Page 17

Knife, fork, spoon, flip the corners and roll.

Syrie repeated the litany of her actions over and over in her head as she prepared the flatware rolls to be placed on the tables. Anything to keep her mind off the events of the last couple of weeks. Anything to keep her mind off Patrick.

Too bad none of it was working.

Since he’d saved her life on their trip to Boulder, no matter what she did, there he was, lurking at the edge of her thoughts, watching over her, waiting. Much as he did in real life.

Not that he was actually doing anything of the sort. It was more likely a matter of her being hypersensitive to his presence in the house. She’d come out of her room and he’d be there, in the hallway, as if he were somehow on the same cycle as she. Moving from the kitchen to the living room, he’d be there, sitting on the sofa, his nose buried in a book or his gaze fixed on the television set. But always, the moment she encountered him, it was as if those other things were only to pass time. It was as if he was simply waiting for her.

And at night? She shuddered at the thought, pushing away another basket filled to the brim with silverware rolls all ready to go.

Nights were the worst. Just knowing when she crawled into bed at night that he was next door, with only one thin wall separating them, made it almost impossible to sleep. Instead, she spent her nights listening for any noise that might come from his room and conjuring visions of him as he’d looked when she’d blundered into him in the bathroom. Water glistening on his chest, drops coming together to form little rivulets flowing across his muscles and down toward—

“Damn, girl! What’s up with you? We aren’t going to run out of silverware rolls for the rest of the week.”

Syrie jumped at the sound of Gino’s voice next to her.

“Just…just passing time until the end of my shift,” she stammered. “You know how it is.”

Gino nodded and leaned back against the counter. “I do. And thanks to your overactive efficiency, I got nothing to do until we get some customers. I can’t even count on a good visit with you, since your shift ends soon.”

A glance up at the clock on the wall in the service station showed that Gino was correct. Another ten minutes and she would be due to leave. Until then, she’d try to simply enjoy her friend’s company.

In spite of her fears after the party, she’d come into work and apologized to Gino and he had forgiven her. Things were almost back to the way they had been before. He’d even asked her out on a date tonight, so she felt confident that his forgiveness was real.

Real unless she managed to completely mess everything up again.

“Don’t look now,” Gino said in a loud, faked whisper, leaning back on his elbows. “But here comes George of the Jungle, right on schedule for quitting time.”

“George of the…what are you talking about?”

As was frequently the case, Gino had lost her completely.

“You know.” He grinned and broke out in a sing-song litany. “George, George, George of the Jungle.”

When she continued to frown, he tried again. “Saturday morning cartoon? Musclebound, handsome, not too smart? Damn, girl, you need to watch more Saturday morning television.” Gino laughed and held up a hand in greeting. “Back here, George.”

“I rarely watch anything on the television, Gino. You know I work on Saturday mornings.” She turned to look in the direction Gino indicated and saw Patrick standing at the front door of the restaurant, a large basket in his hand. “His name is Patrick, not George.”

“Right you are, Miss Literal. As for me, there has to be something I need to do in the kitchen. I’m outta here, but I’ll see you at eight.”

The smile she gave him as he ducked through the door was more out of relief than anything else. Relief that he was leaving before Patrick could engage him in conversation.

Heaven forbid her evening’s plans should come up. Though she couldn’t explain why, she was more than a little reluctant to have Patrick learn of her upcoming evening out with Gino.

Syrie waited as Patrick set down the basket he carried and walked in her direction. She also made a mental note to look for the program Gino had mentioned the next time she had a Saturday morning free.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked as Patrick reached her side, flinching when he looked hurt.

In the almost two weeks since their strange outing to Boulder, Patrick had made himself an omnipresent part of her life. Every morning that she walked to work rather than having a ride, he was there, following her every step. When her shift was over, once again, there he was, waiting outside the door to walk her home.

At first she had tried to avoid him, even going so far as to slip into a nearby shop to pretend to look for a new dress. She’d spent over an hour trying on everything the shop carried in her size just to waste time. But when she’d come out, there he was, sitting on the hot sidewalk, waiting for her like a devoted puppy.

She had given up at that point, deciding having his company wasn’t really so bad after all. But usually, when he came after work, he waited outside. His coming in to meet her was something new.

“You agreed to an outing with me,” he answered. “Last night.”

“Yes, but—”

She stopped herself when it would have been all too easy to waste time debating the issue. He had just last night asked her if she would let him take her someplace special one day. She’d simply had no idea that by one day he had actually meant this day.

“Okay. Let me sign out and I’ll be right with you.”

