Nightsong (9 page)

“I wanted to ask you to help me, but as you can see….” She gestured toward a cloth-covered stack in the back of the station wagon. “…I managed to load the canvases by myself. I also managed to persuade my neighbor to watch A.J. today. Mrs. Sanders is taking care of Jesse and the housework. The store is closed on Mondays. So I decided this would be a good time to get some of these paintings out of the closets. Would you like to come with me?”

The curve of his lips deepened. “To unload what you managed to load all by yourself?”

“Certainly. Fetch and carry was part of our rental agreement, wasn’t it?”

“That depends. What do I get out of this?”

Elleny held up a large thermos for his inspection. “Free coffee and.…” She put down the thermos and smiled charmingly. “The pleasure of my company.”

He pretended to consider. “Well, coffee sounds good.”

She started rolling up the window and, with a laugh, Phillip walked around the front of the car and joined her in the front seat.

With a glance over her shoulder, Elleny maneuvered the SUV across the street to the right side of the yellow lines.

Phillip glanced back, too, and rested his arm along the top of the seat. “Do you often flirt with a traffic ticket that way?”

“Knowing you has made me reckless.  Haven’t you noticed?”

There was a reckless part of him that wished her teasing were true, but he knew better than to encourage it. “I’ve noticed we’re heading toward the disputed city limits. Did the town council ever make a decision on that annexation?”

“It was tabled for further study. The wheels of progress turn slowly in Cedar Springs.”

“But you wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.”

Elleny turned a clear gaze to him, realizing that lately she had been thinking about living somewhere else.  Boston, perhaps. Was her vagabond spirit finally stretching its wings again? Did her restlessness stem from her youth or from something – or someone – closer at hand?

“I like this town very much,” she answered carefully. “I enjoy the small-town atmosphere and the sense of community and continuity that come with it. I like to think A.J. will grow up here. But I can’t say I’d never want to live anywhere except Cedar Springs. That would be tempting fate.”

For a moment there was only the low hum of the heater and the warmth filtering through his body. His fingers were close to the softness of her hair, but not too close. He wasn’t reckless enough to tempt fate either.

“Where are we going?” he asked, more for the sake of conversation than because he wanted to know.

“The cabin.” She looked at him with a question. “Didn’t I mention that? No? Well, we’re driving to the cabin to store a few of Mark’s paintings there. I tried to talk Jesse into letting me put them on the market or even donate them to a museum, but he’s adamant.” She tapped the steering wheel with a rosy fingernail. “I’ve given up trying to understand him.”

But Phillip understood.

And soon Elleny would, too. He was going to have to tell her, have to ask for her cooperation in tracking the van Warner. But he wasn’t ready to do that just yet. He wasn’t ready to see her eyes cloud with disillusionment ... or disbelief. That was becoming his foremost fear, the obstacle he couldn’t seem to overcome. What if she didn’t believe him?

He studied the delicate angles of her profile, the smooth, healthy sheen of her skin, the way her lips settled into a meditative line, slightly apart and totally captivating. As if sensing his interest, she glanced at him, her smile conveying a shy pleasure in having him near. His lips parted with a wish and a soundless sigh as he turned his gaze to the front. The park came into view, then slipped past the car windows, and in a matter of minutes the boundaries of Cedar Springs faded into outward-bound highway.

Elleny kept her hands positioned on the wheel, but her thoughts strayed to the man sitting beside her. His arm rested easily on the back of the seat, and a faint, woodsy, masculine scent teased her. After-shave, she decided, but her memory could not name the fragrance. Not that it mattered. The elusive scent was one of many things she’d come to associate with Phillip, one of the many things she liked about him.

He was often quiet, as now, but then so was she. There was no need for constant conversation between them. No need for the awkward starts and stops that often came with getting acquainted. He liked being with her. She liked being with him, and she liked the idea of falling in love at leisure.

Her first experience with love had been fierce and frantic. Partly, she supposed, because she’d been so very young. Partly, because Mark had been so very volatile.

But Phillip wasn’t. And neither was the emotion developing moment by steady moment between them.

“How far away is the cabin?” He interrupted her musing and brought her thoughts from daydream to equally pleasant reality.

