Texas Heroes: Volume 1 (38 page)

And damn near stopped breathing.

If someone had slammed a fist between his eyes, it wouldn’t have hit him any harder than the sight before him. He stepped inside and closed the door quietly.

She looked like a princess, even swathed in too-large gray fleece. Lying on the sofa, her arm curled around Davey, Perrie’s back was turned to Mitch, her hair, for the first time, unbound and no longer wet.

Pure spun gold, it draped to the floor in a mass of waves that made him want to slide his fingers through. It would be like holding silk in his hands.

His fingers itched to do just that…to caress the sweet curve of her hip…to stroke all the way from delicate shoulders to the small feet encased in his thick wool socks.

His clothes. Covering her curves.

Slipping the straps from his shoulders, he registered the rest of the changes. The cabin felt…cozy. Something cooking smelled great. The fire crackled welcome from the hearth, the room was warm. The woman would be warm.

Then Davey’s eyes opened, wide and blue and smiling. Mitch tried to signal him to stay quiet and still so she could sleep, but the warning came too late. Davey sat up.

With one hand above her head, Perrie arched like a cat, the sweatshirt sliding up to reveal more of her hips, more of the sweet curve of that bottom.

“Mitch!” Davey called out.

And the moment vanished. Perrie stiffened and sat up, turning to face him, her eyes wary. Davey scrambled to the floor and raced over to throw his arms around Mitch’s waist.

Mitch couldn’t help caressing the soft hair. Over the child’s head, he and Perrie exchanged looks.

Hers was pure mother tigress.
Don’t you hurt my child
.

His was more rebellious than it should have been. He had no business caring about someone else’s boy. But he couldn’t seem to quit.

Davey crowed. “Look, Mom, it’s my bag. Yours, too.” Then he registered the snow dusting Mitch’s boots. “Is it snowing?”

“It’s starting.”

“Oh, boy! Wanna go make snow angels? We could have a snowball fight, too.” One set of blue eyes danced with glee. The other set barked out warning.

“Maybe later, sport. Right now, let’s get your stuff inside.”

“You carried more?”

Mitch opened the door and pulled the other two bags inside.

“My toys! Wow, Mitch, you’re really strong—isn’t he, Mom? Look at all he carried up here! Thanks, Mitch—wanna play with these?”

“Maybe in a little while.” The walls closed in. He almost turned and went back outside. This felt too good. Too much like—

Home.

Don’t be ridiculous. This is all an illusion. They’ll be gone soon
.

Very soon, if he had anything to say about it.

Davey immersed himself in greeting his toys like old friends he hadn’t seen in years. Mitch resisted the urge to go back outside, busying himself removing his boots and coat, padding over to the fire in his sock feet, ducking past the line of laundry.

Perrie approached but stayed on the other side of the line, speaking softly. “Thank you. It’s very kind of you to do this. I didn’t mean for you to carry so much.”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t hard.”

“Is it getting bad outside?”

“Not yet, but it will be.”

“I haven’t spent much time up here except in the summers. Will it last long?”

“I haven’t spent much time up here, either. I’m usually off guiding right now. But the first snow is unpredictable. Could come and go quick.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll do my best to keep Davey quiet and out of your way.”

“Davey is not a problem.” She was another matter.

She ducked her head, and golden hair spilled over her shoulder. He’d been right—it fell to her waist, a mass of honeyed silk. It was only too easy to imagine it spilling over her breasts, brushing his body. A golden curtain, sealing them off from the world.

He cursed silently and turned to face the fire.

Her voice was soft and hesitant. “I made a stew. I thought I’d do cornbread to go with it. Are you hungry?”

Ravenous. But they weren’t talking about the same hunger.

Remember Cy. Remember what she did
.

He whirled around. “Why wouldn’t you take my call?”

Her eyes widened. “What call?”

“Don’t play Miss Innocent. I called you when Cy was so sick I knew it was almost the end. You wouldn’t even come to the phone.”

“When was that?”

Fury shot through him. “You don’t even remember?” He brushed past her hesitation. “In March. The butler or some damn thing like that answered the phone.”

“Did you tell him who you were?” She got an odd look in her eyes, one he couldn’t decipher.

“I didn’t think it was anyone else’s business. I told him it was an urgent family matter.”

“What did he say?”

“He very politely told me that Miss Perrie had no family and didn’t like strangers calling her. He told me not to call again and hung up.”

Perrie’s glance darted everywhere but at him. “I never knew.”

He snorted. “Or didn’t care.”

“I wasn’t there then.”

“Where were you?”

“Traveling.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. Lying. He’d almost swear it.

For a second, he wanted to press her, to make her admit that she hadn’t cared enough to keep up with the grandfather who had loved her.

But it wouldn’t change anything. Cy would still be dead. Knowing wouldn’t change how it had happened. He needed to get away from her, get a grip on his temper.