She slipped into the back room and signed her name and the time to the list her supervisor had begun to use a few weeks ago. When she returned, Patrick was standing by the front door, the big basket once again in his grasp.

“What’s in there?” she asked, nodding toward the basket as he held the door open for her.

“It’s a meal for us to enjoy together,” he said with a grin. “And enjoy we should, since it was no’ my efforts, but Rosella and Ellen who spent the morning putting this together for us.”

Rosella and Ellen encouraging this? That was something she’d need to look into when they got back home this afternoon.

“And where are we to have this great feast of yours?”

Another grin lit his face, making him twice as handsome as when he scowled. “I’ve found a place I think you’ll like, though it will require a bit of a walk, if that’s agreeable to you.”

Good thing she was wearing her work shoes.

“Lead the way.”

Patrick led her north from the restaurant, past the stores she recognized and beyond. They kept going, even beyond the place where the sidewalks ended, and on through a long stand of trees. Once through those trees, they stood on the bank of a wide, slow-moving river.

“How’s this?” Patrick asked, indicating a wide spot of green off to their right.

“It’s…it’s good,” she stammered, overcome for an instant with a wave of familiarity, as if she’d seen this place before.

This place or one very much like it.

Patrick pulled a blanket from the basket and spread it out on the ground. He then reached out a hand to assist her in sitting down before he sat beside her.

“I’m glad you like it here,” he said. “I picked this spot because it reminds me of home.”

If it reminded him of home, what did it remind her of?

He pulled out sandwiches and set them on the blanket, along with two glasses and a bottle of red wine. She would definitely be having a chat about this conspiracy with her two friends when she got home.

“Isn’t it a little early in the day for alcohol?” she asked.

“Nonsense,” he responded, pulling the cork from the bottle and pouring a splash of liquid into each glass. “Where I come from, we have wine with every meal.”

Maybe that was why he’d traveled across an ocean, to escape from a family of alcoholics? Probably not, but there must be some reason he’d come to stay with his cousin.

With a sip of wine to strengthen her courage, she decided to ask.

“Why are you here, Patrick?” She felt herself blushing as he turned those unfathomable blue eyes fully on her. “I mean, at first I assumed you’d come here to go to school, but you’re not attending classes. And you’re not hunting for work. So, why have you come here?”

He stared at her through several long moments, his gaze unwavering while it seemed as if he tried to find the words to answer her.

“I lost something that I’ve come to find.” He sipped from his glass and ran a tongue over his lips, as if he wanted to say more, but instead of speaking, he sipped again from his glass.

“Something of some value, I’d guess?” she probed, curious now and hoping for more specific information. “This thing you’re seeking.”

“Too valuable to ever put a price upon,” he responded. “Precious. Priceless.”

A nice answer, but really no answer at all. Certainly not enough of an answer to satisfy her growing curiosity. Only a direct answer could do that. To get a direct answer, though, she’d need a direct question.

She drained her glass and held it out to him for a refill. “Maybe I can help. If, that is, you’ll tell me what it is, exactly, that you’re searching for. And what it is that makes you think you’ll find it here.”

“My destiny,” he said with another of those smiles. “My future. And, as to finding it here, I’ve no’ a single doubt on that count. I’ve seen it already, so I know it to be here. I’ve but to capture it now and draw it close.”

His answer came as her glass was halfway to her mouth, and it was as if her hand froze there, midair. He looked so serious, so vulnerable, so sincere as he spoke, her heart went out to him.

Or maybe it was simply that deep, rumbling brogue of his coupled with the two glasses of wine she’d already downed.

Then again, it could be that searching for his destiny was something that resonated deeply with her.

“I guess we have something in common, after all,” she said, allowing her glass to come to a rest on the blanket beside her. “We’re both searching. You’re searching for your future while I’m searching for my past.”

He watched her so intently, she found herself at a loss as to what to say next, and, rather than say the wrong thing, she lifted her glass to her lips and emptied it for the third time.

“A man.” He paused and smiled, filling her glass again. “Or a woman, for that matter, can live well enough without their past, aye? But their future? That’s the important thing, Syrie. That’s what they must find. No’ a past, but a future with the right person so that they can live out their lives happily ever after.”

He tucked the empty bottle back into the basket and the movement caused his hair to drape softly over his shoulder, just as it had that first day she’d seen him. There in the front room of Ellen’s home, when he’d dipped his head over her hand, his hair had fallen forward in exactly the same manner. His warm breath had flowed over her skin and she’d been captured by his gaze then, just as she was now.

