Shadowed Stranger

Robyn stood up at last, dropping the glass and sticky rags into the bin in the corner of the room. It was still sticky on the floor, but if Rick Howarth wanted it any cleaner he could damn well do it himself.

‘I was going away,’ she snapped. ‘I am going away, and I don’t intend coming back again—ever!’ She moved to the table, taking the lid off the tin. ‘I’ll just leave these with you,’ she slammed the dishes down on the table. ‘If you could return the crockery when you’ve finished with it I’m sure my mother would be grateful.’ She made a great clatter, deliberately so, as she put the lid back on the tin, just wanting to get away from this rude, ungrateful pig of a man.

He came over to look at the casserole and the pie. ‘What’s this?’ he rasped, his eyes narrowed.

Heavens, anyone would think they were trying to poison him! ‘What does it look like?’ she derided, sighing at his blank expression. ‘It’s food, Mr Howarth. Chicken,’ she indicated the deepest dish. ‘Apple,’ she pointed to the other one.

‘What’s it doing here?’

‘My mother thought you were in need of sustenance.’ She gave the impression that she personally couldn’t give a damn if he expired of starvation in front of her eyes.

His mouth tightened, his eyes glacial. ‘Your mother?’

‘Mrs Castle. She runs the village shop,’ Robyn explained with sarcastic patience.

‘Ah yes, I remember her,’ he nodded, his gaze sharpening. ‘And who gave her the impression that I looked in need of being fed?’

Once again colour stained her cheeks. ‘Well—I—–’

‘You did,’ he accused. ‘Well, I don’t need any hand-outs, Miss Castle,’ he told her furiously, his eyes glittering dangerously. ‘So you can tell your mother—–’

‘No, Mr Howarth, you can tell her, when you return the dishes.’ She walked to the door, two bright spots of angry colour in her cheeks. ‘I’m certainly got going to tell her what an ungrateful swine you are!’ and she flung open the door.

‘Just a minute,’ he ground out, grasping her arm in exactly the same place as before, adding further bruises she was sure. ‘Don’t be in such a hurry to leave.’

‘But you said—–’

‘I didn’t ask you to leave.’

‘You were rude about my mother,’ she flared. ‘She was only trying to be friendly, and you threw her gesture back in her face.’

‘Okay, okay.’ He let go of her arm, running a hand round the back of his neck in a weary gesture, looking down helplessly at the casserole. ‘Maybe I was a little ungrateful.’

‘A little?’ she scoffed.

‘Okay, I was rude,’ he accepted with a sigh.

‘You were, very.’

His mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile, the first lessening of his harshness that she had seen. ‘Don’t go over the top, Miss Castle,’ he drawled. ‘Just tell me what I have to do with this,’ he indicated the casserole, ‘to be able to eat it.’

Robyn frowned. ‘You heat it up.’

‘How?’ he asked helplessly.

She searched his hard face for any sign of mockery, but could see none. ‘You really don’t know how?’

‘I would hardly be asking if I did,’ he derided.

‘But I—You—Surely you must have been eating something in the time you’ve been here?’ She was incredulous at the thought of him not eating at all, although the whipcord leanness of him didn’t seem to indicate that he had been over-indulging.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘The odd sandwich. And apples.’ He held up the apples he had brought in with him. ‘My dinner—I ran out of bread this morning.’

Robyn shook her head. ‘That’s ridiculous! What are you trying to do, kill yourself?’

Rick Howarth’s face darkened. ‘Mind your own damned business, Miss Castle,’ he rasped angrily, his features once again hard. ‘My eating habits are none of your concern.’

‘My comment wasn’t meant literally,’ she told him coldly, her head held high in challenge. ‘Although you don’t look well,’ she added daringly, waiting for the explosion.

It didn’t come; his face was suddenly pale. ‘I don’t feel well,’ he admitted shakily, swaying slightly on his feet.

Robyn rushed to his side, her arm going supportively about his waist. Although if he did pass out she would never be able to hold him up! ‘Sit down,’ she instructed firmly, envisaging an argument and not getting one as he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down. ‘When did you last eat?’ she asked concernedly.

‘I told you, I had the last of the bread this morning.’

She really didn’t like the look of him, he was very pale. ‘How much?’ she probed.

He shrugged. ‘One slice, I think.’

‘And before that?’

‘I had some apples yesterday,’ he said after a moment’s thought.

Robyn sighed. ‘No wonder you’re feeling weak! I’ll heat up the casserole for you if you’ll just sit there.’

His mouth twisted. ‘I wasn’t thinking of going anywhere.’

She was conscious of him watching her as she moved about the kitchen, miraculously finding a saucepan, a plate and some cutlery. The cooker was a very old model, probably left here by old Mrs Bird who had last lived here. But at least the cooker worked, that was something.

She turned round to find Rick Howarth still watching her, obviously completely recovered from the weakness that had suddenly washed over him. ‘Will you stop staring at me?’ she said irritably, muttering to herself as she burnt her finger on the rim of the saucepan. ‘Now look what you’ve made me do,’ she accused crossly, backing away as he stood up to come towards her, very dark and overwhelming in the close confines of this small room.

‘Let me see.’ He held out his hand for hers.

She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘I want to see,’ he repeated firmly.

Robyn thrust her hand at him, gritting her teeth as he took his time inspecting it. She surreptitiously watched him beneath lowered lashes. He really was a very handsome individual, so much so that it gave her the butterflies just to be near him. But there was a mystery about him, one that made her feel nervous of being alone with him like this. After all, she didn’t know the first thing about him.

His mouth twisted derisively. ‘Just a superficial burn.’ He dropped her hand, his touch having been gentle but firm.

‘I could have told you that!’ She turned back to the cooker, her emotions disturbed as she served the casserole on to a plate before putting it down on the table.

‘Thanks.’ He sat down and began eating, slowly at first, and then with increasing appetite. ‘This is very good,’ he looked up long enough to say appreciatively.

‘I’m sure my mother will be glad to hear that,’ Robyn snapped sarcastically.

He sighed. ‘Look, I’ve apologised—–’