by Jeanne Allan
“I’d be interested,” he said slowly, “in hearing exactly how that set of circumstances transpired.”
He’d accused her of everything from meddling to chicanery. This from the man who could have earned his Ph.D. in arbitrarily meddling in other people’s lives. Somebody needed to explain to Samuel Dawson, Ph.D., no one had appointed him Grand Poohbah, charged with making other people’s decisions for them based on what he thought best. Addy gripped the rumpled pillow and looked squarely at him. “The idea came from you.”
“I doubt that.”
“You hired Mary to live with your grandmother. Mary’s whole life centered on TV soap operas. Hannah about went crazy.”
“I bought Mary a television set for her room,” he said.
“Half the pleasure in the soaps for Mary was discussing them. What did Hannah think this husband or that wife or that lover was going to do, et cetera and so on. Fortunately she decided her daughter needed her and moved to Durango.”
“Ninna didn’t watch soaps.”
“Ninna thought anyone as old as Hannah must be decrepit, blind, deaf and feeble-minded. She shouted to your grandmother, patronized her and fussed over her until Hannah wanted to strangle her.”
“Grandmother deserves a little cosseting,” he said.
“Cosseting?” His closed face and cool voice gave little away, but Addy recognized defensive squirming when she heard it. “Bells on Hannah’s doorknob so Ninna would hear Hannah get up. Opening Hannah’s mail and reading it out loud to her to make sure she understood it. Not allowing Hannah to take her daily walk if it rained, or the wind blew, or the day was too hot or too cold.”
“I terminated Ninna’s employment,” he said tightly.
“Because she annoyed you, phoning you all the time to tattle on Hannah. You immediately replaced her with Ethel.”
“What was wrong with Ethel?” he challenged. “She was a charming, friendly, middle-aged woman who—”
“Talked. And talked. And talked. Non-stop. About nothing.” Addy shuddered dramatically. “I only know by reputation of the other ladies you hired to live with your grandmother, but Ethel came to my crafts classes with Hannah.”
“Grandmother never complained to me about Ethel. I didn’t even know she’d let her go until I arrived here.”
“Let her go?” Addy asked derisively. “As if Hannah would fire anyone you hired. She married off Ethel to Pete Browne who liked her cooking. Hannah said he could turn off his hearing aid.”
“If you’re accusing me of forcing my grandmother to share her home with incompatible companions...” He paused before continuing in a measured voice, “Grandmother had only to say the woman wasn’t acceptable to her.”
“The way she told you she didn’t need, and didn’t want, a companion living with her?”
“Grandmother is eighty years old.” Two balls of blue ice stared coldly at Addy. “I did not,” he said, spacing out the words, “force her to hire a companion. I merely suggested the family would feel more comfortable if she did.”
Clearly, Sam Dawson thought Sam Dawson knew best. Addy nodded her head. “Emotional blackmail is the most effective.”
He rose abruptly to his feet. “You have two days to vacate these premises. Start packing.”
He erred in thinking her easily bullied. Slowly she stood up. “Please leave this room.” Her hands turned into tight fists at her sides. “It’s mine and you’re not welcome in it.”
“You may be able to force my grandmother out of her own bedroom, but I’m not a feeble, eighty-year-old woman. I want you out of this house in two days.”
No hint of anger warmed his cold, implacable voice. Long practice must enable him to control his facial muscles and emotions so completely. A concrete wall had more give to it. Addy fought the weariness invading her muscles. Years of being shunted from one relative to another should have taught her the dangers of viewing someone else’s home as hers. A despairing lump swelled in Addy’s throat. Emilie knew happiness here with her new friends and borrowed family. Addy straightened her shoulders. “Hannah and I have a legally-binding agreement, even if it’s not written down. You need a court order to evict me.” She didn’t have the faintest idea if what she said was valid.
The sardonic smile on Sam Dawson’s face mocked her defiance. “Mary wasn’t the only one watching too much television.”
“If you want me out, you’re going to have to physically remove me.”
“Fine.” Hands on his hips, he swiftly surveyed his immediate surroundings. “I’ll start with this.” He snatched an item from the nearest table. Striding across the room, he opened the window to the upper porch and hurled the small object into the night.
