The Ugly Duckling

by Iris Johansen

  On Tuesday it finally did come together. She found the falls no longer hurt her, and she could roll away from an attacker and bounce to her feet, ready to defend herself.

  “By George, I believe she’s got it,” Tanek said. “Do it again.” He threw her, hard.

  She was on her feet seconds after she hit the mat.

  “Good. Now we can begin. We’ll start attack and defense tomorrow.”

  She smiled brilliantly. “Really?”

  “Unless you’d rather I kept on throwing you around the gym.”

  “I imagine I’ll still get enough of that,” she said dryly.

  “But you’ll be able to concentrate on what I’m teaching you and not worry about getting hurt.” He threw her a towel and watched her wipe the perspiration from her face. He said, “You did well.”

  They were the first words of praise he’d given her, and warmth rushed through her. “I was slow. I didn’t think I’d ever learn.”

  “You were quicker than I was.” He wiped his face and neck. “I was only fourteen and had a highly developed sense of self-preservation. I resisted every step of the way, and we didn’t have any mats in the warehouse where Terence was teaching me. I nearly got my neck broken a dozen times before I learned.”

  “Terence?”

  “Terence O’Malley.”

  She could almost see him closing up again. “And who was Terence O’Malley?”

  “A friend.”

  A curt dismissal, but this time she ignored it. He knew everything about her. It was time she learned more about him. “The friend Gardeaux killed?”

  “Yes.” He changed the subject. “You deserve a reward. What would you like?”

  “A reward?” she repeated, surprised. “Nothing.”

  “Name it. I subscribe to the tutorial system of reward and punishment.” He added dryly, “And you’ve had enough punishments lately.”

  “There’s nothing I want.” She thought of something. “Except perhaps …”

  “What is it?”

  “What you said about Maritz—” She stopped. “When you had me down. Something about hitting me under the nose and killing me. Could I learn to do that? Right away?”

  He stared at her for a moment and then started laughing. “No candy or flowers or jewelry. Just another lesson. I should have known.” His smile faded. “Too bad. I was hoping you’d be fed up with violence by now. I’ve been exposing you to enough of it.”

  Violence? There had been pain and frustration, but he had never been violent. She had always known that the force he exerted was measured and without malice. “I don’t think you were violent.”

  “No? It felt like it to me.” He shrugged. “But then, I’m not accustomed to throwing around women who aren’t even half my weight.”

  It had bothered him, she realized. Behind that cool mask, distaste had been festering. “I asked you to do it.”

  “That’s right.” He stepped closer and took her hand. “Just as you asked me for this pleasant little present. You asked me, so I gave it to you.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “Just as I’ll give you the gift of killing Maritz with one blow.” He turned her hand over and pressed his lips to the palm. “With this very hand.”

  He had caught her off guard. She stared at him, unable to tear her gaze away from his face. Her palm tingled and she felt as breathless as the times before she had learned to properly hit the mat.

  “Isn’t painting a picture more satisfying than killing a man, Nell?” he asked quietly.

  He dropped her hand and left the gym.

  The next day Michaela brought two large cardboard boxes from the Bar X.

  Nell was perched on her usual stool, sketching, when she noticed the boxes in the corner. The lids were open and they appeared to be brimming with fabric. “What’s that?”

  Michaela glanced at the box. “Only some old clothes I brought to take to Lasiter this afternoon. The Basque Benevolent Society is having a rummage sale this Saturday. I need to put them in the truck. I was going through them this morning to make sure they didn’t need repairs.” She shrugged. “Children are hard on clothes.”

  “Children?”

  “I have two grandchildren. I didn’t tell you?”

  Michaela a grandmother? The idea was odd. She couldn’t imagine her bouncing a grandchild on her knee.

  “My daughter Sara’s son and daughter,” Michaela said. “Six and eight. Come put aside that pad and help me take them to the truck.”

  Nell obediently set the pad on the butcher block and followed her across the room.

  “You take this one.” Michaela thrust one of the boxes at her. “I left the pickup in the stable yard.” She lifted the other box and swept out of the kitchen.

  Nell made a face as she started after her. Michaela made a better general than a grandmother. She could see her rallying the troops and—

  Something had fallen out of the box. She stopped to pick it up.

  It was a tennis shoe, a very small, red tennis shoe.

  A child’s shoe. How many times had she picked up shoes like that and tossed them in the closet after she’d put Jill to bed?

  She couldn’t pick up this shoe.

  She could only stare at it.

  Jill.

  “Hurry, I have to get back to my baking,” Michaela called impatiently.

  Nell forced herself to kneel and pick up the shoe. She crouched there with the shoe in her hand. It felt so good, so … familiar.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered. She found herself rocking back and forth with the tiny shoe clutched to her breast. “No … no … no …”

  “What’s keeping—” Michaela was standing in the doorway. She hesitated only a moment before coming forward. “Oh, you dropped a shoe.” She took it from Nell and dropped it into the box. “I can take this now. Go wash your face. You have a smudge.” She picked up the box and strode out of the room.

