Dance Upon the Air (7 page)

The huge white house sat on a verdant carpet of lawn. Inside, its edges were sharp, its surfaces hard. Colors were pale—sands and taupes and grays.

But for the roses he bought her, always bought her, that were the color of blood.

The house was empty. But it seemed to be waiting.

In sleep she turned her head away, resisted. She didn't want to go into that place. Not ever again.

But the door opened, the tall white door that opened into the long, wide foyer. White marble, white wood, and the cold, cold sparkle of crystal and chrome.

She watched herself walk in—long, pale hair sweeping past the shoulders of a sleek white dress that sent off an icy glitter. Her lips were red, like the roses.

He came in with her, close behind. Always so close behind. His hand was there, lightly on the small of her back. She could still feel it there if she let herself.

He was tall, slim. Like a prince in his evening black with his hair a gold helmet. She had fallen in love with the fairy-tale look of him, and she had believed his promises of happy-ever-after. And hadn't he taken her to this palace, this white palace in this fantasy land, and given her everything a woman could want?

How many times had he reminded her of that?

She knew what happened next. She remembered the glittery white dress, remembered how tired and relieved she was that the evening was over, and that it had gone well. She'd done nothing to upset him, to embarrass him, to annoy him.

Or so she'd thought.

Until she'd turned to say something about how nice an evening it had been, and had seen his expression.

He'd waited until they were home, until they were alone, to make the transformation. It was one of his best skills.

And she remembered the fear that had clutched her belly even as she scrambled to think of what she'd done.

Did you enjoy yourself, Helen?

Yes, it was a lovely party. But a long one. Would you like me to fix you a brandy before we go to bed?

You enjoyed the music?

Very much.
Music? Had she said something inappropriate about the music? She could be so stupid about such things. Barely, she repressed a shudder as he reached out to toy with her hair.
It was wonderful to be able to dance outside, near the gardens.

She stepped back, hoping to turn toward the stairs, but his hand fisted in her hair, held her in place.
Yes, I noticed how much you enjoyed dancing, especially with Mitchell Rawlings. Flirting with him. Flaunting yourself. Humiliating me in front of my friends, my clients.

Evan, I wasn't flirting. I was only—

The backhanded slap sent her sprawling, the bright shock of pain blinding her. When she would have rolled into a protective ball, he dragged her across the marble floor by the hair.

How many times has he had his hands on you?

She denied, she wept, he accused. Until he grew weary of it and left her to crawl away and sob in a corner.

But this time, in this dream, she crawled off into
the shadows of the forest, where the air was soft and the ground warm.

And there, where the stream gurgled over its smooth rocks, she slept.

Then awoke to the cannon-blast of thunder and the jagged rip of lightning. Awoke to terror. She was running through the woods now, her white dress a sparkling beacon. Her blood pumped, the blood of the hunted. Trees crashed behind her, and the ground heaved under her feet and boiled with mist.

Still she ran, her breath tearing out of her throat and ending in whimpers. There were screams in the wind, and not all of them hers. Fear ruled until there was nothing else inside her, no reason, no sense, no answer.

The wind slapped at her with sharp and gleeful hands, and clawing fingers of brush tore her dress to shreds.

She was climbing, scrabbling like a lizard along the rock. Through the dark the beam from the lighthouse slashed like a silver blade, and below, the wild violence of the sea churned.

She kicked and cried and climbed. But she didn't look back, couldn't force herself to look around and face what pursued her.

Instead, choosing flight over fight, she leaped from the rocks, spun and spun in the wind on her plunge toward the water. And the cliffs, the light, the trees all tumbled in after her.

O
n her first
day off, Nell rearranged the furniture—what there was of it. She watered her flowers and herbs, did the wash, and baked a loaf of brown bread.

It was still shy of nine o'clock when she cut the first slice for her breakfast.

Evan had hated her early-rising habit, and had complained that that was the reason she was dull at parties. Now, in her little cottage near the sea, there was no one to criticize, no need to creep about. She had her windows open wide, and the whole day belonged just to her.

Still munching on bread and with a heel of the loaf in the pocket of her shorts, she took herself off for a long walk on the beach.

The boats were out, bobbing and gliding over the water. The sea was a soft, dreamy blue with frisky waves that rolled up lacy on the sand. Gulls winged over it, white-breasted in their graceful dance on the
air. The music of them, the long, shrill cries, pierced the low, endless rumble of the surf.

She turned in a little dance of her own. Then she tugged the bread from her pocket and tore it into small pieces, tossing it high to watch the gulls circle and dive.

Alone, she thought, lifting her face to the sky. But not lonely. She doubted she would ever be lonely again.

At the sound of church bells she turned to look back at the village, at the pretty white steeple. She glanced down at her shorts with the frayed hem, her sandy sneakers. Hardly dressed for services, she decided. But she could worship in her own way, and offer a prayer of thanksgiving.

