Perrie made it to the table before her legs turned to spaghetti. It was barely light, and Davey still slept soundly.
Outside, she heard a steady rhythm. Glancing out the window, she saw him.
What a beautiful male animal.
Gilded by shafts of light streaking down through the trees, he could have stepped out of a legend. Stripped down to a sweat-soaked t-shirt, every muscle showed clearly the raw power of the man.
Perrie had borne a child, but she had never known desire. Simon had taken a child-woman and taught her all about sex, but nothing about passion. It had been the happiest day of her life when he had stopped visiting her bed and had gone back to his other women. When he had fallen hard enough for one of them and demanded a divorce, she had gladly agreed to any terms to escape him.
Perrie had always believed that she lacked something essential, some ability to be fully a woman. She had buried herself in being a mother and planned to live out her life alone.
But watching this man’s hard, dangerous beauty, Perrie wondered.
“Mom?” From behind her, Davey’s sleepy voice interrupted her thoughts. “Are you all better?”
She arose and clutched the chair as the room tilted. Quickly, she sat back down. “Maybe not all better, honey, but I’m really tired of that bed.”
He smiled and ran to her, wrapping his arms tightly around her neck. “I missed you, Mom.” His voice dropped to a fierce whisper. “I was scared. You were sick and I don’t know where Grandpa Cy is. You said he would keep us safe.”
Traitorous tears threatened. Perrie hugged him tightly, then settled him on her lap. “Listen, sweetheart, I have something…” Perrie squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted Grandpa here, too.
Then she straightened her shoulders and leaned back to look into Davey’s eyes. “Sweetie, Grandpa Cy got very sick, and he can’t be here to help us, after all.”
“When will he come back?”
She swallowed hard. “He won’t be coming back, Davey. Grandpa Cy is in heaven with the angels.” She watched her son’s beautiful blue eyes widen.
“You mean he’s dead? Like Sparky?”
The only time Davey had been allowed a pet had been the brief hiatus after the divorce. His little puppy had escaped and been run over. Davey had struggled with the concept of death.
Blue eyes glistened with sudden moisture. “You said he would be here.”
“Yes,” she nodded, “And I know he would want to be with us if he could. I know he’s watching over us right now. You don’t have to worry.”
He cocked his head as if she’d spouted nonsense. “I’m not worried. Mitch is here. He’ll take care of us.”
Perrie knew that her son’s confidence about their welcome was misplaced, but now wasn’t the time to make him feel less secure. “He hasn’t—he didn’t hurt you or scare you?”
Davey pulled back, honestly shocked. “Mitch?” He shook his head. “Mitch is great. He showed me how to fish and he doesn’t make me take a bath and he lets me—” He stopped suddenly, covering his mouth with one hand.
She couldn’t help grinning. “What?”
Blue eyes went wide, and he shook his head.
“Shall I tickle you until you tell me?”
Davey squirmed to get away, but Perrie held him close, laughing. “No bath? Better tell me what else.”
He giggled and squirmed harder. “Mitch said—” His eyes danced, and he shook his head.
Perrie’s fingers started moving. “Mitch said what?”
“No, Mom, you—” He squealed one loud scream, then laughed harder.
Perrie was laughing, too, but she knew she’d better stop before she dropped him. “I what, sweetie? You know you want to tell me—”
The door crashed open. Mitch charged inside, looking wild and fierce—
Perrie and Davey stopped cold, both faces still wearing traces of laughter.
Mitch’s heartbeat thundered. He’d heard the scream and known a fear beyond anything he’d felt in years. There was so much the boy could have hurt himself on—
He lost it. “What the hell are you doing out of bed?”
Every trace of a smile vanished. Davey’s eyes filled, and Perrie ruffled like a wet hen. She set her son down and rose to face him like a small warrior.
A warrior whose face had all the color of a sheet of paper.
“I’m a grown woman. Don’t try to tell me—”
“Sit down before you fall down. What’s going on?” He looked over Davey. “I thought you were—” Hurt. Mitch turned away, struggling with a temper he hadn’t let go in years. A temper born of fear that shouldn’t be his.
