Sharon Mignerey - Too Close For Comfort

Rosie hadn’t wanted to remember.

Everything about this man made her remember.

If she allowed a man in her life again…and that was a very big if…he wouldn’t be anyone like Ian Stearne. She’d want someone she could feel safe with, someone who would cherish her, someone who would love the solitude here on the island as much as she did.

Within reach of Ian’s hand was his gun, a reminder this man had no more trust than she did. Remembering what had happened the last time she startled him, Rosie crept into the room and picked up the pile of clothes on the floor next to the bed. Since these were all he had, the least she could do was wash them.

He sat up in a fluid move, the gun once again in his hand, no trace of sleep in his eyes.

The predator was back.

She swallowed and held his clothes away from her.

‘‘I thought—’’ She cleared her throat. ‘‘I thought I’d wash your things.’’

The bed covers pooled around him. There was no doubt he was naked beneath the sheet. The instant she realized she was staring at his well-formed chest, her gaze slammed back to his face.

‘‘Okay.’’ He reset the safety on the weapon and watched her as she left the room. She was more than halfway down the stairs before she heard the mattress creak as he settled onto the bed.

Her heart pounding, at once again having a gun pointed at her, she went to the laundry room, emptying the pockets of his jeans before throwing everything into the washer. The pockets held nothing out of the ordinary…loose change, a Leatherman, a package of gum, a wallet. Nothing much that told her about the man—though what she had hoped for, she couldn’t have said.

Admitting distrust as much as curiosity drove her, she opened his wallet. It contained more cash than she had ever carried, a couple of major credit cards and his driver’s license, his address indeed next door to Lily’s. The face in the picture was smiling as though he didn’t have a care in the world. An expression far different than the predatory one he’d had a couple of minutes ago. Would the real Ian Stearne please stand up, she thought.

Behind the cash she found a couple of loose stamps and a laminated card. She turned it over—a photograph that was worn around the edges and creased as though it had once been folded for a long time before being protected behind the plastic. A group of children faced the camera, and she immediately picked out Ian. He looked ten or eleven. Two older children stood behind him, a boy and a girl, well into their teens. Two other boys, maybe five and dressed identically, were seated beside him. In his lap was a toddler, the only one of the group smiling. Remembering that her mother always wrote the date and their ages on the back of photographs, Rosie turn this one over. Nothing was written there. Whoever these people were, they were important to Ian—otherwise, why would he have had the old photograph laminated. Cousins, maybe, she decided, unable to see any family resemblance except between the two older kids and the five-year-olds.

A fishing license, receipt for a cash withdrawal from an ATM machine, and a permit for the gun he carried were the only other things in his wallet. Compared to the clutter and endless sheets of paper that filled her own, it didn’t seem like much to Rosie.

By the time twilight came, nearly all that could be done in preparation for their departure had been. Rosie glanced around the greenhouse at the orderly rows of seedlings that would be planted within another few weeks. Knowing she held the future for hundreds of acres of forest within her small greenhouse filled her with satisfaction. The realization always pleased her, even today when her mind hadn’t been on work at all.

‘‘Now I know why I became a nurse,’’ Hilda commented, rubbing the small of her back. ‘‘Better hours. Easier work.’’

Rosie smiled, briefly touched the resilient needles from one of the baby trees. ‘‘You’d rather save lives than watch things grow?’’

‘‘What I’d rather do is marry a millionaire and retire to a cabana on a tropical beach.’’ Hilda followed Rosie.

‘‘Not me. I wouldn’t give up this view for anything.’’ As was her habit, Rosie strolled toward the water’s edge, her gaze sweeping the panorama in front of her. Water and sky. Misty clouds and steeply rising mountains. The variegated shades of mauve that defined a soft sunset.

Hilda walked beside her, silent within her own thoughts.

Rosie turned toward the house where a light shone through the window. Inside, she could see Mama Sarah moving around the kitchen, the aroma of cooking onions wafting on the air. A couple of the kids had gone inside, but two others still played in the yard—their activity much less exuberant than it had been hours ago. Finally she raised her gaze to the hillside.

‘‘I hate this,’’ she murmured. ‘‘Being afraid and suspicious.’’

‘‘Not much choice if you want to keep that little girl safe.’’

‘‘Yeah. I know.’’

‘‘It’s pretty odd I was never able to get hold of the guy who reported his little girl missing.’’ Hilda clucked her tongue. She had gone back to her house a couple of hours earlier to check on messages. ‘‘I did get one answer back,’’ Hilda added. She glanced at Rosie, deliberately extending the pause.

‘‘Okay, I bite. And the question was?’’

Hilda grinned. ‘‘You’ve got a bonafide hero on your hands with Ian Stearne. Honorable discharge and a number of medals.’’ At Rosie’s raised eyebrow, she added, ‘‘You know how trusting Lily is—I just wanted to make sure this guy was legit.’’

‘‘Legit and a bonafide hero aren’t exactly the same thing.’’

‘‘That’s right. But this guy had a big article written on him in his hometown of Detroit. I left a copy of the fax for you on the kitchen table. Darn near got himself killed trying to get refugees to safety in Kosovo.’’

