A Little Magic(35)
A check found them still damp. So, she hadn’t been asleep—unconscious—for long. The practical thing to do, now that she’d apparently done everything impractical, was to find her rescuer, thank him, wait for her clothes to dry, then track down Margaret and beg for mercy.
The last part would be unpleasant, and probably fruitless, but it had to be done.
Bolstering herself for the task, Allena went to the door, opened it. And let out a soft cry of sheer delight.
The watery sunlight shimmered over the hills, and the hills rolled up green in one direction, tumbled down in the other toward the rock-strewn shore. The sea reared and crashed, the walls of waves high and wonderful. She had an urge to rush out, to the edge of the slope, and watch the water rage.
Just outside the cottage was a garden gone wild so that flowers tangled with weeds and tumbled over themselves. The smell of them, of the air, of the sea had her gulping in air, holding her breath as if to keep that single sharp taste inside her forever.
Unable to resist, she stepped out, the dog beside her, and lifted her face to the sky.
Oh, this place! Was there ever a more perfect spot? If it were hers, she would stand here every morning and thank God for it.
Beside her, the dog let out one quiet woof, at which she rested her hand on his head again and glanced over at the little building, with its rough stone, thatched roof, wide-open windows.
She started to smile, then the door of it opened. The man who came out stopped as she did, stared as she did. Then with his mouth hard set, he started forward.
His face swam in front of her. The crash of the sea filled her head with roaring. Dizzy, she held out a hand to him, much as she had to the dog.
She saw his mouth move, thought she heard him swear, but she was already pitching forward into the dark.
3
SHE looked like a faerie, standing there in a wavery sunbeam. Tall and slender, her bright hair cropped short, her eyes long-lidded, tilted at the tips, and enormous.
Not a beauty. Her face was too sharp for true beauty, and her mouth a bit top-heavy. But it was an intriguing face, even in rest.
He’d thought about it even after he’d dumped her in bed after carrying her in from the storm. Undressing her had been an annoying necessity, which he’d handled with the aloof detachment of a doctor. Then, once she was dry and settled, he’d left her, without a backward glance, to burn off some of the anger in work.
He worked very well in a temper.
He didn’t want her here. He didn’t want her. And, he told himself, he wouldn’t have her, no matter what the fates decreed.
He was his own man.
But now when he came out, saw her standing in the doorway, in the sunlight, he felt the shock of it sweep through him—longing, possession, recognition, delight, and despair. All of those in one hard wave rose inside him, swamped him.
Before he could gain his feet, she was swaying.
He didn’t manage to catch her. Oh, in the storybooks, he imagined, his feet would have grown wings and he’d have flown across the yard to pluck her nimbly into his arms before she swooned. But as it was, she slid to the ground, melted wax pooling into the cup and taking all the candle as well, before he’d closed half the distance.
By the time he reached her, those long gray eyes were already opening again, cloudy and dazed. She stared at him, the corners of her mouth trembling up.
“I guess I’m not steady yet,” she said in that pretty American voice. “I know it’s a cliché and predictable, but I have to say it—where am I?”
She looked ridiculously appealing, lying there between the flowers, and made him all too aware she wore nothing but one of his shirts. “You’re on O’Neil land.”
“I got lost—a bad habit of mine. The storm came up so fast.”
“Why are you here?”
“Oh, I got separated from the group. Well, I was late—another bad habit—and missed the ferry. But the boy brought me in his boat.” She sat up then. “I hope he’s all right. He must be, as he seemed to know what he was doing and it was such a quick trip anyway. Is the visitors’ center far?”
“The visitors’ center?”
“I should be able to catch up with them, though it won’t do me a lot of good. Margaret’ll fire me, and I deserve it.”
“And who is Margaret?”
“My stepsister. She owns A Civilized Adventure. I’m working for her—or I did work for her for the last twenty-three days.” She let out a breath, tried the smile again. “I’m sorry. I’m Allena Kennedy, the moron. Thank you for helping me.”
He glanced down at the hand she held out, then with some reluctance took it. Instead of shaking it, he pulled her to her feet. “I’ve a feeling you’re more lost than you know, Miss Kennedy, as there’s no visitors’ center here on Dolman Island.”