Free Another Eden by Patricia Gaffney Page B

another whiskey for himself.
    After all that had happened, they had little to say to each other now. But Sara found the stillness between them extraordinarily comforting.
    She walked to the windows, pulling the draperies across each one in turn. "I can't think what would have happened if you hadn't been here, Mr. McKie."
    "I think you'd have been just fine."
    "No, I doubt that. You must be starving—why don't you stay for dinner?"
    "Thanks, no. I'll be going now."
    "Oh. Yes, of course, you must have things to do…" She trailed off Neither of them moved. "When will you be leaving for Newport?"
    "Thursday, I expect."
    She wanted to ask,
When will I see you again
? She didn't. "If there are any problems, you could call me on the telephone. I won't know the answers, but I can call Ben. Or"—the depressing thought just occurred to her—"I guess you could call Ben directly in Chicago. Do you have his number there?"
    "Yes."
    "Well." Finally she turned away and led him out into the hall, to the door. "Thank you again, you've been so kind."
    He ground his teeth, tired of being thanked. He was used to her loveliness now, he realized, familiar with her cool expression and the warmth in her eyes that belied it. He felt as if he knew her much, much better than the short time they had spent together measured. Leaving her now with nothing between them but polite smiles and casual words—what a loss, what crude, regrettable hypocrisy. More than anything, he wanted to touch her. Not even sexually—or not exclusively. Would she allow it? He wanted to hold her slim white hands until they warmed and began to move in his. He wanted to massage the tension out of her proud shoulders. Run his fingers inside that prissy white collar around her throat. Listen to her sigh. And then slide the buttons open down the front of her jacket and touch her through the thin chamois blouse.
    She put out her hand and he took it. Something flickered deep in her dark-fringed eyes, but all she said was, "Good night, Mr. McKie."
    "Goodnight, Mrs. Cochrane."
    "Have a safe trip to Newport."
    "Thanks."
    Their hands slid apart. He stood there for two more seconds. Then he turned, bounded down the four steps to the sidewalk, and strode away.
    Sara remained in the doorway another minute, watching until he was out of sight. She wasn't naive; she knew where Mr. McKie's thoughts had wandered just now. Her own had followed him part of the way there, before skidding to a nervous halt and retreating. Nothing shocking in that—she had, after all, been the object of a man's admiration before now. Sometimes she found it pleasant, sometimes tedious, always meaningless. It was none of those things now, she realized. What was it, then? Rather than answer that question, she closed the door and hurried upstairs to sit with Tasha until the doctor came.

Chapter Six

    There was no answer to Sara's light tap at the guest room door. She tried again, infinitesimally louder; at a faint response, she pushed the door open a crack and looked in. "Are you sleeping?" she whispered.
    "No, no, please enter." Tasha sat up in the wide bed and sent her a wavering smile. "Oh, you have brought me tea. That is so kind."
    "And some delicious scones with Mrs. Carrick's damson jam; no one can resist it." Since Tasha had eaten nothing for lunch except a few slices of orange, she hoped the tea would tempt her.
    "Who is Mrs. Carrick?"
    "She's our cook. Do you take cream and sugar?"
    "Only sugar, if you please. Would you care to sit with me for a little?"
    "Yes, if you like. Come, have one of the scones, Tasha, you've got to eat something." She sat on the edge of the bed and watched the dark-haired girl nibble obediently at a triangle of sweet bread. Her peach silk nightgown looked strange on Tasha, Sara couldn't help thinking; it was probably only the contrast with her olive skin, but somehow the gown seemed too young and childish, too—virginal. "Is your wrist paining you as much as before?"
    "No, it's