VIRGINIA HENLEY BRENDA JOYCE
FERN MICHAELS JO GOODMAN
Zebra Books Kensington Publishing Corp.
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
Copyright © 1995 by Kensington Publishing Corp.
"Christmas Eve" copyright © 1995 by Virginia Henley "The Miracle" copyright © 1995 by Brenda Joyce "A Bright Red Ribbon" copyright © 1995 by Fern Michaels "My True Love" copyright © 1995 by Joanne Dobrzanski
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If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
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First Printing: November, 1995
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CONTENTS
CHRISTMAS EVE by Virginia Henley
THE MIRACLE by Brenda Joyce
A BRIGHT RED RIBBON by Fern Michaels
MY TRUE LOVE by Jo Goodman
Christmas Eve
Virginia Henley
One
Eve Barlow was naked.
Her towel had slid to the floor with a whisper and here they stood, finally alone together, staring at each other. She posed provocatively, lifting her long blond hair and letting it waterfall to her shoulders.
"Am I beautiful?" she asked. "Am I sexy?"
The questions proved she was vulnerable, which was the very last thing she wanted to be.
Was that a critical look she detected? Silence filled the bedroom. If the answer to her questions took this long, perhaps the answer was no!
She looked straight into the green eyes, saw the humor lurking there, and her exuberant self-confidence came flooding back.
"Yes, you're beautiful; yes, you're sexy! You are also intelligent, successful, and independent," came the answer. The green eyes assessed the full, ripe breasts and watched as the nipples turned to spikes.
"You forgot crazy," she told her reflection as her body shivered with gooseflesh. "Anyone who would stand naked before a mirror when it's below zero outside has got to be crazy!"
Eve knew Trevor Bennett's Christmas present would be a diamond ring. As she drew on her pantyhose, she asked herself if she was ready to be engaged. The answer came back yes. She was twenty-six years old—the per-
feet age for marriage. Everything else in her life was just about perfect, too.
Her career was in high gear, her finances were rock solid, and her fiance had all the qualities that would make him a perfect husband: sensitivity, kindness, and understanding. Trevor was an English professor at
Eve chose a red wool suit, then pulled on black, high-heeled boots. Even with a power suit she always wore heels. There were no rules that said a career woman couldn't have sexy-looking legs. The minute she picked up her briefcase, the telephone rang.
"Eve? You didn't give me a definite answer about coming home for Christmas, dear."
"Hi, Mom. I sent you an answer on E-mail last night."
"Oh honey, you know I don't understand that computer stuff. Daddy's tried to explain it to me, but I feel so much more comfortable on the phone."
"Of course Trevor and I are coming for Christmas dinner. It's my turn and I would love to take everyone out to The Plaza—I hate to see you cooking all day. But since you insist on a traditional, home-cooked turkey, I capitulate."
"You know it's fun for me. I just love doing all the things that make Christmas special."
"I know you do, Mom. That's why we all love you so much. I have to run—I have the keys to the office and have to open up today. See you Christmas morning."
"Drive carefully, dear."
Eve sighed. There was absolutely no point in trying to change Susan this late in life. Her mother was a perfectly contented housewife, an angel of domesticity who'd been kept in her place by the men in her life. She had no idea there were worlds to conquer out there.
Susie, as Eve's father insisted on calling her, had made a happy home for her Air Force family, no matter where they'd been stationed. It hadn't mattered much to Susie where she was; Ted was the center of her life and her two children orbited closely around him.
Ted was the macho major who wisecracked about everything, but ruled his family with an iron hand. She had gotten her name from one of her father's wisecracks. He wanted a brother for his firstborn, Steven, but when Susie had a girl, he grinned good-naturedly and said, "Now it's Eve 'n' Steven!"
Her brother had followed in his father's footsteps, joining the military and becoming a macho ace before he was twenty. But Eve was determined not to become a clone of her mother. She avoided dominant, controlling men who thought a woman's place was in the kitchen, unless she was in the bedroom.
Eve pulled her Mercedes into the parking space that had her name on it, then unlocked the front door of Caldwell Baker Real Estate. Within six months she hoped to be a full partner in the privately owned company.
Before she read all the faxes, the other agents started to arrive. Bob and George arrived together because Bob had cracked up his Caddy on an icy road and it was in the shop awaiting parts. When Eve started working at the agency, they had joked about her aggressive salesmanship, calling her a ball-breaker, but now that her sales topped theirs, they gave her the respect she had earned.
"I'm sorry about your accident, Bob. It must be milder today—the ice was melting when I drove in."
"Warm enough to snow," predicted George, who tended to look on the dark side.
"Congratulations on breaking into the President's Circle, Eve," Bob said.
She had been in the Multi-Million Dollar Club for the last two years, but now that she was selling commercial as well as residential properties, she had reached new production levels. "I haven't quite made it yet, Bob, but thanks."
"Oh hell, it's only December twenty-third. Still nine days left before the year ends," he said, winking at George.
The sons-of bitches hope I don't make it, Eve suddenly realized.
Other agents began arriving and the first thing they did was glance toward the coffee urn beside the bank of filing cabinets. When they saw there was nothing brewing, the second thing they did was glance at Eve. Well, they could wait until their Grecian Formula wore off before she would make coffee, she decided, going into her office to go over the listings. She was two hundred thousand dollars short, and determined to reach her goal if it was humanly possible.
When the secretary arrived, the men heaved a collective sigh of relief. They fell over each other helping her off with her coat and boots, then followed her en masse to the coffee urn. Bo Peep has suddenly found her sheep, Eve thought sarcastically.
Someone came through the front door. Since all the agents were at the back of the premises, Eve came out of her office to attend to the prospective customer. Fie was tall with jet black hair, wearing a heavy blue shirt and a leather vest with decorative bullet-holder loops above and below the pockets. This guy apparently didn't know they were decorative; they held real bullets.
"I'm Eve Barlow. May I help you?"
The man's deep blue eyes stared at her mouth, lingered on her breasts, went down to her legs, then climbed back up her body to her blond hair and, finally, to her eyes.
Why don't you take a bloody picture? It'll last longer, she thought silently.
"I don't think so. I'm looking for Maxwell Robin."
He had the deepest voice Eve had ever heard.
"Maxwell has an early appointment; he won't be here until ten. Are you sure I can't be of some service?"
"I can think of a dozen, none of them appropriate for a real estate office." He gave her a lopsided grin.
Eve did not smile back. She turned on her heel and walked back toward her office.
"You could get me a cup of coffee while I'm waiting for Max."
Eve stopped dead in her tracks and turned to give him a look that would wither a more sensitive male. She bit back the cutting retort that sprang to mind and said coolly, "Feel free to help yourself."
"Don't tempt me." He winked at her.
The sexist son-of-a-bitch actually winked at her! Eve went into her office and slammed the door. She turned on her computer, saw that she had E-mail and accessed it. The message was from Trevor, who stayed many weeknights at the university in
Eve answered in the affirmative.
Trevor, I would love to go to Cygnus for dinner, on condition we don't stay too late. I'm probably working Friday.
Within half an hour, Trevor replied. / understand. It's a date!
Eve smiled at the words on her computer screen. Trevor Bennett was the most understanding man in the world. He had no problem with her assertiveness, her career, or the fact that she made more money than he. She wondered briefly if she would keep her own name when they married. Eve Barlow Bennett . . . it sounded good to her and Trevor would never object. So why not?
Maxwell's voice came over the intercom, cutting her reverie short.
"Eve, are you free to come into my office?"
As she opened her door, she heard the deep voice say, "I don't want a female agent. I want you, Max."
"The property you're interested in is Eve Barlow's listing. It's exclusive."
She gritted her teeth and walked into the owner's office.
"Ms. Barlow, this is Mr. Kelly. He's interested in the lakefront property you have listed up past Ludington. I've just been explaining that's your exclusive."
Eve shook hands with Action Man, as she had already dubbed him, making sure her grip was firm. She knew Max was being generous. The listing was hers, given to her by a friend in
"I'd like to take a look at it." Kelly turned from Eve to address Maxwell. "Can you go with me?"
"I told you, it's Ms. Barlow's listing. I have appointments all day."
"I'll take you to see it, Mr. Kelly. Are you free to leave now?"
The rugged-looking man drew dark brows together in a frown. "It's a hundred miles."
Eve failed to see his point. "Slightly more. It's a two-hour drive, two-and-a-half in bad weather. Perhaps you don't have time today."
"I have all the time in the world."
"Well, that's terrific, Mr. Kelly. Just let me get my briefcase."
In spite of the fact that he resented dealing with a female agent, Kelly helped her on with her camel-hair coat and held the door open for her.
The condescending gestures were politically incorrect in this day and age. Any woman breathing could put on her own coat and open her own doors. Kelly had either been living under a stone, or was being deliberately annoying. She suspected it was the latter.
Eve walked toward her Mercedes, but he did not follow her.
"We'll use my vehicle," he stated. "It's part of my job to provide the transportation, Mr. Kelly."
"We'll use my vehicle," he repeated.
Eve glanced at the Dodge Ram, four-wheel drive truck and repressed a shudder. They were already in a tug-of-war. "The Mercedes will be more comfortable," she asserted.
"This is a rough terrain vehicle," he pointed out.
"You don't trust my driving?"
"I have nothing against women drivers, but I wouldn't let a woman drive me unless I had two broken arms."
That could be arranged, you sexist swine!
He gave her a meaningful look. "Whatever happened to the idea that the customer is always right?"
Eve decided if she wanted this sale, she had better do things his way. She walked toward the Dodge Ram. It had flames painted across the doors, as if they were coming from the engine.
The first thing she saw when she climbed in was a gun rack, holding a rifle. Action Man was obviously a hunter. She liked him less and less. He drove aggressively. He didn't race, but nothing passed him. Before they got out of the city, it began to snow-flurry.
"So, talk to me, tell me about yourself," he invited. He sounded patronizing.
I'm a feminazi who loathes macho men,
she thought, then remembered her six percent commission. "My name is Eve Barlow. I was an air force brat. Lived in
"I moved here from
Kelly Irish cops. Tough as boiled owl, she thought. Born with too much testosterone!
"How did you get into real estate?"
"I chose it very deliberately. It's a field where women can excel. I didn't want to spend years at university, living at home. I wanted to be independent. I'm on my way to breaking the glass ceiling."
"Glass ceiling?" he puzzled.
He's got to be kidding; the man's a Neanderthal!
“Is that some sort of feminist term?"
“ Yes. It's a ceiling erected by the men who run the corporate world, to keep women from high earnings and 1mm achieving their potential."
"Bull! If a woman doesn't reach her full potential, she has only herself to blame,"
Eve tended to believe that, yet she had an overwhelming urge to oppose him. He had a dark, dangerous quality about him, as if he could erupt. She turned away to look out the window. It was snowing harder now. It seemed to Eve that the harder it snowed, the faster he drove.
"Where's the fire?" she asked.
He began to laugh. His teeth were annoyingly white.
"Let me in on the joke."
"I'm a Fire Captain."
"You're kidding me! You're a fire fighter?" He nodded. "I'm a captain, studying for my chief's exams."
"The flames!" she said, suddenly comprehending. "My attempt at humor."
Until this moment, Eve had had no idea one had to sit exams to fight fires. The property he was interested in was listed at a quarter of a million dollars. Did Action Man have this kind of money, or was she on a wild goose chase? Eve cleared her throat. "How do you know Maxwell?" she probed.
"I teach scuba. He's in my diving class."
"Really?" Eve was a city girl. Scuba diving was out of her depth of comprehension. It was too physical, too dangerous, too unnatural somehow. Encasing yourself in rubber, sticking a breathing tube in your mouth, then isolating yourself fathoms deep in murky water was not her idea of fun.
"That's one of the reasons I'm interested in the lake-front property.
"I see. Wouldn't a summer cottage do just as well? This is a year-round log home." She was trying to hint at the price.
"I need something year-round for ice diving."
"Ice diving?" She said it with abhorrence as if he had said grave-robbing.
"You cut a hole in the ice with an auger. Of course, you tie yourselves together with a safety rope."
"You do this for pleasure, or as some sort of penance?"
"If that's a jab at my being Catholic, I believe you're being politically incorrect, Miz Barlow." Eve stiffened.
"I'm astounded you even know what political correctness is, Mr. Kelly. You make sexist remarks every time you open your mouth!"
His eyes were like blue ice. His glance lingered on her hair and mouth, dropped to her breasts, then lifted to her eyes. "What a waste; you obviously hate men."
"Your father, the cop, must have shot you in the arse . . . you obviously have brain damage!"
"There you go again. He was a police officer, not a cop."
She saw the amusement in his eyes.
"You have a wicked tongue. I could teach you sweeter things to do with it than cutting up men, Miz Barlow."
"Don't call me that," she snapped.
"All right. I'll call you Eve. My name's Clint. Clint Kelly."
"Clint? My God, I don't believe it. You've made that up."
His bark of laughter told her that her barbs didn't penetrate his thick hide.
The visibility was deteriorating rapidly. "The weather's closing in. Would you like to turn back?" he asked.
His tone of voice was challenging, almost an insult.
She replied, "If I couldn't handle snow, I wouldn't live in
He shrugged. "The decision's yours."
"Good. I like making decisions. And I don't have much use for macho males."
"That's all right, Eve. I don't have any at all for feminists."
Two
Eve lit up a cigarette. She was trying to stop smoking, but tended to reach for one when she was annoyed.
Clint frowned. "That's a dangerous habit."
"That's all right—if I set myself on fire, you're obviously qualified to put it out."
He refused to lecture her.
By twelve-thirty they reached Ludington, a thriving tourist port in the summertime but quiet in winter. Two hours was terrific time in adverse weather conditions.
Clint stopped at a service station for gas; Eve used the ladies room.
"How about some lunch before we leave civilization?" he asked.
The town had two good restaurants, but both were closed for Christmas week. "I don't usually eat lunch," Eve said, relieved that she didn't have to sit across a table from Clint Kelly. All she wanted to do was show him the property and get back to
There was a fast-food place open as they pulled out of town. Clint stopped the truck. "Can I get you a burger? You should eat something."
"No, thanks. That stuff is incredibly bad for you."
Clint laughed. "And cigarettes aren't?"
She almost asked him to bring her a coffee, but remembered that she had not brought him one earlier.
Clint came back with two hamburgers and a milk-shake. He raised his eyebrow, offering her one. When she shook her head, he devoured them both.
Highway 31 turned into an undivided road and Eve recalled that they would have to turn off in just a few miles. She remembered
Clint turned on the radio, but not many stations came in clearly. He found one that was playing country music. "You like country music?"
"Actually, I loathe it." The moment the words were out of her mouth, she suspected she had made an admission she would regret. He made no effort to change the station; in fact, he turned up the volume.
Eve put up with the torture for five minutes, then reached out decisively to shut it off. She cut the announcer off in midsentence as he said, "I have an updated weather —" Then she had to do an about-face and turn it back on.
"—Snow, and lots of it. Blizzard conditions will prevail. Travellers are advised to stay off the roads unless it's an emergency."
"Where is that station?" she asked the air.
"Don't panic. It could be across the lake in
"I'm not the type to panic," she said coolly.
He gave her a fathomless look. "What type are you, Eve?"
"What type do you think I am, Kelly?"
"You're difficult to read. I can't decide if you're an Ice Queen or simply unawakened."
"You're not difficult to read. You're an arrogant, sexist swine!"
He grinned. "You sure have a short fuse; I was teasing." "For your information, I'm engaged to be married." His eyes looked pointedly at her hands. "I'm getting my ring for Christmas," she explained, then wondered why in hellfire she found it necessary to explain herself to this insufferable devil.
"I take it he's the sensitive type."
"He's an English professor." Why did that sound so wimpy? "An intellectual," she added. "Trevor is the opposite of you. Yes, he's sensitive—and understanding."
"He's passive and I'm aggressive ... he's a sheep and Pm a wolf."
Eve narrowed her eyes. "He doesn't drive a truck with flames on it."
"I bet he doesn't drive a Mercedes, either."
His arrow hit its target. "He isn't threatened by the fact that I earn more than he does."
"Then he should be. You intend to wear the pants in the family?"
"No, I intend to be an equal partner. But I admit I'm not domesticated. I don't cook, I don't sew, and I don't cower."
"I bet you even carry your own condoms."
Eve blushed. She had a couple in her shoulder bag. The fact that he could make her blush threw her off balance. "Oh, I think we should have turned off back there."
"You think? " He found a place where he could turn around, and showed no impatience. They drove down the snowy road for a couple of miles, but Eve saw nothing that looked familiar. She gave directions, but they were tentative. Finally, she admitted she was hopelessly lost, but only to herself.
"You don't know where this place is, do you?"
"We should be there. You must have passed it."
"Have you actually been to this property?" he asked.
"Of course I have, but it was in the fall. Everything looks different covered with snow. Go back across the river and—"
He held up a commanding hand. "Don't help. I'll find it myself."
By using logic and old-fashioned common sense, he wound his way down a couple of unplowed sideroads until he came to the lake. Then he drove slowly along the lakeshore road until Eve finally recognized the private driveway. It was almost two-thirty. They were no longer making good time.
