Paradise County (32 page)

They stayed up late, and Alex realized, without either of them saying a word about it, that they were both trying to avoid going upstairs to bed for as long as they could. Finally they could put it off no longer. The eleven-o’clock newscast signed off, and they were both so tired that they were yawning.

“Did you figure out what you’re going to wear tomorrow?” Alex asked, trying for a light note as they climbed the stairs. Neely was carrying Hannibal in her arms, obviously intending to sleep with the cat. Alex was envious. At least her sister wouldn’t have to go to bed in this spooky old house all alone.

Neely shrugged. “Jeans, I guess. With my tie-dyed purple T-shirt and my jean jacket. I thought I might take the diamond out of my nose and replace it with one of those long purple feather earrings I usually wear with the purple top. What do you think? Fashion statement or fashion victim?”

Alex almost shuddered at the idea of Neely going to a new, smalltown, public high school with a purple feather dangling from her nose.

“Fashion victim,” she said. Then, tentatively, as they reached the upstairs hall, “Are you nervous about starting a new school tomorrow?”

Neely shook her head. “I know a couple of the kids now, and I’m friends with the hottest guy in school, so it should be okay.”

“How do you know Eli’s the hottest guy in school?” Alex asked, having no difficulty figuring out who Neely meant.

Neely grinned wickedly. “Heather told me so, while we were watching the guys ride ATVs. Hey, he’s star of the basketball team and the cutest guy in school. She also told me that he is strictly her property, so I should just keep my horny little hands off. I think she and I are going to be best friends
—not.”

“Oh, Neely,” Alex said, half amused, half despairing. The image of the two girls resorting to smiling, back-stabbing warfare over Eli was almost funny. Poor kid, did he have any idea what he was in for?

“Night,” Neely said, and went into her room, closing the door. Alex heard the click of the deadbolt, and realized that, whether she showed it or not, Neely was nervous about going to sleep tonight too.

Oh, God, Alex thought as she walked on toward her bedroom, if only she were at home in Philadelphia, in her own distinctly nonthreatening brick town house, getting ready to climb into her own comfortable bed! But of course, she reminded herself, if she were back in Philadelphia, she would be alone. Paul, with whom she had shared the house, lived elsewhere now; and Neely would be off again in boarding school. Her friends might visit, and even stay a night or two if they thought she needed comforting, but they all had lives of their own, and problems of their own. There might be reporters outside, maybe photographers too, if what Andrea had told her was accurate.

And there would not be an arrogant, infuriating, impossibly sexy man living down the hill.

But she refused to think of Joe.

When she imagined going home to Philadelphia, she was picturing the home that had existed six weeks ago, before her father’s death, before Paul’s defection, she reminded herself. A quiet, serene home that she had purchased just last year, where she had been happy, going out to lunch with friends, developing her pictures, and spending the evenings and nights with Paul.

That home was gone forever. It was in the past. When she went back to Philadelphia, the house would still be there, but the life she had lived in it would be utterly changed. Her father was gone, and Paul was gone. The money was gone. She was left, and she would have to build a whole new life for herself out of the broken pieces of the old.

In the meantime, she was here at Whistledown, for good or for ill.

On that thought, Alex entered her bedroom and looked around with some trepidation. She had checked it that afternoon while waiting for Neely to get home, having remembered that the last time she’d been in the room the bed had been left in something of a mess. But to her surprise, the bed had been neatly made. She could only conclude that Joe had remembered and had erased the evidence of their encounter after she and Neely had gone to the Dixie Inn. Earlier, when she’d entered the room in broad daylight, thoughts of Joe and the things they had done together on her bed had superseded all else.

Now, however, it was different. The hushed silence of the house seemed almost—portentous. Thoughts that seemed foolish by daylight did not seem so impossible now that the sky outside was inky black, and stars blinked down at her through the parted curtains. On either side of the bed was a long, many-paned window with glass so old that it distorted images seen through it, so that the stars and moon took on a watery indistinctness that made them seem as ominously foreboding as the house. Alex crossed the room quickly, pulling the curtains closed to shut them out

Oh, God, she was afraid. She acknowledged that to herself, hoping that
naming the emotion would help her to let it go. But she still couldn’t get the memory of waking to the sound of breathing out of her head. Thank God for the security system, she thought—and her sleeping pills… .

Taking one, she washed it down with water from the sink in her bathroom, then took a shower and brushed her teeth. Putting on her nightgown, she came back into the bedroom, pulled back the covers to reveal fresh sheets, and prepared to climb into bed.

She almost wished she had the thrice-damned cat. At least Neely wasn’t alone.

Of course, if she had her druthers, she would rather have Joe… .

It was then that she remembered the walkie-talkie. She had left it, along with the bag of her belongings, on the kitchen counter. The idea of traipsing back through the dark, deserted house was not appealing, but the idea of having something happen in the night again and being unable to summon help was even less so.

Alex took a deep breath, and, turning on lights as she went, headed back downstairs. When she reached the kitchen, she practically snatched the bag off the counter and scurried back to her room, leaving the lights on behind her. It was ridiculous, she knew, but the house felt safer to her when the lights were on. When they were off, the darkness seemed to breathe… .

Alex shuddered at the thought. Reaching her bedroom, locking the door securely behind her, she reminded herself that tonight there was an activated security system and a locked bedroom door between her and anyone who might wish to harm her. The house was well lit. Her room was bathed in a warm yellow glow from the small twin brass lamps on either side of the bed.

