I'll Be There

by Deborah Grace Staley

  “Fascinating.”

  “Yes, but of course you’d know all that. Would you care to confirm or deny?”

  “No.”

  “Predictable.” She followed him to the sink with her dishes. “So, if you live alone on an uninhabited area of a mountain, that brings me back to why?”

  He took her dishes. “I’ll do these. You should rest.”

  “Never let it be said that I’d refuse a man who cooks and does the dishes.” But rather than go lie down, Jenny leaned against the counter and watched Cord. Time to cut the crap and throw a dagger of truth just to see how it landed.

  “You know, I don’t remember much about last night, but I do know that every time I woke, you were there. And you were there because you were genuinely concerned. So, you can play this ‘I hate people’ bit if you want, but I’m not buying it.”

  Cord shrugged. “Suit yourself.” If he’d known the woman was as tenacious as a pit bull when he’d found her...

  “You’ve really perfected this bad boy act.”

  He trapped Jenny against the counter with a hand at either side of her. He wasn’t above using his size to intimidate. “Who says it’s an act? You don’t know anything about me.”

  Chapter 11

  She pushed away from the counter, not backing down, and put her body wickedly close to his. “I know enough.”

  “How?”

  “Intuition.”

  “Where was that intuition when you got mixed up in all this?”

  “Spot on. It led me right to the bad guys.”

  “Who, in turn, are now trying to kill you.”

  “I’d do it again.”

  “Truth, justice, the American way and all that?”

  “Right.” She pressed against his chest and backed him up a step. “What about you? What made you throw away your dedication to the cause?”

  “I never said I did.”

  “You didn’t have to. A junior reporter could figure out that’s exactly what you did. You don’t hide it well.”

  She laid her hand against his cheek and traced his scars with her thumb. He felt like she’d branded him, with her touch, her eyes.

  He grasped her wrist, breaking the contact, but didn’t let her go—and she didn’t move away.

  “When I’m following a story, my mindset is whatever happens, happens. Fear can’t factor in to doing whatever’s necessary to get at the truth. My guess is that you were the same way,” she paused, then added, “before.”

  Cord dropped her hand and stepped back. Jenny followed.

  “Care to comment?”

  “I have to get more firewood for the night.” After he’d turned the stove and oven off, he grabbed his coat from the peg by the door. “You should rest.”

  She folded her arms. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”

  This was exactly why he lived alone. He didn’t want to talk about “it” or anything else for that matter. He jammed his hat down on his head and stepped outside. Maybe she’d be asleep when he got back.

  Jenny was exhausted. She wandered around the living room and kitchen, avoiding the couch. She almost wished they were at Cord’s cabin where she could get more tangible clues about him.

  She picked up the stack of newspapers and magazines lying on the table in the living room and leaned against the raised stone hearth with a pillow at her back. She opened the newspaper and scanned the headlines. A woman who had ink instead of blood running through her veins, and the headlines didn’t interest her in the least. Instead, her eyes moved to the window searching for a glimpse of Cord.

  Damn it... she’d pressed too hard, and he’d shut down. She knew better, but reason and interrogative finesse seemed to desert her where he was concerned. Physical attraction aside, she should just back off and leave him to his demons, but the need for answers was wired in her DNA. What would make a man on the run from some negative experience, likely encountered in the line of duty, take on someone like her and her problems when he could and should have turned her over to Grady and walked away? Snowstorm aside, he didn’t have to be here with her. He could have left her and gone on his way, waited out the storm somewhere else. But he hadn’t. Why?

  She heard the back door open and close. A few seconds later, Cord came into the room carrying firewood. He walked around her and added the wood in his arms to the stack on the hearth. He didn’t speak to her, didn’t even look at her as he tended the fire.

  “Still snowing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hard?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How much do you think we have now?”

  “Couldn’t say.”

  “A foot? Two?”

  Cord shrugged.

  Change of tact. “How long did I asleep?”

  He added a couple of logs to the fire. “Since we got here yesterday.” He brushed his hands off and set the screen back in place. “You should be in bed.”

  “So you said, but what you mean is anything to keep from talking to me.”

  “There’s a difference in talking and being the subject of an investigation.”

  “You would know.” He gave her a look, and she forced herself to take a more subtle approach. She’d handled more reluctant subjects than him. Okay, maybe not. Still...”I’m sorry. I can come on a little strong,” she offered.

  His dark gaze met hers, but rather than comment said, “How’s your temperature?”

  “I haven’t taken it, but I feel much better.”

  He touched her forehead, and she felt her skin warm at the contact. Her heart rate picked up and she sighed. She—who had never sighed because of a man’s effect on her—sighed. Why now when the situation was so impossible?

  “You shouldn’t overdo it.”

