A Woman Without Lies Part 17

aShe broke her hip a while ago,a Angel said. aIam bringing her groceries and taking her to the doctor until she can drive herself again.a Black brows came together as Hawk turned the name over in his mind.

aMrs. Carey,a he muttered. aIave heard that name.a aJams and jellies,a said Angel, opening her door.

Hawk got out and joined her at the trunk.

aAs in this gla.s.s?a he asked, lifting the quilt-wrapped panel out of the trunk.

aAs on our breakfast croissants.a Hawk made an appreciative sound and licked his lips.

aNow I remember the name,a he said. aAre we going to buy some more jam today?a aMrs. Carey would sic her cat on me if I even suggested it. Iave eaten her wonderful jams all my life. Gifts. Every last bite.a aAnd all the sweeter because of it,a Hawk said.

Again Hawk had surprised Angel. She hadnat expected him to understand.

aYes,a she said simply.

aDonat look so shocked, Angel. I know what gifts mean. I used to wait in an agony of hope every birthday, every Christmas. I learned not to hope after a while.a Angel closed her eyes, trying not to feel Hawkas pain.

aAnd then my third-grade teacher gave me a small candy cane with a green ribbon on it,a Hawk said. aI kept that candy cane until Christmas morning, when I knew other kids would be opening their presents.a Angelas hands clenched in helpless sympathy.

aThen I walked out into the fields until I was alone,a Hawk said. aI can still feel the wrapping crinkle beneath my fingers, smell the freshness of the mint, see the bright green ribbon and the clean red and white of the cane. It was the sweetest, most beautiful thing Iave ever tasted. I carried the ribbon in my pocket until nothing was left but a few green threads.a Hawk shook his head, almost baffled by the bittersweet shaft of memory.

aI havenat thought about that for a long, long time,a he said.

Angel fought tears as she compared her own Christmases and birthdays heaped with gifts and laughter and love. She had lost so much four years ago, but at least she had something to lose.

Years of memories, years of love.

Hawk had nothing but rare moments, the fading taste of mint, and a ribbon worn to shreds in a boyas pocket.

18.

Quietly Angel shut the trunk and followed Hawk to the front door of Mrs. Careyas house. She rang the bell and waited, knowing it might take a while for Mrs. Carey to reach the front door.

Hawk noted Angelas silence and drawn face, saw the tiny indentations where she had bitten her lower lip. He didnat know what had upset her. All he knew was that he wanted to soothe the marks away with the tip of his tongue.

Like the memory of mint, the impulse surprised Hawk. He realized that he wanted to comfort rather than seduce Angel. He wanted to see her smile because he had brought pleasure to her. He wanteda"

Mrs. Carey opened the door. Her gray head barely came to Hawkas breastbone. She adjusted her gla.s.ses as she looked up at the tall, dark man who stood so unexpectedly on her doorstep.

aGood morning, Mrs. Carey,a Angel said, her voice soft, still shaken by Hawkas sad memories. aIad like you to meet Miles Hawkins. Hawk, this is Mrs. Carey.a aMr. Hawkins,a said the old woman, nodding her head.

aCall me Hawk. Everyone else in Canada does.a He slanted a sideways look at Angel. Then he s.h.i.+fted the quilt-wrapped stained gla.s.s panel to his other arm as he took the old womanas cool, dry hand in his.

aA pleasure, Mrs. Carey.a The old womanas shrewd black eyes measured the man in front of her. Then she nodded once, abruptly.

aNot many men could carry that nickname. You can. Come in, Hawk.a Then, dryly, aYou too, Angie. Teaas brewing.a A big orange tomcat wove in and out of Mrs. Careyas walker with breathtaking disregard for safety as she led the way to the kitchen. Finally Angel could stand the suspense no longer. She bent down and lifted the heavy cat into her arms.

aTiger, you have no sense,a she scolded softly.

