by Mimi Barbour
“Because I don’t want to talk about it. Does that satisfy you, Mr. Can’t-take-no-for-an-answer?”
“Were you injured? Is that why you can’t talk about it?”
“No. And I can talk about it if I so choose.”
“So—choose.”
“Why should I?”
“Because people want to know about what happened, what made you take the risks you did, if you were scared—”
“I was terrified.”
“Then why?”
“Because!” The word exploded. “Someone once showed me that you have to help those less fortunate. Even if it means taking the chance of personal injury. It’s up to each and every one of us to help those in trouble.” Ellie’s eyes grew big, and her hands gripped the book she now clutched tightly, her knuckles white. “The girl in the bank—she was such a small girl, helpless. She wet herself. I saw it. I…” The shaking started, building into shudders, and Ellie was forced to drop the book on the chair nearby and put her arms around herself.
“Ellie, I’m sorry. You were right. You don’t have to talk about it. Not now!” Troy’s hand reached toward her, his expression regretful, full of compassion.
“Maybe never.”
“Maybe.” His voice caressed. The look in his gorgeous brown eyes was balm to her bruised and lonely spirit.
Her thoughts wandered as she lost herself in his gaze. He looked haggard and sad, and she knew why. He missed his soul mate, Dani. Missed the very person who stood in front of him except he didn’t know it. He didn’t know her. What a bizarre situation!
Standing near him, she felt drawn in a way she hadn’t expected to feel. It reminded her of when a baby’s gaze is ensnared by its mother’s voice, lured by special ties to the one person in its world who loves it unconditionally.
Earlier, she’d spied on him as he’d played with Amy and Buddy, and it had been all she could do to keep from running to him and saying. “Look at me. God! Troy, please—recognize who I am. I’ve waited forever.” But the moment passed.
After existing without him for ten years, she had her plans firmly set. If he had known her, everything would have fallen into place naturally. But that wasn’t the case. Therefore, she would follow the course she’d already decided on.
Her promise to her uncle that she wouldn’t ever tamper with the proper order had been hard, but necessary. It was now no longer pertinent, but still she needed to use these next few days to her advantage.
Troy had fallen in love with her seventeen-year-old spirit, but she’d grown up. Could she make him fall in love with her all over again, win his heart a second time? His loving her as Dani wasn’t enough for her now, and she sensed it. There were ten years of layers added on and she just wasn’t that girl anymore. She wanted Troy to fall for the woman he saw today.
The problem was that Dani held his heart. And the man was anything but fickle. What in the world was she to do? Not throwing herself into his arms and spilling the whole story, explaining her years of celibacy, loneliness, and heartache, took every ounce of willpower she’d attained over the purgatory of the last ten years. How she did it, she’d never know, but she managed to conquer her vulnerability.
Achieving status and acceptance as a best-selling author had taken a decade of hard work and discipline; however, some were born to write. She fell into that category.
Still, existing for ten years without him in her life had taken so much out of her. It had exhausted her stamina and turned her into a recluse.
Living her romantic experiments through the pages of her steamy novels could no longer be tolerated. She wanted a real man, her dream man—Troy.
He cut into her musings. “Ellie? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Look, why don’t we go ahead and talk about The Gardens and your plans for the care home. After all, it’s why you agreed to see me today.”
“Ellie?” He hesitated. “Are you there?” He waved a hand in front of her face.
When she drifted back, she couldn’t hide the hunger, and she knew exactly when it registered.
His eyes narrowed, and his attitude underwent a distinct change. He backed away, mentally and physically.
She smarted from the rejection while at the same time she understood it.
Unlike her, he’d said goodbye only yesterday to the one he loved.
Chapter Thirty
She must be a witch!
Troy couldn’t conceive of any other reason for his unexpected reaction to Ellie Ward. Sprawled on his bed, pillows doubled behind him, he contemplated how she’d made him feel. Buddy shared the moment. His snout angled over his master’s stomach, while Troy stroked and fondled the blissful pup.
