Unsuitable (7 page)

He stopped short, pressing his lips together. “Sorry. I forget that not everyone is as fascinated by all this as I am.”

“Go on, please.”

But his communicative mood had passed. He stood. “I don’t want to bore you. Connecticut is not the livestock capital of the world, and sometimes I wind up a little short of interested listeners.”

“I can understand that you miss having someone to talk to,” Carrie said softly.

He paused in the act of clearing the table. “I never had anyone to talk to,” he said quietly. “You can’t miss something you never had.”

“But John’s mother,” Carrie began.

“She had her own interests, and they didn’t include the price of feed or the availability of Western saddles,” Jason said shortly. “Would you like some coffee?”

Carrie nodded, rising to help him. She followed his lead as they put things away and stacked the dishes in the sink, working in silence. Carrie’s mind was racing, trying to put together the clues he dropped like random pebbles into a pool. His lovely wife had not been concerned with his business, then. What of it? A husband and wife could share enough in bed to make everything else insignificant.

“Dad, when are we going to get started?” Johnny’s voice rang out stridently from the back of the house.

Carrie chuckled. “I hope he doesn’t play for money,” she said to Jason.

He plugged in the coffeepot. “He certainly does. Are you solvent?”

“I have about twelve dollars in my purse.”

Jason sighed. “That sounds a little short. He takes IOU’s though. He’s into Mark for ten baseball cards and a trip to the Hartford Auto Show. Are you ready to face The Gambler?”

Carrie squared her shoulders in mock resolution. “I’m ready.”

They joined Johnny in his bedroom, where he had cleared a space on his blanket for the game.

“What took you guys so long?” he complained. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”

“I doubt that, John,” his father said. “No cheating, now. You’re playing with a lady.”

“I never cheat,” Johnny replied, outraged.

“That’s not what Mark said,” Jason replied loftily, catching Carrie’s eye.

“He’s a sore loser,” Johnny said disgustedly, shuffling the cards. “Do you want to deal, Miss Maxwell?”

“You can do the honors,” Carrie answered, taking the seat Jason offered her next to the bed. When Jason sat down also Johnny flexed his fingers and began spitting out cards like a Vegas blackjack dealer.

“Let the game begin,” Jason intoned. Carrie giggled.

Johnny glared at both of them, offended. “Are you going to be serious, or not?”

“Not,” Jason said, and Johnny stopped dealing.

“Just kidding,” he amended, and the boy resumed the action. Jason glanced at Carrie, who looked away to keep from laughing.

They played three games and Carrie won two of them. Between hands Johnny allowed them to pause long enough for Jason to bring the coffee in from the kitchen. Otherwise he was all business. At the conclusion of the last game Carrie fanned her cards on the bed and said, “Gin.”

Johnny tossed his cards into a heap. “I give up.”

“No, you lose,” his father said.

“You owe me two thousand, three hundred dollars,” Carrie announced.

“I thought we were playing for pennies!” Johnny said.

“Did we agree to that?” Carrie asked Jason, wrinkling her forehead.

He shrugged. “You should have gotten it in writing, John.”

“Very funny,” Johnny said sourly. “Boy, Miss Maxwell, you sure can do a lot of things for a teacher.”

“Thank you,” Carrie said. “I think.”

“Bedtime, boyo,” Jason said, standing up and collecting the cards.

“Oh, no, Dad. Come on. Miss Maxwell is here.”

“And you have a therapy session at nine in the morning. Do you want to sleep through Dr. Weston’s visit?”

“Not a bad idea,” Johnny observed darkly.

Carrie helped Jason straighten the room, which was littered with magazines and books as well as the remains of several snacks.

“I can’t wait for you to get back on your feet, kid,” Jason said, tossing a brown apple core into the trash can by the door. “You’re going to clean this room with a fire hose.”

“It’s not my fault I’m laid up,” Johnny said, smiling slyly.

“Oh yes, and how you hate being waited on all the time,” Jason replied. “It must be a terrible trial.”

“My cast itches,” Johnny said trying to distract his father from the subject of his indolence.

“It will be off soon,” Jason said. “I’ll be back in ten minutes and I want your light out by then. And no reading under the covers or I confiscate the flashlight.”

Johnny sighed dramatically. “Good night, Miss Maxwell. Thanks for the game.”

“You’re welcome. Sleep tight.”

She left with Jason, who shut the door behind them. He held up a forefinger, listening for suspicious noises, but they heard nothing.

“Last week I got up in the middle of the night and found him watching television with an ear jack Rose had given him,” Jason said to Carrie as they went back to the living room. “
My Friend Flicka
at three in the morning. The kid is amazing.” He bent to pick up a bundle of kindling from a storage space in the wall and began to lay firewood.

Carrie sat in one of the wing chairs that flanked the fireplace and watched him work. When he had it ready he put a match to the pile and it blazed reassuringly.

“That will take the chill off,” he said, standing and dusting his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “I’d better check on Johnny. Be right back.”

Carrie heard his footsteps fade and then return. “He’s passed out cold,” Jason reported.

“What did you expect? He bet the homestead and lost.”

“He’s really a pretty good player for his age, though, don’t you think?” Jason asked, a note of pride creeping into his voice.

“Very good,” Carrie said, smiling.

He sat on the floor at her feet and hugged his knees, staring into the blaze. “It was nice of you to spend the time with him,” Jason said quietly. “I appreciate it.”

“I enjoyed myself,” Carrie answered.

They fell silent, and there was no sound except the snap and hiss of the logs and the distant beating of the rain on the roof.

“You’ve been awfully good about getting stranded tonight,” Jason commented after a while, without looking at her. “I know it’s an inconvenience for you.”

