Foxfire Light (12 page)

“And—you should have complimented her on the dress and let it go at that. That's partly my
fault since I told you she had made it herself. What I failed to mention was how self-conscious she felt because it didn't carry a fancy label, therefore it was unworthy and not up to Reece's standards.”

“Now, that is ridiculous.” She resented that attitude. “Reece isn't a snob.”

“You know that, and I know that, but Rachel doesn't,” Linc reasoned calmly as she turned on the taps to fill the sink with water.

Recognizing the inherent truth of his observation, Joanna sighed. “What else?”

“If you wanted her to feel comfortable, you should have allowed her to help serve. She isn't used to being waited on, not in this kind of situation,” he stated.

“I wanted to show her that she was important, a guest,” she defended her action.

“I'm not questioning your intentions, Joanna.” There was a faint smile curving his mouth. “Unfortunately, you only succeeded in making her feel awkward.”

“I see.” The Line of her mouth was tight. She pushed the faucet over to fill the other half of the double sink with rinse water. “Is there anything else?”

“Just one.”

'That figures,” she grumbled.

“If you wanted them to meet on common ground, they should be here in the kitchen doing the dishes instead of us. Maybe if Rachel saw Reece up to his elbows in dishsoap, she would
realize he doesn't exist on some elevated plane,” Linc concluded.

She attacked the dirty dishes, angry with herself for not seeing the things that had been so obvious to Linc. It didn't help that he had been the one to point out her shortcomings. That was salt on the wound.

“I have to admit,” Linc went on as he lifted the dishes out of the rinse water and stacked them on the drainboard, “you do have a talent for saying and doing the wrong things at the wrong time.”

“Thanks a lot,” she murmured sarcastically. “I really needed that vote of confidence.”

“I wouldn't worry about it.” He began drying the dishes she washed. “After all, it's something they have to work out themselves. All you could have accomplished would have been to smooth the path a little but it's still up to them to walk down it.”

“I suppose it is,” Joanna sighed, but she did feel a little better.

He crooked a finger under her chin, startling her with his touch. Her widened gaze flew to his face, pleasantly rugged and lean. His mouth slanted in a half-smile. He rubbed a thumb over her cheek and explained, “You had some dish-soap on your face.”

Unaware he'd already wiped it away, she lifted a wet hand to her cheek, trailing more soap bubbles across it. “Is it gone?”

He chuckled in his throat. “Not at that rate.”
This time he used a corner of the dishtowel to wipe away the suds. “There. It's all gone.”

Unexpectedly her gaze became locked by his. There was an uneven patter to her heartbeat, an unsteady rhythm to her breathing. A sudden, inexplicable tension knotted her stomach. She had an urge to smooth the springing thickness of his dark hair. With an effort, Joanna dragged her gaze away from him and tried to concentrate on the dirty dishes in the sink.

“Did any birds fly in front of you today?” Linc murmured the question.

She swallowed in an attempt to ease the sudden constriction in her throat. “No.”

'That's funny.”

At his cryptic reply, she glanced at him. Linc reached out and turned her away from the sink and into his arms, his mouth coming down to cover hers. Heat flared in her veins as she strained toward him, yet careful not to touch him with her wet hands. She pressed herself against the hard strength of his body.

His caressing hands became tangled in the ties of her apron. It brought them both back to the present. He released her slowly, breathing in deeply, a light continuing to smolder in his tawny eyes.

“You have to be the most exasperating female I've met,” he said, the remark stinging her. “You get under a man's skin whether it's what he wants or not.”

“Do you want me to get under your skin?”
Joanna didn't intend for her question to be as provocative as it sounded.

“Not as much as I want to get into yours,” Linc replied with so much desire in his look that she had to turn back to the sink to quiet her own lusting thoughts.

T
he terrible pangs of self-consciousness returned in full force the minute Rachel left the dinner table and lost the buffer of Linc and Joanna. She was tongue-tied, helpless to find a subject to discuss with Reece. Her knees were weak as she walked to the couch where she had been sitting before dinner.

