Texas Heroes: Volume 1

by Jean Brashear

  The cabin door opened suddenly. “What the devil are you doing?” Mitch’s voice boomed out.

  Perrie didn’t turn, just kept twisting and squeezing. “I should think it would be obvious.”

  Then he was at her side, removing the shirt from her hands. “Go sit down.” His strong fingers finished the job with quick, efficient motions.

  “What are you doing, Mom?”

  Perrie turned toward her son’s voice. “Washing our clothes.”

  “Take your mom over to the couch, Davey. She needs to sit down.”

  Perrie bristled at being ordered around like a child. She glanced up at the man whose shoulder she barely reached, seeing eyes gone stormy. “I’m not a child. I don’t need a keeper.”

  “Could have fooled me. Now go sit down or I’ll carry you there myself.”

  For a split-second, she remembered being carried last night. Remembered leaning into that broad chest. She hadn’t dreamed that, nor the need she’d felt to know what turned those eyes so dark with sorrow.

  And for another brief flicker, she saw that he remembered it, too. A muscle flexed in his strong jaw. His nostrils flared. Stormy eyes glowed hot—

  Perrie stepped back, reaching for Davey’s shoulder. Turning too quickly, she stumbled over the trailing edges of the sheet, the awkward movement jerking the fabric down and popping the clothespin off. Grasping at the sheet with one hand, she reached for the edge of the sink with the other.

  Strong hands pulled her upright, up against a hard, powerful frame.

  With a gasp, Perrie felt the pressure of breast to ribs, hip to belly. She lifted her gaze in shock to see the same war going on in him.

  She drew herself back with exquisite care, pulling the sheet tightly between her breasts, feeling spark-shot and shaky.

  Perrie forced herself to straighten. “Our clothes were dirty. They needed washing.”

  “Me and Mitch could go to the car and get our other clothes, couldn’t we, Mitch?”

  Mitch tore his gaze away from Perrie, glancing down at her son. “There’s a storm coming. You stay here and help your mom.” For all the fury in his eyes when he looked at her, his tone was gentle with her son.

  “Okay,” Davey sighed. “Come on, Mom. You need to sit down like Mitch said.” He reached for her hand.

  She’d had enough of this hero worship. “Mitch doesn’t know what either one of us needs.”

  The hurt look on Davey’s face made her feel churlish, but she was tired of Mitch’s high-handed manner. She’d had enough of men telling her how to live her life. “Excuse me, please. I’ll be in the other room.” Turning to go, she tripped again on the sheet and muttered furiously under her breath as she pulled it up from beneath her feet.

  Amusement threaded through Mitch’s voice. “You want to borrow something else to put on?”

  She didn’t want to see a smug look on his face. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ve got to bring in those clothes from outside and dry them in front of the fire. It could be a while.”

  Her bare feet were already cold. Her legs had chill bumps from the draft where the sheet parted. But she still didn’t want to ask any more favors.

  Until she looked down and saw that the increasing chill had puckered her nipples. Inhaling sharply, she pulled the sheet up over her breasts. She couldn’t stay huddled inside it all day.

  With a proud toss of her head, she turned to face him, scrupulously polite. “I suppose that makes sense.” Even to her own ears, she sounded ungracious.

  One dark eyebrow cocked.

  “I apologize. I just—” Can’t lean on anyone else. Not any longer.

  He didn’t comment, only waited for her to finish. Her discomfort increased.

  Perrie shook her head, then rubbed her temple. “I’m not a very good patient. I’m used to being the caretaker, not the one who needs care.”

  His eyes held what might be sympathy. “Don’t much like relying on others myself.” He dropped the wet shirt onto the counter and moved past her. “I’ll get you something.”

  Davey walked over and took her hand. This time she didn’t balk. “Mitch is okay, Mom. He’s not like my dad.”

  From the mouths of babes… She knelt before him, gripping his hand tightly and speaking softly. “Don’t get too attached, Davey. Mitch lives alone and he likes it that way.”

