Island Summer Love Page 13

  She heard the sound again, louder now, and her resolve evaporated. She was in danger. Pride be damned. She turned into Brent’s driveway and ran up onto the porch. She was about to lift her hand to knock when a sound made her freeze. It wasn’t behind her this time; it was inside the house. It was the sound of a woman’s laugh, soft but distinct.

  She whirled away from the door, stumbled back across the porch. And stepped into thin air.

  The porch step wasn’t where she’d expected it, and she fell heavily onto the ground, twisting her ankle under her.

  Her cry was involuntary, and she bit down hard on her lip to distract herself from the pain. The door opened and she looked up to see Brent standing, framed in the soft, interior light. His arm was around the shoulder of a beautiful, dark-haired woman.

  “Allison? What in hell . . . ?” He was wearing tight jeans and a tank shirt. He held a beer can in his free hand.

  “I’m sorry,” she moaned. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

  She grasped the porch rail and pulled herself up, wincing painfully. “I was just leaving.” She started to limp away.

  His hand caught her upper arm. “Hold it. You’re not going anywhere. You’re hurt!”

  “Please, just let me go,” she said. “Go back to your guest.”

  He released her arm and squatted in front of her, his fingers gently probing her throbbing ankle.

  Allison glanced over Brent’s head at the woman in the doorway. She had shoulder-length black hair and the longest eyelashes Allison had ever seen. She was wearing a form-fitting red sundress, cut very low in front, exposing deep, full breasts. Her calm smile showed perfect, white teeth.

  Brent’s searching fingers suddenly hit swollen muscle, and Allison jumped and cried out.

  He stood up. “You’ve sprained your ankle. Come on. We’ll put some ice on it.” He pulled her against his side, tucked his arm firmly around her waist, and started toward the house. “Emily, get the ice pack out of the freezer.”

  The woman arched her back and turned in the doorway. She moved away with the sinuous, catlike grace that Allison had always envied.

  “Take it easy,” Brent said quietly. “One step at a time.”

  Despite her pain, Allison was intensely aware of the pleasure his nearness created in her body. Her skin felt warm and tingled with joy at his touch. Her heart was beating fast; she felt slightly dizzy. She glanced up at him.

  “I’m really sorry about this. I didn’t mean to intrude. I didn’t know you had company until I heard . . . when I came up on the porch . . . I feel terrible,” she finished lamely.

  “You should.” There was a trace of laughter in his voice.

  She felt a hard knot in the base of her throat. She hated her body for wanting to be close to him.

  Emily appeared in the doorway, holding a blue ice pack. “Is this what you wanted, Brent?” Her voice was languid and seductive.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” He gave her a quick grin, and Allison felt a wrench of pure white jealousy blossom in her chest. She took a deep breath.

  “I’m feeling better. I think I’ll run along home now.” She lurched away from Brent, steeling herself against the protesting pain shooting up her leg.

  He grabbed her arm. “Just a minute. You’re not in shape to run anywhere.” With a sudden lunge, he lifted her in his arms, carried her up the steps, through the door and into the living room, where he deposited her unceremoniously on the couch.

  He took the ice pack from Emily and wrapped it around Allison’s throbbing ankle. “Now, stay put. I’ll be right back.” He gave her a warning frown and touched Emily’s shoulder. Together they crossed the room and went into the kitchen. When the door closed behind them, Allison shut her eyes against hot tears.

  She’d never felt such embarrassment in her life. Nor such raw jealousy. How was it possible for her to be jealous of this woman? She was Cabot Wilder’s fiancée. She leaned back against the arm of the couch and tried to focus on the pain in her ankle, hoping it would distract her from the pain in her heart.

  She heard the sound of voices from the kitchen, the low rumble of Brent’s tone, then a silence, then Emily’s voice, high and sweet. “Call me as soon as she leaves, Brent. I’m free all evening.” The back door opened and shut, and then light footsteps crunched on the driveway. A moment later Brent came back into the room, closing the kitchen door behind him. His expression was grave, his eyes narrow.

  “I’m really sorry. I feel terrible about this.” Allison sat up, reaching for the ice pack.

