An Act of Love (9 page)

"Linda!" Randy jerked awake at the sound of her sister's
name. For a moment, disoriented, she couldn't remember where she was.
Then she noticed Luke Griffin and the events of the day before came
flooding back.

He was standing in the doorway wearing a knee-length
terrycloth robe, looking anything but cheerful. It was so cozy in bed
that Randy said beseechingly, "Luke, it's so cold. Why on earth do I
have to get up?"

"Because I'm hungry and I want some breakfast, and because
you're going to make it for me." He paused. "Unless you want me to join
you in bed, that is," he added.

Yesterday when he'd made those kind of comments he'd kept
a smile on his face and a teasing note in his voice. This morning,
however, he was as irritable as a child who'd lost his favorite toy.
Randy figured that he was either one of those people who are cranky
until they've had their second cup of coffee in the morning, or else he
was still annoyed about spending the night alone.

She reluctantly pulled herself up. With her tousled hair
and flannel nightgown she looked like the child Luke had labeled her
the night before. They stared at each other for several long seconds
before he turned on his heel and strode out of the room. Randy soon
heard him poking viciously at the fire, then throwing on a couple of
extra logs.

Amused by his sour mood, she put on Linda's bathrobe and
slippers and trotted into the living room. Given the fact that Luke
refused to believe her explanations, it seemed logical to attempt to
change his mind with her behavior. He considered Linda spoiled and
selfish, so she'd confront him with someone who was solicitous and
accommodating. Given her basic nature, it wouldn't be too difficult.

"What do you feel like eating?" she asked him.

He gave the fire a final poke and turned around. "Bacon
and eggs. Two, over easy. Coffee and toast. And step on it, Linda. I'm
starving," he said grumpily.

Heat from the fire and the smell of frying bacon soon
filled the cabin. As soon as the coffee was brewed Randy filled a mug
and brought it over to Luke, who was now sitting at the table. He
didn't bother to thank her when she set it down in front of him.

There was at least one positive note to this whole insane
experience, Randy decided—her appetite was again as healthy
as it had been six months ago. She made herself a breakfast almost as
large as Luke's and ate it just as quickly as he did.

"I can't figure out where you put it," he muttered.

Randy suspected that she'd only be wasting her time to
tell him, but answered with a smile, "Sure you can. You've seen the
diaper commercial, although it
did
make me look
heavier than I really was at the time." She paid no attention to his frown, but went on blithely,
"I've lost a lot of weight over the last six months, but I'm going to
enjoy gaining some of it back. I love to eat, but usually I have to
watch the scale with a microscope."

Luke tipped his chair onto the two back legs, looking down
his nose at her. "What did I tell you would happen if you brought that
up again?" he asked.

Randy could tell that his mood had improved, presumably
the result of a full stomach, but decided not to press her luck. Her
apology was very meek, but then her sense of humor took over, prompting
her to add in a vexed undertone, "It's just so hard to remember that
I'm supposed to be Linda."

He began to get up, a determined look on his face, and
Randy bolted out of her seat and fetched the coffee pot to top off his
mug. Her attentiveness seemed to placate him.

She washed up the dishes as Luke dressed. She'd just
finished wiping the counters when he emerged from his bedroom dressed
in worn jeans, work boots, a wool shirt and a vee-neck sweater. "I'm
going out to cut some wood," he told her. "Get dressed and come help
me."

Randy did so, wishing that Luke had packed something other
than Linda's expensive leather jacket. It was lined with fur and quite
warm, but hardly suitable for dragging wood around in. Luke Griffin,
she decided, could darn well pay for a new jacket if this one got
scratched.

At first Randy enjoyed the exercise involved in helping
Luke with the wood, especially since the air was crisp and clear and
the wooded hills a joy to the senses. But after forty minutes of
holding up branches while he cut them with a gas-powered saw she
started to feel muscles she never knew she had. Twenty minutes later
she removed her coat, sweaty and a little achy.

