by Summers, Amy
Okay, might as well face it. She’d been locked in this vague sense of depression since she'd turned in her report on Rafe's plans to the county permit board. The wheels of government tended to grind very slowly. It had been several weeks and she hadn’t heard a word. Would the board turn him down?
She went over her decision not to sugar coat things in her report again and again. Would she have made the same proposals if she hadn't known the owner of the land? Would she have cared about the ammonites if it hadn't been for Tom's urging to protect the area? The case that still disturbed her.
She'd gone back to Rafe's property a few times to complete her work, but she hadn't seen him again, nor anyone else. He’d probably gone back to Los Angeles. Was she relieved, or disappointed?
Rafe had said they would talk again, and she had no doubt that if the verdict went against him, he would be back. She took a deep breath, just thinking about that.
She had plopped down in her window seat once again when she heard the soft purr of a sports car stopping on her street, but it wasn't until she heard the sound of footsteps on her porch that she snapped to attention. She waited, heart thumping, until hard knuckles rapped on her solid oak door.
It might be Tom, she told herself, or Lily, her middle-aged neighbor, who loved to chat over afternoon tea. But her pulse was racing as she turned the knob.
And there he was, dressed in dark, snug-fitting pants and a white shirt open at the neck. His tousled hair and tan skin seemed even darker against the crisp cotton shirt.
As he faced her across the threshold, his eyes flashing with barely suppressed anger, she knew he'd had word from the board, and that the decision hadn't been good.
"Hi," she said a little too heartily. She wasn’t going to let him bully her. "What can I do for you?"
He came toward her like a menacing storm, and she backed away quickly, giving him free access to her home. Turning, he closed the door carefully behind him. Somehow his restraint was even more alarming than a loud slam would have been. She backed farther away until the back of her legs touched the table.
Rafe swung around to face her. "You really shafted me," he said so softly that she could barely catch the tone. "You and your scientific boyfriend stuck it to me good."
Thawn reached behind her, gripping the back of a chair. He seemed so tall, looming there in front of her. She felt threatened by his size. "We only told the truth," she answered breathlessly. "We only did our job."
She expected anger, maybe a little rage, but what she got surprised her. He stared at her for a long moment, and what she saw was deep pain, a sense of sorrow, endless regret. He winced and turned from her, the deep grooves in his face emphasizing his unhappiness.
"Is it your job to destroy dreams?" he rasped, turning back toward her. "Is it your job to tear away the hopes of generations, just so the county ordinances will be satisfied? Just so that some crumbling old shells will be left to rot where they lie?"
"Is..." She wet her dry lips with her tongue. "Did they deny your permit?"
A slight grin containing no humor curved his wide mouth. "You know very well they denied it. You set them up to deny it."
"No." She shook her head quickly. "I only told them what I found."
"Did you, Thawn?" His voice was laced with sarcasm. "You didn't put a little emphasis here, a few adjectives there, that would have been better left out? You didn't guide the board members to the conclusion you wanted from them all along?"
His hard gaze seemed to pin her to the wall. "Are you telling me you didn't do any of those things, Thawn?"
His words sparked her own anger. Who did he think he was, coming here to browbeat her this way?
"I certainly didn't mean to do anything of the sort," she retorted. "And if you think you're going to get me to confess by being aggressive, you'd better think again."
He winced, shaking his head, then took a deep breath. “I’m not trying to bully you,” he said almost sadly. “Believe me, I’ve got better things to do.”
Then what the heck was he doing here? Suddenly, she was mad. She didn’t deserve this.
"This is new to you, isn’t it, Mr. Rafe Armstrong?" she said to him. Memories of how he’d been cock of the walk in Hollywood raced through her mind. "You're so used to having everyone within earshot craning to see what your next desire might be that you can't accept the fact that there's a real world out here, a real world that doesn't give extra points for imaginative genius and Hollywood power. Here you have to follow the same rules as everyone else."
He looked surprised at her outburst, then slightly bemused. But she didn’t notice that. She still saw him as the embodiment of all she hated about what had happened to her in tinsel-town.
"Maybe you ought to take a look around you, Mr. Big Shot. It might be a real education for you. There are other people in the world who make an even bigger contribution to the welfare of humanity than you do. They don't ask for special favors. What makes you think you deserve them?"
She stopped, more because she was running out of breath than because she didn't have more to say. But as she looked at him, something in his eyes told her that the cutting edge of his anger had been dulled. That made her pause and think. Was she the one doing the bullying now?
"I'm not asking for special favors," he said quietly. "All I want to do is build on my own land."
A look of desolation in his face stopped the retort that was rising in her throat. His eyes reflected a deep, abiding suffering, and she felt suddenly astounded by the quality of pain she saw there. This wasn't the surface anger of a man who wasn't getting his way. This was something much more complex. Fascinated, she stared at him.
He ran a hand through his dark hair. "I don't think you really understand," he told her softly. "I think you're the one who doesn't see reality."
She should throw him out. What right did he have to be there? She'd done a job on a government contract. His behavior now might be considered subverting the proper channels, trying to influence her. He wasn't exactly offering a bribe or threatening her, but somehow this seemed just as wrong.
