Island Hearts (Jenny's Turn and Stray Lady) (44 page)

“How is she?” He sounded as if he were asking about an old acquaintance.

“Okay.” She shifted gears as the truck ahead of her slowed. Why didn’t Jenny get an automatic? “She told me she was sorry she went against me when I wanted to marry Scott.” He didn’t say anything. She could feel him watching her. “She said I should find another man and get married again.” Her eyes flickered to the rear view mirror, but Robyn was staring at the driver of an eighteen-wheel rig beside them. What would he say? It was almost an invitation, bringing up the idea of her remarrying.

Lyle looked away from her, his voice tense as he said bluntly, “My mother’s been talking to Hazel, my ex-wife. She wants me to see her.” He cleared his throat. “She’s hoping we’ll get back together.”

Had he really said that?

She searched his face and found it so remote that she believed he might be thinking of getting back with Hazel. If she could see his eyes, she might know for sure, but he was looking away. Why had he sent her the song if he felt like that? Had she made a mistake, thinking he still wanted her? No, she remembered his eyes at the airport, and knew that he hadn’t stopped wanting her, but maybe it was only desire, not love.

She’d mentioned marriage. Was that why he’d brought up the subject of Hazel? Had he ever mentioned marriage?

No.

God! She was stupid! She hadn’t thought for even a moment that he only wanted an affair. He’d invited her to stay at the lighthouse, or to come back later. A woman named Cynthia had once stayed. Now she was gone.

Had he written a song for her too? Well, George wasn’t Cynthia! She wasn’t for casual taking and casting off! She was—

She wasn’t his wife. To have and to hold. Till death do us part. Scott was gone forever, but perhaps Hazel wasn’t. Hazel could come back.

They went the rest of the way in silence. Thankfully, at the big old Austin house, there was the noise of Jake and Jenny and Mandy, the baby, to cover the fact that George didn’t know what to say to Lyle. And Lyle seemed to have nothing to say to George.

Robyn loved Jenny’s baby. She begged Jenny to let her feed Mandy her cereal, then she had Jenny show her how to burp the baby.

“She needs changing,” said Jenny when Mandy started fussing again.

Robyn’s eyes lit up. “I’ll do it – if you’ll show me how.”

Jake had been pacing the floor, explaining some new project to Lyle. Now he turned his black eyes on Robyn. “I’ll have to show you the diapering, Robyn. Jenny and I made a deal when Amanda was born. We split the work of parenting this baby, but since I’m not equipped to feed her, I get to do the diapers.”

He pushed his hand through a lock of black hair, then reached down to take the baby in one arm. He offered the other hand to Robyn and the three of them wandered off into the back of the house somewhere.

Lyle caught Jenny’s eye. He said quietly, “Thank you for having us. She was going to spend the evening having nerves about going into the hospital tomorrow.”

“She’s a lovely girl,” said Jenny, pushing back her shoulder-length brown hair. She was growing it long and it was at an in-between stage right now. She smiled at Lyle. “Now tell me what happened to my wild cousin up there on your island. All she’ll say is that she ran her boat aground.”

George stood up and moved to the window. “That’s all I remember, Jenny.
Lady Harriet
hit the rocks, then I hit the water.” She turned and found Lyle looking at her for the first time since they arrived. Their eyes held.

“It was just luck that I found her,” said Lyle, his voice dropping to a low tone. “It was a stormy day. Visibility was terrible. I was inside, working on a song. In that kind of weather I usually stay inside, just poking my head out the door to get the sky and sea conditions for my weather reports.”

George sank down into a chair, listening for the first time to a blow-by-blow description of her rescue. She remembered the wild water, the storm, and realized that Lyle was right. It was only luck that she had survived for him to pull from the sea.

George couldn’t help smiling as Jenny did her magic with those quiet questions of hers. She wanted background on Lyle, and he hadn’t a chance against her warm interest.

“My mother was a concert pianist before she met my father,” he told them. “She tried to teach me, but my fingers wouldn’t do what hers would. I could hear the sounds in my mind, but my fingers wouldn’t bring them to life.” He smiled at George, said, “I tried guitar, but it was the same. I never had the kind of touch George has with a guitar. Then I discovered synthesizers. They started using computer chips in music just for people like me.”

“You should see the setup he has,” George sat forward to free her arms for descriptive gestures. “It’s in the basement. Totally covered with thick carpeting for soundproofing – and I do mean completely! Carpet on the floor, the walls. Soundproofing tiles on the ceiling. The windows blanketed.”

“To keep the noise from getting out?” speculated Jenny.

Jake caught the last part of their conversation as he came back into the room. “No,” he corrected his wife as he set Mandy down into the playpen near the fireplace. “To keep outside noises from getting in, just like keeping light out of a photo lab.”

“That’s right,” Lyle agreed. “A recording can be ruined by noises you’d never hear with your ear.”

Robyn picked up a rattle and waved it slowly in front of the baby’s eyes.

Jake asked, “How do you manage to turn one man into a five piece band with vocal?”

“The vocal is simple,” said Lyle with a grin. “I pull shipwrecked maidens out of the water and force them to sing for their supper. The five piece band just takes a good synthesizer and a multi-track recorder.”

That got Lyle and Jake into the technical aspects of a one-man sound studio. George went to get the tape of the song she and Lyle had recorded together. She put it in the player and turned the volume low. Robyn recognized the music and looked up to smile at George. Lyle and Jake were too deeply involved in conversation to notice, but Jenny’s eyes went dreamy as she swayed to the music, looking at Lyle. Jake fell silent, staring at his wife.

“Think of it,” Jenny said softly. “A rocky island, windswept. Gulls flying overhead, an eagle. There are eagles, aren’t there? Spray breaking over the rocks, and inside – the sounds of music. We orchestrate the whole thing with his music. Jake, you can get some fantastic shots with the camera. Inside and outside. Sea and music. Tremendous contrasts.” She frowned, said slowly, “What about market?”

