Eden's Dream (2 page)

T
he next morning
, Eden woke early, threw on bright red sweats and an oversized shirt, and raced outside, coffee mug in hand.

A cool spring breeze greeted her as she ran down the winding stairway leading to rolling green lawns. Overgrown wildflowers created borders separating the neighbors' property. To her right lived Noel Robinson, and to her left was an elderly couple, seldom seen. She galloped across carefully tended garden beds, determined to finish her herb garden today.

Trowel in hand, Eden dug into the moist soil. She breathed in the clean spring air, cleared her mind, and concentrated only on the row of holes she mechanically dug. After a while, she leaned back, fumbled for her cooled coffee, tossed it down, then lit a cigarette. Then flexing cramped limbs, she gingerly eased upright and began a series of stretches and bends, compensating for the exercise classes she sorely missed.

The pounding of sneakers against concrete broke her concentration. Eden moved to the side of the house, hoping to get a better view of the runner. She sucked in her breath, as high-topped Nike sneakers; skimpy white gym shorts; and a huffing, puffing Noel Robinson headed her way. Noel's bare chest slowly filled her vision. His curly hair stretched flat against his head, and beads of perspiration trickled down his face, settling in the thick patch of hair around his solar plexus. In a futile attempt to stop the sweat, he dabbed at his chest with the towel draped around his neck. Eden dragged on her cigarette as if dependent on it for life-giving air. She exhaled a huge smoke ring and waited for her stomach to settle. Noel Robinson was one fine man, even at this early hour.

As if sensing he was being watched, Noel backpedaled. “Morning,” he grunted. His voice sounded even more gravelly than the night before.

“Morning,” Eden answered, openly gaping.

Jogging in place, he pointed at her dangling cigarette. “Nasty habit.”

For some reason his comment irked her. Who was he to judge her when he didn't have a clue what she'd been through? She wondered how he'd cope if he'd lost his lover only six weeks before their planned wedding.

“That's a matter of opinion, and I didn't ask for yours,” Eden snapped. “Just be thankful it's not a cigar.”

“Touché.” Noel seemed amused that he'd pushed her buttons. Using the towel, he dabbed at his forehead then patted his taut middle. “What are you doing up at this hour, anyway?”

Painfully conscious of each trickling rivulet of sweat on the man facing her, Eden waved the trowel at him. “Gardening.”

“You do that a lot.”

Eden changed the topic. “Aren't you going to be late for work?” She already knew the answer. She'd never ever seen him dressed for business.

Noel's affability disappeared. He muttered something she didn't hear, then said, “See you around,” and jogged off.

Pushing Noel Robinson firmly out of mind, Eden returned to the abandoned garden. She placed mint, thyme, basil, and sage into the holes she'd dug, then smoothed dirt around the roots. As she sat back to admire her handiwork, a movement on the second floor of Noel's house captured her attention. Outlined in the window was a very pleasing view of the man himself.

A burgundy towel rode Noel's hips, and he used a striped towel to dry his hair. Fascinated, Eden gaped as sepia muscles rippled with each circular motion. She followed the fluidity of each movement, the insides of her mouth dry, her breathing labored. The towel inched downward, and Noel made no attempt to hike it up. Eden's eyes popped as the perfectly proportioned butt of Noel Robinson came into view. Heat flooded her cheeks, and her stomach did an ominous flip-flop. A feeling she refused to acknowledge surfaced. On the double, she jogged back to her house.

She scooted through the back door at the same time Kahlua chose to escape. The cat bounded over her insteps, and Eden raced after her. Kahlua, a citified cat with no claws, would not fare well outdoors.

“Kahlua!” Eden cried. “Kahlua!”

She bounded across rolling green lawns, the Maine Coon Cat several yards ahead of her. Exasperated, she watched Kahlua leap over the hedge and disappear into Noel's front yard.

“Darn cat. I'll get you for this,” Eden muttered, already knowing that no amount of threats would bring Kahlua back.

On the other side of the bushes, the cat's meows taunted her. Taking a deep breath, Eden straddled the hedge.

Just her luck Kahlua would choose to hide on Noel Robinson's property.

