Chapter 3 #3
“I suppose this means no to the hamburgers?”
The door opened again, but the only thing to come out was the sound of Casey’s voice at its most dignified. The shriek in her tone was gone and she was enunciating each word, as if speaking to someone lacking in mental capacity.
“No, it does not. I will have a hamburger, well-done, light on the salt, heavy on the pepper.”
This time when she closed the door, it was with a ladylike click. The glitter in Ryder’s eyes was sharp, the grin on his face sardonic.
“So you like it hot, do you, wife? That’s interesting. Very interesting indeed.”
He reentered the tiny kitchen and began making patties from the hamburger meat before carrying them out to the grill. As he slapped them on the grate, smoke began to rise and the fire began to pop and sizzle as fat dripped onto the burning charcoal.
Oddly, it reminded him of Casey in the midst of her family, putting up a smoke screen to keep them from knowing how scared she was, and popping wisecracks and issuing orders before anyone could tell her what to do.
He closed the lid and sighed. He had married a total stranger for the hell of it, but he hadn’t counted on the family that came with her. In fact, they reminded him of snakes, writhing and coiling and biting out at each other in some crazy sort of frenzy.
He thought of his own family, of how loud and rambunctious-of how close and loving they’d been—of how empty and scattered they now were. And how the world as he’d known it had ended because of something he’d done.
He went back inside, leaving the hamburgers and his memories behind.
* * *
“Want another one?” Ryder asked, indicating the two remaining well-done patties congealing in their own grease on a pea green plate.
Casey eyed the plate. Besides being an atrocious shade of green, the plate was chipped. She’d never eaten from a chipped plate before. She suspected this night was the beginning of many firsts. Dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a paper towel, she shook her head.
“No, thank you, I’m quite full.” Grudgingly she added, “It was very good.”
Ryder nodded and continued to stare at a ketchup stain near his fork.
What now? Conversation with this woman had been nearly impossible.
Every time he opened his mouth to speak, she jumped.
And she watched his every move with those big green eyes, as if she expected to be pounced upon at any moment.
Hell, she was beginning to make him antsy, too.
He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost nine.”
She paled.
He sighed.
“Easy now, lady.”
“Casey,” she said. “My name is Casey.”
His expression darkened. “Yes, and my name is Ryder. Unfortunately, that’s all we know about each other.” When she looked away, his frustration rose.
“Casey, look at me.”
She did, but with trepidation.
“There’s something I think needs to be said. This is going to be a long haul for both of us. I suppose we each had an agenda for even considering this situation, but it’s done, and for your sake, it has to work, right?”
She thought of Miles and Erica, and then of Lash. “Yes.”
“Okay, then there’s something I think you should know about me.”
Her head jerked up and she was suddenly staring at him in a still, waiting manner. Oh dear, what was he about to reveal?
Again, he sensed her fear. “Dammit, don’t look at me like that. I am not a dangerous man. I do not taunt women. I do not hurt women. I do not force women to do anything they do not want, and that includes the issue of sex.”
Startled by his bluntness, Casey blushed. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” she said.
“I’m listening.”
“There won’t be any.”
Her announcement came as no surprise, but Ryder was unprepared for the sense of disappointment he felt. He chalked it up to several months of denial and let it go at that.
He shrugged. “I will abide by whatever rules you feel comfortable in setting, but I have a couple of my own. I am not your servant. I don’t take orders… but I will listen to suggestions.”
He watched her swallow a couple of times, but she remained silent.
“Well, do you have any?”
Casey blinked. “Any what?”
“Suggestions.”
“Uh…no, I don’t suppose so.”
“Okay, then that’s settled. Why don’t you start the dishes? I want to make sure the fire is out in the grill.”
He got up before he had time to see her panic again.
“Ryder?”
He turned.
She waved helplessly over the table and the dirty dishes. “I’ve never done dishes before.”
“You’ve never… !” Then he muttered beneath his breath.
“Good grief.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You’ve never done dishes.”
She hated him for that dumbfounded look he was wearing.
“That’s what I said. I also don’t do windows,” she snapped.
“And I don’t suppose you can cook, either.”
She had the grace to flush. “No.”
He groaned.
Casey was surprised at her feelings of inadequacy. She hired and fired with the best of them, bought and sold corporations without batting an eye. How dare he consider her lacking in capabilities?