But she couldn't. Looking at him, she suddenly wanted to understand. She would never forgive herself if she didn't give him a chance to tell his side.
"Sit down," she told him quietly. "Let me get you something to drink."
At first she thought he would refuse, but his gaze wavered, "Okay," he answered shortly. "Have you got a beer?"
She walked quickly to the small refrigerator while he dropped into her largest chair.
When she returned with a tall, frosty glass full of golden, white-capped brew, she found him staring at the sea just as she had been only moments before.
He took the cold glass from her without looking up, took a long swallow, and leaned back as though letting the cool liquid restore his composure.
Thawn sat on the edge of her chair, watching him, noting how the grooves that lined his hard mouth were even deeper than before. He looked tired.
"You must understand," she said again nervously, "that there was nothing personal in my recommendations to the board. I did what I felt I had to do."
The eyes he raised to hers were cold. "A picture of moral rectitude," he said softly, but there was no rancor in his tone, only sad bitterness.
She felt her cheeks reddening slightly. "I don't pretend to a higher righteousness," she protested, "but I can't neglect my duty."
"Your duty." He smiled thinly. "We're all in such a hurry to do our duty. How often do we stop to see where our duty encroaches upon the duty of another?"
She hadn't the slightest idea what he was talking about. "Why don't you tell me about your duty?" she tried.
His cold eyes were on her again. After studying her for a moment, his gaze slipped down and suddenly she was very aware of the low V-neck of her caftan. She straightened, and a smile twisted his mouth.
Raising his eyes, he finally said, "All right. Let me see if I can make you understand."
He put dow
n his glass and leaned back in the chair again, his eyes searching the whitecaps out at sea.
"My great-great-grandfather, Michael Armstrong, came to California on that cold ocean in 1835," he said quietly. "He was a mate on a New England trader. He'd been at sea since his thirteenth birthday, when his parents died and he was apprenticed to a ship's captain. He'd never had any roots. But when he saw the Golden Land, he knew he'd found a home. He jumped ship, stayed to marry an hija del pais—"
Rafe looked up at her with a slight smile. "That's a daughter of the land, a girl born and bred a Californian, who helped him adjust to the Spanish-Mexican culture that ruled at the time. Though he never earned the right to a major land grant to start a rancho, he was awarded a parcel of sea-swept land along the coast. He built his home there and raised his family."
Rafe moved restlessly, and Thawn had the impression that his penetrating eyes were looking back across the years.
"When the United States took over, he hung on to his land. Many didn't. But he'd lived in New England and understood deeds and the Anglo-Saxon legal processes better than most Californios did. Through the bad times and the good, he kept his land. His son was born there, my great-grandfather. And then, as the century waned, his grandson, Gabriel Armstrong, was born there too.”
"Most of the family was wiped out in one of the great influenza epidemics that killed thousands as the nineteenth century gave way to the twentieth. My grandfather, Gabriel Armstrong, was left alone. His mother, father, sisters and wife all died.”
Thawn murmured sympathy, but very softly.
"Heartbroken, he left his seaside home and traveled south to Los Angeles in search of work. He found a job on the railroad. Eventually he married again—my grandmother. But he never lost his longing for the old life and the house by the sea."
The smile that tilted Rafe's lips matched the faraway look in his eyes. "When I was a little boy, he would tell me stories about the house and describe it—-the red tiles, the roses clinging to the eaves, the Mexican rugs on the walls, the lanterns swinging in the fog. My childhood dreams were haunted by the ghosts of his memories."
He was silent, and Thawn watched him, touched by his vulnerability. Hearing this story of his family's past made him more real to her, more human. She almost felt she could reach out to him.
Almost, but not quite.
Finally she found her voice. "Didn't your grandfather ever go back?"
Rafe looked up as though surprised to see her there. "Yes," he admitted. "Once, when I was about seven, he borrowed my father's old Ford and drove up the coast to see the place. But when he came back to Los Angeles, he wouldn't tell me a thing about it. I never understood why until years later, when I came up to see for myself."
He closed his eyes for a long moment, then half laughed as he opened them again.
"There wasn't a trace of the house left. Hobos and other people must have carted it off brick by brick over the years. It was as though a whole lifetime had been erased. A whole family, a whole narrative."
Thawn nodded, and Rafe turned the full force of his gaze on her again.
"I want to bring that lifetime back, Thawn," he said earnestly. "It's too late for my grandfather—he died years ago. But it's not too late for the spirit of my family. I can keep it alive. You've got to let me have a chance."
His story had touched her. She felt his longing to restore his family's past, and she sympathized. But he was staring at her as though there were some magic wand she could wave that would make it all come right again. She gazed at him helplessly, turning her palms up in supplication.
"Rafe, there's really nothing I can do—" she began, then gasped as he lurched to his feet, his anger back in full force.
"Of course not," he spit out. "You've done it all already."
She winced at the bitterness of his tone. "Rafe, please..."
He swore softly. "I'm not going to stop here. I'm taking you and your boyfriend to court. We'll see what a judge thinks about your environmental crusade."