N
oel Robinson peeked
through the blinds he'd just lowered. A shapely red derriere filled his view. Incredible, but he'd just been thinking about his nosy neighbor, and presto, she'd appeared.

Through a stroke of good fortune, he'd managed to rent the house next door, bringing him one step closer to his goal of getting to know Eden Sommers. Truth be known, he'd enjoyed spying on her these last few weeks. She was an incredibly good-looking woman, with skin the color of honey and legs guaranteed to stop you in your tracks. Huge brown eyes with long, long lashes dominated a heart-shaped face that needed no cosmetics to render it stunning. High cheekbones, nostrils that flared slightly, and a full pair of lips completed the package.
Easy, boy. You've been suckered by a pretty face before.

Noel smiled as the object of Eden's search sauntered across his front lawn directly behind her. Thinking quickly, he raced down the stairs, entered the kitchen, poured a bowl of milk, and returned to the terrace.
“Psssst,”
he ventured.
“Psssst”
Keeping his voice low, be added, “Here, kitty” and set the bowl down.

He watched Eden crouch on her knees, head partially submerged in the bush. Noel saw the corpulent cat sniff the air suspiciously. He picked up the bowl, jiggled it in the direction of the cat, set it back down and retreated inside to wait. Tail at full mast, the animal bounded up the stairs on three legs, the milk drawing her like a magnet. Eden, obviously unaware of what was going on, now lay chest down, her head and shoulders shrouded in greenery.

While the cat quickly lapped up the milk, Noel crept up behind her. Sensing his presence, the kitty threw a suspicious look over one shoulder but showed no sign of leaving. Noel bent over, scooped the animal into his arms, and stroked the feline's fur. “Did you run away from Mama?” he crooned.

The cat purred. A tiny pink tongue flicked. She made short work of the milk on her whiskers.

Noel decided it was time to have fun with his reclusive next-door neighbor.

“Can I help you find something?” he shouted.

Eden's body jerked. As she backed out of the hedge, Noel suppressed the desire to laugh. Every hair on his neighbor's head pointed in a different direction. A collection of leaves and buds nested as if waiting to bear fruit; her sweatshirt was covered with burrs and sticks. Even from this distance he sensed her embarrassment.

Feeling contrite, Noel held out the mischievous cat. “This creature wouldn't be what you're missing?”

“Kahlua, you bad girl,” Eden said, waggling a finger at her pet. Seeing Noel's amused expression, she smoothed her hair.

The cat's lids remained tightly closed. She ignored Eden, purred loudly and settled more comfortably in Noel's arms.

Impulsively, Noel gestured to Eden with his free hand. “Come on up.”

Eden hesitated. She threw him a look that he could only interpret as fear. Why was she so skittish? he wondered.

“Hey, I don't bite. And I'm not known to kick animals or old people. See.” He held the cat out. “Even your cat knows I'm trustworthy.”

Eden started up the stairs slowly. Noel watched her climb the stairs as if heading for the gallows. Did he have body odor or something? True, he'd been short with her last evening, but he didn't think he'd been rude. Besides, in his business, you had to be cautious. Telling a virtual stranger his life history could be suicide.

Eden stood on the landing now. Smiling, Noel hurried to greet her. He held out her cat. “Hi, Kahlua's mother.”

For a beat too long, his gaze met startled brown eyes. Noel felt the electricity in the air. His fingers brushed the back of Eden's hand as he placed the cat in her arms. At last he broke the stare and flicked a spot of lint off his jeans. Romance was definitely not part of the plan, especially with a fickle airline type. He'd been there, done that. Never again. Even so, he heard himself say, “How about a cup of coffee? I just made a fresh pot of decaffeinated.”

A tinge of pink colored the honey of Eden's skin. Noel held his breath. “Come on, you can spare a moment,” he cajoled.

“Thanks. That's very kind of you.”

He crossed the wraparound deck and headed indoors. Eden followed with Kahlua. Inside smelled like cedar. Vaulted wooden ceilings, awesome glass walls, masses of greenery hung from the rafters. Noel led her to a chocolate-leather sectional positioned in front of a fieldstone fireplace. An oak parsons table held an assortment of books and magazines and rested on a plush goat skin rug. Eden took the seat he indicated, sinking into the comfortable upholstery.

