Ambushed

by JoAnn Ross

  “That’s a genie.”

  “Boy, you guys are really specialized, aren’t you? Next thing you’ll be telling me that you’ve gotten together and formed unions, like the Teamsters and the Screenwriters Guild.”

  “It’s understandable that you’d have difficulty accepting the idea. But there’s no reason to be nasty.”

  Clint’s head was still pounding from all the whiskey he’d drunk the evening before. He was the closest thing to sober he’d been in weeks and he wasn’t enjoying the way it felt. Still, he admitted, just because he was suffering the mother of all hangovers was no reason to take his filthy mood out on her.

  “You’re right. And I apologize.”

  The thing to do, he decided, was to warm her up, wait out the storm, then get her out of his house—and his life-as soon as possible. The more he allowed himself to be drawn into conversation with her, the more he’d be in danger of her dragging him back into the world of the living. The world that just yesterday he’d wanted to leave.

  “You could have frozen to death out there,” he said. “It’s understandable that you could be confused.”

  Sunny wasn’t confused. At least not about who and what she was. Although, if she was to be perfectly honest, there was something about Clint’s closeness that stimulated strange, unfamiliar feelings. How was it, she wondered, that he could make her feel safe and unsettled all at the same time?

  “I do feel a little strange,” she admitted reluctantly. As his fairy godmother, she was supposed to be the one in charge here. Somehow, when she hadn’t been paying close attention, things had definitely gotten out of hand.

  Her soft voice wrapped around him like a velvet lariat. Gazing down into her eyes, which were twin pools of confusion, and something else he couldn’t read, Clint felt that sensual hunger stir again.

  Damn her! Didn’t she realize that no woman in her right mind would look at a man that way, unless she wanted him to respond the way his mutinous body was responding?

  Since she didn’t seem in danger of dying from exposure, he wondered how the lady might respond if he suggested warming her up by taking her to bed where they could spend the rest of the snowy day driving each other crazy.

  Crazy. That was, of course, the definitive word. Given the fact that she was claiming to be his fairy godmother was proof that she was one T-bone short of a steak fry. If that wasn’t reason enough to keep his distance, the fact that he was even considering having sex with a total stranger who’d shown up at his front door proved that he was as nuts as she was.

  “You’d better get out of those wet clothes,” he muttered, backing away from her.

  Although she was a great deal warmer than when he’d found her, Sunny still felt horribly disoriented. Of course, part of that could be because of how he was looking at her. His icy blue eyes, as they’d roamed over her face, had made her feel both hot and cold at the same time.

  She’d reached the top of the stairs when she belatedly realized that she’d been responding to Clint like a mortal woman and suddenly remembered the impulsive wish she’d made right before rushing out into the storm.

  She’d wished to be a real, mortal woman. Could it possibly be that somehow, that wish had been granted?

  She went into the bedroom and looked at the suitcase she’d conjured up last night. It was about ten feet away, next to an overstuffed easy chair.

  “Okay. Here goes.” Concentrating as hard as she could, she blinked, intending to move the suitcase. When it remained steadfastly where it was, she tried again. Nothing.

  “Oh, no.”

  Sunny sank down onto the bed as comprehension sank in. Now what? She cast a desperate gaze upward.

  “Please,” she whispered, “I didn’t mean it. Not really.”

  She was not surprised when no answer was forthcoming.

  Not having any idea what to do next, Sunny buried her face in her hands and began to weep.

  Clint heard her sobs when he reached the top of the stairs. Terrific. That’s all he needed. As if it wasn’t bad enough, being stuck with a crazy woman who stirred up feelings he’d thought he’d buried with Laura, now he was confronted with a female in tears.

  He stood in the open doorway; since her hands were covering her face, he was free to watch her undetected. She was sitting on the bed, her wet hair hanging over her shoulders, which were shaking with her wrenching sobs.

