The Thawing of Mara (7 page)

But Sin didn't immediately follow her as he paused to say goodbye to her father. "I enjoyed meeting you, Adam."

"The pleasure was mine. As you can see, I don't get out much." Her father patted the armrest of his wheelchair, indicating his condition without asking for pity. "But I hope you find time to stop by for a visit again."

"Thank you. I'll try." His glance at Mara said that he was aware she didn't echo the invitation. "Good day, Miss Prentiss."

There was controlled amusement in the warmth of his resonant voice. It taunted her into offering a stilted, "Good day, Mr. Buchanan," as she opened the door for him.

His wide-shouldered bulk moved past her, his laconic strength evident in the ease of his long strides. Mara caught a whiff of some exotic male fragrance mixed with tobacco smoke. Then he was out of the door.

She closed the door, but it wasn't so easy to shut out his existence from her mind. Turning, she walked back to the sink and the now lukewarm dishwater. Through the window she could see Sin effortlessly jogging back the way he had come.

"I don't want you to encourage him to make social calls here, Adam," she stated, recalling her father's parting invitation. "I want the relationship to remain strictly landlord and tenant minus needless personal complications."

"I'm sure Sin is aware of your views," he replied in a dryly exasperated tone.

"I don't want you making friends with him, Adam," Mara restated her demand.

"You've never been concerned about who my friends are before. Why this sudden insistence that Sin Buchanan should not be among them?" Adam was both puzzled and intensely curious.

"I told you." She didn't look up from the skillet she was cleaning. "He's a tenant. Business and friendship don't mix."

"There's no business involved—at least, not between Sin and myself. He leases the cottage from you, not me," he reminded her. "So that argument doesn't stand up."

"Yes, I leased him the cottage," Mara snapped, "but I don't want him in this house!"

A slow half smile spread across her father's mouth. "He bothers you, doesn't he?" He tipped his head to one side, studying her in a considering manner.

"I don't know what you mean." She turned the tap on full force to rinse the soapsuds from the skillet.

"No," he replied and then paused. "Probably you don't."

Mara didn't want to explore the reasons behind that remark. "What are you going to do if Sinclair Buchanan comes here again?" she demanded.

"He's my neighbor. If he comes, I'll invite him in," Adam stated.

"You'd do that after what I've just asked you?" She turned on him roundly.

"I not only would, but given the chance, I will," he declared in open challenge.

"This happens to be my house," Mara reminded him in a cold voice.

"Sin Buchanan would be my guest. I've always invited whatever friends I pleased into this house in the past. You've never objected to who came to see me before—why are you making an exception with Sin?" There was a certain shrewd gleam in his dark eyes that Mara didn't like.

"The circumstances are different," she said in rigid defense of her reasons.

"No, they aren't," Adam denied that. "Besides, half the time when someone comes over to see me, you're off in some other room. If and when Sin ever comes here, you can go and hide in another part of the house until he leaves."

"Hide?" Her anger nearly boiled over, but she checked herself in time to insist acidly, "I'm not afraid of him."

"No?" A dark eyebrow lifted in her direction and shortly leveled out to its former line. "Well, he certainly does have the ability to upset you, doesn't he?" Reversing his wheelchair from the table, he swung it toward the hall door. "I'm going to finish reading the newspaper in the other room."

Mara stared after him. She had not lost an argument with her father since he had come back after the accident. He had always given in to her. But on this issue of Sin Buchanan, he had stood his ground and gone against her wishes. Mara was fully aware that he could be as stubborn as she was.

Chapter Four

ON MONDAY MORNING Mara arrived at the cottage to find all three rooms neat and orderly. There were no dirty dishes in the sink or an unmade bed. No magazines or papers were scattered around the living room. A list of grocery items was taped to the refrigerator door for Mara to obtain for the following weekend. It took less than an hour for her to dust and sweep the cottage.

During the week, she interviewed three women who responded to the advertisement she had placed in the paper. Two of them did not have transport and the third had simply not impressed her. So on Friday she was the one who bought the groceries and aired the cottage in preparation for Sin's arrival, finishing well before noon to avoid accidentally meeting him.

On Saturday and Sunday mornings, Mara saw him out jogging. Both times she was washing the breakfast dishes. Each time he lifted a hand in a casual wave in the direction of the window above the sink, but neither time did he approach the house. Mara didn't wave back, and she didn't care if the omission was rude. She didn't mention to her father that she had seen him nor that Sin had waved to her.

When she went to the cottage on the next Monday morning to clean, she discovered some changes had been made over the weekend. An old-fashioned davenport with upright armrests was positioned in front of the fireplace. It was upholstered in a plush fabric patterned with varying shades of green. An alpaca area rug in its natural cream color covered the square of floor between the davenport and fireplace.

An old easy chair in a deep shade of gold sat to one side. A tall floor lamp with a forest green shade stood beside it along with a combination table and magazine rack of carved oak. A rolltop desk was against one wall with its matching straight-backed chair. The bareness of the walls was alleviated by framed prints of countryside scenes done by local artists.

A few touches were still needed, but this beginning was pleasing. Yet Mara found herself wondering somewhat critically how much of the decor was due to the redhead's influence rather than to Sin Buchanan's taste.

The cleaning that needed to be done was less than before. There was a basket of dirty sheets and towels in the utility room. Mara washed and dried them. As she started to put them away, she checked first to be certain clean sheets had been put on the bed and that it hadn't been made up without them.

It hadn't. A pair of chocolate satin sheets were on the bed. They felt smooth and sexy to the touch. A fitting choice for a bachelor's bed, Mara thought, a curious rage building within her.

