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“I’m sure I’d be able to pick him out of a crowd based on that description,” Frannie said drily. “Are you comfortable having a man on the farm?”
“Not completely,” Dee admitted. “But I can’t ignore men for the rest of my life. In case you haven’t noticed, they’re everywhere.”
“Well, it’s a start.” Frannie settled the baby at her other breast. “One of these days you’re going to meet some attractive man and realize you’re still young. You never know, maybe you’ll decide to have a fling with this tenant.”
The words caught her by surprise, sent a rush of purely feminine anticipation through her as Ronan’s lean face loomed in her mind’s eye. And she realized she’d hesitated a bit too long as she looked over at her friend, whose eyes were alive with open speculation.
Two
On Monday morning she was on the front porch shaking out the rugs when Ronan came around the corner from the side of the stable that faced the woods.
“Good morning.” He waved as he altered his path and came toward her.
“Good morning.” Deirdre stopped, not sure what else to say. Was she expected to chit-chat with him every time they met? She’d become used to a degree of solitude in the past year; having someone popping up every time she walked outside her house was going to take some getting used to.
“I took a walk down along the creek.” He was smiling. “It’s really beautiful out here. Very inspiring.”
“Inspiring?” She lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe I should have rented that apartment out to an artist.”
“It was just an expression,” he said as his smile faded. His expression was suddenly guarded, his eyes watchful.
What had she said? She replayed the harmless conversation in her head. Weird. “I’m going to the post office in a few minutes,” she said. “Is there anything you want to mail?”
“No.” He considered. “But I might go by there later today. I’ll have to get directions.”
“Sure. There’s one in Frizzelburg, although I use another one so I won’t be able to pick up your mail for you.”
He nodded. “I guess I’d better fill out some change-of-address cards and get a post office box.”
“No prob—”
“Woof-woof-woof-woof-woof!”
She was interrupted by a deep, loud barking that grew closer as the dog making the noise zeroed in on her location. “Stand still!” she said urgently to Ronan. “He’s not fond of strangers.”
Around the corner of the house charged a big, hairy dog, barreling at them full speed. “Murphy, no! Wait!” Her voice was as rough as a drill sergeant’s and she stepped in front of her tenant, scowling at the black-and-white dog.
To her relief, her dog halted his mad charge. He stopped about five feet from her and braced his legs; the hair on his back stood up and his canines showed as the barking became a steady, low-pitched snarl. “Quit that,” she said, walking over to him. “Sit.”
He did both immediately, and she stroked a hand down his nose as she reached him. “Good boy. Lie down.”
The big dog dropped to his belly and she gave him a command to stay. Then she turned to Ronan again, aware that her pulse was racing. What must his be doing?
“I apologize. He’s usually confined to the house or the fenced area, but the boys must have let him out.” On cue, her two sons came tearing around the corner. They stopped dead when they saw her, then slowed and walked toward her at a distinctly unenthusiastic pace.
“Sorry, Mom.” Lee’s big brown eyes were beseeching. “We just sorta forgot the gate was open.”
She hated to scare them, but they had to learn to think before they acted. “Mr. Sullivan was taking his walk. What do you think Murphy would have done if I hadn’t been out here?”
Tommy’s eyes welled with tears and one dripped down his cheek. “Please, Mommy, don’t let them take him away. We promise to shut the gate next time.”
She was aware that her tenant hadn’t moved a muscle, and she thanked God he had good sense. And though every cell in her body cried out to her to comfort her children, she knew she had to make sure they understood. “There better hadn’t be a next time. You may not use that gate. Go through the door on the other end of the porch, remember?”
Two little heads nodded.
“Should we take him back?” Lee asked, indicating the dog.
“No, I need to introduce him to Mr. Sullivan, anyway. But—” she held up a warning finger as her two little terrors turned to scurry away from Mom’s wrath “—two beds need to be made and I don’t want to find clothes on the floor when I come up to check your rooms.”
As they dashed off, she bent and put a hand in Murphy’s collar. “If you don’t mind,” she said to the tenant, “I’d like to let him sniff you so he knows your scent.”
Ronan nodded. “That might be wise.”
His voice was droll, and she relaxed.
Then, his amber eyes curious, he said, “Why do the boys think someone will take him away if he gets out?”
She couldn’t decide how much to tell him, but since the dog was dangerous, it was only fair that he know it. She led Murphy over to him, praising the dog as he thoroughly investigated Ronan and mentally giving her tenant points for not shrinking away. “Murphy bit a man once. But it wasn’t Murph’s fault. The man was hurting someone and he was only trying to protect me. Anyway, my husband—my ex-husband—called the police and told them Murphy was vicious, that he needed to be put down.” She could hear her voice shaking; she stopped and bent her head over the dog, stroking him to give herself a moment. “The dog warden came and took him away right in front of the boys.”
