Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 (7 page)

Long after she'd heard a
door slamming shut in the house, Laura remained perfectly still.
Tears streamed down her cheeks in abandon. She was too numb to
think. Too numb to do anything but try to will away the echoing of
his harsh words in her skull.

He was right in that she was
being stubborn. What was it about Roan Ingliss that brought out the
worst in her?

Ordinarily, she walked away
from a confrontation. An argument of any kind had never been worth
her time or energy. Yet now, she felt a horrible compulsion to lash
out at him, verbally and physically.

Her hand smarted, her head
throbbed and her body ached miserably, but none of it explained her
inability to control her emotions. From the moment she came to in
this house, she felt like a stick of dynamite with a lit
fuse.

Sinking to the floor, her
legs folded beneath her, she surveyed the room through a new mist
of tears.

Of course she didn't want to
haul the boys out into the cold. Perhaps she knew Roan wouldn't let
her leave the house under unfavorable conditions. But wouldn't that
mean that she wanted him—anyone—to take charge of her
life?

No!

Somewhere inside her, the
real Laura Bennett was hiding. Why, she didn't know, but she wanted
her back.

She looked toward the hall
door to see the boys coming toward her. A smile strained past her
despair. Alby climbed onto her lap and pressed the side of his head
to her chest. Kevin sat crosslegged on the floor to her left; Kahl
to her right, his legs folded beneath him.

They passed questioning
looks among themselves, waiting for her to say something to assuage
their curiosity. They knew something was wrong, but Laura didn't
know what to tell them.

The silence took its toll on
Alby. He began to whimper as he nestled his chubby face in the
folds of her coat. Tears sprang into Kahl's eyes. Kevin fought
harder not to relent to the emotions swelling inside
him.

"It'll be okay," Laura said
softly, encircling Kevin and Kahl's shoulders with her arms and
drawing them closer to her. "Mr. Ingliss is going to call the
consulate."

"Are we staying?" Kahl
sniffed.

"For a while longer," she
replied. Despite her efforts, her tone sounded hollow.

"Laura, I gotta take a
slash."

A chuckle rattled deep in
her throat, and she kissed the top of Alby's head. "Take a slash,
huh?" Her mood brightening, she smiled in earnest. "While we're
waiting for Mr. Ingliss to return, how about if we explore your
tower, Kahl?"

His eyes gleaming with
anticipation, he sprang to his feet. "Yeah. It's cool. Maybe we'll
find a skeleton, huh? Do you think? Huh?"

"One could only hope," she
said wearily, getting to her feet.

* * *

The laughter and
conversation in Shortby's wound down when a gust of wind and a
snow-clad, half-frozen Roan came through the door. Shutting it with
more force than necessary, he crossed to the bar, peeling off his
gloves along the way.

"Roan, ma boy!" one elderly
patron laughed. "Join me for a pint!"

"Later," Roan grumbled,
climbed onto a stool and testily beckoned for the bartender. "Yer
phone workin'?"

"On and off," Silas
MacCormick said, eyeing Roan sympathetically from above wire-rimmed
glasses perched on the end of his narrow nose.

"Ma tab still
good?"

Silas nodded.

"Have me a bitter ready,"
Roan ordered, placing his gloves on the counter and sliding off the
stool. He went to a black telephone at the end of the bar and
lifted the handset to a red-rimmed ear.

"Damn me," he swore at the
silence that greeted him, then slammed the handset home and
returned to the stool.

Silas' dark eyes twinkled
beneath bushy white eyebrows as he placed a handled glass in front
of Roan.

"Where you been,
lately?"

"Kist House," Roan replied
with a grimace.

"No say. Borgie was by last
eve. Left here, staggerin'."

"He's an arse,
too."

"Too?"

Roan gestured that it wasn't
worth an explanation. "Ma bloody car skidded into Kastor's dyke."
He downed half the warm, dark ale before adding, "Course, he wasn't
home so I could use his bloody phone."

"You walked from Kastor's?"
With a roll of his eyes, Silas feigned a theatrical shiver. "The
wind has a cruel cut to it."

Turning halfway on the
stool, Roan looked over the dozen other men occupying the
establishment. "Taylor been in today?"

"His wife's abou' to give
birth. Methinks she's got the leash tight ‘round his neck, these
days. Can't say as I blame her. He wasn't around when the ither
five popped ou' now, was he?" With a laugh, he pulled a bar towel
from his shoulder and gave a swipe over the spotless counter. "Six.
Can you imagine six wailin' kids under yer feet?"

A shadow passed over Roan's
features but for a moment. "No, can't imagine it, Silas. Damn, I
need to make a call."

"To Aggie?"

"No. The American Consulate
in Edinburgh."

Silas' eyebrows quirked
upward. "Wha' for?"

"It’s a long
story."

"Hey, lad!" boomed a
familiar voice, a beefy hand clapping Roan on the back. William
Shaw parked his broad buttocks on the stool to Roan's left. "Up to
a game o' darts?" His broadening grin exposed a missing upper front
tooth. "I'm in ma cups but feelin' lucky as hell," he added,
gleefully rubbing his hands together.

Roan glanced off to his
right, to the dart board mounted on the wall of a raised platform
area. Looking at William, he gave a solemn shake of his head. "No'
today."

"Why no'? I'll spot you
a—"

"No' today," Roan scowled
into his face.

Lifting his hands in a
placating manner, William Shaw left the stool and returned to his
three drinking buddies across the room.

"What's eatin' you,
Roan?"

Silas' soft tone elicited a
sigh from Roan. "Wha' isn't, these days?"

"Hmm. If I didn't know
better, I'd bet ma life you were a mon wi' a lot o' womon trouble.
But ye're Roan Ingliss, aye? Folks ‘round here know you to be a
loner."

