Judy Gill

by Golden Swan [LS-377] (epub)

  All right, so that was it. That explained the whole incredible sequence of events, from his running his hands over her slender body while he thought of things other than broken bones, to his lifting her up into his arms and carrying her into his house with such a feeling of . . . Hell, he couldn't put a name to that particular feeling, but it was the most primitive emotion he'd ever experienced and had a lot to do with caves and fires and the warmth of animal skins. Possession.

  "Please, Uncle Cal?" Kara wheedled. "She can stay, can't she? Now that she's here? I mean, when the school burned down, it was like her own house did, and she has no place to go since our house is being remodeled."

  "Kara, honey, that's not quite true," B.J. said. "I have lots of friends I can stay with while the school's being rebuilt. In fact, I'm house-sitting for one right now while he's away on business."

  Cal nearly groaned. He didn't doubt for a minute that the rest of those "friends" she could stay with were male, too. Hell, there was probably a long line of men begging her to use their spare room—or whatever.

  "I only came for a day or two," B.J. went on, "just to see how you were settling in." And, she added silently, to make sure you weren't really being mistreated by the ogre you so dramatically painted for me in your last letter. "I'd like to get back on Saturday."

  "Oh, no!" Kara wailed.

  Laura added her two bits' worth. "But this is Thursday and that's not long enough. Uncle Cal, please, please tell her she can stay longer!"

  He cleared his throat and smiled at Laura, then shrugged, giving in all at once: All at once? Hell! Even before he knew that B.J. was Great-Aunt Barbara, he'd wanted her to stay. But if she thought it was for the kids' sake, maybe it would look better. "Okay, sweetheart. It really is important to you girls, having your aunt here, isn't it?" he said with almost true contrition. "I'm sorry. I should have realized. Of course, B.J.'s welcome to stay for as long as she wants." Lord, he thought. Did his smile look as fatuous as it felt?

  "Oh, Uncle Cal! Thank you! Thank you so much!"

  Laura beamed and he added gruffly, "Just don't get the idea that I've given in because of your sulking."

  "We won't, Uncle Cal!" Kara flew to him and perched on his lap, kissing his face over and over, saying, "Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh, I do love you a lot!"

  "I love you, too, punkin," he said, hugging her tightly.

  Watching, B.J. thought he looked out of his depth and slightly bemused. For an ogre, that was. Her doubts as to that were growing ever stronger, along with doubts about other things as well.

  Cal watched a series of expressions cross B.J.'s lovely, mobile face, saw her color come and go . . . and stay away as she briefly closed her eyes. He stood, carefully spilling Kara from his lap, and said, "Hey, you two, how 'bout you come out to the kitchen with me and help make B.J. some . . . tea or something."

  "Not tea," Laura said. "B.J. drinks coffee."

  "Okay, you can help me make coffee. You know how useless I am in the kitchen. We'll let your aunt rest for a few minutes."

  B.J. was about to protest that she didn't need to rest, but he had grabbed both the girls by the hand and was leading them out. With a sigh, B.J. leaned back on the pillow he'd stuffed behind her. She didn't need to rest, but she sure as heck needed a few minutes to think. Assuming she could get her head on straight in the aftermath of those incredible kisses.

  She hadn't expected that she'd react to his more than potent kiss the way she had. Of course, she hadn't expected to be kissed, but once she'd realized who the kisser was, she shouldn't have gone on responding the way she had. Dammit, long ago she had despised him, then had managed to forget him. Well, more or less. And she had to keep it that way, she remembered with a shock of realization. Where had her good sense gone in those short moments while their lips were joined, moving over and under each other's, tasting, testing, searching? Sense. It was something she'd have to hang on to very tightly, because she'd been attracted to this man once, and it was not going to happen again!

  She had flatly refused Melody's frantic request a couple of weeks ago that she go to the girls' "rescue," as her niece and dear friend had so dramatically put it. That phone call, on the eve of Mel and her husband Curtis's departure for Asia, had triggered too many unhappy memories, had opened up old hurts and long-forgotten feelings of humiliation. She wanted only to hide her head and pretend none of it had ever happened.