  Pity stirred. Followed by desire, which reminded Clint exactly how long it had been since he’d touched a woman. Tasted a woman. Telling himself that the unruly feelings he’d been experiencing were nothing more than a basic case of horniness, he cleared his throat and entered the room.

  “I brought you some tea.”

  Sunny’s hands dropped to her lap. Her eyes flew open. “Tea?”

  “Good thing you thought to pick some up at the store yesterday.”

  “Yes.” He wasn’t the only one who was surprised. Sunny couldn’t remember blinking any tea into the pantry. Reminding herself that she wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, she said, “That was lucky.”

  “I didn’t know how you liked it. But I added some sugar.”

  “Thank you.” She took the cup he practically shoved at her. “That’s very considerate of you.” Drawn by the aroma of the orange-spiced tea, she took a tentative sipand found it delicious. “This is wonderful.”

  “It’s just a tea bag.”

  “I know.” She smiled up at him. “But you’ve no idea how, given the right circumstances, even tea can taste like ambrosia.”

  “You must go nuts over champagne.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Since I’ve never had any.” She blew slightly, creating ripples in the dark amber drink, then took another longer sip.

  Clint was about to suggest that they’d have to remedy that, when he managed to clamp his teeth together just in time.

  “After you finish that tea, I’ll go heat up last night’s stew.”

  “Are you offering to fix me lunch?” That was such a turnaround from his previous behavior, Sunny couldn’t believe she’d heard him correctly.

  “I’d have the cook do it, but it’s her day off. So I guess that leaves me.”

  “That’s very nice of you.” He wasn’t really the unpleasant man he tried so hard to be, Sunny decided.

  “Believe me, sweetheart, I’m never nice.”

  “That’s right.” Now that she was growing accustomed to it, Sunny found herself unfazed by his warning glare. “You’re just trying to avoid having to explain to the sheriff how I starved to death in your house.”

  “Got it on the first try.”

  Clint felt the corner of his lips twitch. As he left the bedroom, he passed the mirror and was stunned to see he was smiling.

  He wasn’t the only one. Watching his reflection in the wall mirror, Sunny experienced a rush of pleasure so strong she almost laughed. She’d known he was a much kinder, gentler man than he appeared to be.

  Unfortunately, although she suspected he’d argue the point, Laura had not been Clint’s destiny. But the right woman was out there somewhere. All Sunny had to do was find her.

  By the time she’d finished her tea, taken a hot shower and changed into some dry clothes, Sunny had regained her optimistic outlook on life. Refusing to believe that her superiors would have abandoned her here in this world without any magical powers, she’d come to the conclusion that somehow, her close brush with mortal death had affected her ability to tap into them.

  “It’s only a temporary glitch,” she assured herself as she went downstairs to the kitchen. “It’ll pass.”

  It had to. Because given Clint’s less than cooperative attitude, she was going to need all the help she could get.

  “YOU’RE NOT GOING to leave her alone down there?” andromeda asked, stunned by Harmony’s pronouncement that she’d done all she intended to do.

  “Sunny will be fine.” Harmony appeared unruffled.

  “But you’ve taken away her magic.”

  “I
’ve taken away her powers to change the physical world around her,” the older woman agreed. “But, never fear, I’ve left her with all the magic she needs.”

  “What magic is that?”

  “Her kind and generous spirit. Any man would be a fool not to fall in love with such a warmhearted woman.”

  “Clint Garvey isn’t just any man.”

  “His own heart was once as open as Sunny’s. It can be again. With her encouragement.”

  “I still don’t understand. After all you did for Cinderella—”

  “I do get so tired of hearing about her,” Harmony snapped uncharacteristically. “Cindy was an unrelentingly sweet girl. But she wasn’t exactly the most assertive young woman on the face of the planet. Or the most intelligent.”

  “Yet she attracted the love of Prince Charming.”

  “As I said, she was sweet. And beautiful. But it took a great deal of work to get those two together. They were not,” she confided, “a perfect match.”

