by Diana Palmer
She’d borrowed a pair of slacks from Barbara, along with a button-up blue plaid shirt and some flats—luckily the two women were of a similar size, even in shoes. She looked very different from the poised, elegant person who’d come home with Wolf the night before.
* * *
SHE KNEW THAT he kept horses. She glanced at the stable with unpleasant memories in her black eyes and turned her attention to the corral. One of the mares was prancing there, with a colt beside her. They were Appaloosas. It had been a long time since Sara had even seen one, although a neighbor in Wyoming ran them. They were beautiful with their striped hooves and spots. She smiled as she watched the mare nuzzle the colt. It whinnied with delight.
“She’s four years old,” a deep, quiet voice came from behind her. “She was a rescue. Her previous owner beat her almost to death with a tire iron. It took a lot of work to gain her trust.”
She swallowed hard. She couldn’t look at him. She knew her face was scarlet.
She felt him behind her. Not too close, but she could almost feel the warmth of his body.
“I thought about blowing my brains out last night,” he said in an almost conversational tone. “But I decided it would be better to wait and let your brother do it for me.”
She turned, very slowly, and looked up at him with wide, uncertain black eyes.
He winced at her expression. His hands were deep in the pockets of his jeans, and he looked like a man with a raging hangover. His pale eyes were bloodshot. His face was like stone.
“I hope you can understand why I wouldn’t let you go back to your apartment, why I asked Barbara to come over here,” he said in a subdued tone. “I did a lot of damage. I’m no more enthused than any other man about having to see the results of my own stupidity, but you’re fragile right now. I won’t leave you by yourself.”
She swallowed and averted her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her body. She was trembling. “Okay,” she said.
“Barbara will be here, all the time,” he promised. “I won’t...try to get you by yourself. I won’t touch you again.”
She just nodded. She couldn’t manage words.
He moved away a little, his eyes on the corral. “You were honest with me about almost everything. Except the age you were when it happened.”
“I know.”
His chest rose and fell. “I thought she was out of my life. She never left. I’m still trying to make other people pay for what she did to me. You can’t possibly imagine how ashamed I am for what I did to you.”
“I couldn’t talk about it,” she said after a minute. “He did...vulgar things to me. Said vulgar things. I didn’t even understand some of them, until the trial. That was bad enough, being painted as some teenage harlot. But what came after...”
He put one booted foot on the fence and looked toward the horses, not at her. “Tell me, Sara.”
She smoothed her cold hands over the wood of the fence. “My mother got another lawyer for him. He found a loophole that would allow a retrial. But when he got out, all he wanted to do was make me pay for putting him in jail. He came after me, with a gun. I was just coming out the door, on my way to school, when he was suddenly there. He called me names, and he laughed. He said I’d never live to testify against him a second time.” Her eyes closed. She wasn’t aware of the man beside her, standing like a statue with eyes that were terrible to look into. “Our next-door neighbor was a police officer. He was on his way to work, too, when he saw what was going on. He pulled his service revolver and ordered my stepfather to put down his weapon. He had it aimed at me when the policeman shot him, right through the head.” She shivered all over. She couldn’t say anything else.
She felt arms enfolding her, a strong, warm body holding her tenderly, without passion. She felt hands at the back of her head, tangling in her long hair. A mouth pressed to her temple. She heard words, tender, soothing words, while she shivered and relived the trauma.
“There were charges against the police officer. I testified, because I didn’t want him to have to pay for saving me. It led to something...truly wonderful. The public defender had a maiden aunt who took Gabe and me in, made a home for us, treated us like the children she never had.”
“The policeman?”
“My testimony exonerated him,” she said. She closed her eyes and shivered again. “But the shooting was just one more terror, one more thing, to keep me awake at night. I hated him. I really hated him. But I watched him die. I felt...responsible. My mother screamed at me at the trial. She said I was a murderess, that she hated me.” Sara drew in a shaky breath. “My life...has been such a hell,” she sobbed.
