by Ruth Wind
He grinned down at her. "Have a pretty good time, did you?"
"Uh, yeah." She raised a hand and brushed hair over his shoulder. "You're amazing."
"It's you. Or us." He realized how heavy he must be and made a move to slide sideways. "Or something."
She sighed as he left her, making a sound of soft regret. "Come on back now, anytime," she said, and laughed, putting her head against his arm. It was a giggle, a sound of pure, unfettered pleasure.
"You sound pretty happy."
"Wonder why?" She put her finger on her cheek, looking exaggeratedly vacuous. "I've only just had great sex with the sexiest guy I've run into in years—"
"Only years? Is there someone better than me out there?"
"Okay, ever. And I slept like a baby, and it snowed a lot less than I thought it was going to."
"Really?" He flipped the covers off his body and jumped up to peek outside. The snow was spitting a little, but he could tell from long experience that it wouldn't be long until the sun burst through the clouds. Snow had definitely piled up in corners, but it was more the sort of accumulation that came of wind. "It should be gone by suppertime, I'm guessing. Maybe sooner."
She'd propped herself up on the pillow and inclined her head, frankly admiring him. "You, Mr. Mad Calf, have very, very nice legs."
He grinned, and turned around. "Yeah? Anything else you like?"
Her eyes looked suddenly smoky, and there was the faintest betraying flare of her nostrils. "Everything," she said distinctly.
It was cold. He dived back into the bed. And they did it all again.
* * *
After a long, luxurious, hot shower, Juliet found Josh in the kitchen, watching the news on a tiny white television set. The scent of bacon frying and coffee brewing perfumed the air, and there were agreeable piles of food lined up on the counter—eggs, cheese, apples.
But for a moment, Juliet was seized with a sense of surprise, looking at Josh himself. At his long, powerful legs, his graceful hands, the thick black fall of his hair.
She'd taken a new lover! How amazing!
And what a lover—every cell in her body felt properly tended for the first time in a very long time, as if every inch of her had been taken out, washed, dried, brushed, and put back into place.
Her mind, her heart, all those places that ordinarily sent out objections and got so noisily involved in these things, were strangely silent. "What's your pleasure, my lady?" Josh asked, gesturing toward the supplies on the counter. "Omelets with cheese, bacon on the side?"
She grinned. "A girl could get used to this."
He wiggled his dark brows. "Promises, promises."
"What are you having?"
"Omelets, bacon on the side, coffee."
"I'll have that, too. Do you want some help?"
He gave her an ironic grin. "You just sit there and look purty, little lady." From the cupboard, he took a cup and poured coffee into it. "Milk's right there."
On the television, a newscaster showed the ski slopes in Aspen, and a shot of a beautiful blond woman. "Josh, look! It's Christie Lundgren. On the news. Turn it up!"
The newscaster said, "—Lundgren was said to be in a heated relationship with the artist who was murdered two days ago in the glitzy ski resort town of Mariposa."
Josh pointed to a banner below the picture. "It's an old picture of Christie," he said. The banner read photo January 2004.
"Prominent Aspen art dealer Renate Franz has issued a statement that her collection of Tsosie art will be on display through the end of the month, when she will hold an auction."
A photo of an elegant, tiny woman with a wealth of dark hair stepped in front of the camera, visibly upset. "We're all grieving," she said. "The world has lost a major talent and a man we will mourn for years to come."
Josh said, "German accent, you think? How old do you think she is?"
"Thirties?" At first, Juliet didn't make the connection. Then she turned back to the screen. "Ah! Do you think she might be the one Claude was with last summer? An art dealer?"
Josh frowned. "I think she had more than art on her mind."
On the television, the newscaster wrapped it up. "Investigations are continuing, but Tsosie's wife, Desdemona Rousseau, has been arrested."
Juliet's stomach flipped. She wondered if her sister Miranda had seen this story. "I've gotta call my other sister after breakfast."
"We need to go talk to Desi, too, make sure she's all right."