“Set Kahlua down right there,” Noel ordered, patting the spot next to her. “Now, what do you take in your coffee?”

“Black's fine,” Eden said, settling Kahlua.

When Noel turned away, the cat followed him. Eden's tense voice caused Noel to look back. “There's something wrong with Kahlua's back leg.” Sure enough, the cat hobbled.

“What's wrong, kitty?” Noel asked, bending over to examine Kahlua's limb and gently probing the animal's paw. Eden held her breath, thinking of the vet bill. Noel ran a thumb over Kahlua's footpad. He touched the sleeve of her sweatshirt and said, “I think I found the problem. See.” He beckoned her closer. “Somewhere in her roaming, your cat picked up a thorn. If you hold her, I'll get some tweezers.” He deposited the cat on Eden's lap, then disappeared.

Eden expelled the breath she'd been holding. Her leave of absence status meant living on a strict budget, and already her meager savings had dwindled. Thankfully, there'd be no vet bill. After twisting her hair into a single braid, she reached for a magazine on the coffee table and flipped through it, quickly turning each page. A puzzled frown surfaced as she stopped to read a few paragraphs of an article entitled, “What went wrong with Pelican's Flight 757?” Rod's plane.

Why would Noel Robinson have a copy of
Flight International
magazine? she wondered. What interest would he have in planes or crashes? Eden glanced at the cover of the periodical, her eyes focusing on the tiny white label. Noel subscribed to
Flight International
? No, not exactly. The label was addressed to a Noah Robbins of Germantown, Maryland. Though the names were awfully similar, Noel could have borrowed the magazine, she supposed.

He returned with tweezers and two steaming mugs of coffee. He set the cups down and took the seat next to her. For some inexplicable reason his closeness made her uneasy. Could it be the heat from his skin radiating a warmth the coffee couldn't rival; the clean, fresh fragrance of the soap he'd used to shower. God, she needed her space. Noel Robinson threatened walls she'd built around her heart—made her want to examine her feelings for Rod. She needed a cigarette badly.

Kahlua made purring sounds, and fickle creature that she was, climbed onto Noel's lap. He maneuvered the animal's body until he could see the hurt paw, and with tweezers held between slender brown fingers, plucked out the thorn.

“See, that didn't hurt,” he said, nuzzling the animal's head with his chin. Setting Kahlua back on Eden's lap, he pointed to the untouched cup. “Your coffee's getting cold.”

With stiff fingers, Eden brought the mug to her lips. She took a deep swallow, savoring the rich liquid. “Hmm, heaven. I'd hazard a guess it's not the grocery-store variety.”

Noel didn't answer right off. He lifted his cup, sipped and confirmed, “Actually, it's a special blend I picked up—” then abruptly changed the topic. “So tell me what made you move from—”

“New York City.”

“I should have guessed.”

Eden bristled. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Noel patted her forearm. Where he touched tingled. In a protective gesture, Eden tightened her arms around Kahlua.

Sounding contrite, he said. “Hey, I didn't mean to offend you. It's just the accent's usually a giveaway.”

“Oh.” The word whooshed out. Now she planned on giving him as good as he'd given her. “All right, Mr. Smart Alec, it's your turn. Where are you from? And don't give me this business about here, there, and everywhere.”

The seconds ticked by. At first she thought he wasn't going to answer, then finally, “You were close last evening.” He scooped Kahlua off her lap and abruptly stood. “Now that you've seen the living room, want to see the rest of the house?”

She was too busy processing information to answer right off. Close? Did that mean Maryland? Eventually she focused on his question, nodding. She'd always loved houses, the more unique, the better. What seemed like a lifetime ago she'd had aspirations of becoming an architect. Over the years she'd modified that dream, deciding that interior design might be more realistic. Now Rod's untimely death had put an end to those hopes. With no one to help her, school would hardly be an option. A hectic work schedule didn't allow for both.

“I'd love to,” Eden said at last, realizing this might be her only opportunity. Most likely she'd never see the inside of Noel's house again. She didn't plan on getting tight with him.

“So what do you do?” Noel's question penetrated.

