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“I did and it was effective.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
He watched her prowl the kitchen. Despite her curves, the borrowed clothes were ridiculously large on her. He was six-two and she was barely five-three. She had to hold up the sweatpants with one hand and the sweatshirt hung well past midthigh.
Her shower had washed off any makeup, leaving her looking young and vulnerable. Her normally wavy hair was damp and curlier than he would have imagined. Tight ringlets grazed her shoulders.
“It’s a miracle you got here in one piece,” he told her. “I can’t believe my brothers and Atsuko sent you out in the storm. That pile of trash on wheels you drive isn’t safe.”
Her expression immediately turned guilty. “Yes, well, I was supposed to take Nick’s truck, which has four-wheel drive, only it’s so big and I’m not comfortable driving it, so I didn’t. Don’t be mad at them. They didn’t know.” She paused. “They probably do now.”
At least that was something—now he wasn’t going to have to beat up his brothers. At one time he would have been more than happy to take on one or all of them, but lately he’d found himself disconnecting instead—walking away rather than acting. A philosophy that summed up much of where he was these days.
She pushed up her red-framed glasses as she sniffed. “Is that soup? Did you cook for me?”
“I opened a can and everything.”
“What a guy.” She sat on a stool at the island and grinned. “You can serve me now.”
“Can I? Will you let me?”
The teasing earned him a smile.
Natalie was one of those naturally sunny people. She was always in a good mood, always excited about whatever life had to offer that day. He supposed he should find her annoying, but he didn’t. Being around her made him feel better about everything. He liked knowing she hadn’t been troubled by tragedy. She was bright, funny and talented, although he had a feeling she would disagree with the latter. According to her, she only played with paper, nothing more.
He knew differently. Natalie was a gifted artist who used paper and found objects to create unique works. She would say she was still a lowly starving artist but he was confident her time would come.
He set the bowl of soup in front of her, along with a package of Goldfish crackers. After pouring boiling water into a mug, he offered her a box of different tea bags. She picked one and plopped it in the steaming water. He leaned against the counter.
“You have quite the setup,” she said after she’d tasted the soup. “Crackers, tea, soup. I know you don’t do the grocery shopping.”
“My housekeeping service keeps the pantry and freezer stocked. They also do the laundry.”
The wind howled outside. Natalie glanced up at the lights. “Not even a flicker. Generator?”
He nodded. “I have city water and power, but when the weather gets bad, the lines can go down for days at a time.”
“And they say no man is an island.”
She ate more soup, then opened the crackers. After shaking a few goldfish into her bowl, she offered him the package. He took it and ate a couple.
“Where did you leave your clothes?” he asked.
“In the bathroom.”
“When you’re done eating, we’ll start a load of laundry. It shouldn’t take long. Not that you’re going anywhere.”
He glanced toward the window. It was late afternoon and the rain showed no signs of stopping. According to the weather report, the storm should pass by morning. Depending on whether or not there were mudslides, the roads could be impassable for a couple of days. Even if they weren’t blocked, there was no way he would let Natalie drive her POS car down the mountain until he knew the route was safe.
She followed his gaze. “You’re thinking I’m stuck, but I don’t think so. It’s all downhill. That’s my car’s best speed.”
“You’re not going anywhere until the rain has stopped and I’ve had a chance to check out the roads.”
For a second, he thought she was going to stick out her tongue at him. Instead she wrinkled her nose and said, “You have always been the bossiest of your brothers. Not that I know Aidan and Del that well, but still. Of you, Nick and Mathias, you are Mr. Bossy Pants. You think you’re all broody, but you’re not. You pout and you’re bossy.”
“Mr. Bossy—”
“Pants. Yes, that’s what I call you in my mind. Now you know.”
He wasn’t sure what to do with that information. “You’re still not driving home in the storm.”
“Stuck in the dragon’s lair.”
