The Rescuer

скачать книгу бесплатно


“Not just any girl.” He turned toward her.

The bucket seats of the Jeep made things awkward, but Alex found herself leaning into the curve of his arm. She stayed like that for what seemed a long moment, and it felt good...too good. Until now, she’d been able to control the way Colin made her feel. She’d managed to dismiss any stirrings of attraction, any hints of desire. But with his arm around her like this, she could no longer dismiss the craving she felt.

His fingers brushed over her cheek in a slow caress...and then another caress. She remained motionless, almost breathless, as his touch awakened all her senses. At last he tilted her face toward his.

“Colin,” she whispered. He didn’t answer, not in words. Instead, he brought his lips to hers.

This was no tentative first kiss, no tepid exploration. It was raw need, powerful and overwhelming. Alex felt as if she had been swept off the mountaintop. She clung to Colin, and molded herself closer to him, and opened her mouth willingly to him.

But all the while she knew what a mistake it was.

SOBRIETY’S SMALL MINING museum hardly seemed a place to be haunted. Tucked away on one of the side streets off Main, it housed a modest collection of pickaxes, shovels, water canteens, rusty pocketknives and other paraphernalia left behind by long-ago miners. It had a friendly, unimposing, somewhat dusty atmosphere. Colin figured that any self-respecting ghost would pick a more evocative locale—one of the town’s old saloons, for example. If Herb wanted to stage more hauntings, he should consider that. Then again, Colin didn’t intend to put any ideas in his grandfather’s head.

He pushed open the door of the museum and went inside. Lillian Prescott, his grandfather’s fifty-nine-year-old girlfriend, glanced up from behind the souvenir counter.

“Colin, I’m so glad you’re here.” She went to the door, put up the Closed sign and came back again. Lillian had an air of mystery about her, which Colin suspected she deliberately cultivated. Rumor had it that when she’d gone away to college back in the late fifties, she’d had a couple of affairs and become, in Sobriety terms, a woman of the world. That she’d returned home eventually and settled down hadn’t quelled the rumors any. Every six months or so when she went off to Boise for a couple of days without telling anyone why, people liked to speculate that she was going to rendezvous with her married lover. Lillian fueled the speculation by saying nothing at all. For all Colin knew, Herb had some serious competition in Boise.

“Colin,” she said now in a distressed tone, “you have to stop your grandfather. I just found out he’s planning to bring a parapsychologist to town—a ghost expert.”

“He’s really getting into the spirit of this thing,” Colin remarked. “No pun intended.”

Lillian gave him a withering glance. “You’re not taking this seriously enough. I mean, he’s actually advertising to get someone out here. He says somebody trying to verify the town haunting will increase its authenticity.” She groaned and sank onto the stool behind the counter. “Forgive me for telling you this, Colin, but your grandfather is nuts.”

“That’s some way to talk about your significant other.”

Lillian’s expression became guarded. “Please don’t get in the habit of saying that. I took you into my confidence only as a last resort.”

“Why not just admit to the world that you’re seeing Herb?” Colin asked. “What’s so bad about it?”

“Nothing,” she said, looking uncomfortable. “I just don’t think the entire town needs to know about my personal life. What I do is my own business.”

“Do you think people would care—”

“In this town they’d care, all right,” she said. “Folks don’t have enough to do, so they sit around talking about one another...and I refuse to be anybody’s topic of conversation.”

Colin figured something else was at stake here, but Lillian was already changing the subject.

“You and I have more important things to discuss,” she said. “Such as what will happen when the town finds out Herbie is bringing in an expert to document his bogus ghost.”

It was an interesting twist, Colin had to admit. “Okay, I’ll try talking to him again. But you know what my chances are.”

Now Lillian looked worried. “Somebody’s got to stop him before it’s too late. He’ll ruin everything—his reputation, his political career...”

Colin didn’t think being mayor of Sobriety qualified as a political career, but he didn’t want to tamper with Lillian’s illusions.

“What’s he doing it for?” she went on. “All this nonsense about a ghost being good for the town—I don’t buy that for a second.”

“Maybe he just wants to prove he can shake up the place,” Colin said. “Nobody else has tried that in a long time.”

“Nobody but your father. All those years ago... he was a bit wild, Colin, but so talented. So full of life and energy and charm. The way everyone used to turn out for those high school basketball games just because your dad was playing.”

Colin had long since grown accustomed to how people in Sobriety spoke of his father. They always had some story about Thomas McIntyre...high school basketball star, war hero, town golden boy. But none of the stories ever seemed quite real to Colin. They were too much the stuff of legend, too easily recounted, as if people had forgotten about the flesh-and-blood Thomas behind the glorious achievements. Colin had been ten when his father died, old enough to have memories of his own, yet he’d heard the stories so many times they’d taken over.

Lillian was rearranging the pieces of quartz and silver ore on display behind the glass counter. “Something’s just occurred to me,” she said.

“What we really need is a psychologist—not a parapsychologist. What about that shrink of yours, Colin? Is she trustworthy?”

Colin observed Lillian dourly. “Who says I have a shrink?”