  But it had happened and she had never really been able to let go of the stinging shame she had felt. Melody didn't know what Cal had done that weekend, but had advised B.J. to forget it.

  "Let the past go, B.J. Cal's not the same guy you met twelve and a half years ago. He's grown up. He's a wonderful man. Do you think I'd entrust the girls to him if he weren't? And since you and Cal are their joint guardians while Curtis and I are away, why not?"

  "Because I can't even deal with thinking about your brother-in-law. And if I can't cope with memories, how could I cope with meeting the man again face-to-face?"

  "But he's not the same man! B.J., come on, be sensible. You never told me what he did to annoy you so much, but how important can it be now? That was over twelve years ago."

  B.J. wasn't about to tell Melody even now. But the fact remained, Calvin Mixall had not "annoyed" her. He had devastated her and she couldn't forgive him. "I never want to see him again."

  "He's changed, I tell you." Indeed, Melody had told her, ad nauseam, over the past two years just how much her brother-in-law had changed. He was, according to Mel, far more interested in birds and animals than in women. He spent nearly half his time tucked away in a little corner of the wilderness, painting.

  "And so have you changed," Melody reminded her. That, B.J. was forced to admit, was true. Gloriously, unbelievably true. Who would have thought that losing a pile of weight and having her nose fixed would have made such a difference?

  "If he's changed so much," she asked Melody, "that he's become a virtual recluse, then why did he agree to my going up there?"

  "He . . . uh, doesn't know you're coming."

  "What do you mean, he doesn't know I'm coming? I wouldn't even consider going up there unless he had agreed to it! Which is more than I've done, Mel."

  "Oh, but you have to, B.J.," Melody said cajol-ingly. "The girls need a woman with them, and they'd have been with you if your stupid school hadn't burned down at the last minute. I know Cal's family, too, but frankly, the girls need more than just a couple of old bachelors for company."

  B.J. said nothing, and Mel went on with a light laugh, "Not that Cal's by any means old, of course, as I'm sure you remember. And if you just arrive, since you're the girls' coguardian, what can he say? I mean, it's not as though there wouldn't be room for you. The place is enormous, and there are no guests at this time of year. Heavens, hell probably welcome you with open arms and—"

  "Mel, stop it! I don't trust you. You've been trying to fix me up with your precious brother-in-law for the past two years, ever since he moved out here to the coast. I can't. Really, I can't."

  "B.J., darling, when are you going to gain the confidence you should have at your age, and with your looks? You are a very beautiful woman and you can hold your own with anybody."

  Maybe with anyone else, but not with Calvin Mixall, B.J. thought. Of course, Melody was right. She shouldn't feel so defensive, so awkward, but she did. And there was nothing to be done about it. If she saw Melody's brother-in-law again, the one who'd hurt her so deeply, she'd revert to the same puddle of suffering. Even now she could hear his raucous laughter—at her expense. Lord! The words spoken by his friend that she'd overheard as she shamelessly eavesdropped had nearly killed her. . . .thought you might be expecting a flood, the way you've been clinging all evening to that big orange life raft . . . She had known at once who the man referred to as she stood behind the screen in her horrid orange dress, the only thing she had been able to find that fit her three-hundred-pound figure half decently. It hadn't been the other man's words, thou
gh, but the sound of Cal's laughter that had rung in her nightmares for weeks after.

  How could she tell Melody that the hurt and humiliation had gone so deep because she had thought that for once a man had seen beneath the surface and had liked the girl who lived hidden within the ugly body, behind the hideous, acne-pocked face? Melody had never looked like B.J. She couldn't possibly understand.

  "I can't explain it," she said to Melody, "but even thinking about the man makes me feel . . . like that again."

  "Well, you aren't 'like that.' Believe me, when he sees you, he won't remember you at all. He won't remember a thing! Hey, look at it this way, B.J. Why not go up there, bowl the poor guy over, knock him on his patookus, and then remind him of when you first met? Can you Imagine his surprise?"

