by Leigh Tudor
He had to remind himself that she was also mysterious and secretive. And probably the sexiest woman he’d ever met. A deadly combination to which he and Ally had fallen victim before. With Ally suffering the majority of the consequences.
“We have something in common, you and I,” she whispered. “Both our parents died in car accidents.”
“Not common ground I would wish on anybody.”
She nodded, her eyes moving along the wall. “Sometimes, when I think about them, I’m not sure if my memories are accurate, or just cloudy, wishful feelings from the past.”
“I believe that’s true of most people who lose loved ones tragically. They forget the bad times and choose to exaggerate the good.”
Even in his own ears, he sounded matter-of-fact and devoid of feeling. An asshole. But he didn’t like where the conversation was going. His mission was to learn more about her, not to divulge too much of himself.
“What do you remember?” she asked, pulling herself away from the pictures and moving toward him, her eyes wide and earnest. “What’s your favorite memory of your parents?”
Chapter Seventeen
“What is mathematics? It is only a systematic effort of solving puzzles posed by nature.”
—Shakuntala Devi
Indian writer and mental calculator,
popularly known as the “Human Computer”
* * *
The question left Alec feeling exposed. He wasn’t a fan of “misery loves company” but found it difficult to knowingly disappoint her. She seemed to be grasping at something, and inexplicably he wanted to help her find it.
Clearing his voice, he complied. “I remember how proud they were when I signed up. Even though my dad wanted me to take over the farm, he was proud of me for wanting to do something more. To serve.”
A smile reached her eyes, and his solar plexus turned from feeling tight and fidgety, to warm and satisfied at having something to do with her slight change of expression.
She was now within reach, and he tucked an exposed curl back under her beanie. “Your turn.”
Her smile faltered, and he damned himself, clenching the doorframe, as if the door were an anchor keeping him from drifting.
“I remember my mother helping me with homework,” she said, looking over his shoulder as if viewing the tableau. “I struggled in math and it came so easily to her. But she never got frustrated or angry. She kept saying that it would come to me. That, in time I would see how math was integral to everything, how it explained everything.”
“Was she right? Did it eventually come to you?”
She looked up, tilted her head and nodded morosely. “Prophetically so.” She looked up through dark eyelashes and the pain tore at Alec’s chest.
And then, shaking her head, she added, “But she was wrong about it explaining everything. Even though I now understand math, it explains nothing. Most of the time, I feel lost and clueless.”
He was gutted again by brows that were high and pensive, eyes that turned large and teary. The back of his hand touched her cheek, and moved downward where his thumb found her full bottom lip.
Rather than his usual reaction to Loren, which was wanting to ravish her until she begged for mercy, he felt an intense need to comfort and protect her. How did one small woman encourage so many different feelings? But wasn’t that his Achilles heel? The need to protect and defend to the point of losing reason? He couldn’t allow his feelings for this woman to compromise his ability to be rational and logical. There were still too many questions unanswered, too many small but important details to be revealed.
Too many unknowns.
Loren stepped back as if reading his internal confusion. “I’m sorry, I digress from the purpose of my visit. I have some intel on our sister situation.”
He unclenched the top of the door in relief. “Follow me to the barn. I was about to check on the livestock before going to bed.”
He checked himself for mentioning the word “bed.” Now, he was envisioning them going upstairs to the first room on the right.
Good thing Ally was brooding in her room.
Who thought his recalcitrant sister could ever make for a convenient cock-blocker?
Not that Loren would be interested, considering her late-night visitor. He wasn’t sure what her wrecked kitchen had to do with the Russian, but it was clear she was keeping secrets. He couldn’t afford fucking with mysterious women who kept secrets.
She followed him as he walked down the porch steps and toward the barn. “I hear you’re going to lease your land.” She passed the For Rent sign stuck in the ground. “Is the sign for the land or for the house?”
“House. The land is already leased.” He pushed open the barn door and stepped inside, turning on the light switch, which gave the barn no more than murky illumination.
“What made you decide to lease your land? Intolerable neighbors throwing all-night parties and passing out on your front lawn?”
And she was back. Her sadness morphed to cheekiness without blinking an eye.
Ignoring her banter, and peeling his eyes off her, he checked on the calves in their individual stalls to make sure they were fed, and that Ally had completed her chores. She had been less than reliable in the past few weeks.
“Don’t like farming.”
She moved around, looking inside each of the stalls. “What don’t you like about it?”
He leaned on the wooden slats. “Not sure I have to have a list.”
She seemed to hesitate at that statement but then started up again. “From what I hear, Alec Wilder is the town darling, and according to popular opinion, you can pretty much do anything you want in this town.”
“I don’t know about all that.”
“Please, I’m sure you’ll have no problem picking up a job in town. You practically walk on water around here.” She picked up a hay rake and leaned it against the wall.
“Not much time for that as I’m pretty busy kissing babies, and healing leprosy.”
