It struck her that she would probably want a boost herself. “I’ll remember.” She cleared her throat. “Well, good-bye, then.”
He smiled, hit the ledge once, and pushed himself straight. “Safe trip.”
When he stepped away, she put the car in reverse, backed around, and headed for the road, all the time thinking that she might have liked a kiss. It was a whimsical thought. Not so whimsically, his lank image shrank steadily in the rearview mirror. When the car took a curve and he disappeared, she narrowed her sights on reality and New York.
How different the road looked this time around. Parched brown leaves blanketed the ground, forests of bare branches joined evergreens in a blur of gray-green on distant hills. Mountains stood stark, more harsh without greenery on their slopes. Leaf peepers had long since gone home to city beat and thoughts of Thanksgiving, barely two weeks away.
Those thoughts had precipitated Anne’s trip, or so she told herself as she drove steadily north. On one hand, things had improved in New York. Her return trip had been uneventful, her apprehension at facing life and its memories eased by the onset of autumn and a renewed strength.
“You look marvelous!” her mother had said the first night of her return. “I like that pink on your cheeks. It becomes you.”
Even after the long drive, Anne was full of energy, which was why she had stopped at her parents in the first place. “It was perfect,” she said. “Just what I needed.”
“Sit down and tell me all about it,” the older woman ordered, and Anne had. Almost. She didn’t mention Mitch. He played no role in her real life. She didn’t even know his last name.
At first she gave little thought to the idea of returning to Vermont in November. The new semester had begun, and she was up to her ears in translation work. Friends still hovered, but she had more patience for it now. In turn, they sensed her calmer state and began to ease up.
She still refused to date. But she was excited enough about one professor’s project to agree to sign on as a part-time assistant. Assured of steady work to off-balance incidental work, she faced the fall and winter seasons with confidence.
But Jeff was gone, and the holidays approached. These would be her first without him.
When she first heard low whispers in the back of her mind, she ignored them. After Halloween, though, they became a murmur. Go to Vermont go to Vermont go to Vermont, they said.
But how could she?
That first time had been an accident. Sharing the cottage with Mitch had been a makeshift solution to an unexpected problem. If she went this time, there would be nothing unexpected about it.
But Mitch was right. The closer Thanksgiving came, the more she dreaded it. She could use a boost, indeed, before facing them alone. Recalling with pleasure the land, the air, and the cottage, she figured that whether he showed up or not the week would be good.
This time her parents raised no objection. As a precaution, she made a reservation at an inn thirty miles from the house. It was the nearest one, but would assure her a place to stay if Mitch either didn’t want her or wasn’t there.
She didn’t have a key, because she hadn’t called the rental agent. What would she have said? Is Mitch going up this weekend? No, I don’t know his last name, but we spent the week together there last time. Embarrassing!
She made the sharp turn off the highway onto the rutted road that lead up the hill to the house. The ruts were harder now, more jolting in the cold of a raw November than they had been in September. In that instant her thoughts jolted, too, up and down, in and out. She shouldn’t have come she had to come. What did she hope to accomplish-why did she have to hope to accomplish anything? What if Mitch wasn’t there-what if he was?
She had deliberately waited until Saturday morning to leave the city. If Mitch had driven up on Friday night, like last time, she would reach the cottage just when he was waking up.
Her heartbeat quickened when she rounded the final curve and saw his sporty blue Honda parked in front of the house. It stood out clearly in the dusky November day, a bright and promising robin’s egg in a dried twig nest. Her pulse pounded as she pulled in behind it, slid out of her car, and, pulling her navy pea coat closed, approached the door.
All was winter silent, such that the heels of her leather boots sounded abnormally loud on the flagstone walk. The grass bordering the walk was aged and dying, the lilac forlornly naked. But Anne felt alive as she knocked on the door.
When there was no answer, she imagined him in the kitchen, and knocked harder.
Still, silence.
But his car was there. She wondered if he had broken habit and gone for an earlier hike. She tried the doorknob, but it didn’t budge. Finally, she banged on the door with a full fist.
