Whisper a Warning Page 5

  Rockford Harrison had been sitting in his office, at the usual place, looking out the window, as had become one of his favorite pastimes. He had seen the golden girl emerge from the realty office, and had watched in awe as she had crossed the street in those long, appealing strides, marching right up to his very office building.

  She had been in his dreams, and now she was in his foyer. But as seemed to be usual, things were not going well. He had heard the exchange between the blond and the rather forceful receptionist his uncle had employed to protect the firm members from unexpected clients. But he had heard the need in Willow’s voice, and the exasperation she felt. He felt drawn to her.

  Willow Blake, she had introduced herself. Reynolds Realty. He knew the identity of the golden girl. Without thinking about decorum, or propriety, for once in his life, Rockford jumped at the chance to meet the woman who intrigued him.

  Giving up on the receptionist, Willow had taken a deep breath, spun on her heel, and walked to the door. As her hand touched the knob, a low, chuckling voice could be heard behind her.

  “Ah, Ms. Blake. Perhaps I could be of some assistance in this matter.”

  She turned and looked into the deepest, darkest eyes she had ever seen, and almost instantly, felt her usually stable knees go weak. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. For some reason, all of her body parts seemed to be having difficulty in doing their job.

  “Porter Blank?” she said finally, almost in a whisper, eyes locked with his.

  “Not a chance. Harrison. Rockford Harrison. But perhaps I can help. Why don’t you come this way into my office.”

  “But Mr. Harrison—” began the dragon lady in a slighted, offended voice. “She has no appointment.”

  Rockford Harrison put back his head and laughed then, instantly noticing the way that Willow’s eyes lit up at the sound of his voice. Her eyes were doing something to him, deep down inside. He felt like he was a little short of oxygen, and it made him feel almost giddy.

  “It’s okay, Prudence,” he gentled the ruffled receptionist. “She has no appointment, but then again, I have practically no clients. So I don’t mind giving the time.” He smiled at the older lady, and she was instantly placated.

  “Well, if it’s no hardship, Mr. Harrison.”

  “None at all. We must go out of our way to keep our clients happy.” He took the astonished Willow by the arm and led her gently around the corner to his office, leaving a puzzled receptionist behind.

  “She doesn’t know how easy she got off,” he said with a conspiratorial wink at Willow. “I know a librarian who’s probably still trying to refile the books at the return desk from his encounter with you.”

  Willow blushed, then giggled. “You were there? I get a little carried away.”

  “It was inspirational. Several people who were in line did the same thing. The return pile overtook the desk. I doubt that that man will ever be rude to a customer again.”

  Willow laughed.

  “Now, again. I’m Rockford Harrison, another attorney for the firm. What can I help you with?”

  He stuck out his hand to shake hers, his large fingers curling around hers naturally, the warmth of his skin making her tingle. “Uh, I’m Willow Blake. From Reynolds Realty across the street. I received a surprise package of real estate papers from Mr. Porter this morning, and I have a lot of questions about the deal. I was hoping he could ease my mind.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Will he be in later? When do you think I could talk to him?”

  “Evidently, he called in last night and said he was taking a few days off. We don’t expect him until the day after tomorrow, from what I understand.”

  A wave of apprehension rushed over her, and it showed in her face.

  “Willow, what’s the problem? This looks serious.”

  “I have no idea if it’s serious or not. It’s just strange. And I get this funny feeling that things are just not right.”

  “Sit. Tell me.” He watched her fold her long legs and sit in one of the Queen Anne chairs that were placed around the room. She looked so good there, so natural.

  She eyed him carefully, amazed at the trust she felt for the handsome stranger. She told him the story about Charley Morse and the Burdetts. He listened attentively.

  “So maybe it’s worth a ride out to the farm. Maybe hearing the Burdetts’ explanation will make the thing clear. Or else. . .”

  “Or else I’ll know that there’s something wrong with the deal.”

  He nodded wordlessly.

