by Sharon Sala
Roman’s gaze was hard and fixed. He had already schooled himself not to react to her condition until he had some answers he could live with. Yes, she was cut and bruised, and her clothing was bloody and all but in rags. And the dried blood matting parts of her hair to her scalp was further proof of her injuries. So at least part of her story had to be true. Problem was, he didn’t trust pretty women. In fact, he didn’t trust women at all.
“What’s your name?” Roman asked, and saw a different kind of fear move across her face.
“I don’t know.”
That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
She reached toward the knot beneath her scalp. “Somehow I hurt my head. When I came to, I couldn’t remember who I was or where I’d been going.”
He almost sneered. “Amnesia is a lame excuse, lady. Try again.”
Her gaze never wavered, nor did the tone of her voice. “Frankly, I don’t care whether you believe me or not.”
Reluctantly, he gave her points for attitude. Score one for you, he thought to himself. He shifted his stance. “You look like hell. What happened?”
There was no mistaking the anger in her eyes and it came through with the bitterness of her question.
“You’re not married, are you?”
Roman was taken aback and found himself answering before he thought.
“No.”
This time, she was the one who almost sneered. “Now, why am I not surprised? Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired.”
His glare deepened. He didn’t give a damn about her opinions of his manners or of anything else. In typical Justice fashion, he disposed of the subject by ignoring it.
“Lady, I don’t waste my time on congeniality. In my line of work, it rarely gets the job done.”
She stared pointedly at the gun. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but are you some sort of cop?”
“I’m no cop,” he said shortly.
“Wonderful,” he heard her mutter. “And where does that leave me...conversing with a hit man?”
A rare grin tilted the corner of his mouth. “I’m not a hit man, either. I’m a private investigator.”
She sighed. “I wish I knew if I could afford you. I’d hire you to find out who I am.”
The grin disappeared. She seemed bent on sticking to her story, and in spite of his better judgment, he was starting to believe her. He lowered the gun without comment, then pointed to her injuries.
“Did you have a wreck? I didn’t see any signs of one on the road when I came up.”
“I wasn’t in a car. I think I was in a plane.”
His eyes widened. “Are you saying your plane went down?”
She fought an urge to scream. The man was infuriating. But, she reminded herself, he was the one with the gun.
“No...maybe. Oh, I don’t know. All I know is, I jumped out before it went down.”
“Jumped?”
The room was beginning to tilt, and she reached out to steady herself, all but swaying on her feet.
“I regained consciousness in a pine tree. The parachute I was wearing was caught in the branches. Now, please. The bathroom. I need to go to the bathroom.”
Roman hadn’t missed a nuance of her expression. He had to admit she was good. But parachuting out of a plane and landing in a tree? The story was too far-fetched. He hated to let her out of his sight, even for a minute, but he could hardly ignore the request. Besides that, where the hell could she go? He finally relented.
“Down the hall, first door on your left.”
“I know. I’ve been here since last night.”
While he was absorbing the shock of that news, the power came back on, flooding the room in a sudden burst of light that left them both blinking...and in an odd, uncomfortable sort of way, slightly embarrassed.
“Thank goodness,” she said. “At least now I won’t bump into anything else.” Her hand brushed across the surface of her belly as she turned away. “I don’t have room left for another bruise.”
There was no way Roman could ignore the truth of her condition now. In the light, the evidence of her injuries was overwhelming. He caught himself wincing in sympathy as she walked away. And as he stared at her backside, another, but far less serious, fact of her life began to emerge. She was missing a pocket on the seat of her pants. He grinned. Her choice of underwear was remarkable, to say the least. Daisies. Her panties had daisies on them—small white blossoms with bright yellow centers.
On a rare, mischievous impulse, he called out to her. “Hey, Daisy.”
Startled by the unexpected and unfamiliar name, she pivoted. There was a tremor in her voice that hadn’t been there before, but she couldn’t help it. Did he know something about her that she didn’t?
“Why did you call me that?” she asked sharply.
He shrugged. “Got to call you something. It’s as good a name as any.”
She frowned, waiting for him to continue.
“Wait a minute,” he said, and stepped into the kitchen. Moments later, he came out and handed her a roll of toilet paper.
She blushed, but took what he offered with her head held high.
“Thank you,” she said shortly, more focused on gaining relief than worrying about some fool name that he fancied.
Yet when she stepped inside the bathroom, the fact that she was still at his mercy hit her again, and she locked the door behind her. Considering his size and the fact that he was armed, it was a futile act of defiance, but it made her feel better, just the same.
Easing her aching fingers around the zipper, she pulled, breathing a sigh of relief as her pants dropped down around her ankles without fuss. But when she reached for her underwear, she stopped, staring intently at the fabric, and then down at the obvious hole in the back of her pants.
Daisy... It’s as good a name as any.
A bright red flush crept up her face and into her neckline. He had some nerve. And then she thought of the look in his eyes and amended. An overdose of nerve wasn’t the only thing he had. A complete lack of fear was more like it.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror and rolled her eyes in disbelief. He was right. She did look like hell.
