SKYLER HAWK: LONE BRAVE

by Sheri WhiteFeather

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  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

  Epilogue

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  Chapter 1

  ^ »

  A nice, quiet young man?

  Tall, dark and gorgeous would have been more accurate. Windy Hall gazed at the stranger standing on the other side of her front door. Edith Burke, her elderly landlady, had described him as a "nice, quiet young man." So upon Edith's recommendation, Windy had agreed, sight unseen, to share her two-bedroom rental with him, at least temporarily.

  Maybe she had mistaken this man for her new roommate. Maybe he was selling something or collecting for a charity. Yeah, right. Hunks of America. "You aren't Skyler Reed by any chance, are you?"

  "Sure am." He flashed a slightly crooked smile complete with a set of twin dimples. "But just Sky will do."

  Okay, no mistake. She extended her hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Windy."

  "Hello, Windy." As he clasped her hand, he spoke her name in a husky baritone. "The pleasure's mine."

  A pair of dark sunglasses and shoulder-length black hair gave Sky Reed a renegade appeal, clearly contradicting the boyish dimples. A white T-shirt clung to his chest, then tapered into the waistband of well-worn jeans, emphasizing a lean yet muscular physique. Copper skin and razor-edged cheekbones boasted a Native American heritage, whereas his towering height, flared nostrils and square jaw hinted at European ancestry. Since Edith had said he worked with horses, the Western drawl and dusty cowboy boots were no surprise.

  But the flirtatious grin, Windy decided, was anybody's guess. She withdrew her hand from his grasp and fingered the hem on her T-shirt. Even his handshake sizzled with sexuality. Lord, what had she gotten herself into?

  Act normal. Don't let his looks fluster you. It's a man's heart that counts. "Come in. I'll show you around so you can get settled."

  Sky pushed his sunglasses onto his head. "Thanks, but I'm not officially moving in until tonight. I'm on my way to work and thought I oughta stop by and meet you first."

  Windy started to respond, but upon seeing his eyes, found herself immobilized. And mute.

  Blue. His eyes were blue—clear and vibrant, sparkling against that bronzed complexion and shock of black hair. The exotic combination weakened her knees. But before they could buckle, she decided his cerulean gaze was just an illusion—tinted contacts. Mixed genetics or not, no one that dark had eyes that blue.

  His voice jarred her back to the subject at hand. "Edith said you had the extra house key."

  "Oh, of course. I'll get it for you."

  Sky followed her into the living room then scanned the surroundings.

  "It's still a little barren," Windy said. No knickknacks, no pictures on the walls, no stereo, no TV. "I wasn't robbed. I was vandalized. Most of my belongings were broken."

  The horrifying experience had left her feeling violated and afraid. "My last roommate moved out a week before it happened. We weren't getting along very well because she hadn't paid her share of the rent for two months, but the police said she was not involved. This wasn't a lone incident. Some other houses in the neighborhood were hit." All of them had females living there. Young, single women.

  "Yeah, Edith told me all about it. They won't come back. Not with me staying here."

  That's why she had agreed to allow a man to move in—a man her landlady trusted implicitly. And why wouldn't Edith trust Sky? According to the elderly woman, Sky had saved her life—pushed her to safety before a drunk driver could run her over. That made him special in Windy's eyes, too. Although Sky would only be in town for three months, she hoped by the time he moved out the vandals would have forgotten about her.

  "At least they didn't destroy my furniture. There are a few nicks in the coffee table, but other than that everything is okay."

  Sky nodded, and Windy wondered if he approved of her taste. She had decorated with inexpensive yet trendy furnishings: a black leather sofa, a matching recliner, a colorful area rug. She liked the idea of placing modern furniture in an old house, contrasting with the hardwood floors and paned windows, especially since they expressed their own brand of charm.

  "Since I travel so often, I don't have much to contribute," he said. "But I do have a TV and a stereo. I reckon that'll help some."