He kissed her wet eyelids, his tongue smoothing over the long, elegant lashes, his hands gentle and slow in her hair. “My poor baby,” he whispered. “God, I’m so sorry!”
Her clenched fists rested on top of the denim shirt he was wearing. He smelled of coffee and smoke and some pleasant cologne. She let her forehead rest against his mouth, let him hold her.
He shuddered at that trust, when he’d done everything in the world to betray it.
“I would never have touched you if I’d known,” he said in a rough undertone.
She drew in a shivery breath. “I know.”
He was too unsettled to realize what she was admitting. He smoothed her black hair and lifted his head, letting the cool breeze move the dark strands of his own hair, which were drenched in sweat.
She stood in the circle of his arms, her eyes closed. Amazingly, it was the first peace she’d ever known.
The sound of a car coming up the driveway caught their attention. She moved back from him, a little inhibited, as a dark limousine drew up at the front door.
“That isn’t Barbara. She took her own car,” she said.
“No. It’s definitely not Barbara,” he said heavily. “I just hope she didn’t bring her pets with her.”
“She?” She looked up at him, worried.
“I can almost see what you’re thinking,” he replied quietly. “It’s not one of my women. I don’t have women, since Ysera. I told you that, and it was the truth.”
She just looked at him.
“I hope you’ll be able to forgive me for this,” he added, nodding toward the house. “I can’t let you go home until I’m sure you won’t look for some drastic way to forget what I did to you,” he added.
“I don’t understand.”
He put his hands in his pockets as a woman got out of the limo. It drove away, and there she stood on the porch, beside a rolling suitcase.
“You will,” he said.
He led the way to the porch.
A young woman was standing there. She had black, spiky hair with purple highlights. She was wearing a black dress that came to her ankles, with a lot of silver jewelry. Her nail polish was black. So was her lipstick. She had a stud through her nose.
She turned with silver eyes trained on the two people who were just joining her on the porch.
“I’m Emma Cain,” she introduced herself. Her silver eyes twinkled. “I’m guessing one of you is Wofford Patterson.”
Shocked, a tiny laugh escaped Sara’s tight throat.
“She’s too short,” Wolf said, nodding at Sara, “so it’s probably me. Nice to meet you.” He shook hands. “This is Sara Brandon,” he added, indicating his companion.
“I can only spare two days,” she said. “So we’d better get things going. I need a quiet room and a pot of black coffee. And we’ll have to do this one at a time. I don’t like joint sessions.”
Sara was having the most horrible, unspeakable thought. “Joint...?” She looked up at Wolf with an expression of such shock that he burst out laughing.
“Not joint sex,” Emma said with one corner of her mouth drawn down. “Didn’t he tell you? I’m a psychologist.” She gave Sara a wicked grin. “You’re both broken, and I’m going to fix you!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
EMMA CAIN WAS not what Sara had expected a therapist to look l
ike. The young woman was outrageously dressed, and she looked more like a goth than a psychologist, but her intelligence was apparent from the outset.
She seated Sara in an easy chair in Wolf’s study and brought out an iPod. She looked at her notes, pursed her lips and then leaned back on the sofa.
“First question,” she said, and she smiled. “How do you feel about Wolf Patterson this morning?”
Sara bit her lower lip.
“None of that. Don’t search for an answer. Just tell me.”
“I don’t know how I feel,” Sara replied. “Things went too far. He was... He...” She tried to find words.
“He used you as payback for a woman who humiliated him,” came the reply.
Sara nodded miserably.
“And you were hoping for something entirely different.”
There was a hesitation. Then Sara nodded again. “I was never able to feel anything, with other men,” she confessed. “But from the first time I saw him, I just fell apart when he looked at me. I was antagonistic, because I was afraid of what I felt.”
Emma smiled. “He doesn’t know that.”
“No.”