“For crying out loud,” Lillian said, “have you forgotten what this town is like? Everyone knows you took her out to dinner last night. Ben Morris saw you at The Pub, and you know what a gossip he is. Why else do you figure I have to work so hard to keep my life private?”

Colin thought about last evening with Alex. He’d been thinking about it a lot...how it had felt to hold her in his arms those few moments. He’d wanted to go on holding her, but for her that hadn’t been an option. He’d never known anyone who tried so hard to stay in control. The soon-to-be ex-husband must have really damaged her somehow. Or maybe something else was to blame.

“Colin,” said Lillian, “I’m just asking if this Dr. Alex Robbins is discreet.”

“She’s not about to go gossiping with Ben Morris.”

“You don’t need to tell her any details about me, Colin. Just ask her to talk to your grandpa. Ask her to set him straight about this ghost nonsense.”

“Psychologists aren’t like auto mechanics,” Colin said. “They can’t just schedule an appointment to fix somebody’s transmission.”

“Well, we’d better do something, or we’ll have a parapsychologist on our hands. Is that what you want?”

He didn’t know what he wanted, it seemed. In the past, when he’d started to feel the old restlessness, he’d simply moved on, changed his life. But now things were more complicated. He had a grandfather who wasn’t getting any younger. And he had a son who’d grown up too quickly. Colin couldn’t just walk away from all that.

CHAPTER FOUR

THAT EVENING, ALEX SHOWED up at the McIntyre house with a sackful of groceries. She was breathless, and her cheeks were becomingly flushed again. As she shifted the bag from one arm to another, she gazed at Colin almost defensively.

“Okay, so maybe I’ve gone too far,” she said. “But when you called and invited me over for dinner... then said it was your turn to cook so you were sending out for pizza...well, I couldn’t resist taking matters into my own hands.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, appreciating the sight of her. She was wearing something sleeveless, her blond hair falling over her shoulders.

The flush in her cheeks deepened. “Kissing you was a big mistake,” she muttered. “So if you’re thinking about last night, please stop.”

“I’m thinking about right now.”

“Dammit, Colin. Just...don’t.”

He took the groceries from her but remained on the porch. “Are you here to give me a cooking lesson?”

“Not exactly. I’m hardly the domestic type myself. But a family dinner calls for something.”

Lettuce was poking out of the bag, and he caught the pleasing aroma of ripened tomatoes. When he went to the grocery store, he usually confined himself to microwavable selections.

“Too bad we have to make it a family dinner,” he said.

She gave him a keen glance. “We already tried the one-on-one thing, and it didn’t work out.”

“I thought it worked out fine.”

She stared at him, her eyes a very deep brown. “I know you don’t take me seriously, Colin, but you could at least try.” She gazed at him a moment longer. Then she took the grocery bag back from him and strode into the house.

Colin followed her down the hall to the kitchen. The material of her dress swirled invitingly against her legs as she walked and her hair rippled gold. She appeared soft and feminine, but he sensed an implacable core. She gave the impression that she’d been taking care of herself for a very long while and she didn’t want any help with the job.

When she reached the kitchen, she started removing items from the bag and placing them on the counter. the lettuce and tomatoes, two packages of whole wheat hamburger buns, a jar of pickles, a jar of relish, a bottle of ketchup, some mustard.

“Guess you didn’t trust us to have any condiments,” he said.

She produced a carton of ice cream and placed it in the freezer. “Got any pans?”

He had to rummage in a few cupboards before he found them.

Alex shook her head. “You really don’t cook, do you?”

“Hey, it’s my grandfather’s house, not mine.”

She handed him a can of peas and pearl onions. “Think you can manage that?”

Colin got busy with the opener. He found that he liked spending time with Alex in a kitchen. She didn’t seem to need useless conversation. A companionable silence settled between them as he opened a few more cans and dinner began to cook on the stove.

Herb poked his nose into the room. “Hello, Dr. Alex.”

“Hello, Mr. McIntyre.”

“No need to be so formal,” he said gruffly,

“considering my grandson’s finagled you into doing his work tonight.”

She smiled. “Mind if I call you ‘Herbie’?”

“A lot of folks do.” He peered at a pan sizzling on the stove. “Those hamburgers?” he asked doubtfully.

“Veggie burgers.”

“Veggie burgers?” he repeated. “Serves Colin right—he’s strictly a meat-and-potatoes man.” Chuckling, Herb disappeared.

“Don’t listen to him,” Colin said. “He’s the one who thinks you can’t have a meal without steak.”

“You wish we were having real hamburgers, don’t you?”

Those veggie things did look kind of odd, but he wasn’t about to say so. Now Sean appeared, hovering uncertainly in the doorway.

“Hi,” Alex said casually. “Mind doing the salad?”

He hesitated, but then he came over to the counter and confronted the lettuce. After a moment he started tearing off big pieces and tossed them into a bowl. Alex didn’t comment, just went on about her business. Colin realized she was handling everything just right. She wasn’t making a big deal about Sean helping out, wasn’t telling him how to do things differently, wasn’t paying much attention at all. Colin himself probably wouldn’t have been able to resist setting the kid straight.

