by Laurie Paige
She tilted her head, trying to figure out the nuances behind the words. "So?"
"I'd just stepped out of the shower when I noticed you on the bridge."
Visions flooded into her mind. "Are you … aren't you…?"
"I'm not," he said, laughter rippling over the words.
Heat flamed into her face. "I'll be going," she said stiffly. "So you can dress and eat before the food gets cold."
"Coward," he murmured. "Stay and eat. You never did tell me what you fixed."
"A Mexican casserole. It's made with hamburger and corn and cornmeal, sort of like chili but…" She edged toward the door. "I really should be getting home. Before it's too dark," she added, then realized how inane that sounded. As if it made any difference to her.
She never made it to the door. His hand on her arm stopped her before she'd taken more than two steps.
"Stay," he said, an order and a request.
Feeling his warmth, she put out her hands to hold him off, knowing she was too susceptible to his kisses. She encountered bare flesh. She gasped and jerked back.
"It's okay," he assured her. "I'm decent."
He took one hand and led it down his torso to his waist. She encountered a waistband.
"Sweats?"
"Yes," he said.
She sighed in relief, drawing a laugh from him. "’Fraidy-cat," he mocked lightly.
Pulling free, she said, "Not at all. I simply believe in self-preservation."
"Have a seat. I'll get a shirt on, then set the table. Milk or beer?"
"Uh, milk."
Before she could think of a reason she had to leave, she found herself in a chair at his table, her coat and mittens off. His footsteps retreated down the hall, then returned in less than a minute. She heard him move around the kitchen, then take his place at the small round table. He dished up the casserole.
"I made us each a salad," he told her. "A glass of milk is to the right of your plate."
"Thanks. Tell me about your kitchen. What does it look like?"
"Old. It's outdated. After seeing what you did at your place, I've decided to replace the cabinets and modernize."
"It's a fun project. You should ask Kate for ideas. She's really good at decorating. First you have to decide on a color scheme."
"I like blue."
Shannon wrinkled her nose. "It's men's favorite color, but I think it's too cool for a home. I like warmer colors."
"Passionate," he murmured.
"I beg your pardon?"
A hand briefly touched her hair.
"Your colors are red and gold. Fire and precious metal. But you used a sort of cream and sage green in your house. I thought green was a cool color."
She smoothed the hair at her temple where he'd stroked. "Green is neutral. I chose it because of the sagebrush. I like its toughness and the way it grows even in the most adverse conditions."
"It's tenacious. Like you."
The compliment warmed her like brandy on a cold night, and brought forth a confession. "I'd given up," she said somberly, "when I was shot. It was your touch that called me back from the darkness. The pain was so great, then you were there, so cool and bright, like an angel…" She stopped, embarrassed.
He didn't say anything. The silence felt tremulous and uncertain. She really wished she'd learn to keep her mouth shut about silly things.
"Eat," he finally said in a very soft tone.
Picking up a fork, she did as he suggested. After a couple of minutes, he began speaking of his day, of the operations he performed for the Humane Society twice a month, of the old bull that had died and the old rancher who'd nearly been in tears over it.
"The old names are dying out," he concluded. "Kids don't want the hardship and uncertainty of ranch life."
"And the isolation. It's also easier to make a living in the city," she added.
He nodded and asked, "So why did you give up your place in town?"
"Crazy, wasn't it?" Shannon agreed. "I felt I needed more space, a quiet place to go at the end of the day. I planned to have my practice in town, my home out here."
"Mm, we need to get started on the notes for your degree, don't we?"
"Who's we?" she quipped smartly. "As I recall, it's my job."
"You'll need help. I'll read the notes to you."
"I wouldn't foist my handwriting on anyone, but thanks anyway."
His hand closed over hers. "It isn't going to do you any good to refuse," he advised quite gently.
She started to argue, but just then she heard the sound of an engine. She listened intently.
"What?" Rory asked.
"That truck. It's the same guy who stopped at my place earlier today and asked about a ranching job. In January."
She heard Rory's chair scrape on the floor, then his sock feet hitting the floor at a near run. Cold air stirred around her as a door opened in the front of the house. He returned in another couple of minutes.
"It's a pickup with a camper shell on the back. Black or dark blue, I think. Colorado license plate. He stopped at your place?"
"Yes." She laughed. "I immediately decided he was the perp from the gas station, checking to see if I could identify him." She laughed again so he would know she realized how foolish this notion was.
He didn't join in. "You could be right. I'll mention it to Jess. He can check with the other deputies on any strangers lingering around town."
"Really, that isn't necessary. No need to alarm him or Kate over something that probably means nothing. Please, I'd rather you didn't say anything."
"Okay," he agreed reluctantly. "Do you know my phone number?"
"No."
"Memorize it. Call me if … no. I'll run a line from my house to yours. All you'll have to do is hit a button and I'll come running." This time he did laugh. "Real quick, darling."
She huffed in exasperation. "You'll do no such thing. I know how to dial 911 if I need help."
"I'm closer. If you'll keep making food like this, I'll come over every night and check your place for bogeymen."
"Ha-ha," she said.
