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“I won’t, truly I won’t,” Mari promised. “He sure is healthy looking for a dying man, isn’t he?”
“Rugged,” Lillian said. “Real rugged. He’d never let on that he was in pain.”
“Poor brave man,” Mari said with a sigh. “He’s so tough.”
Lillian grinned as she turned away.
* * *
“Did his sister like this house?” Mari asked later after she’d unpacked and was helping Lillian in the kitchen.
“Oh, yes,” Lillian confided to her niece. “But the boss hates it!”
“Is his sister like him?” Mari asked.
“To look at, no. But in temperament, definitely,” the older woman told her. “They’re both high-strung and mean tempered.”
“You mentioned that he had a male secretary,” Mari reminded her as she rolled out a piecrust.
“Yes. David Meadows. He’s young and very efficient, but he doesn’t like being called a secretary.” Lillian grinned. “He thinks he’s an administrative assistant.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
“I don’t know what the boss would do without him, either,” Lillian continued as she finished quartering the apples for the pie. Another apple pie might soften him up a little, she was thinking. “David keeps everything running smoothly around here, from paying the accounts to answering the phone and scheduling appointments. The boss stays on the road most of the time, closing deals. The oil business is vast these days. Last week he was in Saudi Arabia. Next week he’s off to South America.”
“All that traveling must get tiresome,” Mari said, her blue eyes curious. “Isn’t it dangerous for him in his condition?”
For a moment Lillian looked hunted. Then she brightened. “Oh, no, the doctor says it’s actually good for him. He takes it easy, and it keeps his mind off things. He never talks about it, though. He’s a very private person.”
“He seems terribly cold,” Mari remarked thoughtfully.
“Camouflage,” Lillian assured her. “He’s warm and gentle and a prince of a man,” she added. “A prince! Now, get this pie fixed, girl. You make the best pies I’ve ever tasted, even better than my own.”
“Mama taught me,” Mari said gently. “I really miss her sometimes. Especially in the autumn. We used to go up into the mountains to see the leaves. Dad was always too busy, but Mama and I were adventurous. It’s been eight years since she died. And only one since Dad went. I’m glad I still have you.”
Lillian tried not to look touched, but she was. “Get busy,” she said gruffly, turning away. “It isn’t good to look back.”
That was true, Mari thought, keeping her own thoughts on the present instead of the past. She felt sad about Ward Jessup—even if he was a dreadful oilman. She’d heard her aunt talk about him for so many years that she felt as if she knew him already. If only she could make it through the week without making him angry or adding to his problems. She just wanted to help him, if he’d let her.
Mari was just going into the other room to call him when her attention was caught by the stream running through the room, lit by underwater colored lights. It was eerie and beautiful indoor “landscaping,” with plants everywhere and literally a stream running through the middle of the living room, wide enough to swim in.
Not paying much attention to where she was going, Mari backed along the carpet, only half aware of footsteps, and suddenly collided with something warm and solid.
There was a terribly big splash and a furious curse. When she turned around, she felt herself go pale.
“Oh, Mr. Jessup, I’m sorry,” she wailed, burying her cheeks in her hands.
He was very wet. Not only was he soaked, but there was a lily pad on top of his straight black hair that had been slicked down by all the water. He was standing, and though the water came to his chin, he looked very big and very angry. As he sputtered and blinked, Mari noticed that his green eyes were exactly the shade of the lily pad.
“Damn you…” he began as he moved toward the carpeted “shore” with a dangerous look on his dark face. At that moment nobody would have guessed that he was a dying man. As quick as lightning he was out of the water, dripping on the carpet. Suddenly Mari forgot his delicate condition and ran like hell.
“Aunt Lillian!”
Mari ran for the kitchen as fast as her slender legs could carry her, a blur in jeans and a white sweatshirt as she darted down the long hall toward the relative safety of the kitchen.
Behind her, soggy footsteps and curses followed closely.
“Aunt Lillian, help!” she cried as she dashed through the swing door.
