Kiss and Tell (2 page)

By his expression she could tell he was not a happy camper. She bit her lip; this was no time to smile. Duchess gave her mistress a soulful look, Marnie made a subtle "stay" hand gesture. And her dog leaned against a very large masculine thigh, and heaved an enormous sigh.

"What the hell is this animal doing?"

Marnie's feet scuffed up damp leaves as she strolled away without looking back. "She likes you." She had to raise her voice to be heard as she put some distance between them.

"Damn it, I told you to – stop that, dog! – take your dog."

"Oh, Duchess goes exactly where she wants. Never have been able to make her come when she wants to stay." She glanced over her shoulder. Duchess was looking up at him as if he were God's gift.

Marnie started to laugh.

"Come back here, woman. What the hell's so funny?"

"She's crazy about you." She stuffed her hands into the warmth of her pockets and hunched her shoulders to keep her ears warm.

"Damn it," he yelled again. "Call her off."

"Don't worry, she'll come home when she's ready."

As she strolled down the hillside through the trees, she heard the man cursing a blue streak. Mingled with his deep baritone was Duchess's attempt at loverlike conversation. Marnie almost tripped over her own feet. It was hard to walk when she was laughing so hard.

*

The timpani of rain on the shake roof woke her. Marnie snuggled deeper into the warmth of the sleeping bag. Despite sleeping fully clothed, sharp, icy air filtered inside, giving her goose bumps. She felt as though she'd only slept a moment. Resigned, she opened gritty eyes.

Four feet away, her dog snored, dead to the world. Duchess had curled up as close to the fireplace as she could get. Marnie chuckled; the dog had loped home after a couple of hours visiting her new friend.

She wished Duchess spoke a more easily translatable language. Then she could have grilled her pet about their taciturn neighbor.

Strange man.

But interesting, very interesting.

She felt a little zing of guilt for pushing him so hard yesterday afternoon. He'd wanted her gone so badly, but she hadn't been able to resist teasing him. He hadn't been amused. Yet as annoyed as he'd been, she hadn't felt as though she was really in danger.

She sighed. She was lucky the guy hadn't shot her on the spot.

Marnie had promised her dad she'd be back at work on Monday. That meant she had today and Sunday to sort out her life.

She'd save the poor guy any more aggravation and keep out of his way for the next couple of days. Which was too bad; he was the most interesting man she'd met in years.

She scrunched deeper into the bag, the floor uncomfortably hard under her hip. Rain pounded steadily on the roof. She shivered, curled into a ball, and debated whether to get up and toss a few more logs on the fire or conserve what little warmth existed inside the bag.

It was barely six A.M., but she was awake and knew she wouldn't go back to sleep now. Grizzly light filtered through water-smeared, uncurtained windows. Branches snapped and whipped in the high wind, showering pine needles and leaves against the panes. Trees bent under the storm's onslaught.

The wind had picked up late last night after she'd finished the lukewarm coffee in her thermos, and she and Duchess had shared a solitary dinner of cold canned stew. Now the wind howled outside like a banshee, screamed through the trees surrounding the cottage, and sneaked through the crevices between the shingles and wood siding. It sounded lonely.

Grammy had adored bringing all the kids up here with her for weeks at a time. When Grandpa was alive, the two of them had lived in nearby Gray Feather. He'd built the cottage for weekend getaways. The half dozen small houses between the river and the ravine were used as summer vacation homes. No one lived here all year round. They were miles from civilization and help.

Marnie had consciously pushed aside years of warnings and cautions when she decided to come up here alone. Her family tended to be overprotective. But there was no need. She was as healthy and fit as a woman her age should be.

Another thing she wanted to change. That constant niggling worry on the edge of her subconscious. To hell with it. She wanted to live, to experience life to the fullest, to gorge herself at life's banquet.

And in the next couple of days she would decide just how she was going to do it.

Then she was going home to implement her plans.

By the flickering firelight, she looked around the small, empty room with a pang of nostalgia. Although her grandmother hadn't returned to the mountains for many years, the little house still held the warmth of memories that would keep Marnie wrapped in her love for the rest of her life. Her grandmother would have wholeheartedly approved of what she was doing.

