Wiping her face with the back of her hand, she grabbed him by his sleeve and led him off the path and back to the spot where she had left the wretched little dog and her puppies.
* * * *
Max dropped to his knees, oblivious to the mud and water seeping into his expensively tailored suit.
“You poor little thing.” Gently, he stroked the brown head. He felt sick. He abhorred any form of cruelty to animals. “Where did you find them?”
“In the river. I couldn’t just leave them, so I jumped in, and…oh God…please let them be all right.”
Mouth open, he glanced behind at the murky waters. His stomach clenched at the thought of the tragedy that had so nearly occurred, but it was not the time for pointing out the folly of her actions. “Come on, we need to get you to the hospital, and then take these poor little mites to a vet.”
“No.” Rebecca shook her head. “No hospitals. There isn’t time. Please. I’m okay. The dog first.”
“Rebecca—”
“If you don’t take them, I’ll walk there.”
Even in a crisis, she challenged him. Her stricken look melted his heart. He recognised so much of himself in her. “Okay. We’ll do it your way but not in this. The basket has had it.” He took off his jacket, lifted out the mother and pups and wrapped them in it. It crossed his mind that Kate would kill him. She’d bought him that suit.
Holding the precious package against his white shirt, he signalled Rebecca to follow. “We’d better hurry, and fetch your bloody shoes. God your feet must be numb from cold. You’ll end up with foot rot.”
Struggling for breath, her whole body trembling, she pulled on her boots. “I don’t care.”
Max doubted she cared at all.
She stumbled and tripped at his side, half-running half-walking to keep up. When they reached the car, he caught her dubious stare.
“It will clean,” Max said, hoping it would; he loved his car. “Get in.”
She slid into the passenger seat, and Max carefully placed the bundle on her lap. She cradled it to her, attempting to generate some warmth. He knew it was a futile exercise. He’d spent enough time around animals on his mother’s farm to know the dog’s condition was not good.
“You’ll have to direct me.” Max slipped behind the wheel, and turning the ignition on, he leaned across to direct the fan of hot air onto her.
They drove off, Rebecca stroking the dog through the folds of the jacket, talking to her, willing her not to give up the fight.
Max turned into the quiet lane behind High Street and ignoring the No Parking sign, pulled to a halt right in front of the veterinary surgery.
Peering out of the window at the line of parked cars, Rebecca chewed on her lip. “It will be packed, and Miss Pringle, the receptionist, is a dragon. She doesn’t allow queue jumping.”
“Don’t you worry about her. Hey…” Without thinking, he pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear. “I’m a colonial peasant, remember.”
Sure enough, Miss Pringle crumbled under his well-practised menacing stare. She hustled them into a consulting room, much to the consternation of a blue-rinsed old bat.
“But my poor Froufrou has been waiting for hours.” She regarded Max from over the top of half-rimmed glasses whilst clinging to a yapping Yorkie festooned with pink ribbons.
Max steered her out of the room. “I suggest you go and stick Froufrou in the microwave.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Rebecca stifled a giggle.
Mr. Thurley looked up, surprised and probably relieved, Max guessed, to see them in place of the bad tempered Yorkie.
Quickly filling him in, Rebecca placed her bundle on the examination table.
His expert eye at once took stock of the situation. “Twenty-five years I’ve been a vet and still the extent of people’s cruelty never fails to amaze me.”
“Can you do anything?”
Max felt Rebecca’s pain. She wasn’t stupid; she could see the bitch’s condition had deteriorated.
Mr. Thurley shook his head. “The puppies are dead, I’m afraid, but I think you already knew that. I’ll do my best to save the mother. That’s all I can promise. We don’t know how long she was in the water, or what state her lungs are in. Go home. You look terrible. I promise I’ll call you as soon as I have news. Now shoo. Let me get on with my job.”
Max led her back to the car. She looked so small and helpless, and once again, that bizarre need to protect her overwhelmed him. Without a word, she slid into the passenger seat.
