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effect of triggering a dull, hard thumping in Ruth's chest. "Knowing Annie, she'd rather have a toy barn
and horses for her Kens. And let s just slow that brush down& " He placed his hand over Ruth's, and
this time she didn t pull away. The warmth of his hand moving with hers invoked a bizarre sense of
longing that was as strong as it was unexpected. She glanced up at him. "Still, I want to get her
something pretty."
His hand still covering hers, Matt stopped the movement of the brush, peered down at her with eyes
that shone as if each possessed its own little sun, and said in a quiet, soulful voice, "I'm glad you've
come to us, Ruthie girl. This place needs a woman's touch."
For a moment, Ruth couldn't breathe, or speak. All she could do was look up at him, while a silent
little voice in her head said, Don't do this to me. Don't smile your crooked smile and look at me
with eyes that make my heart flutter....
Wariness settled inside her. Something insidious and unwanted was stealing into her existence,
directing her mind to oppose her will. Whatever it was, she didn't like it.
Matt lifted his hand from hers and stroked her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "So serious. Give
me a smile. Show me those dimples you keep hidden beneath a frown."
Ruth offered a smile, but it quivered and flattened. And the pleasure she d felt was replaced by the
terrible awareness that she was becoming attracted to the man who might have kidnapped her
daughter. She'd heard it could happen, a victim drawn into a kind of perverse bond with her
perpetrator. She'd guard against that. Matt was merely a means to an end. Nothing more.
***
That evening, while Matt and Annie were occupied with their bedtime story-telling shenanigans, as
Matt laughingly referred to it, Ruth stood on the porch, contemplating her day. It had not gone as she
had planned or wanted. She'd intended to endear the child and dislike the man, but that's not the way it
turned out. As untouchable as Annie had been, Matt had been the opposite. After their encounter in the
barn, he'd shown her around the place, and during that time he frequently touched her his palm at the
small of her back or beneath her elbow as they walked, his finger pushing a wisp of hair from her
forehead or brushing a smidgeon of dust from her cheek, his hand grasping her arm to pull her out of
the way of a frolicking dog. He'd treated her as if she were special, someone who, in some way she
could not hope to understand, made a difference in his life. She wanted to think the worst of him, but
couldn't.
An unfamiliar sensation began to well in the area of her solar plexus, a mixture of uncertainty and
anticipation and elation. She breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of horses and warm earth and night
blossoms, and the feeling began to subside. Perhaps it had only been a touch of fatigue. It had been a
long day.
A small, insistent voice inside her said, No, Ruth, it's not fatigue, nor has it been a long day, and
you know it. But she dismissed the voice and concentrated instead on the bright moon peeking from
behind gauzy clouds while weaving a gossamer web of ethereal light and shadows on everything it
touched. The night was filled with a chorus of sounds the hooty, hoot, hoot of an owl, the winsome
flute-song of a night bird, the ceaseless drone of frogs at the pond, the cacophony blending with the
whirring of crickets and the far-off laughter of the men in the bunkhouse. But gradually, all the sounds
seemed to grow faint, until not a leaf moved, not an insect stirred. The very air seemed to hang
motionless. But while the sounds around her faded, the sensation of being watched grew, until it was
so strong, tiny hairs on the back of her neck began to tingle. Nervously she turned. And stilled.
Matt, standing in a pool of ochre light beneath the porch fixture, watched her solemnly. The directness
of his gaze was like an intimate touch, the powerful awareness of his physical presence making her
feel at once disarmed and vulnerable and desirable. For a moment, she basked in the notion that life
could again be fulfilling. She imagined how it might have been in another time and another place
when she'd still clung to a young girl's dreams the stranger across a room, a discreet glance, an
engaging smile, an unspoken promise of love, and she'd walk into his open arms....
Warm tears filled her eyes, tears of longing for something she dared not wish, for fanciful notions and
impossible dreams and wanting a man she could not love. But when Beth was taken from her, it was
as if all capacity to love had died. There were no words to describe the shock, the anger, the terrible
emptiness that would not go away...
A tear slipped down her cheek, and another, and before she could react, Matt closed the gap between [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]