His body heat was doing dangerous things to her insides. Rose cleared her throat. “How would you put it?”
He lifted a strand of coppery hair away from her shoulder, tested the feel of it between his thumb and forefinger. “I’d say you’ve livened things up a bit.”
chapter eight
He’d never yet missed a deadline, but he was weeks behind, and his editor would have his hide if he didn’t finish on schedule. Concentrating on work was difficult when he knew that Rose was waiting in his bed, wearing that ridiculous football jersey that was intended to assassinate his sexual appetite. Instead, for reasons unclear to him, it had just the opposite effect.
But he’d struck a bargain with himself before the wedding, and Jesse Lindstrom was a man of his word. He suspected that when Rose had thrown her tidy little business arrangement in his face, she’d been expecting that sex would be part of the deal. A fringe benefit. But he didn’t intend to make it that easy on her. Rose MacKenzie Kenneally Lindstrom might be tough, independent, and more than a little sassy, but underneath that prickly exterior beat the heart of a warm and passionate woman. He’d met that woman once, and he was determined to find her again. If patience was what it took, then patient he would be. If and when they made love, it would happen because it was what they both wanted, and not because the wedding vows they’d spoken had endowed him with certain conjugal rights.
After forty-five minutes of staring at a computer screen, he tossed out the few sentences he’d managed to get written and shut down the computer. For the first time in days, the house was quiet. Jesse loved working with teenagers all day, but when the work day was through, he also loved coming home to the relative calm of his home. He hadn’t expected his peaceful life to be so thoroughly destroyed by the instant family he’d taken on. But the kids were always squabbling, dog hair coated the furniture, and the vibrations from Luke’s stereo had created a new fault line directly beneath the house. Rose’s kids were a lot like Rose herself, a lot like all the MacKenzies: noisy, opinionated, boisterous, and brimming with life. Next to them, he and Mikey looked like shadowy caricatures of real people.
He poured himself a glass of milk and drank it standing at the double French doors that opened off his den onto the backyard patio. The harvest moon that had risen earlier in the evening was now a luminous white orb in the eastern sky. Bathed in its light, five white-tailed deer foraged for food in the shadowy places where meadow and forest met. In a few more weeks, with the advent of men in orange carrying rifles, the deer would go into deep hiding until the first of December. He’d watched the phenomenon all his life and still couldn’t explain how they knew.
He found Rose asleep on the bed, an open book in one hand, her hair a burnished cloud that cascaded over the snowy pillowcase beneath her head. Carefully, so he wouldn’t jolt her, he knelt beside the bed and watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing. When he touched her shoulder, she came awake slowly, those green cat’s eyes unfocused at first, then sharpening with recognition. “Hi,” she said. “I guess I fell asleep.”
“Come here.” He held out his hand. “I want to show you something.”
He turned off the bedside lamp and led her in the darkness to the window, leaned loosely over her shoulder and pointed. “See?” he said. “Down at the edge of the woods?”
“Oh, wow. Are those deer?”
“Yes. They come out at night, looking for food.”
“I’ve never seen a live deer before, except in the zoo. They’re beautiful.”
“In another month or so, they’ll be gone. Hunting season starts the first of November, and they go into hiding.”
She turned toward him in instantaneous protest. “That’s barbaric.” In the moonlight, he watched the emotions flicker across her face. Outrage. Anger. Speculation. “You’re not a hunter, are you?”
“No. And my land’s posted. Anybody who gets caught hunting on my property will be in trouble.”
She turned back to the window. “Eddie used to go up to Vermont for a week every fall with a couple of guys he worked with. They thought they were big he-men, the Great White Hunters. I thought they were pathetic.” She drew the curtain away from the window pane, gazed out into the darkness, then dropped it back into place. “They didn’t even keep the meat.” She turned and folded her arms. “All they wanted was a trophy to hang in the den.”