Probably how he came by the scar on his chest, Rosie thought.

‘‘And he runs something called Lucky’s Third Chance for kids. I left you an article about that, too,’’ Hilda said. ‘‘Your sister knows how to pick ’em.’’

Rosie wondered if Lily had ever seen Ian handle a gun.

‘‘I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone,’’ Hilda said.

‘‘I’m not sure we have any other choice. We’re all set for my cousin to meet us at the north end of Frederick Sound tomorrow afternoon. He can’t get there much sooner than that.’’

‘‘I still don’t like it.’’

Rosie didn’t, either. ‘‘Unless we were watched this morning when I got back here with Ian and Annmarie, nobody but you and Mama Sarah knows they’re here.’’

Hilda faced her. ‘‘You’ll call if you even hear an owl screech.’’

‘‘Or a mouse peep,’’ Rosie promised.

Rosie couldn’t have said what she expected dinner with Ian and Annmarie to be like, but it certainly hadn’t included the playful man who whooped and laughed and gently teased Annmarie into forgetting she was in a strange place. He sang to her, deliberately getting the lyrics wrong, accepting the child’s impatient corrections in a way that made Rosie think this was an old and familiar game with the two of them.

‘‘We’ll wash the dishes, won’t we Mr. Ian?’’ Annmarie said as Rosie began clearing the table. ‘‘Just like we do at home.’’

‘‘We don’t do dishes while we’re on vacation,’’ he returned with a grin. His sharp glance rested a moment on the shade covering the window. No one would mistake his silhouette for hers.

Annmarie pondered Ian’s statement a moment. ‘‘We can’t just leave the dishes dirty.’’

‘‘We could let the dog lick them,’’ he suggested.

She giggled. ‘‘You’re so silly. There would be germs.’’

‘‘Are you sure?’’ He held the plate up as if to inspect it. ‘‘I don’t see any germs,’’

‘‘That’s ’cause you need a mic…’’ She puckered her brow. ‘‘What’s the name of that thing Mama uses at work?’’

‘‘Microscope?’’ he offered.

She brightened. ‘‘That’s right.’’

‘‘I’ll wash the dishes,’’ Rosie said, picking up the plates and carrying them to the counter. ‘‘I bet there’s a movie on the TV.’’ The den was the one room in the house where there were thick drapes. The first winter Rosie had spent here, it was the only room in the house where she had felt truly safe.

‘‘I think she’s trying to get rid of us,’’ he said, scooping Annmarie into his arms.

‘‘You’ll come watch with us, won’t you?’’ she called as Ian carried her out of the kitchen.

‘‘Just as soon as I get my chores done.’’

As Rosie cleaned up the dishes, she listened to their muffled laughter coming from the den. She both envied and admired the easy rapport between them. She had only herself to blame that she didn’t know Annmarie as she now desperately wanted to.

She turned off the light in the kitchen and quietly let herself out of the house, Sly following her. He padded into the yard as he usually did, and she felt a moment’s relief from the day’s tension. Sly didn’t seem to smell anything unusual. She went to the edge of the porch and peered up the hillside where Ian had said someone had watched the house. From down here, Sly would probably never pick up a scent unless the wind came off the mountains at the center of the island instead of off the water.

Her relief vanished. Who did she think she was kidding with all her carefully made plans? The totem in the middle of her yard might be great for scaring away evil spirits, but would be useless against the men after Annmarie.

When Sly joined her back on the porch, she went into the house, carefully closing the door behind her. She heard a snicking sound and looked up in time to see Ian with the gun in his hand, putting the safety back on. Meeting her glance, he slipped the weapon in the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back.

She couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or terrified that he’d heard her and Sly go outside. Turning her back to him, she locked the door, her fingers lingering over the lock.

‘‘Everything okay out there?’’ he asked.

She nodded.

‘‘You okay?’’

She turned around to face him. ‘‘I’ve had better days.’’

‘‘But you got to see your niece on this one.’’

‘‘Yeah.’’

‘‘She’s a beauty. As innocent and sweet as her mom.’’

‘‘Yes, she is.’’

‘‘But you haven’t seen her since—’’

‘‘Eighteen months ago,’’ Rosie finished. The last time Lily and Annmarie had been to the island. Then Rosie had imagined being the favorite aunt who shared secrets and special times. She hated knowing she was more stranger to Annmarie than this man. She lifted her gaze to Ian’s, unwilling to let him see her regret. ‘‘I don’t imagine you’re too sleepy, since you slept the day away, but we ought to be going to bed soon.’’

His gaze sharpened, and she swallowed, once again caught within a delicate web of attraction, too aware of him, too aware of herself, disliking herself and him because of it.

‘‘Tomorrow’s going to be a long day,’’ she added. The pang of regret that he’d be going his way, she’d be going hers, surprised her.

He nodded.

‘‘Well, then…’’ Relieved that he didn’t say a word about beds or what to do there if a person wasn’t sleepy, she turned off the light in the kitchen and made her way toward the den.

An instant later someone rapped loudly on the glass of the kitchen door, and a man called, ‘‘Open the door, Rosie. I can’t believe you’ve locked me out.’’