And she had learned those things. She had grown stronger, and she thought she’d left her fear and any sense of victim’s guilt behind. During her four years of therapy, she’d managed to transmute the fear and shame into outrage and express that outrage, taking the edge off of it so she could function normally.
Now those damn phone calls had stirred it all up again. And that made her angry. Angry enough to get her to her feet and moving back down the trail. Angry enough to blow away any lingering self-pity.
At the trail head, Shane climbed into the Ranger, slammed the door with a satisfying thunk, started the engine and peeled out of the parking area in a spray of gravel. Once on the pavement, she rolled down the window and stuck her left arm out, lifting her middle finger in a furious salute. “Fuck you, Jordan Ripley,” Shane yelled. “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!”
She’d never been much for swearing, and the profanity sounded so odd coming out of her mouth that it made her laugh. Sometimes in this life, nothing would do but the “F” word.
With Jordan Ripley effectively banished from her mind, she slid in the Helen Reddy CD and sang “I Am Woman” over and over again, as loud as she could, for the first ten miles, then she turned it off and started mentally planning new pieces with the materials she’d found.
Except Matthew Brennan kept derailing her train of thought. She couldn’t figure him out. A man shallow enough to fall for a woman like Vanessa Holt but deep enough to spend a lot of time, and apparently a lot of his own money, building houses for the poor. A man who abandoned a successful career in the big city and moved to the wilds of New Mexico to build his own strawbale house. An educated man with sophisticated tastes in music and literature, but work-hardened hands.
He was definitely a puzzle. An extremely attractive puzzle. One she knew she’d be well advised to avoid like a bad case of the flu.
THIRTEEN
It was nearly dark by the time Shane got home. She was tired, hungry, and in dire need of a shower and clean clothes. But her animals would be hungry too, and, as every ranch-hand knew, the livestock came first.
Shane grabbed her day pack and climbed out of the Ranger, heading for the kitchen door. When she stepped from the gravel onto the concrete slab outside the door, something crunched beneath her boots. She bent down to look and saw the broken neck of a bottle. A cobalt-blue bottle, shattered into a thousand pieces.
Her heart slammed once in alarm, then she calmed it down. A broken bottle, so what? One of the cats probably knocked it off a tree, then rolled it across the yard, playing with it until it broke against the doorstep. Or it could have been a trespassing hiker indulging in random vandalism.
Whatever. It was only a broken bottle, nothing to get alarmed about. She had hundreds more. She’d have to remember to check Fiona’s and Furball’s feet to make sure they hadn’t cut themselves on the glass.
Inside, she put her pack on the counter and got the broom and dustpan from the laundry room tucked behind the kitchen door.
She’d just finished feeding Fred and Ethel when she heard the deep growl of a powerful engine and looked up to see Matthew Brennan’s big red pickup starting down the access road. Her heart did a little leap and roll and she mentally kicked herself.
She watched the truck slow down when it reached her bridge. By the time he’d negotiated the sharp turn and headed up her driveway, she’d decided to give her neighbor the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’d peeped in her bedroom window and maybe he hadn’t. For reasons she didn’t care to examine at the moment, and in spite of her earlier resolve to avoid the man like a disease, she had to admit she was happy to see him.
But now she really wished she’d taken time for that shower. Lord only knew what she must smell like after a day in the mountains, complete with losing her lunch and rolling in the dirt.
Then, just to make it perfect, she stepped in a pile of peacock poop a moment before Matt pulled up beside her. He smiled at her, his tanned arm resting on the top of door.
“Hey, neighbor,” he said.
“Hey, yourself.” Gee, clever response, Shane. She thought he looked a little flustered, though she couldn’t imagine why.
“Listen, Shane,” Matt went on. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, what’s up with those blue bottles everywhere?”
She stared at him. That’s why he came up her driveway, to ask her about the bottles? Okay, she’d play along. She leaned her gloved hands on the door of the truck, looked into his dark-brown eyes and noticed for the first time how handsomely they were set off by his thick, black lashes.
There she went again. She had to get ahold of herself. What was it he wanted to know? Oh, yeah, the bottles.
“It’s from a folk legend,” she said. “Evil spirits are supposed to be attracted to the beautiful blue bottles. The spirits fly inside and can’t get out again, so they can’t do any harm to the people who live in the protected house, or hut, or whatever.”
Matt smiled. “Not very smart, are they, these evil spirits?”
“No, seems like they’re pretty dumb,” Shane said with an answering smile, “and very unhappy to be trapped. Sometimes at night, when the wind is just right, you can hear them howling and moaning.”
“And all this time I thought those were coyotes.”
Shane laughed. “Nope. Evil spirits.”
“Judging by the number of blue bottles around here,” Matt said, “the former owners must have been terrified of evil spirits.”
“Yes,” she said, laughing again, “I guess they were. I can’t imagine how long it took them to collect all these bottles, but I love them.”
“Are you afraid of evil spirits, too?”
The mysterious phone calls rose in her mind, but she shook her head. “No,” she said. “No evil spirits around here.”
“Maybe the bottles caught them all,” Matt said.
