Silver Falls - Anne Stuart [30]
There were times when the real monsters were those who stood by and said nothing while evil erupted. And any silence would make him the monster everyone had always believed him to be.
He’d told Rachel to leave, warned her as best he could. He’d keep trying, if only to save the tattered remnants of his conscience, as ripped and shredded as the tarp that had once covered the roof of this haunted house. But if she wouldn’t leave, she could at least help him, willingly or not.
Taking David’s wife was the surest way of doing what he had to do.
The jeans barely fit, and she knew he’d chosen extra-baggy ones, not like the lean-fitting ones he wore. Asshole. She dumped her mud-encrusted pants and shirt on the floor, pulled his clothes on, grumbling beneath her breath. To her amazement he had warm water in the rust-stained sink. She washed some of the mud from her face, then paused, staring back at her reflection.
She could barely recognize herself. Her hair had gotten loose, and it was a tangled mess around her face. A kind soul might say it was sensual, David would have said it was messy. The last thing she wanted was for the black sheep to think she was sensual.
She was pretty damned safe on that account. He was a talker, nothing more. She hadn’t bothered with makeup, and her pale face looked oddly vulnerable, her eyes wary. But she was never vulnerble—she couldn’t afford to be. He’d given her a blue flannel shirt, by accident, of course, but it made the blue in her eyes stand out.
She didn’t look like the woman she was used to seeing in the mirror. No light sprinkling of freckles across her nose, no color in her cheeks, a sober expression on her face when she used to laugh, loud and often. What had happened to her? Had she started to mold in the dark, dank climate?
She should take Sophie and head for the sun. Just a vacation, a trip to see friends, she’d tell David. She’d stay away long enough to see things clearly, and if…make that when…she came back she’d have a better sense of who she was. She’d lost that over the last few months, and she couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t as if David was an overbearing, macho pig like his adopted brother.
She pushed open the door, and he was standing with his back to her, staring out at the downpour. He turned, a couple of beers in his hands.
“I’m driving,” she said, but he put one in her hand anyway.
“So am I. One beer won’t hurt you. Unless you don’t like beer. I’m afraid I’m fresh out of chardonnay.”
“I like beer,” she said, and took a healthy slug.
“So, have a seat,” he said.
“Where?”
“I’ve got a bed in the other room….”
She slammed the half-empty beer bottle down on the broken table. “I’m out of here.”
“Calm down, princess. Just a suggestion. There’s always the floor.”
He meant for sitting, of course. But she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that he was thinking more than that.
And it didn’t make sense. She had no illusions about herself—she wasn’t the kind of woman that men chased. Her relationships, after her first disastrous one, had been comfortable, friend-driven, with sex as almost an afterthought, which was why she’d gotten along so well with David when he’d showed up, solicitous and caring, while they were dealing with the aftermath of Tessa’s hideous murder.
She didn’t have the slightest doubt that Caleb’s interest had to do with his relationship with his brother and absolutely nothing to do with her.
And it was perfectly reasonable that she would find that annoying. It wasn’t that she was interested in him. She simply didn’t like being manipulated.
“The beer doesn’t taste that bad.”
She looked up. “What?”
“You’re making a face like you’re sucking on a lemon.”
She looked at him through the mottled light. He had electricity up there. A bare incandescent bulb hung from the ceiling, the light glaring, throwing strange shadows on everything. “You know, Caleb, that’s not exactly the right thing to say to a woman while you’re trying to come on like the big bad wolf,” she said, tipping the bottle back.
She’d managed to startle