by Jodi Thomas
Chapter 29
THURSDAY, 7:00 P.M.
FEBRUARY 14, 2008
MATHESON RANCH
GABE WASN’T SURE WHAT HE EXPECTED A FAMILY NIGHT supper at the Mathesons’ to be like, but a table for ten wasn’t it. The fire chief, Elizabeth’s brother, was there with his wife-to-be, the sheriff. Two little old ladies who told him to call them Aunt Pat and Aunt Fat were there. They looked so much alike he knew he’d never keep their names straight. A frail little girl on crutches smiled up at him when she answered the door and kept staring at him as he was introduced to the others. Elizabeth’s mother, Joyce, was nice, but had that now-what-are-you-two-guys-doing-here look about her as she showed them into a large living room decorated in leather.
Elizabeth was nowhere in sight, and minutes after meeting everyone, Gabe had run out of anything to say. He’d gone into town and bought a new pair of jeans and a white sweater, so he assumed he looked presentable enough. He’d even made a trip to the barber shop and gotten a shave. Denver had followed along, buying tan slacks and a turtleneck, but skipping the shave and haircut in favor of fast food next door. He looked more like a young Hemingway than an air marshal.
Denver and Alex started talking shop, leaving everyone else, including Hank, out of the conversation. The aunts and the mother vanished back into the kitchen, leaving Gabe sitting next to the kid on a long couch.
“How’d you get that scar?” Saralynn, about six, asked.
Gabe looked at her. No one had ever asked him that. As soon as the wound on his face had healed, he’d grown the beard. He regretted shaving. “I was in the army.”
The kid looked at him as if she could see all the way to his soul. He’d never been around kids and couldn’t help wondering if they all seemed so creepy. “Where’d you get those crutches?” he asked, hoping she’d get mad or bored and move away.
“In the army,” she answered without blinking.
“Oh yeah, what branch?”
“The willow branch.” She giggled. “I was a hero. I got a purple heart to prove it, but you can’t see it ’cause it’s still inside of me.”
He smiled, realizing the kid was playing with him. “That’s a good branch. They go into the windy fights, don’t they?”
She nodded. “We carry laser guns.” She raised her crutch like it was a rifle. “We can shoot the bad guys and freeze them solid in a second. When they thaw, they never do bad things again . . . and hair never grows on their face for as long as they live.”
“You know a lot about laser guns,” Gabe said, fascinated by her imagination.
“I go with my great-aunts to a place where they zap the chin hair off people. But the doctors have no idea what a great weapon they have.”
Gabe, who spent most of his days in fantasy, had no trouble stepping into her world. “What are we going to do if hairless invaders try to steal our lasers?”
“We’ll have to fight them off with huge rubber bands because everyone knows bullets don’t kill hairless invaders. They slip right over their heads.”
“Of course,” he answered. “Unless they’re sunburned, of course.”
Saralynn nodded once. “Of course, but very few people know about that.” She studied him a few seconds and then asked, “Can I touch your scar?”
He leaned closer and she placed her thin hand on the side of his face, where a scar almost as wide as her little finger ran from the corner of his ear along his jawline to almost his chin.
“Does it still hurt?”
“No,” he said. “A scar just becomes part of you, like a memory, but it doesn’t hurt.”
“Good,” she said. “The doctor says if I have surgery on my legs, I’ll have scars. I’m glad they won’t hurt.”
He saw it in her eyes. Saralynn had lived her whole life with pain. He felt weak for complaining about the few months he’d suffered. “When it’s over,” he said, “the scars will let everyone know you’re a hero.”
“Like you,” she said, pulling her hand away. “You saved Reagan Truman’s life. I heard Alex and Uncle Hank talking about it.”
Before he could say more to this angel on crutches, he heard laughter and turned to see the Matheson sisters step into the room. Elizabeth’s sister was a complete opposite of her. Where Liz was petite with curly hair and had an excitement for everything in life, Claire was tall, slender, and remote. She glanced around the room with big brown eyes and seemed to be silently chanting that nothing and no one interested her.
