Rekindled (26 page)

“Mitch?” She rolled onto her back to see his face, as he sat beside her on the bed. Her voice was weak, but something had been nagging at her.

“Yes?”

“If you own this house, then you have access to the names and addresses of the renters. Yes?”

He looked amused. “Yes.”

“Then you know who I am.”

“No.”

“But you have that information.”

“Miles has that information. I suppose I could see it if I wanted to, and I’ve been tempted a time or two, but I haven’t peeked.”

Anne wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or hurt.

He laughed.

“What’s so funny?” she grumbled.

“You. Your face hides nothing!”

“I’m that transparent? It’s not fair, y’know.”

“What isn’t fair?”

“Me … here … at your mercy. With my transparent face and all, I feel naked.”

“Except for the good graces of my shirt, darling’, you are,” he drawled.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” she scolded and broke into a spasm of coughing. When she quieted, he ran cool fingers across her hot cheek. It felt good.

“You talk too much, Annie. Rest your voice now.”

At the silence that followed, a sound filtered in from outside. “The plow!” Mitch was on his feet, stopping only at the bedroom door to call, “Don’t move until I get back!” Then he was gone.

She lay there for what seemed hours. Finally, she struggled out of bed to use the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror appalled her-pale skin, red cheeks, dark and sunken eyes. Her hand trembled as she sorted through Mitch’s toiletries for a comb. Halfway combing her hair, her knees began to knock. Dropping the comb, she clutched at the edges of the sink for support. That was when the bathroom door opened.

“What are you doing out of bed?” He scooped her up and carried her back, and the bed felt like heaven, the quilt even more so. “Next time,” he taunted, “you might just pass out in the middle of the floor. Will you stay in bed?”

“I just went to the bathroom.”

“Good. You should be set for a while. Where are the keys to your car?”

She tried to remember. “I think I put them in the pocket of my jeans.”

He vanished and returned moments later with the keys in hand. “I’m hitching a ride with the plow down to your car. It may take me a little while to dig it out. Does it have snow tires?” When she nodded, he said, “Good. I’ll be back as soon as I can, then I’m taking you to the doctor.”

“Mitch-” Her hoarse call caught him at the door. “Your arm-is it all right to shovel?”

She heard a sharp intake of breath, then a grunt. “It’ll do.”

While he was gone, she suffered. Her head hurt, her sinuses hurt, her throat hurt, her chest hurt, her legs hurt. Curled up in misery, she prayed for sleep.

She must have dozed off, because it seemed only minutes before Mitch returned with a gruff foot-stamping at the front door. Lacking the strength to call out, she waited until he appeared by her bedside, ruddy checked from the cold, but eager to pack her up and leave.

He did it without a fuss, simply snatching her up, quilt and all, and carrying her out. He stopped short at the front door. Swearing softly, he back tracked and deposited her on the sofa, went into the kitchen, and returned with her wool hat, which was now warm and dry. He put it on her head, scooped her up again and didn’t put her down until they reached his car.

She wheezed heavily for most of the trip into the village. Between darkness and the new walls of snow lining the roads, there wasn’t much for the headlights to pick out.

He parked in front of a tiny clinic, ran around the car, and hoisted her up. He had had the driver of the plow call ahead. A doctor was waiting inside.

Thirty minutes later he carried her back to the car. “Bronchial pneumonia. Good show, Annie,” he teased gently as he tucked her into the passenger’s seat again.

Weary, she caught his eye. “Do you have my pills?”

He patted the spot where the upper-left breast pocket of his shirt would be. “Right here. Are you comfortable?”

“Comfortable?” she shot back hoarsely. “I’ve been poked, X-rayed, stuck with needles, and carted around like I had no feelings at all.” She scowled. “I feel hot and cold and achy. And you ask if I’m comfortable?”

She looked away. “Don’t ask.”

Mitch chuckled. Slamming the door, he circled the car to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel with remarkable ease, given his length. “At least your good humor is intact,” he teased. “Let’s go home. The doctor ordered warmth, rest, and lots of hot liquid. We’d better get to it.”

For the next three days they followed the doctor’s orders to a tee, with Mitch in command, dictating when each pill was to be taken, when she was to eat and sleep. She felt miserable for another full day before the medication began to take effect. Only then did she dare to balk at the strict regimen.