  “Then why—”

  “All right.” Harmony sighed heavily. “I suppose it won’t hurt for you to know the truth, after all these years. However, you must promise to keep the story to yourself. I’d hate to encourage any of our new apprentices to behave so rashly.”

  “You could never be rash.”

  “That’s what I thought. Until Sleeping Beauty’s awakening.”

  “What?” Andromeda stared at her idol. “What does Sleeping Beauty have to do with Cinderella? Or, for that matter, Sunny?”

  “This is going to be a long story,” Harmony warned. “We may as well get comfortable.”

  With a single blink, she transported both women from the computer center to a lovely white wrought iron bench beneath a flowering apple tree in the contemplation garden. Nearby, a trio of fairies splashed gaily in the fountain, their gossamer wings glittering like gold dust in the morning sunshine.

  She gathered her skirts around her. Her round face grew solemn. “Once upon a time,” she began….

  CLINT TILTED THE kitchen chair back, sipped his whiskey and glared out at the snow, which was continuing to fall outside the window. It was turning out to be one helluva storm, especially for one that hadn’t even been predicted. At least none of the stock would freeze, thanks to Mariah.

  He frowned as he thought of the woman who, in what seemed like another lifetime, had been his sister-in-law for less than a day. Lord knows, Mariah had had her own troubles. Troubles that had caused her to leave Whiskey River and become estranged from her sister for a decade. If it wasn’t so tragic, he might have found it ironic that she’d returned home just hours too late to mend fences.

  During the investigation, she’d been the only person who’d remained steadfastly in his corner; the only one who’d believed in his innocence, and who’d understood, at least somewhat, how he was suffering. She’d managed to put the murder behind her, had even married the sheriff whose job it had been to arrest him, and now Clint knew he was causing her additional pain.

  Two weeks ago she’d dropped by to suggest that her crew round up his cattle along with her own stock, and take them down the mountain to more temperate winter pastures. That had been her excuse, and since he hadn’t given any thought to the matter, Clint had accepted her offer and thanked her for thinking of it.

  But now he realized that as real as her concern for his cattle had been, work had not been the only thing on her mind that day. Her real reason for visiting had been to try to shake him out of his depression. Unfortunately, all she’d done was make him feel more guilty. The memory of the concern on her lovely face was enough to make him want to refill his glass.

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” a soft voice behind him offered.

  His fingers tightened on the glass as he glanced back over his shoulder. “What?”

  “The snow. It’s like a fairyland.”

  Her smile lit up her eyes to a golden brown that reminded him of an aggie marble he’d had when he was a kid. It crossed his mind that most women might not consider that the most romantic analogy; of course, most women wouldn’t understand how a twelve-year-old boy felt about his lucky shooter.

  “You should know.” He tossed back the whiskey, enjoying the way it burned as it went down. “Since you’re a fairy godmother.”

  She sighed as she walked past him to stand by the window. “I made a mistake telling you that,” she murmured, seemingly as much to herself as to him. “I should have given you more time to get used to the idea.”

  He might not be at his best these days, but he sure as hell wasn’t so far gone that he’d lost complete touch with reality. “Sweetheart, you could give me till the next millennium and I wouldn’t believe that story.”

  She exhaled another soft, shimmering sigh. She’d changed into a petal pink sweater and matching leggings. Beneath the fluffy wool her shoulders were slumped, making her look almost as depressed as he felt. But, as he watched, she squared them decisively and turned around.

  “Isn’t it a little early in the day to begin drinking?”

  “Isn’t it a little early in the day to start nagging?” he countered. He was tempted to refill the glass again, just to show her he could. But sensing that this was a challenge of sorts, he resisted. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

  “I’m fine. Really,” she insisted when he appeared skeptical. “I’m much hardier than I look.”

  Which was a good thing, Clint decided. Since right now she looked a lot like the cotton candy he used to buy at the Mogollon County Fair when he was a kid. Soft, pink and deliciously sweet.

