Crossed Hearts (Matchmaker Trilogy) Page 5

  “I’m telling you that the cabin burned three months ago.”

  “Why wasn’t Victoria told?” Leah demanded impatiently.

  “She was.”

  Her anger rose. “I don’t believe you.”

  Garrick was staring at her straight and hard. “I called her myself, then gave the insurance people a tour.”

  “Call her now. We’ll see what she knows.”

  “I don’t have a phone.”

  Given the other modern amenities in the cabin, Leah couldn’t believe there was no phone. She looked around a little frantically for an instrument that would connect her with the outside world but saw nothing remotely resembling one. Then she remembered Victoria saying that she didn’t have a phone at her cabin, either.

  Why would she have said that, if she’d known that she didn’t have a cabin?

  “She didn’t know about the fire,” Leah insisted.

  “She did.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I don’t lie.”

  “You have to be lying,” she declared, but her voice had risen in pitch. “Because if you’re not, the implication is that Victoria sent me up here knowing full well that I wouldn’t be able to stay. And that’s preposterous.”

  The coffee cup began to shake in her hand. She set it on the table and wrapped her arms around her waist in a gesture Garrick had seen her make before. It suggested distress, but whether that distress was legitimate remained to be seen.

  He said nothing, simply stared at the confusion that clouded her eyes.

  “She wouldn’t do that,” Leah whispered pleadingly, wanting, needing to believe it. “For three weeks she’s been listening to me—helping me—make plans. I stored all my furniture, notified the electric company, the phone company, my friends. Victoria personally gave me a set of typed directions and sat by while I read them. She wouldn’t have gone to the effort—or let me go to the effort—if she’d known the cabin was useless.”

  Garrick, too, was finding it hard to believe, but it was Leah’s story rather than Victoria’s alleged behavior that evoked his skepticism. Yes, Leah looked confused, but perhaps that was part of the act. If she’d set out to find him, she’d done it. She was in his cabin, wearing his clothing, eating his food, drinking his coffee. She’d even spent the night in his bed, albeit innocently. If she wanted a scoop on Greg Reynolds, she’d positioned herself well.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  Her head shot up. “I told you. Leah Gates.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “New York.”

  “I don’t suppose you happen to work for a newspaper,” he commented, fully expecting an immediate denial. He was momentarily surprised when her eyes lit up.

  “How did you know?”

  He grunted.

  She didn’t know what to make of that, any more than she knew what to make of the fact that his lips were set tautly, almost angrily, within the confines of his beard.

  “Have you seen my name?” she asked. If he was a crossword addict, as were so many of her fans, her name would have rung a bell.

  “I don’t read papers.”

  “Then you’ve seen one of my books?”

  “You write books, too?” he barked.

  His question and its tone had her thoroughly perplexed. “I compose crossword puzzles. They appear in a small weekly paper, but I’ve had several full books of puzzles published.”

  Crossword puzzles? A likely story. Still, if she was a reporter, she couldn’t be an actress—which didn’t explain why her words sounded so sincere. “Why were you moving up here?” he asked in a more tempered tone of voice.

  “I lost my apartment and wasn’t sure where to go, so Victoria suggested I rent her cabin for a while until I decided.” She dropped a frowning gaze to the table as she mumbled, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  Garrick said nothing.

  In the ensuing silence, Leah reran the past few minutes of conversation in her mind. Then, slowly, her eyes rose. “You don’t believe what I’m saying. Why not?”

  He hadn’t expected such forthrightness, and when she looked at him that way, all honesty and vulnerability, he was the one confused. He couldn’t tell her the truth. After staunchly guarding his identity for four years, he wasn’t about to blow it by making an accusation that revealed all.

  So he lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “It’s not often that a woman chooses to live up here alone. I take it you are alone.”

  She hesitated before offering a tentative, “Yes.”

  Good Lord, could she have a photographer stashed somewhere about? “Are you?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then why the pause?”

  Leah’s eyes flashed. She wasn’t used to having her integrity questioned. “When you’ve spent your entire life in New York, you think twice about giving a man certain information. It’s instinct.”

  “It’s distrust.”

  “Then we’re even!”

  “But you did answer me.”

  “Victoria said you were a friend. I trust her judgment. She even gave me a letter to deliver to you.”

  He extended one large hand, palm up, in invitation. The smug twist of his lips only heightened her defensiveness.

  “If it were on me, you’d have had it by now,” she cried. “It’s in my car, along with my purse and everything else I own in the world.”

  “Except for your furniture,” he remarked, dropping his hand back to his thigh.

  She made a little sound of defeat. “Yes.”

  “And you can’t get to your car. You may not be able to get there for days. You’re stuck here with me.”

  Leah shook her head, willing away that prospect. It wasn’t that Garrick was repulsive; indeed, the opposite was true. But while there was a side to him that was gentle and considerate, there was another more cynical side, and that frightened her. “I’ll get to my car later.”

  “Unless the rain lets up, you’re not going anywhere.”

  “I have to get to my car.”

  “How?”

