Out of Exile (5 page)

He'd wanted to pull her away from the refrigerator, pull her tight against him so he could feel every inch of her body against every inch of his own.

She now walked just ahead of him, one of Clara's boxes in her arms. He tried not to notice the hypnotic sway of her slender hips, the sinful stretch of her legs and the length of dark, silky hair that swung in rhythm with each one of her steps.

The heat of the kiss had been threatening, because the moment he'd tasted that heat, he'd wanted more. He'd wanted to tangle his fingers in the rich spill of her hair. He'd wanted to rip her clothes off and bury himself in her. And that was not only a threat, it was a clear danger to them both.

He juggled the boxes in his arms and focused his attention away from her. They had been working for the past hour to get Clara settled in and only had her rocking chair left to carry from the main house to her new place.

“Whew!” Lilly exclaimed as she dropped the box she'd been carrying onto the sofa. “It's a good thing Aunt Clara decided to make this move after she had that estate sale.”

Matthew set the boxes he'd been carrying down on the floor and tried not to notice how the blue tank top she wore emphasized the brilliant, matching color of her eyes.

“She'll have everything she needs here,” he replied. “And what she doesn't have that she thinks she needs, we'll get.” She nodded and sent him one of her warm smiles that stirred something rich, yet painful in the very pit of his stomach.

He looked away from her and swiped his hand through his hair. “We'd better get that rocking chair in here because I have other things to do around here besides this.”

He sensed her gaze on him and knew he had probably surprised her by the sharpness of his tone. Good. Better she learn that he was a miserable son-of-a-gun and kept her distance from him. That would certainly be best for both of them.

“Fine, let's go get the chair. Then we're finished here,” she said.

“You know, I could get somebody else to help me carry this,” Matthew said when they'd returned to the main house and were about to pick up the rocking chair. “It's solid and really heavy.”

“Don't be silly,” she scoffed. She tucked a strand of her long, dark shiny hair behind her ear in a gesture he was finding more and more familiar.

She'd done it often when she'd been young. When in deep thought or slightly nervous or troubled, her fingers moved to tuck her hair. “I'm here now and I can help,” she continued. “Between the two of us we should be able to get it with no problem.”

Matthew directed her to grab the top of the platform rocker, and he picked up the bottom, where the
bulk of the weight was, and together they maneuvered it out the front door.

“Did you know this rocker used to belong to your grandmother?” she asked. She didn't wait for his reply, but continued. “This chair is Aunt Clara's most prized possession. It's the only thing she has from her mother.”

“At least she has something,” he replied.

Lilly's eyes were soft and achingly blue as she gazed at him. “You don't have anything from your mother?” she asked.

A tight band encircled Matthew's chest. He rarely thought about his mother, Leah, who had died giving birth to Johnna.

Matthew had been five at the time of her death, old enough to have some memories of the beautiful, dark-haired woman. He still remembered the scent of her, a whisper of lilac. And he still remembered how she looked with her eye swollen nearly shut or her lip cut and bloody.

Aware of Lilly's curious gaze on him, he frowned. “No, I don't have anything from her. The day after her funeral, my father packed up everything that had belonged to her and had it hauled away.”

They reached the cottage and maneuvered the rocker through the door and set it on the floor. Again she tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and gazed at him. “Your father must have been grieving horribly,” she said.

It irritated him, how she automatically assumed
his father's motives for getting rid of Leah's things had been born of something good and sterling.

“No. He didn't do it out of grief. He did it out of rage. He was angry at her for dying and leaving him with four brats to raise.” His words were short and sharp as he fought the building of anger inside him.

“You don't really believe that?” Her voice held surprise.

“I not only believe it, I know it's true.” He walked over to the window of the tiny cottage and peered out, his mind suddenly filled with memories of that horrible day. “I still remember it as if it were yesterday.”

He was vaguely aware of the warmth of her hand on his back and knew she had moved to stand just behind him. He could smell her fragrance wafting in the air. “Tell me,” she said softly.