Quickly she finished putting the clean laundry away and returned to her own home. She didn't mention to her father the changes that had been made at the cottage. They had both avoided any topic connected with Sin Buchanan since their discussion more than a week ago.

As she started to get lunch ready, the telephone rang. Mara didn't pay any attention to its demanding ring, knowing her father would answer it in the other room.

"It's for you, Mara," he called to her.

"I'm in the middle of getting lunch. Tell whoever it is that I'll call back later." She continued peeling the shells off the hard-boiled eggs.

"It's long distance," said Adam.

"Long distance?" she echoed, and rinsed her hands under the running tap. "I'll be right there!"

She hurried toward the study while drying her hands on a towel. A frown creased her forehead as she mentally ran through the possible identity of her long-distance caller. Adam was behind the large desk when she entered, and he handed her the telephone receiver. She missed the bright light gleaming in his eyes.

"This is Mara Prentiss."

"Thank you, Miss Prentiss. One moment, please," the impersonal voice of the operator responded, and she directed her next words to the person on the other end of the line. "I have your party for you now, sir."

"Thank you, operator. Miss Prentiss? This is Sin Buchanan." His familiar voice sounded so close that Mara wouldn't have been surprised to discover he was in the next room. Every inch of her seemed to become suddenly very alert. "How are you?"

The polite phrase prompted a polite response. "Fine, thank you." Mara had taken it as an impersonal, automatic inquiry. She glanced at her father and realized he had known all along who was calling. She turned her back to him.

"Then your arm is all right?" It was a questioning statement.

"My arm?" Mara frowned at the telephone.

"Yes, I thought it might be broken. Usually when you wave at a person, they wave back unless there's something wrong." The comment was offered in a disinterested fashion as if Sin didn't really care to hear any explanation of why she hadn't had the courtesy to return his greeting.

"Oh." Mara didn't attempt an explanation. "Was that why you called?"

"Yes, as well as to learn how you're progressing with my housekeeper," he told her.

That was the primary reason for the phone call, Mara knew. The previous remark had just been made to needle her. "I've interviewed three women so far. Would you like me to send you their applications and references?"

"Did you consider any of the three suitable for the position?" Sin countered.

"No." She kept her voice coolly restrained and forced her fingers to relax the strangling grip they had on the receiver.

"Then there isn't any reason for me to look at the applications, is there, Miss Prentiss?" There was an indulgent ring to his voice as if he were reasoning with a child.

Mara gritted her teeth and tried not to snap at him. "No, I suppose not."

"Please keep me informed." It was closer to an order than a request.

"I will," she promised with cool dignity.

"Goodbye, Miss Prentiss."

"Goodbye," Mara responded, and replaced the receiver on its cradle without waiting to hear if he had anything further to add.

"That was Sin Buchanan, wasn't it?" her father asked.

"Yes," she admitted. "He just called to see if I'd found someone to clean the cottage for him."

"What was that about your arm?" He eyed the taut line of her mouth thoughtfully.

"Somewhere he got the mistaken impression that I'd injured it." Mara shrugged with feigned ignorance of the cause.

"Where did he get that idea?" Adam questioned.

"I really don't know," she lied. "You'll have to excuse me, I have some soup warming on the stove."

That week Mara interviewed two more applicants for the position. Neither of them did she hire on Sin's behalf. When the second had left following the interview, Adam rolled his wheelchair out of the study.

"That woman sounded capable. Why didn't you hire her?" he asked.

"She sounded capable," Mara agreed, stressing the verb as qualification. "But her hair wasn't combed, her blouse needed ironing, and she had dirt under her fingernails."

"So?"

"If she's that careless with her appearance, what makes you think she'd take any more pains to keep the cottage neat and tidy?" she retorted.

"You could be right," Adam conceded. "But keep in mind, Mara, that no one is going to be as perfect as you are."

There was a painful throbbing in her temples. Mara rubbed a forefinger against it and sighed. "Why don't you just be quiet, Adam?" It carried the faintest sound of a defeated plea for peace. She let her hand fall to her side and lifted her head, giving herself a mental shake. "Did you have those notes ready for me to type?"

"Yes, they're on the desk," he replied, and watched her closely as she walked from the living room.

ANOTHER WEEKEND came and went. The only glimpse Mara had of her tenant was when he went for his morning jog. He always looked in the direction of the kitchen window, but he no longer waved.

On Monday morning Mara found a few more additions to the cottage. A wooden bookshelf was against one wall of the living room, complete with a varied selection of books. An antique mantel clock was above the fireplace, flanked by a pair of hurricane lamps. Some clothes were left in the bedroom closet and chest of drawers. All were masculine, a fact Mara couldn't help noticing. The expected list of supplies was taped to the refrigerator. The careless scrawl of Sin's handwriting was becoming very familiar.

It rained most of the week. The weather remained damp and cold. The trees lost their autumn luster, their leaves turning brown and carpeting the ground. So few leaves remained on the branches that the trees looked moth-eaten and tattered.

When the sun burst through on Saturday morning, Mara took advantage of the break in the weather to rake the ankle-deep leaves from the yard. Since they were so sodden with moisture, it was hard, physical work, but it felt good to be outside after so many days of being shut in by the rain.

This sentiment was shared by her father. His wheelchair was positioned on the patio where a stream of sunlight laid a golden square on the bricks. Despite the sunshine, there was the chill of coming winter in the air. A red plaid blanket was draped across Adam's paralyzed legs to provide the warmth his fleece-lined jacket couldn't.