Running Wild

by Susan Andersen

  She quickly soaped up and rinsed off, washed and conditioned her hair, then cranked off the water. After squeezing as much of it from her hair as she could manage with her hands, she stepped out of the shower stall.

  When it came to a clean change of clothing, she didn’t like anything her tote had to offer. The river drenching they’d received certainly hadn’t done them any favors. She used the towel to absorb more of the water streaming from her hair, then wrapped the now-damp towel around her and stuck her head out the bathroom door.

  The first thing she noticed was a blanket hanging between their two beds that he’d managed to jury-rig just as he’d said he would. At the moment part of it was flipped over the line, giving her a direct view of Finn lounging on one of the narrow beds reading what appeared to be a pamphlet of some kind.

  But still.

  “You wanna change places with me?” she asked. The damn man had kicked off his shoes and stripped off his shirt and she looked away when she found herself tracking the curves and dips of his musculature. Seeing a piece of peeling paint on the doorjamb, she tore it off. “I’ll get dressed in here while you shower.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” The bed creaked slightly as he pushed off the elbow he’d propped himself up on and she nonchalantly stepped into the room.

  That’s when she realized which bed he’d left for her and she whipped around to flash him a spontaneous, genuine smile as he passed her. She didn’t even care that she caught him seriously scoping out where her towel hit the tops of her thighs. “You gave me the bed closest the bathroom.”

  “Well, yeah.” His mouth tipped up on one side. “That’s a no-brainer.”

  She laughed. “Get your shower. I really need to eat. When was the last time we did that?”

  “Too long ago, if neither of us can remember.” He disappeared into the bathroom and she went to find something to wear.

  Digging through Finn’s backpack where she’d put some of her clothing when he’d made her lose her suitcase, she came across a red sleeveless top. It was girlie and its cotton scroll lace made it feel kinda dressy even though it, like most of her shirts, was a tank top. Unlike her usual body-hugging style, however, this one skimmed her curves and had a pretty scooped neck and a shirttail hem.

  Dropping her towel, she pulled on clean panties, then rapidly slathered on lotion and donned a pair of white capris. She’d only brought one other bra and it didn’t make her feel as pretty as the one she’d been wearing. But that one was grubby and no way was she putting it back on her clean-for-the-first-time-in-what-felt-like-forever body. With a little sigh, she donned the more utilitarian one, then slid the red tank top over her head and twitched it into place.

  Her hair was still damp, but she combed it out, then dug through her tote for her makeup case. Standing in front of the flyspecked mirror above the room’s only dresser, she used navy and metallic gold shadows, black liner and navy mascara to design smoky eyes that made her irises bluer, her whites whiter. Then she studied her bare lips, carrying on a silent debate for several seconds. She didn’t ordinarily wear red lipstick, but if this wasn’t the time for a celebratory color, when she was clean and all awash with the prospect of a cold drink and a hot meal, she didn’t know when would be. She dabbed on MAC Good Kisser lipstick with a light hand, however, because her coloring was too all-over pale to support a deep slash of red. She blotted a good portion of that away, dabbed on more and blotted again. Then again, until, finally satisfied, she stood back and smiled.

  Until she looked down at her feet. Dang. She sure wished she had a pretty pair of strappy, dressy sandals to complete her look.

  “Yeah, well,” she sighed. If wishes were horses. She’d just have to make do with her Tevas.

  Making do was something she had down cold, so she pushed the minor dissatisfaction aside. It didn’t pay to get all stressed over things you had no earthly chance of changing.

  The bathroom door opened and she looked up as Finn strode into the room. All the moisture left her mouth.

  Ho-ly crapuccino. The man really was sex on a stick—or maybe it was simply that she now had knowledge of what he could do with that body, those hands, those lips.

  His normally rich brown hair was inky with the water still clinging to it, and that newly shaven jaw gleamed like old satin under gaslight. Not that she knew from personal experience what the latter looked like, but she’d read enough historical romance to be fairly certain she was at least in the ballpark. And that towel, wrapped around his hips and tucked low—

  Well.