"Isn't this enough wood?" she asked. "We aren't going to
stay here all summer, are we?"

Luke put down the saw. "Okay. Get busy carrying it." To
Randy's utter astonishment he sat down at the base of a large tree,
took out a pack of cigarettes, and lit one up. The message was clear
enough. He expected her to carry the logs to the woodpile near the
cabin while he sat there and supervised.

She was an affable woman, but her affability didn't extend
quite that far. "I could use some help," she pointed out.

"Maybe." Luke took a few drags on his cigarette before he
went on. "But it seems to me that all your life you've had men running
in circles trying to please you. You need to learn that you can't walk
all over me."

Randy had never met a man who could spark her temper so
easily. It was all she could do to count to five before answering, "I
wouldn't
dream
of walking all over you, but I'm
not going to carry the logs while you sit there like the Maharajah of
Ranchipoor, Luke."

"I don't recall giving you a choice," he said.

There was no point stalking away; Luke would only bolt up
and stop her. "And if I refuse?" Randy asked.

"I'm not giving you that option."

By now Randy was ready to pray for divine intercession to
prevent her from trying to strangle the man. She folded her arms across
her chest, shot him a look that oozed exasperation and announced
firmly, "Yesterday you laid out
your
ground rules
and today I'm laying out
mine
. I assume my father
must have seen some dim glimmer of intelligence and common sense in you
in order to have hired you away from Stockman's, and I will further
assume that eventually either one quality or the other will manifest
itself and you'll take me home. Until that happy hour arrives, however,
I'm willing to do only so much. I'll do the cooking in the interest of
assuring myself decent meals and I'll do the cleaning up because
watching me work seems to bring you an inordinate amount of
satisfaction." She saw a smile tugging at Luke's mouth but couldn't be
sure whether he was laughing at her clipped little speech or at his own
overbearing behavior. "I'm an active person and I like to keep busy,"
she continued, "so I'll even help with whatever needs to be done at
your cabin. You'll notice, Mr. Griffin, that I used the word 'help.' I
won't play the slave to your taskmaster, and I promise you that if you
so much as lay a finger on me to try to force me to do so, my father
will skin you alive." Recalling his words of the day before she
concluded briskly, "Just keep all that in mind and we'll do fine
together."

He was smiling openly by now, his expression a little
rueful. "The minute you figured out who I was the whole game plan was
probably shot to hell," he admitted. "I can't threaten to beat you and
you won't let me make love to you, which just about eliminates the
traditional methods of handling a difficult woman." He stubbed out his
cigarette, then stood up. "You win. I'll help with the wood."

Randy was charmed by his concession speech and couldn't
pretend otherwise. The logs were heavier than she'd expected and it was
very hard work to haul them the fifty or so feet to the house, but she
really didn't mind. Eventually, however, her arms were simply too sore
to continue. Luke didn't look too pleased when she told him she was
going inside to lie down, but he didn't argue with her, either.

She slipped under the covers and waited a little tensely,
wondering whether he'd come in after her, but when five minutes went by
with no sign of him she relaxed and closed her eyes. After all, he'd
just admitted that there was nothing he could do to enforce his wishes.

Eventually she dozed off, only to be awakened by the slam
of the front door. She was wonderfully comfortable and hated to get up,
but the sound of Luke's footsteps in the room started to change her
mind. She opened her eyes to see him leaning against the door-jamb,
watching her.

"Am I going to have to wake you up every time I want a
meal?" he asked lazily.

Randy was still half-asleep. "It isn't very nice to be
woken up by somebody nagging at me for meals all the time," she
complained.

"You agreed to do the cooking. Besides, I get very moody
if I'm not well-fed."

Just like the bears in the zoo, Randy thought as he left
the room. She took a minute to brush out her hair and walked into the
living room to find him sitting on the couch, his feet up on the coffee
table, holding a paperback book. Randy had read that particular novel
earlier in the year and remembered it well. The hero and heroine were
caught up in a series of incidents that ultimately had them confusing
illusion with reality.

