Everything but the marriage (6 page)

Maybe it was the fact that he'd saved her life; maybe it was just that she seemed so helplessly inadequate when it came to taking care of herself—whatever it was, he seemed to feel responsible for her. He didn't want to feel that way, but he didn't appear to have much choice in the matter.

Devlin drove a nail into a shingle and turned to look at her again. Her arms appeared to be crossed in front of her body. Her head was bent downward over than. He frowned. Had she injured herself? Fallen maybe?

He slid the hammer through a loop on his leather tool belt and started down the ladder. He was going to feel guilty as hell if he'd sent her off to get the mail

he'd known wasn't there and she'd managed to hurt herself.

Devhn reached the ground at the same time that AnnaUse entered the yard. He started toward her, his quick, urgent strides slowing when he saw that she was uninjured.

Instead of clutching the hideously bleeding wound of his imagination, she was holding a cat. Devlin stopped, letting her cover the remaining distance between them.

Annalise stopped in front of him, lifting her eyes from the cat to meet his. Devlin felt the impact of that look like a blow to the solar plexus. This wasn't the blank stare he'd seen all morning. Her eyes were dark with concern.

"She was down by the mailbox," she said.

"She?" He had to drag his eyes from hers. He stared at the unprepossessing lump of scruffy gray fur in her arms. So she had beautiful eyes. So what. They were just eyes. Blue-green and deep as the ocean, but they were still merely eyes.

"I couldn't simply leave her there," Annalise said, her voice uncertain. "I'm sure she's hungry."

Devlin forced his attention to the cat, who was regarding him with deep suspicion from the safe harbor of Annalise's arms.

"I've got some tuna," he offered, holding out his hand to allow the cat to sniff his fingers. "She's pregnant."

"I know. Do you think someone abandoned her because of that?"

"Probably."

Distress flared in her eyes. Devlin lowered his hand, clenching his fingers against the urge to smooth the frown from her forehead. He'd thought nothing could be more disturbing than the blank lack of expression she'd worn since waking. But he was discovering that Annalise St. John was infinitely more disturbing with life in those wide-set eyes.

Annalise followed him into the house, her attrition all for the cat. Devlin opened a can of tuna and emptied it onto a saucer that he set on the kitchen floor. Aside from the obvious bulge of her stomach, the cat was hardly more than skin and bones, but when Annalise lowered her on the floor, she didn't immediately rush toward the food.

She stayed just where she was, her thin body stiff, her eyes wary. She eyed Devlin, weighing the potential hazard he represented. Obligingly he moved back from the food. She hesitated a moment longer and then slinked slowly across the floor. She sniffed at the tuna and then lifted her head to give the surroundings one last careful look before she finally took a bite.

"How long do you think it's been since she last ate?" Annalise asked softly.

Devlin shrugged. **A few days, probably. She's not in bad shape, aside from being a little scrawny."

"How could someone just abandon her like that? When she needed help?"

Devlin looked at her, wondering who had abandoned her when she needed help. Her interest was focused on the cat, who was devouring the tuna with dainty greed.

"They probably told themselves that she*d hunt her own food. People like to believe that lie, especially about cats/'

Annalise lifted her eyes from the cat, catching him by surprise as her gaze met his. "Do you mind that I brought her here? I should have asked."

"I don't mind." With those big eyes looking at him uncertainly, he'd probably have said he didn't mind if she wanted to puU his fingernails out.

"I've got to get back to work," he said abruptly, dragging his gaze from hers. What he really needed was some fresh air to blow away the unwelcome realization that Annalise St. John just might be a very attractive woman.

Chapter 4

Annalise spent what remained of the morning and most of the afternoon fussing over the cat. Devlin spent the same period of time trying not to watch An-nahse.

It wasn't easy.

There was something remarkably appealing about the picture she and the cat made. Both of them needed more meat on their bones. Both of them had a certain bruised look, as if life had battered them a little too often. Not that it mattered to him what treatment life had handed out to either the woman or the cat.

