At Your Command Read online

  Not taking his eyes from her, he slowly dropped to his knees. She expected him to touch her feet again. When his hair grazed her legs, she gasped. He continued down, under the bed, his shoulders disappearing as he searched.

  The first thing she noticed about his back was the sheer width of it. Broad and muscled. Next, she noticed the scars. Like the one on his shoulder, they were ragged and white, from old, uncared-for wounds. Ten stripes ran diagonally across his back, the last disappearing beneath his jeans.

  Tears stung her eyes and she reached to touch him. Someone had hurt him. Someone had made him cry. She felt angry and sad all at once.

  He backed out as slowly as he'd gone in, dragging the battered cardboard box with him.

  When he raised his head, his face was all lines and planes, tension drawing his features tight. His glossy black hair hung in disarray over his shoulders. Did he ever shave? She could see no sign of facial hair.

  Her hand found his cheek and she stroked it. His face felt impossibly smooth. He closed his eyes but remained at attention. When she touched him again, this time moving closer, he rested his cheek on her knee while she ran her hands over his hair and onto his back. His features smoothed and relaxed under her touch.

  Who had done such a thing to him? And why? With her finger, she traced a scar across his back. When she reached the end, he jerked up, fixing her in place with his gaze.

  "What do you wish? I am at your command." Tension had returned to his face. When she said nothing, he backed away. "This is my former home. Where I must return when you have finished with me. When you have no more need..."

  He kept his eyes lowered while he cleared the torn wrapping. At the bottom of the pile of paper, dust and string was a box, just as he said, a rectangular shape, low, like a music box or jewel case.

  Suddenly, she knew what he meant. If she made her last wish she would be sending him back where he came from, someplace where people had hurt him and he was powerless to break free.

  With her hand cupping his cheek, she raised his face. "I don't want you to return to your box, whatever you think that is. What I want is for you to be free, not following someone else's orders but deciding what you want for yourself and doing it."

  He looked puzzled now. His hand rested on the box, tracing circles in the dusty surface. No wonder. He needed to take small steps, and she was rushing him. She needed Chet. She'd call him tomorrow and find out where to take Tom for help.

  "You don't have to go anyplace you don't want to, Tom. For now, you can stay here with Sarah and me. No one here wants to hurt you."

  His brow furrowed, marring his usually smooth features. "No one can hurt me." He sounded indignant.

  "Yes, that's right. No one can hurt you." They had that much settled, at least. She had to admit she rather liked having someone at her beck and call to help with chores, but she didn't want him to think she would beat him, as someone obviously had.

  He shook his head, evidently still confused. "Tell me what you wish me to do, and I will do it. If you do not desire to use your last wish at this moment, I will continue to assist you until you send me to the abyss."

  Abyss? This was something new. Sounded ominous, but considering the scars on his back, perhaps applicable.

  "Why don't you grant my last wish," she suggested, "and give yourself three? That would work, wouldn't it? I can find someone to take you back to California if you like. This isn't prime tourist season in Minnesota. You'd be happier there with no snow and your friends." She stopped, trying to sound hopeful. "Family?"

  Damn that Chet. He should have figured out from her e-mail that she needed him and called. Tom needed help and she wasn't sure what to do. What trauma had he suffered that he felt compelled to go around granting people wishes? What if he ran into the wrong person? Someone who would take advantage?

  What was she saying? Someone already had. Her breath caught in her throat. Someone had hurt him. She had no idea how badly. If she sent him away, someone might again. At least with her, he was safe.

  A slow flush spread over Tom's face. "I do not have a family. I was told I am a bastard."

  Maggie blushed, suddenly embarrassed for him. "What's that? Just a word."

  Still on the floor, Tom bowed his head, his hands resting on his knees. "Perhaps Master Maggie's first two wishes didn't count. Perhaps she has other dreams I may fulfill before she sends me away." One hand moved to tug at his necklace. Despite the way it hung loose around his neck, a red band stood out across his neck.

