Skin (29 page)

As she undressed, she realized she didn’t have anything to put on. Though she’d brought most of her Carmel purchases, none of them included sleepwear. Well, she could go commando, even though she hated doing that in a strange house, or go on a search mission. She doubted Reese would mind. And if he did? Tough.

Slipping her shirt and pants back on, she followed the hallway light to the room next to hers. She opened the door. Cool air and darkness hit her face. She felt along the wall until she found a light switch and flipped it up. Warm light filled the room. A little girl’s room. Blue ribbons and trophies adorned the walls and shelves. A multitude of stuffed animals held court among frilly pillows on a hand-sewn calico quilt.

Curious, Frankie stepped closer to the bed. A framed picture on the painted white nightstand caught her eye. A picture of a girl, maybe ten, sitting on a pony with a handsome teenage boy standing next to her. Reese. He was a heartthrob then. Both beamed ear to ear. Picking up the picture, she touched her fingertip to Reese’s smile. She wanted him to smile like that for her.

She wanted to wipe away his brooding disposition. She wanted him happy.

As if it burned, she put the picture back on the dresser. What the hell was she thinking? Reese was one of those men who didn’t stay anywhere long, a man who didn’t allow feelings or people to attach to him.

She backed out of the room and decided she’d had enough of Reese and his family for the night. She’d clean up and sleep au naturel.

Reese stood at the head of the stairway and watched Frankie close Missy’s bedroom door. For a long moment he stared at the closed door, his feet refusing to move forward. Raw emotions he’d tamped down for years surfaced, exploding in his brain. His heart constricted and he felt the agony as fresh and hot as if he were fifteen again. Taking a deep breath, he pushed past the pain like he had done for years and walked without looking at her door to his own room.

After he showered, Reese lay in his bed with his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, the rays from the rising sun pouring into his room.

Despite Midas’s words, words from a wishful old man, Reese had no desire to see the man who had adopted him. And he refused to give his mother, the only blood relative he knew of, a second thought. She’d made her choice all those years ago and she could kiss his ass.

His thoughts went to the woman in the room next to him. He had the unusual urge to go to her, take her in his arms and hold her. Missy would have liked her. Both of them so similar in spirit.

He squeezed his eyes shut, the guilt and the pain too much for him to bear. It was his fault Missy was dead, and he would take that knowledge to his grave.

A slight noise caught his attention. His door slowly opened. He rolled over and grabbed his gun. A silhouette halted in the doorway. “Reese?”

He set his gun back on the nightstand. “Are you okay, Frankie?”

“I’m lonely.”

His heart squeezed for the briefest instant before his brain, that trusty protection mechanism, wrestled the emotion from him. Reese slid to the side of the full-size bed, his back against the wall, and pulled down the spread, holding it up invitingly.

It was the invitation she needed. Without a word she slipped into the bed, her naked body wrapped only in the sheet from her guest room bed. She felt Reese’s surprise at her pajama choice and smiled to herself. As much as she wanted him sexually, she wanted his arms around her more, reassuring her all would be right with the world when they woke.

As if sensing her mood, Reese pulled her close against his chest, where she snuggled her head and closed her eyes.

Bright light speared her eyelids and she stretched. Yawning loudly, Frankie bolted upright in bed. Wyoming. She was in Wyoming at Reese’s home. No, his father’s home. The two thugs shooting at them last night pressed forward in her consciousness and she shivered. Wrapping the sheet tight around her naked body, Frankie couldn’t help a smug smile. She’d slept like a dead person. If Reese had touched her, it was his secret. Her body warmed and she frowned. She knew from experience he woke up with a hard-on; why hadn’t he exercised it?

A loud whinny from the back of the house gave her her answer. She hurried to the window to see a tall, shapely blonde wrapped around Reese as pretty as a bow on a present. Frankie growled. When Reese slipped his arm around the hussy’s waist and pulled her close, giving her a full kiss on the lips, she hissed.

