The Outcast tp-3

by Beverly Barton

  Reece was different. He didn't know her, had no reason to give her his trust, to open up his thoughts and feelings to her. Most people had little or no control over her ability to sense things about them, a curse for her far more than a blessing. But Reece seemed to possess a shield that kept her out. Odd that the only man she had ever allowed in her bed was the one man who refused her admittance into his private thoughts and feelings.

  Elizabeth dozed in the chair the rest of the night, waking at dawn when she heard Reece groaning. He had tossed the covers off and was thrashing wildly about on the bed. Jumping up from the chair, she placed her knees on the bed, lowered herself enough to grab his flying arms and found herself tossed flat on her back, lying beneath a naked Reece.

  She stared at his face, next to hers on the pillow. His eyes were still closed. Where she had held his arms in her strong grip, trying to calm him, he now held her arms over her head, the weight of his body trapping her partially beneath him, her hip resting against his arousal.

  His breathing slowed, his raging movements ceased and he lay quietly, his body unnaturally warm. Elizabeth tugged on her trapped arms. Reece tightened his hold momentarily, then when she tugged again, he released her, flopping one big, hairy arm across her stomach. Elizabeth sucked in a deep breath.

  How had this happened? She was alone in her bed with a naked man-a big, strong naked man. Reece. The stranger who had invaded her heart five months ago. The stranger who was an escaped convict.

  Of all the men she'd known in her twenty-six years, none of them had made her feel the way Reece did. She wanted to console him, to soothe him, to whisper words of comfort. She also wanted to be held in his arms, to be kissed by his firm lips, to be covered with his hard body, to be...

  Elizabeth squirmed, trying to free herself. Reece didn't budge, the weight of his body keeping her trapped. What was she going to do? She couldn't just lie there until he rolled over. Stay calm. Don't panic. Think. Once again Elizabeth concentrated on forming a mental link with Reece. Once again his mind denied her access.

  Reece covered her breast with his hand. Elizabeth gasped, totally shocked by the intimacy of his action. Although she still wore her clothes, her jeans, sweater and jacket, she suddenly felt undressed. She seldom wore a bra, wasn't wearing one now, and the pressure of Reece's hand cupping her breast made her feel naked. When his finger and thumb pinched at her nipple, it responded with immediate erectness, jutting against her sweater, answering the call of Reece's command.

  No man had ever touched her the way Reece was doing now. The few young men she had dated in college had seen her as a freak once they'd found out she possessed psychic abilities, some even ridiculing her as a fraud. Despite her desire to know the pleasures of love and marriage and motherhood, Elizabeth had accepted her self-imposed solitude here in her mountain retreat-here in her grandmother's home where she was safe from the outside world.

  But the outside world had invaded her privacy, had indeed burst into her life in the form of one big, angry man... a man now fondling her intimately.

  She covered his caressing hand with her slender fingers, gripping his hand, lifting it from her breast. Only partially conscious, Reece moaned and curled up against her, nuzzling her neck with his nose. Shivers of apprehension raced up her spine. Spirals of inner warmth spread through her body.

  "Reece?" She had to get away from him, from the power of his touch, the strength of his masculinity. She tried again to move away from him. He pulled her closer.

  "Reece, please let me go. I can't stay here with you like this."

  She saw his eyelids flicker, open briefly and close. He ran one hand up and down her shoulder, then caressed her waist, her hip, the side of her leg. Tremors racked Elizabeth's body, heat curling inside her, moisture collecting in preparation. This had to stop! It had to stop now! She wasn't prepared for such intense emotions, for feelings beyond any she had ever experienced.

  "Reece!"

  He opened his eyes, smoky amber eyes, eyes that looked right at her without seeing. She gave him a gentle shove. He turned over onto his back, closing his eyes and groaning softly. Elizabeth eased away from him. Once on her feet she pulled the covers up over his body, but not before she'd taken a good look at the man who had created such wanton desire within her.

  She guessed his height at well over six feet, probably two or three inches over. He was muscular but lean, his hands and feet large and well shaped. Curly, dark brown hair covered his arms and legs, a thick mat on his chest tapering down to a narrow line across his stomach and then spreading out to surround his manhood.

