Temptation (5 page)

He took a step forward. She took a step back. A smile played around his lips again as he reached for her hand. Eden bumped solidly into the mare before she managed to raise her free hand to his chest.

“What do you want?” Why was she whispering, and why was the whisper so tremulous?

He wasn't sure what he wanted. Once, quickly, he scanned her face before bringing his gaze back to hers with a jolt. Or perhaps he was. “To walk with you in the moonlight, I think. To listen to the owls hoot and wait for the nightingale.”

The shadows had merged. The mare stood quietly, breathing softly. His hand was in Eden's hair now, as if it belonged there. “I have to go in.” But she didn't move.

“Eden and the apple,” he murmured. “I can't tell you how tempting I've found that combination. Come with me. We'll walk.”

“No.” Something was building inside her, too quickly. She knew he was touching more than her hand, more than her hair. He was reaching for something he should not have known existed.

“Sooner or later.” He'd always been a patient man. He could wait for her the way he waited for a new tree to bear fruit. His fingers slid down to her throat, stroking once. He felt her quick shudder, heard the unsteady indrawn breath. “I'll be back, Eden.”

“It won't make any difference.”

Smiling, he brought her hand to his lips, turning it palm up. “I'll still be back.”

She listened to his footsteps, to the creak of the door as he opened it, then shut it again.

Chapter 3

The camp was developing its own routine. Eden adjusted hers to it. Early hours, long, physical days and basic food were both a solace and a challenge. The confidence she'd once had to work at became real.

There were nights during the first month of summer that she fell into her bunk certain she would never be able to get up in the morning. Her muscles ached from rowing, riding and endless hiking. Her head spun from weekly encounters with ledgers and account books. But in the morning the sun would rise, and so would she.

Every day it became easier. She was young and healthy. The daily regimented exercise hardened muscles only touched on by occasional games of tennis. The weight she had lost over the months since her father's death gradually came back, so that her look of fragility faded.

To her surprise, she developed a genuine affection for the girls. They became individuals, not simply a group to be coped with or income on the books. It surprised her more to find that same affection returned.

Right from the start, Eden had been certain the girls would love Candy. Everyone did. She was warm, funny, talented. The most Eden had hoped for, for herself, was to be tolerated and respected. The day Marcie had brought her a clutch of wildflowers, Eden had been too stunned to do more than stammer a thank-you. Then there had been the afternoon she had given Linda Hopkins an extra half hour in the corral. After her first gallop, Linda had thrown herself into Eden's arms for a fierce and delightful hug.

So the camp had changed her life, in so many more ways than she'd expected.

The summer grew hot with July. Girls darted around the compound in shorts. Dips in the lake became a glorious luxury. Doors and windows stayed open at night to catch even the slightest breeze. Roberta found a garter snake and terrorized her cabin mates. Bees buzzed around the wildflowers and stings became common.

Days merged together, content, but never dull, so that it seemed possible that summer could last forever. As the time passed, Eden began to believe that Chase had forgotten his promise, or threat, to come back. She'd been careful to stay well within the borders of the camp herself. Though once or twice she'd been tempted to wander toward the orchards, she stayed away.

It didn't make sense for her to still be tense and uneasy. She could tell herself he'd only been a brief annoyance. Yet every time she went into the stables in the evening, she caught herself listening. And waiting.

* * *

Late in the evening, with the heat still shimmering, Eden stretched out on her bunk, fully dressed. Bribed by the promise of a bonfire the following night, the campers had quieted down early. Relaxed and pleasantly weary, Eden pictured it. Hot dogs flaming on sharpened sticks, marshmallows toasting, the blaze flickering heat over her face and sending smoke billowing skyward. Eden found herself looking forward to the evening every bit as much as the youngest camper. With her head pillowed on her folded arms, she stared up at the ceiling while Candy paced.

“I'm sure we could do it, Eden.”

“Hmm?”

“The dance.” Gesturing with the clipboard she was carrying, Candy stopped at the foot of the bunk. “The dance I've been talking about having for the girls. Remember?”

“Of course.” Eden forced her mind back to business. “What about it?”

“I think we should go ahead with it. In fact, if it works out, I think it should be an annual event.” Even after she plopped herself down on Eden's bed, her enthusiasm continued to bounce around the room. “The boys' camp is only twenty miles from here. I'm sure they'd go for it.”

