One Magic Night (3 page)

"Swell dance, Miss Carlow." Kevin Clark, determined to reinstate himself in her good graces after his earlier faux pas, gyrated around to yell at her above the din. A mollified Jennifer danced in front of him in an approximation of the awkward steps he executed.  It was good to see these kids, some of them wearing costumes she’d invented, having a good time.  Many of them came from homes where they had next to nothing.  No worries about Ipads or Iphones with these kids.

Leigh nodded and smiled, something she seemed to have done so often this evening her mouth was in danger of cracking.

Hunt was out on the floor, dancing. Max, the art teacher, who was also Hunt’s cousin, had a generous amount of patience. Max regarded chaperoning student events as a pleasure rather than a pain.  He needed his head looked at as much as she did. He sauntered over to her, a cup of punch in his hand.

"He's in his glory," he said, nodding toward Hunt and then turning, smiling at her. "He can handle things for a while. Come outside and catch some silence with me."

She nodded ruefully. "What a great idea."

Outside, the quiet was a soothing relief, making her feel as if she'd been pushing against a wall for hours and it had given way. The air was cool, and the black velvet jacket that had been far too heavy for the heated air inside was just right for the crispness of the night.

They wandered down the sidewalk, the school a dark shadow behind them, and Leigh knew Max was relishing the silence as much as she was. A breeze tossed a cloud over the three-quarter moon, and the golden maple at the end of the walk rustled silkily.

Max turned slightly to look at her. "Hunt tells me you had a close call today."

A flicker of annoyance touched her. "It was nothing, really.”

"I wouldn't call getting almost killed 'nothing.' Some chap from California, Hunt said.”

Leigh nodded, her face averted, the shadow of a moving leaf tracing patterns over her cheek.

"Was he somebody who knew your mother?"

She shook her head. "No, he’s too young to have known her.  I think he’s about my age.  Dean sent him here." The puzzled hurt was there for Max to hear.

"That's strange.  Doesn't sound like something Dean would do. He must have had a reason."

"He called me to warn me the man was coming."

Max frowned with concern.  "If you need any help, Leigh, you know where I am."

"I won't need any help," she shot back. "I can take care of myself."

"Dean would never forgive me if…"

"At the age of twenty-seven, I think I'm finally able to manage my own life, Max."

He shrugged. "And this is how you’re managing, by keeping every moment of your life involved with those kids.”

"Not every moment of my life, Max.  Just the spare ones.  Please don't tell this producer anything if he comes around to you, will you?''

Max gave her a wry look. "As if I would."

Two hours later, she chided herself for having to reassure herself of Max's reticence, but her encounter with Ty Rundell had disconcerted her, and she was still a little shaken as she worked with Hunt and Max and two other women teachers in the suddenly quiet schoolhouse to clean up the debris of the party. It was after twelve o'clock when the soggy paper plates had all been disposed of and the punch bowl washed and the floor swept, and when she walked out into the cool night again, she felt drained. Hunt seemed not to notice her silence as he walked her to her car.

But he must have noticed something, for when they reached her Omni, he leaned forward, gave her a light peck on the forehead, and said, "Go on home, darling. It's a beautiful night. I'll walk."

"No, Hunt, I can take you."

"Nonsense. It's all of four blocks. I need the exercise to cool down."

With a warm feeling for his understanding, she drove home, knowing that conversation or coffee with Hunt in her apartment would have been impossible to tolerate.

Leigh climbed the stairs, and when she reached the first landing and saw the sliver of light under the opposite door, she remembered that she was no longer alone on the upper two stories of Viola's house. Did sound carry between the floors? She had never worried about that before, but now she did, and it was an added thorn in her flesh.

Her foot came down on the second to the last step from the top, and the groan of creaking wood echoed through the house like a gunshot, reverberating against the plastered walls.  If anyone was awake in that second-floor apartment, they would surely know that she was on her way up to hers. Still faintly annoyed at her own forgetting to step over the noisy one, she took out her key and unlocked her door

She stripped out of her hunting costume with a sense of being set free, and hung the clothes neatly on the hanger. Hunt had said he would return her outfit to the city along with his. She wouldn't have to look at it and remember that dark, cynical face gazing up at her from the car with its slightly dazed expression.

She padded into the bathroom on bare feet, stripped out of her underthings, poked her hair under a yellow flower sprigged cap, and stepped into the shower.

She’d been fool enough to feel sorry for him.

He was probably thinking how lucky he was. 
Look at the peculiar specimen I've bagged, ladies and gentlemen, the daughter of the sultry sex symbol Claire Foster.

She turned her face up into the spray, letting the water pour over her skin. If only water had the magic power to take away her memories.

The picture of Dean flashed into her mind, tall, solid his red and black lumberman's plaid jacket stretched across wide shoulders.  Would you forget the one man your mother married who was worth a damn?

