Haunting Ellie (11 page)

He’d gone down to the basement and checked the furnace, and hauled mops and buckets and bottled water upstairs to clean the room where Elizabeth planned to sleep. He had to do something to exert some energy. He didn’t have clay to pound his fist into. No, the only way he could relieve some of his frustration over that near-miss kiss was to work...
hard.

Maybe work would push that voice out of his mind, too.

Not many things frightened him, but the thought of being crazy did.

He hauled a lamp upstairs and a few other pieces of furniture Elizabeth thought she’d like in the room, then stripped away the worst of the peeling wallpaper while Elizabeth dusted and polished mahogany and cherry and oak.

She was standing on his ladder, just beginning to clean a window, when he slid down on the floor to take a break. He leaned back against the wall, folded his arms over his chest and crossed his ankles, then watched her for a good, long minute.

She had no idea he was looking; if she did, she didn’t let on. With her arms extended over her head and her hands making circular motions with a sponge on the glass, he could see the soft curve of her breasts. They were very full and very round, and they swayed just slightly as she moved. Absently, he looked down at his big hands and thought they might be the perfect fit for Elizabeth
Fitzgerald. Then he laughed to himself. It was a crazy thought. They had too much going against them—for a one-nighter, or something even longer.

He’d always liked his women petite. Redheads and blondes. He’d never been with a tall woman before, and never with a woman who enjoyed good food and didn’t hesitate to eat gravy or pie. He’d sure missed out on a lot of awfully fine things. He liked looking at Elizabeth’s long, long legs, at the roundness of her hips that tapered nicely toward a trim waist, and at that seemingly endless black braid that swayed when she moved. She was definitely a woman who’d stepped into his world from a different century, or from an Old Masters painting.

He very much liked what he saw.

“Elizabeth,” he said, catching her attention. She turned slowly, one hand resting on the window frame for support.

“Are you comfortable down there?” she asked lightly, her cheeks flushed from exercise, her smile bright with laughter.

“Just enjoying the view.” He laughed when she rolled her eyes. She said she didn’t care much for compliments, but he had no intention of stopping. “As much as I like watching you work, I think you ought to take a break.”

“Maybe a short one,” she said, stepping down from the ladder. She pulled the Latex gloves from her hands, draped them over a rung, and crossed the room, sitting in a bentwood rocker Jon had brought upstairs earlier.

“Y’know,” he began, “I’ve told you all about
Phoebe Carruthers; it seems only fair you should tell me a little about you,”

“I don’t like talking about myself.”

“Then what about your work? What possessed you to give up photography to become an innkeeper?”

She leaned back in the rocker, resting her head against the high back. She closed her eyes and he thought for sure she might fall asleep rather than answer his question. But he waited, and finally she spoke.

“My parents were photographers. They traveled everywhere; they were caught up in social issues and wars. They took horrible pictures of starving families and bombing victims—and I wanted to work with them.”

“Why?”

She opened her eyes again and looked into his. “Not out of some desire to help the world,” she said. “I was a kid. I wanted to have a good time and what was going on in the world didn’t interest me much. But being with my parents did. I saw too little of them, so I picked up a camera and learned everything I could.”

“Did you get to travel with them?”

“No. They went to Northern Ireland and died in a bombing. I never had a chance to go anywhere with them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

But it still bothered her. He could see the tears in the corners of her eyes. “What made you choose fashion photography?”

“My parents had friends in Los Angeles, and it
seemed like a logical place to go when I graduated from high school. I’d been cooped up in all-girl boarding schools most of my life; Eric—my brother—was a few years younger, and he hadn’t had much excitement at school, either. So the moment I graduated, I exercised my newfound parental authority, pulled him out of school, and headed for L.A.”

She closed her eyes again, rocking slowly in the chair. “I met a fashion photographer with a great reputation and asked him for a job. Of course, we had opposite things in mind. He wanted me to model,” she said. The smile was gone from her face when she looked at Jon again. “Does that surprise you?”

“No. You’re tall... you’re beautiful.” “

That’s what he said, too. Of course, just like now, I preferred rich foods to carrots and celery, and I definitely didn’t have a model’s figure. But he changed all that—put me on a starvation diet and trained me how to walk, how to sit, and how to smile. He even wanted to change the way I talked. I lost nearly thirty pounds in less than two months. I had hollow cheeks. I even had protruding hipbones.”

“You weren’t happy though, were you?”

She shook her head. “I made the mistake of falling in love. I would have done
anything
for him at the time.” She got up from the rocker and fidgeted with the covers on the bed, straightening wrinkles that weren’t really there. “He started using me in a lot of his photo shoots,” she continued, “but I didn’t like the work. I wasn’t happy, and I guess it showed. I couldn’t be what he wanted, even
though I tried. A year later I got sick. I was tired all the time—and he got tired of me and moved on to another pretty face.”

She’d changed a lot since then, Jon realized. The Elizabeth sitting in this room would never bend to some man’s will; she had too much drive and spirit. They were two of the things he liked so much about her.

“Did you quit modeling then?” he asked.

She nodded. “I was mad at myself for letting him take advantage of me; and I was mad at him for walking out after all I’d done to please him. I made up my mind I wouldn’t let anyone do that to me again. Lucky for me, I’d always been more interested in what was going on
behind
the camera than in front, and a lot of people knew It. I took the money I’d made from modeling, bought more camera equipment, and started snapping pictures of some of the people I knew. I shoved my photos in front of every talent scout, every agency. Wasn’t long before I was getting more assignments than my former friend.” She laughed. “He wasn’t happy, but I was.”

