Wild, Wounded Hearts

by Wild, Wounded Hearts (epub)

  “They were my best friends,” she said with a little smile. “I don’t regret it, necessarily. It’s just…a book won’t give you the social skills that camp or running around with the neighborhood kids would have. And once I was accurately diagnosed when I was fourteen, and the treatment started to work…Well, I wouldn’t say it was too late completely for me to become more social, but the die had mostly been cast. I’d grown into the mold. I was shy, studious, fragile Ursa. I was the one nobody picked for teams during gym, even though I got to be pretty strong by the time I was a sophomore in high school. I was top of the class, but only because I spent so much time alone reading in the woods or studying at the library or alone in my bedroom.”

  She glanced up anxiously at Z from beneath lowered lids. She hoped he wasn’t feeling sorry for her; that was the last thing she wanted. But no. He appeared focused and attentive, but hardly like he pitied her. She sighed in mixed relief and frustration.

  “And of course, I didn’t get asked out for dates,” she added bitterly under her breath.

  “I seem to remember you going to your senior prom.”

  “With Clarence Myers. People whispered behind our backs that he was the male equivalent of me. Or that I was the female equivalent of him,” she said, her cheeks warming at the memory. “Boy and Girl Egghead.”

  “You know how stupid high school kids can be. They were just jealous of you.”

  “No, Z. They weren’t.” She saw him open his mouth to argue his point, but she put up a hand to halt him. “Trust me on this. Nobody in my class was envious of me.”

  He exhaled and shrugged. “Well, I can’t speak specifically about the kids you went to school with. But I know I was always a little jealous of the smart kids in my class.”

  “Why?”

  “I admired their discipline, I guess. I knew I had a decent brain, but I never had the self-control back then to regulate my habits or really test myself. Besides, you were more than just a brain or a hard worker, Ursa. You were beautiful, too. And kind,” he added gruffly. He swallowed thickly and looked away. “You were always kind. Most people are lucky to have one of those qualities, but you had them all.”

  Her throat ached in the silence that followed. She was deeply affected by stark praise from a typically laconic Z Beckett.

  “Well, I guess we all admire what we don’t think we have,” she finally said, her voice sounding a little rough from emotion. “My point is, that at every stage in my life, I’ve always felt out of place, like I’m a step or two behind everyone else. I begged Mom and Dad to let me skip grades. By the time I was in college at sixteen, though, I started to see why they were so hesitant to let me do it. I could compete intellectually with my peers, but socially and emotionally… ”

  “You felt behind,” Z muttered. He frowned slightly as he stared at her, as if he strained to bring her into focus, to see this newly revealed aspect of her.

  “Yeah. Like a fake, somehow. Do you know how often I feel like someone at my office is going to call me out, tell me that it was all a mistake, my getting hired there, or getting the promotion I got last year?”

  Z placed his hand on top of hers. Her throat tightened when she saw the compassion in his eyes. He wasn’t feeling sorry for her. At least she hoped he wasn’t. If she’d had to guess, she would have said that he really was seeing her in a new light. Which was embarrassing, given how lame and inadequate that new light probably made her look.

  But it was a step in the right direction.

  “Do you know how much I feel like an imposter when I’m out with my friends, and they start talking about dating and sex?” she asked him shakily. “It’s humiliating, Z. I find myself feeling like the little sister all over again, listening to Sadie and Esme talk about their grownup world, while I sit there on the sideline with nothing to offer. Curious. Longing. Fascinated, but still… Outside.”

  She paused a moment with her eyes closed, trying to bring her emotions under control.

  His hand tightened on hers, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. He faced the wall again, seeming lost in thought.

  “Z?” she asked anxiously.

  His head swung around.

  “Why don’t you pack up some stuff for the night?” he said, his tone level and conversational.

  “What?”

  He stood and walked to the foot of the bed, where he picked up his jeans. His expression looked as hard as his big, muscular body, like it’d been carved out of marble.

