The Brooding Stranger. Maggie Cox
with that rich, cultured voice, they were potent enough to cause a ripple of unease in anyone.
‘Chase? That’s his name? How apt. What is he, exactly?’ Karen plumped for bravado to waylay the pulsing thud of fear that was rolling through her in increasingly disturbing waves.
‘Great Dane.’ He spat the words out as if only a fool would have to ask him that.
‘Well, he still shouldn’t be off the lead.’ Ignoring his obvious contempt, she folded her arms defensively across her thick navy fleece, silently cursing his innately masculine ability to intimidate and belittle—and amazed by her temerity in pursuing a conversation with such a man for even a second longer than necessary. His accent was rather more clipped than the softer lilt she had became used to from the locals.
Just in front of her, Chase breathed heavily in a cloud of steam, his ears still pricked, as if waiting for the next instruction from his master. Karen kept a wary eye on him in case he should suddenly make a lunge, despite what his owner had said. Right now she trusted neither one of them.
‘The problem seems to me to be strangers in the woods making a fuss over nothing.’ An innate arrogance angled his jaw, highlighting the high, sculpted cheekbones and the disdainful slash of his mouth. ‘Come on, Chase. It’s high time we headed home.’
The dog leapt away at his master’s words and Karen knew she had been dismissed—dismissed and discarded as nothing more than a trifling annoyance, a gnat on the end of his battered leather sleeve. He hadn’t even offered her the most grudging apology for frightening her half out of her wits.
Okay, perhaps she’d overreacted a little at the idea of his dog being off his leash, when these woods weren’t exactly overpopulated with folk out for a stroll … but even so. Her body tight with indignation, she was even more unsettled when the stranger turned back to regard her with a glance that could easily have matched the temperature in a deep freeze.
‘By the way, if you’re planning on coming this way tomorrow I can assure you we won’t be taking this route again. We value our privacy, Chase and I.’
‘Do you seriously imagine I’d want to come this way again after the fright I’ve just had?’ Karen’s chin jutted forward, her blue eyes challenging the cutting arrogance in the stranger’s hostile glance, despite her desire to escape as soon as possible.
The corners of his lips curled upwards in an almost wicked caricature of a smile. Karen blanched.
‘Nothing surprises me about the female species, little girl. Now, run along—and if anyone asks why you look so pale, you can tell them that you just bumped into the big bad wolf in the woods. Be thankful he didn’t eat you for breakfast.’ And, smiling his cold unnerving smile, he turned away.
‘Very funny,’ Karen murmured under her breath, but silently acknowledged it was anything but.
A nearby branch whinnied and creaked in the wind, almost making her jump out of her skin. Alarmed, and shaken by the anger that still lodged like a red-hot stone in her chest, she stomped off in the opposite direction from the dark, hostile stranger, furious with herself because she was crying again. Only this morning she’d promised herself that today was the day she would finally turn off the waterworks for good. Fat chance of that after that highly unpleasant little encounter!
That reference of his about the ‘big bad wolf’ had chilled her to the bone. Had he been referring to that beast of a dog, or himself? Most definitely himself, she decided, shivering, and walked on.
Back at the old stone cottage where she had hidden herself away for the past three months, she saw with satisfaction that the fire she’d started in the ancient iron grate was well underway, the peat and twigs hissing and crackling nicely. It was amazing how small, everyday things like that gave her such a sense of achievement these days. She supposed it was because she’d had to learn how to do them all by herself. The heat that started to permeate from the blaze lent some much needed warmth to the chill damp air that clung like frosted mist round the old place—that seeped into its very walls.
Sometimes it even made her clothes feel damp when she put them on in the morning. And at night it was so cold that Karen had taken to wearing both pyjamas and a dressing gown in bed. Her mother would absolutely hate such an abode. She’d probably ask just what she was trying to prove by living in such primitive conditions. Just as well, then, that she wasn’t around to comment.
Shivering, Karen stripped off her rain-dampened fleece and hurriedly laid it over the back of a chair. Lighting the gas burner on the stove, she filled the slightly dented copper kettle and plunked it down with a sense of something vitally important being accomplished … tea. She couldn’t really think until she’d imbibed at least two or three cups. This morning she was even more in need of it than usual, since that horribly frightening incident with the man in black and his beast of a dog.
Great Dane, indeed—he was more like a slavering cave troll! Just who was that hostile stranger, and where was he from? She’d been living in the area for three months now, and hadn’t heard mention of him from anyone. Mrs Kennedy in the local shop was the font of all wisdom, and even she hadn’t mentioned the strange well-spoken Irishman and his huge dog—at least not in Karen’s hearing. Sighing, she registered the sound of the kettle whistling, and hurriedly put the makings of her tea together with a determined purpose that had definitely been absent when she’d forlornly left the house to venture into the woods.
Her fellow walker might have been unpleasant, antisocial and taciturn, but, recalling his image now, Karen wondered if his unsettling demeanour wasn’t some kind of shield that cloaked some deep, personal unhappiness. Even though he’d probably not cared that both he and his dog had frightened her, the morose expression in those unusual compelling grey eyes of his had somehow haunted her. What had put it there? she wondered. Was he recovering from some terrible shock or sorrow? Karen could relate to that. Not least because in the past eighteen months she’d been to hell and back herself.
In fact, she was far from certain whether she’d returned yet. There were days when she was so dark in spirit that she almost couldn’t face waking up in the morning. But slowly, inch by inch, she’d begun to see that the possibility of healing her wounded spirit in this beautiful place in the west of Ireland was real and not just wishful thinking. With its wild mountain backdrop, mysterious woods and the vast Atlantic Ocean only a short walk from her door, its beauty had started to penetrate the gloom that had overshadowed her since the tragedy. The wildness and isolation of her surroundings had provided a welcome sanctuary to help ease the fear and heartache that so often deluged her, and she’d learned there was a good reason why people referred to the healing powers of nature.
One day when she was whole again, she told herself, she might find the courage to go home. One day … but just not yet.
Gray O’Connell couldn’t seem to get the image of the pretty blonde stranger who had lost her temper with him out of his head … feisty little thing. He grimaced. With every step he took on the route back to the house, her exquisite features—particularly her lovely blue eyes—became clearer and more compelling. Who in blazes was she? There were a few Brits in these parts who had holiday homes, but in the midst of October the homes usually stood empty and forlorn.
Then he remembered something that made him stop and shake his head with a groan. He should have kept on top of things better. Instead he’d been progressively letting things slide, he realised. It certainly wasn’t the sharp, incisive mindset that had helped him make his fortune in London.
Suddenly aware of who the girl might be, he wondered what made her stay here when in another month winter would bite hard, quickly replacing the mellow autumnal air and making even the local inhabitants long for summer again. Perhaps she was a loner, like him? he reflected. What if personal circumstances had driven her to take refuge here? Gray of all people could understand the need for solitude and quiet—though a fat lot of good it seemed to be doing him lately.
Not wanting to explore that particular line of thought, and irritably snapping out of his reverie, he lengthened his stride and