He strode toward the door, then swung back to glare at her again. "I'm not sure why you did this to me, Thawn," he growled. "Maybe you really do think that your little white shells are more important than anything else." He shrugged his wide shoulders. "I think you're wrong, and I'm going to fight you all the way."
She made a movement toward him, but his gaze hardened, holding her in place. "I knew from the beginning that you were one of the crusaders," he said with a soft bite to his words. "But somehow I thought you'd at least be fair." He shook his head. "Those golden eyes of yours deceived me. They make you look like the last of the real Girl Scouts—so wide, so vulnerable. I thought you were one of the most genuine women I'd ever met."
His laugh was a low, harsh sound. "You'd think someone with my experience in the contrasts between reality and illusion would know better by now."
He was out the door before she could say a word. She rose, her hand to her lips, wishing she knew what to say to clear the air, and explain her own position to him.
But wasn't that just what he'd been talking about? Hadn't he shown that he knew there were values more enduring than the momentary fame and the glitter of gold that he was so accustomed to? She knew now that there was more to Rafe Armstrong than the Hollywood producer. There was a man inside the image who had fears, pains and aspirations that had nothing to do with the stereotyped picture she'd had of him.
If only he would wait. If only they could talk...
She ran to the door, hoping to stop him before his car pulled away. But he was still standing on her porch, staring out at the churning ocean.
"Rafe," she called softly, and he whirled. "Don't go yet..."
She stepped toward him, reaching to take hold of his arm so that he couldn't escape. But suddenly she couldn't think of the words to make him understand. She stood staring up into his eyes, her hand on his arm, knowing her inner turmoil was clear on her face.
His eyes softened, then flickered with a new emotion she couldn't quite identify. The blaze of his rage seemed to blur with another flame, and then he was pulling her into his arms, his mouth covering hers with hard possession.
Anger had sharpened his embrace. There was a savage fierceness to his kiss, as though he meant to show her—or himself—that it didn't cancel the enmity between them, that it was simply another aspect of it.
Thawn didn't struggle. Though her conscience told her that she had to resist, her body was ignoring logic and inviting more of what Rafe offered.
His mouth was as smooth as silk and as hot as burning embers, and when his tongue forced open her lips, she felt as though she'd been invaded by a force of nature as irresistible as a flow of molten lava. It was sweeping her along, tossing her high in its menacing glow, carrying her into uncharted territory.
Thawn spread her hands across his chest, feeling the heat of his flesh beneath the cotton cloth. She'd meant to try to push him away, but when her fingers came in contact with his warmth, she found them curling against him instead.
Suddenly his anger was gone, as though even he had been seduced by the charge that caught fire and held between them. Thawn gasped against his open mouth as her legs began to tremble and she felt the thrust of his hips against hers.
At last he pulled away from her, but he brought her head against his chest, where she could feel his ragged breathing.
She let him hold her. She wasn't ready to meet his gaze, and it seemed safer to stay with her face against him, listening as his breathing became more even and her own racing heart slowed its pace.
"I came to declare war," he said softly into her hair. "I came to announce my battle plans." His arms tightened around her. "I guess this could be considered consorting with the enemy."
His words gave her the strength to face him. Pulling away, she gazed earnestly into his eyes.
"I don't want to be your enemy, Rafe," she said quickly. "I listened to your reasons, and I think I learned a lot about you. But you haven't given me a chance
to explain my side."
Slowly he unwound his arm from around her and let her drift away. His eyes held hers for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Okay," he said evenly. "Let's hear it."
Looking at him, she knew it was no good here. She'd never be able to make him understand just standing there on her front porch, staring at one another.
"Let's take a walk," she suggested, gesturing toward the windswept beach. "We can talk better there." She hesitated, looking down at her flowing caftan. "Why don't you wait for me down by the pier?" she said quickly. "I'll run in and change."
He nodded again but stood watching as she spun and fled into the house. Her heart was banging a drum-like crescendo against her ribs, but her instincts told her that Rafe was not unmoved by the electricity that snapped between them.
Chapter 5
Thawn smiled as she put on a persian melon lip color and drew her hair back into a slick pony tail after pulling on jeans and a bulky-knit tan sweater. She wouldn't think now. She would act purely on instinct.
She hurried out of the house and ran across the sand toward him, startling a group of large sea gulls that flapped into the air, protesting loudly.
He didn't smile as he watched her approach, but she couldn’t find any traces of anger left in his face.
"Do you want to go out on the pier?" she asked. "The fishing boats are coming in."
He glanced at the small crowd gathering and shook his head. "No. Let's walk up the coast."
Thawn's house was one of the last buildings along that stretch of shore, and they quickly put distance between themselves and civilization. Their feet sank into crusty sand still wet from the waves and decorated with flourishes of seaweed left by the retreating tide.
A feeling of restraint had risen again like a barrier wall to separate them. It was almost as if that kiss had never happened. Thawn glanced tentatively at Rafe to see if she could have mistaken his mood, but he was strolling beside her with his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his jeans. He didn't look approachable, but when the sea breeze caught his nut-brown hair, her heart seemed to leap into her throat at the sight of him. She had to try to make him understand. Even if it was just for the moment, she wanted him to see that she wasn't the enemy.