Devlin tightened his jaw and focused doggedly on the task at hand. Up until today, he'd had no trouble concentrating on whatever needed doing on the house. In fact, he'd enjoyed the vast majority of the work, no matter how repetitive some of it was. It felt good to be

building something with his own hands, something strong and enduring.

But when Annahse had tumbled into the river, she'd also tumbled right into the middle of his life. It should have been easy to ignore her. It wasn't as if she demanded attention or chattered his ear off. In fact, she was so quiet, he should have been able to forget her presence completely.

It didn't seem to work that way, however. Thoughts of his houseguest occupied more of his time than Devlin wanted to admit. He kept telling himself that he was going to ask her where she wanted to go—make it clear that he didn't mind fishing her out of the river, but that didn't make her a permanent part of his life.

He could take her into Remembrance and find her a place to stay. Or maybe she'd want to go to the hospital. Just because she was showing signs of life didn't mean all her problems were solved. She might actually welcome a chance to get some medical help.

Somehow, lunch came and went and the afternoon slowly drifted by, and he still hadn't said anything to her about leaving. He told himself that he didn't want to do anything that might turn her back into the unresponsive lump she'd been before finding the cat.

The truth was, she intrigued him. She'd responded with total indifference to the idea that she might have tried to commit suicide, yet she'd nearly cried over the plight of an abandoned animal. She hadn't bothered to wash her face or brush her hair, but she'd carefully bathed the cat with a warm washcloth and spent hours combing knots out of the animal's knotted fur.

Maybe he missed humanity more than he was willing to admit. When he'd left prison, he'd wanted nothing more than to be alone. After so many years spent in forced proximity with hundreds of other men, the very idea that he didn't have to see or hear anyone else for days on end had been paradise.

He'd been content with the way he'd arranged his life. He was close enough to Remembrance to see his sister and his young nephew, the only people he had any interest in. Yet he was away from the hustle and bustle, stuck out in the country, where he might not see anyone but the mail carrier for weeks at a time.

Now, suddenly, Annalise had been dropped into his life, and he was finding that he wasn't as eager to see the last of her as he'd have liked.

Devlin let the day drift by without saying anything about finding her another place to stay. It didn't seem to occur to Annalise to worry about it. If it was someone else, he might have thought she was assuming a bit much, but he didn't think Annalise was being presumptuous.

He didn't think she'd given any thought to the matter at all. From the looks of her, he suspected it had been a long time since she'd thought much about the little details of life, like where she was going to spend the night or where the next meal might be coming from. Especially the meal part of it.

For someone who looked as if they hadn't had a solid meal in weeks, Annalise showed little interest in food. She'd eaten less than half of the roast beef sandwich he'd put in front of her at lunch. She'd fed

the rest of its contents to the cat, who showed no hesitation at all about making up for lost dinners.

The sun was starting to sink as Devlin put away the ladder and his tools. It was too late to do anything about settling Annalise somewhere else. She'd have to spend the night. But tomorrow, first thing, he'd tell her that other arrangements had to be made.

When he entered the kitchen, Annalise was sitting on the floor next to the cat, who was polishing off a saucer of tuna. As far as Devlin could tell, the animal had done nothing but eat since her arrival in his home. It didn't seem possible that such a small animal could hold so much food.

Annalise climbed to her feet as he walked to the sink and started to scrub the day's dirt from his hands.

"I hope you don't mind that I opened another can of tuna. Beauty was hungry."

"Beauty?" Devlin gave the scruffy cat a doubting look. True, fed and bathed and combed, she looked considerably better than she had when she first arrived, but the word beauty was hardly the first thing that sprang to mind when he saw her.

"She needed a name," Annalise said. "I thought it suited her."

"She's welcome to all the tuna she wants." Devlin answered the original question and sidestepped the necessity for comment on the name.

"Thank you." Annalise watched him work soap into his hands and forearms. He had strong hands, widely palmed with long, blunt fingers. The kind of hands that made you feel safe and protected.

She looked away, focusing on Beauty, who'd finished her meal and had settled down to take a thorough bath. Watching the little cat earnestly cleaning her dull fur, Annalise was suddenly aware of what her hair must look like. She hadn't bothered to comb it, hadn't even looked in a mirror.