She rubbed the cat with her chin as she followed Mrs. Carey into the kitchen. The tom watched Angel with wise orange eyes, touched his nose to hers, and flowed out of her arms. Angel didnat try to keep the cat. Mrs. Carey was sitting down now, no longer in danger of becoming tangled in her catas furry little feet.

aPour for me, would you?a Mrs. Carey asked. aI must have slept on my hands wrong last night. Theyare kind of slow waking up this morning.a Angel looked quickly at Mrs. Carey. aHave you called Dr. McKay?a The old woman laughed dryly.

aIam seventy-nine, Angie. Iave earned a few slow mornings, donat you think?a aIam driving Derry over to see Dr. McKay later this morning,a said Angel. aIall pick you up anda"a aNonsense,a Mrs. Carey interrupted firmly. aPour the tea, Angie. Thereas nothing the doctor can do for me that a cup of tea canat do better. Sit down, Hawk. You can put whatever youare carrying on the counter.a Angie poured tea and pa.s.sed the plate of shortbread biscuits around.

aAbout the doctor,a she began firmly. aI thinka"a aI remember a time a few years ago,a Mrs. Carey said, interrupting with equal firmness. aDerry came flying over here with his knickers in a twist because he found you asleep on your studio floor. Seems youad been working too long, or something. Dr. McKay went to the house, thumped and poked and listened, and you never woke up. He told Derry nothing was wrong with you that a lot of sleep wouldnat cure.a aYes, buta"a Mrs. Carey put her teacup down with a firm motion that cut off Angelas words.

aWell, thereas nothing wrong with me that being young again wouldnat cure,a Mrs. Carey said. aThe day the doctor can turn back time is the day Iall call him and tell him I feel tired in the morning.a Angel sighed and gave up.

The phone rang.

aIall get it,a Angel said, moving quickly toward the living room.

Mrs. Carey followed much more slowly.

Angel answered the phone, exchanged a few words with the person on the line, and then gave the phone to Mrs. Carey. The instant Angel walked back into the kitchen, she felt the intensity of Hawkas stare.

aDo you do that often?a he asked, watching her.

aAnswer the phone?a Angel asked, sitting down.

aWork yourself into exhaustion.a Angel shrugged, trying to dismiss the subject.

aNo,a she said calmly.

aJust when youare upset?a Hawk asked, his voice too soft for Mrs. Carey to hear.

Angel sipped her tea.

aHow long has it been?a said Hawk.

aSince what?a aSince you worked until you couldnat think, couldnat feel, until your body just shut down and dumped you on the floor.a For a moment Angel thought of refusing to answer. Then she realized that it didnat matter. Hawk would just ask Derry.

And then there was the fact she wanted to tell Hawk. There would be a certain almost cruel pleasure in revealing to him just how badly he had misjudged her.

aIt was more than three years ago,a Angel said, sipping her tea. aIt was the night Carlson finally convinced me that the man I loved was dead and I was alive and there wasnat one d.a.m.n thing I could do about it except crawl into the grave and die with him.a aBut you didnat.a aCarlson wouldnat let me.a Angelas eyes darkened, remembering Carlsonas cruelty. But it had been cruelty with purpose, cruelty that forced her to accept that she was alive and Grant was not.

Carlson had paid, too, more than she knew at the time. Angel hadnat forgiven him for a year, hadnat spoken to him, had refused even to look at him or the letters he sent. She hadnat known then that Carlson loved her as a man loved a woman.

By the time she understood, it was too late. Carlson was inextricably bound up in her mind with Grantas life and death. She could no more be Carlsonas lover than she could be Derryas.

aCarlson loved you,a Hawk said flatly.

aYes. Even before Grant did. But I never loved him, not that way.a aBecause heas Indian?a Angel smiled sadly. aBecause he wasnat Grant.a aBut after Grant was dead?a Hawk persisted.

