by Nora Roberts
“There are a lot of places a man could wait out a storm. In the hills and in the valley. If he had some experience, some provisions, or some luck.”
“That’s a fact. We made some calls, checking if somebody who looked like they’d come off the trail moved into one of the motels or hotels around here. We didn’t get anything. Her camera’s been up and running since, and nobody’s seen anybody around the refuge—or the Chance place—who shouldn’t be around.”
“It sounds like you’ve covered everything you could cover.”
“Doesn’t close the book on it, though. Open book keeps my palms itchy.” Willy stood a moment, looking out at the snow, the sky. “Well. Good to see Sam up and around. I hope I’m tough as him when I get his age. If you think of anything I need to know, I’ll be around to hear it.”
“I appreciate you coming by.”
Willy nodded, gave Little Sis a pat on her flank. “Pretty girl. You take care, Coop.”
He would, Coop thought. But what he needed to take care of was at the refuge.
He dealt with the horse, so Little Sis got her rubdown and her apple. He took care of the rest of the chores, ones as routine to him now as dressing every morning. Because there would be coffee hot and fresh, he went into his grandmother’s kitchen.
His grandfather walked in, without his cane. Coop fought down the urge to comment, especially when Sam gave him a quick scowl.
“I’m still going to use it when I go outside, or if my leg gives me trouble. I’m just testing things, that’s all.”
“Stubborn old goat,” Lucy said as she came out of the laundry room with a basket full of whites.
“That makes two of us.” Sam limped over, took the basket, and while Coop held his breath limped away again to set it on a chair. “Now.” His face actually flushed with pleasure as he turned, winked at Coop. “Why don’t you get the menfolks some coffee, woman?”
Lucy folded her lips, but not before the quick smile escaped. “Oh, sit down.”
Sam let out a quiet sigh as he sat. “I smell a chicken roasting.” He scented the air like a wolf. “Heard a rumor about mashed potatoes. You ought to help me eat that, Coop, before this woman fattens me up like a pig before the roast.”
“Actually, I have something to do. But if you hear somebody sneaking around in here later tonight, you’ll know it’s me coming after the leftovers.”
“I can make you up some, put it over next door for you,” Lucy offered.
The bunkhouse had become “next door.”
“Don’t worry about that. I can fend for myself.”
“Well.” She set coffee in front of both of them, then ran her hand along Coop’s shoulder. “It looks nice over there, but I wish you’d take another look up in the attic. I know you could use more furniture.”
“I can only sit in one chair at a time, Grandma. I wanted to tell you the mare—Little Sis—is coming along.”
“I saw you working her.” Lucy poured the water she had simmering in the kettle to make the tea she preferred that time of day. “She’s got a sweet way.”
“I think she’ll be good with kids, especially if they don’t want to get anywhere fast. I was hoping you’d take her out a couple times, Grandma. See how she feels to you.”
“I’ll take her out tomorrow.” She hesitated a moment before turning to her husband. “Why don’t you ride out with me, Sam? We haven’t had a ride in a while.”
“If the boy can spare the pair of us.”
“I think I can manage,” Coop told him. He finished off his coffee and pushed to his feet. “I’m going to get cleaned up. Do you need anything before I go?”
“I think we can manage,” Lucy said with a smile. “You going out?”
“Yeah. I’ve got something to take care of.”
Lucy lifted her eyebrows at Sam when the door closed behind Coop. “I’ll give you two to one that something has big brown eyes.”
“Lucille, I don’t take sucker bets.”
STREAKS AND SMEARS of red shimmered over the western sky, and the light dipped soft into twilight. The world was vast and white, a land caught in the clutched fist of winter.
He’d heard people talking about spring—his grandparents, Gull, people in town, but nothing he saw gave any indication they’d turned a corner toward daffodils and robins. Then again, he thought, as he pulled up to the gates of the refuge, he’d never spent a winter in the Black Hills before this one.
A few days at Christmas didn’t come close to the whole shot, he mused, as he got out to unlock the gate with the copy of the key he’d had made from Joe’s. The wind whistled and skipped along the road and sent the pines whooshing. The scent of pine and snow and horse would forever say winter in the hills to him.
He got back into the truck, drove through the gate. Stopped, got out to close and relock it. And wondered how much an automatic gate with a frigging keypad ran. Plus a couple of security cameras for the entrance.
He’d have to check on what kind of alarm system she had installed.
If he could make a copy of the key, so could half the county. The other half could just hike around, circle back, and stroll onto refuge land on a whim.
Fences and gates didn’t keep people out if they wanted in.
He followed the road back and slowed at the first turn, the turn that brought the cabins into view. Smoke pumped out of Lil’s chimney, and lights glowed against the window glass. Paths leading from the split-log cabin led to the second cabin, to the habitat areas, to the education center and commissary, and around to where he understood they stored equipment, dry feed, supplies.
He assumed she had enough sense to lock her doors, just as he assumed she was smart and aware enough to understand there were countless ways onto the land, to those doors, for anyone who had the skills and patience to travel the hills and trails.
