Intimate Stranger

by Jan Springer

  A volley of shivers slammed into her and for a moment she thought she was dreaming. Hoped she was maybe having a nightmare. But she wasn’t!

  Someone was leaning into her refrigerator and eating her food! From the size of his shoulders and narrow, lean hips she knew it was a man. He was dressed in dark pants and a dark jacket.

  He seemed so engrossed in devouring her fried chicken he didn’t even notice he’d been caught red-handed. To her horror, he stuck his head deeper into her fridge and reached for another one of the drumsticks she’d slaved over in special preparation for tomorrow’s fall fair.

  Okay, was he maybe a neighbor from a nearby island? Oh for heaven’s sake, no neighbor would sneak into her house for a bite to eat at midnight. Suddenly she wished she had cell phone access way out here so she could call the cops from a safe area. But what could they do? It was a half an hour boat ride from the main island to here. It was on occasions like this she wished she lived in civilization. Wished her only phone wasn’t in the kitchen with the intruder.

  She swallowed back a hitched breath and tried to ignore the horrible pounding of her heart beating against her chest and inside her ears. She needed to calm down. Needed to go out the back door and get the hell out of here.

  As she took a step backward, a wooden plank beneath her foot creaked.

  Obviously the intruder heard it too for his head snapped up and crashed against the inside top of the fridge. A quick curse followed.

  Shit. She wasn’t going to make it out of here without him being on her.

  “No sudden moves,” Emily hissed.

  The air in her lungs, as well as her nerve, was quickly vanishing. “I have a gun and I’ll blow a hole the size of Shipwreck Island right through your gut.”

  Oh God, she sounded like a Texas Ranger in a spaghetti western, but her threat was working, the intruder didn’t flinch a muscle. Hopefully she could usher him out of her home before he noticed her weapon of choice wasn’t a gun as she said.

  “Don’t shoot. I’m unarmed,” he called out in an odd whispery voice that made him sound as if he had mild laryngitis.

  “That’s your first mistake!” she said, trying hard to keep her voice tough. It was hard though. She could barely speak she was so scared. Her tummy was hollowing out in fear and her breaths were coming so fast she felt as if she just might pass out.

  God! Why hadn’t she just run?

  The best defense is a good offense, her late husband used to say, and his words rang like a warning bell in her head now. Use the element of surprise to your advantage.

  Oh lordy, she was okay. She had the mace. If he tried something, she wouldn’t hesitate to use it and then she’d run for her life.

  “My husband is in the next room. All I have to do is scream, so you better get out!”

  “Okay. Okay. Take it easy. I think I’d better explain.”

  “Don’t bother. Hit the door, buddy.”

  “But—”

  “Get out! Now!”

  Emily tensed her finger on her can of protection as he started moving. He kept his arms in the air and his back toward her as he edged past. His scent swarmed out of the darkness and she couldn’t help but inhale. He smelled of the fresh ocean breeze, wave-crashed beaches and a deep loneliness that tugged at her heart.

  When he reached the door, he hesitated. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  God! What was his problem? What was taking him so long to get out of here!

  “Too late. Leave!”

  He lowered his arms and she tensed when his hand snaked out to flick on the light switch. The harsh light burned into her eyes, making her blink. Was he trying to blind her? So he could grab her? Instinctively her finger tightened on the mace trigger, readying to shoot.

  Thankfully he remained by the door, but slowly turned around to face her.

  Scarcely breathing, Emily couldn’t help but take inventory.

  At least one foot taller than her, he was handsome in a rugged outdoorsy familiar kind of way. Sprinkles of gray dusted his collar-length, golden-brown hair.

  He had a strong, straight nose. A tiny cleft in his chin. No lines around his mouth. A mouth that suddenly dropped open in surprise at the sight of the mace.

  But it was his eyes that captured her full attention. Sparkling ocean blue, they were filled with layers of emotions she couldn’t understand. It seemed as if he were overwhelmed by those emotions. The most prominent being a haunted sadness that ripped at her insides.