It opened then, and she knew he’d been asleep. He was bleary-eyed, unshaven, mussed of hair, and rumpled-looking in an old shirt, tails hanging low over wrinkled jeans. He was as tall and lean as she remembered, though not quite as enthusiastic as she had hoped.
She swallowed down unsureness and a quiver. “Hi, Mitch.”
“Where in the hell have you been?” he bellowed. “I was thinking of sending the troops out.”
If not for his gruffness, Anne might have hugged him. Only then did she realize how much she had wanted to see him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t leave the city until this morning.”
“Why not? You knew I’d be arriving yesterday.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Though his eyes were a deep, deep green, he continued to scowl. “I’m beginning to wonder if you’re more trouble than you’re worth!”
“Thanks a lot,” she said, offended, and suddenly she remembered every little annoying thing about him. “I could say the same about you. I think I’ll leave.” Spinning on a heel, she took a single step before he caught her.
“No!” His voice softened. “Don’t go.” When she looked back, his eyes were gentler. “Come in. Please.”
She had no choice when he drew her in. Not that she wanted one. Struck by his height and good looks, she was very glad she’d come, and suddenly shy.
For a minute, he seemed unsure. He studied her eyes, searching. Then he let out a sigh and drew her close for a hug. She returned it as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
His lips moved against her hair. “It’s good to see you, Anne.”
She smiled against his chest. “Same here, Mitch.”
He drew back and framed her face. Tipping it, he kissed her softly. His mouth played, lightly, sensually. His tongue made the moment even sweeter.
When he drew back this time, his eyes smoldered. His voice was thick. “How about making coffee while I get cleaned up? You look a damned sight better than I do right now.”
“You don’t look so bad.”
“Get the coffee? Please? I’ll get your bags later.” Putting her from him, he strode off.
Anne tossed her coat on a chair. She made coffee strong, and eggs scrambled moist. When the food was hot on the table, she went to the window. The backyard looked bare. A dull apple or two clinging stubbornly to lonely branches. The firs stood out, towering over trees that were deleafed. They swayed gallantly in gusts of wind that sent shivers through the tall grass below.
But the chill was out there, and Anne was in here. She was warm and content.
“You’re looking well,” Mitch said from the door. “A little pale, but better than last time.” He was groomed meticulously now and looking devastatingly fresh in an opermecked wool shirt and clean denims.
“There wasn’t much in the fridge,” she said. “I hope the eggs are enough.”
He took a chair and helped himself from the platter. “I thought we’d go marketing today. Unless,” he shot her a look over the rim of his coffee cup, “you brought groceries.”
“Not this time. I wasn’t sure I’d be staying here. I made reservations at an inn in Woodstock just in case.”
He sat back. “Were you afraid I’d attack you again?”
“No,” she said with care. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here. It was tentative when you mentioned it, and since I had no way of contacting you in between-“
“You could have called Miles Cooper,” he suggested lightly.
She looked him in the eye. “No, I couldn’t. So there was no comfortable way of my learning your plans.”
“Did that bother you?”
“No.” She didn’t look away. “I don’t want to cope with identities yet.”
“Then we agree on that. No more said.”
“No more said.” She felt proud of herself, if a little wistful, as she watched him eat.
When he finished, he ran a napkin over his mouth. Then he balled it up in his fist. “You can phone from the village later and cancel those reservations. But I think you should know that there are two conditions to your staying here.”
Conditions? She arched a brow.
He leaned way back this time, until the chair was on its rear legs. “First, we eat together.”
She had no problem with that. It pleased her, actually. She smiled her agreement.
“Second,” he said, “I sleep downstairs.”
Her smile vanished. “Uh, I … don’t think so. I’m not ready for … that.”
His eyes laughed. “I’m told that I’m a good lover. But hey,” he relented, all teasing gone, “I’m not ready for … that, either. Maybe soon. But not yet. You aren’t the only one dealing with ghosts.”
Startled by that thought, she gathered up the empty dishes and went to the sink.
He was close behind her. “You’re a beautiful woman.”