Elizabeth rushed over to Gabe. “You shaved.” She smiled. “Now I can see your face.” She put her hand on the side of his face, touching his scar as Saralynn had. “It’s a great face.”
He watched closely, but she didn’t blink at the scar. He wasn’t sure she even saw it. Funny, he’d worried about how people would react to it for years, and the first two he’d met hadn’t turned away at all.
“Everyone,” Elizabeth yelled over the talking, “have you all met Gabe and his friend Denver?”
“No,” Claire said, standing right in front of Gabe so that he would have had to push her aside to stand. Her jeans and spotted white shirt told everyone that she hadn’t bothered to dress for dinner and that coming down to meet them was interrupting her work. “I don’t believe I’ve met your client. Gabriel, is it? The inmate.”
Gabe was at a disadvantage with her towering above him, and he had a feeling Claire knew it. He nodded once as Elizabeth made the introductions. She ended with, “He’s not an inmate, Claire, he wasn’t even booked.”
Claire’s smile blinked so fast across her lips, Gabe wasn’t sure he’d seen it. “I’m glad to see they let you out of jail in time for dinner,” she said, glanced at Alex, and added, “Sheriff, are you sure he didn’t try to murder that poor girl and only played the savior after you arrived?”
Alex looked embarrassed by the question, and Hank opened his mouth to stop his sister from continuing, but it was Gabe who spoke first.
“If I were a murderer, we’d have a great deal in common. I understand you murder men on canvas for money. Kind of like a hired killer.” Gabe swore he saw her claws come out. Beneath the beauty was an angry woman he wished he could get at least a room’s length away from.
“Dinner’s ready.” Joyce Matheson called her guests and children to the dining room.
Claire glared at Gabe but turned quickly, as though she’d messed up the introductions completely.
Before she could think of something else to say to Gabe, Denver stepped between them. His height towered above everyone, even Claire. “Nobody introduced me.” Denver offered his hands to her, unaware of the claws. “I’m Gabriel’s friend, but don’t hold that against me. I’ll help you kill him if you’re set on the idea. He must be nuts to think a sweet woman like you would even think of murdering anyone. You’re Claire Matheson; I’ve heard of your work.”
Claire blinked and looked at Denver as if he had the brains of a sopapilla. “You know my work?”
“No, but I’d sure like to. I read an article about you on the airplane the other day. I would have guessed you would have been older to be so well known.” He stared for a moment, then lowered his voice. “There’s something about tall brown-eyed women that always stops my heart. I apologize for staring.”
Gabe thought Claire looked like she was getting another idea for one of her paintings. Denver didn’t seem to notice; he just picked up her hand, put it in the crook of his arm, and asked her to show him in to dinner.
Elizabeth laughed at Gabe’s side. “Hope she doesn’t kill him before dessert. They make an interesting couple, don’t you think? In fact, if he were wearing armor I’d say they were the perfect couple.”
Gabe started to offer his arm to Liz, then had a better idea. He leaned down toward Saralynn. “I got a limp, sweetheart,” he whispered to the little girl. “But if you’ll trust me, I think I can manage to carry you into dinner.”
She raised her arms and he lifted her feather-light body. Liz showed him the way into
the wide dining room that probably had a hundred years’ worth of Mathesons sitting around the table. Tonight everything was done up in red and black, with smells of onion and peppers drifting in the air. Bowls of beans, flour tortillas, and Spanish rice were already on the table. As they took their seats, the two sweet old aunts brought in platters of chili-covered burritos and creamy chicken enchiladas. Huge baskets of hollow sopapillas and corn bread packed the table as everyone began filling their plates while they passed food.
Somewhere in the bedlam wine bottles circled the table, and Hank made a toast to winter ending and an early spring. Gabe thought he might have mentioned that it was Valentine’s Day, but with this group it might not be the right holiday to celebrate. Better to play it safe and talk about the weather.