“Probably.” A dance. That would mean refreshments for somewhere close to a hundred, not to mention music, decorations. She thought first of the red ink in the ledger, then about how much the girls would enjoy it. There had to be a way around the red ink. “I guess there'd be room in the mess area if we moved the tables.”

“Exactly. And most of the girls have records with them. We could have the boys bring some, too.” She began to scrawl on her clipboard. “We can make the decorations ourselves.”

“We'd have to keep the refreshments simple,” Eden put in before Candy's enthusiasm could run away with her. “Cookies, punch, that sort of thing.”

“We can plan it for the last week of camp. Kind of a celebrational send-off.”

The last week of camp. How strange, when the first week had been so wearing, that the thought of it ending brought on both panic and regret. No, summer wouldn't last forever. In September there would be the challenge of finding a new job, a new goal. She wouldn't be going back to a teaching job as Candy was, but to want ads and résumés.

“Eden? Eden, what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About planning the dance for the last week of camp?”

“I think we'd better clear it with the boys' camp first.”

“Honey, are you okay?” Leaning forward, Candy took Eden's hand. “Are you worried about going back home in a few weeks?”

“No. Concerned.” She gave Candy's hand a squeeze. “Just concerned.”

“I meant it when I told you not to worry about a job right away. My salary takes care of the rent on the apartment, and I still have a little piece of the nest egg my grandmother left me.”

“I love you, Candy. You're the best friend I've ever had.”

“The reverse holds true, Eden.”

“For that reason, there's no way I'm going to sit around while you work to pay the rent and put dinner on the table. It's enough that you've let me move in with you.”

“Eden, you know I'm a lot happier sharing my apartment with you than I was living alone. If you look at it as a favor, you're going to feel pressured, and that's ridiculous. Besides, for the past few months, you were taking care of fixing all the meals.”

“Only a small portion of which were edible.”

“True.” Candy grinned. “But I didn't have to cook. Listen, give yourself a little space. You'll need some time to find out what it is you want to do.”

“What I want to do is work.” With a laugh, Eden lay back on the bed again. “Surprise. I really want to work, to keep busy, to earn a living. The past few weeks have shown me how much I enjoy taking care of myself. I'm banking on getting a job at a riding stable. Maybe even the one I used to board my horse at. And if that doesn't pan out—” She shrugged her shoulders. “I'll find something else.”

“You will.” Candy set the clipboard aside. “And next year, we'll have more girls, a bigger staff and maybe even a profit.”

“Next year, I'm going to know how to make a hurricane lamp out of a tuna can.”

“And a pillow out of two washcloths.”

“And pot holders.”

Candy remembered Eden's one mangled attempt. “Well, maybe you should take it slow.”

“There's going to be no stopping me. In the meantime, I'll contact the camp director over at—what's the name, Hawk's Nest?”

“Eagle Rock,” Candy corrected her, laughing. “It'll be fun for us, too, Eden. They have counselors.
Male
counselors.” Sighing, she stretched her arms to the ceiling. “Do you know how long it's been since I've spoken with a man?”

“You talked to the electrician just last week.”

“He was a hundred and two. I'm talking about a man who still has all his hair and teeth.” She touched her tongue to her upper lip. “Not all of us have passed the time holding hands with a man in the stables.”

Eden plumped up her excuse for a pillow. “I wasn't holding hands. I explained to you.”

“Roberta Snow, master spy, gave an entirely different story. With her, it appears to be love at first sight.”

Eden examined the pad of callus on the ridge of her palm. “I'm sure she'll survive.”

“Well, what about you?”

“I'll survive, too.”

“No, I mean, aren't you interested?” After folding her legs under her, Candy leaned forward. “Remember, darling, I got a good look at the man when I was negotiating for the use of his lake. I don't think there's a woman alive who wouldn't sweat a bit after a look at those spooky green eyes.”

“I never sweat.”

Chuckling, Candy leaned back. “Eden, you're talking to the one who loves you best. The man was interested enough to track you down in the stables. Think of the possibilities.”

“It's possible that he was returning Roberta's cap.”

“And it's possible that pigs fly. Haven't you been tempted to wander over by the orchard, just once?”

“No.” Only a hundred times. “Seen one apple tree, you've seen them all.”

“The same doesn't hold true for an apple grower who's about six-two, with a hundred and ninety well-placed pounds and one of the most fascinating faces this side of the Mississippi.” Concern edged into her voice. She had watched her friend suffer and had been helpless to do more than offer emotional support. “Have fun, Eden. You deserve it.”

