Green Fire (3 page)

"You're not making any sense."

"I'm writing an article, Rani. In my spare time I do articles on legends and treasures. Objects that have interesting histories like the one behind that ring. A piece on the Clayborne ring is my current project."

"It's just a ring, not a special piece of jewelry," she said bewilderedly. "What about the handyman-gardening job?"

"I told you, it's how I'm going to finance the time to write."

"Have you written a lot of articles, Flint?"

"A few."

She felt as though she were sinking into a bottomless sea. "Have they sold?"

"Some have."

"I don't understand. How did you know about my ring?"

Flint shrugged. "It's one of the legends I've tracked on and off through the years. For some reason I've grown very curious about this particular tale. When I decided to do the article, I tried to find out what had happened to the ring. I discovered it had been left to you by your uncle."

Rani's mouth felt dry. "You seem to know a great deal about me. Far more than I know about you."

"You'll learn."

"About you? I hate to break this to you, Mr. Cottrell, but learning more about you isn't exactly high on my list of priorities."

"You keep a list?" He sounded genuinely interested.

"It was a figure of speech! Just how much do you know about Uncle Ambrose?"

"He was a fine craftsman."

"That's a nice term for it. He made a living creating fake jewelry like this ring. He could make a piece of red glass look like a ruby or cut a bit of crystal so that it shone like a diamond. His work was often good enough to fool anyone but a professional. Supposedly he had an honest business creating paste. There are plenty of people who don't want to wear their genuine valuables in public and prefer to have duplicates made. But the truth of the matter is that my uncle made his real money working with jewel thieves who wanted to leave a piece of paste behind when they stole the real thing. My uncle's stuff was so good that often the switch wasn't discovered for years."

"You seem to know a fair amount about Ambrose's career," Flint said mildly as he started energetically on the stew.

Rani's mouth curved wryly. "I learned it the awkward way along with the rest of my family after Uncle Ambrose was killed in a car accident back East a couple of months ago. When his business accounts were examined after the funeral, a great deal of information came to light. Uncle Ambrose kept excellent books. Two sets of them. Several old jewel theft cases were partially cleared up, thanks to Uncle Ambrose's accounts.

"And after his death you inherited that ring."

"Along with a whole bunch of other fake jewelry. My uncle's work is actually quite beautiful. The jewelry was forwarded to me by his lawyer, who said Ambrose wanted me to have it. I'm not sure why. It's not as if we were close. Ambrose kept his distance from the rest of the family. We never saw much of him through the years." Rani pulled her hand out of her lap and deliberately spread her fingers so that the kitchen light reflected off the emerald-green ring. "But it's all equally false, Flint. Believe me."

"You're an expert?"

"No. I had them appraised. Some are plain glass, beautifully cut. Others are inferior stones cut and polished so perfectly they look like the real thing. The settings look good, just as this one does. But they're not worth more than any other piece of nice costume jewelry."

Flint eyed the ring thoughtfully. "You seem to enjoy wearing that ring."

Rani waggled her fingers. "I like all the pieces. They're fun to wear. Very pretty in their own way. Big, gaudy pieces of colorful junk. I've always liked bright colors." She flushed in a burst of self-deprecating amusement and glanced down at her bright sweater. "I have rather garish tastes, you see."

"Is that right?" There was a flicker of humor in the green eyes.

"Believe me, if this thing was real, I'd have it sitting in a safe-deposit box," Rani stated firmly. "I wouldn't dare wear it."

"I've just told you that the value of the ring lies in the story behind it."

"Any legend worth its salt would be about a real emerald, not a phony one. If there ever was a genuine stone in this ring, Uncle Ambrose removed it long ago. If the police are to be believed about Uncle Ambrose's business methods, it would have been cut up and sold on the black market." Rani picked up her spoon and began attacking her bowl of stew with a grim determination. She could only hope she'd said enough to discourage Cottrell if he was here with some vague notion of stealing her ring. It would be impossible to physically kick him out of the house. The man was big. But surely he wouldn't be sitting here chatting calmly about the ring if he intended to steal it.

