“How it's like to be touched and hugged and fu—”
“Don't you dare say that word!”
“What's wrong with the word fussed over?”
Taylor scoffed, her arms crossed on her chest. “Bors, I know where your mind is heading. So don't lie. Anyway, where are we?”
“Romance and hot covers.”
Dang, I'm actually discussing romance novels without feeling the urge to puke. Something's wrong here.
“Oh, yeah. I particularly love the historical genre. There is something about glittering ballrooms, gowns, and men in their crisp coats and cravats that fascinate me.”
“Cravats. Good God. I assume the heroes are British noblemen.”
“Most of the historical romances I've read are set in England.”
“Have you heard those men talk? They all sound like they have plugged up noses. And they're all stodgy.”
Taylor pinched his arm this time. “You are so prejudice.”
“Oww!” He rubbed his arm where Taylor pinched him. “You're a crab.”
“I'll do more than pinch you if you say one more bad word about the heroes in my novels.”
“My sister and Julie are both romance books addicts. Julie is a published author. You must have read her books.”
A soft gasp escaped Taylor's mouth before pushing his shoulder. “Your sister-in-law? The one I met earlier? You're kidding, right?”
“No.” Bors turned right around the bend in the road slowly, then sped up a bit as soon as they passed it.
“What's her pen name or does she use one?”
“I thought you don't want to talk to me?”
She punched him again. “You're a troll. Fine don't tell me. I know you will anyway.”
Bors laughed. “What makes you say that?”
“Because you like talking to me.”
“Wow. You are a brat. Taylor, I'm not taking you back to the cabin.”
“What? You're kidnapping me?”
“I wouldn't call it that. But I think it would be best if you stay someplace else.”
“You think someone was outside my cabin. Not raccoons.”
“Sorry, babe.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To my house.”
“But—”
Something crossed the dirt road. Taylor screamed. Bors stopped the truck abruptly, but not before he braced his arm across her chest.
“Oh, God! What was that?”
“A deer.”
“Not a bear, cougar, a big cat? Big Foot?”
“Saw it.”
“Big Foot?”
“No, sweets. I'm positive it was a deer. Are you okay?”
“I think the deer isn't. I felt the truck hit something solid. Do you think the poor thing is okay?”
“Are-you-okay?” His hand moved to cup her chin to turn her head, forcing her to look at him. “Taylor?”
“Yes. I'm fine. Did we kill it?”
“I hit it hard.”
* * * *
What was that supposed to mean? That they killed the deer?
Taylor watched Bors get out of the truck, then walk around toward the hood. She could see his face. He didn't look happy and the way his lips were moving, she could tell he was cursing. Not good. She wanted to know.
“Is it okay?” Before she thought better of it, she got out of the truck.
“Baby, stay in the truck.”
“I want to see.” Not minding her sore foot, she walked on the dirt road, stood beside Bors and looked down at the deer. Its head twisted in an odd angle and it looked painful. Blood oozed from its mouth and nose. “Oh, my God.” She couldn't stop staring. Suddenly, an image of her mother formed in her head. Bloody with a broken neck, her eyes red from the broken veins, her teeth shattered, and the blood...
“Come on. Let's get you back in the truck. You don't have to see this.”
A loud sob escaped her mouth. The dead deer became blurry as her tears gathered in her eyes. “Can we do something? Maybe take her to the clinic. Maybe we can save her. Maybe—”
Bors gathered her in his arms, running his hand along the back of her head gently. “Shhh ... she's gone. I have to move her, though.”
Why did she look? Her curiosity, a compulsion to know things, had made her open the folder that contained pictures of her mother taken after she landed on the ground. The gruesome images haunted her for years. Finally, those images eventually began to fade. But now, they were back, all because she had to look at the dead deer. Taylor shivered. She shut her eyes tight to block the pictures in her head.
“Come on. We can't stand here all night. You're already shivering.”
Taylor nodded. He was right. She sniffed and looked up at Bors. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“If I didn't distract you, you could have avoided the deer.”
“It wasn't your fault. She jumped in front of the truck.”
“But—” Whatever she was about to say was cut off by a loud bleating.