Today Ellie Ward had captivated him beyond anything he’d ever before experienced. As their time together passed, her telling glances had driven him crazy. Crazy with lust! He knew the attraction couldn’t be anything but carnal cravings. His heart already belonged to Dani—of that he had no doubt whatsoever.
That young miss had made him feel things he’d never dreamed he could be capable of. For his own protection, he’d always been a surface person—he might even say superficial—but all that had changed while Dani was with him. He loved her, pure and simple. And come Saturday, he would be meeting her in person. He yearned for the time to speed past, and a budding expectancy took root when he pictured their reunion.
Funny, he’d never asked her what she looked like. In all the talking and sharing they’d done, not once did that seem important. Now, with this distance between them, the question arose, making him wonder. He supposed he’d built his own image of her—ethereal and lovely and familiar.
His thoughts drifted to the many volumes of poetry and classics he’d read over the years, ones that glorified spiritual love, and he now understood their message. The truth stared him in the face. It didn’t matter to him what she looked like. He’d experienced the most important part of her—a beautiful heart. How did he get so lucky?
Brooding, he scanned the room. The emptiness clamoured—palpable—like a living entity. Strange! The space felt cold without her sharing, her laughter—her warmth. Saturday couldn’t come quickly enough.
It would be her birthday. Seventeen! Without her there to pooh-hoo his squeamishness at their age difference, he took a few seconds to examine his discomfort. But he quickly pushed it away again. They’d settled all that. He wouldn’t look for problems ahead of time. If there were any, he’d deal with them as they surfaced. Think birthday presents. A girl her age would be difficult to buy for, and what he chose had to be something special.
Intuitively, he skipped to Ellie, sensing she could help him find a present. Females knew what other girls liked. No, wait. He had it, the perfect gift. He’d get an autographed copy of Ellie Ward’s latest bestseller for a girl who dreamt of emulating her. Now that would be undeniably unique.
Nope! None of that! He intended to stay as far away from that redheaded temptress as possible. She was trouble with a capital No-Way!
His hand raked through his hair, a sure sign of exasperation. Admit it. She scared him silly. The truth was, he’d even made up his mind to give up trying for the interview about the bank robbery. Giving up on any story soured his soul and was definitely not his style. Nonetheless, her sensibilities warranted his consideration—and his distance. The lady sincerely did not want to share her ordeal, and his taste for the story had changed. With any other article, opposition only spurred him on; this woman’s painful memories turned him mushy.
The local rag, the newspaper that had bought his special interest accounts of the recent fire victims, had contacted him earlier in the day with a proposition from the international press. They wanted the stories to go national and beyond. This would be the boost to his career he’d been looking for when he pursued the Ellie Ward scoop.
When he called the Chicago Sun-Times and offered them a deal, they jumped at his suggestion to be the first stateside paper to run the in-depth articles. In addition, he’d been a
sked to stop by to talk with them as soon as he returned home.
He glanced down at the pup whining for attention.
“It’s one sweet deal, Buddy-Boy. I’ll be a journalist working for one of the best newspapers around.”
A paw shot out to shake—a trick Dani had taught the goofy mutt. It brought a smile flashing across Troy’s face—enough of an invitation for the wiggling ball of fur to head-butt him with a seeking tongue aimed for his nose. Scooping the baby close, he whispered. “We’ll be with her soon, Boy. Only five days to go.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“Uncle Robert, he wouldn’t even look at me,” Dani wailed as she ran towards him and flung herself against the startled man who’d risen at the sight of her distress. The doctor, as always, had been working diligently, papers strewn every which way around his garden table.
Her voice lowered to a theatrical whisper. “I acted the flirt, doing everything I knew to lead him on, and he stayed true to that stupid little girl.”
“My dear, that stupid little girl is you.” His arms gathered her close, while he patted her back.
“I’m so miffed. I am. I don’t want him to love her. She’s the past.”
“Not for him.”