She turned off the water, and stepped out of the shower.  What kind of alchemy had this Ty Rundell used on Dean to get him to divulge her whereabouts? Through the years, her stepfather had been the one man she could trust. He was utterly incorruptible.  He loved only his cabin in the Adirondacks and his life in the wilderness. Fame, money, meant nothing to him. Dean was cool, logical, observant, and far more intelligent than most people recognized on the first meeting. It hit her then, as she swathed herself in the terry cloth robe, that Dean had to have some reason for putting this man on a direct  route to her door. What could it have been?

The soft knock came just as she emerged from the bath room. Her heart kicked up, accelerated. No man was going to reduce her to being afraid to answer her own door. She snatched the shower cap from her head, letting her hair spill over her shoulders, and pulled the terry cloth belt tighter around her middle before she opened the door.

He was there, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his feet bare. "I'm sorry to bother you," Ty Rundell said, and for some reason she believed him. "Deke woke up with this killer of a headache about twenty minutes ago, and neither of us has any medication.  Do you happen to have…"

"I'll get you some ibuprofen." She went back into the bathroom and returned with a bottle of white tablets. She held it out and he took it, his fingers brushing hers briefly at the moment of contact. She fought the urge to stuff her hand into the deep pocket of her terry cloth robe, wished those blue eyes weren't so disturbingly keen, and heard herself saying, "Would you like some ice?"

He hesitated, and then said politely, "Yes, if it isn't too much trouble."

"It's no trouble." She walked across to the kitchenette, which was just a corner of the apartment separated from the rest of the room by a snack bar, fished the small blue ice bag out of the bottom drawer, and, opening the refrigerator, began to fill it with the crushed ice she kept in a tray.

"You seem to be prepared for such emergencies."

The sound of his voice told her he had come closer. The slanted ceilings and peaked roof that had seemed airy closed in on her. "I was a Girl Scout," she said, handing him the bag, averting her eyes from the light dusting of dark curling hairs on his chest, the muscular breadth of his shoulders. His panache didn't depend on his expensive clothes; he was just as dangerous to her senses this way, in faded jeans clinging to lean hips and a snug-fitting dark blue T-shirt with a leather belt accenting the hard, flat stomach.

He moved to her to take the bag. She watched the working of the muscles in his shoulders as he extended his arm.  He was obviously a fan of working out.

"Deke will appreciate this," he said softly.

She scrambled mentally, trying to remember he’d come for Deke. "I hope he feels better in the morning."

"He will." Dark lashes flickered down. ''Thanks for these. If you're out and about tomorrow," he lifted the bottle, gesturing with it, “I’ll leave this with Viola."

"I-yes, fine." She agreed to his arrangement, feeling strangely let down.

With a smooth, lithe movement, he swung away from her. The black velvet of the hunting jacket shone vividly in the bright light, and she could have clocked the moment it caught his eye. At the door he turned, a faintly amused smile lifting his lips.  "Did you catch the fox?"

She met his eyes, instinctively pulling the belt tighter around her waist. "No.  She was too clever for us.  She got away."  She had a feeling he caught the double meaning in her words.

"Too bad." His blue eyes gleamed briefly with some undefinable emotion. "Better luck next time." He strode out the door, leaving her with the feeling of being…confused.

Two hours later, she still had not gone to bed. She was too restless. She sat in the big, overstuffed armchair, every light in the small sitting room on, a book in her hand that she hadn't looked at since she sat down, gazing out into the darkness through the slanted skylights that faced the north on the creek, seeing nothing, her mind numb. When the soft knock came again, she realized she’d been waiting for it.

He was completely dressed this time, wearing the leather jacket over a soft gauzy shirt of a dark gray color, the expensive shoes on his feet. "I've been watching your light, waiting for it to go off," he said, nodding toward the big skylight windows that threw yellow patches of brilliance on the creek below, "and thought since you were up anyway, I'd return these."  He held out the bottle of tablets.

She took them. "How is-Deke?"

The well-shaped mouth lifted in a slight smile. "Sleeping like a baby. Your treatment was just what the doctor ordered.''

"I'm glad." She let her eyes flicker over him. He was dressed to go out, and she wondered where he was going at this hour of the night.

As if she had spoken her thoughts aloud, he said, "I wasn't so lucky. Can't even close my eyes. I guess that little episode this afternoon bothered me more than I thought it did." He met her gaze steadily. "I keep thinking I could have killed you."

"But you didn't," she said coolly. "We were both…”

"Yes." He spun the word out, giving it an emphasis that made her skin prickle. She braced herself, when his shoulder moved dismissively under his jacket and he looked as if he were going to go. But he didn't. "I often go for a walk about this time of night after midnight." A small hesitation. "Would you come out with me? We do need to talk."

Those cool blue eyes watched her.  That classic face betrayed nothing of his thoughts.  He must be very good at poker.

To be wary of him now, at this point, was slightly ridiculous. If he were going to pounce or grab, he would have done it before this.  He had the perfect opportunity two hours ago, and he hadn’t done a thing.

Why did she have this feeling of wanting to know him better?  Maybe if she spent some time with him, his attraction would diminish.

That’s what you’re going to tell yourself?  Really?  Good luck with that.

