiled eggs. Celery. She could make cheese celery sticks, two in each lunch, and one sandwich. An apple each. Her hand froze on the fridge door.

  Tomorrow was Saturday. Surely nobody went to school on Saturday. Sarah must have forgotten what day it was. No wonder, with the new baby coming.

  What would it be like to have Patrick’s child? The thought stirred a trembling sensation in the pit of her stomach. Patrick’s children. Hers. They would know they were loved, would always know they could depend on their parents. On her. On Patrick.

  “I love him,” she whispered, but it was a good thing no one heard because she knew that it would not be as simple as that. If only it could be.

  She slept on the sofa, woke to the invasion of light through her eyelids. Morning. Quiet. Beside her stood a small worried girl with long, tangled blonde hair.

  Molly sat up. “Hi, Sally. I’m Molly.”

  Sally looked interested. “The dinosaur lady?”

  “That’s right. Your mommy’s gone to the hospital to have the baby. Are you hungry?”

  Sally nodded, still faintly worried but seeing an opportunity here. “Chocolate cake? There’s chocolate cake in the fridge.”

  “No,” said Molly, laughing. “Bacon and eggs if you like. Or pancakes. Cereal.”

  “Pancakes,” decided Sally. “I can eat twenty pancakes. An” Jer'my's hungry, too.”

  Actually, Sally ate three pancakes. Jeremy ate four, then suggested Molly make a sandwich for him to take outside. Molly said gently, “You’re not supposed to feed sandwiches to the chickens. Your Uncle David is afraid it’ll make them sick.”

  “But—”

  Sally eyed Molly and announced hopefully, “Chocolate cake is good for snacks, you know. At ten we’re supposed to have a snack.”

  “An apple,” said Jeremy, and Sally kicked him under the table.

  “Why don’t we clean up from breakfast,” suggested Molly. “Then we could go over to my place and see how the cat’s doing.”

  Sally also seemed to have a firm relationship with Trouble, and she quickly agreed to the plan. At the cabin, Molly changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, more appropriate for child-minding than her long pleated skirt and silky blouse. The blouse was already stained with a few drops of sticky syrup from breakfast.

  “Can we get the mail?” asked Sally as Molly locked the cabin.

  “Sally always wants to get mail,” said Jeremy. “She likes the advertising pictures.”

  “I’ve got a scrap-book,” Sally explained. “There might be letters for you in the box, so you want to go, don’t you, Molly?”

  “I don’t know where the mail comes,” said Molly as she dropped the keys into the front pocket of her jeans.

  “At the site,” said Jeremy. “We’ll show you.”

  “Mr. Natham’s got box seven,” Sally volunteered. “And the key is that little one on your keys. I watched him get mail lots of times. Can we go? It’s only a couple of telephone poles down the road!”

  Molly had expected she would have to go to the post office to figure out the mail problem, but Jeremy and Sally were quite certain, leading the way, running ahead.

  Not surprisingly, when Molly opened the rural post box she found an impressive pile of window envelopes addressed to Saul. Bills, and probably in arrears, know
ing her father. The next time he called, she would ask where to send them.

  He wouldn’t pay them.

  Easier to pay them herself, Molly decided. He had given her the cabin, a birthday present, and so what if it had a few little strings attached? Tomorrow, she would sit down and write out some checks.

  On the way back, Molly and the children were overtaken by an aging truck driven by a man wearing a baseball cap. David McNaughton, older than Patrick, but recognizably his brother. He parked the truck and climbed out, a weather-beaten man dressed for farm work in ancient jeans and a matching jacket. His face was harsh, his manner abrupt but not unfriendly.

  “Pat called,” he announced. “You’ll be Molly. I came over to tell you supper at my place tonight. Pat’s stuck at the hospital until Ed gets there, and with the fog lying in the harbor, the flights are all stalled. Pat'll be along when he can. Sarah’s taking her time, he says.” He looked at the two children with an affectionate scowl. “I can take them off your hands.”

  She shook her head. “I’m enjoying them, but supper sounds great. What can we bring? There’s a chocolate cake, and I could make some salad.”

  “I thought we’d never get to eat the cake,” Sally whispered to Jeremy.

  They had just begun to eat their supper when Patrick arrived at the farm that evening.

  “Grab a plate,” called David as Patrick closed the door behind himself. Molly started to get up, but David snapped, “Sit down, Molly. Pat’s not helpless.”

  “Better do as he says,” warned Patrick with a laugh. “My brother’s a tyrant, and he doesn’t like to be crossed.”

  “Darned right, I don’t, but that never stopped my kid brother. Now go get your own plate. Molly’s been busy enough with these hooligans.”

  Sally and Jeremy giggled and Patrick disappeared into the kitchen, calling back, “We’re uncles again, Dave!”

  “Boy or girl?”

  “Boy.” His voice was muffled in the clatter of utensils. A moment later he returned with an empty plate and a glass of milk. He smiled at them all and sought out Molly with his eyes. “And a girl,” he added, sitting down at the empty place across from Molly, “Which serves Sarah right for refusing to have that scan done. She’ll have to buy a whole new set of baby things. Pass the meat, please, Jeremy.”