Snowflakes on the Sea

by Linda Lael Miller

  Reaching the house on Angel Cove again, Mallory found that the rehearsal was still going on. Staunchly she gathered up the script that Brad had brought by earlier and, since the weather was springlike, ventured outside to study it. She was sitting on a fallen log, facing the Cove and within sight of the villa, when she sensed that she wasn’t alone and looked up from the meaty lines she’d been trying to memorize.

  Nathan was standing before her, his back to the sun-shimmered, blue and silver Cove, looking undeniably handsome even in old jeans and a battered blue Windbreaker. “Hi,” he said softly.

  Mallory swallowed and, even though it was the last thing she’d wanted to do, stole one wary look at the duplexes just down the beach. There was a rented trailer backed up to the front door of one, and Diane’s bright blond head gleamed in the sun as she supervised the unloading of the vehicle. “Hi,” she replied distractedly.

  Nathan had followed her gaze, she saw a moment later, and the muscles in his jawline were bunched with annoyance. He muttered a swearword and started toward the scene, but Mallory leapt up from her perch on the log and caught his arm.

  “Nathan, no,” she said quickly, a plea in her voice. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  He threw a menacing look in Mallory’s direction, but he stopped. “That—”

  “Nathan, we have to ignore her. Don’t you see? If you go storming over there and make a scene, you’ll be doing just what she wants you to!”

  His broad shoulders moved in an irritated sigh, and she heard a raspy breath enter his lungs and come out again. “Damn it, I knew I should have bought that property when it was for sale.”

  Mallory smiled, albeit shakily. “You can’t buy the whole world, you know. And if those duplexes hadn’t been built, she would just have found some other way to get to us.”

  Nathan sighed again and touched an index finger to the tip of her nose. “You know something, lady? You’re not only beautiful, but smart.”

  Mallory executed a sweeping bow and dropped the script into the soft, pungent carpet of pine needles cushioning the ground. Nathan’s eyes fell to the familiar logo on its cover, and Mallory almost expected the thing to ignite under the fierce heat of his gaze.

  “He was here,” Nathan said in a rasp.

  Mallory swallowed hard and nodded. “It’s only ten days’ work, Nathan.”

  Nathan’s throat constricted, and he tilted his head back to glower up at the sky. “Starting when?”

  “Monday. Nathan, don’t worry, okay? He was contrite—he apologized—”

  Nathan’s gaze, when it came to Mallory’s face, was scathing. “Sure he was. And you, of course, were forgiving.”

  “Nathan, I have to work with the man. I couldn’t very well stir up a battle!”

  “You don’t have to work with the man, as you put it. Christ, Mallory, between Ranner and Diane, haven’t we had enough trouble? Why do you insist on setting us up for more?”

  “We’ve been all through this, Nathan. I gave my word, remember?”

  Nathan muttered something and whirled away, and this time his attention was focused on Mount Rainier, towering in the distance. “I need you here.”

  “You don’t, and you know it. I’ve got to be in Seattle on Monday, Nathan, and that’s all there is to it.”

  He sighed, and his shoulders moved in exaggerated annoyance. “You know, Mallory, sometimes it seems that I’m doing all the compromising here. I’m giving up concert tours—television specials—recording dates. Can’t you give up ten days of acting?”

  The disparaging note he gave that last word was not lost on Mallory. She stiffened, then bent to retrieve the script. “Okay,” she said coldly. “You give up the concert in Seattle, and I’ll quit right now.”

  He turned to face her, stunned. “That concert has been promoted, Mallory—the tickets are already sold-out and I’ve signed contracts!”

  Mallory grinned and held up one index finger. “Contracts. The magic word. Yours, then, are binding, but mine aren’t?”

  “Damn it!” Nathan spat, and then, without another word, he turned and stormed back down the wooded path toward the villa.

  Though she wanted to follow after her husband and double up her fists and beat on his impervious back in frustration, Mallory was determined to be professional to the end. With great effort, she sat down on the log again, opened the script and went back to learning her lines.