  Elizabeth swallowed hard, mesmerized by his masculine body, by the perfection, the sculptured beauty. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch him, to caress the very maleness of him. Hastily she pulled the sheet, quilt and blanket over him, covering him up to his neck.

  His breathing seemed even, his sleep natural. She thought it would be safe to leave him alone for a while, long enough to fix herself a bite of breakfast, take a quick shower and renew her strength through a few moments of meditation. She'd have MacDatho stand guard. He would be able to sense any change in Reece and alert her.

  Elizabeth leaned over, placing her hand on Reece's forehead. He was warm, perhaps a little too warm, even feverish.

  She'd just have to rush through breakfast and a bath. Reece didn't need to be left alone for too long. Cradling his rough, lean cheek in her hand, Elizabeth gazed down at the sleeping man. Tiny, almost indiscernible flutters spread through her stomach. So this was what sexual attraction felt like. When she'd been a teenager she'd been so sure she was in love with Sam. He'd known better. Now she did, too. Sam had been comforting, reassuring, safe. Reece was none of those things, and yet...

  She left him then, left him to rest, left him in order to free herself from the magnetism he possessed, a magnetism that drew her to him as she had never been drawn to another man.

  After a shower and change of clothes, she allowed herself five minutes of meditation before she devoured a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee. Then she bundled up to go outside and check on her greenhouses. During college when she had decided that she could never live in the outside world, she had sought a profession suitable to her personality and life-style and had chosen horticulture. She not only loved flowers and herbs, trees and shrubs, but she had a deep reverence for nature, a respect for all living things. She'd borrowed the money from Sam to install a small greenhouse behind the cabin. Her nursery business had grown by leaps and bounds, so that now she had two large greenhouses and a mail-order business that kept her knee-deep in work. Aunt Margaret and O'Grady helped out occasionally, and in the rush seasons of fall and spring planting, she often hired part-time help from Dover's Mill.

  Returning from her outside trek, Elizabeth laid peppermint leaves and elder flowers on the counter. If Reece's fever rose any higher, she would prepare a tea made from equal amounts of the two ingredients. Drinking the tea would cause profuse sweating and hopefully break the fever.

  Although early-morning light should have illuminated the house through the many windows, the dreary gray sky obscured the faraway sun, keeping the house in shadows, the only light coming from the fires burning in the fireplaces and the glow from the kerosene lamps. Even though the phones should be working soon, it could be days before electrical power was restored. Thank God the generator worked perfectly, protecting her greenhouses. She supposed she should have opted to hook the house up to a generator, too, but she simply couldn't justify the expense. Despite Sam's efforts to give her money, Elizabeth prided herself upon her financial independence. Her business would sink or swim on her merits as a businesswoman. She wasn't a child any longer; she wasn't Sam's responsibility.

  After pouring herself a second cup of coffee, Elizabeth turned on the portable radio nestled between pieces of her prized blue graniteware collection sitting atop the oak sideboard. Picking up the radio, she ventured out of the kitchen and down the hallway. The radio music was cou
ntry-western, a current Vince Gill hit. Just as she walked into her bedroom the news came on, the announcer alerting people in the Dover's Mill area of an escaped convict, armed and dangerous.

  "Reece Landry, convicted murderer, escaped from a county vehicle taking him to Arrendale Correctional Institute in Alto after the car skidded off the highway and hit a tree during yesterday's severe storm. Both deputies were killed in the accident. Landry, convicted of murdering Newell industrialist B. K. Stanton, was being taken to Arrendale to serve a life sentence. Landry is six foot three, a hundred and ninety-five pounds, with medium-length brown hair and brown eyes. He is armed with a 9 mm automatic taken from Deputy Jimmy Don Lewis. Our local county sheriff is joining forces with the sheriff's department in two other counties to help in the search for Landry. The search has been hampered by the severe weather. If anyone has any information, please contact the sheriff's department immediately. Do not approach this man. He is armed and dangerous. We repeat, Reece Landry is armed and dangerous."

  Elizabeth turned off the radio, placing it and her coffee cup on a corner desk. She walked over to the bed where Reece lay sleeping. He'd thrown off the quilt and blanket, leaving only the sheet covering him from the waist down.

  "Did you kill B. K. Stanton?" Elizabeth whispered, not expecting an answer but hoping she could sense Reece's innocence or guilt. She sensed nothing.

