Deadly Charade (22 page)
Tilly Graves, her mother's best friend, who now came in to clean and help out three times a week, had gossiped a lot about the Benson brothers over the last couple of months, but she'd never mentioned that Adam Benson had shiny black hair with just enough curl to make a woman's fingers itch with the need to ruffle through it. Tilly had never said that Adam had blue-gray eyes with long dark lashes that a woman might covet.
Finally, Tilly had never mentioned that Adam Benson had broad shoulders, slim hips and long legs that would easily turn a woman's head in his direction.
She stared up at the dark bedroom ceiling and felt the frown that tugged her lips downward. She'd hoped to rent the rooms to a woman. That had been her goal when she'd initially hung the sign, but it had been months since then and Adam had been the first and only person to inquire about the room. Besides, the truth of the matter was that Melanie desperately needed the rent money.
It had never been her plan to be stuck here in the town she'd escaped on her high school graduation day, bringing in only a disability check that barely met minimal living expenses.
This wasn't supposed to have happened to her. She'd had a life plan since she'd been seven years old and no place in that plan had there been a wheelchair.
She closed her eyes as tears burned and the familiar taste of bitterness surged up the back of her throat. Rude? Sour and cranky? Is that really what people were whispering about her in town?
She told herself she didn't care what other people thought about her, that she had every reason to be all those things and more, but the truth of the matter was his words had stung her.
She certainly hadn't had much interaction with anyone since her mother's death. Once a week her groceries were delivered by a teenager who worked at the Shop and Go, and a month ago she'd had to contact Abe Dell, the local plumber, to take care of a leak beneath the kitchen sink. Had she been cranky with those people?
Probably,
she thought with a touch of shame. She felt as if she'd been stuck in a place of anger for a while, but surely she had good reason.
For all intents and purposes her life had ended seven months ago at the bottom of the stairs that led down to the basement. It had been exactly a week after she'd buried her mother.
Still grieving, she had been in the process of packing up some of her mother's things to donate to a local charity. She had started down the stairs to retrieve a couple of empty boxes when her foot missed a rung and plunged her into a free fall.
Melanie's right leg had been bothering her for weeks before the fall, but as a professional dancer she'd been accustomed to aches and pains for so long that she'd ignored the warning signs of unusual numbness and burning.
The fall hadn't been what had put her in the wheelchair. The stumble on the stairs had simply been a symptom of a more serious underlying condition.
She now shifted positions in the bed and consciously willed away thoughts of that day and the moment when she'd realized any dreams, any hopes she'd once had for her future had been destroyed.
She squeezed her eyes more tightly closed and sought the sweet oblivion of sleep. It didn't take long. She dreamed she was dancing, executing perfect pirouettes and leaps that suspended her in midair as music swelled in her chest, filled her soul.
Ballet, jazz and tap, she did it all and she did it well. She'd been born to dance and in her dreams she was all that she was meant to be.
The stark light of morning sunshine streaming through the nearby window pulled her from her night of happy dreams and into the glare of her harsh reality. The right foot that she'd once concentrated so hard to point had betrayed her, now dangling in a permanent point, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't flex it to a flat, walking position.
Peripheral neuropathy and drop foot were the official diagnoses that had put her in a wheelchair and taken away her career as a professional dancer.
For three months she'd had every neurological test there was in an attempt to find the problem and fix it, but nobody had been able to pinpoint the source of the condition, and it had been written up as lumbosacral plexopathyânerves that didn't work right, for some unknown reason.
With the sun getting brighter and the clock reading almost eight, Melanie made the clumsy move from the bed to the wheelchair and wheeled herself into the adjoining bathroom.
Thankfully the bathroom shower was equipped with all the special equipment it required for her to be independent. And she had to be independent. Other than Tilly there was nobody in her life and she knew the odds of having anyone else in her life on a permanent basis were minimal. She was damaged goods and would only be a burden on anyone.
It was twenty to nine when she finally left the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in a pair of soft fleece navy blue jogging pants and a white and navy T-shirt.