  The boathouse was dark, and Nathan didn’t bother to turn on the light. Even though it had been hours since the latest confrontation with Mallory, he was still smarting from it. The shabby structure where the previous owner of the villa had stored fishing gear was the only place on the island where he could be reasonably sure of a few minutes’ privacy.

  Even after years of disuse, the place still smelled of oil and bait and kelp. There was no sound, other than the distant complaint of a ferry horn and the rhythmic lapping of the water beneath the filthy wooden floor. Nathan muttered an ugly word and felt better for it.

  He sat down on the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees, and sighed. Just when he had thought he and Mallory were really linking up, really communicating, everything had gone to hell again.

  Why did he have to corner her like that, when he knew the one thing she absolutely couldn’t deal with was being ordered around? Why was he making such a big thing out of ten lousy days’ work?

  The answer to that question wasn’t easy to face. Nathan knew it all too well, whether he permitted himself to confront the issue or not. He was jealous of Brad Ranner.

  Just then, the door of the boathouse creaked open, admitting a shaft of weak, dust-flecked light. Without thinking, Nathan cursed softly and betrayed himself, and the beam of the flashlight swung immediately in his direction.

  “Leave me alone,” he growled, turning his head.

  The intruder was undaunted, drawing nearer. After a second or so, Diane Vincent knelt beside him, impulsively tangling gentle fingers in his hair.

  “You look rotten, babe,” she commiserated.

  Nathan deflected her hand roughly. “Go away, damn it.”

  It was as though he hadn’t spoken. Diane’s fingers found their way into his hair again, offering a treacherous comfort. She turned off the flashlight, and it rattled on the dusty board floor as she set it aside.

  “I can make it all better,” she crooned, and the exotic, specially blended scent of her perfume whispered against Nathan’s raw senses like a caress.

  For one insane moment, he wanted her. He even drew her close, and his lips brushed against hers in the darkness, seeking, not caring who she was.

  Mallory. The name rang through him like the toll of some infinite bell. He thrust Diane aside harshly and sprang to his feet.

  Diane spoke with disdain. “Still the faithful husband. Oh, Nate, baby, you are a fool.”

  Nathan wanted to leave the boathouse, but for the moment, he couldn’t seem to mobilize the muscles in his legs. “Shut up,” he snapped. “Just shut up and get the hell out of here.”

  Diane had never been easily intimidated. “Do you really think your gamine girl has been saving her sweet favors just for you?” she challenged in a silken voice.

  Nathan closed his eyes and his midsection tightened into a steel knot. He tried to speak and failed.

  In an instant, Diane was close to him again, pressing her thighs against his, moving her hands in circles on his chest. He pushed her away again in a furious need to be free of her.

  It was then that the overhead light came on, glaring, blinding Nathan for a fraction of a second. When his vision cleared, he swore again.

  Mallory was standing in the doorway, Cinnamon’s leash dangling from one hand, her face chalk white, her green eyes emerald with pain. She took in Diane’s triumphant grin, muttered something unintelligible and turned to flee.

  Nathan bolted after her, shouted her name. But she kept right on running.

  It was dark, and the wharf was treacherous with its coiled rope
s and mooring rings, so Mallory dared not run her fastest, even though her heart urged her to keep pace with its frantic, stricken beat. As she scrambled up the slight, rocky hillside above the wharf, she knew that Nathan was gaining on her, felt his approach in every one of her screaming senses.

  At the base of the lawn fronting his gigantic house, he caught her, and his hands were inescapable as they grasped her shoulders, harsh with controlled desperation as they turned her to face him.

  “Mallory.”

  She looked up at him in the moonlight, too broken to struggle. His face was in shadows. “Damn you,” she whispered in a ragged, tortured voice. “Damn you, you lying, cheating—”

  Mallory could feel his pain as well as her own—it was a fathomless chasm between them, pushing them apart rather than drawing them closer.

  “Stop it,” he demanded.

  Mallory was gasping now, trying to close her mind to what she had seen in the boathouse just moments before. They’d been alone there, Nathan and Diane, in the darkness—

  Nathan’s hands moved from her shoulders to her upper arms, and his voice was a gruff plea. “Mallory, listen to me.”

