Her Ideal Man (3 page)

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Authors: Ruth Wind

BOOK: Her Ideal Man
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Not that she had the qualifications, anyway.
Warmed by the fire and tea and dry clothes, she wandered over to the books to see if he might have something for her to read. A knot of anticipation or excitement or worry made it hard to concentrate. Alone with Tyler. For days, maybe. How would she avoid making a fool of herself?
For months she'd entertained vague, dreamy fantasies about him. About his long, gilded hair and his sensual mouth and even some other parts of him she wouldn't admit. Just being in the same room with him made her a little giddy, made little nerves on her legs and the inside of her arms lift in anticipation.
Classic crush. It happened. She'd seen her sisters go through it dozens of times.
Anna had thought herself immune. Both of her sisters had gone boy-crazy the minute they turned thirteen, and spoken of little else forever after except this boy and that boy, and who would take them to what function. Anna, the youngest in her family until her last brother was born, when she was ten, had watched them with more bewilderment than anything else. She'd dated sometimes, and gossiped with her girlfriends over the phone for hours, and dreamed of the perfect man, waiting out there for her, somewhere.
But mostly, her goal had been to escape to Colorado, and to do that, she'd known she had to have a good education and a skill that would provide her with employment when she got there. There had not been much time left for boys. Her only relationship—if you could even call it that—had been a man right after college, a director at the Metropolitan Museum. He'd been too demanding and snobbish about her desire to leave New York, and she'd let him go after a few months of dinner-and-show dates, with no regrets.
It was a surprise to find herself awash in a crush at the age of twenty-five. She didn't exactly know how to handle it, particularly when the object of that crush was about as attainable as a movie star.
It was just plain silly, a ridiculous fantasy born of too many fairy tales.
Practicality had never been her strong suit, but for this bit of time stranded in Tyler Forrest's cabin, Anna would try hard to employ it.
She bent her head sideways to read the titles of his books—and smiled. There were several books on the Crusades, and serious historical examinations of European history, and the expected books on woodcraft and carving and renovation. As a carpenter, Tyler was unequaled, and he was much in demand for his handmade banisters and railings, for the hand-carved doors and window frames and baseboards he made in the old way. Louise said he could make a fortune if he charged what he was worth, but he didn't.
He also had children's books, no doubt for Curtis, and a collection of serious novels. Very serious novels—Hermann Hesse and Willa Cather and Jerzy Kosinski. Ugh. Not only serious literature, but very dark books, as well. Anna fingered Hesse's novel
Narcissus and Goldmund
, and remembered the tale of an aesthetic priest and a sensual artist with some fondness. She pursed her lips. Tyler had both in his nature, but she'd have bet a large sum that he fancied himself the aesthetic priest—while she had always identified with the sensual man.
Finally she found a row of paperback fantasy. Something readable, anyway, though most of it, too, was of serious nature. She doubted Tyler allowed himself anything frivolous. Choosing a retelling of the Tam Lin ballad from the shelf, she settled by the fire, covered up with a thick cotton throw, and settled in to read.
Charley, apparently pleased, padded over to lean against the couch next to her. She chuckled. “What a good companion,” she said, scratching the pup's ears. Gratefully, he licked her wrist, then, as if to give her permission to ignore him, curled into a surprisingly compact ball and fell asleep.
 
Tyler had escaped outside more to put his thoughts in perspective than out of a need for wood. The cabin had no furnace, only the big fireplace, the potbellied stove in the kitchen and another in Curtis's room, so woodchopping was something he didn't neglect. There was a small generator to augment the solar panels he had installed last summer, but they would still have to be very careful with lights until the storm was over.
He wondered with a frown if Anna understood how much she would be roughing it here. Because of Curtis, he had installed a septic tank last year, and water was no problem, but the cabin was still rather crude, as modern conveniences went. And she was a city girl.
Unlike Kara. Out in the storm, with snow lighting on his face, he called up a memory of his late wife. She had loved the snow, and especially loved fierce storms like this one, when they would be trapped for days or weeks alone together. Kara had sewed one of her many quilts, and hummed to herself, while Tyler contentedly carved wood. At night, she'd drunk one of her specially concocted herb teas while Tyler sipped at a snifter of blackberry brandy, and they'd talked until the fire boiled in them, at which point they would drift to bed and make love for long, slow hours.