  A silence settled over them as they stared across the room at each other. Sunny was the first to blink, and she lowered her eyes to the table. When she saw what was lying next to the now empty glass, her face went as white as the snow drifting down outside the window.

  “You weren’t thinking—”

  “No.” He picked up the revolver he’d brought in from the living room earlier, opened it and spun the cylinder. “It’s unloaded.”

  Her relief was palpable. She made her way over to the table on legs that felt as if they’d turned to water, and sank down onto the chair across from him. “I’m sorry, I really don’t mean to nag, but—”

  “You don’t want to be left with the job of scraping my brains off the wall behind the stove.”

  Color flooded into those too pale cheeks. “That’s a horrible thing to think. And a cruel thing to say.”

  He felt a stab of guilt as he saw the hurt in her wide brown eyes. “Point taken. But then again, if you were to stay around here for any length of time, which you’re not—” he warned when she looked inclined to interrupt “—you’d discover that I’m the kind of bastard given to cruel pronouncements.”

  “That’s not true.”

  His brows dived down toward his nose. “Back in Whiskey River’s early days, implying a man was a liar could get a person killed.”

  Ignoring the warning in his narrowed eyes, she reached out and placed her hand on his arm. “I was simply pointing out that you’re a better man than you think you are, Clint Garvey.”

  He looked down at the hand on his sleeve. Her fingers were long and slender, the nails short and unpolished. The skin looked as soft as a baby’s, suggesting that she’d never done manual labor. He remembered his mother’s hands-roughened and red by years of hard work both indoor and out.

  If Sunny was a housekeeper, he was the Prince of Wales.

  “What’s your last name?”

  She blinked at the sudden change in subject. “Excuse me?”

  “Your last name, sweetheart.” He stroked a fingertip up the back of her hand and discovered that the ivory skin was, indeed, every bit as soft as it looked. “If we’re going to be stuck here together, I’d like to know exactly who I’m snowbound with.”

  Although his touch wasn’t overtly threatening, Sunny felt strangely frightened. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “No.” His fingers slipped beneath the sleeve of her sweater. “Not
that I recall. But just in case I’ve forgotten, why don’t you refresh my memory?”

  She bit her lip and weighed her options. One of the reasons Sunny hated lying was that such behavior was so foreign to her nature, she always found it impossible to keep her stories straight. Which is why, more often than not, she’d find herself caught up in a hopelessly tangled web of her own making.

  Sensing that Clint was not going to be easy to deceive, she decided that the safest tactic would be to continue to hedge as long as possible. At least until they could get out of here and she could find him a suitable wife.

  “I don’t remember.”

  His answering stare was razor sharp.

  “Really,” she insisted, afraid he could hear the falsehood in her desperate tone. “The shock of my recent ordeal must have affected my memory.”

  He surprised her by laughing. A rough, harsh, rusty bark that sounded as if it had been a very long time since anything—or anyone—had made him laugh.

  Turning his attention to the Colt again, he traced the engraving on the butt with his finger. “This was my great-great-grandfather’s cavalry revolver.”

  “Family heirlooms are nice.” Although she was grateful for the change in subject, unloaded or not, she wished he’d put the gun down.

  “He came home from fighting in the Civil War and found his wife dead of a fever,” he said as if he hadn’t heard her soft comment. “I always thought it was damn ironic that he made it through that brutal war without a scratch only to have her die while he was riding back home.”

  “That was a tragic coincidence.”

  “The timing sure as hell sucked. He made her casket himself, with the pine he’d been saving to use for a cradle. Then he went out to the back meadow, and dug a hole beneath the tree where she’d liked to picnic in the summer.”

  As he stared out the window, Sunny suspected he was not looking at the driving snow, but imagining the long-ago scene. When the microwave dinged, he shook his head, as if to rid his mind of depressing visions. He spooned the reheated stew into two bowls and put them on the table along with a plate stacked with thick slices of last night’s bread.