Davey wasn’t his child. He had a mother. A mother who would soon leave and take Davey with her.
He felt a small hand grasp his. “I’m sorry, Mitch. Me and Mom were just tickling. I almost—” He pulled at Mitch’s arm, trying to get him closer.
When Mitch bent closer, Davey whispered. “I almost told her about the porch. I didn’t want to get you in trouble.”
Mitch knelt before the boy, studying him closely. “Don’t ever lie to your mother, Davey.” He looked over the boy’s head at her. “I’m the one who showed you. I don’t care if she gets mad at me. But now that she’s better, she’s the one you have to listen to.”
Her blue eyes softened in gratitude.
Mitch looked away. He didn’t want her soft. He wanted her gone.
“Mitch…” Davey whispered earnestly. “Mom’s gonna want me to take a bath.”
A bath. Why hadn’t he stopped to think about baths? Neither of them could tolerate his daily dip into the icy mountain stream.
Davey looked disgusted.
“She’s right, you know. You need one.”
“Aw, Mitch…”
He stood up and looked at Perrie. “Sorry. I use the stream most days. But it’s too—”
“Cold,” she supplied, smiling fondly. “I know. I remember.”
“I forget. You’ve lived here before.”
Her lashes swept down, avoiding a topic difficult for both of them. “It’s been a long time. Things change.”
“Not around here.”
Her eyes opened wide. “I’m glad to hear it. This place is special. Magic.”
Then why didn’t you come back when— Mitch quashed the question. The boy watched them, gaze avid. It was the first civil conversation they’d had.
He changed the subject. “I could rig you a shower outside, the way I do when I guide.”
“Guide? You’re an outfitter like Grandpa?”
He shrugged. “Sort of. I travel with the seasons. Should be in South Texas right now for dove and quail, but this would be the first winter Cy’s place would be—”
Blue eyes went dark with grief. Tears glistened.
She wore her emotions on her sleeve. He could tell her it was the road to disaster.
Her voice was barely a whisper. “Where is he buried?”
He bit back the words of recrimination. “You know the grandfather spruce?”
Her gaze locked on his. “The one that looks out toward the sunrise?”
Mitch nodded. “I scattered his ashes there.”
“I’m so glad. It was his favorite place.”
If you knew that… Suddenly, Mitch was back there, watching the man who’d cared when his own father had hated…watching Cy’s eyes darken with pain and feeling so helpless.
Remembering the desperate three-hour trip he’d made into Cora to phone her. A call to grant the only wish that really meant anything to Cy. To see this woman…just once more.
Mitch glanced down at Davey. Cy would have loved him the most. But thanks to her neglect, Cy had never known Davey existed.
He looked back at the woman who’d refused to even come to the phone, the woman he’d wanted to crawl through the phone lines to yank out of her pampered, selfish existence. If Cy hadn’t been so sick, Mitch would have gone to Boston and dragged her here himself.
Instead, he’d watched the man who�
��d brought him back from hell die alone. Unwanted by anyone but a man whom no one else wanted, either. Unmourned by his own blood.
He had to get out of here. Away from her.
The boy was leaning on his leg. He jerked his hand away from Davey’s hair as if burned. For Davey’s sake, he had to clamp down on his contempt.
Voice carefully calm, he spoke to the child. “I’ll be done in a few minutes. Can you wait for breakfast?”
Davey’s blue eyes were clear and guileless. “Want me to help, Mitch? Mom, are you hungry?”
“I can fix your breakfast, sweetie.”
“I said I’d fix it,” he snapped. “Get back into bed.”
Then he turned on his heel and left, placing distance between him and the woman he did not understand.
Chapter Three
Perrie hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep again until the cabin door opened. Mitch stood there, clean shirt on—charcoal plaid this time—dark hair slicked back, gleaming like mink.
She saw his displeasure, quickly masked, that she was on the sofa instead of back in bed. But he didn’t say anything, just turned and headed toward the kitchen.
