by Ruth Wind
"Mmm." He swallowed. "I hear a 'but' in there."
"I can't let you do anymore. If you'd be so kind as to take me to the bus station, I'll get out of your hair."
Carefully, he crossed his fork and knife on his empty plate and pulled his coffee cup forward. "How long do you think you'll last before old Brian tracks you down again?" He cocked his head. "Maybe next time you won't be lucky enough to be warned ahead of time."
"I'll dye my hair," she countered. "Get some weird glasses at Goodwill or something. It's not as hard as you think to become invisible."
His mouth twitched. "And you aren't nearly as invisible as you think you are." He leaned forward, dropping his elbows on the table. "How are you gonna hide that long, pretty neck? That sexy mouth? That siren body of yours?"
Mattie had touched her neck when he mentioned it, but her cheeks flushed bright red at the last turn of phrase. "You don't have to get crude," she protested, lowering her eyes.
"That's a long way from crude, Miss Mary," he said with a scowl. "Believe me."
"Zeke," she said in a small voice, "you scare me. How do I know you aren't worse than what I'm running from?"
"You don't," He plucked the check from the table between them. "Not in any way that matters, in facts and figures. Guess you'll have to trust your instincts."
"What instincts?" she said scornfully. "The ones that led me to think a major criminal was just a nice Catholic fellow?"
Zeke stared at her, his face utterly expressionless. "Don't give me that look," she snapped. "Say something."
"What do you want me to say, Mattie? I'm not gonna try to prove myself to you."
Now she realized she'd wounded him the smallest bit. He probably had justification for feeling hurt, too, but that didn't change Mattie's uncertainty. She stared at him, struggling for clues to his true nature.
Her instincts. What had her instincts said about Brian Murphy? Hadn't there been moments of warning, moments his smile seemed forced? Dozens of times, hadn't she beaten back the screams of those instincts because she so desperately wanted what he seemed to offer?
And what did they tell her about Zeke? She bit the inside of her cheek, seeing a man who'd known a lot of pain. A man who could likely be violent if the need arose, but wouldn't be if he could avoid it. She saw the man who danced with a fussy baby to calm him and the man who'd rescued her without a moment's hesitation.
"I don't want to be a burden," she said at last. "You can't imagine how much I hate that."
"You couldn't be a burden if you tried." His mouth softened. "I couldn't live with myself if you went out there and got yourself killed."
Terrific, Mattie thought. A pity case. "Zeke—"
"Listen, Mattie." He covered her hand with his own. "I've been lost in my own problems for longer than I like to say. Let me help you."
She looked at his hand, at the long fingers and strong, sinewy lines. There was both strength and gentleness in that hand, just as there was in the man himself. "All right," she said. "Where are we going?"
He smiled. "I have some land up in the mountains. Cabin isn't fancy, but it keeps the rain off. We'll go there until we can figure out what comes next."
"Okay," she said. "I trust you."
His fingers curled around hers. "Let's go."
* * *
The day before, Mattie had been too numb with shock to appreciate the pleasures of riding on the back of a motorcycle. This morning, there was no such muffling.
They left town and headed up into the mountains, traveling on a normal blacktop highway, well maintained and obviously heavily traveled. After a while, Zeke turned onto a smaller, narrower road. They followed the strip of asphalt upward, over passes that hugged the sheer side of a cliff, the drop on one side thousands of feet. A delicious dizziness engulfed Mattie at the dangerous thrill of it, and she couldn't help gripping Zeke more closely. He chuckled at such times, a rumbling she felt through her fingers on his chest rather than heard through her ears.
They rode through little towns with names like Santa Ana and Kinnikinnik and Ute City, little more than scatterings of cabins and a shop or two along the state road. Here hunters bought permits, anglers picked up tackle, campers stocked up on beer and groceries they'd forgotten.
The wilderness, Mattie thought with a thrill of happiness. Just like Laura in the Little House books, she was striking out for adventure in a sparsely settled, wild place. A hundred years ago, there had been only mountain men and Indians and animals and silence. Zeke, she thought with some certainty, would have been among them. In any age, she had a hunch he'd be an outsider, a loner.