“Shit. There's a fawn.”
Sure enough, a small fawn walked toward the mama deer. Killing a mama deer was horrible enough, but hearing a fawn bleating for his mother broke Taylor's heart. “What are we going to do? We can't leave the baby here.”
“It'll survive, Taylor. They live here.”
“We have to take the baby with us.”
“No. Babe, if that's a puppy, I would. But it's a deer. That thing knows where to go.”
“We can't leave the fawn alone. It's really sad out here.”
Bors stared at her with a scowl.
Taylor smiled.
Chapter Seven
Those damn tears. One look at those glistening tears and he immediately capitulated. Now, he suffered.
Through the rearview mirror, Bors found himself staring at the brown-eyed fawn. His eyes were watery from sneezing, but it was the fawn's bleating that was beginning to rub on his nerves. He told Taylor that the fawn could be carrying some kind of a disease or ticks. But she wouldn't be deterred. She kept fixing the rags that he placed on the back seat, urging the fawn to use it, but the animal just kept moving away from it. After the third attempt, Taylor quit trying.
One thing he learned from the short time of meeting Taylor was that she was one stubborn woman. She would try everything to get what she wanted, including pleading and wrapping her arms around his waist until he acquiesced to taking the fawn to the cabin. With her arms around him and chest pressed just below his, he thought about standing his ground, but when he saw her tears, well, he crumbled. Damn tears. So freaking powerful.
The fawn cried again. He sneezed. He didn't like staying in the truck, or inside the house. It would be like having an infant walking around without his diapers on. The best place for the little thing was outside, but he didn't want to face Taylor's frown. No, he wasn't afraid of her, he thought. It was the opposite. Whenever the woman frowned, he had the insane need to pull her close, kiss her frown away and hug her tight.
Bors sneezed again. Damn fawn. He wondered who was more miserable. The fawn or him. He ran his fingers through his hair. He was born and raised on this island, but never in his life had he come this close to a fawn. But it was common knowledge—you don't go near the animals. You leave them alone. What an itty-bitty thing.
“Are you crying?”
“No, babe. It's just my eyes are itchy.” He covered his nose with his sleeve in time before he let out a loud sneeze.
“Bless you.”
“Thanks.”
“What should we feed him? You shouldn't have eaten my left over burger.”
“I think we should let him out. He's crying because he wants to go home.”
The fawn bobbed its head.
“See? He agrees with me.”
“How did you know that?”
“Wouldn't you be crying, too, if you were in that little thing's hooves? Babe, we can't keep him inside. I doubt he's potty trained.”
“Oh, I didn't think about that. How about if we put him in the bathroom as soon as we get to your house?”
“Good idea. That way that thing could flush the toilet and wash his hooves.”
“Were you born sarcastic?”
“Realist. He's a fawn. Have you seen a pet fawn?”
“No.”
“Me either. I can tie him outside and he can wait on the porch until—”
“That's barbaric. That fawn is not used to wearing a leash. He'd be miserable.”
Bors wanted to tell her that the fawn was probably more terrified being confined inside the house compared to being tied
outside
, but thought better not to say it. “PAWS will probably be at my place in an hour.” In the meantime, he would just have to endure his allergies.
“Thank you.”
“You're short of choking me to make me agree with you.”
“I can't believe you're able to find someone to come and get Fawn this late.”
Lord, she named the animal, too. Bors sighed. “PAWS rep is happy to help us.” He had to use the Knight name to get someone to come for the fawn at this time of night, and he hated doing that. He rubbed his eyes. Damn allergies.
“Thank you for dinner.”
“You're welcome.” He sneezed so loud it was a wonder the truck's roof didn't come off.
Taylor rummaged in her bag. “Here.” She handed him a tissue. “I hope you're not getting sick. I think a runny nose is one of the many symptoms of Swine Flu. If you start coughing, feeling lethargic and feverish, losing your appetite and begin living in the bathroom, you better see a doctor.”
“I'll try to remember that.”
He noticed she tucked her legs again. A habit, he thought. “You rented a nice cabin,” he commented to change the topic.
“I know.”
