Passion's Baby

“Careful, Bounder!” she exclaimed at one point, clinging to the window frame as he charged past and headed up the slope toward the house with more than usual exuberance. “Up-end this ladder while I’m on it and you and I are going to have a very serious falling out.”

From somewhere on the deck, Liam McGuire’s sardonic tones floated back a reply. “That’s assuming you live to talk about it, Goldilocks. In case you didn’t notice, your dumb dog just disturbed a wasps’ nest and unless you want to risk being badly stung, you’re going to have to stay where you are until it gets dark which, by my reckoning, isn’t going to happen for another eleven hours.”

Given his sour disposition, there was every chance he was lying, just to provoke her. But the buzzing sound which she’d vaguely noticed and attributed to the electric generator gave undeniable credence to his words. “When did you get back?” she said, suddenly and deeply regretting having yielded to the whim to do him a favor.

“More to the point, when did you?” he said. “I don’t recall inviting you, though I do distinctly remember your assuring me you wouldn’t bother me again.”

The buzzing grew ominously closer and she cringed, certain that at any minute she’d feel insect feet crawling up her bare legs. “Do you think,” she said, hanging on by her fingernails, “that we could pursue this discussion after I’ve figured a way out of my present predicament?”

“You?” He gave a bark of contemptuous laughter. “You couldn’t figure your way out of a brown paper bag without help. Face it, honey, you’re the one needing favors from me, this time—unless you think Blunder’s about to come to the rescue.”

“His name’s Bounder,” she said from between clenched teeth. “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d appreciate it if you’d try to keep him away from the foot of this ladder. I don’t want him to get stung.”

“Well, heaven forfend!” He was jeering at her again but, to his credit, he snapped his fingers sharply and, in quite a different voice, ordered, “Blunder, come!”

Amazingly, she heard the faint click of claws on the wooden porch, followed by a thump as Liam McGuire rapped out, “Sit!”

“Pity you don’t have an equally winning way with people,” she couldn’t help observing.

“I’d save the smart-ass remarks until I was safely on firm ground again, if I were you,” he said. “You’re in no position to be passing judgment on anyone, least of all the guy you expect to come to your rescue.”

She ventured a look down and hastily closed her eyes as the ground swam up to meet her. “How are you going to get me down, with all those wasps swarming around?”

“I’m not,” he said. “And if that’s what you’re hoping for, you’re in for a disappointment. Your only choice is to haul the rest of the boards off that window which I’ll then open from the inside so you can crawl through.”

Swing one leg over that narrow sill? Heavenly days, it was all she could do to maintain her balance with both feet planted on the ladder rung! “I…don’t think I can do that, Mr. McGuire.”

“Then I hope you remembered to go pee before you came over here, because you’re stuck up there for the duration,” he said bluntly.

Oh, he was the most vulgar, insensitive man ever to walk the face of the earth and, forgetting to be cautious, she swung her head around to tell him so. But the ladder gave a shudder, as though to remind her that it wouldn’t take much to send it—and her—sliding down the slope.

“All right, we’ll do it your way,” she said faintly.

“Good girl.”

Was it possible that was a hint of sympathy—of kindness even, that she heard in his voice?

“Stay put until I get myself into the bedroom,” he went on. “Then do exactly as I tell you.”

The wheelchair whispered away and a moment later his voice came again, this time on the other side of the shutters. “This is your lucky day, Janie. The window slides open so all you need to do is pry off a couple of boards and make an opening wide enough to get your butt through. I’ll take care of the rest.”

She had no reason to believe him, at least on the last point. Not only was he wheelchair-bound, he’d shown no inclination to be chivalrous. Yet what choice did she have but to put herself at his mercy?

“Well?” he asked, impatience already eroding his temporary show of kindness. “Make up your mind. Do we have a deal or not?”

“We have a deal,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. McGuire.”

CHAPTER TWO

HOW he managed it, she didn’t know—nor, given her precarious situation, did Jane choose that moment to demand any explanations. It was enough that one minute she was teetering in midair, almost afraid to breathe as she wrestled the first board loose, and the next, he’d reached through six inches of open window to bring the whole operation to a speedy conclusion.

