SEER'S CHOICE (BOOK THREE OF THE SEER TRILOGY)

By Maree Anderson

CHAPTER FOUR

Rowan couldn't get him out of her head. As she walked home, occasionally yanking Laptop's leash to curb the dog's desire to explore some fascinating new scent, her lips kept curving into a secretive smile. She was headed for the backyard when her neighbor hailed her.

"Good afternoon, young Rowan."

"Hi, James. How's your day been?" She let Laptop off the leash and the Malamute bounded over the low fence separating the properties to visit with James.

"Just lazing round—as befits a decrepit old coot like me." He tussled with the dog and then gave her a command to sit. Laptop planted her butt and gazed up at him expectantly.

Rowan shook her head, impressed as always by the way the elderly man handled her overly enthusiastic canine.

"How's the job hunting?" he asked. "Any luck?"

"Yes. As it happens I've just returned from a successful job interview." She ambled over to fill him in.

"Oh? That's good news—especially this close to Christmas. What will you be doing, and who will you be working for?" He shook a finger under her nose. "Make sure you get paid what you're worth, too."

She took no offence at his fierceness. James was a sweetheart who treated her more like a daughter than a neighbor. At first she'd tried to stay aloof, fearing what could happen if they became friends, but he'd been so persistent she'd reluctantly given in. Nowadays she made a habit of sharing tea and biscuits with him in the weekends. And prayed he'd live a very, very long life. "I'm working as an assistant for a, well, a healer, I guess you could call him. I was up at Seaview Children's Home acting as his assistant today."

James knit his bristly brows and the corners of his mouth turned down. "He better not be some shyster."

"He's not. You should've seen him with those kids. Incredible."

"Hmmm. A healer, you say?" He scratched a patch of stubble on his chin that had escaped his razor. "I'm sure the folks up at the Home wouldn't take on anyone who didn't have something genuine to offer. Maybe I'll go see him myself sometime. Does he have a name?"

"Ryley. Ryley—" The bottom dropped out of her stomach. How on earth could she not have gotten around to asking his full name? Heck, she didn't even know how to contact him to cry off this date tonight. Not that she wanted to but....

She laughed, but it carried an undertone of unease. "I didn't get his surname but I'll find out for you tonight."

James winked knowingly at her. "On a first name basis, eh? And you're seeing him tonight? Man's a fast mover. You watch your step, young Rowan."

"It's purely business," she protested quickly. Too quickly.

He quirked a brow at her flushed face. "So long as the two of you don't get busy, hey?"

"James!" Her face felt like it was on fire.

The old man peered more closely at her and then drew back. A smile drifted across his lips and he nodded. "He's good for you, Rowan."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You're all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Glowing."

"Oh, you!" She wagged a finger at him. "Stop flirting with me, James Woodford. You know I'd marry you in a hot minute if you weren't so stuffy about our age difference."

He sniffed as though he'd taken offense but the gleam in his eyes told her otherwise. "You go take a good hard look in a mirror, missy. If spending a few hours with the man can do that for you, I'm for certain booking a treatment or two with him."

"I bet you will—because you're just plain nosey not because you need one." She glanced at her watch. "I'd better go get ready."

"Have fun!" he called as she ushered Laptop into the back yard. And damned if she didn't blush again.

Inside, a frantically blinking light demanded her attention. Her answer phone seemed to be having a fit. She counted sixteen messages. Sixteen? She pressed the Replay button.

"Hi Rowan. It's Mona. I haven't been able to get you on your mobile. How'd the meeting go? Call me!"

Hmm. No surprises there. Mona had been very insistent she call after the interview.

Message number two: "Hi Rowan. I guess you're still tied up. Call me! It's Mona, by the way."

Oh dear. She was getting a bad feeling about this.

"Hi Rowan. Mona, here. It must be going very well if you're still at it. Oops, I can't believe I said that! (giggle, giggle) Anyway, I can't wait to hear all about it. Call me!"

"Hi Rowan. Goodness me, (incredibly inane giggle) what areyou two doing? I might just walk down to the Prime Roast Café and see if you're still there. Bye!"

"Rowan. It's me, Mona. You weren't at the café so I guess you're on your way home. Call me!"

Each message sounded more desperate than the last.

Rowan groaned. She sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to dial Mona's number. Luckily the woman was with a client. Reprieved, Rowan left a message with the receptionist apologizing for not ringing Mona earlier due to a mishap with her cell phone.

It was nearly half-five. Plenty of time... if she didn't care what she looked like. She rushed into the bathroom, shedding her clothes along the way, and dived for the shower. A quick scrub and then she gave herself a few minutes to stand motionless, luxuriating in the heat, letting the water pound over her shoulders and back.

