by Angel Smits
He laughed softly. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Sorry.”
“Are you going to fill me in on what happened?”
He was silent for so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer her. “I couldn’t sleep so I went out for a walk. I wasn’t really paying attention where I was going.”
“How far did you go?”
“Not far, but Dove’s Hollow doesn’t extend too far west.”
“How far does it go?”
“About half a mile. Then it butts up against the back of my estate.”
“What?” She stepped back and leaned around to look at him. Despite the shadows, she could see the pain on his features and it tore at her heart. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No.” He shook his head, his hair falling down to hide his face. “Is it still bleeding?”
“A little. We need to bandage it.”
“I don’t think we have anything.”
“You need stitches. Why don’t we run over to the emergency room? It won’t take long.”
“No!” He stood up straight, grimacing with pain. The only thing keeping her from looking to see if he’d started bleeding again was his anger. “I was fine walking around, I could control the shift. But the instant I stepped over the line, it hit me. I couldn’t stop the change.”
Relief shot through her and she smiled at him. He hadn’t lied to her. They were safe here. “Okay. We’ll stay here, but I’m calling for some help. You have to have that looked at.”
He didn’t argue, which was probably as close as he’d get to agreeing.
Carrying the flashlight, she followed him out to the living room. His steps were slow, but at least he was able to walk under his own power. He turned a metal chair around and sat leaning his arms across the back.
The room had cooled, and she fed the dying flames with a fresh log. The dry wood caught quickly, and soon the room was bright enough that she could see his wound better. It wasn’t as deep as she’d thought, though it still looked painful. “Did you say something about barbed wire?”
“Yeah. I guess horses need to know about those things. I hadn’t a clue.”
“So, you do know what’s going on after you’ve changed? Your thoughts are the same?”
“Sort of. They’re simpler. It’s hard to explain. I remember seeing you outside. What were you doing out there, anyway?”
“Looking for you.” She settled onto the couch and watched him. “Don’t change the subject. You still think like David when you’re in a different form? Is that why you came back here?”
He nodded. “I thought if I could, I’d change back sooner.
His logic made sense. “Okay. I’m going to call Faith and see if she can bring us some bandages.”
He frowned. “What’ll you tell her?”
She hesitated. “Enough. She knows about my abilities. She won’t be as suspicious as other people might be.”
He nodded and turned to stare into the fire. Clarissa paused to watch him as she called Faith and woke her out of a sound sleep. She only briefly wondered what excuse Faith would give her husband for running out in the middle of the night. She knew curiosity, if nothing else, would ensure Faith came to help them.
DAVID SAT SILENT as Clarissa and the pretty redhead who’d just arrived discussed his injury. He felt like a specimen under a microscope as they verbally dissected him.
He shivered at the thought. If anyone found out about his changing, the medical community would want to dissect him for real. With the shiver came a spasm of pain. Damn, it stung. The cut wasn’t as severe as he’d first thought, but now that his skin had warmed, the stinging had returned.
“So, am I going to live?” he asked, gritting his teeth, more from frustration than pain.
“I’m sorry.” Clarissa quickly moved to his side, and he resisted the urge to touch her and smile. That would kill her concern, and he was definitely enjoying her sweet ministrations. Despite the pain, the touch of her hands on his skin tormented him. It hadn’t been that long ago that they’d made love, and his body was telling him he wanted her again in no uncertain terms.
Why do I still need her so badly? With an effort, he shut those thoughts off. Not good. Not good at all. Her dream hadn’t come true last time. He wasn’t sure if he could guarantee it again.
“I brought antibiotic cream,” Faith said. She rummaged around in the sack she’d brought and handed a wicked-looking tube to Clarissa.
“That should help.” Clarissa leaned over his shoulder, her hair brushing his bare skin.
He gritted his teeth again, sure she was trying to drive him crazy.
“This might hurt.” She moved back, and he heard her rummaging through the bag.
At least the pain took his mind off her nearness. He closed his eyes and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She’d think he was dying from the wound, when it was actually desire that threatened his sanity.
He felt the soft edge of cotton rub along the cut. He flinched and heard her gasp. He vowed to keep his reactions to himself after that, even when she gave up on the cotton and used her fingertips to smooth out the cream. It almost felt like her touch when she’d been in his arms and he’d been inside her.
“Hell,” he cursed and abruptly stood up. “Just put the bandages on.”
“I will,” she crooned. “Just sit back down.”
Thankfully, she stopped touching him, and he heard the sound of tearing paper. The two women had decided on the butterfly bandages so he presumed that was what she opened. He sat rigid as her hands returned to his skin, her touch soft and gentle as she put the bandages in place.
“Finished,” she whispered.
He didn’t turn around to look at her. He didn’t dare. Instead, he stood and strode to his bag to pull out a clean shirt. He struggled to put it on without pulling the bandages loose.
Finally dressed again, he turned around to face them as he sat carefully on the edge of the bed.
