Rainy Days and Roses Read online

  Zelda was sharply aware of how closely they were standing in the narrow passageway. “Oh, I’m perfectly happy to explore the village,” she said. “Then I’ll get to work too. I’d like to help you.”

  He hesitated for just a fraction of a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you later.”

  They both continued to stand there. It seemed oddly wrong somehow, the idea of separating now and retiring to different rooms, after they’d been together for so long on the journey, dozing and reading and talking side by side.

  “Dan, I want to thank you for bringing me here,” Zelda said softly, suddenly filled with gratitude. “You don’t know what it means to me.”

  “You’re welcome. Just relax and do whatever you want, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

  His words deflated her buoyant mood. They were words a polite host might say to a guest, and Zelda experienced a pang of hurt as she steered her case into the appointed bedroom. She exchanged an awkward smile with Dan before closing the door, and then leaned against the worn paneled wood for a moment, fighting an inexplicable sense of disappointment.

  She was being stupid. She had to stop it right now.

  Dan had invited her here because he was a good person and he wanted to help her turn her life around. The fact he’d let her rest her head on his shoulder as she tried to snooze on the plane meant nothing. He was a friend and nothing more. She was not going to ruin things by falling in love with yet another man who couldn’t return her feelings.

  Outside, a plump blackbird landed on the stone wall that skirted the cottage. It sat for several moments then swooped across the fields. She smiled, shrugging free of the heartache that had plagued her for months.

  Sitting on the bed, she eased off her shoes, wiggling her cramped toes with a happy sigh. Everything was going to be okay.

  She just knew it.

  Chapter Four

  He’d just known it.

  Dan flung himself onto the sagging mattress in the front bedroom and stared up at the mildewed ceiling. Inviting Zelda here was a mistake of monumental proportions. Nothing good was going to come of it.

  When he was around her, the common sense mechanism in his brain switched off. All kinds of ridiculous emotions started taking hold. Asleep in the back of Bill’s car, she’d looked like an angel with a halo of black curls. An extremely sexy angel. And when he’d opened the cottage door, he’d made the mistake of glancing back at her, planning to make some flippant, offhand comment about what a hovel the cottage was. His words died forgotten. She’d hovered behind him, her dark eyes sparkling with anticipation as she peered over his shoulder. For a moment, her excitement had infected him. For one crazy moment, he’d wanted to sweep her into his arms, carry her into the cottage, and kiss her senseless before taking her upstairs.

  He swallowed hard and listened to the sound of the floorboards creaking across the hall.

  Hearing Zelda’s voice, seeing her, having her in such close proximity for months on end was going to be sheer torture.

  He wished with all his heart he hadn’t invited her, yet at the same time he wished she was in bed beside him right now, burbling on about how quaint the village was and how enchanting and magical she found the cottage. Something about Zelda made him feel renewed and hopeful and very, very frightened.

  Dan scowled, wishing he’d remembered to close the damn curtains—the sun was shining in, throwing in a sunny band of unwanted brightness. A bird sang its heart out somewhere very close to the window. He yawned, then stretched before finally falling into an uneasy, lonesome sleep.

  When he woke, the sun was sinking, and the bedroom was gloomy. He took a quick bath in the antiquated bathroom, the pipes clanking and gurgling as if possessed. After he changed into fresh clothes, he went downstairs, feeling hungry.

  Zelda sat at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee and scribbling industriously on a piece of paper. She’d changed into a pink shirt, and her curls were pulled back in a wild ponytail.

  “Did you manage to get some rest?” He headed for the coffee pot, refusing to let his gaze linger on the tip of her tongue, which was poking out in concentration.

  “A little.” She didn’t look up. “I’m just figuring out what food we might need. There’s not much in the fridge. I’ll go shopping tomorrow.”

  “You hungry now?” He sipped his coffee.

  “Starving.”

  “There’s a fish and chip shop in town. Does that sound good?” No matter how hard he tried, he knew there’d be times it would be impossible to avoid her.