Before he could ask what she meant, she brightened. “At least there’s a chandelier in the entryway. It’s really beautiful. I thought maybe candles, but the electric lights are nice, too.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She smiled. “You usually don’t. That’s okay. I move quick.”
“Implying I don’t?”
“You can be fast, probably faster than me, but quick is different.”
He had no idea what to make of her. Two years ago Natalie had started working at Willow Gallery as the office manager and herder of the three Mitchell brothers. She monitored inventory, tracked sales and paid them when their pieces sold.
He had always found her appealing. She was pretty and sexy and it had been a long time since he’d had a woman in his life. But the more he got to know her, the more he valued her happy spirit. He was not a happy-spirit kind of guy and he didn’t want to take the chance of changing her, of making her like him. So he tried to avoid her at the studio and kept to himself any interest he might have expressed.
Having her in his house now wasn’t going to be a problem, he told himself. It was temporary. He would enjoy the Natalie-size interruption, be grateful for the distraction and, when the weather cleared, send her on her way.
A gust of wind rattled the windows.
“I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down,” she said with a laugh. “I’m glad this is the stone house and not the one made of straw.”
“Me, too.”
Lightning cut through the late afternoon, making the kitchen as bright as the sun. It was immediately followed by a boom of thunder that shook the house. They both jumped, then turned at a massive crack.
Natalie sprang to her feet. “What was that?”
Before he could say he had no idea, there was a colossal ripping sound, then a rumble, as if part of the mountain were being torn away.
Ronan started for the front of the house, Natalie at his heels. He jerked open the front door in time to see a hundred-foot tree falling, falling, falling as the ground beneath it slid away. It started a cascade of trees around it swaying, then drifting toward the ravine in slow motion, pulled along by the mudslide.
The noise was deafening and the whole earth trembled. The last of the trees trembled and hovered, as if it hadn’t decided which way it was going to tumble. Ronan saw the trajectory, took a step toward it, then stopped. There was nothing he could do—nothing anyone could do. The last tree hovered for a second before crashing to the ground. The only thing in its path was a very wet, very battered twenty-five-year-old Volvo. The tree hit Natalie’s car, crushing it flat. Then the tree and the car slipped away down the side of the mountain.
“Holy crap,” she breathed, then started to laugh. “Did you see that? It was incredible.”
Worry nibbled at the back of his mind. He’d always thought she was funny. Had he mistaken mental instability for humor?
She did a little dance, then bounced back in the house and grinned at him as he closed the door.
“You know you just lost your car down the side of the mountain, right?”
She shimmied on the tile and spun in a circle. “It’s gone, it’s gone, it’s gone.” She faced him and clapped her hands. “I’m so happy.”
“Which is not a normal response to what just happened.”
She stopped dancing and drew in a breath. “My insurance agent told me to drop collision or replacement or whatever it’s called on my car because it’s so old and wasn’t worth it. Only I didn’t want to because it seemed, you know, kind of mean. Like I’d given up on it.”
He was no less worried by her response. “You didn’t want to hurt your car’s feelings?”
“Exactly.” The smile returned. “They’re going to have to pay me the value of my now-totaled car. I’ve been saving for a new one—well, new to me, anyway—but I don’t have enough yet. I wanted to pay outright and not take out a loan. But with the insurance money, I can finally get my new car. Woo-hoo! I hope I can find a red one.”
She began to dance again. Ronan looked out the windows at the raging storm, the mud on the driveway, and doubted the roads were the least bit passable. They were stuck until the county road crew got up the mountain and cleaned things up. It was going to be, he realized, a very, very long couple of days.
CHAPTER TWO (#u3290114c-e99a-54cd-af32-33ad43b6c724)
RONAN SEEMED UNABLE to grasp the glory of the moment, so Natalie stopped trying to explain it. Losing her car was fantastic, but if he couldn’t see it that way, then she would be happy on her own.
“I emailed the county while you were in the bathroom,” he told her. “I should hear back on the status of the roads in the next hour or so, but if those trees fell, I’m sure others did, too.”