  Windy accepted his offer along with his goodhearted bad-boy smile. "Helps a lot. There's so much to replace. I still haven't restocked my dishes." The vandals had left the kitchen floor covered with broken glass and chips of her mother's china. The sight had evoked a torrent of tears. She considered her mother's hand-painted china a family heirloom. It had been a link to her childhood, to home-cooked meals and holidays gone by. Windy had lost her bright-spirited mother two years before, and the shattered dishes had snapped the last of her threadbare emotions. But thanks to Edith Burke, she had survived that awful day. Although Edith had lent a sympathetic ear, the older woman gently affirmed that Windy's mind hadn't been vandalized, and with or without the china, she still owned a lifetime of precious memories.

  Sky leaned against the empty entertainment center. "I really appreciate you letting me bunk here. Edith told me you were a sweet little filly. Pretty, too."

  Windy stifled a giggle. She knew the retired schoolteacher hadn't described her as a little filly. Sweet and pretty, maybe. A petite young lady, definitely. But being typecast didn't bother Windy. She considered herself attractive and likable. The girl next door, with a hair disorder: her stubborn, blond hair hung down her back in its usual, unmanageable waves.

  "Edith said nice things about you, too." However, the elderly woman had neglected to mention his charming grin. Or his sapphire gaze. As usual, Windy's curious nature took over. "I couldn't help but notice your eyes. Tinted lenses, right?"

  He chuckled, making her realize she wasn't the first to ask. "No, honey, they're mine. I wouldn't do this on purpose."

  Do what? Make himself even more handsome? Her knees threatened to buckle again. "My God, they're beautiful."

  "Thanks."

  Although he shrugged indifferently, she sensed embarrassment in the gesture. As an awkward vibration silenced them, she twisted a strand of her unruly mane. Skyler Reed with the sky-blue eyes. A striking name for a striking man. No illusion there.

  "The extra key is in the kitchen," she said, inviting him to follow her once again.

  The kitchen decor included a scarred wood table, limited counter space and a stainless-steel sink. Gingham curtains and a ladybug border added accents of red.

  Straining on her toes, she located the key on the top shelf of the pantry, then sent it clanking to the tiled floor.

  "Oh, shoot. I'll get—"

  "No, let me."

  They lunged at the same time and, amid the checkerboard gingham and fluttering ladybugs, they collided.

  Windy lost her balance from the force but, instead of landing in an ungraceful heap, Sky caught her in his arms.

  Windy's heart jolted, her pulse pounding as he brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, tossing her that slow, crooked smile.

  "Yes," she answered, her body warming. He smelled of male spice: leather, denim and musk. A forbidden attraction sizzled through her veins. Without thinking, she moved closer, brushing the heat of his skin. An erratic breath rushed through her lungs. Good God, what was happening to her?

  Sky's jaw turned taut. A muscle in his cheek twitched. He handled her gently, as though she were a kitten. He stroked her back, then slid his hands down her spine, chasing the chills he'd created. But an instant later he seemed confused, as if trying to remember how she had ended up in his arms.

  "The key." He dropped his hands and s
canned the floor. "Where's the key?"

  As casually as possible Windy eased away from him. "I don't know." She glanced down at the empty space below her feet. "It was right here."

  Avoiding eye contact, they both examined the gray-and-white pattern on the tile, the dust on his boots, tan laces on her shoes.

  "There!" Windy pointed to the speck of gold glittering beneath the refrigerator door.

  "I'll get it." He scooped up the key and jammed it into his pocket. "We must have … um … kicked it or something."

  She took a deep breath. Okay, so they'd stumbled into an accidental hug. No big deal. It was over. It wouldn't happen again. "Where do you work?" she asked, desperate for something to say.

  He braced his shoulder against the refrigerator. "Rodeo Knights."

  "The place with those Wild West acts?" She'd heard of it—a horse theater featuring matinee and evening shows with cowboys, Indians, and a barbecued meal. "What do you do?"

  "Ya know, trick riding. Some stunts."

  "Wow." So the man was a daredevil. "Edith just said you worked with horses, but she didn't specify how exactly."

  "Been a trick rider most of my life. The guy who owns the theater is an old friend. An old boss, really. We were a specialty act on the rodeo circuit until he opened Rodeo Knights."