“Are you okay? You ought to go to hospital. Still…” He leaned over and put his hand to her forehead. “I’m no expert, but I don’t think you’re running a fever. Come on. Let’s get you home.”
“No.” She hung her head. “My parents will go ballistic. They worry so much. I don’t want them to see me like this. Can I wait here a bit and dry off or…”
Her distress was real. For a moment, Max didn’t know what to do. Playing nanny wasn’t exactly his forte. Turning the key in the ignition, he gunned the engine. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Go?” She sat up, confusion in her eyes.
“My place. We need to get you cleaned up.”
* * * *
With a growing sense of awe, Rebecca studied him as he drove the powerful car through the incessant rain. He’d been so incredible; so tender whilst comforting the little dog, the compassion in his eyes so very real. Goodness, how wrong she had been about him.
Rebecca shuffled in the leather seat, suddenly aware of his masculine presence. Since that day, confined spaces scared her, but with him, she felt safe. As he stared ahead, lost in his own thoughts, she studied his profile, and her heart skipped a beat. He was, by anyone’s standards, a very handsome man. She drank in the classic profile: the sharp planes and strong jaw; and with a jolt, she saw what Emma had always seen. He really did have the most beautiful mouth.
As if sensing her scrutiny, he turned to her and smiled. His green eyes were, for once, not hard and condemning but gentle and kind and…sexy. She turned away, so confused.
“Not that far now.”
Breaking into her alarming train of thought and displaying all the confidence of Lewis Hamilton, he turned the powerful car into a cul-de-sac.
Rebecca sat up. “This is where you live? That is so weird. I mean, I only live around the corner.”
“I know. I’ve seen you walking your dog. The incorrigible Wally, I presume? Does he still try to ‘shag’ Mrs. Blair’s poodle?” Pulling up in front of a time-weathered Victorian detached house, he killed the engine.
Rebecca giggled; she couldn’t believe he’d remembered, but then, of course he would. It was when their private war began.
“You’re kidding me.” She pressed her face up against the window. “You live here? Goodness, this place was empty for years. All the neighbourhood kids used to sneak in through the broken back door to play. It was our den, but it creeped us out. We thought it was haunted.”
“Well, if it is, I feel sorry for the ghost. I’m a terrible snorer.” Leaning over, he opened her door, assaulting her senses with his tangy cologne. “Hurry up. It’s going to piss it down again.”
With her heart on near shut-down, she ran for the porch. The afternoon was too surreal for words.
Shaking the water from his hair, Mr. Jackson unlocked the heavy wood front door and bustled her into the hallway. “Wait here.”
Shivering, Rebecca took in her surroundings, awed at the transformation to her old hunting ground. Most of the interior walls had been knocked down, and the result was a cavernous space of warmth and light. Whoever had done the interior design had to be a genius.
“Okay.” He was back, clutching a pile of fluffy lemon towels and an over-sized bath robe. “I’ve started running the bath. Second door on the right. Just dump your clothes outside the door, and I will throw them in the washer-dryer. You can put this on.”
He held out the robe. It was his. It still held his scent.
“Not quite your style, no doubt, but it will keep you warm.”
Rebecca couldn’t explain it. His caring words made her want to cry all over again. Trembling from cold and some weird and wonderful emotion she couldn’t quite explain, she took the robe from him. Her cheeks felt on fire. There was something strangely intimate about taking a bathrobe from him.
“Go on then.” Arms folded, he studied her, amusement curving his mouth. “You’re going to grow scales in a moment. I may have to donate you to medical science.”
“Did anyone tell you you’re a regular comedian?” Mustering as much dignity as she had left in her dwindling reservoir, she opened the bathroom door and let the steam swallow her up.
Chapter Twelve
“That’s better.” Max held two steaming mugs of cocoa in his head. “The Avatar look is a little passé, don’t you think?”
Her faint smile told him he made her nervous. Wrapped in his robe, she wore an air of vulnerability that brought all his protective instincts to the fore. “Sit.” He nodded in direction of the couch in front of the fire. Apple-scented logs burned in the grate, amber flames dancing in the muted light of the room. He’d cranked up the heating, and although he’d stripped to his T-shirt, he didn’t want to risk his unexpected guest catching a chill. As it was, her normally ivory complexion wore a rose-tinged blush.