Jake started prowling, a sure sign that he was sold on the idea. “I bet one of the networks would take it. I’ll talk to Brady. Maybe even prime-time. One of those human interest shows— how about Brenda Lake’s show?”

George had known it would be like this. If Jake and Jenny met Lyle and heard his music, they’d catch fire at the idea of turning the music-making lightkeeper into a video.

But what about Lyle? He was silent, stern. Was he angry? George slipped away to make coffee in the kitchen. She filled the reservoir with water, got out the coffee, then turned for the filters and found Lyle leaning against the doorway watching her.

“You planned this idea of a documentary.”

She shook her head, smiling. “Jenny and Jake are planning it. You saw it happen yourself, the birth of an idea.”

He shrugged. “That may be, but you set it up.”

She had never been able to pretend with Lyle. Instinctively, he knew her too well. A mischievous sparkle flashed over her face.

“If you put good material in front of Jenny, she starts thinking, planning. Then she starts talking, and if she paints word-pictures that Jake can see through his camera lens— then you’ve got an Austin Media documentary. They’re quite a team, you know.”

Her smile faded when it didn’t get an answer.

“Why did you do it?” he asked harshly.

He’d sent her a love song, as if the next move was hers, but his mother wanted him to see his ex-wife again. Why had he told her that?

“I— wanted you to have some other options.” This was a terrible mistake, trying to manipulate him. How could she admit the truth, that she’d wanted to give him a way off the lights? That she’d been offering herself as bait if he would leave the lighthouse.

“Other than what?” His voice was clipped, his eyes icy cold.

“Other than living on a lighthouse,” she said desperately. “You said it was for Robyn, so you could be near her and still— if you let them do this video, it could help with your songs. The publicity…”

“I’m aware of the value of publicity,” he grated. He moved and she found herself moving closer to him, inviting his touch, until she realized that he was stepping back from her. What was he doing? Why was he keeping her at a distance? She didn’t want to love him like this if he wasn’t going to want her! In his song he’d asked her to love him.

“Daddy?” Robyn was tugging gently at Lyle’s hand. “Jenny wants to know if I want to sleep in a room with the baby, or if I want a room for myself. Is it okay if I sleep in Mandy’s room?”

Chapter 9

Lyle wouldn’t stay there a second night.

‘It’s too far from the hospital,’ he would say. He’d make it sound convincing. The truth was that he needed to get away from George. She was so close, so damned desirable. She seemed to be sending him messages that she was willing.

But willing for what?

He loved her with such a terrible intensity that it frightened him, yet he dared not move closer and take her in his arms. What did she want? An affair? Just a man in her bed?

God, that would be ironic! Last year, he’d met Cynthia McLeod and let her talk her way onto the island, into his bed, mostly because he wanted someone warm and willing. It could have been anyone, though Cynthia had tried to make him love her. She’d finally given up, left – minus that damned Kitimat shirt.

He’d felt guilty about Cynthia loving him; felt relieved when she married a fisherman from Prince Rupert. Was that what he would be to George? The lover she felt guilty about discarding?

George hadn’t reacted at all when he told her that his mother was promoting a reconciliation with Hazel. If she cared anything about him, surely that would have upset her? It had shaken him badly when his mother came out with that. He had made sure that she knew, in no uncertain terms, that Hazel was the
last
woman he’d ever want.

He wanted George.

And she wanted him to do a documentary. What the hell did she mean by saying she wanted him to have more choices? Why?

He didn’t sleep all night. He was in the guest bedroom, on the top floor of the Austin house. George was two doors away. If he got up and walked down that hall, knocked softly on her door, would she open the door for him?

He thought she would. He thought that she would let him make love to her. It wouldn’t be like the night in the basement of his lighthouse home, when he’d had to draw back from the edges of ecstasy. He was prepared this time. There would be no child as the result of their union.

“I’ll have your child,”
she had whispered.
“Give me your child, Lyle.”

He tried to fight down the wild surge of desire that came every time he thought about making love to her. He tried vainly to relax his rigid body on the cold sheets. His skin burned with the memory of her body, soft and willing under him. He felt the sting of her fingers digging into him as she shuddered with desire.

I’ll have your child.
She had meant it, too. She would have his child, but not with him. She’d accept his passion, the seed of his loins, but not his love. He shivered and pulled the blanket higher. He could see her rearing the child alone, disappearing on him, gone to some crazy spot on the other side of the world. He cursed the poor heating in this old house, yet he knew it would have been warm enough if he weren’t going mad with wanting her.

An affair. He’d seen it in her eyes on the lighthouse. Damn! He almost laughed at himself, resenting being wanted just for his body. That was the man’s role, wasn’t it? Seduce the fair lady – and, by God, she was fair! – and walk away when he’d had his way with her.

She was the one who wanted to walk away.

When he heard the house stirring, he got up and went into the shower, turning the water cold and letting it pound on his back while he cursed himself for not going to her the night before. He cut himself twice while shaving, slapped stinging aftershave on the cuts. He almost ran into George when he stepped out of the bathroom.

She was in bare feet, just smothering a yawn. She stared up at him, blinking, her eyes sleepy and vulnerable.

She was wearing a short blue housecoat that flowed loose around her. Her face was marked from the sheet she’d been lying on. He touched the red line on her cheek.

“You shouldn’t sleep on your stomach.” He wanted to pull her into his arms and feel her softness press against him. “You get sheet marks on your face, and you’ll get a sore neck.”

“I know,” she said simply, staring up at him. Once she was dressed and awake she would lose that soft, vulnerable look. It was the look she had when he’d been kissing her, touching her.