While the bells rang and echoed, she sat near the edge of the water. Here was peace, she thought, and joy. She would never, never take either for granted. She would remember to give something back every day. Even if it was just a heel of bread for the gulls. She would tend what she planted. She would remember to be kind, and never forget to offer a helping hand.

She would keep her promises and expect nothing more than the chance to lead a good life that hurt no one.

She would earn what she'd been given, and treasure it.

She would take pleasure in the simple things, she decided. Starting right now.

Rising, she began to collect shells, tucking them in her pockets at first. When the pockets were full, she tugged off her shoes and used them. She reached the far end of the beach, where rocks jutted out of
the sand and began to tumble toward the sea. Here there were palm-size stones worn cobble smooth. She picked one, then another, wondering if she could fashion an edging for her little herb bed.

A movement to her left had her wrapping her fingers tight around the stone and turning quickly. Her heart continued to beat in hard jerks as she watched Zack coming down a zigzag of wooden steps.

“Morning.”

“Good morning.” In automatic defense, she glanced back, uneasy to realize how far from the village proper she'd wandered. The beach was no longer empty, but the scattered people were some distance away.

“Nice day for a long walk on the beach,” he commented, leaning against the handrail to study her. “You've sure had one.”

He'd watched her, from her dance with the gulls. It was a shame, he thought, how quickly her face could go from radiant to guarded.

“I didn't realize how far I'd come.”

“Nothing's really that far on an island this size. It's going to be a hot one,” he said easily. “Beach'll be crowded before noon. It's nice to get a little time on it before it's full of towels and bodies.”

“Yes, well . . .”

“Come on up.”

“What?”

“Come on up. To the house. I'll give you a bag for those shells and stones.”

“Oh, that's all right. I don't really need—”

“Nell—is it cops in general, men in general, or me in particular that worry you?”

“I'm not worried.”

“Prove it.” He stayed where he was, but held out a hand.

She kept her eyes on his. He had good eyes. Smart ones, but patient too. Slowly she stepped forward and lifted her hand to his.

“What do you plan to do with your shells?”

“Nothing.” Her pulse was galloping, but she made herself climb the sandy steps with him. “Well, nothing brilliant. Just scatter them around, I suppose.”

His hand held hers loosely, but even so she could tell it was hard and rough. He wore no rings, no watch on his wrist.

No pampering, she thought. No adornments.

Like her, he was barefoot, and his jeans were ripped at the knee, frayed at the hem. With his sun-streaked hair and tawny skin, he looked more beach bum than sheriff. It tamped down some of her anxiety.

At the landing they turned, walked along a gentle slope. Below, on the far side of the rocks, was a sunny inlet where a small red boat bobbed lazily at a rickety pier.

“Everything's a picture,” she said quietly.

“Have you done any sailing?”

“Yes. A little,” she said quickly. “Is that your boat?”

“She's mine.”

There was a sudden wild splashing of water, and a sleek, dark head appeared, cruising around the rocks. As Nell stared, a huge black dog leaped onto the shore and shook herself madly.

“Her, too,” Zack stated. “Mine, that is. Are you all right with dogs? Tell me now. I can hold her off and give you a fair head start.”

“No, I like dogs.” Then she blinked, looked back at him. “What do you mean, head start?”

He didn't bother to answer, just grinned as the dog leaped up the slope in powerful bounds. She jumped on Zack, tail wagging and spewing water, and licked his face. On two short, deep barks she bunched her muscles and would have given Nell the same treatment if Zack hadn't blocked her.

“This is Lucy. She's friendly, but mannerless. Down, Lucy.”

Lucy got down, her entire body wagging now. Then, obviously unable to control her joy and affection, she leaped on Zack again.

“She's two,” he explained, firmly pushing her down and shoving her butt to the ground with his hand. “Black Lab. I'm told they mellow out some when they're older.”

“She's beautiful.” Nell stroked Lucy's head, and at the first touch the dog collapsed on the ground and rolled over, belly up.

“No pride, either,” Zack began, then looked surprised when Nell just hunkered down and sent Lucy into ecstasy by rubbing her belly with both hands.

“You don't need pride when you're beautiful, do you, Lucy? Oh, there's nothing like a big, beautiful dog, is there? I always—oh!”

In a delirium of pleasure, Lucy rolled, scrambled, and knocked Nell flat on her back. Zack was fast, but not quite fast enough to keep her from being leaped on and licked.

“Jesus, Lucy. No! Hey, I'm sorry.” Zack shoved at the dog and lifted Nell to her feet one-handed. “You okay? Did she hurt you?”

“No. I'm fine.” She'd had the wind knocked out of her, but that was only part of the reason for breathlessness. He was brushing at her while the dog sat, head down, tail cautiously thumping. He was, Nell noted, frustrated and concerned. But not angry.

“You didn't hit your head, did you? Damn dog weighs almost as much as you do. Banged your elbow a little,” he added, then realized she was actually giggling. “What's so funny?”

