by Cait London
Muscles stretched, her body feeling better because of the nightly ritual, she slid into her sleeping bag and zipped it. Then, because he was there and because on one level she trusted him, she said, “I think I’m staying in Freedom Valley.”
“That’s good. It’s good here.”
“The day you left, you came to Mom’s and said you were never coming back. Why did you?”
“I got tired. Anna was special. I called her several times and she must have known how it was with me. She told me it was time to come home. I did, thinking I’d visit with her. I stayed at her house for a while and then bought my place. She was quite a woman.”
“She was. Sometimes I talk with her. The house still has the feel of her. Tanner has moved a few of his things and those she wanted him to have into his house, but for the most part, everything is the same,” Kylie agreed softly. “I’ve got to earn money—I’m broke, you know. Leon needed what little money there was left—”
Michael turned to her and blinked. “What?”
“The baby, Michael. They have a baby coming and— I don’t hate him, Michael. Leon can’t help that he’s…well, weak natured. Maybe I am, too, because I’ve never been a hater—well, except for you. I hated you really well when I was a teenager and you were surfing all the girls. I’m not too certain that I couldn’t work up a really good hate for you now.”
“Women,” he muttered, closed his eyes and shook his head.
“It was my choice. I thought the baby needed a good start. Leon doesn’t manage well and Sharon can’t manage at all.” Kylie waited a while, because her first volley hadn’t gone that well. “I like being a massage therapist. I’ve been doing an amount of it in the retirement home and for my friends—”
Michael turned to her and arched an eyebrow. “The friends you play touch football with?”
“Brody and the rest work hard. Gabriel Deerhorn’s neck and shoulders were really aching after breaking that horse. It took forever to work down his back and his thighs. Then there was Fletcher who hurt his back taking out a window air conditioner and then Koby lifted too many bags of concrete mix and—”
Michael took a long, slow breath as if calming his nerves. He rolled his shoulder and grimaced. His groan was barely audible.
“What’s wrong?” Kylie asked, instantly alert to those needing her.
“Nothing.”
When he moved painfully, grimacing again, she scrambled out of her sleeping bag. “I think better when my hands are busy. You need a massage to relax. Take off as many clothes as you can so that I can get to you.”
“‘Get to me,”’ he repeated darkly. “It’s cold up here. Is freezing my backside off revenge for putting you off when you were fourteen?”
“Sissy. I just wanted to see if steam really came out of a girl’s ears when you breathed into them. I’d heard your breathing and tongue could melt bones. I’d even scrubbed my ears five times for the occasion…. Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing once I work on you.”
“I’d be dead not to,” he said flatly, looking at her in that quiet burning way. There was that odd tingling at her nape again as Michael studied her across the campfire, as if he understood what leaped between them and was considering his next move.
“I’ll only try to relax you. We won’t talk. I don’t have my scented oils or music, but it’s a peaceful night on the mountain. We’ll go with that.”
Michael stood slowly, towering over her, the firelight on his face making it seem even more dangerous. His hand rested on his jeans belt, then he tore open the buckle. “Is that what you did with the others? Oil them?”
“Sure,” she said, hurriedly turning her back to him as he undressed. A man on a massage table and Michael taking off his clothes were very separate items. “I skipped the tranquillity music and aromatherapy, but Ray had a real sinus thing going and he was glad for the relief.”
“I’ll bet,” Michael muttered darkly. “Ready.”
Four
A soft touch and gentle words ease most of what life gives us. The giving eases our own cares.
—Anna Bennett’s Journal
“Michael, you’re too tense. You’ve got to give yourself to me,” Kylie spoke softly, as Michael lay facedown on his sleeping bag. Her hands gently stroked the taut cords at his neck and shoulders, never leaving his body. Instead of the soothing effect she had explained they would give, her hands skimming his body launched the heavy thrust of his desire. She spoke in cool, professional tones, as though placing herself at a distance from him. “Trust me, Michael. Let the bad energy flow from you. Your back muscles are too tight—too much tension like that can cause a nasty headache. I know we’re not in perfect circumstances, but try to relax. Your body is acting defensive. I can’t communicate with it. If you’d turn over, I could massage your face.”