  Mallory’s black, pounding rage made her need to kick and scream, but she couldn’t move. It was as though someone had coated her entire body in plaster. She gave a small, strangled cry.

  “Mallory, it wasn’t—I didn’t—”

  At last, Mallory found her voice. “Don’t say it, Nathan,” she warned. “Don’t give me that trite old line about how it wasn’t what it looked like. It was exactly what it looked like, and we both know it.”

  A harsh sigh tore itself from his throat. “Everything I say right now will be a cliché, won’t it?” he asked with raw, dismal resignation. “Mallory, I wasn’t going to make love to Diane.”

  Mallory trembled, remembering a certain look in Diane’s eyes. “You kissed her,” she said, whirling in his grasp.

  But he would not release her, and his grip was fierce as he wrenched her back. “You’re not going anywhere until we settle this, lady. If I have to drag Diane over here by the hair, you’re going to hear the truth!”

  “The truth was all too apparent in the boathouse, Nathan!”

  He shook her hard. “Damn it, Mallory, this is all a mistake!”

  “You can say that again, handsome. I guess it’s been that from the first—our marriage, I mean.”

  “What?”

  “I want a divorce, Nathan.”

  He released her so swiftly that she nearly fell into the wet grass that had so recently been buried in snow. “No way!” he snapped.

  Mallory turned and scrambled across the lawn, too stricken to consider dignity now. Nathan kept pace easily, and at the base of the porch, she faced him again. “Why fight it, Nathan?” she asked in a contemptuous, pain-laced whisper. “Now you won’t have to lie and meet in boathouses.”

  Nathan didn’t make a sound, and yet it was as though he had shouted. The night air seemed to reverberate with his rage and his frustration.

  Mallory hurried across the porch toward the garage. For once, a bad habit stood her in good stead—her keys were in the ignition of the car.

  She drove carefully out of the driveway, knowing that Nathan would pursue her if she didn’t, and a few minutes later, let herself into the house that had been home all her life. The house that would soon belong, no doubt, to happy strangers.

  Inside, she locked the doors and then sank down into a chair at the kitchen table, not bothering to turn on a light. Only then could she release the terrible, scalding sobs. They racked her, leaving her exhausted and mute when they finally abated.

  Never had Mallory endured a longer night.

  Though she took a long, hot bath and swallowed a sleeping pill, rest eluded her. She tried reading and couldn’t retain so much as a sentence. Music was out of the question—she dared not turn on the radio for fear of hearing Nathan’s latest hit, and the stereo might as well have been a thousand miles from the bed.

  Again and again, Mallory relived the disaster in the boathouse, and the resultant agony was beyond anything she had ever experienced before.

  In a far corner of her mind, a small voice pleaded a reasonable, rational case, but Mallory could not or would not listen. She couldn’t afford to delude herself; she’d done enough of that.

  With the gray, stormy dawn came more snow. Dispiritedly, Mallory packed a few clothes, called Trish to let her know that she was leaving Cinnamon behind in her care.

  “What’s going on, Mall?” Trish demanded, sensing that something was terribly wrong even though her friend was doing her level best to hide it.

  Mallory sighed. “If I talk about it, I’ll start blubbering. How about if I call you from the city, tomorrow or the next day?”

  “Mall—”

  “Please, Trish. I can’t.”

  “Okay, okay. But what about the house? Is it still for sale, or what?”

  “It’s for sale. I—I’ll have somebody come and p-pack up my things if that c-couple wants to buy it—”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Trish admonished in a gentle voice. “Mall, honey, are you sure you want to sell the place? Don’t go ahead with it if—”

  “I’m sure, Trish. Really.”

  “You’ll call tomorrow or the next day?”

  “I promise.”

  “Take care, love.”

  Mallory couldn’t say any more. Trusting Trish to understand, she hung up, left the house and drove to the island’s small ferry terminal.

  Diane’s beautiful face was tear swollen, and her meticulously applied mascara made inky streaks down her cheeks. Her knuckles were white where they gripped the edge of her sofa.