“Were you?” Jon asked.

“I made good money. I sent Eric to college. I bought a home that I loved.”

“But were you happy?” Jon prodded.

“I didn’t care much for the people I worked with, and they knew it. I preferred staying at home when I wasn’t working. I collected antiques; I baked and took cooking classes; I even liked to pull weeds and plant flowers.”

He remembered what she’d said about her house collapsing. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it before,
maybe she would now. “What happened to your home?”

“An earthquake,” she said flatly, then moved suddenly away from the bed and went back to the window. “Have I told you enough about me?” she asked, pulling the gloves back onto her hands.

“For now.”

She climbed up a few steps on the ladder and looked at him as he rose from his spot on the floor and picked up the mop. “I don’t talk about my life very much,” she said. “I don’t know why I did just now.”

“Because I asked?”

She laughed. “The reason would have to be more compelling than that.”

“Maybe deep down inside you like me and realize I’m a very understanding guy?”

She smiled softly. “Maybe,” she answered, then took the sponge out of the bucket and turned back to the window she’d been washing.

There were no maybes in
his
mind. He liked her—very, very much.

It must have taken nearly another fifteen minutes of swishing the mop around the floor before he had the parquet cleaned. He was rinsing the mop out when he heard the loud, clanking
thud
and the splash against the floor. He spun around and caught the sweet sound of Elizabeth’s laughter. She was sopped from shoulder to waist, and the bucket of dirty water that had been sitting on top of the ladder now lay on its side with its contents spilled across the floor he’d just mopped. He laughed at the surprised expression on Elizabeth’s face, but his body tensed the second he caught sight of that red
thermal shirt she was wearing, soaked right through, sticking to her like a second skin. He could see every detail of her full, round breasts. And he liked what he saw.

“It’s freezing,” she said, her teeth chattering, her body shivering. There was no doubt at all in Jon’s mind that she was cold, especially with his eyes aimed right at her shirt.

Slowly she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m going downstairs to change,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind cleaning up the mess I just made.”

He shook his head. “I take it you’re not going to keep me company any longer?”

“I don’t think so. I feel like I’ve worked nonstop for one solid week. I don’t tire easily, but all I want to do right now is get out of these wet clothes, build a fire, and kick back.”

“Have dinner with me instead,” he said, and when she didn’t answer immediately, he tried to think of a more compelling reason for her to say yes. “It’s Monday. Libby’s serving up pork chops again.”

“I don’t know, Jon. I really am tired. Could I give you an answer after I’ve cleaned up?”

W
omen didn’t normally turn down his invitations, but he rather liked the challenge he was facing with Elizabeth. He crossed his hands over the top of the mop handle. “Suit yourself,” he said, and grinned when she rolled her eyes. He wasn’t about to leave the invitation open; he wasn’t about to close it, either. The next move was hers.

He could hear those combat boots of hers all the way down the hall and running down the stairs. He could picture that braid of hers swaying to and
fro as she moved. He’d watched it off-and on all day, just as he’d watched her hips.

God, she was everything a woman ought to be!

Leave her alone.

He heard it this time. It was real; it was close.

Anger spilled from the depths of Jon’s eyes. He’d been a child the last time he’d let that voice intimidate him. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

“Why don’t you leave
me
alone instead? And that goes for Elizabeth, too.”

Laughter pealed through the room, bouncing off the walls, echoing through Jon’s ears.

The only fun in this existence is making you miserable. I have no intention of leaving you alone.

“What about Elizabeth? Do you speak to her? Have you shown yourself?”

Elizabeth doesn’t know about me because... because her presence makes me happy. I’ll let her know about me in my own good time. Until then, I’ll annoy you.

“Just make sure you leave her alone. If you hurt her in any way, if you frighten her, I’ll get even.”

That’s impossible.

“I’ll find a way.”

No answer.

“Did you hear me?”

Not a sound came from anywhere in the room. Not a creaking floorboard, not a moan or a groan or a laugh.

Jon felt the tightness in his shoulders, his jaw. He wasn’t afraid now; he was angry.

A loud ring startled him, and he twisted around to the place where the noise came from.

It was only his cell phone. Why did he habitually cart
that thing with him wherever he went?
It was just as intrusive and just as annoying as that infernal ghost.

“Hello.”

It wasn’t a voice he wanted to hear. He didn't much like the question he was asked, either.

“Yeah, I suppose I can," he answered. "
What time?”

He listened again and hung up the phone.

He definitely wouldn’t be spending the evening the way he’d planned.

oOo

Logs crackled on the hearth when Elizabeth walked into the parlor dressed and ready for dinner. She’d made the decision to go just as she was lacing her boots. While she’d bathed, while she’d decided what to wear, she’d tried convincing herself she didn’t enjoy Jon’s company, but she did.

Getting to know him better probably wouldn’t lead anywhere. They were both too strong-willed ever to get along. But she was determined to give it a try if he was.

Dinner tonight had sounded like a good place to begin, so it surprised her to see Jon kneeling before the fireplace, stabbing a long-handled poker at the wood, his face lit by the intensity of the flames.

“Does the fire mean you don’t want a yes answer to your dinner invitation?” she asked.

Slowly he turned toward her, that lopsided grin on his face. “Sorry, Elizabeth. Something else has come up.”

She wasn’t about to let him see her frustration or her annoyance. She definitely wasn’t going to let him see her disappointment.