A sharp pain cut through his belly. Not only over the loss of his wife, but over the loss of his ability to commemorate their time together in his usual way. Today, she had been dead four years. He had planned to drink brandy and carve wood tonight, and remember her, honor her memory. He'd done so every year, and now Anna would be in his way.
“I'm sorry, Kara,” he said aloud, as was his habit. “I'll find a way to make it up to you.”
Only the wind, howling down from the mountaintops, answered him. It made him feel hollow.
It was bitterly cold, and his earlobes and nose were burning within minutes. Recognizing the foolishness of lingering outside to avoid his guilty attraction to the woman in the cabin, he gathered an armload of wood and carried it inside.
Snow-blind for a moment, he made his way toward the fire. When he straightened, his vision clearing, he saw that Anna had fallen asleep on the couch. Deeply asleep.
The picture she made snared him with unexpected fierceness. He found himself standing still as stone, his hands hanging limp at his sides, melting snow dripping from his coat to the floor, the fire hot against the back of his knees.
Her black hair spilled in curls around her face, one spiral lying over her white jaw as if to point to her rosy red lips. Sooty lashes, as long as a doe's, lay against her cheeks, and at the hollow of her throat a slim gold chain glinted against her flesh. The throw outlined her small, neat body, swelling sweetly at breast and hip.
Immobilized by a wave of sharp desire, Tyler simply drank in the look of her. One part of his mind, that rational, moral portion, cried out in warning,
Flee!
But the rest of his brain—and his chest and belly and loins—were so awash in the splendor of all those colors, all those unfamiliar textures of which she was made, that he simply could not move. He let his eyes travel over the length of her. Since the moment of their first meeting, he'd fought the visions those colors kindled, but now he simply had no more will. He gave in and let the tempting visions swirl over him, visions of a naked back, the flesh heated by the fire, of his mouth devouring hers, of the taste of an inner elbow and the feel of her hair against his body, the delectable weight of a loose breast against his palm.
It had been so long. So very, very long.
And for one yearning moment, he was tempted to simply kneel at the edge of the couch where she slept, and kiss her into an aroused and drowsy wakefulness. He did not think she would turn him away.
Unaccountably, he thought of the purple-and-gold nail polish on her toes. He had once had a baby-sitter who painted her nails with glitter, a bright butterfly of a teenager who popped her gum in the most glorious way, and wore sticky red lipstick that left marks on his cheeks and read him stories for hours if he wanted her to.
Marlene. He had adored her. It had been years since he thought of her.
The connection between Marlene and Anna eased some of his guilt. No wonder he found Anna so appealing. Bemused, he wandered into the kitchen to get supper on the table.
He made biscuits, quickly and efficiently. Even making the connection between Anna and Marlene didn't address the quandary he found himself in. He was deeply attracted to her, and she would be stuck here for several days at the very least. He wasn't quite sure how to resist the lure of her in such tempting circumstances.
The only answer was simple discipline. No need to get complicated about it. He could be attracted all he wished, but he could not allow her to realize it, and he could not allow himself to act upon that attraction.
Simple enough. The best answers usually were the obvious ones. Yeah, he wanted her. Yeah, he wanted to get laid.
Tough luck.
Anna pattered in, blinking, just as he was about to go wake her. Darkness was falling in thick shrouds beyond the windows, and she stretched unselfconsciously. “I must have slept quite a while.”
“More than an hour.” He gave her a box of wooden matches. “Will you light those candles?” Realizing that sounded like an invitation to seduction, he ducked his head and added hastily, “We have to conserve electricity.”
Anna made a face. “I'm a lot more interested in other facilities, if you know what I mean. Do I need to put on my shoes?”
“No.” He smiled and pointed to a door behind the kitchen. “Right through there.”
“Thanks.”
Tyler lit the candles, and a lantern in the other room. As Anna came back out, a shrill noise ripped through the room, as unexpected and shattering as a charging bull. “What is that?” she asked in alarm.