He was so big. So powerful. So angry with her, yet he kept that anger carefully lashed under iron bands of control.
She could defuse that anger by explaining about Simon, but then she’d have to admit that she couldn’t leave. Didn’t know where to go.
He didn’t want her here. He was a loner, down to the bone, of that she was sure. He’d already had to play nursemaid and babysitter for a woman he despised and a child he didn’t know. This place was his, even if by default. Cyrus Blackburn had loved this place and wouldn’t have given it to him if he hadn’t cared for Mitch. The Grandpa she knew would have ordered him off the place with a shotgun, let it rot from neglect before letting a stranger have it.
No, Mitch’s grief was real. She had seen little emotion slip past his mask, but his grief and love for Grandpa were palpable.
And he’d helped them, never mind that he despised her. He’d been gentle with Davey, though it was obvious he had no experience with children.
But what would he say if he knew she was being hunted? Maybe he would help her, maybe not. She couldn’t risk being thrown out until she was ready, until she had a plan.
Right now, she couldn’t clear her brain well enough to plan. All she could do was rest and get back her strength.
She would never go back. One escape, before Davey was conceived in violence, had taught her the price of Simon’s displeasure. He was medieval in his thinking, cruel and unforgiving. She had been forced to live as chattel in a soft and pampered prison, forbidden contact with anyone from her old life. She would never forgive herself for her weakness.
He had left her alone after Davey’s birth, lost interest in them both. Locked away in Simon’s pretty prison while he played in the city, there had been no chances for escape until Simon himself had granted deliverance, divorcing her to marry someone else. But he had warned her to stay in Boston. She knew he had her watched and followed. As long as he had stayed away, she hadn’t forced the issue. He seemed to have forgotten them.
Until the day that he showed up on her doorstep to claim the son he’d never loved, reminding her that Matheson power could wrest Davey away from her forever. She’d threatened him with going to the authorities with what she suspected about his money laundering, and Simon had only laughed, secure in his power. Then he turned the tables, telling her that if she breathed a word, he would take Davey somewhere that she would never find him.
Perrie had adopted her old subservient pose, groveling while rage ate a hole in her soul, knowing that he would do it, that she had to put his mind at ease. With the help of her only friend, Simon’s wizened old gardener, Elias Conkwright, she laid the groundwork for leaving while making sure Davey was never alone with Simon until she could flee.
But one day Simon had picked Davey up from kindergarten unexpectedly. After two frantic days, Davey had returned—afraid.
It was a reminder of Simon’s threat. Perrie knew then that she could not wait any longer. Time had run out, whether she had enough money or not. She wrote down everything she knew that could point toward Simon’s white-collar crimes, and left the papers with Elias, who would deliver them not to the police, but to Boston’s premier investigative reporter. She could only pray that someday justice would find Simon.
She had left the name of the town nearest her grandfather’s cabin, asking Elias to contact her only in case of emergency—or if by some miracle, Simon was apprehended.
And she had fled to what she thought was safety.
Only to find a stranger in place of the man who would help.
Forcing away the whirling cloud of fear and despair, Perrie closed her eyes and sought the stillness that had helped her survive this far.
She would have to run again, it seemed.
But for now, she would sleep.
“Mitch,” Davey whispered, standing in the chair and stirring. “Want me to go wake Mom? It’s almost ready.”
Mitch took his gaze off the boy only long enough to check her, then shook his head. “We’ll set it on the back. It’ll keep warm for awhile. Maybe she’ll sleep longer.”
Davey sighed, then wrinkled his face. “No one can sleep this much.”
“Maybe not you, sport, but your mom’s been very sick.”
“When she gets better, can we take her fishing, too?”
“I can’t imagine she’d like it.”
“Oh, she would—she told me. Grandpa Cy used to take her fishing when she was my age.”
He hated to disappoint the hopeful look in the boy’s eyes. “Maybe. We’ll have to see how long you’re staying.”