  The thing was shabby and on the thin side, and it acted like neon arrows pointing out all the good stuff that wasn’t covered. The long, muscular legs. The corded belly and that strong chest with its virile dusting of hair. Those wide shoulders. Not to mention his strong arms.

  God, those arms. She’d had a couple of dreams about them holding her through the night. She’d bet it would feel like security squared to sleep wrapped in Finn Kavanagh’s arms.

  But that was a slippery slope she was staying the hell away from. She could hardly tell the guy she wasn’t interested in having sex with him again, then expect him to merely hold her so she could sleep without feeling the need to do so with one eye open.

  As if physical proximity ever improved anything anyway. It was that exact illusion of depending on someone else for her security that she’d worked so hard to eradicate. Besides, even if they survived this, when it was over she’d go back to her little apartment in LA, where she hoped to get her makeup-artist career back on the track she’d almost gotten it on. And Finn would go home to his big, supportive family.

  She snorted. Not that he had the good sense to appreciate how lucky he was to have them.

  “Ladylike,” Finn murmured. But he gave her an appreciative smile. “You look very pretty. Red’s a good color on you.”

  “Thanks. Throw on some clothes and let’s go get something to eat.”

  “I’m with you there, doll.” And he dropped his towel.

  * * *

  “FOR GOD’S SAKE, KAVANAGH!”

  Finn watched as Magdalene whirled to give him her back. And smiled to himself as he shook his head. She was a dichotomy: so bold and freewheeling and pulsing with sexuality one moment, then damn near bashful and prudish the next.

  Even as he watched, she reached toward the line he’d strung between their beds to hang the divider he’d promised her. She grabbed the bottom corner of the blanket that he’d flipped back up over the line to keep things airier and mostly open until she absolutely needed her privacy.

  Which was now, clearly. Or so her twitching the blanket free and letting it drop between them told him.

  He blew out a gusty breath and turned to look at the clothing he’d laid out while Mags was in the shower. The wardrobe he’d brought on this trip, if you could even call it that, ran mostly to shorts and T-shirts. Given how nice Mags looked, however, and the obvious attention she’d paid to putting herself together, he went back to the pack and pulled out the pair of khakis he’d thrown in at the last minute and the silky golden-brown Perry Ellis T-shirt his sister Hannah had given him “just in case you find a senorita you want to impress.”

  Not that he was out to impress anyone. Still... Thank you, Hannah.

  He got dressed, tried to hand press the worst of the wrinkles out of his pants, then gave it up as a lost cause and dragged a comb through his hair. After putting on his shoes, he called it good. Feeling great, he sang a section of an old favorite song where a man urged a woman to “wear a dress, babe,” while he wore a tie. And added how they’d laugh at that old bloodshot moon, in that burgundy sky. Then, drumming his fingers on the little nightstand next to his bed, he made his voice go falsetto for the bluesy piano-and-drums instrumental that normally followed the lyrics.

  He heard Mags’s muffled laugh from the other side of the blanket.

  “How ’bout it, Mags? You ready to put a new coat of paint on this lonesome old town?”

&nb
sp; “I am.” She came around the corner of the divider. “I’d probably appreciate your musical abilities more, though, if I weren’t starved half to death.”

  “I hear ya, darlin’. Let’s go get us a drink and something to eat.” He hovered his hand just above the small of her back as she preceded him out the door. “Did I tell you that you look really pretty?”

  “You did.” She flashed him a smile over her shoulder before turning her attention to navigating the stairs. “I have to admit, though, a girl just can’t hear enough of those sweet nothin’s.”

  They crossed a lobby that once again was empty, then stepped out the front entry to find that night had fallen. A silvery sliver of the rising moon barely crested the flat horizon to the east.

