Green Fire (4 page)

The first thing Rani noticed the next morning was that the storm had passed through, leaving a chilled, slightly damp but basically sunny day in its wake. The second thing she noticed was that she didn't appear to be alone in the house. The distinct clash and clang of pots and pans and a slamming refrigerator door came from the kitchen.

She could probably assume it wasn't a burglar, Rani decided as she shoved back the covers and padded over to the closet. Most burglars would have better manners. She wrapped the turquoise-and-shocking-pink bathrobe around herself, stepped into her fluffy bright pink slippers and started grimly down the hall.

At the entrance to the kitchen she came to a halt, silently studying the scene before her. Zipp was seated on the windowsill, watching with interest as Flint systematically created chaos. Cottrell was working hard at the project. A wide assortment of utensils and bowls dotted the countertop. Two frying pans had been set out on the stove. A carton of milk stood open, and the lids were off the canisters that lined one wall. Flint himself was standing in front of the open refrigerator, examining its contents as if he were plotting an assault strategy. He was dressed for attack in an olive-drab fatigue sweater and a pair of jeans. Like the jacket he had worn last night, both garments looked as if they'd been around a long while. The income of an itinerant handyman-gardener was probably rather meager..

Rani propped one hand against the doorjamb and drummed her fingers meaningfully. "If you'll give me a minute, I'll find you an apron."

Flint didn't glance up from his serious perusal of the refrigerator's interior. "That's okay. I don't need one."

"Are you sure?" she asked dryly. "You appear to be about to cook breakfast for a battalion."

He looked around when she said that, his green eyes moving with interest over her bright robe and sleep-tousled hair. "No. Just you and me and the cat."

"Really? I'm included? To what do I owe the honor?"

"I got the refrigerator going but there isn't any food in the other cottage," he explained simply, still looking at her. "I felt like pancakes."

The intentness of his stare was beginning to ruffle her composure. Rani resisted the urge to clutch the lapels of her robe more tightly closed. She was decently covered. There was no reason to let him unnerve her. "I see. So you just decided you'd break into my kitchen and make yourself a batch?"

"I haven't had pancakes for a long time."

"That's certainly a valid explanation for all this." She waved a hand at the clutter on the countertop.

"I just felt like pancakes," he repeated stubbornly.

"Do you make a habit of invading other people's homes when you feel like helping yourself to something they lave?"

Flint closed the refrigerator door and leaned against it, his arms folded across his chest. "This house and the cottage seemed to be part of the same package rental. I sort of think of it as all one territory. After all, I'm going to be working on both as well as the garden."

Rani straightened away from the wall, no longer making any pretence of controlling her irritation. Her normally well-ordered life did not allow for this sort of disturbance. "I think we should get something clear between us, Flint. You are installed in the small cottage. I am renting this house, you will enter my portion of the 'territory' only upon invitation. We are not all one big happy family vacationing under the same roof. If I remember that letter from the Andersons, you are the hired help. Nothing more. Do you understand the situation now?"

He watched her through slightly narrowed eyes. "I understand," Flint said softly. "I just felt like having pan-cakes. I told you, there isn't any food in the cottage."

Rani gritted her teeth and waved one hand in a gesture of frustrated disgust. "All right! You can have your pan-cakes. But this is my kitchen and I will make them. You will kindly get the hell out of here until I call you for breakfast. Go pluck weeds or something."

Flint ran a hand around the back of his neck. "What I'd really like is a shower. The one in the cottage wasn't work-ing."

Rani glared at him, appalled at the new direction of the conversation. "Not my bathroom! You're surely not suggesting that you have access to my bathroom."

"Just the shower. The rest of the plumbing in the cottage works fine."

"I don't believe this."

"Don't worry, I won't use all the hot water."

"I'm not taking my chances." She whirled and stalked back down the hall. "I'll take my shower first. You can have whatever hot water is left over. In the meantime, don't touch another thing in that kitchen."

"Yes, ma'am."

Rani groaned inwardly at the suspiciously meek tone of his voice, then gathered a pair of jeans and a crimson-and-papaya colored pullover and stepped into the bathroom. She locked the door firmly behind her. The action made her wonder how Flint had gotten into the kitchen. She could have sworn she'd locked the door the night before when she'd returned from the cottage. Then she remembered her sense of nervous awareness when she'd glanced out into the rainy darkness and realized he'd followed her. Maybe she'd been too startled to remember to lock the kitchen door. Or maybe he was good at getting into locked places.

Half an hour later she poured pancake batter into neat circles on the heated griddle and laconically wondered how on earth she'd let herself get maneuvered into making breakfast for Flint Cottrell.

"This has gone far enough, Zipp," she confided to the cat who was sunning himself in the window. "I've got to get control of the situation or the next few weeks are going to be a disaster."

Down the hall the shower finally clicked off. Flint sauntered into the kitchen a few minutes later, running a rather beat-up comb through his damp hair.