“You wanted him.”
Sara flushed red.
“It’s not a sin to want someone,” Emma told her gently. “It’s a natural, human reaction. It’s why we get babies.”
“Well, yes, but...”
“But?”
Sara’s great black eyes were bright with unshed tears. “It was my fault that things went so far,” she whispered, as if it was shameful to even say it. It shocked her to hear it. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized it herself. “I thought he felt something for me.”
“Which made what happened all the worse, yes?”
“Yes. Because it didn’t mean anything to him,” she said dully. “He was very badly treated by a woman. She ridiculed him when he made love, humiliated him. She looked like me,” she added with a sad smile.
Emma nodded. She made notes.
“How much do you know about him?” Emma asked after a minute.
“I know that he has terrible memories,” she replied. “Like mine, only worse. Nobody knows exactly what he does, or did, for a living. He said he worked for the FBI, but he and my brother are friends. And my brother is a professional soldier, an independent contractor.”
“Believe me, I know about mercs,” Emma said. “People think they’re hard as nails, that they’ll do anything for money.” She shook her head. “If I had fewer ethics, I could tell you stories.”
“Mr. Patterson...Wolf...told me some.”
Emma cocked her head and smiled. “Mr. Patterson?”
“It’s what I always called him, before,” she said.
Emma made more notes. “Do you know anything about his childhood?”
“Yes.” She bit her lip. “But that’s something he needs to tell you. I don’t talk about people,” she added apologetically. “I had to tell you about the woman who humiliated him, because it was why he did...what he did to me.”
“Admirable,” Emma mused.
“I don’t think he’ll tell you much about me, either,” Sara added.
Emma chuckled. “Nothing at all, in fact,” she said, lifting silver eyes to Sara’s surprised face. “He was pretty vocal about himself, and how badly he’d hurt you.” She studied Sara. “Actually, I was expecting bruises...”
“No!” Sara exclaimed, leaning forward intently. “Oh, no, he never hurt me like that! He would never hurt me physically!”
Emma cocked her head, like a bright little bird, and waited.
“He...he’s very tender,” she whispered. She flushed.
Emma didn’t say anything. She just made more notes.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, Emma and Sara went into the kitchen. Barbara was sitting there with a subdued Wolf Patterson.
“Your turn,” Emma said, grinning at him.
He got up, glanced at Sara and winced and followed Emma into the study.
* * *
“SHE’S NOT AT ALL what I expected,” Sara told Barbara as they sipped coffee. “My goodness, I could tell her anything!”
“She has a rather unique outlook,” the older woman said and chuckled.
“Oh, yes.”
“I brought your clothes,” Barbara said. “And I stopped by the café to make sure things were running smoothly.”
“I’m so sorry...”
“You’re one of the nicest people I know, Sara,” Barbara interrupted. “This is no problem, believe me.”
“Thank you so much.”
Barbara smiled. “I’m thinking of it as a vacation,” she mused. “I haven’t had one in years.”
“Yes, but you’re cooking here.”
“Not because I have to,” came the amused reply. “See the difference?”
Sara had to agree that she did.
* * *
SHE CHANGED INTO slacks and a black turtleneck sweater, slipping into a knee-length sweater vest to help camouflage the tight fit of the sweater. She didn’t want to look seductive. She pulled her long hair back into a ponytail and secured it with a pink ribbon.
When she got back to the kitchen, Wolf was sitting there with Barbara.
“Where is Miss Cain?” Sara asked.
“Gone to her hotel,” Wolf said. “She’ll be back in the morning.”
“She isn’t staying here?” she wondered aloud.
Wolf sipped coffee. “If you’re willing to share a room with her and Willie, I’ll ask her to come over.”
“Who’s Willie?” she asked.
“Her eight-foot python.”
Sara remembered then what she’d heard him say about the unorthodox psychologist when she first arrived. “She keeps snakes.”