  "How come your job isn't permanent?" When he raised an eyebrow at her question, she brought her landlady back into the conversation. "Edith said you'd only be in town for the summer."

  Hunching his shoulders, he hooked his thumbs into his front pockets. "Don't wanna stay. I mean, hell, California? Three months is about all I can take. Why Charlie picked L.A. to settle down in is beyond me."

  She assumed Charlie was his boss. "Burbank is the perfect town for a Western theater." Windy knew Rodeo Knights was located between the Media District and the Equestrian Center. "I hear it's doing well."

  "Yeah. Charlie thinks he's gonna con me into staying longer, but it'll never happen."

  Windy decided not to take offense, even if California was her home state. "I grew up here. Edith was my sixth-grade teacher. Sometimes it seems strange not to call her Mrs. Burke."

  He grinned. "Yeah, she told me you were one of her students. She also said you were a teacher now."

  Windy nodded. "Preschool."

  The grin faded. "You work with little kids?"

  Why the distressed look? Was he worried she might bring a toddler home? "Don't you like small children?"

  His nonchalant shrug mocked the twitch in his jaw. "Don't know any. Charlie has a daughter, but she's older."

  Did he like Charlie's daughter? "How old?"

  "Twelve."

  She assumed from his simple response that he wasn't interested in offering more information than he'd been asked to give. Windy didn't mind expressing herself. She could turn small talk into important issues. "I love children, all ages, but teaching preschool isn't my lifelong goal. I'm a psychology major. Someday I intend to make a difference. There are too many dysfunctional families out there."

  Although Sky smiled once again, his sparkling gaze had dimmed considerably. "That's great that you're following your dream, but this conversation's gettin' too deep for me. I'm a single guy. What do I know about dysfunctional families?"

  Judging from the forced smile, plenty, she thought. The analyst in Windy snapped to attention. Taking a step back, she studied his features, then let her gaze assess his body language: a vacant stare; a twitching jaw; long, tanned fingers opening then closing into tight fists. Broad-shouldered yet vulnerable, with a smile far too lonely. Even his dimples were hiding.

  Maybe the traveling cowboy wasn't a drifter. Maybe he was running from his past. Running and afraid to look back. Suddenly his unlikely alliance with their elderly landlady puzzled her. How did the older woman and the dashing young cowboy come to be friends? And why were they together when that drunk driver skidded onto the sidewalk? Where were they going?

  "How did you and Edith meet?" she asked.

  Sky pulled the house key from his pocket, ran his fingers over the serrated edge. "Didn't she tell you about the accident?"

  "You mean that's how you met? You were strangers on the same street corner? I assumed you were friends already."

  "Really?" He shifted his booted feet, jammed the key back into his pocket. "And here I'd thought Edith told you about—" He swallowed and glanced away. "That car hit me."

  Windy pressed a hand to her heart. "Oh, my God. Were you hurt?"

  "Yeah … I…" He tugged a hand through his hair, then met her concerned gaze with a wary one. "I'd really prefer you talk to Edith about this. Besides, I should check out my room and get going. Charlie's expecting me."

  Windy didn't know how to respond, or how to feel. Unfortunately, she hadn't asked Edith about Sky's background. Although she had found herself impressed by his heroic deed, Edith's description of the "nice young man," had made him sound boring. Average. Yet the man standing across from her was far from ordinary. Not only had he saved someone's life, he'd been injured in the process.

  She smiled, hoping to put him at ease. Apparently he wasn't comfortable discussing the accident.

  "Your room is the second door on the right. The bed was delivered yesterday." Windy knew Sky had called ahead and asked their landlady to rent him some furnishings—the landlady Windy intended to call for some answers.

  * * *

  Sky decided not to go home after work. At least not right away. But unfortunately, the loud, crowded bar was no consolation. He couldn't stop thinking about his new roommate.

  He reached for his jacket, then fingered the cigarettes in the front pocket. He'd quit smoking months ago, but keeping a pack handy kept the cravings in check. Sky knew he had an I - always - want - what - I - can't - have personality. So with that in mind, he'd made sure forbidden pleasures weren't too much of a temptation. And that's why he had agreed to bunk with a woman—a pretty one. Meaningless sex was off-limits, too.