Eve took the keys from her briefcase and followed Clint Kelly from the truck. The winter winds from
"If you had two shovels, I could help."
"Shifting light snow won't exactly prostrate me," he explained.
No, I'd have to hit you over the head with the shovel to do that, she thought.
By the time they got inside the house, it was three o'clock. Eve stamped the snow off her boots and shook it from her shoulders, but she didn't take off her coat because the log house was freezing inside. She walked straight to the telephone to call her boss to tell him they were running late.
"Damn, the phone's been put on holiday service; no calls can go in or out." She gave him a scathing look. "I have a car phone in my Mercedes."
"That isn't going to help you one bit."
"Exactly!" She threw up her hands.
"Can't you survive without a telephone?"
Eve didn't have to call the office. She lived alone; no one was expecting her. Trevor was in
"If you mean, am I married, the answer is no. Both my brothers are divorced, so I'm wary of women."
"I meant no such thing! I'm not the least bit interested in your personal life."
"Curiosity's written all over your face. You're wondering if I can afford this place."
Damn you, Clint Kelly, you re too smart for your own damn good.
"You turn on the water and I'll check the electrical panel. It'll be dark before we know it."
Eve went downstairs to the basement in search of the water valve. She couldn't find it. She found laundry tubs, a washer and dryer, a water heater that was turned to off. She went into the basement washroom. It had a shower, a sink, and a toilet; it even had a shut-off valve, but only for the toilet it was connected to. Without lights, the basement was very dim. She looked under the stairs ;
"I couldn't find it," she said lamely.
He gave her a pitying glance.
"If you'd turned on the electricity, I might have been able to see down there!"
"The electricity's been cut off," he said shortly. "You start a fire; I'll find the water valve."
Eve stared at the small stack of logs beside the massive stone fireplace. There were no matches. She opened her purse, took out her lighter, and looked about for an old newspaper. Nothing! Paper, where could she get paper? She opened her briefcase and crumpled up some 'Offer to Purchase5 forms. Kindling, now she needed kindling. She couldn't start a fire with only paper and logs. Eve spied a basket of pine cones used for decoration and felt quite smug as she carried them to the fireplace. She piled up a pyramid atop the crumpled paper and set her lighter to it. It blazed up merrily, but gradually smoke billowed out at her and she began to cough.
A powerful hand pulled her out of the way, reached up the chimney and pushed an iron lever. "You have to open the damper," he explained.
"Did you locate the water valve?" she challenged.
"Of course."
He had the ability to make her feel useless. He soon had the logs in the fireplace blazing and crackling. "As soon as you get warm, you can give me the tour."
The log house was truly beautiful. It was a full two storeys. Four bedrooms and two baths opened onto a balcony that looked down on the spacious open-concept living room and kitchen. The bedrooms also opened onto an outside balcony that ran around the entire perimeter of the house.
The views over the lake and forest were breath-stopping. Clint lifted his head and breathed deeply, drawing in the smell of the lake and the woods. She watched, fascinated, as his eyelashes caught the snowflakes.
"Last night was a full moon. It had a ring around it; that always predicts a change in the weather."
"Been reading the Farmers' Almanac, have we?"
"I suppose yuppies find folklore exceedingly quaint, but I've learned not to scoff at it."
They went back inside to explore the rooms downstairs. A cobalt blue hot tub had been built into a glass-enclosed room along with a sauna.
How romantic, Eve thought.
"Decadence," Clint said, grinning.
Eve quickly switched her thoughts to the business at hand. "As you know, the asking price is a quarter of a million, but that's furnished. A lot of this furniture is hand-crafted. Isn't it lovely?"
"It is. I make furniture like this. In fact, that sleigh bed upstairs is one of my pieces. Sorry, I digress."
Why was she surprised? The man was an entity unto himself. She began to believe Clint Kelly could very well afford the property.
"I want to look over the acreage before the light goes."
Eve groaned inwardly; it was a blizzard out there.
"Do you have a survey of the property in that briefcase of yours, or is it just for show?"
Eve snapped open the case and rifled through the papers. She pulled out the survey and thrust it at him. "I didn't think you'd be able to read anything so technical," she said sweetly.
Clint ignored the barb. "We'd better hurry. If much more of this comes down, we might not get out of here tonight. I can look around by myself, if the elements are too fierce for you," he goaded.
"Is that more Clint claptrap? You don't have to keep proving what a physical man you are."
"If I intended to prove how physical I can be, I'd have you down to your teddy by now."
Why did her mouth go dry at his provocative words?
Outside, he opened his truck, pulled out a down-filled jacket, and shrugged into it. Then he took a big steel tape from his toolbox. As they set off through the trees, she thought, Surely he's not going to take measurements in the snow? Please don't let him expect me to hold the other end of the tape. From now on, III stick to my own turf: good old city property.
As if he could read her thoughts, he said, "This is the reason I would have preferred Maxwell to come with me. This isn't a woman's job."
Eve ground her teeth. "There are no such things as men s jobs and women s jobs."
"Bull! The world has gone nuts. They're even telling us women can be fire fighters!"
"You sound like my father: air force women shouldn't fly combat jets."
"Your father is right. Women are perfectly capable of flying jets, but they shouldn't allow them into combat zones."
Eve had walked out on an argument with her father and brother on this subject, and she was close to walking out on Clint Kelly. That would be gutless, she decided.
The barn loomed before them. Clint used his booted feet to kick the drift of snow from the entrance, then they went inside to look around. The first thing Eve noticed was the smell. The scent of hay and straw mingled with the lingering miasma of horses, who had occupied the stalls once upon a time. How was it barns and hay always conjured fantasies of lovemaking, Eve wondered? She'd certainly never had a romantic encounter in a barn . . . yet.
"This place has amazing possibilities."
She turned away quickly so he wouldn't see her blush. She knew perfectly well that his thoughts did not mirror hers; it was simply because of his overt masculinity, and their close proximity in the romantic setting.
All too soon, Clint was again ready for the great outdoors. After they tramped what felt like miles through the deep snow, he selected a spot beside a wire fence and began to dig with his hands.
He had big, strong, capable hands that were well-calloused. Eve reluctantly admitted to herself that she found them strangely attractive.
Clint found what he was looking for—a one-inch square iron surveyor's bar. He didn't ask her to hold one end of the tape, as she expected; instead he began to follow the fence-line, counting his strides.
Eve pulled up her collar and jammed her hands into her pockets. She was freezing. Clint, hatless, didn't even seem to notice the cold.
"An abundance of wildlife here . . . raccoon, weasel, fox, deer, even elk."
Eve hadn't noticed the animal tracks until he pointed them out. He didn't miss much, she decided. I bet women fall all over him. Where the devil had that thought come from? It certainly didn't matter to her what effect he had on women! He had a decidedly abrasive effect on her, yet she didn't think the abrasiveness would affect the sale. He seemed to enjoy sparring with her.
Suddenly, as they came upon a bushy undergrowth, a covey of pheasants flew up into the trees. One bird huddled on the ground.
"It's caught in a snare," Clint said. "Its leg's broken." He immediately wrung the pheasant's neck, then ripped the snare apart in anger and flung it away. "Goddamn snares are as bad as leg-hold traps."
Eve stared at him in horror. "You cruel bastard! Why did you do that?"
"I'm not cruel, nature is. The bird's leg was broken. As soon as it's full dark, a fox would have eaten it."
"We could have taken it with us and nursed it back to health."
"The cold's getting to your brain."
"And you're suffering from necrosis of the cranium! Too bad you didn't have your gun—you could have shot them all." She turned away furiously and hurried in the direction of the house.
"Eve, get back here." It was an order.
Eve kept on going.
"Don't you dare go off on your own." This time it was more than an order, it was a command. She took great satisfaction in defying it.
Darkness was descending rapidly, but because of the white snow he could see her figure disappearing through the trees. Her black coat soon blended in with her surroundings, however, so that he could no longer see her.
"Bloody women! Can't live with 'em, can't shoot 'em." He tucked the bird inside his jacket and set off after her.
Eve had a soft spot for animals, especially injured ones. She and her mother had once nursed their cat back to health after it had been poisoned. They'd stayed up with it night after night, soothing it, trying one food after another, until they found something its stomach would not reject. The only thing that worked was honey, a dab at a time on its paw. The cat licked it off, again and again, and was able to stay alive.
Looking after injured animals took a great deal of patience and time. Patience she had in abundance—much more for animals than humans—but these days, time was in short supply.
Eve was totally preoccupied with her thoughts and as a consequence, she paid little attention to where she walked. She was going in the general direction of the house and when she saw a clearing where the trees thinned out, she crossed it. Suddenly, a crack like a rifle-shot rent the air and Eve felt the ground give way beneath her.
She cried out in alarm, not knowing what was happening. Then ice-cold water closed over her head. Dear God, she had walked out onto the pond and gone through the ice!
Three
"Help! Help me!" Eve screamed, then the icy water covered her mouth, effectively cutting off her cries. She knew the water was deep. Her feet touched bottom once before she struggled to the surface and grabbed hold of the ice at the edge of the hole she had made. Eve could swim, but her soaked coat and boots felt ten times heavier.
There was no time to pray, no time even to think coherently; sheer panic took control. The more she struggled to grab hold of something, the more ice broke from the edges, until the hole gaped wide. Eve had never experienced cold like this in her entire life. It penetrated her skin, seeped into her blood, froze her very bones to the marrow.
Clint heard her screams—a sound with which he was on intimate terms. He ran through the dusk on the path she had taken, knowing not to run across the open clearing. He saw nothing until she surfaced and cried out again. His eyes went swiftly to the hole in mid-pond—he was alarmed to see Eve was submerged to her neck.
"I see you!" he shouted. "Try not to panic."
"Clint," she wailed. Her voice a mixture of relief and hope.
"Can you stand up?" Clint demanded. "No!" came the urgent reply. "Can you swim?" His deep voice carried well. "My coat is too heavy!"
"Remove it!" he ordered sternly.
Clint's mind flashed about like mercury. He knew if the ice wouldn't support her, it would never hold him. He remembered seeing a long wooden ladder in the garage. He had rope in his truck; he never travelled without it. The danger was two-fold: she could drown or she could die from hypothermia.
He would try to rescue her with rope and ladder. If that failed, he would have to go in after her. Clint preferred to keep his clothing dry. He knew he would need to keep himself warm during the long night that loomed ahead.
He focused all his attention on Eve. "Take off your coat!" he ordered a second time.
Eve's fingers were numb. She fumbled with the buttons. "I can't!" The water closed over her again as she struggled.
"Keep your head up. Concentrate on those buttons. Rip it off!" If she did not get the coat off, she could die, but he hesitated to tell her.
Finally, miraculously, the waterlogged coat came off and immediately sank from its own weight. Eve felt even colder without the blanket-like coat, but she could move her arms and legs easier.
"I have to get a rope from the truck. Stay afloat, no matter what. Try not to flounder about and break any more ice!"
Clint lunged off toward the house. Inside the garage, he removed his down jacket and threw the dead pheasant on the floor. Then he took the wooden ladder that lay against the wall and carried it outside. He got the long rope from his truck, tied it to the ladder, then raced back to the pond.
When he was halfway there, he began shouting encouragement for her to hang on. His heart started hammering when he got no reply. It was full dark now as he peered across the snow-covered pond to the gaping black hole. He saw nothing!
"Eve! Eve!" he bellowed. Then he heard a whimper and knew she was still alive.
"Hold on, sweetheart, I'm coming. You're so damn brave. I'll have you out in a minute." His voice exuded total confidence, though Clint felt no such thing. It was something he had learned to do over the years. Confidence begot confidence!
Eve could no longer speak. She could only gasp and make small animal sounds every once in awhile. She could no longer feel her arms and legs, and the rest of her body was also slowly becoming numb. She was on the brink of total exhaustion—the icy-cold water had numbed her thought processes as well. She kept her mouth above water by sheer instinct alone, but was dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness.
Clint Kelly carefully laid the ladder across the ice of the pond, making sure the end of it stopped well back from the black hole. He took the rope firmly in both hands and lay down flat on top of the ladder.
Slowly, inch by inch, he moved his body toward the hole. He was totally focused—there was no room in his mind for failure. He intended to get her out, one way or another. The tricky part was to get her out before it was too late.
When he was halfway along the ladder, he heard a faint cracking noise, but resolutely ignored it and inched forward. He braced himself for the big crack that would sound like a rifle shot. Clint held his breath in dreaded anticipation and forced himself to breath normally.
The crack did not come while his full weight was distributed on the ladder. It came when he slithered his torso across the bare ice, keeping his feet and knees hooked onto the rungs. Clint did not hesitate; he was too close to back off now. With a superhuman effort he lifted her enough to loop the rope around her body, beneath her arms. Only then did he back off, slithering as swiftly as a serpent.
When his whole weight was back on the ladder, he wound the rope around his body, then hauled as he! slowly crawled backwards. Sounds of splintering ice filled the darkness, but it didn't matter now. She was anchored firmly to him.
When Clint threw off the rope, then lifted her high against his chest, he saw that Eve was unconscious. He refused to panic, telling himself that this was only to be expected. The falling snow looked like big white goose feathers, blanketing everything it touched. Their tracks were filled in, but by now Clint could have found the house if he'd been blindfolded.
He laid Eve face down on the floor before the dying embers of the fire. Then he straddled her, splayed his large hands across her rib cage, and pressed and released in a rhythm that simulated natural breathing. In less than a minute, Eve coughed up water, gagged up more, then groaned. She opened her eyes briefly, then closed them again, but Clint was satisfied that she was breathing normally.
They needed heat and they needed it now. He immediately piled the remaining wood on the fire and poked] it up into a blaze. He gathered half a dozen towels from-the linen closet and three large blankets from the bedroom and brought them to the fire. Before Clint went out to his truck, he glanced at Eve to make sure the bluish color was leaving her face.
Clint brought in his tackle box, his rifle and ammunition, and a forty-ounce bottle of whisky he had picked up for a raffle at the firehall. He spread out the towels and began undressing her. He removed her boots first and set them on the hearth. While she was still face-down, he pulled off her suit skirt, then peeled off her pantyhose.
Clint rolled her onto the towels so that she lay face-up. His sure fingers unbuttoned the red jacket, deftly removed it, and tossed the icy wet object beside the fire. A curse dropped from his lips as he noted the logs were already half burned away. He glanced at the girl who lay helplessly before him in a short red slip and bra.
Eve's face and hair had a delicate, unearthly fairness about them that stirred a deep protectiveness within him. Clint tried to crush down the personal feelings she aroused, trying to be detached and totally professional. When he peeled off her wet undergarments, he tried not lo stare at her nakedness. He covered her with a towel and began to rub her limbs briskly.
After a couple of minutes, he had her completely dry, but he did not succeed in warming her body. The glowing logs were giving off their last heat, so he knew the fire would be of little use in raising her body temperature. He thanked
With long, firm strokes he massaged her with the whisky. He had once seen an older firefighter revive a newborn baby with this technique even after oxygen had failed. Clint pulled the towel completely away from her upper body, palmed more whisky and stroked down firmly over her breasts, then between them, across her heart
Eve opened her eyes and threw him a frightened look. "Don't!"
"Eve, I have to. This is no time for false modesty. I must raise your body temperature. You have no food inside you for fuel, you have exhausted all your energy, and we have no wood left."
Eve stiffened.
"No, no, don't be afraid. Relax! Trust me, Eve, trust me. If you can feel what I'm doing to you, that's good. Relax . . . give yourself up to me . . . feel it, feel it."
He poured some of the amber liquid onto her belly, then swept his hands in firm circles, rubbing, massaging, kneading it into her flesh, so that her circulation would improve.
When Clint lifted her thigh and began to stroke it firmly, the word silken jumped into his mind. He tried valiantly not to become aroused, but failed miserably! Resolutely, he lifted her other thigh and repeated the ministrations. Clint had never done anything like this before, but it was suddenly brought home to him how pleasurably erotic a body massage could be. If you substituted warm oil, or perhaps champagne, for whisky, you could have one helluva sensual celebration!
He censured himself for his wicked thoughts and gently turned her over. On Eve's back, his strokes became longer, reaching all the way from her shoulders to her buttocks. He bent over her with tender solicitude. "Eve, are you any warmer?"
"Colder." Her voice was a whisper.
As he massaged the backs of her legs he said, "That's because your skin is getting warmer and the alcohol feels cold as it evaporates. It's a good sign that you can feel the surface of your skin."
He sat her up. "I want you to drink some of this. It will warm up your insides."
Eve nodded. She had no energy to protest, no will to^ object; all she wanted to do was obey him.
There was no time to search for a glass. Etiquette went the way of her modesty as he held the bottle to her lips and she took a great gulp. It snatched her breath away and she began to cough.
"Easy, easy does it." His powerful arm about her shoulders supported her until she could breathe again. Then he gently tipped the bottle against her lips so she could take a tiny mouthful.
By the third or fourth sip she felt a great red rose bloom in her chest; by the eighth, she felt a fireglow inside her belly. Clint moved her from the damp towels onto a blanket and starting again at her neck and shoulders, giving her a second whisky rubdown.
