Texas Heartthrob

by Jean Brashear

  But where would this woman be, this Raina Donovan of the haunted eyes and gaunt frame?

  Mamma mia. Liam shook his head. He couldn’t take her on as a cause; she wouldn’t like it if he did. But how would he simply walk away, knowing that she was holding on by the slimmest thread?

  She’s not your concern. She already said she doesn’t want your help.

  If he hadn’t stopped at that store—

  The door creaked open, and there she was, every last bit of uncertainty erased from her frame. “I’ll let you stay here tonight, but you’ll leave as soon as it’s light.” Her voice betrayed not the merest quaver.

  So be it. “Fine,” he said curtly. “I’ll sleep on the floor. Have whatever you want of the food I brought. I can get more at that store.” He made for the front door, needing fresh air to forestall a temper he seldom displayed.

  Once outside, he nearly fell into the stupid hole again.

  Sure—just fine and dandy. He’d head out tomorrow—but when he was good and ready. He’d chop her more firewood and fix the porch and steps before she broke her leg, the muleheaded woman—

  Liam was halfway to the woodpile, muttering, when he realized that he hadn’t thought about Kelly or the press hounds hot on his trail for hours now—the first respite since her death.

  Maybe instead of heaping cuss words on Raina’s head, he should be thanking the muleheaded woman for aggravating him so much that she’d taken his mind off the reason he’d chosen this detour in the first place.

  He returned to a surprise after chopping wood until he’d gained his own set of blisters and risked cutting off a leg in the growing darkness. Somehow, she’d conjured up an actual meal on the ancient woodstove in the kitchen.

  “Where did you find this food?” he asked.

  “Gran always canned extra for winter. When she died, it was late summer, I think.”

  “You don’t know when your grandmother died?”

  Over her face swept such grief that he was ashamed of blurting the question. “Forget it.”

  “It’s been nearly two years. I’ve been…out of pocket.” Misery crowded the grief. “The constable’s letter, informing me that she’d left this place to me, had to be forwarded.”

  Liam resisted another survey of the cabin, which would probably look even worse by full daylight. “So you’re here on vacation?”

  Her shoulders hunched, then she forced her spine ramrod-stiff. “No. I’m going to live here.” Her tone dared him to argue.

  Only barely did he bite back the astonishment. Not my affair, he reminded himself. I’m only passing through.

  Instead, he perused the stove. “She teach you to cook on this?”

  Her face softened a little. “She said it was the happiest day of her life when she could quit cooking in the fireplace.” Fondness colored her tone.

  “Amazing. Abuelita used to cook on a woodstove, I remember her saying. But that was before I was born.”

  “She’s a relative?”

  “Sort of a grandmother,” he answered. “Not by blood, but she might as well be.” He smiled, thinking of the tiny woman, so wise and caring. He had grandmothers of his own, but neither had lived nearby when he was growing up. His mother had preserved the ties to her late husband’s family even after she’d married his dad, so though Abuelita was actually only related by blood to Rafe and Alex, she’d treated all of them as her own.

  “You love her,” Raina observed.

  “Yeah,” he answered. “I do. She’s a special lady. A curandera. Ever heard of that?”

  Raina shook her head.

  “That’s what they call a healer in the Latino culture. It’s a tradition going all the way back to the Aztecs. She uses herbs and other methods to care for people.”

  “Where is she?”

  “The Davis Mountains. Far West Texas.”

  Raina smiled then, and Liam could only stare. Her smile altered everything about her.

  “Gran was a wisewoman—some call them granny women. She used herbs to help people, too. Gathered some of them wild and raised others in her garden.” She stroked an ancient wooden box, one long finger tapping over several tiny drawers. “This was her medicine box, inherited from her own mother. I should oil it.” Her head drooped. “She taught me some of what she knew, but I didn’t listen well enough. I can’t remember much of what she said anymore, and now…” She busied herself with the stove. “It doesn’t matter.”