  “Don’t touch it!”

  He stood over her, his hand blocking her reach. Every bulge and muscular ripple was exposed in the blue tank shirt. “Now tell me why you’re here. And no lies this time, Allison. I want the truth.”

  “I told you the truth!” she said hotly. “I was on my way back to your grandmother’s house.”

  “That doesn’t explain what you were doing on my front porch.” His piercing gaze was deeply unsettling.

  She swallowed. “All right, but I feel pretty foolish. I was taking a walk down to the harbor when something frightened me. A noise in the bushes.” She licked her bottom lip. “I thought maybe someone was there, so I started back home. Then I realized it was following me. I was frightened.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted. “Sounds like you flushed a raccoon.”

  She blinked at him. “It sounded like a person, or something awful. Isabel said something about a ghost before I left the house. I guess my imagination ran away with me.”

  Brent nodded. “I would say so. I’m afraid you won’t be going on nighttime walks for a while now, not with that ankle.”

  She grimaced. “I really am sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was to spoil your evening.”

  “Well,” he grinned, “you do seem to have a talent for playing havoc with my life. Ever since you’ve come to the island, I’ve hardly had a moment’s peace. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to interrupt my grandmother’s good night’s sleep by stumbling in with you in my arms.”

  “You won’t need to. I can walk.” She started to swing her legs off the couch, but Brent clamped one hand onto her shoulder and pushed her back down.

  “You’re not going anywhere tonight.”

  She stared up into his eyes and for a moment felt herself yielding to his will once again. She shook herself slightly, glanced away and caught a glimpse of two beer cans sitting side by side on the windowsill.

  “No,” she said quickly. “I can’t stay here. Emily’s waiting for you.”

  He sat beside her on the edge of the couch. “You’re jealous!” His face opened into a broad grin. “My God, you’re jealous of Emily!” He cupped her chin in his hand, turned her face toward him. “Doesn’t this prove it to you, Allison? What I’ve been saying all along about you and Cabot? It’s not Cabot you’re in love with.”

  She wasn’t aware of the fury inside her until it burst from her mouth. “I certainly am! And this proves nothing to me except that I’m not staying here all night!”

  She slapped his hand away from her chin and kicked the ice pack to the floor with her uninjured foot. To her surprise, he didn’t try to stop her. Instead he sat watching with a bemused smile as she struggled to her feet.

  “You won’t get out the door,” he said, shaking his head.

  Painfully, she hobbled a few steps, gritting her teeth as she forced herself forward. The only thing she wanted in the world was to get out of Brent Connors’s house. A sudden, jagged pain shot up her leg; she moaned and sagged against the wall. Tears jumped into her eyes.

  She knew that Brent was still watching her, and it was his self-righteous grin that goaded her on. She took a deep breath, lurched forward and finally reached the door. Yanking it open, she pitched forward into the darkness. Only then did she feel Brent’s hand on her shoulder.

  “Allison, stop.” His voice was as gentle as his hand, and for a moment all she wanted was to turn and sink into his arms.

 
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said softly. “You’re only hurting yourself by pretending. Can’t you at least be honest with yourself about this?”

  She felt his words like a knife; he wasn’t talking about her ankle; he was talking about her feelings for Cabot again. She shook his hand off angrily. “Leave me alone!” she hissed. “And stop telling me how to live my life!” She wrenched away from him and limped across the porch and down the steps. She tried to make herself hurry down the driveway to the street, each step a sharp spasm of pain. She didn’t have any courage left to look back over her shoulder and watch Brent go into his house and shut the door.

  Chapter Twelve

  No one interrupted Allison’s slow progress down Brent’s driveway and up the road toward the Cutler house. It began to rain as she started up the hill, big, soaking drops, but the vague discomfort of being wet helped to distract her from the pain in her ankle. She limped on, up the slight hill, around the bend, and then Isabel’s house was in sight. It seemed like an island of safety in a world fraught with danger. But the real dangers were all in her own heart, she thought grimly.