A smile crept over her face, and his heart began to pound. It felt odd having her in this longtime familiar space, as the sun was working its way down and the animals were beginning to settle.
She seemed to burn so brightly, like an incandescent light. The internal wire filament heated to such a high temp that it created a glow. But, despite emitting such a warm and comforting light, the filament remained isolated and protected from oxidation.
A light within a sealed vacuum.
So bright but at the same time, very much alone.
She seemed to grow uncomfortable with his scrutiny, as she picked up some twine that was left on the packed floor and began to unravel the twisted end.
“So, what are you going to do? Spend your days spreading all that Wilder charm among the women-folk? Maybe save a baby or two from a burning building when you get bored?” She placed the twine on a hay bale so she could reach inside a stall to stroke the ear of a small calf.
Once again, his eyes lit on her firm ass in the tight-fitting pants.
Maybe a quick fuck was back on the menu?
“Probably sign up with a private security company.”
She stopped and turned toward him. “Security company? You’ve started looking for a job?”
One side of his lip lifted. “No, I’ve got about half a dozen companies offering me a job.”
“So, you’re going to be a gun for hire?”
“That’s one way of putting it.” He checked inside the pen of a calf suffering from a case of pink eye. “The work doesn’t always involve firearms. Some people work in the back office, as well.”
“Sorry, but it’s hard for me to imagine you wearing khakis and a button-down shirt doing accounts receivables in a small cubicle.”
He smiled, reaching over the gate and stroking the calf’s neck. “You’re right. Probably won’t be doing that.”
“Doesn’t that job require quite a bit of travel to obscure and dangerous places around the world?�
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He rose, leaning one arm on a gate, and followed protocol on downplaying the details of his new job. “I’m not sure a company that provides security to malls and mom-and-pop shops here in sleepy Wilder is all that dangerous.” His eyes narrowed. “You seem to know a lot about the inner workings of private security companies.”
“I watch a lot of movies. Have I mentioned that?”
“Yeah.” He lifted his chin. “Where did you learn to fight?”
She walked toward him, and just as quickly, a long list of things he fantasized about doing to her in this very barn came to the forefront of his mind.
“Ever see the movie G.I. Jane?”
With a sly smile, he said, “I’d bet money you mocked Demi Moore playing a hyper-vigilant Navy SEAL.”
She grinned back at him, leaning her head in his direction. “Especially after watching her play a stripper in Striptease. Poorly done, I might add.”
“And how did you become an expert on strippers?”
She chuckled as if searching for an answer. “Hustlers?”
He chuckled, and rubbed his lower lip with his thumb. “Never seen it.”
He’d watched it twice. Both times when Ally spent the night with a friend.
He cleared his throat, his words vaulting him back to his original dilemma. She was evasive, which in his mind inferred dishonesty. She had no intention of coming clean and telling him the truth about her and her sisters and what brought them to Wilder.
Her word held as much water as a slotted spoon. He had to remember that when his balls ached and he felt the urge to touch her like she was good and honest and in need of his protection.
Hell, protecting his sister against this potentially duplicitous woman and her sisters had to be his priority until she was able to prove to him otherwise.
He leaned against the stall, crossing one leg over the other and his arms across his chest. “There’s some travel to the job. I have to go to D.C. for training. Thinking about renting out the house and moving into town so it’s more convenient for neighbors to watch Ally while I’m traveling.”
She flinched and he wondered if it was the insinuation that the current neighbors weren’t up to snuff.
“Don’t you think that will be hard on Ally?” she asked, fingering a rope next to a bale of hay. “Remind her of the time you left—before?”
He took a deep breath.
And then saw red.
His eyes glared into her as she fixated on her boots. No one had ever dared to broach that subject with him. It was a conversation he had never had with anyone, with the exception of Ally and only on rare occasions.
Except for a twitch in his eye, he didn’t move. Refused to allow her to see how the question affected him.
“What do you know about that?”
“Not a lot,” she admitted, with a single shoulder shrug. “Just what I’ve heard from others. Look, I don’t mean to pry but I’m just worried it will bring up bad memories for her. She seems to be in a difficult place right now.”
She was within arm’s reach, and it was all he could do not to grab her by the forearm and shake her. If he thought he’d lost all rational thought before, it was nothing compared to the present.
How fucking dare she? How dare she question his protective instincts toward Ally. Most days, that’s all he could think about. Where was she, who was she with? Were they dependable? Did they understand that Ally was all he had left of his family? And how in God’s name could he ensure she never had to suffer from his misguided decisions ever again?
He twisted his neck to each side until he heard it crack. Hoping to gain some control and to allow the blood rushing through his veins to settle.
“I’m going to say this one time,” he said as calmly as he could manage. “None of this is any of your business and I’d appreciate it if you’d stay out of it.”
Her eyes lifted as her shoulders sagged. “What happened to helping each other out and keeping one another informed?”
“That didn’t include unsolicited opinions. Poor judgment on my part,” he said, pushing off the gate. “I didn’t think you’d overstep.” He stalked toward the opening of the barn doors.
