Day Of Reckoning Part 9

She looked past him as if she thought there was someone else in the attic with them. "Didn't you hear her?"

"Who?" he asked on a breath.

"My mother. She was calling me." Her voice broke with emotion as she glanced toward the widow's walk and shuddered, tears welling in her eyes. "Tell me you heard her," she said in a whisper, looking up at him as if she was depending on him.

You're looking at the wrong guy, he thought. "Sorry."

"I don't understand-" A sob broke from her.

"You were walking in your sleep. I have a little sister who does the same thing." He couldn't get the frightening image of her eyes from his mind. She'd looked blind, lost in another world miles away.

"Sleepwalking?" She was trembling so hard he could practically hear her teeth chatter. He dragged a worn quilt from a pile on one of the ornate antique tables and draped it around her.

"Lisa usually walked during a bad dream." He hoped that was all it was in Rozalyn's case.

"I heard something."

Just like she'd seen something earlier at the waterfall? "Old houses make strange noises sometimes-"

"It wasn't the house." She shuddered. "My mother. She was calling me, to help her. to help her." Eyes swimming in tears, she glanced toward the widow's walk where her mother had committed suicide. Her face crumpled. "What was I doing out there?"

He wished he knew. "I'm sure it was just a bad dream," he said, not sure of that at all. If anything, it was more like a nightmare since something had gotten her to climb out onto the railing of that widow's walk.

She looked around again, clearly not so sure now, still seeming disoriented. "It was so real," she whispered.

"Dreams can be like that," he said softly and brushed a lock of wet hair back from her cheek. Just before her brown eyes boiled over with tears again, he got a good look at them. "What are you on?"

"What?" She wiped at her tears, staring up at him.

"Drugs, what did you take?"

"Nothing. I don't take drugs."

"Not even something to sleep?"

She shook her head, quickly stopping the motion, eyes closing tightly as if the movement had made her sick.

"You're coming with me." He pulled her to her feet. She swayed, obviously woozy. He expected her to put up a fight but without a word she let him carry her to the paneled opening and the hidden staircase.

She was trembling, from the cold, fear and whatever drug dulled her eyes as he helped her descend the narrow steps. Then he carried her to her bedroom.

"We have to get you into something dry," he said quietly as he closed the door behind them. When he turned back to her, she had slumped on the edge of the bed clutching the quilt as if lost.

He went into the bathroom, came back with a couple of large towels and toweled the rainwater from her hair. He was tempted to get her into the bathtub but it would take too long to fill. He had a shower in the guest house. All he had to do was get her there.

He found clothing, hiking boots, her toothbrush and stuffed everything into a pillowcase from the bed. He handed it to her, swept her up again and quietly carried her down the stairs, out the back door and through the rain and garden to the guest house.

Once inside, he took her into the bathroom. She sat on the toilet seat still wrapped in the quilt as he turned on the shower. Steam filled the room quickly and, when he was sure it was warm enough, he gently pulled her to her feet and slipped the quilt off her shoulders.

The nightgown clung to her like a second skin. He sucked in a breath at the sight of her body flushed under the thin white fabric.

"d.a.m.n," he breathed. She was beautiful, her skin lightly freckled and pale, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s full and round, her nipples dark and hard against the wet cotton. She had a slim waist, a flat stomach and a small mound of strawberry-blond hair at the vee between her legs.

She took his breath away.

"Rozalyn," he said softly as he looked into her dark eyes. She trembled, still looking dazed, and he couldn't be sure if it was because of the drug she'd ingested or hypothermia setting in. He had to get her warmed up and straightened out. "I'm going to take off your wet nightgown."

She didn't resist, didn't speak or even blink as he pulled the nightgown up over her head and drew her toward the shower. She stumbled and leaned into him as if her legs still would not hold her.

Kicking off his shoes, still in his jeans and T-s.h.i.+rt, he stepped into the shower with her, holding her as the warm water cascaded over her naked body. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her face against his chest, and he held her to him and thought about baseball rather than the naked woman in his arms.

After a few minutes, her trembling slowed. Warm steam filled the small bathroom like thick warm fog. He stood with her until they'd emptied the hot water tank, until her skin was bright pink.

She seemed stronger, more steady once they were out of the shower as if shedding the effects of the drug-if not the horror of what could have happened up there on the widow's walk.

Mentally reciting major league statistics, he quickly toweled her dry and pulled one of his dry T-s.h.i.+rts over her head. It was large enough that it dropped to below her knees, covering her glorious body.

Wrapping her in a dry quilt from the bed, he carried her to the living room couch where he deposited her while he went into the bedroom to change into dry clothes himself. He needed a drink. Desperately.

When he came back out, she looked up. She hadn't said a word in the shower or out. She looked a hundred percent better. "I know what you're thinking."

"I doubt that," he said softly.

"You think I went up there to jump," she said in a whisper.

He shook his head. "I think someone drugged you and somehow tricked you into going up to the attic and getting on that widow's walk."

"How is that possible?"

"I don't know. You appeared to be in a hypnotic state. At first I thought you were walking in your sleep. Until I got a good look at your pupils."

"My mother jumped to her death from that same widow's walk," she said shakily.

He nodded.

"Don't you think it's a little strange that I would go up there like I did and-" Her voice broke.

"You weren't up there trying to kill yourself or you would have jumped before I got to you," he said.

She didn't look so sure about that. "How did did you happen to see me in the attic? I don't remember anything except being really drowsy and going to bed." you happen to see me in the attic? I don't remember anything except being really drowsy and going to bed."