“Oh, yes,” he agreed. “And Willie’s just a baby.”
“The mind boggles.” Barbara chuckled.
“She’s very good,” Sara said as she sat down beside Barbara at the kitchen table.
“She is,” Wolf replied.
“I need to see what you’ve got in the freezer,” Barbara began.
“Just sit down,” he replied. “I’m doing quiche and crepes for supper.”
“You cook?” Sara asked, surprised.
“Yes.”
“This will be a treat.” Barbara chuckled. “Every cook gets tired of her own stuff once in a while,” she added when they stared at her. “Need some help?”
“Yes.” He glanced at Sara. “Can you chop the herbs for me?” he asked her quietly.
She didn’t look at him. But she nodded.
“Then while you two are doing that, I’d like to catch the news. Do you mind?”
“Go right ahead,” Wolf said. “I have satellite and all the channels. Knock yourself out.”
“Okay.” She picked up her coffee cup and hesitated.
“I spill things all the time,” he told her, and smiled. “Take your coffee with you. Carpet’s clean.”
She laughed. “I’m not planning to spill it, but some people don’t like beverages in the best room.”
He shrugged. “I’m a bear with furniture.”
Sara burst out laughing. “What?”
“There’s a female comedienne,” he said. “I loved to watch her act, a few years ago. She said men were just bears with furniture. It made an impression.”
She averted her gaze when he tried to hold her eyes. He smiled sadly. It was early days yet.
* * *
SHE CHOPPED HERBS with an excellent knife from his exotic wood block full of them.
“You do that very well,” he remarked while he heated oil in a sautéing pan.
“I love to cook.”
“I noticed. You have almost as many cookbooks as I do.”
“Yes, but I can’t do crepes,” she confessed. “I burn them.”
“It takes a lot of practice. That’s all.”
They worked well together, sharing space, not talking. She liked the way it felt. Companionship was something t
hey’d never really tried.
“How do you like Emma?” he asked.
She nodded. “She’s not at all what I expected a psychologist to be.”
“That’s why I like her. She doesn’t try to make square pegs fit in round holes.”
She scraped the herbs into a bowl. “If you’re wondering, I didn’t tell her anything about you. Well, except for...” She flushed.
“I told her the rest,” he said a little stiffly. “She said she thought I’d hit you...”
“She did not!” she exclaimed. “I told her you’d never hurt me. That you never would hurt me physically!”
He was surprised at her spirited defense of him. He searched her black eyes slowly. “She said that. After she put my back up.” He smiled slowly. “It amused her that you defended me.” He lowered his eyes to the pan. “It shames me that you would, after what I did to you.”
She drew in a long breath. “You must have noticed that I wasn’t fighting very hard.”
He stopped what he was doing and turned to her.
She bit her lower lip. “You’re acting as if I were a victim. I’m not. You didn’t hurt me.”
“I didn’t hurt you physically,” he said curtly. “What I did to your pride is something else.”
She moved one thin shoulder. “Pride is what you have before life makes you ashamed of being a woman. You see, I couldn’t even let a man touch me, for years after the trial. It was worse when he was shot, and people in my circle of friends in Wyoming knew about it. That’s one reason that Gabriel got us the apartment in San Antonio, and the house in Comanche Wells, because nobody knew us here. It was someplace I could live and not have people gossip about me.”
He leaned against the counter, his pale eyes narrow, watching, waiting.
“I tried to go out with a man just once, when I was a senior in high school. He knew all about what happened.” She stared at her hands, bare of rings. “I liked him. I thought, maybe... But when he took me home, Aunt Maude wasn’t home and Gabriel was in the service. He pushed in past me and started kissing me. I just...panicked. I fought him and screamed. He looked at me as if I were a crazy person. He walked out and left me there. He told his friends, I guess, because it was all over the school that I got hysterical if a boy kissed me.” She shrugged. “So I stopped even trying. Men were pretty repulsive to me, anyway.”
