The Thawing of Mara (6 page)

With the morning meal over, she stacked the dishes in the sink and filled it with hot, sudsy water. Her father's wheelchair remained positioned at the table while he read the newspaper and sipped a cup of coffee.

Mechanically Mara began washing the dishes. One by one she washed them, rinsed them and stacked them on the draining board to dry. Her mind seemed blank as she performed the task, her gaze straying out the window above the sink to the woods beyond.

A large patch of blue caught her eye, and focusing on it, she saw a figure coming up the rutted trail from the cottage. It was Sin Buchanan, dressed in a sky-blue jogging suit. A black stripe ran down the long length of the legs. His muscled frame moved in effortless, athletic strides. The premature gray of his hair was at odds with the rest of him, a perfect male specimen in the prime of his manhood.

Mara watched him cross the cattle guard and approach the house at an easy, jogging pace. She expected him to turn up the driveway toward the graveled country road, and an alarm jangled through her nerves as she realized his destination was the vicinity of the back door.

In a sudden spurt of activity she began washing the dishes at a faster rate. Then a knock at the back door brought a stiffening of her spine, and the newspaper rustled as her father set it aside.

"I wonder who that could be," he murmured.

"I'll see." Mara avoided his questioning gaze as she dried her sudsy hands with a terry towel.

She walked to the door, steeling her features to be expressionless. When she opened it, Sin Buchanan stood outside, as she had known he would. His relaxed stance indicated that he felt totally at ease. Mara felt a fluttering tension in her stomach.

The even rise and fall of his broad chest revealed that the long jog from the cottage to the house had not left him winded. Her gaze lifted to his face and met the smoky blue of his eyes. They seemed somehow shuttered, his inner thoughts hidden from her. If anything, his eyes only reflected the coolness of her attitude. Her gaze flicked to his steel-gray hair that was so strangely in keeping with the dynamic thrust of his vitality.

"Good morning, Miss Prentiss." There was a sardonic lilt to his low-pitched voice.

"Was there something you needed, Mr. Buchanan?" Mara skipped the greeting to demand a reason for his appearance.

"Yes, there is." A faint light gleamed in his eyes, deriding her for asking a perfectly obvious question.

From behind her came Adam's voice. "Don't stand there with the door open, Mara—it's creating a draft. Invite him in."

The sheer practicality of the suggestion couldn't be ignored, as much as Mara wished that it could be. Her fingers tightened around the doorknob. Her impulse was to step outside to speak to him privately, without her father listening in, rather than to invite Sin Buchanan inside the house.

But there was a nip in the autumn morning. The warmth of Sin's breath was making a vaporous cloud in the outside air. Mara realized that if she attempted to conduct this conversation out of doors she would soon be shivering. The last thing she wanted to do was attempt to discuss business with her teeth chattering.

Reluctantly Mara swung the door wide to admit him. "Please come in, Mr. Buchanan." There was little welcome in her voice. Mostly it held a grudging tolerance for his presence.

"Thank you." His response, too, was merely a polite expression without a foundation in sincerity. "I hope I'm not intruding."

As far as Mara was concerned, he was a definite intrusion and she had no intention of denying it. Unfortunately her father was inclined otherwise.

"Of course you're not, Mr. Buchanan," Adam insisted. "We've already had breakfast. Mara was just washing the dishes while I finished reading the paper. There is some coffee left, isn't there, Mara? Why don't you offer Mr. Buchanan a cup?"

She sent her father a silencing look. "I'm sure Mr. Buchanan has already had his morning coffee." Her glance challenged Sin to dispute her claim.

The amused slant of his mouth lacked humor. "As a matter of fact, I didn't take time for coffee before I left the cottage."

"Pour the gentleman a cup, Mara," her father instructed.

"All that's left is the bottom of the pot," she added a last warning, irritated that Sin Buchanan was taking advantage of the hospitality he must guess she didn't wish to extend.

"I like my coffee strong and black," he informed her, and glanced at her father. "Thank you for offering, Mr. Prentiss," expressing his gratitude to whom it was due.

"Sit down." Her father waved a hand to indicate a chair at the table. "And please call me Adam. With you staying at the cottage, you're virtually our closest neighbor, and I've never liked formality between neighbors."

"Neither have I," was the agreement. "I didn't introduce myself on Friday. Sinclair Buchanan," he identified himself, and shook hands with Adam before sitting in one of the chairs.

Having emptied the coffeepot into a mug, Mara carried it to the table and set it in front of him. "I believe your friends call you Sin, don't they?" Her subtle jibe was followed by the thought, Sin by name and sin by nature.

His blue eyes glanced up at her, challenge lurking in their steely depths. "That's correct," he admitted.

Immediately her remark seemed churlish. "You said you liked your coffee black?" She sought his affirmation to cover her previous words.

"Yes, thank you." The frosted gray hair inclined briefly in affirmation, something vaguely condescending in the action. As Sin lifted the mug to sip the scalding hot coffee, his gaze was directed at her father. "Adam Prentiss—I have the feeling I should know that name."

Adam had been studying his daughter. At the questioning remark addressed to him, he brought his attention back to the man at the table.

"I'm something of a local historian," he offered in explanation.

"Adam is being falsely modest," Mara inserted. "He's a very well known Civil War historian."

"That's where I've heard your name, then." Sin absorbed the information Mara supplied but ignored the acid sting in her voice. "A close friend of mine is an avid Civil War buff, and your name probably came up in our conversation."

Mara felt a curiosity for the identity of his friend and heard herself inquire skeptically, "Miss Taylor?" His red-haired mistress didn't seem the type to her.

"No." Sardonic amusement danced in his eyes while the rest of Sin's strong features remained smoothly expressionless. "A close male friend of mine."