She headed for the kitchen, her heart beating just a little bit faster than usual, knowing that today was the day she would start to share her house with Adam Benson.
While her emotions screamed that it was a big mistake, her logical side reminded her that renting the upstairs to him was a necessary evil. Her mother had loved this house and now it was all that Melanie had, her only security in the world. Although it had been paid off several years ago by her mother, the yearly real estate taxes would soon be due and she didn't want to give the obnoxious Craig Jenkins any opportunity to sneak in and grab the house out from under her because she couldn't afford to pay them.
She was sorry she'd ever contacted the real estate developer, but at the time she had called him, her intention had been to sell the house and get back to her dancing life in New York City as quickly as possible.
Now she had no life to return to and this house in the small Oklahoma town where she'd grown up had become her source of safety, her only real security.
It took her only minutes to fix a pot of coffee, and by the time she'd poured her first cup of the morning, a knock sounded at the door.
Nervous tension jumped in her veins as she glanced at the clock and realized it was precisely nine and her new roommate of sorts had arrived.
When she opened the door to let him in, she was once again struck by his hot handsomeness. Clad in blue jeans that hugged the length of his long legs, and in a gray T-shirt that made his eyes appear more gray than blue, he looked as if he could be a model for the quintessential cowboy.
“Good morning,” he said as he swept his black hat off his head.
“Morning,” she replied. “You're right on time.”
He smiled at her and she felt the warmth of it deep in the pit of her stomach. “I've always thought that punctuality was a virtue.” He gestured toward the curb, where a black pickup was parked. “I've got things to move in. Should I do it now, or do you want me to sign the agreement and give you a check first?”
He carried with him an energy that seemed to pulse in the air around him, an energy that seductively drew her to him. “We can take care of the business end of things after you've moved everything inside,” she replied. She wheeled herself backward. “I'll be in the kitchen when you're finished.”
She didn't wait for his response. Quickly pivoting her chair around, she escaped into the kitchen and moved to the table that held her cup of coffee.
Maybe it was because she'd isolated herself for the past six months that Adam touched a chord inside her. He appeared so big, so capable, with strong shoulders that could hold the weight of the world.
Since her mother's funeral seven months ago the only people she'd seen on a regular basis were Tilly and Craig Jenkins and various doctors and nurses in Oklahoma City. Craig reminded her of a snake, with his hooded dark eyes and slender frame. Surely it wasn't any wonder that she'd react to the first attractive man who entered her small, narrow sphere.
She cast her gaze outside the window, where a light breeze stirred the trees, tugging some of the dying leaves to the ground. She'd always loved autumn, when the summer heat released its grip on the Big Apple. With her dance shoes in a canvas bag slung over her shoulder, she'd race from audition to audition with the welcome cool fall air on her face.
Now the dying leaves outside mirrored what she felt inside her soul and she had a feeling she would always hate this time of year...the time of her virtual demise.
As she heard the front door open and then close, her thoughts snapped back to Adam. A man who looked like him probably could have any woman he chose. Certainly he had a girlfriend somewhere in town.
Her heart stuttered a bit as she realized she hadn't considered that he would probably want to have guests, perhaps even female overnight guests.
She tried to imagine lying in bed at night and knowing that he was upstairs entertaining a lady. A surprising surge of envy swept through her. She told herself it had nothing to do with Adam himself but was rooted in the fact that she knew she would never again feel the comfort of a man's arms around her. She would never again enjoy the passion that a kiss could hold, experience the joy of making love.
She closed her eyes, and for just a moment she was the woman in Adam Benson's arms, she was the woman tasting his mouth, feeling his body move in unison with hers.
As she heard the front door open and close once again, she snapped out of the fantasy, irritated with herself and irrationally irritated with him.
He hadn't even finished moving his things in yet and already she had a feeling her life was about to change dramatically. She just wasn't sure if it would change for the good or the bad.
ISBN: 9781460312568
Copyright © 2013 by Virna dePaul
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