“Most hunters are responsible,” he said, “but some of them will shoot at anything that moves. I have a friend who puts a fluorescent orange blanket on his horse every fall, because some of these idiots wouldn’t know the difference between a deer and a Labrador Retriever.”
She smiled at his words, and for a moment, they shared an unexpected synchronicity. “Sunday afternoon,” he said, propping one shoulder against the wall, “Henry Lamoreau’s having his annual faculty get-together. We’re supposed to bring our significant others. He has this warped idea that we’ll work better together as a team if we see each other socially once in a while.”
“Ah, yes,” she said dryly. “Henry Lamoreau. The space cadet.”
“Henry’s annoying,” he said offhandedly, “but he’s harmless. We don’t have to stay long, just put in an appearance. Everybody’s dying to get a look at you.”
“Me?” she said. “Why would they want to get a look at me?”
He crossed his arms. “It’s like this. The national pastime may be baseball, but around these parts, our favorite hobby is sticking our noses into other people’s business.”
“I see,” she said dubiously.
“You’re a transplanted city woman. And I’ve been a bachelor for five long years. I think everybody’s waiting for us to fall on our faces. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear they were placing bets behind our backs.”
“Ah,” she said. “Now I get it. I’m the scarlet woman who stole the town’s most eligible bachelor, and they’re expecting me to come to my senses at any minute and make a rapid retreat back to the big, bad city.”
Her astute appraisal of the situation made him smile. “Something like that.”
“And I imagine there are any number of sweet young things waiting in the wings to offer you consolation once I’m gone.”
“I never looked at it that way,” he said, “but you’re probably right.”
“Trust me. I’m right.”
“It’s not that bad. All we have to do is keep a low profile. The buzz will blow over once they find somebody else to talk about.”
“On the other hand,” she said wickedly, “maybe I could toss them a bone or two. After all, I’d really hate to be responsible for disappointing anybody.”
***
During one of her exploratory forays into the nooks and crannies of the old house, Rose happened upon the room above the garage.
A hundred years ago, when the house had been built, the detached garage had been a barn, and the overhead space had been a hayloft. But at some point in time, somebody had converted that space into a cozy efficiency apartment whose pièce de resistance was the twelve-foot-long dormer built into the wall overlooking the river. Four broad multi-paned windows lined the wall, transforming what had once been a dark hayloft into a charming, sunny space that captivated Rose immediately. With all that natural light, it would make an ideal painting studio. The walls were plain white and could use a coat of paint to cover up the dings and dents left by a previous tenant, and the place desperately needed to be swept and scrubbed. But it was heated, there was a small kitchen area with a countertop, open shelves, and a sink, and there was even a half-bath tucked into a corner beneath the eaves.
The most enticing feature was the breathtaking view of the river and the mountains that stood sentinel in the distance. The scene enchanted her, and would probably be so distracting that she would never get any painting done. On the other hand, the mountains, with their ever-changing moods, colors, and shading, made a dynamic subject for painting. Suddenly, excitement gripped her, and she couldn’t wait to talk to Jesse abou
t it.
That night, as soon as the dishes were cleared from the kitchen table, Mikey pulled a box from a shelf in the pantry and carried it to the table. “What’s that?” Luke said.
Mikey set the box on the table. “Monopoly,” he said. “It’s game night.”
Devon turned from the sink, dish cloth in hand, her mouth pursed in a grim line. “Game night? What is game night?”
Her stepbrother opened the box, took out the game board, and opened it on the table top. “In this house, it’s a tradition. Dad and I have been doing game night every Saturday for as long as I can remember.”
Devon rolled her eyes in disgust and said, “How lame can you get?”
At this point, Jesse stepped into the conversation. Casually, he said, “Actually, we were hoping you’d want to join us. As a family thing.”
Under her breath, Devon muttered, “Family bonding. How charming.”
“I’ll play,” Luke said amiably. “You just happen to be looking at the Monopoly champ of the MacKenzie clan. I can whip the pants off any of you with one hand tied behind my back.”