  “Pack up some stuff. This is probably wrong of us. Not probably. Definitely. But I’m not sure how to stop it. And if we only have until Saturday, let’s at least do it right. I’d rather you stayed with me at my place.” His eyes flashed at her, electrical conduits despite his stony expression. He shoved a foot in his jeans and added, “I’d rather you were in my bed.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Z was hesitant about his decision, even though he took pains to hide that from Ursa.

  Maybe that was why he didn’t want Ursa to drive to his house in her car, following him. He wouldn’t allow himself to dwell too long on why, but he wanted to feel her arms around him, her body pressed against his own, his bike vibrating beneath them, when he first brought her to his home. Now wasn’t the time for them to be separated. That would just be a prime opportunity for doubts and self-recriminations to sneak into the forefront of his head.

  He knew his motives weren’t entirely noble. Sure, he’d be getting something he wanted out of this exchange. Something he wanted a lot.

  But Ursa had said she needed this, and he’d heard her plea. The little girl he’d known his whole life had hardly ever asked for anything. That’s why it’d always been such a pleasure to give her something, to see that unguarded wonder and joy on her face when he gave her something out of the blue. In fact, he was having trouble recalling even one time that Ursa had ever specifically requested anything of him.

  So his decision had been made. He wouldn’t invite in any more doubts.

  Ursa had put a few personal items and some clothing in a plastic bag. He suggested he put her suitcase and all her other belongings in her parked car. They’d return for her car tomorrow.

  For now, it was just the two of them flying through the night together.

  As he drove Ursa through the darkened streets of Columbia, her arms wrapped satisfyingly tight around his waist, he became aware that he was uncomfortable about showing her his house. The realization irritated him. Why should it matter to him, what an Esterbrook girl thought of where he lived?

  It was an old, tired theme. The Beckett boys were uncomfortably familiar with a vague, unspoken, but pervasive sense of inferiority when it came to the Esterbrook girls.

  The Esterbrooks and Becketts had been neighbors at Lake Tahoe, but their houses and living circumstances had been drastically different. The lakeside complex where both families lived contained approximately twenty homes. When Jude and Z had been sent to Grandpa Joe’s after their parents’ death, four of the twenty homes on the property had been older vacation homes that had been passed on through generations of families. Beckett Lodge was one of those old structures. The other sixteen homes, like the Esterbrooks, were new, luxurious modern mansions, built on lots where the original vacation homes had been torn down.

  Beckett Lodge had never been torn down, or altered much at all, since the early 1940’s when it’d been built. It was a large, rambling house, initially a luxury vacation retreat for the once affluent Beckett family. The Lodge had gone the way of the Beckett fortunes, however, falling into a threadbare memory of something once grand. Grandpa Joe had been relegated there after suffering a spinal cord injury in a climbing accident. Only the Lodge’s land on the very desirable lakeside community really possessed any true value these days. Grandpa Joe had received offers for outrageous sums to buy the property over the years, but he’d always refused.

&n
bsp; The Lodge was a great, drafty pile. But it had evolved into a home, much loved by Grandpa Joe, Stephen, Jude, and Z over the years. Z knew Grandpa Joe wouldn’t sell the home they’d created together, even for all the lost Beckett wealth.

  So growing up, Sadie, Esme and Ursa had become the familiar girls next door, but they also were the lucky ones; the kids with two loving, adoring, successful parents, living in the huge mansion with every possible modern convenience. The Esterbrook girls never lacked for money or the right clothes. Sadie and Esme went to the most exclusive summer camps, ones to which Grandpa Joe couldn’t afford to send Z and Jude. They always had the most expensive seasonal passes at the local ski resorts, and the sleekest new ski equipment and snowboards. Meanwhile, Z and Jude became proficient at sneaking onto the ski resort premises rather than paying the entry fees.

  Clive Esterbrook purchased new toys for the beach every summer: boats, jet skis, kayaks, and paddle boards. And although Ursa’s dad insisted that the Becketts share everything they owned, Z and Jude were always painfully aware that they borrowed much of their upscale lifestyle at Tahoe Shores from the Esterbrooks.

