Falling for Rain (2 page)

“There's heat and water,” Rain continued, “but no phone. I could come over and show you where things are.”

“I used to live here, remember? I think I can still find the bathroom,” she said.

“Alright,” he replied, sounding defensive. “I was just trying to be helpful.”

She still hadn't told him why she was here. She took a deep breath and, avoiding his eyes, delivered her news. “I'm selling the farm,” she announced, her voice sounding hard and cold even to her own ears.
“As soon as possible.
I thought you should know so you could find another job and place to live.”

She didn't look at him nor did she wait for a response. She turned and, although she wanted to run as fast and as far as she possibly could, forced herself to walk calmly back to her car for her bags.

* * *

Rain shook his head as the barn door slammed behind her. “You'll need the keys,” he muttered as he jabbed his pitchfork into the nearest bale of hay and resumed feeding the patient, hungry cows.

What a bitch
, he thought.  He imagined her coming back to the barn for the keys, repentant and humble, but knowing full well she'd break down the front door before asking him for anything, let alone humbly. It was almost impossible to believe that this woman was the same person he had fallen in love with all those years ago – the joyous, vibrant young woman who was so in love with life, so in love with him, that her very walk would threaten at any moment to become a dance.

Bitterly, he thought of the sleepless nights he'd spent tossing and turning, wishing and praying she would come back to him, before finally resigning himself that nothing would ever bring her back. She had built a wall around herself so thick that not even his love could permeate it.

Oh, she'd been back, once, to attend her father's funeral.  She'd come in late, stood at the back door, spoke to no one, didn't go near her father's casket. Her only reason for attending as far as Rain could see was to make sure he was going to look after her property.

Poor Henry
, he thought, not for the first time. Henry had longed to see his only child again.
Rain, heartbroken for the old man who had been so good to him but not without selfish reasons of his own, had phoned her office in Toronto several times in the last year of Henry's life.
Emily had refused to take his calls, and Rain found himself leaving messages on her machine and with her secretary, pleading with her to come home and say goodbye to her father.  She never did, and Rain never told Henry of his efforts to bring his daughter back.

In the last week of illness, when the pain was numbed by morphine, Henry's mind had slipped into a happier past, and while Rain sat by his bed, Henry recounted the small events that in the end made up the sum of his life. It was clear to Rain that it was the memories of his wife, Emily's mother, and Emily herself, that were dearest to his heart.

In between these accounts of family life, Henry gave Rain instructions for the care of the farm: the hay mower needed to be fixed before haying season, the fence in the southeast pasture needed
repairs,
the horse needed his shots....

On the last day, Henry shocked Rain by asking, “Do you still love her?” They both knew who
her
was. Rain was suddenly filled with contempt for Emily, maybe even hatred for what she had done to her father, for what she had done to them both by shutting them out of her life. But he knew he couldn't tell Henry that, and instead said yes, he loved her still. He knew as he spoke that it was true. He'd always loved her for the person she'd once been – perhaps still was – if only she'd let herself forgive and forget.
Not that she didn’t have good reason to be bitter.
The death of one’s mother was devastating under any circumstances.  But ten years was a long time to stay so angry. God knows
,
if he could go back in time and change the course of events that day, he would – in his mind he had done it thousands of times – but of course that didn’t change a thing. Sometimes he thought the forgiving was easy – it was the forgetting that was much harder.

Rain sighed and hung up the pitchfork. He did a final check of the barn, promising Celeste to make up for the missed grooming in the morning and lingering for a moment at the pen of an expectant cow. He stroked the cow's sleek neck and was rewarded with a doleful look and soft moo. “Soon, old girl, you'll be a mother,” he said. Then he shut off the radio, turned out the lights, and carefully latched the barn door behind him.

Emily's car gleamed under the yard light, and Rain grimly estimated its value as he walked toward the house where Emily was just discovering her dilemma.

Did he love her now? He didn't know. He knew he was excited by her sudden presence: on seeing her standing in the barn, his heart had leaped. Although she radiated a hardness that was reflected in her severe business suit and careful makeup and hair, she was still beautiful. Same dark hair and dark eyes, a little thinner than he remembered – but she still turned him on. And all the time she was telling him he was fired, he was wondering if he'd ever kiss her again.

There was something about her anger he couldn't quite take seriously – it didn't quite ring true. All that sarcasm didn’t come naturally. It made him think that the Emily he had loved was still there somewhere behind the bitterness.

“Are you looking for these?” he said from the foot of the porch steps, keys dangling from his outstretched hand, his voice controlled and polite.

“I don't know. Does one of them fit this door?” Emily said, sarcasm masking relief. She had been standing there wondering what to do, concluding that she would rather sleep in the car than face Rain again and ask for the key.

“We'll soon find out,” he said, stepping between her and the door. He was acutely aware of her closeness and the scent of her perfume on the damp night air. Again, he felt a rush of excitement.
What would she do
, he wondered
,
if I turned around right now and kissed her?
The key turned easily in the lock, and he pushed open the door.
Probably slap my face.

“Thanks,” she said none too graciously as she stepped by him into the cold kitchen.

He flicked on the light but, after an initial burst of activity, it rebelled and fizzled out.

“Great,” she said, setting down her suitcases but not moving from her post by the door.

“No problem,” he said. “I'll find a new bulb.” He rummaged through a kitchen cupboard, and before long the room was bright.