That solidly muscular forearm and the unshakeable strength in his hand reassured her as nothing else could. In no time, the rest of the glass was uncovered. All that remained was for her to gather up what was left of her courage and climb inside the house.

It should have been easy; would have been, if she hadn’t immediately realized that the ladder was positioned too far to the left of the open end of the window. A full two feet of empty space separated her from safety, and the mere idea of launching herself across it was as far-fetched as trying to leap the Grand Canyon.

Liam McGuire saw her hesitation. “You haven’t come this far to chicken out now,” he said. “Quit scaring yourself witless and get on with it.”

Perspiration prickled all over her body.

Perspiration, nothing! It was sweat, pure and simple, imprisoning her in clammy fear. “I can’t do it,” she quavered, eyeing the chasm between them.

“You can’t not do it, woman!” he said flatly. “You got yourself into this mess and since I’m damn near useless in this wheelchair, you’re going to have to get yourself out. So stop the hyperventilating, grab a hold of the top of the window frame, and climb onto the ledge. There’s nothing to it.”

Nothing to it? Her voice rose nearly a full octave. “Are you out of your mind? That ledge is scarcely wide enough to hold a seagull!”

He glared at her from eyes turned brilliant aquamarine in the reflection of sunlight on water. It was the kind of look which, all by itself, probably had subordinates leaping to obey his every command, but when all she did was stare back in frozen terror, he lost his temper and bellowed, “Oh, for crying out loud! Just what the doctor ordered for a full and speedy recovery—a hundred and fifteen pounds of catatonic woman perched on a ladder twenty feet in the air, and expecting Superman to fly to the rescue!”

Letting go of her hand, he abruptly disappeared from view and, for one horrified moment, she thought he was going to resolve matters by abandoning her to the wasps and stinging nettles down below. From somewhere inside the room she heard a shuffling and a string of curses that, even in her panic-stricken state, left the tips of her ears burning.

Then, just as abruptly, he reappeared, except this time there was more of him to see than just his head and shoulders. The entire upper half of his body was visible, too.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s try this again.”

“No,” she said. “I can’t. I’m too scared.”

“I’ll be nice to your dog if you don’t chicken out on me,” he wheedled in what she supposed he considered to be his most winning way. “I won’t use him for target practice the next time I feel like shooting the pellet gun Coffey keeps under the bed. I won’t even tell anyone that I caught you messing around with my underpants.”

What he no doubt perceived to be irresistible bribes struck her as nothing short of blackmail. “You’re a horrible man,” she whimpered.

He wasn’t one to tolerate having his suggestions thwarted. “What the devil is it you want of me?” he roared, immediately reverting to his usual confrontational self. “A pint of blood? A pound of flesh? I can’t maintain this position indefinitely, you know!”

Only then did it fully sink in that he’d hauled himself out of the chair and was propping himself upright by taking all his weight on one arm, while he reached out to her with the other.

The sweat pearling his face attested to what the effort was costing him and shamed her out of her own cowardice. “All right, you win,” she said faintly and quickly, before the foolhardiness of the undertaking had time to impress itself on her brain, she crabbed one foot onto the ledge and literally hurled herself at him.

Her knuckles and knees scraped against the cedar shingles and she managed to clip the side of her head on the ladder in passing, but the pain scarcely registered beside the utter relief of feeling him grasp a fistful of the front of her T-shirt and yank her the rest of the way to safety.

“Aah!” she gasped, landing in a winded heap at his feet. “Thank you so much! I owe you big-time for this.”

He expelled a mighty breath, literally falling like a sack of potatoes into the wheelchair, and swung it toward the living room. “Oh, please, no! The last thing I need is any more of your favors. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to show a bit of gratitude, as well, you know,” she said, picking herself up and trailing after him. “Most people would be happy to have windows they could open, rather than live in a place as dark as a cave.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Goldilocks, I’m not ‘most people.’ If I were, I’d have taken care of the problem myself, instead of having to fall back on the services of a semi-competent woman with a bad case of acrophobia.” He positioned himself in front of one of the lower kitchen cabinets and hauled out a bottle of Scotch. “I could use a drink and so, I imagine, could you.”

“At this hour of the morning?” she protested. “I hardly think—”

“And you can spare me your homilies on the evils of booze, as well! I’ll get plastered any time I feel like it, and right now, I feel like it.”