  “I’m still not used to the way the time here is divided into equal hours of day and night,” he said as they walked toward the cantina they’d decided on earlier. “That, give or take a few minutes, it never varies—you still get twelve hours of daylight and twelve hours of dark. In Seattle in the summertime it doesn’t get truly dark until ten o’clock at night, but in the dead of winter it’s full dark by four in the afternoon.”

  “I know what you mean.” she agreed. “We don’t have the kind of long twilights in LA that you get up north, but when I was first sent to the States I was amazed at the way the seasons affected the number of daylight hours. Up until then I’d spent my entire life down here where, as you said, the light and night hours are divided into twelve hours each no matter what time of the year it is. I’d just assumed that was true everywhere.”

  Rich aromas, laughter, and the clink and clatter of cutlery and crockery reached them before they arrived at the cantina, making Mags turn a delighted smile in his direction. “Omigawd. Will you let me know if I start to drool?”

  “I will if you will. God, I’m hungry.”

  They entered a room that was crowded but not, thank God, entirely full and wove their way between tables to an empty narrow booth against the far wall. There were two handwritten menus atop its table and they both snatched one up the instant they slid in, even though Finn could only figure out a few of the dishes offered when he looked at his. He looked across the table at Magdalene. “What’s sancocho?”

  “It’s a soup that, depending on the cook, is either stewlike or more brothy. Both varieties usually have lots of corn on the cob that’s sliced into narrow rounds.”

  He made a face. “Today’s been stressful enough—I’m not in the mood for soup with stuff I have to fish out to eat with my fingers.” He looked down at the menu again. “So, how about this asado?”

  “That’s basically barbecue—it refers to both the technique and the social event. In this case it looks like beef alongside other meats, which are likely to be either pork, chicken or alpaca.”

  “Meat,” he said reverently and closed his menu. “That’s what I want.”

  She laughed and tossed her own menu atop his in the middle of the table. “Works for me. Protein sounds divine right about now.”

  The waitress showed up a minute later and Mags ordered for them, starting with a beer for him and a margarita for her. The waitress chatted at her in rapid-fire Spanish, then reached out to touch Mags’s hair.

  “Bella, bella,” she murmured before whirling away in a swirl of brightly colored skirt.

  Finn watched her departing back as she dodged through the room, then turned his attention on Mags’s flushed cheeks. “I’m guessing she hasn’t seen many blondes.”

  “Apparently not. Oh, please don’t let this be the day Joaquin or his goons show up, because clearly I stand out.” She blinked. “Oh, God, Finn. I forgot all about the goon squad for a while. It’s all wrong that I’m enjoying myself like this when my parents are probably lucky if they get rice and beans, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, hell to the no.” A fierce wrinkle gathered Finn’s brows above his nose. “What does one thing have to do with the other? You’re knocking yourself out and putting yourself in a lot of danger to get to them. You don’t think you deserve to grab your moments of enjoyment where you can?”

  “I—” She shook her head. “I actually thought something very like that when we were at the festival in La Plata—that being able to occasionally relax helped me feel stronger for the challenges to come.” She straightened in her seat. “So, okay. I’ll try to stop feeling guilty during these rare happy moments.” A small, self-deprecatory smile tugged up one corner of her pretty lips. “I can’t promise it’ll stick with any kind of consistency, but I will try.” Then she full-out grinned at him. “I ordered you a fancy potato to go with your red meat.”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “Define fancy.”

  “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “O-o-kay,” he said slowly, drawing out the word. “What’s the worst they can do to a potato?”

  She wiggled her eyebrows at him.

  “Shit.”

  She laughed again. “No, you’ll like it. Tru-u-ust me.”

  “Do I look like I was born yesterday? Everyone knows never to trust someone who says trust me.”

  She merely smiled innocently.

  He found himself enjoying her enjoying herself. He’d never seen her this relaxed, never mind feeling lighthearted enough to tease.

  Then their drinks arrived and he discovered that a margarita on an empty stomach made Magdalene downright chatty.