  B.J. could. All too well. It would be a repeat of her meetings with other old male friends of the family. There had been too many insults in the past for her to warm up to any man who had known her and scorned her way back when. Men who couldn't see why she turned them down when they said things like, "Of course I always liked you—as a person—but really, how could I have asked you out? You understand."

  Indeed, she did understand. What they didn't seem to understand was that their words, meant to be complimentary, hurt just as much as their former rejection.

  "And anyway," she continued, "if I were to go way up there into the wilds with the kids, who'd be here to oversee the renovations to the house?"

  "It's not exactly the wilds, B.J. It's only thirty or forty miles as the crow flies from Powell River."

  "I'm not a crow, and I can't fly, and anyplace that takes two ferry trips to get to from Vancouver is in the wilds. No, Melody, it's out of the question."

  "Cal has a plane, B.J. He could fly you out once a week or so to check on the renovations, and they'll be finished in a couple of months, anyway."

  "In a couple of months the school will probably be back in operation, too, and the girls down here with me. So again, I say no. Absolutely not. Good-bye, Mel, darling. Have a wonderful time, and don't worry. The kids will be fine, bachelor uncle notwithstanding."

  But when the girls' second letter came, with its pleadings, and then the third one, with its laments, it was the thought of those two darling kids left at the mercy of a heartless man that had decided her. Once decided, she had moved swiftly.

  No point in giving him any warning by requesting a flight in, she'd told herself. Maps showed that there were roads, even if they were just logging roads, running right to the shores of Kinikinik Lake. If logging trucks could use them, then so could she, on her trail bike, and here she was.

  And now . . . She wanted to laugh again. And now her nemesis, the former tormentor of her nightmares, had failed utterly to recognize her—just as Melody had predicted. He had called her beautiful. He had kissed her as if he had never wanted to stop, and she had felt his desire for her growing hard and urgent even though he'd tried to restrain himself.

  He wanted her. This time he wanted her. This time he thought she was beautiful. And she found the knowledge exhilarating. It was the headiest feeling she had ever experienced. But, she thought, looking up as he came through the door bearing a tray of coffee, it was also scary. Too scary. She should run away very, very quickly because she wasn't used to feelings like this and didn't know if she could handle them. While her outside might have changed, deep within, she was still the same uncertain person, filled with fears and insecurities. Nothing in her life to date had equipped her to deal with a man like Calvin Mixall, even a Calvin Mixall who gazed at her as if she were dinner on the half shell. Especially him. He was an artist and would soon see through the sham that she was, and more than anything, she didn't ever want to hear his laughter at her expense again.

  2

  "It's all decided, B.J.," Kara said, curling up beside her feet. "Uncle Cal wants you to stay here, too, so please say you will."

  B.J. shook her head, smiling at Cal as he set the tray on the coffee table. She accepted the cup he offered her, lifting it high so that Laura could scoot under her arm and sit beside her, too.

  "It'll be so much more fun with you here," Laura said, "and you can help us with our lessons and—"

  "I've already said I can't stay long." She sipped awkwardly. "I could manage, though, until the end of the weekend, maybe Monday morning, but only if you guys move and let me sit up before your uncle kicks me out for putting my boots on his furniture." As the girls shifted out of her way, she sat up straight, swinging her feet to the floor. That was better. She could drink without risk of dribbling coffee down her chin.

  "I was the one who put your boots on the furniture," Cal said. "Put your feet back up. Lie down. Are you sure you're feeling well enough to sit up?" He didn't know what he'd do if she passed out cold again. He'd have to pick her up. He'd have to hold her in his arms. He'd have to . . . have to what? There were children present! Innocent little girls! He had to get a grip on himself.

  "I'm fine," she assured him, setting her cup on the table and lifting a hand to grasp the tab of her zipper.

  She had beautiful fingernails, he noticed, filed to smooth, oval tips and painted pale pink. He could almost feel them raking down—He shivered and squeezed his eyes shut, but the sound of her zipper in motion had him staring again. She slid it down and he knew he was waiting, wondering. . . . Was his tongue hanging out? He sat down abruptly, hearing but not comprehending the chatter of the girls, B.J.'s replies, aware only of the sight of her figure being slowly unwrapped. . . .