Guessing his intention too late to stop him, Addy stood transfixed for the barest fraction of a second, then she whirled and dashed from the room, tearing down the staircase and through the front door, heedless of the impatient voice and thunderous footsteps behind her. Falling to her knees, she groped blindly in the dark, frantically patting her hands on the ground around her. She encountered nothing but prickly grass.
“Get up. You won’t find it in the dark.” Hard fingers dug into her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. “Damn it, you could have broken a leg or something running down the staircase. Are you crazy?”
“Let go of me.” She needed a flashlight. Breaking free of his hold, she ran into the house. In the bedroom she hunted quickly and silently for the flashlight, freezing in place when Emilie stirred briefly in her sleep. Finding the flashlight, Addy slipped from the bedroom, carefully closing the door behind her. The battery was dead. Addy slumped against the door, the cold, useless metal flashlight clutched in one hand. Her eyes shut, she endeavored to catch her breath.
“What the hell was that all about?”
Addy’s eyes popped open at the harsh voice unexpectedly close to her. He must be at least six feet tall, she thought stupidly. She wore no shoes, but he easily topped her height. His stance radiated hostility, with his fists jammed on his hips and his jeans-clad legs spread wide. A frown lowered his eyebrows. She hated him. A bubble of hysteria stuck in her throat. Hated him and his blue shirts which matched his eyes. “Get out.”
His frown darkened. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you went tearing outside after a stick.”
“Get out of here or I’m going to call the police and charge you with—” She groped for the right word, “—vandalism.”
“For throwing an old stick out the window?” Equal parts irritation and bewilderment colored his voice.
A hot rush of moisture threatened, and Addy determinedly blinked it away. Tears had never been her weapon nor her refuge. “It was not an old stick. It was a clothespin.”
“You went berserk over a clothespin?”
“When my great-grandmother’s house burned down, all she managed to save was herself, her cat, and a few clothespins outside on the clothesline.” Addy’s great-grandmother had been a fifty-six-year-old widow who’d seen her life’s work and memories reduced to ashes. Instead of giving up and moving in with one of her kids, she’d cooked and cleaned, bartering her services for carpenter work until she’d replaced the burnt embers with a tiny one-room house. “That clothespin—” Addy swallowed hard “—isn’t just a clothespin.” He’d thrown her lucky piece, her hope, her strength out the window.
The old, yellowed lace curtains swayed in the slight breeze coming through her opened window. The engine of a passing car labored as it made its way up the steep road in front of the house. A hint of exhaust drifted inside.
Sam Dawson stirred. “I assumed it was a stick your little girl had carried in. I’ll find it in the morning.” He paused. “If an old clothespin belonging to your great-grandmother means so much to you, you should understand why I feel compelled to do what’s best for Grandmother.”
“What you think is best for her isn’t necessarily what’s best for her.”
“I’ve known my grandmother for thirty-five years. I
think I’m a better judge of her needs than a stranger is. Even if you aren’t a con woman, she doesn’t need the stress of turning over part of her home to a rambunctious child and a woman like you.”
“A woman like me?” Addy asked tightly.
His quick glance encompassed the room. “You’re not exactly a restful person. Everything about you, this room, the way you dress, your life-style—”
“You know nothing about me or my life-style.”
He gazed thoughtfully at her. “You have the most expressive face I’ve ever seen. Actresses would love to know how you manage to convey so much information and emotion in a single look.” A slight smile curved his mouth. “Like now. You’re mad and surprised.” His eyes narrowed. “And frightened.” He took a step closer. “Do I scare you, Adeline? Or are you hiding something you’re afraid I’ll find out?”
“I’m not afraid of you or anything else,” she lied. He stood too dose to her.
“I wonder if any scientific studies have been done on whether a woman with freckles—” he trailed a finger among hers “—is more or less complicated than an unfreckled woman. Your eyes are more gray than blue.” He ran his thumb along the top of her cheekbone under her eye. “They tell me you’re scared, but defiant.” He wrapped his hands around her face. “And interested.”
