Teacher's Pet Read online

  “Something did happen to him.” Denzil snorted. “He got loaded and forgot where he was supposed to be.”

  “Do you think so?” Tawney looked worried. “Do you think he’s really lost?”

  “Sure he is,” Denzil said solemnly. “Why… he could be anywhere.” He went over to a pot on the stove and cautiously lifted off the lid. “William? William, are you in there?”

  “I’m going,” Kate announced. “Where do you want to meet?”

  “Out front. Two hours.” Denzil looked immensely pleased with himself. “So is this a private meeting? Just a one-on-one critique? Just a cozy little twosome kind of talk?”

  “Business,” Kate reminded him. “Strictly business.”

  Gideon was already there when she reached the cabin. He was sitting at one of the tables, his head bent over a stack of papers, Pet sprawled at his feet. At the sound of Kate’s footsteps, he looked up and stopped her in the doorway with his smile.

  “Kate. I was afraid you’d back out on me.”

  “I’m tough.” Kate grinned. “I can take it.”

  “Then you’re going to be awfully disappointed if you’ve prepared yourself for negatives. Your work is exceptionally good.”

  Kate couldn’t keep from blushing. She busied herself taking off her jacket and jumped nervously as Gideon patted a chair.

  “Sit down. We’ll go over your manuscript page by page.”

  Kate nodded, then hesitated, biting her lip. “Gideon?”

  “Yes.”

  “I heard… I mean… I hope you don’t think I’m being nosy or anything, but have you heard anything about William?”

  For a moment Gideon said nothing, his head bowed once again over his work. One hand lay outstretched beside the papers, and as she watched, his fingers curled, one by one, into a fist.

  “No, I haven’t,” he said quietly. “But thank you.” When he didn’t speak again, Kate sat down, her voice anxious.

  “If you’re worried about the class, don’t be. Everyone’s really glad you took it over. Just the fact that you were nice enough to show up was way more than anyone—”

  “It’s all right, Kate. I know you’re trying to help.” He looked up then, catching her in the deep violet glow of his eyes. “William and I aren’t close. In fact,” he looked away, “I don’t much care for him at all.”

  Kate didn’t know what to say. Feeling foolish for having intruded, she fidgeted in her chair and waited for him to go on.

  “To be truthful, I’m not sure William has any real friends,” Gideon said offhandedly. “Just leeches and hangers-on that tell him what he wants to hear.”

  “Oh. I thought maybe he was a recluse. Like a lot of writers are.”

  “He’s an alcoholic and a tyrant. He lives on dreams that will never come true because he won’t try.”

  “But… he did write that one book—”

  “He didn’t,” Gideon said, facing her again. “It was my novel that was published. My novel under his name.”

  Kate’s mouth dropped open. “But… why? I don’t understand.”

  “It was part of an agreement,” Gideon said, shuffling his papers, tapping them edgewise on the table. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, and it’s certainly nothing for you to concern yourself with. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’d rather you just forget this whole unpleasant conversation about William.” It was said so dispassionately that Kate stared at him. “We’re here to talk about your story now and your talent. You are very talented, Kate. I think that with a little luck, you’ll have a brilliant future ahead if you stick with your writing. You show perceptions far beyond your years.”

  “Why… I—” Kate stammered, surprised. “It’s just a story, just a class assignment—”

  “It has depth. Feeling. Trust me, Kate.” Gideon smiled. “It’s really very good.”

  Kate looked down, her hands twisting in her lap. “Well… thank you.”

  “You’re blushing.” Gideon sounded amused. “And there’s no reason to. Although you’re very pretty when you do.”

  Kate stared hard at the table, concentrated on the grain of the wood, the pencil marks, the ink stains.

  “I am embarrassing you. I’m sorry. I’ll get on with your story, and then you can take your eyes off that table.”