“I’ll be—” Why was he explaining anything to her? “Never mind.” Shaking his head, Mitch ducked under the line again and brushed past her, headed toward his bedroom.

“Mitch?”

He stopped in the doorway but didn’t look back.

“Would you…” Her voice trembled slightly. “Shall I start the cornbread?”

He snorted and shook his head. “I can take care of myself,
Miss Perrie
. Don’t dirty those lily-white hands on my account.”

He heard the small intake of her breath and knew a flicker of shame. But why?

He knew why. Because even if she was lying, she did care about Cy. He could hear it in her voice.

He wanted answers, but answers wouldn’t undo anything.

It wasn’t his business, anyway. The storm wouldn’t last forever. This early in the fall, there would be a break between systems. And she was getting stronger every day.

Soon, she would be gone. Or he would.

It couldn’t come a moment too soon.

Chapter Six

P
errie stared out the window, watching the world turn white. In the background, she faintly heard the sounds of Davey playing, but her mind whirled like the snowflakes that seemed to be coming more sideways than down in the ever-present Wyoming wind.

She could still see the accusation in Mitch’s eyes, and it hurt. Lying wasn’t in her nature, but she couldn’t talk to him about Simon.

Could she?

What would happen if she did? Would this man, so dedicated to his solitude, want her to leave and take the threat away from his refuge?

Her sense of the man who was so careful with her child was that he might not. He was strong. Hard. But curiously gentle with a boy who had not known the love of a father.

Perrie leaned her head against the cold glass, hoping to cool the boiling confusion in her brain.

Wasn’t it true that, for the very reason of his kindness to Davey, she owed it to Mitch not to embroil him in the disaster her life had become?

And what about trust? He didn’t trust her. Or like her.

But he might desire her. Those weren’t gentle thoughts she sensed when his eyes raked her—and darkened.

Was she brave enough to risk exploring the attraction? Hadn’t she had enough of darkness, of complicated men? Mitch didn’t even know what his own brother looked like. How had that happened? Why would she rely upon a man who didn’t keep in touch with his own family?

She couldn’t. It was that simple. She could play roulette with her own life, but she couldn’t take risks with Davey. He was all that was important. She’d made a mess of her life, but she wouldn’t allow harm to come to him. Mitch wouldn’t harm him, she was sure of that. But she had no way at all to assure herself that he would welcome being embroiled in the tangle she’d made of her life with Simon.

You made your bed, Perrie. Now sleep in it. Alone
.

For just a moment, she allowed her thoughts rein…set herself free to imagine yielding to the temptation Mitch presented. Not just to sink into the comfort of his strength, but to give in to the draw of the smoldering sensuality he exuded with every breath.

He was a hard man, but beneath that shell, she sensed more, something explosive. Deep within him, something called, male to female, to something in her. She couldn’t help wondering about how those strong, lean fingers would feel on her body, and the very wondering shocked her. Tantalized her. Never in her life had Perrie felt the pull of a man the way Mitch exerted a steady draw on her. Like the moon called to the tides, something deep within him made her want to respond.

But she was a mother first. She could not afford impulse.

Would
not.

With effort, Perrie drew away from her fascination with the world outside the window and turned to her son.

“Davey?”

Davey looked up from his intense concentration on the figures he’d arranged on the rug.

“The ground is covered now. Want to go outside for a few minutes before we eat?”

His eyes glistened. “Yeah!”

“Okay. We have to bundle up like we would in Boston. There’s not a lot of snow yet, but the wind is much higher.”

His joy brightened her own heart.

Concentrate on Davey. It’s your only concern
.

Davey raced out of the room, and Perrie followed behind him.

Mitch had heard them dressing, heard Davey’s excitement and Perrie’s whispered caution. But he had stayed in his bedroom, stretched out on his bed and staring at the ceiling.

Don’t get involved. Caring brings pain
.

Life had hammered that lesson into his skull with an emphasis he couldn’t forget. He’d cared too much, felt too much. Lost control of his emotions—and a whole family had paid.

Where was Boone now? Davey’s question haunted him.
Was
Boone his size? Two years younger, his brother had been almost his height the last time Mitch had seen him, when Boone was fourteen and Mitch two years older. Their father was a tall man, broad in the shoulders. Mitch had once thought Sam Gallagher the strongest man in the world.

Thoughts of his father stirred to life feelings that Mitch had thought he’d killed off years ago. The fury in Sam’s face when Mitch had come home drunk for the umpteenth time. The worry in his mother’s eyes. Her attempts to calm both him and Sam down.

To no avail.

Get out of this house and don’t ever come back. You’re no son of mine. You’re throwing your life away—for what? You make me sick
.

Mitch sat up quickly, rubbing both hands over his face as if to scrub away what had happened next. If only he’d kept his temper… If only his mother hadn’t followed him…