As Eve lay stretched before him, she gradually became euphoric. She thought Clint Kelly's hands were magnificent, and she wanted him to go on stroking her forever. As she watched him beneath lowered lids, a nimbus of light seemed to surround his dark head. She pondered dreamily about what it could be. Was it magic? Was it his aura? Did he emanate goodness and light? Then suddenly it came to her, and the answer was so simple. It was energy! This man exuded pure energy.
When Clint had anointed every inch of her with the warm, tingling whisky, he wrapped her up in the blanket and lifted her to the couch. "Eve, listen to me. I have to leave you for a while. I imagine we're snowed in here For a couple of days and there are things I need to do."
Eve was far too languorous to speak. Instead she smiled at him, giving him permission to do anything he had to. The smile made her face radiant. Clint knew she was intoxicated and would be asleep in minutes.
He retrieved his jacket from the garage and cut a length of green garden hose that was stored inside for the winter. Then he hiked to the barn to get a milk pail he had seen. He carried both to his Dodge Ram and proceeded to siphon the gasoline from the truck. Clint hated the taste of petroleum in his mouth, but he knew of no other way to siphon gas. He spat half a dozen times, then took a handful of fresh snow to his mouth.
He carried the pail of gasoline very carefully to the generator that stood inside a cupboard in the kitchen.
Fortunately it had a funnel beside it. Winter storms in this area must make a generator a necessity, he concluded.
Clint opened his tackle box and removed a stringer with several large hooks and lures on it, then slipped the box of ammunition into his pocket and picked up his rifle. He shut the front door quietly and went in the direction of the lake. The snow was coming down heavier than ever and the visibility was zero. He stepped cautiously when he sensed he was on the edge of
Noting the formation of the trees, he kicked a hole through the ice and set the stringer, then fastened the other end to the closest tree. He turned up the collar of his jacket and set off toward the bush at the back of the property where he had seen a wild apple tree. In the heavy snow, it took him quite some time to locate it, but when he did, he loaded his rifle and hunkered down with his back against a tree trunk to wait.
Eve slept deeply for two hours, then she drifted up through a layer of sleep and began to dream. She was in her parents' house where the air was filled with delicious smells and the atmosphere was warm and inviting. Her mother was cooking, while her father decorated the Christmas tree.
"Susie, can you help me with this?"
When Susan came into the living room wearing oven mitts, Ted grabbed her and held her beneath the mistletoe.
"You devil, Ted Barlow. This is just one of your tricks; you don't need help at all!"
"I couldn't resist, sweetheart; you're so easy to fool."
Eve saw her mother's secret smile and realized she knew all about the mistletoe. Susan went into her husband's arms with joy. The kiss lasted a full two minutes. She looked up at him. "Do you remember our first Christmas?"
"I love you even more than I did then," he whispered huskily, feathering kisses into Susie's hair.
"We had no money, no home; I was pregnant with Steven, and you'd just been posted overseas."
"What the hell did you see in me?" Ted asked, amusement brimming in his deep blue eyes.
"I was so much in love with you, I couldn't think straight, fly boy."
Ted's hands slipped down her back until his hands came to rest on her bottom cheeks. "But why did you love me?" he pressed.
"It was your strength. You were my rock; you made me feel safe. Even though we had almost nothing, I wasn't afraid to go halfway around the world with you."
He kissed her again. "That's the nicest thing anyone ever said to me."
"It's true, Ted. You inspire confidence. Now, it's true confession time for you. What did you see in me?"
"Besides great legs? You were willing to give up everything for me. I made the right choice. We're still lovers, aren't we?"
"Passionate lovers," she agreed.
"Do you think Eve is serious about Trevor Bennett?"
"I think so."
"You don't think she'll marry him, do you?" he asked, untangling a string of lights. "Don't you like him?"
"Oh sure, I like him well enough, but I don't think he's right for Eve."
"Why not?" Eve demanded, but they couldn't hear her. Eve realized she was invisible. Her parents had no idea she was in the room with them.
"He's one of these sensitive, modern types, always politically correct. He even teaches courses where men get in touch with their feminine side."
Susan laughed at her husband. "And you don't believe you have a feminine side?"
"Christ, if I did, I'd leave it in the closet where it belongs!"
"You worry too much about Eve. She isn't your little girl anymore."
"Oh, I know she does a terrific impression of being able to take care of herself, but she has a vulnerable side."
Am I that transparent? Eve asked.
"And don't kid yourself . . . she'll be my little girl until I give her away—hopefully to a real man."
"What I meant was, don't worry about her making the wrong choice. Eve knows exactly what she needs. And remember, it's her choice, not yours, fly boy!"
Ted grinned at her. "I just want her to have skyrockets, like we do."
Eve was no longer at home. She was somewhere dark and cold, in deep water, and she was desperately searching for a rock.
Four
Clint Kelly held his breath as he saw a shadow move. I le had waited two hours because he knew they would come. Deer loved apples. The shadow separated into three when it reached the trees. He selected his target, a young buck, then lifted his rifle and squeezed the trigger. The two does flew past him, sending down an avalanche of snow from the overhanging branches; the buck dropped.
When Clint stood up from his cramped position, he stretched up to fill his pockets with apples; he could hardly feel his feet. He stomped about for a few minutes to restore his circulation before he hoisted both rifle and carcass to his shoulders. Their food worries were over— now he could concentrate on providing fuel.
For the last two hours, thoughts of Eve had filled his head. He knew she would recover from her ordeal, but worried about the pond water she had ingested. Bacteria from the murky water could make her very sick. If luck was with them, however, the germs may have been killed off by the cold.
Clint's thoughts had then drifted along more personal lines. He couldn't lie to himself; he found Eve Barlow extremely attractive in spite of their differences. Perhaps it was even because of their differences. She was a new experience for Clint; independent, assertive, competitive, even combative. A far cry from the clinging types he had dated recently.
Eve was an exciting challenge. Beneath the polished veneer, he might find a real flesh-and-blood, honest-to-God woman! All his thoughts were sexual now. In retrospect, giving Eve the whisky massage had been a very erotic experience. When he had his hands on her body, he had tried to be detached. Now, however, he relived every stroke, every slide of skin on skin. She was ice, he was fire—a combustible combination!
Hers was probably the loveliest female form he had ever seen or touched. She had everything to tempt a man: long blond hair, silky skin, nipples like pink rosebuds, and a high pubic bone covered by pale curls. And long, beautiful legs.
Back in the garage, with axe and hunting knife, Clint skinned the carcass, then dressed and hung the venison. He was considerably warmer by the time he finished. He glanced ruefully along the wall where the woodpile was customarily stacked. All that remained were wood chips, evidence that split logs were usually stored in abundance.
He saw a wooden pallet marked "Evergreen Sod Farm" and speculated that there must be a lawn buried deep beneath the snow. The wood from the pallet wouldn't last an hour, but perhaps he could put it to better use than burning. The beams and column supports in the barn were fashioned from whole trees. If he used the pallet as a sled, perhaps he could drag a tree trunk up here to the garage where he could axe it into logs, then split the logs into firewood. He looked about for his rope, then remembered it was still at the pond with the ladder. Necrosis of the cranium—wasn't that what Eve had flung at him? Perhaps she was right, he thought wryly.
* * *
Eve stirred in her sleep, then awoke with a start. She felt disoriented for a moment. She knew she had been dreaming, but as she tried to call back the dream, it danced out of her reach. Then she remembered where she was.
The room was silent, dark and very cold. For a moment, panic assailed her. Had he gone off and left her here? Had he abandoned her? Then she laughed at her own foolishness. Clint Kelly wasn't the kind who would desert a damsel in distress. He had rescued her from a watery grave and was probably out gathering wood. He would relish the challenge of being snowbound.
Eve's belly rolled. Lord, she was hungry. She struggled to sit up and realized she had no strength. Her head dropped back to the couch cushion as she drew the blanket closer and closed her eyes. Clint would take care of everything.
The task of dislodging one of the upright tree trunks was more difficult than Clint had anticipated. None of them budged even a fraction, in spite of the stout shoulder he pressed upon them. He selected the one closest to the barn door, wedged the ladder against a beam, then chopped with his axe until he felled it.
He knew the hardwood would have made a fine piece of furniture and under any other circumstances it would be sacrilege to burn it. But it was exactly what they needed. Hardwood burned longer and gave off a fiercer heat than other timber, and even more to the point, it was dry.
Try as he might, Clint could not lift the tree trunk. He decided that expending his energy was foolish. After studying the problem for a moment, once more he put the rope to good use. He tied it to the tree trunk, threw the other end over a barn beam and used it as a pulley to lift the huge log onto the pallet.
With the rope around his chest, he pulled the makeshift sledge through the snow. Fancifully, he realized he was doing what men had done in past centuries: bringing home the Yule Log. The only difference was that he had to do it alone.
Clint needed a rest to catch his breath before he started cutting wood. He slipped quietly into the living room to check on Eve. Though he didn't feel it after his strenuous exertion, he knew the room was far too chilly for someone who needed to keep her body temperature from falling again.
He bent over her with concern. He heard her even breathing and saw the crescent shadows of her lashes as they lay upon her cheeks. Two fingers to her forehead told him that she wasn't fevered. A proprietary feeling stole over him as he stood close to her. Who the devil was this Trevor guy who wanted to marry her? He sure as hell wouldn't be able to give her an engagement ring for Christmas. It was way past midnight; already Christmas Eve.
Clint flexed weary muscles as he thought of all the wood that needed to be chopped, but strangely, he knew he would rather be here tonight than anywhere else on earth.
Clint spent the next three hours alternately sawing the tree into huge rounds and splitting them into logs that would fit in the fireplace. He only stopped working once, and that was to build a roaring fire in the living room.
By the time he was finished, he vowed the first thing he would buy for the new house was a chain saw, and the second, a log-splitter. He lifted the long axe handle behind his head to stretch the kinks out of his shoulder muscles and yawned loudly. Food! His body needed refuelling. Clint carved some thin slices of venison and went in search of a frying pan. He set it on the flames, cut up an apple amongst the meat and sat down on the hearth.
"Mmm, that smells heavenly."
He turned to the couch in time to see Eve stretch and open her eyes. "How do you feel?" he asked, hiding all trace of anxiety.
"Hungry," she replied, eyeing the contents of the pan. "Thanks for cooking my breakfast," she teased, "but what are you going to have?"
He laughed, but warned, "You're going to have to take it easy. If you eat too much or too fast, your stomach will reject it." He searched her face; it didn't look flushed.
"Don't stare! I know I must look a damned fright."
Clint was so relieved she wasn't fevered, he was perfectly happy to let her have the food and cook more for himself. He found her a plate and took the empty pan into the garage with him. When he returned, she said, "This is absolutely wonderful. What is it?"
"Meat," he said evasively, knowing her aversion to guns.
"What kind of meat?" "Venison."
She went all quiet, but kept on chewing. He went hunting last night when I fell asleep. It wasn't a question, it was a deduction. Her gaze moved from Clint to the fireplace. / woke up about two o 'clock The fire was almost out. He chopped wood after he bagged the deer. He hasn't slept all night!
Eve was deeply impressed by what he had done for her. From the moment she had gotten herself into such dire peril, all her ideas about this man had been turned upside down. She experienced an overwhelming gratitude. He had saved her life. He had warmed her and sheltered her and fed her. She hadn't had to lift a finger.
Eve felt more than gratitude; she felt respect and admiration. As she searched her emotions, it suddenly hit her like a bolt of lightning. What she felt was desire!
She put her fork down. Damnation, she mustn't let him see how she felt about him.
"Something wrong with the food?"
"It needs salt . . . and you could use a shave," she said.
"Thankless little bitch," he murmured. He wasn't smiling, but Eve saw that he couldn't hide the amusement in his eyes.
"Why are you always laughing at me?"
"Because you're an impostor."
"What the devil do you mean?"
"You want the world to think you're the competent, self-sufficient, woman-of-the-year type, but it's just a facade. Scratch the surface and you're a little girl who needs someone to take care of her. A little girl from Hell perhaps, but nevertheless—"
"You're wrong!" Eve interjected.
"Am I? Even your clothes give you away."
"My clothes?" She became conscious of the fact that she wasn't wearing any beneath the blanket.
"The briefcase and the power suit present a false image. Once I stripped them away, what did I expose? The most feminine lingerie I've ever seen. It's not just
"You're crazy!"
Clint rubbed his backside. "Brain damage from when my father—"
"Shot you," she finished. Suddenly, she began to laugh. Clint joined in.
"I like to see you laugh," he told her. "It really suits you. You should let your hair down and have fun more often."
'Fun —what a concept. I haven't had any in so long, I've forgotten how."
"I could teach you."
She lowered her lashes. He was too damned tempting. "Having my eye on advancement and my nose to the grindstone is very demanding."
"It's also a helluva funny position to go through life in. I could teach you other positions."
Her lashes swept up; green eyes met blue.
"I just bet you could, Action Man."
Clint had to call on all his willpower not to kiss her. His need to taste her was so overpowering at that moment, he had to physically remove himself from her space. He could not make love to her right now—it would be taking advantage of her vulnerability. When he made love to Eve, and he fully intended to, he wanted her to be able to give as good as she got. He wanted her energy to be high voltage.
"I need something to wear." She looked at the red heap on the hearth that had once been an Alfred Sung suit. Oh well, perhaps her underwear could be salvaged.
"I'll see what I can find in the bedrooms," Clint offered.
The moment he disappeared upstairs, she struggled into her bra and short satin slip, shoved the mangled pantyhose and briefs beneath the red heap and pulled the blanket back around her.
"Lean pickings, I'm afraid." Clint presented her with his findings, a pair of red longjohns and some ski socks. "Here, take my shirt—it'll cover the longjohns."
He stripped off vest and shirt before she could protest. Eve's eyes slid across the wide expanse of muscled chest, covered by a thick mat of black hair. He put the leather vest back on, leaving his hard biceps exposed.
She simply couldn't help staring at him. "What do you do to keep in shape?" she asked in wonder.
"Nothing. My job and my hobbies do it for me."
There was absolutely no point in her asking him if he would be warm enough. A man like this couldn't possibly feel the cold. He looked like the Marlboro Man!
"I'll bring in more wood while you get dressed," he said tactfully. "There's water, but it's cold. Don't stand under a cold shower long, Eve," he cautioned.
She was devoutly thankful that she had left her shoulder bag with her briefcase when they went out to look over the property yesterday. In the bathroom, she took the shortest shower on record and pulled the longjohns over her satin slip. When she turned to the mirror she was dismayed to see that she looked like a hillbilly from an old "Hee-Haw" rerun.
Eve quickly covered the red longjohns with Clint's blue wool shirt. His male scent enveloped her. She closed her eyes, trying to define its essence. It was a combination of apples and woodsmoke mixed with honest-to-God sweat. It was like an aphrodisiac!
She pulled on the thick socks and ran her comb through her hair. Miraculously, the pond water hadn't done much damage. If anything, her hair was curlier than usual. The only makeup she had with her was a lipstick. She had chosen it to match the Alfred Sung; now it matched the longjohns.
When she came out of the bathroom, he was waiting for her. She said quickly, "Let's go on a scavenger hunt and see if we can turn up anything at all that will be useful."
He grinned at her. "Brilliant as well as beautiful." When they entered the kitchen, Clint opened a cupboard and showed her its hidden treasure. "This is a generator. I siphoned the gasoline from the truck so we can have electricity. We should ration it, though. Tonight, when it gets dark, we can have lights, use the stove to cook something, and maybe listen to the weather reports on the radio."
Eve grinned at him. "Brilliant as well as handsome."
Inside the numerous kitchen cupboards they found every pot and pan known to man. There was china, silverware, glasses and mugs, but almost nothing edible. There was a rack that contained fifteen different herbs and spices, a box of candles, some tinfoil, a package of napkins from Valentine's Day, and a lone package of Kool Aid that lay forgotten in an empty drawer.
The last cupboard produced a half-jar of instant coffee. To Eve and Clint it was like finding a gold nugget in an abandoned mine.
"Coffee!" they chorused with joy. Clint filled the kettle and set it on the fire. Eve measured a spoonful of the magic brown powder in each of two mugs, then they sat by the fire with bated breath, waiting for the water to boil.
"They say anticipation is the best part," she teased.
"Don't you believe it." His voice was so deep, his double entendre so blatantly clear, a frisson of pleasure ran down her spine.
When he poured the boiling water into her mug, Eve closed her eyes and breathed in its aroma. To Clint, it was a sensual gesture, revealing her passion for everything in life. When he added a drop of whisky to his coffee, Eve held out her mug. When she tasted it, she rolled her eyes. "Now that is decadent!" She took two big gulps. "My God, it's better than sex."
Clint laughed. "If that's true, you've had very inadequate lovers, Eve Barlow."
She wondered if that were true. Until yesterday she would have vehemently denied that, but after spending twenty-four hours with Clint Kelly, her perceptions about a lot of things were changing. She looked him straight in the eye. "I think it's time for your cold shower."