Putting the plastic bag down on the dresser, she delved inside, beneath the fuzzy blanket and the silk of her nightgown, both of which had been laundered, for the walkie-talkie, which rested in one of her (cleaned) shoes. Picking it up, she examined it. It was a little bigger than her hand and made of bright yellow plastic with rounded corners.

As she turned it over static crackled from it suddenly, and an irate voice spoke.

“Alex?” Joe’s voice was so distinct and unexpected that she jumped.

“Joe?”

“You got a problem up there?”

Alex stared at the toylike object in her hand. “N-no. Why would you think that?”

“The house is lit up like a damned Christmas tree. It was almost completely dark a few minutes ago.”

“How do you know?”

“I can see it through the window.”

“You can?” The thought was both unsettling and reassuring.

“Yep. So what gives?”

“I went downstairs to get something, and I turned on the lights.”

“You downstairs now?”

“No, I’m back upstairs.” Too late, Alex realized that she could have lied. He couldn’t see
her,
after all.

“You left the lights on.”

“I know.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “You scared?”

“No,” she lied without hesitation this time.

He chuckled. Alex made a face at the walkie-talkie.

“You remember to turn the security system on?”

Duh, Alex almost said. Like she would forget something like that. Instead she very carelessly replied, “Yes.”

“You got the house all locked up?”

Duh again. “Yes.”

“Then you’re as safe as the gold in Fort Knox.”

Alex was glad he thought so. Too bad she didn’t feel that way.

“How does this thing work, anyway?” she asked, turning the walkie-talkie over again.

“It’s simple. I’ve got my unit on. You turn your unit on, and you can talk to me. You don’t have to do anything else. If you need me, just sing out.”

“Where
are
you?”

“In bed. Trying to sleep. The unit’s beside my bed. That’s so I can hear you in the night.”

Alex began to smile. “Like a baby monitor.”

“You got it.”

“And I’m the baby.”

“You said it, Princess, not me. You gonna leave the lights on all night?”

“Why do you ask?”

“So that the next time I look out the window, I’ll know what to look for. Dark house, I check on you. Lit house, I don’t. Or vice versa.”

“I’m leaving the lights on.” Alex was almost embarrassed to admit it, but he had a point. Lights were another good signaling device.

Joe chuckled again. “It’s your electric bill. Well, if you don’t need me for anything, I’m going to sleep. Good night.”

“Good night,” Alex said softly. Then she set the walkie-talkie down on the bedside table and climbed into bed, snuggling in beneath the covers—and leaving on the light. The pill was starting to take effect, she realized, because she was beginning to feel drowsy. In a few more minutes, she knew from experience, she would be asleep.

The wonderful thing was, she realized, she no longer felt afraid. Being able to talk to Joe over the walkie-talkie was almost as good as having him in the room with her.

Almost, but not quite.

“Joe?” She basically just wanted to make sure the thing still worked in its new position.

“Hmmm?”

“Nothing. G’night.”

“Good night.”

She felt surprisingly safe, and warm—and groggy. Her lids drooped, then closed. Only as she was falling asleep did she remember that she was angry at him. Really angry. Never-darken-my-door-again angry.

Oh, well, she thought. She could be angry again in the daylight. All hostilities were suspended for the night.

Twenty-eight

T
hat’s it, Joe thought, flopping onto his stomach and putting his pillow over his head, pressing the soft sides down against his ears with both arms. No way was he going to be able to sleep now.

He could hear the little sounds she made as she slept.

The soft inhalations of her breathing. The rustle of the bedclothes when she moved. And, just seconds ago, a tiny moan.

Man had never before invented such torture. And to think he’d done it to himself.

Who would have guessed?

The sad thing was, he was hard as a brick, horny as a goat, hot as a jalapeño pepper—and he didn’t have to be. In the kitchen, she’d been all over him. God, she’d felt so damned good—too good. Like she belonged in his arms. A perfect fit, custom-made.

The kind of lady-in-the-living-room, whore-in-the-bedroom woman he’d been looking for for most of his life.

It was precisely this thought, which had occurred just as she’d started to wrap her beautiful long legs around his waist, that had made him pull back.

Spend three weeks bedding her, and he wasn’t going to be able to
let her go. He knew that as well as he knew the sun would come up in the morning.

Only she would go. Her life was elsewhere, and his was here.

She’d be cured of her disease, but he might never get over his.

She sighed, long and deep. The sound was as audible as if she were lying beside him. His reaction was instant and excruciating.

Jesus, this was sad. Sadder than a teenager in the throes of first love. Sadder than Eli on the phone till all hours with this Heather girl.

He, a grown man of thirty-seven, had a boner the size of the Washington monument just from listening to a woman breathe.

That was it. All over. If he lay here listening to her any longer, he was going to forget every intelligent piece of advice he’d ever given himself, climb the hill, use his key, turn off the blasted security system, and crawl into her bed.

She would welcome him, he knew.

The thought of the welcome he would receive made him grit his teeth. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Of course, standing up he could see, through the window with the curtains he’d deliberately left open, the bright blaze that was Whistledown up the hill.

She’d said she wasn’t scared.

Yeah, right. Just like he wasn’t horny.

He was 99.9 percent sure that she was as safe in that house as he was in his own. The security system was designed to take care of the one-tenth of one percent of doubt that he had left.

Grabbing his jeans from the chair where he had left them, he put them on and headed for the kitchen. Without bothering to turn on the light, he poured himself a glass of milk and stood, leaning against the counter in the dark, drinking it. Milk was supposed to promote sleep, he had heard.

Alex had told him that she was taking sleeping pills.