  "Can I get you another drink?" The cocktail waitress smiled. Leggy and lean in a short red dress, she tossed a dark wave of hair over her shoulder.

  He glanced down at the glass bottle. How long had he been nursing the same beer? "No, thanks, I'm fine," he answered, conscious of the brunette's body language. There was a day when he would have responded to her subtle flirtation. She was attractive, in a hard sort of way. Things like that never mattered much in the past. He would have taken her home, anyway. Another nameless, faceless woman. Another loveless sexual encounter. Loneliness.

  What the hell was he doing? Trying to cool the heat he felt for his new roommate with a drink? After ten minutes they had ended up in each other's arms. But instead of letting Windy go, he'd caressed her, held her close and enjoyed the feel of her slender body, sensual scent of her perfume. The woman smelled like his favorite dessert—her vanilla scent reminding him of ice cream melting over smooth, warm flesh.

  Boy, some hero he turned out to be. Edith had asked him to protect Windy from vandals, not seduce her in the kitchen. Sky had expected her to be cute, but not sexy and innocent wrapped in one curvaceous little package. Although he used to bed a variety of women, he favored the tall sultry type, so Edith's description of his future roommate seemed like a mild temptation. Petite and pretty, the old lady had said.

  Try angelic. Sweet. Sensual. A breezy smile, honest eyes and long, stormy blond hair. The name Windy suited her well. Just thinking about her played havoc with his already frazzled emotions. Not to mention his eight-month bout with celibacy.

  Sky tasted the imported beer and winced. Practically warm now. He motioned to the waitress, then slid the offending bottle away. "I think I will take a fresh one, honey."

  "Sure." As she reached for the half-empty bottle, her bodice brushed his shoulder. His mind on another woman, he ignored the contact.

  What would Windy think of him if she knew the truth? Would she have welcomed him into her home? Sky shook his head, an agitated frown furrowing his brow. Not likely.
Sure, Edith would fill her in about the accident, but the old lady would make him sound like a modern-day Sir Lancelot rather than a no-good cowboy with amnesia—a man who wasn't even sure about his own last name. Then again, Edith didn't know the whole story. She didn't know about things he actually did remember.

  Within five minutes the leggy brunette returned. "Here you go." She set the beer on the table, took his money, thanked him for the tip, then appeared to notice his frown. "I've never seen you here before," she said. "Are you new in town?"

  "Yeah." He glanced at the lime wedge floating in his beer. "I'm movin' in with a girl."

  "She the reason you're scowling?"

  He laughed. Perceptive woman. "Yeah."

  Apparently not the type to go after someone else's man, she offered some advice, "Maybe you should go home and apologize."

  Sky leaned back in the chair. The waitress thought he had a live-in lover. That would be the day. "What makes you think I owe her an apology?"

  She tapped a candy-apple-red fingernail on the table. "You look guilty."

  Guilty. Hell, no woman ever made him guilty. He didn't stick around long enough to feel anything. "Whatever," he said, wanting the cocktail waitress to leave him alone.

  Okay, maybe he did feel guilty, but it wasn't Windy he owed an apology to. It was that little boy who deserved an explanation—the little boy crowding his jumbled memories. His son. The child Skyler had wronged.

  * * *

  Windy lounged in bed, phone in hand, dialing Edith's number. Although this was her third attempt to reach the woman, leaving a message wasn't possible. Edith Burke didn't own an answering machine.

  When a familiar voice answered, she pitched forward. "Hi, Edith. This is Windy. I'm sorry for calling so late, but I couldn't reach you earlier."

  "Oh, hello, dear. I was at the homeless shelter. You know I volunteer every Friday."

  Suddenly guilty, Windy took a bite of the takeout meal she'd ordered. While the elderly woman had spent her evening feeding the homeless, Windy had painted her toenails and nibbled on a carton of Chinese stir-fry. "I met Sky. He's moving in tonight."