The husky timbre of his voice pulsated through her body. “I’m not,” she managed to say. Her stomach engaged in death-defying gyrations as her gaze collided with a smoldering one. Any urge to kiss him was hopelessly juvenile. Sam Dawson might posses dark blond good looks, Paul Newman eyes, and a sleek and sexy masculine physique, but he had all the warmth of a fiberglass sport car. He was a coldhearted, overbearing automation with steel-clad control.
And warm lips.
For the first time Addy understood what her sister Lorie had meant about how a woman could be attracted to the wrong man. Yielding to the gentle pressure of Sam’s mouth, Addy parted her lips. Her hands curled into fists against his smooth, cool shirtfront. Cool for only a second and then the heat from his skin penetrated the silky fabric.
He lifted his head. “It’s those damned freckles. They trick a man into forgetting how dangerous you are.”
“Dangerous?” She outlined his chin with her finger. A man possessing such a firm, square chin laughed at danger. Unseen whiskers rasped against her skin. The tip of her finger burned where it touched his skin. She moved her finger to his lips. Lips should be cooler. His weren’t.
He captured her finger, his large, warm hand curling around it. “Give it up.”
“Give up what?” His mouth inches away mesmerized her.
“Trying to seduce me into changing my mind. I’m not excited by women who use sex as a bargaining chip.”
The harsh words belatedly dispelled the dazed fog blanketing Addy’s brain. “You kissed me.” Sam Dawson held her loosely against him; her fingers splayed against his warm chest. Summoning every bit of self-control she’d ever hoped to possess, she removed his hands and stepped away. “I have no intention of bargaining.” Her legs might be wobbling beneath her floor-length caftan, but her calm, cool voice did her proud. “It’s clear you don’t listen to common sense or your grandmother, but are guided solely by your ego, and knowing where so many men’s egos are located ...” She shrugged. “If a couple of kisses would get you out of your grandmother’s hair, it seemed petty of me not to oblige. You’re the one who claims Hannah shouldn’t be stressed.”
“I’m also the one giving you two days to make other living arrangements. And, Adeline, if, instead of packing, you want to spend those two days trying to make me change my mind...” Cool amusement threaded through his voice. “Go ahead. I might not be adverse to seeing if your—shall we say, theatrical life-style?—extends to other areas besides clothing and interior decoration.”
“What a shame my standards,” Addy said immediately, “don’t sink that low.” She took a deep breath. “Whether I move or not is up to Hannah, but since we do agree these are my rooms, at least for the next two days, I want you to get out and stay out.” She walked away, throwing words of exaggerated politeness over her shoulder. “If you will please excuse me, I need to wash your germs off my face.”
Shutting the bathroom door behind her, Addy gripped the edge of the old porcelain sink, wishing her fingers gripped Samuel Dawson’s neck. Of all the conceited, egotistical, arrogant jerks... She grabbed a washcloth to scrub her face. To scrub away his kisses. And caught sight of herself in the mirror. Addy didn’t remember him untying the ribbon at the end of her braid, but her brown hair hung in loose array around her shoulders. She brushed it back, and the metal fittings on the emerald green fish dangling from her ears glinted in the harsh overhead light. Her freckles stood out against her pale skin, her wide-set eyes were circles of grayish blue.
If she’d been wearing lip color when he arrived, her mouth was wiped clean now. She ran a finger over her bottom lip. Her lips looked normal. She only imagined her mouth was swollen and bruised. Regardless of his prejudice against her, his kisses had been gentle. And devastating. No, she wouldn’t think about that. If it hadn’t been so long since she’d been kissed by a man, she’d remember other kisses had been wonderful. Sam Dawson didn’t hold the monopoly on earth-shaking kisses.
She shook a finger at the slightly bemused eyes in the mirror. “You are acting like a lovesick, love-starved adolescent, Addy Johnson” Acting. She turned on the cold water, allowing a quiet trickle to dampen the face-cloth. Sam Dawson’s mother and father acted on the stage. Hannah said if Sam’s interests hadn’t steered him elsewhere, he’d have been an Academy Award winning actor.
He’d been acting. He hadn’t meant a single one of his kisses. He’d been trying to breach her defenses because he wanted her out of his grandmother’s house. He was such a conceited, egotistical, arrogant jerk, he believed she’d sleep with him on her way out the door.