Davey’s eyes widened. “We were gonna come live with Grandpa Cy, Mom told me.” His brow wrinkled. “Maybe you don’t want us to stay.”
Too bright, the boy was. Of course he didn’t want them to stay. He lived alone. Always had, except for visits to Cy. He moved from one guide job to the next, season to season. His home was his truck and the wide blue sky, the forests and rivers and streams.
But right now, eyes as blue as that sky were looking at him, vulnerable and lost. The boy needed some sense of security.
What the hell was she thinking, uprooting him like that? A child needed a safe place to grow up, to belong. Like he’d had, until—
“No use to worry about it now. Something will work out. Your oatmeal’s ready.” He scooped the boy into one arm and carried a bowl in the other, turning toward the table.
Perrie’s soft, sleepy gaze studied him, and he felt like he’d been caught doing something illicit.
“Mom!” Davey crowed. “Look, I made oatmeal!” He glanced over at Mitch, sliding one arm around Mitch’s neck. “Well, Mitch helped me, but mostly I made it.”
“Enough for me?” Her voice held the huskiness of sleep, rasping its way along Mitch’s nerves.
“Sure!” Davey squirmed to be let down. Mitch set him on his feet. “Look, you can have this bowl.”
She rose, and Mitch could see that she wasn’t yet steady on her feet. He started to go to her, but she cast him a forbidding glance, then straightened carefully, holding onto the arm of the sofa with one hand and using the other to free her braid of spun gold hair from her collar. With slow steps, she rounded the sofa.
By the time she reached the table, what little color she had was gone. But her spine stayed ramrod straight and around her prickled a cloud of warning.
She wouldn’t thank him to follow his instincts and carry her back to the bed. She wasn’t his business, anyway—she’d only be here as long as it took to get her well enough to leave.
He’d turned down several jobs over this fall and winter. He’d disappointed some people; he was always in demand. But he’d felt the need to come—
Home.
No. Not home. He didn’t need a home. Didn’t want one. He’d merely come back to be sure Cy’s cabin—his cabin—was all rig
ht for winter. He could leave tomorrow and get a job at the snap of his fingers. Maybe he should. Let her have the place if she wanted.
But the boy needed him right now. And so did she—like it or not, wise or not. It wasn’t in Jenny Gallagher’s son to leave them stranded, even a woman as heartless as this one.
Mitch finished dishing up Davey’s oatmeal and his own. As he sat down, he couldn’t help looking back through time to another table, another dark-haired man and blonde woman and boy. All that was missing was the dark-haired older son who had once belonged at a table like this.
Who had once been part of a family.
Until he’d destroyed it.
Perrie woke at the sound of a thump on the kitchen floor, followed by a deep rumble and animated whispers. Her impulse to leap up from the bed and be sure Davey was all right was automatic, but she waited. Mitch was with him. No matter what he thought of her, she could not fault his care of her child.
Well, except maybe the lack of bathing. But Davey was no doubt in little boy heaven.
The door opened a crack. A small blond head bobbed through the opening. When he saw that she was awake, he shoved through the door and bounced on the bed. “Mom—Mitch is making you a bath.” His little face wrinkled in disgust. “He says I gotta take one after you’re through.”
“Good for him. You need one. I wonder if all little boys hate baths.”
“They do,” the deep voice confirmed.
Perrie glanced up at Mitch. “All of them?”
“My mom practically had to hog-tie my brother and me when we were kids.” For a moment, he seemed younger, lighter of heart. The tawny eyes sparkled.
“You have a brother?” Davey asked. “Is he big like you?”
The sparkle vanished, replaced by a look of such deep sorrow that it hurt to watch.
Then the iron man recovered and resumed his careful mask. “I don’t know.” Mitch glanced at her, his expression neutral. “If you’d like to bathe, Cy had an old tub that should work.”
He didn’t know what his brother looked like? Perrie wanted to know more, but everything about him said Back off. The brief glimpse of a carefree boy was gone as if it had never existed. In its place was the forbidding stranger.
Texas Heroes: Volume 1 Page 21
