Texas Heroes: Volume 1

by Jean Brashear

  Perrie wished he would face her, so she could see those dark, haunted eyes lighten. She stirred herself to answer. “It’s a system of long and short taps that translate into letters.”

  “Do you know it, Mom?”

  She had to shake her head. “Sorry.”

  “I bet Mitch does, right?”

  He did look over then, and she caught her breath at the fondness she saw in his gaze. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I do.”

  “Will you teach me?”

  A shadow crossed his face, and she knew what he must be thinking. They wouldn’t be together long enough for that.

  Honesty warred with affection in his expression. He might not want her here, but he had a hard time resisting Davey.

  “I’ll show you what I can,” he offered.

  That was enough for her son, who settled back against her. But Mitch’s look at her wasn’t so easy for her to dismiss. She couldn’t decide how much was apology, how much resentment. Things would be much simpler for both of them if Davey weren’t part of the equation.

  “Did he get it, Mom? The Morse code? And how long until the sword fight?”

  Humor flickered in the dark gaze once more. Perrie had to smile back, shaking her head.

  “I was thinking of kisses next.”

  “Eck,” Davey protested. “Leave them out.”

  “But princes and princesses have to kiss,” she teased, knowing it would drive him up the wall. She leaned down and nuzzled him, making loud smacking kiss noises against his cheek.

  “Stop, Mom!” he stammered between raucous giggles, squirming in her lap until he’d slipped down.

  He turned to Mitch. “Guys don’t really like to kiss, right?” His voice clearly expressed his opinion.

  Mitch flicked a quick glance at her, his dark eyes unreadable as they scanned her face. But when his look lingered on her mouth, Perrie’s breath tightened in her chest. Their gazes held—until he tore his away.

  He shrugged. “Kissing is natural between men and women.”

  “Do you want to kiss Mom, now that you’re not mad at her?”

  “Davey!” Perrie gasped.

  Mitch stiffened. “Your mom and I aren’t—it’s not like that.” He stared at the floor, then turned to her son, but studiously avoided looking at her. “A man can’t just kiss a woman because he’s not mad at her. There’s more to it.”

  “Like what?”

  If Perrie weren’t so uncomfortable herself, she might be tempted to laugh at Mitch’s expression. He looked like he wished he were anyplace but here.

  She knew the feeling. “That’s enough, Davey. It’s time for you to go to bed now.”

  His voice turned to wheedling. “Why? I don’t have anywhere to go tomorrow. We’re just gonna be stuck inside here again.”

  “Don’t argue with your mother.”

  Perrie wanted to bristle that he’d give her son orders, but she observed the same phenomenon she’d seen before. When Mitch gave orders, Davey never argued.

  “Okay.” Meek as a lamb, he turned toward the bedroom. Just before he reached the doorway, he whirled back and raced across to throw his arms around Mitch.

  Mitch quickly set the knife away from him, looking poleaxed.

  “Good night, Mitch.” Davey’s small hands tightened on those very broad shoulders.

  Mitch shot her a troubled glance. Then he bent his head and wrapped his own arms around her child, his thick dark lashes sweeping down, hiding his eyes for a brief second. His voice seemed rusty as he answered. “Good night.” He pulled back awkwardly. “Sleep well.”

  “Sweet dreams, that’s what my mom says,” Davey offered. Then he bent past Mitch’s arm. “What’s that? Is that a bear?”

  Mitch shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “Wow, Mom. You should see this. Look, it’s exactly like a bear.”

  Still caught up in the whirlwind of her own confusion, Perrie didn’t want to get any nearer.

  “I…” Mitch actually looked shy now. “If you like it, you could have it.”

  “Me?” Davey’s eyes popped. “Can I have it now?” He turned back to her. “Can I have it, Mom?”

  “Sweetie, I don’t think…” She was about to explain that he shouldn’t make Mitch feel like he had to give it to him, when Mitch looked at her, his face guarded again.

  “It’s not much. I just thought maybe…” He looked away, his jaw hardening.