Suddenly he wanted to tell. He felt if he didn't tell he might explode. “It was one of the worst days of my life,” he began. He drew a deep breath, going back in time…back to one of the darkest days of his life. “I can remember Johnna in the crib in the master bedroom. She was so tiny and she was crying so hard and her face was so red I was afraid she was going to die.”

He grabbed hold of the window frame, as if to stabilize himself in the here and now so as not to be lost in the pain of the past. “My father was raging, tearing mom's clothes out of the closet, shoving things into boxes and cursing her. God, how he was cursing her.”

“What were you doing while all this was going on?” Her voice held a soft appeal that somehow momentarily eased the pain of the memory.

He drew another deep breath. “Luke and Mark and I were sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. That's where father had told us to sit, and we always did as we were told.”

Lilly said nothing, but her hand reached down and grabbed his, squeezing tightly as if by touch alone she could vanquish his memory.

Matthew closed his eyes. “He got rid of everything that day. Her clothes, her shoes, even her hairbrush. Everything. It was as if he wanted her never to have existed, never to exist at all for us, in memory or thought.”

The band around his chest tightened, bringing with it the rich boldness of the anger that was so much a part of him…the part of himself that frightened him.

He felt that anger building and knew he should tell Lilly to leave him alone…to get away from him. He wanted to tell her that his anger was dangerous…that he was dangerous.

She released his hand and moved to stand between him and the window, forcing him to look at her face, gaze into the soft blue depths of her eyes. “I'm so sorry, Matthew, that you had to live through that.”

She placed a hand on the side of his face. In the sweet blue waters of her eyes the raging fires of his anger were doused, and he was left with only a deep regret that he'd shared this piece of himself with her,
a piece he'd never shared with another person on earth.

“No, I'm sorry,” he replied. “I certainly didn't mean to get into all this.” He stepped away from her, wanting her touch too much, needing her too much.

“Trust me, Matthew, I know how difficult it is to lose parents when you're young.” For just a moment there was a haunted look in her eyes, then she shrugged and smiled. “But we survive, don't we?”

“Survive?” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I suppose that's what I did.”

She looked at him with a directness he found uncomfortable. “And I know the wounds that can be left behind when you lose a parent very young,” she said. “But the best thing to do is to talk about it, lance those wounds and let the poison inside go.”

“Don't counsel me, Lilly,” he warned softly. “Save that for your students at school. Trust me, some scabs are better left alone.”

Before she could reply Luke appeared at the door of the cottage. “Matthew, we've got a problem in the guest cottages.”

“What kind of a problem?” If nothing else, Matthew was grateful for the interruption in his conversation with Lilly, a conversation that had become much too serious, much too personal.

Luke frowned. “I can't quite explain it. You've got to come and see it.”

Together the three of them, Luke, Matthew and Lilly, left the cottage and walked to the group of guest buildings. Luke led them to the first cottage
and threw open the door, then stepped back to allow Matthew and Lilly entry.

Matthew stepped in and stared in stunned disbelief.

Lilly gasped in shock.

Spray-paint marred the walls, obscenities and strange symbols scrawled in crimson red. Not a single wall had been left untouched. The artist had apparently exhausted his vocabulary of dirty words.

“Oh, my God,” Lilly breathed aloud. “Who would do such a thing?”

“They're all the same,” Luke said. “Every cottage has been spray painted. I've already called Sheriff Broder. He should be here anytime.”

Matthew nodded and rubbed his forehead wearily. Who would have done such a thing? And why? Unable to stand seeing the chaos of destruction, he stepped back out on the porch. Luke and Lilly followed him, silent and watchful.

“It's going to take nothing short of a miracle to get these cabins ready in three weeks for guests,” he said. “I'll have to hire more men or work the ones we have overtime.”

“I can paint,” Lilly said.

“That isn't necessary,” Matthew replied curtly.

