Dance with the Devil. Sandy Curtis
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flung the sheet aside and pulled on the underwear and shorts Emma had given him. They were old, a little too small for a man of his size, the cotton material so softened by washing it draped like silk, outlining his masculinity in explicit detail. A wry smile curved his mouth. He'd have been better off with the towel.
The night before, he'd wanted to ask Emma whose bedroom he was occupying but her tension had been almost palpable. Besides, he'd figured they both needed sleep more than a cross-examination.
The howling continued.
Drew disregarded the shirt - it didn't look big enough and he didn't need anything else pulling against the wounds on his back. He walked slowly down the hall, gingerly working out what parts of his feet could take the most pressure.
At the bathroom door he wavered, then made a quick detour. A damp washer around his face and clean teeth made him feel almost human again. The temptation to use the shaving cream and razor lying on the handbasin, to succumb to the need to rid himself of some of the evidence of his captivity, was almost overwhelming, but he continued down the hall.
Emma's bedroom door was open. Unlike the dull cream walls of the bedroom he had slept in, this room was painted white with cheerful blue and green curtains and matching bedspread. A rocking chair with quilted cushions stood next to a pale pine wardrobe and dresser. Personal items were scattered on the dresser, and a travel photo frame caught his attention. He moved closer to look.
A teenage Emma stood between a thin, unsmiling man and a laughing dark-haired woman. Emma held the reins of a sleek, obviously thoroughbred horse. The other photo showed the woman, older now, but still with the same joy for life shining in her eyes. It struck Drew that that was how Emma would look at the same age, her beautiful bone structure and flawless skin making her always appear much younger than she actually was.
He continued on to the kitchen. It, too, was empty. Then the living room, comfortably furnished with a three-piece lounge suite in faded green tapestry and bookcases overflowing with books and magazines.
The surgery, too, was empty.
Where the hell was Emma?
Somehow during the night Drew had ceased thinking of her as 'the woman'. Now her name seemed to flow into his mind with surprising familiarity.
The front door was open. The howling appeared to be coming from the stables across the yard. It was a skin-prickling sound, penetrating the wall of rain, setting his teeth on edge. Drew frowned. Something was very wrong to make a dog howl like that. Could Emma be in trouble, perhaps injured? Or was there something more sinister behind it?
He'd had enough of being kept in the dark. The irony of his analogy hit him and he grinned wryly. He took a Driza-bone from the hall stand and eased it on, sliding the oilskin coat carefully over his shoulders, then pushed a battered Akubra on his head. A pair of old boots and socks lay just inside the door. He didn't like the thought of wearing them with the way his feet were, but it was preferable to getting the wounds wet.
It seemed to take an incredibly long time to work his way across the yard, carefully avoiding the debris left by the cyclone. Each step was a painful reminder that he still didn't know who had inflicted these injuries on him.
The howling continued. Rhythmic thumps sounded as he neared the stable door. The door was slightly ajar and he cautiously pulled it open further.
Two cattle dogs raced at him, snarling, teeth bared. Their eyes gleamed yellow in the dim light. He stiffened, eyes adjusting to the gloom, startled to see Emma, the mattock in her hands poised to swing, stagger backwards as the colour washed from her face.
His gaze riveted on the blanket-wrapped shape behind her.
On the unmistakable outline of a body.
Emma gasped in shock.
The mattock fell from her gloved hands and she looked wildly behind her.
He was still there, still wrapped in the blanket. She realised then the familiar coat and hat were worn by the man she'd found last night. She'd been so absorbed in the digging, so consumed by her anger, her guilt, her grief, she had almost forgotten Drew's presence in the house. She called to the dogs. They backed off reluctantly and dropped to the ground.
Suspicion, anger and, for a fleeting moment, hurt flared in Drew's eyes. He moved towards her, a big man whose size was emphasised by the bulky coat he wore.
Emma shrank back, suddenly afraid. Drew was obviously a strong man and, in spite of his wounds, would be capable of hurting her badly if he chose to. And he was also capable of ignoring pain - walking all the way from the house had proved that.
'Unwrap the blanket.' His voice was so cold and hard Emma felt shivers run down her spine. Her gaze flicked to the mattock but Drew bent and picked it up, only a slight grimace betraying his pain. He tossed it aside.
'I can't.' The words squeezed out of Emma's throat. Her grief suddenly welled up in her chest. She couldn't look at the body again, she couldn't. It had been hard enough wrapping him in the blanket, unable to give him the decency of a proper coffin. Digging the crude grave had only been made easier by the knowledge that this was where he would want to be buried, with his beloved horses, or what was left of them. The musty smell of straw and horse and dust was suddenly overwhelming.
She'd managed to keep control of her grief long enough to kiss his cold, rigid face and cocoon his body in the only covering she could think of, but now that control had shattered. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ease the pain in her heart. Tears trickled from her eyes.
Drew flung her a searching look. He bent and unrolled the blanket from the body. The face was familiar, and it struck him forcibly. He'd seen it only five minutes ago, in the photo on Emma's dresser.
He looked up at her, at the tears now coursing down her cheeks as the silent sobs racked her body.
'My father.' The words choked out of her, and her face twisted in pain.
Drew felt as though he'd been kicked in the gut. He normally prided himself on being a fair man, yet here he was, suspicious of her actions before he had even given her a chance to explain. Even knowing his ordeal was probably justification for his attitude, he still felt ashamed.
He rose swiftly and pulled her against him. His coat parted and her tears fell hot on his chest. He shuddered with the overwhelming need to comfort her, protect her, draw her into him and never let her go. Silent sobs shook her slim body. Her cheek was soft against his chest and kindled a flame deep inside him, a yearning he'd never before experienced.
The feeling was so powerful it scared him more than the fear he'd felt as the first nail had been driven into his palm. When the devil had tried to possess his spirit, he had been able to fight him with little trouble, but if he let her, he suspected this woman could possess him, body, mind - and the soul his mother had always told him he had.
Gently he pushed Emma away, the warm scent of her body fading from his nostrils, and when he spoke his voice was rough. 'How did he die?'
He watched Emma gather herself in like a tide retreating from the sand as she tried to bury the pain, the grief. She took off one glove and brushed the tears from her face with a determined hand.
'When the cyclone worsened, I made him stay in the bathtub. Then when the eye came over, I went to open the windows on the opposite side of the house. He was gone when I came back. I found him outside. I'd tied the dogs in the stables to keep them safe. And the horses - Dad must have let them out.' Emma's voice faltered and she shivered, and Drew watched her struggle for control once more. It did strange things to his stomach and he almost reached out to steady her. Almost.
'It looked like he'd been hit by a fence post that must have been blown onto the stable roof. I think it fell off as he walked underneath. It broke his neck.'
'So you decided to bury him. Why?'
The hurt, bewildered look in her eyes surprised him.
'What else was I supposed to do with him? There's no cold room to put him in, and with