by Renee Roszel
Annoyed that he’d overheard, she shot him a withering glance and fibbed, “I was just trying to recall a country-and-western song, er, about...”
“Begging and pleading?” he repeated.
“Whatever,” she mumbled in a grudging voice. “What do you want?”
“Tag went to get Lynn.” He folded his arms across his chest. “She’ll be here to help in a minute.”
“I’m nearly done. No problem.” Not sure why, she stood up to face him. “If you ever decide to quit bird-watching as a hobby, you could try eavesdropping. You should put a use to that stealthy way you have of catching people unawares.”
“If I might make a suggestion?” he asked, allowing her insult to go unchallenged. “Don’t do so much for Lynn. She won’t appreciate you for it.”
“Oh?” she countered, her tone clipped. “And I suppose you know all the answers, Mr. Reverse Psychology! If you’ll excuse me, I need to get our toilet articles from the bathroom.”
His pewter gaze was powerful and difficult to ignore as it roamed speculatively over her. After an unnerving moment, he stepped aside. Without a word, he left her standing there, her throat scratchy dry and her hands clenched at her side in little white balls of fury.
How could he rattle her so badly with a few words and a disturbing glance? No man had ever affected her like this before—somehow short-circuiting her good sense and her free will. Stalking to the bathroom, she snatched up her toothbrush, toothpaste and soap container, grumbling, “Good riddance, Mr. Ransom Shepard. Good, fine, wonderful riddance!”
A few minutes later, a suitcase in each hand, she reentered the living room. She stood hesitantly by the doorway, unwilling to interrupt the two men. Ransom was asking Isaac, “How’s everything else going?”
The lawyer bent to close the case. “As well as can be expected without our great leader.”
“Good.”
“Do I dare inquire how everything’s going here?” the lawyer asked when he’d straightened, his features perplexed. “If your mood and the condition of this place are any indication, I’d guess somebody needs his big hard head examined.”
“Things are on schedule,” Ransom said. Sara watched him take Isaac by his expensively suited arm and haul him toward the front door.
“On schedule?” Isaac said. “You call this on schedule? Thank heavens you’re not ahead of schedule, or this house would be rubble.”
Ransom grunted. “If you ever decide to give up being my lawyer, you could starve as a stand-up comic.”
“No fooling, Rance,” Isaac protested, as they reached the door. “What’s going on?”
Sara noticed the sudden sobering of Ransom’s manner as he responded, “You know why I’m here. I’m doing the best I know how.”
Isaac placed a friendly hand on Ransom’s shoulder. “I also know how tough this whole thing’s been on you since your wife—”
“I’m not in the mood to reminisce, if you don’t mind.”
Isaac dropped his hand, looking agitated. “Buddy, from where I stand, you’re not in much of a mood at all. Is there something else bothering you besides Tag’s—”
“Okay, we’re ready,” Sara interjected, deciding she’d better announce herself. But she was curious about Ransom’s wife and wondered what Isaac had been about to say. It was none of her business, though, and she decided it was best not to pry.
Ransom turned to see her there, his expression guarded. “You’re rather stealthy yourself, Miss Eller. I didn’t hear you come in.”
Her cheeks drained of color at his rebuke, but she didn’t have time to speak. Isaac rushed forward to take her bags. “Those look pretty hefty for a little thing like you,” he said.
She graced the lawyer with a friendly smile. He was nice and she liked him, in spite of his relationship with Ransom. “Why, thank you, Mr. Dorfman.”
“Call me Isaac—”
“Dorf will take you and Lynn back to Anchorage,” Ransom interrupted gruffly. Then, addressing Isaac, he added, “Get them on the first plane to Kansas.”
“Be my pleasure,” Isaac said, beaming like a schoolboy as he readjusted the bags and hoisted his briefcase under his arm.
“I think you’d better get going,” Ransom reminded them, his tone chilly.
Sara forced herself to meet his gaze. “Where’s Lynn?”
“Outside, prolonging her goodbyes to Boo and Baby.”
“Oh!” Sara said, having a sudden thought. “I forgot my overnight case.”
