Skyler Hawk: Lone Brave
Sheri WhiteFeather
“You Have Bedroom Hair.”
“Excuse me?” Windy asked, surprised.
“Your hair looks like you just tumbled out of bed.” Sky wiggled his eyebrows. “Nothing’s sexier than a thoroughly loved woman with tangled hair.”
For Pete’s sake. What a thing for him to say, especially after she’d been fantasizing about sleeping in his arms. “My hair always looks like this.” And she’d never been thoroughly loved. Windy tried not to blush.
She knew her lack of experience was showing. Although plenty of men found her attractive, she’d never lost her heart, made earth-shattering love or even cuddled in masculine arms all night. Call her old-fashioned, but she didn’t mind waiting for the real thing.
Sky clanked a spoon against his cup. With a start, Windy looked up to find him watching her, a knowing look in his eye.
Dear Reader,
Please join us in celebrating Silhouette’s 20th anniversary in 2000! We promise to deliver—all year—passionate, powerful, provocative love stories from your favorite Desire authors!
This January, look for bestselling author Leanne Banks’s first MAN OF THE MONTH with Her Forever Man. Watch sparks fly when irresistibly rugged ranch owner Brock Logan comes face-to-face with his new partner, the fiery Felicity Chambeau, in the first book of Leanne’s brand-new miniseries LONE STAR FAMILIES: THE LOGANS.
Desire is pleased to continue the Silhouette cross-line continuity ROYALLY WED with The Pregnant Princess by favorite author Anne Marie Winston. After a night of torrid passion with a stranger, a beautiful princess ends up pregnant…and seeks out the father of her child.
Elizabeth Bevarly returns to Desire with her immensely popular miniseries FROM HERE TO MATERNITY with Dr. Mommy, about a couple reunited by a baby left on a doorstep. Hard Lovin’ Man, another of Peggy Moreland’s TEXAS BRIDES, captures the intensity of falling in love when a cowgirl gives her heart to a sweet-talkin’, hard-lovin’ hunk. Cathleen Galitz delivers a compelling marriage-of-convenience tale in The Cowboy Takes a Bride, in the series THE BRIDAL BID. And Sheri WhiteFeather offers another provocative Native American hero in Skyler Hawk: Lone Brave.
Help us celebrate 20 years of great romantic fiction from Silhouette by indulging yourself with all six delectably sensual Desire titles each and every month during this special year!
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Skyler Hawk: Lone Brave
Sheri Whitefeather
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my husband, Dru, for teaching me to appreciate all of God’s creatures, including the ones that slither.
To Raven, for letting me borrow your son.
And to my own son, Nikki—you’ll always be my baby, no matter how big you get.
SHERI WHITEFEATHER
lives in Southern California and enjoys ethnic dining, summer powwows and visiting art galleries and vintage clothing stores near the beach. Since her one true passion is writing, she is thrilled to be a part of the Silhouette Desire line. When she isn’t writing, she often reads until the wee hours of the morning.
Sheri also works as a leather artisan with her Native American husband. They have one son and a menagerie of pets, including a pampered English bulldog and four equally spoiled Bengal cats. She would love to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 5130, Orange, California 92863-5130.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One
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 scanned 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.”
“Isn’t he a nice young man?”
“Seems to be.” She stabbed a mushroom with the plastic fork. “Although he’s not what I expected.”
Edith cleared her throat. “I suppose I should have warned you about his grammar. I don’t let him curse around me, and you shouldn’t, either. If it bothers you, I’ll speak to him about it.”
Windy wasn’t about to correct a man like Sky about his dialect. She could live with his misuse of the English language. And an occasional hell and damn never hurt anyone.
“That won’t be necessary. He was a perfect gentleman.” And I was a perfect lady. Sort of. I dropped the house key and we ended up in each other’s arms. Of course, now I can’t stop thinking about him. “Sky looks different than I thought he would.”
Edith responded in her typical no-nonsense fashion. “I didn’t mention how handsome he was because I didn’t want you to think I was trying to be a matchmaker. You know I’m not encouraging hanky-panky. Sky knows that, as well.” The elderly woman continued in a softer voice. “But you don’t have to worry about him. Sky is a decent man. He would never take advantage of a lady.”
Not unless she wanted to be taken advantage of, Windy thought. Sky might be decent, but he wasn’t exactly Boy Scout material. Nor would he be canonized a saint. That smile bordered on devilish.
Edith cleared her throat again and Windy adjusted the phone, anxious for some answers. “Why didn’t you tell me he was hit by that car?”
The other woman sighed. “I thought it was Sky’s place to tell you.”
“Why? What happened to him?”
“Oh, goodness. I should have known he wouldn’t tell you all of it.”
Windy grimaced. “All of what?”
Edith sighed again. “Sky lost his memory in the accident. He remembers very little about himself.”
Windy’s heartbeat doubled. Amnesia? Sky had amnesia? “Oh, my God.” No wonder he had a difficult time talking about the accident. “He must remember something. I get the feeling he’s at odds with his past.”
The other end of the line remained silent, as though Edith pondered Windy’s observation. When she finally answered, her voice lowered. “There is a bit more to his story, but it’s much too complicated to discuss over the phone. I promise we’ll get together this week. We’ll have a cup of tea, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
Anxious, she toyed with her fork. “I don’t think I can wait that long.”
Edith “tsked” like a disapproving grandmother. “You always were an impatient one. A few days won’t make a difference to you or to Sky. That accident happened almost sixteen years ago.” Fatigue sounded in the older woman’s voice. “Now I should get to bed. It’s late and I have a busy day tomorrow.”
Windy knew Edith’s days consisted of volunteer work: church rummage sales, women’s shelters, literacy tutoring. Things far more important than Windy’s nagging curiosity. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
“Goodbye, dear.”
Windy tossed the phone aside and filled her mouth with another bite just as a light knock vibrated her bedroom door.
“Honey, it’s Sky.”
Honey? The endearment sounded intimate—sensuous and husky—even through the thick, painted wood. The food nearly stuck in her throat. “Just a minute,” she called back.
She bounded off the bed. Should she open the door and peek out the crack, or keep it closed and simply ask what he wanted?
No. She smoothed her oversize attire. That would seem rude. Smile and act friendly. Platonic friendly, she reminded herself. Don’t pant or drool. And don’t pester him about his memory. Be patient. Professional.
She opened the door just enough to expose her head and shoulders. “Hi.”