  His chin jutted. “He likes me, Mom. I know he does.” Then he shrugged his shoulders and sighed deeply. “I don’t know why you two can’t get along better. You’re usually not like this with people.”

  I’m usually not running for my life. Your life. But she’d never explained to him that they wouldn’t be going back home. How would he feel if he knew the true evil of which his father was capable? Just the tiny glimpse he’d had of Simon’s cruelty had scared him badly. Something inside Perrie balked at having to tell her beloved son that the man whose blood he shared was evil. Instead, she’d simply told him they would be staying with Grandpa Cy for a while, that though it very different from the city, it was a good, safe place.

  She was spared a response when Mitch returned. She kissed Davey and whispered, “We’ll be okay.” Grasping the sheet firmly, she rose.

  “It’s nothing fancy. I figured sweats would be the easiest thing to adjust to how much smaller you are.”

  “They’ll be fine. I’m very grateful. If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll help you with the clothes on the line.”

  “Your hair is still wet. Stay inside. Then you can give me your car keys and I’ll go get whatever you need.”

  “Mitch, I can—”

  He glanced back over his shoulder, frowning. “If it were Davey, you’d be telling him to go back to bed.” His gaze dared her to argue.

  Suddenly, she felt the strength drain right out of her. She sighed. “You’re right. I just…”

  His voice was oddly gentle. “Don’t like being a patient. I heard. But you have to rest to get well.”

  What he didn’t say was even clearer to both of them. She needed to get well enough to leave.

  But she had to hold to one point. “I am not getting back in that bed.”

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged and reached for his jacket. When he opened the door, she could feel how much the temperature had dropped. He left without a backward glance.

  Davey looked like he wanted to take her to task, ready to leap to Mitch’s defense.

  “Not a word, young man.” She pointed a finger at him. “I’ll be right back.”

  First Mitch moved more wood to the porch of the cabin. Good thing he’d been splitting extra. Looked like they would need it.

  As he wheeled another load from the woodpile, his thoughts drifted to how he’d found her. She looked like a little girl playing dress-up, the sheet wrapped several times around her small frame, bare toes peeking from beneath it, her face with barely more color than the white cotton. He’d felt a strong urge to gather her up against him, to wrap his hands around those small feet and warm them.

  But she was anything but a girl, small stature or not. She might be thin from the effects of her illness right now, but she still had a woman’s curve to her hips. The nipples that puckered so prettily crowned breasts that would nicely fill even his big hands. She was small, but she was all woman.

  And the last thing he needed was to be stuck in a cabin with her while this storm blew through.

  He cast a glance at the sky, then at the wood. Enough for now—he had winter gear and might need an excuse to get outside all too soon, anyway.

  With quick steps, he walked to the line where she’d hung the clothes she’d so painstaking washed. When he pulled his jeans off the line, he shook his head. They were still soaking wet, but how had those small hands ever wrung them out in the first place?

  Then he reached her panties and bras, and his hand stilled. Though he’d taken them off her when he was trying to bring down her fever, he hadn’t really paid attention. Now he touched the lace, the tiny triangles of silky fabric
. Heat flared through him, racing down nerve paths too long dormant.

  With a ripe curse, Mitch snatched them from the line and added them to his bundle, focusing only on clothespins the rest of the way.

  He stalked toward the cabin, pushing the door open.

  Perrie’s head jerked up from where she’d set a chair before the fire. When she met his gaze, color rushed into her face.

  “Mitch! Look at Mom,” Davey giggled. “Your clothes are too big.”

  That was an understatement. She’d had to roll the legs up so many times that they formed an inner tube around her ankles. The bulky rolls at her wrists were the same. With her hair still wet, she looked like a half-drowned waif.

  A beautiful, self-conscious waif.

  Treat her like she’s Davey. Like she’s a child who needs tending for a while.

  Not like a woman. Anything but a woman.

  “Here.” He dropped the pile of wet clothing on the kitchen table. “I’ll get a rope to string across the room.” He left the cabin.

