by J. R. Ward
“This doesn’t involve you.”
Carter stared at him. “I’m beginning to think you’re not only rude. You’re malevolent.”
Nick pegged her with a look she was sure had made others think about life in the hereafter. His voice was piercing as he spoke.
“I am responsible not only for that child’s amusements and petty whims. I’m responsible for his life. Do you understand the difference or are you such an adolescent yourself you can’t make the distinction? There’s a hell of a discrepancy between what a teenager wants and what he needs.”
Carter met him head-on, leaning forward on the balls of her feet. “I may be on the sunny side of thirty but I know no kid wants or needs to be embarrassed like that in front of anybody. Even if you didn’t want him to stay up here, you could have let him down more easily.”
“There is no easy letdown with him,” Nick growled. “He’s a fighter and he doesn’t stop until he pushes me to the limit.”
“Then you should try harder. You’re the grown-up.”
They were squared off, head to head, as light began to fade from the sky.
Nick gritted out, “Let me remind you that you’re here to dig in the dirt. Keep your theories to musket balls and stay the hell away from my family. I don’t need someone else to argue with around here.”
“Then you better stay off this mountain. Or get a personality transplant.”
They glared at each other in acrimonious silence until she sighed angrily and looked away from him.
“This may have been a big mistake,” Carter muttered, brushing some hair out of her eye.
“Not if you do your job and stop playing social worker.”
“I think you should go.”
His eyebrows arched. “Are you dismissing me?”
“Either you leave or I leave. If I leave, I have to drag all this stuff back down the trail and I’m too tired to make the effort.”
Nick stared at her, brows falling down tightly over his eyes. When he spoke next, his voice was gruff. “Get this straight. I don’t have to explain myself to you. You’re on my property, at my whim. I can kick you off this mountain at a moment’s notice.”
“Fine. So do it.” Her eyes, full of challenge, met his defiantly.
Nick frowned.
“Come on,” she prompted. “You’re doing enough masculine chest-thumping here to make a gorilla proud. Am I leaving or not?”
There was a long silence.
His diamond-hard eyes drilled into her until she didn’t think she could stand the pressure anymore. But then, just before she was going to cave in and look away, he did something totally unexpected. He leaned in toward her and reached out his hand. When he touched her cheek with a light caress, she flinched as if struck.
“What are you doing?” Carter demanded, craning her neck away.
“Getting that piece of hair out of your face.” She noticed that his voice changed. It was softer, reflective. Seductive, almost.
Her heart began pounding.
His thumb stroked her cheek again and then drifted down to her jawline.
“Stop it,” she told him. But the tremble in her voice weakened the command.
“I want to kiss you.”
“What?” she sputtered.
“You heard me. I want to kiss you.”
“No-you-don’t.” Her words came out in a rush.
“Yes, I do.” His were slow and deliberate. “I’ve wanted to since you walked into my study.”
“No-you-haven’t.”
“Yes, I have.”
“I’m-not-your-type.”
“I don’t have a type.”
“Yes-you-do.” She just couldn’t get words out fast enough.
“And you’ve come to this conclusion because?”
“That blond woman’s a caricature if I ever saw one.”
He laughed softly.
The sound gave her strength to fight. She wasn’t going to be toyed with.
“Listen, Farrell, I’m not here for your amusement. I’m sure you’re used to women throwing themselves at you but I’m not…”
He reached up and brushed back another tendril of hair from her face. As he tucked it behind her ear, his hand lingered on the skin of her nape. It was the softest of touches, the pads of his fingers just brushing over her skin.
Her mouth went dry. She licked her lips.
“I love it when you do that.” His voice had grown thick with a rasp that went straight to her spinal column. As his thumb stroked across her lower lip, she noticed that there was nothing teasing or lighthearted about his expression. He was deadly serious as his fingertips followed a strand of her hair down to her collarbone. Through the thin cotton of her T-shirt, his touch burned.
Carter knew she should pull away. She reminded herself that she was mad at him. That he was a cruel bas—
With a flash of movement, Nick plucked off her baseball cap, causing her hair to fall free around her face. His eyes, sparkling with need, roamed over her as if he had a thirst to quench and she were the stream. In response, her body answered with a wave of desire for him so strong it threatened to topple her willpower. As time slowed, and then stopped, she wasn’t sure how to handle the surging fever or the pounding anticipation that was coursing through her.
So she did the only thing she could think of.
She kissed him first.
Grabbing the front of his shirt, crushing the collar with her hands, she pulled him down to her mouth. Fusing her lips against his, she felt his tongue enter her mouth in a rush and his arms go around her waist. Melding together, their bodies were a perfect fit, her curves and his hard angles coming together seamlessly. His arousal was thick against her, pressing into her softness.
His hands raked through her hair, his fingers digging deep against her skull. She couldn’t keep a moan of pleasure from escaping as her body swelled. Gripping his powerful shoulders so hard she knew she must be leaving marks, she wanted more of him. All of him. And it didn’t matter that they were on the side of a mountain.
