So Close and No Closer

All those years ago with Julian she had felt desire, had known and gloried in the intensity of her feminine needs, had joyfully and heedlessly looked forward to her marriage and the pleasures she and Julian would share, because despite her urgings he had refused to make love to her until they were married, and she had secretly been flattered and pleased that he had put his concern for her above his own desire.

How naïve and trusting she had been; but once she had realised the truth, once she had discovered what men really meant when they spoke of love and passion, once she had realised how vulnerable and defenceless her own body could render her, she had made a vow that she would never, never allow herself to be caught in the same trap again. Better never to experience desire, when she knew the pain it could lead to.

Not all men were the same, she had been forced to admit; she had friends who were happy and fulfilled, women who loved and were loved in return, so the fault must lie somewhere within herself. It must be because she was unlovable that she drew users and abusers to her…she attracted men who only wanted her for their own gain.

For five, almost six years she had lived by the rules she had laid down for herself. For that length of time she had been safe and content, and then Neil Saxton had forced his way into her life, confusing her with his actions, deliberately and cold-bloodedly setting out to deceive and destroy her…just like Julian.

Time passed, but she had no real awareness of its passage. Darkness fell and Horatio, hungry and alarmed by the unmoving stillness of his mistress, whined pathetically.

The thunder returned, rolling noisily around the hills.

‘Imagine it as a giant football being kicked from hilltop to hilltop,’ her father had told her as a child. Rue shuddered. She felt icy-cold, stripped of her pride and self-respect, alone in a way she had never felt before. She wanted to close her eyes and go to sleep and stay that way, but Horatio was whining, and the fire had gone out. She had things to do. She was a woman now and not a child. Somehow she must find a way of repairing the damage Neil had done.

Locking the stable door after the horse had bolted, she mocked herself acidly as she got tiredly to her feet, wincing at the onset of pins and needles in her cramped flesh.

She knew of only one way to keep her pain at bay, and that was to work, but right now her body needed sleep, even if her mind did not.

She recognised in some dim, distant way that she probably ought to have something to eat, but there seemed little point. She had no appetite and even less energy. She fed Horatio and let him out. He came back with muddy paws and a wet coat. She rubbed him dry and switched out the lights, making her way reluctantly to bed.

Neil had helped her, yes, but he had exacted a terrible price for that help, a price she was never going to be able to stop paying.

Her heart shuddered and slammed into her ribs as she recognised the truth. She had fallen in love with him. How, she had no idea. Logically it should have been impossible, but when had emotions ever been subject to logic? What frightened her most of all was the knowledge that, had it not been for that saving moment of sanity earlier in the evening, she would willingly, gladly have given herself to him, and would have rejoiced in doing so.

And he would have used her love for him to get what he wanted from her. Just like Julian.

Her love for Julian had been no more than a teenager’s infatuation intensified by the death of her father and her need for someone to lean on. The first night of their marriage had been enough to destroy that infatuation: the cruelty of Julian’s possession of her—a possession, he had let her know in no uncertain terms, that came only because it trapped her legally into continuing their marriage—plus the realisation that he had never loved her, never desired her, that he had wanted her money and not her—all that had killed her feelings for him completely.

Traitorously, an unwanted thought wormed its way into her mind. Perhaps if she had encouraged Neil to make love to her, she might have discovered that her feelings for him would disappear… Angry with herself, she dismissed the thought, recognising it for what it was. Her body ached for him, wanted him so urgently, so painfully that it threatened to overrule the strictures of her mind. And she could not allow that to happen.

She woke up exhausted, her mind drugged to a state of torpor by the nightmares she had endured. To add to her mental misery, her body was stiff, her muscles locked and protesting as she started to move.

She went downstairs in her dressing-gown to let Horatio out and then slumped over the kitchen table, holding a mug of instant coffee…too drained to go to the trouble of making the filter variety she preferred.

The sky was grey and sullen; the previous night’s wind had dropped and so had the temperature. Puddles reflected the metallic sheen of the sky. No watering would be necessary today, she reflected grimly. She would have to spend the day in the drying shed, dealing with yesterday’s crop, and there would be no Neil to help her.

The air in the kitchen suddenly seemed to choke her and she had to open one of the windows.

Reluctantly she dragged herself upstairs to get showered and dressed. From her window she could see as far as the farmland which Mrs Dacre claimed had been sold. She frowned as she looked at it. What on earth had possessed the builder to buy it? He would have no access to it. She frowned as she remembered how unpleasant and threatening he had been to her. He was the kind of man who was so contemptuous of women, and so very arrogant in his assumption that he could take whatever he wished from life, that even if she had been tempted to sell she suspected she would have refused simply for the pleasure of refusing him.

She grimaced a little to herself as she remembered how he had warned her that he hadn’t given up. And now he had bought some other land. She was a little surprised that he hadn’t bought the Court instead, and then she remembered that the building was listed and that he was hardly likely to have been granted planning permission.

She was just turning away from the window when she heard the sound of a shotgun being fired. The shots came from Neil’s land and she frowned, wondering what he was shooting. Odd parties of youths sometimes spent their weekends shooting over the farmlands after the harvest had been gathered in, their prey rabbits, and during that time of year, early in the morning when the mist still lay on the fields, her Sunday peace would be destroyed by the sound of shots. But it was unusual to hear anyone using a gun at this time of the year.

Tiredly she went downstairs, determined to cast Neil Saxton firmly from her mind…and from her heart. Something told her that that was not going to be easy.

Work and more work, that was what she needed, and she certainly had no lack of it, she admitted wryly, as she made herself some fresh coffee and slid bread into the toaster. While she waited for it to toast she went to the back door and opened it, calling Horatio. His morning amble was normally a fairly perfunctory affair. He liked his breakfast too much to linger outside for very long.

She waited to hear the familiar sound of his metal disc clinking against his collar as he came crashing through the undergrowth. A clumsy dog, her Horatio, but a lovable, protective friend.

When she heard nothing she called again. Her toast popped out of the toaster, but she ignored it, a sudden inexplicable sensation of fear crawling down her spine. That shot…Horatio loved to chase rabbits, even though he never caught any. Could Neil…? But no. He would have seen the dog…would have realised… Clumsily she reached for her wellington boots and pulled them on, not stopping to examine the panic that engulfed her, but running unsteadily towards the gate that led into the field.

For once she paid no attention to her f

lowers, squelching down the muddy path, intent on reaching the stile that led into the home park.

It was her fault if anything had happened to Horatio… She shouldn’t have let him stray on to someone else’s land…but the previous owners had been there so rarely, and Horatio so enjoyed his harmless pursuit of the rabbits that lived in the home park.

She reached the stile and found she was slightly out of breath. She climbed it and from the top surveyed the park, frantically calling Horatio’s name. The sound of her voice disturbed some rooks, making them caw noisily as they rose from their untidy nests with flapping wings. Rue ignored them, hurrying in the direction of the stream, which was Horatio’s favourite hunting ground. He had some Labrador in his mongrel ancestry, and enjoyed pretending that he was a water-dog.