She forgot that swing doors tend to swing back when forcibly opened by hysterical people. It slammed back into a tall, wet, cursing man. There was an ominous thud and the sound of shattering ceramic pieces.
Lillian looked at her niece in wide-eyed shock. “Oh, Mari,” she said. Her ears told her more than she wanted to know as she stared at the horrified face of her niece. “Oh, Mari.”
“I think Mr. Jessup may need a little help, Aunt Lillian,” Mari began hesitantly.
“Prayer might be more beneficial at the moment, dear,” Aunt Lillian murmured nervously. She wiped her hands on her printed apron and cautiously opened the swing door to peer into the dining room.
Ward Jessup was just sitting up among the ruins of his table setting, china shards surrounding him. His suit was wet, and there was a puddle of water under him as he tugged his enormous frame off the floor. His eyes were blazing in a face that had gone ruddy in anger. He held on to a chair and rose slowly, glaring at Lillian’s half-hidden face with an expression that told her there was worse to come.
“She’s really a nice girl, boss,” Lillian began, “once you get to know her.”
He brushed back his soaked hair with a lean, angry hand, and his chest rose and fell heavily. “I have a meeting just after supper,” he said. “I sent the rest of my suits to the cleaner’s this afternoon. This is the last suit I had. I didn’t expect to go swimming in it.”
“We could dry it and I could…press it,” Lillian suggested halfheartedly, pretty sure that she couldn’t do either.
“I could forget the whole damned thing, too,” he said curtly. He glared at Lillian. “Nothing is going to make up for this, you know.”
She swallowed. “How about a nice freshly baked apple pie with ice cream?”
He tilted his head to one side and pursed his lips. “Freshly baked?” “Freshly baked.”
“With ice cream?”
“That’s right,” she promised.
He shrugged his wet shoulders. “I’ll think about it.” He turned and sloshed off down the hall.
Lillian leaned back against the wall and stared at her transfixed niece. “Honey,” she said gently, “would you like to tell me what happened?”
“I don’t know,” Mari burst out. “I went in to call him to the table, and I started looking at that beautiful artificial stream, and the next thing I knew, he’d fallen into it. I must have, well, backed into him.”
“How you could miss a man his size is beyond me.” Lillian shook her head and grabbed a broom and dustpan from the closet.
“I had my back to him, you know.”
“I wouldn’t ever do that again after this if I were you,” the older woman advised. “If it wasn’t for that apple pie, even I couldn’t save you!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mari said apologetically. “Oh, Aunt Lillian, that poor, brave man.” She sighed. “I hope he doesn’t get a chill because of me. I’d never be able to live with myself!”
“There, there,” Lillian assured her, “he’s tough, you know. He’ll be fine. For now, I mean,” she added quickly.
Mari covered her face with her hands in mingled relief and suppressed amusement. Ward Jessup was quite a man. How sad that he had such little time left. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the look on his face when he climbed out of the indoor stream, or the excited beat of her heart as she’d run from him. It was new to be chased by a man, even an ill one, and exhilarating to be uninhibited in one’s company. She’d been shy with men all her life, but she didn’t feel shy with Ward. She felt…feminine. And that was as new to her as the rapid beat of her heart.
Chapter Three
“I didn’t mean to knock you into the pool,” Mari told Ward the minute he entered the dining room.
He stopped in the doorway and stared at her from his great height. His hair was dry now, thick and straight against his broad forehead, and his wet clothes had been exchanged for dry jeans and a blue plaid shirt. His green eyes were a little less hostile than they had been minutes before.
“It isn’t a pool,” he informed her. “It’s an indoor stream. And next time, Miss Raymond, I’d appreciate it if you’d watch where the hell you’re going.”
“Yes, sir,” she said quickly.
“I told you not to let him put that stream in the living room,” Lillian gloated.
He glared at her. “Keep talking and I’ll give you an impromptu swimming lesson.”
“Yes, boss.” She turned on her heel and went back into the kitchen to fetch the rest of the food.
“I really am sorry,” Mari murmured.