Heaven. She shut off the water before she got too prune-like. And when she emerged from the bathroom from habit she checked her watch. Six o'clock. Six o'clock? Butterflies cavorted in the pit of her stomach. She'd spent half an hour in the shower? Shit!

She raced to her closet and scanned her clothes. Casual. Keep it casual. It's a business meeting.

He said it was a Christmas party, a small voice in her head protested. Wear something pretty....

She smothered the voice and opted for casual. Comfortable casual. She threw herself into plain underwear, socks and a white thermal t-shirt. The fawn moleskin trousers? Yes. Perfect. She paired them with a chocolate-colored cable-knit sweater and risked a glance in the mirror. Quickly she pulled out her hairpins and combed her damp hair, re-coiling it into the  usual severe bun. Nice. Better than nice, in fact. James had been right—she did look pretty good. The shadows under her eyes had faded and her face seemed... softer, her expression less fraught. Her whole body felt as relaxed as though she'd indulged in a lengthy therapeutic massage.

Just to be sure she wasn't fooling herself with wishful thinking, she blinked. The reflection in the mirror blinked back. Her lips curved.

A swipe of mascara and a dash of tinted lip gloss—

The loud knock at the door made her jump. Half six. He was right on time. "Coming!" she called, just as the phone rang. Damn. She sprinted to the door to let him in, then dived for the phone.

"Hello?" Sorry! she mouthed, trying not to ogle. Ryley's leather pants fit like a second skin, and with that matching jacket the man looked like he'd walked straight off the cover of a romance novel. Hunky alpha male and then some. Yum.

"Uh—" Tearing her eyes from him she tried to concentrate on her phone conversation. "Hi, Mona. Yes, I'm fine." Won't be a minute, she mouthed again.

Five minutes later, Mona was still giving her the third degree and Rowan could barely get a word in edgewise. Ryley's patience had obviously worn thin for he snapped his fingers to get her attention. "Give me the phone," he said.

"Sorry," she said, putting her hand over the receiver. "I won't be much longer, I prom— Sorry, Mona. I was talking to someone else. Yes. Yes, I know. But as I told your receptionist, I couldn't ring because I broke my cell phone. And I did ring as soon as I finished work and got home, but—"

She yelped when his hand covered hers to pry her fingers from the phone receiver. "Hello, Mona. Ryley, here." The ensuing conversation lasted less than thirty seconds before he hung up.

"Now I'm impressed," Rowan said, pulling on her boots and shrugging into her coat.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Ready to go?"

"Nearly." She grabbed a handful of dog biscuits and headed outside to apologize to her dog for going out, and to beg her to behave.

"She'll be all right—won't you girl?" Ryley stood on the back stoop, watching them.

Laptop whimpered.

"I'll bring her home safe and sound," he told the dog. "I promise."

She barked at him.

"Deal," Ryley said. "You can come along next time. Okay?"

Rowan watched in amazement as her dog settled down to chew on an old tennis ball. "Unbelievable. Normally she puts up a fuss and starts howling if I have to go out at night. My neighbor tells me she stops as soon as I'm halfway down the street but still. Impressive."

"As I said before, I'm used to dealing with big dogs." His intent gaze made her shiver and hug her coat to her middle. "Your bag will be in the way," he said, stepping aside to let her pass. "Best leave it here."

"Okay." Wondering, she pocketed her wallet, lip gloss and comb, grabbed her gloves and headed for the front door. "Are we walking?"

"Nope, it's too far." He waited for her to lock up and ushered her down the path. She could feel the warmth of his hand on the small of her back even through the layers of clothing. "It's good you've dressed casually," he said. "A dress might have been a bit chilly."

Rowan halted when he indicated a motorcycle parked at side of the road. Two helmets hung from its handlebars. Now his leathers made perfect sense. Oh cripes.

"Better put on your gloves," he said. "It's a cold night."

She eyed the sleek silver and black deathtrap. "Um, what sort of a motorbike is that?"

"Ducati Sporttouring ST3 3-valve." He patted it affectionately. "This baby has a Desmo L-twin engine and Superbike-derived trellis frame. She's all class."

"Oh." She swallowed. That had been way more than she wanted to know. "I suppose it goes pretty fast, huh?"

"Yep." He paused, eyeing her, evaluating her.

A curl of warmth bloomed in her stomach. She liked him looking at her like that. Intent. All his concentration on her, like she was the only woman in the world. Her breath hitched as he reached for her... and deftly plucked some pins from her hair.