She hurried to her room and threw on a pair of new jeans and a form-fitting aquamarine sweater. She’d have to settle for her tennis shoes; the other ones were still in the truck. Quickly, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and pulled back her wild hair into a neater wild mass, then dabbed on lip gloss and mascara.

The wonderful aroma of breakfast halted her mission to disengage Reese and what’s-her-name. She told herself she didn’t care. A covered plate sat on a warmer, and when she took the lid off she almost had an orgasm. Blueberry griddle cakes, warm syrup, sausage patties, and fresh compote. Grabbing the plate, Frankie loaded it, then sat down at the kitchen table and made quick work of the meal.

Just as she savored the last bite, Reese walked through the back kitchen door with that woman still wrapped around him. This time she looked more like a strangling weed. His grin waned when he saw her. The blonde could have chilled a snowman, her stare was so cold.

“I didn’t think you’d be up yet, Frankie.”

“I thought you city girls didn’t get up till noon,” the blonde said in an annoying hick accent.

“Yeah, well, this city girl can chew you up and spit you out, so knock off the crap chatter.”

The blonde — Angie, Frankie surmised — blanched, wide-eyed, and dropped one hand from Reese’s arm. But not the other.

Pushing back from the table, Frankie stood and Reese beamed. She grabbed the plate and looked Reese square in the eye. “I’m so happy you find humor at my expense.” She rinsed the plate off in the sink, her movements jerky. “And far be it from me to remind you, we have work to do.”

Reese nodded.

“Anything I can help with?” Blondie asked.

Reese laughed. “Not this time, Angie.” And he unwrapped the rest of Angie from his body.

Frankie set the rest of the dishes in the sink, turned back to the couple, brushed past them, and went out the back door. She was clueless as to her destination; she just needed to be away from Reese. The urge to dig her nails into his back was overwhelming, and her inability to control that impulse, sent her into flight mode.

Reese disturbed her emotional balance at a most basic level, and she didn’t like it. The thought of sharing Reese instigated a surge of violence she’d never experienced before. She wanted to scream, her frustration was so overwhelming. Her hands opened and closed into fists at her sides. At that moment she felt more vulnerable than if she were standing naked in Golden Gate Park. The sensation made her stomach churn and she fought the urge to vomit. This was not good. She didn’t sign on for this shit.

She ran a hand through her hair, took several deep cleansing breaths, and followed the scent of horses to the long, low barn. The fresh country air smelled good. Her pulse rate slowed. She liked the crispness of the air and the way it cleared her head.

She was at heart a one-woman man. Apparently Reese was a multiwoman man. Her insides rolled, and her hands fisted again. She was making herself physically ill. What was more distressing was that while she’d formed some twisted emotional attachment to the man, he hadn’t to her. She was basically forgotten. She had gone to him last night, lonely and yearning for contact. She’d hoped he would reach out to her in the way men did. With their bodies. Instead, she woke alone and untouched in his bed. While she hadn’t wanted more than what he gave her — a safe, warm place to sleep — she knew enough about men to know what was on their brain pretty much nonstop. So why had he shunned her?

“Stupid, the answer is tall, blonde, and standing back there in the kitchen.”

Frankie picked up her pace. When had she started to have feelings for Reese? And for the love of God, why? He was just a pretty face, a nice cock, a good lover. He was pretty amazing, actually.

She strode through the open double doors to the barn, determined to get an emotional grip on herself. The swooshy sound of horse tails and soft nickers filled her senses. Immediately her mood softened. Just being around horses soothed her. She’d never lost her passion for the beasts or for riding. But it had been years since she sat in a saddle, galloping along the beaches of Half Moon Bay with her mother. She made a mental note to find a horse and ride regularly when she got home.

The late-morning air had a slight nip to it, but the sun shone brightly, promising warmth. Lazy dust motes swirled idly around the wooden beams of the pitched roof.