“It will take me a minute or two to get dressed.”

“I’m in no hurry.  I'll wait outside," he murmured, and he left her and walked down the hall, pivoting at the head of the stairs, stretching his long leg past the second riser to avoid that creaking board.

In one day, he remembered what she’d forgotten after living here a year.

Ten minutes later, when Leigh stepped out into the chilly night, she was glad she had dressed in warm pants and a quilted ski jacket. She strolled down the walk, wondering where he was. Had he gone without her? A shadow near the trunk of the maple tree moved and he stepped into the dim light of the moon.  His chiseled features were even more beautiful in that pale glow.

"I'm sorry," he said at once, taking her hand. "I didn't mean to frighten you." He held her hand as he might have a child’s.  Her breath seemed to cling to her body and refuse to go out again. He was a dark shadow beside her, the impetus of his stride moving her along the worn path that led to the creek.

Fall scented the air, the fragrance of ripening apples and drying corn making a heady brew. Overhead, stars glittered, their brilliance magnified by the cool crispness.

In a low voice he said, "The stars seem close." They walked on until they reached the bank of the creek.  He seemed to be thinking. “There’s nothing like the sound of water bubbling over rocks.”

“In the summer, I keep my windows open so I can hear it.”

“Lucky you.  I’ve always wanted to live near water. This little creek is a gem, classic with the weeping willows growing along the bank.  It reminds me of one we had on a ranch where I worked in Wyoming.”

"I thought you were born in Los Angeles."

"No. I wasn't a show business brat like you. My father worked on a ranch. Still does. He thinks I'm crazy, a black mark on the Rundell name.  Meanwhile he spends his life taking orders from some big shot who probably doesn’t know as much about cattle as my dad."

A faint smile touched her lips. "He wanted you to be a cowboy?"

"Yeah."  There was a harshness in the slowly drawled word.

"You didn't want that?"

“Working on somebody else's ranch and snapping to whenever they decided there was work to be done, whether it was one o’clock in the morning or five o’clock on a Sunday afternoon?  I wasn’t cut out to be a hired hand.  Of course, my ranch hand background came in handy for breaking into stunt work.”

“I guess it did.”  They walked along the path that bordered the creek and the thought of him as a young, ambitious boy in Wyoming with no outlet for his talents dominated her thoughts, but when the shadow of a willow crossed his face and the moon highlighted the dark beauty of his well-shaped head and black hair, she remembered he was no longer a boy striving to break out of the mold; he was a successful writer and producer who moved in the cynical world of show business. She couldn’t let herself feel sorry for him.  “Is all this delving into your past supposed to encourage me to talk about mine?”

“It wasn’t supposed to encourage you to do a damn thing…except listen to a fellow human being talk about the things that keep him awake at night.” 

In the moonlight, her face was pale, her eyes dark shadows.  “I don’t feel sorry for you.  At least you can be proud of your family. They’re honest, decent people who work for a living.  You don’t have to feel your skin crawl every time someone says their name…”  Her voice broke.

"Leigh." He pulled her into his arms and the sweet, smoky scent of his clothes, the hard contours of his body under the leather nearly seduced her into staying there. 

“I shouldn’t have said that.  I don’t need your sympathy.”

“I wasn’t giving you sympathy.  I was giving you understanding.  Seems to me you’ve had damn little of that in your life.”

His head shadowed her from the moon, and his mouth came down on hers, soft, coaxing her to relax and take his kiss.  She fought the dark, rising tide of desire his mouth created as best she could, but her body wasn’t listening. 

He lifted his head and his face was kind.  "I know you, Leigh.  I know what you’ve been through.  Just let me offer you a little comfort from a fellow human being.”  His words were powerful, seductive, and though she fought not to give in, when his mouth hovered over hers once again, her own softened slowly, tentatively, and at last, allowed him access.  This is what she’d been looking for in her life, someone who understood her.  Ty’s mouth told her he was her match.

He sensed her surrender and sent his tongue to probe and caress. An elemental excitement poured through her veins. His intimate kiss was a heady champagne that both satisfied, yet made her thirsty. His hands found the zipper of her jacket, and he ran it down and spread his fingers over her back to pull her against him more tightly. She wore only a light cotton T-shirt, and the warmth and strength of his hands burned through the thin material, exploring, discovering the place on her back where there should have been a bra clip and wasn't.

His own jacket hung open, and the crush of his body on her breasts and the intimate way he cradled his hips to hers tantalized her with the heady thought that lying under him would be sheer ecstasy…

"No.  You don’t know me.  No one does."   A willow twig snapped under her foot. The sound cracked in the silent night.

"Wait a minute." A hand on her shoulder caught her, turned her around. "One minute you're acting like a normal human being, and the next, you’re a horse with a bur under its saddle."

"What's the matter?" She lifted her head and stared at him in the dark, seeing nothing but a tall, angry shape. "Didn't your little game plan work the way you thought it would? Didn't Claire Foster's daughter fall into your arms the way she was supposed to?"