She grabbed his wrist. "It'll fly all over the place if it's loose."

"You won't get a helmet on over that bun. Don't fret, I have an elastic band in my pocket."

She batted his hand away and set about extracting the rest of the hairpins but her gloves made her clumsy.

"Ready to let me help yet? Or shall we hang around in the cold for a while longer?"

She huffed an exasperated breath. "Fine. Whatever. Perhaps next time you can warn me about your motorbike."

Next time.... She bit her lip. That had sounded like a promise. She darted a gaze at him to gauge his expression.

He seemed amused as he plucked more pins from her hair. "Remiss of me, I know. But you were reluctant to come out with me as it was. I figured you'd back out completely if you knew my preferred mode of transport is a Ducati." He finger-combed the hair back from her temples and smoothed it into a low ponytail, which he secured with an elastic band.

He adjusted the helmet's chin strap and her gaze strayed to the motorbike. She fisted her hand against her belly to contain the growing apprehension. She'd never been on a motorbike before.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

"Yes." So long as she didn't have to get on that thing.

"Good." He straddled the bike and donned his helmet and gloves. A quick turn of the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. "On you get." He raised his voice to be heard over the rumble of the engine. "Hold on to my waist—it's safest when you're riding pillion. Lean whenever I do. Don't be tempted to lean in the opposite direction—let your body follow mine."

Okay. She could do this. She threw a leg over the bike and grabbed him round the waist. Loosely. She didn't want him to know how freaked she was. But the vibrations of the powerful engine beneath her rump only increased her anxiety, and when he revved the engine she reflexively tightened her grip. A moan rose in her throat. How on earth had she let him talk her into this?

He twisted to face her. "It's okay, Rowan. You're safe with me. I promise. Now hold tight."

The motorbike surged forward. As he shifted and they gathered speed, she held on for dear life. And when they leaned into a sharp corner, she clung like a limpet and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Only the solid reassurance of him beneath her hands prevented her from whimpering aloud.

She had no idea how long they'd been traveling when the bike slowed and she dared open her eyes. It took a few moments for her heart to quit pounding enough that she could focus properly. He had pulled into the driveway of a huge house. Whoa. Nice. The neighboring houses were all equally magnificent. Definitely a mega-wealthy part of town. And he lived here? She gulped.

He brought the bike to a stop and dropped his feet to support the machine while he turned off the engine. She snatched her hands from his waist, and he glanced over his shoulder at her as he removed helmet. "Everything okay?"

Something prodded her to be brutally honest. "Not really. I'm ashamed to say I was scared witless."

"It'll be more fun next time."

Next time? Oh. He figured he'd be taking her home on this death-trap. No way. Hopefully he wouldn't be offended when she insisted on ringing for a taxi but if he was? Too damn bad. She removed her own helmet, and tried to ignore the way her hand shook as she handed it to him. But when she hopped off the bike her legs buckled.

In the blink of an eye was beside her, steadying her with a hand beneath her elbow. "Poor sweetling. Your heart's racing!" With one arm hooked tightly round her waist he walked her to the door, unlocked it, tapped in the alarm code and ushered her inside.

He led her into a huge living room, straight to an insanely expensive-looking leather armchair. "Sit. I won't be a minute."

She sank into the chair, wondering how he could tell how fast her heart was beating merely from holding her hand. The distinctive smell of expensive leather provoked her to stroke the arms of the chair. Nice. She unzipped her boots, toed them off and curled her legs under her bottom. Three deep breaths later she'd calmed enough that she could fully take in her surroundings as her gaze strayed around the room.

It'd been impeccably decorated by someone with good taste, as well as an unlimited budget. An attempt had been made to soften the gleaming wooden floors with the addition of a huge, shaggy rug. The sofas and chairs were all chocolate leather, dotted with creamy-colored squishy cushions, and arranged around a large lacquered wood coffee table. The heavy curtains matched the cushions, and were held back by thick cords that allowed them to drape artfully. Hell, even the wallpaper looked like it cost a small fortune per drop.

She stared hard at the painting hung over the marble fireplace—a hectic whirl of dizzying colors. It wasn't to her taste, although she was sure it, too, had cost about the same as a small island. The only item that didn't belong among the studied elegance was a small potted fir tree sitting forlornly by the huge bay windows.

She chewed her lip. It was a beautiful room. But it didn't fit Ryley at all. It was too perfect, too showy. Even a bit clinical. Not that she knew him very well but Ryley came across as more casual and relaxed. She wondered if someone had decorated the place for him. Or perhaps, this room truly did reflect the real him. If that were so, she'd misjudged him badly.