  Z’s family history and Ursa’s were indelibly intertwined. Grandpa Joe and Stephen were close, dedicated friends to Clive and Ilsa, and vice-versa. But while Z had grown up knowing lack and want amidst run-down, bedraggled luxury, Ursa had never wanted for anything…

  When it came to tangible things anyway, Z acknowledged as he turned down the dark, tree-shrouded road that led to his country house, his bike’s headlight cutting through the thick, after-midnight gloom. As he was quickly learning, Ursa didn’t envision herself as privileged.

  Her lack hadn’t been that of loving parents, or money, or any kind of material possession. Her deficiency had been a typical, run-of-the-mill childhood. What Ursa thought of as special and beyond her reach was precisely what he, Jude, Sadie, and Esme had possessed in spades, and never thought about twice.

  Ursa had been right. Maybe everyone thinks they’re the outsider, in some way.

  He reached down and stroked Ursa’s gripping hands at his midriff. He felt her shift her face against his back, acknowledging his caress. A sense of warmth went through him despite the chilly night air whipping around them on the bike. The feeling was something that reminded him of his old fondness for Ursa, but it was different. Fuller.

  More complicated.

  He wouldn’t think about the more complex part at the moment. It was late, and he was tired, and Ursa’s body felt good pressed so tightly against his back. He had his whole life to regret the decision he’d made today.

  Now was for appreciating that decision. Otherwise, what had been the point of making it, if he couldn’t even focus on the plus side of things?

  His thoughts on the drive had him feeling a little better by the time he brought his custom, stripped-down Harley to a halt in the driveway of his house. He shut off the engine. Country quiet prevailed.

  He’d left the front porch light on. It cast the white-painted cottage with the red-shingled roof in a cozy ambience amidst the towering shadows of blue oak, maple, and pine trees.

  “It’s so sweet,” he heard Ursa say as he got off his bike and turned to help her dismount. He realized she was referring to the house. She squeezed his hand once her feet were on the ground, not letting him release her.

  “It’s nothing special,” he said. “But it’s quiet, and peaceful, and private. And that’s what I wanted.”

  “That’s what you needed right now in your life,” she said softly, glancing over at him with a wise, calm look that left him tongue-tied for a few seconds. How could she seem as wise as the forest around them at times, and so naïve at others? He cleared his throat.

  “Come on. Let’s get you inside. It gets a little chilly, here in the foothills at night.”

  He took the bag she’d brought that held a few necessities and led her up the front porch steps. Inside, he flipped on an overhead light. He looked around the kitchen, just like Ursa was doing, seeing the little house as if for the first time through her eyes. The appliances were mismatched and needed updating. The Formica table must have dated back to the 1950’s, and was marred from some ancient burn. But everything was clean, and the shiplap walls gave off a soft, welcoming ambience. The orange tree in his backyard was still yielding fruit. He’d picked seven or eight yesterday. He supposed they looked cheerful sitting on the old table in a bright blue ceramic bowl.

  “It’s perfect,” Ursa murmured before she wandered into the living room. She found a lamp and turned it on. Here, too, the furniture was mismatched and worn. But the wood walls and the stone fireplace made the space warm and welcoming.

  Ursa turned. He did a double take when he saw her small, knowing smile.

  “What?” he asked, sounding a little edgy because he was anxious about her seeing his private space…and then, irritated at his nervousness.

  “I had no idea you were so neat, Z Beckett.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Seriously. Weren’t you and Jude super messy when we were growing up?”

  “Absolutely not. Jude and I were always pretty neat as kids. It was drilled into us by Mom, and stuck after she was gone.”

  Her eyes shone in the dim light. “Of course. You wouldn’t let that lesson go. It was part of her.”

  He shrugged, made uneasy, but also strangely fascinated by the way Ursa looked at him in that moment.

  “It was you girls that were slobs,” he reminded her with a pointed glance. “Sadie’s and Esme’s rooms were disaster areas.”