“It's pretty musty. I had friends living here for the summer, but I'm afraid I haven't cleaned since they left. I imagine the bedding is musty too. If I'd known you were coming....” Rain was acutely aware he was close to babbling.

“
It's
fine,” Emily interrupted him. “I won't be staying long.”

“Are you sure you don't want to stay in the cabin? There's room.” He knew what her answer would be before he even asked.

“I'm sure,” she said, wishing he would just leave.
Aware of his eyes on her as she surveyed the kitchen, she felt herself getting more and more rattled.
Nothing was turning out the way she had imagined it would. She’d wanted to carry this off so professionally. She wanted him to be impressed with her. She wanted to show him that she was better than him and this farm. To show him that she could live without him. Instead, he was running around changing light bulbs, while she felt like a fool.

“Well, then,” he said brightly, “I'll just turn on the furnace. I wouldn't want you to freeze.” Without waiting for an answer, he brushed past her into the hall. The furnace came on with a clunk and filled the house with the smell of burning dust. 

“You'll want water too,” he said, coming back into the room and opening the door which led to the basement. Emily jumped nervously when rusty water burst from the taps in the kitchen sink. She turned them off. “The taps are on in the bathroom as well,” he said emerging from the basement and going down the hall.  He was back moments later. “I forgot to turn on the hot water tank while I was downstairs. You'll
be wanting
some I'm sure.”

“I want you to leave,” she said, feeling almost desperate to get rid of him.

“Fine,” he said, suddenly wondering why he was acting like a boy scout. All at once, the thought of her discomfort (she was sure going to miss the hot water) gave him a bit of grim satisfaction, and he couldn't resist as he closed the door behind him to bid a final cheery “Welcome home, Emily.”

He took the porch steps in one bound and headed toward the cabin. Snuffed out by the heavy clouds, there was no moon, no stars, but Rain had taken this route through the woods so many times he didn’t even slow his step.

He took his boots off inside the cabin door, went over to the fireplace, and stirred the dying embers back to life.  He placed a couple of logs on the fire and, after pouring himself a whiskey from a decanter on the mantle, dropped into the closest armchair.  He felt the glow of the fire on his face. The dancing flames shot his hair through with gold and sparked in the deep blue of his eyes.

Why was she really here?
he
wondered. She’d managed the farm at arm’s length ever since her father had died. Surely she could sell it the same way. And it’s not like she came to soften the blow for him – she was positively gloating.

But maybe in the end, this would be for the best. He needed to straighten out his feelings for this strange, angry, beautiful woman.  He needed some closure, and this might be the last chance he’d have. If she went ahead with the sale of the farm, he’d never see her again.

One day he would like to marry and have children. Grow old with a woman he loved. But how could he commit to another woman with Emily always intruding on his thoughts, her face appearing every time he was supposed to be making love to another woman?

Oh, who am I kidding?
he
thought as he threw back the rest of the drink. The only woman he’d ever wanted was Emily. There would never be anyone else. Seeing her again tonight was all he needed to convince him of this. But he had to make her stay long enough to convince her too.

And he knew how he was going to do it, too. She wasn't going to like it, but then he wasn't going to give her a choice in the matter.        

Chapter 2

If Emily had remembered to pack her travelling alarm clock, she might have carried out her mission as planned. If she had arrived at the lawyer's office at 9 a.m. instead of 11:30, she might have been back in Toronto by the same evening, leaving the lawyer to fight with Rain Storm and with her sense of superiority intact.

But when she awoke the morning after her arrival, she was blissfully unaware of the larger picture.  She was, however, thoroughly annoyed with herself for not driving into town the night before. As Rain had pointed out, there was no hot water, and Emily, confronted with the mysteries of the hot water tank, was unable to solve them.

The house itself was musty after being shut up for months on end, and a thick layer of dust coated every surface. The thick feather mattress that her grandmother had made was missing from her old bedroom, and, forced to sleep in what used to be her parents' room, she couldn't help but feel uneasy. Lying awake until almost dawn, listening to the old house creak and groan, it was no wonder in the end that she had overslept.

She heated water for washing on the electric stove in the kitchen and carried it to the bathroom to add to the cold, rusty-looking water in the sink. She washed her face and opened one of the jars of cosmetics she had arranged beside the basin. The face that looked out of the mirror at her was soft. Her eyes were a soft brown shaded with long thick lashes. Her nose was tiny with a slight tilt, and her lips were soft and full. Her hair was styled in a severe blunt cut, but it constantly threatened to wave softly over her forehead.

When they were children, Rain had called her his little fawn, and it was this impression of vulnerability that Emily eradicated every morning with jars of makeup and a hair dryer. There was no room for innocence in her life; she was tough, and everyone, including Rain Storm, would know it. It was like a mantra for her:
I am strong, I am strong
. If she said it enough, perhaps one day it would be true.

She dressed in a straight black skirt that came just above the knees, a plain white blouse, and a severe black jacket. Black stockings and simple black leather pumps finished the look, what fashion magazines called power dressing. It was designed to be intimidating, but Emily carried it off to the point of hostility.

     * * *

Although Martin Wright was foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier with a reputation in the village for being ruthless in business matters, he was reluctant to tell Emily the news.  He cleared his throat boldly. “I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Ms. Alexander.”