  She looked at him and nodded with an excited little grin, as if he’d suggested they embark on some daring adventure. Dan’s mood lightened. He grabbed his jacket and went outside to start up the car. There was just something about her, he thought, as the engine came to life. She made him smile.

  It was his own vehicle, the trusty dark green Subaru he’d been driving for two years. Maggie had deposited it outside the cottage for him. He looked up and Zelda was emerging from the house, dragging on a light jacket as she hurried down the path.

  “My stomach is rumbling,” she announced, plunking into the passenger seat.

  “The plane food sucked, didn’t it?”

  She shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about what kind of meat was in that pie thing they served us.”

  This was good. They were just friends, a man and a woman who’d known one another since childhood and now shared an easygoing kind of relationship. Anything more was in his imagination because he was so messed up since Faith died.

  “Dog, probably,” he said. “Either that or kangaroo.”

  Zelda giggled and gave his arm a little slap.

  Dan grinned, driving slowly along the rutted lane that led into town. Bagley was like a thousand other sleepy English villages, possessing a ubiquitous war memorial, a parade of poky, overpriced little shops, and a church with a roof perpetually in need of repair. Older inhabitants, content to snooze what was left of their lives away, were perfectly happy to stay put. Youngsters couldn’t wait to get the hell out.

  A line of customers waited to be served in the fish and chip shop, and a few curious glances were shot their way. The air was heavy with the smell of frying fish and potatoes. Behind the counter, a red-faced woman wrapped a parcel of food in grease proof paper.

  “There you go, Bert,” she said, handing over the parcel.

  “’Night, Vera!” the customer sang out, and left clutching his fish and chips.

  When he and Zelda reached the head of the line, Dan ordered cod and chips twice, and Vera bellowed their order over her shoulder. Minutes later their food was deftly wrapped.

  “Do you have any hush puppies?” Zelda asked.

  “Eh, love?”

  “Hush puppies.”

  A silence fell over the shop, broken only by a few sniggers from behind them. A sudden, protective urge surged through Dan.

  “They’re an American item,” he explained. “Little balls of fried dough.”

  “Ah.” Vera grinned at Zelda. “Hush puppies are shoes here, my love. The two of you are from America, then? Where’re you staying?”

  “At the edge of the village, about half a mile from here.” Dan handed over a ten pound note.

  “Rose Cottage,” Zelda put in.

  “I do believe we’re neighbors,” Vera said. “I’ll just throw in a few pickled onions, shall I, compliments of the house? Come back and see us!”

  Zelda chatted nonstop as they drove home. What kind of food did he like? Did he prefer England over America? Were they anywhere near the real Downton Abbey? Was he a Downton Abbey fan?

  He talked and nodded and actually laughed out loud, swept along on the tide of her enthusiasm. They hurried inside with the parcels of food and worked together in the kitchen, locating knives and forks and plates, unsure of the exact location of everything they needed.

  Zelda bumped into him as she turned from the sink.

 
“Oops,” she said softly.

  Their eyes met. He jerked his hands from her shoulders, where they’d landed to steady her. He noticed the faint blush turning her cheeks pink.

  It was dusk now, and the evening had grown slightly chilly. Dan drew the curtains, closing out the night. A contented sensation he couldn’t quite understand washed through him at the sight of the table set for two.

  “Mmm.” Zelda closed her eyes in ecstasy. “This is delicious.”

  Dan sprinkled extra vinegar on his chips and began to eat.

  “You know, I really think everything is going to work out, don’t you?” she said.

  “How do you mean?”

  “This place is having a magical effect on me. It makes me understand that life holds all sorts of possibilities.”

  He nodded, but the truth was he hadn’t experienced the sense of hope and optimism she described in a long, long time. Life had broken him.

  “Don’t you ever feel a sense of possibility?” she asked quietly.

  “Not really.”

  Her eyes stayed on him, soft with silent understanding.