  Nell got up slowly and went to the bathroom. No smudge. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. Stupid. Falling apart over a shoe. She had no control over her dreams, but during her waking hours she had thought she was in control, growing tougher, maybe even starting to heal. Was it going to be like this all her life?

  “Don’t take all day.” Michaela was outside the door. “I need you to help peel potatoes.”

  Michaela never asked for help with the meals. She regarded the kitchen as her exclusive domain. She had ignored Nell’s moment of weakness and was trying to keep her busy. Kindness came in all packages.

  “Coming.” She opened the door. “I’m sorry, I—”

  “About what? You were clumsy and dropped a shoe.” Michaela headed for the kitchen. “I’m not interested in your chattering. Come and help me.”

  “That’s good.” Nicholas tilted the sketch under the lamp. “You’ve caught her.”

  Nell shook her head. “Not entirely. It’s frustrating as the devil trying to sketch someone who flits around like Michaela.”

  “Michaela doesn’t flit. That’s much too airy a term.”

  “Whatever.” She took the sketch back and put it in her portfolio. “But I think I’m ready to set up the easel and oils tomorrow.” She looked at him from under her lashes. “Do I get a bonus for that?”

  “Nope.” He knelt by the fire and stoked the logs. “I’m giving you enough time in the gym. Any more would be overload.”

  She had thought that would be his answer, but it hadn’t hurt to try. Actually, he was probably right. She was satisfied with her progress in the week since he had started teaching her the rudiments of attack and defense. But it would take a lot more time for the moves to become second nature.

  “I didn’t learn very much about guns at Obanako,” she said tentatively.

  “Not my area of expertise. Jamie likes guns. If he comes here, maybe you can persuade him to teach you.”

  “Or knives.”

  He looked up and met her eyes. “I’ll teach you how to defend yourself in a knife attack but not how to use one. Y
ou wouldn’t have a chance against Maritz anyway. You can’t learn in three months what it took him years to learn.” He stood up and filled her coffee cup. “You’d better have another weapon, a damn good plan, or just plain luck.”

  “What about Gardeaux? What would I have to have with Gardeaux?”

  “Leave Gardeaux to me.”

  “I can’t. He gave the order.” She lifted the coffee cup to her lips. “Tell me about Gardeaux.”

  He sat down on the hearth and linked his arms around his knees. “You told me you researched him.”

  “I know what Time knows. I want to know what you know.”

  “He’s smart. He’s cautious. He wants to move up into the hierarchy of the drug cartel.”

  “I thought he was already in the hierarchy.”

  “On the lower rungs and climbing. He wants to reign with Sandequez, Juarez, and Paloma. That’s where the real power lies, and he loves the taste of it. He also loves money and beautiful women and he has a passion for rare and antique swords.”

  She remembered a mention of the sword collection. “Passion?”

  He shrugged. “Definitely a passion. Maybe it’s an extension of his desire for power.”

  “A sort of phallic manifestation?”

  He chuckled. “In a manner of speaking. Though the picture is a bit mind-boggling.”

  “He has a wife?”

  “He’s been married for over twenty years and appears completely devoted to her and their two children.” He added, “Though that devotion doesn’t keep him from having a mistress in Paris.”

  “You know who his mistress is?”

  “Simone Ledeau, a model. But you can’t get at him through her, if that’s what you’re thinking. Gardeaux makes sure that his ladies are aware of what will happen to them if they betray him.”

  “How?”

  “He probably has them attend one of his private fencing matches at the auditorium he built at his chateau. When he wants to make a production of a punishment, he has a young fencer who disposes of threats to him. It pleases his sense of style.”

  “Murder?”

  “Murder. Though he does give the other man a sword for self-defense.”

  “What if that man wins?”

  “He has a promise of release from Gardeaux, but Gardeaux hasn’t had to replace his pet swordsman, Pietro, in over two years. Fencing isn’t exactly a skill taught in every neighborhood gym.”

  “But you said his man was replaced. So sometimes the other side does win.” She had a sudden thought. “Was it you?”

  “No, it wasn’t me.” He looked down at his clasped hands. “And he didn’t live even though he won.”

  “Gardeaux doesn’t release anyone?”

  “He releases them.” He abruptly got to his feet. “I’m going into town.”

  “Now? Why?” she asked, startled.

  “I’m tired of questions and living with the thought of Gardeaux and Maritz every minute.” He headed for the door. “I’m choking on it.”

  But he hadn’t seemed to mind her questions before they had touched on the fencing matches. She said quietly, “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

  She flinched as the door slammed behind him.

  A moment later she heard the sound of the Jeep roaring out of the stable yard. She stood up and moved toward the window. The taillights fading in the distance gave her a sudden sensation of loneliness. He had visited the Bar X many afternoons in the past weeks, but this was the first time he had gone into town at night. She felt oddly abandoned.

  Idiotic. It was just as well he had broken the pattern. She had become entirely too comfortable with him and the evenings spent in this firelit room.

  He’s a man and you’re closer than the women in town.

  She felt a ripple of shock as Michaela’s words came back to her.

  The women in town. Of course, Tanek wouldn’t live in the semiwilderness with no sexual outlet. She should be surprised that he hadn’t decided he needed a woman before this.

  One particular woman?

