Green Fire (2 page)

"Read it," the man called through the wooden barrier. "I'd appreciate it if you'd hurry."

Hesitantly Rani moved toward the scruffy envelope. Zipp was already investigating it with interest. "Here, let me see that," Rani murmured, reaching down to pick up the object. She glanced at the front and saw that it was addressed to her. Tearing the envelope open, she reached inside and unfolded the single sheet of paper.

Dear Miss Garroway,

This is to introduce Flint Cottrell. He will be living in the back cottage for a few weeks while doing some yard work around the cottages for us. We were very fortunate to find someone on such short notice this year.

Chagrined, Rani skipped down to the signature at the bottom and read no further. She yanked the dead bolt and flung open the door. The man with the green eyes was still standing where she had left him, his hands shoved into the sockets of his well-worn sheepskin jacket, a stoic, patient expression on his hard face as if he had spent a lot of time waiting around in darkness and rain. The yellowed fleece collar was pulled up around his neck, framing features as weathered as the jacket. Both jacket and man appeared to be nearing forty. It looked as though both had gotten there the hard way.

"I'm terribly sorry, I didn't realize you were going to be my neighbor," Rani said quickly, standing aside. "Please come in. I'm sure you're wet clear through. That porch roof leaks very badly. I doubt that the back cottage is habitable right now. I could have gotten it ready, but no one told me you'd be arriving."

The man said nothing, stepping over the threshold with a kind of aloof arrogance that again made Rani think of her cat. He came to a halt as Zipp moved into his path.

"Don't mind him. That's Zipp. My cat," Rani added helpfully when there was no immediate response. "Short for Zipporo. He usually dashes off to sulk somewhere when visitors arrive, but he seems to find you interesting. Here, let me have your coat. You're soaked."

Flint Cottrell eyed the cat thoughtfully and then slowly began unfastening the old sheepskin jacket. Without a word he handed the garment to Rani. When she took it from him to hang in the hall closet, he ran his broad hand through his damp hair. Droplets of water glistened in the dark-brown depths and then fell to the floor at his feet as Cottrell carelessly scattered them with the movement of his large, blunt fingers.

Automatically Rani followed the descent of the water drops, sighing silently as they hit the wooden floor. Cottrell had apparently used the doormat, but his scuffed boots had still managed to track dampness into the hall. Then she reminded herself that the old hardwood floor had undoubtedly survived far worse disasters.

"Sorry to startle you," Cottrell said, not sounding particularly sorry at all. "Someone should have called. I take it you're Rani Garroway?"

"Yes," Rani agreed crisply. "And someone should definitely have called. Won't you sit down, Mr. Cottrell."

He nodded once, then stalked across the room to take the largest, most comfortable chair in front of the fire. The man apparently didn't need a second invitation. She'd better be careful about what she offered by way of refreshment. He'd probably let her go to the trouble of fixing a five-course dinner if she volunteered. Something about him gave her the impression he made a policy of taking whatever freebies came along in life on the general principle that there probably weren't going to be all that many. He sprawled easily in the chair, watching her as she came slowly toward the fire. Zipp padded toward his feet and nosed curiously around the scarred boots.

Rani glanced down at the letter she still held in her hand. She concentrated on the lines she had skipped over earlier. "You're going to be making some minor repairs on the house and getting the grounds in shape?"

"A sort of general handyman-gardener was how the job was described," Cottrell said calmly. "In return I get free lodging for a few weeks this winter."

From the look of him, the man probably couldn't afford to turn down free lodging. "This is October, Mr. Cottrell. There isn't much to do in a garden in October."

"There's always something to be done in a garden. I'll keep busy. I always earn my keep."

"I'm sure you do." Rani folded the letter very carefully. The light from the fire flickered briefly on her ring, creating a brief illusion of cold green flames trapped in stone as she stuffed the sheet of paper back into its envelope. It was a very fleeting illusion.