  His intense gaze unsettled her. It was an oddly familiar gaze. An intimate look that said they knew each other and shared many secrets, yet she swore she’d never laid eyes on this man before in her life.

  He seemed to expect her to say something, and when she didn’t, he smiled a crooked grin that zapped a powerful jolt of déjà vu straight through her. The spooky feeling urged her not to let this man walk out of her life. Then she saw something around his neck that made her inhale.

  A glittering gold medallion hung from a gold chain wrapped around his neck. She could barely make out the image, but instincts told her it was a portrait of a man carrying a child on his shoulders.

  A Saint Christopher medallion. A medal signifying safety to travelers. She’d given her husband Steve one like it many years ago.

  She watched helplessly as the stranger’s large hand twisted the doorknob of the door that would lead him onto the back deck and ultimately the wharf and ocean and far away from her.

  Let him go! a voice inside her shouted. He’s dangerous.

  A loud, hungry growl escaped his stomach and a pang of guilt slithered through Emily. He turned and stepped across the threshold.

  Don’t let him leave, her heart begged. Anyone who wore a Saint Christopher medallion couldn’t be all bad. Besides, she had her mace. He wouldn’t hurt her as long as she had that.

  “Wait!”

  Her meek squeak stopped him cold and his shoulders tensed. Raising his hands over his head again, he clamped his fingers behind his neck and waited anxiously. Obviously, he figured she was going to call the police and press charges against him for trespassing.

  “The least I can do is feed you. You can put your arms down but stay right there.”

  She noticed some of the tenseness seep out of his shoulders at her suggestion and he did as she instructed.

  Keeping her mace ready and her eyes glued to the tall stranger standing in her doorway, Emily moved toward the open refrigerator. She tried to keep calm, but it didn’t work.

  Her hands shook as she tugged out the goods she’d made for the fair. To make matters worse, she could barely scoop the food onto a plate, all the while her jumbled mind chastised her for not getting rid of the stranger.

  She topped the heaping plate of food with more fried chicken. It was a mistake encouraging him to linger, she thought. The sooner she fed him the faster she could send him on his way. With plate in hand, she turned to the door and blinked in surprise.

  The stranger was gone and her emergency house key dangled quietly in the door lock.

  * * * * *

  He stepped onto the wooden deck just outside the keeper house and thoroughly enjoyed the crisp autumn wind slicing painfully into his face.

  Man! He could not believe he’d talked to her! The mere sight of her made him feel so alive. So free.

  On impulse he’d flicked on the light switch, hoping she would recognize him, wrap her arms around his neck and welcome him home with a mind-blowing kiss. Deep down he knew it wouldn’t happen. The extensive plastic surgery to his face had totally changed his appearance and the damage done to his voice box made sure she would never recognize his voice.

  But she still looked fantastic. Her once long hair was now fashioned into a new shoulder-length curly do and her bangs were gone in favor of the no-bang hippie look. It suited her better, he had to admit, and she looked so healthy, so fresh, so innocent.

  Just looking at her brought back the familiar warmth he always got when bei
ng near her. Brought back the searing memories of their brief time together. Her ultimatum of him giving up his dangerous journalist job if he expected her to stay with him.

  Dammit!

  He should have stuck to his plan of simply breaking into the lighthouse, grabbing what he needed and leaving. Yet, when he’d checked the hiding place for the keeper house key and found the key still there, an overwhelming urge had gripped him. He’d wanted to go inside his home. Wanted to pretend he had never left. To pretend what could have been, if only for a few short minutes. When he’d smelled the delicious aromas of her fried chicken floating through the air, his stomach had clenched with hunger. It was a gentle reminder he hadn’t eaten a meal cooked by his wife in years.

  He’d made a big mistake breaking into the keeper house while she was home. It still wasn’t too late to make it right again. He could simply slip away and break in another time. She would never have to see him again. Never have to be afraid of him again.