“My phone. The cloud cover must have shifted a little.” Hastily, he tugged it out of his shirt pocket and answered it. “Mom?”
The connection was a bad one. Static drowned all but one word: “Anna?”
“She's here!” he shouted. “She's safe! Can you hear me?”
“Anna is there?”
“Yes!” he yelled. “She's stuck.”
A large crackle of static swallowed everything. “I can't hear you, Mom. Yell, will you?” He could never get it through her head that cellular phones were not the same as direct lines.
“I
said,
” she cried, “tell her not to worry!”
“Okay.” The line crackled very loudly. “She's safe.”
The static popped louder, and whatever Louise said was lost in the roar of the bad connection. Then the line went dead again. Tyler shrugged and flicked the receiver closed.
A small noise caught his attention, and he looked up to see Anna giggling helplessly, her hand over her mouth.
“What's so funny?”
“You just don't know how many times I've been at the other end when she makes those calls.” She mimicked Louise holding a phone to her face. “‘Can you hear me?”' Her black eyes danced with mirth, making him think of elves.
“She thinks they're some weird invention, not fit for civilized people.”
“I know.”
“At least she got through. I was worried about that. Now all we have to do is wait it out.”
She bit her lip. “How long do you think it will be?”
“It's impossible to know. Too many variables.” He cocked his head toward the kitchen. “It'll be at least a few days. You'll have to do your best to get through it.”
Chapter 3
A
fter supper, they shared the chore of the dishes, then went to sit by the roaring fire in the living room. Tyler lowered his long-legged form to the simple couch. “There isn't much to do here. And evenings are the worst. I have some cards and games, if you want to do something.”
“Please don't think you have to entertain me,” Anna protested. “Do whatever you'd ordinarily be doing.”
His jaw tightened, and he stared hard at the fire for a moment. “That isn't possible.”
“How rude of me. I'm sorry—I'm in your way.” She hopped up, taking her tea and book. “I guess I'm sleeping in Curtis's bed, right, so I'll just take my book and read. It's so rarely I get the opportunity to just read anymore. Do you have a lamp? I can—”
“Anna.”
She stopped. “I'm sorry. I do feel terrible about this. I should have let—”
“Sit down, Anna.”
She clamped her lips together to keep any more words from spilling out, and sat on the edge of the couch cushion.
Tyler eyed her, a small light of amusement in his eye. “You are a talker, aren't you?”
“Afraid so.”
“Only two words in answer?”
“I'm sure I can come up with more, if you like.”
He held up one hand. “Two words are fine.” The amusement faded from his face, and he ducked his head. “I don't mind your company, if you want to stay. But I spend a lot of time alone. You won't find me the best conversationalist.”
“That's okay.” She grinned. “I'm plenty capable of talking for two.”
His answering smile felt like a huge victory. “I bet.”
She inclined her head. “What do you usually do in the evenings, Tyler?”
“Curtis and I read together, then I get him ready for bed. By then, it's usually almost time for me to turn in, too, so I read or something for a little while.” He lifted a shoulder. “Exciting, huh?”
“Sounds peaceful.”
“Yeah.”
“And how about when you're alone? What were you going to do tonight that I interrupted?”
“That's personal,” he replied. But his gaze strayed to the photo of Kara on the mantel. The expression on his face was yearning and hopelessly lost.
“You loved her very much.”
He seemed to return to himself from very far away. “Yes.” He picked up a smooth piece of wood with faint markings and a remarkable grain, and began to whittle.
Anna watched his beautiful hands touch and smooth and carve, with the clean, certain movements of long knowledge. “What will that be?” she asked.
“A recorder for Curtis.” He held it up, and Anna could see the vague outline taking shape. “He saw one at the Renaissance Festival last year and thought it was one of the coolest things he'd ever seen.”
“He is such an adorable boy. I really enjoy spending time with him.”
Tyler only nodded. The actions of his hands seemed to ease him, however, because after a moment he said, “You're from New York?”
Anna suspected he was only making polite conversation, but she jumped on the opening. Anything was better than sitting there in awkward silence. “Queens, actually.”