“About forty miles southeast of town. At one time Jesse used the cabin exclusively as a studio, but when he married, it evolved into the family’s weekend home away from home.”

Phillip straightened, shifting his weight as he began to unbutton his coat. “Did Mark ever use the cabin as a studio?”

“Sometimes he’d complain that his creativity was stagnating in the narrow confines of Cedar Springs, and he’d spend a few days at the cabin. It improved his perspective and sharpened his
inner eye
.” Elleny shrugged aside the idiosyncrasies of artistic temperament. “At least that’s what he said.”

Phillip paused in the process of removing his coat, his gaze becoming intense and assessing. “He didn’t invite you to join him on these retreats?”

The road junctioned with the state highway at a busy intersection, and Elleny couldn’t return the look. But she was aware – acutely aware – of the sudden tension stitching its way into the momentary silence. “A few times,” she answered, trying to piece together the fragments of her abrupt uneasiness. “But it wasn’t much fun for me because Mark spent all his time working. After A.J. was born, the cabin held even less appeal.”

“So you stayed home and Mark did as he pleased.”

She turned to Phillip, grasping for an elusive understanding that remained just beyond her reach. “No, it wasn’t like that at all. I stayed home with my son because I wanted to, and Mark did what he had to do to satisfy his compelling need to paint. You’re an artist. You know it’s not a lifestyle that fits a nine-to-five schedule.”

“I also know it can be a self-serving, self-destructive way to live, Elleny.”

Her eyes widened, then darkened defensively. “You obviously didn’t know Mark very well, or you might have a different opinion.”

And you didn’t know him at all!
The accusation tingled on the tip of his tongue with the tart, acidic taste of citrus, but Phillip kept quiet. He would not—
would not
—tell her in anger. Hell, he wasn’t sure why he was angry, except that her naive perception of the world got to him.

With careful movements that concealed his irritation and yet fueled it at the same time, he shrugged out of his coat and laid it beside him. It was a flimsy barrier of wool, hardly worthy of recognition, but it served to remind him that he was separated from Elleny by more than a difference of opinion.

He risked a swift appraisal of her still form, but her expression revealed little of her thoughts, and for long minutes he focused on his own.

Frustration was fraying his nerves, and he could tell by the set, unsmiling contours of her mouth that she was wishing him back on the street corner and the seat beside her empty. He knew he should apologize, but sincerity would not come, and the tense quiet spun in an unending circle.

The miles clipped past at a respectful fifty-five miles per hour. Of course Elleny wouldn’t exceed the speed limit, he thought and frowned at the inanity of letting that annoy him. It wasn’t that he advocated breaking the law; most of the time he was careful to keep an eye on the speedometer himself. But it simply was reinforcement of the idea that Elleny played by the rules. And she believed everyone else did, too.

“How’s your work progressing?” Her tone was crisp and strictly polite.

His stomach jerked against his ribs in startled panic and then settled as he realized she was referring to art. “Fine, just fine.” He managed not to stammer and hoped he sounded confident and just the slightest bit contrite. “Maybe I’ll be inspired by this trip to the cabin.”

She lifted her chin a fraction as she turned inquisitive, but still cool, brown eyes in his direction. “But you forgot to bring a sketchpad, didn’t you?”

Instantly alert, Phillip smiled reassuringly. “I didn’t know I’d need one this morning. But if I’d had any idea it was so easy to get picked up at the corner of Second and Broadway, I’d have had it with me.”

Elleny ignored his attempt to lighten the mood and interrupted. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you with a sketchpad, Phillip.”

He had been investigating frauds of various kinds for years. Too long to pretend she was displaying only a coincidental curiosity. Elleny was adding two and two and coming up with suspicion, a doubt that he was who he’d claimed to be. He’d never before used such an elaborate cover to pursue a hunch and he’d never before told so many
necessary
lies and he’d certainly never expected to use his fabricated background in art for more than a week or two. But now that his cover was showing signs of wear, he felt distinctly uneasy, as if the ground beneath his feet was beginning to shift. It was one thing for him to
tell
Elleny of his deception, backed by evidence in hand; it was another for her to realize the truth on her own.

