• 53 •

RADcLY fFe

“I’d feel better if you got someone else to handle the roof,” Adrian said, not bothering to explain since her concern would only be shrugged off.

“I’ll just get my coat and get out of your way, then.” Rooke eased around Adrian and vaulted down the stairs.

By the time Adrian caught up to her, Rooke had her jacket in hand and was at the front door. She’d offended her—she could see it in the set of Rooke’s jaw and the dark clouds shadowing her eyes. That hadn’t been her intention, and she had the irrational urge to ask her to stay.

Ordinarily, she was perfectly content with just her own company. In fact, she enjoyed being alone to read or write. That’s why she’d jumped at the chance to come here. Nevertheless, she found herself casting about for an excuse to keep Rooke from disappearing. “I appreciate you coming out in this miserable storm to check the roof. It’s almost morning. Why don’t you wait here until it’s light so you don’t have to drive in the dar—”

“I know these roads. It’s no problem.” Rooke tugged her ball cap out of the pocket of her leather jacket, yanked it low over her forehead, and pulled open the front door. A gust of wind blew snow into her face.

“Someone will be out later this morning. Good night.”

And just that quickly, the door slammed shut and Adrian was alone. She hurried to the window and looked out in time to see Rooke jump from the porch and disappear into the storm.

“Well, damn.”

• 54 •

SecretS in the Stone

ChapTER SiX

Rooke pulled through the ten-foot-high wrought-iron gates of Stillwater Cemetery and parked behind the two-story stone caretaker’s house with a palpable sense of relief. Even though the twelve-mile trip home had taken over an hour in the storm, the treacherous snow-covered roads hadn’t been nearly as difficult to navigate as the time she’d spent with Adrian Oakes. Black ice and snowdrifts were nothing compared to the unfamiliar territory of interacting with a stranger. She rarely had more than a five-minute conversation with anyone other than her grandfather, Emma, or Dominic—a guy her age who supervised the grounds crew at Stillwater. Her role at Stillwater mirrored her life, unfolding in solitude within the confines of her shop and centered in the heart of her art.

She worked for her grandfather, but he handled all the details of the bereavement process that required a personal touch—helping families to choose plots and coordinating services for interment with the funeral directors—as well as processing the orders for gravestones and mausoleums. He brought the work orders to Rooke, explaining what the family wanted, and together he and Rooke would map out the details for the stonework she would carve. The most Rooke had to interact with other people was when she directed family members to her grandfather’s small office or helped out the grounds crew when they were shorthanded. But even when she pitched in to mow grass, erect tents for services, or dig graves, she just worked. She didn’t socialize.

When they were teenagers, Dominic had tried to get her to go to parties and other social events with the small local crowd, but he eventually stopped asking after she refused time after time. Everyone in

• 55 •

RADcLY fFe

a village the size of Ford’s Crossing knew everyone else, and she knew she wouldn’t fit in.

Before tonight, she’d never spent time with a woman like Adrian—someone worldly and sophisticated. And beautiful and smart.

All the way home on the slow, torturous drive, Rooke thought about the things she should have said or done differently. She should have just followed Adrian’s orders and she probably would have made a better impression. It was Adrian’s house, after all. Except she was used to just doing what she knew how to do without asking for direction or opinions or assistance. The one thing she was good at was her job.

Of course, Adrian probably didn’t think so—not after she had to go and get her hand stuck in a crevice so she looked like a total incompetent. That bothered her almost as much as having Adrian take care of her.

Rooke parked the truck and climbed out. Midwinter, it was still dark at six a.m. and she didn’t know what to do with herself. She was too wired to sleep, too distracted to work, and it was still snowing too hard for her to take her morning run along the river. Quietly, she let herself into her grandfather’s kitchen and set about making coffee.

As she measured grounds into the metal basket of the percolator, she thought about Adrian making tea. Adrian had moved around the kitchen with quiet authority, doing everything with an economy of motion and brisk efficiency. She was so sure of herself. She said she traveled, and it sounded like the places she went were dangerous. Far from medical care, she said. Rooke wondered what that was like, being in a strange land, facing uncertain, possibly even life-threatening peril. She’d never been farther than the county line.

She wasn’t the kind of person Adrian would have any reason to befriend, but Adrian hadn’t hesitated to treat her injury. Rooke held the pot under the faucet, remembering how Adrian had held her hand under the warm water, gently washing the caked blood from around the cut.

