Reckless

by Ruth Wind

  Then the strange, awkward moments in her driveway, and his sulking when they brought him into the clinic. Now he was acting as if they were simply friends again, and it wasn’t true. Not for either of them.

  Standing there with her trusting hand in his own, she had more dignity than any woman he’d ever known. She gave freely, without expectation, and Jake in his selfishness just took and took and took. What had he given her except a lot of hassle and too much temptation?

  He bowed his head, ashamed, words sticking like dry crackers in his throat. He wanted her. In his bed. But a woman like this wasn’t capable of giving her body without giving her heart. He knew it, and she knew it. All the talk of just being friends and keeping their distance was designed to keep her safe from that painful ending.

  And what did he do? He kept pushing, kept needing, kept wanting her. He himself was perfectly capable of giving only his body, because he had no heart or soul left. They’d been bled out of him these past few years. He was as hollow as a straw man.

  On a sudden swell of regret, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it fervently. “Thank you, Ramona.”

  It unnerved her. He could see it in the quickly hidden flare in her eyes. “For what?”

  He closed his eyes and kissed her strong, capable fingers once more. “For being there for me when I can’t give you anything in return.”

  Her smile was unexpected and oddly knowing. “Oh, you’ve given me a lot, Jake Forrest. A woman can always use another friend.”

  Jake said nothing. A true friend would leave her alone now that he could see traces of genuine caring creep into her smiles. A true friend would run away as fast as he could and give her some peace.

  Instead, Jake said, “Do you have time to drive me to my apartment? I can call Lance to take me to the restaurant.”

  “Sure. I can bring you back to town on my way back to the clinic, if you hurry. We need to do it right now, though.” She glanced at her watch. “I have a patient at seven.”

  He smiled. “Pretty early office hours.”

  “She can’t get in any other time—she’s a teacher.” She stuck her lollipop back in her mouth. “Go get dressed and I’ll take you home.”

  Ramona wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find in Jake’s apartment. Something militarily neat, maybe, with a huge stereo and few chairs and an enormous bed. No food in the cupboards, except maybe some instant coffee and an old box of crackers.

  As she walked into the condo, however, she realized the vague picture she’d imagined was all wrong. For all his present self-destructiveness, he was a man who cared about beauty, about fine things, and it showed in his apartment. The rooms were large and clean, with cathedral ceilings that opened onto a bank of windows giving a bright, unbroken view of the mountains and a creek running through a meadow. The furniture was not merely serviceable, as she’d vaguely supposed, but an artfully chosen Santa Fe. style, the fabric a pleasing stripe in muted hues of turquoise, sienna and mauve. Instinctively, she brushed a hand over the polished cotton.

  “I’ll just be a second,” he said, going up a set of open stairs to a loft. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  That was pretty much impossible, Ramona acknowledged, perching on the edge of the couch. The room smelled of him, of that heady cologne and male skin and shaving cream, and the scent made her skin feel oddly sensitive. Restless. She was aware of the small sounds of his moving upstairs, just out of sight beyond the rail that separated his bedroom from the downstairs, and she tried not to imagine his shedding the sweats he’d worn home from the hospital. Tried not to think of his long, hard thighs all bare, and the hips that would be as lean and well muscled as the rest of him....

  She closed her eyes, but it didn’t help. After a moment, she jumped up and paced into the kitchen. Onions and peppers and apples, neatly sorted, hung in a three-tiered basket near the stove, and a good set of cutting knives clung to a magnetized bar over the counter. The coffeemaker and a grinder were high-end and sat in the midst of plain white, heavy ceramic jars she assumed held coffee. Curiously, she lifted the lid of one and inhaled the aroma of some very dark beans. A wine rack in the corner held several bottles—Ramona looked at them without really knowing what the labels meant. Some were in German, some obviously French. One or two were American labels she recognized.