  Not a necklace but a collar. Maggie's hands curled into fists to keep from reaching for him. Removing this manifestation of servitude wasn't something she could do for him. He would have to free himself.

  When Tom busied himself collecting loose pieces of wrapping from his box, she stopped him with a gentle touch on his shoulder. This wasn't getting either of them anywhere and it was after midnight. "Why don't you take the big bedroom tonight? We can talk about this in the morning?"

  Tom looked startled. "You do not make a wish?"

  Too tired to argue, she picked up the box and carried it to the desk where the computer had set. The soft sheen of old wood peeked through layers of dust. Filigreed silver outlined the lid. The present from her long-dead aunt from Norway. "No, not tonight. Tomorrow, I can wish for my feet to be warm if you like, and then we can find you a nice, new master. I'll get the name of someone in the Cities."

  Tom was standing now, his whole demeanor changed. He crossed his arms over his chest. "You would waste your last wish on frivolous pleasure?" His voice shook the windowpanes.

  "Calm down. You're the one who wanted me to make a wish."

  "A wish from your heart. Something to make your life happier or more at ease. Something to cure your mother's sorrow."

  "Now, you stay away from my mother or I will have to send you away right now."

  He didn't appear to hear her. He used his thunder voice again. The windows shook. "A real wish. Why don't you make a real wish?"

  "What I wish for isn't important, Tom. Why you want to grant me wishes is what's at issue here."

  Tom not only sounded like thunder, he looked like a storm cloud. His lowered brow turned his normally clear brown eyes muddy. Lines multiplied on his face when he scowled. "You do not believe."

  Amazing how the pitch of his voice made everything vibrate. Was it her imagination or had he grown an inch or two?

  "Do you believe?" he demanded again.

  "Now that depends on what you mean by believe--" She stopped mid-sentence, struck by the impression that steam was blowing from his ears.

  "You do not believe. All this time you have been in my presence and you do not believe in my power."

  "Of course, I do. You are a very powerful man." Especially when it comes to warming toes, playing with little boys in grocery stores, and shoveling snow.I've known men with worse traits.

  "You do not believe I can grant your wishes." Tom strode toward her, his arms still folded over his chest. She backed away.

  Tom's frown deepened. He took the box from her and opened the lid. She expected music, instead dust poured out, a great deal of dust.

  "I will make you believe, foolish woman."

  The dust swirled higher. The windowpanes rattled.

  His eyes pierced through the cloud between them. His presence shook the room, but his voice was a calm whisper. "I will return to the box until you call me forth."

  She stared at him hard, willing herself not to lose sight of him. A wave of erupting dust made her blink.

  She sneezed and he was gone.

  Chapter 5

  BOY SAT BEFORE the fire again, this time alone. Long ago his friends had disappeared in the same wind that took him. Out of sight, Maggie spoke from a point behind his back.

  "Tom, this isn't funny. Come out." A pause was followed by the sound of furniture being shoved across a wood floor. "Where the hell did he get to?"

  Sound didn't carry far between worlds. Once she was halfway dow
n the stairs, he could no longer hear her footsteps or smell her hair. He hung onto her for as long as he could, remembering every detail.

  Her golden hair curled around her neck, much shorter than was proper for a woman. Yet, he loved the way it left so much delightful flesh bare for his viewing. If only he'd found the courage to kiss her while he had the chance. When he saw her again, he would do so immediately. Her eyes, never had he seen eyes of such brilliant blue. Or was it only because she now and then looked on him with tenderness that he thought it so?

  Over and over he relived their short time together, remembering the details, each time she touched him. Even he could not hold on forever. How many days, weeks, or months passed? Boy didn't know. He did not enter the living death that usually enveloped him when he returned.

  You have not fulfilled your mission. You must grant three wishes.