Their hips and shoulders had touched while they leaned close together.

Adrian’s body had felt firm and strong, just as her hands were soft and sure. Rooke’s stomach was jittery again at the thought of Adrian’s thumbs gliding over her skin.

“You’re gonna spill that water all over the floor, you’re not careful,” a gravelly voice warned from behind her.

Rooke jumped and splashed water on her T-shirt. Cursing, she

• 56 •

SecretS in the Stone

shut off the faucet and poured the excess out of the pot, which had filled to overflowing while she was daydreaming.

“Hi, Pops.” She turned to greet her grandfather, who stood in the kitchen doorway. He wore his usual khaki work pants and faded blue plaid flannel shirt, but instead of his work boots, he had on the brown slippers she’d gotten him for Christmas. She got him new slippers every year for Christmas, and he got her new leather work gloves. In his early sixties, he looked a decade younger, still solid and sturdy. Even though his hairline was receding, his hair was still the same deep mahogany as hers. His eyes were blue, though, not dark like hers. She had her mother’s eyes, he always said.

“Win last night?” Rooke set the coffeepot on the burner.

“Beer money for a couple weeks.” He pulled out a chair at the square Formica-topped table in the corner and sat down. “Up kinda early, aren’t you?”

“I just came back from the Winchester place. Don’t feel like going back to bed.”

“Some reason you went in the middle of the night?”

Rooke fiddled with the flame on the gas stove until it was the right height under the coffeepot. “A call came in while you were out and I didn’t pick it up until later. There was a problem with the roof. Didn’t sound like it could wait.”

“You drive over there by yourself?”

His question had been casual, but she knew it wasn’t. “Yep.”

“You didn’t think about waking me up?”

“Come on, Pops.” Rooke couldn’t get angry at him for looking out for her, but she wasn’t a kid anymore. She needed to make her own decisions, and accept the consequences. “A back road with no traffic.

It’s no big deal.”

He studied her silently for a moment. “The roof, you say.”

“And the chimney.” Rooke leaned against the counter next to the stove. “A big tree came down and sheared off the chimney and the corner of the roof.”

“What happened to your hand?”

Rooke glanced down at the bandage. A quarter-sized spot of blood seeped through, leaving a dark crimson blotch on the white gauze.

“Snagged it on a piece of sheet metal. It’s nothing.”

“Looks like it’s bleeding.”

• 57 •

RADcLY fFe

“Adrian cleaned it up.” Rooke felt her face flush. “Dumb thing to do.”

Ronald Tyler shrugged. “Things happen. How bad’s the damage up there?”

“The roof needs covering. The fireplace is out of commission until the chimney’s repaired. I didn’t get much of a look at that, but a good couple weeks’ work at least.”

“What did Mrs. Winchester want us to do?”

Rooke frowned. “I don’t think she’s there. Just her granddaughter, Adrian. I didn’t get a look at the outside. Not enough to give her any kind of estimate.”

“The storm’s supposed to let up some later this morning. You plan on getting a tarp up there?”

“Yes.” Rooke wasn’t about to tell her grandfather that Adrian didn’t want her to do it. She was already embarrassed enough about her accident. “I thought I’d call Dom to give me a hand.”

“Sounds okay.” Ronald nodded toward the stove, where the coffee percolated vigorously. “You gonna pour some of that or just boil it to death?”

Rooke hadn’t even noticed the coffee about to spew out the spout and lunged to turn down the flame. She didn’t seem to have her head on straight, and she couldn’t figure out why. Nothing had seemed quite right since she’d met Adrian Oakes.

v

Melinda woke a little after seven, showered, and dressed in camel-colored slacks, a dark brown cashmere sweater, and low-heeled brown leather boots. She decided to leave her hair loose and, after finishing her makeup, walked down the three flights of stairs to the small dining room on the first floor of the hotel. On her way past the front desk, she thought of Becky. She’d left her just after three, dozing in a chair behind the desk in the office. Becky’s sexual reserves had been surprising, and Melinda had brought her to orgasm four times before Becky had slumped into her arms in an exhausted torpor. Becky would be pleasantly tired for a few days, but none the worse for the encounter. Melinda had gone to bed energized and, for the time being, nearly satisfied.