Mara had the distinct impression that she had walked into a trap he had neatly set for her, and she didn't like the feeling. Sin Buchanan was an irritating and offensive man. She wished she could stop rising to his bait and learn to ignore it.

He was speaking again, this time to Adam. "I believe John mentioned your name as the author of a book he'd recently read about the Battle of Gettysburg."

"That's possible," her father conceded with a faint smile. "I have written one on the subject. It's a comfort to know someone has read if and it isn't gathering dust on the library shelves."

"I confess that I know very little about the battle or the Civil War." But Sin Buchanan wasn't apologizing for his ignorance or previous lack of interest.

"When the South lost the Battle of Gettysburg, they virtually lost the war even though it dragged on for another two years," Adam explained the significance of the battle in history.

"I don't think Mr. Buchanan is interested in hearing a lecture on it." Mara stated before her father could warm to his favorite subject. She turned a challenging look toward the blandly guarded expression of her tenant. "You said there was something you wanted to speak to me about, Mr. Buchanan?" She pointedly reminded him of the reason for his visit.

The slashing lines that ran from nose to mouth became more pronounced. Behind his lazy regard, Mara sensed he was laughing at her, silently, cynically. It heightened her feeling of antagonism toward him.

"Yes, there is," Sin admitted. "I want to make arrangements to have someone to clean the cottage on a weekly basis and have it in readiness for my weekend visits."

"I see," she murmured, and waited for him to continue.

"Since I'm new to the area, I thought you might recommend a responsible person for the job," he explained.

She couldn't argue with his logical request, but neither could she fulfill it. "Offhand, I can't think of anyone," she shrugged.

"Perhaps I can impose on you to find someone," he suggested. "It's difficult to conduct interviews long-distance, as well as time-consuming."

Silently Mara wished that he wasn't so damned logical. She wanted to disagree with him, but his proposal made too much sense.

"I'm flattered that you should trust my judgment." The ring of sarcasm in her voice eliminated the pleasure implied by her words.

"We both have a vested interest in ensuring that the cottage is well kept. Since you own it, you wouldn't want to see the property neglected, while I want to enjoy it in comfort," Sin reasoned with equitable calm.

"I quite agree." Mara paused to control the sharpness of her tongue. "But you must understand the difficulty in finding a reliable person who'll be willing to come so far out of the way. We're located off the beaten track."

Her comment didn't elicit an immediate response. Mara watched as Sin lifted the coffee mug to his firmly defined mouth. His large hand encircled the mug, a healthy tan coloring his skin. She felt her tension building from the volatile undercurrents rippling through the air. Her gaze strayed past Sin to her father, who was observing the subtly charged byplay between them with growing interest. Adam's presence aggravated the situation.

"I am aware it may not be easy, Miss Prentiss." Sin replaced the mug on the table, the fingers of both hands encircling it. He studied the mug for a moment before sliding his veiled gaze to her. "Naturally I'm more than willing to compensate you for your services."

"Naturally," she countered dryly. It seemed money was never an object where he was concerned.

"In the meantime, I'll need someone to look after the place while I'm gone during the week. I don't know whether it's proper to ask my landlady to do it or not, but you're conveniently close to the cottage." His mouth quirked in a half smile. "If you could spare the time to clean it after I leave and make sure it's aired and relatively well stocked with supplies before I arrive, I would greatly appreciate it."

Mara hesitated as she considered the alternatives. If she refused, there was the risk of dirt and dust collecting to the point where the cottage would need a major cleaning. Considering the time, money and effort she had put into it to this point, it would be foolish to let it get into a state of neglect.

"I can temporarily look after the cottage while I look for a reliable person to take over the duty," she agreed without realizing that her tone of voice made it sound as if she was doing him an enormous favor.

"Thank you, Miss Prentiss." Sin expressed his gratitude in a decidedly mocking way.

A surge of irritation was stifled with an effort. "I'll need to know what qualifications you're seeking in a housekeeper."

"You would know more about that than I do," he shrugged.

"What are you willing to pay, then?" Mara questioned.

"Whatever is fair. Perhaps you could make a suggestion on that." He put the question back to her.

"As long as the cottage isn't left in too much of a mess, it shouldn't require more than a couple of hours to clean and dust the rooms on a Monday. About the same amount of time would be needed on Friday to air it and be certain whatever supplies you requested would be on hand." Mara voiced her thoughts aloud, sliding in a coolly subtle reprimand that he shouldn't leave the cottage too cluttered and dirty. "With traveling expenses back and forth from town, I should think fifty dollars a week would be a fair salary. Would you be willing to pay that, Mr. Buchanan?"

"I don't quibble over prices," he informed her with a distantly amused light in his eyes. "As long as I get what I want, I'm not concerned about the cost."

His supreme confidence grated at Mara. The carriage of her head became more stiffly erect and her attitude more withdrawn. "Very well, that's the salary I shall quote. Was there anything else?" Rising from her chair, she indicated by her action that if there was nothing, he should leave.

"No, that was all. Thanks for the coffee." Releasing the mug from the encirclement of his hands, Sin indolently uncoiled his length to dominate her with his height.

"There's no need to rush off," her father protested amiably.

The dark fires in her eyes smoldered in her father's direction as Mara curved her mouth into a false smile. "I'm sure Mr. Buchanan is aware that by now Miss Taylor is probably wondering where he disappeared to."

"Celene was sleeping when I left," Sin offered the information unasked. "She isn't an early riser. She'll probably still be in bed when I get back and I'll have to wake her."

Mara had an immediate mental picture of just how Sin would go about it. An unreasoning anger stabbed through her and she felt herself bristling because of it.

"No doubt she'll be pleased," she murmured sarcastically, and moved toward the door to escort Sin out.