  She was only a few yards from the front door when she slipped and fell in a patch of slick mud. Her ankle twisted clumsily under her, and pain went through her leg. She groaned and tried to stand, but her ankle buckled and she sprawled facedown in the mud. For a moment she lay there, moaning softly. The house in front of her was dark; Isabel and Abel were peacefully asleep. If she screamed for help, she would probably waken not only them, but the whole neighborhood. There was only one thing to do. She pulled herself up on her hands and knees and crawled to the house.

  At the front door, she dragged herself to a standing position and tried the knob. It swung open, and she stumbled into Isabel’s immaculate front hall. She was in too much pain to care about the muddy prints she was leaving with her hands and knees. Slowly, painfully, she crawled up the stairs to the little guest bedroom. With a sigh of relief, she dropped onto the bed. She was aware only of her throbbing ankle, until sleep mercifully claimed her.

  When Allison woke at dawn, chilled and groggy, she knew that a sound had roused her. It came again, a sharp, thumping noise, a deep, familiar voice. She heard scuffling feet, Isabel’s worried tones, then quick footsteps on the stairs.

  “She sprained her ankle last night, Gran. She wouldn’t stay put at my house. Insisted on going back on her own.”

  A light knock sounded and then the door to the room opened. “Oh my Lord! What in the world happened, dear?” Allison looked up into Isabel’s worried face.

  Allison lifted her head, but an angry throb of pain forced her back onto the pillow. She tried to smile as Isabel hurried into the room.

  “I had an accident. I’m all right. I just need to get some sleep.” She was dimly aware of Brent’s form looming in the doorway. She closed her eyes, welcoming the cool touch of Isabel’s palm on her forehead.

  “Why, she’s burning up with fever! Poor child! I’ll get you out of these clothes and into a warm tub right away. Brent, go get Dr. Johnson. He’s summering at the old Andrews place.”

  “I don’t need a doctor.” Allison winced and tried to push Isabel’s hands away.

  “Nonsense.” Isabel clicked her tongue. “Hurry, Brent. I don’t know why in the world you let her come home all by herself. What on earth were you thinking?”

  “It was my idea,” Allison said quickly. “I can be very stubborn sometimes.”

  “Well, no sense crying over spilt milk. Let’s get you clean and warm.”

  Isabel alternately soothed and chided as she helped Allison out of her mud-caked clothes and into the bathtub of warm water. Allison gradually relaxed under the older woman’s comforting ministrations.

  “You really should have listened to Brent, dear,” Isabel said, helping her into her nightgown. “A sprained ankle isn’t anything you should be walking around on. How did you hurt it in the first place?”

  Allison briefly explained the events of the previous evening, omitting the presence of Emily. She tried lamely to justify her own return to the Cutlers’ house. “I just didn’t want to burden Brent any more than I already had,” she said. “And it didn’t seem like it was that far to your house.”

  “Oh pooh!” scoffed Isabel. “Brent’s never happier than when he’s helping someone out. That boy has the softest heart in the world, though he’d never let it show on purpose. Now, you get back under those covers. If I know Brent, he’ll have Dr. Johnson here within the hour, even if he was to drag him kicking and screaming.”

  Allison closed her eyes as she slid gratefully between the cool, clean sheets that Isabel had put on the bed. How in the world had she come to this state of affairs? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been sick or injured. She was someone who took excellent care of herself. She hadn’t seen a doctor, except for her annual checkup, in years.

  She dozed briefly, lulled by Isabel’s calm voice, and her pain lessened as her body relaxed. The sound of the front door opening and closing in the hall below roused her back to wakefulness. She started to sit up, but Isabel’s hand urged her back onto the pillow.

  “Just relax, dear. Art Johnson’s a wonderful doctor. We’ll have you fit in no time.”

  Brent appeared in the doorway, followed by a towering man with white hair and a neatly trimmed beard. The doctor quickly shooed Isabel and Brent out of the room and bent over Allison with a concerned smile on his large face.

  “Well, it seems you’ve been overdoing it,” he said, as he finished his examination.

  “I’m just a little tired. Except for my ankle, I’m fine.”