The fire was bright and lit the room. Clarissa finished cleaning up, and Faith sat in the wingback chair. After a long minute, she fidgeted, her feet crossing and uncrossing.
Still no one spoke. The fire popped, and Clarissa dropped the bag. Its plastic rustle sounded incredibly loud in the following silence.
Faith broke the silence first. “Do I get to know what’s going on, or should I just let my imagination fill in the blanks?”
Clarissa groaned. She turned and looked at him before she spoke. “You know who David is, don’t you?”
Faith nodded. “I know.”
The silence returned.
“And Clarissa says you know about her visions,” he said.
Again, she nodded. “Yeah. Including the one about you getting shot. That’s not a bullet wound, so what happened?”
Her gaze was direct, and David sighed, feeling the tendrils of exhaustion reach out for him. He didn’t have the time or the inclination for all this. He didn’t owe her anything; he didn’t owe anyone explanations. He’d stopped doing that years ago. Clarissa, on the other hand . . . He looked over at her again and his heart twisted.
“Before you say anything, you should know Faith is a reporter.” Clarissa’s words sounded rushed, and she rolled up the bag slowly, carefully, as if to stretch out time. She moved over to stand by the fire. “But I trust her.”
He looked hard at Faith who returned his stare. “Should I? The press doesn’t exactly trust me.”
“I don’t necessarily agree or disagree with my colleagues. Clarissa is my friend.”
He noted that she didn’t extend that friendship to him. He knew he had to explain something, but he had to be careful. “On the record, or off?”
“Off,” she assured him. “This is personal. I know what the press did to Clarissa.”
> “You do?” Clarissa turned suddenly, clearly surprised.
“The whole country heard about those little boys. I know what it must have been like. I read the wire stories of your trial. I work with those sharks, remember?”
Clarissa turned away, and David fought the urge to go to her. She’d been through too much. Damn but he couldn’t lie to her and say he’d protect her, but . . . he wanted to. Even if he didn’t say the words, his actions would imply it. He knew he couldn’t protect her when what he needed to protect her from the most was himself.
“I didn’t think anyone out here knew about that,” Clarissa whispered.
“Not many people do anymore,” Faith said, her eyes meeting David’s as if to ask him for help.
“No, they’ve been too busy worrying about my family’s dirty laundry.” He pointed the finger at himself to take some of the pressure off her.
“Unfortunately, he’s right.” Faith stood and walked over to her friend. “Look, I don’t need to know anything. I just want to know you’re safe.” Her gaze returned to David, warning him. “And you’ll stay that way.”
“I’ll be fine here.” Clarissa smiled and hugged her friend. “It’s late. Thank you for your help. I promise I’ll keep in touch.”
“I’ll hold you to that. If you don’t, I’ll . . . I’ll write something scandalous and sell it to the tabloids.” Even to his unfamiliar ears the threat sounded like a friendly tease.
“You can’t write fiction,” Clarissa teased back and led Faith to the door. “Go home and get some sleep. I’m sure Cord’s wondering where you are. I’ll call you. Soon. I promise.”
Faith hesitated, as if deciding if she really should leave. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s sound asleep, but you have a point.” Faith grabbed her purse and then hastily left.
David admired their friendship. It was comfortable and easy, something he’d never had with anyone. Not with his family. Never with a friend. Certainly not in his marriage.
Keeping her back to him, Clarissa stood in the open doorway until Faith’s taillights vanished around the block. “You can trust her. She won’t say anything to anyone.”
“If you trust her, I do.” It was hard for him to say it, but once the words were out, he realized they were true.
She turned to face him then, staring with eyes that looked suspiciously damp. “Thank you.”
“For what? Putting you in danger? Bringing you close to insanity? Taking away your life?
She laughed and shook her head. “You really don’t know, do you?”
He shook his head. She walked toward him, stopping just inches away from him. “Since my trial, no one has trusted me or my judgment.” Her voice shook and she took a deep breath. “You came to me when you were hurt. You let me take care of you. Now you believe me about Faith. Thank you.”
She’d sucker-punched him. He stared at her, shocked by the power she had over him. The intensity of what he felt for her surprised him. He’d shut his emotions off for so long, and now they all rushed forward, swamping him. He couldn’t sort them out. All he knew was the taste of her lips as she leaned close and kissed him.
He pulled her into his arms, barely noticing how carefully she touched him. The pain faded, and he held her tight, never wanting to let her go.
And knowing he had to.
But not quite yet.
Thirteen
IT WAS JUST AFTER nine thirty a.m. when Clarissa opened her eyes. Sunlight fell across the room, giving her a view of the big-faced alarm clock beside the bed. She hadn’t noticed it last night, but then looking around the house hadn’t been a top priority since she’d gotten here.
She stretched and snuggled back under the covers. It felt good to be lazy. A vaguely familiar clicking sound broke the quiet, and she opened her eyes again.