“Sure it is,” Luke protested. “I can paint and so can Lilly and Abby and Mark. If we all pull together we can get the work done before the guests start arriving.”

Matthew said nothing. If the Delaney heirs all pulled together, it would be nothing short of a miracle. And Matthew had given up on miracles years ago.

I
t was just after dusk when Lilly joined Matthew on the front porch. He hadn't joined her and Aunt Clara for supper and had spent the afternoon in town buying the paint they would need to redo the walls in the guest cottages.

She sank down in the chair next to his. “You didn't eat,” she said.

“I wasn't hungry. Did you get Clara all settled in and unpacked?”

“Yes.” Lilly had spent the afternoon, while he'd been in town, helping Aunt Clara unpack her boxes and set out the personal items that would make the cottage feel like home.

“I also called this afternoon and made an appointment with the doctor for her for next week.”

Matthew nodded. “Johnny is a good doctor. If there's anything to worry about, he'll tell you.”

“I was thinking, with Aunt Clara settled in now she'll probably fix her own meals in the cottage, so that leaves you and me on our own here. Why don't I take over cooking duty,” she said.

He shrugged. “Sounds fine to me.” He didn't look at her, but continued staring out across the land.

She gazed at him, noting the sharp lines and angles of his face, the determined square chin and straight nose. Something was different about him tonight. In every moment of the time she'd been here, she'd felt a pulsating energy emanating from him. Tonight it was gone.

He looked tired. And beaten. And it bothered her more than she cared to admit. “We'll get the cottages ready in time, Matthew,” she said softly.

He sighed and leaned forward in his chair, still not looking at her. “Yeah, I know.”

“You heard what Sheriff Broder said, it was probably kids indulging in early Halloween mischief.”

“Yeah, I heard what he said.” He leaned back once again and turned his head to look at her. “You've asked me a couple of times why I want to sell my share of this place, why I want to leave. It's because there are times I think this place is cursed.”

“Cursed?” She eyed him in surprise.

He looked away from her once again and emitted a small, dry laugh. “Ah, don't pay any attention to me. I'm overtired and overreacting to what is, at most, a time-consuming nuisance.”

She had a feeling it was much more than that. Matthew didn't seem to be the type of man to over-
react to anything. But she also felt him closing off from her, saw the dark shutters appearing in his eyes and knew whatever he was feeling or thinking wasn't going to be shared.

Directing her attention to the landscape, cast in shadows as night fell, she thought of the young man named Danny.

Danny James had been an A student, a nice-looking kid with a sweet smile and dark shutters in his eyes.

Occasionally those shutters would open and in his eyes she'd seen the same kinds of deep shadows that she saw in Matthew's.

Danny James had been a young boy a month away from high school graduation. Danny James had been—she shoved away the thought, knowing to dwell on it would only hurt.

Suddenly she wanted to see Matthew smile, one of those beautiful smiles he used to give her when they were young and life had seemed so much less complicated.

“I've been thinking about what kind of costume you should wear to the Halloween party,” she said.

He turned and looked at her again, his eyes glittering like some nocturnal animal in the encroaching darkness. “I told you I wasn't going to the party.”

“But if you were going, I think you should go as a wolf…a lone wolf.”

“Is that the way you see me?” he asked.

“Isn't that the way you see yourself?” she countered.

He emitted a dry chuckle. “Do you do that on purpose?”

She frowned. “Do what?”

“Make everything some sort of deep, psychological thing.”

“I don't do that,” she protested.

“Yes, you do, and you did it years ago, too.” He now showed more animation than he had all evening. His teeth flashed white as he grinned at her. “You used to ruminate for hours on what made people do what they did.”

“I must have been a horrid bore.”

“Not at all,” he replied, his voice holding a hint of warmth. “You were so passionate about it, trying to make rhyme and find reason for the things people did. I wasn't really surprised when I heard that you'd become a counselor. The only thing that surprised me was that you were working with kids instead of adults.”

