The Harder They Fall (3 page)

She finally got out of bed in frustration and paced around the room. Moonlight streamed across the bed and illuminated the ghostly shapes of the furniture.

She went into the adjoining bathroom and splashed water on her face, glancing in the mirror above the sink as she patted her cheeks dry. Her flaxen hair streamed over her shoulders and her blue eyes looked huge and vague in her pale face. She closed her eyes wearily and leaned against the door.

Why had Martin’s brother taken such an instant dislike to her? What had she done wrong? It was true that she had arrived unexpectedly and he’d found her prowling about his kitchen, but that had been explained. And why did she feel so odd when he looked at her, as if she wanted to run away and yet were nailed to the floor at the same time?

Helene sighed. Her mother was right, she thought as she went back into the bedroom, she should have dated more. Then maybe she would be better at handling men. But her shyness had been such that she had preferred the company of her family and the books she got from the library. Even in college she had chosen an early childhood major because she knew she would not be comfortable teaching older children. And now here she was trying to win over Martin’s obviously hostile brother without the background or experience to deal with him. She wished mightily that she were a femme fatale; at least then she would not feel gauche and helpless every time Chris looked at her. She was comfortable with Martin, that was part of his attraction for her, and she had naturally expected to feel the same way with his brother. The uneasiness with Chris had come as a rude surprise and its aftermath was now keeping her awake.

She remembered a sleep aid from childhood and decided to go to the kitchen to heat some milk. She padded barefoot down the hall in her cotton nightgown and slipped into the darkened kitchen, locating a carton of milk in the refrigerator. She found a saucepan in the cupboard under the sink and heated the milk, pouring it into a glass and then tiptoeing past the living room. She was taking a sip of the hot drink when a deep voice said, “Why don’t you join me?”

Helene started so violently that the milk slopped from the glass and spattered her bare feet. She looked over her shoulder and realized that the deep chair fronting the fireplace was occupied. Its back was so high that she had not seen Chris sitting there. He was staring into a dying blaze in the grate, swirling an inch of amber liquid in a glass. As she walked across the parquet floor toward him he saluted her with the tumbler and said, “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” she replied, standing awkwardly in front of him, holding her milk before her as if it were a chalice.

“Me neither,” he said. “Must be the mussels, they have a tendency to come back and haunt you.”

“I didn’t eat any mussels.”

“That’s right. In fact, you didn’t eat much of anything. Did I spoil your appetite?”

“I... wasn’t very hungry.”

“Ah. So polite. Don’t you ever get the urge to say what you really feel? And oh, yes, I meant to tell you that I find you and Martin staying in separate rooms very quaint and old-fashioned. Is this for my benefit or is it standard procedure?”

“We aren’t... we haven’t...” she stopped.

“Saving yourself for marriage?” he inquired archly.

Helene didn’t know what to say.

“You haven’t actually convinced him that you’re a virgin, have you?” Chris asked.

Helene’s eyes filled with tears of frustration. The last thing on earth she wanted was a nasty scene with Martin’s brother, but there was only so much a self respecting person could take without striking back. Deciding that retreat was best, she turned to go and caught her heel on the edge of the wool rug in the center of the living room. The glass flew out of her hand and shattered against the wall. Crying openly now, aghast at her own clumsiness, Helene stumbled blindly and stepped on a shard, yelping in pain.

Chris was at her side in an instant, catching her and scooping her quickly into his arms.

“Take it easy, take it easy,” he said softly. “The cut isn’t bad, it doesn’t look deep, there are some bandages in the kitchen. Just relax and let me carry you.”

For several long, luxurious moments Helene did just that, dropping her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes. He felt so solid and strong and he smelled wonderful, a combination of the starch in his shirt, the soap he used and the clean, masculine scent of his skin. She sighed and relaxed, then realized what she was doing. Her eyes flew open in alarm. Martin’s brother was holding her close, she was in his arms and she was enjoying it! She began to struggle, flailing out at him wildly.

“Put me down,” she hissed, kicking her legs. “Let me go!”
 

“You can’t stand on that foot,” he said, holding on to her tightly while ducking her blows. “Will you stop that?”

“What the hell is going on here?” Martin said from the hall.

Chapter 2

Chris and Helene both looked up guiltily, as if caught in a criminal act.

“Helene cut her foot,” Chris said.

“I cut my foot,” Helene said miserably at the same time, blushing furiously.

“I see that,” Martin replied, looking from one to the other and then down at the offending member, which was dripping scarlet onto the rug.

“Bring her into the kitchen,” Martin commanded, and Chris obeyed, depositing Helene on a chair and then standing back, as if demonstrating that he had no claim on her.

“I’ll take care of this,” Martin said shortly.

Chris looked at Helene, who refused to meet his eyes. He hesitated for a moment and then abruptly left the room. They heard his bedroom door close smartly a few seconds later.

“So how did this happen?” Martin asked, removing a bottle of peroxide and a box of gauze from a cabinet. He got a plastic basin from the cubbyhole under the sink and a roll of tape from a drawer.

“I couldn’t sleep and got up to get some milk,” Helene replied. “On the way back I tripped on the living room rug and broke the glass.”

“And how did Chris get involved?” Martin asked, pulling up his pajama legs as he knelt to slide the basin under her foot and then pour peroxide over the wound. Helene winced at the sting.

“He was up too, having a drink. He came to help.” That was substantially the truth, but Helene still felt uncomfortably like a liar. Why? She wasn’t really concealing anything—except her sudden, unexplained feelings.

“There,” Martin said, drying the cut, which was bleeding less, and then covering it with gauze. He taped the dressing in place and stood up decisively, grunting with satisfaction.

“That should hold up pretty well,” he said.

