JAKrentz - Witchcraft (7 page)

"So that you can hear me if I get carried off by witches?"

"It's not really all that funny," he murmured. "I know," she said with a sigh, toying nervously with the end of her red sash. "I was scared to death earlier.

glad you were here,
Cavenaugh
. Very glad." Wisely he decided to let that ride without following up with a demand that she let him continue to protect her. Given a few more hours alone in her room to think about the situation, she would come to her senses. "Get some sleep, Kim.

Everything will be fine. Whoever was out there knows you're not alone now."

"Good night,
Cavenaugh
," she nodded, sounding vaguely wistful. He looked down at her, aware of the fierce restlessness in his body. She looked so intriguing with her amber hair in tumbled disarray. Her bare feet beneath the hem of the robe made her somehow charmingly vulnerable and he found himself wanting to pull her nervous fingers away from the sash that kept the old terry cloth robe close to her body. Taking a resolute grip on his senses,
Cavenaugh
stepped out into the hall. Then he thought of something. "There's just one thing, Kim."

"What's that?"

She frowned curiously. "The next time I give you an order in a situation like the one we had tonight, I'll expect you to obey it." Instantly he knew he'd made a mistake. The small frown on her face turned into a mask of feminine hauteur. "Since I don't expect too many more situations such as the one we experienced tonight, I don't see that as a problem. Good night,
Cavenaugh
." He decided he'd better get out of her room before he said anything further to annoy her. Without a word he stalked down the hall, turning off lights as he went. Stopping in front of the fire, he poked at the embers, listening as Kimberly turned off the light in her own room and climbed into bed. A moment later the house was silent again. There was one more light still blazing, the one in the kitchen area.
Cavenaugh
walked over to flip the switch and his eyes fell on the buff-colored envelope from the Los Angeles law firm.

Idly he picked it up, wondering why Kim hadn't opened it. Perhaps she had trouble on her hands from another source besides Scott's "witches."

Long accustomed to dealing with trouble,
Cavenaugh
made his decision.

He unsealed the envelope and lifted out the stiff, formal stationery.

Then standing barefoot in Kimberly's kitchen, he read the letter without any compunction whatsoever. When he was finished he had even more questions about Kimberly Sawyer. Thoughtfully
Cavenaugh
refolded the letter and stuffed it back into the envelope. Then he turned off the kitchen light and walked to the uncomfortable couch. In front of the fire he stepped out of the slightly damp jeans and spread them out so that they would dry by morning. As he slid under the blankets Kim had given him earlier he propped himself on his elbow and stared intently into the glowing coals of the fire. Kimberly Sawyer was an intriguing woman. She was also proving to be something of a mystery. Above all,
Cavenaugh
reminded himself, he had an obligation to protect her. He owed her that much in return for what she had done two months ago. But it wasn't the sense of responsibility he felt that stayed on his mind as he allowed himself to go back to sleep. Nor was it the questions engendered by that letter in the kitchen. The last, disturbing thought he had of Kimberly was a memory of the way she had begun to respond to him when he'd held her in his arms. If he'd had a little more time or a more appropriate set of circumstances, he decided, he could have had her in bed. That realization was deeply satisfying. Kimberly awoke the next morning with a decidedly grim realization of her own. She knew she didn't want to face another night alone in this isolated house. Someone was deliberately trying to terrorize her. The man in the living room was offering shelter. She really had no logical choice but to accompany him back to the wine country until this business was all cleared up. No sense fooling herself, she thought as she climbed out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. It wasn't going to be easy living in a house full of strangers. But handling figures in hooded robes who walked around carrying large silver daggers wasn't much more inviting. She could just imagine what the authorities would say if she tried to tell them what had happened last night. They would think she'd gone off her rocker. At least
Cavenaugh
hadn't questioned her story of what she'd seen through the window. The closed door of her bathroom and the sound of running water inside brought her up short. "
Cavenaugh
, are you in there?"

"Were you expecting anyone else?" he called back provokingly. "Don't dawdle," she warned. The door opened a minute later and he stood in front of her wiping the last of the shaving cream off his neck. He was naked from the waist up and it was obvious he had made himself quite at home. Emerald eyes glinted as he took in the disapproving way she peered around him into the interior of the bathroom. "Your trouble is that you're simply not used to having a man in the house. Or anyone else for that matter.

Don't worry, I'm fully trained. I won't leave my towels lying on the floor."

"Are you finished?" she demanded frostily, wondering if there would be any hot water left. "Just about."

"Good. Then you can start breakfast," she informed him triumphantly, sweeping past him to commandeer the small bathroom. He allowed himself to be pushed out into the hall, but not before she'd caught sight of the half-amused twist of his mouth. "A man would have his hands full teaching you the fine art of household compromise," he observed. "When it comes to having enough hot water for my morning shower, I don't believe in compromise. Go start the eggs,
Cavenaugh
. I like them on the well-done side." She started to close the door and then stopped. "Oh, by the way, I've decided to take you up on your offer. At least for a few days." He raised one dark brow. "No more arguments about returning to the estate with me this morning?"

"Is the offer still open?"

"It was never an offer, Kim," he explained gently. "It was more of a requirement. I can't stay here with you because I have too many other responsibilities at home. But I can't leave you alone here, either; not after what's been happening.

The only alternative is for you to go home with me." She tilted her head to one side, studying him coolly through narrowed lashes. "If I have a few things to learn about sharing the bathroom, allow me to inform you that you have a hell of a lot to learn about diplomacy."

"Meaning I ought to learn how to make commands sound like requests?" he drawled.