  When she returned to the room, he would leave the box. He was certain he could, even if she didn't call him. She hadn't called him the first time, had she? He responded to her presence, to her unspoken wish. He didn't understand why or how. Sometimes the fog that clung to him cleared and the real world claimed him, totally out of his control, as all of his life had been.

  The world he had left faded in the silence. The fire tugged at his attention. He had once been tall and strong, hadn't he, with a voice that made thunder and fists that crushed iron? Even that memory began to fade and he wrapped his skinny arms around his shrunken chest.

  Naked and cold he moved close to the fire's glow. The scars on his back began to itch and once again, the leather slave collar tightened around his neck, reminding him why he hated his master.

  THE NIGHT TOM left, Maggie hadn't slept. At any moment, she expected him to show up and start making his ridiculous claims about granting her wishes. In a sense, he had granted her one. She'd thought she wanted nothing more than solitude after her canceled wedding, but she'd been wrong. Instead of allowing her to wallow in self-pity, he'd dragged her out of bed and back into the world. She only wished she could thank him now.

  Seeing Sam scratching at the door, Maggie opened her old bedroom. Since Tom's disappearance three months ago, she slept down the hall in the bedroom with the double bed. Now, she almost expected to see Tom sitting cross-legged on her bed. Every night she slipped downstairs to unlock the back door, just in case he returned.

  Sam expected to see Tom here, too. The cat stalked up and down the bed protesting loudly the loss of his generous friend. Three months and he hadn't forgotten. Neither had Maggie.

  When the telephone rang, she jumped. Sam streaked out the door, indignant at the interruption. Maggie didn't realize how much she wanted to hear Tom's deep, velvet voice until she recognized Chet.

  "Hi, Margaret, I hope I'm not calling too early." After almost half a year, Chet managed to keep most of the hurt from his voice. We have to be civilized about this, he'd said the first time he'd called, totally defeated by her filing system in his office.

  "It's almost noon, Chet. You're the one on the West Coast, remember?"

  He laughed longer than necessary. She held the telephone away from her ear. "So what can I do for you?"

  "I wanted you to know I mailed your reference for that job in Chicago. I noticed it doesn't start until this fall. Can you wait until then? Do you need help with anything?"

  Maggie bit her tongue to keep from snapping at him. Why did everyone think she needed help just because she was living with her mother? The answer was obvious. Her life was pathetic. Even she could recognize none of this was Chet's fault.

  You're the one who called off the wedding. Remember?

  "I'm really enjoying this time off to rethink things, and my mom needs someone to help her sell the house. She's gone a lot, so I have the place to myself most of the time."

  "That guy didn't show up again, did he?"

  That guy? Had Chet ever played in the snow with her? Run errands for her mother? Had Chet ever kissed her feet? At this moment, she'd give almost anything to be talking to Tom, the passionate foot warmer, instead of to Chet.

  If she weren't so sensible, she'd be insulted at how Tom had gotten over her so quickly and completely. For days she'd held out hope that he'd reappear at their back door. After the first two weeks she'd have settled for a phone call, a letter. Months had passed and still nothing. Every morning he didn't show up, she prayed he was safe in a homeless shelter or halfway house. Someplace where people understood and took care of him, or better yet, that he was home.

  "You know, I almost flew out there when I heard about him from your mother. If he shows up again, you will call the police won't you? Despite everything, I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

  Despite everything? If Tom thought she were threatened, he wouldn't be advising her to call the police. Tom would be here, throwing his body between her and danger. She didn't need protection from Chet, but it had made her feel oddly comforted when Tom had asked if she wanted Chet killed. Not that she wanted such a thing. It made her feel sick to think of it, but here was a man willing to do anything for her. Just her luck. The man of her dreams, her Sir Galahad, was a nut case.

  "Oh, sure Chet, but I don't think he'll be back." She'd called his bluff, exposed his delusion, done everything except throw him out the door in the dead of winter. She cried out at the thought, catching the sound before it could escape her throat. "If he did show up, it would give me something interesting to do though. You know what things are like here while we wait for the snow to melt. Anything for a little excitement."

