being lonely, but suddenly it was no longer a joke. After only a few days on her own with no sister and no students and only a surly neighbor to talk to, she was ready to cry her eyes out.
“It's got to get better,” she whispered to herself as she marinated the chicken in Italian dressing.
She thought of the dance next Thursday and wondered what her chances were of running into the three idiots who had accosted her that day. Or worse, of running into any of the neighbors she had met thus far.
She put the chicken in the oven and stuck some potatoes in the microwave to bake. She made a salad, some rolls, a steamer full of broccoli, and took out a cheesecake to thaw. In the back of her mind she knew she wasn't going to eat all of it herself, and when she saw Renard's truck pull in that evening she had the plate all ready. She carried the food down to his cabin and knocked on his door. His expression was one of irritated disbelief when he opened the door and saw her standing there. She could tell it was a struggle for him to resist shutting the door in her face.
“Is there a problem?”
She held up the plate. “In return for sharing your newspaper, I've brought you some supper.”
He only looked at the plate before excusing himself. A moment later he returned and opened the door to hand a paper to her. He made no move to relieve her of the plate.
“I told you I would share the paper.”
“Yes, and I'm sorry you mistook my meaning about how we would go about it.”
There was no response, and as the silence lengthened Madeleine began to feel ridiculously stupid standing there with a complete chicken dinner in her hand and having it rejected by a man who was probably salivating at the sight of the tin foil.
“Take the food, Eris. Can't you see I'm trying to repay you for your kindnesses to me?”
His lids blinked at her use of his name. Still he said nothing, and still he made no move to take the plate.
She wanted to throw it at him, but instead she put it down at her feet and turned wordlessly away, clenching her teeth all the while and silently calling him every vile name she could think of. He wasn't about to make anything easy for her. He was probably still punishing her for their first meeting, and her initial response to him.
Fine. She could handle it. She had dealt with any number of mute, recalcitrant males in her time, and she could deal with this one. It might actually prepare her in a way for going back into the field. She needed all the help she could get for that.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Eris sat in his recliner eating the meal Madeleine Heron had given him and had to fight to keep from wolfing it down. Everything tasted so good he was nearly drowning in the juices from his mouth and stomach. She had stacked the plate high with two of everything, and by the time he was finished he had to unfasten the top of his trousers.
He lay back in the recliner and let the food settle in his stomach while he tried to recall when last he had eaten so well. It had been a long time.
The plate sat on the porch about thirty seconds before the smell got to him. He was starving, as usual, and had been about to stick a frozen dinner into the microwave when she knocked on his door. The temptation to shut it in her face had been great, but that would mean she was getting to him, and if Sherman Tanner, the slimy Earthworm, didn't get to him, then no blonde-haired, aristocratic ex-professor of anthropology was going to get to him.
He thought of how large and dark her eyes had looked as she stood there on his porch. How small the wrists were that held the plate. She wasn't very big, but she could certainly be imposing. Her soft feminine features could go hard as rock in an instant, something the three jerks who had stopped for her that day found out. Eris had seen them around, had seen them out on their boat, and knew the way they liked to party. He despised man-handlers of women, and his threat to the three
“It's got to get better,” she whispered to herself as she marinated the chicken in Italian dressing.
She thought of the dance next Thursday and wondered what her chances were of running into the three idiots who had accosted her that day. Or worse, of running into any of the neighbors she had met thus far.
She put the chicken in the oven and stuck some potatoes in the microwave to bake. She made a salad, some rolls, a steamer full of broccoli, and took out a cheesecake to thaw. In the back of her mind she knew she wasn't going to eat all of it herself, and when she saw Renard's truck pull in that evening she had the plate all ready. She carried the food down to his cabin and knocked on his door. His expression was one of irritated disbelief when he opened the door and saw her standing there. She could tell it was a struggle for him to resist shutting the door in her face.
“Is there a problem?”
She held up the plate. “In return for sharing your newspaper, I've brought you some supper.”
He only looked at the plate before excusing himself. A moment later he returned and opened the door to hand a paper to her. He made no move to relieve her of the plate.
“I told you I would share the paper.”
“Yes, and I'm sorry you mistook my meaning about how we would go about it.”
There was no response, and as the silence lengthened Madeleine began to feel ridiculously stupid standing there with a complete chicken dinner in her hand and having it rejected by a man who was probably salivating at the sight of the tin foil.
“Take the food, Eris. Can't you see I'm trying to repay you for your kindnesses to me?”
His lids blinked at her use of his name. Still he said nothing, and still he made no move to take the plate.
She wanted to throw it at him, but instead she put it down at her feet and turned wordlessly away, clenching her teeth all the while and silently calling him every vile name she could think of. He wasn't about to make anything easy for her. He was probably still punishing her for their first meeting, and her initial response to him.
Fine. She could handle it. She had dealt with any number of mute, recalcitrant males in her time, and she could deal with this one. It might actually prepare her in a way for going back into the field. She needed all the help she could get for that.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Eris sat in his recliner eating the meal Madeleine Heron had given him and had to fight to keep from wolfing it down. Everything tasted so good he was nearly drowning in the juices from his mouth and stomach. She had stacked the plate high with two of everything, and by the time he was finished he had to unfasten the top of his trousers.
He lay back in the recliner and let the food settle in his stomach while he tried to recall when last he had eaten so well. It had been a long time.
The plate sat on the porch about thirty seconds before the smell got to him. He was starving, as usual, and had been about to stick a frozen dinner into the microwave when she knocked on his door. The temptation to shut it in her face had been great, but that would mean she was getting to him, and if Sherman Tanner, the slimy Earthworm, didn't get to him, then no blonde-haired, aristocratic ex-professor of anthropology was going to get to him.
He thought of how large and dark her eyes had looked as she stood there on his porch. How small the wrists were that held the plate. She wasn't very big, but she could certainly be imposing. Her soft feminine features could go hard as rock in an instant, something the three jerks who had stopped for her that day found out. Eris had seen them around, had seen them out on their boat, and knew the way they liked to party. He despised man-handlers of women, and his threat to the three
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