“So I’m stuck,” she said, turning the idea over in her mind. “Is that going to freak you out?”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “I’m not easily freaked.”
“Then I guess we’re good.” She wasn’t worried about staying with Ronan. He was basically a good guy, and they had food and a generator, so she would be fine.
He showed her the laundry room, which was so much nicer than the one in her apartment building.
“I can figure it out,” she told him, eyeing the sheets in the dirty clothes hamper by the shiny, front-loading machine. “I’ll use those to make a load. I’ll be fine, if you want to go, um, work.”
He studied her for a second, then nodded. “I’ll be in my studio for a couple of hours,” he told her. “Then we can figure out what to have for dinner.”
She’d just had soup and crackers, so wouldn’t be hungry for a while. Not that she wasn’t always up for a meal, but still. “Sounds great.”
She watched him leave, put her sopping clothes into the washer, added the sheets and detergent, then started the cycle. Only then did she wonder if he really was going to work. Lately he hadn’t been producing. She didn’t know if she was the only one to notice, or if his brothers had, as well. She wondered if the lack of work was the reason Ronan had been so withdrawn over the past few months. To be as gifted and incredible as he was and then to not be able to work would be... Honestly, she couldn’t imagine. Maybe the saddest thing ever. To have that creative gift taken away was the definition of cruelty.
The front-loading washer door locked into place. She watched it for a second, realized there was a timer that told her she had forty-seven minutes until the cycle was over and knew there was no way she could stay here watching laundry wash.
The right thing to do would be to quietly sit somewhere, minding her own business, maybe playing a game on her phone, but the burning need to explore the huge, intriguing house was so much more appealing. She wouldn’t go anywhere too personal, she promised herself. A quick tour of mostly public spaces should be okay.
She retraced her steps through the kitchen and into the entryway, wanting to start at the beginning. The double front doors were huge. They looked as if they’d been reclaimed from some castle teardown, not that they had many of those in the southwestern part of the country. She ran her hands over the wood and briefly imagined barbarians using a battering ram to break down the door.
The foyer itself was large and circular. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling two stories up. It seemed to be from the same design era as the front doors—wrought iron and glass twisted into a medieval feel. To her right was a staircase hugging the curved wall. Beyond that was a hallway. To her left was a shorter hallway leading to the kitchen-slash-family room, and there was a half-open door straight across from her. Inside was a very prosaic but necessary powder room.
She headed down the hallway to the right. It led to a beautiful formal dining room with a big table and eight chairs. Ronan wasn’t the type to host a dinner party and she couldn’t imagine him buying the furniture. Had the house been furnished when he’d bought it?
She went back into the kitchen. It was just plain big. Starkly modern with stainless-steel appliances all in fancy brands like Sub-Zero and Wolf and gorgeous quartz countertops. The backsplash was done in swirling glass tiles that morphed from gray to blue to green to yellow and back to gray. The shapes fit together like a puzzle, and depending on where she stood, the colors seemed to blend and merge or stand out on their own. What on earth?
“Duh,” she murmured to herself as she pressed her hands against the cool-to-the-touch backsplash. Ronan was a gifted glass artist. He would have made the tiles himself.
The glass door to the pantry had an inset that matched. She saw a built-in wine cellar that was filled, and plenty of cupboard space. After glancing over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone, she opened one of the cupboards and saw a stack of dishes. Nothing noteworthy. Everyone had dishes. Only these were special.
She picked up one of the plates and studied it. The pattern—one that was similar to the backsplash—was unfamiliar, but she recognized the work. Mathias, Ronan’s brother, had made them. Mathias sold all kinds of dishes, serving pieces, light pendants and blown-glass sinks. As the part-time office manager, she cataloged his work, but she’d never seen these before. Had he made them specially for his brother, and if so, when had that happened? While they weren’t estranged exactly, she couldn’t imagine Ronan asking for something like this.