As though summoned by her thoughts, he padded back into the room juggling a bowl, a bottle of champagne, and two flutes. He'd taken off his jacket and boots and Rowan noticed his cream sweater and thick socks exactly matched the cushions and curtains. She shifted uneasily in her chair.

"Sorry to have freaked you out with the bike ride," he said.

She gave him a bright smile. "You must think I'm a real wimp."

"On the contrary. You should have seen me the first time I took her for a spin. I was supremely confident—thought I was shit-hot. Then I took a corner too fast, spun out, and nearly crapped myself. Took me a couple of days to pluck up the courage to take her out again." He placed his burdens on the coffee table. "What do you think of the room?"

"It's beautiful."

"But?"

She tried to be as diplomatic as possible. "It's not really my style. It's a bit too... opulent for my taste."

"The place lacks soul."

Ouch. "Is the rest of the house like this?"

"Yep. If it was my place I'd rip everything out and start again." At her raised eyebrows he elaborated. "I'm looking after it while the owners are overseas visiting their daughter."

She felt herself relaxing while he poured the drinks.

He handed her a glass. "Hope you like Moët."

She took a sip and sighed with pleasure. "Wonderful. Thank you."

"We are celebrating, after all." He grabbed the bowl from the table and plunked it in his lap as he settled back in the settee. "For the sake of politeness I have to warn you I'm a crisp-oholic. So if you want a look-in you'll have to come sit here." He patted the cushion beside him.

She eyed the bowl. "What flavor?"

"Salt 'n vinegar."

She joined him on the couch and scooped a handful of crisps. "They're my favorite."

"My absolute favorite flavor is one I tasted in New Zealand. Tomato sauce—what Americans would call ketchup."

She wrinkled her nose. "Not too sure about that one."

"An acquired taste, perhaps."

"Have you traveled a lot?"

"Yes. I've spent the last few years traveling. I've visited some fascinating places and met some incredible people, but there's no place like home."

"And home is where, exactly?" She swore she caught a glimmer of discomfort slide across his face. Interesting.

"Home is where my heart is." He stood and deposited the nearly emptied bowl on the coffee table before offering her his hand. "I'll give you the grand tour."

She placed her hand in his and allowed him to tug her from the settee.

The house seemed like a mansion. Six bedrooms, four bathrooms, huge modern kitchen, three living areas, games room... the list went on. Each room was impeccably decorated and furnished, and she couldn't imagine living in any of them.

He opened a ranch slider and stood aside to let her peer outside. "This is the pièce de résistance so far as I'm concerned."

She took in the large hot-tub surrounded by lush plantings and gave an appreciative whistle. "Wow."

"Want to hop in and have a bit of a soak? We've time before the meal is ready."

"I haven't got a swimsuit."

"I promise not to peek."

The blush that had been threatening the instant she'd realized how provocative her response had sounded bloomed across her cheeks. She ducked her head. "I don't think so."

Silence. She peeked at him from beneath her lashes but his face revealed nothing. No, that wasn't true. His jaw was clenched tight, like he was trying to keep something in.

She placed a hand on his forearm, her face scrunched with concern. "Ryley?"

Tension swirled about them and then he smiled and her unease drifted away. "How about we decorate the Christmas tree?" he said.

"Do you mean that small potted fir in the living room?"

"That's the one." He grasped her hand and towed her back to the main room. "You wouldn't believe the trouble I had finding a nursery selling living Christmas trees."

Her eyes widened. "You bought this specially for tonight?"

"I figured if we were having a Christmas party, we should have a Christmas tree."

 "That's really sweet." Touched by the gesture she threw him a warm smile. "But a cut tree would have done just as well."

"I don't like the thought of cutting a tree and watching it die a little more each day. When this one outgrows its pot I'll find a place to plant it."

A lovely sentiment. "Where are the decorations?"

"In the kitchen. Give me a sec."

Rowan eyed the tree, estimating it to be barely three foot high. It sure wasn't going to take much to decorate. She never bothered with a Christmas tree—a fact that earned her an annual lecture from James—but she liked the idea of a living tree she could watch grow year by year. One that wouldn't make her sad and depressed when she had to denude it and toss it away when the holiday period ended. And wouldn't remind her of her last Christmas with Harrison.

Ryley returned cradling four brightly-colored cookie tins, and with strings of tiny Christmas lights slung over his shoulder. She relieved him of one of the tins and pried open the lid. Inside, nestled amidst tissue paper, were dozens of small star-shaped cookies, beautifully iced and decorated with silver dragees—those small edible silver balls. Each cookie sported a loop of thick gold thread. "You made these?"