“Hi.” A slow smile spread across his face. “I saw your light on. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“No. I’m up.” And breathing him in. She tried not to, but couldn’t help herself. His scent had changed. An earthy blend misted him now. Horses, hay and…beer?
She looked into his eyes. A gaze as clear and blue as a summer sea stared back at her. A social drink, she decided. He wasn’t drunk.
“Just wanted to let you know that I’m movin’ my things in,” he said. “Didn’t want the noise to scare you.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Windy noticed he wore the same clothes, but his hair wasn’t flowing over his shoulders. It rested in a tight ponytail at his nape. “How was work?”
“Good. It was my first day, but I know the routine.”
“Did you work the early show?”
“Yeah.”
She wanted to touch his dimples. He looked boyish when he smiled, rugged when he didn’t. “Do you play a cowboy or an Indian?”
“Both.” The left dimple indented deeper than the right. “In one segment I’m an Indian. In the other, a villainous cowboy. I get shot in that one. Fall right off my horse.” Shyness crept into his voice. “And then near the end, I’m just me. Riding and roping.”
“Do you like being a performer?” Unlike most of the gorgeous L.A. population, Sky didn’t fit the let’s-have-lunch, I-want-to-be-a-star mold. But then, how could he? He hated California.
He shrugged. “The horses are the true performers. I just consider myself along for the ride.”
A fast, crazy ride, no doubt.
Windy realized she had allowed the door to fall open while they’d chatted. She stood in full view now. A tousled blonde in a Minnie Mouse nightshirt and bare feet, an unmade bed and carton of half-eaten stir-fry behind her. She sent him a nervous smile. Her room had caught his attention. She could see him scouring it with an amused gaze. Apparently he hadn’t expected mosquito netting and various shades of leopard and zebra prints.
“My room wasn’t vandalized,” she said. “I guess they didn’t get that far.” Thank God. Although she didn’t keep anything particularly valuable in her bedroom, it was her sanctuary, with her bras and panties, scented candles and perfumes.
“I like the jungle motif. Always thought animal prints were sexy.”
“Oh, umm…thanks.” She glanced back at the bed. It did look sexy. Wild and inviting. What a thing for him to notice.
Silence clung to the air like moss. Thick and heady.
When he shifted his stance, his boots scraped the hardwood floor. “Guess I should bring my stuff in. The terrarium won’t fit in my bedroom, though. It’ll have to go in the living room.”
Terrarium, aquarium. Plants, fish. It didn’t matter. She needed to escape. He stood too close, smelled too virile, looked too good. “That’s fine. Good night, Sky.”
“’Night, Pretty Windy.”
Pretty Windy. She closed the door and leaned against it. Another minute and she would have melted into a pool of hot, steaming liquid.
Oh, get over it, she told herself, hating the watery feeling in her legs. Swooning over a man was shallow and immature. She knew better. Dang it. What was it about him that had her behaving like a doe-eyed teenager? The cowboy drawl and long-legged swagger? The shoulder-length hair and sparkling blue eyes? Or was she just caught up in the mystery surrounding him?
Moving toward the bed, Windy fingered the sheets. She knew. Deep down, she knew. Troubled souls fascinated her. And this troubled soul sported dimples and a crooked smile. A dangerous combination for a woman hell-bent on mending fractured lives.
She sighed and climbed under the covers, even though sleep would be a long time coming.
The following morning brought a bright ray of sunshine and a stiff neck. Windy stretched and groaned. What her weary body needed was a long luxurious shower, water therapy. After gathering a fluffy new bath towel and her favorite worn-out terry cloth robe, she stumbled down the hall to the bathroom, noting Sky’s door remained closed.
A pulsating spray from the shower head massaged her shoulders, washing away the tension. She hadn’t slept well. Her “sexy” bed, with its sleek leopard-print quilt, had blanketed her like a jungle cat’s warm, muscular body—a jungle cat with exotic blue eyes.
Struggling to clear her mind, Windy reached for the shampoo, squeezed a large citrus-scented dollop into her hands and lathered her hair. Don’t think about him, she told herself. Don’t think about his lopsided grin or his—
Something brushed her foot. She glanced down. Something long and gray.
A snake!
She froze, praying sleep deprivation had fueled her imagination. But when she glanced down again, it was still there. A huge slithering creature, coiling in the splash of water.
Windy screamed, then jumped, her feet slipping and sliding on the slick white porcelain. Suds stinging her eyes, she climbed out of the tub. Still shrieking in blind panic, she snatched her robe and raced out the door.
In the hallway she fumbled with the robe as her legs turned rubbery. Oh no! Not her robe. A towel. A lousy towel, which of course meant her robe was somewhere in the bathroom. With an enormous snake.
Shivering, Windy wrapped the towel around herself. What if that reptile was a rattler or a man-eating python? She’d heard stories on the news—snakes who’d attempted to eat people, swallowing their limbs whole.
Modesty be damned. She clutched the towel and headed straight for Sky’s room.
Two
“Skyyyy!”
He shot straight up from a deep sleep, blinking and squinting, trying to focus on the frantic woman screaming in his bedroom. Instantly he panicked.
“Is the house on fire?”
“No!” Windy pranced around nervously. “There’s a snake in the bathtub! A snake!”
Relieved, he sighed, then fell back onto the bed, his rapid heartbeat stabilizing. “It’s okay, honey, that’s just Tequila. She won’t hurt you.”
“Tequila?” Her mouth fell open. “You mean that thing is some sort of pet? That horrid, slimy thing?”
Sky sat up, pushed several stray hairs away from his face and evaluated Windy with an irritated frown. Tequila wasn’t a “thing.”
A moment later he found himself amused. There she was, dancing around, dripping water onto the hardwood floor, while struggling to keep the towel on with one hand and wiping shampoo suds off her forehead with the other. He bit down on his bottom lip to suppress laughter and watched her bat away another stream of suds. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost. The woman had insulted Tequila.
“Dang you, Sky,” she shrieked. “I can’t believe you brought a snake into this house. A snake. My God, that thing is as big as me. I could have had a heart attack.”
“I told you last night I was puttin’ her terrarium in the living room.”
“I thought you were talking about a plant terrarium. Or a fish aquarium.” She narrowed her watery eyes. “If I had known you meant a snake…oh…just get that thing out of the bathroom.”
“All right. Calm down, okay?” He slid out of bed and strode past her, reaching for the front tie on his low-riding shorts. What a way to begin the day—his gray sweat shorts nearly falling off his hips while his sexy roommate stood wrapped in a towel.