  But it did, that was obvious from the vanished smile and the way her body telegraphed her misery. That she’d loved her grandmother deeply came through in every word. So why hadn’t she known when her grandmother died? And what was she doing here now?

  I’m just passing through, he repeated to himself. “Anything I can do to help?”

  A faint shake of her head was the only sign she’d heard.

  “Then I’ll—” He looked around. Too dark to chop wood or fill the chinks in the walls or anything else he could see to do. “I’ll check on the fire,” he said.

  She shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

  They made it through the simple meal in near-complete silence. He might as well have been alone but for the sound of her cutlery clinking against ancient, crazed pottery. Liam was shocked to realize just how seldom he got to experience solitude and quiet anymore.

  He wasn’t much of a cook, though he had an enormous gourmet kitchen in his Malibu house and one easily twice as big as this one even in a less-spacious New York apartment. Most of the time, however, he ate out or ordered in. Food wasn’t a big deal to him, only fuel for the body that was his career in a way that made him increasingly uncomfortable. He’d never set out to be a sex symbol; the boy who’d been too thin and worn coke-bottle glasses would never have dreamed such a thing could happen. He’d tagged along with his brothers and learned to fish and hunt, sure, but he’d been just as happy with his nose stuck inside a book where his fertile imagination could roam, drawing inspiration for the endless let’s pretend games he’d enlist his brothers or Jilly to play.

  No one had been more surprised than him at what had happened when he’d gotten contacts so he could play basketball and his frame had begun to stretch, then fill out—and girls had begun to notice.

  Not that he’d complained. He’d been skinny, not stupid.

  Still, all his life his brothers had been the ones girls had panted over, so to find himself in college with females who hadn’t known the runt had taken some adjusting. He’d gotten so sidetracked by them for a while his dad had had to deliver a stern warning that Liam’s family wasn’t made of money and he wasn’t in college to chase girls.

  But man, did he love women…always had. Loved the way they smelled, how they walked; loved the curve of a hip, the sweet rounding of breast—but even more than that, he found the mind of a woman a subject of endless fascination. He’d never understood them, really, but he sure liked to try.

  Despite what his dad said was the brightest mind in the family, Liam had been close to flunking out the semester everything changed. Some scout spotted him on the University of Texas campus and asked him to pose for a calendar. Liam had refused at first, aghast at displaying his body that way—or what his brothers would say.

  But then he thought about how much money was being offered and how hard his dad worked—with Liam’s sister, Jilly, yet to put through college. So he said yes, expecting only to defray the costs of the last two years of school. And took his brothers’ ribbing—

  Except that one thing led to another, some modeling jobs, then a soap opera and a tiny film role. He discovered that all those hours of pretending as a kid served him well; he was a good actor, not just a face and a body. He liked acting, relished the challenge of stepping inside a stranger’s skin.

  Even if he didn’t always like the life.

  Get real, son, he thought. Admit it—you love the attention.

  He did, that was true. He’d always had ambition, never been afraid of hard work. Still wasn’t. But Kelly’
s death had bared the dark side of the fairytale he’d grown accustomed to living.

  And he was tired.

  “I’ll get you some blankets, and you can have the pillow.”

  Liam jerked out of his thoughts. “What?”

  “Since you offered to take the floor, you can have the only pillow.” Raina rose and reached for his plate.

  Liam grabbed and held on. “You cooked. I’ll do the dishes.”

  A wry smile quirked the tiniest edge of her lips. “Gran did her dishes outside on the porch. No running water, remember?”

  “So?”

  “I don’t see someone like you washing dishes, period—much less having to heat water and use a tin pan on the porch.”

  He snatched her plate from her hands. “What do you mean, someone like me?” She couldn’t know who he was. His own mother might not recognize him easily.

  One dismissive tilt of a shoulder. “A rich guy.”

  Liam relaxed a little. “Anyone can rent a car.”