Spiraling tension rose through Juliet's chest, tightening and compressing her lungs. Breathe, she told herself. They would get to the bottom of this. She stood up, shaking off the anxiety, and peered out the window. There were still heavy clouds overhead, but the snow had stopped falling. The tiny pellets, the rain-snow, had not particularly piled up, though the wind had blown it into drifts here and there.
It was plenty for the dogs, however. They pranced around in it happily, dancing, dodging, almost laughing aloud. "The dogs look very happy," she commented and watched them as they played with each other, bowing down, throwing up tufts of snow, getting covered with it. "I was never much of a dog person before Desi got so wrapped up with the wolves, but there's really nothing like them."
At the stove, Josh turned slightly to indicate he was listening. "What do you mean?"
She lifted a shoulder. "They're so … fluffy and happy and devoted." Faithful, she wanted to add, but didn't, afraid it would be too leading. In the yard Crazy Horse dashed away from a charge by Tecumseh and she could almost hear him laughing. "They make me feel protective and protected."
"I love dogs. When I was in the army, it was impossible to keep them and it was terrible. I missed having a dog every single day." He smiled. "I love it that I can leave for five minutes, come back, and there's Jack, at the door, dancing around like I've been gone for three days."
"I'll have to get a dog when I go back to Hollywood."
His head jerked up. "Are you going back?"
"I have a life there." Used to have a job. "A condo."
"Right. I get it."
Juliet looked at him. "You sound angry." She had considered not going back, but what did his reaction mean? Did she want to get so involved?
"Sorry." He focused on the eggs, very gently flipping them over their filling. "I'm not. I just have to remember not to let Glory get too attached."
Juliet crossed her arms and sat down. "Maybe you should drive me back up the mountain before she comes home."
He brought the pan over to the island and slid the omelet out on to the plate. "Do you have any idea how much snow is up there right now? We'll go get her this afternoon, but you're not going up that mountain for at least a day."
Juliet looked at the steaming eggs and her stomach growled. He passed her a plate of bacon. "So what do you want to do?"
"Just don't give her any false promises," Josh said. "That's all."
The back of his neck looked stiff and she wondered if she'd been rash to sleep with him. "I didn't mean to lead you on, Josh. I thought we were grown-ups here … I…" She looked at him, feeling both rejected and pleased at his jealousy and pierced at the possibility that—what? He wanted her here? "I'm sorry."
With a thud, he put the pan down and came around the island. With a sexy, vulnerable forcefulness, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. "No, I'm sorry," he said. "I'm being an ass. It's not your fault that Glory thinks you're a princess. It's not your fault her mother let her down. It's not your fault that I wish you lived here instead of in California."
She put her hands on his, holding him there, aware of a thudding something in her chest—some strong, unacknowledged emotion. "Josh, I'm pretty much a mess right now. I lost my job. I haven't been able to do anything much for a year. I don't know that I'm ever going to be any better, okay?" A wave of that volatility she'd felt last night struck the back of her eyes and she blinked hard. "Please don't make me cry again."
He kissed her. First her mouth, then her eyelids
, one at a time. He raised his head and looked at her. "Can I tell you, Juliet, that you really are getting under my skin? I'm not used to it."
"Me, either."
"You are one of the prettiest women I've ever met."
She smiled. "You can tell me that anytime."
"And I love your mouth. And your breasts. And your eyes."
"All those things."
His dark eyes looked serious. "You also have a lot of heart. Like a lion." He touched her nose lightly. "And I've been known to be just a little bit … intense."
She captured his wrists before he could pull away. "You have given me more peace in twenty-four hours than I've had in many, many months, Josh. I just don't know myself well enough to know what any of it means today. Is that okay?"
"It's fine." He let her go and went back to his side of the island. "Let's eat, then I'll find out where Glory is and maybe we can go snowshoeing or for a walk, depending on how the paths look. What do you think?"
"Excellent," she said, and cut a generous piece of omelet. "Not, however, as perfect as this."
"Don't suppose you brought any hiking boots down with you."