  Jake came back down the stairs whistling, his step light and free. He carried socks and a pair of tennis shoes in one hand, and Ramona saw that he’d taken the time to shave quickly. His jaw gleamed. In spite of the bruises, he looked hale and strong and—judging by the sudden melting of her hips—utterly edible. “Do you know anything about wines?” he asked, seeing her interest.

  Ramona put her hands behind her back. “Not really.”

  The kitchen was tiny. When he stepped closer to take a bottle from the rack, they were practically breathing the same molecules. He’d splashed on a little of his cologne, and it filled Ramona’s head, sensual and mesmerizing. She found herself gripping the counter behind her, amazed at the sudden swell of awareness and arousal that poured through her limbs.

  Whoever he was, whatever his problems, Jake Forrest was an astonishingly sexy man. Lean and a little rough, that dark hair brushed back from his gorgeously angled face, his hands a work of art...

  She took a breath and let it out slowly, trying to focus as he told her about the pale green bottle of wine he’d pulled out. She nodded in what she hoped appeared to be an intelligent manner, even though she hadn’t heard a word he said.

  But her senses were on overload. Her gaze drifted over the line of his jaw, down his neck to the triangle of tanned skin at the collar of his shirt. Down his lean waist, down taut hips and thighs clad in worn denim, and her nose was filled with that sexy scent, and there was just no room for listening.

  He put the bottle back carefully and Ramona shifted, thinking now they’d leave the kitchen, and she could pull her wits together. Once they were out of this tiny little space, cool and dim with only the light from the big window coming through the pass-through bar, she would be able to put some space between them. She could turn her attention to something else, and his scented skin wouldn’t be so overwhelming.

  “I just have to put my shoes on,” he said, lifting them up to show her, as if she hadn’t realized.

  Blankly, she nodded.

  He turned to lead the way out, and Ramona concealed a sigh, carefully focusing on the floor so she wouldn’t think lecherous thoughts about his rear end.

  Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice her distracted state. In that lazy, loose-limbed way he moved—so at odds for a man who had once been a soldier—he wandered into the living room, sat in a chair and dropped his shoes. Ramona followed him, feeling as shaky as if she had actually had sex. She perched on the couch, right at the edge.

  Silence thundered through the room. She struggled to look anywhere but at him. Struggled to come up with a line of conversation that might help keep her mind off his body. It suddenly seemed to her that this must be how it was for adolescent boys. They were probably flooded with visions of sex twenty-four hours a day, poor things. The notion surprised her into a grin.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Ramona pressed her lips together. “Nothing. I was just, urn, thinking it was too quiet in here.” An idea popped into her head. “You need a pet.”

  He chuckled. “Right.”

  “I’m serious. Maybe a cat to curl up on your lap. Purr you to sleep.”

  An instant before he gave her that slow, sensual grin, Ramona realized how leading that sounded. “Purring is nice,” he said. “Come on over anytime and I’ll get you purring.”

  “Jake!” she protested. A blaze of color reddened her cheeks.

  He laughed softly. “Couldn’t resist.”

  She looked at her watch. “You’d better hurry up or I’ll have to leave you behind.”

  “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “Try me.” She’d do just about anything to get out of thi
s apartment before she humiliated herself. Anything.

  The rest of the day, Ramona couldn’t stop thinking about his apartment. Something nagged at her, just out of reach. It hadn’t been the bachelor pad she had expected, but there was something missing anyway.

  Finally, it dawned on her. There were no pictures on the walls, no plants, no little creature comforts at all, except in the kitchen.

  It wasn’t really a home. No wonder he couldn’t sleep. It was as impersonal as any hotel room. Ramona figured she might have trouble sleeping in such a place herself.

  She trusted her instincts in most things, but when she found herself at the local animal shelter, face-to-face with a dozen meowing cats, she had to seriously question her motives. It wasn’t the smartest thing in the world to make a gift of a pet. She didn’t know if Jake even liked cats. She didn’t know why she picked a cat instead of a dog. He seemed more like a dog person after all. She couldn’t remember if he had even seen her cats at her house that other morning.