  She’d always been able to read his moods, even when they were kids. He’d look down to find her hand slipped into his, unlocking somewhere deep in his soul with her touch, coaxing out the worries and pain. It was different now. Even Zelda couldn’t chase away this pain—it was too deep and dark, too much a part of him to ever go away.

  “I was engaged before Zach,” Zelda said, as if sensing he needed a change of subject. “It didn’t work out because he said everything was moving too quickly. Six months after leaving me, Kevin married. He has two-year-old twins now.”

  “You have a talent for picking idiots, don’t you?”

  “I’m starting to think there’s something wrong with me.”

  “There’s not a thing wrong with you. You’re beautiful. Talented. Smart.”

  She stared down at the table. “Then why can’t I attract someone who actually wants to stick around?”

  “Just give it time.” He’d been told time cured everything.

  She nodded and sighed, pushing her empty plate away. He knew he shouldn’t, but he placed his arm around her and tugged her close. She sighed again and laid her head on his shoulder, and it felt so right, sitting with her in the crumbling kitchen of an old cottage, Dan wished the moment could last forever.

  Chapter Five

  Zelda attacked the backyard with a vengeance. Dan had purchased a lawn mower, but before putting it to use, she hacked at the prickly weeds and grass that flourished and bristled over every inch of their outdoor space. She discovered what once may have been a rock garden, and the rose bushes that had given the cottage its name. They hadn’t been tended in years and were wild tangles of thorny branches—she tamed them, trimming the dead rosewood and dragging it into a pile. Squirrels and blackbirds watched with interest.

  Dan arrived home one afternoon to find her triumphantly nailing the restored Rose Cottage sign back into place beside the door, which now sported a fresh coat of green paint. Zelda’s heart gave a little leap of excitement as he walked up the path toward her.

  He touched her arm. “You’re bleeding.”

  A jolt of awareness zapped her skin where his fingertip touched the scratches she’d acquired earlier. “I was pruning the rose bushes.”

  “And you’re wearing grass in your hair.” He gently plucked out the greenery tangled in her curls.

  He stood so close she worried he might hear the thudding of her heart. She closed her eyes and stood quite still as his fingers worked gently through her hair.

  “It looks great out here.” His voice was quiet. “You’re not working too hard, are you?”

  “I’m enjoying it.” She didn’t dare look up at him. For no reason, her face warmed, and she knew she was blushing.

  “We should get those scratches cleaned up,” he murmured.

  She nodded, wishing she possessed the courage to look up into his face. Every nerve in her body had sprung to attention.

  “Oh, I say. What a transformation,” a voice piped up from the lane. “What a lot of work you’ve put in today, dear.”

  In a slight daze from Dan’s tender ministrations, Zelda glanced toward the sound to see Elsie Goodwin, the elderly lady from next door, peering into the backyard. Beside her were Vera and Bernard who owned the fish and chip shop and lived opposite Rose Cottage.

  “It was such an eyesore,” Vera gushed. “And now look at it. You’ve worked wonders.”

  “Thanks.” Zelda smiled.

  “And might I say,” Bernard put in with a shy smile, “it’s a breath of fresh air having a young couple in the lane.”

  “Oh, it is that,” Vera agreed.

  Dan’s hands suddenly stilled in Zelda’s hair. “You’ve got it wrong. We’re not a couple.”

  The three older people looked confused.

  “We’re just friends.” Dan took a step away from her, his hands dropping to his sides.

  “I’m helping him renovate the cottage for his mom and her new husband,” Zelda explained.

  “I’m sorry.” Bernard looked disappointed. “You looked like a couple, and we just naturally assumed—”

  “It’s all right.” Zelda swallowed back her own sense of inexplicable disappointment.

  “Well, we’d better be off,” Elsie said. “It’s bingo night at the village hall. If either of you are interested, you’d be more than welcome.”

  “It’s nice of you to invite us, but we kind of have our hands full with the cottage,” Dan said.

  Their neighbors climbed into a car and drove away.