“You have family back there, I guess?”
“Oh, yes—I have family.” She chuckled, tucking her feet under her comfortably. “Seven brothers and sisters, three hundred cousins, forty aunts and uncles, the usual number of grandparents, minus one, an even dozen nephews and nieces, and a jillion assorted relatives like second cousins and great-aunts and godparents.” She widened her eyes for effect. “A whole army of family.”
He looked up. “No hyperbole in there, huh?”
“Well.” She smiled. “Maybe a little. I only actually have eighty-three cousins, and thirty-three aunts and uncles. I really do have an even dozen nieces and nephews. Eight boys and four girls.”
“Eighty-three cousins?” He stared at her. “You're kidding.”
“Eighty-three
first
cousins,” she said. “Amazing, isn't it? I've never met anyone who had a family as big as mine. And they all live in New York State. Most of them live somewhere in the boroughs of New York City.”
Tyler blinked. “I can't even imagine what that would be like.”
“It's just like you think it would be. You think your mother is a busybody?” She chuckled. “You have no idea.”
“Is that why you left?”
“No,” Anna said honestly. “I mean, they do drive me crazy sometimes, but New York is a big city. I can get away when I need to, and it's nice to know there's always somebody there for you if you need them.” She lifted a shoulder. “I just always wanted to be in Colorado.”
“Has anyone else left?”
“My second oldest brother went into the marines, but he came back after his tour.”
“I can't even imagine it.” He coaxed a curl of pine from the stick in his hand. “Even just having my mother and two brothers around sometimes gets insane.”
“I've seen that.” She nodded. “I love them, but everybody in big families gets stuck with a label, you know? Like my sister Mary Frances is the pretty one, and my brother Joe is the math whiz. Everybody divides all the possible virtues and character flaws between them, and then you're stuck with it for the rest of your life.”
An honest laugh slipped out of his throat. Looking up in surprise, Anna thought it was a wonderfully sensual sound, as rich and dark as café mocha. “Which one are you?” he asked, his pale eyes glittering. Then he held up a hand. “No, let me guess. You're the gypsy, so that means what? Wild?”
“No, unfortunately. I could have lived with wild, but my sister Teresa got that before I was old enough to claim the title.” She lifted her eyebrows. “She actually hot-wired a car when she was sixteen.”
“Ah. So what were you?”
“The romantic one. History, and stories, and too much color all the time.”
His smile this time was gentle. “I can see that.”
She shrugged. “The trouble with labels is that they usually stick like tar.”
“Let's see,” he said, counting on his fingers. “You're the romantic, Mary Frances is pretty. Teresa is wild. Joe is the math whiz. Right?”
“Very good.”
“Who else? You said seven, plus you.”
“Jack is the charmer, Sal is the bad boy, although he's put that to work for him and runs this great club near Flatbush.” She paused. “Um, Catherine is the practical one—she sews and does money better than anyone—and Tony, the youngest, he's the pious one. He says he's going to be a priest.” She spread her hands. “See, all divided up neatly.”
“I see.”
Feeling more comfortable, Anna straightened. “You can see it in your family, too.”
He frowned. “You can?”
“Sure. Lance is the charmer. Jake is the intense one. And you are—” She halted, embarrassed.
“Come on, don't leave me hanging. I'm the what?”
She raised her eyes and met his curious gaze head-on. “You're the lost one.”
It pierced him. She saw the arrow go straight through him, its smooth shaft burning as it moved through his body. The pale gray irises flickered, bright and dark and bright, and Anna was only a little sorry to see that awakening pain. “I'm not lost,” he said at last. “I'm just alone.”
“No, you're the lost prince, cursed by some evil sorcerer in the woods to wander alone until you find your quest.”
“The quest,” he said roughly, “is already lost.”
Wisely, she stood, sensing he needed to be alone. “It's never lost, Tyler. Not until you're in your grave.”
“You really are a romantic, aren't you?” His tone said he did not consider it a particularly appealing characteristic.
“I'm afraid so.”