Disdaining to answer that before she'd even had her morning c
offee
, Kimberly slammed the door in his face. Half an hour later when she strode into the kitchen dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a peach-colored shirt, she sniffed appreciatively at the aroma that greeted her. "Not bad,
Cavenaugh
. Not bad at all." She examined the eggs he was scrambling at the stove. A stack of toast was keeping warm in the oven. "I do my best to please," he murmured. Kimberly grinned.

"Something tells me you just happened to be hungry yourself. Not that I'm complaining. I can't even remember the last time someone cooked breakfast for me. I'll enjoy it while I can." She opened the refrigerator. "What do you want on your eggs?"

"Anything but hot sauce." She tossed him a disapproving glance. "You don't know what you're missing. I love it on my eggs." Pulling the huge bottle of pepper sauce from the refrigerator she carried it toward the counter.

Actually, having Darius
Cavenaugh
around was rather interesting, she decided privately. What would it be like living in his house for a few days? Setting down the hot sauce, Kimberly leaned across the counter to collect a couple of napkins. It was then her eyes fell on the opened envelope from the lawyers. Instantly the good mood she had been indulging evaporated as she realized that
Cavenaugh
must have read the letter. "What's this all about?" she demanded softly, holding up the opened envelope.
Cavenaugh
didn't pause in the act of dishing out the eggs. "That's what I was going to ask you."

"You opened this!" He nodded, putting the frying pan into the sink and picking up the two plates. She stared at him in stunned amazement. He didn't even appear mildly embarrassed. "You deliberately opened a private letter!"

"I was curious."

"Curious! My God,
Cavenaugh
, what gives you the right to be curious about my personal correspondence?" she flung furiously. He still appeared unperturbed. "In my experience letters from lawyers often spell trouble. Since you didn't seem interested in opening it I thought I'd better." She sat down weakly on the stool beside him, feeling more amazement than anything else. "I can't believe you had the nerve to do something like this." He slanted her a glance. "Who are the
Marlands
, Kim?"

"To blithely open someone else's private mail. It's incredible. There are laws against that sort of thing." she went on, ignoring his question. "Kim, who are the
Marlands
? Why have they hired that law firm to contact you? Why are they asking you to meet with them?"

"Are you this high-handed with all those people you have working for you and living with you? If so, I don't see how you keep your employees. Your relatives must find you absolutely infuriating."

"Kim," he interrupted patiently. "Just answer my questions."

"Why should I?"

He muttered something short and explicit under his breath. "Because if you don't answer my questions, I'm liable to contact that law firm myself and find out what's going on. "First invasion of privacy and now threats," she gritted. "Kim, just be reasonable about this, all right?

I'm only trying to find out if you've got real trouble. Maybe it's got something to do with that character at the window last night. Maybe we're way off base thinking he was connected with the kidnapping."

Kimberly was too startled at his conclusions to restrain her answer.

"Good Lord, no! I assure you that Mr. and Mrs. Wesley
Marland
would never dirty their well-manicured hands in something as nasty as kidnapping."

"So who are they?" he persisted gently. "Why do they want you to get in touch with them?" Kimberly decided it really wasn't worth the battle. Besides, she reasoned, it wouldn't do any harm to tell him the truth. "My father's parents."

"Your grandparents?"

"Technically."

She shrugged and began lacing her eggs with hot sauce. "I don't really think of myself as being related to them except in a strictly biological sense. I've never even met them."

"From the sound of that letter they want to meet you."

"It's a little late for them to play the role of loving grandparents."

"What happened?"
Cavenaugh
asked quietly.

"Breakfast is hardly the time to drag family skeletons out of the closet," Kimberly parried brightly. "I've learned there aren't any good times to do it. Might as well be over breakfast," he retorted dryly.

Something in his tone caused her to send him a questioning glance.

Whatever lay beneath the surface of the remark was destined to remain a mystery for now, however.
Cavenaugh
was on the trail of her secrets and had no intention of being sidetracked into revealing any of his own.

Still, she found herself wondering suddenly about his past. What was it he had said last night? There had been some remark about him not always having made his living making wine. "Tell me, Kim," he broke into her reverie to prod softly. "It's short and sordid. Actually, given your own family background, you'll probably understand the
Marlands
' position completely. My father was their only son and heir. The
Marlands
own a big chunk of Pasadena, California, and have sizable investments throughout the state. The family goes back for generations. All the way back to Spanish land grant days. Lots of pride of heritage and lots of money. They had raised my father to be a worthy inheritor of the money and the name. He had been perfectly groomed for his role in life, as I understand it. Private schools, the best of everything money could buy. And then one day the noble son and heir committed a serious judgmental error. He fell in love with my mother."

"Let me guess"'
Cavenaugh
inserted cool
ly
. "Your mother didn't come from the right background?"

"My mother was an underpaid, overworked nurse. She lacked any sort of background at all, let alone the right one. She was an orphan. She met my father when he went into the hospital for some minor surgery. You know what they say about men falling in love with their nurses."

"No. What do they say?"
Cavenaugh
inquired. "Never mind.

Apparently it's a regular nursing syndrome. It usually wears off as soon as the man is discharged from the hospital. Only in my father's case, it didn't. He knew he'd never get his parents' approval to marry my mother so one night in the heat of passion he ran off with her to Las Vegas."

"Hoping to present his parents with a fait accompli?"

"Umm," Kimberly said, nodding. "It didn't quite work out that way. The
Marlands
were infuriated and demanded an immediate divorce. I gather my father tried to resist at first but they worked on him, pointing out his responsibility to the family name and fortune, forcing him to consider where his true loyalties lay. And then they cut off the money. My parents were divorced shortly thereafter," Kimberly concluded dryly.