The bathroom check proved futile. He turned off the water, grabbed Windy’s robe and returned to find her hopping up and down, alternating feet. He withheld a grin. Did she think the snake would bite her toes?
“Tequila’s not in the bathroom. At least not that I could see, but there was a hole in one of the cabinets.” A hole leading to the wall interior, he’d noticed. “I can’t patch it till I find her, though. She might have slipped through it.”
Windy’s sniffling grew louder, warning the threat of tears. “What am I going to do?”
Aw shoot, Sky thought, she was gonna cry. He held out her robe and turned away, even though he would have enjoyed watching her towel fall. Watery eyes and soapy hair didn’t detract from Windy’s figure. Although her legs weren’t long, they boasted a slender shape, with just the right amount of muscle tone. Sky glanced up at the beamed ceiling, deciding it best not to envision her breasts swelling beneath that flowery-printed towel. Having her in his room proved difficult enough. She brought a feminine glow to the otherwise dark, masculine surroundings. The tall oak dresser and navy-blue bedspread would never be the same.
She sniffed again. “You can turn around now.”
Her fuzzy pink robe made him smile. He could almost imagine her wearing a pair of big, fluffy slippers to match. The forlorn expression on her face was hard to swallow, though. He knew Tequila was responsible for her distress. Of course, if Tequila was at fault, then so was he. That knowledge was even harder to swallow.
She hugged herself as if to ward off snake-induced goose bumps. “Will you come in the bathroom with me and stand guard? I have to rinse my hair.”
“Me? Stand guard?” The guy lusting after you?
She gave a tight little nod. “I can’t go back in there by myself. What if the snake is hiding? She might attack me.”
Tequila wouldn’t attack a mouse, he thought. Okay, a mouse, but not a woman. ’Course, she might be hiding in the drywall somewhere, it was kind of a game he and the snake played. Reptile hide ’n’ seek. “Are you that scared?”
She nodded again. “Please, Sky.”
His pleaded name on her lips was all the encouragement he needed. Fear never sounded sweeter. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms, imaginary bunny slippers and all. “Okay.”
Windy tightened her robe. “First I’ll have to get dressed.”
He cocked his head. “Huh?”
She squinted through red-rimmed eyes, sounding quite prim and proper. “I’m going to wear my swimsuit in the shower.”
Unable to control himself, Sky erupted into a fit of boisterous chuckles. Adorable and naive didn’t begin to describe her. He didn’t normally keep company with innocent little blondes wrapped in cotton-candy robes. “You’re somethin’ else, Pretty Windy.”
Rather than share his mirth, she clenched her teeth. “Don’t you dare laugh at me. This is all your fault. You and that snake.”
Sky sobered, even though he still felt like grinning. She had no idea how sweet she was. The girlish burst of temper made her look like a hissing kitten trapped in a giant robe, claws bared, matted fur drenched with shampoo. “Sorry. I have sort of a warped sense of humor. I usually laugh at all the wrong times.”
She snorted in indignation. “A snake in the shower isn’t funny.”
“Not to you maybe, but I bet your grandchildren will hoot and holler over it.”
Slowly a tiny smile worked its way across Windy’s lips. “I suppose you’re right about that.” Quickly the smile faded. “But you have no idea how much I hate snakes. I’ve heard stories on the news about pythons, about how they—”
“Tequila’s a boa,” he interrupted, thinking both pythons and boas made fine companions. “And I swear she won’t hurt you. She likes people.”
Windy didn’t seem convinced. “Will you wait outside my bedroom door while I put my bathing suit on?” She nibbled her lower lip and cast him a nervous glance. “Just in case.”
In case what? The snake attacked her? Windy darted into her room, and Sky crossed his arms and leaned against the door. Tequila was harmless. He was the one capable of an attack. After nearly a year of celibacy, the warrior blood was boiling, running through his veins in hot, hungry surges.
About three minutes later she opened the door.
“I’m ready.” Pink robe in place, she strode past him.
He followed closely behind.
Too closely. When Windy hesitated at the bathroom door, her abrupt halt caught him off guard. Like an oversize oaf, he bumped right into her.
She gasped and he brought his hands forward, fisting her robe to steady her. Damn. He almost had Pretty Windy in his arms again. Almost. Just ease closer, press your face against the bubbles on her neck, inhale her skin.
Instead he swallowed and released her robe. “I didn’t hurt you, did I, honey?”
“Huh? Oh, no, I’m fine.” Apparently more concerned about Tequila’s whereabouts than his proximity, she poked her head in the bathroom door. “Will you go in ahead of me?”
“Sure.” When he brushed by, Windy reached for his hand.
Sky’s breath caught reflexively in his throat. Her feathery touch sent him straight into hormone overdrive. Linking his fingers through hers, he walked slowly through the bathroom, heightening the pleasure, if only for a brief, forbidden moment.
Still holding hands, they neared the bathtub. After making a thorough examination of the surroundings, Windy tugged her hand away. “Go wait over by the sink. And turn around.”
Turn around? Jeez, she wore a bathing suit under that robe. After dragging him out of bed and teasing him with that towel display earlier, the least she could do was give him a quick thrill. “Do you keep your robe on when you go to the beach?”
“Dang it, Sky, just turn around.”
He almost laughed. The hissing kitten had returned, too tiny to look tough, too sweet to sound menacing. He imagined dang was as far as she went.
“Skyler!”
He bit back another grin. Apparently she meant business with the use of his formal name. “You sure are—”
“I mean it, Sky.”
A cute little filly. “Okay…okay.”
He moved over to the sink, rolled his eyes and turned away. When he heard the spray of water, he wrestled with his conscience. Should he sneak a peek or just imagine what she looked like through the bubbled shower enclosure? Edith Burke’s hanky-panky speech sounded in his mind. If that sweet old lady knew what he was up to, she’d skin him alive.
Oh, what the hell. He flashed a wicked grin and turned around.
Windy’s robe lay in a heap on the floor. He shook his head. The pile of worn-out terry cloth actually ignited his pulse. Stop now, he told himself, before it’s too late.
Naw, he deserved a peek. Just one.
Making a quick mental note to reward Tequila, he sat on the edge of the sink, stretched out his long legs and leaned over. There she stood, a slim, shadowy figure behind rippled Plexiglas, arms raised, hands moving through her hair. Female flesh and bits of white fabric.
He tilted his head, expanding his view. A tantalizing aroma wafted through the gathering steam, filling his nostrils with a treat: a woman’s sweet perfume, vanilla-scented soap. Her damp skin would feel soft, like flower petals after a summer rain, moist and smooth, blooming with color—inviting his caress, his kiss.
