On Fire(32)

"Maybe I should go find Matt and tell him everything," Riley said.

"I don't know how much more of this she can stand. He loves her. I'm sure of it. "

Straker remembered the word from the lobster boats. Matt Granger was in  deep, probably over his head, too. On some level, Sig knew, feared it,  and that was why she was here.

"Maybe you just shouldn't meddle."

Riley didn't take offense. She sighed, the strain catching up with her.

"You're right. For a minute back there, I thought she'd hit the gas pedal or grab the wheel and run him over.

Straker, they were so happy. Until last year"-- " Come on. " He touched her shoulder.

"We need to get her back to Emile's."

"Should she see a doctor?"

Sig groaned in the dark.

"I'm okay, goddamn it. It was the scallops. I never should have eaten the frigging scallops."

It was another three minutes back to Emile's. The air was cool and  crisp, the water dark. A stiff breeze gusted, making the spruce trees  creak and sway. Sig tried to walk, but she was shivering, wobbly, and  finally Straker just scooped her up. Of course she swore. She was an  ungrateful St. Joe. But she clung to him, too, and when he laid her in  one of the twin beds upstairs, she squeezed his hand.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked.

"We can get you to a doctor."

"I'm fine." She managed a weak smile.

"I threw up like that a lot in the first few weeks."

Pregnant and alone. If Granger knew, what would he do? That was what Sig  couldn't face. Straker knew she was afraid if Matt found out she was  pregnant, he still wouldn't end his vendetta against her grandfather.  She couldn't count on him. His father's death had shattered the trust  between them.

Riley covered her sister with old quilts, tucked them carefully around her.

"Can I get you anything? A cup of tea ... water..." But Sig was almost  asleep, and Riley straightened, her hair sticking out, dark circles  under her eyes.

"I guess we should let her sleep."

Straker built a fire in Emile's woodstove while Riley paced. He could  see that sharp mind of hers working. She had her arms crossed on her  breasts and looked worried, frustrated, boiling over with unchanneled  energy.

Finally, she stopped. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes almost black.

She took a breath.

"Thank you."

Straker stood in front of the woodstove, the fire crackling, hot against  his back. She was softening, but he wasn't. He couldn't.

This was his opening, and he had to seize it.

"I don't want your thanks. I want you and Sig to pack up in the morning  and get the hell out of here. Go back to your mother's, go back to  Boston. You two must have friends who'd take you in for a few days."

To his surprise, she nodded.

"I was just thinking the same thing.

Sig. " She blinked rapidly, holding back tears.

"What does Matt think he's doing? Doesn't he know she's--can't he tell?"

"He knows something's wrong, but he thinks it's him. The man's caught up  in his own hell right now. He can't see your sister is, too."

"That's no excuse."

"From your point of view, no, it's not."

She sighed, looking exhausted.

"I'm in no mood to be reasonable."

He smiled.

"That's a mood I know well."

With another sigh, she ran a hand through her hair, muttered about  needing air and suddenly shot outside. Straker could hear her race down  the steps, and by the time he'd put another log on the fire and followed  her out, she was charging toward the water.

The wind had picked up, howling in steady gusts. He walked at a  deliberate pace, debating whether it would be best to climb into his  boat and head on back to the island. Riley stormed off to the end of the  dock, her arms crossed against the cold, her jaw set.

"You want to be alone?" he asked, coming up behind her.

She turned slightly.

"I want..." She stopped, swallowed, caught her breath. "I want this all  to go away. I want to toast marshmallows on the fire, I want Sig's  babies to have a chance at a happy life, I want Emile..." She couldn't  go on. She shifted back toward the water, dark and churning in the wind.                       
       
           



       

Straker said nothing. He knew what it was to have the world close in on  him. His answer had been La- breque Island, six months of solitude, of a  simple, if hard, life. If he didn't do it, it didn't get done.

If he was socked in with fog for days on end, there was no running down  to the store for milk and videos. There had been days--weeks--when he'd  thought he wouldn't come out of his exile sane or whole, able ever again  to connect with another human being.