“Thank you,” Helene said meekly, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry I woke you with my caterwauling.”

“I couldn’t imagine what was happening,” Martin said, smiling slightly.

“Chris just picked me up and carried me off; I don’t like to be manhandled that way,” she said weakly, feeling that further clarification was necessary.

“That’s my brother. He’s a ‘take charge’ type of guy,” Martin said, grinning.

His innocent acceptance of her explanation served to make Helene feel much worse and she wondered why. After all, nothing had happened, certainly nothing tangible enough to cause the surge of guilt she was experiencing.

“Do you want a pain pill?” Martin asked. “I have some left from a prescription for an abscessed tooth.”

“No, it’s not that bad. Suddenly I feel exhausted— I’m sure I’ll be able to sleep now.”

“Let me help you back to your room.”

Helene leaned heavily on Martin’s arm as they walked back to her door. He kissed her gently on the forehead and said, “Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Helene nodded and closed the door, barely making it back to the bed before bursting into tears. She muffled her sobs with the bedspread, afraid of drawing Martin’s attention again.

What on earth was wrong with her? She wasn’t usually this emotional, in fact her customary stability was a point of pride. Through all of her recent troubles no one had seen her shed a tear. And now here she was bawling like a two year old because her fiance’s brother had held her for thirty seconds for a perfectly acceptable reason.

But that wasn’t the problem and she knew it. The green memory of her reaction to the embrace was causing this cataract, and try as she might she could not put the sensation of Chris’ arms around her out of her mind. She knew that if he’d tried to kiss her during those few fleeting moments he had held her, she would have responded.

Was it possible to be a loose woman and not know it? Maybe the potential had been there all the time, just waiting for the right button to be pushed. She didn’t deserve Martin, that was clear, but she would try to make up for it. His brother’s instinctive attempt to help her when she was hurt had produced a response in her she could never have anticipated, and now must try feverishly to forget.

Helene sniffed loudly. Maybe that wouldn’t be so difficult. After all, she would not have to see very much of Chris. She could make some excuse to cut this trip short, the wedding would be only one day and then she and Martin would be living back East. A Christmas visit once a year, maybe the occasional summer vacation stopover, that was all she would have to endure.

Heartened by these thoughts, Helene dried her eyes on a corner of the counterpane and settled back on the bed. She was not going to examine her reasons for making desperate plans to avoid Martin’s brother for the rest of her life scant hours after meeting him. She punched the pillow and rolled over on her side, determined to get a couple of hours’ sleep before the sun rose.

 
* * * *

Chris gave up on sleep at five in the morning and took a shower. He dressed in the semidarkness, pulling on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt by the window, watching the streaks of orange and purple inflaming the sky. He clenched and unclenched his fists. His hands retained the feel of her, the slim body, the satiny skin, the brush of her silken hair against his wrist. Her fresh, flowery scent still seemed to surround him like a cloud; he saw again the outline of her body through the thin nightgown she wore as she stood before the fire. He sighed and closed his eyes. Martin’s girl, of all people. What a mess. He had certainly not expected to feel like this about her.

To begin with, she wasn’t at all what he had anticipated. He had been ready for some worldly, brassy number who knew the score, and instead here was this sweet, fragile, willowy type who blushed every time he looked at her. The innocence was all an act, of course, it had to be, but she was undoubtedly good at it. So good that he had forgotten it was a sham himself when he’d scooped her into his arms. He had wanted to carry her straight into his bedroom and he was afraid she knew it.

He turned away from the lightening sky with a sober expression, his mouth a grim line. He could handle it. He would keep his distance during their visit and then they would be gone. He was used to being denied what he wanted, and if his desire for this girl had taken him by surprise, it wasn’t the first shock he’d endured. Not for the world would he disturb his brother’s plans. After long years of living without affection or purpose, his faith in human nature had been restored by Martin. Of all the people he knew, Martin most deserved to be happy. He, Chris, would be distant and matter-of-fact with Helene when he saw her, which wouldn’t be often; she would be living fifteen hundred miles away, after all. Martin would never have to know.

Comforted by this resolve, Chris went down to the kitchen to make coffee.

* * * *

Chris had already finished eating and was out at the branding when Martin and Helene came down to breakfast. Maria de Salvo, the family housekeeper who had worked for Martin’s father, poured juice into glasses as she said to them, “That boy hardly ate a thing, I wonder if he’s coming down with something.” She smiled at Helene. “I’m so glad to meet you, it’s about time this one here settled down. Now if we could just find someone nice for Chris...”

“These eggs are delicious,” Helene interjected quickly. “Did you put cheese in them?”

“My secret recipe,” Maria said proudly.

“Nothing like it,” Martin pronounced, through a mouthful. He glanced down at Helene’s leg. “How’s your foot?”

“Much better,” Helene said.

“What happened?” Maria asked.

Helene gave her version of the incident and Maria said, “That Chris, he’s a good man to have around in a crisis.”

Helene let that pass.

They chatted through the meal and then Helene helped Maria clear the table. After the housekeeper had set the dishwasher churning she went off to do her other chores and Helene sat back at the table for a final cup of coffee with Martin.

“So, what shall we do today?” Martin asked. “Chris will be back at noon—would you like a tour of the ranch?”

“That would be lovely, of course, but...” Helene’s voice trailed off into silence.

“What? What is it?”

“Martin, maybe we shouldn’t stay as long as we planned,” Helene said flatly.

“Why?”

“Come on, Martin, don’t be obtuse. Chris doesn’t like me.”

“Oh, honey, you just don’t understand him. I know he’s difficult, but once you get to know him better you’ll see that it’s all a smokescreen, just talk. He distrusts strangers and right now you fall into that category. Give him a chance.”