  She’d handled this wrong. He was a proud man, and unaccustomed to being with people. “I didn’t mean that. I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to give it to him because he begged.”

  He shot her a glare. “He didn’t beg. I offered.” His shoulders shrugged. “I was making it for him, anyway.”

  “You were? For me?” Davey leapt and clapped his hands. “Can I sleep with it?”

  The hard face softened. Perrie almost thought she saw his cheeks color, though it could have been the fire’s glow.

  “I’m not quite finished carving, and it needs to be sanded.”

  “Oh.” Davey’s voice turned small. He lifted his gaze, his expression crafty. “I could just watch it for you tonight, until you’re ready to work on it some more.”

  Then she heard a sound she never expected to know: Mitch’s laughter. Rusty, as if it had fallen into disrepair—but still a laugh, for all its brevity and disuse.

  A large hand ruffled her son’s tousled hair. “Good idea. You keep him warm tonight, and I’ll work on him more later.”

  “All right!” Davey picked up the bear, cradling it carefully in his hands for a few slow, measured steps. Then the real Davey returned as he raced across the floor, juggling it in his fingers. “Look, Mom! Mitch made this for me.”

  Perrie glanced at the wooden figure, just the right size to fit in Davey’s hand. For a moment, her heart actually hurt in the rush of sorrow for all Davey deserved and had never had. For the hard, lonely man who had a soft spot for her son.

  For how it had felt here tonight, the embodiment of her dreams of what family life should be, quiet, simple moments filled with affection. Not between her and Mitch, of course. But for this span of hours, Davey had had a sample of the way she’d always believed a child deserved to be raised. Under the protection of a strong, caring man, wrapped in a mother’s love.

  But it was only an illusion. Fighting past too many feelings, Perrie clenched her hands and peered down into Davey’s hands.

  It was exquisite.

  She glanced up in surprise. “You’re very talented.”

  He shrugged. “Just something to pass the time.”

  “Where did you learn to do this?”

  “My grandfather taught me. And my dad used to do it in the evenings when the family gathered. He wasn’t much for sitting still, but we liked to hear my mother read stories.” Then he fell silent, his face darkening with memories that would probably explain a lot of who he was.

  She wanted to ask. It was the deepest glimpse yet, a tiny fragment of who he was, where he’d been. But she could already see him drawing away into himself. And she didn’t want him asking her questions, either.

  She gave him an out. “You’ve obviously practiced,” she answered. “It’s beautiful.” She turned to her son. “Be very careful with it, Davey.”

  “I will.” Then he darted across the floor again, clutching the bear tightly while he embraced Mitch once more. “Thanks, Mitch.”

  The big man patted his back, nodding but saying nothing.

  Perrie wished she could see the eyes looking fixedly into the fire.

  Slowly, Mitch drew away.

  She held out her hand to her child. “Okay. Time for bed now.”

  Davey didn’t even murmur a protest. At the doorway, he stopped and turned. “Mitch?”

  The dark head turned, his eyes unreadable. “What?”

  “I’ll take good care of him.”

  Mitch’s jaw flexed. “I know you will.” Then he turned back to the fire, visibly drawing within himself again.

 
; For the fortieth time since they’d left the room, Mitch fought the urge to grab his coat and head outside, regardless of the weather.

  He wasn’t made for this, staying so long in one place. He was used to being active, to the constant vigilance required to lead others into the wilderness, to the attention to detail such trips required.

  For a while tonight, he’d felt almost peaceful. Hands busy carving, he’d listened to the gentle play between Perrie and her child, to the soft laughter, the ease between them. Something inside him had begun to unfurl, something that had been twisted tight for so long that he’d quit noticing its tension.

  Now he felt—hell, what did he feel? Itchy…uneasy. Angry.

  Touched. Warmed by the boy’s delight.

  But crowded. Unable to figure out how this could end right, without hurting Davey.

  He shoved to his feet, cursing ripely. He had no business caring about the boy. He lived alone, would die alone. The child would leave, would grow up, would forget all about these days in the mountains. Would forget him, too.