“I’m going to turn into a chicken if I drink one more drop of this soup. It’s awful,” she complained when he appeared on Tuesday morning with another mug of broth. “I feel better today. Honestly I do.” She was sitting up against the headboard of the bed, dressed in her own flannel nightgown.

“You still sound lousy,” he informed her, as though that settled that, but she was impatient.

“If you don’t want to hear my noise,” she croaked, “don’t good me into conversation. Isn’t it about time I went upstairs to the other bedroom?”

He grinned. “You don’t like sleeping with me?”

“I’m not ‘sleeping’ with you, as the expression goes. It’s more like sleeping in spite of you. You may think that I’m out of it, but I feel you beside me. I know you’re there … all night! You touch me just enough to make sure I’m all right, but that’s all. What fun is that?”

She broke into a fit of coughing from which only Mitch’s firm slap on the back saved her. He stayed to gently rub her neck and shoulders, his touch growing more seductive by the minute. She hadn’t been aware of his other hand on her midriff until it moved upward. Her breast tingled at its touch. She gasped, but couldn’t pull away. His palm passed around and over her nipple, teasing it through the soft flannel. She gripped his arm, as much to hold it there as for support.

“It isn’t much tin, is it?” he said, “but you’ll stay down here for now, where I can keep an eye on you. In a few days you can go back upstairs.”

“In a few days I’ll be going home.” A sad thought, indeed. At his urging she lay back on the pillow. Her eyes held his. She waited. “Something has to give,” he said. “You know that, don’t you, Annie?”

She nodded. They were nearing the point where a kiss alone wasn’t enough. Same with the occasional week together.

“Are you ready for more?” he asked.

“Are you?”

“I asked first.”

“I can’t answer until I know more. Tell me about your family.”

His eyes held hers. “There isn’t much to tell. My parents are alive and well in Manhattan. My father is retired. He has been for several years now. It’s nice. Gives him time to spend doing other things.”

“What did he do?”

Mitch grinned. “He was a concert pianist. I’m sure you’d recognize the name if I told you.” He didn’t offer it, nor did she ask. That part of the bargain held.

Anne was intrigued. “That’s quite a switch-from concert pianist to business tycoon in one generation. Was the musical ability passed on at all?”

He smiled. “Can I carry a tune? Fairly. Can I play the piano? No. My sister does, though.”

Her eyes widened. “You have a sister? Is she older or younger than you?”

He gave the ceiling a one-eyed squint. “Older by … let’s see … three, no four, minutes.”

“Years,” she corrected quietly.

“Minutes,” he reasserted, laughing.

“TWINS?”

He nodded.

“Oh, Mitch!” She was delighted. “That’s marvelous! You must have had fun growing up!”

“Not really. She was always taller, smarter, and faster than I was.”

“And now?”

He grinned. “I’ve caught up.”

“There must have been some advantage to being the runt of the litter,” she teased.

“Oh, there was. My mother pampered me more. She felt sorry for me.”

A mischievous gleam danced in his eyes. “I suppose that’s why I still have the need to touch and be touched.” He took her hand between his two. Anne refused to be distracted. “Are there other twins in the family?”

He shook his head. “Just Liz and me.”

“Liz?” A bell rang. She smiled when Mitch realized his slip. “Hmmmm … Liz,” she repeated with an accusing lilt.

He grew sheepish. “Now you know my secrets.”

“That was Liz with you at the restaurant before Christmas.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is she married?”

“It didn’t work out. But lately she’s been seeing a nice guy.”

“What does she do with her music?”

“Actually, she’s more a harpist than a pianist.”

“Beautiful!” Anne exclaimed.

“Not while she was first learning,” he muttered.

Anne gave him a nudge. “You’re jealous of her talent.”

“Maybe.” He raised her hand and kissed her fingers in true continental style, then left her alone to rest.

That night Anne had a nightmare. It was more frightening than any she’d had since she’d been a child. Bolting upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, she struggled to catch her breath until Mitch’s arms came around her.

“What is it, honey?” he asked in alarm. The room was dim, bathed eerily in the blue light of the moon as it spilled over the snow in the yard.