  Indecision screamed at him as he lifted his head to look at the towering wooden octagonal lighthouse attached to the keeper house. This place had been home for such a short, sweet time. Perhaps it had never been meant to be?

  Above the lighthouse, dark gray clouds threatened to blanket the moon directly overhead. A storm was coming. In order to keep her safe he needed to leave this instant before the bad weather hit, but now that he’d seen her, how could he leave?

  A soft noise behind him made him jump and he whirled around to find her nervously sliding a plate of food onto the deck’s railing a few feet away from him. His mouth watered and his stomach growled again. Without hesitation he reached out and took the plate.

  The tantalizing aromas did the food justice. Like a starving wolf, he downed the crispy fried chicken, the onion-drenched potato salad and the arrangement of other goodies she’d stacked on the large plate.

  It wasn’t until his plate was nearly empty that he noticed her watching him, her face pale and her eyes wide with shock.

  He knew fear. Had lived with it for years. Smelled it. Seen it in other people’s eyes and he saw it in hers now. He hated himself for bringing terror into her life. But there was something sparking those brown depths too. Curiosity.

  When she held up the rusty key he’d used to gain access to her home, he stopped chewing. The last bite of food suddenly tasted like sawdust and it took a great deal of effort to swallow it.

  Shit! In his hurry to get inside the house he’d forgotten to remove her emergency key from the lock.

  “Lucky guess?” she asked coldly as she let the key dangle from her fingertips.

  “Doesn’t everyone keep an extra key behind a loose brick in their outside wall near their back door?”

  “Sorry, I’m not buying that one.”

  “Okay you got me. Your in-laws told me about you.”

  “Which in-laws?”

  “Your husband’s brother Daniel and his wife Jo.”

  A sparkle of relief splashed across her face, but he could tell by the way she held her mace, she wasn’t sure she should believe him.

  “I knew your husband Steve too.”

  “Steve is dead,” she said quietly, the sadness in her voice gripping his insides with painful reality. Yes, Steve was dead. To both of them.

  “I know,” he replied just as quietly, noting the raw pain shining in her eyes.

  Her gaze drifted to his Saint Christopher medallion and held his breath as a shiver of unease screamed through him. He couldn’t let her see it. Couldn’t allow that to happen. If she saw the inscription on the back, she’d start asking questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.

  He pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck in a show that he was cold so she wouldn’t get a good look at the medallion she’d given him years ago. His movement made her stiffen in alert mode again.

  “Why would they tell you about my spare key?” she asked, and lifted her gaze to confront him with questions.

  “They said you’re out on the ocean quite often harvesting seaweed and I should let myself in if you weren’t around when I came for a visit.”

  Let myself in? Now that was a hollow excuse if he ever heard one. He didn’t expect her to believe him, but that’s all he could come up with on such short notice.

  “It’s midnight, mister. Obviously my boat is docked. I’m here. Why didn’t you knock?”

  “Didn’t want to wake you up.”

  Boy, his answers were making him look like a fool.

  “And so you thought you’d make yourself cozy until I woke up and found a complete stranger in my house? You didn’t think you’d scare me?” Hot anger tinged her words and bright pink flushed her cheeks, pushing away the sickly paleness.

  He shrugged. “I figured I was harmless.”

  “I’m glad one of us thinks so. Why didn’t anyone tell me you were coming?”

  “You’d have to ask them.”

  “Don’t think I won’t,” she snapped.

  “Perhaps I should come back another time?”

  At his words, she visibly relaxed. Good, she wasn’t so afraid of him anymore.

  “It might be best.”

  “I really am sorry for being so rude, Mrs. McCullen. I should have come during the day. It’s just that your in-laws spoke so much about you. I feel as if I already know you.”

  “Since you know so much about me, how about telling me your name?”

  The question floored him and he hesitated. Here was his chance to spill the whole truth, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It would only tear her world apart. He wasn’t ready to do that. He probably never would be ready.

  Before he knew what he was doing he gave her the fake name he’d been forced to use over the past few years instead of the new one he was now using.