The shrieking wind reminded her of vacations spent here with her family, telling ghost stories sprawled on the floor before a roaring fire, roasting marshmallows. Snuggled inside her sleeping bag, Marnie pictured the little cottage as it had been when she and the boys had come up here with Grammy for vacations.

The furniture, handcrafted by her grandfather, was gone. The quilts and framed needlework hung in Marnie's own house in Sunnyvale. Now Grammy's cottage was just a small, empty wood building tucked away under the trees in the mountains, filled only with happy memories.

Grandpa had passed away, and a year later her mother had died in a senseless car accident. Marnie had been six. Grammy had come down off her beloved mountain to take care of her and her brothers. Grammy was the only mother Marnie had known, and she ached with her loss. She would have given anything right now to have Grammy with her, just for a little while. She could have benefited from a little grandmotherly wisdom.

Martha Washburn had been a shining example. She'd been strong. Independent. Courageous.

She'd shaped who and what Marnie had become. She'd fought tooth and nail to free her granddaughter from her father and brothers' overprotectiveness and tight control. She'd tried to make Marnie's life normal.

They hadn't always agreed, but Marnie had loved her cantankerous grandmother fiercely and with all her heart.

Getting involved with some guy wasn't the solution to her problems. She'd proven that. Years ago she'd started looking for
someone
. Someone...tame. Someone who was the opposite of her macho brothers, who drove her nuts bossing her around.
They
weren't settling-down kind of men. As much as she adored them, she'd wanted something different. Someone housebroken. Someone with a normal job and a regular hobby. Yet in each case, the men she'd thought she could share some kind of life with had ended up being wrong for her. There'd been no spark. No electricity. No sizzle.

Thinking she needed a man to complete her life had been the problem. Maybe she was a slow learner. It wasn't a man she needed. It was the ability to say no to her family and yes to herself.

For years her grandmother had warned her she was looking for the wrong thing. Instead of looking around for someone to make her feel complete, she needed to examine herself. To know who she really was. To feel whole within herself.

Marnie had vehemently disagreed. Every woman her age was marrying. Having kids. It was what women
did
.

Twice she'd accepted engagement rings from nice men who were all the things she thought she wanted, only to find herself aching for something they didn't have. Couldn't give her.

And while she wasn't in a hurry to get married anymore, she wasn't getting any younger, either. She was only twenty-seven. Her biological clock would probably start to tick soon, but she had years before age became an issue.

Grammy had been dead right.

Marnie had to learn about herself before she could share her life with someone else. Whoever he might be.

Luckily that decision had come before she'd made it to the altar. One small step. Yet she hadn't moved from the safety of her dad's house until a year ago. And she still worked for him as a programmer when what she really wanted to do was something involving her art. Like the Cowardly Lion, she was still looking for courage.

Grammy's death five weeks ago had been a turning point in her life. She'd ridden on the current of taking the path of least resistance for too long. The times they were a-changing. She'd missed so much by letting others tell her what was best for her.

Now she wanted it all. Art school in Paris. Living in a sun-filled loft with the smell of paint and the Seine. Excitement. Challenge. Freedom.

Or perhaps she'd find a job with an advertising agency. Or a greeting card company. Or... The choices were limitless. All she had to do was decide which road to take. Which grand adventure to pursue.

Someday she'd want a husband. And children. And a house in the country, with a tire swing hanging from a tree, smoke curling from the chimney, and marigolds growing near the front door. But not yet.

She needed to learn to spread her wings and fly. And by God, when she left this mountain she'd know precisely how she was going to achieve that. Come hell or high water, as Grammy used to say.

Marnie smiled into the darkness. She didn't need to wonder what her grandmother would think of her antisocial mountain man. Her grandmother had always had a lively sense of adventure.
She
wouldn't have been scared off.

He didn't scare Marnie off, exactly, but in this case keeping out of his way would be wise. He was dangerously attractive, and she had far too much thinking to do this weekend.

