Cammie gasped, frozen. Jean-clad legs and booted feet, hidden behind the sofa from the doorway, were suddenly thrust into her line of vision. Whoever they belonged to was lying on the floor, without benefit of carpet, it appeared, and after a moment of indecision, Cammie tiptoed within, wondering if she should help the occupant or if he was just asleep.
More déjà vu, she thought faintly as the whole body came into view. Ty Stovall lay spread-eagled on the plankwood boards, his arms flung wide, his lips parted while he breathed deeply in a comalike sleep that looked suspicious even without the uncapped bottle of scotch on the coffee table.
But this time he was fully clothed.
For a moment, Cammie’s eyes just feasted on his male form. He was bearded, and there were the faintest traces of gray trying to form within that facial hair, but the thick shock of mane on his head was still a lush sable brown. Man oh man, he looked wonderful, she thought, feeling slightly faint, then as a blast of frigid air swirled through the room, she scurried back to the door and closed it firmly behind her.
Moments later, she whispered carefully, “Ty?”
He scarcely moved.
It was so strange and wonderful to see him. So incredible, after all this time! It was like he’d been a fantasy. Something she’d made up in her youth and now, with ten years of exile behind him, he was more legend than reality.
Except here he was—in the flesh! In much the same position she’d left him that fateful last night.
“Tyler?” she called again, louder, bending over his endearing face.
His lashes fluttered, gray eyes opening with a start. He stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment while Cammie’s heart jumped painfully.
“Cammie?” he muttered, echoing her own incredulity.
“Hi,” she said with difficulty around a taut throat, her smile trembling.
“Cammie?” he repeated, louder, struggling up to his elbows.
“I—yes—I—”
“Get out!” he suddenly blasted her. “Get the hell out and leave me alone! I don’t want to see you or anyone else. Do you understand?”
CHAPTER SIX
It was the stuff nightmares were made of. Cammie straightened abruptly, deeply hurt by his coldness. She stumbled backward and sat down hard on the sofa. Lord, she was mortified! What had she been thinking? Awash in rose-colored memories, she’d disregarded the fact that Tyler had run away from everything he knew because he’d wanted to. He hadn’t changed his mind with time.
And she knew that! Hadn’t she warned herself of the same, time and again?
Ty sank back to the floor, his vision centered on the fir beam that ran the length of the cabin and the open trusses that marched like soldiers from one end to the other. His brain swirled, and for just a moment, he almost forgot that he wasn’t alone.
Good God, Cammie was here?
Or was it just a dream?
He staggered back to his elbows, fixing her in his line of sight, struck dumb by the vision of riotous auburn hair and wide, worried blue eyes, an upturned nose and full, sensuous mouth. She was more beautiful than she’d been as a teenager—at least in his rather murky opinion—and sadder, too.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, but his tongue felt sluggish and awkward. Damn the scotch!
“I came to see you…”
The words floated and shimmered. Tyler was certain he’d conjured this whole thing up. He couldn’t cope. He just wanted to be left alone. You called your father, you idiot! his brain railed at him.
But it was Cammie who’d appeared, in a puff of smoke like a very enticing genie.
And suddenly the pieces fell together. “So it was you!” he snarled. “You!”
Cammie stared at him in confusion. Tyler, regarding her with a narrow-eyed glare that nearly froze the blood in her veins, looked ready to bodily toss her out—if he could have just managed it. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“And here I thought Sam was the one.” His struggles to half rise appeared to be too much effort, and Ty flopped down on the floor again, clunking his head so hard that Cammie leaned forward to help in spite of herself.
“Don’t you want to move to the couch?”
“No, I like pain,” was his sardonic answer.
“Sorry to barge in on you. Really,” she apologized. “I know you didn’t expect me. I’m sort of surprised I’m here myself!”
