Unsuitable (6 page)

Carrie took off her slicker and handed it to Jason, who watched her go off down the hall. His expression was thoughtful.

Rose left soon afterward and Carrie settled in with Johnny, who was glad to see her but preoccupied with the worsening weather. Storms frightened horses and he was worried about his animal friends. They worked until the thunder and lightning alarmed even Carrie and she cut the visit short, going out to the kitchen to find Jason.

“Rose just called,” he greeted her. “She says it’s really bad out there. There’s a gale warning and the flooding is supposed to be severe. I think I’d better follow you home.”

“That isn’t necessary,” Carrie said. “I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll get the van.”

She started to protest again but he was already out the door, heading for the garage. Carrie accepted the inevitable and went back to say goodbye to Johnny.

She was waiting for Jason when he returned. He gave her the slicker she had worn before and they left, taking their separate vehicles.

Once out in the storm, Carrie was glad of Jason’s presence behind her. The rain was sheeting, restricting visibility, and the wind buffeted her little car, almost wrenching the steering wheel out of her hands. They crawled along the driveway to the main road. As they approached the footbridge that bordered the property Carrie could see that the stream was swollen with swirling, muddy water. She slowed down even further, and then stopped when Jason’s horn sounded and his flashers went on suddenly.

She sat motionless as he ran past her car, his head bowed down against the rain. After a minute or two he ran back, tapping on her window.

She rolled it down.

“Bridge is out,” he shouted over the noise of the storm. “You have to come back to the house.”

Carrie nodded. He stood back as she tried to turn around but her wheels spun uselessly. She gave up, turning her hands out in resignation.

“Your tires are stuck in the mud,” Jason yelled to her. “Get in the van; it has better traction.”

Carrie did as he said, grabbing her purse and locking the car door as she hurried to join him. He took her arm and practically carried her along with him, handing her into the passenger side of the van and then running around to the driver’s side. He got in, turned the van around, and headed back toward the ranch.

“I guess we’ll have to come back for my car later,” Carrie said to him as he peered through the curtain of gray, pelting rain.

He turned to look at her. “I don’t think so,” he replied, his eyes unreadable. “This is going to go on for hours. You’ll have to spend the night.”

Chapter 3

Carrie didn’t answer for a moment, her mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts. Jason continued to pilot the van through the storm, absorbed by the task.

“I suppose you have the room,” she finally said, wincing as the words left her mouth. His house was gigantic; he had room for the Russian army.

He glanced at her quickly and looked back at the road. “Of course. There’s a guest room across the hall from Johnny’s bedroom. You can stay there. It’s very comfortable.”

“I’m sure it is,” Carrie agreed rapidly. Did he think she was worried about sleeping in a pup tent on the porch?

“Is there someone you have to call?” he asked, as he pulled in front of the house.

“What?” Carrie said, turning and facing him.

“Someone who’ll be expecting you back?” he clarified, his voice neutral.

Was he asking her if there was a man waiting for her at her apartment? Hadn’t they covered that ground?

“I have to report for work in the morning, that’s all,” Carrie replied. “I hope all of this will be over by then.”

He nodded. “I’m going to let you off here. I have to put this in the garage and check on the horses. I’ll be right inside.”

“Okay.” Carrie opened her door and vaulted into the pelting rain, slamming the door behind her and running headlong for the house. She was drenched in seconds despite the raincoat. She left a puddle as she put the wet slicker in the mudroom off the kitchen. Then she returned and sat at the table, combing her damp hair back with her fingers.

I won’t think about it, she told herself. I won’t think about him sleeping across the hall. I won’t think about the way he looked without his shirt, or about the fact that he definitely won’t be wearing one in bed. Or much of anything else. Then she realized that she
was
thinking about it and groaned aloud.

Carrie rose and went down the hall to Johnny’s room, where the door was closed. She listened but could hear nothing. Was it possible he was asleep already?

She knocked softly. “Johnny? John, it’s Miss Maxwell.”

“Come on in,” came the response.

Carrie entered to find Johnny reading a British soccer magazine. He put it down when he saw her.

“Hi,” he said. “I thought you went home.”

“I tried to,” Carrie answered ruefully. “The storm is very bad; it washed out the footbridge. I’ll have to stay the night.”

He sat up straighter, interested. “Great. We can play cards. I’m tired of playing with Dad; he always lets me win.”

“You may find I’m not so generous,” Carrie replied archly.

“Good. I need some real competition for a change.”

They both heard the front door bang and Johnny said, “Will you tell my dad I want to talk to him? I have to know how the horses are doing.”

He sounded so mature that he reminded her of his father. “I’ll tell him,” she said and left, finding Jason in the kitchen, where he was toweling his hair.

“Got a little wet,” he announced as he saw her.

“John wants to talk to you about the horses,” Carrie told him.

“The horses are doing better than I am,” Jason grumbled, unbuttoning his damp shirt. He stopped when he saw her reaction and she looked away.

“I’ll go see him,” Jason said and brushed past her, leaving Carrie tongue tied and staring at a calendar on the wall. This was going to be one fascinating evening.

When Jason returned he was carrying a large terry robe, which he handed to Carrie. “You’d better change into this,” he said. “I don’t want you to catch cold.”

Carrie stood with it in her hands, looking at him.

“It’s all right. I have another one,” he said gently, pushing her in the direction of the bathroom. “We’ll put your wet things in the dryer. I’m afraid slickers aren’t much good in weather like this; in a driving rain you still get soaked.”