  She tilted her chin up defiantly and headed toward the hall. “Sadie and Esme were slobs, but don’t pass judgment on me. You never had the time or interest to go into my room. Is this your bedroom?”

  He followed her into the first door on the right. “Yeah. It’s uh… kinda basic.”

  She nodded at the large bed—he needed a King sized, with his size—and the two scuffed nightstands with lamps perched on them. An antique bureau was the only other piece of furniture in the room.

  “Looks like you have everything you need,” Ursa said cheerfully, turning toward him and giving him a brilliant smile. His mouth went a little dry. She reached for the bag he held. “Is that the bathroom across the hall? I’ll just go and get ready for bed.”

  He nodded. Why did he keep getting dumbstruck when she looked at him that way?

  When she smiled at him with that expression of…

  What was that look? Gentle knowing? Wise sweetness? Like she saw something special when her eyes locked with his? His mind went blank when she looked at him like that.

  And when she smiled at him like only Ursa Esterbrook could.

  She was only in the bathroom for a few minutes, but unfortunately, it was enough time for his doubts to start to slink into his awareness again. He was returning from locking up and shutting out the lights when he heard the bathroom doorknob click. He halted in the hallway, struck dumb by the sight of Ursa’s freshly washed, glowing face. Her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail and she wore a simple white sleeping shirt and white socks.

  She looked like a fucking Mouseketeer.

  What the hell are you doing, Beckett?

  She smiled, and his abrupt panic fractured a little.

  “You going in?” she said, pointing to the bathroom.

  He just nodded stupidly.

  He wasn’t used to this. Women usually didn’t “get ready for bed” at his residence, Z realized numbly a few seconds later as he spied Ursa’s toothbrush. They might come to his home for sex, and often spent the night. But they didn’t settle in.

  She’d put her toothbrush neatly in the toothbrush holder, next to his. Cautiously, he picked up a bottle of lotion she’d left on the counter. He unscrewed the top and sniffed experimentally, frowning. The fresh, peachy scent reminded him of Ursa, stirring up more feelings
of bewilderment.

  Of desire.

  He glanced at his reflection in the mirror. The thought struck him that he looked like a caveman that had just been unexpectedly clubbed.

  Panic bubbled up in him. He needed to talk to Ursa. He’d made a mistake. This was a bad idea.

  He fully intended to tell her just that. But when he stepped into his bedroom, her name forming on his lips, he stopped abruptly.

  She lay fast asleep in his bed. She hadn’t even pulled back the comforter. He realized she must have been exhausted. It’d been a tough, rigorous night for both of them, for a lot of reasons.

  He approached the bed cautiously. She lay curled up on her side, the white color of her nightshirt and socks making a stark contrast to her smooth, golden-tinted legs. She looked so small lying there in the middle of his big bed.

  How could he have been so freaked out for a few minutes over such a little thing?

  Suddenly, he heard Ilsa Esterbrook’s voice in his head.

  “Come on in. She won’t bite.”

  Of course an itty-bitty thing like that isn’t going to bite me.

  A smile flickered across his mouth at the memory. It’d been bravado on his part as a kid, of course. The truth is, he’d been uncertain and awestruck by that tiny, squalling little girl.

  “Some things never change,” he muttered.

  He carefully peeled back the sheet and comforter from beneath her. He eased into bed behind her, trying not to wake her as he covered her up. For several seconds, he just lay there quietly and studied the pale skin at the back of her neck, the dark blonde curls of some shorter hair that had escaped her ponytail, the delicate shell of her ear, and the curve of her averted cheek. So peaceful.

  He turned out the light. When he settled against her, Ursa roused slightly, curling into him. Her scent filled his nose.

  And just like, all traces of his previous panic melted away.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ursa awoke at dawn. At first, she was just aware of feeling very warm and secure, like she’d been slumbering in a protective cocoon. Then her eyelids flickered open. Pale gold sunlight fell in bands through the partially opened blinds. She became aware of the source of her warmth—a solid, unmoving presence behind her. A male. Her eyes widened.