“No problem,” Carrie managed in a whisper, not trusting herself to say too much.

He turned his head to gaze up at her. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said huskily.

“So am I.”

He looked back at the fire, and after a moment he shifted to lean against the leg of her chair. If she moved her hand from the armrest she could have touched his head. Her fingers curled in on themselves with the urge to caress and she balled them into a fist. Firelight danced in his hair, infusing its golds and browns with a reddish hue. Carrie tore her eyes away.

I am so in love with him, she thought. How could she have fallen so hard, so fast? She had met him just a month ago and already he had changed her life forever. But somehow that knowledge was not as alarming as it should have been. She was with him now, if only for this night, and she was secure and peaceful, sharing the room and the ruddy blaze with the person whose company she most desired. Words were not necessary. She sighed contentedly and settled back in the chair, lulled by the sound of the rain and the comfort of Jason’s quiet presence. The flames blurred before her gaze and she was asleep.

* * * *

Carrie opened her eyes to see Jason above her, his face only inches away. He was leaning over her chair, his tawny hair rumpled and his features softened by the dying firelight behind him.
 

“Let’s go to bed,” he said.

Chapter 4

What?” Carrie said, struggling awake.

“I said it’s time we went to bed. It’s almost midnight and the fire is going out. You dozed off.”

“Oh,” she responded, sitting up and looking around her. The hall and the kitchen beyond it were bathed in a rosy glow. “What’s that red light?” she asked, as he took her hand and helped her up.

“The auxiliary system. The power lines must be down. It came on while you were asleep.” He released her hand.

“It’s still raining,” Carrie observed, listening to a rumble of thunder echo in the darkness.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Jason said, standing aside and waiting for her to join him.

Carrie followed him to the room across from Johnny’s and just down the corridor from his. He opened the door and she looked inside. It was comfortably furnished, with an emergency lamp in the ceiling emitting the same red light.

“There’s a bathroom through there,” he said, pointing. “You’ll find a fresh toothbrush and towels.”

“Thank you,” Carrie said, looking at him. He was dimly outlined by the eerie, sunset illumination.

“Good night,” he said softly.

“Good night,” she replied, and he shut the door.

Carrie made her way to the bed and took off her outer clothes, deciding to sleep in her underwear. She was just turning for the bathroom when a knock came at the door. She went to it and opened it a crack, standing behind the screen it provided.

“Yes?”

“I thought you might be more comfortable in this,” Jason said, handing her a peignoir set through the opening. “It was my wife’s, left behind at the cleaner’s when I gave away the rest of her things. I’ve been meaning to get rid of it but perhaps you could use it tonight.”

“That was very thoughtful,” Carrie said, accepting the night wear, still covered by the cleaner’s plastic bag.

“Well, good night again,” he said awkwardly and moved away.

“Sleep well,” Carrie responded, thinking that she certainly wouldn’t. A flash of lightning punctuated her musing, followed by a crack of thunder loud enough to make her wince. The storm didn’t seem to be letting up at all. She closed the door slowly and put the clothing on the bed, stripping off the covering to examine it.

Carrie was not too familiar with expensive lingerie, but even she could tell that the peach gown and its matching coat were of pure silk, appliquéd with handmade Belgian lace. A faint scent still clung to the garments, heavier than anything Carrie would have chosen, but doubtless it had been appropriate for the imposing and seductive Mrs. McClain. Louise had had everything, including the one man on earth Carrie wanted. She let the pieces slip to the floor.

Stop it, she told herself, bending to pick them up quickly. Stop behaving like a baby, put the nightgown on and go to bed. When she slipped it over her head the exquisite material drifted past her skin like an April breeze, settling around the middle of her legs. This was supposed to be a shortie set; as Carrie had suspected, Louise had been taller than she was. Carrie left the robe at the foot of the bed and climbed under the covers.

Looking around the darkened room, she could barely make out the shapes of the furniture in the glow from the emergency lamp. Outside the rain fell steadily, dripping from the eaves and spattering the windows with freshets. Carrie lay still and listened, thinking that she would be awake all night. But she knew that if she were exhausted enough to fall asleep in Jason’s presence she would fall asleep again.

And she did.

* * * *

Jason threw off his covers in disgust and vaulted out of bed, clad only in the track shorts he used for pajamas. He strode restlessly around the room, stopping before the double doors leading to the patio. He grabbed the handles and flung the panels wide. The rain rushed in at him, cold and biting, but he didn’t move. He stared out at the wind lashed trees, wet and shining in the feeble light from the house.

Go to her, he urged himself, she’s just across the hall. What are you waiting for, man? You’ll never have an opportunity like this again.

Then he thought about her youth and inexperience and his own scarred body, his bitterly and irreversibly scarred mind. She deserved better, someone hopeful and positive, who could offer Carrie’s innocent soul the mirror image of her own. He remembered how she’d looked, asleep in the chair by the fire, her face as soft and guileless as a child’s. She was not, could never be, for him.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, sighing deeply. If he did try she would probably hit him with the heaviest thing she could find, he thought miserably. Then he smiled slightly as he considered the objects in the guest room, wondering what that might be. The ceramic Buddha that Louise brought back from Hong Kong, he decided. It stood on the end table next to the bed, surveying the room with majestic Oriental calm. Its sloe eyed stare reminded him of the gaze of a wily fox getting ready to pounce, which was undoubtedly the reason Louise had insisted on buying the wretched thing. He’d always hated it, and now it was going to kill him.

He laughed shortly, tired of his fancy, and pulled the patio doors closed. Back to bed. Maybe this time he would sleep.

* * * *