The Nememiah Chronicles Collection - Books 1-3

3. The Falls-3

seemEyeing him suspiciously, I tried to make up my mind whether his lack of answer was confirmation that, in fact, he had been following me. “Such as?” I asked quietly, letting my gaze drop to the floor.

“Oh, I don"t know.” His attention flickered to the fireplace for a moment, then back to me. “Please, sit down.”

Wrestling with my suspicions, I hovered for a few seconds as I tried to decide whether to stay or run. I had no idea who this man was, didn"t have a single reason to trust him and yet, he had saved me today. Or at least, he"d thought he was saving me. A glance at Lucas showed his expression to be much calmer, his body language displaying none of the anger he"d been directing at me until now. I slumped back down onto the couch.

“How about we get to know each other a little better? How old are you, Charlotte?”

I smiled softly at the deliberately simple question. He seemed to be trying to put me at ease and I appreciated it. “I"m twenty.”

“Okay, now it is your turn. Remember, we"re sticking with easy questions for now,” he instructed gently and the corner of his mouth curled into a lopsided smile as he settled back more comfortably on the couch.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty four.”

“Oh.”

“You seem surprised,” he pointed out.

“Lonnie from the grocery store told me you were twenty eight.” I spoke without thinking (again), and instantly regretted it, realizing he would know I"d been discussing him. I could feel heat spreading across my cheeks at the faux pas.

“Did she now? What else did Lonnie from the grocery store tell you?” he asked with an impish grin. He lifted his arm, laying it across the back of the couch as he watched me with undisguised amusement.

“She told me you work in Billings,” I admitted. I certainly wasn"t going to tell him about her discussions regarding his sexuality and dating preferences, but he seemed to guess there was more.

“Anything else?”

“Um, no.” I was lousy at lying and was sure he"d guessed I was hesitant, but he didn"t push the subject further. I gathered my rapidly drying hair in my fingers, fashioning it into a loose knot at the nape of my neck.

Lucas stood abruptly and walked across to the fireplace, his attention fixed on the flickering yellow-red flames in the grate. His shoulders were stiff with tension and he clenched and unclenched his fists before he spoke again. “My turn,” he announced. “Why does a lovely girl like you, choose to live such a minimalistic lifestyle?”

Inhaling sharply, I took a moment to select my words carefully. He"d been to the cottage, had obviously seen the pathetic belongings I owned. There was no point trying to deny it. “I don"t feel the need to have a lot of stuff. I travel… a lot, and I just pack up my car and move on when— when I"m ready.”

He thought over my words before responding. “You"re not attending college?”

Relaxing by increments, I grinned wryly. “I thought we were taking turns, so isn"t it my turn again?”

“Indeed it is. Go right ahead.” He sat down on the couch and clasped his hands between his knees, leaning forward to watch me with interest.

I deliberated over the next question. “Do you live here alone?” It seemed like a polite, but roundabout way of discovering whether he was in a relationship with anyone, without actually asking the question outright.

“I have friends who live with me, we share the house,” he announced promptly. “What about you? Do you have family or friends living in this area? I hear you only moved here a month ago.”

“No family, no friends,” I stated cautiously, wondering where his friends were. Would they be home soon? It would be awkward trying to explain my appearance in their home, and I thought again about leaving. “Only the new ones, which I seem to be making at an alarming rate,” I muttered in an afterthought.

Lucas"s eyebrows rose and he studied my face for a few seconds, before he spoke again. “You don"t want to make friends?”

I drained the brandy glass and placed it on the coffee table. “I believe it"s my turn.” I said, glancing around the room while I considered my next question and hoping he wouldn"t pursue my aversion to friendships. “Are those paintings genuine?” I gestured toward the wall near the kitchen doorway, where I"d recognized what looked like a Picasso, or at least, a remarkably good counterfeit.

“Yes.”

“Wow,” I breathed. “May I take a closer look?”

“Of course.”

I walked from painting to painting, admiring the pieces, studying the work of the Masters involved. I"d only ever seen works like these in books, to see them in real life was extraordinary.

“My turn.” I was startled by the sound of his deep voice and discovered him standing beside me. Only a couple of feet separated us, and his aroma washed over me. It took a second to recognize it was different today, the subtle scent of freshly baked cookies and mellow strains of coffee overwhelming my senses. The impression was one of safety and comfort and some of the tension eased out of my shoulders. “What is your favorite color?”

I shrugged. “I"m not sure I have a favorite. I love all color,” I admitted.

“The words of a true artist.” He smiled easily, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. “I saw your painting equipment, at your house.”

I nodded, somehow relaxed by his easy admission about the cottage. He was not attempting to deny he"d been there, and it somehow made it less perturbing. “What"s your favorite color?”

He looked deeply into my eyes for a couple of seconds before answering. “Green.”

≈†◊◊†◊◊†◊◊†≈

I"m not sure how long our question and answer session lasted, but after a second brandy and with the radiating warmth from the roaring fire, I was beginning to feel exceptionally drowsy. Lucas had asked about many aspects of my life, even down to minute details, such as my favorite foods, but seemed intuitively to stay away from questions that would cause me discomfort. In turn, I learned he"d attended Yale, was born in Chicago, and he had lived here in Puckhaber Falls for two years. He gave no information about his family, only saying his parents had died some years ago and he had no siblings. He could play piano, guitar, and the violin and enjoyed a wide range of music. He wasn"t particularly interested in sports, but ran to keep fit. He worked as a lawyer in Billings, but chose to live out here, because he enjoyed the peace and quiet. He was very interested in my artistic endeavors and we spoke at length about favorite artists, finding we shared a number, including Matisse, Monet, and Renoir.

I"d asked him about the piano and in response, he offered to play something. I agreed and snuggled back against the couch to listen, impressed by his skill, and enjoying the selection of songs he chose. The combination of two brandies and the dramas of the day began to have their effect and regrettably, I awoke to find myself once again in Lucas"s arms as he walked down a darkened hallway.

“Where are we going?” I questioned groggily. The same exhilarating aroma was assaulting me again and I snuggled against his shoulder like a contented kitten.

“You fell asleep,” he whispered huskily. “Having seen what you are sleeping on at your house, I"m going to put you to bed here, and I"ll drive you home in the morning.”

Alarmed, I struggled to wriggle free of his hold. “I think I should go home now.”

“No, I insist. I will be a complete gentleman, I assure you. You will come to no harm.”

Either the sincerity of his words convinced me, or the enticing aroma wafting around us was making me crazy, because I snuggled up against his cold hard chest and argued no more.