It was all in his mind’s eye. The two of them together under the warm spray of water, her soapy hands sliding across his chest, his eager hands peeling off her bikini. Mouths tasting, bodies aching. Damn. Sky shifted his hips. The shower steam was rising and so was he.
When Windy opened the enclosure door, he sat staring in her direction. Glassy-eyed, he knew his sinful expression combined hunger and guilt. Feeling like a sneaky child who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he grinned—a sheepish don’t-punish-me grin.
She reached for her robe, and Sky wondered what to do now. Pretty Windy had him behaving like a randy teenager who didn’t have an ounce of control over his raging hormones. And she looked good enough to eat: eyes wide, damp cheeks flushed, wild hair wet and tangled.
Time to hightail it out of here, he thought, planting his feet firmly on the floor. “I’m going to go look for Tequila,” he said, racing out the door as if the devil himself were on his heels.
Sky had spent half the day and part of the evening searching for the snake. It was his own fault Tequila was so clever at hiding. Since he had encouraged her throughout the years to play the silly game, she would find a hiding place, poke her head out, then sneak into another spot while his back was turned. He usually tired of the game before she would, so he would abandon the search in favor of a sugary snack and an old-fashioned shoot-’em-up Western. Eventually Tequila would surface, climb onto his lap and fall asleep.
Of course, that had changed, thanks to Windy. Once again, Sky found himself in a bar when he’d rather be lounging in front of the TV. Staying home with her unnerved him. Celibacy was downright self-torture now. A good stiff drink seemed to be the only cure. Well, not the only cure, but Windy might not like the alternative.
This time he avoided the local bar with the nosy cocktail waitress. Today he had headed for a small town in the high desert. To a ratty little dive where people minded their own business. No happy hour. No chic L.A. women. No trendy haircuts. Just a broken-down bar stool, a shot of whiskey and peace of mind.
“Just sit yer butt down and shut up.”
Sky knew better than to turn around, but he did it, anyway. The sharp words belonged to a big, crude man, shoving a skittish little redhead through the front door. The man nodded to the bartender, gripped the redhead’s arm and seated himself at a table directly behind Sky.
“Bring us a couple of beers,” he called out.
“Sure thing, Hank.” The bartender waved the rag in his hand.
The woman’s timid voice protested softly. “I don’t want a beer, Hank. I just want to go home.”
“I’m goin’ outside for a minute,” Hank said, pushing his chair away. “And I don’t want to hear you whinin’ when I come back. Jimmy’s meeting us here for a drink. I’d like to enjoy an evening with my brother for once.”
Sky watched the man saunter off, wide shoulders and an even wider girth protruding over grubby, ill-fitting jeans. Hell, damn and hell again. He cursed what he was about to do.
“Are you all right?” He stood at the redhead’s table, tapping a pack of cigarettes on his wrist, an old habit he hadn’t quite abandoned.
She lifted her chin—empty eyes, pale skin and wiry hair sticking out from the back of a chipped metal clip. She appeared too old to be a runaway, he thought, and too young to look so haggard. As he toyed with the cigarette pack, her eyes grew hungry.
“You want one?”
She nodded and he sat down to light it for her.
“You better go before Hank comes back.” She closed her eyes and inhaled, as if savoring something vital. “He has a bad temper.”
“Yeah, I kind of figured that,” Sky said as the bartender slid Hank’s beers onto the table. “What’s your name?”
She took another nervous drag. “Lucy.”
“How old are you, Lucy?”
“Twenty-three.”
Damn. “Hank your boyfriend?”
“Husband,” she answered, keeping a close eye on the front door. “We got two kids.”
“He do that to you?” Sky reached up to touch the faded bruise on her left cheek.
She looked away. “Why are you talking to me?”
He dropped his hand. Good question. She was twenty-three years old with two kids and an abusive husband. How was he supposed to help? “I thought Hank looked like he needed to pick on someone his own size,” he answered, fingering a cigarette. “I don’t know much about these things, but I’ve heard there’s places to get help. Women’s shelters. I’m sure the police could—”
Lucy interrupted, flicking ashes carelessly. “What are you? A Good Samaritan?”
“No.” Sky smiled wryly. “I been called lots of things but Good Sam ain’t one of them.”
Lucy almost smiled. “You better go, Sam.”
He dropped a couple cigarettes on the table. “Nice talking to you, Lucy.”
When Sky turned around, he stood eye to eye with Hank. “What were you doin’ sitting with my wife, Injun?”
Injun? “Just offering the lady a smoke.” Sky noticed there were two Hanks now. Two big, ugly Hanks.
“Stay away from my brother’s wife, half-breed,” the second Hank said. “We don’t like yer kind around here.”
Must be Jimmy. Charming family. “Don’t know if you boys have heard, but my kind are called Native Americans now.” And mixed bloods in the Creek Nation were revered, but he decided to keep that information to himself. One or two of his mixed-blood ancestors may have been chiefs. Now wouldn’t that gall Jimmy to think Sky could have descended from Creek royalty?
Hank reached for the cigarettes on the table. Shoving them against Sky’s chest, he flashed a cocky grin to his brother. “Take your smokes and go, blue eyes.”
Sky’s jaw twitched as Hank crumbled the cigarettes against his chest. What he wouldn’t give to ram his fist down this man’s throat. But his days of brawling in bars were over. “I’ll just go finish my drink.”
“You do that.” Jimmy gave him a little shove. Instinctively Sky’s fists clenched.
Don’t do it, he told himself. A couple of rednecks aren’t worth a night in jail. What possessed him to stop at this hole-in-the-wall, anyway? How many times had he been in similar situations? Honky-tonk bars in the middle of nowhere. Truckers, bikers, rednecks, other cowboys. He’d brawled with them all. The smart thing to do—get out and don’t look back. “Like I said, I’ll go finish my drink.”
Hank and Jimmy sat their wide behinds down, and Sky could hear Hank cussing at Lucy. Damn, he had only made things worse for her.
And then he spent the next two hours thinking about another woman—a pretty little blonde. Why did he find Windy so appealing? Was it her innocence? Her gentle nature? When she’d caught him ogling her through the shower door, he’d embarrassed them both, yet she hadn’t snapped at him. And the fact that she didn’t kind of warmed his innards.
Sky fingered the cigarette pack. Forget about her. You gave up women months ago. And for good reason. The more he remembered about his past, the more he realized his inability to love, to participate in a healthy relationship. And substituting sex for love was one of those weird Freudian things he wanted no conscious part of.