  And the knowledge sank like a stone into the deep empty well inside him. He’d been forgotten before.

  Where was his brother now? Did Boone ever think about him? Had his father ever softened?

  No reason why he should. And no sense thinking about a life that was gone forever.

  It was them, the woman and the child—they made him wonder. Made him remember. He would be fine when they left.

  If the damn snow would ever stop. She wasn’t too far from being ready to travel.

  And he was more than ready for her to go.

  A book. He would read until sleep claimed him. Mitch shoved away from his study of the fire, turning toward the door—

  Just as she stepped into the room.

  They both stopped in their tracks, going perfectly still. Blue eyes studied him, and saw too much.

  They spoke at once.

  “You were very kind to—”

  “Don’t—”

  The long braid shifted across the shoulder of her pale yellow sweater, and suddenly all he could see was the fall of blonde silk that haunted his dreams.

  His voice too harsh, he gestured to her. “Ladies first.”

  She flipped the braid over her back and straightened, drawing a deep breath. Her fingers tightened around one another. “I hope Davey didn’t impose on you. He thinks that bear is wonderful, but if you meant to keep it…”

  “I don’t say things I don’t mean. I made it for him.”

  Her eyes filled with warmth. “He’s already very attached.” A faint smile flitted across her lips. “I hope you can get it back to do whatever’s left. He tends to get possessive of things he loves. He doesn’t have—” She glanced away. “His life hasn’t been all that I’d planned.”

  Mitch saw the shadow descend over her face, and he wanted to bring back the light that had sparkled while she spun her tale.

  “That’s some story you’re telling him. You do that often?”

  Her gaze lifted to his, studying him to see what he meant. Then her dark lashes swept down, color dusting her cheeks. For the first time, he noticed that faint golden freckles sprinkled her nose. That her hair had strands of red and brown tossed in with the honey.

  That one step would bring him close enough to touch.

  Close enough to kiss.

  The fire crackled, and it sounded like gunshots, so intense was his focus on her. He took one quick step back.

  Her lashes swept upward, a tiny smile playing around her lips. Oblivious to his thoughts, she looked to the side while she explained. “I guess I’ve always had quite an imagination. I used to tell Grandpa stories at night, and he seemed to enjoy them. He even told me I should write them down, but I…” She shrugged. “I do them for my own enjoyment. They’re only simple stories.”

  “A princess trout? Not so simple. And Davey sure likes it.”

  Her smile was fond. “I haven’t been able to give him everything I’d hoped, but the stories are something I can give him anytime. Anyplace.” For a moment, she looked very sad. Very weary.

  He wanted to ask. To make her tell him what was wrong. Even if it was none of his concern.

  Then she glanced up. “Sometimes he makes up his own to tell me.” This time her smile was broad. “His tend toward epic battles, with lots of bams and pows.”

  He was caught in the warmth of her smile. “Not much kissing.”

  She laughed then, shaking her head. “Never.”

  Then there it was, bursting into life between them again. Something he couldn’t name—didn’t want to. Something rich and dark and tempting—but with a bite to it, a hint of spice.

  Her pupils went wide, turning blue into navy, her nostrils flaring slightly as if she caught the scent, too, of whatever it was that swirled thick as woodsmoke between them. To his surprise, she didn’t move away, though her body held the wariness of a doe poised for flight.

  One step, that’s all it would take to have them breast to belly, mouth touching mouth. He could taste that fragile skin, lap up the ruby sweetness inside. He could bare her flesh once more, but this time slowly…privately… Savoring every inch that he’d struggled not to notice before.

  And she’d let him. He could feel it pouring over him, the languid warmth of her desire. She might regret it later—absolutely would—but she wanted him now.

  As he wanted her.

  He should do it—take that step, reach out and grasp what he wanted. Forget the questions, forget that it was temporary, only a shadow of what would fill this damned hunger of the heart.