He skirted the small visitors’ parking area and pulled up by her truck.
The animals announced him, but their calls seemed almost casual to his ear. It wasn’t full dark yet, and from what he could see of the habitat most of the inhabitants had chosen their dens.
Casual or not, Lil was at the door before he’d gained the cabin porch. She stood in a black sweater and worn jeans, scarred boots, with her hair pulled back in a thick black waterfall. He wouldn’t have described her stance or her expression as friendly.
“You’re going to have to give my father back his key.”
“I did.” He stepped onto the porch, looked into her very annoyed eyes. “Which should give you a slice of clue on just how much security that gate gives you.”
“It’s served its purpose up till now.”
“Now’s the point. You need a more secure, automatic gate with a code and camera.”
“Oh, really? Well, I’ll get right on that as soon as I have a few thousand extra piled up, and nothing else to do with it but beef up a gate that is essentially a symbol and a deterrent. Unless you’re going to suggest I build a security wall around more than two dozen acres of land while I’m at it. Maybe post sentries.”
“If you’re going to have a deterrent, it might as well deter. Since I’m standing here, yours didn’t do such a good job. Listen, I’ve been outside most of the day, and I’m tired of freezing my ass off.”
He stepped forward, and since she didn’t move out of the doorway simply cupped his hands under her elbows, lifted her up, over. Inside, he plunked her down again and closed the door.
“Jesus, Cooper.” It was hard to form actual words when her jaw kept wanting to drop. “What’s with you?”
“I want a beer.”
“I bet you have some back at your own place. If not, there are several places to buy beer in town. Go there. Do that.”
“And despite the fact you’re bitchy and unfriendly, I want to talk to you. You’re here, and there’s probably beer.”
He started back to the kitchen. “Why are you here alone?”
“Because this is my house, this is my place, because
I wanted to be alone.”
He glanced at the table, noted the laptop, a scatter of files, and a glass of red wine. He picked up the bottle on the counter, approved the label, and allowed himself a change of mind.
He got a wineglass out of one of her cabinets.
“Just make yourself the hell at home.”
“Willy came by to see me.” He poured himself a glass of wine, sampled it, then set the glass down to strip off his coat.
“Then I assume we both got the same information, and there’s nothing to talk about. I’m working, Coop.”
“You’re frustrated and you’re pissed off. I don’t blame you. The fact is, they don’t have much to work with, and none of the lines of investigation are going anywhere. That doesn’t mean they stop, just that they might have to change the angle.”
He picked up the wine again, glanced around the room while he drank. “Don’t you eat?”
“Yes, often when I’m hungry. Let’s just say I appreciate you coming by to reassure me the wheels of justice are turning, and add that I’m aware Willy is doing and will do his best. There. We talked.”
“Do you have a reason to be pissed at me, or is it just in general?”
“We’ve had some long and very physical days around here. I’m on deadline on an article I’m writing. Writing articles helps pay for that wine you’re drinking, among other things. I’ve just been told that it’s very unlikely that whoever shot a cougar that I caged will be identified or apprehended. You waltz in here when I’m trying to work and help yourself to the wine this article will help replace. So we’ll say it’s in general with a special section just for you.”
“I didn’t waltz.” He turned and opened the refrigerator. “Shit, Lil,” he said after a short exam, “even I do better than this.”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Finding something to fix for dinner.”
“Get out of my refrigerator.”
In response, he simply opened the freezer. “Figures. Bunch of girl frozen meals. Well, at least there’s frozen pizza.”
He thought he could hear her teeth grinding all the way across the room. It was, he admitted, oddly satisfying.
“In about two minutes I’m going to get my rifle and shoot you in the ass.”
“No you’re not. But in about fifteen minutes, according to the directions on this box, you’ll be eating pizza. It might help your mood. You get some itinerant volunteers,” he continued as he switched on the oven. “Some one- or two-timers.”
Annoyance didn’t seem to work. She tried sulking. “So?”
“It’s a good way to scope out the setup here, the staff, the routines, the layout. A lot of the farms and businesses around here do the same. Hire somebody on in season, a few days, a few weeks, whatever works. I’m going to do the same in another month or so.”
He put the unboxed pizza in, set the timer.
“What difference does it make? Willy thinks he’s done and gone.”
“Willy could be right. Or he could be wrong. If a man knew what he was doing, and wanted to, he could make a nice shelter for himself in the hills. They’re pocketed with caves.”
“You’re not making me feel any better.”
“I want you to be careful. If you feel too much better, you won’t be.” He brought the bottle over, topped off her wine. “What’s the article about?”
She picked up the wine, scowled into it, then sipped. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”
“You’re writing about that? Can I read it?”
“I’m not going to sleep with you,” she repeated, “until when and if I decide otherwise. Tossing a frozen pizza in the oven isn’t going to make me feel warm and fuzzy about you.”
“If I was after warm and fuzzy, I’d get a puppy. I’m going to sleep with you, Lil. But you can take some time to get used to the idea.”
“You had me once, Cooper, and you could’ve kept me. You dumped me.”