  “The same way I got here. If you won’t drive me, I’ll walk.”

  “It’s not that I won’t drive you, Leah,” he said, using her name for the first time. “It’s that I can’t. You’ve arrived up here at the onset of mud season, and during mud season, no one moves. The sturdiest of vehicles is useless. The roads are impassable.” Arching a brow, he stroked his bearded jaw with his knuckles. “Tell me. What was it like driving the road to Victoria’s cabin last night?”

  “Hell.”

  “And walking from Victoria’s to mine?”

  The look she sent him was eloquent.

  “Well, it’ll be worse today and even worse tomorrow. At this time of year, snow melts from the upper mountain and drains down over ground that is already thawing and soggy. When the rains come, forget it.”

  But Leah didn’t want to. “Maybe if we walk back to the car and I get behind the wheel and you push—”

  “I’m neither a bulldozer nor a tow truck, and let me tell you, I’m not even sure one of those would do the trick. I’ve seen off-road vehicles get stuck on roads far less steep than the ones on this hill.”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “Victoria said you’d help me.”

  “I am. I’m offering you a place to stay.”

  “But I can’t stay here!”

  “You don’t have much choice.”

  “You can’t want me to stay here!”

  “I don’t have much choice.”

  With a helpless little moan, Leah rose from the table and went to stare bleakly out the window. He was right, she supposed. She didn’t have much choice. She could go out in the rain and trek back to her car, but if what he said was true—and he’d certainly be in a position to know—she’d simply find herself back on his doorstep, wet, muddy, exhausted and humiliated.

  This wasn’t at all what she’d had in mind w
hen she’d left New York!

  3

  THE CLATTER OF PANS in the sink brought Leah from her self-indulgent funk a short time later. Feeling instantly contrite, she returned to the kitchen. Garrick had already loaded the dishwasher; taking a towel, she began to dry the pans as he washed them.

  They worked in silence. When the last skillet had been put away, she folded the towel and placed it neatly on the counter. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. She didn’t look at Garrick, who was wiping down the sink. “I must have sounded ungrateful, and I’m not. I appreciate what you’re doing.” Pausing, she searched for suitably tactful words. “It’s just that this isn’t quite what I’d planned.”

  “What had you planned?”

  “Sunshine and fresh air. A cabin all to myself. Plenty of time to work and read and walk in the woods. And cook—” She looked up in alarm at the thought. “I have food in the car! It’ll spoil if I don’t get it refrigerated!”

  “It’s cold outside.”

  “Cold enough?”

  “Depends on what kind of food you have.”

  She would have listed off an inventory had there been any point. But there wasn’t, so she simply let out a breath of resignation. He’d made it clear that she couldn’t get to her car. Whatever spoiled would spoil.

  Tugging the lapels of the flannel shirt more tightly around her, she sent him a pleading glance. “This is the first time I’ve even thought of living outside New York, and to have things go so wrong is upsetting. I still can’t understand why Victoria offered me the cabin.”

  Garrick was beginning to entertain one particularly grating suspicion. Eyes dark, he set the dishrag aside and retreated to the living room. The sofa took his weight with multiple creaks of protest, but the protests in his mind were even louder.

  Leah remained where she was for several minutes, waiting for him to speak. He was clearly upset; his brooding slouch was as much a giveaway as the low shelving of his brows. And he had a right to be upset, she told herself. No man who’d chosen to live alone on a secluded mountainside deserved to have that seclusion violated.

  Studying him, taking in the power that radiated from even his idle body, she wondered why he’d chosen the life he had. He wasn’t an avid conversationalist. But, then, neither was she, yet she’d functioned well in the city. He’d left it—at least, that was what she assumed, though perhaps it was an ingrained snobbishness telling her that the cultured ring to his speech and his fondness for certain luxuries were urban-born. In any case, she couldn’t believe that a simple housing problem such as the one she’d faced had sent him into exile. For that matter, he didn’t look as though he were in exile at all; he looked as though he were here to stay.

  Leah took advantage of his continued distraction to examine the cabin in its entirety. A large, rectangular room with the fireplace and bed on opposite sides, it had a kitchen spread along part of the back wall, leaving space for the bathroom and what looked to be a closet. Large windows flanked the front door. Sandwiched between door, windows, furniture and appliances were bookshelves—a small one here, a larger one there, each and every one brimming with books.

  They explained, in part, what Garrick Rodenhiser did with his time. He wasn’t reading now, though. He was sitting as he’d been before, staring at the ashes in the hearth. While moments before he’d been brooding, his profile had mellowed to something she couldn’t quite define. Loneliness? Sorrow? Confusion?

  Or was she simply putting a name to her own feelings?

  Unwilling to believe that, despite the clenching of her heart at the sight of Garrick, she looked desperately around for something to do. Her eye fell on the bed, still mussed from the night they’d spent. Crossing the room, she straightened the sheets and quilt, then folded the spare one he’d wrapped around her and set it at the foot of the bed.

  What else? She scanned the cabin again, but there was little that needed attention. Everything was neat, clean, organized.