  It was none of her business. He had his life and she had hers. Abandonment was an impossibility in their relationship.

  Something soft brushed her thigh, and she looked down to see Sam looking up at her.

  “Hi, boy.” She gently stroked his head. “He’s gone. Want to sleep in my room tonight?”

  They might as well stick together.

  He had been abandoned too.

  “More,” Melissa gasped. She lunged upward to take more of him. “That’s it. Help me.”

  He dove deep. Deeper.

  His release came too soon. He collapsed on top of her, shuddering.

  He could feel her flex around him as she climaxed.

  He rolled off her onto his back and put his arm beneath his head. He knew he should hold her. Closeness after the act was important to most women.

  He didn’t want to hold her.

  He didn’t want to be there.

  “It was good,” Melissa murmured as she nestled closer. “I’m glad you dropped by, Nicholas.”

  He stroked her hair. Sex was always good for Melissa. Melissa Rawlins was blessedly uncomplicated, asked little, and gave generously. She was a thirty-four-year-old divorcee who owned her own real estate business in Lasiter and wanted no ties. She was perfect for him.

  But he didn’t want to be there.

  She kissed his shoulder. “I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again. I heard there was a woman at your ranch. Is she still there?”

  He didn’t want to think of Nell now either. “Yes.”

  She giggled. “Well, she must not be very good.” She reached out and grabbed him. “You nearly raped me before I could get my clothes off.”

  “Rape implies lack of consent.” He kissed her temple. “Wrong word.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to fight too hard. I missed you.” She stroked him teasingly. “And you missed me.”

  “Of course.” He couldn’t leave yet. Melissa was no whore. He couldn’t take and walk away. That wasn’t according to the rules. So give her something, you bastard. He forced himself to slide his arm around her. “I’m sorry if I was too rough for you.”

  “I liked it.” She yawned. “I like whatever you do to me. Different though.” She released him and cuddled closer. “Do you mind if I take a nap? I had a bitch of a day.”

  “Would you like me to leave?”

  “No, I just want a nap.” She rubbed her cheek catlike against his shoulder. “I know you’ll want it again soon.”

  “It’s what you want that matters.”

  “Then you’ll stay the night. I’m not about to let you go now that you finally decided to pay me a visit.”

  He smothered a leap of impatience. She had a right to expect it; he usually stayed the night. “Then go to sleep. I’ll be here.”

  “Okay,” she said drowsily. She was silent a moment and he thought she was asleep. “Who is she?”

  “A friend.”

  “I didn’t mean to be nosy,” she whispered. “I was just … curious. You were hurting.”

  “It’s been a long time for me.” He touched her mouth with his forefinger. “Hush and go to sleep.”

  “You don’t want to talk about her.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” He didn’t want to talk about Nell and he didn’t want to think about her. He should have been able to block her out by losing himself in sex. He had always used sex to relax and take the edge off, and he sure was balanced on one hell of an edge now.

  It wasn’t working. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be back at the ranch with Nell, watching the absorbed expression on her face as she sketched, seeing her reach down and pet Sam.

  Admit it.

  He wanted to be in bed, screwing the hell out of her.

  And she wasn’t ready. She might not be ready to accept him for a long time, maybe never. It would probably be better if she weren’t. He had worked a long time to get his life the way he wanted it, and she wou
ld disrupt it. She had already disrupted it. She wasn’t a woman who could be relegated to the background and visited when it was convenient for him. Even in her quietest moments, he found himself watching her, worrying about her silences.

  The solution was obviously distance, but that wasn’t an option. They would continue to live on top of each other, intimately involved every day.

  Christ.

  “Nicholas hasn’t come back from town?” Michaela asked.

  Nell didn’t look up from her sketchbook. “Not yet.”

  “It’s almost dark. He usually doesn’t stay this long with her.”

  Nell deliberately resisted the impulse to ask the identity of her.

  “Why did you let him go?” Michaela asked.

  “He does what he likes.”

  “You could have stopped him. He only uses her. Next time give him what he wants and he won’t go.”

  She looked up swiftly. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I’m not sure I did. I thought you wanted me to leave as soon as possible.”

  “I changed my mind. I’ve decided I could become used to you.”

  “Thank you,” Nell said dryly.

  “And you could become used to the land. You might help to root Nicholas here with us.”

  “I’m glad you think I could be of service to you.”

  “You resent my words. I wish only the best for all of us.”

  “On your terms.”

  She smiled. “Of course. But I’m willing to make concessions to make you more content. I’ll even give you fifteen minutes of stillness a day for you to paint me.”

  “Your generosity overwhelms me.”

  “It should.” She moved toward the door. “I don’t like to stay quiet.”

  “That’s an understatement.” Nell put aside the sketch pad as the door closed behind her.

  The woman was astonishing, totally deaf to any purpose but her own.

  But wasn’t she the same? The pot calling the kettle black.

  She stood up and moved restlessly toward the window. The sky was darkening as evening approached. She had missed the challenge of the hours spent in the gym. She had become accustomed to the routine, the rhythm of the days.

  Accustomed to Tanek.

  It was perfectly natural and meant nothing. She had become accustomed to Michaela and Sam too.