A Singular Honeymoon Page 7

She peeked over the back of the couch just as he released another long, rumbling breath. She shook her head a little. It wasn’t a bad snore, actually — nothing like the buzz-saw sound of legend. It was kind of cute, actually, almost as if he were purring...

  Still, there ought to be a law, she reflected. Anybody who snored ought to be required to disclose the fact to a prospective mate.

  Of course, it was no concern of hers anymore whether Spence snored or not.

  The flush along his cheekbones had grown a little stronger, a little more hectic, and she bit her lip in concern. Was he running a fever? And if he was, what on earth was she to do about it?

  Cautiously, and very slowly, she let the back of her hand brush his forehead.

  Spence jerked to one side and his eyes flew open.

  For an instant, she thought she caught the same look that she had often seen right before he kissed her — not the light and playful sort of kiss, but the long, intense and hungry ones. And she reacted the same way, too, her insides suddenly feeling as slithery as lemon sherbet on a hot afternoon.

  Sharley turned beet red. Didn’t she have any more control over herself than that? “Gracious, you’re jumpy,” she accused. “I was only checking to see if you’re running a fever.”

  He stared up at her. “And the verdict?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said honestly. “You don’t feel especially warm, but maybe my hands are colder than normal.”

  A gleam of irony appeared in Spence’s eyes, and one dark eyebrow quirked upward.

  Sharley put her chin up a little. He could think what he liked, she told herself. If he was so conceited that he thought she would seize any excuse for touching him...

  Don’t be an idiot, she told herself. Of course he wasn’t thinking anything of the sort. And the brooding, hungry look must have been her imagination, too. Even if it had been real, it didn’t mean anything; physical attraction wasn’t always associated with love and respect. If it was, she wouldn’t be suffering, would she?

  Spence sat up. “I’d kill for a hot shower. How’s the water supply? Or did that go out along with the electricity?”

  “No, it’s all right for a while at least. There’s a cistern for storage, and the water heater burns propane, too. I wouldn’t drink the stuff, though, because it may not be very fresh.”

  “Fair enough. I won’t drink it, I’ll just drown myself in it.” He picked up the duffel bag. “Which bedroom?”

  “I’ve got the one on the right.”

  She didn’t watch him cross the room. Separate bedrooms, she was thinking. On what should have been their wedding day.

  Not that I have any desire to change that now, she told herself firmly.

  She inspected the contents of the dark, silent refrigerator before deciding on her menu. By the time Spence reappeared, she was arranging strips of Swiss cheese atop two picture-perfect sandwiches, and though her fingers trembled slightly as he came up beside her she did not look up.

  “Is that crab salad?” he asked.

  Sharley nodded and put the sandwiches under the broiler. “Don’t get any particular ideas. Without electricity, I can either use the crab, put it outside where it’ll freeze and be ruined, or throw it away right now.”

  He smiled a little. “So you chose to throw part of it away on me. Thanks, Sharley. You’re a good sport, you know.”

  Why that careless accolade should bring tears to her eyes, when she had gone through so much without crying, was more than Sharley could understand. But she was darned if she’d let him see her cry. She stirred the pot of beef noodle soup and ladled a serving into a mug. “Here. You can start with this. Watch out, though, it’s hot.”

  Spence sniffed and said, “What? Not chicken soup? I’m disappointed in you.”

  Sharley glared at him, and caught the shimmer of mischief in his eyes. But the expression died even as she watched him. His gaze was fixed on her mouth.

  Because my lip is trembling, she told herself. Not because he wants to kiss me.

  “Sorry,” Spence said. “I only meant to lighten things up a bit.” There was an awkward edge to his voice.

  Sharley hardly heard him. She realized suddenly that she had been expecting his shower and change of clothes to turn him back into the Spence she had known before. But of course that hadn’t happened, though he did look much better than he had earlier in the morning. He was wearing a fresh flannel shirt, in a bright red and blue plaid that made his eyes look like blue steel. His hair had dried in little ringlets, not at all like his usual smooth style. And the beard stubble was still there.

  She poured a cup of soup for herself. “Are you making a point with the beard?” she asked. “Competing for woodsman of the year, or something?”

  “Oh, no. It’s just that I only brought an electric razor.” He rubbed a hand idly across his jaw as if it itched, and glanced at the oven door behind her. “I hate to be a pest, Sharley, but that crab salad looked good, and I’d hate to have it turn into a cinder.”

  She rescued the sandwiches just as the melting cheese began to brown, and thanked heaven that the broiler’s heat would account for her flushed cheeks. Standing there staring at him like a calf — what was wrong with her, anyway? It wasn’t as if she’d never seen the man before!

  Spence took a couple of plates from the bottom of a stack in the cabinet, eyed them warily, and wiped them off with a towel. “That should be sanitary enough,” he decided.

  “Especially since I just finished washing them.” Sharley slid a sandwich onto his plate. “Taco chips?”