  Fast.

  Perrie watched him go, then turned toward the fire to dry her hair. In minutes, he was back with a length of rope, nails and a hammer. His face closed in as if shutters had been latched, he quickly and efficiently strung a clothesline from one wall of the living area, crossing in front of the fire and extending to the kitchen wall.

  She turned toward the pile of clothing.

  He moved up beside her. “Go sit down.”

  She bristled. “I can do this.”

  He muttered darkly and pulled the top garment, a pair of his jeans, off the pile.

  He was too close. Perrie wanted to back away.

  Then she grabbed a shirt next. Beneath it lay a pair of her panties.

  She grabbed for them at the same time he reached into the pile. Their hands brushed. It felt like someone had touched her with a live wire.

  She gasped faintly and jerked back, her gaze jumping to his.

  Dark eyes turned darker, meeting hers for an incandescent second. A muscle leapt in his jaw.

  “Here,” he almost growled, holding out the pink scrap to her.

  The sight of her panties in his hands did something to her insides. Shot down her veins as hot as the blaze in her cheeks. Perrie grabbed for the pink lace and stuffed it under the shirt she was holding.

  “If you think you can hang these up, I’ll head for your car.” He bit off every word as thought it cost him to utter each one.

  She didn’t look at him. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “You sure as hell can’t. Give me the keys.”

  “You don’t know where I parked.”

  “I’m a tracker. I’ll find it.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Hiding something?”

  Oh, no. They couldn’t have this discussion.

  “No,” she said quickly. “I just—it’s a lot of trouble for you, that’s all.”

  “This storm could last one day or several. You want to be washing those out every day?”

  She didn’t have to look to know what those were. Her fingers tightened around the wet bundle in her arms.

  No, she didn’t want to have to do that. It wasn’t a problem to hang them out in front of Davey. He had long dismissed them as just underwear, no different from his SpongeBob briefs. But they felt like waving a red flag in front of a bull now, with Mitch around.

  And it wasn’t as though she had anything in the car but clothes and toys, anyway. Just that there was so much, more than most people would take on a simple visit.

  She didn’t have to tell him anything. He didn’t like talking, anyway. And soon, they’d be gone.

  That thought made her stomach clench. She still didn’t know where they’d go. But it looked like she had a few days’ reprieve, thanks to Mother Nature.

  “I’ll get my car keys.” She turned to leave.

  “You’ve got a wet spot on the front of the sweatshirt.” His voice sounded faintly amused. “You can leave the pile here. I’ve already seen what there is to see.”

  He could mean not only her underwear but her body. Face still uncomfortably warm, she dropped the clothes back on the pile and headed toward her pack.

  Perrie thrust the keys in his hands, then busied herself hanging up laundry while he disappeared into his room.

  When he returned, dressed more warmly, she spared him only a glance. He left without a word to her, only stopping long enough to listen to Davey’s request for specific toys.

  After he was gone, she enlisted Davey’s help to finish the task. Wanting to lighten the oppressive mood that had filled the cabin, she decided to see if she still remembered how to handle a wood cookstove.

  “I think I’ll make a stew and some cornbread for when Mitch comes back. Want to help me?”

  “You have to be careful, Mom. That stove can burn you. It’s hot lots of places. Mitch makes me stay over by the counter.” He dragged a chair over to the left of the stove and climbed up on it.

  Perrie took his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his hair. “I’m glad Mitch took such good care of you, but I’m better now. It would be best if you stayed with me and let him be by himself.”

  Blue eyes filled with rebellion. “But I like being with Mitch. He knows all kinds of stuff.”

  Perrie didn’t let it show, but his words wounded. She and Davey had been all the other had for a long time now. It had been enough—until Mitch.

  She would have to wean him away from this new fascination. Mitch would be gone from their lives all too soon. She would take it slowly, though.

  As a gesture of peace, she asked, “Like what?”

  He shrugged. “About animals and Indians and things.” His gaze lit. “Did you know that the Indians thanked the animals they killed?” Tiny frown lines appeared. “I should have thanked my fish.”

