she was completely out of her mind.
Abruptly she set her mug down and pushed herself away from the counter, glancing at Hilda. ‘‘If that man calls you looking for Annmarie, what are you going to tell him?’’
‘‘That I haven’t seen her.’’
Rosie smiled. ‘‘So far, that’s the truth.’’
‘‘And he’s not answering the number he left for me, so I figure I’ve got a few questions for him the next time he calls. Preferably questions he can answer in person.’’
‘‘I don’t know whether to hope he shows or not.’’
‘‘We’d all be better off if we knew where he was,’’ Hilda said. ‘‘Your going away for a few days, that’s a good idea. There’s just tonight to deal with. I could take the two of them back to town.’’
‘‘If nobody saw them, we’re better off here.’’ Rosie shook her head and managed a smile. ‘‘They can hide in my wine cellar.’’ It was the name she had given to the bomb shelter hidden beneath the den, complete with an exterior entrance hidden a hundred feet away from the house, partway down the hill.
Hilda grinned. ‘‘Finally. A use for that room, never mind the cold war has been over for years.’’
Rosie smiled back. The old man who had built the house had poured a fortune into his insecurities. Never once had she imagined she would use the room for anything other than storage—certainly not for an escape that sounded like something out of a movie.
‘‘We’ll be okay,’’ she said. ‘‘I’ve got work to do to get ready.’’
‘‘You know we’ll keep an eye on things,’’ Hilda said. ‘‘I don’t want you worrying while you’re gone.’’
‘‘I know you will.’’ Unexpected emotion welled within Rosie, and she gave Hilda a quick hug.
The next few hours passed all too quickly. There were a hundred things to be done beginning with a call to her folks to let them know why she was bringing Annmarie for a visit and ending with a long list of the scheduled shipments of seedlings that needed to go out over the next three weeks, not that she intended to be gone that long. But just in case, she wanted to be prepared.
Hilda and Mama Sarah, bless them, provided the extra hands she needed to get everything in the greenhouse organized.
Rosie checked on Annmarie several times, who slept deeply, as though she had been kept awake for days. Each time she checked on the child, Sly sat up and watched her with inquisitive eyes as if expecting to be released from his command of ‘‘guard.’’ That he didn’t move from the room when she left gave Rosie a small measure of reassurance.
The upstairs was equally quiet, so much so that Rosie crept softly up the stairs to check on Ian. He slept sprawled on his stomach across the double bed, his feet and one arm hanging over the edge. His feet stuck out from the sheet, which had come untucked. His ankle bones were sharply protruding on either side of the Achilles tendon, the ankle itself looking oddly fragile in comparison to the rest of his musculature.
Unexpected memories swamped her, making her brace a hand against the doorjamb. Powerful…sweet feelings she hadn’t experienced in years. The whisper of a man’s breath against her cheek, the sweep of his hand against the inside of her thigh, his weight pressed against her.
She watched a long moment, her mouth dry. There had been a time when she was normal, seeking and enjoying the physical completion that came with being so close to a man. Once, a whole lifetime ago, she had imagined that she would one day have the kind of terrific marriage Lily and John had.
Rosie hadn’t wanted to remember.
Everything about this man made her remember.
If she allowed a man in her life again…and that was a very big if…he wouldn’t be anyone like Ian Stearne. She’d want someone she could feel safe with, someone who would cherish her, someone who would love the solitude here on the island as much as she did.
Within reach of Ian’s hand was his gun, a reminder this man had no more trust than she did. Remembering what had happened the last time she startled him, Rosie crept into the room and picked up the pile of clothes on the floor next to the bed. Since these were all he had, the least she could do was wash them.
He sat up in a fluid move, the gun once again in his hand, no trace of sleep in his eyes.
The predator was back.
She swallowed and held his clothes away from her.
‘‘I thought—’’ She cleared her throat. ‘‘I thought I’d wash your things.’’
The bed covers pooled around him. There was no doubt he was naked beneath the sheet. The instant she realized she was staring at his well-formed chest, her gaze slammed back to his face.
‘‘Okay.’’ He reset the safety on the weapon and watched her as she left the room. She was more than halfway down the stairs before she heard the mattress creak as he settled onto the bed.
Her heart pounding, at once again having a gun pointed at her, she went to the laundry room, emptying the pockets of his jeans before throwing everything into the washer. The pockets held nothing out of the ordinary…loose change, a Leatherman, a package of gum, a wallet. Nothing much that told her about the man—though what she had hoped for, she couldn’t have said.
Admitting distrust as much as curiosity drove her, she opened his wallet. It contained more cash than she had ever carried, a couple of major credit cards and his driver’s license, his address indeed next door to Lily’s. The face in the picture was smiling as though he didn’t have a care in the world. An expression far different than the predatory one he’d had a couple of minutes ago. Would the real Ian Stearne please stand up, she thought.
Behind the cash she found a couple of loose stamps and a laminated card. She turned it over—a photograph that was worn around the edges and creased as though it had once been folded for a long time before being protected behind the plastic. A group of children faced the camera, and she immediately picked out Ian. He looked ten or eleven. Two older children stood behind him, a boy and a girl, well into their teens. Two other boys, maybe five and dressed identically, were seated beside him. In his lap was a toddler, the only one of the group smiling. Remembering that her mother always wrote the date and their ages on the back of photographs, Rosie turn this one over. Nothing was written there. Whoever these people were, they were important to Ian—otherwise, why would he have had the old photograph laminated. Cousins, maybe, she decided, unable to see any family resemblance except between the two older kids and the five-year-olds.
A fishing license, receipt for a cash withdrawal from an ATM machine, and a permit for the gun he carried were the only other things in his wallet. Compared to the clutter and endless sheets of paper that filled her own, it didn’t seem like much to Rosie.
By the time twilight came, nearly all that could be done in preparation for their departure had been. Rosie glanced around the greenhouse at the orderly rows of seedlings that would be planted within another few weeks. Knowing she held the future for hundreds of acres of forest within her small greenhouse filled her with satisfaction. The realization always pleased her, even today when her mind hadn’t been on work at all.
‘‘Now