The conversation was becoming fraught with innuendo. She was aware of him on her right, of the fact that her foot touched his every once in a while if she wasn't very careful when she moved her feet.
She wiped her mouth and thought of his kisses. When he teased and called her "darling," she couldn't help but respond, even though she knew he didn't mean it as an endearment.
Life with him would be fun. If he loved her. If she loved him. She froze, horrified at the idea.
Rory was ten times more attractive than any man she'd ever met. And a hundred times more dangerous to her heart.
He couldn't help his looks, but, face it, he could have any woman he wanted. Right now there was passion between them, but that didn't mean they would also share a lasting love. Although it would be nice to think so…
Actually his interest in her might be due to the injury and him finding her. Danger forged bonds between people, and he was a naturally protective person.
While she was overwhelmingly drawn to him, a wise woman should guard her heart against such temptations of the flesh. And so she would, she vowed.
* * *
"So what do you think?" Rory asked Jess Fargo, chief of investigations for the sheriff’s office and cousin to Shannon by virtue of being married to Kate.
"I can't arrest a man for inquiring about a job or being out on a public road," Jess answered, but his eyes reflected worry. "Hold on a minute."
Rory waited while Jess went to a file cabinet and returned with a folder. Inside were pictures of the crime scene that Rory had witnessed – the three bodies on the floor with blood everywhere.
"Look at this," Jess said. "Recognize him?"
"It was the other man at the gas station."
"If you see him around Shannon's place, let me know."
Rory handed the picture back. "And that's it? That's all you can do?"
Jess nodded. "Shannon
thinks there wasn't another man, but the gun had disappeared. There just isn't any evidence unless she or the owner can identify the other guy as the robber."
"The man could have stayed conscious long enough to hide the gun. Did you look in the trash cans?"
Jess gave him a pained look.
"Okay, okay, just asking," Rory said. He stood. "I've got to get back for afternoon office hours. After that, I'm going home and sleeping for twelve hours. Anybody who wakes me will be in big trouble."
"I hear you," Jess said sympathetically. "We had a break-in at the diner around midnight. Couple of teenagers reported it. If they'd been at home instead of out cruising at that hour, no one would have noticed the door jimmied open, and I'd have gotten a full night's sleep."
Rory chuckled, then left the lawman and went to his office. He got through his afternoon appointments without getting bitten, kicked or chewed out by a patient's owner. That meant it was a good day.
He was on the road home shortly after five. New clouds were forming over the western peaks, but he could tell the days were growing longer by the lingering traces of light in the sky. Soon it would be spring again.
The lambing season would begin. Calves would arrive. Chicks would hatch. New life would be bursting out everywhere in the trees and hills, the lakes and streams.
Everywhere but his place. He shrugged off the emptiness induced by the thought of his house. He would marry soon and fill it with kids. As soon as he found the woman.
The librarian or the schoolteacher?
A low ache pounded through his body in time to the thud of his heart. He had to get Shannon out of his mind first.
* * *
Shannon tied one end of a ball of string to a nail she'd pounded into the frame by the front door. She carried the ball with her as she headed for the mailbox. Rory or Kate or Megan had brought in her mail the prior three days. It was time she did it herself.
She reached the road without mishap, but found the mailbox on its side, still attached to the wooden post, which was knocked out of the ground. Vandals, she supposed, or someone who took the curve too fast and skidded off the road a bit.
Holding the string in her teeth, she propped the post in its hole and tamped the soggy ground around it. When she let go, the mailbox leaned to the side at a forty-degree angle. She needed a shovel.
After placing the ball of string in the mailbox, she went back to the house and out the back door. Holding the cable, she made it to the shed and found the tool. She brought the hoe, too. It might come in handy.
She retraced her path to the road, then laid the mailbox and post aside in order to dig the muck out of the hole. She removed her gloves and gathered some rocks to drop into the bottom, then repositioned the post and shoveled dirt in, tamping it down with the hoe every inch or so.
Her heart kicked up when she heard a vehicle on the road coming from town, but slowed when she realized it wasn't Rory. She paused and listened. She recognized the truck with the missing beat.
The stranger stopped.
She heard him get out and slam the door. "Hello," she called, gripping the hoe tightly with both hands.
"Hey there," he said. "I'm sort of lost and wondered if you could help me."
She nodded, her suspicion increasing at his too-friendly tone and the fact that he didn't mention he'd been out there looking for a job just two days ago.
"I was looking for Mulholland Creek Road
. A friend, Bob Robertson, lives on it, but I can't find his place."
"Robertson," she repeated as if mulling it over. "You have the right road, but there's no one by that name on it that I know of. Sorry."
"Well, thanks anyway."
She waited for him to leave, but he didn't.
"Say, looks like you could use some help there."
"I can manage," she said quickly.
"I'll just take the shovel and add a little dirt to one side. I think that'll take care of it. There's a couple of good-size rocks over there, too. I'll put them on each side to add some weight."
"That's all right," she told him, but he didn't take the hint.
He shoveled some dirt around the post, then used the hoe to tamp it in. "Can you grab those couple of smaller rocks there and I'll get the big ones?"