Despite his mood, a gleam of
laughter brightened Roan's eyes. "A loner I may prefer to be, ma
friend, but it’s a womon all right who has me in knots."

Silas rested his bony elbows
on the counter, his upturned palms supporting his chin. "Go on," he
grinned.

"Nothin' really to tell.
Damn me, I need a bloody phone."

"A Yank, aye? I mean, you
did mention the American Consulate, didn't you?"

"Aye...on both accounts. She
drove smack into an oak on Baird's land. Her and the
laddies—"

"Laddies?"

"Her three
nephews."

"How old are
they?"

Roan shrugged.
"Young."

"And the womon...pretty,
aye?"

Roan scowled, finished off
his lager then slapped the bottom of the glass down. "You ask too
many questions."

"Ah." Straightening, Silas
chuckled. "Yer defensiveness says it all, ma lad."

"It does, huh?" Arching a
haughty brow, Roan wagged a finger at the man. "You don't know a
thing, old mon. Trust me."

An air of superiority gave
flight to Silas' outgoing personality. "Don't know a thing, you
say? I'll bet a day's wage she's young, pretty as a day is long,
and built to shackle a mon's reasonin'."

Flustered, Roan slid off the
stool. "I've got to get back. I'll probably return in the morn to
use the phone." Digging into his right pocket, he extracted some
coins, picked through them, and flipped a pound on the counter. "If
Taylor, Borgie or Archie come in, ask them to come to Kist House.
At the least, I need to know if there's a coach goin' to Edinburgh
anytime soon."

"No' likely you'll see the
white o' their eyes up there."

"Just ask."

"Aye," Silas grinned, and
winked suggestively. "But I'll tell them no' to bother you too long
efter dark. Lest you be warmin' yer bones—"

"Yer dentures are too
large," Roan clipped, retrieving his gloves into one hand. "They
make yer head look all shrunk up."

Silas heartily laughed and
offered Roan a jaunty salute. "I'll be damned! Roan Ingliss is
smitten wi' a Yank!"

The pub fell silent once
again. Roan was conscious that all eyes were on him. Shrugging
deeper into his coat, he turned on a heel and beelined for the
door. Shouts from a few of the customers made a bid to stall him,
but inwardly seething that perhaps the old man's words held some
truth, he exited the pub. Icy wind claimed him again. Leaning into
its bite, he plowed across the small parking lot, toward
Crossmichael's main road. More than half the day had been wasted
trying to locate a working telephone. He knew Laura Bennett
wouldn't appreciate his efforts. If she was even still at the
house.

His threat had been rash,
and if there was one thing he knew about Laura, it was that she
didn't like to feel out of control. But what was a man to do when a
woman's stubbornness exceeded the bounds of tolerance? He did care
what happened to them. He wasn't about to subject himself to
sleepless nights wondering if they'd arrived safe in
Edinburgh.

Lannie's energies had to
replenish soon. If not....

Roan didn't want to dwell
any longer on the volatile emotions the woman's presence provoked.
It wasn't her fault that she resembled Adaina, or that Adaina and
Jamey had so tragically died. And it wasn't her fault that he found
her so maddeningly attractive.

Dusk was settling in over
the land when he trudged up the driveway to Kist House. Ice
particles weighing down his thick lashes, he gazed over the facade
of the Victorian mansion as he approached the massive, double front
doors. Every part of him ached from the cold, especially his feet,
which felt as if embedded with fiery needles. He entered the small
greenhouse, stomped his boots to shake off the snow caked onto
them, and reached for the left knob on the second set of double
doors.

The door swung open. Laura
Bennett's small frame stood in the opening.

Their eye contact was brief.
Brushing past her, he entered the hall, shucked out of his coat and
hung it on a rack to his left and began to rub his bare arms with
his palms.

"I thought you might need
this," Laura said demurely, lifting a blanket she'd earlier placed
by the rack.

Without looking into her
face, he eagerly shook the blue and purple plaid blanket open and
swung it over his bare shoulders.

"I couldn't figure out how
to work the stove, so I didn't put on any water for tea. You
look...."

Roan met her nervous gaze
and frowned.

"Frozen," she completed in a
small voice.

"Where are the
laddies?"

"Sleeping. Did you.... Were
you able to get to a telephone?"

Roan drew the blanket
tighter about him. "Aye, but the lines are down. I'll try again in
the morn."

She stared into his eyes for
what seemed a long time before lowering her gaze to the floor
between them. "I was worried you wouldn't come back."

Her words took him aback.
When she looked up again, he closed one eye and leaned
closer.

"All right, hit me wi' the
punch line and get it over wi'."

Laura gave a bewildered
shake of her head. "I was worried. The wind picked up shortly after
you left— What happened to your car?"

He started walking toward
the secondary hall, Laura falling into step alongside him. "I slid
into a dyke. Helluva mess."

"A dyke?"

He stopped just past the
barroom and looked down at her. "A dividin' wall."

"The car's
totaled?"

He arched an inquiring
eyebrow.

"It's wrecked?"

"Aye, but I'm in one piece,"
he said sarcastically.

Her gaze swept
appreciatively down his tall frame. "I can see that." She met his
brooding gaze, guarding her concern for him. "How far did you have
to walk?"

"Far enough," he
grumbled.

Clasping her hands to the
small of her back, she followed him into the kitchen. Silence
accompanied them for a time while he filled a kettle and placed it
on a gas burner atop the antiquated stove. He lit one of the wooden
matches kept on a wrought iron rack above the appliance, turned one
of the knobs, and lit the unit. Turning and eyeing Laura, he blew
out the match.

"There's a question in yer
eyes," he said matter-of-factly.

"Not a question." Laura
squared her shoulders. "I'm sorry if I don't always understand what
you're saying."

Again, he looked at her
inquiringly.