Daisy. She said the name aloud, testing the sound on the tip of her tongue. “Daisy.”
The name didn’t ring any bells, but it didn’t set off any alarms. either. She shrugged. He was right. For now, it was as good a name as any.
A short while later, she came out of the bathroom. Water was dripping from her hands and face, but the worst of the bloodstains were gone. To her surprise, the man was nowhere in sight. The urge to run was strong, but where could she go? She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering as she headed for the fire. The room seemed colder now than it had been a short while ago, and she was tired...so tired. The old sofa beckoned. It was four cushions in length, with just enough dignity to make a good bed.
Crawling onto it, she rolled herself into a ball, facing the fire. The heat emanating from the blaze seemed heaven-sent. In the next room, something hit the floor with a thump, but she didn’t flinch. In a way, the sound was almost reassuring. It was sort of like belling a cat. At least now she knew where he’d gone. She sighed and closed her eyes, only planning to rest. But moments late, exhaustion claimed her and she slept.
That was where Roman found her, curled up on the old leather sofa with one hand beneath her cheek and the other dangling over the edge of the cushion. Her vulnerability caught him by surprise. He found himself studying her in a way he would never have done had she been awake. He looked past his doubts to the woman beneath, realizing that he was more than intrigued. But he kept telling himself it was the mystery around her and not the woman herself that had caught his interest. And as he stood, he wondered how often he would have to remind himself of that to finally believe.
She was tiny, both in build and height. The top of her head was just below his chin, and she was a brunette. He preferred tall
, leggy blondes. The cut on her lip broke the symmetry of her mouth in a way that made him ache. He winced, thinking about the blow it would take to split such a tender spot. There was a bruise on her right cheek and scratches down the side of her face and neck. Remnants of the tree, he supposed, and at that moment, realized that he’d bought into her story. It was far-fetched, but he knew crazier things had happened.
His gaze moved to her hands. They were ringless. So she wasn’t married. He didn’t ask himself if it mattered. He was simply following procedure—finding out all there was to know about a subject before he took him or her apart at the seams.
When she shivered in her sleep, his frown deepened. Her clothes were in rags, and even if they hadn’t been, they weren’t suited for this type of climate.
Well, hell.
A few moments later, he came out of the kitchen carrying a blanket. When he bent down to cover her up, a wave of emotion hit him that had nothing to do with the suspicion he’d had earlier.
She was so damned small and helpless looking. He pulled the blanket up over her shoulders, making certain that her back was covered. He watched as she grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it tight beneath the curve of her chin. It was an unconscious gesture, but an endearing one, as well. It reminded him of his niece, Maddie. Maddie was afraid of the dark and slept under covers, no matter what time of year. He wondered if Daisy was afraid of the dark, and then laid another log on the fire.
Outside, the wind continued to blow, although the rain must have passed. He hadn’t heard it against the roof for some time now. Curious, he went to the front door to look out and was greeted by a blast of cold air. In spite of the darkness, the swirling snow eddying in the wind currents was impossible to miss.
“Son of a...”
He slammed the door shut and then turned, staring around the cabin and then at the woman asleep before the fire. At that moment, he made himself a promise. When he got home, he was going to punch Royal Justice in the nose. Not only had he let himself be bullied into taking a vacation he hadn’t wanted, but if the weather didn’t change, he was about to be snowed in, and with a woman he still didn’t trust. He walked to the sofa and looked down, whispering more to himself than to her.
“Well now, Miss Daisy, we’ve got ourselves in one fine mess.”
But Daisy didn’t hear him, and if she had, at that moment she wouldn’t have cared. Even though she was unaware of the snowstorm, she already knew there were worse things than being stranded inside this cabin. She could still be dangling from the limbs of that tree.
“Look, Holly-berry, look! See the bubbles. Now blow. Pucker up your mouth and blow!”
Daisy’s mouth pursed slightly as she went with the dream, watching from inside the little girl’s eyes as the bubbles flew from the wand and out into the air.
Laughter spilled from the child’s lips as she gave chase, waving her hands toward the bits of sunlight captured on the surfaces of the bubbles.
“More,” she cried. “Blow me some more!”
And they came, swirling through the air, dancing on wind currents, sailing too high to catch and far out of sight.
Still drifting with the pleasure of the dream, Daisy opened her eyes to a reality far removed. The log walls of the cabin were an abrupt reminder of the past two days of her life. And then she looked toward the window and amended that thought. The past three days of her life. It was morning.
The scent of coffee was strong, as was the ever present smell of the wood fire. She rolled over onto her back, contemplating the idea of moving farther, then abandoned the thought for the comfort of the cover and the fire.
Cover!
She reached down, fingering the softness of the blanket. A frown creased her forehead. Sometime between last night and this morning, her reluctant host had tossed her a crumb of kindness.
Humph. I didn’t think he had it in him.