He lifted his head. His eyes were haunted by pain, and Anna felt an answering cry. She wanted to put her hands on his lean face and press a kiss to that weary brow. She wanted to find the good witch in the forest and ask for a potion to heal his heart. There was always a price for healing magic, but Anna would gladly pay it, whatever the cost.
Her wish must have shown on her face, for he said, “Don't look at me like that, Anna. Don't cast me as a prince in your fairy tale. I really loved my wife. I won't betray her memory by taking another lover. Not ever.”
Curiously, the words did not wound. “I know,” she said. She remembered suddenly the way her grandmother had always talked of her grandfather after he died, and how uncomfortable many people in the family had been with that. Impulsively she said quietly, “Tell me about her, Tyler.” “I'll listen if you want to talk.”
His eyes were opaque, showing nothing. “Why?”
“Why not? It's a good way to remember her, isn't it?” Anna jumped up and grabbed the photograph. “Tell me about. this day,” she said, putting the frame in his hand. “Tell me how you came to be standing here.”
He held the frame loosely in his hand, but his gaze was on Anna. His expression was faintly perplexed. “I'm not sure I've ever met anyone quite like you.”
“I doubt it.” She sat on the couch and leaned forward. Using the same sort of words she had used to help get her grandmother talking, she said, “Tell me the first time you met her.”
Still he was silent. Anna had just about decided he wasn't going to speak when he said quietly, “We met on the first day of sixth grade. She had just moved here from Wisconsin, and she didn't know anybody.” He paused abruptly. “I don't want to bore you with all this.”
She inclined her head. “You know, my grandparents were married fifty-six years. After he died, my grandmother liked talking about him more than anything else. She just really wanted to think about him, this man she spent so much of her life with. She just wanted somebody to listen to her, but it made most of the family uncomfortable. They were afraid that she was living in the past.”
Tyler bowed his head abruptly. “So you listened?”
“Yeah. And not just because she wanted to talk.” She twisted a curl in her finger, remembering the long, cold afternoons in her grandmother's kitchen, drinking tea. “It's nice to hear stories. Real stories or not real. Doesn't matter. I enjoyed listening to her. They met the day before they got married. She came over from Sicily to marry him.”
“That's amazing.”
“They were happy, you know?” She smiled. “So—tell me a story, Tyler. Tell me about Kara and the day you met. She came to sixth grade, and why did you notice her?”
His smile was reluctant, but she sensed his relief as he began to speak. His family probably worried that he was obsessed. They probably wanted this young, healthy man to take a new wife and get on with the business of living, but he was obviously just not ready. Maybe he never would be, and he would always want to tell stories of the wife he had loved and lost.
All women should be loved so well.
“She had a picture of a wolf glued onto her notebook,” he said. “I thought she was pretty, and she sat down in the desk next to me, so I tried to think of something to say.” He half smiled, gazing backward in time. “I wasn't the smoothest guy around. Kind of a loner, you know, and I never had the same interests as the other kids, so I didn't really know what to say.”
Anna imagined a classroom with large windows and a view of the mountains beyond, with sunlight shining on a young girl's blond hair. She envisioned Tyler at twelve. Probably tall and too skinny, and maybe all wrists, the way some boys were at that age. “How did you wear your hair in those days?” she asked.
“Real short—and it was very uncool at the time. But my dad—” His mouth tightened briefly. “He gave us haircuts every Saturday morning.”
Anna knew a little about Olan Forrest, by all accounts a real good old boy, a man's man who'd made a fortune in construction by working eighty hours a week and showing up at home only long enough to verbally assault his three sons. All three brothers bore the scars to some degree or another. “So what did you think of to say?”
His grin was rueful. “Oh, I was brilliant. I leaned over and pointed to the wolf and asked her if she knew that it was
Canis lupus.”
Anna chuckled.
“The thing is, she knew. She flipped open that notebook quick as a wink, and inside were all these pictures of mountain animals. Birds and foxes and bears and wolves. She knew all their names.”
He talked for a long time, and Anna simply listened. The young Tyler and Kara had become fast friends, spending their afternoons and weekends bird-watching and catching insects—which they always let go after a decent period of examination.

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