His answer was a snort that could have meant anything. He’d closed his eyes again, and Cammie was glad. She wanted to look at him undisturbed, and with his lashes lying in a thick, dark sweep against his cheeks, she could examine him at leisure, protected from the censure she was sure to see in his own famous orbs.
He was a bit thinner than she remembered, but harder, too, as if physical exercise was an important part of his daily regimen. There were lines beside his mouth that hadn’t been there before, and crease marks at the corners of his eyes a few shades lighter than his deeply tanned skin. He must spend a lot of time outdoors, she surmised, wondering anew what he’d been doing these past ten years. How had he supported himself? What were his plans?
Besides a pair of jeans, he wore a stereotypical lumberjack’s shirt—flannel, in black-and-red plaid. The top buttons were left undone to reveal those same crisp chest hairs that had pulled at her senses so long ago. She was struck by a desire to run her hands inside that opening and caress his flesh. Shaking her head, Cammie tried to get hold of herself. Good grief! He’d just ordered her to leave in no uncertain terms. She was a fool not to listen, and she was certainly as silly and wanton as she’d ever been, when it came to Ty! Hadn’t she learned anything over the years?
You still want him, a voice inside her head accused. You’ve always wanted him. You’re only going to hurt yourself if you don’t leave now!
“Why are you here?” Ty asked, his eyes still closed. One hand reached upward, fingers blindly rummaging across the tabletop for the near empty bottle of scotch.
“I told you. I wanted—to find you.”
“But why now?” he insisted, on a path of his own that she couldn’t understand.
“I don’t know,” she declared honestly. “I’ve just been thinking about you a lot lately.”
“The hell you have. You found out my address. That’s all.”
Since this was, in effect, the truth, Cammie didn’t know how to respond. After a moment of silence, Ty filled the gap.
“Should I expect the tabloids next?” he demanded, levering himself up so that his gaze could skim the tabletop in search of his bottle.
“Of course not. I came alone.”
“Sure. The paparazzi with you? Just waiting outside?”
Cammie sighed. “You’re not listening.”
“Your timing…just a coincidence?” Shifting, he propped his head and shoulders against the couch, then squinted at her, as if she were out of focus. Most probably, she was.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cammie said, feeling a bit of a fraud. Did he know about Rock Bottom somehow? Did he think she was here to solicit him for the starring role?
Ty’s gaze connected with the bottle, and with a grunt of satisfaction, he collected the fifth of scotch by its neck and poured a wallop into his glass where half-melted ice cubes tinkled. “Wanna drink?”
“No, thanks.”
“Women never drink scotch. It’s white wine or nothing.”
“You make it sound like a disease.”
“It is.” He nodded sagely. “It’s all appearances.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“Really.”
“Do you do this often?” she asked tightly, surveying the liquor and its effects.
“Every night,” he agreed, regarding her so steadily that Cammie, who knew how priggish she’d sounded, dropped her gaze from his unnerving stare. “Twice on Tuesdays. I’m a no-good drunk. Get out while you can.”
“You aren’t as out of it as I originally thought,” Cammie answer
ed softly, “or you wouldn’t be able to ridicule me.”
Her words momentarily disconcerted him, and he glanced away. “You look good, Cammie.”
“Thanks,” she murmured. Now, she was disconcerted!
“Be a good girl and go back to Hell-ywood and tell whoever sent you that you didn’t find me. Say the address was wrong. The burglars bungled it.”
His patronizing tone got under her skin. Stung, she declared, “You lost me.”
“Yeah?” With that, he swallowed another huge gulp, grimacing a little as the liquor burned down his throat. “So, how’d you get here?”
“By car.”
“Oh, funny.”
“If you mean, how did I find where you were, I did some searching until I got your address.”
“Searching? Oh, searching,” he muttered knowingly, nodding several times.
“I came on my own, okay? No one knows I’m here. No one.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!” she challenged.
“How’d you find me then?”
“Well, from Sam…” she admitted, realizing she’d just caught herself in a lie.
