with the rest of his chores, but if she spent one more minute in the cold she was going to freeze up and turn blue like a therapeutic eye mask. Still, when she opened the door, guilt made her stop and squint at the barn.
“Close the door. You’re letting the snow in.”
She turned slowly.
From the kitchen Ty grinned at her. He looked warm and toasty in his stocking feet. His square hands were wrapped around a steaming mug and his blue-black hair was brushed back behind his ears. He had funny ears, small, flat on thetop, and for one crazed moment she could think of nothing but boxing them.
“How long have you been in here?” Her voice sounded rather gritty, she noticed.
“Oh, I don’t know. Two, three hours maybe, huh, Nate?” He turned toward the kitchen.
His brother, just visible as he passed the door, blew on his coffee and snorted. His nose was still red from the cold.
“Damn!” Ty said. “You look chilled to the bone. Nate warmed up some soup. Want some?”
She blinked at him. Her eyelashes, she noticed suddenly, were frozen in clumps. “I hate you.”
He laughed. “But I’ll grow on you if you stay around long enough.”
“In that case I’ll be leaving in the morning.”
“But your car don’t start.”
“I’ll walk.”
He laughed again. “It don’t look like you’re gonna be walking far tomorrow. In fact, the way you look, I’ll be surprised if you get out of bed at all. Want some soup?”
She didn’t answer, but silently peeled off her sleet-covered coat and thought of various ways to dismember him.
“No?” he said. “It’s pretty good. How ‘bout some coffee?”
Removing the hooded, zip-up sweatshirt, she let it drop to the floor. It had a hole in the pocket and smelled distinctly of cow manure. Looking down, she saw that her socks had somehow gotten wet and were now stained a strange sort of parchment yellow. It seemed a sad commentary on the decline of her life.
“I’m going to take a bath.” She said the words more to herself than to him.
“Really? Need any help?” he asked, watching her cross the living room toward the stairs.
“Mr. Fox,” she said, turning to stare at him point-blank.
“Yes, Ms. Nelson?”
“I have something to tell you.”
“I wait with bated breath.”
“I have Mace in my purse. The first…” She glared at him, then glared at Nate who appeared in the doorway behind him. “The first creature who comes through that bathroom door is going to get a blast up his nose.”
“Oh.” Ty gave her an expression of mock fear that he almost managed to let overtake his grin. “But what if you fall asleep?”
“Then maybe I’ll be lucky and drown before I wake up here again,” she said, then marched up the stairs.
T RUE, THE WATER PRESSURE was still pathetic, but the warmth was heavenly. It seeped into Hannah’s very soul, easing her muscles, melting her aches.
Her hair floated around her shoulders and arms. She released a heavy sigh. She couldn’t go on like this. She was simply going to swallow her pride and beg Daddy for help. True, a Clifton Vandegard should never have to apologize to anyone. But she would even do that if Daddy would send her enough money to get home.
But where was Daddy? He’d said that he, too, had to disappear. That LA wasn’t safe for either of them anymore. Her throat contracted. She’d never meant to cause trouble for him, and if he were hurt…
She refused to allow herself to think any further along those lines. George Vandegard was still a powerful man. He could take care of himself. Always had. He had never needed her—except as his little showpiece—the product of the perfect union between European class and American drive. His little princess, rewarded when she was pretty, when she curtsied, when she smiled just so for the cameras. Or so it had seemed to a lonely, out-of-place child with no friends and no understanding that she should even long for some.
Now she wondered. For in the past couple
“Close the door. You’re letting the snow in.”
She turned slowly.
From the kitchen Ty grinned at her. He looked warm and toasty in his stocking feet. His square hands were wrapped around a steaming mug and his blue-black hair was brushed back behind his ears. He had funny ears, small, flat on thetop, and for one crazed moment she could think of nothing but boxing them.
“How long have you been in here?” Her voice sounded rather gritty, she noticed.
“Oh, I don’t know. Two, three hours maybe, huh, Nate?” He turned toward the kitchen.
His brother, just visible as he passed the door, blew on his coffee and snorted. His nose was still red from the cold.
“Damn!” Ty said. “You look chilled to the bone. Nate warmed up some soup. Want some?”
She blinked at him. Her eyelashes, she noticed suddenly, were frozen in clumps. “I hate you.”
He laughed. “But I’ll grow on you if you stay around long enough.”
“In that case I’ll be leaving in the morning.”
“But your car don’t start.”
“I’ll walk.”
He laughed again. “It don’t look like you’re gonna be walking far tomorrow. In fact, the way you look, I’ll be surprised if you get out of bed at all. Want some soup?”
She didn’t answer, but silently peeled off her sleet-covered coat and thought of various ways to dismember him.
“No?” he said. “It’s pretty good. How ‘bout some coffee?”
Removing the hooded, zip-up sweatshirt, she let it drop to the floor. It had a hole in the pocket and smelled distinctly of cow manure. Looking down, she saw that her socks had somehow gotten wet and were now stained a strange sort of parchment yellow. It seemed a sad commentary on the decline of her life.
“I’m going to take a bath.” She said the words more to herself than to him.
“Really? Need any help?” he asked, watching her cross the living room toward the stairs.
“Mr. Fox,” she said, turning to stare at him point-blank.
“Yes, Ms. Nelson?”
“I have something to tell you.”
“I wait with bated breath.”
“I have Mace in my purse. The first…” She glared at him, then glared at Nate who appeared in the doorway behind him. “The first creature who comes through that bathroom door is going to get a blast up his nose.”
“Oh.” Ty gave her an expression of mock fear that he almost managed to let overtake his grin. “But what if you fall asleep?”
“Then maybe I’ll be lucky and drown before I wake up here again,” she said, then marched up the stairs.
T RUE, THE WATER PRESSURE was still pathetic, but the warmth was heavenly. It seeped into Hannah’s very soul, easing her muscles, melting her aches.
Her hair floated around her shoulders and arms. She released a heavy sigh. She couldn’t go on like this. She was simply going to swallow her pride and beg Daddy for help. True, a Clifton Vandegard should never have to apologize to anyone. But she would even do that if Daddy would send her enough money to get home.
But where was Daddy? He’d said that he, too, had to disappear. That LA wasn’t safe for either of them anymore. Her throat contracted. She’d never meant to cause trouble for him, and if he were hurt…
She refused to allow herself to think any further along those lines. George Vandegard was still a powerful man. He could take care of himself. Always had. He had never needed her—except as his little showpiece—the product of the perfect union between European class and American drive. His little princess, rewarded when she was pretty, when she curtsied, when she smiled just so for the cameras. Or so it had seemed to a lonely, out-of-place child with no friends and no understanding that she should even long for some.
Now she wondered. For in the past couple
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