  He would have, for however long it lasted, the blessed surcease of oblivion that only this woman’s warm, willing body could provide. He wouldn’t hurt her, he would make it good for her, no matter how sharp the edges of his wanting. And she wasn’t as fragile as she looked. Though she was small, she was strong in spirit.

  And that, of course, was why he wouldn’t. Why he would leave her alone.

  Because her valor humbled him. She was strong enough to be gentle, brave enough to reject pity. Something weighed heavily on her, but she asked no quarter, had not wanted to be treated like porcelain, had pitched in and done more than she should.

  So when Perrie’s lids drifted downward and she swayed toward him the slightest inch, Mitch did what he should, instead of what he wanted.

  He walked away.

  And said only “Good night.”

  Chapter Eight

  When Perrie awoke, the first thing on her mind was the brilliant sunshine. The second was the fool she’d made of herself last night.

  Stifling a groan, she rolled over and curled on her side, wanting to pull the covers over her head and stay there forever.

  Fool. Idiot. What were you thinking?

  She could have sworn Mitch wanted to kiss her, but maybe what she sensed was only how badly she wanted to kiss him. It had taken her hours to fall asleep, replaying that scene in her mind—remembering that they’d gone beyond his contempt, beyond stiff politeness, and finally, actually had a conversation that was almost friendly.

  And that somewhere, all of that had changed. Somehow, the air had thickened with almost palpable emotion, so charged that she’d succumbed to its seductive lure, let herself want.

  He’d been so close that she could feel the warmth of him, could smell that scent that was only Mitch—part forest, part woodsmoke…all powerfully male.

  He’d made her feel safe before, but this was totally different. She wanted to clutch at those sinewy arms, slide her fingers into that dark, tousled hair, feel the connection of her body against the solid length of his.

  And she’d swear he’d felt it, too, in that charged moment when time had seemed to stand still.

  But when she’d closed her eyes, unable to look at his dark beauty any longer without betraying herself…

  He’d said good night and walked away without a backward glance.

  What did you expect, Perrie? Simon told you you’re no goo
d at this. You’re not a passionate woman, that’s all there is to it. There’s something missing in you.

  But for one tantalizing instant, she’d thought it might be different with Mitch.

  She rolled again, burrowing deeper. She’d never be able to face him again. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Then she drew a deep, steadying breath and threw back the covers, leaping from the bed.

  She had to face him, whether she wanted to or not. She’d done lots of things in her life that had seemed impossible at first. Facing Mitch would be nothing compared to escaping Simon.

  Perrie’s eyes widened as she realized that she hadn’t thought of Simon in over a day. Not one thought. Not a whisper of worry.

  It was a record. Simon had dominated her life for years now. Please, God, let this last. Don’t let him find us.

  The butter-gold bars of sunshine sprouted the seeds of hope in her heart. Perrie felt the first stirrings of optimism that she would figure it all out, would find a path for Davey and herself, even if it meant leaving this place.

  Even if it meant facing Mitch. Asking him where they stood, regarding the cabin.

  He wasn’t inside, she was almost sure. Somehow, the cabin felt different when he was there. Once she would have said it felt crowded, but now it felt empty when he was gone. But that wasn’t her concern. Either he would go or they would, that was the certain end.

  And knowing that she would handle it, whatever came, renewed her strength. She felt almost like her old self again—not just before her illness, but like the girl who had once thought she could control her fate.

  The girl had been wrong, but there were seeds of her that Perrie could use. She could work hard, she could learn, she could make herself and Davey a life.

  So when Davey’s eyes popped open, she greeted him with a smile. “Morning, sleepyhead. Rise and shine.”

  He glanced at the window. “Wow, sunshine! Can we go outside today? Can we take a walk and look around, so I can show you some cool places Mitch showed me?”

  Perrie nodded. “I think a walk sounds just great.”

  “Slow down, Davey,” Perrie called out. Mitch still had not appeared by lunchtime, so she’d fixed them lunch and left his warming in the cabinet on back of the woodstove.