Ty’s reaction was galvanic. He leapt to his feet in a fury. “My father?” he roared, glaring down at her from his superior height.
Dimly, Cammie realized that he wasn’t swaying or struggling that hard to maintain his balance. She’d been right. He wasn’t as inebriated as she’d first suspected.
Not like the last time, anyway…
Shuddering at the memory, Cammie looked away from him. “He told me you were in Bayrock.”
“It was Sam,” Ty said reflectively, his features setting as he digested this information.
“He said he’s had your address for some time. I tried to get Nanette to tell me, but she said she’d have to talk to you first.”
“She never did.”
“No, I didn’t think she would. I—asked her not to. I didn’t want to—”
“Tip your hand,” Ty finished, as if he understood completely. He inhaled a long breath and rubbed absently at his beard. His initial antipathy seemed to be fading away, and Cammie dared to hope that meant he was changing his mind about throwing her out.
“I thought I would have a better chance of getting through if I surprised you,” she admitted a bit humbly.
“You surprised me.”
She flushed. He didn’t sound all that thrilled about it.
“So dear old dad’s had my address for some time?” Ty shook his head. “That’s a lie. He stole my address.”
“What do you mean?” Cammie questioned.
He shrugged impatiently and paced toward the fireplace. Kicking at a half-burned log, Ty forced ash-covered embers to suddenly glow scarlet and faint, darting sparks to scatter skyward like a rush of fireflies. “It doesn’t matter,” he stated flatly. “Why did he send you?”
“He said you wouldn’t see him.”
“Damn right!” Ty turned back from the stone fireplace in frustration, sinking down.in one of the oversize chairs situated opposite the couch from where Cammie had gingerly perched. He set his glass back on the coffee table, his hands hanging between his knees. It was a peculiarly loose-jointed and therefore sensual position, at least to Cammie’s overheated senses, and she struggled to maintain an outward composure when she was being hit at all levels by his attractive maleness.
Linking her hands together, she asked, “What—what have you been doing all this time?”
“Drinking,” was his terse reply.
“Besides that.”
“You don’t have the right to ask any questions,” he warned. “I ask the questions.”
His arrogance was new. The old Ty hadn’t been nearly so tense and sensitive. His attitude raised the hackles on the back of Cammie’s neck, but she kept a rein on her own temper. After all, she was the interloper here, and for that she expected some touchiness on his part.
Ty’s jaw was tight, his expression grim. After a moment, he said carefully, “My father gave you my address and said I wouldn’t see him. But he gave the address to you.” The look he sent her was full of unasked questions.
Here was the tricky part. Licking her lips, aware that she was treading a thin line between fact and fiction, Cammie said simply, “He knew I wanted to see you.”
“How did he know that?”
“I—don’t exactly know.”
“Why did you want to see me? I mean, why now?”
Cammie gazed at him in desperation. She couldn’t tell him about Rock Bottom, even though its existence had sparked everyone’s sudden desire to find Ty. And when Paul and Susannah, and yes, Samuel, had asked Cammie to attempt the impossible and find Ty, she’d risen to the challenge, despite her own protests as to the improbability of its success.
“Because Samuel delivered your address,” she stated.
“Out of the goodness of his big heart, he just said, ‘Ty’s in Bayrock. Go find him. Tell him hello!’ ”
“That’s about the size of it,” Cammie declared.
Ty barked out a humorless laugh. “Sure.”
Cammie clamped her lips together, refusing to say more, especially when the full truth could get her into trouble. But his eyes drilled deeply into hers, and eventually Cammie couldn’t keep up the facade. Flushing, she looked toward the fire where the embers had faded to the tiniest orange throb on the underside of the oak log.
“I’d believe he was with you, at a hotel somewhere nearby, if I hadn’t just talked to him.”
“You talk to him?” Cammie couldn’t hide her surprise.
“Talked. Once. Earlier tonight. But hearing his voice slammed me back to reality in a big hurry. Then, fortuitously, you show up.”