  Spence shook his head. “All the comforts of home.” He sat down at the tiny table and picked up his sandwich.

  And what exactly did he mean by that? Sharley wondered. A cozy retreat and a little woman to take care of him — and no complications? The statement made the backs of her eyelids prickle uncomfortably. “I suppose you mean everything will be grand as long as the decongestant holds out and I don’t get tired of cooking.”

  A tiny frown tugged at Spence’s brow. “I didn’t ask to be waited on, Sharley.”

  His voice was even and reasonable, and she had to admit the truth of what he’d said. Still, she felt a bit disgruntled. “Don’t plan on it continuing.”

  “I’m not. But neither am I going to race you to see who can do something first.” He put the sandwich down and looked thoughtfully at her. “The problem with you is that you’re so accustomed to fulfilling Charlotte’s every whim that you don’t even wait to be asked.”

  “If I wanted a dissection of my character flaws, Spence—”

  He ignored the interruption. “You just go straight ahead and do whatever you think needs to be done, and then you expect to be applauded for your kindness. That’s the part that amazes me, you know. Charlotte never seems to appreciate what you do, so why should you expect anyone else to notice?”

  “Damn it, Spence!”

  “Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean that your good works aren’t worth doing, at least some of the time. I definitely appreciate lunch.” He waved a hand at his plate. “It’s just that sometimes Lady Bountiful is a bit hard to live up to.”

  Sharley stared at him for an endless moment. “You know something, Spence? I’m beginning to be glad that we’re up here stuck in the woods.”

  “Oh?” He sounded wary.

  “A couple of days of this and I’ll be absolutely delighted that you didn’t have an explanation of your little episode with Wendy. Because if you had, I might have actually forgiven you!” She slammed her mug down on the table so hard that noodles slopped over the rim.

  Spence didn’t even flinch. “You can’t stand the idea that you might not be perfect, can you?”

  “Me? Perfect? You’ve got a nerve. Your judgment stinks, you know that? After what you’ve done, why in the hell you think you have a right to criticize me—” Words failed her. What was the point, anyway? He would never understand what she meant.

  She stormed across to the far corner of the
main room, as far as she could get from him without retreating to her bedroom, and flung herself down in a chair with her back to him.

  Silence descended, except for the steady whoosh of propane burning in the stove and the uneven whistling of the wind around the cabin.

  It was almost a quarter of an hour later that Sharley heard the back door creak open, and she came up out of her chair with a jolt. No matter what sort of a fight they’d had, she could not allow him to set out on that mile-long walk over to the Baxters’ house. He didn’t know exactly where it was, and with his cold and the decongestant she’d given him just taking effect…

  But neither was it up to her to interfere. If he was idiot enough to go out in his condition, it wasn’t her place to try to stop him. He was right about that; she was neither his nursemaid nor his servant — and she wasn’t his boss, either.

  The door scraped again and Spence reappeared, his arms full of firewood. He kicked the door shut and carried the logs over to the fireplace.

  Sharley couldn’t decide whether to scold him for not putting on his coat, or tell him she was glad he hadn’t gone farther. So she bit her tongue and did neither.

  He knelt beside the hearth and patiently built the fire. Even on the back porch, the wood hadn’t been completely protected from the driving sleet, and the wet logs stubbornly resisted the flame. It took quite a time before Spence had coaxed a pleasant little blaze into life.

  When he finally turned away from the fireplace, he did not go back to the couch, as Sharley had half-expected, but came to sit on the arm of her chair.

  She leaned away from him as far as she could, but still the warmth and the scent of smoke mixing with his cologne tugged at her senses.

  Spence didn’t look at her. His arms were crossed, his feet propped wide to maintain his balance, and he was staring into the fire. “I’m sorry. I had no right to criticize you. It’s not my business how you deal with Charlotte.”

  “No, it’s not,” Sharley said stiffly.

  Spence sighed. “Look, Sharley, Hammond’s Point is a small town. We have to be able to face each other. This kind of venom isn’t going to make it any easier.”

  “You’re right. Of course, maybe you should have thought of that before you flaunted Wendy at the scholarship fund-raiser.”

  He said something under his breath that Sharley didn’t catch. Before she could ask what it was, he said, “I’m sorry. That particular decision wasn’t very well thought-out.”

  Sharley waited for more, but he didn’t seem inclined to continue. Finally she said, “Is this another of your feeble attempts at explanation?”

  “No. There doesn’t seem to be any point in trying to explain.”

  “Not at the rate you’re going, no.”

  Spence’s mouth tightened. “In any case, once you returned my ring, I don’t owe you any explanation.”

  Sharley couldn’t argue with that.

  “I just think we should try to be civil to each other, that’s all.”