  Nathan, leaning back against the mantel of the fireplace that graced her small living room, felt no pity, no inclination toward mercy. He’d already shouted at Diane, and now he didn’t trust himself to speak again; he wanted only to leave.

  Diane swallowed convulsively. “I’ll go to her, Nathan. I’ll explain.”

  He made no effort to quell the cold hatred he knew was glittering in his eyes. “It’s probably too late for that,” he said in clipped tones as he made his way through the maze of half-packed boxes littering Diane’s floor.

  She caught at his arm as he passed. Her voice was small and peevish, and it chafed Nathan’s already ragged nerves. “I’m sorry.”

  He wrenched open her front door. “Oh, thank you,” he retorted sardonically. “I’ll remember that when I crawl out of the courtroom, suddenly single.”

  Diane sniffled, lifted her chin in a theatrical gesture of martyrly acceptance. “Blame me if it makes you feel better, Nate, but it isn’t all my fault and you know it. Your marriage was a shambles long before we met in the boathouse.”

  Nathan laughed, and it was a hoarse, cruel sound. “Before we met! You followed me!”

  Diane’s face seemed to crumble. “So I did. But you’re a big boy, McKendrick, and you weren’t forced into that kiss.”

  Nathan watched her for another moment, wondering idly if the show she was putting on might be based in real emotions. In the final analysis, he didn’t care, one way or the other. He turned and strode away, leaving Diane’s front door gaping open behind him.

  He walked fast, with his head down, and nearly collided with Jeff Kingston, his drummer, on the wooded path leading back to his own house.

  Jeff was the only member of the band who had been with Nathan from the first. Because of that, there was a special empathy between the two men. “Hey, Nate—hold it. What’s going on around here?”

  Nathan stopped, braced himself against a tree with one hand and drew a deep breath. With his eyes carefully trained on the water, barely visible through the thickening curtain of snow, he told Jeff what had happened in the boathouse the night before. His tones were grim and concise.

  When he’d finished, Jeff muttered a colorful word. “We’re talking dumb moves here, Nate.”

  Nathan nodded distractedly.

&
nbsp; “Have you called Mallory?”

  Nathan shook his head. “She wouldn’t talk to me if I did.”

  “Then go and see her.”

  Nathan turned his back to Jeff and ran one finger along the rough, cool bark of the tree he leaned against. “That wouldn’t help either. I’ve lost her.”

  “There has got to be some way—”

  Nathan turned suddenly. “What do I say to her, Jeff? That Diane has been throwing herself at me for six years and that I was confused and mad as hell and before I thought about what I was doing I kissed her?”

  “Is that the truth?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then tell her that. Mallory is a class act, Nathan, and she loves you. She’ll understand.”

  “I don’t think so. Jeff, she’s been through so much—the paternity thing, now this—”

  Jeff sighed wearily. “Okay. Let her go, man. Ranner and about ten million other guys will appreciate the gesture, but it sure as hell won’t do you any good, or Mallory, either.”

  “What the hell are you saying?”

  Jeff shrugged. “If you don’t want her, step out of the way. She won’t be lonely long.”

  “God, you’re a big help” Nathan roared, gesturing wildly with his arms. “I can’t stand the thought of anybody else touching her, and you know it!”

  Jeff’s expression was somewhere between a smile and a smirk. “Then why don’t you get your act together?”

  “I thought it was,” Nathan replied with less spirit. “I really thought it was.”

  “Why? Damn it, Nate, the rest of us have seen this coming since before the Australian tour. Mallory looks like a lost kid half the time, and you’re always on edge.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you that you’re going to be out of work? That we’re not going to be doing concerts after Seattle?”

  “Sure, it bothers me, but I think it bothers you more. You don’t want to quit the circuit, do you, Nate? The bottom line is, you just don’t want to quit.”

  Nathan sighed and started walking toward the house again, his hands wedged into the pockets of his jeans. He could feel snow melting on his neck, but he didn’t care. “No, I don’t want to quit. But I didn’t want to lose Mallory, either.”