She hurried down the hall to her bedroom. When she came back, everyone had gone outside. She frowned at the open door. It was distressingly clear that Ransom would shoot them out of a cannon to get them off the island—any method that was quick and permanent. With determined strides, she, too, departed the house. Fixing her gaze beyond Ransom’s shoulder, she called, “Goodbye Tag. Write often.”
“I will,” he groused, obviously unhappy to see Lynn go.
The children hugged each other while Sara steadfastly refused to look in Ransom’s direction. Her pride was injured, and she knew her stubborn chin was stuck out defiantly, but she couldn’t help herself. Why she felt slapped in the face by his desire to be rid of them was beyond her. Didn’t she want to leave as much as he wanted her to go?
Lynn whined pathetically, “Do I have to go, Rance?”
Against her will, Sara scanned his profile, then hurriedly glanced away again. His mouth was tight and grim, yet it was still the most handsome mouth she could recall seeing on any man. He seemed irritated, too. Why? He was getting exactly what he wanted.
“You can’t stay here, Lynn,” Ransom explained quietly, drawing Sara’s unwilling gaze, “Your sister is your family.”
Lynn shot Sara a peevish look, then declared to Ransom, “She’s my jailer. I want to stay here with you and Tag.”
A shadow of annoyance darkened his features for an instant, but he said only, “Nobody gets everything they want, Lynn. Nobody.” In a surprise move, he shifted to face Sara. After a long, quiet perusal, the beginnings of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. “As for you, Miss Eller, I still like your hair.”
Sara’s mouth gaped in shock. He couldn’t resist one parting shot. With a rebellious toss of her head, she said coolly, “Well, that happy news certainly makes this whole trip worthwhile. By the way,” she added, her lips thinning with anxiety, “I’ll pay you back for what our tickets cost you. Every cent.”
“You don’t have the money. Forget it.”
His response, though spoken gently, held a note of impatience that grated on Sara. She swallowed hard and met his stern expression, repeating, “You’ll get every cent.”
His stare drilled into her. Theirs was a war of two strong wills, but Sara could see in the stubbornness of those hooded eyes that he would never allow her to pay him back. Knowing she had lost, she still insisted tightly, “I’ll send the money in payments.”
His twisted smile told her she could send him checks from now until halibut flew, and he wouldn’t cash them. “Goodbye Miss Eller, Lynn.” He nodded curtly to the sisters. Then, with a meaningful frown at Isaac, he abruptly dismissed them, remarking, “Don’t screw up this thirty-million-dollar deal, Dorf, or—”
“I know, I’ll be the best-dressed ex-corporate-lawyer-stand-up-comic in the unemployment line.” He grinned, but it looked forced. Sara knew the tense exchange she’d had with Ransom must have made him uncomfortable. Her heart went out to him.
Not bothering to smile, Ransom said, “You’d better go.”
Isaac glanced at his boss speculatively, then murmured, “I’ll take care of everything.”
“Dad,” Tag said, putting an arm about Lynn’s shoulders. “I’m going to the plane to see them off.”
Ransom’s nod was brief as he turned his back to Sara.
It was apparent that Ransom intended to avoid any further eye contact. Not caring to prolong their awkward, frosty departure, Sara whirled away and set off toward the island’s airstrip. There w
as, after all, nothing more to say.
SARA STOOD ON THE GROUND waving as Isaac’s plane left the runway, feeling a knot forming in her stomach. She resisted the urge to scream out her frustration, but just barely. As the plane winged its way toward the clouds, Sara watched her chance of escaping this nightmare slip from her grasp. Because of some silly rule about weight and fuel consumption or some such aviation nonsense, Isaac’s pilot had been adamant that he could only take on one additional passenger. What was Sara to do? She couldn’t go off and leave Lynn—not and be sure she’d ever see her wayward sister again.
Nor could she stay and send Lynn back by herself. She didn’t even know if they still had an apartment, since this trip had made it impossible to pay this month’s rent. She didn’t know if old Mrs. Hermly would give her extra time to pay, and she didn’t want Lynn wandering the streets, homeless. Darn that antiquated satellite station! Why did it have to be out? How did these people live without phones?