  Civil, Sharley thought. If things had been different, she would have been walking down the aisle just about now, a brilliant-eyed bride going to meet the man to whom she would pledge her life. She wondered if Spence had noticed the time, too, and if he had thought of the irony. How very far down they had come — from the promise of lifelong love and companionship, to a last-ditch attempt at being civil to each other!

  All things considered, it wasn’t any wonder tempers were running short today. With the kind of stress they were both feeling, it was a wonder something hadn’t exploded before now.

  Spence was right, though. Hammond’s Point was very small, and the more visible and vehement their feelings for each other were, the more people were likely to comment, and the longer the whole sad story would be kept alive. If they couldn’t actually reach some kind of peaceful settlement — which seemed unlikely — then their only real alternative was to pretend they had.

  She shifted uneasily in her chair, not quite able to put her feelings into words.

  But Spence seemed to know what she was thinking. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

  She managed a nod, and Spence gave her a crooked half-smile. Sharley’s heart jolted. It wasn’t fair, she thought. The man was as unpredictable as static electricity and just as painful to be around.

  He pushed himself to his feet. “Is there anything to do around here? A deck of cards or a game or something?”

  If he thinks he’s going to talk me into playing poker with him, Sharley thought, he’s a fool. I’ll try to be civil, but I’m not going to be pals! I couldn’t take that...

  “In that cabinet, I think,” she said, carelessly waving a hand toward a small stand in the corner. “I’m going to get a book.”

  He nodded as if it didn’t matter in the least to him and started to dig through the drawers.

  Sharley paused at her bedroom door as he exclaimed in satisfaction, and turned around to see him holding up a ragged box. She’d never seen anyone get so excited over a jigsaw puzzle. “What did you plan to do with yourself all week?” she asked tartly.

  “There’s a briefcase full of paperwork still in my car.”

  “What a vacation,” she muttered, and couldn’t help wondering whether he’d have taken that briefcase to the Bahamas, too.

  When she came back to the living room with her book, he was whistling as he sorted out the straight-edged pieces of the puzzle and arranged them by color on the coffee table. Sharley took a pillow from the couch and settled down on the thick rug in front of the fire to read.

  But her novel wasn’t as interesting as it had looked on the bookstore shelf, and Spence’s tuneless whistle was driving her mad. She pushed the book aside and stared at the flames, trying to decide how to civilly ask him to shut up. Before she’d found a way, her eyelids had grown so heavy that she decided to rest for a minute first. She pulled off her reading glasses and put her head down.

  The room was almost dark when she woke, and the bright blanket was tucked so firmly around her body that for an instant she thought she’d been wrapped in a straitjacket. She pushed it back and sat up, rubbing her eyes.

  Spence had lit a couple of candles and propped them on the corners of the coffee table, and he was holding up a piece of the jigsaw puzzle and squinting at it.

  “You’ll ruin your eyes doing that in the dark,” Sharley said. At least, that was what she tried to say; she yawned in the middle of her sentence.

  Spence seemed to understand anyway, for he looked up and smiled. “Are you hungry?”

  “Sort of,” she admitted. She was ravenous, to tell the truth; her uneaten crab salad sandwich was haunting her thoughts. But she wasn’t about to tell Spence that.

  She tried to remember what was still in the refrigerator, but her brain hadn’t yet shaken off the fog of sleep.

  “Well, I certainly am. You’ve been asleep forever.” He snapped in a piece and reached for another one. “Since we can’t phone out for pizza delivery, I thought I’d make beef stew and biscuits. Stew from a can, of course, but I do great biscuits from scratch.”

  Sharley nodded slowly. “That sounds good.” The offer made her feel warmer somehow.

  Spence put the puzzle piece down and headed for the kitchen.

  Sharley stretched, trying to work some of the stiffness out of her muscles. Going to sleep on the floor hadn’t been the brightest idea of her life. She put another log on the fire and sat down on the couch. The cushions were still warm from his body, and they sagged comfortably, cradling her close.

  In the flickering light of the candles, she picked up an interesting-looking piece and studied the puzzle. It was more than half-finished, and the pattern was becoming apparent — a complicated view of a row of brightly-painted and intricately detailed Victorian houses. The piece she held was part of a delicate rose window. That shouldn’t be hard to find.

  Still, it was several minutes before she put the piece in place and patted it triumphantly.

  “You’ll
ruin your eyes doing that in the dark.”

  The voice was like an echo, and Sharley jumped; she hadn’t heard Spence crossing the room till he stood above her. He had wrapped a dish towel around his waist like an apron; it emphasized his narrow hips and made him look even taller.

  “That rule only applies to you,” she said mildly. “I’ll show you what a real puzzle-worker can do.”

  “Oh, you’re going to play that sort of game, are you?” Spence scooped up the candles.

  “That’s not fair! If you take away the candles—”

  “If I don’t,” he warned, “you may find yourself eating the strangest biscuits in the history of the world, because I can’t see what I’m putting in them.”