What decent woman would want him, anyway? Especially a woman dedicating her life to children. What he’d done made him a dishonorable man, a first-class, A1 bastard. The kind of guy who didn’t have the right to look at a woman like Windy, let alone fantasize about her.
Sky pushed his hair out of his eyes. He knew Windy found him attractive. He’d caught her admiring glances, her lowered lashes and soft smile. Spoiling that attraction would be easy, though. All he’d have to do was tell her that he’d been a teenage father who had abandoned his son, a guy too selfish to accept his parental responsibilities, too screwed up to know how to love someone else.
He tapped on his empty shot glass. He wanted to find his kid and set things right. But how could he? He had yet to remember the boy’s name, who the child’s mother was, or exactly what had happened.
The child. Hell, by now his son would be about seventeen—practically a man. Sky closed his eyes. Hopefully a better one than himself.
Rough, masculine voices grabbed his attention, interrupting his thoughts. He opened his eyes and frowned. The commotion: Hank and Jimmy at the door, drunk as skunks with Lucy wrestling Hank for the keys to his car.
“Hank, honey, let me drive.” A victim’s words, softly spoken.
Sky squeezed his eyes shut again, but the coward’s way out didn’t help. He could smell Lucy’s fear. Frail little Lucy, afraid to run. Afraid not to. He gripped his chair as if to keep himself in it. Someone else’s troubles were none of his business. He had plenty of his own.
He motioned to the bartender. “Isn’t it your responsibility to keep people from driving drunk?”
The bartender, fortyish, large arms inked with tattoos a man might receive from another inmate, grunted like an angry bear. “Hank ain’t that drunk.”
No, not that drunk. Sky watched Hank and Jimmy stumble out the door, Lucy fretting nervously behind them.
Damn. “Give me another one.” He slid the shot glass toward the tattooed bear. If he was going to brawl with a couple of redneck brothers then another belt of whiskey was definitely in order.
The gold liquid burned his throat. This is my last night in a bar, he told himself. Pretty roommate or not. Sky had the sinking feeling he was about to get his butt kicked. Hank and Jimmy might be drunk, but there were still two of them.
Well, hell. He headed for the door. If getting roughed up a little meant giving Lucy the chance to snag those car keys, then it would be well worth it.
The cheery ladybugs on the kitchen border did nothing to improve Windy’s mood. She poured herself a glass of filtered tap water, placed it on the oak tabletop, then peered into the living room, checking on the snake’s whereabouts for the hundredth time. It appeared to be sleeping, resting lazily in its glass domain. Even though she told herself being fearful wasted positive energy, and reptiles were one of God’s creations, its slimy presence still gave her the creeps. At least it hadn’t escaped again. As long as that beast remained caged, she could learn to deal with it.
Sky, on the other hand, was another matter. He had been gone all night, and that bothered Windy. She had been thinking far too much about her roommate, feeling much too attracted to him.
Where would a man go all night? She headed for the refrigerator and pulled the door open. The disturbing answer was as plain as the nose on her face. To a woman’s house, of course. He had spent the night with a woman. Another woman.
My God. She was actually jealous. Jealous of Sky smiling at another woman, touching another woman, kissing another woman. She slipped a slice of wheat bread into the toaster and admonished herself. Sky had the right to a personal life, and a man who looked like him probably had plenty of lovers. Dang it. Why should she care? She barely knew him.
Windy sat at the kitchen table and nibbled her dry toast. The problem, she decided, was Sky’s mysterious background. Once she talked to Edith, and Sky’s secrets were disclosed, maybe she would quit obsessing about him. She couldn’t help but recall that shower and every erotic, awkward detail. Every tingling sensation. She had practically melted on the spot while his fevered gaze slid sensuously over her flesh, his boyish smile rife with mischief. No point in denying the primal urges that had loomed in the steam-filled air.
Windy frowned. Primal urges she had never experienced before. Textbook knowledge aside, sexual promiscuity remained an enigma in her mind. She couldn’t imagine intimacy without love, yet here she was, falling in lust with a stranger—a gorgeous, troubled stranger. A summer fling was out of the question, though. She had saved herself for a lifetime of love and commitment, not a season of dusty boots, faded jeans and the most incredible blue eyes imaginable.
The sound of the front door opening jolted Windy’s heart. Sky was home, his footsteps unmistakable. Should she turn around? Pretend she wasn’t thinking about him? Toss her head carelessly and say hello? Force a casual smile? Avoid his eyes?
Oh, yes, she should definitely avoid those blue eyes.
“Hey, Pretty Windy,” his husky voice caressed her.
Take a deep breath. Turn around and face him.
“Oh, my God, Sky, what happened to you?”
There he stood: Western shirt, bloodstained and torn; jeans filthy; turned-up boots dustier than usual. A blackened eye. Dirt and dried blood caked in the corners of slightly swollen lips.
“Had a little accident.”
Windy’s pulse raced. “A car accident?”
His good eye twitched. “Naw, my face had an accident with someone’s fist.”
She shook her head. Someone’s fist? He’d been in a fight? All at once she felt maternal, disgusted and confused. She wanted to reprimand him, yet hold him. Tell him off soundly, yet wipe the blood from his chin and ease the swelling.
“Let me guess. You were drinking last night and got into a brawl. Oh, and there was a woman involved.”
“Sorta…well, yeah.” He frowned. “I wasn’t drunk, though. And there were two of them.”
“Two women? You had a fight over two women.”
“No.” His frown deepened, creasing the space between his eyebrows. “I had a fight with two men. There was only one woman. She was married to one of the men. Her husband was a jerk.”
Windy didn’t know what to say or what to do. He looked miserable, yet he had brought it upon himself. She didn’t believe in violence of any kind. “You fought with this lady’s husband because he was jerk?”
“Yeah. Sorta, I guess.”
She sighed, the teacher in her taking over. On occasion the boys in her class pushed and shoved. She knew how to talk them out of a skirmish, and when it was too late, bandage a scraped knee and hug their hurt away. She studied Sky. Did he need someone to hug the hurt away?
“Why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened while I get you cleaned up.”
He shifted his feet as though debating her offer, debating whether or not to let her touch him. She couldn’t help but smile. Some of her tough-guy students did that, too. They held their little faces high and bit back their tears.
“I’ll be gentle. I promise.”
His bloodied lips broke into a grin, warming her from head to toe. He inched forward, his hair falling across his black eye. “Okay, Nurse Windy, you’re on.”
