Falling for Rain (12 page)

"Nobody has me wrapped around their little finger." Her voice was low and cold. “Not you. Not Rain Storm. Not anybody. So don't threaten me. I can look after myself."

Jonathon took her face in his hand and turned it roughly to face him. “We’ll see about that,” he whispered, kissing her hard on the mouth before releasing her.

Emily heard his car speed out of the driveway just as Rain emerged from the basement doorway. The whole visit had lasted less than half an hour. She put a hand out and steadied herself against the table to keep from shaking. She hated to admit it, but Jonathon had scared her. She knew he was ruthless in business matters, but this was different. She felt physically threatened.

"Did I scare your guest away?" Rain asked, looking her carefully. He could swear she looked frightened.

"No. He was just leaving,” she said, forcing herself to sound nonchalant.

"Who was he?
Your boyfriend?"
He tried to make it sound like idle curiosity, but he was observing her closely. Something was wrong, he could feel it.

Emily looked him in the eye and answered with a suspiciously emphatic "No."

"Good," he said, although he didn’t believe her for a moment. “He looks like a vulture or maybe a real estate developer."

"Both," she said and, to her own surprise, laughed. She felt suddenly safe again.

"I thought as much.” Rain stood at the door, but he made no move to open it.

Emily knew he was waiting for more, and she fought the temptation to ask him to stay.  Jonathon had left her feeling shaken, and she longed for reassurance. But she also knew that it would be dangerous to ask him to stay; she was feeling far too vulnerable. God knows what she'd say or do. She looked away, waiting for him to leave.

“We still on for dinner tonight?” he asked quietly at last. He knew he wasn’t going to get anything more out of her on the subject of her guest.

"Of course," she said lightly but without looking at him.

"See you at six then," he said, matching his tone to hers.

"Goodbye," she said, wondering what they would say to each other all evening.

Rain stepped out into the downpour and closed the door behind him. He put the unneeded fuse in his pocket – it had only been an excuse to get into the house and see the owner of the black Jaguar. It had to be her boyfriend. Not only had Emily protested too strongly when asked directly, the atmosphere was too emotionally charged for any other kind of relationship. And the way the guy had glared at him when he came in the kitchen! If looks could kill, he’d be dead by now.

He told himself it wasn’t just jealousy that made him take an instant dislike to Emily’s guest. There was something disturbing about him. Odd that someone
like
Emily who was so intent on protecting herself could end up with someone like that. He promised himself to see what he could find out about the visitor the very next day. Little did he know that by the next day, it would already be too
late.

* * *

Emily tried to recapture the contented feeling she’d had before Jonathon’s arrival but found it impossible. She thought of calling the lawyer and telling him that Jonathon had indeed threatened to sue but eventually decided against it. She suspected that once back in Toronto, she could smooth things over. Yes, he had been threatening, but then Jonathon didn’t like to be thwarted. She knew that; she had just never been the one to come between him and what he wanted before. But he also knew she was valuable to him, and he wouldn’t burn his bridges quite yet. She hoped.

The thought of seeing Jonathon again left her feeling even more depressed, and she decided she had to get out of the house for awhile. She would go for brunch, maybe take in a movie matinee at the village’s small single-screen cinema. But first she’d buy a new outfit for dinner that night. She put her long coat on over her jeans and sweatshirt and plunged into the deluge.

She was forced to drive extra slowly. The windshield wipers barely kept up with the driving rain, and overflowing ditches on either side threatened to flood the road. The visibility was near zero. She found herself hoping that dinner wouldn’t be cancelled on account of the weather.

She parked her car outside Lady
MacGregor's
, one of the two clothing stores in the village. It was an odd store for a small town, specializing in expensive British imports. Emily went through the rack of dresses and tried on a short, sleeveless black dress in pure cashmere. It was simple in design but did all the right things to show off her figure to its full advantage. She bought black stockings, drew the line at a sheer black silk camisole on the grounds that it wasn’t
that
kind of date, then bought it anyway on the grounds that it felt heavenly under the dress.

"Aren't you…?" the clerk began when Emily took the dress to the cash. Emily held her breath and prayed the woman wouldn’t recognize her. She did look vaguely familiar to Emily – perhaps someone she’d gone to school with? The last thing she wanted was to make conversation. She imagined the questions: "What have you been doing?" "Are you married?" "Do you have a boyfriend?" "Where are you staying?"
"What, with Ray Storm?!"

The clerk stared at her intently for a few moments longer and at last shook her head. "For a minute I thought you were someone I knew in high school. She went away and never came back." She said this in a matter-of-fact voice, and Emily breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment she thought she’d have to listen to another Cathy-style version of her life story. To further protect her anonymity, Emily paid with cash. The clerk handed Emily her change with a smile.  "Have a nice day," she said in a chirpy voice.

"You, too," Emily replied.

Emily locked her purchases in the trunk of her car before going into the Five Star Diner. She picked up a newspaper from the bar and went to the booth she had occupied the day before.

Today’s waitress was named Gillian. To Emily’s relief, she took less interest in the customers than Cathy and only did what talking was necessary to do her job. Emily ordered soup and a salad and read an article in the paper on over-wintering roses. She was hungry today and ate gratefully, even ordering a piece of apple pie for desert.

The movie was perfect, a thriller starring Matt Damon, with enough suspense and car chases to keep her from thinking about Jonathon, the farm and, most importantly, Rain for almost two hours. She was also happy upon re-emerging from the theatre to discover that the downpour had let up to little more than a monotonous drizzle. There was little danger of dinner being cancelled now.