"Smells good. Hey, you've got real maple syrup, not brown sugar water."

He wore such an air of pleased expectation on his hard face as he sat down at the table that Rani almost felt guilty about the grudging way she was fixing breakfast. Almost.

Her natural wariness about the bizarre situation in which she found herself was enough to prevent an outright attack of feminine guilt.

"You can pick up some supplies in Reed Lake today so that you'll be able to cook your own breakfast tomorrow morning," Rani said as she placed a stack of steaming pan-cakes in front of him. "Also your own dinner this evening," she added bluntly.

He nodded disinterestedly, his attention clearly on the pancakes as he carefully buttered each one and poured syrup over the top. "This is nice country. Clean and green. I noticed you could see the lake from your living room window, can't see anything from my cottage except the trees."

"Theoretically gardeners should be more interested in the greenery than the lake."

"I guess."

"Have you done a lot of gardening, Flint?"

"When the jobs come up, I take them."

"But you've worked quite a bit as a handyman also?" Rani pressed as she seated herself.

"Yeah."

"Have you, uh, had any other professions?" She wasn't sure why she was asking the questions. A strange kind of perverse curiosity probably.

He looked up. "I've been fairly flexible. I've generally done whatever came along. 1 like gardening best, though."

"Your resume must be quite long by now," Rani observed with a hint of disapproval.

"It probably would be if I ever got around to typing one. lost of the people I've worked for didn't expect to see formal resumes."

"How long have you been job-hopping like this?"

Flint shrugged. "Since I got out of school. I took a job on freighter during my junior year in college. One thing led to another. I never looked back. Tended bar for a while in Singapore. Acted as a stringer for one of the wire services in North Africa. Worked in the oil fields in the Middle East. Did a stint as a guide for some anthropologists in Indonesia. Hired myself out as a bodyguard for an industrialist in Italy. The industrialist had a great garden. I spent a lot of time in it when I was off duty. There's always something for a man who's flexible and who doesn't mind hard work."

Rani's fork went still. "And in between you chase legends."

"I like tracking them down," he admitted.

"What do you do with them when you track them down?"

"Find out the real truth, do an article and try to sell it."

"The real truth?" Rani paused. "What sort of article are you planning to do on the Clayborne ring, Flint?"

"A factual one. I'm going to straighten out the record on it the way I've done with the other legends I've chased."

"What do you mean?"

"I prove the wild tales are generally false."

"You mean show that things such as the Bermuda Triangle aren't really mysterious or strange after all? That there's no curse on the mummy of a certain Egyptian pharaoh? That everything can be explained in a rational fashion? That sort of approach?"

He nodded, pouring more syrup on his pancakes. "You've got it."

Rani straightened in her chair, frowning across the table. "I've got news for you, Flint. You're doomed before you start. Take my word for it. I work in a public library and I know what people read. They don't want their legends debunked. You'd do better to write articles emphasizing the exotic nature of the legends, not the truth. I have a fairly good feel for what people are interested in and most of them want the wonder and the mystery left in their legends."

Flint gave her an impatient glance. "Well, I write the truth."

"Had it occurred to you they may not want to read it?" Suddenly Rani held up her hand. "Forget I said anything. Why on earth am I sitting here arguing with you about it? You're certainly entitled to write anything you please. In fact, it sounds as if you've spent most of your life doing exactly as you please. You're obviously not going to listen to someone like me."

"Why do you say that?" He sounded genuinely interested.

"Well, it's pretty clear you've indulged yourself to the hilt in the classic male fantasy of never being tied down. There's no reason on earth why you should start listening to someone trying to tell you to do something you don't feel like doing. What's the longest period of time you've ever stayed on any one job?"

"I don't know, A year or so maybe. No, wait, there were at least two years in Indonesia."

"I won't ask if you've ever been married," Rani murmured, finishing her pancakes.

Flint's brows came together in a hard line. Beneath them his green eyes were brooding and watchful. "There's never been the time nor the place nor the woman."

"Bull. You mean you've never wanted to make a commitment that would require you to give up your freedom." She gazed at him very levelly. "Do you want any more pancakes?"

"Wait a minute. What do you mean with that crack about commitments?"

"Most men aren't terribly good at making them and keeping them," she explained, as if he were a little slow in the head. "Not long-term ones. Ask any woman."

"I'm asking you."

"Oh, I'm a great witness. My father came and went all during my childhood until one day when I was about fourteen he announced he couldn't handle being a husband and a father any longer. He had his own life to think of and he didn't want to waste it on a nine-to-five job in the suburbs and a dull little family. He divorced Mom and walked out for good. Went off to live his dreams, I expect. Since getting out of college I've discovered that the world is full of men who can't make commitments. At least not to a woman. Most of them would probably secretly sell their souls to live your type of life-style, though. Do you want any more pancakes or not?"