"Legends are strange things. Very persistent things. Aren't you even curious about the ones concerning your ring?"

"Not particularly."

"Suit yourself. Is there any more stew?"

Rani stifled a sigh. "Yes, there's more stew. Have you brought linens and dishes with you, Flint?" She got to her feet to ladle out more food. "I doubt the cottage has any. From what I've seen of the place it's been vacant quite a while."

"I'll get by. I've slept in worse places."

"I'll bet," Rani muttered as she brought the dish back to the table. "When you've finished eating, I'll show you the cottage."

He looked up at her searchingly. "You're anxious to get rid of me, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry if I appear rude, but, frankly, this evening isn't going the way I planned, at all."

"Because I'm not the man you spoke to on the phone?"

"That's certainly part of the reason," she replied too sweetly. Rani resumed her seat. "The other part is that it makes me extremely nervous to know you've followed me all this way just because of a fake ring."

Flint put down his spoon and touched her hand, his gaze intent. "Don't be nervous. I brought good references, haven't I?"

"That letter from the Andersons? I don't know if it's a good reference or not." She withdrew her fingers, instinctively retreating from his touch.

"It's legitimate." He sounded arrogantly offended, as if he weren't accustomed to having his word questioned.

"Oh, I'm not doubting the signature. But who knows how much they knew about you when they rented the cottage to you? Who knows what you told them to get the job? You admitted you talked them into thinking they needed a… a handyman-gardener."

"Suspicious little thing, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't you be if you were in my shoes?" Rani asked coolly.

To her surprise he appeared to give the matter serious consideration. "I don't know. I can't imagine what it would be like to be in your shoes. I can imagine being attracted to you, but I can't imagine being you. We're at opposite ends of a spectrum."

Rani set down her spoon, aware that her pulse was racing for no good reason. No, she immediately told herself, that wasn't true. Fear was a good reason. "I think it's time I showed you to the cottage, Flint."

He stared at her for a moment, taking in the sudden, regal tilt of her chin and the firm decision in her eyes. Then, to Rani's infinite relief, he nodded. "All right." He reached for one last biscuit, put down his napkin and got to his feet.

Rani didn't hesitate. She wanted him out of the house, and he appeared to be in a mood to go. She didn't dare waste the opportunity. "I'll get a flashlight."

"I have to get some things from the jeep." Flint swallowed the last of his biscuit and started toward the front door, pausing to pull his old sheepskin jacket out of the closet. Bareheaded, he stepped out into the rain, closing the door behind him. Zipp lifted his head to watch him go and then went back to dozing in front of the fire.

Rani scurried around, putting on a yellow trench coat and locating her red umbrella. She wanted to meet Flint outside so that he wouldn't have any further excuse for coming back into the house. When she yanked open the front door, he was already standing there, waiting for her. He had a scarred leather travel bag slung over one shoulder.

Rani felt a flash of guilt as she realized he was already wet again. "Here, get under the umbrella," she instructed briskly, opening it. Obediently he ducked beneath the shield. She had to stretch her arm high in order to cover him. It was awkward. "Do you have a key?"

"The Andersons gave me one."

"Fine. The cottage is around back. This way." Rani led him around the corner of the old mountain house, following a brick path that was missing several bricks. "Watch your step," she called above the steady drone of the rain.

She promptly stepped into one of the small holes in the path, herself. "Damn!"

Flint took her arm in a grip that resembled a predator's hold on its prey. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, thank you." Unobtrusively she attempted to free her arm. He didn't appear to notice her efforts.

"I'll make sure 1 take care of this path first thing," he said seriously.

Rani gritted her teeth. "Wonderful."