“I don't think Chase Elliot falls into the category of fun.” Danger, she thought. Excitement, sexuality and, oh yes, temptation. Tossing her legs over the bunk, Eden walked to the window. Moths were flapping at the screen.

“You're gun-shy.”

“Maybe.”

“Honey, you can't use Eric as a yardstick.”

“I'm not.” With a sigh, she turned back. “I'm not pining or brooding over him, either.”

The quick shrug was Candy's way of dismissing someone she considered a weasel. “That's because you were never really in love with him.”

“I was going to marry him.”

“Because it seemed the proper thing to do. I know you, Eden, like no one else. Everything was very simple and easy with Eric. It all fit—click, click, click.”

Amused, Eden shook her head. “Is something wrong with that?”

“Everything's wrong with that. Love makes you giddy and foolish and achy. You never felt any of that with Eric.” She spoke from the experience of a woman who'd fallen in love, and out again, a dozen times before she'd hit twenty. “You would have married him, and maybe you would even have been content. His tastes were compatible with yours. His family mixed well with yours.”

Amusement fled. “You make it sound so cold.”

“It was. But you're not.” Candy raised her hands, hoping she hadn't gone too far. “Eden, you were raised a certain way, to be a certain way; then the roof collapsed. I can only guess at how traumatic that was. You've picked yourself up, but still you've closed pieces of yourself off. Isn't it time you put the past behind you, really behind you?”

“I've been trying.”

“I know, and you've made a good start, with the camp, with your outlook. Maybe it's time you started looking for a little more, just for yourself.”

“A man?”

“Some companionship, some sharing, some affection. You're too smart to think that you need a man to make things work, but to cut them off because one acted like a weasel isn't the answer, either.” She rubbed at a streak of red paint on her fingernail. “I guess I still believe that everyone needs someone.”

“Maybe you're right. Right now I'm too busy pasting myself back together and enjoying the results. I'm not ready for complications. Especially when they're six foot two.”

“You were always the romantic one, Eden. Remember the poetry you used to write?”

“We were children.” Restless, Eden moved her shoulders. “I had to grow up.”

“Growing up doesn't mean you have to stop dreaming.” Candy rose. “We've started one dream here, together. I want to see you have other dreams.”

“When the time's right.” Touched, Eden kissed Candy's cheek. “We'll have your dance and charm your counselors.”

“We could invite some neighbors, just to round things out.”

“Don't press your luck.” Laughing, Eden turned toward the door. “I'm going for a walk before I check on the horses. Leave the light on low, will you?”

The air was still, but not quiet. The first nights Eden had spent in the hills, the country quiet had disturbed her. Now, she could hear and appreciate the night music. The chorus of crickets in soprano, the tenor crying of an owl, the occasional bass lowing of the cows on a farm half a mile away all merged into a symphony accompanied by the rustling of small animals in the brush. The three-quarter moon and a galaxy of stars added soft light and dramatic shadows. The erratic yellow beams of an army of fireflies was a nightly light show.

As she strolled toward the lake, she heard the rushing song of peepers over the softer sound of lapping water. The air smelled as steamy as it felt, so she rounded the edge of the lake toward the cooler cover of trees.

With her mind on her conversation with Candy, Eden bent to pluck a black-eyed Susan. Twisting the stem between her fingers, she watched the petals revolve around the dark center.

Had she been a romantic? There had been poetry, dreamy, optimistic poetry, often revolving around love. Troubadour love, she thought now. The sort that meant long, wistful glances, sterling sacrifices and purity. Romantic, but unrealistic, Eden admitted. She hadn't written any poetry in a long time.

Not since she had met Eric, Eden realized. She had gone from dreamy young girl to proper young woman, exchanging verses for silver patterns. Now both the dreamy girl and the proper woman were gone.

That was for the best, Eden decided, and she tossed her flower onto the surface of the lake. She watched it float lazily.

Candy had been right. It had not been a matter of love with Eric, but of fulfilling expectations. When he had turned his back on her, he had broken not her heart, but her pride. She was still repairing it.

Eric had given her a suitable diamond, sent her roses at the proper times and had never been at a loss for a clever compliment. That wasn't romance, Eden mused, and it certainly wasn't love. Perhaps she'd never really understood either.