“Feeling a bit more human now? If you’re still cold, I can move the sofa closer to the fire.”
“No, it’s fine.”
He joined her. At once, he sensed her pull away from him. “Here.” He pressed the mug into her slender hands. “Contrary to what I may have led you to believe, I don’t bite. Drink up.”
Avoiding his gaze, she took the cocoa and cradled it in both hands before bringing it to her lips, lips he was relieved to see had lost their bluish tinge.
“Wow.” She grimaced. “That’s some cocoa. It’s good though.” She drank some more.
“It should be. It’s laced with vintage brandy. Tom—Mr. Black gave it to me as a Welcome-to-Thamesford gift.”
“Oh.” The colour in her cheeks deepened to blood crimson.
They sipped in a silence fractured only by the distant whir of the washing machine.
“I’m sorry.” He spoke first. “I don’t have a hairdryer. I’m not up on women’s coiffure, but I’m guessing your hair takes a long time to dry.”
“It does.” She pulled her locks free from the confines of the turban creation she’d fashioned. The mane, now as sleek as an otter’s coat, hung down her back. “It will be okay. My parents will think it’s from the rain.”
“Ah.” He wagged a finger at her. “Good thinking, Batman. I like your style.”
Amazing. Rebecca Harding—amused? Tinkling laughter caressed his ear, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks in the most beguiling manner. Her patrician face held a fragile, exquisite beauty, and yet she possessed great strength.
She finished her drink and placed the mug on the table. Her brow creased with an intense frown no young girl should wear, but then, life had been tough on Rebecca. With her legs tucked under her, she twisted her fingers in the terry-towelling folds. She caught her lip between even white teeth and chewed on it. He guessed she wanted to say something.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. It’s done now, I think...I hope.”
“No. No it isn’t.” She unfolded the colt-like legs and sat up straight. “I need to say this to you. I know now…I was completely wrong about you and definitely out of line, and I’m sorry. This time, I mean it.”
She looked so distressed. His heart went out to her because he knew it had taken a lot for her to admit her mistake. “Apology accepted, and just for the record, I admit I am partially to blame. I came down too hard on you.”
“Yes, you did.” A hint of her habitual petulance returned to her face. Max was glad. Despite their clashing, he admired her spirit.
“Have a heart.” He gave her a repentant smile. “It was my first day on the job, my first attempt at ‘real’ teaching, and if you tell anyone that, I’ll deny it.”
“Really?” She grinned. “I’m impressed. You’re pretty good, and if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”
“Touché.” He hi-fived her. “Coming from Thamesford’s star pupil, I am touched you think so. You cannot begin to imagine how nervous I was, scared of messing up and disappointing Tom. He went out on a limb for me.” Arms folded behind his head, he sat back. “So, when you breezed in, treating me as if I were some insignificant irritant to your life, I flipped.”
“You shouldn’t have taken it personally,” she mumbled. “I treat everyone that way.”
He couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Rebecca, you are priceless.”
“So my family keeps telling me.” She rubbed at her nose, and although she grunted her response, a ghost of a smile danced at the corners of her mouth. “Thing is…I meant what I said that day. I know it sounds weird, but I was glad you bawled me out. Do you know how annoying it is to have everyone walk on egg shells around me? I hate being treated as if I am some basket case. It’s so…so patronising. Then you arrived, and I thought, finally, someone who doesn’t know about the ‘accident’ and probably wouldn’t care anyway.”
Max made a face. He didn’t like the sound of that. “Did I come across as so heartless?”
“Yes…no.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Thing is, I respected you for your honest treatment of me and then—”
“And then I went and ruined it all by acting like everyone else.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I am sorry for that, but when Tom explained what had happened—”
“He knows nothing. No one does.” She shot back, hands trembling and her expression wild, almost as if she hated him, but then the hint of madness was gone, and once again, she was just a frightened girl.