Clint knew it would take more than a cold shower to cure his condition. It would take an ice dive, at least. Then he remembered his fishing line. He picked up his coat.
"Where are you going?" "To check on my stringer."
When she was alone, she wondered what the devil a stringer was. She also wondered why she had brought up the subject of sex. She must be out of her mind. Then she recalled she had read somewhere that female captives always became enamored of their abductors. It was some sort of syndrome.
Suddenly, Eve began to laugh. Clint Kelly had not abducted her. The captor/captive scenario was a fantasy. Quit kidding yourself! He's the most desirable man you’ve ever met in your life, and the attraction is definitely mutual
Five
Clint took his axe with him to the lake because the temperature had plummeted and he knew the ice would be thicker now. The snow was still coming down, but it had changed to fine stuff that never seemed to melt.
He followed the line from the tree, taking great care not to walk out onto the lake. When he chopped open the hole, he was gratified to see that he had hooked two walleyes. He carefully removed the lures and set the stringer back in the lake.
Eve's eyes widened when she saw the fish. "You are a magic man!"
He held them up by the mouth. "Hocus pocus, fish bones choke us."
She followed him to the kitchen and watched, fascinated, as he skinned and filleted the walleyes. When he was finished, he said, "Now I need that shower."
When Clint came downstairs, she noticed how his black hair curled when it was wet. He hadn't been able to shave and the blue-black shadow on his jaw added to his overt masculinity. With effort, Eve forced herself to stop staring at him.
She busied herself spreading tinfoil to wrap the fish. They selected the herbs together. It seemed a great luxury to have so many choices in the spice rack. They finally decided to sprinkle the fillets with chervil, basil, and dried parsley. Then he sealed the tinfoil and set it amid the smouldering logs.
When the tantalizing aroma of the herbs began to permeate the air, both of them realized how hungry they were.
"I'm drooling," Eve breathed.
"Clint's glance flicked over her mouth. "Me, too," he confessed.
The amused look she threw him told him she understood exactly what he meant. She waited most patiently for the fish to cook and then she thought she smelled it burning. They both reached out at the same time. Eve pulled the tinfoil from the fire, but it burned her fingers. With a yelp, she hastily dropped it into Clint's calloused palms.
He set it on the hearth and reached for her hands. His face exuded tenderness as he examined her fingers.
"It's all right, I didn't get burned," she assured him. Not yet, at least, she added silently, as she felt heat leap from him into her hands and run up her arms. He gave her back her hands, but not her heart.
When she tasted the walleye, she knew it had been worth waiting for. The delicate flavor was ambrosia to the palate.
"I ate a whole fish, all by myself!"
"Your body needed the nourishment. I'm going to make a spit and roast us a haunch of venison for dinner."
"I'm profoundly grateful to you, Clint Kelly."
"Why do I get the feeling you're going to add a but to the end of your sentence?"
"You're a perceptive man. It's time we got down to business."
For one split second his mind went blank. She had the power to make him forget there was anything beyond this moment. Then he realized she wasn't talking about them, she was talking about the house.
"Are you sure you're up to this?" "I'm positive," she assured him. "Okay, I make an offer of one hundred and fifty thousand."
"Please be serious, Mr. Kelly." "I'm deadly serious, Ms. Barlow. My offer is one-fifty."
"You're wasting my time."
That's a moot point, he thought, but kept a wise silence.
"The asking price is two hundred and fifty thousand." "You surely don't expect me to offer the asking price?"
"Well no, but one-fifty is simply unacceptable."
"To whom? You? You aren't the owner, Ms. Barlow. You merely present the offer."
"I won't present an offer of one-fifty on a property that's worth ^o-fifty!"
"Just a moment. No one said anything about how much this property is worth. We're discussing the asking price. It isn't worth anywhere near two-fifty."
Eve had heard those words before, from her longtime friend, who owned the property. She could hear Judy's voice now. "It can't be worth more than about one hundred and eighty thousand, Eve. Let's list it for two hundred."
Eve had replied, "No way. They aren't making any more lakefront property, you know. If you aren't in a hurry for the money, I'd like to list it at two-fifty and see what happens."
Actually, nothing had happened. The property had been for sale for nine months without a single offer. Eve knew what she could get for a city property within a few dollars, but country places were not her bailiwick.
"In your exalted opinion, Mr. Kelly, what do you think it is worth?"
He didn't beat about the bush. "It's worth a hundred and eighty thousand."
With all she had learned about him, why had she underestimated his business acumen? "You're wrong, Mr. Kelly. It's worth two hundred and twenty-five. Lakefront property is at a premium and this place is furnished."
"What was the last offer you received, Ms. Barlow?"
"That's privileged information, Mr. Kelly."
Clint grinned. "You've had no offers on this place!"
Eve could have kicked herself for being so transparent.
"How long has it been on the market?" he demanded. "I bet it's been over a year."
"Only nine months!" There was a pregnant pause. "Damn you, Clint Kelly." Eve's resolve hardened. She needed another two hundred thousand to make the President's Circle and she'd get that much if it killed her!
"Write up an offer for one-fifty and I'll sign it."
"No. The asking price is two-fifty and I've already admitted it's only worth two-twenty-five. I've come down, but you haven't budged!"
"I don't have to budge until the seller rejects my offer."
"Mr. Kelly—"
"Clint," he amended.
"Clint, let me explain about real estate. There's a leeway of about five percent. It's like an unwritten law."
"Thanks for the economics lesson. Now let me teach you poker."
"You're laughing at me again."
"Eve, you're required by law to make out an Offer to Purchase. I have bought real estate before, you know."
"A cemetery plot?"
"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit. As a matter of fact, when my dad retired from the force, we became partners in a sports bar."
Eve stared at him. "Not Kelly's?"
"Afraid so," he said, grinning. "Business is my long suit."
"Then you can bloody well afford two hundred." "I can, but I won't."
"Why won't you make me a counter offer?"
Clint's grin widened. "I don't have to; you keep dropping the price."
She covered her ears and screamed in frustration.
"I was afraid you weren't up to this," he said softly.
"Of course I'm up to it . . . well, maybe I'm not." Eve decided to throw herself on his mercy. "Clint, let me be honest with you. If I make a sale of two hundred thousand my earnings for the year will get me into the President's Circle, a very prestigious achievement."
"Now, let me get this straight," he said, trying not to show his amusement. "You want me to up my offer from one-fifty to two hundred because you need the sales figures? Your logic escapes me. We have an impasse. I suggest we take a time-out"
"Do you have to talk to me in sports terms? I know nothing about football."
"We must have something in common. How about hockey?"
"I loathe it!"
Clint brought in firewood and stacked it by the hearth. The fire had to be kept at a constant temperature to roast the venison. The pile of wood that had seemed so large was half gone. Timber on the property was mostly pine that burned too fast, but it was better than nothing. He decided to cut some and bring it into the garage so it could dry a little.
Clint cut a haunch from the deer, found a meat spit in the barbecue, and wedged it in the fireplace, over the glowing logs. "You decide what flavor you'd like."
Eve studied the bottles in the spice rack and came back with fennel and garlic powder. Almost as soon as they were sprinkled on the meat, the air became redolent with a piquant aroma that awoke their tastebuds.
"Call me if the fire burns low."
Eve was restless. She was in a tug-of-war with herself, wanting Clint Kelly to come close, yet keep his distance at the same time. She felt extremely guilty—when Trevor arrived to take her dancing, she wouldn't be there.
To stop her outrageous thoughts about Kelly, Eve went in search of something to read. She was delighted to find a book; when she discovered it was a collection of O. Henry stories, she took the precious volume back to the fire and lost herself in its pages.
Throughout the afternoon, Clint came in and out. He tended the fire and turned the spit, then returned to his woodcutting. The atmosphere between them was cozy and companionable. Eve was palpably aware that they were forging a bond. Strangely, she didn't feel guilty that he was working so hard. He was a man, she a woman; it felt right.
She saved "The Gift of the Magi" for last. It was a Christmas story, a love story so poignant that it evoked tears. When she came to it, however, she found that she could not read it. It was simply too sentimental, too emotional.
Clint removed his jacket and turned the venison, which had crisped to a delicious deep brown. He immediately sensed Eve's melancholy and set about banishing it. He put a couple of apples to roast, then went into the kitchen and flipped the electrical switch to "generator." Light flooded the living room, dispelling all real and imaginary shadows.
Clint brought a carving board to the hearth. When he cut into the venison, succulent juices ran from the pink
slices. Eve brought plates, cutlery, and napkins, and filled crystal goblets with water.
As they sat before the fire to dine, Clint lifted his goblet. "Happy Christmas, Eve."
She touched her glass to his. "Happy Christmas, Clint."
They ate in companionable silence, paying tribute to the food. When they were almost done, Clint set about amusing her. "We must have something in common, let's find out what it is." He deliberately suggested something he knew she would hate. "How about camping?"
She grimaced. "How about shopping?"
He shuddered. "Darts?"
She shook her head. "Chess."
"Read the comics?"
"Poetry," she said softly.
"Phil Collins?" he suggested.
"Barbra Streisand," she countered.
Clint chuckled and turned on the radio. Between Christmas carols, the only topic of conversation was the weather. They described how many inches had fallen and how many more were expected. They warned drivers to stay off the roads and told of flight cancellations. They reported power failures, downed lines, and overloaded telephone circuits. They asked everyone to exercise patience. They announced that the snow plows would be working all night.
Clint tried every station. The reports were identical. He switched it off just as Nat King Cole's beautiful voice sang, Unforgettable, that's what you are. He and Eve looked at each other, knowing they were exactly where they wanted to be.
"Coconut cream pie?" he suggested.
She shook her head. "Lemon."
"Baseball?"
Eve got to her feet. "Yes!"
"
"Yes! Yes!" Eve's face was radiant. "Blame it on my father—it's in my genes."
"Cecil Fielder," he said with reverence.
"Mickey Tettleton," she enthused.
Clint took hold of her hands. "One hundred and seventy-five thousand."
"You devil, you know I need two hundred!"
"I know what you need," he said huskily, drawing her into his arms and covering her mouth with his.
The way he kissed made her weak at the knees. There was nothing tentative about it. He kissed the same way he did everything else; he simply took charge. His mouth was firm and demanding and possessive. His mouth was . . . perfect. He kissed her the way a man should kiss a woman, but seldom did.
Clint did not try to part her lips with his tongue. He was in no hurry. Even kissing had its foreplay. Her mouth was soft and yielding and told him without words that she loved what he was doing.
Clearly, he enjoyed kissing; probably because he was so good at it. His hands cupped her face and he lifted it for another kiss. He did it reverently as if he held something delicate and priceless. Clint's hands were just as sensual as his mouth. They were calloused, capable, and downright carnal as they caressed her skin. His fingertips explored her features, and the backs of his fingers stroked across her cheekbones.
"Sweet, sweet," he murmured, seeing how her lashes were tipped with gold, seeing the fine down upon her brow, seeing her cheeks tint shell-pink, seeing everything.
Her breath came out on a sigh. How beautiful he made her feel, how utterly lovely. He conveyed with a look, with a touch, how special he found her. He kissed her eyelids and the corners of her mouth, delighting when they turned up with pure pleasure. And then his whole focus centered on her mouth, and she opened to him as a flower being worshipped by the sun.
He outlined her lips with the tip of his tongue. When the tip of her tongue touched his, a tremor of need made her throat and breasts quiver. His fingers slid into her hair, holding her, then his tongue mastered hers. This was only the first part of his body to enter hers, but she moaned low with the deeply erotic sensations it evoked.
Her hands moved from his leather vest to grip his bare arms where his biceps bulged so boldly. She clung to him, relishing his strength, loving his hardness, both above and below. She longed for more. It was her first experience with raw lust. She was already love-drunk, and all he had done was kiss her!
His lips were against her throat. "Evie," he murmured. How the diminutive pleased her; she never wanted to be called Eve again. How feminine it made her feel. He was teaching her the nuances of domination and submission, the sheer bliss that transforms a female who yields all to the male.
She stood obediently while his powerful hands removed the shirt and stripped the long red undergarment from her slim body and long legs. She was impatient for him to remove his own clothes, but she didn't paw at him; she waited, knowing it would be worthwhile.
With the lights blazing, they stood and looked at each other. Really looked. His body tapered down to slim hips. His flanks were long and hard. The dark pelt on his chest narrowed to a line of black hair that ran down his flat belly, then bloomed like a blackthorn bush. His manroot stood up, thick and powerful—a testament to her breath-stopping beauty.
Clint's eyes licked over her like a candle flame. "Have you any idea how lovely you are?"
Truly, she could not answer his question. He took hold of her hand and traced her own fingertips from her temple to her lips. "Your eyes are Irish green, your mouth tastes like honeyed wine." He drew her fingertips slowly down the curve of her throat, then down to her breast, where a golden tress lay curled. "Your hair is the color of moonlight."
His voice, so low, so deep and masculine, did glorious things to her. He drew her fingers across the swell of her breast to the nipple. He drew her fingers down her body. "Your body is like silk." He touched one fingertip to her navel. "It has hidden depths."
Eve caught her breath. Surely he wouldn't make her touch herself? But he did. He held their hands so that their fingers threaded through the curls of her mons. Then he traced one of her fingertips along the folds of her pink cleft, then slipped it inside to touch the center of her womanhood. "A rosebud drenched with dew." He brought her fingers to his mouth and tasted them.
Eve was adrift on a sea of sensuality. His powerful hands cupped her shoulders to steady her. "I'm going to turn out the lights now to conserve our fuel. Don't move; I want to see you by fireglow. Then I'm going to pull down the couch. It has a bed inside."
Nothing escapes him, she thought dreamily. She knew she didn't have to worry about protection; Clint was the kind of man who took care of everything.
Six
Clint set lighted candles on the hearth before he came back to her. After he kissed her, he placed her in front of him so that she faced the fire. She leaned back, revelling in the solid feel of him. His hands were free to seek out all her secret places. He warmed her at the fire before he lifted her to their bed.
But Eve was already on fire. His arousal made her feel as if she were smouldering, longing for the moment she would burst into white hot flame. When the firestorm came, and she knew it would, it might consume her. But she was ready, nay eager, to go up in smoke.
He never left her mouth for long. In the first hour, they shared what seemed like ten thousand kisses. One powerful arm enfolded her as his calloused palms cupped her breasts, and then he began to focus all his attention upon her nipples.
Clint knew that when he licked, some sensation would be lost as it moved back and forth under his tongue. To prevent this, he placed his fingers on either side of her nipple and pressed down, not hard, but firmly. Then he spread his fingers apart, holding it totally immobile, and lowered his lips to her.
Her nipple swelled up into his mouth like a ripe fruit. When he began to slowly lick her, Eve went wild! She covered his breastbone with tiny love bites, then took his other hand to her mouth, drew one of his fingers inside, and began to suck, hard. His love-play made her drown in need. She writhed against him. The friction of sleek skin on skin made her flesh feel like hot silk.
He knew she needed immediate release. Then he would be able to start again, building her passion slowly, so they could make love for hours. He moved her up in the bed until his cheek lay against her silken thigh. Then she felt a wet slide of tongue, followed by a deep thrust. His tongue curled about her bud exactly as it had her nipple, and she was undone. She cried out into the flickering shadows that hid their secret rites, and arched herself into his masterful mouth.
Clint moved up in the bed so that he could catch her last soft cry with his mouth. Eve tasted herself on his lips and felt delicious as original sin. Most of the sensations she experienced were new to her, and Clint's earlier words drifted through her consciousness: "I can't decide if you're an Ice Queen or if you're simply un-awakened." Obviously, I was both!
She couldn't believe how highly aroused he had made her or how she had peaked so beautifully, and they hadn't even completed coitus. That adventure still lay ahead. She wanted to scream from excitement.
Now he began to whisper love words, each phrase more erotic than the last. She would never have guessed he could be poetic. But had she not underestimated everything about him?
Clint expected her second arousal to be slow, but it was not. She became wildly inquisitive about his body— the feel of it, the man-scent of it, the salt taste of it. The masculine roughness of his beard sent thrills spiralling through her consciousness, driving her to touch his male center, to stroke, squeeze, play and tease. His testes were big and heavy, more than a handful for her. How she loved the feel of this big, hard man.
Clint slipped a finger into her sugared sheath. This was the second part of his body he'd put inside her, and it was every bit as exciting as the first. He withdrew it slowly, and she gasped as he slid two fingers into her. Her sheath pulsated and clung to him tightly. When she became slippery, he knew she was ready.
He positioned the swollen head of his shaft at the opening of her cleft, then pushed up gently, inch by inch, until he was fully seated. Then all semblance of gentleness fell away. His lovemaking became fierce and savage. She adored every rough, elemental stroke as he anchored deep in her scalding body, then pulled all the way out so he could repeat the deep penetration over and over until her nails raked him. He took her to the edge of sanity. She became aware of every pulse-point on her body.
The moans in his throat were raw and it came as a blinding revelation that he was receiving as much pleasure as he gave. Then suddenly the night exploded for both of them. They keened and arched as they spent, and she mourned that she could not fully feel his white-hot seed spurt up inside her.