"Yep. And these, too." He knelt and opened the other tins to display their contents. Little gold bells, pink-striped candy canes and gingerbread men.

She stared at the decorations, awed. "These are exquisite, Ryley. When did you ever find the time?"

"Oh, here and there. I baked them for the tree up at the Children's Home, but there'll be enough that we can decorate our little tree as well."

Our tree. A warm glow eased the perpetual ache of loss in her chest and it took her a few seconds to identify the emotion. It'd been so long since she'd felt any joy around Christmastime. "Hand me those lights," she said, smiling.

~~~

Rowan sat back on her heels to survey her handiwork. "What d'you think?"

"One moment." Ryley fiddled with a switch. "There."

The myriad of tiny fairy lights draping the tree sprang to life and twinkled merrily. "Oh!" She caught her breath. "Beautiful!"

She turned and found him staring at her intently. "Yes," he murmured. "Beautiful."

She flushed and turned away. Good God. She'd never blushed so much in her life.

"Dinner's ready," he said. "We can eat in the dining room. Or in here, if you'd like."

She wrinkled her nose. No contest. The formal dining area could have sprung from a spread in Unique Homes magazine and she'd be too worried about spilling something to enjoy her meal. "Let's eat here."

"I was hoping you'd say that. Pour yourself another drink and I'll serve up."

She wandered back over to the settee. So far the evening had been nice—very nice. And if those beautiful hand-baked decorations were anything to go by, her host would also be a competent chef. She rubbed her arms through her sweater. There was a definite chill in the air. Her gaze caught on a box of matches on the mantle. And beside the pristine marble fireplace stood a large beaten-copper container filled with firewood. Apparently the fireplace was intended to be used.

By the time Ryley had returned with a large tray, she had a good-sized blaze going. "Good idea," he said. "I'll keep you on."

"Something smells good."

"That would be the 'roast beast' as they say in Seussville. I hope you're not a vegetarian?"

"I've always been a corpse-eater."

"Charming turn of phrase. And here I mistakenly believed you were a lady." He dumped the tray on the coffee table and tossed a napkin at her.

She grinned. "There's lots about me you don't know."

"Probably. But I'd like to find out more."

His penetrating gaze made the grin slide from her face. Dangerous territory. Time to change the subject. "So," she said brightly, "what's for dinner, chef?"

"Baked ham glazed with my own secret recipe, roasted root vegetables, minted peas and, if you're still hungry afterward—and I hope you will be—chocolate pudding."

"Oh. My. God. Sounds heavenly."

"Tuck in, then. There's plenty more if you want it." He handed her a heaped plate and cutlery.

She stared at the mound of food and gulped. "I'll never be able to eat all that."

He sat beside her and poked her stomach with a finger. "You're not one of these women who's always on a diet and obsessed with her weight, are you? Hope not. I prefer women with a few curves."

Was that a hint? And why was the need to justify her lack of curves on the tip of her tongue? She hardly knew him. And anyway, it was none of his business if she hardly bothered eating lately and she'd lost weight. She took a bite of ham. "This is really delicious," she finally said, and steered the conversation into safer waters. "Who taught you to cook like this?"

"My father. Though it almost drove him mad."

"Really? Tell me."

He chatted easily about his childhood while she picked at her meal. He turned out to be an excellent storyteller and she found herself laughing out loud at some of his descriptions of his learning-to-cook exploits.

"So you like my cooking, huh?" he said.

Rowan's gaze dropped to her plate and she stifled a gasp. It was empty.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you're a pig," he assured her with a completely straight face.

"Thanks!"

"Second helping?"

"No thanks. I want to leave room for the pudding."

"You were seriously considering it though, weren't you?" he said in a teasing voice.

"Maybe." She sipped champagne while he cleared up and headed back into the kitchen. She couldn't remember when she'd last eaten so much. Her appetite seemed to have returned with a vengeance. Content, she leaned back and stared at the flickering flames of the fire.

~~~

"Noooo!"

Ryley's heart fisted in his chest. He exploded from the kitchen in time to witness Rowan clutch her head and slump forward onto the settee.

"Shit! Rowan." He reached her side and shook her gently. "Rowan!"

As he brushed back the hair from her face she moaned—a heartbreaking sound that raised the hairs on his nape. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Her face had twisted with anguish. He scooped her into his arms. "Rowan."

No response.

Rowan. He entered her mind and linked with her thoughts just as her physical body shimmered.... And vanished, leaving him with empty arms.

~~~

Copyright 2013 Maree Anderson

www.mareeanderson.com