  “Chance. Chance Donovan.”

  She nodded slightly and he waited for recognition to flare in her eyes. But nothing happened. Not that he expected her to recognize the name. Maybe he’d just hoped that she would guess his true identity?

  “I don’t think my husband ever mentioned you.”

  That’s because I am your husband, he wanted to yell.

  “We go way back,” he said. “Childhood friends in Montana.”

  Emily nodded as a spattering of cold raindrops began to trickle down on them. He noticed her shiver. Hell, who wouldn’t be cold wearing a pretty peach nightgown on the last day of October.

  “I’d better let you get back inside. You’re getting all wet,” he said, and his gut clenched at the mere thought of heading toward the stairs that would lead him away from her.

  “It’ll be too dangerous to go back out on the ocean now. A storm is coming. You may as well come in, Mr. Donovan.”

  Inside? He hadn’t expected her to ask him into the lighthouse. A great deal of mistrust flooded her eyes and she still looked very uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing he wanted.

  “I really should go.”

  “No, please come inside. I’ll put on some hot tea. I can’t let a friend of my husband’s stay out in the chilly rain and get sick.”

  He noted the flash of tenderness spark her eyes, a direct contrast to the mace she still pointed at him. The sight of the can made him uneasy and he wished he could wrench it away from her on the odd chance she decided to use it. But he suspected she’d give him a good shot of the fiery stuff before he even made a move. Over the past years, when everyone thought he was dead and he rotted in prison, he’d experienced the harsh fact of being pepper sprayed. He wasn’t anxious to relive those memories.

  Keeping a safe distance from her and the mace, he stepped back into the keeper house. She closed the door and headed down the short hallway. He followed her and found her in the kitchen at the sink. Standing in the doorway, he suddenly felt awkward.

  Earlier, when he’d broken in, he hadn’t noticed the changes. First, it had been dark and then when he’d switched on the lights, he’d focused his attention on Emily. Now he realized she’d totally redecorat
ed the kitchen.

  The ancient, creaking gray floorboards were now a varnished oak. The plain brown cedar cabinets had been painted a crisp vanilla and the upper doors contained glass panels that proudly showed off an array of fancy dinnerware. Smart brass and ceramic pulls complemented the look.

  A thoughtfully designed, elegant island counter included shelves containing more dishes, drawers, an empty wine rack and a black, marble countertop laden with a giant glass bowl filled with a variety of fresh fruit. A new stove had replaced the old one. The only things she’d kept the same were the 1960s refrigerator and the intimate oak table for two.

  She’d always had good taste in decor. Not to mention great taste in nightgowns.

  Her feminine peach-colored nightgown was painfully thin and the raindrops made parts of it virtually invisible. Try as he might, he couldn’t pull his attention away from the erotic sight. Through the sheer fabric he had no trouble making out her lush shape. She’d changed and definitely for the better.

  No longer a rail-thin young lady of twenty, she’d bloomed into a woman with generous curves. Long legs. Shapely hips. An exquisite waist he ached to touch and perky looking breasts with peaked nipples that pressed boldly against her nightgown. He closed his eyes as a strong, hot wave of desire washed through him, leaving him totally tense.

  She still had the same overpowering effect on him. Hell, it was even more powerful than he remembered. Being without Emily for so many years probably had something to do with his reaction. But he needed to leave here before his body and his heart caved in on him.

  “You can have a seat in the living room, Mr. Donovan.” Her sweet voice made him open his eyes.

  Thankfully she hadn’t noticed his intense reaction as her face was turned away from him while she searched for something in an upper cabinet. She dragged down a carton, which he assumed was the tea, filled water into an old-fashioned metal kettle, which he remembered belonging to her late uncle, and plugged it in.

  She turned around and nodded to behind him.

  “Living room is right over there. I’ll bring the tea to you.”

  Obviously she wanted him out of the room and he had a pretty good idea why. He threw a knowing glance at the wall telephone before he walked across the hall into the other room and stepped straight into his past.