Eve thrashed her head from side to side with the intensity of her release, and Clint's hand came up to cup her cheek and hold her still. Then his mouth joined hers in a deep kiss.
When he rolled from her, he brought her against his side possessively. Eve had never felt more alive in her life. Her eyes sought his, but they were closed and she realized he was asleep. Her face softened as she gazed at him. He hadn't slept in over forty hours.
Eve lay entranced for a long time, savouring the feel of her body, watching the play of firelight make strange shadows on the ceiling. Their lovemaking had been a ballet of domination and submission, yet the strange thing was, they had each given and taken in equal measure. Male and female were only halves of one magnificent whole. Equal halves! She had not been diminished in any way; she had been exalted.
Inevitably, reality stole into her consciousness. She pushed away all thought of Trevor. She would deal with it later. In this isolated haven, where the pristine snow lay all about them, she wanted no footprints of others to mar the beauty that enfolded them. At least for tonight, the world must be held at bay.
Eve, a million miles from sleep, brought book and candle back to the bed. She propped herself up quietly and turned to "The Gift of the Magi." She was transported back in time to another Christmas Eve. The couple in the story were so real, she was in the room with them.
O. Henry's words brought her deep pleasure. When she finished the story, her eyes were liquid with unshed tears. The young man had pawned his watch to buy combs for his wife's beautiful hair; she had sold her hair to buy him a watch chain. The objects in the story were symbols. What they had really given each other were gifts of love.
More than anything, she wanted to give Clint Kelly a gift of love, and she knew exactly what it would be. She slipped from the bed, opened her briefcase, and removed an Offer to Purchase form. Then she made out the offer in the amount of one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. She knew Judy would accept it and the knowledge filled her with joy. He belonged here; this house and property were already a part of him.
That she would not qualify for the President's Circle seemed unimportant when she compared it to making him happy. She blew out the candles and curled up beside him. This Christmas Eve had been pure magic.
The first sound Eve heard on Christmas morning was a groan. She sat up quickly and looked down at Clint stretched beside her. He looked flushed. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," he croaked.
His beautiful, deep voice had been replaced by a rasp. "You're not fine at all! You have laryngitis at the very least." She touched his brow. "You're warm; you have a fever."
"I never get sick," Clint protested in a hoarse whisper.
"You mean, you never admit you get sick."
"Same thing." He gave her a lopsided grin and threw back the covers.
"Oh, no, you don't," Eve said, pushing him back down and covering him with the blankets. "You're sick because you overtaxed yourself, hunting and cutting wood and going without sleep."
He laughed at her. His throat sounded like he'd been gargling with gravel. "It was child's play compared to a twelve-hour night shift, fighting a fire in below-zero temperatures."
Eve glared at him, daring him to make a move from the warm bed. "Wasn't it another Clint who said, A man should know his limitations? It's my turn to take care of you."
She took a one-minute cold shower, pulled on her satin slip, then stepped into the red longjohns and blue wool shirt. She felt Clint's amused eyes on her as she built up the fire. In the kitchen she turned on the generator just long enough to boil the kettle for coffee. She mixed up the orange Kool-Aid, sliced some cold venison from the haunch, and carried a tray to the bed.
His dark eyebrow lifted at the glass of Kool-Aid.
"It's pretend orange juice. Didn't you ever play pretend?"
"I played house, too," he croaked.
She made sure he ate everything, then poured the last of the whisky into his coffee. "I want you to go back to sleep."
"It's Christmas Day—there's stuff that needs doing," he protested.
"And I'm the one who's going to do it," she said flatly.
As Clint sipped his coffee, he took delight in looking at her. He didn't know what had brought about this transformation to domesticity. Perhaps his slight ailment brought out a need to nurture him. It felt strange to be pampered. He handed her his empty mug, pulled up the covers, and turned over.
By the time she finished her breakfast, she heard his even breathing and knew he was asleep. Eve's mind overflowed with plans for their Christmas Day. She pulled on her boots, ignoring the fact that the insides had hardened as they had dried by the fire. She slipped into Clint's down jacket and went to the garage for his axe.
When she went outside, she saw that it had stopped snowing and the sun was turning the landscape into a glittering fairyland. She didn't have to venture far to find a small pine tree. The one she selected was literally buried beneath the snow, with only its growing point sticking up. It took her quite a while to scoop away the snow so that she could reach its trunk with the axe. Her hands were freezing by the time she chopped it free and dragged it up to the house.
Eve warmed her hands at the fire, glancing at Clint's unmoving form in the bed. When he awoke, he would be surprised. It was fun trying to make their Christmas special. Eve needed something that would act as a tree stand. She went into the garage and looked about carefully, knowing she had to use her ingenuity. There was a cement block, probably used as a door prop, and she decided that would do the trick.
When her eyes fell on the pheasant, she felt a pang of regret that the poor creature had been caught in a snare. That thought drifted away as she realized, here was their Christmas bird! Eve had not lived years in the Orient without learning how to pluck and clean fowl.
She hummed to herself as she boiled the water and performed the odorous chore. A flash of remembrance came to her. Hadn't she seen a few onions hanging in the basement when she'd been searching for the water valve? She went downstairs to retrieve them, wondering how she'd overlooked such a treasure.
Eve sprinkled the bird with sage and thyme, set it in a shallow roasting pan with a square of tinfoil over it, and put the pan on the logs. Then she carried in the cement block and stuck the tree upright in it. She certainly didn't have much in the way of decorations, but again she used her ingenuity. She took the red Valentine napkins and fashioned paper flowers of a sort.
She had seen some old dried corncobs in the barn. She wondered if she could pop the kernels and string some popcorn. It wouldn't be edible, but it would be okay for decorating the tree. Nothing seemed too much trouble. Once more she slipped on the boots and coat and plodded off to the barn.
Stable smells assailed her as she entered, and it was suddenly brought home to her that this day was celebrated because of the Christ Child born in a manger. She thought of Mary giving birth in such a place, and then she thought of her own mother. How worried Susan must be because Eve hadn't shown up this morning. They would be searching for her, and it would very likely ruin their Christmas.
She felt guilty. She loved them very much and regretted causing them worry. It was so frustrating when she could do nothing about it, but Eve had learned to accept things that couldn't be altered.
Back in the kitchen, she cut the kernels from the old corncobs and turned on the generator long enough to pop the corn on the stove. She carried the big bowl to the living room and opened Clint's tackle box, thinking to thread the popcorn on fishing line. Some of his lures were so colorful that she hung them on the tree.
Before she sat down to thread the popcorn, she basted the pheasant, leaving the tin foil off so it would brown. The onions in the roasting pan gave off a tantalizing aroma. Eve offered up a prayer of thanks.
In
"Ted, I called Eve over an hour ago. When she didn't answer, I assumed she was on her way, but she should be here by now."
"The main streets are all plowed, so she shouldn't have had any trouble. Maybe she and Trevor are stopping somewhere before they come here."
Susan pulled back the sheers. "Oh, here's Trevor's car now. Thank heavens!"
Still wearing his boots, Ted went outside to greet them. Trevor was alone. "Where's Eve?"
"I couldn't get her on the phone and when I got to her apartment, the Mercedes was gone. I assumed she was here."
"No," Ted said, shaking his head. "We're worried about her."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much, Mr. Barlow. Eve can take care of herself."
Ted frowned at Trevor, but bit back a retort. When they went inside, Ted got on the computer. Eve, if you're there, please answer. If you're sick, let us know. If you can't start your car and are waiting for the Motor League, send a message.
Susan brought them coffee and hot muffins with homemade jam. Trevor had just taken his first bite when Ted said, "I'm going over there. Come on." He touched his wife's cheek to reassure her. "Don't worry, sweetheart, we'll find her."
When Ted saw that Trevor was right and his daughter's Mercedes was not in the parking lot of her apartment building, he went upstairs and banged on her door. Then he banged on the superintendent's door and insisted he open up Eve's apartment. At first the man said he couldn't do that, but he hadn't reckoned with Ted Barlow. Reluctantly, he finally agreed to use his master key.
Trevor demurred. "I don't really think this is wise . . . you're violating Eve's privacy."
"Bullshit!" Ted replied shortly.
Inside the apartment, everything was in its place but her winter coat, her purse, and briefcase were missing. As they looked about, Trevor said, "See how efficient and organized she is? By the time we get back to your house, she'll be there."
Her father decided to drive to Eve's office; she was a voracious worker. A lone car sat in the parking lot. When he brushed off the foot of snow, he saw it was Eve's Mercedes. Ted was really worried now and even Trevor was beginning to feel uneasy. "There has to be a logical explanation for this," he assured her father.
Ted drove back home and got on the phone to Maxwell Robin. "Max, Eve's missing! Her car is parked at the office. Do you know where she is? Have you spoken with her?"
"No, Ted. The last time I saw her was the day before yesterday. She drove a client up to that country property she has listed for that friend of hers. Well, actually, now that I think of it, the client did the driving."
"Damn, they must have got caught in the storm. It's been a real blizzard north of here. Who is the client? Do you know anything about him?"
"Yes, I know him personally. Name's Clint Kelly. He's a diving instructor and also a Fire Captain. In an emergency situation she couldn't be in better hands."
"Thank God for that. Where exactly is the property?"
"I don't know off the top of my head, but it has to be in the files at the office. I'll meet you there."
"I'll call her friend Judy and get it from the horse's mouth. Your kids probably haven't opened their presents yet," Ted said.
"You've got to be kidding; they were up at six o'clock! Listen, Ted, call me if you need me."
Ted Barlow telephoned Eve's friend in
"I think we should call the police," Trevor advised.
"The police won't even file a missing persons' report until after seventy-two hours."
"The State Troopers then. They'll search the highways. They'll have any accident reports and can check out the hospitals."
"That's a great idea, but I'm still going," Ted insisted.
"Leave it to the professionals. It's too risky in blizzard conditions. You could get stuck or lost and that would just compound the problem."
Susan looked at Trevor bleakly. He might as well save his breath to cool his soup. If Eve needed rescuing, Ted Barlow would be in the vanguard!
When Clint awoke, he felt miraculously restored. He threw off the blanket and stretched. Before he could lower his arms, the mouthwatering aroma of roasting game assaulted his senses. He sat up and blinked his eyes. Where the devil had the Christmas tree come from, or its decorations?
"Evie," he bellowed. His throat was much improved, sounding only slightly husky.
She had been waiting for him to awake, anticipating his reaction to her surprise. She pulled off his blue shirt and stood in front of the bathroom mirror in the red longjohns. She stuffed the cushion down the front and fastened the buttons over the bulge. She had taped her blond curls across her face as a makeshift beard and mustache, and knew she looked ridiculous. But Eve didn't care; inside, her silly juices were bubbling.
She took a deep breath and bounded into the living room. "Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!"
Clint began to laugh. If he hadn't, Eve would have been devastated. She joined in the laughter, holding her cushion belly with both hands.
"I see you're feeling better."
His eyes glittered with amusement. "You were so much woman, you almost finished me off."
Eve's blush competed with her longjohns, but she needed the acknowledgment that he remembered last night's glow—that she lingered in his consciousness, as he did in hers.
"You went out and cut a tree all by yourself, then thought up these ingenious decorations."
"I'm not just a hairy face," she beamed.
"And the pheasant! I thought you told me you couldn't cook."
"No, I told you I didn't cook, not that I couldn't. My mother was Susie Homemaker—I had to learn how to cook."
"Santa Claus, you're full of surprises." She handed him an envelope.
Clint opened it and read the Offer to Purchase. "What's this?" he asked softly.
Eve smiled into his eyes. "I know the seller will accept a hundred and seventy-five."
"What about your President's Circle?"
"My gift to you means more than the President's Circle." She bent down to kiss him.
"Germs," he warned huskily.
"Santa is immune," she whispered.
He took her in his arms and brushed her curls away from her mouth. Then he claimed it, kissing her thoroughly.
In the same husky voice he had used last night, she repeated his words: "I know what you need." "What?" he murmured, wanting her to say it. "A sauna."
Clint groaned with anticipation.
"I've already stacked the wood into it. After we eat our pheasant, all we have to do is light that fire."
"AH these gifts for me. What can I give you, Evie?"
She almost melted with desire. "I'll think of something, Action Man," she whispered.
"I was going to give you scuba lessons, but it pales in comparison to your generosity."
Suddenly, she began to laugh. Her pillow belly bobbed up and down. She pulled it from her longjohns and threw it at him. "Only an insensitive male could offer diving lessons to a woman who almost drowned in murky pond water!"
He gave her a lopsided grin, his teeth showing white against his dark, unshaven jaw.
Eve realized that with Clint Kelly beside her, she wouldn't even be afraid of being submerged underwater. She set the table as elegantly as she could for their Christmas dinner, with crystal goblets of water and lighted candles.
Clint donned his leather vest and held out her chair with a flourish. The flesh of the pheasant, seasoned with the sage and thyme, tasted better than any turkey she could ever remember. The roasted onions were elevated from common vegetables to savory delicacies.
Clint was beguiled by Eve's transformation from career woman to chatelaine. The role suited her to perfection in his eyes. He speculated on what had brought it about. Was it the Christmas season, being snowed in, or a direct result of what had happened between them last night? He had known from the moment he undressed her that she was a real flesh and blood woman.
Eve watched the man sitting across the table from her. What was it about him that brought out her domesticity? She believed his masculinity called out to her femininity. She had no desire to compete with him; she had only the desire to nurture him and make him happy.
Her thoughts drifted to her mother and father, and she realized that was the kind of relationship they had. Susan was fulfilled as a woman and her contentment and happiness was visible to everyone. It was a heady sensation to have the power to make a man completely happy. She was revelling in that new-found power at the moment. Their time together here would be so short.
When they finished dinner, Eve picked up an apple and held it out to him. The picture she made entranced him. In the Bible, Adam said, The woman tempted me. Well, if Adam's Eve was anything like his Eve, no wonder he had succumbed.
"We can have dessert in the sauna," he said, rising and taking her hand. She knew he had something more exotic than apples in mind. "I'll light the fire so the logs will have a chance to glow, while we undress."
Eve wrapped her nakedness in a towel; Clint was less modest. He opened the sauna door and peered into its dark interior. "We'll need a candle." There was no way he was going to make love to her without being able to see her.
When Eve stepped inside, the aromatic cedar wood of the walls and seats gave off a heady scent that filled her senses. It was already deliciously warm and inviting, like a cocoon that enveloped them in a small, private world. Along two of the walls, the bench seats were normal height, while the third wall had a very low one, so you could stretch out your legs across the floor. The remaining wall had just the opposite, a bench seat set high so it could be used as a ledge to set things on, or to perch upon for maximum heat.
Clint set the candle on the ledge and lifted off her towel. Eve had no objections. When Clint lifted her against him, she cried out with excitement; she wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him as he took total possession of her mouth.
"Wrap your legs around me," he demanded. Eve obeyed willingly, loving the feel of his big calloused hands beneath her bottom. When beads of moisture formed along his collarbone, she licked them off playfully at first, then sensually, as she became more highly aroused.
The feel of her rough pink tongue gave Clint desires of his own. He lifted her high until she was perched on the shelf, opened her thighs and stepped between. His mouth was on a level with her belly. He trailed kisses down it, taking the drops of moisture onto his tongue. Then with his fingers, he opened the delicate pink folds between her legs and gazed at her woman's center. He worshipped her with his eyes, then dipped his head and made love to her with his mouth. With his lips against her cleft, he murmured, "God, you're so hot inside."
She was hot because she was on fire. Eve knew it had very little to do with the sauna. She writhed and arched, threading her fingers into his black hair and holding him to her center, faint with the ravishing. He swung up to perch beside her, gathering her close to watch her green eyes glitter with passion.
Eve needed to vent that passion in an abandoned act of worship. She slid down from the high seat. Her head was on the level of his knees. She parted them and stepped close. Standing on tiptoe, she delicately licked the tiny opening at the tip of his phallus, then drew its swollen head into her hot mouth. She swirled her tongue, spiralling it around and beneath the ridge of his cock.
"Enough, Evie, or I'll spill." It was all new to her. She was receiving as much pleasure as she was giving. Clint slid from his high perch. "No, sweet, I don't want it that way."
Dimly, she realized that though Clint had loved what she was doing, he could not spend in such a passive manner.
He stood her on the low seat, pressed her against the wall and thrust up inside her. The savage force of his entrance lifted her, and he took her hips in powerful hands to anchor her in place for his plundering. Their bodies, drenched with moisture, slid against each other like wet silk, driving them wild. He slowed his thrusts deliberately to draw out the loving. Then he told her in that dangerous, deep voice all the things he was going to do to her that night, when they went to bed.
Ted Barlow decided to take his snowmobile with him on his drive north. Pulling a trailer would slow him down and even add to the hazard of driving, but he had a gut feeling it would come in very handy if the roads to the property had not been plowed out.
Trevor was on the telephone to his mother. He was about to tell her that Eve was missing, but he detected such a plaintive note in her voice, that he hesitated. "Are you all right?" he asked anxiously.