She inhaled deeply of the spice-scented mountain air, thin and cool in spite of the summer weather. She filled her eyes with the colors of the high country: the azure sky punctuated with arrows of deep green pine, the slender white trunks of aspen like bars of light in the dark forests, the misty dark blue of the distant mountainsides, falling away to purply black in the shadows of the valley. She liked the wind in her face, and immediacy of seeing it all without windows to blunt the view, and the deep growling purr of the bike itself.
Most of all, she liked the feeling of Zeke before her and the pleasure of being able to touch him freely without having to explain why – to him or to herself – it was so satisfying. She was careful to keep the clasp of her hand light, nonintrusive, careful not to press too much or too often into the temptation of his back. Businesslike, she held onto his sides, imagining a dance chaperon's hand placed between their bodies. There was nothing she could do, no adjustment she could make, to keep her thighs from clasping the sides of his hips and legs. She tried not to make too much of it, but it was impossible not to feel it – those long hard thighs, the shift of muscle in his buttocks. Intimate and casual at once.
At midmorning, a sudden bank of clouds moved in over the valley. They filled the sky almost at once, as if some cosmic force had tossed a thick gray blanket over the sky. When the sun disappeared, the temperature dropped, and a chill wind sprung up. Mattie shivered.
"We're almost there," Zeke called over his shoulder. "We might get wet, but it won't be too bad."
"Okay!"
Just as the first light sprinkles began to spatter them – amazing how the speed of the bike made even such light spatters hurt – Zeke turned on to a narrow dirt track. Tire tracks showed where a truck had come through, over and over.
The path bumped and twisted through thick trees; potholes and rocks littered the way. Then, the rain began to fall in earnest.
"Sorry," Zeke called, fighting his way up the steep path. "I can't go any faster or we'll likely go flying."
"I'm all right," she returned and leaned closer into him for protection. Her shoulders and arms and back were getting soaked, but it wasn't an unpleasant experience. The rain released the smell of earth and spice inherent to the forest; it cascaded over the tree trunks and dripped in crystal drops from pine needles. Beautiful.
Also cold. When they pulled into a clearing, Mattie dismounted and ran with Zeke into a small, neat cabin, newly built, by the look of it. Details blurred in the steadfast rain.
"Whew," Zeke said, shaking himself off, closing the door behind her. "You never know when those storms'll hit until they're right up on you."
Mattie tugged off her helmet, dropped her bags by the door and took the towel he offered. "Brrr. Amazing how cold a summer rain can be!"
"Takes some getting used to, all right." He rubbed his long hair. "Rain is always cold in Colorado. Most of the time in the summer, there's so much lightning you don't want to be out in it anyway." Looping the towel around his neck, he asked, "You want some coffee?"
"Please."
He stepped outside for a minute, pot in hand, and Mattie assumed he had to get water from somewhere. She glanced around curiously. The cabin was a single large room with a fireplace at one end and a bed at the other. Between was a modern-looking stove, next to some open shelves, well stocked with supplies. A mishmash of cups, glasses and
unmatched plates were neatly stacked on one, the others held pots and pans, canned goods and sturdy tin canisters.
Opposite the stove, below a window, sat a couch and a worn chair. Another floor-to-ceiling block of shelves held books, paperbacks, mostly. A double bed, covered with a sleeping bag, completed the picture.
The room smelled of new wood, and time had not yet darkened the yellow pine planks on the floor. The wooden, multipaned windows fit the rustic atmosphere, but they were new, no doubt ordered to fit. As Zeke returned, she asked, "Did you build this cabin?"
He lit the fire on the stove with a kitchen match and put the blue-and-white spatterware coffeepot on the fire. "Yeah," he said and rubbed more dampness from his face as he looked around. "Someday, this is supposed to be the living room, but for now, it's pretty much everything."
"Yourself?" she asked, touching the smooth pine wall. "You built it all?"
Zeke grinned and held up his big, lean hands. "All by my little lonesome."
"Amazing."