  “I’m afraid not, little lady. You’ve got the flu. You’re going to need a few days in bed before you even think about getting back on your feet.”

  “But I can’t!” She felt a sudden wave of panic as she thought about the play group and then of Cabot’s imminent arrival. And she wanted to be ready to help with the cleanup on Saturday. “I have too much to do!”

  The doctor shook his head sternly. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. I’ll give you Motrin for your ankle—it’ll relieve the pain and reduce the inflammation—but you’re under strict orders to stay in that bed until Monday.”

  When she opened her mouth to protest again, he frowned and held up a warning finger. “I’m putting you in Isabel’s care, so I suggest you don’t disobey orders. You’ve never seen wrath until you’ve seen Isabel Cutler crossed!”

  He turned to open the door. Allison caught a glimpse of Brent looming in the hall.

  “Just leaving,” Dr. Johnson said, giving Brent a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t bother about the ride back. I’m headed over to Edie Chaney’s for a fisherman’s breakfast.” He winked at Brent. “You ought to take better care of your girlfriend. Looks to me like she needs a firm hand.”

  Allison reddened with embarrassment, but the doctor was gone before she had a chance to explain that she wasn’t Brent’s girlfriend, not by any stretch of the imagination.

  Brent grinned down at her. “You heard what the doctor said, Allison. Bed rest and a strong hand.” He sat next to her on the bed. “My strong hand.”

  Allison bristled. “He didn’t mean it that way! Anyway, he put me in Isabel’s care.”

  Brent nodded, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Don’t get excited. I just came up for a minute—with Gran’s permission, incidentally—to make a couple of arrangements with you.” He shifted closer; she felt his hip nudge hers through the thin blanket. “Then I’ll leave, if that’s what you want.”

  “It’s what I want,” she muttered, trying to slide away from him and finding, to her chagrin, that her movement merely brought her face closer to his.

  His smile disappeared and his eyes sobered. “It’s about Cabot. I wanted to let you know that I’ve wired him about your injury. When he comes, I’ll pick him up at the ferry and get him settled in at the guest house. Just so that your mind’s at ease.”

  She swallowed. �
��You don’t have to do that, Brent.”

  He shrugged. “I’m the logical greeting party, with both you and Martha out of commission.”

  “I know how you feel about him,” she whispered.

  “Do you? I haven’t even met the man. Maybe I’ll think he’s terrific.” He stood up. “Get some rest now.” He went to the door, turned and looked back at her. “About last night, Allison. I thought it was pretty courageous of you to come all the way back here on your own. I’m just sorry you felt you had to do it.”

  Then he was gone.

  Isabel appeared in the doorway, and Allison looked up at her bleakly.

  “What’s wrong, dear? You look like you’re about to cry! Did Brent say something to upset you?”

  Allison shook her head, but the tears welled up anyway and soon she was sobbing openly. Isabel put her arms around her, and Allison rested her head on the older woman’s shoulder.

  “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s the matter. It can’t be as hopeless as you imagine.”

  “I’m just so confused! My fiancé’s coming and Dr. Johnson thought I was Brent’s girlfriend and Brent said he was sorry I felt I had to come back here—” Sobs choked her.

  “Shhh, dear.” Isabel lowered her gently onto the bed. “It’s just the fever talking. Now close your eyes and get some sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

  Waves of heat and fatigue washed over Allison as Isabel covered her with the blanket and drew the curtains across the window. At the door she turned and smiled.

  “You mustn’t worry, you know, dear. Things will work out for the best. They always do.”

  Allison tried to smile back. Isabel closed the door softly and Allison felt herself slide toward sleep. In the dim light of the curtained room, she thought she sensed a strong, loving presence, as if Brent were standing beside her, watching over her.

  Allison slept all day and well into the next. When she woke, at noon on Friday, she felt refreshed and at peace. Her headache was gone; her ankle no longer throbbed. Sunlight streamed into the little room, lying in oblongs on the polished hardwood floor and across the narrow bed. She could hear the low voices of Abel and Isabel in the kitchen below. She realized, with pleasure, that she was hungry.