“Sleep here is difficult.”
“It has to be more comfortable than what you’re used to.”
“What makes you think that?”
Helen sat across the table from him and sipped her coffee.
“I’d think without electricity it would be either too hot or too cold. I doubt you have duel-pained windows and insulation.”
He nodded. “You have a point there. Yet each room has its own fireplace for warmth. In the hotter months, we keep the windows open to catch the breeze. It isn’t as bad as you may think.”
“That’s what people say who live back east. Cold is cold and hot is hot. No way around it.”
“Aye. You’re right on that count. But the noise here is suffocating. ’Tis difficult to clear my head.”
Helen narrowed her eyes and noticed the strain setting into his temples, stress she hadn’t seen the day before. “Mrs. Dawson’s house is quieter than my apartment.”
“It’s deafening.”
“How can you say that?”
Simon reached over and carefully covered one of her hands with his. “Close your eyes.”
His warm thumb stroked her index finger and sent a swift current up her arm. “Please,” he said.
Helen lowered her eyes lids. “What are we doing?”
“Shh, just listen.”
She didn’t hear anything. Not even a television in another room, or an ambulance screaming outside. As she started to shake her head, Simon held onto her hand tighter.
“Do you hear the refrigerator?”
“Of course, but it isn’t loud.”
“Not loud, but there. The hum and click of it going on and off. I hear the furnace running, the clock in the hall ticking, the coffeemaker percolating, and there is some kind of machine running outside.”
“It’s a lawnmower,” she told him, hearing it now for the first time.
“A dog is barking and an airplane is flying overhead.” His hand squeezed hers again as he added, “Even the mice in the attic are scratching inside the walls.”
“You hear the mice?” Her eyes sprung open.
A strange look of guilt passed over his face. “My point is it’s noisy. Electricity and technology are noisy.”
Helen removed her hand from under his. “Small price to pay for conveniences if you ask me.”
“Spoken by someone who’s never awakened to quiet mornings where only the sun interrupts their sleep, where alarm clocks are unheard of, and the smoke drifting away from a cook’s fire generates the only pollution in the air. I’ve lived in both worlds, Helen, and this one is loud and suffocating.” His voice sounded full of longing, and his gaze drifted beyond her out the kitchen window.
“We’ll find a way to get you home,” she assured him.
“We will.”
An hour later, they’d packed the books into boxes and loaded them into the trunk of her car. Mrs. Dawson tried to encourage them to stay longer, but Helen didn’t want to impose. Besides, she needed the use of her computer back at her apartment. Mrs. Dawson’s ancient computer was a dinosaur, and she didn’t have access to the Internet, rendering it useless for their purpose.
After she parked her car in the secured garage, Simon removed two of the boxes to carry, insisting she leave the other one for him to retrieve.
“I can carry the box.”
“But you don’t have to. I’m here.”
She moved to grab the box anyway. “I’m used to taking care of myself.”
“You’ve provided for me ever since I arrived, I need to do something useful.”
Helen knew it was a trick to get his way, but what the hell. She didn’t feel like lugging the box anyway. “Fine.”
Simon smiled and followed her into the building. She held the door open for him and led him up the stairs. The complex had an elevator, but Helen seldom used it.
“I need to call the hotel in Scotland and tell them to send my stuff back. How am I going to explain my sudden departure?”
“Tell them you had a family emergency.”
Not that she had a family, but the hotel didn’t know that. “And the car I left in the field?”
“You can tell them it broke down.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
If carrying thirty pounds of books up three flights of stairs was tiring, Simon didn’t say. His muscular arms hardly strained under the weight. His sword was probably heavier, she guessed.
Drawing her eyes away from Simon’s beefy arms, she opened the door to the third level of the complex, took two steps into the hall, and froze. Philip, her boss, was exiting her apartment.
Simon collided into her back, and Helen quickly turned and pushed him back into the stairwell.
“What is it?”
“Shh!” What the hell is he doing coming out of my apartment? How had he gotten in? Her mind raced and her heartbeat skipped. She needed to poke her head through the door to see more but was afraid he’d see her. He knew she was supposed to be out of town, so he wasn’t there for a social call. Not that he’d ever been to her home.
Helen grabbed the boxes from Simon and dropped them to the ground. “Quick, look down the hall.”
Simon stiffened beside her, but did as she asked without question.
“What do you see?”
Simon retreated from the hall. “A man with short brown hair walking the other way.”
Helen pushed past Simon and peeked for herself. Philip slipped around the corner and the chime from the elevator rang.
“What is amiss, lass?”
“That man came from my apartment.”
Simon’s spine straightened, his eyes narrowed.
Helen leaped over the boxes and grasped the handle on the door.
A large hand covered hers and stopped her. “Not this time.” Simon shoved in front of her. “Stay here.”
Fine, he could go in front, but she wasn’t cowering in a stairwell. Helen walked behind him.
Simon scowled but didn’t argue when she glared at him with renewed resolve.
At the door to her apartment, he twisted the handle.
Finding it locked, he opened his palm for the key. Luckily, Helen kept a spare at Mrs. Dawson’s home, or she’d be breaking into her own place, covering up whatever damage Philip might have done.
She kept glancing around to make sure Philip didn’t double back.
The hall was clear.
Simon unlocked the door and stepped inside. She followed, stuck to his back. Her apartment looked like it did before they’d left the previous day. She wasn’t sure what she expected. The thought of Philip ransacking her place for a few bucks would have made her laugh if not for the fact that he had been in her home without her permission. The question was still, why?