  “Sitting in front of the fire, reading, doesn’t take much effort.”

  “I see you found the stuff the sheriff left for you.”

  Jenny folded the paper and rested it on her lap. “I haven’t read a word.”

  “Right.”

  “No, really. It seemed strange to me, too, but I can’t seem to concentrate.”

  Cord nodded and stared at the fire. The flames cast a glow over his dark skin. Jenny bit her lip. She had a crazy urge to reach out and trace the straight line of his jaw that the beard couldn’t hide. She wondered what he’d look like without it.

  “How’d you get the scars?” she asked again.

  Cord sighed. She could see him trying to decide if he wanted to tell her or not. Waiting silently wasn’t a chore. He was easy to look at.

  “I got them in a... work accident.”

  “Oh.” She thought maybe he’d gotten them in a fight. Jenny set the paper and magazines aside. “What happened?”

  Another pause, and then, “A window shattered.”

  “Ouch. How many stitches?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Jenny grinned. Any man with that kind of wound would know how many stitches he’d gotten. It hadn’t been a minor injury. He’d know. “How many?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “That must have been painful.”

  “Not really.”

  Maybe this had something to do with why he lived like a hermit. “Was anyone else injured?” she said casually, not looking at him, but anxious to hear his response.

  He turned toward her then. The wall came up, making his expression unreadable. Fair enough. She’d let it go, for now.

  He sat beside her, facing the fire. For long moments, he stared at the flames and she looked at him. Tight jeans did little to hide powerful thighs and calves. He may be a hermit, but he stayed in shape.

  “Have you given much thought to what will happen when you go back?” he asked.

  That surprised her—that he would be interested or that he’d care to make conversation with her, but she was thankful he was finally speaking. She hugged her knees to her chest. “You know, I don’t really worry about what’s going to happen. Having no control over what happens, however, is f
rustrating as hell.”

  “I can see where that would be hard for a woman like you.”

  “A woman like me?”

  “Independent, headstrong—”

  “Why, you do know how to turn a girl’s head with such pretty words, Mr. Goins.”

  “Confident,” he added.

  His gaze moved from her face to her neck, then lingered everywhere as it slid down the rest of her, all the way to her toes and back to her face. Jenny started to sweat from a heat that had nothing to do with the fire.

  “Attractive.”

  “Careful. I’ll have to issue a retraction,” she teased.

  He returned his attention to the fire, but not before she saw the heat in his eyes and the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  “I try not to think about it,” she said softly.

  “What?”

  “What will happen after I testify.”

  “Haven’t they told you?”

  She shook her head. “They gave me some general information when I applied for WITSEC, but they haven’t told me anything specific about the relocation or what I’ll be doing when I get there.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do all the things you did before.”

  Interesting. Did he know how this would work or was he just speculating? She didn’t ask; just decided to let him talk. “How?”

  “I’d think you’ll get your new identity, and they’ll find you somewhere to live and a new job. It may not be writing for a newspaper, but you might be able to still work in your field.”

  “Under a different name.”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled. “I have given that some thought.” She smiled and rocked back and forth. “I think of it as a game where I get to reinvent myself. New name, new surroundings, new people to meet.”

  He rolled to face her and propped up on an elbow. He was entirely too appealing for her to be expected to think coherently.

  “What have you come up with?”

  “In my make-believe scenarios?”

  “Yeah. What name would you choose?”

  She smiled. “Well, in one scenario, the one where I’m a femme fatale, my name is Lola LeBlanc. Isn’t that a great name? It just rolls off the tongue... Lola LeBlanc. I’m from New Orleans, and I have a Louisiana accent.” She mimicked that particular brand of southern, lowering her voice. “I have a sexy occupation like running a lingerie shop or a boutique inn that caters to couples who want to get away for a romantic escape.”

  He cleared his throat, then sat up and leaned against the hearth next to her. “Interesting, but both those occupations would probably involve too much interaction with the general public for it to be safe.”

  She looked away from him, purposely trying to be coy. “Spoil sport.”

  “Next scenario.”

  She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be enjoying her game. Whatever it took to loosen him up a bit.

  “Jane Reeves, librarian.”

  He laughed. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “You could never be quiet enough to be a librarian.”

  He was still laughing, but she couldn’t take offense at the assessment because one—it was true; and two, she liked his laugh—a low, rolling sound that reminded her of warm honey.

  “Next.”

  “Since you don’t like anything I’ve come up with, what would you suggest?”

  Concentration kept his face neutral as he considered. “Christina Ray. Teacher.”

  She leaned back, surprised. “Explain the choices.”

  “The name matches your personality. Bright, intelligent, pretty.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “And you could teach journalism.”