  “Thanks,” she said, standing to go. “Thanks for listening. Even if you don’t have answers, it reaffirmed what I was thinking. I’ll go out there now and see them.”

  “Care for company?”

  She stopped dead in her tracks, meeting the magical eyes again. “You’d come?”

  “In a New York minute. Things are rather. . . slow around here.” He gestured around the spacious office. “This is the most excitement I’ve seen in a while.”

  She grinned at him, and his stomach immediately tightened. He was amazed at the effect she had on him. He wondered if she could tell.

  “Well, let’s go, counselor. I’m driving. Of course, you’re on your own clearing things with Prudence out there.”

  “I’m not afraid of Prudence. I’ll just threaten to leave you here to reshuffle her Rolodex file. That’ll keep her in line.”

  “Boy, you play hardball.”

  They escaped out the front door, ignoring the disapproving glance that Prudence offered. Practically running to the Miata sitting down the block, they were laughing by the time Willow pulled into the Main Street traffic.

  Feeling like an errant child who had escaped from school, Rockford looked over at the amazing woman who held the wheel. The wind was softly ruffling her short blond hair; her face was flushed and alive as she sang along to the radio. There was no pretense, no self-consciousness. She was just Willow, and she was beautiful. With a deep breath, he pulled his eyes away, watching the roadway, anxiously realizing that he was sorely in danger of losing his heart.

  Chapter Seven

  Silence was the first thing that Rockford noticed as they pulled the small car into the rutted driveway of the Burdett farm. He wasn’t used to solitude. Growing up on his family’s extensive estate north of New York, and then working in the bustling world of the city, he had never experienced the quiet that crept around them now.

  The car bounced along, making him grab onto the dashboard once or twice. They came to a stop near the front door of the farmhouse.

  “Boy, it’s lonely out here. I don’t see anybody.” Rock-ford looked around, noticing the rocking chairs on the porch, the painted butter churn standing in the flower garden. “But it’s nice.”

  “The pickup truck is gone. Maybe they’ve gone out.”

  They walked together up the worn porch steps, and Willow knocked on the door. As on her last trip, the wooden door stood open, and the screen door was closed.

  “Mrs. Burdett? Mr. Burdett? Are you here? It’s Willow Blake.” She peered in through the screen, listening for any kitchen sounds that might be heard. But all they heard was silence.

  “Something’s wrong. I can feel it. They’re not here. The door’s wide open, the truck’s gone. . . .” She could hear the anxiety in her own voice.

  “Don’t get worried, Willow. Probably she’s in the bathroom, or upstairs.” He raised his hand, and pounded hard on the door frame. “Hello? Hello?” The deep timbre of his voice echoed through the house. No one answered. If they were home, they would have heard it.

  With a quick movement, Willow scooted past him, pushing open the screen door, and slipping down the hall to the kitchen.

  “Willow, come back here. You can’t go prancing into people’s houses. It’s against the law.” His feet started following her, against his better judgment.

  Willow’s voice was grim. “Maybe for you, Harrison, but not for me. Something’s wrong here, and I’m r
eally worried. I want to look around.”

  “Can you imagine what these poor people will say if they pull in here, and you’re slinking around their house? You don’t have any cause for this. You’re letting your imagination get the best of you.”

  “At least I have an imagination.” She was in the kitchen now. It was stone silent, with sunny rays coming in the back window and making a pattern on the linoleum floor. “I also have a signed agreement of sale for this property, listing me as the realtor of record. I think the deal stinks, but meanwhile, I have an obligation to look out for the people I represent.”

  His eyes narrowed, as he watched her move around. He followed her, having no idea what she was up to. She paused by the kitchen sink, where an empty bushel basket sat on the counter. She opened the fridge, which held only a few supplies. She looked in the oven and found it empty and cold.

  “There are no pies. Something’s going on.”

  Rockford looked at her as if she had rocks in her head. She turned and looked straight into his eyes, and he could see the emotion there. Something inside of him contracted, and he had to fight the urge to put an arm around her.