He sighed. "I was out on the guest house porch waiting for the storm when I saw a light in one of the attic windows. Then I saw you. I climbed the tree beside the house, went through your bedroom and up those stairs hidden in the wall."

"The door was open?" she asked surprised.

He nodded. "Your bare footprints were in the dust so I knew that was the way you'd gone up." Now that he thought about it, there were no other footprints.

"You climbed the tree outside my bedroom?" Her cheeks flushed.

He wondered why she was blus.h.i.+ng. "The lock was already broken. There was a screwdriver on the ledge where someone had pried open the window before I came along."

"Well, whatever made me go up there, thank you for-" she waved a hand through the air, her gaze s.h.i.+fting toward the bathroom, her cheeks in high color "-for saving me."

He met her gaze and didn't like what he saw. She thought he was some kind of hero. Far from it. "You would have awakened and climbed down if I hadn't shown up."

She gave him a look that said they both knew better than that.

"After you came back from the hospital, what did you have to drink?" he asked.

She frowned. "Nothing. I had a couple of Swiss chocolates-"

"Ones you brought with you?"

She shook her head slowly. "No, they were in a dish beside the bed with a note from Drew."

He swore under his breath. "I didn't see a note when I was looking for a change of clothing for you. Are you sure Drew left the chocolates?"

"No. His name was on the note but I wouldn't know his handwriting." She stared at him as if just starting to comprehend what he was saying. "You think there was something in the chocolates? You can't think that someone in the house put drugs in-"

"Any member of that that family is capable, Emily included. They all had access to your room and someone had either gone in your bedroom window or wanted you to believe they had." family is capable, Emily included. They all had access to your room and someone had either gone in your bedroom window or wanted you to believe they had."

She bit her lower lip. "That's what I thought when I returned from the hospital to find the window open. Someone had gone through my suitcase." She looked at him. "You don't think I'm crazy?"

"I'm not saying that." He smiled. "You want some coffee?"

She shook her head. "I want to sleep for a week."

Her brown eyes were clearer, the effects of the drug wearing off. He went to the bar and sloshed some Scotch into a gla.s.s. He pressed it into her hand. "Just a sip."

She stared down at it, lifted the gla.s.s to her lips, drank a little and made a face.

He smiled at her. "It's an acquired taste."

"Not one I care to acquire," she said and handed him back the gla.s.s.

He drained what little was left and looked down at her. She looked as if she'd been dragged through the wringer. Right now she was giving him one of her narrowed-eye looks. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. She was trying to figure him out, no doubt finally realizing that he might have an ulterior motive for everything he'd been doing. He smiled to himself, liking the fact that the woman was sharp.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked.

"What makes you think I'm not always nice?"

"I'm serious."

"I can see that."

She studied him. He tried not to flinch.

"I don't mean to sound unappreciative but...I just feel like there might be some reason you keep saving me."

"Just my bad luck at being in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said.

"Or my good luck?"

He wanted to tell her that his coming into her life would be considered anything but good luck. But h.e.l.l, that would be counterproductive to getting what he wanted now, wouldn't it?

"You can have the bed," he said and turned his back to walk down the short hall to the linen closet where he took out bedding. "I'll take the couch."

ROZ COULDN'T believe it. d.a.m.n, if she wasn't careful she was going to start trusting him. She stared after the man, reminding herself who he was. Ford Lancaster. But how could everything that had happened tonight not not change her original opinion of him? change her original opinion of him?

He'd written that article years ago and he'd had his reason for wanting to hurt his father. Now he was trying to make up for what he'd done by helping her and her father.

So why was something still niggling at her, something that warned her not to be taken in by him no matter how kind or caring he appeared to be?

She looked into those pale green eyes as he returned to the room and felt a slight tremor. "You aren't just trying to get me to lower my defenses by being nice to me, are you?"

His smile was disarming. "You're too smart for that."

She gave him a wary look as he put the bedding on the couch next to her and felt a moment's alarm.

He chuckled. "Rozalyn, s.e.x is the last thing on my mind right now."

Really? She wished she she could say that. She didn't like the feeling just looking into his eyes gave her. She thought about his arms around her in the shower, her naked body pressed against- could say that. She didn't like the feeling just looking into his eyes gave her. She thought about his arms around her in the shower, her naked body pressed against- "You should try to get some sleep," he said. "We can talk about my plans to get you to lower your defenses in the morning."

He was trying to make light of it but was it possible he was feeling what she was? Obviously not. She got to her feet. "Thank you. For everything tonight."

He smiled at that. "You make it sound like I took you on a date."

Why did he have to make it so hard to thank him?

"Before our date ends, there's something I need you to do." He went into the kitchen and came back with a paper cup. He handed it to her. "Give me a sample."

"You aren't serious."

"Humor me, okay? It's not like I asked you to get naked again." His gaze met hers. "Or have s.e.x with me."

She felt herself flush in spite of the fact that he was baiting her. "You don't take compliments well."

He raised a brow obviously finding humor in that. "I've had so few I'm at a loss as to how to take them."

"Are you ever serious?"

"I'm serious right now," he said, his pale aqua gaze boring into hers. He pushed the paper cup at her. "Just leave it beside the sink."

She thought of him in the shower with her, how strong and solid and comforting he'd been. A different man than the one standing in front of her now. Or was that just what he wanted her to believe? Her defenses had definitely been down when they'd been in the shower together. If he had wanted to take advantage of her, he could have and she sensed he'd known it. So why hadn't he?