Ronan made a sound of sympathy deep in his throat. “No wonder they’re upset.” Murphy was sniffing his hands and he placed them gently on the animal, scratching the big dog’s ears. Murphy closed his eyes and leaned against Ronan’s legs. “Obviously he wasn’t killed. What happened?”
“He was quarantined for ten days to be sure he wasn’t rabid. While Murph was in quarantine, I got a lawyer to help me convince the authorities that the dog wasn’t vicious. He was evaluated by two different obedience trainers and two veterinarians. All four said he appeared to be of good temperament, that he has protective instincts and he probably was only acting aggressive under ‘appropriate circumstances.’ But they also said it was likely he’d bite again if he perceived a threat to me.” She paused and swallowed, then lifted her head and looked up at Ronan. “Murphy was protecting me from a close encounter with my ex-husband’s temper. He’s classified now as a ‘dangerous dog,’ and if he ever bites again, he’ll be put down. He’s very wary of strangers now, as you might expect, but I don’t believe he would harm you.”
It seemed that her statement was superfluous. Ronan had knelt and was vigorously rubbing Murph’s ribs. As she watched, her “dangerous dog,” rolled over and let Ronan rub his furry white belly. “I’d say he likes you,” she said drily.
“I like him, too.” He tugged playfully on the immense paws flopping in the air.
“If you ever want to take him along on your walks, feel free.”
Ronan rose and so did Murphy, shaking himself vigorously from head to toe, hair flying everywhere. “I’d love to take him with me sometime. And he could use the exercise, I imagine.” Critically he eyed the dog. “He looks like a wolf—is he a husky?”
“He’s an Alaskan malamute,” she said, fondling Murphy’s ear. He leaned against her and she staggered back a step before she could catch herself. “Huskies have blue eyes—mals’ eyes are dark brown.” She glanced at her watch. “Well. I’d better get to work or the morning will be gone.”
“Yeah, me, too.” But he made no move to leave, simply stood there looking at her, an odd expression on his tanned features. “I like your dog,” he said again, then sketched her a mock salute and turned toward the stable.
Chapter One completed Ronan all but patted himself on the back as he got up from his desk and stretched. He lanced at his watch. Four-thirty. Time to knock off for a while. He could put in a few more hours later tonight if he felt like it. But he was well under his deadline, so there was no pressure.
He’d been here four days and already those two little hellions had given him enough material to cover the first several chapters. He’d learned that superglue, once applied, is stuck forever, that chocolate bars left in little pants’ pockets make a major mess in the washing machine and that when you dig up a dead salamander, its skeleton falls apart.
It wasn’t as if he needed that much. A carefully worded sentence here, a phrase there, could give his readers the feeling of knowing his characters. It was more a matter of style, he thought. Each character needed to have a well-defined style. The oldest of the two children in his book was a leader, like Lee. Usually the idea man, the schemer, the one who came up with the ornery ideas. His younger sister—he’d decided at the last minute to make the littler one a girl—was a total tomboy, adoring her big brother and willing to do just about anything he wanted.
And then there was that dog...it would be a real shame not to use that dog in a story sometime. Big Murph, he thought affectionately. He wouldn’t use a malamute, maybe a shepherd or a rottweiler, a breed most people could identify.
Her face invaded his mind, and his fingers stilled on the keys. Deirdre had about the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen, a true, clear green set inside thick black lashes that were so long they curled up naturally at the ends. Her eyebrows were strong, for a woman, making a definite statement above those eyes, letting the world know she wasn’t as soft as that body suggested, and when she regarded a person with that silky dark brow lifted in cool challenge, it was all a person could do not to respond to it. And speaking of responding...man, what a figure she had! He deplored the anorexic look females seemed to go after these days. Deirdre Patten had big breasts, and her hips, while certainly not wide, were beautifully rounded, just tempting a man to pat them. In between was that teeny-tiny waist, a perfect little shelf for his hands to rest.
For a man’s hands, he meant. Any man. Not one in particular.
Hey, there, buddy, he cautioned himself. She might have been your fantasy once, but that’s all she’s going to be. You have work to do. Besides, she clearly wasn’t wealthy and he’d promised himself he’d only chase wealthy women from now on. That way, he’d know they weren’t after him for his money.
But she doesn’t know you’re wealthy. And it’s going to stay that way, he told himself. As soon as you’ve finished this book, you are outta here. In fact, he probably should start scanning the ads now, talk to a Realtor, see what was out there, hunt for a little house in a secluded location like this one.
But to do that, he needed to get a newspaper so that would have to wait until tomorrow. Right now, he felt like taking a walk.