“Overstep? How is caring about Ally’s welfare overstepping?”
Alec turned on her, making her take an uncharacteristic step back.
“You haven’t earned the right to worry about my sister’s welfare.”
“What? Do I have to take some kind of emotional aptitude test to care for Ally?”
“No, you have to be forthcoming and honest about who you are and where you came from.”
“I told you,” she said, taking yet another step back. “Our parents were killed in a car accident—”
“And you and your sisters were taken in and raised by a reclusive, highly protective uncle. . . . Yes, I’ve heard the story. Everyone in Wilder has heard your story.”
“Look, I’ve been open and honest with you about Cara and Ally—”
“Where did you learn how to fight, Loren?”
She hesitated, looking around the barn as if for a lifeline.
He stalked her until she was cornered against the barn door. “Where. Did. You. Learn. To. Fight?”
He lifted his arm to lean above her and her arm instinctually raised in a defensive stance across her face as if he were to strike. He watched her reaction as she realized her otherworldly reflexes only further substantiated his skepticism.
Lowering her arm, she cleared her throat, staring into his chest. “Our uncle wanted to make sure we could protect ourselves so he had instructors come to the house for private lessons.”
“Where did you live that would make him think that?”
She shook her head, either unable or unwilling to respond.
“A war zone?”
Her dark brown eyes shot up as if in surprise. She shook her head, and then forced a chuckle. “War zone. Funny, but no. My uncle was a peculiar man, conspiracy theorist, actually. He was convinced we were going to be taken over by some rogue country and that we had to be prepared to fight—”
“Stop,” Alec said, weary. He pulled his arm down and shook his head. “Just stop, Loren.” He slowly turned and made his way through the large doors.
He kept walking as she stood between the barn doors with her arms protectively crossed in front of her.
“You may be considered the second coming to the people of Wilder, but you’re a lousy friend.”
He stopped and turned, his breath nearly clogged in his throat as he took in her disheveled appearance. If he thought she was beautiful when she was full of sass and fire, she was ethereal and surreal when broken and desperate, her hair peeking out from beneath the ridiculous knit hat, her eyes full and watery. But he had to remember he didn’t really know who she was. It could be an act for all he knew.
“I never signed up to be your friend, Loren. Frankly, it doesn’t look like you’re hurting for friends, considering they travel all the way from Russia to see you.”
“Vlad knew my uncle. But you’re right. He’s just a friend.”
“Most people who wake up looking like they’ve been freshly fucked, are more than friends.”
Her arms splayed to the side. “I don’t even know Vlad that well.”
“So, you always walk around strangers wearing next to nothing?”
“Vlad is here for Mercy. I barely know him.”
“You said he was a friend of the family. Was that not true?”
“Yes. No. It’s— Complicated.” She held her forehead in her hands. “Why do you even care?”
He turned and hung his head for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he said, “You fight like a well-trained assassin, your sisters have remarkable gifts in music and art, you don’t have a full-time job and appear not to need one, you don’t have a notion as to how to comport yourself unless it’s around your fitness minions at the church, or dancing on bar tables. You watch movies to learn social cues. No one knows who you really are, where you
came from, or what your real reasons are for coming to Wilder.”
She walked closer despite the hostility radiating off him, and he had to admire her for her temerity. “Look, I’m sorry. You’re angry. And you’re right, that was out of line and none of my business regarding how you raise Ally.”
He remained unmoved, his hands on his hips.
Distract, deflect, deter. She was an amazing liar.
“I don’t pretend to have all the answers when it comes to parenting. I’m just doing my best, and I know you are, too.”
He nodded once and watched her swallow nervously as if she wanted to say more but decided against it. She looked off to the side and into the murky darkness; the only light came from the house.
“Well, I can see I’ve managed to wear out my welcome,” she deadpanned.
“Why did you stop by? You said you had some information?”
She made the mistake of looking at his face, to his impassive eyes and stern countenance.
Memories came barging into the forefront of her mind of various staff members at the Center. The ones who believed Dr. Halstead’s mock psyche reports.
Nurse Hankowski, who checked her vitals every day and grew increasingly numb and oftentimes irritated at her constant pleas for help.
Professor Myers, her first math tutor who grew insecure as her skills outpaced what he was able to teach her and told the doctor that she was arrogant and unresponsive to his teaching. Lies that earned her her first face slap. She was fifteen.
Doctor Halstead, who told her during a heated argument about Cara’s six-hour-long piano lessons, that she and her sisters were nothing more to him than potential revenue-generating lab rats, and at the least, collateral damage for the sake of science.
She remembered the staff’s expressions as she begged them to just listen.
Expressions that were turned off and devoid of feeling.
Dismissive.
And once again, she was being dismissed.
After a while, two or three years, she quit trying. Quit asking for help, quit pushing back on her relentless schedule and harsh treatment by her various mentors.