  "You don't really mean that, do you?"

  Maggie left the desk and moved to where she could look out the window. The roads were clear now that April Fool's Day had passed. Only the highest snowdrifts were left, shrunk to the size of sports cars. Last week they were minivans.

  "I guess not. I'm seeing Shelley and her son Andy twice a week. I told you about them, didn't I? And I'm up on the journals, keeping an eye on job postings on the Internet. I worry about Tom out there on his own. It doesn't make me crazy just because I want to see him again."

  "Well, don't go--"

  Maggie dropped the telephone the moment the floor began to shake. The cord attached to the receiver dragged it back to the desk. Something heavy hit the floor behind her, something metal. Dust rose around her feet.

  She had no idea how, but she knew what was behind her. More specifically, who. Ignoring Chet's demands, which emanated through the dangling receiver, she closed her eyes and turned around. She counted to three, then opened them. There stood Tom in all his naked glory.

  Unlike the first time she saw him, he wasn't smiling and his hands weren't strategically placed. Before she could admire the landscape, his eyes claimed her attention. They were ablaze.

  "You didn't see me, did you? You weren't watching. We'll have to do it all over again, and this time, don't you dare leave the room."

  "Tom." She was so glad to see him she didn't care what foolishness he was babbling. He was back and he was in one piece. She walked around him, checking for new scars. Nothing. She knew she was grinning like an idiot, but she couldn't help it.

  After her first circuit, he followed her, turning as she circled him. Finally, he stopped and grabbed her shoulders. "My Maggie, do you understand? This time you must stay here and wait until I return."

  He was back. She continued to search his face for some sign. Where had he been? "But I did stay. I stayed right here in this house. I've turned down jobs, I've turned down trips with mother, so I'd be here when you came back."

  Why hadn't she realized it before? She'd been waiting for Tom. Before good sense could stop her, she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him. "Where have you been? Why did you go?"

  She was crying now. Her! Sensible, Norwegian Maggie! She was crying on a naked man's chest.

  He grew still in her arms, every muscle tightening beneath her embrace. When she let go, she backed up to see what was wrong.

  He turned away. "Would my Maggie
permit me to wear clothes?"

  Clothes? He'd never been shy about clothes before. He'd actually paraded naked in front of her mother before she gave him something to wear.

  "Of course you can. You don't have to ask permission." Maggie handed him her bathrobe. His back still to her, he placed the robe over the computer chair and stripped the top sheet from her bed.

  When he turned, anger no longer radiated from his sparking, brown eyes. The sheet firmly tied about his waist, he looked like a high priest in some historical flick on the education channel. He bowed to her. She bowed back.

  A smile threatened the corners of his mouth. He shook his head. "The master does not bow to the slave."

  She immediately straightened. Now was not the time to challenge his delusion. She wanted him to stay, and she wasn't at all certain she wanted him to stay for his sake alone.

  "I would ask my Maggie for another favor."

  She nodded, not daring to speak for fear she'd say the wrong thing.

  "Stop that noise. It annoys me."

  So much for his humble, slave act. "We can't have that now, can we?" She didn't think Tom caught the sarcasm in her voice.

  "Chet, I'll call you back." She hung up without giving him time to protest.

  "I do not have time to deal with this Chet now. I can dispose of him later if you wish."

  "I don't wish you to do anything to Chet. Do you understand? I don't want you to hurt him or anyone else."

  "As you wish, my Maggie. A slave cannot pursue his own pleasure, but must serve the master." He straightened the sheet around his waist, bringing her attention back to his body.

  Only half-naked now, but still impressive. She almost regretted giving him permission to dress. Before, she'd been too afraid to lose eye contact to properly view him.

  "To serve you, I must convince you of my power."

  She was only half listening. He's back. "Oh, I believe. I believe."

  He shook his head, talking as if she were a small child. She hoped she didn't come across this condescending with her patients.