Max sat up, his body rigid as he waited for her to continue. Picking up a cushion, she shuffled into the corner of the sofa and held it tight against her chest. For what felt like the most nerve-wracking moment in his life, she didn’t speak. In the corner of the room, the original grandfather clock counted out its steady beat. The machine still whirred in the laundry room. Adding to this harmony of familiar sounds, his heart pounded out a drum solo.
“They think I don’t remember.”
She spoke so softly, he strained to hear. And still she wouldn’t look at him.
“Rebecca—”
“Please....don’t say anything. Just listen. I need you to hear me.”
Every nerve-ending on high alert, he leaned forward, hands resting on his knees.
“I remember everything.”
Eyes closed, she breathed in. It was as if she’d left him, and in a way, he suspected she had. She was travelling back down a dark and lonely road to what must have been hell.
“Thing is…I blame myself. I should never have wondered off, but that’s me, always thinking I know best. It’s not a very complicated story. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he nabbed me. I will say, in my defence, I didn’t go down without a fight, but he was pretty strong. I knew as soon as he threw me into that dug-out I was in serious trouble. The smell… I think it will haunt me forever. At first I didn’t know what it was exactly—apart from it made me throw up—but when I saw the torn and stained clothes, I guessed I had little chance of getting out alive. That’s all I told my parents and the police. After that—” She hung her head. “I told them I couldn’t remember. They believe me, and I want them to keep on believing me.”
Max remained frozen. The urge to crawl across the small space between them and hold her almost overwhelmed him. He didn’t understand why she opened up to him, and he didn’t care. For some bizarre reason, she trusted him. More important, she had more to reveal.
“Do you know why I don’t want to tell them what happened?” She looked into his eyes then, expression pleading with him to understand. “I couldn’t bear to see my parents…my father…suffer.
Sometimes ignorance is preferable to the truth. I think it would destroy him. My mum, she’s tougher, but men… Well, you’re not so strong, are you?”
He had no answer to that. Unease crawled in the pit of his stomach. What was she trying to tell him? “Rebecca.... Please don’t think Tom told me so much, but I didn’t think…he…the doctors said—”
She paled to a Geisha white. “No,” she whispered. “I wasn’t raped.” She looked away again. “But only because he couldn’t.”
She reminded him of a cornered deer, frightened and so exposed. He supposed he could have stopped her. He was, after all, not a trained therapist, but her story wrenched at his heart.
“He tried. Boy, did he try. I think that’s probably where his rage came from. Men are so full of hang-ups, aren’t they?” She fashioned a weak smile. “He…he made me do things to him.”
Max caught her shiver of revulsion as she battled with her nightmarish recollections.
“I fought him. I think…I may have bitten him, at one stage. Needless to say, he wasn’t too happy about that. He called me a fucking whore and a bitch and then just made me do it again and again until I threw up. That pissed him off, too.” She looked as if she wanted to be sick right now.
“Rebecca, you don’t have to go on. It’s okay.” He reached out, but she shrank back from his hand.
“I’m nearly done. Actually, I’m quite enjoying this. Perhaps there is something in this therapy lark, but please don’t tell Mrs. Black I said that. I think she must be a nice person, but I cannot talk to her. Thing is…is it wrong not to feel remorse at killing someone? Because I don’t. I know I killed him, and I’m glad. Sometimes…sometimes I wish he were still alive, so I could kill him over and over again.” A crazed fury blazed in her eyes.
“Do you know I have this mad compulsive need to wash my hands?” She held them up in front of her face, staring at them, distaste filming her expression. “It’s like I can still smell his blood on them, feel his skin under my fingernails. Sometimes it’s so bad I scrub them until they bleed. I remember something in me just snapped, and I ran at him. It’s like I had all this power raging in me. I knocked him to the ground and made a run for it, but of course, I knew he’d catch me. I dream about that every night, you know. Another little hiccup my parents don’t know about. I am really good at screaming quietly.”
A Little Crushed Page 10