“Would you care for an after-dinner liqueur?” Reece paused in front of the fireplace. “Perhaps a brandy or Drambuie?”

“No, thank you.” After the fiasco with the sherry, Rachel didn't intend to repeat the mistake by requesting something she had never tasted.

Then she noticed that Reece was turning away from the liquor tray to walk to the armchair he'd
previously occupied on her right. She panicked a little when she thought he wasn't having a drink because she had refused one.

“Aren't you going to fix yourself something?” she asked.

“No, I don't care for alcohol that well,” he explained and allowed a smile to pull at the corners of his mouth. “Except on occasions when I sometimes seek the dutch courage that's in the bottle.”

It was difficult to imagine he would ever need that. He always seemed to be in command of any situation. Rachel wondered if he'd meant that because the remark implied he had needed the false courage of liquor before dinner. But she couldn't ask him about it.

“This cabin is very nice, isn't it?” She filled the silence with an empty remark and wished she had said something witty and intelligent.

“Yes,” Reece agreed and looked around the room with quiet satisfaction. “I think of it as my second home. It is much more comfortable than my place in California. Sometimes I wish I could move the cabin there.”

“It would be out of place.” Just as she would be in Los Angeles. “Your home in California must be very grand.”

Rachel could easily picture him in such a setting and was a little surprised to discover how well he blended into this rustic surrounding.

“It is quite large,” he admitted then raised his downcast glance to look at her. “It is also quite empty.”

“I'm sure you have many friends to fill it,” she insisted.

There was a wry lift of his mouth. “A man in my position has a great many acquaintances, Rachel, but very few friends.”

“I suppose.” But she had difficulty believing that.

He seemed to sense it. “Are there not times when you are lonely?”

“Of course.” She tried to make light of the admission with an indifferent smile but there were many times when loneliness weighed down her spirit.

“I used to think the night times were the worst,” Reece mused. “Now I know it is the mornings—with no one sitting across the breakfast table and no one to wave goodbye to you when you leave for work.”

There was a tight constriction in her chest at the apt way he described the emptiness that yawned at the start of each new day, with nothing to look forward to at the end of it except more of the same. Yet Rachel wasn't able to voice it as readily as he had. Her glance strayed to the window. Beyond its glass panes, crimson and gold banners were streaking the sky.

“Look at the sunset.” She called Reece's attention to the window, relieved to change the subject. Rising from the couch, she walked to the window for a better view. “Isn't it beautiful?”

She marveled at the brilliant colors shading the clouds and coloring the hills. Hearing his approach, she glanced over her shoulder. He
stopped behind her and a little to one side. The disturbing darkness of his gaze stayed on her for several seconds before swinging to the window.

“It is very beautiful,” he agreed with a nod of his head.

His nearness started little tremors of excitement that she couldn't control. A strong sense of self-preservation insisted that she deny herself the pleasure she found in his company or suffer the consequences.

“I can't stay late,” Rachel said and stared out the window.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the sharp frown of displeasure Reece directed at her. She fought down the thrill that he didn't want her to leave yet.

“I have to be at the shop bright and early tomorrow morning,” she justified her reason.

“You work too hard and too many hours,” he criticized.

“It can't be helped,” she shrugged.

“You should hire a qualified assistant who can operate the store in your absence so you can have more free time,” Reece advised.

“That is easier said than done.” Her sidelong glance was both amused and resigned to the situation.

“Do you know why I say that?” The lilting inflection of his voice put a question mark at the end of the sentence. “There is so little time left. I want to spend every possible minute that I can with you. I am selfish. I want you to have more free hours so you can be with me.”

She was thrown by the vibrating pitch of his voice that spoke with such intensity. It left her shaken and unnerved, unable to combat this undermining of her defenses.

“It. . . isn't possible.” She faltered over her reply.