The cottage loomed up out of the wet darkness, uninviting and depressing. When Flint shoved his key into the lock, the door swung open to reveal a room of deepest gloom. Fortunately the light switch worked. Unfortunately it didn't do much for the general sense of neglect and disrepair. There wasn't much to the old cottage, just a main room that served as both a sitting and sleeping area, a fireplace, bath and a tiny alcove of a kitchen with a small assortment of aging appliances. Rani began to feel guilty again, even though she knew she had absolutely no reason for it. Still, she couldn't imagine anyone not being depressed about the idea of living there for a few weeks.

"You may want to change your mind about the arrangement you made with the Andersons," she said, glancing around the room.

"I doubt it." Flint dropped his leather bag onto the old linoleum floor. "I've learned to take what I can get. This place is free, remember? Can't beat a deal like that."

Irritation began to build in Rani. "You could if you had a decent job. You'd be able to afford something much better than this. Have you spent your whole life bouncing around from one makeshift job to another?"

He slanted her an unfathomable glance. "That and chasing legends."

"Oh, yes. I forgot about the legends," she retorted tightly.

"You shouldn't. Especially now that you've become part of one." Flint's tone was suddenly very soft, faintly dangerous.

"If you're talking about the ring—" she began resolutely.

"I am," he assured her.

"Then you can just forget this particular legend!"

"I can't do that. It's the basis of my next magazine article, remember? Besides," he added with a fleeting smile, "if there's any truth to the legend, I can't forget about it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Maybe if I tell you the first part of the tale, you'll understand."

"I told you, I'm not interested," she tried to say. But she was. Vitally interested. Flint seemed to sense it.

"The story goes back to the seventeen hundreds," Flint said as he closed the door behind her. "I'll spare you the details, since you say you're not interested, but the important part is that the woman who owns the ring has an affinity for cats and a woman's power over one particular man. She doesn't know who he is, but once he's drawn to her his future, as well as her own, is sealed."

"That sounds very uncomfortable."

"In each generation that the ring finds its way onto the hand of a woman who can control it, there's a man who is fated to be drawn into her power."

"Whoever said life was fair?" Rani smiled with a flippancy she didn't really feel. "Lucky for you, this ring is a fake."

"I don't know about that. I seem to be here, don't I?"

Rani stepped back, her hand on the doorknob. "Does the legend say what happens to men who chase false rings?"

Flint shook his head, watching as she opened the door and prepared to flee back to the main house. "No. But the second part of the tale explains the technique the ensnared man uses to make certain the lady is as bound to him as he is to her."

"Really?" she asked scornfully. "What's he supposed to do? Boil up a caldron full of dead bat's tongues?"

"Nothing that complicated," Flint said gently. "All he has to do is take the lady to bed. After that the lady belongs to him, body and soul."

Rani's breath seemed to catch in her throat. Her body was suddenly vibrating with the primitive need to run, even though Flint hadn't taken a step toward her. It was all she could do to summon a cool, derisive expression. "Lucky for both of us then that the ring is a fake. Good night, Flint."

"I'll see you back to the house."

"No," she said with soft arrogance, "you won't." She stepped out into the rain and slammed the door behind her.

It wasn't until she reached the kitchen door of the main house and stood shaking out the umbrella under the leaking porch roof that she realized she'd been followed. Startled, she glanced up and peered through the rain-swept darkness. Flint was standing there, not more than a few feet behind her, his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket as he watched her.

"Good night, Rani."

She couldn't think of anything to say so she hurried inside and locked her door. Leaning back against the wood, her hands on the knob, she drew several steadying breaths and then lifted her lashes to stare at the empty bowls of stew on the table. Zipp was calmly preparing to help himself to what remained in Rani's dish.

"Get off that table, Zipp!"

Unrepentant, Zipp jumped down and wandered back out into the living room. Thoroughly annoyed, Rani scooped up the dishes and carried them over to the sink. The cat and Flint had a similar philosophy of life apparently. They both took what they could get.

She was going to have to keep an eye on both of them, Rani told herself as she did the dishes. She was going to have to stay in control. The life she had created for herself was very safe, very risk-free. She had no intention of changing her pattern of living to accommodate a man who had eyes that held green fire in their depths.