Bone Deep (5 page)

“Yes.”

He ran his finger along the mantel top, looking thoughtfully at the pictures.

She wished there was something she could do to earn a smile from him
, a real one that would show his teeth and fill his eyes with light
. “Would you like me to read to you? Something funny, not the mermaid story.”

Another of those
half
-smiles
slightly curved
his lips. “Yes.”

She chose
Tom Sawyer
from the bookshelf and skipped to the chapter about
Tom fooling his friends into
whitewashing the fence
for him
and
paying for the pleasure
.

Tom sat on the floor, leaned against the armchair and watched her as she read. Every time
Sarah
glanced up from the story to check his reaction he was listening
with intense concentration
, but from beginning to end of the amusing tale he never once laughed or smiled.

In bed that night, Sarah
could feel
Tom’s presence in the house.
Rather than putting him in the loft, she’d allowed
this strange man to sleep in the bedroom
just down the hall
from her.
She was crazy.
He might take her invitation to stay in the house as something more.

She
’d fully
intended to have him sleep in the
barn
but
feared
Reed might search outbuildings of local farms in the dead of night while the homeowners slept. It was safer for Tom to be inside with her ... well, not
with
her but...

As she drifted toward sleep,
visions
of tattooed flesh floated through her mind. In the past twenty-four hours she
’
d seen
more of
Tom
’s body
than
she had of
any man
other than
her husband.
Now, as she drowsed,
there was nothing to stop her from reaching out and touching his warm
, colorful
skin.
In her fantasy h
e welcomed her touch
. His eyes closed
in pleasure as she ran her hands over his hard chest
and
down to his stomach
. He groaned as her hands moved lower and she felt the length and girth of him, throbbing with heat and life.

Sarah moaned softly
as
her hand moved between her legs once more.

But when she slept
at last
she didn’t dream of the tattooed man
. I
nstead she had a vivid dream about John and the child they had never had. The three of them were on a picnic in the meadow where the carnival had been. Their golden-haired child was laughing under the summer sun.

She woke with a start, her heart aching for the loss of her husband and un-conceived child. She wept quietly into her pillow, pain
covering
her in a black cloud of sorrow.

Chapter T
hree

When Sarah woke the next morning, Tom was gone, or at least John’s bedroom was empty
. T
he covers
were
neatly pulled over the bed and
her guest
was
not in
the house.

She found him out in
Edison
’s stall pouring feed into the box. He
’
d already pumped fresh water for the horse.

“Good morning,” she said. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I want to help.”

She
stroked
the white blaze on the horse’s forehead. “
Edison
thanks you too. He gets tired of waiting for me in the morning.”

Tom stood beside her and
patted
the old gelding’s glossy neck. He looked down at Sarah and his eyes caught and held hers in another of those gazes that left her heart pounding. He didn’t need to put his hands on her for her to feel she had been touched.

Once more she shook off the spell. “It’s time for breakfast. Wh
en you’re finished here, wh
y don’t you come on in the house?”

After the meal she asked
Tom
to clear the gutters and told him where to find the ladder in the barn. Meanwhile, she cleaned the house, made the beds and
washed another
small load of laundry,
Tom’s
clothes only.

She
considered
simply throw
ing
the rank things away. Before she dunked the grimy pants in
to
the hot water, she checked the pockets. There was no change or keys, but jammed deep in the front pocket was a folded page torn from a magazine. Carefully she opened it and smoothed the well-worn creases of the limp paper.

It was an old advertisement for tourism in
Virginia Beach
. A happy family sat on a blanket, the parents sunning themselves and smiling fondly at their children building a sandcastle at the edge of the water. They were
a
picture-perfect family.

Sarah stared at the ad until her eyes blurred. She dashed away her tears and carefully re-folded the sad testament to an unlived life. She put it in her apron pocket then pushed Tom’s pants into the steaming wash water.

Later when she called him in for lunch, she put the folded magazine page next to his plate.

He looked at it
before sliding
it into his shirt pocket without comment.
He
took a small bite
of the ham sandwich Sarah had made for him
. Obviously minding her
etiquette lesson the previous day
, Tom refrained from hunching over his plate and shoveling in food as he ate.

“How do you feel about splitting logs?” she asked after he
’d
finished. “It’s not too early to get a stack ready for winter and I’m not the best chopper.
I
’
d really appreciate the help.
”

He nodded
,
silent
as always.