  Relieved, Kate forgot her self-consciousness and concentrated on Gideon’s critique. It was good to get his perspective on her work, constructive criticism from someone other than Miss Bunceton or her creative writing class. She’d always hoped, deep down, that she was good—but now, listening to Gideon, she believed she could be a writer, that her dream could come true. As he turned the last page, her mind soared with promise, and her heart felt ready to burst.

  “The end,” Gideon said softly. “But, of course, it’s only the beginning for you.”

  “Do you really think I’m good? That I could be good?” She knew she sounded silly and overeager, but she couldn’t hold back her excitement.

  “You are good. Today. Here and now. And with dedication, you’ll only get better.”

  Kate leaned back in her chair, eyes glowing. There was something so magical about Gideon—the spell he wove with his soft voice and his calm, gentle eyes that made time seem to stop and the world seem right again.

  “I feel like walking,” Gideon said, and stood up, stretching. “It’s a beautiful morning. Walk with me, Kate.”

  “Well….” She glanced at her watch. Denzil had said two hours, yet she didn’t feel like leaving yet… or giving up the wonderful feeling she had inside.

  “I have to be back soon,” she admitted reluctantly. “I’m meeting some friends.”

  “That’s no problem. This won’t take long.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “The woods are beautiful this time of morning.” He winked. “I know trails you wouldn’t even dream of.”

  A sudden flash went through her mind: the gloomy house beyond the fence, the whispering figure in black. She’d been trying so hard not to think about it, but now she shivered as he took her arm and led her away from the cabin.

  “Cold?” Gideon glanced down, yet even as Kate shook her head, he slipped one arm around her shoulders and smiled. “It never gets very warm under all these trees—the sun just can’t get through. I suppose that’s one of the reasons I love it so much. It’s so dark… so mysterious.” He glanced down at her again, his expression thoughtful. “Anything could happen in here. Anything. And no one would ever know.”

  Kate felt a chill go up her spine and told herself it was only the weather. “It sounds like you’re plotting a story,” she laughed.

  “Does it?” Gideon looked amused. “Well, I’m more than glad to share. Perhaps you can store this lovely place away in your memory and use it someday. Perhaps I’ll be in there, as well.” For a moment his eyes looked deeply into hers, then he shook his head. “How presumptuous of me. I apologize.”

  “You don’t have to.” Kate looked away, embarrassed. “How did you ever decide to be a writer?”

  “Sometimes I think I was ill-fated,” Gideon chuckled. “We were a very creative family. My parents were in the theater, and we used to write and act out plays at home.” He guided her around a fallen log, smiling at the memory. “William had the ego, the self-centeredness. He loved to show off. Pearce—oh, yes, we go way back—he was superb at imitation… he could look and sound like anyone and anything. His parents worked for mine—his father was our caretaker and his mother was our cook—but he was like a brother to me. More a brother to me than William ever was….” His voice faded, some long-ago emotion softening it even more. “How grand we were then. How very ignorant of our mortality.” He plucked a dead leaf, crunching it between his fingers. “My parents died in an accident. Pearce’s parents had gone to pick them up from the airport, and it was raining. They came to a railroad crossing guard that wasn’t working. All four of them were killed instantly.”

  Kate closed her eyes against his pain, against t
he brutal story that had no place here in this safe, peaceful world.

  “William, my steady older brother, took to drinking instead of responsibilities, and the family nest egg got frittered away bit by bit to pay off his debts. Now we have the camp, which we rent out, and the summer home, where William holds court. I teach classes at a private school, several towns north of here—and then, of course, there’s my writing, which hardly allows us to live like kings.”

  “And your summer home—” Kate stopped, biting her lip. Again Rowena’s warning came back to her, and she thought carefully before adding, “Is it… very near here?”

  Was it her imagination or did Gideon’s glance seem unusually sharp? His arm slid from her shoulder and he held back a low branch for her to pass under.

  “It’s back in the woods away from everything. Guests would not be welcome, I’m afraid. William’s very… unpredictable.”

  Kate waited for him to catch up. “What about Pearce?”