With females outnumbering the males seven to three, Gabe wasn’t surprised he said little. Elizabeth must have told her brother what he did for a living because Hank asked a few questions about his work. Gabe returned the favor by asking how the fire department in town was doing. Neither cared enough about the other’s work, but to keep the conversation going they both had satisfied their conversation requirements.
Denver, on the other hand, was used to meeting strangers and talked to everyone at the table. He was one of those gifted people who acted like he was truly interested in whatever anyone had to say. When asked about his work, he kept everyone laughing about funny things that he’d witnessed on planes. By the time dessert was served, everyone was begging him to drop by if he was ever out this way again.
Gabe watched, guessing some of Denver was an act. A man who meets new people every day would have time to polish his art. He was almost like an actor on stage going over lines he said at every performance. The only crack, Gabe noticed, was his fascination with Claire. She never directed a word she said to him, but he listened to everything she said, and several times Gabe noticed Denver watching her.
When the old aunts started talking about their quilts, Denver told them he was dying to see a frame hanging from a ceiling. As soon as dinner was over, they took him off down the long hallway to their quarters where a quilting frame had been set up in their sitting room so they could watch their soaps while they quilted.
Claire waited for Saralynn to say good night to everyone and then helped her daughter off to bed. Elizabeth’s mother vanished in the kitchen, leaving Gabe and Elizabeth on one side of the table and Hank and Alex on the other. Alex reminded him of some of the women he’d served with in the army: strong, efficient, and all business. Only tonight, with Hank’s hand on her arm gently stroking, Gabe saw another side of the sheriff. She was a woman cherished, but he wasn’t sure she knew it yet.
“I’m glad you came to dinner.” Hank sounded honest. “It was nice to meet you.” The way he said the last words made it sound like he didn’t plan to see Gabe often.
That was Gabe’s feeling exactly about everyone in the room except Elizabeth. He’d never really thought about it before, but the perfect girlfriend would be a woman who was raised in an orphanage . . . no relatives and had amnesia . . . no friends or ex-boyfriends. Gabe almost laughed aloud at his own joke. He doubted Elizabeth would think it as funny as he did.
Alex leaned against Hank’s shoulder and asked if he’d see her home, which Gabe thought strange because he’d noticed both their cars in the drive. Hank nodded and smiled just for Alex.
Gabe stood, shook hands, and mumbled something as they said good-bye. When he sat back down, he noticed Liz playing with the pie she hadn’t eaten. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just watched her. He liked watching her.
“Sorry about my sister,” she finally said. “We probably should have warned Denver about her.”
Gabe smiled, thinking the ex-lieutenant could take care of himself, but saying, “At least we know he’s safe with the two aunts.”
She looked up at him. “You surprise me, Gabriel Leary. The more I learn about you, the more different you seem from anyone I’ve ever met. My brother likes you too.”
“Hank? You could have fooled me.”
“No, he likes you. Hank measures everyone by how they react to Saralynn. Trust me, when you carried her in to dinner, you won him over.”
“How about Claire? Does she like me too?”
Elizabeth grinned. “She hates you, but don’t take it personal. She only mildly liked her husband. I think she dreamed of a wedding when she was a kid and the groom was just an accessory like the cake, and preacher, and flowers. After she married, he didn’t measure up to what she wanted, so she tried having a kid. That didn’t help make her world perfect, so she told him she wanted a divorce. He got mad and through court battles managed to make her hate all men. When she said good-bye to him, he said good-bye to them both.”
“She loves Saralynn. She may be obsessed with her work, but when she looks at her daughter I noticed her hard eyes softened.”
Liz agreed. “Of course, now, but at first while they were going through the divorce and Saralynn was in and out of hospitals, I’m not so sure. Her husband thought she went way overboard as a crusader to make sure Saralynn got the best of everything: doctors, treatments, new medicine. I think when they couldn’t fix her, Claire took it hard. She thought it was somehow her fault.”
Liz turned her chair toward him and put her bare feet up on his leg. “But don’t worry about Claire. I think Mom likes you, and she’s the only one who gets the vote around here. If she likes you, she’ll be asking me when you’ll be back to dinner.”
