She was so weary she could barely move; for two cents she’d have walked out and flown back home…but then she thought of Gram. A shaft of guilt pierced Bree, familiar and painful, for failing Gram when she’d needed her. And because of all those memories of laughter and purpose and joy, Bree was going to find the energy to fix the place again.
“You don’t mind if I take a look upstairs, do you, honey?”
“Wait!” Bree’s lips soundlessly formed the words, but it was too late. Busybody was already ascending the narrow stairs to the loft.
Darn it, that was a private place. Some very foolish young-girl dreams were locked up there; Hart just plain didn’t belong, though it would probably sound silly to vocalize her objections, even if she could. It was just…the rope bed was in the loft, covered with a feather mattress so thick you sank into a cocoon when you lay down. Moonlight had a way of trickling over that bed when you first went to sleep, so bright you couldn’t sleep but only dream-and they were always good dreams. The softness and the silver promise of night were plain old-fashioned erotic. The aphrodisiac of dew-scented flowers always wafted in through the window; the linen always smelled as if it had been softened and dried in the sun-because it had been.
A few moments later, Hart paused halfway down the stairs to close the loft’s trapdoor again, then took three more steps down and perched on a step, studying her. Bree felt warmth rise in her cheeks for no reason at all…or maybe because she was thinking about feather beds. Hart’s lips curled in a perfectly wicked smile. “The place is yours?”
The lump in her throat felt thick and heavy. Yes, it was hers. Gram had left it to Bree in her will. Bree crumbled up the nasty note she had started to write, and simply penned out a plaintive,
In four swift strides. Hart was down the steps and standing in front of her. He chucked her chin with two curled fingers, and his eyes searched hers fiercely. “Whatever it is, Bree, it’s not that bad.
His fingers dropped, as quickly as if he’d never touched her. Startled, Bree let out her breath, but Hart already had his hands jammed loosely in his pockets and was casually looking around the room again. “Guess it’s time I got your groceries,” he said idly. “You want to make out a list, or shall I just buy the obvious basics? How long are you planning to stay here, anyway?”
After a moment, Bree’s lips formed a careful message: “Look, I don’t want anything. Please just-”
“Didn’t catch that. What did you say?” Hart waited. “You know,” he said mildly, “I’ve always believed that people will walk all over you if you don’t stand up and shout about what you want in life.”
He picked up his jacket from the kitchen table, where he had casually draped it earlier. “I’ll be back.”
He closed the door behind him, but that didn’t stop his arrogant words from ringing in her ears like a promise. Seething with helpless fury, Bree spotted a plate within arm’s reach in the open cupboard. Gram had always hated that set of dishes, had meant to seek out more authentic crockery that would suit the cabin as soon as enough of that set broke or cracked to justify the expense. Gram was practical. At the moment, Bree didn’t feel in the least practical; she felt out-of-control frustrated, and she soon sent one china plate hurtling toward the door, to shatter noisily in a thousand tiny pieces.
Shock replaced that instant silly feeling of satisfaction. For heaven’s sake, she’d never thrown anything in her life. Of all the childish…
The door popped open again. A lazy, devilish grin was mounted on Hart’s lips like a trophy. “Tsk, tsk. Who would have guessed you had such a temper?” He added gruffly, “You hold on to that temper until I get back, honey. Anger’s a strong medicine that most people never take advantage of.”
She
Abruptly, she rolled up her sleeves, looped her hair in a rubber band and dug in. Gram always found the energy to banish dust and dirt. She also used to say that determination was worth more than muscle. The past few weeks had been frightening for Bree, discovering how deeply and how long she’d let things just…happen to her. Gram’s death had seemed a last unbearable crisis in a life where she’d taken too many wrong turns. She had to make it right again.
And the very simplest project, like cleaning, made her feel better from the start.
Gram’s back-to-nature philosophy had not extended to sheer foolishness. The main part of the cabin was authentic 1830s, but the lean-to contained civilized goodies-an old washing machine, refrigerator, hot-water heater and more to the present purpose, Gram’s cleaning supplies. For starters, Bree plugged in the electrical appliances and took a match to the gas-run water heater. By some miracle, they all worked.
Once the hot water was pumping into the converted dry sink, she stood on the top of the kitchen table and scrubbed away cobwebs and dust. Using old newspapers, she attacked the windows. She was humming by the time she removed the dustcover from the bed and tossed it in the washer. A blue-and-white tablecloth made for a lively spot of color, as did the bright red rhododendron Bree uprooted from the woods and used as a potted centerpiece.
The cabin took on sparkle in direct proportion to Bree’s taking on grime. She stopped once, to fill a glass with fresh, cold well water, downing it all in long gulps, and then glanced down at herself with a wry grimace. The cream silk blouse had a rip and several snags, and a stripe of dirt looked painted on one sleeve. The linen skirt might make a good rag; she’d already tossed her stockings in the trash; and she must be getting slap-happy tired, because her own dirt struck her as incredibly funny. Even her pink nail polish looked murky gray.
There was a chemical john in the lean-to, but no shower or bathtub. The only way to turn gray skin back to white was to swim in the pond in the ravine. Gram had stubbornly held that cold water never hurt anyone, and then, there was nothing softer than hair washed in lake water. As a kid, Bree had found bathing in the pond high adventure, but as the cabin shaped up and she battled with exhaustion, she didn’t dare strip down and risk having Hart catch her taking a bath.
Of course, maybe he wouldn’t come back. Bree clung to that hope as the minutes passed, making bargains with herself.
It couldn’t have taken four hours to buy groceries, and he really couldn’t possibly know what she wanted anyway. For that matter, if she took a towel and soap down to the pond, the chances of his finding her were nil. No one could see the pond from the road or the back of the house; you had to weave through woods and brush to get there. She would be perfectly safe, getting off her skin the layer of itchy grime that was starting to drive her bananas.
But she was sitting at the kitchen table when Hart walked in. A sponge bath at the sink had moved a little of the dirt around; her chin was cupped in a weary palm, and her eyes were staring resentfully at the door. Toothaches
“We haven’t gotten over our temper, I see. Never mind, a little food will revive you.” He plopped a bag of groceries down on the table in front of her, then disappeared outside for more. Bree’s fingers drummed out the death march on the blue-and-white tablecloth as he carted in three more bags, but she didn’t so much as glance at any of his purchases.
Hart shook his head sadly. “I leave an incredibly attractive woman and come back to a waif. Why do you wear your hair like that, anyway? It makes you look like a skinned rat.”
The insult rolled off her back. What was one more?
“I didn’t mean to be so long, but I got hung up in the real-estate office. Getting out of my lease may be a little tricky, but I think I can manage it. Fishing’s darn good around here, the man told me. Finaker. Know him? Fat old coot. Beer belly the size of a watermelon, wolf teeth, itty-bitty eyes?”
Bree stared at him, determinedly keeping her expression neutral, and told herself that the corners of her mouth were
“You’d better like peanut butter…” Hart reached in the first bag to grab a massive jar of the stuff. “Figured you’d feel too lazy to cook, first day out. Just stay right where you are. I’ll make the sandwiches and unpack the rest of the groceries.”
Bree didn’t flicker an eyelash.