The letter had been signed by the people who were renting the main cottage to her. There was one other smaller cottage on the grounds and a great deal of yard that had more or less run wild the past summer from what Rani could see. She didn't know much about gardening, but she suspected the Andersons' garden did need attention. She didn't doubt Mr. Anderson's scrawling signature. "Would you care for a cup of tea, Mr. Cottrell?"

"I'd rather have a shot of whiskey if you've got it. It's cold out there."

Give him an inch, Rani thought humorously. Aloud she said, "I'll see what I can find." She got to her feet and headed toward the kitchen. Behind her Zipp continued staring up into the stranger's face and then, without any warning, leaped onto the wide, overstuffed arm of the chair. Cottrell exchanged a long look with the big cat and then leaned his damp head back against the cushion. He closed his eyes. He didn't appear weary so much as simply determined to rest when the opportunity offered. It was a quality Zipp had.

When Rani emerged from the kitchen with a small glass of golden liquid, her visitor lifted his lashes with the lazy alertness of a dozing feline.

"What's that?"

"Sherry. It's all I've got unless you'd rather have a glass of white wine? The sherry's stronger."

He didn't bother responding to the implied question. Stretching out his arm, he took the delicate glass from her and took a healthy swallow that nearly drained it. His mouth crooked with faint scorn as he tasted the sherry. "This'll do."

Rani flashed him a wry glance as she sank back down into her chair. "You don't know how relieved that makes me feel."

His mouth moved again, this time in a fleeting attempt at a smile. "I didn't mean to be rude. It's been a long drive."

"How long?"

"I left San Francisco over three hours ago. The weather's been like this the whole way. Took me half an hour just to find the Andersons' turnoff after I'd found Reed Lake."

"Perhaps you should have waited and driven up in the morning."

He tilted his head slightly, listening to the faint lecturing tone in her voice. On the arm of the chair Zipp responded in exactly the same fashion, his ears flicking once or twice. The cat knew the tone and generally made a practice of ignoring it.

"I wanted to get here this evening." Flint swallowed the rest of the sherry and closed his eyes again. "That fire feels good. Any heat in the cottage?"

"I don't know. I've never been inside. I'm sure it's got all the amenities or the Andersons wouldn't have told you to use it."

"You never know. I've had people hire me before without bothering to mention the details."

"You're a professional, uh, handyman-gardener?"

He considered that. "Yeah, I guess I am. I suppose you've already eaten dinner?"

Sensing what was coming, Rani wanted to hedge. But her innate honesty got in the way. Even if the honesty hadn't been a problem, the fragrance of the stew simmering on the stove would have been a bit difficult to explain. "No, I haven't, but I was expecting company."

Flint's teeth showed in a strange smile. "And now you've got it. I'm starved."

"You don't understand. A friend of mine is due at any moment and I—" She broke off as the telephone rang imperiously. With a strange twinge of intuition, Rani knew who it was going to be before she picked up the receiver. When Mike Slater spoke on the other end, she wasn't surprised. She knew before he said anything that something had gone wrong. Rani tried to disguise the vague uneasiness she was feeling. If Mike didn't show up this evening, she was going to be left having to deal with Flint Cottrell all on her own. For some reason the prospect wasn't enthralling.

"Hello, Mike. I've been waiting for you."

"Rani, I'm sorry as hell, but there's a tree down across my drive. I won't be able to get the car out until morning. I've been on the phone for the past half hour trying to line up someone to clear the drive, but no one's going to come out on a night like this unless it's an emergency. Mind if I take a rain check on the meal?"

"Of course not, Mike. Everything else okay?"

"Oh, sure. Still got power and the phone's working. How about you?"

Rani looked at the man seated across from her. "I'm all right. I still have power, too. It's turning into quite a storm, isn't it?"

"You can say that again. Listen, keep some candles and a flashlight handy tonight. You might need them, I'd give my eye teeth for some home-cooked stew, but I guess I'll have to wait. I was really looking forward to my first meal with you. Just my luck. Take care. I'll give you a call in the morning."

"Thanks, Mike. I'm very sorry you won't be able to make it tonight. I'll talk to you in the morning." Rani hung up without another word.

Flint watched her face. "I take it there's going to be some extra stew?"