  She nearly backed out, but just as she was about to leave, a half-grown gray tiger came up to the bars and butted his head against them. His meow was ragged, one ear was torn, and his tail had evidently been run over.

  And his purr was so loud it could be heard in three states.

  She put her hand against his big head and rubbed with vigor between his ears. The purr intensified, and he rolled his back against her outstretched fingers. “What’s this one’s story?” she asked the attendant.

  “Stray. A lady on Fifth Street said some folks left him behind when they moved. He hung around the neighborhood for a month before she brought him in.”

  With a sinking feeling, Ramona knew she was doomed. If Jake didn’t want him, she’d take him in herself. What was one more cat, really?

  As golden evening moved in, Ramona drove back to the condo complex. Thick bars of deep rose and yellow light cut through the valleys to fall over the verdant landscape and pinken the white bark of aspens. The mountains with their coat of dark trees looked blurred, soft as fur.

  Ramona pulled into the lot and parked. Walking on the sidewalk was a beautiful young woman, maybe twenty-five, perfect in the way of a model. Gilded hair, gilded skin, long limbs and upthrust breasts—just Jake’s type. She gave Ramona a friendly, open smile so Ramona couldn’t even hate her.

  “What am I doing here?” she said to the cat, who leaped to the dashboard curiously, nosing at the edges of the window. “What in the world am I doing?”

  Making a fool of herself. She was armed with a tattered, half-grown cat, three jars of chokecherry jelly and a loaf of sourdough bread from the bakery. Could she be any more Mayberry RFD?

  Unfamiliar embarrassment rushed through her. She had it bad for Jake Forrest—real bad. Somehow, he had broken through all her practical, even-tempered calm defenses and stirred up emotions she hadn’t even known she was capable of feeling.

  And what did she do about it? Dress up and put on lipstick like any normal female? Invite him out dancing where things might take their natural course? No, she brought him homey presents. She hadn’t even remembered to put on a clean blouse or wash her face. She’d just wanted to get over here and give him something, make an offering.

  In sudden panic, she reached for her car key. Then hesitated. Stupid as it was, she really had felt earlier that these simple gifts might make a difference to him. A cat purring at his feet could soothe a lot of sorrows, as she well knew. Chokecherry jelly, made from the fruit of these very hills, could ease his hurt by giving him pleasant memories of childhood. And the bread—well, it just seemed like it went with the jam.

  No. She closed her eyes and started the engine. No, she couldn’t do it.

  Chapter 12

  From his loft bedroom, Jake had seen Ramona pull up. In spite of his optimistic start to the day, he’d lasted only half the morning at the restaurant. Just long enough to make schedules for the next two-week period, scribble his name on the payroll checks the manager put in front of him, and review kitchen orders. There was a feud going on between two waitresses over some man both of them wanted, and it gave him a headache. Barking orders for them to solve it or get out, he called Lance to give him a ride home.

  He ached more than he would have admitted aloud, and stiff muscles plagued his shoulders and neck. He’d gone upstairs to fetch some analgesic ointment when he glanced out the window and saw Ramona’s car. All day he’d been aware of that weird sense of distance—he couldn’t seem to make more than superficial contact with the rest of the world. He spoke and listened, but everything seemed like a dream or a movie. Not real. Twice at the restaurant, someone had tried to talk to him, and Jake knew they were talking. He watched their lips move, but he simply couldn’t hear them.

  That scared him. There were times lately when he wondered if he really was going crazy. Maybe his mother wasn’t too far off the mark to worry about him—maybe it. ran in the family.

  Ramona had pulled into the parking lot of his apartment, but although he waited for her to get out, she didn’t. Long minutes passed, and he thought maybe she was gathering things out of the seat or something.

  But how long could it take? Frowning, he went downstairs and to the front door—just as her engine started. He bolted down the steps. “Hey!” he called. “Don’t go!” She hadn’t started to pull out yet, and with relief, he saw her reach for the key. The engine stopped. Jake jogged up to the window. “Did you forget about some other appointment?”