He headed down the stairs and started across the yard toward the house. He’d taken Deirdre up on her offer to let Murphy accompany him on his walk the next day, and he’d brought him along every day since. Circling around the end of the house, he walked along a stone path toward the back.
Along the side of the house, huge clumps of peony bushes were in full bloom. Along the fence beside the nearest pasture, a rambler rose like those he remembered from his childhood was laden with pale pink blossoms. A hummingbird feeder full of red nectar swung gently from a tree, and as he let himself through the whitewashed gate in the fence surrounding the back yard, he saw that Deirdre’s flowers were starting to unfold their cheery blooms in the raised bed to one side of the yard. She couldn’t plant anything along the ground in the backyard, she had explained, because Murphy “christened” everything so frequently that he killed it. Her solution had been to make a box from old railroad ties and fill it with soil, raising the plants above the level of Murphy’s frequent markings. In another little touch of which he approved, she had suspended pots of trailing annuals from wrought-iron arms on the fence.
He’d been charmed the first time he saw the backyard, and he felt the same way today. Murphy wasn’t in the yard, but a terrific barking from inside the house gave away his location. Just as he began to mount the steps leading to the porch, Deirdre appeared at the back door. When she saw him, she opened the screen and Murphy came bounding down the steps to greet him, jumping and leaping in ecstasy. Obviously the dog had figured out that Ronan equaled “walk.”
Deirdre was smiling at his antics as she wiped her hands on a checkered dish towel. Her gaze met his over the dog’s bouncing head, warmth and amusement lighting the green to emerald.
God, she was beautiful. Her black hair was loose, the first time he’d ever seen it that way, framing her heart-shaped face in a riotous mass of curls, and when she smiled like she meant it, her eyes slanted into appealing half moons above high cheekbones. She had a little dimple in one cheek and her cheeks and lips were pink and soft looking. She was wearing denim overall shorts and beneath them...nothing? For a minute, he had visions of those rounded breasts spilling out the sides of the shoulder straps before he realized she was wearing a skimpy tank top with thin straps beneath.
He had the notion that he must look like a landed fish, gasping for breath, but he couldn’t do a damned thing about it. Desire streaked through him, and his body began to stir. He was thankful her dog was so big as he maneuvered Murphy in front of him, and he finally tore his gaze away. “I, ah, I thought I’d take him along with me for a walk again,” he said. But as if they had a mind separate from his willpower, his eyes zeroed right back in on her.
Her hands had stilled on the towel and her eyebrows rose in a questioning look. The atmosphere between them suddenly seemed as intimate as a first kiss; for a minute, she looked as dazed as he felt. Then Tommy appeared behind her, and she turned to slip an arm around her son.
She cleared her throat, staring at the dog rather than Ronan. “That’s fine.”
He watched her lips form the words, then realized he needed to respond.
“I’ll have Murphy back in about an hour,” he said slowly. “In time for his dinner.”
“Did you eat yet?” Tommy asked him.
Ronan shook his head, smiling at the child. “Not yet. It’s a little early.”
“Maybe you can eat wif us. I’m helpin’ cook a cake.” The little boy looked hopefully up at his mother. “Is there enough spaghetti for Mr. Sullivan, Mom?”
She was looking at him again and he could see the refusal gathering in her eyes.
Whatever common sense he possessed flew right out through the open space between his ears. If there was any way he was going to get a chance to spend more time in her company, he’d take it. “Spaghetti sounds great. If it’s okay with your mom.” He addressed his words to Tommy, but he was still looking at Tommy’s mother.
“You’re welcome to join us,” she said, breaking the eye contact and looking away, out over the fence at the fields beyond. “We’ll call it a thank-you for walking my dog.”
He didn’t care what she called it. As he turned, he could still see her eyes in his mind, luminous with unanswered questions.
She knew he was returning when she heard Murphy’s big feet beat a tattoo on the wooden boards of the porch. She went to open the door for the dog, then held it wide until Ronan had mounted the steps and come inside. As he approached, she saw that he carried a bottle of red wine. “This might go nicely with the pasta,” he said.
“Thank you.” He was holding out the bottle and she took it, a bit startled as she recognized the label. Her tenant had expensive taste in wines.
He stood just inside the door, taking in the room, and she saw what he was seeing. She’d worked hard to make this house a haven for her and the boys, and she was proud of the end result. Oh, there were any number of things yet that the old house needed, but she felt happy here.
Copper pots hung around the old stone fireplace and a variety of half-burned candles, some rolled from beeswax by the boys, stood on the mantel. A wooden trestle table took up much of one end of the room on an oval rag rug near the fireplace; upside-down bundles of drying herbs and flowers hung from the exposed beams of the ceiling. At the other end of the room, more rugs were scattered over the brick floor, while unobtrusive—but thoroughly modern—black appliances gleamed. Oil lamps, a wrought-iron “tree” full of baskets, a rocking chair with an afghan tossed over the back...this was her kitchen.