“Confound it! She’s a young girl! I need him to fall for me as the woman I am today. And it has to happen before my birthday.” Sniffing, she pulled away, searched out a tissue from her pocket and swiped at her damp cheeks. “He’s everything I knew he’d be, Uncle Robert. He’s wonderful. You should have seen him with Amy. She’s already in love with him. Talks about him and Buddy constantly. Mother’s been wearing a sour look for days.”
“Give the man a chance, Dani. In his mind, you left him only the other day. He’ll need time to adapt…”
“There is no time!” She stamped her foot, and her voice rose to a yell. “I only have this week to attract him.” Looking over at the quivering leaves of the greenery leading to the house, she snarled in that direction. “Come out of there, Mrs. Dorn, and give us a hand here. I’ve no patience today for your shenanigans.”
Mrs. Dorn sauntered out, sputtering. “The dust behind there is frightful.”
“Not possible, Mrs. Dorn. You dust there whenever Uncle Robert and I are visiting in this courtyard, which is quite often, isn’t it?”
“Well! I never!” Indignantly, Mrs. Dorn puffed up, gaining inches in height, and the girth of her rotund body swelled.
“Yes, you do! All the time!” Dani was past caring about tweaking feelings. “Look, I need all the help I can get. So, Mrs. Dorn, if you have any suggestions for me, speak up now.”
“Bosoms.” The housekeeper replied promptly.
“What?” The doctor exploded.
“Excuse me?”
She had the attention of both uncle and niece.
“Yes, bosoms. You have lovely ones. In my day, they were one of the greatest assets for a girl to—”
“Bosoms? Mrs. Dorn, I beg to differ. You’re labelling us men as insensitive louts caring for only a woman’s physical attributes over the loveliness of her spirit. I’m sorry, but I must disagree.”
“Oh, posh! There ain’t a man alive as can ignore a fine pair of bosoms, and, lovie”—she pointed her podgy finger at Dani’s chest, while the younger woman reacted by covering that part of her anatomy with both hands—”yours are one of the finest pair I’ve seen in me life. Dress them up, and wiggle them under his nose, and he’ll be all over ya. Trust me.” As she talked, Mrs. Dorn put her own hands under her large chest, and lifted the massive weight, jiggling it around a little to make her point.
The doctor’s eyes widened and were quickly averted as he plunked back in his chair so hastily it came close to toppling over. Redness riddled his cheeks, and he bellowed. “Mrs. Dorn!”
“Doctor, don’t you start. This ain’t no time to bicker. This child needs to get her fellow to come courting. There’s not much chance without a strong reason for him to all of a sudden switch from Dani to, ah, well—Ellie.”
“I would never resort to that type of trickery, Mrs. Dorn.” Dani couldn’t help the silly grin that refused to be controlled.
“Then more fool you. Dani-love. Most females use those tricks very effectively.”
“Don’t you understand? It’s not my body I want him to fall for, it’s me.”
“Same thing! He’s already smitten with your, ah, youthful heart, and that part of you’s only gotten better over the years. Act the naughty bimbo for a few days, and catch his attention. Like I said before, he’ll be all over ya.”
Doctor Andrews harrumphed, interrupting. “It is not the same thing, Mrs. Dorn, not at all. I’d like to think that the modern man has more sense than to allow his libido control over his behaviour.”
“Piffle!”
“Piffle? Mrs. Dorn!” The doctor shot up from his chair, carelessly scattering more papers, his aggravation obvious. “Is it my understanding that you are telling my niece to act the tart to attract her man?”
“Yes, sir!” Mrs. Dorn’s Cheshire grin provoked. A curler hung out from under her kerchief, dangling by a few hairs. Her double chin jiggled and her eyes twinkled. “Yes, sir,” she repeated. Her hands fisted on each ample hip.
He suddenly relented. “You know, that just might work.” He sat back down, rested his chin on his hand, and nodded.