“I told you, I came on my own. Samuel may have given me your address, but that’s as far as it goes. If you remember, he’s not my favorite person,” she added coolly.
“I remember.”
As if he’d suddenly grown tired of the conversation, Ty closed his eyes and sighed heavily, one hand yanking on his beard in a restless movement she could picture him doing over and over again. “I haven’t forgiven him, either.”
“His egomania kills everything,” Cammie murmured softly, drawing Ty’s attention with a snap.
“Where did you hear that?” he demanded.
“Why—I don’t remember,” Cammie stumbled. Too late, she realized those had been Ty’s words that fateful night together, and there was no way she could have known them unless hearing them from his own lips. And apparently Ty did not remember anything of their night together, or it would have come up already. She didn’t believe for one second that he would be able to keep from denigrating her with that information, too. He was too unhappy about being discovered to make allowances.
“You sure you don’t want a drink?” he asked, after a long moment of consideration.
“Positive.” Then, with a small smile, she added, “Unless you’ve got some white wine.”
Her humor caused his brows to lift in surprise. Ty’s gaze darted to hers, and when Cammie couldn’t fight back a nervous chuckle, something inside him seemed to relax a little. He didn’t actually smile back, but his expression softened. “There might be some here,” he admitted grudgingly.
“I was kidding,” she said when he got to his feet, grabbed the bottle of scotch and headed for the kitchen tucked beneath an overhanging loft.
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t. I can’t stand to drink alone, unless I am alone, which is most of the time,” he admitted. “But when I have guests, it’s social hour.”
“Really, Ty—”
“Shh,” he told her, and Cammie helplessly watched him rummage through his cupboards and finally locate an unlabeled bottle of some mysterious fluid that he declared was white wine.
“Home grown,” he told her, “by some friend of a friend,” as he handed her a healthy dosage in a goblet. Cammie sipped at it. “How is it?” he asked.
“Lighter fluid.”
Ty grinned, a flash of
white so overpoweringly male and sexy that Cammie slopped some of her wine onto the floor. In the years since he’d been gone, she’d made a point of watching all his old movies until the tapes were scratched and the audio skipping. His smile had been his trademark, and seeing it suddenly was a shock she’d been unprepared for.
“Let me refill that,” he suggested.
“No thanks, really. I couldn’t drink much more of this stuff if my life depended on it.”
“Honesty,” he said, pouring himself the remainder of the scotch. “I like that.”
Cammie’s smile trembled on her lips. She wasn’t even close to being honest.
“You’re funny,” he said, as if rediscovering something he’d lost. “I remember that.”
Do you remember anything else? Cammie wondered uncomfortably, but judging by Ty’s attitude, she guessed not. Their night together was, as she’d expected, a forgotten dream for him. Which was all to the good, since she wouldn’t know how to act if his memories ever became as crystal clear as hers were.
They stared at each other for long moments, and Cammie realized Ty, who had yet to touch his latest drink, was sobering up fast. Her nerves reacted accordingly. How would she feel when Ty, stone-cold sober, ordered her to leave? She didn’t think she would be nearly so bold as she’d acted thus far.
Cammie took a breath. “I can’t believe I’m here and we’re talking. It seems so unreal.”
“I’ve been gone a long time.”
“A long, long time,” she agreed.
Silence. Cammie counted her heartbeats, conscious of her elevated pulse as he gazed into her eyes, his own seeking answers.
“Cammie—”
“Ty—”
They spoke together, but before either of them could finish a thought, the telephone shrilled. Cammie jumped, and Ty glanced sharply at the offending machine, as if it were entirely at fault instead of the caller on the other end.
“Someone knows your number,” Cammie stated, swallowing.
“Nanette,” he said. “I used to be more paranoid. I wouldn’t ever call her unless I was at a phone booth, but the public has a short attention span and they left her alone very quickly.”
Someday Soon Page 12