“Oh,” Mikey said, jumping to the challenge. “You think so, do you? You haven’t played against me yet, my man.”
Luke rubbed his hands together. “Step aside. Make room for me at that table.”
“Rose?” Jesse said.
She was tired, and she’d hoped to talk to him tonight about the room over the garage. But the room could wait; what he was trying to accomplish was more important. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” she said, and Jesse rewarded her with a smile that made her toes curl.
“Devon?” he said. “Are you in or out?”
Devon’s head was lowered, and she was scrubbing at a saucepan so vigorously that Rose feared she would remove the non-stick coating. She turned on the tap and rinsed the pan, then set it in the dish drainer on the sideboard. With a long-suffering sigh, she muttered, “Whatever.”
And Jesse shot Rose a quick wink.
***
Sunday dawned warm and sunny, a glorious blue and gold Indian summer day, and Henry Lamoreau’s get-together was held on the backyard patio, which Henry’s wife had decorated with pumpkins, hanging gourds, and corn stalks tied into upright bundles. It was all very homey, very kitschy, and while the cynical side of her wanted to laugh at it, another side of Rose, the side that longed for the comfort of her mother’s kitchen, responded with surprising warmth to Wilma Lamoreau’s cow-patterned kitchen décor and the miniature teddy-bear-shaped guest soaps in the bathroom.
Although everyone was friendly, their eyes were bright with curiosity, and Rose began to understand how the animals on display at the zoo must feel. Femma exotica, she thought wryly. Bright of plumage, its migratory patterns generally limited to the southern New England area. Rarely seen in western Maine’s rural small towns. She smiled politely to everyone she was introduced to, gracefully fielded questions about how she was adjusting to life in the sticks, and ignored the covert glances that passed from one pair of eyes to another, glances that clearly said, “We give her a year. If that.”
She finally managed to escape, found herself an empty lawn chair in an out-of-the-way alcove, and settled down with an icy glass of Coke. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her eyelids.
“Getting to you, is it?”
Rose opened her eyes. The woman who had spoken was tall and lean, dressed in a sleek black jumpsuit that was a tad more sophisticated than anything she’d seen so far here in Jackson Falls. Juggling the glass of beer she held, the woman thrust out her free hand and said, “We haven’t met yet. Paula Fournier.”
“Rose Lindstrom. Do you teach?”
“Christ, no.” Taking care not to spill her drink, Paula pulled up a lawn chair and lowered her lanky body into it. “I’d never survive a day shut in a room with thirty adolescent monsters.” She leaned back and crossed her long legs. “I’m a lawyer. Or I used to be. I practiced criminal law for six years in Manhattan. Nowadays, I mostly shuffle kids back and forth to soccer practice and take on the occasional case so my mind won’t atrophy beyond repair. It’s my other half who works for Lamoreau.” She glanced affectionately toward a dark-haired man who stood talking with Jesse. “Chuck Fournier, the one over there talking to your husband. Aside from being eye candy of the highest order, he is, single-handedly, the history department at Jackson Falls High.”
While Rose watched, Henry Lamoreau walked up to the two men, said something that made them both laugh, then pulled out a snowy white handkerchief and mopped his shiny pate.
“Nice to meet you,” she said to Paula. “If you ask me how I like Jackson Falls so far, I may pour this drink over your head.”
Paula grinned. “A little intense, is it?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Oh, yes, I do. Ten years ago, I was where you are now. Newly married and transplanted from my comfortable and civilized life to this frontier town out in the williwacks. I was madly in love with Chuck, but the minute he walked out the door every morning, I thought I’d go crazy from the boredom.”
Rose settled more comfortably into her chair. “You’re not wearing a straitjacket,” she said. “What’s your secret?”