Juliet tossed her hair over her shoulder. "No. But I have a credit card. I bet there are hiking boots for sale somewhere in this town."
"You'll pay with blisters if you do that."
She shrugged. "We don't have to hike to Timbuktu, do we? I mean, I like hiking, but it's been awhile, and maybe just a little hike would be fun."
He grinned. "That's a possibility." He, too, busied himself with the food. "I'm starving."
Juliet laughed, and the sound was as much like a giggle as she ever gave. "We did have quite a workout."
His eyes crinkled up. "So we did." He took a big gulp of milk. "Do you think you could curl her hair?"
"Glory's?" Juliet asked. "I don't know. What do you have around here?"
"Nothing I know of."
"We can always use rags. I know how to do rag curls. Or we can buy curlers in town."
He nodded. "The other thing we need to talk about is what to do about Desi's bail."
"Setting it? Or getting her out?"
"Paying it once it's set."
"The land is worth a fortune," Juliet said. "But I think she'll protest using it as a guarantee for bail."
"Might not have any choice."
Juliet thought about it for a few minutes. Thought of everything Desi had gone through to secure that land, hold on to it—and not for herself, but for her wolves. "No," she said. "If we have to, I'll use my condo. It's worth plenty."
Josh put his knife and fork neatly over his plate, tines down. "What about your parents? Sounds like they have a few resources."
"They do, but they don't particularly like to dip into them. They'd be horrified over the scandal attached to this."
"Who are these people?" Josh asked in an irritable tone. "You and Desi both make them sound like monsters, but they raised both of you. You're not monsters, either one of you."
Juliet nodded. "I know. There's the paradox. I can't explain it, either." She touched her napkin to her lips. "My mother is an old-fashioned WASP, a blue blood back to who knows when. Trouble is, she had this amazing brain for physics and she thought she should pursue it, and instead of marrying some Massachusetts-blooded stallion, she met my father, a poet, who swept her off her feet."
"That's romantic."
Juliet shrugged. "I guess. They think it is." He looked so bewildered she shook her head. "They're great at being scientist and poet and grand lovers to each other. They were just rotten at being parents."
Josh crossed his arms, his beautiful mouth taut with skepticism. "Rotten how? Did you have to spend too much time with the nanny or something?"
"Are you being a snob, Mr. Mad Calf? If you have your physical needs covered, everything's all right? Is that it?"
"I made you mad, I'm sorry." He took a breath. "But to be honest, it is kind of a stretch to believe that you suffered much."
"Honestly, I didn't suffer as much as the other two. Not sure why. I was always such an innocent, you know, that maybe some of it just didn't get through." She met his eyes. "But for example, my mother does not know I was raped, and she won't. She'd hate to know about it, and it would end up being my fault somehow, and I'm just not going to go through all that."
"You can borrow my mom if you want."
"I just might." With a sigh, she said, "If you ever meet them, you'll see what I mean."
"I believe you."
"No, you don't," she said. "But that's okay."
* * *
Chapter 13
« ^ »
The morning was pristine, and once they moved out of Josh's pocket neighborhood, there wasn't as much snow as it had first appeared. In town, business seemed a little slower than normal, but the ReNew café and the pancake house were open for business, shoveling snow off the sidewalk into the street, where a fast-moving stream of melting snow ran down the gutter.
"It's weird how fast the weather changes around here," Juliet said. "Blizzard to sunshine in five seconds flat." She kicked the slush on the sidewalk. "How long will it take to melt?"
"A day at these temperatures," he said. "But it won't be long until there's snow everywhere, all winter." He gestured to an outdoor wear store. "Let's get you some boots, huh? We'll hike up to the shrine. It should be fairly accessible."
"The shrine?"
"Our Lady of the Butterflies. She's famous. You don't know about her?"
Juliet nodded. "I know. We used to come to church camp here." That was something Juliet's father had won, after all. "Despite my mother's wish to turn us all into good little Presbyterians, my father was a French Catholic, and he insisted that his daughters would all be raised in the church."
"Have you ever been up there?"