He took a can of coffee from the shelf and measured it into the pot. "My dad was a carpenter," he said, not looking at her. "He made sure I knew how to do it right."
The father again. Mattie collected the note to add to the others she held in her mind, but said nothing. Wandering over to admire a hand-carved windowsill, she thought, nice revenge. "Pretty impressive," she said aloud.
"Well don't get too excited until you see the rest of the amenities," he drawled and gestured toward the back door. It led to a wide, covered porch, comfortable with benches and chairs.
Breathing deeply of the rainy air, Mattie sighed. "It never smells like this in the city."
He pointed. "On clear days, you can see clear to Montana from here."
Mattie looked out over the mist-shrouded landscape and saw hints of what he meant. "Are these the other amenities?"
"No." Nodding toward the left, he said, "They're over there. I do have the luxury of a crude shower, but it's open to the elements. That's a sauna in the bigger building. That one—" he pointed to an unmistakable hut on the other side of the clearing "—is just what it looks like."
Mattie laughed. "How perfect!"
"Perfect?"
"I love this, Zeke!" She turned to look up at him. "A real cabin in the mountains, with an outhouse and everything!"
A smile touched his sensual mouth, and a curious softness bloomed in his eyes. He lifted his hand, but it hovered between them uncertainly for a minute before landing on her shoulder. "You do have a way of looking at things, Miss Mary," he said, his voice low and rough.
She simply looked up at him for a moment, taking as deep and passionate a pleasure in the hard male power of his face as she had in the mountain views. For the first time in more than a month, she felt safe. "Thank you, Zeke."
His gaze shifted, flickered, and his fingers stirred restlessly against her neck. She thought he was going to kiss her, but he dropped his hand and straightened. "You're more than welcome, honey," he said gruffly. "Come on. That coffee should be about ready."
Mattie shot a glance toward the outhouse. It wasn't that she needed it so much as she just wanted to see what it looked like inside. "Um … do you mind if I go see what it looks like?"
His laugh was as full and natural as any she'd heard from him. "Go right ahead, Miss Mary. Go right ahead."
* * *
Zeke went inside to wait, a curious anticipation stirring in his belly. It was an odd emotion for him, and he paused in the middle of the room to try to identify it.
As a child, he'd fallen in love with the night sky, with the possibilities all those winking stars presented. He'd gulped astronomy from books out of the school library, then would check his new facts against the night. Staring up at that vast, unexplored universe, Zeke had found ways to keep going.
Mattie, with her eagerness and pleasure in each small thing she uncovered, made him feel the way that sky had. Made him remember what it was like to feel wonder. He felt the stirring in his belly again. More than wonder. There was hope mixed in there, too. How long since he'd felt either one?
A tiny explosion of warning popped in his brain. Hope was a dangerous emotion. Frowning, he took cups from the shelf and checked to make sure no weevils had infected the powdered cream. It was bad enough that he'd brought her here, breaking yet another of his rules. It would be sheer stupidity to get all gushy about the whole thing. She'd needed some help. Zeke gave it. No more than that.
Whatever it took, he had to keep her at arm's length.
But it was hard as hell. She sailed in, dewy-faced, her big doe eyes shimmering. "It's so amazing!" she exclaimed.
"Amazing. That's the third time you used that word in five minutes." His pleasure rolled from him on a laugh. "Did you check out the shower? Now, it's something."
"No. Sorry, I'll go back—"
He caught her arm. "I'll show it to you later. Come on and drink your coffee."
She shed her light jacket and sprawled out on the couch, mug in hand, looking around with an alert, interested gaze. "How can you have a shower and no toilet?"
"Toilets are more complicated to set up." He took the chair and kicked off his boots. "The shower is fed from the hot springs – so is the sauna."
"What's a hot spring?"
"You really are a city kid, aren't you?"
She nodded unapologetically, and bands of gray light flashed over the crown of her brown head. "I never even left Kansas City before I stole that car."
"Never?" Zeke thought of his wanderings. "Why?"
She lifted a shoulder. "There wasn't really ever money to go anywhere. I've been on my own since I was sixteen."
"No summer camp or vacations?"