  “A sixty-thousand-dollar SUV?” she asked. “I don’t think so.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “I’m doing the dishes. You sit down.”

  Her brows drew close together. “It’s my cabin.”

  Liam sought patience. “Do you hate all men or is it only me?”

  She appeared honestly shocked. “I don’t hate men. I just don’t need—” She exhaled. “Nothing.”

  “What’s the old man at the store got against you?”

  She busied herself poking the fire. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “He says you’re too high on yourself. Me, I suspect he’s dead wrong.”

  “I don’t care about the opinions of others.”

  Liam set the plates on the table and approached her. “I don’t believe that’s true. My question is, what are you running from? You wouldn’t be in a place like this if you had any option. Are you in trouble?”

  She headed for the door. “It’s none of your business.”

  “It is when you faint on me twice.” Liam lambasted himself for pressing her, but he was not a man who could just walk away from someone in trouble, no matter how pointless it was to care. “Talk to me, Raina.”

  Instead, she jerked the door open and left.

  He was getting tired of chasing this woman up and down these mountains.

  “Let her go, idiot,” Liam muttered.

  Then picked up the kerosene lantern and charged into the darkness after her.

  Raina huddled against the side of the house, wishing she’d grabbed one of Gran’s quilts before escaping. For two cents, she’d sleep in the barn—

  Except she hadn’t tackled the barn yet, and God knows what sort of creatures had made it home. Maybe she should tell this guy—what was his name, anyway? She’d been rattled since the moment they’d met. She didn’t need his name because she never intended to see him again after sunrise, but still…

  His heavy steps pounded on the porch. Light spilled onto her shoulder.

  Raina shrank against the logs.

  Something moved in the vines trying to devour the porch rail, then skittered over her foot. She leaped away, not quite stifling a scream.

  In a second, he was there beside her, his face in the flickering torchlight more worried than angry. “Are you all right?”

  Raina froze in place, glancing down quickly, then up again. Afraid to step, wishing she could take both feet off the ground at the same time.

  He seemed to understand, closing the gap between them and lifting her with only one arm and carrying her to the porch.

  She was so surprised at his strength that she didn’t resist him.

  “There,” he said. “Any idea what it was?”

  She studied him, shadows hiding those too-seeing green eyes. “What’s your name?”

  He hesitated, gaze darting to the side. “Why?”

  She frowned. “It’s a simple question. You know mine. I don’t know what to call you.”

  He grinned, and the sight took her breath. “So you can personalize it when you tell me to go to hell next time?”

  She couldn’t help a tiny chuckle. “Maybe so. Look—” She forced herself to meet his gaze squarely. “You’ve been kind to me, and it isn’t that I’m not grateful, but—”

  “Harold,” he supplied.

  She shook her head, distracted. “What?”

  “My name is Harold. Since I’ve been waiting hours for a thank you, I want to hear my name attached to it.” He grinned again, but discomfort flared in his eyes. “It’s my dad’s name. He’s a great guy.”

  She didn’t want to empathize. “There’s nothing wrong with Harold.”

  He shrugged. “I love my dad. Never cared for the name, but he doesn’t, either. It doesn’t suit him. Everyone calls him Hal.”

  “What do they call you?” she asked, though there was no reason to care. He’d be gone by morning.

  He frowned for a second, then chuckled. “You mean besides knothead or pest?” His eyes turned wistful. “I’m the youngest brother. Mostly they called me a pain in the ass.”

  “That’s unfair. They shouldn’t—”

  He laughed out loud then. “You obviously don’t have brothers. It’s how they tell me they love me.”

  “I’m an only child,” she said, and wondered why she had. She pulled away from him and took a step toward the door.

  “Hal,” he supplied.

  “What?”

  “You can call me Hal.”

  “Does your family call you Hal Junior?”

  “No.” His gaze darted away. “I don’t see them as often as I should.”