Some perversely impish streak got the better of her, and
she sat down beside him on the couch and said ingenuously, "Is that
your inspiration for this crazy abduction of yours? By the time you get
through with me I'm likely to wind up thinking that I really
am
my sister."

He snapped the book shut and tossed it on the table. Randy
knew she'd made a serious error even before she found herself flat on
her stomach, helplessly pinned over his thighs. She tried to squirm
away, laughing, but Luke obviously had no intention of releasing her.
His hand explored the curve of her bottom much too thoroughly, then
lifted. What followed was a playful little slap that was far too gentle
to punish—unless one considered an erotic game a form of
punishment.

Randy didn't. Even before the first gentle slap her heart
was racing, and by the time he got around to the second the blood
seemed to be tearing through her veins. By the third she was ready to
admit that this so-called spanking was in fact a very expert sort of
seduction, and just as enjoyable as Luke had claimed it would be. She
was still trying to wriggle away—it was clearly part of the
game—when he wrapped his hands around her waist and turned
her over.

"That's enough of that," he said, pulling her into a
sitting position on his lap. His eyes glowed with hunger, but not for
food.

Randy looked at his mouth, wanting him to kiss her, but
aware that it would lead straight into the bedroom. His hand slipped
under her turtleneck to cover her breast, teasing the nipple to
hardness and sending a spasm of sensual awareness to her loins. If she
didn't stop him now she wouldn't stop him at all.

"I'd better go make—" she began, but her words
were cut off by his lips, possessively claiming her own.

She thought of her affair with Sean and started to pull
away, but Luke snaked an arm around her shoulders to keep her close and
held her chin in his hand so she couldn't turn her head. Randy didn't
try to prevent him from deepening the kiss, but she certainly didn't
respond to it, either.

His tongue probed her mouth for several fruitless seconds
before he broke the kiss and released her, saying hoarsely, "What are
you trying to do to me? Drive me crazy?"

Randy quickly stood up and backed away from him, putting
several yards in between them. "I don't want to sleep with you," she
said. "Regardless of what you think, I'm not my sister and I
don't—"

"You sat down next to me," Luke interrupted coldly. "You
teased me into reacting and loved every minute of what I did to you,
but now you're suddenly saying no." The longer he spoke the more angry
he seemed to become. "I don't know what your game is, Linda, but try it
again and I'm not going to play. And if you want to cry rape to Daddy
you go right ahead and do it."

Randy was thoroughly shaken by the time he was finished
yelling at her. The fact was, he was right. Although teasing him had
been the furthest thing from her mind, she
had
provoked him. Her behavior reflected her deep ambivalence about him:
she was extremely attracted to him, yet determined not to plunge into
another reckless love affair. Since she hadn't asked the blasted man to
haul her up to Maine in the first place she couldn't quite bring
herself to apologize, so she simply walked over to the kitchen and
started to fix lunch.

Once she'd placed two cheese sandwiches in a buttered
frying pan to grill them she began to struggle with the can opener in
order to open a can of soup. She succeeded in getting the can partially
open but when she tried to pull the lid away she slashed an
angry-looking cut near the base of her right thumb with the jagged
edge. Her muttered curse gained Luke's attention; he looked up from his
book just as Randy shoved her hand under the running faucet in the hope
that the cold water would relieve the sting. It was bleeding heavily,
turning the water in the sink red.

Luke put down his book, got up and walked over to her.
"Let me see how bad it is," he ordered.

Randy silently held out her hand. Luke inspected the cut,
then took a first-aid kit out of one of the cabinets and fished out a
box of gauze pads. For a moment he pressed a pad against her injured
thumb, and then told Randy to hold it there. "It should stop bleeding
in a moment," he said. "When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?"

"Two years ago, after I finished…" Randy choked
back the last word, "college." This wasn't the time to argue about who
she was. Luke removed a roll of gauze and some adhesive tape from the
first-aid kit and waited another minute before checking the cut.