Oh, no, she thought. I’m in trouble. Even bruised and battered, her mysterious roommate had an engaging smile—a smile guarding the man within. The man she longed to know.
Three
It hurt like hell to grin, but Sky couldn’t help himself. No woman had ever made a sweeter offer. She said something about getting the first-aid kit and he watched her walk down the hall. She looked fresh: purple flowers sprinkled across her spring-green dress; legs bare; painted toenails slung into leather sandals. He hoped she had a first-aid kit. He knew he didn’t.
Windy returned and placed a stack of towels, several washcloths and a first-aid kit on the oak tabletop. The red cross on the plastic container and the clean white cloths seemed official. Sky slid his long body into a chair and smiled again.
“Would you stop grinning.” She touched the corner of his mouth with a damp cloth. “You’re making your lips bleed.”
He closed his eyes and winced like a child being scrubbed clean by his mother. And then he fidgeted, feeling like a little boy as she ran her hands through the front of his hair, moving it away from his face. He couldn’t remember anyone ever fussing over him—babying or mothering him. He decided he liked the attention, maybe always longed for it, even though, like now, he probably didn’t deserve it.
“I’m not hurting you, am I?” she asked.
God, no. “The hair part feels good.”
Her hand stilled. “You have beautiful hair.”
When he opened his eyes, the swollen one fluttered, causing him to squint. Her compliment embarrassed him a little, so he chose to change the subject by skipping the “thank you” part. “The fight was my fault, I guess. But I’m not sorry about it. That guy at the bar, he was treatin’ his wife bad, so I called him on it. She was a little bit of a thing. Like you, Pretty Windy. Just a slip of a girl.”
“Oh.”
Sky figured she didn’t know what else to say. He’d made it sound as though it had been her honor he’d defended. She moved the damp cloth down his neck, and he unbuttoned his torn shirt. Suddenly, being this close to her didn’t seem like such a good idea.
“Oh, Sky,” Windy’s voice reached out compassionately. “What did they do to you?” His unbuttoned shirt exposed a colorful patch of bruising on his chest and stomach.
Feeling a little foolish, he shrugged. “Got kicked a few times.” Ugly Hank had big feet and big, steel-toed boots. “Nothing’s broken. And I got in a few good kicks of my own. I got one of them in the…ah—” Sky remembered Jimmy, hunched over, his face twisted in pain. “Well, I got him good.”
Windy stared at his marred flesh, then raised her eyes to his grinning face. “This isn’t funny. You look awful.”
“I’ve been hurt worse. This ain’t nothin’.” He realized how ridiculously macho he sounded and how poor his grammar was. Ladylike women put him on guard, making him feel inadequate in ways he couldn’t begin to describe. Flashing a disarming grin was his only defense, that or flirting.
Windy doused a cotton ball with a strong antiseptic. Gently dabbing it at his chest, she cleaned the bloodied scrapes surrounding the bruises. “Do you get into a lot of fights?”
“Used to,” he responded. “It’s the cowboy way, I suppose.”
Her caramel-colored eyes locked onto his. “What does that mean exactly?”
Surviving the loneliness, he wanted to say. Having to prove you’re a man. “It’s just a life-style.”
She doused another cotton ball. “Sounds dangerous.”
He laughed, his lip splitting a little as he did. It was, he supposed. Stupid and dangerous. “Charlie never went out for that sort of thing, though. Used to give me hell about it.” But then, his boss had a wife and daughter. He didn’t understand what it felt like to be completely alone. “Charlie’s a responsible cowboy.”
She smiled. “I have a feeling I’d like Charlie. How long have you worked for him?”
“Seems like forever.” Sky’s gaze followed Windy’s hands. They were tending his stomach now. There wasn’t much to doctor, just a few minor scrapes. The bruises would heal on their own. “Charlie’s been good to me.” But Sky wasn’t always loyal to Charlie. He’d pop in and out of the other cowboy’s life, work for him sporadically. Sky couldn’t take the show-biz thing year round so he’d find ranch work in between. Maybe it wasn’t just the show-biz aspect, he thought. Maybe he feared the affection he felt for Charlie’s family, the wondering about his own.
Windy studied him as though trying to read his mind. Her being a psychology student made him uneasy. He didn’t like being analyzed, especially by a decent woman. If she looked deep enough, she wouldn’t like what she saw.
“Where are you from originally?” she asked.
He shrugged evasively. “Nowhere. Everywhere. I get restless, move a lot. I enjoy a change of scenery.” How could he tell her he didn’t know where he was born, or who his people were? Or that he had recurring nightmares about a tiny gray-eyed boy and a hawk? Sky blew an exhausted breath. Dreams of hawks, dreams of his son. Nothing in his head made any sense. Was the hawk his son’s protector? Was it angry at Sky for what he’d done to the boy? Or was the hawk appearing in his dreams strictly as a messenger, sending messages he didn’t understand? He knew animal medicine carried great power—power one shouldn’t misinterpret.
Windy studied Sky’s frown. What was he thinking? Oh, for Pete’s sake, he was probably disturbed by her question. The man had amnesia. He probably didn’t remember where he was from. Edith had said he knew very little about himself.
Windy sighed and tossed the soiled cotton balls into a plastic bag. She wished he would confide in her. He needed to trust someone. Why not a woman exploring the human psyche?
“You done?” Sky asked. “I got a few scrapes on my back. Will you take a look at them?”
She nodded. It appeared he found comfort in her medical ministrations. “You’ll have to take your shirt off.”
“No problem.” He removed the torn garment hastily, as if resisting the urge to shred it. There wasn’t much left of it, Windy noted. It had been a nice shirt, detailed with silver piping and nickel buttons. She wasn’t surprised that he’d destroyed something of quality. He probably did that often. He didn’t appear to value material items.
“The cuts are down here.” He touched his lower back. “It might be hard for you to reach them if I’m sittin’ down. Should I stand up, maybe?”
Windy took a deep breath, his big, bronzed chest suddenly making her ill at ease. “Sure.”
He stood, turned his back, then jolted forward. “Damn.” He winced, clutching his midsection.
There were a few cuts low on his back, just as he’d said, but she decided they weren’t the problem. The bruises on his stomach had to hurt. She couldn’t imagine being kicked there.
She placed her hands on his shoulders. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine. I just got stiff sitting for so long, I guess.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Offering comfort, she allowed her hands to express her concern. For an instant she kneaded his shoulders, then made consoling strokes through his hair.
Seeping through the protective shell of Sky’s rough-and-tumble ego was a thin veil of vulnerability. It circled around Windy like the sweetened smoke of incense, begging for more of her compassion, her touch.