  Knock It off, Mixall! he wanted to shout. Instead, he eased his taut body back into the overstuffed chair and crossed his legs, trying to appear relaxed as the zipper continued down and down and down. The sides of the leather jumpsuit parted, revealing a soft pink sweater and the waistband of a pair of black . . . somethings. Pants. Of course, pants. He breathed again.

  And stopped when she leaned forward to shrug out of the top half of the leather suit. Oh, yes, those breasts were as full as he'd imagined, the waist as tiny, the hips as flaring. She toed off her boots, then stood and skinned the leathers down her smooth, curving thighs. Under them she wore a pair of those pants he'd always thought looked painted on—and slightly obscene. The style, he knew now, had been invented with B.J. Gray in mind. The shiny black fabric clung to her skin—it could have been her skin—and it was driving him up the wall just to look at her . . . and not touch.

  "... right, Uncle Cal? Uncle Cal?" Laura reached over and poked him in the shoulder.

  "Huh?" He blinked and stared at the child.

  "You're going to teach us how to canoe, aren't you? When you have time."

  "Oh. Oh, yes," he said absently. B.J. moved and his gaze swung up, drawn inexorably back to her as again the presence of the girls faded to nothing.

  As if aware of his scrutiny, she looked at him, going very still. She didn't smile one of those incredible smiles, but still managed to cast the same spell over him, tightening the net imperceptibly. For one golden moment it was as if the two of them were all alone, wrapped in some kind of force field that kept the sounds and sights of the world away from them. Slowly, a flush rose in her cheeks, tinting them the same shade as her sweater. Her fingers tightened on her leather suit and her breathing was unsteady, lifting her breasts in tiny, jerking movements. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and looked down, her dark lashes fluttering maddeningly. Damn! he thought. She was an outrageous flirt and he usually shunned them, but he didn't want to shun her. He swallowed hard and then turned, as she did, to the sound of a door thudding open.

  B.J. watched as the swinging doors to the kitchen parted with a whoosh and an elderly man come to a halt just inside the huge living room. He planted his muddy boots at the edge of the carpet, and faded blue eyes disappeared as his glasses fogged up. He took off the cloudy spectacles and squinted nearsightedly, hauling the tail of a grubby shirt out of baggy jeans to polish away the steam.

  "Hey, boss! You know what? There's a gol-durned motorsi
ckle right through the end of the gol-durned greenhouse! Where in the hell do you think that came from?"

  B.J. stepped forward. "I'm afraid it's mine," she said, intensely glad of the interruption. She had been in danger of losing herself in Cal Mixall's eyes, and that was the last place in the world she wanted to get lost.

  The elderly man shoved his glasses back onto his big nose and stared at her.

  "Yours?" he asked, incredulous. "Ladies drive motorsickles?"

  She nodded.

  He looked at her consideringly. Cal recognized the look. He'd known for some time that Fred was hoping to find himself a hardy lady who'd fit in here at Kinikinik Lake. He examined all the single ladies— and maybe some not so single—who came to go on hiking tours or canoe trips. The last Elderhostel group he'd hosted had kept Fred hopping with interest, but nothing had come of any of his attempts. Cal was sure the old goat was thinking that a lady who rode a motorbike had potential, even one clearly thirty or forty years too young.

  "Miss Gray," Cal said quickly, moving to stand close to her, "meet Fred Carmody, the caretaker here. Fred, this is Barbara Gray."

  Fred took off his glasses once more, cleaned them vigorously again, and put them on to peer more closely at B.J. "Pleased to meetcha, Miss Gray. Want me to bring your stuff in?"

  "Call me B.J.," she said, and Cal felt something nasty uncurl inside him. She had used exactly the same phrase to him, and in exactly the same tone of voice. He wished he could see her face. Was she smiling that same kind of enchanting smile at Fred? Couldn't she see how old the old goat was?

  "And thanks for your offer," she continued, "but I can get my bags myself. I don't want to be a bother, and I've caused enough trouble anyway, breaking the greenhouse. My insurance will cover the damage, of course."

  "Don't be sil—" Cal began, but Fred interrupted him.