Of course Isaac had been sorry he had to leave them. But he’d had to go. As he’d said, if he didn’t there would be thirty million dollars’ worth of hell to pay. She could understand that. Nobody in their right mind would willingly throw away that much money. So, there’d been no choice but for both Sara and Lynn to remain behind.
As the threesome approached Ransom’s house, the teenagers sped on ahead, laughing and whooping, excited by their reprieve.
Suspecting Ransom would be working at the nearest bird cliff, Sara decided not to put off the inevitable. She might as well confront him with the bad news. It would be better to do battle out of earshot of the children, who’d bounded inside the house.
Trudging along the cliff’s edge, she finally saw him. He was just standing there, his legs braced wide, his hands on his hips, staring out to sea. He didn’t appear to be watching birds anymore. It looked as though he was lost in thought, staring off in the direction the plane had disappeared. Long gone from view, he was still peering after it. Probably offering a silent good-riddance speech, Sara groused inwardly. Well, it didn’t matter what he thought. They were stuck together for a while longer whether he liked it or not. She’d faced it—now it was his turn.
The shrill kitti-waaake, kitti-waaake of a gray-and-white kittiwake swooping low made her jump as she neared Ransom’s imposing back. She realized how overwrought she’d become in anticipation of their impending quarrel, and she gulped to ease the tension in her prickly throat.
How would he react, she wondered? Would he rant and rave, or would he shrug, grin in that doesn’t-bother-me way, and say, “Whatever.” She couldn’t decide which would upset her more, his anger or his indifference.
“Mr. Shepard?” she tried, but her voice completely failed her. Clearing her throat, she tried again, this time breaking through his reverie. He twisted around abruptly, as though he’d recognized her voice and couldn’t believe his ears.
She bit her lower lip and looked away, carefully avoiding his antagonistic eyes.
“What the hell... ?” he asked in a rough-edged whisper.
She lifted her chin, daring him to shout. “I don’t like this any better than you do. But it seems there are rules about how many people can ride in small airplanes—something about fuel and wind and weight.”
He stared, wordless, for so long that her morbid curiosity got the better of her and she faced him. His dark expression was unreadable.
“Well, don’t you have anything to say?” she challenged, not quite successful in her bid for nonchalance.
His lips lifted in a scornful grin, and she caught her breath at its devilish beauty.
“So, you and your sister exceeded the plane’s weight allowance,” he said, contrary amusement glimmering in his eyes. “Eat a lot of pork back there in Kansas, do you?”
She reddened. Sarcasm! So that was the route he’d decided to take. Refusing to let him bait her, she retorted, “Have you ever thought of going to blazes?”
He sobered then. It was as if someone had flipped off a switch, killing the light in his eyes. They’d gone a leaden gray. His gaze veered back toward the sea, and he curled his hands into fists.
Sara had the oddest feeling that if he’d responded to her remark, he would have said, “I’ve been there.” The expression she’d seen on his face was almost haunted.
A stab of regret slashed her heart. She’d opened a painful wound out of his past. He was still grieving for his wife; the loss of a spouse was a hellish torture for anyone. Staring morosely at his rigid shoulders, she murmured, “That was insensitive of me. But in my own defense, Mr. Shepard, your insults are hard to ignore.”
After what seemed like an hour of strained silence, he shook his head, conceding flatly, “You’re right. I give you a lot of trouble, Miss Eller. I’m the one who should apologize.” He turned back, and their eyes met. The depth of the remorse in his gaze struck her like a blow. To her shock, she saw something else in those storm-ridden eyes, something she could only describe as desire, and she shivered with reaction.
Could it be that Ransom Shepard was as attracted to her as she was to him? Could it be that he was fighting that attraction with every verbal and physical weapon he had, just as she had been fighting it? She toyed with her zipper hasp, carefully avoiding his eyes.
“Forget it, Mr. Shepard,” she said, trying to sound unaffected. “It won’t be long now, anyway, before you’re rid of us. Isaac said he’d do everything in his power to help.”