How long had it been since she'd cared enough about her appearance to look in a mirror? Weeks? Months, perhaps? She reached up to pat her fingers over her hair. Glancing at Devlin, she saw that he was watching her as he dried his hands. What did he see when he looked at her? A pale, unkempt woman who was too thin, she answered herself promptly.

"I must look pretty awful," she murmured.

"I've seen worse." One comer of his mouth kicked up in a half smile. "You're welcome to use the shower and a comb if you'd like."

"Thank you." Annalise smoothed her hands over the baggy sweatpants, aware that they weren't quite steady. "You've done a great deal for me."

"Not that much." He shrugged. "I've been down on my luck a time or two myself. I ran your clothes through the washer and dryer. They're on the foot of the bed."

"Thank you." She felt as if there should be something more to say, but she couldn't find the words.

"Dinner's in an hour," Devlin said, making it clear that, as far as he was concerned, the conversation was closed.

Annalise took the hint. She wasn't sure what exactly she'd wanted to say anyway.

The bathroom was huge, with a tub the size of a small swimming pool and a separate shower stall. This room seemed the most complete of any she'd seen in the house. Ivory tile covered the shower, as well as surrounding the tub. The walls that weren't tile were painted a matching shade of ivory.

The floor was also tile, a slightly darker shade of gray. The faucets and towel racks were all brass, the golden gleam a warm contrast to the pale ivory. The towels, the bath mat and the fixtures were all a stark black. It was a striking combination. Rather stark but not cold.

Annalise showered, lathering the heavy length of her hair several times. She tried to remember the last time she'd had access to a shower and all the hot water she could stand. The last time she'd been able to afford a motel room, she thought. That had been weeks ago. She'd had that part-time job stocking shelves in a supermarket. Where had that been? Chicago?

She wasn't sure. She'd drifted in and out of so many different places this past year. Ever since— No. It didn't matter since when. She wasn't going to think about that. Not now. Not when she fdt a lightaiing of the misty fog that had all but smothered her these past few months.

When she was at last satisfied that her hair was clean, she shut off the shower and stepped out onto the bath mat. She wrapped her hair in one thick ebony towel and wrapped another sarong-style over her breasts.

She felt warm. The hot shower accounted for only part of that feeling. This was a warmth that was more

than skin-deep. Somewhere inside, a thawing had begun. The chill that had gripped her soul for the past year had eased its hold.

Maybe it was Devlin's kindness; maybe it was his asking if she might have jumped into the river the day before. Certainly the thaw owed something to feeling Beauty's small furry body in her arms, to knowing that someone or something needed her.

Annalise stared into the mirror, really looking at herself for the first time in months. She almost regretted her bravery. The mirror reflected her image back to her with merciless clarity. There was no softening of the too-prominent angles of her cheekbones, nothing to add color to her pale skin.

She looked older than she was. She was twenty-five, but she could have passed for ten years older. It wasn't anything as obvious as wrinkles that added years to her age. It was a certain worn look about her skin and the emptiness in her eyes. They looked as empty as her arms felt.

She pushed the thought away and turned from the mirror. What difference did it make how she looked? There was no one to care, no one to even notice.

Devlin was finishing up dinner when Annalise entered the kitchen. He shot her a quick glance as he slid two steaks under the broiler. It took a conscious effort to drag his eyes away. Cleaned up and with a spark of life in her eyes, she was dangerously close to beautiful.

He slammed the broiler door shut. She was still much too thin, of course. The white dress she'd been

wearing when she tumbled into the river was too large. It wasn't a particulariy attractive dress to begin with. A loose bodice attached to a full skirt that drooped at the waist. It looked old and worn.

But it couldn't detract from the startling improvement in Annahse's appearance. She'd washed ho" hair and toweled it neariy dry before combing it out. Last night he'd wondered what color it would be when it was dry. Today, he'd noticed little more than that it was lighter than he'd expected. Now he could see that it was a sort of ash blond. It hung thick and straight almost to her waist. It was the kind of hair a man could lose himself in, the kind that was made to be spread over a pillow.