With a weary gesture, Angel pushed tendrils of hair out of her eyes.

aCarlson still wasnat Grant,a she said simply. aI couldnat forgive him for that. I couldnat forgive Derry. I couldnat forgive any man.a Angel saw another question form on Hawkas lips. Abruptly she knew that whatever she had hoped to do to Hawk, she was being hurt worse by her words than he was. Memories punished her, memories she hadnat allowed herself to review for years.

aNo more, Hawk, please,a Angel said, her voice low, ragged. aOr do you enjoy torturing me with the past?a Hawk closed his eyes, shutting out the confusion and anger in Angelas face.

aNo,a he said very softly.

aThen why do you do it?a aBecause I have to know about you.a His eyes opened clear and calm, as deep as night. aI have to.a aWhy?a Angel asked, desperation fraying the edges of her control.

aIave never known a woman who loved anything but herself.a Hawkas quiet words destroyed Angelas protests. If her pain could teach Hawk something, she wouldnat fight each question, each answer. She had learned so much from Derryas pain, and from Carlsonas. She couldnat refuse another person an equal chance to learn.

In the sudden silence, the sound of Mrs. Careyas walker squeaking down the hall toward them was very loud.

aThat was Karen,a Mrs. Carey said. aShe told me that the raspberries on the old homestead are coming on thick this year.a aYum,a Angel said, licking her lips.

The old woman smiled.

aI canat pick them,a Mrs. Carey said, abut I can still make jam.a aWeall be glad to pick as many berries as you want,a Hawk said before Angel could speak.

aA hawk in a raspberry patch.a Mrs. Carey laughed with a sound like fallen leaves rustling. aThank you. That was worth getting up for.a The corner of Hawkas mouth lifted slightly. He looked at Angel, then at the kitchen counter where the stained gla.s.s panel lay, then back at Angel. She nodded. He stood in a lithe motion and went over to the counter.

aThis,a Hawk said as he lifted the quilt-wrapped panel, ais worth living a hundred years for.a He went to the window that overlooked the breakfast table. Sun poured through, bathing the table in warmth. s.h.i.+elding the panel from Mrs. Careyas view, Hawk unwrapped the quilt. Then he stepped aside quickly, holding the panel to the light.

Gla.s.s blazed, filling the kitchen with colors.

Mrs. Carey leaned against her walkeras support and looked at the gla.s.s transforming her kitchen into a fantasy of dancing colors.

aThat is the prettiest thing I have ever seen,a she said slowly. aJust look at those colors. Why, Iad swear that you could eat that jelly.a Angel smiled widely, enjoying Mrs. Careyas pleasure.

aIam glad you like it,a Angel said. aItas yours.a The old woman turned and looked at Angel.

aItas too much, Angie. I canat take it. Why, you must have spent a lot of timea"a aIave eaten your jam all my life, Mrs. Carey,a Angel interrupted gently. aYouave spent years in the kitchen cooking for other people. Please. I want you to have the panel. I made it just for you.a Tears sparkled in Mrs. Careyas eyes. She pulled a lavender-scented handkerchief from the pocket of her house dress and dabbed at her eyes. Then she held her hand out to Angel.

Angel stood and hugged Mrs. Carey gently. When Angel stepped away, she saw Hawk watching, his eyes as intense as the sunlight pouring into the kitchen. It was as though he was memorizing each instant of affection, each nuance of giving and receiving between the two women.

aWhere would you like this hung?a Hawk asked, switching his attention to Mrs. Carey.

aRight there, where Iall see it every morning. When youare my age, you need something to look forward to when you get out of bed.a aYou need that at any age,a Hawk said, glancing quickly at Angel.

While Hawk hung the panel so that it would take full advantage of the sunlight, Angel and Mrs. Carey worked on a list of what she would need for the upcoming canning season. By the time they were finished, so was Hawk. He took the list from Angel and skimmed it swiftly.

aWill you want these right away?a Hawk asked.

aOh, no. Not for a week or more.a aGood. Angel is going to take me fis.h.i.+ng for a few days. Our last trip was . . . delayed.a Angel wanted to object, but knew she couldnat. When she had agreed to take up guide duties again, she had known that those duties would probably include the fis.h.i.+ng trip.