Eden shot him a quizzical look. He discouraged inquiries of a personal nature but was interested in her life? “Right now nothing,” she answered.

“Oh?”

They'd entered a sterile-looking kitchen. Noel made a sweeping gesture. “My kitchen. A place that hardly gets used.'

Eden bit the insides of her cheek so as not to smile. She took in the pristine granite and remembered the stacks of TV dinners piled into his shopping cart last evening. Graciously she said, “You do make good coffee, though.”

A flash of white acknowledged the compliment. The cleft at his chin was even more pronounced. She'd seen his handsome face someplace before. Where? And she'd heard the name Noah Robbins.

Quickly, Noel guided her across wooden floors and down a long hallway. Every inch of wall space was covered by ornately framed works of art. Originals she'd guess, judging by the signatures. Recognizing the work of Lee White, America's foremost black artist, Eden stopped to admire several pieces.

Noticing Eden's interest in White's rendition of mother and child, Noel said, “You must like art.”

“Only if it speaks to me.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Does that piece speak to you?”

“Very much.”

They'd come to a closed door. Noel threw the door wide. “I think of this as my library.” His gesture included an austere room where a burgundy-leather couch dominated. A bookcase held what easily had to be hundreds of books. Against one wall were unfinished pieces of furniture.

Spotting a handsome armoire, Eden headed over to it. “Is that your work?” She moved in closer, running a hand over the rough wood. “Nice.”

Noel beamed his thanks and quickly changed the topic. “What did you do when you worked?”

Why was he so interested? Having nothing to hide, she answered him honestly. “I'm a quality assurance supervisor for Pelican Air. I'm on a leave of absence, taking stock of my life.”

Noel perched on the sofa, his arms folded across his chest. “How come?”

“How come what?”

“How come you're taking stock of your life?”

His directness surprised her, and though several months had passed, she found it difficult to put her feelings into words. Still, maybe telling her story to a virtual stranger with no preconceived notions would be therapeutic. It certainly wouldn't hurt. She chose her words carefully.

“I lost the man I loved several months ago, just weeks before we were—supposed to be married. Since then, I've taken time off to regroup and reevaluate my life so to speak.”

“I'm sorry.”

Eden heard compassion in his voice; he seemed to sense her pain. A muscle in his jaw worked overtime, and his green eyes were hooded.

Noel's voice invaded her thoughts. “How did you lose him? Something tells me he didn't just walk out on a beautiful woman like you. He'd have to be crazy.”

Eden attempted to ignore the compliment. Noel Robinson had a silver tongue. She'd have to remember that. “He didn't walk away.”
But in a sense he had.
“He was killed.” There, she'd said it.

Something in Noel's eyes sparked. He covered the space between them. “Killed?” He repeated, taking her hand. “Killed, as in intentionally done away with? I'm so sorry, Eden.”

“I think he was murdered,” Eden said quietly.

“Come.” Noel had tucked her hand in his. He tugged her along. “Let's go sit on the sun porch where it's more comfortable.”

The room ran the length of the house and was aptly named. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls permitted the morning sun to shine in, and at the same time gave an unobstructed view of Lake Washington. Eden sat on an elaborately carved wooden bench next to Noel. He'd replenished their coffee, and both held mugs. “So tell me,” he began, “how was your fiancé murdered?”

Eden mumbled her words, refusing to look at him. “Rod was killed in a plane crash.”

“I'd hardly call that murder.”

“I do.” The words rushed out, toppling over each other. “What if that plane wasn't serviced properly? What if it had a history of mechanical problems that never quite got fixed? What if senior management knew it should be sitting in a hangar somewhere being repaired, yet they made him take that plane out with eighty innocent people on it?” She began to cry.

“That's a pretty serious accusation,” Noel said softly. One hand began a slow massage of her back and neck. His other hand tucked wisps of hair from her face. She sobbed uncontrollably now, and Noel pulled her into his arms, offering his wide chest for comfort.

Eden found a haven in his strong arms. Her face pressed against a T-shirt smelling like Tide. Underneath her cheek was pure, sinewy muscle, and with every heave, she felt those muscles ripple. “You have no idea how I hate to cry,” she murmured. “What you must think of me.”