He needed her.
And she needed him. Needed to explore the breadth of his shoulders, the silky hair falling down his back. Windy combed through the thickness, capturing the midnight strands in between her fingers.
She felt him shudder, saw the muscles ripple down his back, listened to his pleasured sigh. Although she touched him tentatively, Sky responded as though he wanted to fall into her arms. Hold her close. Kiss her.
But when he turned abruptly to face her, a thick silence fell between them.
For several uncomfortable moments they stared at each other, aware of the heat passing between them. They stood paralyzed, suspended in time, her fingers frozen in his hair, his eyes as silent as a vast summer sky. She inhaled his scent: blood, sweat and traces of peppermint candy. The unusual combination sent a tingle down her spine.
Windy moved her throat just enough to swallow. She had no business encouraging him, not in a romantic way. He might want more than she was willing to give. Drop your hand. Step back.
Oh, my God. Mortified, she glanced away. Somehow her ring had become caught in his hair, twisted in the heavy black mass.
Whispering an apology, she tugged gently in an effort to release her hand, trying for a noncommittal focus. In spite of herself, her gaze met his, spicing her blood until it seared through her veins. Immediately her knees weakened. If her legs buckled, she would either pull Sky to the ground with her or tear out a handful of his hair before collapsing.
Still struggling to gain control, Windy gauged Sky’s reaction. He was going to say something. Do something. Make a joke. Pretend this was amusing. With that warped sense of humor, he probably thought this was amusing.
On cue, his slightly damaged lips curved into a big, lopsided smile.
Windy’s breath expanded. “I suppose we do look rather silly,” she said, her legs regaining their consistency. “But if you laugh—”
Her warning came too late; he was already laughing.
“Sky, this is not funny. My ring is stuck in your hair. And you’re splitting your lip again.”
He made a face at her. A hideous face, which she thought effective with the addition of his black eye. Giggling seemed her only option. She had never met anyone quite like him. “You’re a strange man.” She felt him pulling at her hand. “What are you doing?”
“Getting your hand out of my hair.”
She stepped back and wiggled her finger, displaying Sky’s handiwork. Attached to the ruby ring were several long strands of black hair. They exchanged a quick burst of laughter.
He lifted an eyebrow. “So I’m strange, huh?”
Strange. Gorgeous. Mysterious. She could hardly wait to talk to Edith about him. Windy glanced at the microwave clock. In two hours she would be sipping tea at Edith’s house. “You make some weird faces.”
He shrugged and spied the coffeepot. “Is that fresh?”
“I made it about an hour ago.”
“Good enough.” He strolled over to the counter, poured a cup, then added an enormous amount of sugar.
She watched in fascination. Odd. He struck her as the kind of bar-brawling cowboy who would prefer his coffee strong and bitter.
He tasted the dark brew, winced and reached for the sugar bowl once again. She tidied the mess on the table and tried not to laugh. “Why don’t you have a little coffee with your sugar, Sky?”
He flashed his signature smile. “I have a sweet tooth.”
Her heart warmed and fluttered. How could a man be virile and boyish at the same time? Rough yet gentle? Strong yet vulnerable?
Windy sat at the table and pushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. Her lack of experience was showing. She understood children, not men. At twenty-six, she’d been dating less than ten years, but never serious dates, or long-term boyfriends. Although plenty of men found her attractive, she’d never lost her heart, made earth-shattering love or even cuddled in masculine arms all night. Call her old-fashioned, but she didn’t mind waiting for the real thing.
What would it be like to sleep next to Sky? she wondered. To curl up beside that long, copper body? Feel those rippling muscles? Old-fashioned or not, a girl had the right to dream, didn’t she?
Sky clanked a spoon against his cup. Windy looked up with a start to find him watching her, a knowing look in his eye. Uncomfortable, she fussed with her hair again—hair that curled haphazardly no matter what the style or length. She pushed an annoying ringlet away, but it sprang back, slapping her cheek. This time an exasperated huff blew it behind her shoulder. A moment later it returned.
Sky’s dimples surfaced. “You have bedroom hair.”
“Excuse me?”
He came forward, coffee cup in hand. “Your hair looks as if you just tumbled out of bed.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Nothing’s sexier than a thoroughly loved woman with tangled hair.”
Windy tried not to blush. For Pete’s sake. What a thing for him to say, especially after she’d been fantasizing about sleeping in his arms. “My hair always looks like this.” And she’d never been thoroughly loved.
He leaned on the table, his husky voice low and intimate. “Say, Pretty Windy with the bedroom hair, are you hungry?”
Her pulse raced. “Hungry?”
He chuckled. “Yeah. For food. You know, breakfast.”
Windy regained her composure. Her flirtatious new roommate had a dastardly sense of humor. Hungry indeed. He knew darn well the way he’d made it sound. “I would imagine you’re ready to eat.”
“Hell, yes. I got the tar beat out of me last night, slept in my truck, then brushed my teeth in a service station rest room. I’m downright starving.”
She couldn’t imagine living such an irresponsible life-style. “I can fix you something. I always keep a well-stocked fridge.”
He smiled. “Sure, okay. It would save me the trouble of going back out again.”
Windy’s mood brightened. There were advantages to having a male roommate. Security, safety. Someone to haul the trash cans out to the curb, someone to fix the plumbing, someone to cook for. She wasn’t used to having a man around. Sky would be the first man with whom she had shared a home. Her father had died when she was still small, and her mother never remarried.
“What would you like to eat?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Anything. A bowl of oatmeal, frozen waffles. Don’t go to any trouble on my account.”
“It’s no trouble. I like to cook. I even enjoy going to the market.”
He placed his empty coffee cup in the sink. “Really? Well, maybe you could shop for me, too. I could give you some money and you could add my stuff to yours. Mostly I just keep snacks around. Candy, chips, stuff like that.”
Windy smiled. So the big strong cowboy liked junk food. “No problem.”
Sky leaned against the counter as she rummaged through the refrigerator. “You’re different from most California girls.”
She looked up. “I am? How so?”
He cocked his head. “Well, you’re blond and all that, but you’re domestic.”
She wasn’t quite certain how to take the unusual comment. “I guess you don’t know many women who like to cook.”
“Not ones as pretty as you.” He closed the first-aid kit. “Does this go in the bathroom?”
She nodded. He had a way of saying whatever came to mind. And although his compliments weren’t offhanded, they weren’t polished, either. Of course, neither was he.