She shrugged. “I guess I felt as if I had a better chance of saving kids than adults.” Again a vision of Danny appeared in her mind, and she consciously shoved it away before it could lay claim to her heart and ache inside her. “So what do you think of my idea?” she asked in an attempt to change the subject.

“What idea?”

“The wolf costume for the Halloween party.”

“I told you I'm not planning on attending the party,” he replied.

“Well, if you don't go to parties, then what do you do for fun, Matthew?”

“Fun?” He repeated the word as if it were alien to his vocabulary. “I don't have time for fun,” he scoffed.

“Everyone needs to make time for fun,” she countered. “Come on, Matthew. Agree to attend the party. I'm sure it would mean so much to everyone.”

“All right,” he relented with a touch of irritation. “I had forgotten how persistent you could be when you got an idea in your head.”

“It's what got you into the creek that first day we went wading,” she replied with a laugh. “It took a full day of nagging to get you into that water.”

“That was fun,” he said softly.

“Then we'll do it again…as soon as we get the cottages painted,” she said. “Deal?”

He held her gaze intently for a long moment, then he nodded. “Okay, deal.” Abruptly he stood. “And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to call it a night. I've got a lot of work ahead of me in the next couple of days.”

She was disappointed that he was retreating. She would have enjoyed sitting out here in the pleasant evening and talking more, trying to learn more about him as a man. But it seemed for every little piece of information he gave her about himself, he retreated further into a shell of isolation.

It was becoming a habit, this running away that he did from her. It was as if he was afraid she might see too deeply into him.

“And maybe you're reading far too much into
it,” she mumbled to herself. It was possible the man just didn't find her company particularly enjoyable.

Deciding she might as well go to bed too, she went upstairs to her room. As she undressed, she thought of that kiss they'd shared the night before and had to admit to herself that she wanted to repeat the experience. In fact, she wanted to make love with Matthew Delaney.

She was thirty-five years old, certainly no blushing virgin. She had no illusions about commitment or happily-ever-after and would expect no promises of such from Matthew.

What she did want was to see him lose control, feel the moment when his control snapped and the seething energy she always felt in him exploded. She had a feeling making love to Matthew would be an intense, unforgettable experience.

Clad in her cotton nightgown, she walked over to the window and cracked it open, allowing in the night air. She thought of what Aunt Clara had said, about her staying here and getting a job in Inferno.

There had been times in the darkest hours of the night when she wondered if she even could return to her job at the school in Dallas. Or would she remain too haunted by the thought of a promising young man she had been unable to help?

And why was it that whenever she thought of Danny, her thoughts invariably turned to Matthew? Turning away from the window, she shut off the overhead light and got into bed. Within minutes she was asleep.

She awakened the next morning just after dawn.
She showered quickly and dressed, then went downstairs to the kitchen. Apparently Matthew was already up and out. The coffee had been made but there was no sign of him.

She drank a quick cup of coffee, then left the house and walked to the guest cottages. She found Matthew there, already at work painting with a roller.

For a moment she simply stood in the doorway and watched him work, enjoying the play of his muscles across his broad back as he rolled the paint along the wall.

“If you give me a paintbrush, I'm a good trim man,” she said.

He jumped and turned to face her. “You're up early,” he said.

She grinned. “I could say the same about you.”

“I wanted to get a head start,” he replied.

“Then give me a brush. Two painters are definitely a better start than one.”

He set his roller down and got her a paintbrush. “Knock yourself out,” he said, then turned back to his work.

For a few minutes they painted in silence. “We could speculate on what kind of person would do something like this,” she finally said to break the silence.

He turned and cast her a painful glance. “Must we?”

She laughed. “Okay, then we can talk about what your favorite foods are so I'll know what to cook each evening.”

“Are you a good cook?” he asked curiously.

“I've never killed anyone with my cooking,” she replied.