“Last time, I was ‘plain’ and ‘scrawny.”’
“Last time, I was wet and tired.” Strong hands slid around her middle and drew her back against his body. His forearms brushed the underside of her breasts. Her heart thudded in response.
When he turned her to face him, her lips parted. He kissed her then, possessive but gentle, and she responded with a fervor she had forgotten was possible. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she opened her mouth, and he moved right in. After her mouth he kissed her cheeks and her eyelids. Then, hotly, he sought out her tongue.
They weren’t ready for this emotionally, but there was no problem physically. Mitch was rock-hard against her. His hands moved restlessly on her back, her waist, her hips. They found her breasts and explored in detail, and Anne was every bit as active. She touched him everywhere to make sure he was real, and he was, real and ready. While their mouths tangled hungrily, her fingers spread over his thigh and moved upward, upward and inward.
With a strangled sound, Mitch pulled away.
Anne felt instant loss, then acute embarrassment. Mitch’s ragged breathing was small solace for her aggressiveness. “That shouldn’t have happened,” she said in a faltering whisper.
He made a sputtering sound and pushed a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but it did. Damn it, this was a crazy idea!”
She averted her eyes and tried to edge away from the sink, but he had her pinned there. Holding her chin, he forced her face up. His voice was rough as sand. “You try my patience, Annie. One part of me aches to pick you up in my arms and carry you out to that bed, but the last thing I need right now is to bear you calling for another man in the throes of passion. You’re still mourning your husband. Your clothes, your hair, your eyes all tell me that. And I have a past, too. The last thing you need is to hear me call out another woman’s name.”
Anne’s eyes filled with tears. When she pushed at him, he let her go. She went to the window, wrapped her arms around herself, and looked out. “Why do you lead me on?”
There was silence, then a begrudging, “I can’t seem to help myself. What’s your excuse?” When she didn’t answer, he approached her and goaded, “Hmm? Are you that frustrated?”
She spun around and sent the flat of her hand against his cheek. He caught it on the rebound and had her arm behind her, drawing her hard against him, in an instant.
“Don’t ever do that again!” he muttered and, as suddenly as he’d seized her, let her go. He took long steps toward the door before stopping short.
Anne was stunned, short of breath, wondering what was coming next.
One lithe stride brought him back. To her astonishment he framed her face with his hands, placed a hard kiss on her lips, then walked off again.
“What was that for?” she cried.
“Moist eggs and strong black coffee.” He half-turned at the door. “I have a couple of things to do. Find something to keep you busy for an hour, then we’ll leave for the village.”
It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t wait for an answer. That was what kept Anne busy while she unpacked her bags in the attic bedroom. She brooded. She agonized. She wondered why she had come and why she ever wanted his kiss. Mitch whoever-he-was was stubborn and selfcentered. He was the exact opposite of gentle, caring, generous-to-a-fault Jeff.
But Jeff was dead.
An art teacher had once told her that a painting was successful when it evoked a reaction, be it positive or negative. For Anne, the months since Jeff’s death had been devoid of reaction, until Mitch.
So where did she go from there? Into bed with the man at the very first chance?
Unsettled by that thought, she exchanged her city skirt for a sweater and jeans, grabbed her heavy parka, and ran down the stairs. She needed fresh air and a long walk.
She barely got out the back door when she spotted Mitch in the yard splitting logs for the fire. Bundled in a sheepskin jacket with its collar raised, he didn’t see her. Time and again he raised the ax and struck, time and again splitting each new log with a single sweep of the blade, and all with his right arm. She wondered how the left had been injured. It was none of her business. Still she wondered.
She joined him in the yard and sat quietly on a pile of logs while he finished his work, then as quietly helped carry the wood into the house and stack it by the fireplace. Shortly after that, they left for the village.
In the confines of the car, he was more imposing than ever. His hands were strong on the wheel, his thigh strong when he braked. In profile, his hair was a thick silver-blond, his eyes alert, his nose, lips, and chin classically chiseled. Everything about him spoke of command, of a man with a mind of his own. But she knew that already.