Until the Dawn (13 page)

Her face heated with embarrassment, for everything he said was true. Yes, she’d plundered his library. Those books gave her wings, and she wouldn’t apologize for having dared to crack open the abandoned volumes.

“The novels of Ann Radcliffe were always my favorite,” she said, her chin held high.

“It shouldn’t surprise me that even your choice of reading material is quaint and overly sentimental.”

She turned her face away. Dierenpark had seeped into her soul and spirit, but he was making it impossible to stay here. Instead of saving Dierenpark, it seemed she was only putting her family in danger.

“Mr. Vandermark, I don’t believe it is wise for me to continue
tutoring your son if I am exposing my father to litigation. I will make arrangements to relocate the weather station immediately, so at least one of your concerns will have been addressed.”

“No need to be so hasty,” he said in a rush.

“In the brief time we’ve known each other, you have threatened me with a lawsuit, tarnished my reputation with the Weather Bureau, insulted my faith, and attacked my taste in literature. I think I’ve overstayed my welcome. I will prepare lunch for the household then head into town to find a new location for the weather station.”

It hurt to even say the words. She expected Quentin to gloat in triumph, but he pushed to his feet, his face alert and eyes fierce.

“You can’t quit!” he thundered. If she wasn’t so upset, the incredulity on his face would have been comical. He looked like he wanted to lunge across the desk and manacle her to the floor to stop her from leaving.

“You can’t
force
me to cook for you.”

“I didn’t hire you to cook. I hired you to mentor my son.”

“Pieter is welcome to join me wherever I establish a new monitoring station, for he shouldn’t be punished because you can’t look at a person without threatening a lawsuit.”

It was hard, but she managed to keep her composure as she turned to leave the library, closing the door softly behind her.

Quentin waited a solid ten minutes before pursuing her. Which was a struggle. He fought the impulse to follow her to the kitchen to continue their argument, but that would tip the scales in her favor. It would betray how much he enjoyed her company and wanted her to stay.

Everything about her fascinated him. Her charm, her beauty, her bizarre combination of intellect and innocence. She looked as sweet as a newly unfolded daisy, but he suspected she might
actually be tough enough to repel bullets with her untarnished dignity. Her buoyancy annoyed him at the same time as it attracted him.

It was bewildering, but Sophie’s cheerful disposition and quick banter managed to worm beneath his defenses each time he saw her. He wasn’t used to enjoying a woman’s company. He’d ignored that piece of his soul ever since Portia died, but Sophie’s presence made him cognizant of the hollow place that had been empty for so long. It was easy enough to ignore when she wasn’t around, but when she traipsed into his line of sight, it summoned up old yearnings for the sparkle of a woman, for summer evenings at the seashore, for lying on a blanket to watch cloud formations overhead and hoping the world was more profound than what he could see and touch.

A woman of Sophie’s attractiveness would never be interested in someone like him, so it was frustrating that he couldn’t stop these flights of the imagination, but he wasn’t going to let his son be deprived of her company over a little snit. He didn’t really intend to sue her father over those photographs, he just wanted to goad her a little. He didn’t expect her to quit.

He remained seated behind the desk, clenching and unclenching his fists as he planned his strategy. This was . . . well, this was suddenly and unacceptably galling. If Sophie realized how much he needed her, she’d raise the stakes and probably start haggling over the preservation of this house, which was the only thing he could never offer her.

After ten minutes, he forced his features into a smooth mask of disinterest as he approached the kitchen. He heard her before he saw her. The thumping sounded like she was attacking a punching bag. Rounding the corner and staying partially concealed in the kitchen archway, he watched her turn a wad of dough on a floured countertop, using her fist to punch a large hole in the center.

“Your attack on that bread dough is reminiscent of the way Rome went after Carthage. I certainly hope I’m not the cause of your surge in brutality.”

She pretended not to hear him, but the tightening of her mouth betrayed her. Even as he crossed the kitchen, she refused to acknowledge his presence. He stood beside the window that had been cracked open to allow a weak breeze to filter into the room.

“It looks like it might rain this afternoon,” he said casually.

“It won’t.” She gave the dough another turn then flipped it with practiced hands into a stoneware bowl and covered it with a damp cloth. “It will be cloudy all day and won’t rain until this evening. After that, we will have two, maybe three days of clear weather.”

She said it without looking at him, but with such confidence he couldn’t resist taking a little dig. “Then I see no reason why you can’t tutor my son for two, maybe three days on the roof here at Dierenpark.”

“Possibly because I am under threat of a lawsuit here.” She carried the bowl to the windowsill, still not looking at him. She rinsed her hands in the basin then dried them in an economy of movement he found oddly attractive. Such simple motions but graceful and timeless in a way that appealed to him.

He clenched his teeth. Was he truly attracted to a woman because of the grace with which she washed her hands? It was appalling, but true.

She began stemming a bowl of strawberries, and he gaped at her quick and efficient fingers flying through the task. He leaned closer for a better view, and his eyes widened.