Thinking that could become muddied getting mixed up with another macho man who thought he knew what was best for her.

Her smile grew. But there wasn't any harm in daydreaming about him.

She recalled his dark blue eyes as he'd glared at her. His sexy mouth. That rich, husky voice that made her bone marrow shimmy like Jell-O. She snuggled deeper into the sleeping bag and forced herself to rein in her thoughts about a man she didn't know. And probably shouldn't. The thoughts, however, kept her nice and warm. She wondered what he was doing right—

A
booooom
, similar to a volcano erupting, cut her off in midthought. The noise was deafening. And close.

With a howl of fright Duchess jerked awake and skittered across the plank floor to land quivering on her mistress's legs.

At the same time Marnie bolted upright, wide-eyed, heart pounding. "What the—"

The cottage shuddered, groaned, and creaked. The walls shook with a series of earsplitting screeches. Tangled in the sleeping bag and dog, adrenaline rushing, she kicked her legs free and jumped to her feet just as a huge tree crashed through the ceiling.

With a bloodcurdling yell, Marnie threw her arms over her head, and her body over Duchess, as chunks of roof and ceiling, branches, and rain showered down.

Duchess's frantic barking wasn't helping matters. "Shhh, girl. Shhh." The dog wriggled from beneath her but didn't stop her frantic barking.

After several moments, when no more horrendous sounds ripped through the night, Marnie straightened. Bits of debris drifted off her head and shoulders. She stared uncomprehendingly at the quivering branches of a ponderosa pine poking through a huge gaping hole in the shake roof. Broken branches littered the floor. Heavy raindrops slashed through the opening. Wet branches moaned under the sodden weight, then dripped puddles on the bare wooden floor at her feet.

The weight sprang the hinges on the front door, which now hung drunkenly, letting in a blast of wind and rain.

"Oh, wow!" she whispered in a gross understatement.

Duchess sniffed a branch, looking over her shoulder she let out a puzzled whine.

"No kidding, Sherlock."

A small whirlpool swirled pine needles and debris, stirring up the fire in the hearth into a shower of orange and blue sparks.

The tree dropped another few feet.

With a loud yelp, Duchess flew through the partially open front door and disappeared into the darkness.

"Hey," Marnie yelled. "Wait for me!"

She grabbed up her jacket and put it on, the sleeves of her sweatshirt bunched uncomfortably beneath it. She crammed sketch pad and pencils into her backpack, but there was no time to put on her boots.

Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

The fire flared and sparked as more debris dropped into the room.

Marnie grabbed the bootlaces in one hand, dug in her backpack, pulled out a bottle of water, and hurriedly doused the fire in the hearth. She left yesterday's damp clothes where they had been drying before the fire. Her problems were more immediate than having only the clothes she stood up in.

Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

The tree creaked ominously then dropped another four feet into the room, effectively blocking the door.

Nonplussed, she stared at the quaking branches for a second. The tree was huge, the branches thick and widespread.

She slung her backpack over her shoulders, draped the lightweight sleeping bag around her neck, then grasped the closest branch. With more speed than grace, she clambered partway up the thick branches until she reached the broken window on the far side of the room. The backpack kept snagging on branches, and she had to repeatedly pause to unhook herself, all the while chanting under her breath, "Hurry. Hurry. Hurry."

It wasn't easy to slide open the sash, which was partially blocked by foliage. By the time she was done, her hands were sticky with pitch from having to break off the small branches in her way, and she was breathing hard.

Mindful of broken glass, she eased herself gingerly out of the narrow opening. The moment Marnie's stockinged foot touched the ground outside the window, she felt a tug on the hem of her jacket.

"Gee, thanks for the help, you traitor." Duchess's cold nose nudged her knee, urging her to swing her other leg over the sill. "Yeah, yeah. I'm hurrying. Stop pulling."

The monster tree dipped farther into the house with a shriek that sounded eerily like a woman's scream. The sound of glass shattering on the other side of the house was followed by a series of pops. Sounding like the score to a chain-saw horror movie, bark scraped across wood in the tree's long, slow descent.