She pushed up her red-framed glasses as she sniffed. “Is that soup? Did you cook for me?”
“I opened a can and everything.”
“What a guy.” She sat on a stool at the island and grinned. “You can serve me now.”
“Can I? Will you let me?”
The teasing earned him a smile.
Natalie was one of those naturally sunny people. She was always in a good mood, always excited about whatever life had to offer that day. He supposed he should find her annoying, but he didn’t. Being around her made him feel better about everything. He liked knowing she hadn’t been troubled by tragedy. She was bright, funny and talented, although he had a feeling she would disagree with the latter. According to her, she only played with paper, nothing more.
He knew differently. Natalie was a gifted artist who used paper and found objects to create unique works. She would say she was still a lowly starving artist but he was confident her time would come.
He set the bowl of soup in front of her, along with a package of Goldfish crackers. After pouring boiling water into a mug, he offered her a box of different tea bags. She picked one and plopped it in the steaming water. He leaned against the counter.
“You have quite the setup,” she said after she’d tasted the soup. “Crackers, tea, soup. I know you don’t do the grocery shopping.”
“My housekeeping service keeps the pantry and freezer stocked. They also do the laundry.”
The wind howled outside. Natalie glanced up at the lights. “Not even a flicker. Generator?”
He nodded. “I have city water and power, but when the weather gets bad, the lines can go down for days at a time.”
“And they say no man is an island.”
She ate more soup, then opened the crackers. After shaking a few goldfish into her bowl, she offered him the package. He took it and ate a couple.
“Where did you leave your clothes?” he asked.
“In the bathroom.”
“When you’re done eating, we’ll start a load of laundry. It shouldn’t take long. Not that you’re going anywhere.”
He glanced toward the window. It was late afternoon and the rain showed no signs of stopping. According to the weather report, the storm should pass by morning. Depending on whether or not there were mudslides, the roads could be impassable for a couple of days. Even if they weren’t blocked, there was no way he would let Natalie drive her POS car down the mountain until he knew the route was safe.
She followed his gaze. “You’re thinking I’m stuck, but I don’t think so. It’s all downhill. That’s my car’s best speed.”
“You’re not going anywhere until the rain has stopped and I’ve had a chance to check out the roads.”
For a second, he thought she was going to stick out her tongue at him. Instead she wrinkled her nose and said, “You have always been the bossiest of your brothers. Not that I know Aidan and Del that well, but still. Of you, Nick and Mathias, you are Mr. Bossy Pants. You think you’re all broody, but you’re not. You pout and you’re bossy.”
“Mr. Bossy—”
“Pants. Yes, that’s what I call you in my mind. Now you know.”
He wasn’t sure what to do with that information. “You’re still not driving home in the storm.”
“Stuck in the dragon’s lair.”
Before he could ask what she meant, she brightened. “At least there’s a chandelier in the entryway. It’s really beautiful. I thought maybe candles, but the electric lights are nice, too.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She smiled. “You usually don’t. That’s okay. I move quick.”
“Implying I don’t?”
“You can be fast, probably faster than me, but quick is different.”
He had no idea what to make of her. Two years ago Natalie had started working at Willow Gallery as the office manager and herder of the three Mitchell brothers. She monitored inventory, tracked sales and paid them when their pieces sold.
He had always found her appealing. She was pretty and sexy and it had been a long time since he’d had a woman in his life. But the more he got to know her, the more he valued her happy spirit. He was not a happy-spirit kind of guy and he didn’t want to take the chance of changing her, of making her like him. So he tried to avoid her at the studio and kept to himself any interest he might have expressed.
Having her in his house now wasn’t going to be a problem, he told himself. It was temporary. He would enjoy the Natalie-size interruption, be grateful for the distraction and, when the weather cleared, send her on her way.
A gust of wind rattled the windows.
“I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down,” she said with a laugh. “I’m glad this is the stone house and not the one made of straw.”
“Me, too.”
Lightning cut through the late afternoon, making the kitchen as bright as the sun. It was immediately followed by a boom of thunder that shook the house. They both jumped, then turned at a massive crack.
Natalie sprang to her feet. “What was that?”
Before he could say he had no idea, there was a colossal ripping sound, then a rumble, as if part of the mountain were being torn away.
Ronan started for the front of the house, Natalie at his heels. He jerked open the front door in time to see a hundred-foot tree falling, falling, falling as the ground beneath it slid away. It started a cascade of trees around it swaying, then drifting toward the ravine in slow motion, pulled along by the mudslide.
The noise was deafening and the whole earth trembled. The last of the trees trembled and hovered, as if it hadn’t decided which way it was going to tumble. Ronan saw the trajectory, took a step toward it, then stopped. There was nothing he could do—nothing anyone could do. The last tree hovered for a second before crashing to the ground. The only thing in its path was a very wet, very battered twenty-five-year-old Volvo. The tree hit Natalie’s car, crushing it flat. Then the tree and the car slipped away down the side of the mountain.
“Holy crap,” she breathed, then started to laugh. “Did you see that? It was incredible.”
Worry nibbled at the back of his mind. He’d always thought she was funny. Had he mistaken mental instability for humor?
She did a little dance, then bounced back in the house and grinned at him as he closed the door.
“You know you just lost your car down the side of the mountain, right?”
She shimmied on the tile and spun in a circle. “It’s gone, it’s gone, it’s gone.” She faced him and clapped her hands. “I’m so happy.”
“Which is not a normal response to what just happened.”
She stopped dancing and drew in a breath. “My insurance agent told me to drop collision or replacement or whatever it’s called on my car because it’s so old and wasn’t worth it. Only I didn’t want to because it seemed, you know, kind of mean. Like I’d given up on it.”
He was no less worried by her response. “You didn’t want to hurt your car’s feelings?”
“Exactly.” The smile returned. “They’re going to have to pay me the value of my now-totaled car. I’ve been saving for a new one—well, new to me, anyway—but I don’t have enough yet. I wanted to pay outright and not take out a loan. But with the insurance money, I can finally get my new car. Woo-hoo! I hope I can find a red one.”
She