“Mornin’, Miss Frankie.”

Frankie smiled as Midas came out of a stall, a hoof pick in his hand.

“Good morning, Midas. Thank you for that wonderful breakfast.”

He moved a piece of straw from one side of his mouth to the other. “No thanking me. Reese done cooked it. The boy always did like those blueberry pancakes. Missy liked the banana ones.”

“What happened to Missy, Midas?”

He moved the piece of straw back to the other side of his mouth and shuffled his feet, his head down, finding the floor interesting. “She died.”

Frankie opened her mouth to speak but Midas continued, “Reese don’t like to talk about it, so it’s best you don’t mention her.”

“How did she die?”

“Like Midas said, I don’t like to talk about it.”

Frankie whirled around to find Reese standing only a few feet behind her, his dark features stormy in the bright sunlight.

Her jaw clenched. Taking a deep breath, Frankie cooled her temper. Reese was entitled to his own demons. God knew she had her own. She focused a professional eye on her subject.

In the kitchen she’d immediately noticed his rugged handsomeness. The way his ass filled his tight Wranglers, and the way his chest busted out against the doeskin-colored chambray shirt he wore open at the collar. The worn leather boots he sported finished the look. Immediately her photographer’s eye conjured up pictures of him half naked on a horse, bareback…and…her skin flushed warm…him riding her bareback.

He snapped his fingers in front of her. “Earth to Frankie.”

She shook herself out of her lustful daydream and smiled at him. “We have work to do. I know how to ride, so let’s saddle up and you show me around. The more scenic the better.”

“It’s nearly winter in Wyoming.”

“Yep, and unseasonably warm. Let’s get going.”

She turned to Midas. “I can ride, but it’s been a while, so some gentle old soul will work just fine for me.”

“How do you know we have a horse for you?” he asked.

“Um, the brass plaque on the barn door that says Bronson Quarter Horses.” Her brows furrowed. “Who
is
Bronson?”

“My father’s name.”

“Then it’s yours as well? What about Barrett?”

“It’s my stage name.”

It made sense. Lots of models used pseudonyms. Maybe that’s why Unk couldn’t get much on him. That was good news. Maybe he really was who he said he was. But she doubted it.

R
iding a horse was like riding a bike, Frankie thought, lifting her face to the sun. Once in the saddle, she felt like it had been only a day instead of years since the last time. She knew she’d pay the next day, but she enjoyed the feeling of freedom she always felt when riding. The chestnut mare, Rosie, was gentle but spunky.

Reese’s black stallion, Zorro, rolled his eyes and shook his head at Rosie. Unlike Reese, who looked ahead at the horizon and never at her. She frowned.

As usual when something bothered her, she focused her thoughts on her work. Her camera and a tripod, along with several rolls of film, were stuffed in her backpack. Reese’s saddlebags held several blankets to use for props. The sun shone brightly, warming the chilled air. Reese wouldn’t freeze while she filmed him. She could Photoshop goose bumps, but penises reacted badly to the cold.

Zorro sidled up to her mare. After a sharp command from his rider and a firm rein, he calmed to a more controlled walk.

“Control your mount, mister,” Frankie said over her shoulder, her nose up in the air. “My daddy told me about men like you.”

Reese urged the stallion closer. His hard features softened and she could practically see his morose mood roll off him. When his left leg brushed against her right leg, she stopped wondering about his mood. The thrill of the contact was instant, and as much as she liked it, she wished she didn’t. She craved Reese like she craved caffeine. “Well, little girl, my mama told me to stay away from your type.”

“And what type might that be, sir?”

“The siren type.”

Frankie laughed. “There is nothing siren about me.” She never considered herself beautiful, maybe exotic in an odd way, certainly not everyone’s cup of tea. Her dark features were strong, not the classic girl-next-door features of the blonde she met this morning. She could see Angie as every man’s fantasy woman.