  Once inside, Zelda pulled off her work boots, numb with the horrible hurt of rejection, which was ridiculous. But Dan had been so quick to step away from her, to explain they weren’t a couple. Was the thought of the two of them together really so repellant?

  “People get some strange ideas,” he remarked, running water into the kitchen sink. “I guess it was an easy mistake to make.”

  “Good thing you set them straight,” she replied dryly.

  “Let’s take a look at those scratches.” He took her arm and steered her toward him.

  It happened all over again—awareness pinged through Zelda like an electric shock. “I’m fine.” She pulled her arm away. “I want to go up and take a bath now.”

  He nodded slowly. “Check for thorns.”

  “Will do.”

  “Zelda,” he said.

  “Hmm?”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “What could be wrong?”

  Upstairs, she ran an extra hot bath and scrubbed her skin until it glowed pink. Her thoughts were not Dan’s problem, and she was going to keep them to herself, she swore. It was hardly his fault her stupid teenage crush was resurfacing and every time she saw him it was like she was going into full cardiac arrest.

  Sighing, she lay down in the water. She wished her attraction was just a physical thing. She could deal with that. But she seemed to be falling in love with everything about Dan, not just his looks. She liked the way they talked to each other, the way he always listened to her answers—how he seemed to care what she thought. She loved the way he smiled at her sometimes, and she stopped herself, knowing the list was endless. She pulled the plug, and listened to the water gurgle from the bathtub as she dried herself.

  Downstairs, she behaved as if everything was fine, heating the soup she’d prepared earlier and nodding as Dan talked about his ideas for remodeling the bathroom. Then they sat on the couch as they did most evenings, close but careful not to touch. The African Queen came on, and Dan made popcorn.

  Sometimes her eyes strayed from the screen toward their feet, propped side by side on the coffee table. Dan’s were huge and clad in black socks, hers bare and light brown, toe nails painted the usual pearly pink. She wished she didn’t feel so safe and warm beside him like this, as if she were exactly where she belonged. She didn’t want to go back to Denver and start hawking her resume, di
dn’t want to go back to dealing with traffic and worrying about her love life. She just wanted everything to stay like this forever.

  Just as it seemed there really was no way out for Charlie and Rose, as if they’d die on the Ulanga River, Zelda lost her battle to stay awake. When she opened her eyes again, the living room was dark and her head was on Dan’s shoulder. She was snuggled against him, her arm across his chest, hand resting on the soft denim of his shirt. His arm curled around her, holding her close.

  “Zeldie,” he whispered.

  She looked up at him.

  Their faces were mere inches apart. In one second, he could lower his lips to hers. She wanted to be kissed so badly she was almost dizzy for a moment.

  “Ready for bed?”

  She nodded, not moving. Desire swam through her system like a drug.

  Dan took his arm from around her and stood. Something inside Zelda withered in disappointment.

  “I’ll rinse the popcorn bowl,” she said woodenly.

  “I’ll take care of it. You go on up.”

  Upstairs, she brushed her teeth and climbed into bed, forcing back tears of frustration. She wished she had an extra blanket, but was too frozen in a sad lethargy to go fetch one. Staring at the ceiling, Zelda listened as Dan tramped up the stairs, yawning loudly. His bedroom door closed. The floor creaked beneath his feet, and then the bed groaned beneath the weight of his body.

  She closed her eyes, wanting him so badly she thought she might lose her mind. What if she marched in his room right now, stark naked, ripped back the covers, and climbed into bed with him?

  “Oh, God. Stop it,” she whispered into the darkness.

  Across the hall, Dan cleared his throat and bedsprings squeaked as he shifted his weight. Zelda experienced a hot wave of lust as she imagined them squeaking under different circumstances, Dan on top of her, whispering dirty things, thrusting—

  “Zelda Faylene Marshall, you are a shameless slut.” She grabbed the spare pillow and jammed it over her head.

  Previously she’d found sex very pleasurable, but she’d never felt a craving like this. She was melting with it. What if Dan guessed? What would he think of her?