Carrie did as he’d instructed, shutting the bathroom door behind her and leaning against it. She held the robe to her face and inhaled his scent, closing her eyes. After a few self-indulgent moments she took off her clothes and donned it, snuggling into the terry softness and rolling up the sleeves, which cascaded over her wrists. She folded her skirt and blouse, put her underwear on the bottom and picked up the pile. She padded barefoot down the hall and handed the neatly arranged garments to Jason, who was tucking in a dry shirt.

“Here you are,” she said, trying not to consider the picture she made in the oversized robe.

Jason grinned at her. “You look like Shirley Temple in
Little Miss Marker
,” he said, accepting her clothes.

“I feel like a mermaid,” she replied.

“These seem like they would fit a Barbie doll,” Jason teased, hefting the lightweight burden.

Carrie smiled. She was used to such remarks. “My brother always called me ‘Thimblena,’ because my wardrobe would fit in a thimble.”

Jason disappeared into the adjacent laundry closet and she heard the hum of machinery.

“They’ll be ready soon,” he said, returning. “It doesn’t take long. Do you want a hair dryer?”

Carrie’s hand flew to her disarranged shoulder length bob. “Oh dear, do I look like I need one?”

His eyes moved from her head to her feet, then up again to lock with hers. “No, you look fine. It’s just that you’re always so perfect, it’s odd to see you... a little messed up, that’s all.”

Is that how he saw her? Carrie wondered—as a prim guardian of proprieties who would become hysterical if her bun became unpinned? I’m not like that, she wanted to cry. Just give me a chance and I’ll show you I’m not like that.

“Did I say something to upset you?” Jason asked suddenly, his head tilting to one side.

“No, no, I’m just feeling...hungry,” she said, seizing upon the one explanation for her behavior that she knew he could accept.

“Right, what’s wrong with me?” Jason replied, pulling open the refrigerator door and taking out a platter covered with aluminum foil. “You must be starving. Rose left this for us to make sandwiches. Just let me put something together for John and we’ll eat, okay?”

He always thought of his son first. Carrie watched as he took bread from the keeper and made the boy a sandwich. He put it on a tray with a glass of milk and a slice of cake. He even added a carefully folded napkin and a handful of wrapped candies from a jar. Carrie looked away, her eyes filling. Everything he did brought her to the verge of tears.

While he was in his son’s room she got her things from the dryer and dressed again, feeling clammy and uncomfortable in the damp clothes.

“The card shark is in there whetting his knives for the kill,” Jason announced as he returned. “He bolted his meal in thirty seconds and is now practicing shuffling and dealing. He told me you promised him a game. Is that the truth, or a wishful interpretation of some careless remark you made?”

“A little of both,” Carrie replied, laughing. “He says you always let him win.”

“That’s because he persecutes me when he loses,” Jason said, reaching for plates to set the table. “He had me in there for three hours one night trying to show him what he did wrong in a game I was foolish enough to claim when he blew it. He can’t seem to accept that I have twenty-five years on him. He wants to know everything and he wants to know it all right now.”

“Are you like that?” Carrie said conversationally, watching as he put tomatoes and lettuce on a cutting board.

He turned to face her, setting the board on the counter next to him. “No, his mother was like that. She didn’t exactly believe in delayed gratification.”

Carrie usually dodged such remarks but this time she confronted him. “John never mentions her,” she said softly. “I didn’t think it was my place to bring up the subject, so I haven’t. I didn’t want to do any harm.”

Jason’s gaze settled on her, his green eyes warm with feeling. “How could you possibly think
you
could do any harm?”

“Well, I’m not trained. Does he discuss her with his therapist?”

Jason nodded, leaning back against the sink. He folded his arms and crossed one ankle over the other.

“The poor kid has to talk to somebody,” he murmured. “I can’t help him. I love him so much, but I can’t seem to...” His voice trailed off and he bowed his head, his shoulders slumping.

Carrie cleared her throat. “You’re helping him. No one could do more.”

He looked up and searched her face, his expression grave. “Do you really mean that?”

“I really do.”

A sudden rush of wind rattled the window frames and blew a gust of rain against the glass panes above the sink. They both started, glancing around as the drumming on the roof increased to a dull roar. Carrie could hear the sound of rushing water in the gutters beneath the eaves and the groaning of the trees as their branches bent and swayed in the gale. She shivered involuntarily.

“Are you cold?” Jason asked instantly. “I could turn up the heat.”

“No, it’s just the storm.”

“The storm?”

“Yes. On a night like this I always feel like Jane Eyre, wandering the moors in the rain.”

“I’ll build a fire after dinner,” he said, resuming his preparations. He put the rest of the food on the table and joined her, sitting down across from her and reaching for the jar of mayonnaise.

Carrie made a sandwich to bolster her claim to hunger and nibbled at it, watching him eat. He noticed her lack of appetite and said, “Would you care for something else? I know this isn’t exactly
haute cuisine
.”

Carrie shook her head. “No, this is fine, really. I’m just not as hungry as I thought I was.”

Jason shook his finger at her. “Good thing Rose isn’t here. Those words can’t be spoken in her presence. She goes into a decline when anyone passes up a meal. John has gained six pounds since she came to work here.”

“Her influence hasn’t affected you, though,” Carrie said, commenting on his slimness.

“Oh, she tries. But I burn it all off, I guess. I’m a constant challenge to her culinary abilities. She doesn’t understand that chasing a bunch of horses around consumes a lot of calories.”

“Do you like your work?” Carrie asked, dabbing her lips with her napkin.

“I wouldn’t do anything else. I’ve been crazy about horses ever since I was a kid. When I was twelve I saw some Polish Arabians in a show and started to save my paper route money. Six years later I bought my first blooded stallion. I’ve been building up my stables gradually and now I have some of the best stock in the state. I just got an Appaloosa, and that Indian pony is the smartest animal I ever saw. The other day I
…”