A Million Different Ways (Horn Duet 1)

The atmosphere suddenly turned frosty, underscored with hostility. When his piercing gaze returned to me, it was hard and filled with contempt. A deep flush surged up from his collar, and my mouth went immediately dry. It felt like he had just caught me stealing the family jewels.

Francois greeted him but he didn’t respond. He continued to stare at me completely indifferent to the fact that this farce was being played out in front of an audience. And for a moment, it was just the two of us––all else seemed to fade away. Until he slammed the door shut with enough force to make me flinch.

Talk about anger management––he was a perfect candidate for mood altering drugs.

With awkwardness I was certain I shouldn’t be feeling, I turned to François and mumbled my goodbye. He accepted, looking as perplexed by Horn’s behavior as I was, then, bless his gallant soul, he stepped in between the car and me. I wasn’t about to stick around for another life threatening glare so I turned on my heels and marched back to the house.

As I reached the kitchen door, I heard gravel crunching under footsteps, right behind me. My self-control took a nosedive, decreasing with every step drawing closer. I turned the doorknob in the wrong direction and tugged it hard enough to rattle the glass above it. He stopped disturbingly close. The man was a furnace. With my hair pulled back in a tight bun, I felt the heat radiating from him on the back of my neck––or maybe it was his anger.

“Step aside.”

The vestibule wasn’t made for two people to fit comfortably. I almost tripped in my haste to move out of his way. Careful not to touch him in any way, I plastered myself up against the wall while his large hand gripped the doorknob and paused for an amount of time too long to be insignificant. When I looked up, I found him focused straight ahead, his brows pinched, his mouth set in a grim line. “I advise you not to get overly friendly with the other members of the staff. They might get the wrong idea about you.”

Huh? His wooden tone confused me. It took me a while to realize he had just impugned my honor. My eyes snapped up to meet his, blazing with righteous indignation. How dare he! This man knew absolutely nothing about me. I had lived the life of a veritable monk these past six years. If I hadn’t been so appalled, I would have laughed at the irony of it. Humiliation burned my cheeks as soft, angry words pushed up my throat. “I brought him his dinner.”

He measured me with a faraway look in his eyes. “You’ve been warned.” Jerking the door open, he entered the kitchen and disappeared down the hall with uneven footsteps while I stood there dumbfounded, watching his imposing form fade away.

Warned? Warned of what? I had no idea what it was about me that provoked such animosity. And the worst part was that I was naturally inclined to please and appease people. It never sat well with me to be disliked. And I had never been disliked this openly in all my life.

* * *

I dreamed of him that night.

Startled and embarrassed, I woke up in a pool of sweat. Fragments of erotic images came flooding back to me so clearly that it seemed impossible they were only a figment of my imagination. In what dark part of my psyche had this sexual hunger been hiding? I barely had a pulse the last couple of years, and for it to be him to provoke it… said nothing good about me.

My muscles felt listless, rubbery, as if I had been fighting something in my sleep. I got out of bed to change my nightgown creeping and groaning like a woman twice my age. Shoved in the back corner of a drawer, I found an old t-shirt I didn’t remember I still had. Aleksander’s t-shirt. The thought of Aleksander still left a bitter taste in my mouth, even though it was growing fainter with each passing year. That was progress, I guess.

I pushed the window open and a cool breeze drove the staleness out of the room. The air smelled of pinesap, clean and crisp. A full moon colored the silhouette of trees indigo. Riding on the coattails of the scent of evergreens, a mist of sadness blew in. I leaned on the windowsill with my head in my hands, and tried to will a feeling away that seemed determined to hang around. I needed a good cry––to get it out of my system––but I hadn’t shed a single tear in six years and they refused to fall once again.

A tall figure emerged from the dark grove of trees. It was easy to identify him from the hitch in his step, his strides stiff and deliberate, as if he forced himself to take a longer step than was comfortable. In spite of his injury, he cut through the flower garden and reached the back door in half the time I would have. A leisurely stroll at midnight…I wondered what demons haunted his dreams. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was a little curious about him…okay maybe more than a little.