“So am I,” he said unexpectedly, and his green eyes searched hers quietly. “I hope I didn’t frighten you.”
She glanced down at her shoes, nervous of the sensations that his level gaze prompted. “It’s hard to be afraid of a man with a lily pad on his head.”
“Stop that,” he grumbled, jerking out a chair.
“You might consider putting up guardrails,” she suggested dryly as she sat down across from him, her blue eyes twinkling with the first humor she’d felt in days.
“You’d better keep a life jacket handy,” he returned.
She stuck her tongue out at him impulsively and watched his thick eyebrows arch.
He shook out his napkin with unnecessary force and laid it across his powerful thighs. “My God, you’re living dangerously,” he told her.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said smartly and meant it.
“That isn’t what your Aunt Lillian says,” he observed with narrowed eyes.
She stared at him blankly. “I beg your pardon?”
“She says you’re afraid of men,” he continued. He scowled at her puzzled expression. “Because of what happened to you and your friend,” he prompted.
She blinked, wondering what her aunt had told him about that. After all, having your purse pinched by an overweight juvenile delinquent wasn’t really enough to terrify most women. Especially when she and Beth had run the offender down, beaten the stuffing out of him, recovered the purse and sat on him until the police got there.
“You know, dear,” Lillian blustered as she came through the door, shaking her head and smiling all at once. She looked as red as a beet, too. “The horrible experience you had!”
“Horrible?” Mari asked.
“Horrible!” Lillian cried. “We can’t talk about it now!”
“We can’t?” Mari parroted blankly.
“Not at the table. Not in front of the boss!” She jerked her head curtly toward him two or three times.
“Have you got a crick in your neck, Aunt Lillian?” her niece asked with some concern.
“No, dear, why do you ask? Here! Have some fried chicken and some mashed potatoes!” She shoved dishes toward her niece and began a monologue that only ended when it was time for dessert.
“I think something’s wrong with Aunt Lillian,” Mari confided to Ward the moment Lillian started back into the kitchen for the coffeepot.
“Yes, so do I,” he replied. “She’s been acting strangely for the past few days. Don’t let on you know. We’ll talk later.”
She nodded, concerned. Lillian was back seconds later, almost as if she was afraid to leave them alone together. How strange.
“Well, I think I’ll go up to bed,” Mari said after she finished her coffee, glancing quickly at Aunt Lillian. “I’m very tired.”
“Good idea,” Ward said. “You get some rest.”
“Yes,” Lillian agreed warmly. “Good night, dear.”
She bent to kiss her aunt. “See you in the morning, Aunt Lillian,” she murmured and glanced at Ward. “Good night, Mr. Jessup.”
“Good night, Miss Raymond,” he said politely.
Mari went quietly upstairs and into her bedroom. She sat by the window and looked down at the empty swimming pool with its wooden privacy fence and the gently rolling, brush-laden landscape, where cattle moved lazily and a green haze heralded spring. Minutes later there was a stealthy knock at the door, and Ward Jessup came into the room, scowling.
“Want me to leave the door open?” he asked hesitantly.
She stared at him blankly. “Why? Are you afraid I might attack you?”
He stared back. “Well, after the experience you had, I thought…”
“What experience?” she asked politely.
“The man at the shopping center,” he said, his green eyes level and frankly puzzled as he closed the door behind him.
“Are you afraid of me because of that?” she burst out. “I do realize you may be a little weak, Mr. Jessup, but I promise I won’t hurt you!”
He gaped at her. “What?”
“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” she assured him. “I’m not really as bad as Aunt Lillian made me sound, I’m sure. And it’s only a red belt, after all, not a black one. I only sat on him until the police came. I hardly even bruised him—”
“Whoa,” he said curtly. He cocked his dark head and peered at her. “You sat on him?”
“Sure,” she agreed, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Didn’t she tell you that Beth and I ran the little weasel down to get my purse back and beat the stuffing out of him? Overweight little juvenile delinquent, he was lucky I didn’t skin him alive.”
“You weren’t attacked?” he persisted.