Mrs. Dorn sniffed the air. “Me Yorkshire puddin’!” She hustled into the house to save her specialty dish from burning.
Dani waited until she left before turning on her uncle with an unbecoming scowl. “Did you mean that, or were you trying to pacify the woman who makes the best food in town?”
“I meant it. Every once in a while, the dotty old dear makes sense, even if I hate to agree. There aren’t many days left. We know he fell for you without seeing what you looked like. Your essence, so to speak, attracted him, and in that you haven’t changed. I guess now you need to see if he’s attracted to the outer package. To your body.”
“My bosoms,” she sighed.
“Your bosoms,” he agreed.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Dani slumped in her large black chair, seemingly mesmerized by the charming view from her office window. She’d been staring in the same direction without movement for so long that the slim leg curled under her weight tingled. She groaned, straightened, and massaged.
The steaming coffee next to her had cooled, but the aroma still soothed. She reached out to take a sip.
She’d been waiting all day in hopes that Troy would make the first move, except it didn’t look like the blighter would. Phoning him, initiating a meeting, compromised her normal rules of behaviour, but in this case she was rather pressed for time.
Seeing him yesterday had only reinforced the love she’d nurtured for ten long years. She had plunged deeper into being absolutely and unequivocally dotty over the man.
When he’d approached, she’d started quivering. Shivers attacked, and warmth spread throughout her lower regions. Her breasts had swelled with anticipation. Close to him she felt such a consuming kind of madness that she had to tighten her stomach muscles and breathe deeply to control the fever. Readily accepting the truth that stared her in the face, she admitted to an intense eagerness for sexual activity—the sooner the better.
Yesterday, her irrepressible longing to touch him had to be clamped down. She’d spent so many evenings alone, just her with his scrapbook, that being near him was almost more than she could bear. Flashbacks and memories paled in comparison to the flesh-and-blood man.
When he’d looked at her with those incredibly warm, intense eyes, restraint flew out the window. Every bit of strength she possessed was called into play to stop herself from behaving like her daughter and flinging her body into his arms.
It became a battle of willpower for her not to kiss the dimple that flashed whenever he grinned in the sexy way he’d perfected. For her not to stroke the muscles in his arm or run her fingers over the tattoo imprinted there.
She r
emembered the day she’d snooped in the mirror and asked him about the words engraved on his arm. He rubbed at them almost reverently, then explained that on one of his excursions into India he’d met a brilliant body artist who talked him into accepting a gift of his work as payment for favours rendered.
At the time, he was touched by the offer but couldn’t decide what type of artwork he would want to wear for the rest of his life. Stalling, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an American dollar to pay for a bottle of water from a street urchin. The perfect words hit him immediately.
In God We Trust, scripted across his forearm, was entwined amongst an incredible design of what looked to be doves, because of the wings—or were they angels? Imagination had taken over as she’d stared at his tattoo, and she still wasn’t sure what the old man had drawn. She only knew Troy wore the work of a genius on his body, a masterpiece of which he seemed proud.
The day before, the edge of the drawing had teased her from under the rolled-up sleeve of his favoured green shirt, their shirt, the one she’d begged him to buy. Tiny burn holes from the fire could be seen here and there in the fabric. They taunted her, reminding her that what had happened only a few days ago for Troy had been stored in her memory banks for a decade. The love and craving that raged throughout her body to balance her on the edge of madness had to be hidden by turning away from him.
Those very reminiscences had her hand hovering over the telephone. Ten years of enduring, waiting, controlling the urge to make contact, galvanized her to take action.
Licking her dry lips, reaching, her hand trembling, she took a couple of deep breaths to stop the panic in her flip-floppy stomach. She swallowed some of her coffee, now cold, and started her relaxing technique—one, two… Then she dialled the numbers that would connect her to her heart.
His voice reacted on her taut nerves, and she dropped the receiver into her lap. Grappling with the cord, she finally lifted it back to her ear only to find it upside down. Gritting her teeth, she fixed it in place properly and croaked.