"Oh, I’ll be all right, Trevor. Don't worry about me being here alone—I'm used to it. Just so long as you're enjoying your Christmas; that's all that matters to me, dear."
Trevor was covered with guilt. He was torn between conflicting duties, as usual. Being in the middle was so unfair. He had given up his date with Eve last night to stay at his mother's. Thank heavens her illness had turned out to be merely indigestion. In retrospect, things had worked out for the best, because Eve apparently wasn't here anyway.
She had a tendency to be willful and impulsive and as a result had gone dashing off to show a property a hundred miles away. She certainly wouldn't appreciate his rushing after her. Eve Barlow had a mind of her own. That's what attracted him, however. His mother was so clinging, he only sought out independent females.
Trevor glanced through the window and saw Ted Barlow7 hook up his trailer and snowmobile. God, the man was so gung-ho! He'd flown rescue missions during the Korean War and had obviously bought into the hero syndrome. Now he was off on a wild goose chase that would physically exhaust a much younger man. Into the phone he said, "You sound like you need my company, Mother. I'll be there in about an hour."
Trevor went outside and stood beside Susan Barlow. "My mother's not very well."
"Oh, Trevor, I'm so sorry."
Ted rolled down the van window and said to Trevor, "Are you coming?"
Susan spoke up quickly. "His mother is ill. He has to go to
"Oh, sorry. Susie, I'll call the minute I have news. Try not to worry, love."
She waved until he was out of sight. "I'll call you right away, if there's any news, Trevor."
He took her small hand in his. "Thanks, Mrs. Barlow. I'm so sorry about all the food you cooked."
"Don't give it a second thought. The people we love come first."
For the most part the highways had been plowed up as far as Ludington. It took Ted Barlow over three hours to cover the hundred miles. Everything was closed for Christmas Day, even the gas stations; it was a good thing he carried extra cans in the van.
The highway ended north of Ludington where the forests began. Ted located a State Troopers' Headquarters and explained the situation. They told him they had been in constant communication with the Department of Highways, who'd had their plows out since the blizzard began, as well as Michigan Power who had their linemen on overtime.
Ted Barlow showed them a sketch he'd made of Judy's property.
"Back on the twenty-third, traffic was still going in and out of that particular area until late afternoon. After that, anything that went in didn't come out."
They put in a call to the Department of Highways to see when the lakeshore road leading to this property would be plowed out. and then sipped coffee and waited for the information to be relayed to them.
It occurred to Ted Barlow7 that he should take advantage of a telephone while there was one available. He asked the clerk for a phone directory and began calling hospitals. None of them had admitted a young woman by the name of Eve Barlow. That was good, he told himself, that was very good news indeed.
The State Troopers' office checked over all the accident reports filed in the area since the twenty-third of December. Ted cursed himself for not finding out what Clint Kelly was driving, but at least neither the name Kelly nor the name Barlow showed up in any of the reports. Ted was an optimist and honestly believed his daughter and her client were holed up at the property, safe and sound. They had simply been snowed in and knew they wouldn't get out until the roads were cleared. The alternative was unthinkable.
Finally a report came in from the Department of Highways. Though they would be working all night, they wouldn't get to isolated roads until morning. It was strictly a matter of priorities. Ted Barlow was faced with two choices. He could stay at the troopers' headquarters tonight and follow the first plow in the morning, or he could head out on his snowmobile.
It was one of the easiest decisions he'd ever made. He took an extra gas can from the van and put it under the seat of the snowmobile in the storage compartment. A State Trooper tried to talk him out of it, but realized if his own daughter were missing, he'd do exactly the same thing.
Ted changed into his snowmobile suit, then put on his goggles and heavy leather gauntlets. The visibility was good, but his progress was slower than usual. A snow-mobile was at its peak performance on fresh powder or when a crust of ice had formed on top of the snow. Today, the sun had produced a partial thaw and as a result, the snow was wet and heavy.
He kept his goal foremost in his mind, telling himself over and over that it was less than twenty miles. When his snowmobile hit a particularly slushy patch and bogged down, he got off the machine and dug it out with his hands.
He shook his head and chuckled at the irony. His son couldn't come home this Christmas. Steven was halfway around the world in a new posting at
Ted offered up a prayer for both of his children as he restarted the stalled machine and set off again with renewed determination.
Eve yawned as she sat before the fire. She was so relaxed after the sauna and Clint's lovemaking, she couldn't lift a finger, and what was more, she didn't wish to. It should be against the law to feel this content, she thought. Eve had never been cut off from the world before; it certainly had its advantages.
Although she hadn't been too keenly aware of it before, now she realized she'd been on edge lately. The stress of city living and constantly competing in a man's world had made her uptight. Now she felt at peace with herself; she felt happy.
Clint stood gazing out the window. He realized their idyll would soon be over. It hadn't snowed all day, and by tomorrow at the latest, the roads would likely be plowed out and they would be connected with civilization again.
His gaze travelled possessively over the landscape. He felt elated that it would soon be his. No matter the asking price, he had decided this property would belong to him. He had discovered something precious here—a peace and quiet that had a healing quality about it. He loved his job and would have no other, but it was said that the constant flow of adrenaline brought on by danger was addictive.
After fighting a great conflagration, when he had beaten it and knew his men were safe, he felt totally drained. This house, this land not only cleansed him, it renewed his vitality and filled him with strength and power. The woman in the room with him had a similar effect. She filled him with a glorious feeling of omnipotence.
Clint wondered why he was so pensive. He had just found his dream home—why wasn't he dancing an Irish jig? The answer was simple; his heart was sinking because there was a piece missing from his happy picture. At the moment everything was perfect, but once Eve departed and took up her life where it had left off, there would be a hole in his future existence.
He didn't want their time together to end.
He didn't want to let her go!
Clint turned from the window. His face softened as he watched her sitting curled up, dreaming and drowsing before the fire.
"I love this place . . . share it with me, Evie."
Eight
Eve's lashes flew up. The magic spell was broken. Their idyll was over. He'd said the words that rang the death knell to their intimate interlude. Reality suddenly raised its unwelcome head and rushed in upon her.
She leapt off the couch and took two steps toward him. By that time, Clint had reached her. She raised her fingers to his lips as if to stay his words, but of course it was too late. They had been uttered and could not be recalled.
Eve agonized over her reply. The last thing on earth she wanted to do was hurt this man who had saved her life, fed her, warmed her, and loved her. She had to find the right words. Guilt assailed her from all sides. Not guilt over what they had done—she would never feel even the smallest pang for that, nor one tiny shred of regret. But guilt because she had somehow conveyed the possibility that what they had shared could go beyond this time, beyond this place.
And terrible guilt toward Trevor. She had betrayed his trust and in doing so had discovered another man who eclipsed him in her eyes. What made it worse, unforgivable almost, was the undeniable fact that the things she found irresistible were Kelly's dominance, macho attitude, and strength. Poor Trevor with his gentleness, kindness, and understanding came off a poor second.
Clint watched the play of emotions cross her lovely features, one after another. He had known from the outset that this woman was committed to another, yet he had deliberately set out to seduce her. To him she had been fair game. He was a man, she was a woman; they were alone together. To a male predator, that was all that counted.
She had been a great challenge to him, with her feminist attitudes. Then
At first, he had thought, if he couldn't steal this female from a passive professor of English who spouted poetry, he wasn't worth his salt as a red-blooded American male. But the seduction had backfired. Once he stole her, he wanted to keep her.
Eve took a tremulous breath. "Clint ... I can't," she said softly.
His face seemed to harden.
"You have such formidable attributes, Clint. I'm attracted to everything about you. I'm racked with guilt, but I could never leave Trevor."
Clint's bright blue eyes took on the cold gray of
"Trevor is such a fine person, so completely understanding and sensitive. I can't just leave him and come to you. I couldn't be that cruel!"
"You don't think you're capable of cruelty?" he asked drily.
She tried desperately to make him understand. "We have an understanding, a commitment God help me, Clint, I can't walk out on him. I have too much compassion for that."
Clint was acutely aware that she made no protestations of love.
Eve avoided speaking of love; did not dare even think of love. It would open a door she wished to keep firmly closed. Her gaze slipped from his hard mouth to his powerful shoulders, then down to his big, calloused hands. He fs so tough, I bet he's never cried in his life.
"Clint, you do understand?" she agonized.
"No." Silence filled the room and stretched to the breaking point. "I've asked you once. I won't beg," he said quietly.
Both their heads turned at the same time as they heard a noise.
"That's some sort of machine. Is it a plow?" she asked.
Clint went to look out the window. "I don't think so. The sound of the motor is too high-pitched." He went to the door and opened it. "It's a snowmobile," he said over his shoulder. "We have company."
Eve peeped out from behind Clint, not wanting anyone to get a clear view of her in the red longjohns. "It's my father!" she cried.
Removing his boots and snowmobile suit, Ted Barlow began to joke. "Since you didn't show up for Christmas, the mountain decided to come to Mohammed."
"Oh, Dad!" She threw her arms around him, knowing how worried he must have been, and how he must have struggled for hours to get to her. His wisecracks camouflaged his enormous relief.
Still holding her hands in his, he held her away from him and looked askance at her red suit. "Did you mug Santa?"
"Dad, this is Clint Kelly, who intends to buy the house; Clint, this is Ted Barlow."
The men shook hands, assessing each other in the first thirty seconds. Both liked what they saw. Ted realized
Clint had given the shirt off his back to his daughter and he wondered what had happened to her clothes.
"We wouldn't have been snowed in if it hadn't been for my stupidity. We were out on the property Thursday afternoon, just before it got dark, when I walked straight onto the pond and went through the ice."
"Is the pond deep?" Ted asked.
"About fifteen feet. I almost drowned, but Clint saved my life!"
Ted looked from one to the other. "How did you manage to rescue her?"
"With a rope and a ladder. I'm a firefighter; I know rescue techniques."
"Thank God you were with her."
"He didn't just rescue me from the pond. I was unconscious from the cold water. He revived me and spent the rest of the night chopping wood for the fire."
Ted's eyes showed his admiration. They all moved to the fireplace and sat down to recount the rest of what happened.
"Was there stuff here to eat?" Ted inquired.
"No. Clint hunted for food. I've dined like a queen on venison and pheasant—oh, and walleye ... he fished, too!"
"Walleye? Lord, I haven't had a feed of walleye in a donkey's age. My mouth is watering."
"There's probably some out there on my stringer now. I'll go take a look." Clint knew father and daughter might want a private conversation. He put on his jacket and disappeared through the door.
When they were alone, Eve's father asked, "Are you okay, honey? You weren't afraid of this guy, were you?"
"No, I wasn't afraid of him. At first we rubbed each other the wrong way He wanted Maxwell to show him the property, hated like hell having a woman agent. I didn't like him any better. He was so damn macho, I called him Action Man. But Dad, when I got into trouble, he really came through for me. I stopped laughing at his muscles when he used them to save us."
Ted observed her closely, wondering what had gone on between them. A man and woman isolated together for days was tempting, intimate, even romantic. He didn't ask; it was none of his business, and he wouldn't be upset if Eve did form a romantic attachment to someone like Clint Kelly.
"I'm sorry I couldn't call you. The telephone service has been temporarily discontinued. Even the electricity is off. Clint siphoned gas from his truck to run the generator, but we've had to ration it." She asked the question uppermost in her mind. "Did I really upset Mom?"
"She was worried, but she hides it real well. She's had a lot of practice with some of my hare-brained adventures, and Steven's."
"How did you find me?"
"Well, Trevor arrived without you this morning, so we drove back to your place and when your car wasn't there, I went to your office. Then I called Max and told him your Mercedes was still at work. He told me the last time he saw you, you were driving up here to show this guy the property. I phoned Judy to get directions, and here I am!"
"I ruined your Christmas."
"Like hell you did! Instead of sitting around eating my head off and being a couch potato in front of the television set, I had a great snowmobile adventure! And the best part is, it had a happy ending ... I found you safe and sound."
Eve grinned at her father. "Actually, it was a great adventure for me, too. Don't breathe it to a soul, especially Trevor, but I wouldn't have missed it for the world. I learned so many survival techniques." Eve blushed because of the other techniques she'd learned.
"Trevor didn't come because his mother was ill. But he was reluctant anyway. Some bull about you not appreciating him running after you. Is he afraid of you, Eve?'9
She smiled. "Aren't most men afraid of women when it comes right down to it?"
"Most," he acknowledged, "but not all." He winked at her. "Action Man doesn't look like he'd intimidate easily."
Clint returned with five beautiful walleyes. Ted couldn't believe their size.
"It won't take me long to clean them and we can cook them on the fire," Clint offered. "You probably haven't eaten since breakfast."
"That's too tempting to refuse," Ted admitted.
Eve wondered why everything her father said made her want to blush. "We had pheasant for our Christmas dinner, but I made such a pig of myself, there's none left."
Clint glanced at Ted. "She was entitled; she not only cooked it, she plucked and cleaned it first."
"You must have taken Trevor's course in how to get in touch with your feminine side," Ted wisecracked.
Clint was amused; Eve was not.
Her father relished the fresh-caught fish. Clint sat down with him and devoured a whole one himself. Eve was amazed at Clint's hearty appetite. She wouldn't be able to manage another mouthful of food until tomorrow.
"How close did you get with your car?" Clint asked.
"Less than twenty miles. Only took me about an hour. I stopped at the State Troopers Headquarters and they checked on all the accident reports for this area and the Department of Highways to see what had been cleared out. The plows won't be on this road until tomorrow. There aren't many residents at the lake this time of year, so it's a matter of priorities."
"The first thing I'd better get is a plow blade for the front of my truck," Clint decided.
"Well, I hate to eat and run, but we'd better get started. It'll take us an hour to get to the van and three hours from Ludington to
"I have no clothes! My winter coat is at the bottom of the pond, and my wool suit is shrunk beyond recognition."
"Take my jacket; I'm not going anywhere until tomorrow. I have no gasoline anyway."
"I have an idea. We'll leave your jacket at the troopers' office. I'll even give you enough gas to get there in the morning," Ted offered.
A worried frown creased Clint's brow as he handed Eve his coat. "On a snowmobile your legs will freeze!"
"I'll wrap towels around them and I'll take one of the blankets, too," Eve decided.
Ted donned his snowmobile suit and pulled on his boots.
"Don't forget my briefcase."
"Your case will fit in the storage under the seat, after I remove the extra gas tank. I'll just fill up, and you can have what's left, Clint." He held out his hand. "I don't know how to thank you for what you did. Everyone thinks Eve can take care of herself, but her old dad knows better."
Alone, she and Clint faced each other. Eve Barlow's sophistication had gone the way of the Alfred Sung suit. She gave him back his blue shirt in exchange for the down jacket. She looked a fright wrapped in the blanket and towels.
Clint reached for his belt. "Why don't you wear my jeans—"
She held up her hand. "Keep your pants on, Action Man." She tried not to let the sound of tears show in her voice.
"It's a bit late for that, Evie."
She burst into laughter. It kept the tears at bay. She wanted him to hold her. If only things were different, she thought. "I'll put in your offer first thing in the morning and be in touch as soon as I have something."
He nodded and watched her go out the door. Once she was a safe distance away, she turned to wave. "It was the best Christmas Eve I ever had," she called impulsively.
She watched him cup his hands around his mouth to call back, but the noise of the snowmobile drowned it out.
"Hang on tight—this is going to be a bumpy ride!"
Eve smiled as she put her arms around her dad. The old Bette Davis line dated him. She suddenly realized he must be close to fifty, yet his vigour belied his age. She pressed her cheek against his back. Not only did it shelter her from the cold wind, it made her realize how safe she felt with this man in control. She tried not to think of Clint Kelly. It was no good longing for what could not be. She had lived the fantasy, but now it was time to leave it behind.
Ted was making much better time on the trip back. The sun had disappeared early, as the afternoon advanced. Because the temperature had dropped, the snow was no longer mushy, and had a fine coat of ice on its surface.
In less than an hour they reached the State Troopers' Headquarters. Eve refused to go inside. "It's Christmas, not Halloween," she protested.
"Okay, I'll turn on the heater in the van. You can give me Clint's jacket and put on my snowmobile suit. It'll be too warm to keep it on while I'm driving. I'll call your mom. Are you sure you won't come in and talk to her? These guys probably haven't had a good laugh all Christmas!"
"Just tell her I love her, and ask her to call Trevor for me." Designer clothes were no longer quite as important to Eve, but she'd be damned if she'd let a bunch of macho officers see her in red longjohns!
When she removed Clint's jacket, she experienced a sense of loss—not just the warmth, but a loss of security. And something else, harder to define: an invisible link that connected them. Eve was brought out of her pensive mood when Ted opened the van door and climbed in. "Your mom was so relieved about both of us. Imagine worrying about me!" But Eve could tell he was delighted with his wife's response.
"I promised her I'd drive slowly and told her not to expect us until after nine. She's going to call Trevor and tell him we'll celebrate our Christmas tomorrow."
On the drive home they sang carols and Eve was amazed that her father knew all the words to the parodies of Christmas songs that were currently popular. They were also extremely irreverent, but men get a kick out of being irreverent in these times of political correctness.