Riley suddenly leaned against him, her arms still tightly crossed on her  chest, her gaze still on the bay. Her body was warm, and her hair  smelled of ocean and a citrusy shampoo. The months of isolation welled  up in him, seized him with an urgency so ferocious it took his breath  away. He wanted her. He ached with it, burned with it.

She turned into him, draped her hands around his neck, and he knew she  couldn't possibly know what he was feeling, thinking, fighting back.

She whispered, "Straker, I swear I don't know what I'm doing," even as  she let her mouth find his, tentatively, as if she were testing her own  resolve, or sanity.

The taste of her seared through him, but he knew he was dangerous, knew  he had to exert his considerable willpower over the rest of him.

One slender hand drifted over his shoulder. It might as well have been  on fire. His pulse raced; need surged through him. He wanted to make  love to her there, then, on the old wooden dock. His head, his soul,  ached with the taste of her, the possibilities.

But he controlled the urge to push and push hard, sensed that what she  wanted from him was tenderness, softness, a kiss that restored and gave,  when all he wanted was to take and demand, end this pounding need.

She opened her mouth to his, took herself onto very dangerous ground.

Restraint was impossible. Her fingers intertwined with his, and she  placed his hand on her breast, a soft swell covered in layers of fabric  he imagined tearing away. In another two seconds, he would. The sand had  run out of the hourglass.

Instinctively, she must have known. She pulled back. She was breathing  hard, her dark eyes shining. He was thinking about the fire in Emile's  woodstove, the long, comfortable couch, the blankets and cush long, the  braided rug on the floor. Plenty of places to make love.

They could go on all night, into the morning, until whenever Sig staggered down from the loft.

Riley smiled, touched a finger to the scar she'd given him above his eye.

"I was a pretty good shot, wasn't I?"

"I let you hit me."

Finally a spark of humor lit her eyes. But it faded quickly, and she kissed him lightly, softly.

"I'll take care of Sig. You find Emile, find my brother-in-law." Her eyes were black now, deadly serious.

"Stop them."

She turned abruptly and ran off the dock, up the dark road. She didn't  glance back, didn't hesitate. Straker kicked a loose board in the dock.  He could have ripped out every board and nail and post, flung the whole  damned mess into the ocean.

Honor and restraint, he thought bitterly, had got him exactly nothing.

A perfectly good fire, a perfectly good woman, and here he was, standing alone in the cold and the dark.

Sig awoke in a panic. Her heart was racing, and she couldn't breathe.

Nightmares. She'd dreamed of Matt. Dangerous dreams, frightening dreams. She needed air, a drink of water. Her head ached.

Dehydration.

She'd thrown up everything in her stomach.

Straker. he'd been damned decent. Riley was such an ass about him.

Obviously he was smitten with her, even if she drove him crazy.

Air. she needed to breathe.

"Sig."

"Huh?"

"Sig."

Riley's voice. Determined, fighting panic. She was shaking her.

"Stop," Sig said, feeling cranky.

"That hurts."

"Sig, we need to get out of here. The place is on fire."

"Fire?" She sat up, her head spinning, pounding, her stomach reeling.

Her sister stood close, her fear palpable.

"Riley, you must be having a nightmare. There's no" -- "We don't have time! Get up. I can't carry you. You're too tall."

"Carry me--why would" -She stopped, could smell the smoke, could see it  curling up the stairs. She saw Riley's desperate look in the dark.

Heard the crackle and spark of flames downstairs. She was wide-awake now. This was no nightmare.                       
       
           



       

"Oh my God."

Riley yanked the quilts off her.

"We can make it through the window."

"I don't know ... I.../?;7ey, / can't breathe!"

"Come on, Sig. You can do it."

Sig dropped her feet to the floor. She had on socks. Straker and Riley  had put her to bed in her clothes. She could feel the pull of skin over  her bulging stomach. The babies were quiet.