He didn’t care one way or the other if they liked him, but he liked seeing her smile. He also liked being here tonight, seeing all the action at a family dinner. They had all watched him tonight, not because of who he was or what he was but because Liz had brought him home. “I’ll come whenever you invite me.”
He put his hand over her small foot. “Those shoes hurt?” he asked, trying to think of something to talk about besides how much he liked touching her.
She glanced at the high heels beside her chair. “All shoes that look good hurt,” she said. “Want to go in and watch TV? It may take hours for Denver to get away from the aunts.”
“Sure,” he said, hoping she didn’t ask him what he liked. He hadn’t watched anything but the news in years.
They settled onto the couch in the big living room and she flipped through channels. Gabe just watched her.
When she found an old movie, she cuddled up against him and pulled one of the multicolored throws over them both. Gabe took a deep breath and relaxed. He loved the feel of her so close.
He could so get used to seeing her like this.
Chapter 30
THURSDAY, 9:30 P.M.
FEBRUARY 14, 2008
MATHESON RANCH
DENVER HEARD THE MUFFLED SOUNDS OF A TV AS HE left the aunts’ wing and moved down a long dark hallway to the main house. Paintings, many he guessed were originals, crowded the walls. There were also tall shelves packed with books and tables loaded with pots. Just the kind of home he’d expect an artist to grow up in.
He’d had fun tonight. The dinner reminded him of his home in Wyoming. Big meals, big family, lots of laughter, and a little fighting. Only in his family there were always kids. By the time his mother had her last child—him—his two oldest sisters were both into their second pregnancies, and no one except him ever thought of leaving home. The ranch headquarters was starting to look like a little village. His grandfather had built two cottages for his kids when they married. When babies started coming, he’d just clear a spot and build a bigger place for them. Now his grandfather lived in one of the cottages, and the main house had a dining room that would feed twenty-four and did every Sunday.
Denver was in college before he spent a night alone in a room. He grew up on bunk beds, slept on a single bunk in college, and went back to bunks in the army. Now, when he crashed in a hotel every night, he still woke during the night trying to hang his arms off both sides of a king-sized bed.
Halfway down the
hallway he sensed someone. Years of trusting his instincts had kept him alive, making him slow now, allowing his eyes time to adjust.
Five feet away, he smelled her. Not a perfume, but more the hint of oil paints blending with her shampoo and the light lavender scent of a hand lotion she’d left on his palm when they’d touched.
“Claire,” he said simply, and waited for her to move away from the shadows of bookshelves.
She stood in his path, tall and still, her head high, her arms at her sides. He could hear her breathing, and it reminded him of a strong animal frightened for the first time.
“Claire,” he said more gently as he stepped closer.
She didn’t move, or speak. She just stood staring at him with those big brown eyes he felt like he might drown in if he ventured too close.
When they were inches apart, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her hard against him. He could see her wonderful eyes in the hint of light and knew that she’d been waiting for him.
Without a word, he cupped the back of her head and pulled her mouth to his.
The kiss was fast and hungry, unlike any kiss he’d ever given a woman. Or taken, he thought. She was perfectly still against him, making no move to step away.
He pushed her back into the shadows, pressed her against the wall with the length of his body, and ordered against her lips, “Open your mouth, Claire. Kiss me back.”
She did, timid at first, then more boldly.
She remained stiff in his arms, but he didn’t stop. He’d watched her all evening and wished for a moment alone with her. Now that he had it, Denver didn’t plan to waste it. He moved his hands over her boldly as he bruised her lips with his hunger. The need to touch her fired like a cannon in his brain, blasting out all other thought. She felt every bit as good as he prayed she would.
He spread his hand over the layer of cotton covering her small breast and she jerked, but still didn’t step away. He moved his palm over her again and again, more a man taming a wild animal than a lover. He could see her mental struggle not to react, but her body wouldn’t move away. In her eyes, he saw it all. She hated the simple fact that she wanted him.