  He was practical, instead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The pies. She was going to make pies yesterday. Said she’d bring us some. The apples are gone, but there’s no pies. Somebody took the pies.”

  Was he dealing with a fruitcake?

  “Willow, maybe they are delivering the pies right now, did you think of that?”

  Her eyes flashed relief for a minutes, wanting to accept his explanation. But then she started darting around the kitchen, looking in the cabinets under the sink. She pulled out an empty trash can, staring at it for a minute.

  “Find the trash. Go out and find the trash cans. I have to go around back and look for something.”

  He followed her out the door, feeling like he had stepped into some fantasy. A gorgeous blond had instructed him to find the trash cans, and he was going to obey. He had no idea why, and he didn’t much care. But he found the cans. They were right by the back door.

  “Trash cans, Willow.” She had moved away from the house, toward the barn, but she came running back. He pulled the lid off the metal container. The smell of apples rose to greet them.

  “Just apple cores and peelings.”

  “I knew it. I could just feel it. Call the police.”

  He blew out his breath slowly. “One more time. I’m sure this is significant, and it’s some gigantic flaw in my reasoning that I’m not following you, but humor me. Why are we calling the police about the apple cores?”

  “Because the Burdetts didn’t put them there. Something’s happened to them, and it must have happened last night when she was making pies. Farmers like the Burdetts don’t throw out apple remnants, Rockford. They’d either feed them to the animals, or bury them in the compost pile. Somebody else did that. Somebody cleaned up, and tried to make it look like things were all right. . . but they’re not.” She started walking determinedly toward the barn.

  “Dare I ask. . .” He had to walk quickly to keep up with her long strides. He shuddered as he watched the dust flurry around his black wing tips as he stepped quickly to her side.

  “I’ve got to check the animals. The Burdetts love their critters.”

  The barn door creaked loudly as she pulled it open, and slipped inside into its cool darkness. The pungent smell of animal mixed with the sweet odor of hay filled his nostrils. Believe it or not, Rockford Harrison was in a barn.

  Instantly, Willow was all over the place. She removed the long green jacket of her suit, and hung it on a wooden peg by the door. Talking lowly and smoothly, she approached the two horses that stood silently in their stalls. He followed her, mesmerized, and watched her nonstop action.

  “Attaboy, good boy,” she cooed, as she filled a food bucket with some kind of grain and then ran a long hose to the stalls and filled the two water troughs. The horses watched her with mournful eyes, seeming to accept her ministrations. The horses didn’t exactly look like the specimens in the movies, gallant and energetic and charging with the cavalry on their backs. These looked more like candidates for the glue factory. Advanced age, and graying noses. But what did he know? This was the closest he had ever been to a horse in his life. He kept his thoughts to himself.

  He followed her to a shed attached to the side of the barn, where she flung a few handfuls of grain to the chickens who began squawking as soon as they came into sight.

  “I can’t believe this. This is awful. We’ve got to find these people. These animals need care.”

  She headed back into the barn with Rockford still trotting after her. “Are we done here? Should we go back into town?”

  That was wishful thinking on his part. “We’ve got to take care of the cows. They’re already going to be in bad shape.”

  Take care of the cows? “Cows? Do we need to feed them?”

  “First we have to milk them.” She had grabbed two aluminum buckets from the wall, and had tucked two stools under her arm. She headed to the back of the barn, and pushed open the back door. Sunlight poured in, illuminating the stalls they had not visited yet. Two giant black-and-white creatures came into view. Cows. She scurried around them, and he heard her swear gently at what she found.

  She turned toward him, holding out a bucket, not saying a word. He stared at her.

  “You have to be kidding. Tell me you’re kidding.”

  “These cows missed their early morning milking, and they’re in bad shape. We don’t have time to find somebody else to do the job . . . it just needs to be done.”

  He still stared at her blankly.

  “Uh, my suit. This is an Italian import. Pure silk. My shirt is custom-made. I’m already wondering if I’ll ever get the smell of this barn out of my clothes.”

