She was fumbling with the key when he caught up to her.
'The lock keeps sticking.'
'That's because your hands are shaking. Let me help you, Norie.'
She handed him the key, dropping it into his open palm, careful not to touch him. 'A lot of things are broken around here.'
His knee throbbed. 'I noticed.'
He opened the door, and she led him inside, into an icy living room with high ceilings and tall windows. She pulled the chain of an ancient Tiffany lamp. There were wooden rocking chairs and a battered upright piano. The atmosphere was homey, but everything- the furniture, the paint, the curtains-had a faded, much-scrubbed look. There was no central heat. He saw a single gas space heater at one end of the room. It was an old-fashioned house, the type kindly grandmothers were supposed to live in.
'Like I said, it's not the Hale mansion,' Norie apologized again. 'But would you mind taking off your shoes?'
She was about to lean down and remove her own muddy boots, but he grabbed her arm. At his touch a sudden tremor shook her. He felt a strange pull from her, and he couldn't let her go.
'Do you really think I give a damn about your house?' His voice was rasping, unsteady. 'I came to see you.'
For a moment longer he held her. She didn't struggle. He almost wished she had, because he probably would have pulled her into his arms. Her expression was blank; her dark glittering eyes were enormous. He could think of nothing except how beautiful she was. Unconsciously she caught her lower lip with her teeth, and that slight nervous movement drew his gaze to her mouth.
They were alone, in the middle of nowhere. It had been five years. Five long years. He wanted to kiss her, to taste her. But he had made that mistake before- twice-the first night he'd met her, and on her wedding day.
He swallowed hard. 'Thank you… for letting me stay.'
He saw intense emotion in her eyes.
Although it was the most difficult thing he'd ever done, instead of drawing her closer, he released her. She leaned down and pulled her boots off. As he bent over to do the same, the shock of pain that raced from his knee up his thigh made him gasp.
'You're hurt,' she said, kneeling before him. 'I'll do it.'
Standing, he could see nothing but the gypsy-thick waves of her dark hair glistening in the honey-gold glow of the lamp as they spilled over her delicate shoulders. Her loop earrings glittered brightly. He felt her quick, sure hands on his ankles. He caught the dizzying scent of her sensuous perfume. No other woman had such drowsy dark eyes; no other woman possessed this air of purity and enduring innocence that mingled with something so free, so giving.
He had always wanted her. From the first moment he'd seen her angel-sweet face and known the beauty of her smile.
He'd only meant to stop by and see her on his way from San Antonio to Houston, to inform her that Larry had not left her penniless. Grant had intended to take no more than an hour from his busy life. He had a big case to prepare for next week and his Houston project was a mess.
He hadn't expected all his old feelings for her to be stronger than before. It was only one night, he'd told her. One night alone together. Nothing to get flustered over. But his hands were shaking.
Right, he thought grimly. One night. Alone. Together.
The time stretched before him like an eternity. Every slowly kindling nerve in his body burned for her. He clenched his hands into fists.
'There.' She was done.
Smiling up at him, she placed his shoes neatly beside her boots and led him through a series of icy rooms. Since the house had no halls on the lower floor, each room opened into the next. To get to the kitchen and the stairs that led to the upper story, they had to walk through her bedroom. It was large and airy-too airy on a night as cold as this one. As they passed through it, he saw a large four-poster bed, a library table full of books and magazines, and a television set. A large Christmas tree decorated with handmade red and gold ornaments stood in the corner. He caught the crisp aromatic odor of fresh spruce. There was a nativity scene sandwiched in between the books on her table.
'Why is the Christmas tree in your bedroom?' he asked.
'Because we-'
'We?' he demanded. Grant gazed at her for a long moment. 'I thought you lived alone.'
Norie's breath caught in her throat. 'I-I do. What I meant to say is that I spend most of my time there.' She flushed under his hard scrutiny. 'I don't like to heat up the whole house.' She lowered her gaze to avoid his unfaltering one.
He hadn't practiced law for fifteen years without developing an almost uncanny sense about people. She was lying-covering something up. But what? Scanning the room again, he found no trace that a man might share it with her.
He shrugged. The best way to find out was to leave it alone-for now.
The stairs were difficult. His knee hurt so badly he could barely climb the steps, and he felt weak again when he had struggled to the top. He followed her from the dark hallway into a charming bedroom with frilly curtains and yellow flowered paper. The room was as icy as the rest of the house.
She knelt on the faded carpet and lit a fire in the space heater, then rose and went to the bed to find the cord and controls to the electric blanket. He crossed the room to help her.
Together they located the switch, pulled the covers back, and plumped the pillows. It seemed an intimate activity suddenly, unmaking the bed, and he stopped before she was through. For a moment he stood without moving, watching her, enjoying the simple beauty of her doing this simple thing for him.
'There,' she said softly, smoothing the blanket. 'The bathroom is right next door. I'll put out fresh towels. If you're still the same size you were, there are some boxes of Larry's clothes under the bed.' Her eyes darkened. 'I-I never got rid of them.'
'I haven't put on an ounce.'
He felt the heat of her eyes move swiftly over his body, mutely confirming his statement. And then she smiled in her unutterably charming way and blushed rosy pink before she glanced down at the carpet in front of his toes.
'I'll leave you to settle in, but I'll be back… with something hot to eat.' Her tone was light and a little breathless. 'You're probably starving.'
'Oh, I am.' His own voice when he answered was oddly hoarse. He gave her a look that told her it wasn't only food he was hungry for.
She backed away, stumbled against the doorjamb, blushed again, and was gone.
Damn. She was afraid of him.
The jeans Grant found in the box under the bed fit his muscled body like a snug second skin. The black turtleneck sweater molded every hard muscle in his torso, shoulders, and biceps. Well, maybe he'd put on an ounce. Or maybe as he'd gotten older he'd gotten into the habit of wearing looser-fitting clothes. Comforting thought.
As soon as he finished dressing he climbed into the bed to get warm. He lay beneath the toasty electric blanket, listening to the sounds of Norie bustling about in the kitchen beneath him. Outside, the wind was swishing around the corners of the house and whistling under the eaves. But his pillow was soft, the electric blanket warm. The room was beginning to seem almost cozy. He felt a baffling contentment, to be here, alone with Norie, so far from his own exciting but hectic life.
It was odd, Norie choosing this ice-cold house on a remote farm outside of a dying town, as opposed to the life she could have had.
Why?
He had never understood her.
Not from the first.
Maybe that was why he'd made so many mistakes.
His thoughts drifted back in time. Back to the first night when his mother had sent him to Austin to save his