  Raina didn’t press him on the sadness ghosting over his face. She understood all too well the pain of knowing you’d neglected someone you loved.

  But she couldn’t afford to get involved. “It’s late,” she said, opening the door. “I’ll help you with the dishes so you can get some sleep. You’ll want an early start.”

  She hastened inside.

  Liam rolled again, seeking a comfortable position on the rock-hard floor. He stared into the fire, unsure if she was really asleep or just playing possum. She’d been so tired that she’d barely made it through drying the dishes before she’d sacked out, so he hoped she was having an easier time sleeping than he was. A guilty conscience over the quilts she’d given up when her thin frame needed them much worse had combined with his status as unwanted guest to make sleep impossible for him.

  He didn’t like lying to her about his name, but given that she already wanted him anywhere but here, how much worse would she react if she was aware that he wasn’t just the “rich guy” she’d disdained but also someone famous? And what was her beef about money, anyway?

  Look around you, Liam. She’s got reason enough just in this place.

  Part of him itched to solve the mystery of Raina Donovan, but the saner part of him knew that even if he had the right, he didn’t have the energy. All he wanted was to go home to his family and hide out for the next six weeks. Get his head back on straight.

  But he wasn’t leaving at first light as she assumed, except long enough to retrieve his rental car from the side of the road, pick up some supplies in Ladyville and see who around there would be willing to help her out. Then he’d return with a proper flashlight and a whole bunch of batteries, for one thing, fix that dangerous porch and chop her more wood to tide her over.

  After that, conscience clear, he’d leave just as she’d made no bones of wanting him to do.

  That settled, Liam punched the paper-thin pillow again and bunched it beneath his cheek, closing his eyes.

  And slowly, listening to the steady sound of her breathing, he, too, relaxed into slumber.

  Chapter Four

  “You’re back.” The old man’s tone was flat, but in his eyes, Liam saw a spark of interest. “Thought you was just passin’ through.”

  Liam took a stab at the codger role. “Changed my mind.”

  “Hmmph.”

  Nothing
more. The old man didn’t twitch a muscle, one gnarled hand resting on the counter.

  Liam was tempted to smile, but he was sure the humor would be lost on his subject. Instead he perused the grocery shelves, seeking staple items instead of the junk food he’d gathered last time. He recalled what Raina had had in her bags—beans, corn, flour. She needed more protein. Could use fattening up, too.

  He spied burlap sacks stacked against a wall and moved closer. Fifty-pound sacks of pinto beans and corn. Beside them were sacks of flour and rice. He hefted beans and rice over his shoulder, then carried them to the counter. He repeated with two more bags, this time corn and flour. “Got any sugar?”

  The old man’s eyebrows rose, but he said nothing, simply nodded past Liam’s left shoulder.

  Liam suppressed a grin and turned that way. He grabbed the largest bag of sugar—twenty-five pounds—and scanned the shelves above it, then filled his arms with canned fruit and vegetables, though he doubted they’d taste as good as her grandmother’s. He returned to the counter and dumped this load next to the others.

  The old man’s eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. Still, he didn’t ask.

  “What do folks around here do about meat if there’s no freezer? Besides jerky, I mean. Yours was good, by the way.”

  “Hmmph.”

  “My dad’s is better, though—no offense.”

  Thick, salt-and-pepper eyebrows snapped together. “Not my best batch.”

  “Hmmph.” Liam dealt the old man some of his own medicine.

  Silence hummed in the air. In his normal life, Liam was generally in motion, quick to respond, seldom quiet or still, but he found himself enjoying this challenge of meeting the old man on his home ground.

  “Most folks salt the meat or smoke it. ’Course, city boy like you could buy some of that canned meat over yonder.” He nodded toward the back. “Or he could go down to Asheville to one of them discount stores.” No attempt was made to hide his derision.

  “When’s deer season in these parts?” Liam asked. “Back home, it won’t be for six weeks or so, the beginning of November.”