When they finally turned down their street, Susan had all the Christmas lights blazing. "Poor Mom—she's had such a lonely day."
Ted looked up at the lights as he turned off the engine. "She's always been my beacon."
Eve's memory stirred faintly as she remembered them kissing beneath the mistletoe. It was a shining strand, a thread, ephemeral as a dream. "You're still in love, after all these years."
"Passionately," Ted said, watching his beautiful wife fling open the front door and run down the steps to welcome them home.
The first thing Eve did was telephone Trevor. "Hi! I'm so sorry about all this. I guess my mother explained
I was snowed in at a country property I was trying to sell."
"Eve, you know there's no need to apologize to me. These things happen. I understand, just as you would have understood when I couldn't take you dancing the other night."
When Eve realized he hadn't shown up either, she suddenly felt a little less guilty. But only a little!
"I knew there was a logical explanation for your absence, and I knew you would be perfectly all right."
But I wasn't all right, Eve thought. Aren't you even going to ask me about the man I spent the last three days with?
"Things usually have a way of working themselves out for the best. My mother needed company over the holiday. It's lonely being a widow. We'll celebrate our Christmas tomorrow."
"That'll be lovely, Trevor. I hope we don't get any more snow. Drive carefully from
"Good night Eve. I can't wait until you open your present!"
After she hung up, she stood with her hand on the phone. Surely he was the most understanding man in the whole world. Apparently she wasn't going to get the third degree. Trevor would never display childish jealousy. He was a mature adult.
Susan made them turkey sandwiches and hot chocolate. Eve nibbled on homemade shortbread and Christmas cake soaked in rum while she told her mother about the incredible things that had happened over the last three days. "Can I stay here tonight?"
"As if you need to ask! It'll be fun to have you sleep over," her mother said, delighted to have her baby under her roof again.
"I need a warm bath, and I really need to wash my hair."
"Didn't you have water to bathe?"
"We had water, but it wasn't warm. We had to take cold showers."
"I'll get you a warm robe and some slippers," Susan said, running upstairs. Eve followed her, but she was too tired to run.
When Susan came downstairs, she put her arms around Ted. "Thanks for going all that way and bringing her home."
"You should have seen this Clint Kelly she spent the last three days with. Muscles, shoulders, a real lady-killer. She calls him Action Man. Well, you heard what she said."
"What?" Susan asked.
"They had to take cold showers!"
"Oh, you!" Susan gave him a punch.
Nine
Eve slipped down in the warm water and sighed with pure pleasure. How good the simple things of life feel when you've been deprived of them!
She tried not to analyze the conversation she'd had with Trevor, or her reaction to his attitude. They had been dating steadily for over a year and she had spent a lot of that time asserting her independence, so that they didn't live in each other's pocket. Now, she felt neglected. What a perverse creature she was!
It would be simply awful if the man she was about to become engaged to flew into a jealous rage and demanded she tell him everything. And the truth was, he had lots to be jealous about! Eve blushed, and slid further down in the warm, scented water.
Though she was tired, her body felt good. A bath was a sensual experience when you relaxed. Her thoughts drifted inexorably toward Clint Kelly. Fancifully, she decided a bathroom was the most private place in a house. You always locked the door so that no one could intrude, then you removed your clothes and were free to indulge in your most intimate thoughts.
Eve leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and allowed herself to re-live every moment she'd spent with Kelly. Every look, every word, every smile, every touch, every kiss, every act . . . every climax!
As the water grew cold, thoughts of Trevor intruded.
His last words repeated themselves in her mind: I can't wait until you open your present! Resolutely, she pushed those words away and climbed from the tub. She'd feel differently tomorrow. A new chapter of her life would begin. She would close the door on her past and open up another to the future. She knew she should count her blessings.
Sunday dawned dull and overcast. The temperature rose, and by the time the Barlows finished breakfast, all the white snow had turned to gray slush.
Still in robe and slippers, Eve opened her briefcase and took out the Offer to Purchase, then she telephoned Judy.
"Hello, Eve? How dare you get yourself into a scrape without me?"
"You don't know the half of it. I'll fill you in on the details someday when you have a few hours to kill."
"How in the world did you manage up there without food, heat, electricity, or telephone? I suppose getting snowed in put an end to any hope of selling the white elephant?"
"Judy, it's not a white elephant. It's a valuable piece of real estate. I'd buy it myself, if I could afford it."
"Come on, Eve, you're a city girl, like me. Watching trees grow can't be your idea of fun."
Judy was in the marketing department at one of
"Judy, I have an offer for you."
"You're kidding! What the hell did you have to do to get it?"
Eve blushed. "Mr. Kelly is offering a hundred and seventy-five thousand. I'll fax it to you in about an hour." A slight pause on the other end of the phone prompted
Eve to be scrupulously honest. "Kelly is a stubborn negotiator, but I really believe he'll go to two hundred thousand if you turn down this offer."
"Turn it down? Eve, bite your tongue. I accept the offer. Fax it to me right away so I can sign it before he changes his mind."
"He won't change his mind, Judy. He genuinely loves the place, and the house and property seem to have accepted him. He's a real outdoorsman; scuba dives and all that."
"He sounds like a hunk."
"He is, but he's also a male chauvinist."
Judy sighed. "In my experience you can't have it both ways. If they're hunks, they're chauvinistic; if they accept you as an equal, they're either wimps or they're gay!"
"Fax me a closing date. I have a check here for you. If it's a done deal and the weather cooperates, I could drive to
"Why don't I meet you halfway and we could have lunch together?"
"Wonderful idea. There's this terrific restaurant I know in
"Still is, to which my hips will grandly attest!"
"Well, this is great I can't wait to see you, I'll call and let you know which day."
"Okay. Thanks a million, Eve. I appreciate it."
"Hey, it's my job, for which I am well paid."
Eve went into the kitchen where her mother was already working on their Christmas feast. "Mom, will you lend me a pair of slacks? I have to drive to my place to pick up your Christmas presents and put on something glamorous for Trevor."
Ted took out his keys. "Do you want to take the van, or do you just want me to drive you to your car?"
"If you don't mind going out, I'd rather you took me to my car. Leaving a Mercedes just sitting there is asking for it to be stolen."
Eve faxed Judy the Offer to Purchase before she changed her clothes. Back in her own bedroom, she found herself before the mirror exactly as she had been the last time she was in this room. "Not exactly," she said to her reflection. She no longer needed to ask if she was beautiful or sexy. She knew she was both. Clint Kelly had convinced her of that.
She went to her closet and moved aside a red dress. After the red suit, followed by the red longjohns, she was ready for a change. She looked at the lavender; her favorite color, both because it enhanced her pale hair and because she thought it lucky However, it wasn't exactly a Christmas color, so she decided on the avocado green silk with matching suede belt and shoes.
Eve unlocked the top drawer of her desk and took out the envelope that held her Christmas gift to her mother and father. Trevor's gift wouldn't be so easy to carry. She got out her luggage carrier and loaded the carton onto it. It wasn't really all that large, just heavy.
Eve heard her fax machine and was surprised at the speed Judy had returned the signed Offer to Purchase. The closing date she suggested was thirty days, or sooner, if it suited the client. Eve knew Clint Kelly would be thrilled. How she would love to hand him the acceptance and watch the grin spread across his face. But that was out of the question. She mustn't see him again, if it was at all possible. They had made a clean break, and that's the way she had to keep it.
She would send all the papers by courier, then his lawyer could collect the check and the signed documents. She glanced at her watch. Kelly couldn't possibly be back yet. This was a good time to call and leave a message. She dialed the number. Her stomach lurched as she heard his deep voice.
"You've got my machine, so talk at it."
"It's Eve Barlow, calling Sunday the twenty-sixth. Your offer has been accepted with a thirty-day closing date, or sooner, if you can arrange the money. I'll send the documents over by courier. Congratulations!"
When she hung up, her hands were shaking and her mouth had gone dry. What the devil was the matter with her? She was behaving like an adolescent with her first crush. She admonished herself sternly to pull herself together. Today would probably be one of the most significant days of her life. It was a special day for Trevor as well, and she had to be very careful not to spoil it in any way. Trevor was a sensitive man who could pick up on her vibrations, so she had to make sure they were happy ones.
Eve threw on her coat, picked up her briefcase, and pulling the luggage carrier behind her, took the apartment elevator to the ground floor. She was relieved that she arrived back at her parents' house before Trevor got there. Her mother warned her, "Don't go in the family room. Your dad's setting up your Christmas present."
Eve was mystified about what it could be.
"That's a beautiful dress, dear."
"Thank you," Eve said, rubbing her hands over her hips. "I love the way it feels."
The doorbell chimed.
"Oh Lord, he's here," Eve murmured. "Don't tell me it's already noon."
Trevor came in bearing gifts. He gave Susan a huge poinsettia and when Ted slipped in from the family room to greet him, Trevor handed him a bottle of imported sake.
"Thanks! I haven't tasted this stuff in years."
Eve smiled at Trevor. He'd put a lot of thought in the bottle he'd selected for her dad. "How's your mother?" she asked, taking his coat.
"Much better. She'll be just fine."
"Shoo," Susan said. "If everyone stays out of the kitchen, I'll have dinner ready in an hour."
Eve and Trevor moved toward the living room and Ted began to follow them.
"Not you, dear," Susan called after him. "I need your help."
Trevor caught Eve's hand and pulled her beneath the mistletoe. He kissed her gently and, after a brief hesitation, she kissed him back. "You look lovely," he told her. "Would you look at this tree—it must have cost a fortune." He sounded as if he didn't quite approve of spending so much money on something that was simply for decoration. When they sat down on the couch, he asked, "How did you make out up north?"
For a moment, Eve stared at him, not knowing exactly what he was asking. She colored slightly, before the penny dropped into the slot. "Oh, I sold it."
"Good for you," he said, patting her knee with his smooth white hand. "You have to forgive your dad. He's from a generation that doesn't realize a woman can do anything a man can do."
But a woman can't do all the things a man can do, Eve protested, silently. She had been prepared to tell him about the frightening pond episode, but suddenly decided against it. If she admitted to fear and helplessness, it would negate her equality, and she would seem diminished in his eyes. At least she suspected she would. It was all very well to claim equality on an intellectual level, she thought, but the reality was that on a physical level, comparing strength and endurance, a man was superior to a woman, or he should be.
Eve changed the subject so that the conversation focused on Trevor. A few months back he had been passed over at the university for Head of Department. It had been a bitter pill, but with Eve's support, he had gotten over the disappointment.
He told her there were rumors flying all over the campus that the professor who had been promoted over him was proving unsatisfactory. Everyone in the English Department was grumbling over one thing or another.
Eve gave him all her attention and sympathy, but she couldn't help wondering if this was what the rest of her life would be like—politely listening while Trevor catalogued his grievances. Stop being a bitch! she told herself. Trevor had been devastated when he was passed over. He was a sensitive man who craved approval and affirmation, and up until now she had been happy to oblige.
Eve was relieved when dinner was ready and they joined her parents for the festive meal. The table was a work of art. Her mother was an accomplished hostess and a gourmet cook. There was turkey with chestnut dressing and giblet gravy, as well as a whole glazed ham patterned with cherries and cloves. The vegetable dishes were culinary delights. Mushrooms with almonds and shallots sat beside cinnamon yams, tender steamed leeks, and balsamic-glazed pearl onions. Baby brussels sprouts sat on a bed of wild rice, and a whole squash had been stuffed with gingered pork.
Susan's homemade pickles included walnuts, olives, and dills, and she had combined cranberries with orange peel for a sauce that was piquant in taste and aroma. Ted opened both red and white wine so they could have their choice. They drank to Steven's health, toasting him across the world.
When the dinner was over, none of them had room for dessert, so they decided to have it later, after they had opened their gifts. They moved into the family room and Eve saw her Christmas present immediately.
"Oh my gosh!" she exclaimed with genuine surprise. "When I mentioned I needed a treadmill to keep in shape, I never expected you would actually buy me one! Thank you both, so much."
Ted showed her the different speeds and how to preset a program with the multi-window electronics. He also demonstrated it, then Eve tried it out and so did Trevor, who seemed as pleased with the useful gift as she was.
Eve opened her purse and handed her mother the envelope. Susan opened it and cried out with delight. "Oh, honey, you shouldn't have. Ted, it's cruise tickets! We fly to
"Well, I'm ready for a second honeymoon; when can we leave?" Ted teased.
Eve was filled with so much warmth, her heart overflowed. Her parents usually went to
Susan made Ted dig out the Atlas so they could see the route the cruise ship would take. Trevor presented each of them with an identically wrapped gift and sat back to watch as they were opened. He hadn't really approved of Eve spending so much money on her parents, but what could he say? She earned the money and was free to spend it any way she chose. He had not protested because he avoided confrontations at all costs.
Susan and Ted unwrapped them at the same time. They were monogrammed passport holders. "Thank you so much, Trevor. I guess you knew about the cruise tickets."
Ted handed Trevor the present Susan had picked out for him, with their daughter's advice. Trevor was delighted with the pair of brass book ends, declaring they were exactly what he needed. When he opened Eve's gift, a great lump came into his throat. It was a leather-bound collection of the complete works of Shakespeare. He'd coveted books like this since he was a boy.
Eve watched Trevor's hand caress the volumes with reverence. She preferred Dickens, but Trevor lusted for Shakespeare, and when she saw how he treasured the books, she was glad she had ordered them all those months ago.
The afternoon light was gone from the sky; it looked as if they were in for another snowstorm. Ted turned on all the lights in keeping with the cheery holiday atmosphere. "Let's have that dessert now, Susie," Ted suggested.
Trevor was just as happy to wait a little while longer before he gave Eve her present. A little suspense was good before a dramatic moment. Rather like a play, he thought fancifully Trevor winked at Eve and whispered, "They say anticipation is the best part."
Don't you believe it. Clint Kelly's words slipped into her mind with amazing facility. Eve forced her memories away from Kelly to focus on her mother's delicious desserts—rum pecan pie, lemon cheesecake, and traditional mince pie.
As Eve forked the last mouthful of lemon cheesecake, she sighed, "I'm surely going to need that treadmill after today"
Trevor helped himself to another piece of mince pie. "These are even better than my mother's."
Ted could not resist trying everything Susan had baked. "The woman is a temptress."
"Well, the way to your heart is certainly through your stomach. Help me load these in the dishwasher. Trevor would probably like to give Eve her gift in private."
Ted's eyes met Eve's. She wanted to cry, Don't leave me! Ted looked mutinous, as if he didn't want to leave his daughter with this man, but he rose reluctantly and carried out the plates.
As Eve watched Trevor take a small wrapped gift from his pocket, his movements seemed to distort into slow motion. Eve experienced a moment of sheer panic. She jumped up quickly and babbled, "I'll be right back. I have to go to the powder room. I don't want to spoil this moment for you."
Eve locked the bathroom door and leaned back against it. She had had to get out of the room; she had felt it closing in on her. She was so tense, her stomach muscles were in knots. Dear Lord in Heaven, what am I going to do?
The answer came back clearly, Pull yourself together and get back out there. You cannot spoil this man s precious moment for him. She did not dare look at herself in the mirror. She turned on the tap and let cold water run over her wrists, then she splashed her flushed cheeks until they felt cooler. She had let this thing go too far to draw back now. She straightened her shoulders. She would not allow a brief infatuation ruin her future plans. She took a deep breath and unlocked the bathroom door.
As Trevor handed her the gift, she gave him a tremulous smile. She removed the silver ribbon and wrapping paper with steady hands, but when they held the velvet jeweler's box, they began to tremble. With an iron resolve she pushed away a feeling of dread. She opened the box and stared down at a pair of diamond earrings!
Ten
Eve looked up at Trevor in disbelief, then her gaze dropped to the small velvet box to make sure her imagination wasn't playing a trick on her.
"You look so stunned, Eve. I thought you guessed I was buying you diamonds."
"Diamonds did cross my mind," she admitted in a faraway voice. A small ripple of relief began inside her that spread through her veins. By the time it reached her brain, it was a tidal wave! Trevor was not giving her an engagement ring. This man was not asking her to marry him!
"Trevor, I don't think I can accept these."
He looked a little sheepish. "They are sort of a bribe, or I suppose a more correct word might be incentive. I think it's time we started living together, Eve. If we can do that successfully, then I would have no hesitation about getting married down the road."
"Down the road?" she repeated vaguely.
"Perhaps next Christmas. It's time we started thinking about a permanent commitment."
"Next Christmas?" She felt like a parrot.
"It's economically unwise for us to pay rent on two apartments when we could share one. The only thing is, I've been considering living in
Eve's eyes made direct contact with Trevor's. She took a deep breath. "You're right. This is a big decision. I don't know if I can accept what you're offering me, Trevor, though it's an honor to be asked." She smiled feebly. At least you believe you re honoring me, you poor deluded man, she added silently.
Ted Barlow walked in on them. "Sorry to intrude, but there's a weather advisory on TV We're in for a severe ice storm. Perhaps you'd better get cracking, unless you're going to stay put for the night."