“Nothing, really. It's just sweet the way she's pretending to look ashamed. She's obviously terrified of you.”

“Yeah, I take a bat to her twice a week whether she needs it or not.” He ran his hands lightly up and down Nell's arms. “Sure you're okay?”

“Yes.” It struck her then that they were now standing very close, almost embracing. And that his hands were on her, and her skin was much too warm from them. “Yes,” she said again and took a deliberate step in retreat. “No harm done.”

“You're sturdier than you look.” There were long, lean muscles in those arms, he noted. He'd already admired the ones in her legs. “Come on inside,” he said. “Not you,” he added, pointing at the dog. “You're banished.”

He scooped Nell's shoes up from the ground and walked toward a wide porch. Curious, and unable to think of an excuse not to follow, Nell went through the screened door he opened and into a big, bright, messy kitchen.

“It's the maid's decade off.” Comfortable in his own clutter, he set her shoes on the floor and went to
the refrigerator. “Can't offer you homemade lemonade, but we've got some iced tea.”

“That's fine, thanks. It's a wonderful kitchen.”

“We use it mostly for heating up takeout.”

“That's a shame.” There were acres of granite-toned counters, and wonderful rough-hewn cabinets with leaded-glass fronts. A generous double sink with a window over it offered a view of the inlet and the sea.

Plenty of storage and work space, she mused. With a little organization and a bit of imagination, it would be a marvelous . . .

We?
He'd said “we,” she realized. Was he married? She'd never thought of that, never considered the possibility. Not that it mattered, of course, but . . .

He'd flirted with her. She may have been out of practice and short on experience, but she knew when a man was flirting.

“You've got a lot of thoughts going on inside that head at one time.” Zack held out a glass. “Want to share any of them?”

“No. That is, I was just thinking what a nice room this is.”

“It was a lot more presentable when my mother was in charge of it. Now that it's just Ripley and me, the kitchen doesn't get a lot of attention.”

“Ripley. Oh. I see.”

“You were wondering if I was married, or maybe living here with someone who wasn't my sister. That's nice.”

“It's none of my business.”

“I didn't say it was, just said it was nice. I'd take you through the house, but it's probably in worse shape
than the kitchen. And you've got a tidy soul. We'll go this way.” He took her hand again, pulled her back outside.

“Where? I really should be getting back.”

“It's Sunday, and we've hit our day off together. I've got something you'll like,” he continued and tugged her across the porch.

It wrapped around the house, edged the side where there was a scrubby garden and a couple of gnarled trees. Weather-worn steps led up to a second-story porch that faced the sea.

He kept his hand over hers and led her up them.

Air and sun washed over her, made her think how easy it would be to stretch out in the wooden chaise and let the day rock away.

A telescope stood by the rail, along with a stone troth that had yet to be planted.

“You're right.” She stepped to the rail, leaned out and breathed. “I do like it.”

“You look west, you can see the mainland when it's clear enough.”

“You don't have your telescope pointed west.”

At the moment all his attention was on her very pretty set of legs. “I guess I don't.”

“What do you look at?”

“Whatever strikes my fancy at the time.”

She glanced over as she moved away. He was staring at her now—long, speculative looks, and they both knew it. “It'd be tempting to stay out here all day,” she said as she turned the corner and looked out on the village. “Watch the comings and the goings.”

“I watched you this morning, feeding the gulls.” He leaned on the rail, a man at home, and drank his
tea. “I woke up thinking, ‘You know, I'm going to find a reason to drop by the yellow cottage today, get another look at Nell Channing,' then I came out here with my morning coffee, and there you were. So I didn't have to make up a reason to get another look at you.”

“Sheriff—”

“It's my day off,” he reminded her. He started to lift his hand to touch her hair, but when she edged back he simply slid it into his pocket. “Since it is, why don't we spend a couple hours of it on the water? We can go for a sail.”

“I can't. I have to . . .”

“You don't have to hunt up excuses. Some other time.”

“Yes.” The knot that had formed in her belly loosened. “Some other time. I really should go. Thanks for the drink, and the view.”

“Nell—” He took her hand again, kept his fingers light when hers jerked. “There's a line between making a woman a little nervous and scaring her. That's a line I wouldn't want to cross. When you get to know me a little better, you'll believe that,” he added.

“Right now I'm working on getting to know myself a little better.”

“Fair enough. I'll get you a bag for your shells and stones.”

He made
a point of going into the café every morning. A cup of coffee, a muffin, a few words. To Zack's way of thinking, she'd get used to seeing him,
talking to him, and the next time he worked it around so they were alone together, she wouldn't feel compelled to check for running room.

He was perfectly aware that Nell wasn't the only one who noticed his new morning habit. Zack didn't mind the teasing comments, the sly winks and chuckles. Island life had a rhythm, and whenever anything new added a beat, everyone felt it.