"Where? I can't see."
"Oh," he said, as if surprised. "Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't realize … but that's what the dark glasses are for, aren't they? I'm really sorry."
"It's okay. Really."
"Well, here, I'll just finish this." He handed the tools back to her. She heard him stacking the rocks.
"There," he said. "I put some rocks around the post to make it more stable. That should hold now. Is there anything else I can do?"
She plucked the ball of string out of the mailbox. "Would you tie an end around the post, then cut it?"
"Sure. There you are, all done." He pressed the string into her hand.
"Thanks for your help. I hope you find your friend," she said. She lifted the shovel and hoe and, grabbing the string, walked back to the house. Once inside, she flicked the dead bolt and stood there until she heard the truck leave, its engine pinging until it faded into silence.
After placing the tools on the back porch, she locked that door, too, and removed a TV dinner from the oven. She remembered to turn on the light before she sat down to eat the lonely meal.
She caught herself concentrating on the house next door. At last she heard Rory's truck on the road. It turned into his driveway, paused – while the garage door opened, she assumed – then pulled into the garage and shut off. She wondered if he would come over.
If he did, he wouldn't find supper waiting. It would be a cold day you-know-where before she would treat him to another meal. She didn't need the hassle of dealing with him and his libido … or her own, she admitted.
The ring of the telephone startled her into a gasp. She quickly picked up the kitchen unit. "Hello?"
"Hi, it's me. You ready for dinner?"
"I've just finished," she informed him coolly.
There was a brief silence. "Okay, you can have dessert while I eat. How about the steak house down on the interstate?"
"That's an hour's drive."
"Uh-huh," he agreed. "It'll take me fifteen minutes to shower and change. Casual dress. Will you need more time?"
She started to refuse, then thought of the stranger. Coward, she called herself, taking the easy way out. "Yes, I'll be ready. Shall I come over there?"
"Sure. The back door will be open."
Laughter spun through his voice like golden threads wrapping around her heart. He hung up. She did so more slowly, the allure of him, of spending the evening with him, running through her like honey.
She touched the scar at her temple. Foolish, oh, so foolish, but she was going.
Dashing into her bedroom, she changed to black wool slacks with a matching jacket and a black and gold knit turtleneck. She found her dress boots and dusted them off. With a small black purse that attached at her waist, she was ready. She combed her hair, but left it loose, then put on lipstick, afraid to try anything more elaborate in makeup.
Grabbing warm mittens, she draped her down coat around her shoulders, then walked over to Rory's house.
The snow had been removed from her side of the path, too. When did he find time to do all that?
"Hi, I'm here," she said upon entering the kitchen.
"Be with you in a sec," he called out.
From his bedroom, she guessed. The house had once belonged to Kate's mother-in-law, and Shannon had been in it a couple of times long ago. It had three or four bedrooms, a big kitchen plus a dining room, living room and a parlor.
There was a huge pantry off the kitchen, if she remembered right. A second bathroom had been added to the largest bedroom at one time, making it into a master suite.
A family house, meant for husband, wife and kids. She wondered what woman would get to help him redecorate it, then winced as a painful contracti
on shot through her. It was none of her business.
Remember that and you won't get hurt, she reminded her softer, sentimental side. She wasn't going to be that woman. She wasn't going to fall in love with Rory Daniels and be left with a hole in her heart when he got over feeling sorry for her, or whatever, and went off to new pastures. She was too wise for that.
Really. She was. Definitely.
* * *
Chapter 10
« ^ »
"Is it snowing?" Shannon asked. "I forgot to catch the news tonight."
"No, the sky is clear, and you can see a million stars," Rory said. "The moon is riding high over Medicine Bow Peak, like a big silver dollar hanging in the sky. It isn't quite full yet, but it's getting there."
"Sounds lovely."
There was a half beat of silence, then, "Yeah, lovely," he said huskily.
A frisson started somewhere in the middle of her belly and zipped through every nerve. She knew he meant her. She clutched her hands together in her lap and didn't respond.
"The snow is thick on the trees," he continued, "making the world a fairyland. The firs are graceful ladies all decked out for a ball."
She smiled as she pictured the scene.
"We're on the ramp to the interstate. Now we're merging into the right lane. Traffic is light and the road is clear. The snowplows were out all last night and today."
He kept up a running commentary all the way to the steak house. Shannon relaxed and enjoyed the descriptive monologue. At the restaurant, he told her to wait, then came around and opened the door. With her hand tucked into the curve of his arm, they went inside.
Music blasted her ears, drowning out all other sound. She flinched, suddenly nervous at the noise. Rory covered her hand with his.
"It's okay," he said. "Nothing to worry about."
He took her coat and mittens. When she was seated in a booth, he excused himself and left. She swallowed against the fear that suddenly clogged her throat. He wasn't abandoning her, for goodness sake.
But she listened intently for any ominous sounds as she sipped a cool drink of water and tried to act normally. The music became quieter all at once. She could now detect the presence of other people at surrounding tables – the clink of cutlery against plates, voices, the passage of a couple being led to their table behind her.