“Maybe they did.”
As she studied his face, not caring that she was staring, she thought Matt looked a little road-weary, but his smile was at full wattage. Considering the way their last conversation ended, she had to admire the man’s persistence. Well, if he wanted a do-over, she’d play along, see where it led.
“How was your trip?” she asked him.
“Good, mostly. Actually, I didn’t stop by just to ask you about the bottles.”
“Oh, really?”
“I brought you some wine. Kind of a thank-you gift.”
“Thank you for what?” Then she remembered she was supposed to be keeping an eye on his place. And remembered exactly how she’d kept an eye on it. She studied the ground to keep him from noticing the color she felt rising in her cheeks.
Matt reached over to the passenger seat and started to hand her a bottle of wine.
“Why don’t you come in for a minute?” she heard herself saying. Oh, Lord, what was she doing? She could hear Pandora’s box creaking open.
Matt’s eyebrows lifted. “Really? Yeah, that would be great.”
Well, she’d asked for it; now she’d have to deal with it. At least he was distracting her from what had happened in the mountains, and that was a good thing.
“Pull up next to the Ranger and come on in,” she said. “I’ll be with you in a few minutes. Got to wash up. Feeding the livestock, you know, dirty work.” Now she was babbling. How did he do that to her?
Matt grinned. “Sure, go ahead, I’ll catch up.”
She practically ran ahead of him, leaving the kitchen door open while she took the stairs two at a time, shedding clothes in the upstairs hall.
Before she got into the shower, she went to the top of the stairs, feeling a bit odd because she was stark naked, and called down to him.
“Matt?”
“Yeah?”
“The corkscrew’s in the drawer next to the stove.”
“Glasses?”
“Cupboard above the sink.”
“Got it.”
She heard drawers and cupboards opening and closing as she stepped under t
he hot spray.
A record ten minutes later Shane came downstairs dressed in clean Levi’s and a white tank top under an open blue-and-white-checked cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her feet were bare, her hair was damp and her face was without makeup, but she was clean.
She ran her tongue along her teeth, tasting nothing but minty toothpaste. She refused to question her motives for wanting sweet-smelling breath. Beneath her clean, minty surface, part of her was perfectly aware that her turnabout where Matt was concerned was extreme and, as such, highly suspect.
But another part of her—she didn’t stop to ask herself exactly which part—eagerly embraced her change of heart. Because, after all the things she’d found out about him since their last encounter, she felt like she’d known Matthew Brennan a whole lot longer than a couple of days. She liked what she’d learned and wanted to know more.
Matt was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching her walk toward him. He was smiling, and those rich brown eyes held a thoughtful look. Oh, yeah, Shane thought, a whole lot more.
She tilted her head, regarding him with her eyebrows raised in a question mark. “What?”
“You clean up nice,” he said, and handed her a glass of deep-ruby liquid.
Without thinking, she took the glass by the stem, held it up to the light, then placed it on the counter and swirled it vigorously. She stuck her nose in the glass and sniffed three times in quick succession. Then she filled her mouth, closed her eyes and let the liquid linger a moment before tilting her head back and swallowing slowly.
Shane opened her eyes and smiled at Matt over the rim of the glass. “This is a wonderful cabernet sauvignon. Lots of mouthwatering fruit, firm structure, ripe tannins. Beautifully complex, too, with a long, elegant finish. I’m guessing Napa Valley. And very pricey, no doubt. So, thanks.”
Matt tilted his glass at her and smiled. “You really know your wine.”
Embarrassed now, Shane ducked her head. “That sounded pretentious, didn’t it? Sorry. Wine was a favorite subject of mine once upon a time.” She savored a second taste, then said quietly, with her eyes still on the wine, “But that was in another life.”
Her final comment gave Matt a guilty start. How could he stand here drinking wine with Shane and not tell her what he knew? It wasn’t honest. It wasn’t right.
“Shane, look—”
“Would you like to stay for dinner?”
Matt stared at her. Far from inviting him to dinner, after the way she acted the last time they saw each other, he was surprised she hadn’t sent him packing the minute he showed up.
She was a confusing woman. She was extraordinarily sensual, but in a sweet, girl-next-door way. He felt like he was back in high school: the skinny, bookish nerd falling for the cute, sexy cheerleader. Stupid. Hopeless.
And what if she turned out to be one of those on-again, off-again types, playing games calculated to drive a man insane? Maybe he should rethink this whole hero bit. Right now she looked like she could handle whatever life threw at her. Besides, hot, confusing women were apt to burn a man’s fingers.
She was waiting for his answer, an inviting smile in her eyes and on those full, soft-looking lips.
He shrugged. Why not? Life was for taking chances, right? Confession and confusion forgotten, he surrendered. “I’d love to stay for dinner. I’ll even help cook.”
“You can cook?”
“Oh, yeah. My sister, Jenna, was a regular drill sergeant in the kitchen when I was growing up. She made sure I had all the basic techniques down, plus a few fancy ones.”
Shane walked around him and took two white bib aprons from a drawer. “‘Well, this isn’t going to be fancy by any stretch of the imagination. Here you go, Chef Matt. Time to put your technique where your mouth is.”
