Weathering Rock. Mae Clair
I didn’t get home yet. Something came up. I’ll call you in about twenty minutes, as soon as I get in the door. I’m stopping at Weathering Rock–you know that old house on Blackberry Lane?” A longer pause. “No, I’ll explain later. Talk to you then.” She felt foolish for pulling the charade, but wanted Caleb to think someone was waiting to hear from her.
“Are you all right?” she asked again as she started the ignition and eased the car onto the road.
He gave a noncommittal grunt. It made her think of lawsuits and catastrophic medical bills. Everyone was sue-happy these days. He’d admitted to riding out in front of her, but how quickly would that change once a fee-hungry lawyer sank greedy claws into him?
She could always call Lucas for help, even if she didn’t want to involve the police directly. Her ex-boyfriend would know what to do, though asking for advice was guaranteed to trigger one of his you-need-a-keeper spiels. It was no wonder they’d split up. As Lauren liked to say–there were no King Arthurs left in the world, just Arthurs who expected to be treated like kings.
“Sagehill isn’t far,” she said, contemplating her liability, court dates and how complicated the whole situation might become.
“Weathering Rock is closer.” In the half-gloom of fog and moonlight, Caleb’s eyes flashed like crystal. “What’s your name?”
She considered lying, but smothered the impulse. “Arianna Hart. My friends call me Ari.”
“Annie,” he said, still sounding confused.
She would have corrected him, but grew distracted when he stretched his legs in an attempt to get more comfortable. He was almost too tall for the tiny vehicle, his proximity charging the air with a goosebump-crackle of electricity. The taut pull of faded denim over his thighs was disconcerting, especially when her glance wandered higher, revealing how well his jeans defined all areas of his lower anatomy.
Abruptly warm, she turned her attention back to the road. She had a history of failed relationships, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the male physique. Especially when a man was as well put together as Caleb DeCardian.
“Who’s Meade?’
“What?”
“You said you had to reach Meade.” She eased into a left turn. Overhead, the sky was a patchwork of clouds and stars. “Is that a person or a place?”
“Uh…” The word stuck on his tongue. “Nothing important.” He tilted his head against the seat, his lashes sweeping closed as he dismissed the question. “Thank you, Annie.”
“Ari,” she corrected, falling silent. Weathering Rock was only moments away, but it felt like an eternity. Life would have been much easier if she’d spent the night at Lauren’s like her friend had wanted. Instead, she’d insisted she could navigate the roads, the hour not too late for a drive she’d made countless times before.
Yet in all those times she’d never come upon a rider on horseback wearing a 19th century frock coat. Caleb. Even his name was archaic, his speech and diction distinctly formal. What did she expect from an odd encounter in the middle of the night?
Another curve in the road and Weathering Rock came into view, only the rooftop visible among layers of low-lying fog. Memory told her the house was set back from the road a good hundred yards by a rolling expanse of lawn. Squat pines and a fringe of ash flanked the driveway.
“Almost there,” Arianna told her passenger as she turned the Sebring up the sloping drive. The lane rose at a steady incline, paving the way to a carefully preserved manor home with a broad wraparound porch, white pillars, and multiple chimneys. She stopped at the top of the drive in time to see a man sprint around the house. He raced for the car.
“Are you Doctor DeCardian?” She’d barely managed to open her door before he reached the vehicle.
“Yes!” He shot a glance through the windshield at her passenger, then wrenched open the door. “Caleb? What the hell happened? Ranger came pounding back without you. I thought Seth–” He stopped abruptly as if realizing he’d said too much. “Are you hurt?”
“Headache.” Caleb swung his legs to the ground.
Arianna felt her stomach clench. “What can I do?”
“Get the front door,” the other man–Winston, if she’d heard correctly–instructed.
With a nod, she hurried up the steps, nearly tripping on the narrow front stairs. Behind her, Winston kept one hand clasped around Caleb’s arm as he steered him toward the house.
Panicked by the thought she might have caused him permanent harm, she wrapped a sweat-sticky palm around the doorknob and shoved inside. She should have called Lucas or the cops. She should have done something. But it was too late to be courting shoulda-coulda-wouldas.
She waited as Caleb hobbled past with his brother, then trailed behind them, following down a central hallway. An open arch led to a parlor with blush champagne walls and furnishings of wheat, navy and gold. Her heels clacked on the walnut floorboards, echoing shrilly, rattling her already frayed nerves.
“Sit here.” Winston steered his brother to a medallion-backed sofa with clawed feet. It looked as comfortable as a slab of rock, but Caleb folded into it with an appreciative groan. He bowed his head and massaged his temple.
“I couldn’t tell if he was bleeding,” she blurted to Winston as he breezed past and ducked into an adjoining room. He came back within seconds, carrying a plastic pill vial, prompting Arianna to continue as if he’d never left. “I…I almost ran him down with my car.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Caleb said. “I should have been paying attention.”
“Too worried about Meade or some other dumbass garbage,” Winston muttered, uncapping the vial and tumbling several white tablets into his palm. He thrust two under Caleb’s nose. “Here. I’ll get water.”
“I don’t need it.” Taking the pills, Caleb swallowed them dry. He sagged against the cushions and flicked Winston a sour glance. “Quit looking so damn irritable. I’m not bleeding, I took a spill from my infernal horse.”
Infernal? Arianna cleared her throat. “I know I’m not a doctor, but couldn’t he have a concussion?”
Winston DeCardian looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. As tall as his brother, he had dark wavy hair and shockingly blue eyes. “Of course he could, probably does too, the damn idiot. Caleb suffers from headaches and had one earlier tonight.” He eyed his brother with a frown. “Which is all the more reason to not go riding after dark. You’re lucky this woman was driving by, Caleb.”
“You don’t understand.” Arianna stepped closer, certain he’d drawn the wrong conclusion. “I’m the reason his horse reared. I mean, my car… It wasn’t his fault.”
“It wasn’t yours either,” Caleb said again. He motioned toward his brother. “Winston, meet Arianna Hart. Arianna, my brother Winston.”
“Wyn is fine.” The doctor managed a halfway agreeable nod for Arianna. “Caleb is the only one who calls me Winston.” He waved toward the windows, indicating the road beyond. “Whatever happened out there, I’m glad you stopped to help.”
“I think Arianna should spend the night,” Caleb said, tilting his head against the rear of the sofa and cupping a hand over his forehead.
“What?” She laughed, startled by the suggestion. Damn, if she hadn’t been staring, focused on the way the light defined strands of white-gold and ash in his longish hair. It didn’t help he sat with his legs braced apart, his jeans pulling taut, defining the muscular lines of his thighs. Unlike Lauren, she’d never been attracted to blond men. Lauren’s ex-husband, Rick Rothrock, was the perpetual golden boy of Sagehill–young, handsome and successful.
Feeling her checks flush, she cleared her throat. “I live in Sagehill.” She was thankful