“He said he’d send the plane back?” Ransom asked very quietly, drawing her regard.
“Not exactly.” She shivered again, not sure if the involuntary motion was still in reaction to what she’d thought she’d seen in his eyes, or from the chill of the sea spray. One thing was clear, though—it was entirely too cold and damp for her light jacket. “But I’m sure he’ll send the plane back. Aren’t you?”
One corner of Ransom’s mouth lifted, but there was no merriment in his expression. “I’m afraid not,” Ransom murmured. “He’s got a twisted sense of loyalty. He said he was going to help, not send the plane back.”
She was confused. “What do you mean?”
Ransom surprised her by taking her arm. “Let’s go inside. I can hardly hear you for the chattering of your teeth.”
“But what do you mean, a twisted sense of loyalty?” she repeated, trying to keep from stammering.
He chuckled, but it had a harsh edge. “A little while ago, Dorfman told me I needed a woman,” he explained grimly. “I think he’s chosen you as a likely candidate.”
“Me?” She stumbled to a halt, staring at him. “I hope you don’t mean he expects us to... to...”
“I imagine that’s exactly what he expects.”
His revelation couldn’t have been more amazing. Her lips trembled and a little gasp escaped her throat.
“The idea is appealing to you, I can see,” he replied with heavy irony. “You pallor is quite an ego-builder, Miss Eller. I’m flattered.”
She stared at him, at a loss for words.
“Our sleeping together was Dorfman’s idea, not mine,” he reminded her.
Outraged, she used all her waning strength to yank her arm from his grasp, and she staggered backward. Even though she’d overheard Isaac say he thought Ransom needed a woman, she refused to believe he would concoct such a sordid plan involving her. Mortified and hurt, she declared, “That plane will be back!”
One dark brow rose. “Would you care to make a little wager?”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
She gaped at him, condemning his audacity with her stare. Finally finding her voice, she muttered, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
He surveyed her with a penetrating regard, but said nothing else. Deciding to rush to the offensive and change the subject, she shot back, “I warn you, Mr. Shepard, if you ever try to lay one lustful finger on me, you’ll be sorry. I took a self-defense class, and I know how to hurt you.” With that she pivoted away from him and tromped o
ff toward the house.
A moment later she felt a strong grip on her elbow, causing her to stumble toward her captor. A muscle twitched in his jaw, betraying his foul mood. “I’m sure you could do me damage, Sara. There’s no doubt in my mind.” He began to drag her toward the house again. Jaws clenched, he added, “I hope you don’t mind my calling you Sara.”
She stiffened. “I mind! I mind everything you’ve said and done since I got here!’’
“Fine,” he replied, his indifference almost palpable. “And while we wait for that plane, you may call me Rance.”
CHAPTER FIVE
RANSOM HAULED his red-haired captive along, his anger far from concealed, and Sara winced at the fire that smoldered in his eyes.
“By heaven!” he growled. “I’m going to throttle Dorfman the next time I get my hands on the man.”
“You can’t know for sure he won’t send the plane back,” Sara objected breathlessly.
Ransom hissed a curse between his teeth and Sara’s eyes widened in apprehension.
“Don’t I? Well, the last time I checked, the company plane comfortably held six passengers. My matchmaking lawyer put the pilot up to telling you that garbage about weight allowance. Mark my words—Isaac wants me to have a woman, pure and simple, and he thinks a lovely redhead like you is a good candidate.”
Sara stared at his angular profile, her cheeks hot with stunned embarrassment. He’d called her a lovely redhead. She tried not to be affected by the compliment—after all, the words had been spoken more as a bitter complaint than a tribute—but she failed.
Ransom bit off another curse, and Sara flinched. She wondered if this was how innocent people felt before they were going to hang for a crime they didn’t commit. Just when she thought he was going to fling her to the ground and grab a strong piece of rope, he loosened his hold and slowed his pace, as though he’d realized she was too small to keep up with his breakneck jog.
When they reached the porch, he let her go. She whirled to face him, accusing breathlessly, “I’ve never been so cruelly manhandled by...” Struggling for air, she stopped to inhale deeply.