Once again Rani didn't know whether to laugh or groan at Cottrell's blunt approach. "It would appear so, Mr. Cottrell. Would you care for some?"

"Yes." There was a pause. "Please." The "please" sounded rusty. "And call me Flint." He glanced down pointedly at the empty glass in his large hand.

Rani didn't need any more of a hint. "I'll get you some more sherry."

"I'd appreciate it."

"Will you?" Smoothly she took the glass from him and started toward the kitchen.
Or will you simply take it for granted
, she asked silently,
the way stray cats are inclined to do
?

Flint watched her walk into the kitchen, something in him approving the proud, graceful way she moved. He liked the shape of her, he realized. In the snug-fitting jeans and golden-yellow sweater she appeared nicely rounded. There was an appealing hint of lushness in the gentle fullness of her hips and breasts. He had never been attracted to the emaciated-model type.

The rest of her didn't look much like a model, either. Her features were too gentle; very feminine but not sharply defined enough to be riveting, yet they held his full attention when he looked into her face. There was a certain womanly self-confidence in her tawny eyes, but it was a sincere, earnest quality, not cold female arrogance. It was the expression of a woman who had found a place for herself in life, established the boundaries and was satisfied with it. Her hair reminded him of a mixture of dark spices, all deep browns and golds. She wore it in a loose knot on top of her head. From what little he knew of her he guessed she was nearly thirty.

The most important thing was that she had the ring. Flint took a deep breath and flexed his big callused hands. The cat sitting on the chair arm yawned and gave him an inquiring look.

"Don't worry, there's room for both of us," Flint told him quietly. "The legend says so."

"I'm ready to serve," Rani called from the doorway. She watched Zipp jump down from the chair and pad briskly toward her. "You've already had your dinner," she reminded the cat.

"That stew probably smells as good to him as it does to me." Flint came up out of the chair with an easy movement. "Where can I wash my hands?"

Rani nodded toward the hall. "Down there on the right." She turned away to serve the simmering stew and accompanying biscuits. For better or worse she was stuck with uninvited company so she might as well be polite. As she ladled out the aromatic mixture, she started worrying about the condition of the little cottage that sat behind the main house. She was concentrating so intently that she didn't hear Flint walk into the kitchen until he spoke from less than two feet behind her.

"How long are you going to be staying here, Rani?" He took a chair as if he ate at her table every night.

"Three and a naif weeks. I arrived a few days ago." She deliberately put a certain amount of repressiveness into her tone. It should have been Mike Slater sitting across from her, not a handyman-gardener who had the arrogance of a free-ranging cat.

"Vacation?"

"Yes. I had some time coming from the library where I work, so I decided I'd better take it or risk losing it." Firmly she turned the conversation around. "What about you, Flint? How long is your job here expected to last?"

"Until I finish a project I'm working on." He slathered butter on one of the biscuits and bit down hungrily. Then he spotted the pot of honey and enthusiastically spooned some onto the remaining portion of biscuit.

"I see." She didn't, of course, but it seemed the logical thing to say under the circumstances. "What made you apply for this particular position?"

He looked up, his emerald eyes trapping hers for an instant. "I didn't exactly apply. I talked my way into the job because I found out you were going to be staying here for a while."

Rani stared at him, her earlier sense of unease turning into an outright chill. Very carefully she put down her fork. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"It's the ring." He nodded at the green stone set in old metal.

The chill became a faint shivering that she couldn't quite control. Rani's hand closed into a tight fist, and she pushed it into her lap where the ring would be out of sight. "What are you talking about? This ring is junk jewelry. Look, Mr. Cottrell, I don't know what you're up to, but you're starting to make me very nervous. If you've come here to steal my ring, you've made a long trip for nothing. There might be a few dollars in the setting, but the stone itself is practically worthless. Just nicely cut glass. Now, I think you'd better leave."

He ignored her tense command and took another biscuit. "The value of the ring to me lies in the history behind it, not in the stone. Relax, Rani. I'm not here to steal it. It wouldn't do me any good. It doesn't work that way," he added cryptically.