  Perrie hid a smile and brushed back his hair. “You didn’t know then.”

  “Mitch says it’s not too late.” A worried gaze met hers. “I don’t know if I could shoot an animal.”

  Anger rose. “Did Mitch say that you had to?”

  “No. He didn’t call me a baby like Dad did.”

  Perrie still burned at the memory of Simon calling Davey a coward when he’d wanted the three-year-old to try the high diving board on their indoor pool. She could still remember Davey’s tears, the stark terror in his face as he stood on that high board. Despite her own fear, she had fought Simon over it—and paid later.

  “Mitch said that it’s a mat—matter of—” His forehead screwed up in concentration, then lightened. “Of balance. You should only take what you need, but sometimes there’s too many animals of one kind and hunters have to help with the balance.”

  Why couldn’t Simon have given his son the kindness of this stranger? “Do you understand what he’s saying?”

  “Sort of. He says that everything in nature is all hooked together.” He concentrated again, then smiled. “Like a sweater that’s knitted—that’s what he said. Like the one you knitted me, Mom.” Then worry crossed his face once more. “I don’t see how animals and sweaters are very much alike. But I didn’t tell Mitch ’cause he was looking so serious.”

  Perrie laughed. “We’ll talk about that more in a bit. For now, why don’t you get me some of the little pieces of wood from the wood box in the corner? Let’s get this stove fired up.”

  “Okay!” He jumped off the chair and raced to the corner, blond hair bouncing.

  Perrie studied the cookstove, making sure she remembered what to do. Wood box on the left, water reservoir on the right. She’d already replaced the water she’d used to wash the clothes. The wood box still held coals from breakfast. She’d use the small pieces of wood Mitch had cut just right to fit inside and raise the temperature in the stove.

  Davey raced over, arms loaded with kindling. “This is enough to start, Mitch says.”

  Mitch says. Perrie shrugged away thoughts of how hard it would be to peel Davey away from his new idol. M
aybe if she talked to Mitch, he would help her make it easier on Davey.

  But that would mean discussing the plans she didn’t yet have.

  One step at a time. First, cook. Then rest. Then maybe she’d find her magic answer.

  Carefully, she fed the pieces of wood into the stove, then closed the lid. “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”

  “I know where things are. Mitch lets me help.”

  “You’ve always been a good helper.”

  Wrapping his arms around her waist, he hugged her tight. “I love you, Mom.”

  Tears pricked at her eyes. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

  “You’ll like Mitch, if you’ll just give him a chance. And he’ll take care of us. We don’t need Grandpa Cy. We can just stay here with Mitch. Okay, Mom?”

  No, it’s not okay. But she didn’t say it. “Everything will work out, sweetheart. I promise.” Silently she prayed for answer to make that happen.

  Perrie straightened and ruffled his hair. “Okay, young man. Let’s get to cooking.”

  Mitch neared the cabin, flakes already beginning to fall. It looked like they were in for an early first storm—and a bad one, at that. He hoped he was wrong.

  He’d slung one canvas bag over each shoulder and carried a suitcase in each hand. He hoped he’d correctly interpreted the toys Davey had requested because making it down to the car again wouldn’t be easy by tomorrow.

  Stamping off his boots on the porch, Mitch set down the suitcases and opened the door.

  And damn near stopped breathing.

  If someone had slammed a fist between his eyes, it wouldn’t have hit him any harder than the sight before him. He stepped inside and closed the door quietly.

  She looked like a princess, even swathed in too-large gray fleece. Lying on the sofa, her arm curled around Davey, Perrie’s back was turned to Mitch, her hair, for the first time, unbound and no longer wet.

  Pure spun gold, it draped to the floor in a mass of waves that made him want to slide his fingers through. It would be like holding silk in his hands.

  His fingers itched to do just that…to caress the sweet curve of her hip…to stroke all the way from delicate shoulders to the small feet encased in his thick wool socks.