  Sitting in the wing-back chair beside the bed, she reached out to touch Reece's forehead. Hot. Burning hot. The fever had risen, but he wasn't sweating. His skin was dry. She went into the bathroom, drew a pan of cool water, took a washcloth from the stack in the wicker basket where she stored them and returned to Reece's bedside. Placing the pan on the nightstand, she dipped the washcloth in the water, wrung it out and began giving Reece a rubdown. If the rubdown didn't cool his fever, she would prepare the medicinal tea.

  The moment the damp cloth touched his body Reece moaned, then flung his arm out, batting at the air. He hit the side of Elizabeth's shoulder. Grabbing his arm, she lowered it to his side and continued her ministrations. Time and again she dipped the cloth into the water, wrung it lightly and massaged Reece's face, neck, shoulders and chest.

  Realizing her rubdown had done nothing to lower his fever, she went to the kitchen, prepared the peppermint-and-elder tea and brought the brewed medication and an earth­enware mug to her bedroom. After pouring the concoction, she sat on the bed by Reece and lifted his head. As she'd done the night before, she placed the cup to his lips, shifting it just enough for the liquid to dribble. When the tea ran down his chin, Elizabeth inserted her finger between his closed lips, prizing his mouth open. She repeated the process. Reece accepted the tea. She kept her arm securely behind his head, holding him inclined just enough so he could swallow the medicine without choking. When he downed the last drop in the mug, Elizabeth sighed. Now all she could do was wait and pray.

  Lowering his head to the pillow, Elizabeth turned so that her back rested against the headboard of the huge old bed her great-great-grandfather, a carpenter, had made as a first-anniversary gift for his wife. Their seven children, four of whom had grown to adulthood, had been born in this bed.

  Time passed slowly as Elizabeth sat beside Reece, her hand idly brushing his shoulder, her fingers soothing the thick, springy hair on his chest. Moisture coated her fingertips when she touched his forehead. He was sweating. The fever had broken!

  By noon Elizabeth had pushed and tugged Reece enough to change the bed linen after he'd stained them with perspiration. He lay sleeping peacefully, warm but not feverish, the flesh on his ears, nose and hands that she had feared frostbitten now a healthy pink. Perhaps he would awaken soon. When he did, he would be hungry. He'd probably want breakfast.

  Glancing down at the man the radio announcer had called armed and dangerous, Elizabeth breathed deeply, wondering if she was a fool to trust him not to harm her. Fool or not, she could not deny the way she felt about him, the deep emotions he stirred within her. For five months this stranger had been a part of her. Without even knowing him, she had allowed him into her heart.

  Elizabeth leaned over and kissed Reece on the cheek. He didn't stir. She ran her fingertips across his full lower lip.

  Suddenly she sensed a desperate need, a soul-felt cry for help. Laying her fingertips across his mouth, Elizabeth concentrated on zeroing in on Reece's emotions. Anger. Pain. Hatred. Fear.

  "God sent you to me, Reece Landry. Somehow I'm going to find a way to help you," Elizabeth vowed.

  Chapter 3

  Warmth. Blessed warmth. Reece lay in the soft warmth, savoring the comfort, his mind halfway between sleep and consciousness. He stretched his legs, which were covered by a downy, heated weight. His muscles ached; his head felt fuzzy. Was he dead? Had he frozen to death in the snow? Was this delicious warmth coming from hell's brimstone fire? Couldn't be, he thought. This wasn't punishment; this was heaven.

  Slowly and with some difficulty, Reece forced his eyelids open. He wasn't quite sure where he was, but one thing was for certain-he hadn't died and gone to hell. He gazed up at a split-log-and-plank ceiling, the wood a mellow gold. Looking around the room, he noticed the massive stacked logs of the outer walls and the rustic rock fireplace where a cheerful fire glowed brightly. Across the wooden mantel lay an arrangement of dried flowers intermingled with large pine cones and wide plaid ribbons. Several dried-flower wreaths decorated the walls, along with a few framed charcoal nature drawings of trees, flowers and even one of a wolf.

  Wolf! Last night he'd broken into this cabin. No, he hadn't really broken in. Some fool had left the door unlocked. Reece shook his head. It didn't hurt! Reaching up to touch his injured forehead, he immediately realized that the dried blood had been washed away and the swelling had diminished considerably.