A short time later the four of them sat down together. Make that five for dinner, if you included Dusty. Except this time the little terrier abandoned Herb and waited at attention next to Alex’s feet. The others seemed to be at attention, too. Sean didn’t slouch quite so much in his chair; Herb didn’t use his silverware to point. The food looked all right: ravioli in tomato sauce, two different kinds of vegetables, the haphazard salad Sean had made. And, of course, the veggie burgers.

The conversation was actually civil. Maybe Sean didn’t contribute much, but Herb and Alex had plenty to talk about: her practice in Chicago, his days in the mine. It took Colin a while to realize that he was almost as silent as his son. Apparently he didn’t have much to contribute, either.

Alex brought out the ice cream for dessert—double chocolate chunk fudge—and the four of them polished it off in no time. Afterward they removed to the living room, Dusty trotting behind. Sean hunched in an armchair, looking supremely bored. Colin noted, however, that he didn’t make a quick exit the way he did most evenings.

Just as before, Alex gravitated to the photographs scattered around the room. No doubt she was trying to discern the family background of the Type R male. She picked up a photo of Colin’s parents.

Herb came over to her. “My son, Thomas, and his wife, Jessie. Guess Colin’s told you all about Thomas.”

“No,” Alex said. “Actually he hasn’t.”

Herb glanced at Colin disapprovingly. “Thomas fought in Vietnam. Pilot, decorated for bravery. Irony was that he made it through all that...and then he died in a car crash. He was only thirty years old.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex said.

Herb nodded. Even now, over twenty-five years since his son’s death, the pain was etched into his face. “Worst moment of my life,” he said in a low voice. “Worst moment for all of us. I’ve never stopped wishing him back.”

The phrases were timeworn, but they always gave Herb comfort. Some people refused to speak about their dead loved ones. Not Herb. He talked about Thomas as if somehow, someday, the words would conjure his son back.

Now he took the photograph from Alex and examined it as if he hadn’t already seen it countless times. “Jessie...Colin’s mom. Nice girl—even if she was a little meek for somebody like Thomas. Surprised us all, though. After he died, she remarried.”

Colin had to restrain himself from speaking. Herb made it sound like she’d run out three weeks after the funeral and got herself hitched. She hadn’t remarried until five years later.

“Can’t understand why she picked somebody like Mack Pearson. No comparison to Thomas,” Herb said.

Colin couldn’t let his grandfather get away with any more. “Nothing wrong with Mack.”

Herb was about to argue, but Alex intervened. “Does your mom still live in Sobriety?” she asked Colin.

“No. I left town when I was eighteen. She and Mack left the year after that. They settled in Tacoma.”

“Pearson sells cars,” Herb said disparagingly.

He didn’t mention that Mack owned the dealership. And he never seemed to realize that his own son might have ended up doing something as ordinary as selling cars...if he’d lived. Thomas was forever frozen in time as someone young and bright and courageous. An image impossible to dim.

Alex moved around the room. She picked up another photo, got Herb on the more neutral subject of his ex-wife. She was handling the McIntyre men very adeptly, it seemed. Even Sean was still there, hunched in his chair. Maybe he was no more animated than a stump, but his presence made for a refreshing change.

So why didn’t inviting Alex for a McIntyre family dinner seem like such a good idea after all?

ALEX SLEPT FITFULLY that night. Every few hours or so, she awoke feeling groggy and out of sorts. She couldn’t say why she felt so restless. She’d actually enjoyed her evening. Having Colin’s grandfather and son around had lessened her awareness of Colin. Hadn’t eliminated it—she’d still been uncomfortably aware of his gaze upon her—but with his family there, he hadn’t been able to flirt with her shamelessly the way he usually did.

At last Alex fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. And then she dreamed. Flames surged up around her, eerily orange-red. Not the flames she’d seen on the video screen—no, flames right here in the room. They trapped her, licking at the edges of the bed. She couldn’t move. The smoke choked her lungs, and she had to gasp for air. She was frightened. So very frightened. She began to weep.

She woke up with a start, her skin clammy, her pulse racing. The dream had been so real that she glanced around wildly, half expecting to see fire engulfing her. But there was only darkness and the cool nighttime air coming through the open window. Alex pressed a hand to her face. The tears she’d wept in the dream had felt real, too, but her cheeks were dry. It had only been a dream.

“A nightmare,” Alex whispered. She reached over and switched on the lamp. She’d stayed at this small bed-and-breakfast only a few days, yet already the room’s details were comfortingly familiar: the wicker dressing table with the ruffled skirt, the pine whatnot cabinet, wallpaper in a pattern of violet sprigs. The decor was too consciously quaint for Alex’s taste, but right now she welcomed the cozy frilliness that surrounded her.

She realized that she was shivering. Slipping into her robe, she went to the window and shut it. Then she did something she often advised her patients to do. She took her notepad, flipped to a blank page and began jotting down everything she could remember about the nightmare. Her fingers trembled alarmingly, but she pushed on. At last she set aside the notepad, pulled up the blanket and eased her head back against the pillow. She did something else she recommended to her patients: took some deep, slow breaths. Then she turned off the light, closed her eyes and ordered herself back to sleep.