One Magic Night (7 page)

He said, "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"I…I’m going out in the country."

He stretched out a hand and leaned against the opposite wall, trapping her on the landing. She fought the rise of awareness of him, the lean line of his throat, the way his belt circled a narrow waist, the taut muscles of thigh and leg covered by faded denim.

He studied her as if he were assessing her reaction to him. She fought to keep her face cool and force her breathing to a more normal rate, but her attempt to disguise her disturbed state must have been patently obvious to him. A lazy, self-assured smile tugged at his mouth. He asked, "Are you going by yourself?"

She didn't owe him an explanation.  She found herself giving it anyway.  "Yes. I'm going to collect enough corn stalks to make a corn shock and gather up some pumpkins to decorate my room at school."

The smile drifted upward a fraction of an inch. "Is that what everybody does in Springwater on a Sunday afternoon?"

"No, mostly they set up their antique shops and try to convince some unsuspecting city person to buy a slightly used horse hame or a spinning wheel.”

Ty arched an eyebrow.  "Rampant tourism," he said dryly.

The thought of Springwater being a tourist center made her mouth relax into a slight smile. "That's stretching it a little."

"Where are you going to get these decorative items?"

"From a farm where one of my students lives."

"Won't you need some help?"

"No. I can handle it."

The arm didn't move. "So you're going to send me up to my room to spend this beautiful day in solitary confinement."

Pushed, her gray eyes gleamed with antagonism. "You had things to do this morning," she said coolly. "I'm sure you'll find something to keep you occupied this afternoon."

He stared at her, his eyes speculative. Then he smiled, a warm, teasing smile. For some reason, her cool words had pleased him. "This morning I had other things on my mind."

The words were low, lazy, and they goaded her into action. She moved forward, thinking he would step aside to let her pass. He didn't. His body tensed and his arm tightened. She had only succeeded in putting herself right under his nose.  She looked up at him and defiance in her eyes, didn’t move.

His eyes narrowed and a frown brought his brows together, but he didn't say anything.

In a frosty tone, she said, "Would you let me by, please?"

He settled one shoulder against the wall and flattened his palm out on the other one as if he were a permanent wedge. "Why don't I go along and give you a hand at 'bringing in the sheaves'?”

She met his gaze with a cool, steady look. "I'm not going to grant you an interview, Mr. Rundell."

If he felt a reaction, he hid it. He gave a careless shrug. "That's your privilege.  It’s a moot point, anyway.  I decided this morning I was no longer interested in basing my movie on you."

His quiet words shook her.  She had not expected him to give up so easily. He had thrown her off guard.  She let her eyes flicker over his face, wondering if he really meant it. If he did, she should be relieved. Why wasn’t she? "Then there really isn't any point in our spending time together, is there?" She moved as if to walk past him.

He stood rock hard, unyielding.  "Oh, there's a point," he drawled. "The other night proved that."

"One kiss in the moonlight doesn’t prove anything.”

He dropped his arm from the wall and clasped her upper arms, his face unreadable. "Stop pretending with me, Leigh. You're as attracted to me as I am to you."

The contact of those lean fingers through the thin cotton of her blouse made her nerves sing with excitement.  "Okay.  I admit it.  I’m as attracted to you as you are to me.  Now what?”

She’d really thrown him. He stood there, staring at her.  She said, “I guess you’re not as interested in the truth as you thought you were.”

“I’m always interested in the truth.  I’m not sure that’s what I just heard.”  A cool blank look shuttered his face, and he let his hands fall away. With a mocking lift of his brow, he stepped aside.

She stood for a moment, shocked by his retreat. She had braced herself for…what? She didn't dare to think. She gathered herself and slipped past him to fly down the stairs.  It was only after she got into the car and drove up the steep hill out of Springwater that her breathing slowed and her heart resumed its normal pace.

Ten minutes later, she pulled off the road and into the gravel driveway that curved in front of a low, white farm house. A maple tree in the yard had turned cherry red, its umbrella of leaves shimmering like a blaze of fire. Saucers of white Queen Anne's lace dotted the yard between the house and the barn, and when she got out of the car, she could hear the hum of bees as they gathered the last of summer's nectar.

Stan Fielding, his rounded figure clad in overalls, sauntered toward her from the back door of the house. "Finally come to collect those stalks of corn, did you?"

She nodded and got out of the car, feeling a sense of relief at being here in this sun-splashed hill country. Stan, like her stepfather, Dean, clung to the land. He drove forty miles to work every day in the city in order to live on this eighty-acre farm tucked against the hills. He kept a small herd of milking cows, black-and-white Holsteins, and a few feeder cattle, red Herefords.  She could see them grazing in the hilly pasture above her.

"I didn't cut it cause I wasn't sure when you'd be out to get it."  He cast a look back at the house, and she knew she had interrupted his late Sunday dinner.  "If you give me the corn knife, I can do it."

Stan gazed off at a distant hill, squinting. "I just sharpened it. Sure you won't cut your leg off?"

Leigh's mouth quirked. "I'm sure."

Stan thought it over for another minute, his lips pursed, his hand rubbing his cheek.

"I caught you in the middle of Sunday dinner, didn't I?" she prodded softly.

He nodded. "Will you come in and have some dessert?  Tom said as how you liked pumpkin pie.”

She smiled. "No, thanks. You'd better go on back and have your share before that teenage boy of yours eats it all. I can manage."

He squinted, tugged at an earlobe. She had seen his son do the same thing when he was trying to puzzle out an answer in her class.

"Okay. Just be careful, you hear?"

She stifled a smile. "I hear."

He walked away in the direction of the barn and returned in a few minutes carrying the long-handled knife. The blade itself was dark with use, but the cutting edge shone with a bright, lethally sharp glitter.

