Elizabeth August - Paternal Instincts

Last night, however, when they’d come upstairs, he’d made a point of mentioning that they were securely locked in. Still, about half an hour after they’d retired, she’d gotten up and gone downstairs. That was when he’d asked himself why she stopped by his door and listened for a moment as if to reassure herself that he was asleep. If she was merely checking the locks, what difference would it make if he was awake or asleep?

All day that question had bothered him. He’d told himself that what she did on her nightly rounds didn’t matter. But in spite of the distance she was obviously determined to keep between them, he found himself more and more intrigued by Roxy Dugan. He wanted to know more about her. Curiosity could be a dangerous thing where this woman was concerned, he’d warned himself. Her attachment to the boy Jamie continued to make a strong impression on him. He could begin to feel a commitment he didn’t want to feel. He was a loner and he planned to stay that way. But he hadn’t heeded his warning, and tonight he would have his answer to what she was up to.

Slipping out of bed, he made his way quietly downstairs. There was light coming from the small room that had been Maude’s private parlor. Remaining in the shadows, he looked inside. The light was being provided by a small lamp on a round table in a corner of the room. Roxy was seated at the table shuffling a deck of oversize cards. As she laid them out and began to turn them over, surprise registered on Eric’s face.

“I would never have pictured you as the fortune-teller type,” he said, emerging from his hiding place.

Roxy’s gaze jerked to him. His skin had taken on a healthy glow and the T-shirt showed off the strength building in his arms and shoulders. Embers long dead within her began to glow with life. Allowing herself to feel any attraction to him was only going to lead to pain, she warned herself curtly. Aloud she said frostily, “I thought you were asleep.”

“I got thirsty,” he lied, not wanting her to guess he’d been spying on her. At the moment she looked a great deal like a Gypsy, he thought, continuing into the room. Her face was cast in shadows, causing her brown eyes to appear nearly ebony. Her long tresses fell freely down around her shoulders and onto her back in a carefree, feminine array and, with a bit of imagination, her loose-fitting cotton robe could pass for a fortune-teller’s gown. The effect was very appealing.

“The kitchen is down the hall to your left,” she said, fighting a bout of embarrassment. She preferred to keep this part of her life very private. Most people, she knew, thought Tarot-card reading was a foolish superstition.

Eric ignored the dismissal in her voice, his attention caught by the artistry of the cards. “Those look as if they were hand drawn.”

“They were,” she admitted stiffly. “My greatgrandmother made them for me.”

Eric grinned. “So she was the Gypsy.”

“She was a hardworking farmer’s wife,” Roxy corrected curtly. Again dismissal entered her voice. “I thought you said you were thirsty.”

Again Eric ignored her unspoken demand that he go away. This was a side of his hostess he’d never expected, and his curiosity was whetted. Not wanting to offend her further, he hid his skepticism behind a mask of interest. “Are you any good at doing readings?”

Roxy expected to see cynical amusement in his eyes. It wasn’t there. Still, she wasn’t ready to believe he had any real respect for the reading of the cards. She judged his nature to be too conservative for that. Guessing that he was merely being polite, she said, “I don’t do readings for other people. They expect the cards to tell them too much.”

Eric was intrigued. She honestly believed in the cards. “But you read them for yourself. What do they tell you?”

“They warn me if my path is following a dangerous course and they give me signposts that will guide me in the right direction.”

Eric’s gaze had locked onto one of the turned-up cards. “What does that one represent?”

She considered lying, but instinct warned her against it. She was certain he would know. “You.”

The realization of why he was there hit him full force. “You allowed me to stay because it was in the cards that I should?”

She frowned at the array on the table. “Somehow you’re to be involved in my getting Jamie back.”

Eric’s skepticism grew stronger. Clearly she was using the cards as a way of keeping her hopes up. “And which card represents him?”

“This one.” Roxy tenderly touched a card to her right. Fear rippled through her. “Lately the cards warn of a stronger sadness and danger surrounding him. I have to get him back soon.”

“You were going to turn another card over,” Eric said, recalling how she’d quickly dropped the last card back on its face when he’d made his presence known.

“It was one of no consequence.”

Before she could stop him, he flipped the card over. The image was that of an unclothed man and woman. Beneath was written The Lovers. “Us?” he asked, finding himself wondering what her lips would taste like.

“The cards merely suggest routes we can take. They don’t determine our destinies,” she said in clipped tones, and began to gather the deck together.

The ice in her voice told him that she fully intended to ignore the implications of the last card. For a moment he experienced a rush of disappointment. In the next instant he was mocking himself. He didn’t need any complications in his life at the moment and Roxy Dugan would definitely be a complication.

“Good night,” Roxy said firmly as she rose and reached for the switch on the lamp.

This time he did take his cue, reminding himself to head into the kitchen for the drink of water he’d claimed he wanted. As he filled the glass then took a drink, he marveled at the many-faceted Ms. Dugan.

He was aware that some very powerful people believed in the various arts of prophecy but he’d thought she had a more practical nature. A suspicion he didn’t like began to nag at him.

Lying in her bed, Roxy couldn’t get Eric’s image out of her mind. With it came the memory of The Lovers card. “Thoughts like that are only going to lead to disappointment and embarrassment,” she grumbled at herself. She’d thought she’d accepted the fact that she would have to live out the rest of her life without male companionship. Apparently her mind had, but her body hadn’t. “Well, get used to it,” she growled, looking down at herself. “Nobody wants something as mangled and useless as you.”

Her jaw forming a hard line, she ordered herself to sleep.

The next morning Eric was sitting at the kitchen table drinking his second cup of coffee when Roxy entered. He’d woken early and already eaten. As she began to scramble her eggs, he studied her. Dressed in slacks and a plain white blouse with her hair pulled back and tightly braided, she moved with rigid efficiency. There was no evidence in her appearance or her manner reminiscent of the Gypsy-like creature he’d glimpsed last night. A part of him was disappointed.

Abruptly she turned to him. “I wish you’d quit staring at me. Just because I read Tarot cards doesn’t mean I’m a kook.” She grimaced self-consciously. “Eccentric maybe, but not daft or crazy.”

“To be honest, I’m not certain what you are,” he said bluntly. “We’ve barely spoken since my first day here.”

“I’ll admit, I’m a private person.” The way he continued to study her as if she had an eye in the middle of her forehead caused a rush of fear. What if he decided to leave? The cards seemed insistent that his presence was necessary for her to get Jamie back. “I’ve had a few hard knocks in my life. They’ve made me very cautious about people.”