"No." Warily she shook her head. "But there's so much to do. How do we get money for bail? What about—"
"Shh." Josh smiled, very slowly. "It's a perfect hike. We'll take an offering for Desi." He moved closer and took her hand. "For you, too, if you want."
Juliet looked up at him, at the breadth of his shoulders, the kindness of his deer eyes, and felt a squeezing in her heart that was both wonder and fear, hope and despair. "We'll see," she said. And although she wanted, in some ways, to leave her hand cradled in his, something bigger made her pull away. "Let's get my shoes. You can help me pick out good socks."
"All right."
She saw that she'd wounded him a little, but better a little wound now than a bigger one later. Despite her pleasure in his company, and her very real passion for him, there wasn't anything really alive inside of her to share, and he was right: he had a little girl to think about.
Juliet chose a pair of sturdy, lace-up boots that felt both warm and comfortable, along with thick woolen socks and something Josh called gaiters, a sort of thick nylon sock to tie over her jeans as they walked, to keep the snow out. Since she was there anyway, she also bought a good coat, much warmer than the one she'd brought from California. Who knew coats came with so many features? she thought happily, snuggling into it. Josh asked the girl in the shop if they could leave the old things there and pick them up on the way back, and she tucked them beneath the counter.
The jail was only a few blocks away, and they walked there after the trip to the store. The sergeant in control was pretty lax and let Desi come out to the table without handcuffs. Juliet gave her a paper cup of coffee she'd brought from the local coffee shop, flavored with vanilla and raw sugar, just the way Desi liked it.
Desi was not particularly open to being cheered up, however. She looked dull and distant, her face swollen as if she'd slept hard after crying hard. Her hair was in a braid, slightly mussed at the top. "You have to get me out of here," she said, and it seemed her voice came from somewhere deep in her chest. "I get panicky in that cell."
"There's no arraignment until Wednesday," Juliet said.
Desi narrowed her eyes. "That's not soon enough. Y
ou need to go see Judge Behrens, out on the County Line road and tell him what's going on. He'll get me out faster than that."
"Okay. We'll call him right away." Juliet touched her sister's hand. "Don't panic, honey. Just let it go. Everything is going to be okay."
"Is it?" Desi asked in a dull tone. She raised her eyes. "I didn't kill him, Juliet. I might have wanted to bash his head in. I might have been angry with him. But I wouldn't have shot him."
Juliet felt the beat of her hesitation went one half second too long. "I know," she said.
Desi raised her head and looked at her. She didn't say anything, just looked.
"I'm sorry," Juliet said. "I'm just worried about you."
Josh put his big hand on Desi's shoulder. "We'll get you out of here, babe."
She put her hand on top of his, looking worn and weary. "I know."
From outside came the sound of chanting. All three looked up and then the sergeant was in the room. "Sorry, you're gonna have to go back to your cell now."
"What's going on?" Desi lifted her chin. "Juliet, look and see."
But Josh was already across the room. "Protest," he said, "but I can't tell who or what. I think it has to do with you."
The sergeant nudged Desi along. "Come on," he said. "You need to get back in your cell before I get my ass in a sling."
"Yessir." She looked over her shoulder at Josh and Juliet. "Judge Behrens," she said. "Remember."
"We're on it," Josh said. "Don't worry."
* * *
Outside, it was plain that the anti-Desi contingent had organized the rally. A small knot of mostly women, led by a tall brunette in a yellow jacket, stood by the jail steps. Remember Claude Tsosie, a placard read. It showed a picture of Claude when he was a bit younger, and a reproduction of one of his paintings.
"What, he's a political cause now?" Juliet hissed to Josh as they came down the steps. She slowed, feeling an argument on her lips, but Josh took her arm.
He said gruffly, "Keep moving. The last thing we want is more attention brought to this whole thing."
Juliet glared at the brunette as they walked by, and the woman glared back, but they left it at that. "Let's make the phone call," Josh said, and stopped at a pay phone with a phone book on a metal cable. A tiny phone book, Juliet noticed. It was about the size of her address book back home.