She put back the dish and turned to the family room. It was definitely a man’s room—the large black sectional faced a movie-theater-size television. There were a few pictures on the wall but what really got her attention was the wooden carved bear in the corner. It was life-size and incredibly realistic. The only thing that kept it from being terrifying was the cup of coffee it held in one paw. She moved closer and saw a plaque at the bottom that read Vern.
Natalie laughed, then touched the wood. She knew the artist of the carved bear as well as she knew the maker of the dishes. Nick was a third Mitchell brother.
She had to admit she was confused. She would swear that Ronan was almost entirely disconnected from his brothers. He barely spoke to them when he was in the gallery workshop and he was spending more and more time up here, on his own. Yet he had their work in his house.
She walked back to the foyer and debated the stairs or the longer hallway. The curved staircase was too intriguing to be ignored, so she went upstairs and found herself in what she assumed was a guest room. There was a queen-size bed, a dresser with a TV on top, a small desk and an adjoining bathroom stocked with basic supplies.
She tried not to shriek when she saw herself in the mirror. Her hair had curled as it dried and was now a bouncing riot of brown ringlets. Oh, to have her blow-dryer and some decent styling product.
She went downstairs and headed down the long hall. She came to a study with a big desk and lots of books. No doubt where Ronan liked to sit and count his money, she thought with a grin. She walked out and glanced to her left. There was only one more doorway and she knew it led to the master bedroom. Temptation whispered, but she ignored the voice. She was exploring, not prying. Besides, she’d already caught a glimpse on her way to the bathroom. She knew what it looked like, even though she very much wanted to spend some quality time admiring his roommate, the sprite. Determined to be a courteous guest, she returned to the foyer, grabbed her tote bag and went into the kitchen.
She sat at the table and pulled a flat plastic box from her bag. She opened it, then flipped through the various pieces of square paper until she found a deep green sheet. She studied it for a second, then began to fold the paper.
Less than two minutes later, she’d finished the origami dragon. From the laundry room, the washer beeped that it had completed its cycle. She got up and put her clothes and the sheets in the dryer, then left the small dragon on Ronan’s desk in the study.
Back in the kitchen, she noticed two doors. One led to the garage and the other led to yet another hallway. No, that wasn’t right. It was a covered walkway, but instead of traditional walls, these were made of glass, allowing her to see out into the storm on both sides. The flooring was stone. She sucked in a breath before taking her first step.
As she followed the path, she realized the glass was curved. There was a door at the other end. A door with a lock. She tried the handle and it turned easily, opening to a much smaller foyer. More doors. One stood open; the other was closed. She moved to the open door and stared into sacred space.
Ronan’s workshop was enormous—probably at least a couple thousand square feet. The ceilings soared. There were two ovens, equipment everywhere. Benches, bins, raw material for making glass and, on the wall opposite, a to-scale-size drawing of his current commission.
On the left was a beautiful swan, on the right an equally stunning dragon. The ten feet in between showed one creature transforming into the other. It was magical enough on paper, but the finished product would be done entirely in glass.
There was a similar rendering back in the gallery workshop. She knew parts of it were finished, but not enough, mostly because these days Ronan wasn’t working. Even now, both ovens were cold and dark.
It occurred to her a second too late that coming into the studio uninvited was much more of an intrusion than going into Ronan’s bedroom. He was an artist and this was—
“Natalie?”
She jumped and turned as Ronan approached. He stepped out of the shadows, all handsome and broody.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
He didn’t look mad or concerned about her being in his studio, which was a relief. She managed a smile.
“Yes, I’m doing laundry. It’s going great.” Ack! That was an incredibly inane thing to say, but he’d startled her.
“I talked to the head of the county road crew. The way down the mountain is blocked. They’re going to try to get it cleared as soon as possible, but the storm has to pass first and the main roads will have priority.”
He paused as if waiting for her to react. She replayed his words and realized the significance. She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
“So I’m stuck. Sorry. You must hate that.”