“No.” Wearing only his shorts, his arms at his sides, Michael shivered. Cold mountain night air wasn’t his immediate problem—it was giving himself to Kylie. Lying on his stomach, his body was warm and tense, particularly in the area of his upper thighs. “Is this what you did for the other ones, York and the rest?”
“No. We managed to use park benches or some arrangement at their houses. Heart or any other kind of problems?”
“None.” But one very large and painful one, Michael decided.
“Good. I’m going to ask a few questions as we go along, but tell me what you want, what you are feeling. Let me converse with your body.” When Michael inhaled abruptly and tensed against the undefined anger curling around him, Kylie said, “Relax, Michael. Think of pleasant things.”
Her fingertips smoothed an old scar. “You can tell about these. If they were deep, or there was muscle or tissue damage. I need to know about your body, Michael. There are several round scars. What caused them?”
Michael was silent as Kylie’s firm hands gently worked down his legs. Bullet wounds were common in his previous lifestyle, and he didn’t want that violence touching Kylie’s life.
“I don’t suppose they tried anything,” he heard himself say, though he’d promised himself not to ask. “At their houses?” he added, resenting his jealousy, now defined as that fiery emotion, and the first bitter taste in his lifetime.
She began to stroke down his backside and then returned to gently rock him with her hands. “Michael. I’m one of the guys. I’m Tanner’s little sister. When I’m more settled, I’ll probably be taking one of them to the Sweetheart Dance. It’s a matter of selection for the long run and getting to know them as men—changing the parameters of a relationship and getting them to see me as a woman they’d like to marry. Right now, I’m Anna’s daughter and Tanner’s sister and I’m divorced. It will take them a while to adjust to me as an adult and a single woman. They’re all just excellent dancers and I haven’t danced in years. Leon was too muscle-bound—he moved rather stiffly. They were all very sweet and actually cooperated a lot more than you are doing…. And besides I know touch points that can momentarily paralyze a difficult client. You’ve got to flow with this, Michael—give yourself to me,” she repeated earnestly.
He wanted to give himself to her forever. He wanted to stake his claim, show her how much he adored her, how much he wanted to—to bond with her. The primitive need shocked him and Michael shivered. “Did that happen often—a difficult customer?”
“Mmm. Once or twice. It’s an occupational hazard. Word gets around and then I wasn’t bothered again. You’re too tense for this. Your hands are in fists at your sides—that will never do. Let’s try this. It’s compensating for the lack of a massage bench, but you need to feel warm and safe. You’re big enough and sturdy enough to hold my weight.” Kylie hesitated, then eased to lie over Michael’s back. She rested her chin on his shoulder. Her hands stroked his arms. “Maybe it’s because it’s so cold here. I’ll keep you warm…. There. Just relax. You’re warm and snug and secure.”
Michael knew exactly about his desire to be warm and about his need for secure, tight, soft
places. Kylie began to hum gently against his ear. The soft sound saturated desire into every cell of his body. He tried to concentrate on not rolling over and taking her mouth. He tried to deflect his attention, which had fully focused on Kylie’s lush mouth beside his ear and her body warm over his, the gentle rub of her breasts against his back. He felt like purring, the emotion stunning him. He realized that with Kylie anything could happen—he just wasn’t certain of what and when and how much he could leash himself with her. That shocked Michael’s concept of himself as controlled and remotely cool. “What was that you said about staying in Freedom Valley and earning money?”