Out the door. Weakness washed over her, and she leaned over the cold sink, supported by her outstretched arms. Hannah enjoyed having Addy and Emilie in her home, but was her enjoyment strong enough to counter the strong-willed wishes of her grandson? Hannah claimed she loved her three grandsons equally, but Addy had heard enough stories to know Sam was favored. Addy hated to think what Hannah’s other two grandsons were like. Not that it mattered. They weren’t here in Colorado determined to uproot Addy and Emilie. Samuel Dawson was.
Her mind reviewed every tidbit about him Hannah had dropped. He’d earned his Ph.D. in Chemistry before he reached thirty. Given a choice between working for a major drug company and helping a former university professor start up a biotech company, he’d chosen the latter. The rapid realization, that as businessmen, the scientists were neophytes, sent him careening off in a new career direction. Sam’s research hours had dwindled while he studied intensively for an M.B.A., racing to gather enough business knowledge to advise and assist his former professor.
Two years ago, diagnosed with prostate cancer, the professor sold his company and retired. Declining to accept the attractive offer made him by the new company officers, Sam had cashed his options and set up his own business, offering himself as a consultant to other biotech firms. His financial acumen combined with his doctorate in chemistry made him extremely attractive to the myriad small biotech firms springing up worldwide.
Hannah had shown Addy a business magazine article dubbing Sam an instant success. He wasn’t, of course. Addy turned off the water with a forceful twist, painfully jamming her palm. Hard work, determination and single-mindedness had gotten him where he was. Traits not likely to work in Addy’s favor.
Two photos hung beside the mirror. Baby portraits of Lorie and Emilie taken over twenty years apart. “I’ll fight,” Addy said quietly. “You know I’ll do anything for Emilie. If I have to beg Hannah to let us stay, I will.” As for Dr. Samuel Dawson, Ph.D., she didn’t plan to talk to him ever again.
Sam Dawson sat on the sofa in the sitting room, Emilie curled in his lap. The little
girl wore an old T-shirt which had been washed so often only memory told Addy it originally had been bright pink. The neck binding had been replaced more than once and gay patches covered stains and holes, but the neck slipped off Emilie’s shoulders and new spots and holes needed to be camouflaged. Emilie’s chubby little bare feet pressed against the sofa arm as she giggled at something Sam said. She looked like a ragged, tattered waif.
Addy inhaled sharply. “What are you doing out of bed, young lady?”
“Addy,” Emilie said delightedly, “Sam was children here. He stayed with his grandma when he was little like me.”
“His name is Dr. Dawson,” Addy corrected.
Emilie stubbornly shook her head. “Sam.” Straightening up, she bestowed one of her beatific smiles on him and said, “You hafta be Sam man, cuz he’s—” she held up her stuffed toy “—Sam bear.” She snuggled up against Sam’s chest. His arms seemed to curve instinctively around the small body.
Pain sliced through Addy’s chest. This wasn’t the first time Emilie had reached out to a man, any man. Emilie was too young to know monsters sometimes wore friendly smiles, so she snuggled up to the man who smiled at her even as he intended to evict them. Pain turned to anger at Sam Dawson’s hypocrisy, and Addy spoke curtly. “Emilie, you are supposed to be in bed. March right back there.”
“Sam take me,” Emilie demanded.
Before Addy could refuse, he stood up, Emilie secure in his arms. “Your carriage awaits, Your Highness. Point the way to your bedroom.”
Emilie giggled. “You’re silly. I like you.”
The pain intensified. The ability to captivate every male in sight between the ages of two and two hundred had brought Lorie nothing but grief. Addy worried Emilie was her mother’s daughter. Unbelievably, the blue-eyed, towheaded, almost-five-years-old little girl had melted cold eyes and softened a lean, hard face and pugnacious, square chin. Addy didn’t believe it. He was acting again.
Addy pulled back the covers on the twin-size bed, and Sam Dawson laid Emilie down, placing her bear beside her. Addy straightened the covers over her niece and bent to kiss Emilie’s soft cheek. Lifting her head she fixed a mock scowl on her face. “I don’t want to see you again until morning.”