Matt looked down at her as she slipped the apron strap over his head. She was so close he caught the scent of her clean, damp hair: honey and lemons. He wanted to bury his face in it, take a deep whiff, drink her down like fine wine. Talk about firm structure and beautiful complexity. Nothing confusing about that; this woman had it to the hilt.
She moved behind him, tied the apron strings, then put her hands on his hips and spun him around for inspection.
“You’ll do,” she said. Her eyes were laughing into his and he wanted so badly to kiss her. Not yet, not yet.
He watched her put on the other apron and get a package of what looked like chopped meat out of the refrigerator.
“Burgers?” he asked.
Shane shook her head. “Tacos MacKinnon. The specialty of the house.”
“What makes them so special? Wait, let me guess: Green chile.”
“How did you know?”
“I am nothing if not observant.”
She gave him a puzzled look.
“Juanita’s?” he said. “You and your friend? Green-chile enchiladas?”
Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink and she ducked her head.
“I was so rude to you,” she said. “I’m sorry, Matt. That was inexcusable.”
“Forget it. I was spoiling your view. You were pissed. Understandable.”
“Maybe, but that’s no reason for acting like an asshole.”
“True. All right, I’ll accept that you’re an asshole.”
She laughed. “Hey, I didn’t say I was one, I said I acted like one. And you’re still spoiling my view.”
He looked at her thoughtfully. “So how come you’re being nice to me now?”
She looked straight back at him and he saw the careful consideration in her eyes. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I think I find you—intriguing.”
The same thing he’d thought about her. He rubbed his chin. “Intriguing?”
“Yes. Kind of.” She reached for her wine, took a swallow, then sent him a sidelong glance that could’ve been read as chagrin.
“What?” he said.
“I have a confession to make.”
“A confession. And what would that be?” Was she going to turn the tables on him, tell him who she was? But why would she suddenly do that? It didn’t make sense. He waited, watching her while she seemed to be deciding something.
Finally she faced him again. “I went up to your place and snooped through your stuff,” she said.
“You snooped through my stuff?” He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this.
“The things in you tent. Books, CDs, supplies, all of it.”
“Okay, you’ve got my attention. What were you looking for?”
“You, I guess. Or a sense of you. Who you really are.”
“I see.”
Matt frowned into his wine, trying to picture the contents of his tent. Nothing to worry about, except maybe the binoculars. He looked up at her warily. “Learn anything interesting?”
She held up one hand and counted off the fingers. “One, you’re a neat freak.”
“Ouch. I prefer to think of myself as tidy. Another habit Jenna whipped me into. Is that a bad thing?”
“No, just surprising.”
“Surprising is good. I think. Go on, this is fascinating. I’ve never been analyzed by a house breaker before.”
“Please! Tent breaker. And your zipper wasn’t locked.”
He grinned as Shane’s cheeks turned pink again. “Not a habit of mine. Two?”
“Two, you have broad and eclectic tastes in music and literature.”
“I do. What’s your judgment on that?”
“A point in your favor. We have some of the same books and CDs.”
“Interesting. Or should I say intriguing?”
Shane smiled, turned down another finger. “Three, you’re serious about protecting the environment.”
“What gave you that clue?”
“The book on green houses and sustainable communities. And, of course, the fact that you’re building a strawbale house.”
“And from those two things you make the huge leap to assuming I’m a tree-hugger?�
��
“Aren’t you?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I’m a proud, card-carrying hugger of trees. Big ones, little ones, evergreen and deciduous. All trees are tops in my book. How does that sit with you?”
“It sits just fine. Perfect, in fact. It goes a long way toward explaining why I can’t stay mad at you for ruining my view.”
“Come on, Shane, you’ve got plenty of view left.”
“You’re right, I do. I don’t mean to whine. But the view from your hilltop is beyond spectacular.”
“You’re welcome to come up and enjoy it any time. Morning, noon, night, any time at all.”
He was looking into her eyes with such intensity that Shane felt a warm glow flooding through her. “I’d like that,” she said.
Matt took a step toward her and her nerve failed. She turned away, opened a cabinet and got out a cast-iron skillet. Behind her, Matt laughed softly.
“Thus endeth the confession? Is this where I give you three Hail Mary’s and absolution for your sins?”
She busied herself with opening the package of chopped sirloin, getting the tortillas, onions, lettuce and green-chile sauce from the refrigerator, turning the burner on under the skillet.
Should she tell him the rest or shouldn’t she? May as well make a clean breast of it. Standing at the stove, she looked at him over her shoulder.
“Actually, there’s more.”
“More? I know you didn’t go through my wallet; I had it with me.”
“I asked my friend Beth to Google you.”
“You Googled me by proxy?”
Shane laughed. “I did. I wanted to know more about who I was dealing with.”
“ ‘Dealing with’? That sounds ominous.”
“Living next door to, then.”
“Okay,” he said, drawing the word out to a drawl. “What did your friend discover?”
Shattered Blue: A Romantic Thriller Page 8