She spoke quietly, “If I had a place, I’d open a business. I’d call it ‘Soft Touches.’ No one has taken Mom’s place, not really, with her scented soaps and candles and home remedies. When I didn’t have appointments, I could work on those things. I want to make homemade jam, too, and take it to the neighbors just as she used to do. I want to grow flowers and visit those who need me. I’d like to do that here, in Freedom Valley. I’m enjoying Mom’s place too much, but I’d like to keep my business away from there. Tanner said I could use a corner of his boat crafting business which is next door to Mom’s, but I don’t know. I do know that I like the values in the men here, and I want a family. I want what Mom had, the security of Freedom and neighbors who care, of children growing up together. Somewhere in the Bachelor Club there could be a husband for me, someone I’d like to court and marry and have those babies—three, I think…I’m not supposed to be the one who is talking. Just concentrate on relaxing.”
Michael didn’t want to think about her sifting through the requirements of a husband amid the Bachelor Club. He could see her customers lining up, working on Tanner’s wooden boats and waiting in line for Kylie’s knowledgeable fingers. He resented the urge to keep her close and safe and her hands off other men. “I’ve got plenty of room at my electric shop in town. I use it mostly for storage, but the front part could be converted into what you want. I’m away a lot, so you’ll have the place to yourself. We could deduct the price of regular massages from the rent. I strain a few muscles now and then, and you’re right, I’m too tense.”
Kylie’s fingers skimmed down to his shoulders and he stiffened as they dug into the tense muscle. “Knots there…. You mean you’re away a lot—with your women?”
Just that nick of her temper took him over the edge. Michael turned and rolled Kylie beneath him. He glanced down the length of their bodies, his bare legs fitted between the legs of Kylie’s sweatpants. Then he studied her stunned expression, the sudden desire darkening her eyes. The mountain’s night air seemed to crackle between them like bolts of dancing electricity. He placed his hand on the soft, warm curve of her cheek and whispered, “I haven’t had a woman in years, Kylie. Does that shock you?”
“Why not?” she whispered back, the sound intimate and soft and feminine as he knew she would sound on her wedding bed, when she was gently worn by life.
“Maybe I’ve been waiting for you.” The truth tore out of him into the crisp night air, and he waited for her reaction.
“I don’t believe you one minute. You’re not a waiting man,” she whispered unevenly. “You see. You want. You take.”
“With you, yes. I’d like that. But maybe I’d like to be courted like other men. Maybe I’m sensitive and old-fashioned.” Michael lowered his mouth to hers, brushing the softness lightly. Dreams, he mused, she tastes of dreams.
She arched to his hand as it slid to cover the fabric over her breast. “I can’t think—you’re too close. You’ve always done that to me, sucked away my ability to think.”
He smiled slowly, aware of her trembling warm body, of the needs racing through her. He settled closer, placing his lips against her throat and kissing her fragrant silky skin. “Go with the flow, wasn’t that what you said? Don’t think. Relax, just as you told me to do.”
Her fingertips dug into his shoulders, her eyes wide and shadowed in her pale face, a frothing mist of curls surrounding it. Her lips looked soft and dewy and just right—and her lids closed as he lowered his head.
As he gently nibbled her lobe, Kylie tensed. Her arms shot around his neck and held him tight, and the surge of her hips against the hardness of his startled him. “Kylie?” he asked, uncertain of himself, of his reactions to her.
“Michael….” Her husky appeal and warm, flushed cheek against his shattered him. He lay very still, braced upon her smaller softer body and listened to the heavy thump of their hearts as if they were meant to march together through life.
Kylie’s hands smoothed his shoulders, not in the massage as she had before, but in the way a woman’s hands could gently tether a man forever. When her fingertips smoothed his cheeks, he turned to kiss her palm, and then her eyes were soft upon him. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?” she whispered.
“Maybe.” None of this should be happening. Not with Kylie. He could hurt her.
“Why?”
He closed his eyes and her fingertips gently caressed his lashes. He could have spent a lifetime under her hands, all his shadowy past purged by her light touch.
“Don’t be so harsh on yourself.”
He smiled against her fingertips as they cruised lightly over his lips. “You sound like your mother.”
Her warm touch stopped and hovered above his lips. “But I’m not. I’m me.”