  Had he imagined that damned black wolf, snarling, growling, threatening, warning Reece not to harm his mistress? The woman! Had he imagined her, too? Big blue eyes. Thick dark hair lying across her back in a long braid. Full, tempting breasts. Strong arms. Comforting voice.

  He could hear that voice calling his name. Reece. I want to help you. You're safe here with me. No one is going to put you back in a cage.

  How the hell did she know his name? And why would she help him? Why had she taken care of him? Tiny pieces of his memory returned, fever-induced dreams of tender, caring hands bathing his body, stroking his face, doctoring his wounds, pouring some sort of hot, mint-flavored tea down his throat.

  Reece sat up in bed with a start, the full implications of his fragmented memories hitting him. He had forced his way into the woman's home, unlocked door or not. And he had threatened her life before he'd passed out. But what had happened after that? Who had put him to bed?

  The sudden realization that he was completely naked took him by surprise. Someone had carried him to this bed and undressed him. The woman couldn't have carried him. No way. Did that mean she had a husband? A father? A brother? He didn't remember anyone except the woman and her enormous animal protector.

  Had the woman called the sheriff? Were deputies on their way here right now to take him to prison?

  You're safe with me. No one is going to put you back in a cage.

  Her words had been a promise, but Reece didn't trust promises. He'd found in his vast experience with the human race that most people lied whenever it suited them.

  Reece tossed back the covers, slid his legs out of the bed and touched his feet to the floor. Although his body ached with a bearable soreness, neither his head nor his side hurt. Undoubtedly, none of his ribs had been broken in the accident-either that, or the woman who had tended his wounds had miraculously healed him.

  He had to find the woman, had to ask her where he was and figure out exactly what his chances of escaping were. But he was buck naked and didn't see anything in the room that vaguely resembled his county-issued coveralls. However, he did notice a stack of folded clothes on the cedar chest at the foot of the bed.

  Slowly, tentatively, Reec
e stood. Swaying slightly, his head spinning, he grabbed the bedpost. The faint vertigo passed as quickly as it had come. Righting himself, he walked around the bed, lifted the stack of clothing off the cedar chest and smiled when he realized he held a pair of men's briefs, a thermal top, a flannel shirt and a pair of well-worn jeans. There had to be a man in this woman's life, probably here in her home. Where else would she have gotten men's clothes? And from the look of them, the items belonged to a fairly large man, someone about Reece's own size.

  But why couldn't he remember a man?

  Taking his time, Reece put on the clothes, then looked around, wondering if the lady of the house had thought of footwear. Sure enough, resting on the wide rock hearth was a pair of thick socks and leather work boots.

  Reece sat on the raised hearth, breathing in the aroma of aged wood burning slowly, and slipped on the socks and boots. Whoever owned these boots had a foot about a half size larger than Reece's, but the minuscule difference was of little importance. The jeans were a perfect fit, the flannel shirt and thermal top only a fraction large. The owner undoubtedly had the shoulders and chest of a linebacker.

  Running his hand over his face, Reece noted the beginnings of a beard. He needed a shave, and he could do with a hot shower, even though he felt relatively clean. Memories of his ministering angel bathing him flashed through his mind. A shower and shave could wait. He needed to find his hostess. Reece laughed aloud. His hostess? For all he knew, the county sheriff could be waiting for him just beyond the half-closed door.

  Reece inched the door open, peered out into the dim hallway, saw no one, but heard a man singing an old-fashioned tune, something from the forties or fifties. Following the music, Reece made his way down the hallway, noting the huge living room in the opposite direction and a massive wooden staircase leading to the second level of the cabin.

  The kitchen door stood open. Bright sunshine poured in through the lace-curtained windows. Harry Connick, Jr.'s mellow voice singing "I'll Dream of You Again" drifted through the cabin from the radio-cassette player on the counter. Reece's vision took in three things in quick succession. A blue-granite wood-burning stove placed in front of a corner brick chimney, a round wooden table set for a meal, and a smiling woman holding a pan of biscuits. The smell of coffee, frying bacon and sweet spices made Reece's mouth water. He hadn't realized how hungry he was.