His expression flattened out. “We remember it different.”
“If you think we can just go back—”
“I don’t. I don’t want to go back. But I’m looking at you, Lil, and I know we’re not done. You know it, too.”
He sat on the bench with her, sipped his wine, and poked at the photos she had fanned out beside the files. “Is this South America?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s it like going places like that?”
“Exciting. Challenging.”
He nodded. “And now you’ll write a story about going to the Andes to track cougar.”
“Yeah.”
“Then where?”
“Where what?”
“Where will you go?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have any plans right now. This trip was the big one for me. What I got out of it personally, professionally, what I can generate from it with articles, papers, lectures. The research, the findings.” She moved her shoulders. “I can channel a lot of that into benefits for the refuge. The refuge is the priority.”
He set the photos back down to look at her. “It’s good to have priorities.”
He moved in slowly, giving her time—this time—to resist or decide. She didn’t speak, didn’t try to stop him, only watched him the way she might a coiled snake.
Warily.
He caught her chin in a light grip, and took her mouth.
She wouldn’t have said he was gentle, or tender. No, she wouldn’t have called the kiss, the tone, the intent either of those. But there wasn’t the rough fire he’d shown her before. This time, he kissed her like a man who’d decided to take his time. Who was confident he could.
And though his fingers were easy on her face, she knew—didn’t he intend she would?—that they could tighten at his whim. That he could plunder instead of seduce.
And knowing it sparked excitement in her blood.
Hadn’t she always preferred the wild to the tame?
He felt her give, just a little. Just a little more. Her lips moved against his, warmed and softened, and her breath hummed low in her throat.
He eased away as slowly as he’d eased to her. “No,” he said, “we’re not done.” The oven timer dinged, and he smiled. “But the pizza is.”
12
He’d spent worse nights, Coop thought, as he added logs to the fire in Lil’s living room. But it had been a lot of years since he’d made do with a chilly room and a lumpy sofa. And even then, he hadn’t had the additional discomfort of knowing the woman he wanted slept one floor above.
His choice, he reminded himself. She’d told him to go; he’d refused. So he’d gotten a blanket, a pillow, and a sofa six inches too short for him. And it had very likely been for nothing.
She was probably right. She was perfectly safe on her own, in her cabin. Locked doors and a loaded rifle were solid safety factors.
But once he’d told her he intended to stay, he hadn’t been able to back down.
And it was damn weird, he mused, as he walked back to the kitchen to put on coffee, to be wakened in the dark by a jungle cat’s roar.
Damn weird.
He supposed she was used to it, as he hadn’t heard her stir, even when he’d been compelled to pull on his boots and go out to check.
The only things he’d discovered were she needed more security lights, and that even if a man knew there were sturdy barriers, the roars and growls in the dark could send an atavistic finger of fear up his spine.
She was stirring now, he thought. He’d heard her footsteps above, and the clink of the pipes as she turned on the shower.
It would be light soon, another frigid, white-drenched dawn. Her people would be heading in, and he had his own work to see to.
He hunted up eggs and bread, a frying pan. She might not agree, but he figured she owed him a hot breakfast for the guard duty. He was slapping a couple of fried egg sandwiches together when she walked in. She’d bundled her hair up, wore a flannel shirt over a thermal. And looked no more pleas
ed to see him this morning than she had the night before.
“We need some ground rules,” she began.
“Fine. Write me up a list. I’ve got to get to work. I made two if you want the other,” he added as he wrapped his sandwich in a napkin.
“You can’t just come here and take over.”
“Put that at the top of the list,” he suggested as she followed him into the living room. He passed the sandwich from hand to hand as he shrugged on his coat. “You smell good.”
“You need to respect my privacy, and get it through your head I don’t need or want a guard dog.”
“Uh-huh.” He settled his hat on his head. “You’re going to need to bring in more firewood. I’ll see you later.”
“Coop. Damn it!”
He turned at the door. “You matter. Deal with it.”
He bit into his sandwich as he strode to his truck.
She was right about the ground rules, he thought. Most things worked better with rules, or guidelines anyway. There was right and there was wrong, and a big, wide mass of gray between them. Still, it was best to know which shades of gray worked for any particular situation.
She was entitled to set some rules, as long as she understood he’d be exploring the gray.
He ate his egg sandwich as he drove the looping road to the gate, and setting rules, guidelines, and the mystery of just what he wanted from Lil aside, he mentally arranged what he had to do that day.
Stock to be fed, stalls mucked out. Then getting his grandparents out on horseback would be an accomplishment. He needed to get into town for some supplies, do some paperwork at the storefront. If they didn’t have customers who wanted a trail guide, he’d get Gull to work on some of the tack.
He wanted to work out a basic plan, cost analysis, and feasibility of adding pony rides to the business. Take a few horses like Little Sis, he mused, walk them around a fenced track for a half hour, and you could . . .
His mind switched off business and to alert.
The corpse was draped over the gate. Below it, blood stained the hardpack of snow. A couple of vultures were already pecking for breakfast while more circled overhead.