But then suddenly, she heard the sharp sound of a tree branch snapping and a rhythmic beating of the air. They pulled apart, shaken. Turning toward the noise, they watched as a hawk carried itself on great wings up into the darkening sky.
Nick stepped back, and she heard his labored breathing over her own. His shirt was veering at a crazy angle from her having yanked at it, and she flushed, wondering what in the hell had caused her to act so aggressively.
For a long time, he stared at her as if trying to come to terms with the passion that had exploded between them. He seemed as surprised by it as she was.
“I think I should leave now,” he said finally.
As he turned away, she whispered, “Yes. So do I.”
Nick left the campsite in a hurry. In the gathering darkness, there was still enough light so that the way down the mountain was obvious. He didn’t need the help, though. He knew every bend in the trail, every boulder he walked past. The familiarity was comforting.
Because he sure as hell didn’t know what had gotten into him.
How they had gone from arguing to that rousing kiss was a mystery. One minute he’d been angry with the woman and the next he’d been overwhelmed by how incredibly beautiful she was with the setting sun on her face. Then she’d kissed him and the whole damn world had caught on fire.
That mind-blowing intensity was not what he had intended.
He’d been attracted to her from the start, true. But he’d had no idea what it would be like kissing her. He hadn’t been prepared for the feel of her body against his, her breasts pressing into his chest, her lips returning his kisses with a passion as great as his own.
It had been a long time since anyone had kissed him like that. Hell, no one had kissed him like that. No woman had ever gripped the front of his shirt like it was a pull chain and whipped his head forward to her mouth. She’d had him under her complete control in that moment.
His body throbbed
just thinking about it.
Nick sped up his descent. He was not a man who got overwhelmed easily, and he sure as hell didn’t lose control of himself that often. Certainly, never with a woman. Until now. With the mere touch of her lips, he’d felt as if he’d been thrown into a volcano. Out of control, burning hot, he’d had no defenses against the onslaught.
Hadn’t been interested in mounting any, either.
Gritting his teeth against his need, he decided it had to be a fluke of nature. He hadn’t been with Candace in a while, what with his Japan trip and then the headache. That had to be the problem.
That just had to be it, dammit.
Coming to the end of the trail, Nick walked out into the meadow and then across the lawn.
Before heading inside, he paused and glanced back at the mountain. Close to the summit, he could see the glow of a fire. He felt a strong urge to go back up there, as if he’d forgotten something important.
Nick cursed out loud before making himself go into his home. He went directly to his study and, with grim determination, picked up the phone.
He knew just how to take care of any unhealthy preoccupation he might have with that archaeologist.
When Candace’s voice came on the line, he spoke clearly. “It’s me.”
“Hello,” she said, surprised.
“I want you to come back up this weekend.”
“Darling,” she breathed, “I would love to.”
“Come Thursday night. Stay for however long, through the next week if you want.”
She positively cooed with pleasure. “I’d stay the whole summer, if you’d let me.”
Nick didn’t reply. He was too occupied by a sensation of strangulation that had come over him.
This was wrong, he thought.
“Nick?” she purred.
“What?”
“Does this mean you’ve given some thought to our conversation about the future?”
Oh, Christ. What was he doing?
“Of course I’ve thought about it.”
“I knew you’d come around.”
“I’ve got to go,” he said quickly.
“See you soon.”
Candace’s voice was happy as they hung up.
Nick knew damn well why she was so pleased and surprised. He generally kept her down in the city, wanting to save the lake house for those times when he could really unwind. And he sure as hell hadn’t ever given her an open-ended invitation.
Nick went over to his wet bar, poured a scotch, tossed it back, and poured another.
With a groan, he thought of Cort. He needed to go and talk with the boy, to try to bridge the gap that had been widened once again. But what could he say that hadn’t already been thrown back at him a hundred times?
“Bloody hell,” he said aloud.
Gertie poked her head in the door. She was buttoning up a yellow sweater and had a handbag with a big sunflower on it hanging from one arm.
“I left you a plate of dinner in the fridge. And before you ask, Cort’s up in his room. Took his food upstairs.”
Nick sent a weary smile her way. “How did you know I was thinking about him?”
“He was upset when he came in and, whenever you’re wondering what to do about the boy, you always look like this.”
“What do I look like?”
“Like your tail’s under a rocking chair.”
He finished the scotch. “I should go up and talk with him.”
“Good idea.”
As he put down his glass, Nick changed the subject. “I’ve asked Candace to come up here for a while.”
Gertie said nothing; she just took out a scarf from her pocket and knotted it over her hair.
“No reaction?”
“I’ll make sure everything is ready.”
He frowned.
“Don’t give me that look,” she said curtly. “I can’t make you feel better about doing something you know doesn’t sit right.”
He ran his hand through his hair as she shut the door quietly behind her.
Thank God Gertie was the only one who could read him so well.
At least no one else would know the kind of mess his life was in.
5
THE NEXT morning, Carter woke up to the sound of an alarm clock. This was a surprise because she hadn’t brought one with her.
It took her some time to figure out that the staccato beats were coming from a woodpecker. As the relentless tapping droned on, Carter wrapped her pillow around her head, thinking if the bird didn’t give it a rest, it was going to cure her of being a nature lover.