David sat on the couch, his back bare except for the bandages she’d applied last night. Broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist—a waist she distinctly remembered circling with her legs last night.
Heat shot through her body, and she felt her cheeks warm. She turned her face into the pillow. What had he done to her? She smiled at the images that flashed through her mind. Maybe a better question was, what hadn’t he done?
This time her whole body blushed.
The clicking continued, bringing reality back. He must have a laptop with him. She wondered briefly what he was doing, and then decided she didn’t care right now. She nearly laughed out loud at the carefree person she’d become overnight.
The scent of coffee wafted in the air, teasing and taunting her. She knew she drank too much of it, but she loved it. Besides there were worse vices. She thought she could probably become just as addicted to David’s lovemaking. She swallowed the laugh and buried her face in the covers. She’d never felt so alive.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” David’s soft, warm voice reached out.
She peeked out from under the covers. Her heart skipped a beat or two at the sight of him standing at the end of the bed, leaning on the tall brass footboard. “Hi yourself.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine. How about you?” She struggled to sit up, fighting a growing sense of unease. What would he think about her, about her wantonness last night, in the light of day? “How’s your back?”
“No problems.” He failed to hide a smile behind his coffee cup as he took a sip. “I’ll recover. You and Faith did a great job. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She sniffed in a not so subtle hint. “Do I smell coffee?”
“Yeah. I’ll get you some.” The soft sound of his chuckle remained in the room after he’d disappeared into the kitchen. While he was gone, she grabbed his discarded T-shirt from the end of the bed and slipped it on. The neckline gaped and it nearly engulfed her, but at least she was covered.
David came back with a steaming cup in each hand. “I went over to Dove’s Place before you woke up,” he explained as he handed her the cup.
She sipped it tentatively, expecting the bitter brew she’d had there before, but realized that the person who had made it knew what they were doing. She sighed in contentment after the first swallow and looked up. David was watching her, his eyes dark with desire. A responding warmth settled deep in her chest—and other places, too. Perhaps iced coffee would have been a better choice.
“What are you working on?” She tilted her head toward the computer, hoping, reluctantly, to break the spell he’d cast over her.
After a brief hesitation, David went back to the couch. “Same old thing.” He turned to face her again. “That first day in my office, you said I’d never find the embezzler. What did you mean by that?”
She thought a minute, taking several sips of her coffee as she tried to figure it out. Where had it come from? It seemed so long ago, and the thoughts were so vague compared to the visions. “I’m not sure.” When he frowned in response, she said, “The thought just popped into my head complete, almost as if someone had put it there.”
“Damn.” He snapped the computer screen down. “Rachel.”
“What does she have to do with that?”
David leaned back and drank before speaking. “All the missing money is coming out of her accounts.”
“That’s strange. Why don’t you just close her accounts? You can do that, can’t you?”
“I can, but—” He paused. “I hate the idea of anyone getting away with it.”
His words said a lot about him. Clarissa filed away that knowledge, mentally applauding his sense of justice.
Realizing his feelings for Rachel must have been strong, Clarissa swallowed back a sudden pang of jealousy. No one had ever loved her enough to care about her after she died. She wanted to know more about a woman who could attract him so strongly. “Maybe you should tell me about Rachel,” she said softly, moving to sit on
the couch and faced him.
“What do you mean?”
“How did you meet her?”
He paused as if letting the memories sift in slowly. “In college. My aunt and uncle took an automatic dislike to her, just because of where she came from.” He looked around at the small house they were sitting in. “They thought she was a gold digger.”
He fell silent and she waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, she asked softly, “And was she?”
“Yes and no. She didn’t want money. I guess you could say she was an emotional gold digger.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Rachel was beautiful.” His voice softened. “Growing up she was the perfect child, beautiful and adored. In the outside world, anyway. At home, her mother was distant and her father . . . ” David paused again. “I think he’d be considered abusive by today’s standards. He was a harsh, demanding man. I think Rachel wanted to bring that outside adoration into her home life. She thought she’d found it in me.”
The sunlight seemed to dim just a little as his voice softened.
“You loved her,” she said, not really needing to.
“I guess in a way, yes. I look back now—” He set his empty cup on the table beside the computer. “We were too young, both looking to fill empty places in our lives with each other. Toward the end we both knew it wasn’t working. She changed. I probably did, too.”
“How?”
He thought for a moment before answering. “The cancer scared her. Scared us both. She flew into jealous rages, accused me of wanting her dead.” Sadness filled his face, and Clarissa felt her throat tighten in response to his pain.
“I didn’t want her to die, though at that point I did wish she was out of my life.”
“Did she know that?”
“I think so.” His eyes grew distant and troubled. “We kept up appearances, but the passion was gone long before she died.”
He looked at Clarissa then, and the fire in his eyes sent familiar heat through her body. “She never looked as good in my shirt as you do right now.”
Clarissa blushed and felt the warmth stain her cheeks. She looked away from him and sipped her now cold coffee.
