Texas Heroes: Volume 1 (40 page)

In a few minutes more, she had the coffeepot bubbling on top of the stove, and she was able to remove some of the clothing she’d worn for her trip outside.

The world was a white wonderland. That was the good news.

It was still snowing. That was the bad. This cabin was too small to live in a state of armed warfare with anyone. She and Mitch would have to come to some accommodation if they were to survive with sanity intact.

Last night they’d had an actual conversation, without rancor. The contempt that had filled his eyes since the first day had been replaced by a wary politeness. Maybe there was hope that they could come to some sort of accord, some way to make do until the snow stopped.

She turned at the sound of footsteps, to see Mitch’s head buried beneath the shirt he was shrugging on. For the briefest of instants, she saw his bare chest, ridged with muscle and covered with dark whorls of hair tapering down to a fine line bisecting his flat belly.

Then the dark blue fleece shirt came down to cover it.

Wait
, she wanted to say.
Let me see that again
.

Perrie could barely stifle a gasp at her own thoughts. She’d never felt an urge like that before. Heat blossomed in her center and spread to her face.

Mitch’s startled gaze met hers. For an unguarded second, his eyes took on a glow that burned right into her. Caught like prey in the heat of his eyes, she found herself unable to look away.

Then his shutters slammed closed again. She quickly averted her eyes, but she was so rattled that she brushed one hand against the stove, jerking back reflexively, sucking in a breath at the stab of pain.

“Are you okay?”

She whirled at the sound of his voice right behind her, stumbling backward.

Strong arms shot out to pull her away from the stove.

And into the solid wall of his chest.

She wanted to lean into him, to wrap her arms around his waist and hold tight. She’d never felt as safe in her life as she did with Mitch around.

But deep within her, the woman scented danger. This male was all male. Too male for someone like her.

She pushed against his chest, stepping carefully away from temptation. One glance at his face showed her a jaw gone rock-hard, eyes turned cold.

“Let me see your hand,” he ordered, reaching for her after a hesitation that showed his unwillingness to touch her any more than he must.

She jerked her hand back. “It’s fine—I just—” she stammered. “I made coffee—”

“Don’t be foolish,” he growled, reaching for her hand again. “You can’t be careless with wounds up here. Medical help is too far away.” He turned her palm upward, then to the side. Then he grabbed a cup from the dish rack and moved to the door, opening it and scooping up snow. He returned and shoved it toward her. “Hold the spot against this for a few minutes.”

Then he walked away, shrugging on his coat and knit cap and heading outside, leaving Perrie staring after him.

So much for the truce. But armed dislike might be safer than that riot of feelings he’d provoked. Her mind drifted back to that brief, electric glimpse of skin. He had the muscles of a working man, not the pretty-boy bulk built in gyms. He was big. Powerful. And he made something deep inside her ache.

She’d had a crush or two when she was younger—all those towns where her mother drifted meant that she’d been exposed to lots of boys in many different schools. But the increasing stares from her mother’s boyfriends had kept her wary of the male of the species. And the last one—well, he’d scared her enough for her to leave for good.

And after that, she’d been too busy to worry about boyfriends of her own. All her time and efforts had been focused on survival, on working and finishing school and getting that first plum secretarial job that would lead her away from her mother’s life.

Fate had intervened, giving her the job at Matheson Industries, where she’d attracted Simon’s attention. He’d seemed worlds away from the squalor of her youth, like someone who could lift her up into a life that was pristine and orderly, free of any remnant of the life she’d escaped.

But she’d discovered darkness in his world, too.

Perrie had never felt like this before. Too warm, achy and restless in a way that made no sense.

But if this were desire, Mitch wouldn’t welcome it. Or share it. Simon had given her ample evidence that she wasn’t the kind of woman who could satisfy a man. She was no good at passion.

But still something called to her, made her wonder, made her wish, just a little. Foolish or not.

No harm in wondering, right? All too soon, she and Davey would be gone.

Perrie removed her hand and studied the faint red streak, assuring herself that it was minor. Then she looked out the window again, smiling wistfully at her thoughts. For one bittersweet moment, she remembered how his body had felt against hers, how his dark eyes had sparked.

All of a sudden, Perrie was sick to death of being careful. Tired of playing it safe, of being afraid of every shadow, every single misstep.

She wouldn’t do anything about how he made her feel—couldn’t, because they must go soon. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t imagine how it would be, if he didn’t want her gone—and she didn’t have to leave. If they were alone here, just the two of them, no past to come between then, no future to decide.

She didn’t have to tell anyone, least of all Mitch. But in her own private thoughts, she could spin a new kind of story. One where two bodies, one dark and one fair, intertwined. Where whatever this feeling was that Mitch stirred could be explored.

