Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [13]
Well, first things first. She must get a few hours' sleep if she was to drive all day. She turned out the light and walked briskly into the bedroom. She set the alarm for six, shrugged out of her navy robe, and settled down to try to sleep.
The alarm came too soon. Brenna felt as tired as when she went to sleep. She took a cold shower, standing under the spray until she at least felt alive again. She brushed her hair and dressed hurriedly in rust-colored high waisted pants and a buttercup-yellow shirt that made her hair gleam in a glossy contrast. No time for makeup, she decided. She made herself a cup of instant coffee, added milk and sugar and carried it to the bedroom to sip as she packed. There was more to pack for Randy than for herself. Her own wardrobe was meager to say the least, but a two-year-old had to have a minimun of at least three changes a day. In the middle of her packing Randy awoke and she had to stop and dress him. After depositing him in his playpen in the living room, she hurried back to resume her packing, ignoring his loud protests. Randy always got up in the morning with a voracious appetite and wanted to eat first thing. She knew she couldn't put off his breakfast for very long, but she wanted to finish packing this suitcase before she stopped again. She had just put the last items in and closed the lid, when the doorbell rang. Who in the world could be at the door at seven in the morning, she wondered.
“Just a minute,” she called frantically, trying to fasten the bulging suitcase. She succeeded, only to have it spring open again. “Damn!” she muttered impatiently, giving up temporarily.
On her way to the door, she stopped to pick up a teddy bear that Randy had tossed out of the playpen, and gave it back to that howling individual resignedly. “I know, love,” she said with a quick kiss on his silky head. Her sympathy was met by another bellow. She restrained herself forcibly from picking up the mournful little figure and comforting him. She'd never get out of here if she gave in to Randy's pleadings.
The doorbell rang again, and she tore herself from Randy's clinging arms with some difficulty. Randy renewed his heartbroken wailing, and she ran her fingers through her hair in exasperation.
She marched to the door and threw it open, her brow creased in a frown. “What is it?” she asked crossly of the man in jeans and sweatshirt, who stood appraising her coolly.
“You shouldn't open your door without first checking to see who's on the other side, you know,” the man said disapprovingly. “I'm Monty Walters. Michael Donovan sent me.”
She should have known, Brenna thought with irritation, glaring balefully at the man standing before her. Did Donovan infect all the people around him with his own arrogant bossiness?
“May I come in?” Walters asked politely, stepping forward so that she was forced to give way or be trampled underfoot. A little over middle height, he was in his late twenties, with crisp dark curly hair that framed a face that was surprisingly boyish. The dark eyes, however, were completely adult and just a little cynical.
After the night and morning she had gone through, Brenna was not about to be intimidated by one of Donovan's underlings.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Walters, but I haven't the time to talk to you right now,” she said shortly. “Any last minute instructions Mr. Donovan has for me will have to wait until I arrive at Twin Pines.”
There was a flicker of surprise in the dark eyes, and Walters looked at her with new interest. “That's why I'm here,” he said coolly. “Mr. Donovan didn't care for the idea of your driving yourself. I'm to personally escort you and the child to the complex.”
“That won't be necessary. I can drive myself perfectly well,” Brenna said between her teeth.
Walters closed the door behind him firmly.