  “No.” She shook her head. Her hair was loose, and it made a gossamer web over one shoulder. “I just wasn’t sure I should bother you after all.”

  “You could never be a bother.” She looked good to him. Vividly colored, solid, flesh and blood, as if she’d walked out of the movie to join him. “I was just about to make some supper. I’ll cook for you and we can drink some wine.”

  She lifted one shoulder and looked away. With an odd expression, she said, “You might not feel that way when you see what I brought over.”

  “What? Amulets to ward off bad dreams?”

  “No.” She reached over to one side for something he couldn’t see. “Guess again,” she said, and turned back, her arms full of something...

  “A cat?” Instinctively, he reached for the animal so she could get out of the car. It was an appealing gray-and-white-striped tiger with long fur. Big. “Hi, there,” Jake said, scratching him under the chin. The cat crawled up on his shoulder, nosing his ear, and purred loudly. Jake laughed. “Hey! That tickles.”

  Ramona got out of the car, holding a basket. “So you do like cats?”

  “Well, I hate to ruin my macho image, but I always had a cat as a kid. I love them.”

  Her relief was almost palpable. “After talking about it this morning, I decided a purring cat might be just the thing for your insomnia. And even if he doesn’t cure it, he’ll be good company in the middle of the night.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to be my doctor anymore,” Jake said. The cat felt warm and comfortable in his arms, and Jake suspected she might be right. A cat. Such a simple thing, but he hadn’t even considered getting a pet.

  “Just a friend.”

  Standing there looking slightly abashed, her hair tumbling in long strands down her back, her face devoid of any makeup she might have worn earlier, she looked like the ultimate earth mother. Jake didn’t like the type. He didn’t like short women. He didn’t like guileless simplicity or country ways.

  But he liked her. He liked the fathomless depths of those velvet brown eyes, her healthy, clear skin, her beautiful, lush breasts and her tiny hands. He liked her hair, free and shiny, caressing her shoulders and the open way she looked at him. Just the sight of her eased the tension he’d been feeling, that edgy restlessness.

  Impulsively, he bent over and pressed a light kiss to her mouth. “Thank you.”

  She swallowed. “You’re welcome.”

  “Come inside. I’ll get you some wine.”

  “No, I don’t w
ant to keep you. I just brought you the cat and some cat food and things like that.”

  He gripped the animal with one hand and took her arm with the other. “Let me feed you.”

  For one more moment, she hesitated, and Jake saw with a start of surprise that she wanted to come in. It was the first time she’d come to him, and a strange emotion curled in his belly over that. Dimly, he recognized it as happiness.

  Firmly, he locked his arm in hers. Her breast pressed softly against his forearm, and it was a powerfully erotic sensation, just that small movement of firm flesh. Desire unfurled through his loins, thick and golden. He smiled at her.

  He let her go once they were inside. “What do you have in the basket?” he asked.

  She held it in front of her with one hand. In the other was a plastic grocery bag. “The bag is cat supplies.”

  “And the basket?” he repeated.

  “People supplies.” A faint blush edged her cheeks. “Now I see it was silly, but I brought you some jelly and a loaf of bread from the bakery. Seemed a good idea at the time.”

  Jake put the cat down to explore and took the basket out of her hand. He didn’t move away, taking simple enjoyment from the closeness of her small round body and the glow of her complexion. “Why was it silly?” he asked in a low voice.

  She shrugged, and her gaze darted away. “I don’t know. I’m sure you are used to more glamorous presents.”

  He touched her arm with one finger. “I am. Glamorous and shallow presents that could be given to anyone. Impersonal presents.” He traced a line up her arm and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. “Nothing was ever heartfelt.”

  Her eyes darkened, turned to those dark, still pools that so drew him. Feeling himself thicken with desire, he wondered if she knew her nostrils flared slightly when she was aroused, or that her nipples visibly pearled. The sight lured him, made him want to unfasten that simple buttoned shirt and put his mouth to those aroused, hungry points. For a moment, he thought about it and even felt himself swaying forward the slightest bit.