“When will I see you again?” When his direct question was met with silence, a smile twisted his mouth. “Or should I have Joanna ask that question for me? She seems to be more successful at obtaining an affirmative reply than I am. I shall have to learn her secret.”

“There isn't any secret.” Rachel assured him quickly. “It just worked out this way. Summer is my busy season and I—” She had used the shop as an excuse so many times that it sounded tired even to her. She abandoned it altogether. “There are dozens of ladies who would be more than delighted to spend time with you.”

“It wouldn't matter if there were a million,” Reece declared as he turned to face her. The warm firm touch of his hands catapulted her heart into her throat. “It is still
you
I'm asking, Rachel. Linc argues that I must be patient because you don't know me, but how patient must I be? Ask me what it is you want to know and I'll tell you. I want to be with
you,
Rachel, and I think—” He paused to lightly cup her cheek in his hand and tilt her face up. Although she tried, she couldn't resist the magnetic force of his charm and felt all her carefully guarded defenses melt away under his possessive look. “—you want to be with me.”

Rachel couldn't say it. “Yes, but—” There were too many differences, too many obstacles.

“Sssh.” He pressed his thumb to her lips before she could add more. “For now, it is enough that you have said *yes' to me.” She was incapable of arguing the point. “You close your shop early on Sunday, don't you? You don't keep it open in the evenings?”

“I generally close around six,” she admitted.

“Then I will pick you up at six. Bring some old clothes and we'll go fishing,” Reece stated.

“Fishing?” It was the last thing Rachel had expected him to suggest. A movie, dinner, a show perhaps—but not fishing. She couldn't keep the stunned reaction out of her expression.

“Yes, fishing.” He frowned at her failure to endorse his suggestion. “Don't you like to fish? I thought you might enjoy the chance to be outside. You spend so much of your time indoors.”

“I like to fish,” she assured him, then qualified the answer, “At least I did. It's been years since I went fishing.”

“Would you like to go Sunday?” This time he asked.

“Yes.” It sounded novel and fun. “I'll have to get a license,” she remembered.

“That's easily handled,” Reece said and began to outline his plans for the evening. “I'll pick you up at six and get your license. We'll fish until dark and cook whatever we catch for a late supper.”

“What if we don't catch anything?” She raised the possibility, not fully aware how easily she
was joking with him, how naturally she was reacting.

“Then we will come back here and you can scramble me some eggs. And I will love it.” His light tone became progressively serious until he ended on a husky note.

Under the burning darkness of his gaze, she stopped breathing. Her senses quivered in anticipation as his hand tightened on her shoulder, impelling her forward. His kiss was warm and firm, his needs controlled. It was all too brief to satisfy either of them, but it held an exciting promise that quickened her blood.

“I'll drive you home,” Reece stated.

Rachel nodded, then remembered belatedly, “Linc—”

“Wait here,” he interrupted, “and I'll tell them we're going.”

“Okay,” she smiled a contented agreement and watched him cross the room to the kitchen.

She felt as giddy and gay as a teenager who had just accepted an invitation from a boy she'd had a crush on for years. It was a sensation a mature forty-year-old woman didn't expect to experience again.

When Reece entered the kitchen, there weren't any more dirty dishes to be washed. Linc was drying the last pan while Joanna wiped off the range top.

Linc glanced over his shoulder. “If you've come to see if we need any help, Reece, your timing is excellent. We have just finished the dishes.”

Reece's laugh drew Joanna's gaze. He was practically beaming. “No, I came to tell you that I'm driving Rachel home,” he explained the reason for his presence. “She has to work tomorrow.”

“Are you leaving now?” Joanna wondered.

“Yes. I'll be back later,” her uncle promised and retraced his steps to the living room.

Joanna stared thoughtfully at the archway where he had disappeared while she folded the wet dishcloth and draped it over the sink divider. Linc was hanging up his towel on the rack. She cast him a sideways glance.