what we want."
Her heart rate quickened. The journals, and just when she’d given up. Damn, if only the offer had come from someone other than Caid. Could she trust him?
"Now whose apology is suspect?"
"Aye, I understand. You and I have no’ started on the best footing, but perhaps we can set all that aside. My apology was sincerely meant. I behaved like an ass earlier and, no matter what you decide, nothing changes that."
"Your aunt was hosing me. Her rates were a mite higher than Joan’s."
"We can certainly renegotiate the terms you and Agnes had arranged. What do you think is fair?"
"I think what I'm paying here at the inn should be adequate."
"Aye, but you’d be getting everything that goes with the inn as well as the journals."
"Everything that goes with the inn? So you'll be cooking for me and tidying up my room and bathroom?"
"What ye're paying here seems more than fair."
"I thought so."
"We’re agreed, then?" He held out his hand.
“Maybe.” She jabbed a finger at him. “You had better never pull a stunt like you did in the hall again.”
“On my honor.”
For whatever that was worth.
"Okay." She nodded and took his hand, letting his long fingers close around hers. He smiled, cocky and boyish. Something fluttered low in her belly.
Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.
Chapter Seven
The dream settled over Hillary like a wet wool blanket, heavy and cold. Though she would have done anything to stop herself from reliving that night, her brain was like a television set with a broken on/off switch. She had no choice but to sit back and watch the show.
It started with a pounding, a steady rhythmless beat on her front door. As she drew closer, the blue and white stained-glass window in the door prevented her from seeing who stood outside.
A nervous shiver raced over her skin.
She glanced at her watch. Eight-thirty. Not terribly late, but she wasn’t expecting anyone.
Don’t open it , a voice whispered from somewhere inside her. She gave herself a mental shake and opened the door. A sick, lousy feeling settled in the pit of her belly. "Randall, you're not supposed to be here."
"Dr. Bennett, you have to talk to me." Tall and thin with gaunt features, he leaned against the doorframe, his skin oddly pale.
"Randall." She used her stern voice, the one she saved for students who weren’t going to pass her class. "I have a restraining order. If I call the police, they'll arrest you. You've already been expelled. Go home."
"No!" he shouted, standing straight. "You had me expelled."
"You got yourself expelled. You were asked to leave me alone, to stop sending me letters, to stop following me."
"It’s okay. I know why you did it." His voice was little more than a quivering whisper.
"Go. Michael will be home soon--"
"No, he won't." A smile curved Randall’s lips, slow and predatory. "He's gone until Friday."
Apprehension crept up her spine.
Her husband had left that morning for a conference and wouldn’t be home for four days. And Randall had known. "How did you know that?"
"Now that I'm not in school, I have a lot of free time."
For the first time since this whole thing with Randall had started, fear tightened her insides. Over the past months, she’d found him sad, a nuisance, unfortunate, but never frightening.
"I'm closing the door. You have five minutes to go away, then I'm calling the police."
She started to push the door closed, but he blocked it with his hand and moved so his body filled the doorway. "I just want to talk to you."
"No, you have to go." She placed the flat of both palms on his chest and tried to push him back onto the porch, but he was stronger than she gave his skinny body credit for.
"Listen to me," he shouted. He grabbed both her upper arms, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh, and thrust her back. Her elbow struck the heavy newel post at the bottom of the stairs, sending a sharp rocket of pain darting up her
Her heart rate quickened. The journals, and just when she’d given up. Damn, if only the offer had come from someone other than Caid. Could she trust him?
"Now whose apology is suspect?"
"Aye, I understand. You and I have no’ started on the best footing, but perhaps we can set all that aside. My apology was sincerely meant. I behaved like an ass earlier and, no matter what you decide, nothing changes that."
"Your aunt was hosing me. Her rates were a mite higher than Joan’s."
"We can certainly renegotiate the terms you and Agnes had arranged. What do you think is fair?"
"I think what I'm paying here at the inn should be adequate."
"Aye, but you’d be getting everything that goes with the inn as well as the journals."
"Everything that goes with the inn? So you'll be cooking for me and tidying up my room and bathroom?"
"What ye're paying here seems more than fair."
"I thought so."
"We’re agreed, then?" He held out his hand.
“Maybe.” She jabbed a finger at him. “You had better never pull a stunt like you did in the hall again.”
“On my honor.”
For whatever that was worth.
"Okay." She nodded and took his hand, letting his long fingers close around hers. He smiled, cocky and boyish. Something fluttered low in her belly.
Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.
Chapter Seven
The dream settled over Hillary like a wet wool blanket, heavy and cold. Though she would have done anything to stop herself from reliving that night, her brain was like a television set with a broken on/off switch. She had no choice but to sit back and watch the show.
It started with a pounding, a steady rhythmless beat on her front door. As she drew closer, the blue and white stained-glass window in the door prevented her from seeing who stood outside.
A nervous shiver raced over her skin.
She glanced at her watch. Eight-thirty. Not terribly late, but she wasn’t expecting anyone.
Don’t open it , a voice whispered from somewhere inside her. She gave herself a mental shake and opened the door. A sick, lousy feeling settled in the pit of her belly. "Randall, you're not supposed to be here."
"Dr. Bennett, you have to talk to me." Tall and thin with gaunt features, he leaned against the doorframe, his skin oddly pale.
"Randall." She used her stern voice, the one she saved for students who weren’t going to pass her class. "I have a restraining order. If I call the police, they'll arrest you. You've already been expelled. Go home."
"No!" he shouted, standing straight. "You had me expelled."
"You got yourself expelled. You were asked to leave me alone, to stop sending me letters, to stop following me."
"It’s okay. I know why you did it." His voice was little more than a quivering whisper.
"Go. Michael will be home soon--"
"No, he won't." A smile curved Randall’s lips, slow and predatory. "He's gone until Friday."
Apprehension crept up her spine.
Her husband had left that morning for a conference and wouldn’t be home for four days. And Randall had known. "How did you know that?"
"Now that I'm not in school, I have a lot of free time."
For the first time since this whole thing with Randall had started, fear tightened her insides. Over the past months, she’d found him sad, a nuisance, unfortunate, but never frightening.
"I'm closing the door. You have five minutes to go away, then I'm calling the police."
She started to push the door closed, but he blocked it with his hand and moved so his body filled the doorway. "I just want to talk to you."
"No, you have to go." She placed the flat of both palms on his chest and tried to push him back onto the porch, but he was stronger than she gave his skinny body credit for.
"Listen to me," he shouted. He grabbed both her upper arms, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh, and thrust her back. Her elbow struck the heavy newel post at the bottom of the stairs, sending a sharp rocket of pain darting up her
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