  He saw the disappointment in her eyes, and his jaw tensed.

  “Really, Willow, I’m not a farmer. I’m an attorney. I don’t do cows. Let’s go and find somebody who can take care of these cows.”

  “I already found somebody who can take care of these cows. Me. If you don’t want to help, that’s okay. But I’m going to get the job done. I just thought it would cut down on the time.”

  Her eyes were blazing, and they were a most remarkable color, even in the dimness of the barn. They met his with an intensity that rocked him to his bones, and he felt his heart begin to hammer.

  “You’re not worried about your clothes?” He gestured to the lacy camisole she wore over her suit skirt.

  She smiled then, raising a hand that was smudged with barn dirt from carrying the stools. With deliberation, she wiped her hand on the side of her skirt, leaving a trail of dirt behind.

  “I never worry about my clothes, counselor,” she said softly, those hypnotic eyes meeting his again. “Clothes are only props. But life is a priority. I only worry about helpless people, and helpless animals, and I help whenever I can. And right now I’m worried about Mr. Burdett’s cows. It’s the principle of the thing. So excuse me while I milk.”

  She squatted on a stool by the farthest cow, and within seconds, he could hear her gentle cooing, and hear the rhythmic sound of the milk splashing into the bucket.

  He sighed just once, filling his lungs with air that reeked of barn, and peeled off his coat. Cuff links clinked into his pants pocket, and shirtsleeves were soon rolled up to his elbows. He said a prayer for his wing tips, and then stepped to the bucket and stool that stood next to the second cow.

  “Okay, Willow, talk me through this thing.”

  So she did. He listened; he followed directions. He milked the cow. It really wasn’t so bad, he realized, once you got the hang of it. He could almost feel the relief of the cow as the bucket filled and the strain left her udders. “It’s okay, girl,” he said gently, and was rewarded by a soft moo. He couldn’t believe how happy he felt.

  His back was stiff by the time he was finished, from sitting tensely hunched over on the
little stool. His suit, he figured, was going to be a casualty—his aim hadn’t been too perfect when he’d first begun. But his shirt would clean up, and probably his shoes, too, for that matter. But Willow had been absolutely right—it wasn’t important.

  With bucket in hand, he turned and faced her. Her face was dirty, but smiling, and he felt a wave of emotion as he looked at her.

  “It’s the principle of the thing,” she had said. Just like Peter. He had scoffed at Peter so many times, instead of taking his example. But today he had listened to Willow, and he had learned a lot. Peter would like that.

  “We probably should dump the milk. The buckets weren’t sterilized, and we don’t want to risk making more problems. But we kept the cows healthy, and that’s what counts.” She put things away, and began closing up the barn. “I’ll have Maggie contact someone if we can’t find the Burdetts.”

  They walked silently to the car, holding their jackets. She turned suddenly to him, and he almost ran into her. They were standing face-to-face, just inches apart. “You did a great job in there, Rockford. I know that’s not your thing, but you got the job done. Thanks.” She leaned up then, just slightly because she was so tall, and placed a soft, quick kiss on his surprised lips.

  Then she opened the car door and quickly hopped inside, leaving him next to the car. Stunned, he stepped around the car, and got into the passenger seat. He wanted more than a kiss. He was absolutely astonished with himself.

  The car bounced back down the lane to the road, and he watched her profile as she concentrated on the road before her. She was magnificent, breathtaking. He wished he knew what she was thinking.

  The truth was, Willow was thinking many things. She was thinking about the Burdetts, and how she was going to get the police to pay attention to their sudden disappearance. She was thinking about the animals, and how she was going to have them taken care of in their owners’ absence.

  But mostly, she was thinking of the tall, dark, handsome lawyer who was sitting in the car next to her. There was something about him that set her on fire, and she was more than uncomfortable about it. She had kissed him almost to spite herself, to prove to herself that it didn’t matter. But it did. It mattered. He mattered. And it was causing feelings in her that were new and unsettling.