  At a loss, she walked quietly to the window. The woods were gray, shrouded in fog, drenched in rain. The bleakness of the scene only emphasized the strange emptiness she felt.

  Garrick’s deep voice came out of the blue. “What, exactly, is your relationship to Victoria?”

  Startled, Leah half turned to find herself the object of his grim scrutiny. “We’re friends.”

  “You’ve said that. When did you meet?”

  “Last year.”

  “Where?”

  “The public library. Victoria was researching the aborigines of New Zealand. We literally bumped into each other.”

  His expression turned wry, then softened into a reluctant smile. “The aborigines of New Zealand—that does sound like Victoria. Is she going back to school in anthropology?”

  “Not exactly,” Leah answered, but she had to force herself to think, because his smile—lean lips curving upward between mustache and beard, the flash of even, white teeth—momentarily absorbed her. “She is, uh, she was fascinated by an article she’d read about the Maori, so she decided to visit. She was preparing for the trip when I met her.”

  “Did she get there?”

  “To New Zealand? What do you think?”

  Garrick thought yes, and his eyes said as much, but his mind returned quickly to Leah. “Why were you at the library?”

  “I often work there—sometimes doing research for puzzles, sometimes just for the change of scenery.”

  “So you and Victoria became friends. How old are you?”

  “Thirty-three.”

  He pushed out his lips in surprise. “I’d have given you twenty-eight or twenty-nine—” the lips straightened “—but even at thirty-three, there’s quite a gap between you.”

  “But there isn’t,” Leah returned with quiet vehemence, even wonder. “That’s what’s so great about Victoria. She’s positively … positively amaranthine.”

  “Amaranthine?”

  “Unfading, undying, timeless. Her bio may list her as fifty-three, but she has the body of a forty-year-old, the mind of a thirty-year-old, the enthusiasm of a twenty-year-old and the heart of a child.”

  The description was one Garrick might have made, though he’d never have been able to express it as well. At the height of his career he’d been a master technician, able to deliver lines from a script with precisely the feeling the director wanted. But no amount of arrogance—and he’d had more than his share—could have made him try to write that script himself.

  So Leah did know Victoria, and well. That ruled out one possible lie but left open another. Even knowing that she would compromise her friendship with Victoria, Leah might have taken it upon herself to find and interview the man who’d once been the heartthrob of every woman between the ages of sixteen and sixty-five. Every woman who watched television, that is. Did Leah watch television? Even if she’d come here in total innocence, wouldn’t she recognize him?

  Shifting his gaze back to the hearth, Garrick lapsed into silence once again. He was recalling how worried he’d been when he’d first arrived in New Hampshire. Each time he’d gone into town for supplies, he’d kept his head down, his eyes averted. Each time he’d waited in dread for telling whispers, tiny squeals, the thrust of pen and paper under his nose.

  In fact, he’d looked different from the man who’d graced the television screens of America on a weekly basis for seven years running. His hair was longer, less perfectly styled, and he’d stopped rinsing out the sprinkles of silver that once upon a time he’d been sure would detract from his appeal.

  The beard had made a difference, too, but in those early months he’d worried that sharp eyes would see through it to the jaw about which critics had raved. He’d dressed without distinction, wearing the oldest clothes he’d had. Above all, he’d prayed that the mere improbability of a onetime megastar living on a mountainside in the middle of nowhere would shield him from discovery.

  With the passing of time—during which he wasn’t recognized—he’d gained confidence. He made e
ye contact. He held his head higher.

  Body language. A fascinating thing. He wasn’t innocent enough to think that the recognition factor alone had determined the set of his head. No, he’d held his head higher because he felt better about himself. He was learning to live with nature, learning to provide for himself, learning to respect himself as a clean-living human being.

  Buoyed by that confidence, he turned to Leah. “You’ve come to know Victoria well in a year. You must have spent a lot of time with her.”

  Leah, who’d eyed him steadily during his latest bout of silence, was more prepared for its end this time. “I did.”

  “Socially?”

  “If you’re asking whether I went to her parties, the answer is no.”

  “Are you married?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever been?” It wasn’t crucial to the point of his investigation, but he was curious.

  “Yes.”

  “Divorced?”

  She nodded.

  “Recently?”

  “It’s been final for two years.”

  “Do you date?”

  “Do you?”

  “I’m asking the questions.”

  “That’s obvious, but I’d like to know why. I’m beginning to feel like I’m on a hot seat.”

  She sounded hurt. She looked hurt. Garrick surprised himself by feeling remorse, but he was too close to the answer he sought to give up. He did make an effort to soften his tone. “Bear with me. There’s a point to all this.”

  “Mmm. To make me turn tail and run. Believe me, I would if I could. I know that you don’t like the idea of a stranger invading your home, but you’re a stranger to me, too, and I’m not so much an invader as a refugee, and if you think I like feeling like a refugee, you’re nuts…” Her voice faded as her eyes began to skip around the cabin. “Paper and pencil?”

  Garrick was nonplussed. “What—”

  “If I don’t write it down, I’ll forget.”