Bors glanced at Taylor trying to get comfortable. He doubted that she was aware how sultry she looked sitting on his passenger's seat. “It is a beautiful cabin
and
the most expensive rental place on the island.”
“I made the reservation before my bank account froze. I can't afford the place.” Taylor looked down, her hands flat on her thighs. “I shouldn't ask you this. We just met, but you already know my circumstances. Do you know a cheaper place where I can stay?”
“My offer earlier about my parent's extra room still stands.”
“I hate to impose. And if what you said earlier about people wanting to use me against Jean is true, I wouldn't want them to come for me when your parents are around.”
“All right. You can stay at my house. I stay in my condo in Seattle most of the time. You use my house here. You'll have everything you need in there.”
Taylor chewed her lower lip. “Are you sure?”
Heck, the woman who held the key to Pandora's box staying in his house? He'd never been so sure in his life. “Yes.”
“I don't know what to say.”
“Thank you would be nice.” Man, why couldn't he stop offering people help. He mentally counted his promises. Perm for Astrid, OISC Membership for Teta, and now his home for Taylor. It was surprising he didn't work as a social worker.
“Thank you. I already owe you one and three dollars for my slippers. I'll repay the favor, Bors. Promise.”
“I'll ask for the payment—later. We're almost there.” He took the Cayou Valley road. Ten minutes of misery and they'd be at his home.
Simms said Taylor wasn't available for anyone, was guarded, and rode the limo wherever she went. He would bet his badge that Jean controlled her accounts, too. She was Jean's precious gem. But what kind? Mistress, masseuse, secretary, or another woman Jean kidnapped, but became emotionally involved?
“What is your connection with Jean?” He sneezed the same time Fawn let out a loud bleat.
“I'm not supposed to tell anyone?” Taylor twisted around. “Hey, Fawn. We're here. No worries.”
Worry about me! I'm dying here, can't you see, I'm allergic to the damn fawn.
“You are going to tell my dad, aren't you? Might as well tell me.”
“Isn't it considered breaching of confidentiality when Judge Knight shares his work cases with you?”
“He's my dad. But whatever we discuss at home stays at home, Taylor.” Since she had already told him her trust with men in uniform was nonexistent, Bors did not to divulge what he did for a living. Perhaps if he kept his real job from her for now, it wouldn't hurt. Yeah. It would be wise not to tell her he worked for the FBI. Later, if necessary, he'd tell her the truth. “I want in on your case because I'm a servant to anyone in need of help.”
Taylor's expression changed from surprise to a critical squint. “What's that supposed to mean? You're not a priest, are you?”
“Hell, no.” He turned right to Quarry Lane. This dark, people from out of town would not find this place at night, but he knew the area inside and out. He flipped down his high beam when an oncoming car appeared.
“So what kind of a servant are you? What do you do?”
He turned the high beam back on again and tried to keep his attention on the road. “I trap vermin.” There. That was close to the truth.
“So that explains why you were dirty and smelled ... funny. What do you do after you catch them?”
“Shoot them if necessary. Incarcerate them, punish them for their sins.”
“You're talking about various small animals, or insects that are pests like cockroaches or rats, right?”
Jean, rats, what's the difference.
“Yeah.”
“What a dirty job. Like the police's or Jean's.”
“My job may be considered dirty, but no fucking way that I'm like Jean.”
“I didn't say you're like Jean. All I'm saying is that the FBI, politicians, lawyers, they are all tangled in the same ugly, dirty business. They all have dirty hands. I'm just making comparisons.”
“There is a big difference between Jean and me, my dad and others.
Big difference
. Insult me, and the others all you want. But not my father, Taylor.”
With the bright full moon, he saw Taylor's face pale before she looked down and fell silent. Christ, he shouldn't have reacted to her comment like a grumpy old ... troll. She was just making a statement. And didn't she tell him her aversion to men in uniform? Damn, he scared her.
“Sorry. I'm an ass.”
“I lived my life meeting people like Jean, Bors. I didn't mean to make the comparison.”
“I should apologize. I didn't give you the heebbegeebbies, did I?” He took a brief look at her.
A sad frown flitted across her face. “No. I talk before I think. Sorry for the insult. It wasn't intentional.”