Paula leaned back in her chair and gazed up at the blue sky above them. “Believe it or not,” she said, “this place grows on you after a while. I hate like hell to sound like a cliché, but there you have it. I lived for six years in the city. My apartment was broken into three times. My best friend was mugged on the subway on her way home from work. The entire city was held hostage by striking sanitation workers. Around here, the streets are clean, the air is pure, the scenery is breathtaking, and the crime rate is virtually nonexistent. What it lacks in culture, it makes up for in security and charm.” She grinned. “Of course, security and charm can lose their attraction when you’re buried under sixteen inches of snow and you can’t even get to the grocery store. Or when you’re reminded that the nearest Chinese restaurant is twenty miles away and run by a guy named Wong-Lee Malone.”
Rose returned her grin. “So tell me, how long will it take for the locals to accept me?”
“Sweetie, you’re from Away. The disgrace never rubs off. Your grandchildren will still wear the shameful label of outsider, although it will be softened somewhat by the fact that the Lindstroms have been here since the town was settled. Know what they say around these parts? Just because the cat has kittens in the oven, that doesn’t make them biscuits.”
Paula’s dry sense of humor and wonderfully outrageous stories were the highlight of Rose’s afternoon. When Jesse finally came looking for her, she couldn’t believe she’d been talking to the woman for nearly two hours, couldn’t believe the ease with which they’d clicked. Before she left, she and Paula exchanged phone numbers and made plans to get together some Saturday for lunch and shopping in Portland.
Although the day had been warm, the air had grown chilly with the approach of October’s early dusk. Rose drew her sweater closer around her and leaned back against the Honda’s passenger seat to admire the deep purples and soft corals of sunset. “Tired?” Jesse said.
“Mmn.” She closed her eyes, feeling surprisingly mellow. “Now that I’ve made my debut into Jackson Falls society, do you think the talk will die down? Or did we just add more fuel to the fire?”
“Hard to judge. But I dare say they’ll be watching us closely for a year, or two, or ten.”
Eyes still closed, she smiled. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something. Would you have any objection to me setting up a painting studio in the room over the garage?”
He paused for the stop light at the corner of Main Street and Mountain Road, and shot a quick glance in her direction. “I didn’t know you painted.”
She felt herself flushing. “I don’t. I mean, not in years. I used to, but I gave it up a long time ago. I’ve been thinking of starting up again.”
“Of course you can use the room. We�
�ll set it up with whatever you need. The light’s great in there. And if the kids drive you crazy, you can just lock the door and ignore their knocking.”
By the time they reached home, afternoon had turned to evening. Jesse turned off the car and they sat in the darkness, silent except for the soft lapping of the river against the shore. To the east, a brilliant harvest moon was just beginning to peek over the horizon. Jesse leaned back and rested an arm along the back of her seat. “I thought things went pretty well last night,” he said. “Devon had a good time in spite of herself.”
“She should have had a good time,” Rose said dryly. “She ended up with all the money.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Pretty sharp, isn’t she?”
“Like a pair of surgical scissors. And she knows just which buttons to push to make me absolutely crazy.”
“It comes with the territory. It’ll pass.” He wrapped a single strand of her hair around his finger, watched it spring back into place. “Luke seems pretty adaptable.”
She turned her head, studied his profile in the moonlight. “To Luke, life is a big adventure. I envy him sometimes.”
“Life is whatever we make it.”
“Yeah. Right.”
Awareness turned the air still and heavy between them, awareness of the attraction between them, awareness of their isolation, sitting in the dark in a twelve-year-old Honda Civic. He touched her cheek, his hand rough and warm, and she felt a thrill start somewhere in the pit of her stomach. It spread, warm and mellow, up through her chest and down the length of her arms and her legs.
And then somebody rapped on the window, and they both jumped sky-high. Heart thudding, Rose cranked down the window. Her daughter was standing next to the car, her arms wrapped around her to ward off the evening’s chill. “Sorry to scare you,” Devon said. “But I thought you’d better come in right away. Mikey’s running a fever of 102, and he just threw up all over the bathroom floor.”
Sleeping With the Enemy Page 10
