Heaven and Earth (26 page)

He awoke with screams strangling in his throat, slapping at himself as if to kill whatever was crawling inside him. For an instant he stared horrified in the rearview mirror.

And eyes that weren’t his, eyes pale as water, stared back.

Then the ferry let out its blasting note to herald the docking on Three Sisters. The eyes that stared back at him as he dragged out his handkerchief to wipe his damp face were red-rimmed, haunted, and his own.

Just caught a little bug, he assured himself. He’d been working too hard, traveling too much. Crossing time zones too often. He would take a day or two to rest, to let his system catch up.

Bolstered by the idea, he snapped on his seat belt, started his car. And drove off the ferry ramp and onto Three Sisters Island.

The storm turned
into a gale. On the second day of it, Mac surfaced from his work and took a good look around. He’d had another shipment of books sent in, and
replacement parts for some of his equipment. Right now he had pieces of a sensor spread all over the little kitchen table. A monitor that was acting up stood on the counter with its guts spilling out.

The kitchen still smelled of the eggs he’d burned that morning—which, he had to admit, he’d had no business making when his mind was elsewhere.

He’d broken a glass, too. And had a nice slice in his heel, since he’d gotten distracted before he swept it all up.

He’d turned the entire cottage into a lab, which wasn’t so bad. But without a lab assistant cleaning things up behind him, he’d also turned it into a disaster.

He really didn’t mind working in a disaster area, but it certainly wouldn’t do as a permanent living arrangement.

If the cottage was too small to accommodate him and his work on more than the short term, it was certainly too small to accommodate a . . .

Ripley, he thought quickly. He wasn’t quite ready to use the term “wife,” even in his thoughts.

Not that he didn’t want to marry her, because he did. And not because he doubted she would marry him. He would just wait her out in that area until she caved. He’d match his patience against her stubbornness any day of the week.

But first things first.

When a man wanted to settle down permanently, he had to find a place to settle. However much affection he had for the cottage, it wouldn’t fill the bill. And he doubted seriously if Mia would sell it.

He rose, and managed not only to tread on a screw but to step on it at the exact point of his recent cut. He spent a little time on some inventive cursing and hobbled out to find the shoes he’d thought he’d already put on.

He found a pair in the bedroom doorway, where they
had obviously planted themselves, cagily waiting for him to trip over them.

And holding them, took a look at the bedroom. Winced.

He didn’t usually live like a slob. Okay, he admitted, he didn’t usually
intend
to live like a slob. It just happened.

Forgetting the shoes, he pushed up his sleeves. He would shovel out the bedroom and use the manual labor to clear his mind. He needed to think about a house.

It needed to be a pretty good size so his equipment didn’t get in everybody’s way. He would need an office, too.

Not entirely sure when he might have changed his sheets last, he decided to err on the side of caution and stripped them off.

It would be good if there was space to set up weights and exercise equipment. Ripley would want some space of her own, too, he imagined, and started gathering up socks, shirts, underwear. Somewhere she could get away from him when he started to drive her crazy.

His mother called hers an escape hatch, he remembered, and reminded himself to phone home.

He carted the laundry to the tiny room off the kitchen, missed stepping on the same screw by a hair, and stuffed everything that would fit into the washing machine. He added soap, then deciding he should write down some of the basic house requirements, wandered out to find a pad and forgot to turn on the washing machine.

Three bedrooms minimum, he thought. Four would be better.

Someplace close to the water. Not that anywhere on the island was far from it, but Ripley was used to living right on the beach so . . .

“Booke, you idiot! It’s staring you right in the face. You knew the first time you saw it.”

He dashed to the phone and dialed long distance information. “New York City,” he told the operator. “I need the number for Logan Enterprises.”

An hour later,
to celebrate what he considered the first step in becoming a homeowner, he braved the elements. Thaddeus Logan hadn’t jumped at the offer, but he hadn’t dismissed it out of hand, either.

It hadn’t hurt that Logan was acquainted with Mac’s father. Connections within connections, Mac thought as he hissed in his breath and decided to walk to Café Book rather than risk the iced-over roads in his Rover.

He had a good feeling about it, and he was certain Logan would negotiate. Which reminded Mac—he should call his father for advice in that area. The one thing he was sure of was if you wanted something too much, and the other party knew it, you were asking to get skinned.

He needed to do some research on real estate values in the area, and he patted his pockets absently, hoping for a handy piece of paper to make a note to himself.

Not that the money mattered all that much, but the principle did. And he imagined that if he let himself get taken, Ripley would get torqued about it. That would start the whole process off on a bad note.

Tomorrow, Mac promised himself, he would take a drive and get another good look at what was going to be theirs.

Delighted with the idea, he strolled along, head down, as the wind screamed in his ears and the ugly mix of ice and snow swirled and spat.