Guilt shafted as she reminded herself that, technically, he’d been the one who’d been wronged. She’d infringed upon his property and hospitality, and without notice or warning. She sighed, trying to put herself in his place. What would she have done had she awakened to find someone crawling out from under her bed?
At that moment, a picture flashed into her mind—of a large room done in shades of blue, with touches of white, and of a great four-poster bed. The image came and went so quickly she could have let herself believe it was still part of her dream, but something told her it was not. Somewhere inside her mind, she was waking up, and the room she’d just seen did exist.
When tears spiked, she jutted her chin and gritted her teeth. Crying would get her nowhere. If that memory had come, then others would follow. For now, she needed to be concerned with getting down from this mountain and getting to the authorities. Then she remembered the bag full of money she’d left under the bed.
So maybe I don’t go straight to the authorities. Maybe I do a little checking on my own before I announce myself to the world. I don’t want to appear in public, only to find I’m on the FBI’s most-wanted list.
With a reluctant grunt, she tossed back the blanket and rolled, first to a sitting position, then standing, looking down at her stained clothes with distaste.
“Oh, for a steed and a pot of gold,” she muttered.
“And where would you go if you had them?”
Daisy spun. That man. How long had he been standing there?
“You startled me,” she accused.
“Sorry,” he said, but she knew he was not.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Roman said. “If you had that horse and money, where would a woman named Daisy go?”
“I’m sure you would agree, but for starters, out of your hair. You’ve been kind to put me up, but I think I’ve outstayed my welcome.”
Her reference to the fact that he’d kept a gun trained on her most of the evening was not lost on Roman, nor was the fact that she was keeping her distance. He didn’t know whether she was still afraid of him, or if she was standing where she was because it was close to the door. And because he was the man that he was, he chose not to comment on either of her remarks.
Her eyes narrowed in anger. The man was inscrutable, as well as insufferable. She pitied the woman who—
“I just realized,” she said. “I don’t know your name.”
“Justice. Roman Justice.”
Justice...as in my way or no way at all? But she refrained from voicing her thoughts.
“Mr. Justice, I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but we’d both know I’d be lying, so I’ll stick to the facts, I don’t know where we are, but I assume you had transportation up here, and I would appreciate a lift down to the nearest city. I can take it from there.”
Roman shook his head. “Afraid I can’t do that just yet.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “And why not?”
“Take a look outside.”
She headed for the door. Even before she turned the knob, she felt the cold. Oh, no, this isn’t going to be good. She looked outside. As far as the eye could see was a heavy layer of snow—cold and white, pristine in color and deadly in depth—and it was still falling.
She slammed the door and spun around. Her shock was evident.
“It’s just a late-spring blizzard. They don’t usually last all that long, but travel is out for the duration.”
Daisy shuddered, partly from the cold and partly from nerves. Being trapped in this cabin, with this man—
She refused to think past being trapped. The possible consequences of the rest of it were too appalling to consider.
“Look at me,” she muttered. “My clothes...my hair...I’m a mess...and I’m freezing.”
He frowned. “Yeah, I figured when you felt better you’d star. worrying about all of that stuff, so I dug around and found a few things you might be able to wear. They’re on the bed upstairs.”
Daisy had the grace to flush. Here she stood, worrying about the demise of her moral character, when for all sh
e knew, she was an out-and-out thief.
“Thank you,” she said shortly. “Is there a problem with the power?”
He shook his head.
“Then, if you don’t mind, I would really like to take a bath and wash my hair.” She shrugged by way of explaining. “The blood, you know. It’s all dried in my hair.”
Roman nodded, and when she started toward the bathroom, he felt obligated to add, “There’s a clean towel on the back of the door, and you’re welcome to use my shampoo. After you’ve dressed and had breakfast, I brought a first-aid kit. If you want, I’d be glad to look at your hands and that cut on your head.”
Daisy started to smile, but there was an expression on his face that stopped her intent.
“Thank you,” she said. “I won’t be long.”
“Coming from a female, that would be a first,” Roman muttered as he turned away.
“I heard that,” Daisy said, and then shut the bathroom door behind her with a solid thump.
Roman looked back at the door and thought of the woman beyond, then reached for his coat and gloves. They’d be needing more wood and he needed to put some distance between himself and that woman.
Certain things about her were beginning to catch his eye. When she stood a certain way, he knew she was nervous. Something about the way she held her head at a dare-to-mess-with-me angle. And there was the way her eyes seemed to change color according to her moods. Sometimes they seemed dark, and more than once he’d seen them glittering with unshed tears.
He stomped out into the snow, kicking his way through the drifts to the woodpile and reminding himself that women were nothing but trouble. Oh, they had their place in his life, but nothing permanent. He’d learned the hard way about counting on women to stay the course. Granted, the ones he’d loved hadn’t left of their own accord, but he was past trusting in fate, or in God, to give him one he could keep. He picked up the logs one by one, and when his arms were full, headed back to the cabin.