Keeping his smile steady, he decided it was time to cloud the issue. “I don’t want you to see my tablet, Elleny. Then you’d know how much time I spend sketching ... you.”

The huskiness of his voice, the words he said, infused a gentle warmth along the path from her toes to her fingertips, and she curved her hands around the steering wheel in self-defense. Phillip was good, so incredibly smooth, at throwing her off-balance. She shouldn’t let him change the course of the conversation that way, shouldn’t allow a compliment, no matter how lovely its phrasing, to soothe her. She wasn’t ready to give up her irritation yet.

But she couldn’t seem to help it.

“I think I’d like a cup of coffee,” she said, outwardly unimpressed with him, inwardly cautioning herself not to let him know the extent of her pleasure in simply being with him. “It’s black. I know you prefer it that way.”

“But you don’t.”

Elleny wished she hadn’t admitted making the concession to his taste. “Actually, I just forgot to add the sugar.”

He released a throaty chuckle and reached for the thermos. She watched the supple grace of his movements as he poured coffee into a Styrofoam cup. Then slowly, with a deliberately sensuous smile, he brought the cup to his lips and sipped. “There you are,” he said, extending the cup to her. “Sweetened just the way you like it.”

She jerked her gaze to the highway. A faint tremor skimmed her veins in the second before his hand closed over hers and gently lifted it from the steering wheel. It took some concentrated effort to hold the car steady as he turned her palm upward, traced her lifeline from wrist to fingertip before contouring her grip to the Styrofoam cup. Even when she had a firm hold, he didn’t release her, but instead helped bring the cup to her lips. She sipped the hot liquid, barely conscious of the taste of coffee, her senses brimming with the warmth of his touch, the scent of his after-shave, the sound of his breathing so close she felt the whisper against her temple.

“Sweet enough?” he asked softly, teasingly. “If not, I can try again.”

“No, thanks. I don’t think I can drink and drive at the same time.” Elleny handed the cup back to him, and he accepted it absently, his eyes never leaving her face. Her heart made a muted thrumming in her ears. “Besides, this is probably illegal.”

“If it isn’t, it ought to be.” His knuckles brushed her cheek with exquisite care, touched the corner of her wavering smile. Then all of a sudden he seemed to catch himself and abruptly settled back on his side of the front seat. With peripheral vision, she watched him adjust his coat before he drank the rest of the coffee. Then he put the thermos and cup away and turned his attention to the scenery.

“How much farther?” he asked after several silent miles.

“Not far.”

It might have been prophecy or fantasy. At the moment Elleny had no idea. She only knew the tension had changed course and taken a whole new direction with the touch of his hand against her cheek. Anticipation was building to confrontation, and for the first time she felt apprehensive. It was a disconcerting feeling and one she didn’t like or understand. But it lingered with the same jarring effect as the crunch and popping of gravel under the tires when she guided the car up the winding dirt road to the cabin.

In the full camouflage of summer, the cabin was hidden from view, but with the trees still winter-barren, it could be seen from a distance. Old and gray, like a stack of firewood left too long in the sun, it stood in neglected dignity at the end of the road.

Phillip said nothing as they approached, but sensing his interest, she parked the car beside the cabin and glanced over at him. He was studying the surroundings with a pensive frown. “Like a scene from one of his paintings, isn’t it?” he said, when the engine had idled into silence.

Elleny focused on the bland, weathered appearance of a house that once had known laughter and life. “I’ve never understood why Mark didn’t try to capture this scene on canvas.”

She thought Phillip’s frown deepened as he opened the door and stepped from the car, but perhaps it was her imagination. He reached for his coat without taking his eyes from the picturesque setting. Elleny retrieved her jacket from the back seat, pulled it on, and released a long sigh. With the disquieting feeling that she had missed some key element in their brief exchange, she got out of the car and walked toward the cabin.

It had been a long time since her last visit, yet nothing had changed.

No, that wasn’t right. Everything changed, even if it was only a matter of perspective. And this was now a place of memories. The wooden step creaked a welcome beneath her weight, and the scent of old cedar filled her nostrils as she reached the door and fumbled with her keys. With a rusty sound of disuse, the lock finally clicked, and the door opened reluctantly to her inward push.