She drove home without difficulty and ran a deep hot bath, emptying a small bottle of rose-scented bath gel she had bought at Lady
MacGregor’s
into the tub. She closed her eyes and let the steamy, scented bath do its magic. When the water started to cool, she stepped out feeling relaxed and refreshed and looking forward to the evening ahead. She put on her new clothes and luxuriated in the feel of silk and cashmere against her skin. She dried her hair, but let it fall naturally, and for the first time in years was pleased with its unruly nature. She then started on her makeup, but looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, decided against everything but a touch of lipstick. She didn’t need it – her skin glowed and her eyes sparkled with excitement.

Knocking on the door at six o’clock sharp, Rain let out a low whistle when he saw her. “You look great. And I like your hair like that." He smiled at her, and Emily felt her heart skip a beat.

"Thanks," she said a bit breathlessly, thinking that Rain looked pretty great himself. He wore a black leather jacket over a creamy woollen dress shirt as well as the inevitable blue jeans, but he looked as sensational as ever in them. His hair was tousled by the wind, and Emily found herself wanting to smooth it down.

"I thought we could take my car," she said, pushing the picture of her fingers in Rain’s hair out of her mind.

"What? You don't want to be seen in my old truck?" he said defensively.

"No, it's not that," she said hurriedly, afraid she had offended him again.

"I'm just kidding," he said with a smile that lit his face and eyes.  This time Emily felt something lodge in her breast and turned away quickly for fear she'd betray herself. She took her coat from the coat rack.

"I just thought you might like to drive something else for a change."

"Okay. We'll take your car." He took the coat from her hands and held it out for her. “And you’re right – I would like to drive it.” She slipped her arms in the sleeves, only too aware of the brush of his fingers against the back of her neck.

Close together under the umbrella Rain had brought with him, they ran to the car. It was cold and dark, and the rain came down with tedious persistence. He opened the passenger door for her before going to the driver's door and getting in. She handed him the keys. "This
is
nice," he said adjusting the seat to accommodate his height.

“Just keep an eye on the speedometer,” she said with a smile. “It goes a lot faster than that old truck. Would you like some music?"

"Sure. Where's the switch for the wipers?"

"It's on the turn signal." She slipped a CD into the player and turned up the volume to compete with the sound of the rain on the roof.

"Mozart," Rain said only moments into the piece. Humming along to the opening strains, he turned the car in the driveway and pulled out onto the road.

Emily was surprised he knew Mozart so well but didn't say anything. She didn't want to risk another accusation of snobbery. He continued to surprise her by talking about classical music for several minutes, switching the topic once they reached the paved highway that would take them into town. The visibility on the highway wasn’t good, but Rain drove with both confidence and caution.

“Do you want to hear the end of Michael Alexander’s wife’s story?” he asked.

“Her name was Emily Alexander,” Emily said. He looked over at her with surprise. “I went to the cemetery behind the Blue Church yesterday,” she said, realizing suddenly how much she’d been looking forward to the continuation of this story. “Both Michael and Emily are buried there, and both lived fairly long lives.
Which means that Michael must have returned from trapping for the Hudson Bay Company and rescued his wife from the root cellar.
”  She was as pleased with her reasoning as if she were Sherlock Holmes himself.

 “Not exactly,” Rain said, keeping his eyes on the road.  “Christmas came and went and
still
no sign of her husband. Emily and her baby lived on what little food was stored there, and she even tried to heat it a bit by lighting a fire. But, even with the trap door removed, the smoke was unbearable, and she soon gave up. Sometimes, when it wasn’t too cold, she would light a fire in the ruins of the cabin. Over this she could heat water and roast some potatoes. Not exactly ideal, but it must have been a big improvement over cold snow and raw potatoes.

“This ability to make fire,” Rain continued, “could have been what ultimately saved them. And remember, they didn’t have little books of paper matches back then. Perhaps she carefully saved and nurtured coals from the cabin fire, or perhaps she had a tinder box which she had rescued from the fire.”

Rain took a break from his story as he carefully drove around an emergency crew who were clearing some downed power lines from the road. Although the men were dressed for the weather, they still looked wet and miserable.  “Poor guys,” Rain said. “I hope they get paid well for being out on a night like tonight.”  Emily, too, feeling grateful for the warmth of the car, regarded the workers with sympathy.

Once clear of the road crew, Rain resumed the story. “New Years came and went. It was now 1817 and still no husband. Luckily for history, Emily’s diary was one of the things she had managed to save from the fire. She did not make many entries at this time as you can well imagine, but she did note her birthday. She wrote: 
If anyone had told me that one day I would be living in a hole in the ground in the middle of the Canadian wilderness in winter, I would have told them they were insane. But here I am, and I am the one going insane. I have little milk for the baby. He coughs all the time. Today, I am eighteen.....
”

“Eighteen?” Emily gasped. “She was only eighteen?”

“That’s right,” he said with a glance in her direction.  “I can’t imagine an eighteen-year old today being able to cope with the same hardships, but, to be fair, Emily was one of the tough ones as well as one of the lucky ones. Many settlers’ wives did die under the harsh conditions, and others actually went insane with loneliness, fatigue, and the absolute strangeness of their new surroundings. Ever heard of cabin fever?” Emily nodded, fascinated. “We just use the expression to say we’re tired of being cooped up in the house and want to go out.  But in those days, it was a serious problem. Confined to a very small cabin with no one around for miles, people literally went crazy, throwing open their cabin doors and running out into the snow in an attempt to escape. Disoriented and confused, they’d soon lose their way and often freeze to death.”