Well, he had just discovered the one part of the fragile, willowy Sophie van Riijn that was not beautiful. She had the hands of a farmer’s wife, with trim nails and tough calluses. The backs of her hands were heavily nicked with tiny burns and scars.
He supposed all cooks had such scars, but for some reason he hadn’t expected to see them on Sophie. They made him like her even more.

“What if I promised not to sue your father over those silly pictures?” he offered.

“Not good enough,” she said without looking up as she grabbed a knife and began dicing the strawberries. “You’ll find some other ancient offense to sue him over.”

“There have been a lot, have there?”

She dropped the knife. “You see? That’s exactly what I mean. No matter what I say, you manage to twist it and use it against me. I can’t trust myself around you, and the sooner I’m away from this house, the better.”

This would never do. Instead of persuading her to stay, he was pushing her away faster. Most of his life had been spent among hard-hitting corporate industrialists who didn’t flinch at a little blunt language. He wasn’t used to apologizing to anyone, and it made him feel exposed and weak. He couldn’t look at her. How ghastly to be at her mercy, but he liked her and didn’t want her to leave. And Pieter needed her. He swallowed hard, prepared to do whatever it took.

“I have been short-tempered and rude,” he admitted. “I promise to refrain from any lawsuits for violations committed at Dierenpark prior to my return, provided that your father stops circulating rumors about my family. And stops selling the photographs, as well.”

That should have pacified her, but she scooped up the strawberry stems and dumped them into a waste bowl and headed outside. He watched through the open doorway as she tossed the stems onto the kitchen dump, her mouth still a hard line. He parsed his words carefully as she returned to the kitchen.

“I’ve often heard that women are like elephants in that they never forget an offense, no matter how genuine the apology.”

“That was an apology? I’m sorry, I mistook it for another legal salvo.”

“It was an apology. I’m not accustomed to delivering them, so I may be a bit clumsy.”

Her lips twitched. He was going to crack her composure if it killed him, but she was still sulking as she began slicing a loaf of bread, and he still hadn’t won her agreement to stay and tutor Pieter.

“King Solomon had seven hundred wives,” he said. “I’ll bet he had a lot of practice delivering apologies. Women can be so fussy about these things.”

She kept slicing the bread without looking at him, and he started to feel like an idiot. He had been in the wrong, and she deserved an honest apology.

“Please,” he said, dropping every trace of cynicism and looking her squarely in the face. “I have no desire to sue you or your father, and my son truly needs you
. I
need you. I can be a bad-tempered fool, and I’m sorry. What will it take to convince you to keep tutoring Pieter?”

More money, shorter work hours . . . whatever it took, he intended to provide it. She said nothing as she continued slicing the bread with breathtaking speed, but she performed the task fearlessly. Such a simple gesture yet so classically Sophie, the way she handled everything from the surly bodyguards to taming the bees with grace and ease.

“I’ll agree on one condition,” she finally said.

He cocked a brow, curious why she suddenly seemed so nervous.

“There is an abandoned timber mill on the outskirts of town,” she said.

“I know. My great-grandfather operated it until the day he died.”

“And it’s been shuttered ever since,” Sophie said. “I’d like to show it to you.”

The way she held her breath and the hungry expression in her eyes put him on alert. She was up to something. “Why?”

“I think it might be suitable for turning into one of the upgraded climate observatories the Weather Bureau is starting to build. They would pay you handsomely to lease the space.”

He had no interest in amassing more money, but he sensed this was important to her. She briefly outlined her ambition to apply for a full-fledged climate observatory here in New Holland and how she hoped to use the mill as leverage. It was fascinating to watch the way energy sparkled in her eyes as she talked. Sophie seemed to harbor a wellspring of dreams and ambition just waiting to be tapped, even if she aspired to something as improbable as this.

He squeezed the handle of his cane, wishing her expression didn’t remind him so much of a young architect who once aspired to equally far-fetched dreams. “If I look at the mill, you’ll continue to tutor Pieter?”

“I’d want you to do more than just look at it,” she said. “I’ve been putting a proposal together outlining the merits of locating an observatory in New Holland. If I can offer a ready-made building for the site, it will make the proposal even stronger. I’d like you to look at the mill and consider giving your approval in my proposal. If you do that, I’ll be happy to keep working with Pieter.”

“Has bribery worked for you in the past?”

“This is my first try,” she said, a bit of humor dancing in her eyes. “But I have hopes.”

“We’ll go this afternoon.”

He turned away from the eagerness blossoming on her face. He didn’t like the prospect of being dragged into the wilderness with her. The rest of the people in this town might underestimate her, but he’d quit doing so on that second morning when he’d recognized Sophie’s purity of spirit that never seemed to
fade. Her sort of luminous hope was dangerous for him. It cast a spotlight on the grim limitations of his life. He could only watch, never participate, in Sophie’s bright optimism and faith in a perfect world.

She would be appalled if she ever sensed his attraction to her, but he would keep it tightly contained. His son needed her too much to risk frightening her off because of this wild, unwieldy, and unwelcome fascination he harbored for her.

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