"See that edge?" He tilted his head, looking at her. "Now mind what I said, Miss Carlow."

"I'll be careful. Thanks." She started to go, then turned back. "Stan, I'll need twenty stalks."

"Take as much as you want," he said, favoring her with a slow smile. "Cows won't miss the little bit you need. At least you asked. Some folks don't." He gave her directions to the stand of corn he wanted her to use and handed her the knife. She took it from him, trying to disguise the shock she felt as its heavy weight dragged her arm down. She clamped a firmer grip around the black tape-wrapped handle, thanked him, and turned back to her car.

At the end of the driveway she waited for a car to pass and then pulled out on the road.

A minute or two later, she drove onto a grassy shoulder, got out, walked to the wire fence, and swung her jeaned leg over. Her graceful stride took her across the stubble, the brittle stocks making crackling sounds under her sneakers.

She reached the standing corn. Long fan leaves rattled together in dry protest. No longer green, the stalks were shades of beige and brown, streaked like weathered wood.  The yellow tassels whispered in the breeze. 

Need any help bringing in the sheaves?

The low husky words shivered through her mind. She remembered what he said, and her mind served it up to her in an unguarded moment.  The soft rustle of the corn leaves turned faintly mocking.

Goaded by the need to forget Ty Rundell's voice, she tramped into the corn and seized the nearest stalk just below the tassel, showering seeds over her hand and down her arm. She ignored their tickling brush and swung at the bottom of the stalk. With one quick slice, she separated stalk from root with speedy efficiency and tossed it to the ground.

"Remind me never to accost you in a dark alley if you’ve got a knife in your hand."

The voice that had been in her head was in her ears. She started in surprise and whirled around. Ty stood a foot away, his black hair catching the gleam of the sun.  He had shed his jacket and changed clothes. He wore jeans that would have rivaled Deke's for longevity and a white shirt open at the throat with the cuffs rolled back.  He looked amused, relaxed, and far from the man she had left on the landing only moments ago. Why hadn't she heard his approach? And how had he known exactly where to find her?

Her eyes flickered past him to the sporty white Trans Am parked just behind her car. It was Eve's. Her friend had not only loaned Ty her car, she had directed him straight to Stan Fielding, no doubt.

"She said she owed you one. She said you'd know what she meant. I have a hunch you do." He gave her a lazy, considering glance that flickered down the length of the corn knife.  "Are you going to use that on me?" He took a step forward.

The feeling of unreality vanished. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Would it offend your feminist sensibilities if I offered to help?"  He nodded at the corn.

She hesitated, vacillating. Common sense told her he wasn't going to go away, and she'd be much more comfortable if he was cutting the corn rather than watching her do it. "As long as you're here, you may as well make yourself useful."

He seemed mildly surprised, the amused smile still curving his lips as he stepped forward. She let the knife dangle down and offered it to him handle up.

His fingers closed over hers momentarily before he lifted the knife away, reminding her that those same warm male fingers had clasped her in the cool early morning and pulled her close.

A lithe movement turned him toward the corn, and with a supple grace, he bent and slashed the stalk, catching it as it fell. He cut down another, the slight whistle of air against blade followed by the crack of steel against stalk. The play of his muscles under the white shirt was disturbing, but not any more so than the stance of his legs, slightly spread to give him balance as he swung, or the press of his firm, rounded buttocks against the well-worn denim as he leaned over to pick up each stalk and toss it on the growing pile.

When he had done several, he turned to her. "Were you planning to have me fell the rest of the field?"

She dropped her gaze to the heaped pile, her cheeks flushed. She'd forgotten to count. "No, that should be enough."

In one smooth motion, he handed her the knife, scooped up the mound of stalks, and began to walk in front of her toward the fence line, his hips moving easily, a muscular grace and strength obvious in every step he took. She hesitated for a moment and then fell in behind him, trying desperately to look away from that lithe male figure.

At the fence line he stopped and waited. She understood his unspoken request and walked around him to press the fence down with her foot. Even with his burden of corn, he swung over the low barrier easily. At the car he said, "Where do you want these?"

"In my trunk. Just a minute, I have to unlock it." She dug in the pocket of her jeans and found the key, conscious that her action had tautened the denim across her hips and that he watched with evident male enjoyment as she took the key out and bent to unlock the car.

The corn did not fit into the trunk, of course, but Ty bent his dark head and ducked under the lid to readjust the mound so that just the tassels protruded. He straightened. Tiny bits of corn tassel and dried leaves clung to his white shirt.  She was responsible for them. 

“You’re a mess.”  She reached out and brushed them off, feeling that muscled chest under the cotton.  He stood there, his eyes gleaming with obvious enjoyment.  When she finished, he said, "Where are you going now?"

"To the schoolhouse." His physical presence had intensified the heat of the sun, and perspiration trickled down her back.

"I'll come and help you.”

She brushed a strand of honey-colored hair away from her cheek and faced him, her head high. "Really, it’s not necessary, Ty.  You’ve done enough."

He stretched out an arm and leaned on the roof of her car, the gesture vaguely reminiscent of the way he trapped her on the stairwell, and he smiled that wonderful, lazy smile. "What do I have to do to convince you that I’m on your side?"

“I didn’t know we had sides.”

“Sure we do.  And I’m on yours.” 

“Good to know. 

The movement of his shoulder sent a brown tassel seed tumbling down the front of his shirt.  “If you’re so anxious to continue to drown yourself in corn chaff, follow me to the school house.”

She drove up to another farm driveway, made a U-turn, and accelerated past him.  He got in Eve’s car and followed her.

She pulled up in front of the schoolhouse. The two-story red brick building was shaded by four tall maples clustered on the west side, but on the east a low, modern elementary building had been attached three years ago.