A little later, she pushed the pillow aside and tried to read the face of her watch. If she calculated it right, she needed three more hours of sleep to make up for the insomnia that she’d had the night before.
Fat chance of that as long as Mr. Snare Drum kept it up.
She unzipped her sleeping bag, thrust her legs out, and got up. After she changed into blue jeans, a turtleneck, and a fleece pullover, she stepped into her boots and emerged from the tent to confront the noisemaker.
“I’m up,” she barked. “You satisfied?”
The bird, startled by the sound of her voice, took flight in a fit of self-preservation.
“What a peckerhead.”
Going over to the mess tent, she made some coffee. After downing a mugful, she began to feel a little more like herself and started to plan the day. Having spent so many hours in the dark probing why she’d kissed a man she should dislike, it was great to think about work. God knew, her midnight machinations hadn’t gotten her any closer to some relief. Maybe she just needed to focus on other things.
Like the job she was there to do.
Going into Papercut Central, she picked up the definitive biography of General Farnsworth, a copy of his journal, and a pad and pen. She paused to fill up a thermos with more coffee and headed out to the big view. As she stepped free from the trees, she was astounded at the sunrise that greeted her. Pink and yellow streaks filled the sky, and down below, the water’s calm surface reflected all the glory.
Now, this was worth waking up for, she thought.
Choosing a boulder with a flat top, she climbed aboard and sat cross-legged. The pine-scented mountain air was crisp in her nose and the sun’s rays were warm on her face. Comfortable, satiated, and much happier than she’d been in her tent, she cracked open the larger of the books. Drinking her coffee and occasionally looking up to monitor the sun’s progress as it rose, she reread parts of the biography to refresh her memory of the general.
Farnsworth was the illegitimate son of a British nobleman and he’d joined the king’s forces because he had few other prospects. Embroiled in the New World’s military conflicts, he rose to power fast, using a combination of scare tactics, bribery, and deadly force against anyone who stood in his way. Within two years, after numerous victories in battle, he was given command of Fort Sagamore.
In the fall of 1776, just after taking up his new post at the fort, he got himself into serious trouble during a trip to the harbor of New York. While there to develop military strategy with other British leaders, he took a fancy to a young barmaid and apparently wouldn’t take no for an answer. The girl’s father, a colonist with a lot of friends, caught the general brutally raping the colonist’s daughter. When Farnsworth tried to flee the city, he was captured by an angry mob. Demanding his freedom and maintaining his innocence, he claimed he’d been seduced by the girl, a defense that would have been far more believable if she hadn’t been found under him, bloodied and in shock.
The colonial community demanded his death. The British, however, had no intention of losing such a valuable military asset, and they had the perfect bargaining chip. Just weeks earlier, at the conclusion of a bloody skirmish up around Boston, Nathaniel Walker had been taken prisoner. One of the great colonial leaders of the Revolution, he was, ironically, ensconced in the dungeon of Fort Sagamore. After tense negotiations, a deal was struck between the two sides. A
trade would be made.
Two colonial soldiers, who’d been farmers before the fighting, were chosen to escort Farnsworth upstat, where the swap would occur. They were joined by the Reverend Jonathan Winship, a close friend of Nathaniel Walker’s, and a spiritual as well as community leader in the colonies. It was the expectation that his influence would temper the minutemen’s hatred for the man they were escorting and thus assure the prisoner arrived for the trade alive.
The Winship party, as the group was called, retained an Indian guide to navigate the way north to the environs around Fort Sagamore. In spite of the risks, it was conceivable that the party could have survived both the trip into the Adirondacks and the exchange, despite being so close to the enemy’s seat of power. They were all smart men who knew their way around a musket loader, including the reverend, and they were being led by an Algonquin Indian who had been born in the area.
What tipped the scales in their disfavor was that they weren’t traveling light.
Revolutionary supporters in the city had laden the three colonists with gold. It was to be used for purchasing food and furs for soldiers who would have to brave the fury of the coming winter at strategic outposts along the Hudson River waterways. The plan was for the Winship party to link up with a band of militia close to the south end of Lake Sagamore and transfer the gold there, well before they got close to Farnsworth’s fort. The thought was that transporting the precious metal with Farnsworth was advantageous because the Winship party held a kind of diplomatic immunity as long as the British leader was under their care.
All along, Farnsworth had planned to have the party ambushed. He wasn’t a man who played fair to begin with, and he was looking forward to starving Nathaniel Walker to death in his dungeon. While the negotiations between his side and the colonists had taken place in New York, it had been easy to send word to his fort as to when and where to attack the party in the mountains. His plan was to slaughter the Americans, slowly, and leave their bodies to feed the bobcats.
But, as soon as the party started out into the wilderness, he realized he had the opportunity to come out of captivity a far wealthier man. His escorts were carrying a heavy load in a small strongbox and he knew there was only one thing that could make a man’s shoulders sag like that: gold, and lots of it. When the colonists lingered for a night at Lake Sagamore, and then headed out still burdened and decidedly more anxious the next day, he realized he had a prime chance to better his financial prospects.