"Did you go to summer camp and go on vacations, Zeke?" she asked quietly.
"No."
"Why not?"
He shrugged. "Money, I reckon."
"No poor child does those things."
He gave her a half smile. "Poor. I haven't heard anybody use that word in a long time, not in that way."
A twinkle shone in her eye. "Economically disadvantaged? Blue-collar?"
He laughed. "Poor works just fine." He drank from his cup, examining her more closely. She'd said she was a foster child, and he supposed that most homes that took such children in were not well-to-do, but she didn't have that air about her, even in the dowdy clothes she sometimes wore. "You don't look like that kind of a kid," he said with a frown.
"Is there a mark you look for?"
He pursed his lips, thinking of the trashy little houses back home, where hopeless women sat on rickety steps while their raggedy children wiped wrists over snotty noses. Wasn't like that in the city, he knew that, but there were things he noticed, things he'd grown sensitive to over the years. "Not one mark," he said. "A few of them. The way people talk, their teeth." He narrowed his eyes. "A certain posture, maybe."
"Like you?"
"What's that mean?"
"You don't have bad teeth, and heaven knows there's nothing submissive about your posture."
"My teeth are crooked."
"Only a little."
"But if I'd been a rich kid, they'd be straight, now, wouldn't they?"
"I suppose." Her sultry mouth tipped at the corners in a mischievous expression. "And your grammar could use some work."
"Hey, now," he warned, but chuckled in spite of himself.
"I think you're being narrow-minded."
He lifted his eyebrows ruefully. "Maybe."
She stretched comfortably, like a cat, and Zeke admired the generous curve of breasts the pose displayed before she curled up again, her gaze snagging on his books. "You must be a pretty serious reader."
Zeke shrugged. "No electricity. You learn to keep books around."
She chuckled, leaning over to read the titles. "I guess you've read Black Beauty and King of the Wind in recent months, then, huh?"
"Well, I guess there's a few there from when I was a kid." His books had been all he'd take
n with him, but he'd spilled enough of his guts to this woman. He was dangerously close to letting down his guard.
"Looks like you were horse-crazy," she said, and looked up curiously. "Were you?"
Maybe he could admit that much. "Yeah." His gaze cut involuntarily toward the empty corrals and barn beyond the front window. Fences neat, ground smoothed, hay rotted to nothing in the stalls. Empty.
She followed his gaze and looked back at him, but didn't say anything. Rare quality in a woman, the ability to realize some things were off limits. She'd done the same thing over his scars – didn't duck from seeing them, but made a simple acknowledgment of them and what they were without a lot of melodrama or gnashing of teeth. "I always wanted to be a cowboy," he found himself volunteering. "Wear a bandanna around my neck and a big hat."
She smiled. "I wanted to be in the symphony."
"What did you play?"
The grin broadened. "Nothing. I just thought it would be fun to wear black velvet dresses and pearls and have a whole bunch of people in fancy clothes come listen to me."
Again he laughed, unable to help himself, and the odd wild emotion in his chest swelled again. "I wanted to wear spurs, so when I walked it would make noise."
"Looks like you got a little closer to your dream than I did mine," she said, pointing to the corrals.
He should have known it wouldn't slip by that easily. He stood up to pour another cup of coffee. "You hungry yet?"
"Not really. You don't have to do everything, you know. I'd be happy to cook. I'm very good at it." She materialized at his side, holding out her cup for a refill.
Zeke turned and poured, feeling her warmth along the length of his side. They stood in stocking feet, both of them, and she was small enough to tuck up under one arm. Wisps of hair curled around her small ears and the long, pretty neck and he knew an urge to bend close, touch his lips to that white throat. Curve a hand around her breast, another around that not-so-tiny bottom. She was little, but nothing had been spared on the curves. He liked that. "I've got a feeling, Miss Mary, that I'm gonna have some trouble keeping myself in line around you."
She lifted wide brown eyes to his face and he saw the stirring hunger there, the curious and frightened expression he'd first read on her face that day in the café. Her siren lips softened and he watched her gaze flicker over his face, touch on his lips, dart back to his eyes. "Maybe—"