Two days ago the thought hadnat frightened her.

But it did now, for now when she looked at Hawk she saw more than his harsh, predatory features. She saw the shadow of a boy who had carried a green ribbon in his pocket until there was nothing left but a few bright threads.

It was an unusually quiet Angel who followed Hawk out to the car. She hadnat thought to be vulnerable to him again, not like this, feeling his pain as though it was her own.

aIall stock the boat while you take Derry to the doctor,a Hawk said, watching Angelas profile.

She nodded without looking at him.

aDo you have any calls to make before we leave?a Angel asked.

aNo. The second part of the deal is launched. There will be one more crunch before it either all comes together or falls into a million pieces.a The indifference in Hawkas voice intrigued Angel.

aYou sound like you donat care,a she said.

aOne way Iam rich. One way Iam not.a Hawk shrugged. aIave made and lost several fortunes since I quit racing cars. Either way, the adrenaline flows. Money is just a way of keeping score.a Angel thought about Hawkas words while she drove home. She was still thinking about them while she waited for Derry to be finished at the doctoras office. Even when she and Hawk walked down the wharf to his boat, she was still turning his words over and over in her mind, like pieces of gla.s.s that she couldnat quite fit into the overall design.

There was a wind blowing out of the north. Hawkas black hair lifted and rippled thickly. The motion of his hair and the light sliding through it were distinctly uncivilized.

Angel glanced at Hawkas profile, then quickly away. It was his watch she needed to see, not the untamed gleam of his eyes.

She frowned as she read the face of the watch. North winds usually blew up trouble. She had hoped to fish the tide turn at Indian Head, nearly three-quarters of the way up to Needle Bay, their destination.

But if a good blow was coming up, they would be lucky to make Needle Bay by dark. If the wind came too hard, they would have to shelter somewhere else along they way. Despite the protection of mountains and islands, the Inside Pa.s.sage was treacherous to small craft in a storm.

Angel took the boat out of the marina as quickly as the law allowed. Without a backward look, she left Campbell River behind, ignoring the boats bobbing on Frenchmanas Pool and the log rafts floating along the sh.o.r.e.

The wind stayed constant, just hard enough to make some whitecaps and set up a distinct chop. She turned up the volume on the radio, listening to fishermen coming down from the north. From what she heard, the wind was no worse up there than it was here. Rea.s.sured, she settled in for the long ride.

After a few hours, Hawk gave up his exposed position in one of the boatas padded stern seats. At first he had stayed out of the cabin deliberately, not wanting to make Angel nervous with his presence. Finally the sustained roar of the engines, the tangled white ribbon of the wake, the mountains rising green and gray from the sea, had all combined to relax him.

The wind and spray, however, were getting to the point that Hawk would be first chilled, then wet, unless he moved into the cabin.

Angel looked up, sensing Hawkas presence.

aGetting rough out there?ashe asked.

aA little.a Hawk looked through the winds.h.i.+eld and over the bow. In a gap between islands, solid ranks of whitecaps marched across the blue-black surface of the sea.

aNot as rough as itas going to get, from the looks of that,a he said.

aThat should be the worst of it,a agreed Angel, measuring the amount of rough water to cross. aWeall duck into the narrow channel between those two islands and cut over to another route north. It will take longer, but itas more protected.a Hawk braced himself along the padded bench seat that ran around three sides of the table that was behind the c.o.c.kpit. Without talking, he watched Angel handle the powerful boat. The stretch of wind-whipped water surrounded them, shook them playfully, pummeled the sleek white hull, then let the boat slide into the lee of an island where gulls wheeledand cried.

aLook,a said Hawk.

He touched Angelas arm and pointed to her right, fifty yards away, along the sheer face of a cliff. Gulls were diving from the rocks into a seething ball of herring. Protected from the wind, the sea was green and slick, showing each bubble, each darting silver body.

Angel checked the angle of the sun, measured it against the amount of water yet to travel, and shook her head.