Sky gathered the soiled cloths and stacked them on top of the first-aid kit. “I’m gonna take a shower. I won’t be long.”
“Okay.”
Enjoying her task, Windy hummed as she cracked eggs into a bowl and added a dash of milk. Next she diced onions and mushrooms, then scooped them into a separate bowl. Before starting the pancake batter, she opened the freezer. Some pre-seasoned hash browns should please Sky as well as a tall glass of orange juice. A simple fruit salad would follow: apples, grapes, bananas, a little whipped cream, tiny marshmallows.
She supposed her domestic qualities weren’t hard to miss. Although she intended to have a successful career, she also wanted a husband and a house full of children. And she didn’t mind admitting it one bit. Too many people didn’t appreciate family values. In her opinion being a parent was the most important job in the world.
And now Sky’s virile presence and charming smile made her long even more for what she didn’t have. A husband. A family. Strange that a man like him could encourage that yearning. Handsome, blue-eyed Sky. The reckless drifter. The rebellious cowboy. Engaging, but not husband material.
When Sky returned, breakfast waited on the table. He stood stiffly at first, staring at the food. Windy wondered if the loner in him wanted to run from the domestic welcome. Luckily the other side of him, the bright-eyed boy, smiled and pulled up a chair. “This looks good.”
Windy poured juice in their glasses, then joined him at the table. She noticed he’d changed into loose-fitting sweatpants. His wet hair looked even longer and his scent suggested a deodorized bar of soap, fresh yet masculine. His bare chest glistened, even through the bruises. Strange, but the purplish discoloration didn’t seem to detract from his charm. They only reminded her of his dangerous, if not heroic, nature.
“You’re not eating much,” he remarked.
She glanced down at the small portions on her plate. “I had some toast earlier.”
Sky attacked his food with gusto, pouring a glob of ketchup over his hash browns. Apparently she had done well, choosing foods he liked. He drenched the pancakes in syrup and moaned when he tasted the omelet. “Do you bake? Cookies, pies. Stuff like that?”
She did for her students on occasion. A vegetarian who counted her caloric intake, Windy rarely indulged in sinful desserts. At the moment Sky reminded her of one of those treats. Mouthwatering and forbidden.
“I bake around the holidays. Pies at Thanksgiving. Cookies and brownies at Christmas.”
“Edith bakes for me,” he said.
“What’s your favorite dessert?”
Sky looked up and laughed. “You don’t want to know.”
Windy tried to guess. “Something with lots of chocolate? Mud pie or double-fudge cake?”
“Nope.”
She sent him a smug smile. “I can always ask Edith.”
“Honey, this isn’t something Edith knows about.” His raised eyebrow made him look wicked, especially with the cuts and bruises. “A pretty woman who smells like vanilla ice cream isn’t something I could tell the old lady to whip up.”
Vanilla ice cream? A pretty woman? Windy narrowed her eyes. “You’re teasing me because of my perfume.”
“Maybe.” He reached for the fruit salad, his lips working into a smile. “Then maybe not.”
She decided it was time to stand up to his machismo. “You’re a flirt, Sky.”
“Yeah.” The smile turned crooked. “I guess I am.”
She wagged her finger, reprimanding him like the modern schoolmarm she was. “I’m used to men flirting. So quit trying to embarrass me. It won’t work.”
Amusement slipped into his grin. “So it won’t embarrass you if I tell you that you remind me of Lady Godiva?”
Lady Godiva, the woman who supposedly rode naked on horseback? Although her heart had dived for her throat, she managed an unaffected shrug. “No.”
“She was the blonde, the one with all the hair who—”
Windy interrupted quickly “I know who she was.” For Pete’s sake, she didn’t need him mentioning the naked part.
Sky finished the last of the fruit salad and reached for his drink. “So, Pretty Windy, do you like to ride?”
“Horses?” Lord, no. She had fallen from one when she was a child. “I think they’re beautiful but I don’t ride.” That sounded better than saying she was too nervous to get back on.
Sky leaned forward. “I could teach you. Trail riding is something everyone should experience. A loyal horse and Mother Earth, there’s nothing else like it.”
He made it sound romantic. “I don’t know. I’m—” She chewed her lip. “I’m—”
“Afraid?” he interjected.
She nodded. Afraid of snakes, afraid of horses. She must have sounded like a basket case—a psychologist who needed her own therapist. “I was bucked off when I was little.”
Instead of the teasing retort she expected, his voice softened. “I’d be patient. Charlie has some gentle trail horses. But if you’re too afraid to mount up by yourself, you could ride with me. In my culture, horses represent power and wealth. And spiritually a horse could enable a holy man to fly through the air in search of Heaven.” His gaze sought hers. “We could take a trip to Heaven.”
Windy’s pulse hammered. Lord, he was beautiful. Did he know how enticing his offer was? “I need to think about it,” she said, telling herself to beware. He would only be in town for three months. A trip to Heaven might leave her yearning for more.
When the conversation lulled, they sat in awkward silence. She toyed with her napkin while he studied the kitchen walls. Now she understood why he flirted. Acknowledging their attraction was easier that way.
Quickly Windy hopped up and began clearing the table. Sky offered to help. As they busied themselves, her brain went into its rational mode. Flirting, even fantasizing was one thing, but falling prey to his charms was another. She imagined summer flings suited him just fine. They were not for her.
He rinsed the dishes, and she loaded them into the dishwasher, but when he glanced up at the window, a glass slipped from his hand. It shattered into the sink.
Windy jumped back, recalling the day her home had been vandalized—the broken china, smashed stereo and cracked television screen. For a brief moment, the fear and nausea returned.
She took a deep, cleansing breath. This was just an accident, that was…
She looked over at Sky. He stood gazing out the window, his hands trembling.
“Are you all right?” she asked, her own discomfort immediately forgotten.
“Huh?” He turned toward her, his eyes glazed, his voice mechanical. “There was a hawk outside the window.”
A hawk? Why would the sight of a bird make him tremble to the point of dropping a glass? “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. It just seemed weird that it came so close to the house. Startled me, that’s all.”
But why? “Are hawks dangerous?”
“No.” He smiled a bit nervously. “Not unless you’re a rodent.”
She peered out the tiny kitchen window yet saw nothing but the neighbor’s fence and the trees beyond it. “Do you think it was searching for food?”
“Maybe.”
He raked his hands through his damp hair, and she noticed they appeared steadier. Maybe he had the right to be jumpy. He had, after all, been in a fight the night before. Then again, a hawk? Maybe she should question Edith about it. Sky certainly wasn’t an easy man to understand.
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