  “He takes care of the camp. The rest of the time he does labor… odd jobs down in the village and towns nearby. He’s an excellent craftsman… excellent with his hands. This was all woodland when we were children—Pearce’s father cleared it all out, and he and Pearce built most of the cabins themselves. Pearce took over after he died.”

  “So that’s where you stay when you’re here?” Kate tried to sound casual. “In your summerhouse, I mean? You and Pearce?”

  Gideon cast her a curious glance. “Pearce has his own cabin in the woods. But yes, we both stay there if we need to.”

  Then it must be the same house.

  “Just the two of you? No one else?”

  “Well… William, of course.” Gideon shrugged. “And his strange assortment of women friends from time to time.”

  “Oh?”

  “An odd bunch, if ever there was one. Very much into the macabre.” Gideon shook his head. “That’s why Pearce stays clear of the place for the most part. I believe he refers to them as Horror Groupies. I despise them being there.”

  Of course… then that explains it… Rowena must be one of William’s weird friends…. Catching Gideon’s eye upon her, Kate hurriedly changed the subject. “I’m always so interested in big families. I don’t have brothers or sisters.”

  “I’d hardly call us a family.”

  Kate studied the leaf-deep path at her feet. “Oh, but your life would be so interesting to so many people. Why don’t you write a book about it?”

  “I can’t, can I?” Gideon smiled mysteriously. “Since I don’t know yet how it ends.” As Kate gave him a curious glance, he added, “You’re the storyteller, Kate. Tell me how it ends.”

  “Well”—she laughed self-consciously, not sure what he meant—“I’m not that good at plotting. I sort of put things down when they come into my mind.”

  “Ah. An instinctive writer. I see.” Gideon nodded, more to himself than to her. “You’re very good with your instincts. And with fear.” His eyes lowered, settling on her face. “You’re very good with fear.”

  “Fear?” Kate gave a laugh, shrugging her shoulders. “Everyone should be able to write about fear, shouldn’t they? Everyone’s afraid of something.”

  “Yes, it’s sad, isn’t it,” Gideon said quietly. “Fear is such a stealthy thing… it can consume you slowly.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “And you, Kate… what are you afraid of?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She walked faster, suddenly wishing he’d change the subject. “I kind of like being scared.”

  “And nothing really frightens you?”

  “Oh, well, sure.” She laughed nervously. “Being trapped. Bad surprises. Hopeless situations, things like—”

  Stopping suddenly, she spun around, searching the deep, silent woods.

  “Did you hear something?”

  Gideon’s expression was startled. “No. What did you hear?”

  “It sounded like footsteps. Like someone following us.”

  “No one could be following us, Kate. None of the guests even know about this path—it’s not on the map.”

  “But I heard something… I know I did.”

  “The wind, most likely.” Gideon’s voice was casual, but as Kate looked up at him, a muscle moved in his cheek. He glanced away, his eyes quickly sweeping their surroundings. “Only the wind. Come on.”

  Without warning his hand closed around hers, and a strange thrill went through her fingertips, driving all fearful thoughts from her mind. His touch was so strong, yet so gentle, and from time to time she stole a look at his handsome profile when she was sure he wasn’t looking. I can’t believe I’m here… I can’t believe this is really happening….

  “Kate?”

  “Yes?” She flushed, realizing she’d missed something.

  “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said. Are you still worrying about that noise you thought you heard?” His hands lifted to her shoulders and he turned her to face him, looking down with a teasing smile. “Is all this talk about fear upsetting you?”

  She tried to look away but couldn’t. “No. Of course not—I’m not afraid—”

  His fingers reached gently, caressing her hair, her cheek. His smile faded, going pensive as he stared at her. “At least, not of me, I hope. You’re not afraid of me, are you, Kate?”

  She opened her mouth to answer… felt his lips upon hers, taking her breath away… and as Gideon’s mouth moved to her chin… to her throat… she gasped and felt his arms around her, urging her nearer.

  “Gideon,” she mumbled, but no sound came out, and warmth and weakness rushed over her as he lifted his head at last and held her close.

