Private Lives. Gwynne Forster
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it didn’t necessarily indicate sexual prowess. Now he was sick of it, and vowed that there’d be some changes made.
That morning Brock locked the back door of his Alexandria town house, got into his SUV with his German shepherd, Jack, and headed for the cabin he’d had custom-built to his specifications in the Adirondack Mountains. The one thing he hated about his mountain retreat was that he’d be without his piano for nearly a year. From now on, when he got the urge to make music, his guitar would have to suffice. As he drove, he envisioned the changes he’d make in his life. For starters, his days as a private investigator were behind him. When he returned to Alexandria, it would be to resume his career as a lawyer. For the next twelve months, though, he planned to write a memoir about his adventures as a private detective.
After the seven-hour trip, Brock arrived at Indian Lake shortly before sundown. He found his cabin just as he’d left it the previous September and settled in. At dusk, he noticed a light coming from the only other cabin within miles and decided that he’d better check it out. As far as he knew, the cabin had not been occupied for the past two years.
“Come on, boy,” he said, patting Jack on his haunches. “Let’s go.” He jogged up the hill wondering what and who he’d find. He rubbed Jack’s back, his signal that the dog should be gentle, and knocked on the door. Brock heard someone slip the door chain into place before cracking the door ever so slightly to take a look at him.
From what he could tell, the woman peering out at him was tall. He smiled at her and the door opened a tiny bit more. Shock waves coursed through him as he got a good look at her beautiful, oval-shaped brown face with its flawless skin. He’d never seen such eyes, large, light brown almond-shaped orbs beneath long black lashes. He wondered if he was seeing a mirage. The slight wrinkle that flashed across her forehead gave her a look of vulnerability. He immediately felt the urge to protect her. But why would he want to protect a woman he hadn’t even gotten a good look at?
He inhaled deeply and heard himself say, “I’m your neighbor down the hill. I just arrived today and was surprised to see anyone up here. This place isn’t usually occupied, so when I saw a light, I thought I’d check it out. My name’s Brock Lightner.”
The woman closed the door, appeared to test the strength of the security chain and opened the door a little wider than before. “Glad to meet you,” she said in a soft, refined voice. This time he got a good look at the beauty before him. Just the woman to take his mind off his work, he thought.
It struck him that she wasn’t particularly friendly, or maybe she was just being careful. After all, a smart woman wouldn’t open her door to a strange man in such an isolated place, especially not at night. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “I hope we’ll be good neighbors.” There was an awkward silence between them. Then he tightened his hold on Jack’s leash and said, “Well, I’ll be headed home.”
He’d never felt anything like that before. And he knew if she wasn’t married, he’d be back there, and not just once. He sensed that she was there alone. If a man had been with her, he would have been the one to open the door, because darkness had already set in.
Allison quickly closed the door after Brock Lightner left so abruptly. His visit raised concerns, but they revolved around her fear that he was someone her ex-husband had hired to follow her. She had remained in Washington, D.C., after the divorce, but avoiding her rich and powerful ex-husband had been a full-time job. After living for short periods of time in North Carolina, Louisiana, Tennessee and Nevada to throw him off her trail, she decided to settle in this remote cabin near Indian Lake, off Route 28 in the Adirondack Mountains.
Allison’s marriage to Lawrence Sawyer had been rocky. When they divorced, she was given sole custody of their son after her husband was charged with child abuse, a decision that Lawrence regarded as a personal insult and for which he swore revenge. Being a single parent barely thirty years old might have tested some women. But Allison’s relationships had convinced her that it was probably for the best.
“Who was that man, Mommie?”
“He lives down the hill. But I want you to remember that you’re not to talk to strangers. And if anyone tries to grab you, remember what I taught you to do?”
“Yes, Mommie.”
Allison was startled when the phone suddenly rang. She twirled around and rushed to answer it. “Hi,” she said, recognizing the voice of her older sister, Ellen. She sat down. “My God, you won’t believe it but there’s someone else nearby.”
“Who?”
“I’ve never seen anyone like him. That man smiled and my blood turned red hot.”
“You’re kidding me,” Ellen said with a note of disbelief. “Well, you won’t find anyone like that here in the nation’s capital. Be careful.”
“I plan to. It would be just like Lawrence to try to trick me with a good-looking man.”
“You always said you had the strength of Hercules. Now you can prove it to yourself by resisting this guy.”
Allison slumped in the chair. “I am not looking forward to it.” She hung up the phone and turned to see her son, Dudley, staring at her with a quizzical expression on his face.
“Is the man coming back to see us, Mommie?” Dudley asked after Allison had read him a bedtime story and tucked him in.
“I don’t know. We don’t know him, so we have to be careful. Close your eyes and imagine you’re on a nice sunny beach while I read another story about the little boy who loved to build sand castles.” She read until he went to sleep, turned out the light and went to her room.
Why am I suddenly so awfully lonely? This isn’t like me, Allison thought as she lay in bed. She gazed out of her window at the moon, cold and distant, shining through the trees. “He’s tantalizing, all right,” she said aloud, “but I’m not falling into that trap.”
As they usually did on Saturdays, Allison and Dudley got into her car the next day and drove to the only supermarket within twenty miles. When she approached the butcher’s counter, she saw Brock and spun around, hoping to get out of his way before he saw her. But apparently she did not move fast enough.
“Well, how nice to see you again,” Brock said. “Maybe you can give me a few tips about cooking beef. I’m not familiar with this cut.”
When he stood at her door the night before, she had glimpsed very little of him other than his remarkable face and impressive height. Now her breath shortened at the sight of his lean, muscular thighs and beautifully shaped legs protruding from Bermuda shorts that covered one of the nicest, tightest butts she’d ever seen on a man. She wasn’t quite sure of her facial expression, but she was certain that a gaping mouth didn’t flatter her.
“I, uh…I beg your pardon,” she said.
He repeated the request and stepped closer. “This is a lot for a guy to figure out. Which steak is tender?” A grin floated across his face. “Maybe it isn’t steak. I want something to grill in a hurry that will be tender.”
“Try that filet mignon,” she said, pointing to the cut of beef. He stood in front of her and she couldn’t move away. “Would you mind…?”
His gaze was on her and he didn’t smile. Her hand went to her chest as if she could stop the racing of her heart, and still he stared. His eyes seemed to draw her to him. Trembling, she must have swayed toward him because his hand reached out to steady her. He didn’t release her and he kept his gaze locked on hers, holding her captive.
“Mommie, Mr. Wood showed me a big dog out there.”
Dudley’s voice brought her to her senses. “I…I have to go,” she said, though she wasn’t obliged to give the man an explanation. “Come back here. I don’t want you near that dog.”
“He won’t hurt him,” Brock said.
“Is he your dog, mister?”