She showed him to the woodpile at the side of the house and demonstrated how to set the round logs on end and split them in halves, then quarters. She wasn’t very good at it and her log toppled sideways with the ax still stuck in it.

Tom unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off his shoulders. He wore no undershirt
so
his
muscular
biceps and chiseled chest were immediately on display. Sarah
’s
stomach give a little flip as she quickly scanned his lean torso. It was hard not to
stare
at the fascinating designs and the
body
they covered.

He grasped the axe and un-wedged it from the log with a hard twist. He hefted the axe
,
brought
it up over his head and
down into the log with a solid thunk. His back and arm muscles flexed powerfully a
s
he quickly split the log with a few well-placed blows.

Goosebumps raised on Sarah’s arms and she rubbed them as she drag
ged her
gaze
away from the mesmerizing sight of
a
full-rigged ship on
Tom’s
back tossing on waves of blue.

“All right. I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to change the oil on the
Plymouth
. I’ve been putting it off too long.”

She could still hear the axe biting into the wood as she walked toward the driveway and she
continued to
picture what he looked like swinging
that axe
. Why couldn’t she stop fantasizing about this man? Why was he getting under her skin? He barely spoke a word yet his presence was overpowering. She was aware of
him
all the time.

She
growled at herself in annoyance
and turned her attention to the old se
dan
. She
’d
convinced Frank at the Texaco station to show her
how to change the oil
so she could do it herself and save money. She got the jack out of the trunk, placed it under the rear bumper
and cranked
until the car was raised off the ground
. She
crawled underneath the transmission bringing a pan
with her
to drain the oil
into
.
The smell of oil and gasoline made her nose wrinkle.

She struggled to open the drain plug, cursing under her breath. Her wrench slipped on the plug and she grazed her knuckles on hard metal.
With another curse, s
he
re
set the wrench and jerked on the stuck plug, afraid it would suddenly give way and she
’d get
a face full of oil.
The plug
refused to budge.

She put more muscle into it, grunting as she wrestled with the wrench. The car rocked a little with her exertion, but the wrench just slipped on the stubborn plug again.

“
Damn it!” The edges of the plug were beginning to round off and she knew the wrench would
only
slip again. She pushed with all her strength, her wrists and shoulders straining in her cramped position beneath the car.

“Sarah!”

She heard her name and the sound of running feet.
H
ands grabbed her ankles and yanked her out from under the car. Tom dragged her roughly away from the vehicle.

Sarah’s
shirt rode up and her spine scraped
over
the gravel. As she
started
to protest, the heavy
Plymouth
slipped off the jack and hit the ground with a dull thud.

Sarah twisted around
to see polished chrome and maroon paint only a foot away from her face. She scrambled
up
and crab-scuttled backward
, away from the automobile that had been seconds away from crushing her
. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!”

Tom dropped to his knees behind her.
“Are y
ou all right?” His voice vibrated near her ear.
She
’
d backed right into his arms and was pressed against his bare chest.

“Yes. I think so.” She let out a shaky breath
and
look
ed
at him
over her shoulder
. “You were clear on the side of the house. How did you know?”

“I saw it.” His arms were
wrapped around her
, pressing against
her breasts, fingers digging into her upper arms.
His body was so hot against her back. “
Y
ou were going to be hurt.”

“What?” She
shifted
so she could see his face better. “How?
What do you mean, ‘you saw’?
”

“Inside,” he explained, looking down at her from several inches away. His eyes glittered like polished gems against the chaotic colors of his face.

“What does that mean?” But part of her already knew.

“I see things sometimes.” He paused then added, “Like my mother did.”

“The fortuneteller.
”
A shiver ran through her; the elemental fear of the unknown and a reaction to the close call she
’
d just had.

In response to her trembling, he squeezed her even tighter against his sweat-slicked chest. His heart pounded beneath her ear.
He
stopped digging
his fingers
into her arms and began to caress them
instead
.
Hot
lick
s
of fire rocketed straight down to her crotch.
Her
nipples peak
ed in such sharp response, she feared he’d
feel them pressing into his arm even though her blouse and bra.

His hands
smoothed
up and down her arms, and his face hovered above hers, eyes trained on her mouth as he leaned
closer
.

A
soft exhalation escaped her. Her face tilted up. Then the realization of what was about to happen hit her. She twisted out of his grasp.
“You can let go now. I’m okay.”