  It seemed forever that they stood there. Around them the forest stirred with secret rustlings. As Gideon finally loosened his hold and stepped away, Kate smoothed her blouse with shaky fingers.

  “Come on,” Gideon said. “I thought you had to meet someone.”

  “Yes,” Kate murmured, “yes, I should get back…”

  He didn’t take her hand this time. He walked ahead, his face lowered, and occasionally cast a look back to make sure she was following. A hundred emotions raged through Kate as she stared at the lines of his back… at his sure, easy walk. She could still feel the warmth of his lips upon hers, and in sudden embarrassment she tripped over an exposed tree root and went sprawling onto the trail.

  “Kate, are you all right?”

  Gideon was beside her in an instant, his arms beneath her, pulling her up. As Kate struggled to get her footing, something in the underbrush caught her eye and she froze, a surge of anger bringing her wildly to her feet.

  “Denzil! I should have known!”

  Thrown off balance by her unexpected rage, Gideon grabbed for a tree and stared at Kate as though she’d lost her mind.

  “Kate—in heaven’s name—what—?”

  “He’s been here!” Kate sputtered. “I told you I heard something—and now he’s playing that stupid joke again—”

  “What joke? What are you talking about?”

  “That stupid glove!” To Gideon’s dismay, Kate made a dive into the weeds and came up with something in her hand. “See this?” She waved it under his nose, seething. “Denzil must have done it. He had to have done it!”

  Gideon watched as she hurled the thing onto the ground. “What stupid glove? And who is Denzil?”

  “Denzil Doyle,” Kate muttered. “Oh, just wait till I get him! He works in the kitchen. He’s in your class with me.”

  “Doyle… Doyle…” Gideon nodded. “Yes, of course, I just couldn’t place the name with the face for a moment, but of course I know who he is.”

  Kate took a deep breath. “You do?”

  “I had him in a summer class.” Gideon cast her a rueful look. “I’m rather afraid he didn’t much like me.”

  “You had him for a class?”

  “Yes, at a conference here, as a matter of fact. I remember it distinctly—I didn’t think he was very good. Oh, don’t get me wrong, his ideas were passing, bu
t the execution….” Gideon shook his head. “To be perfectly honest, I’m very surprised to see him in a class of mine again. We had some heated discussions last time around. He was very opinionated.”

  “And he has a sick sense of humor.” Kate glowered down at the thing in the dirt. “But he’s not very clever—I mean, this proves he planted that other glove by my cabin.”

  “Please.” Gideon held up his hands, approaching her cautiously. “Will you please tell me what you’re talking about?”

  “This glove.” Kate picked it up by one limp finger. “Yesterday by my cabin, Pet had a glove just like this, only it—well….” Somehow, repeating it now in front of Gideon made it sound all the more ridiculous. “When I took it from her, it had… I mean, it felt like it had a—Gideon, what’s wrong?”

  In alarm, Kate saw the color slowly drain from Gideon’s face, his eyes fixed wide upon the glove in her hand.

  “Gideon?”

  “Let me see that,” he murmured, and as Kate held it out to him, she could see his fingers trembling ever so slightly.

  “Gideon, what is it?” Her voice rose anxiously as he turned the glove over and over in his hand, running one thumb over the thick seams… the dark stains….

  “See?” Cautiously she touched one of them, a dark splotch of reddish-brown that had seeped through to the inside lining. “The other one—”

  “What about the other one?” He didn’t sound like Gideon anymore… his voice was low and strangely hoarse….

  “The hand,” Kate murmured, and she didn’t even realize that she had taken a step back from him, away from that strange, pasty look on his face. “There was a hand inside. Only it was a joke. I’m sure it was… Gideon?”

  “I know this,” he mumbled.

  “What?”

  “This glove… it’s—” Abruptly he broke off, his eyes raising to her face as if he’d just remembered she was there. “Just stay on this path—it’ll take you back where we started.”

  “Gideon?” Kate moved toward him, but the look in his eyes stopped her.