  She would never have chosen to teach. Even though she believed education was important, she’d always considered teaching too traditionally “female” for an occupation. She had helped with a journalism class at the high school in Angel Ridge, producing their school newsletter at The Chronicle. She even had allowed some of the students to write a teen page for the paper. She’d also sponsored a scholarship for the top student planning to pursue a career in journalism.

  She rested her cheek against her knees. “I wonder how long it will take to get used to having another name. You know, they suggest keeping the same first name or the same initials. Seems dangerous to me to have a name similar to your old one.”

  “There are a lot of people in the world. You’d still be hard to track.”

  “Not so far.”

  Several moments ticked by on a clock somewhere in the room. “You know, I think the thing that most concerns me—oh, never mind.” She raked a hand through her hair, pushing it back away from her face.

  “What?”

  She chewed on her lower lip, then said, “I worry that in a weak moment, I’ll go to my sister. I can’t imagine never being in the same room with her, missing her birthday. Christmas was awful.” Tears misted her eyes at the memory of spending the holiday with marshals and eating a microwaved frozen turkey dinner. No decorations. No family.

  He surprised her by taking her hand and squeezing it. “It’s weird at first, but you’ll get used to it. The holidays become just another day.”

  She focused on their linked hands. “I can’t imagine it. She was my one concession to being truly independent. I need her. We need each other. I’m not sure I can live without her.”

  “You’ll make new friends. Start a family.”

  “No.”

  At that, he looked up at her.

  “Don’t look so surprised. I could never join my life to another person when I’m living a lie. Not to mention the fact that no matter where I am, the possibility will always remain that the people trying to kill me can find me and finish the job. I wouldn’t endanger people I love that way.”

  “Not if they arrest everyone involved.”

  “That’s not likely. The crime ring is too big and widespread for that. They may take down the main players, but there’ll always be those looking for revenge and more than willing to start up where the others left off for the money.”

  “So you’re going to live the rest of your life alone?”

  She rested her chin on her knees again. Jenny had never really put words to what her life would become. Even though she’d never planned to marry, talking about living completely on her own made the future seem so dismal and meaningless. Finally, her gaze locked with his and she said, “Isn’t that what you did?”

  He released her hand. “We’re not talking about me.”

  Ignoring that, she said, “Do you get lonely?” He just stared into the flames of the fire. Maybe it was the warmth at her back or the fact that she’d been so ill, but rather than filter, she said, “It makes me wonder what could possibly happen to a person to make them choose this kind of life.”

  “Some people want—need to be left alone. That should be enough.”

  “I guess I’m just not wired that way.” Feeling more lethargic, Jenny couldn’t help closing her eyes.

  “It’s late. Why don’t you turn in?”

  “Okay.” And she would, if only she could find the energy to stand and walk all the way to the bedroom. It was just across the room, but it seemed so far away.

  Cord stood and offered his hand. She would have taken it, but she couldn’t make her eyes stay open. She felt his hands at her elbows and his strength replacing her own as he pulled her up.

  “Can you walk?”

  She did open her eyes then, judging the distance she’d have to travel skeptically. He lifted her into his arms and carried her the short distance to the bedroom. She hooked an arm around his shoulder and pressed her cheek to his chest. He was so warm and strong, but too soon, he laid her on the bed and was pulling the covers up around her. They were a poor substitute for Cord’s heat.

  She looked up at him, standing there, so dark and appealing, his hands in the pockets of his jeans and s
he wanted him. Wanted him to lie next to her and hold her through the long, dark night; to wake up next to him in the morning. Intellectually, she knew the illness and situation were fueling these feelings. She was vulnerable. They both were in this place out of time where there was nothing but the two of them. She wondered how long before they both gave in to it.

  “Can I get you anything? Something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.” She pulled the covers up to her chin and curled into the mattress. When he turned to go, she said, “Cord?”

  He stopped and looked back at her.

  “Where will you sleep?”

  “On the couch.”

  “Let me take the couch. That can’t be comfortable for you.”

  “I’ve slept in tighter spots.”

  “But—”

  “I need to be between you and the exterior doors, Jenny.”

  “Oh.” Good thing one of them was able to maintain focus.

  He stood framed in the doorway, backlit so that she was unable to read his expression, and then he simply said, “Goodnight,” and was gone.

  Chapter 12

  “I am going absolutely crazy. I want to go outside.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  Jenny had spent the morning trying to read. When she’d failed utterly, she found a deck of playing cards and lost at solitaire half a dozen times. Cord had come and gone from the house, but hadn’t told her where he went or what he did. He’d just come back in from one such excursion, and now, after rummaging in his bag, had come up with something he was spreading out across the kitchen table.

  “You know why. It isn’t safe. And—”

  She held up a hand. “I know. I’ve been sick. But I’m better, and you said the sheriff placed me here because he believed no one would find us this far out on so much property.”