“It’s not my fault,” she argued.
“Then whose is it?”
She had no answer.
“If you ask me, it’s high time you learned. Soap is under the sink, the dishcloth is in it. You’re a smart lady. Figure the rest out for yourself.”
“Where are you going?” Casey asked, as he started out the door.
“To put out a fire then take a shower.”
“But you already had a shower,” she said, remembering the steam… and the towel… and the bare-naked body.
“Yeah, so maybe I have more than one fire that needs quenching, okay?”
It took exactly five seconds for the implication of what he’d suggested to sink in, and another few for her to be able to move. After that, she was glad to have something to do besides think about what he’d said…and why he’d said it.
* * *
The air was thick and muggy from the lingering heat of the day. It was that time of the evening just before dusk and right after the sun has passed beyond the horizon. A family of martens swooped grass-high in daring flight then soared heavenward, constantly feeding on the mosquitos in the air.
Graystone, the home that had been in the Marlow family since before the War of Northern Aggression, loomed large upon the landscape.
It was a three-story monolith which had seen better days.
Its regal structure and the land upon which it sat was sadly in need of repair, yet at a distance, the charm of the pillared edifice was still imposing.
Lash reclined in an old wicker chair on the veranda of his family home, nursing his third bourbon and water and surveying all that was his.
This was his favorite time of the day. It wasn’t because the workday was over and he was taking a well-earned rest It was because Graystone looked better at half-light.
He tossed back the last of his drink, trying to pinpoint exactly where his plans for glory had gone wrong.
The liquor burned and he silently cursed the fact that he could no longer afford the best. He was drinking cheap bourbon, living in the servant’s wing while the rest of the mansion was closed off, and down to doing for himself.
He didn’t even have the funds to hire a housekeeper and made only enough at his law practice to keep the taxes paid on his home and himself afloat.
His belly growled. Without conscious thought, he pushed himself up from the chair and entered the house, taking care to lock the door behind him.
Just for a moment, he stood in the great hall, staring up at the spiral staircase gracing the entryway, remembering another time when the house had been alive with laughter and people.
Something moved in the far corner of the hall. He winced as the sound of scurrying feet scratched on the marble flooring, then disappeared behind a breakfront. It wasn’t the first rodent of that size he’d seen inside these walls, but tonight, it would be one too many.
He started to shake, first with rage, then from despair. It was over! There would be no more dreams of bringing Graystone back to her former beauty, or of returning dignity to the Marlow name. And it was all because of Casey.
A red haze blurred his vision. He drew back and threw his glass toward the place where he’d last seen the rat.
It shattered against the wall, splintering into minute crystal shards.
Only afterward did he remember that it had been part of a set, but regret swiftly faded.
What did it matter? His only guests wore long tails and came on four feet… in the dark…in the middle of the night.
Startled by the sound of breaking glass, the rat that had taken refuge behind the breakfront made a run down the hallway for the deeper shadows beyond.
As it did, something inside of Lash snapped.
He grabbed at his grandfather’s ivoryhandled walking stick that had been standing in the hall tree for more than forty years, and ran, catching the rat just as it neared safety.
He swung down with deadly force and the sound shattered the silence within the old walls as well as what was left of Lash’s reason.
Glass splintered on the wall behind him as he drew back the cane, but he didn’t notice.
Even after the rat was dead, Lash continued to hail it with a barrage of blows until gore began to splatter on his shoes and the cuffs of his pants.
But in his mind, the rat had been dispatched from the first blow he’d struck.
He was oblivious to the overkill, or that he might have lost more than his control.
He kept venting his rage on a woman who’d dashed his dreams. And it wasn’t the rodent who was coming apart on the cool marble floor.
It was the beautiful and complacent surface of Casey Ruban’s face.
When he finally stopped, his body was shaking from exertion and the muscles in his arm were burning from the energy he’d spent. He stared in disbelief at what he’d done, then tossed the cane down on the floor, disgusted by its condition.
Weary in both body and spirit, he turned and then stared at the wall in disbelief.
The mirror! The glass in the ornate, goldrimmed mirror that had hung in this hall for as long as he could remember, was shattered.
His heart began to pound as he looked at the broken and refracted image of himself—a true reflection of his life.
He stepped back in horror and reached for the rabbit’s foot in the pocket of his pants. All he could think as he backed away was, Seven long years of bad luck.