Just look at him, Ripley thought. Out in this mess when
he doesn’t have to be. Not looking where he’s going and bopping along as if it’s a sunny day in July.

The man needs a keeper.

She would just have to take on the job.

She started toward him, then judging time and distance, planted herself. And let him walk straight into her.

“Jeez.” Since she was braced and he wasn’t, he went skidding. Reflexively he grabbed her, and that took them both on a fast slide. “Sorry.”

But she was laughing, and the little elbow jab she gave him was friendly. “How many walls do you walk into on your average day?”

“I don’t count. It’s demoralizing. Gosh, you’re pretty.” He grabbed her again, but was steady this time. Lifting her to her toes, he planted a long, warm kiss on her mouth.

Her system tilted, sweetly. “What I am is cold and wet. My nose is red, and my toes are ice cubes. Zack and I just spent a miserable hour out on the coast road. We’ve got power lines down, and cars off the road, and the best part of a tree through Ed Sutter’s workshop roof.”

“Nice work if you can get it.”

“Very funny. I think the worst of it’ll blow out by tomorrow,” she said, looking, as islanders had for centuries, out to sea and sky. Both were gray as pewter. “But we’re going to be cleaning up after this one for a while yet. What the hell are you doing out here? You lose power?”

“It was on when I left. I wanted some decent coffee.” He clued in to the direction from which she’d come, and the direction she’d been going. “Were you coming to check on me?”

“It’s my job to check on the residents of our happy little rock.”

“That’s really considerate of you, Deputy Todd. How about I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“I could use it, and someplace warm and dry for ten minutes.”

He took her hand as they headed into the wind up High Street. “How about if I buy a quart of soup and whatever, take it home? We can have dinner at my place later.”

“Chances of the power lasting in the cottage through the night are slim. We’ve got a generator at our place. Why don’t you pack what you need and plan on staying there tonight?”

“Is Nell cooking?”

“Is grass green?”

“I’m there.” He pulled open the door for her.

Like magic, Lulu popped out from behind a bookshelf. “I should’ve known it was a couple of lunatics. Sensible people are home whining about the weather.”

“Why aren’t you?” Ripley asked.

“Because there are just enough lunatics on this island to keep the store open. Got a few of them up in the café right now.”

“That’s where we’re heading. Did Nell go home?”

“Not yet. Mia cut her loose, but she’s sticking. Didn’t see why Peg should have to come out in this when she was already here. We’re closing early, in an hour, anyhow.”

“Good to know.”

Ripley pulled off her soaked cap as she started up the stairs. “Do me a favor?” she said to Mac.

“Sure.”

“Can you hang around till closing, make sure Nell gets home safe?”

“Glad to.”

“Thanks. It’ll be a load off. I can let Zack know, and he won’t worry.”

“I’ll ask her to come by my place, help me get my stuff together.”

Ripley shot him a smirk. “Pretty smart, aren’t you?”

“People are always saying so.” He kept her hand in his as they walked to the café counter.

“Zack just called,” Nell told them. “You’ve had a hell of a day, haven’t you?”

“Goes with the territory. You can give me two large coffees to go, and I’ll take one back to him. This guy’s springing for them,” she added, jerking a thumb at Mac.

“A large for me, too, but I’ll have it here. And . . . is that apple pie?”

“It is. Want a slice warm?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Ripley leaned on the counter, idly scanning the café. “I better tell you I invited Mac’s appetite to dinner, and to bunk over.”

“We’re having chicken pot pie.”

Mac’s face lit up. “Homemade chicken pot pie?”

Nell laughed as she fit tops on the takeout cups. “You’re too easy.”

Ripley shifted her body away from the table area. “Who’s the guy sitting by himself?” she asked Nell. “Brown sweater, city boots.”

“I don’t know. It’s the first time he’s been in. I got the impression he was staying at the hotel. He came in about a half hour ago.”

“Did you chat him up?”

Nell cut a generous slab of pie for Mac. “I spoke with him in a friendly manner. He came in on the ferry a couple of days ago, just beat the nor’easter. People do come here, Ripley.”

“It’s just an odd time for a slicker to head over. No business groups at the hotel now. Anyway.” She took the cups Nell set on the counter. “Thanks. See you later,” she said
to Mac, and might have warded off the kiss if her hands hadn’t been full.

“Be careful out there.” He yanked her cap out of her pocket and tugged it onto her head.

Harding watched the
byplay from behind the newspaper he’d brought over from the hotel. He’d recognized Ripley Todd from his files. Just as he’d recognized Nell. It didn’t explain his reaction to both.

He’d expected to feel a nice zing of anticipation as he lined up the players on the stage. Instead, in each case he’d felt nearly ill. A kind of white-hot fury had pumped through him when he’d topped the steps and seen Nell back at the café counter.

He’d been forced to turn away, to walk behind book-shelves until he had himself under control. There he’d sweated like a pig. And had imagined his hands closing around her throat.