From that thought, it was only a short memory jump to remembering the sight of him as he’d stood in the bathroom. Beautifully naked and…

A shiver ran the length of her body and she shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts of him and the effect he had on her. Unfortunately, she didn’t find the exercise to be particularly effective. For a fact, none of her thoughts were anything even approaching straight right now. Was an unknown future more important to her than her unknown past? She couldn’t begin to say.

But one thing she did know. The man sitting across from her was going to make some lucky woman very, very happy one day. Some woman. Some lucky woman. But not her. Not her.

“Why not me?” she muttered, realizing only as she heard the words that she’d spoken the thought aloud.

“Why not you what?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she whispered, surprised that he was sitting so close to her.

When had that happened? She didn’t remember him moving, but there he was, only a hand’s span away. If she but leaned forward a little, she’d be close enough that she might once again feel that warm breath on her skin. Feel those big hands on her arms. Feel those expressive lips against hers and discover whether they tasted as good as they looked.

She swayed toward him and it was exactly as she’d hoped. His hands fastened on her shoulders and, as her eyes drifted shut, his lips touched upon hers.

So much better! They felt a million times better than they looked, and she could hardly believe she’d waited so long to sample them.

She fastened her arms around his neck, pulling him toward her. As he lowered her to her back, covering her body with his, the world around them seemed to disappear. He deepened the kiss, his tongue playing around the edges of her lips, and she opened her mouth. Another shiver rippled through her body as his tongue swept inside her mouth, the taste of him, the feel of him so right. So familiar.

Her eyes opened on the thought, just as he lifted his head away from her, his eyes glazed with an unmistakable shimmer of desire.

“I’ve no wish to deny you, mo siobhrag , but I’ve also no wish to start something we canna finish here and now. As it is, if we leave now, the sun will be close to setting before we can make our way back to the house. Exposed and vulnerable out here in the dark is no’ the safest place for you to be.”

“Sun setting?” she asked, those being the only words that actually penetrated the lovely haze in which she floated. “What?”

“Aye. We’ve lingered over our meal for more than a few hours,” he answered. “Best we were on our way. We can pick up where we left off later.”

“Pick up where we left off?” Syrie wasn’t sure whether to be offended or grateful they’d stopped when they had. “What time is it?”

Patrick shrugged. “Time is of no matter, is it? I’d only like to have you inside protective walls before night falls.”

“Oh, no,” she groaned, buttoning the blouse she didn’t remember having unbuttoned.

Not only had she made a complete fool of herself over this man, but she feared that, if she was late for Gino’s arrival, she’d alienate him forever. She sincerely doubted he’d forgive her inexplicable behavior a second time.

“We have to hurry,” she said, wiping her hands over her face, hoping to clear the cobwebs from her brain. “I’m going to be so late.”

“Late for what?” Patrick asked, stuffing their trash in the basket.

“Gino’s supposed to pick me up for dinner at eight.”

Her eyes darted up at the last second, as if her mind had just remembered for her that she hadn’t wanted Patrick to know about her date with Gino.

That settled it. She was never touching wine in the middle of the day again.

“Gino?” The name left Patrick’s lips on a growl. “Yer planning to see him tonight? Even after what has just passed between us?”

“After what passed…” Her words dried on her tongue. What the hell was he talking about?

“Aye, just now.” Patrick’s expression was as dark as a storm cloud. “Or, more accurately, what was about to pass between us had I not had the good sense to stop you.”

“What?” she squeaked. “ You had the good sense to stop? You are the most conceited, most annoying, most… most . Period. You listen to me, Patrick MacDowylt. Nothing passed between us. No matter what you think was about to happen, it didn’t. It wasn’t going to happen. And it never will. You understand that? Never.”

Syrie pushed up to stand, wavering only a little. She should never have taken even the first sip out of that first glass of wine. What had she been thinking, anyway? Without the alcohol, she never would have allowed her inhibitions to slip like that. Never.

A glance in Patrick’s direction found him calmly folding their blanket and packing it into the basket, his expression completely blanked of any emotion, as if he wore a mask of stone.

A mask of stone to match those muscles that rippled in his back as he leaned over his work.

Her fingers twitched at her side and she clenched them into a fist. No, she absolutely did not want to run her hands over those muscles. Not even out of simple curiosity.

She never would have kissed him, never would have allowed her inhibitions to slip without the alcohol. Maybe. Lord, but he was beautiful.

“We’d best put a foot to it if we’re to get you home in time for yer dinner engagement,” he said, his voice none too friendly.

Beautiful, yes. But without a doubt, he was the most aggravating creature she’d ever encountered and she wanted nothing more to do with him.

Except for those moments, like now, when she wanted so much more.