She already had set the table with glazed ceramic pottery, a treasure she’d resuscitated after finding it in a box in the attic. Now she said, “Dinner is almost ready. Tommy. Call your brother and wash your hands.”
“Not a bad idea,” said Ronan.
“There’s a powder room on the right down the hall,” she said, pointing with the wooden spoon she was about to dip into the spaghetti sauce.
He disappeared behind Tommy, and as he left the room, she felt the invisible presence he seemed to carry around him disappear, too. She’d dreamed about Ronan last night, an embarrassingly detailed dream from which she’d woken aroused and unfulfilled, wondering what it would be like to have him kiss her, touch her. It was only that she’d been alone so long, she had told herself, and he was here, underfoot all the time. And she knew from his concern the night of that abominable Christmas party that he was a nice man.
He was good-looking, despite the way she’d downplayed him to Frannie. His chestnut hair had a reddish cast to it in the sunlight, and his jaw—often stubbled as if he’d forgotten to shave—was square, with a deep dimple right at the bottom of his chin. He towered over her, though that wasn’t difficult since she was only two inches over five feet, and she’d noticed that although he gave the impression of being lean, his shoulders blocked the light when he passed through her low doorway. His eyes were like a big cat’s, mesmerizing his prey, the golden gaze piercing and direct, ferreting out every secret she thought she had hidden.
The telephone rang as she was putting cheese and a salad on the table.
“Hella?”
“Hello, honey.”
“Hi, Mom.” She tucked the phone into the curve of her neck as she continued to work. “What’s up?”
“I have a favor to ask. Or maybe I’ll be doing you one, depending on your point of view.” Her mother chuckled. “Your father came home with tickets to the circus for tomorrow. We’d like to take the boys, if you don’t have plans. In fact—” her voice warmed enthusiastically as the brainstorm hit “—why don’t I come get them and let them spend the night? I can be there in thirty minutes, they’d have a little time to play this evening, maybe take a late swim in the pool, and then they can sleep in tomorrow. We don’t need to leave to get to the circus until about ten.”
Her mother’s timing couldn’t have been worse. If she came for the boys in thirty minutes, Deirdre would have to finish the meal alone with Ronan, a situation more awkward than she could imagine. But search as she might, she couldn’t come up with a plausible reason to nix the plan. “I guess that would be okay, Mom. If it’s all right with the boys.”
Both children and their guest had straggled back into the kitchen as she spoke on the phone. She held the receiver to her shoulder and said to Lee and Tommy, “Would you guys like to spend the night with Gramma and Grampa and go to the circus tomorrow?”
Wild war whoops were the answer, and she motioned for quiet as she said to her mother, “I think that’s a yes. See you shortly.”
Quickly, she got the rest of the meal on the table, adding two wineglasses and handing Ronan a corkscrew as she cut the boys’ spaghetti into manageable sizes. She tried not to notice how efficiently Ronan opened the bottle with a few deft twists of his wrist, then slowly and smoothly extracted the cork before filling her glass and his.
“We can dispense with the tasting ceremony,” he said.
She made a determined effort to smile casually, nodding in agreement. It felt incredibly strange to be sitting at a table with a man again, although if she was truthful, Nelson had rarely taken family meals with them. Most of the time she and the kids had been on their own.
“So tell us where you’ve been going when you walk,” she said. “Have you found a favorite spot yet?”
He considered the question, but Lee couldn’t stand to be quiet for long. “We all have a special spot,” he said. “Mine’s the big rock up on the hill. It’s my fort.”
“An’ mine’s the pine tree clearing,” said his brother. “We play we live in there sometimes.”
Ronan smiled. For the first time he noticed Lee was missing both top front teeth. His little brother had a lisp a deaf person could hear. They were both so damned cute he thought they could be the kids he saw in commercials. “You’ll have to show me your fort and your house in the clearing someday,” he said. “Maybe next week you can come with me when I take my walk.”
“O-kay!” Lee clenched his fist in the air and drew it down to his side.
“Nelson Lee.” His mother was giving him the eye. “You have manners. Use them.”
“So.” Ronan thought he’d draw fire away from the kid. “Does Mom have a special spot?”
“Uh, not re—”
“Yep.” Lee bounced in his chair. “She likes the creek. She takes off her shoes and goes wading sometimes.”
“One time we all taked off everyfing and got inna water.”
Deirdre made a choking sound. A deep red blush washed up from her neck to her hairline as she said to Tommy, “Do you remember our rule about telling Private Family Stuff?” To Ronan she said, “Don’t ever have children. The whole world hears all.” She picked up her wineglass and took a healthy swallow, but he noticed she wouldn’t look him in the eye.