  She told him a little about how she’d envisioned some of the creatures in the space-epic gig she’d had to give up. She was amazingly descriptive and made them come alive in his mind’s eye.

  “I’m sure they had detailed drawings of what they actually wanted,” she admitted. “But it’s fun to envision what my creations would have looked like.” She leaned into the table, planting her elbow on its scarred top and her chin in her palm. “But enough about me. Tell me about your family. I know you have a brother named Dev and sisters named Kate and Hannah.”

  That she remembered reinforced in his mind how family happy she was. He swallowed a smile. “The girls and I are the only ones still single in the family. My married sibs are Maureen and my brothers Bren and David. And Dev, of course.”

  “And grandmothers and aunts and girl cousins?”

  He nodded. “Both my grandmas are still alive and one of my grandpas. Then there are two uncles, four aunts—and their spouses—and too damn many first cousins and their kids to name.”

  She looked at him with big wistful eyes. “You are so lucky.”

  “I know.”

  She gawked. “You do?”

  “Sure.” He shrugged. “I feel crowded sometimes and definitely maneuvered—if you met my aunt Eileen, you’d understand what I’m talking about. She makes our generation want to run as fast as possible in the opposite direction.”

  “Oh, I’m sure—”

  “No, you’re not, because you’ve never met her. At the same time, I love my family and I appreciate how lucky I am to be part of a loving, functional tribe. It doesn’t make them perfect, though, Magdalene. Family relationships are messy.”

  “Tell me about it.” But she gave him a little self-deprecating smile. “Mine is certainly messed up. And I know I romanticize the whole idea of family.” She shrugged and took another sip of her drink. “It’s just... I was part of that once upon a time and I loved it. I’ve always wished I could re-create it.” Her shoulder twitched. “Though I guess for now I should just focus on saving the family I’ve got.”

  “And cut yourself some slack while you’re doing it.” He studied her for a moment, then felt a sardonic smile tug at his lips. “That re-creating thing must be hard to do when you pull in people with one hand, then hold them at arm’s length with the other.”

  She looked away to watch their waitress come toward them with two loaded plates. Just before she got there, Mags looked at him across the table, her face serious. “Yeah. Then there’s that.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “ABOUT DAMN TIME you checked in!” Joaquin snapped
into his cell phone, having snatched it up the moment he recognized the caller’s number. “Where have you been?”

  “Sorry, Boss,” said one of his enforcers, and for a brief instant Joaquin was placated. He loved it when they called him boss. It made him feel almost as all-powerful as his boss, Victor. Then he realized he hadn’t heard what his man was saying and tuned back in.

  “—sight of the Deluca woman in La Plata, but she disappeared on us again. The chick is fuckin’ smoke. So we tracked down the town’s only car-rental agency.”

  There was a pause and Joaquin snapped his fingers impatiently. This was the trouble with working with American mercenaries—all their idioms aside, which made Joaquin wonder half the time what the hell they were talking about, yanquis as a whole loved stretching out the drama of every damn situation. “And? Spit it out, Palmer!”

  “And we discovered she and the man she’s traveling with turned in their car. But—get this—they didn’t rent a replacement car.”

  Another silence settled over the line and he felt his blood pressure climbing into the red zone. “If you drag this out one more time, I will make you pay.”

  “Sorry, Boss,” Palmer said again. “This whole business has been a case of one strange-ass thing after the other goin’ wrong. Me and Vasquez learned that Deluca and her guy rented a boat, so we rented one, too—only ours has a faster motor. We figured they’d have to pull over for the night, which would allow us to catch up with them wherever they parked their butts and bring ’em back to you. We had no real way of knowin’ how far behind we were, but figured it couldn’t be more than a couple-a hours at most. But here’s the bizarre part.” His exhale rode the radio waves. “Vasquez and me, we were jumped down on the docks by a gang of pissed-off...hell, I’m not even sure what they were. But these guys were just standing around, talking quietly to each other and not payin’ us any mind at all as we walked by, then—bam! They fuckin’ ambush us from behind.”