He laughed. “That's certainly a good recommendation if ever I heard one.”

As easily as that they fell into a conversation much like the ones they had once enjoyed. They argued about politics, talked of places they'd visited, sights they had seen.

She told him about the summers she'd spent working at a youth camp, where she'd not only counseled children, but had also painted, cut grass, and done a variety of other odd jobs.

He talked to her about his father's decision to turn the ranch into a dude ranch and the work that had been involved in transforming the place from a private home to a working resort.

And with each word that was exchanged, Lilly sensed a new relaxation in Matthew. His eyes sparkled and there were no tension lines marring his handsome face.

The only time she was conscious of a burst of tension radiating from him was when they stood too close together or when their shoulders brushed while they worked. It was then she felt the tension, saw the flare of something in his eyes, and knew he wasn't as unaffected by her nearness as he'd like to pretend he was.

This knowledge affected her, building in her a corresponding tension that was both irritating yet bewitching. Again she found herself wondering what it would be like to make love with him, to feel those
powerful arms of his wrapped tightly around her, to lose herself in the darkness of his eyes and the absolute intensity of the act.

It was about ten o'clock when Johnna and Jerrod arrived, ready for paint duty and soon after that Mark and Luke's wife, Abby showed up.

“I told April to stay at home,” Mark said. “With her being pregnant, I didn't think the paint fumes would be good for her. And Luke said to tell you he'll be here later, he had some things to take care of this morning.”

Matthew nodded, lines of tension back in his forehead. “Then let's get to work,” he said.

Within minutes everyone had a paintbrush or a roller, and despite the circumstances that had brought them all together, a party atmosphere appeared.

At noon Aunt Clara arrived, bringing with her a tray of sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade. They took a quick break to eat, then got back to work.

As Lilly painted, she once again found herself watching the byplay between the Delaney siblings and wondering why Matthew seemed so isolated from the others. He was a lone wolf in what should have been a pack.

It was nearing noon when Luke appeared at the door of the cottage they were all now painting. “Matthew?” Luke's face was set in grim lines. “We have another problem,” he said.

“What now?” Matthew asked.

“I was just out at the old barn. The supplies that
were delivered yesterday morning? Half of them are gone now.”

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?” Johnna asked.

Luke shrugged. “Disappeared. Vanished. Stolen. I don't know what happened to them, but they're gone.”

Matthew raked a hand through his hair. “What in the hell is going on around here?” he asked nobody in particular.

And nobody had an answer for him.

 

Matthew sat on the baled hay in the hayloft of the old barn, staring out the opened loft door toward the main house and outbuildings of the ranch in the distance.

He'd spent most of the afternoon in town at the lumber yard, trying to figure out exactly what had been stolen and what needed to be reordered. He'd then gone to Sheriff Broder's office and had filed another report.

He lay back on an old blanket on top of the hay and stared up at the rafters. He might have been able to agree with Broder and write off the spray-painted cottages as preHalloween mischief, but the robbery of the materials made him rethink everything.

He just couldn't believe it had been kids who had loaded up that material and hauled it off. Matthew had a feeling it was something much more sinister than mischief. But what? Who was responsible? And what did they hope to accomplish?

He drew a deep breath, his head filling with a
vision of Lilly. He'd enjoyed her company that morning while the two of them had painted. She'd been a charming and entertaining companion on those summer days so long ago, and she hadn't lost those qualities in the intervening years.

Again he found himself thinking of the kiss they had shared and felt a stir of hunger awaken inside him. He had wanted Lilly when he'd been sixteen, when he'd been seventeen and the last time he'd seen her, when they'd been eighteen. And it surprised and vaguely irritated him that he still wanted her.

Consciously he shoved aside thoughts of her and instead thought of his family.

As always, when all of them were together, whether working or socializing, Matthew felt a curious aloneness.

He'd always prided himself on being a solitary man who needed nobody, but watching his siblings interact so easily with each other that afternoon had bothered him.