"Oh, no, I have to get home—I have work to do," Eve said quickly. "I'll leave my car, though; Trevor will drive me." She showed her parents the diamond earrings, which they admired thoroughly. At the same time Ted and Susan exchanged glances and raised their eyebrows. Both of them had expected Trevor to present Eve with an engagement ring. Ted was relieved; Susan only wanted what Eve wanted.
They all said their goodbyes and thanked each other again for the Christmas gifts and Susan's marvelous dinner.
"Mom, I want all your recipes. Do you have one for coconut cream pie?"
"You're going to start cooking?" her father asked with a frown. Perhaps these two were going to move in together after all.
"A New Year's resolution," Eve replied.
On the drive to her apartment, Eve was strangely silent. The rain, which was rapidly turning to ice, was coming down pretty heavily and Trevor had to keep his mind on his driving. She knew when they got to her place, he would take it for granted that he could spend the night.
Eve knew she had to speak up before he parked and turned off the engine.
She turned to look at him. "Trevor, I don't want you to spend the night at my place." It was brutally blunt. She softened it a little. "You've given me a lot to think about and I have some decisions to make. I need to be alone."
Trevor's mouth turned sulky, but after a minute he said, "I understand. Take all the time you need."
"Thank you. Good night, Trevor." The kiss she gave him was a generous one. It was probably the last kiss they would ever share.
"I'll call you tomorrow," he said.
"I'm going to the office, so call me tomorrow night."
Once Eve was safely inside her own apartment, she pushed the deadlock bolt on the door and let the second wave of relief wash over her. She felt free, like a bird escaped from its cage. Perhaps the cage had been safe and sensible, but it had come to her in a flash that she hated safe and sensible!
She threw off her coat and shoes and danced about the room. She had no plans for the future, but she was very sure of one thing: that future did not include Trevor Bennett. She sat down at her desk and began preparing the papers that Clint Kelly would need to sign, about a dozen in all. There would be more later, on closing. She then prepared a list of costs and adjustments regarding paid-up taxes, settlement and transfer charges, and brokerage fees.
Eve then called the courier service and was surprised when they arrived for the pick-up within thirty minutes. She gave the young man a generous tip because it was Boxing Day, because the weather was appalling, and because she felt benevolent toward everyone on earth tonight!
As she climbed into bed, she realized it had been an emotional day—emotionally exhausting, then emotionally exhilarating. Her mind flitted about like a butterfly, momentarily touching one thing, then off to another. But always, it came back to Clint Kelly. Thoughts of him clung to her; he was completely unforgettable.
As she drifted off to sleep, she heard a far-off fire siren and she knew she would never hear that sound for the rest of her life without thinking of him.
The following morning, Eve took a cab to the office. The streets were extremely icy, but the sky looked clear. Only a couple of agents showed up and it was quiet enough that she got caught up on all her paperwork. Eve felt restless, so at lunchtime, she took a cab to her parents' place so she could pick up her car.
Her mother insisted she stay for lunch, and her dad turned off the one o'clock news on television so he could join them in the kitchen. "Fire last night," he informed them.
"I heard the siren. What was it?" Eve asked.
"Industrial warehouse across the city."
"Eve, your dad and I were convinced Trevor was going to give you a ring for Christmas."
Eve shook out a napkin and sat down at the counter. "To be honest, so did I. When I opened that velvet box and saw diamond earrings instead of a diamond ring, I couldn't believe my eyes!"
"Were you terribly disappointed, dear?" her mother asked gently.
"No! It sounds awful, but I was relieved. Trevor isn't right for me, and what's more, I'm not right for him either. I feel wretched that it took me this long to realize it."
"I've always known he wasn't right for you," Ted insisted.
Eve gave her dad a curious look. "You never said anything."
"Your mother wouldn't let me!"
Eve gave him a skeptical look. "Right. As if that would stop you."
"It's true. She insisted I trust you to make the right decision."
"Why, thank you . . . both of you. I had no idea you didn't like Trevor."
"Honey, we have nothing against him. He's a fine man, but we want you to have skyrockets!"
Eve looked from one to the other. "You have skyrockets, don't you? It's funny, but I've only realized that lately."
"Did you end it last night?" her mother probed.
"No. It took me by surprise. I was all psyched up to get engaged and resign myself to being a professor's wife—I couldn't think on my feet when he threw me a curve."
"When will you tell him?" Susan asked.
"Tonight. I'll tell him tonight. The last thing in the world I want to do is hurt him, but a quick, clean break is best for everyone."
Her parents didn't pursue the subject any further. Ted suspected her weekend with Clint Kelly had put an end to Trevor Bennett's hopes. But he knew Eve would confide in them in her own good time.
"If you're going home now, why don't I bring over your treadmill and set it up for you?"
Eve almost told him he was too old to be carrying heavy stuff like that. She bit her tongue. He was only fifty, and he was the best judge of his ability. She had to trust him to make his own decisions, as he had trusted her.
As he was adjusting the digital settings on her treadmill, her father talked about the International Fly-in that
As Eve listened to him, she finally understood why her mother was still in love. He took a vital interest in everything and he kept himself in great shape. Eve had always known that her father was a man's man; now she saw that he was also a woman's man.
"Thanks, Dad. I could never have figured it all out on my own." It was only a slight exaggeration; she couldn't have learned how to set it half so quickly.
When she was alone, she began walking on the new treadmill. She decided it was a wonderful invention. It gave the body a workout, while allowing the mind total freedom. She spent the next couple of hours rehearsing what she would say to Trevor when he called. When the phone rang at exactly five o'clock, she said to herself, God, he's so regimented!
The moment Trevor spoke, she could hear the vulnerability in his voice. He was expecting her to reject his offer and she was going to fulfill his expectations. Eve felt like a monster. She knew the kindest thing to do was get straight to the heart of the matter. She would not indulge in a cat and mouse game. It was at this point that she became absolutely convinced she was doing the right thing. When she was cast in the role of cat and he was reduced to a mouse, it was all over.
"Trevor, I've thought about us all day and it isn't going to work. We're wrong for each other. You need someone I'll never be. I take the blame for the failure of our relationship. You've been gentle, kind, and understanding from the beginning and none of this is your fault."
"Eve, please don't be so hasty. Give us another chance. I won't pressure you into living together; I'll forget about marriage."
"It's best to make a clean break, Trevor. I don't want to give you pain, but I think we should end it."
There was a long silence, then in a resigned voice, he said the thing he always said: "I understand."
Eve sat down to write him a kind letter. He understood and appreciated the written word. She used a philosophical tone, implying "What will be, will be." She knew he read Omar Khayyam. She told him she had been enriched by their relationship, and that with all her heart she wished him well. Then Eve wrapped up the diamond earrings and called the courier.
It was the same young man she had generously tipped the night before. He returned the package of papers addressed to Clint Kelly.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Barlow, there was no one home at this address. I tried to deliver it last night and again today."
"Hang on a minute—I'll telephone him." Eve dialed Kelly's number and heard his deep voice, but only on the answering machine. "It's Eve Barlow, six o'clock, Monday the twenty-seventh. Would you give me a call as soon as you can?"
She told the courier, "Leave the package and take this one instead." She gave him another generous tip.
Eve made herself dinner, then hesitated to go down to the laundry room in case she missed Kelly's call. She rinsed out a few things in the bathroom sink. She was in such a reflective mood, feeling guilty over Trevor, justifying ending their relationship. Eve desperately needed an escape from her introspection. She felt like running five miles or climbing a mountain, but the weather was so foul, she couldn't even go for a drive.
She almost turned on the television set, then she happened to remember she bought a Christina Skye novel just before Christmas and hadn't had a chance to read it. Eve curled up on the couch and began to read Hour of the Rose. Skye was a superb writer. From the first haunting sentence, Eve was swept away to another time and place.
It was after midnight when she glanced at her watch. She was torn between reading 'til dawn and putting the book down so she could savor it and make it last longer. She decided on the latter; she just might be spending a lot of her evenings home alone for awhile.
When she got to the office the next day, Eve was inundated with people who were looking for new office space. It seemed as if every lease in
"Do you think there might be a problem?" Judy asked.
"No, no," Eve assured her. "Mr. Kelly is a Fire Chief who works shifts. It's just taking a while to get together with his lawyer. It will probably be after New Year's before I have everything for you."
"That would be better for me too, Eve. By the way, I had the phone taken off holiday service and also had the power put back on. I don't want anyone else getting into difficulties up there."
"That was a good idea. I'll put the costs in the adjustments," Eve assured her.
She worked late at the office, then on impulse on the way home, took a detour to Clint Kelly's apartment. There was no answer to her knock. She pulled out a business card, wrote on it, "Call me!" and shoved it under his door.
She waited for his call all evening. When it didn't come, she convinced herself that he had taken such offense over her rejection that he was deliberately avoiding her. To bloody hell/ire with all men! Eve picked up Hour of the Rose and took it to bed with her.
When dawn arrived, Eve found herself lying awake, reflecting on all that had happened over the holidays. She recalled reading somewhere that more romantic relationships ended at this time of the year than any other. It was like an adage; if it wasn't rock solid, it wouldn't survive Christmas!
Men seemed to fall into two categories. They were either mothers' boys or macho chauvinists. Where were all the men in between? Where were the men who could be strong and take control when it was necessary, yet show ineffable tenderness or be moved to tears at life's poignant, touching moments?
Eve laughed at herself and threw back the covers. The ideal man was a myth. And if there was such a paragon, he was seeking the ideal woman!
When she opened her closet, she knew she needed to choose something that would lift her spirits. She decided to wear her lucky color. Eve pulled on a pair of lavender slacks and a lambswool sweater to match. They were the antithesis of a power suit, making her look soft and feminine. She even put on her amethyst earrings that were strictly evening wear, deciding she would never be regimented again.
Eve's car seemed to have a mind of its own this morning, heading in the direction of Kelly's apartment building rather than her office. Upstairs, she knocked politely on his door and waited. Perhaps he was sleeping. If he'd worked all night, he could be dead to the world by now. Eve lifted her fists and pounded. Absolute silence met her ears. She should have saved herself the trouble by phoning!
Eve was annoyed. This was no way to conduct business. She was his broker, representing his purchase of a house. He should at least have the common courtesy to touch base with her. She drove to the office, fuming all the way. When Maxwell arrived, she followed him into his office.
"Did you have a scuba lesson last night?"
"No. There was no lesson scheduled for the week between Christmas and New Year's. We pick up again after the holidays. Thinking of joining the class?" he asked casually.
"No," she said sweetly, "I'm thinking of drowning someone."
By noon, her patience snapped. She decided to track Action Man down. Eve was hungry and knew exactly where she was going to eat lunch.
Kelly's Sports Bar and Grill was crowded. She searched the room looking for a six-footer with black hair and dark blue eyes. She ordered a corned beef sandwich and a draft beer. The dill pickle was so good it made her tastebuds stand at attention. It must have been pickled in a barrel.
At one o'clock the crowd thinned out dramatically, and Eve carried her empty mug to the bar. The resemblance was so marked she had no difficulty realizing this was Kelly's father. The retired policeman was heavier, of course, and his handsome face lay in ruins, but he was hard-edged and cocksure; still master of his domain.
"Hello, Mr. Kelly. I'm Eve Barlow and I'm looking for your son, Clint."
"Call me Clancy," he said, giving her an appreciative look that swept from breasts to thighs.
Clancy? I don't believe it. He's more Irish than Paddys Pig!
"You're not a reporter, are you?" he demanded. "No. I'm his real estate agent." Clancy whistled with disbelief. "Well, I'll be damned. He sure knows how to pick 'em!" "Mr. Kelly—"
"Clancy."
"Clancy. Do you know where I can find your son?"
"Nope."
"You have no idea where he might be reached?"
"Nope." .
"It's imperative I get in touch with him. Doesn't he come here to the bar?"
Clancy rubbed his nose thoughtfully, then seemed to come to a decision. He reached beneath the bar and pulled out a newspaper. It was two days old.
Eve's eyes ran down the page, then stared hard at the picture. It portrayed a firefighter carrying a child in his arms. His helmet was decorated by a row of icicles. His face was grim, his eyes stark. Quickly she read the headline, then the article.
Two boys had been playing with matches on the third floor of a furniture warehouse. The ten-year-old had been rescued and taken to a hospital. The nine-year-old had not survived.
"Fire Chief Kelly said the floor collapsed before he could reach the second boy. He performed cardiopulmonary resuscitation for over an hour, but it was hopeless. Kelly's crew fought the fire for twelve hours in below-zero temperatures,"
Eve looked up from the newspaper to find Clancy's eyes on her.
"When something like this happens, we don't see him for a few days. He likes to be alone."
Eve nodded. She looked at the eyes in the picture again, and felt his pain. She handed back the paper, "Thank you," she whispered.
* * *
Eve Barlow threw jeans, sweaters, and underclothes into an overnight bag, then grabbed makeup and shampoo. Her instincts had taken over and she had a gut feeling about where she would find Clint Kelly.
On the drive north to the property she made one stop at a store to purchase a present and put it in the trunk with her overnight bag. Eve drove carefully, but as fast as road conditions allowed.
She could not get the picture of Kelly holding the dead child out of her mind. Why in the name of heaven had she thought Clint incapable of tears? His job did not merely deal with danger, it encompassed anguish, fear, and tragedy. It involved the loss of life, as well as property. On a daily basis Clint Kelly was expected to perform heroically, and to deal with death when heroics weren't enough. No wonder he had taken over so completely when her life was in danger. He had been trained to cope with emergencies and disasters. Treating hypothermia was probably second nature to him; he and his team must have experienced it firsthand fighting fires, soaked to the skin, in below-zero temperatures.
Clint was a born leader; a take-charge kind of man who made instant decisions and issued orders, expecting them to be obeyed. The time she spent with him had taught her so much about him, certainly enough to make her fall head-over-heels in love! But she now realized she had barely scratched the surface. There were still volumes to learn, depths to plumb.
Clint saw her Mercedes as it pulled into the long drive. He started running. He reached the car in time to open the door for her.
She watched him run toward her: He was carrying something black in his hand. She smiled when she saw it was a camera.
"Eve!"
"Hello, Clint I've been trying to get hold of you for days. I didn't know about the fire until I went to your dad's bar."
"He didn't know where I was."
"No, but I did," she said quietly, getting out of the car and standing close, looking up at him. Thank God the pain has left his eyes. This place is good for him! She would be good for him, too. She'd start by making him laugh. "Remember that engagement ring I was getting for Christmas? It turned out to be diamond earrings."
He didn't laugh; his eyes burned into hers. "Marry me, Eve!"
It wasn't a question, it was more like a command. His arms went around her. "Evie, if that's what it takes to win you, I'll even quote poetry."
She laughed into his eyes and called his bluff. "Let's hear you."
Clint's dark brows drew together for a minute. Then he said:
"I'm only a man,
We'll get along fine,
Just so long as you remember
I'm not yours; YOU'RE MINE!"
Eve melted into his arms and lifted her lips for his kiss, knowing that was an effective way to stop his dreadful doggerel.
"I take it your answer is yes?"
"Clint Kelly, it's no such thing! You're going way too fast for me."
"When I see what I want, I walk a direct path to it." "We have nothing in common. You would turn my life upside down."
"We can work things out. Come inside and we'll negotiate. If we talk, we can find common ground."
"We have so little in common, it would be a disaster."
"You think I can't handle disaster?" He raised one black eyebrow.
"I know you can," she said softly. She knew if he began to touch her, her objections would dissolve along with her bones.
In front of a blazing fire, with Clint Kelly sitting across from her, Eve's resistance began to thaw.- He was such a persuasive man—she knew she had to negotiate while she still had her wits about her,
"I want a fifty-fifty partnership. I don't want a marriage where the man is the boss and the woman is the little housewife."
Clint grabbed a piece of paper and began making a contract. "Agreed; fifty-fifty," he promised.
"I intend to work, whether you like it or not. I won't stay home baking coconut cream pies."
"Agreed," he said, scribbling furiously. She was independent, assertive, competitive, and combative, but every once in a while he knew she would lean on him.
"And I don't want to have to break your arms every time I want to drive."
His face was sober, but his eyes danced with amusement "You missed your calling. You should have been a comedian."
"This isn't meant to be funny—I'm serious! These are definitely not jokes."
"Then why am I laughing?"
"Because you're a sexist swine, of course."
"Evie, I'm so much in love with you, I'll agree to anything."
Eve stopped talking and looked at him. This man was everything she'd ever wanted, It was time to face the truth. She tore the paper into small pieces and threw it
into the air. It came down like confetti. "Clint, I wouldn't want you any other way!"
He threw back his head and yowled like a wolf. It was a cry of victory. "Now that we've got business out of the way, can we indulge in a little pleasure?"
She took his hand. "Come with me. I have a present for you." Eve unlocked the trunk and handed him her overnight bag. Then she gave him his present. When Clint opened the brown bag and saw the bottle of whisky, a wicked grin spread across his face.
"I'll let you be the judge of that, Action Man. You're going to have to reel out more hose, or get closer to the fire. Just don't rub me the wrong way!"
"After experiencing Christmas Eve," he said, making a word-play of her name, "I can't wait for New Year's Eve!"