“That’s the problem, dreamy-eyes,” Michael murmured and knew he had to ease away from her. Kylie in a soft, feminine mood, or in a playful or angry one could entice him, drawing uncertain emotions from him—like tenderness and the thought that he’d cherished her all his life. The imprint of her soft, warm body stayed with him as he stood. One look down at Kylie’s pale, mysterious expression and Michael grabbed a towel from his backpack. He strode for safety—the icy water of the creek.
Splashing himself with water, he was just damning himself thoroughly, for wanting her so desperately, for wanting to place his hands intimately upon her—wanting to taste her skin, her breasts, to lose himself in her sweetness. “Selfish bastard,” he muttered to himself in the cold night. “You’ve got enough of your old man in you to take what you want. Keep your hands to yourself.”
The brush bordering the creek rustled and Kylie stepped into view. With her hands on her hips and a toss of her head, she glared at him. “You always did that—run away. Is that what you do with your women? What’s the matter? Aren’t I up to your standards?”
Michael returned the glare. “You’re not one of my women. You don’t qualify. Get that straight.”
“You make me so mad that I could just jump you and hold your head underwater until a little of that arrogance washes away.”
“You and who else? I outweigh you by seventy-five pounds and a whole lot of experience.”
“I’ve learned a bit since we were young, Mr. Hot Stuff.”
Michael shook his head. Kylie had never walked away from a fight and he promised himself he wasn’t giving her one—or anything else. Holding her furious glare, he stepped out of the creek, grabbed his towel and dried roughly. On his way past her, he threw the towel at her. He was just calling himself an idiot, snapping his jeans and wondering what he was doing on a chilly night splashing in a freezing creek when Kylie marched past him. She dropped the damp towel from her fingertips like he suspected she wanted to drop any association with him.
She began to roll her sleeping bag, complete with the rosebud splattered pillow. Kylie, in a mood, was capable of doing anything. Michael didn’t trust her. Or himself. “What are you doing?” he asked in a voice he hoped was calm.
“Leaving.”
The mountain trail was treacherous during daylight; at night it was too dangerous. The mountain’s chill sank into Michael’s heart. “Not now. In the morning.”
Kylie straightened and glared at him. “I’ll take the offer of the shop, because it’s close to town and practical. But I won’t be ordered by you.”
“Now, honey,” Mic
hael managed to say, as images of Kylie’s torn and bruised body slammed into him. “Be reasonable. It’s dangerous to go down the path in the dark.”
“You just called me ‘honey.’ Is that what you call your women?” she demanded hotly as she tore a flashlight out of her backpack.
Michael knew he was holding on, clinging by his fingertips over a deep dark chasm. He struggled for logic, but it wasn’t easy after “honey” had just leaped out of his lips. Still stunned, his instincts told him that he’d been hoarding his endearments for Kylie. He remembered then how Paul Bennett had called Anna “dear heart.” Uncertain what to say while his unfamiliar emotions were churning, Michael decided for a verbal shrug-off. “It’s a term men use.”
“So it means nothing. Just like that kiss at the dance. Like when you were so tender a moment ago,” she rapped accusingly at him. “You’re afraid of tenderness and intimacy. Big bad Michael Cusack is afraid of meaningful conversation and relationships other than those he has with his women.”
“Could we leave this nowhere conversation and get into a sane one?” he asked warily.
Kylie stood immobile and he wasn’t certain what she would do next. “Okay,” she said finally, and unrolled her sleeping bag. She kicked off her shoes, crawled into it and ripped the zipper upward. She crossed her arms as if the matter were ended. “Deal. We talk about something else. Do you agree?”
With a nod and a sigh of relief, Michael crouched to add more wood to the fire. He could just feel safety lurk nearby when Kylie said, “I want to know why you didn’t play team sports like the rest of the guys. All through school, you would shoot baskets at our house, and that hoop is still over Mom’s old garage. You were good. You hit homers in the cow pasture baseball, and yet you never played on the school teams. I heard from the guys that you’re still good.”