“A nightmare. Oh, God, it was awful.” She trembled in spite of his steadying hold.

“Want to tell me about it?”

“It’s that court case hanging over my head.”

“What court case?”

“The accident. My husband’s family has been pushing me to sue for negligence. I agreed at first because I was as angry as they were and we were all so helpless. Now I’d rather put the whole thing behind me.”

Mitch was silent for a time. “And the nightmare?” he asked quietly. His arms were exquisitely tender as they held her to his chest.

She took a shuddering breath. “I dreamed I was on that plane with Jeff when it crashed, but that I wasn’t injured and had to stand by and watch while he burned to death. There were no doctors, no medics, nothing but flames and smoke and debris and people’s screams.” She buried her face in his chest. “It was awful.”

He spoke softly against her hair. “I know, honey, I know. But it was only a dream.” His nearness comforted her. “Only a dream,” he repeated and said it on and off, between gentle rocking, until she fell back to sleep.

Mitch seemed preoccupied. She sensed it from time to time and guessed that he had work on his mind. On the last night before she was to leave, though, she looked up to find him brooding at the flames in the hearth. He was sitting on the floor by her chair, with his legs stretched toward the warmth.

She touched his shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

Snatched from some distant place, he jerked his head around. “Hmm?”

“You look bothered by something. I’m back to normal, and you haven’t begun to fight with me.” She gave him a teasing smile. His smile was oddly sad. “I seem to have lost my taste for the fight.”

“This must have been a boring week for you.”

“I haven’t minded. It’s been restful.”

“Too restful. Tomorrow is my last morning here. Will you go walking with me, or do I sneak out alone?”

He looked back at the fire. “I’ll go with you.”

She had expected an argument, something to the tune of You’re not well enough for a walk. When he said nothing, she knew something was definitely wrong.

But he wasn’t the only one who had lost his taste for the fight. She didn’t want anything to mar their last night. So she let it go. With the snowfall still fresh on the deserted mountain, the sight greeting them the following morning was one of blinding splendor. The sky was a deep blue, the air cold and still. Days of warm sun and freezing temperatures had created a crust of ice. The crunch underfoot echoed as they made their way across the hillside. Bits of the brook that weren’t frozen ran through crystalline palaces of branches and weeds. The only other signs of life were those frozen in the snow, the tracks of the snowshoe rabbit or the packed path of the deer.

It was a scene of rare beauty, all the more beautiful for the week-long wait to see it. But time was short. Too soon, afternoon arrived and the moment of parting.

“Are you sure you won’t stay the weekend?” Mitch asked. “You shouldn’t be driving so far yet.” Her car was packed. They stood beside it.

His wistfulness added to Anne’s regret. “I wish I could. But I promised my folks I’d attend a hospital benefit with them tomorrow night. I can’t let them down.”

He wrapped an arm around her. “Even if you’re letting me down?” His eyes dropped to her lips. Seconds later he kissed them. It was a gentle caress, sweet torture to Anne’s reawakening body. She wound her arms around his neck and felt him tighten in response. She was well now. Her departure was imminent. If ever there was a time for ardor, this was it.

The kiss deepened and the fire grew hotter. With a wildness borne of desperation, he thrust his tongue deeper into her mouth, and Anne reeled at the sensation. She would have happily returned to the house, to that same bedroom, that same large bed if he’d asked just then. But he didn’t.

With a shaky breath, he drew back. He took her hand, pressed something in it, and closed her fingers. “I want you to take this. It’s a key to the place. I have a few hectic weeks ahead, but I’ll be up again at the end of March. If you want to come at any time, I want you to.”

Anne was deeply touched, but that wasn’t the only reason her eyes filled with tears. Frightened that she would make a fool of herself, she whispered a soft thanks against his cheek in a final hug, pulled away, and got into her car. She headed down the sanded road without a look behind. Parting was getting harder and harder.

March in Vermont was the time of unlocking, that period during which the frozen ground gradually yielded one frigid layer after another to the power of an ever-stronger sun, when the brooks and ponds, rivers and lakes lost their ice to the rush of the downstream current. It was a time of the loud thrashing of formidably cold waters against their banks. It was a time of mud.