Where maybe, just maybe, she could coax the lone wolf to the fire, even for a minute.

Then she heard the front door opening and quickly fled to the room she shared with Davey.

Chapter Seven

“I
can’t do this,” Davey sighed, crumpling the length of soft rope in his hand.

Perrie started to soothe him, but Mitch spoke up first.

“I thought the same thing when I was learning.” He smiled at her son as he’d never smiled at her. “Come here.” He set down the piece of wood he was whittling and scooted forward on his chair, patting his thigh. “Come stand right here.”

He settled Davey in front of him, reaching around her son’s body. “Let me hold these ends for you again.”

Patiently, he instructed Davey through the steps of tying a square knot once more, his deep voice gentle and calm, no matter how Davey’s fingers fumbled.

Perrie watched her child’s intense concentration, watched the big hands work with the tiny ones as the fire lit the two of them with a golden glow.

In that moment, she felt the lash of regret. Davey should have had this all his life. Should have been granted a father who would care for him, guide him, show him how to be a man like—

A man like Mitch
.

She jerked her gaze away from them, shocked to her marrow at the direction of her thoughts.

Mitch wasn’t a father, didn’t pretend to be one. Or to want to.

He was a rolling stone, gathering no moss.

He was a difficult man, hard and cynical. He had no interest in the family he had, much less in acquiring a new one.

And she—did she want another man in her life? A man to restrict her, to shove her into his own definition of who she should be? To walk away from Davey when he was too much trouble?

No. Absolutely not. She and Davey were enough for each other. It was that simple. She would care for Davey until he was grown, and then—

What would her life be, once Davey was gone? For that was the way of nature—babies grew up and left the nest. She would be alone.

Alone, as she’d been so often in her life. Her mother hadn’t been interested in motherhood at all. She’d wanted laughter and good times and raucous fun.

Only with Grandpa Cy, only in these mountains, had she found peace. Only here had she felt like she’d belonged.

“Look, Mom! Look what I did!” Davey rushed to her side to show her the knot he’d made, with Mitch’s help.

Over her child’s blond head, she met Mitch’s gaze.
Thank you
, she wanted to say. Hoped she was saying, with her eyes.

Thank you for caring more than his own father ever did
.

“This is wonderful,” she responded. “You did such a good job.” She drew Davey close, breathing in that little-boy scent. “I’m very proud of you.”

And then she lifted her gaze again, capturing in Mitch’s eyes a naked longing that hurt her to her soul. Her throat thickened with tears she dared not shed. She held his gaze, measure for measure, refusing to look away.

Dark eyes studied her own for long moments, within them a maelstrom of need and confusion…and a loneliness so deep that her heart ached.

For that span of time, she felt closer to him than she’d felt to anyone but Davey in years. It made no sense, given that he had never uttered a word to make her think he wanted more than he had.

Caught in the grasp of his powerful spirit, Perrie could barely resist the sigh that threatened. A sigh that reached out to this solitary man. Part wish to comfort him, part longing for a safe harbor of her own.

When Davey spoke, she felt jarred to her bones.

“Tell me more about Ermengilda, Mom,” he pleaded.

Perrie snapped her gaze away from Mitch’s. She could barely remember her own name, much less Ermengilda’s story. “Oh, sweetie, I don’t think Mitch wants to hear that.”

“Sure he does!” Davey turned. “Don’t you, Mitch? I told you my mom makes up cool stories. This one’s about a princess who’s a fish.”

When Mitch’s amused look met hers, Perrie felt her cheeks warm.

“Ermengilda?” Mitch asked.

“Yeah,” Davey laughed. Then he sobered. “But don’t kid Mom about it.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She likes it.”

Mitch’s brown eyes lightened to amber. His mouth quirked at the corners when he looked at her.

She was beginning to wish she were anywhere but here. “I haven’t thought much about her lately,” she said weakly.

Davey’s big blue eyes turned downcast. “Aw, Mom, couldn’t you try, just a little?” he wheedled.

She glanced at Mitch, who seemed to be enjoying her discomfort. For a moment, she thought about how good that harsh face looked, lit with the seeds of laughter.

She owed him this, at the very least, for all he’d done for them. Mitch had had little laughter in his life, she was almost certain.

So she swallowed hard and tried to ignore the steady glow of those dark eyes as she searched for the thread of her story.

“So where were we?” she asked Davey.

He climbed up on her lap, a smug smile on his face. “Ermie was laughing when that dumb boy was tickling her.”

She poked him gently in the ribs. “Princess Ermengilda, young man. And the Prince isn’t dumb.”

“But he has blue eyes, right? Just like mine?”

She smiled. “Just like yours.”

“And we get to have a sword fight?”

Perrie heard Mitch’s chuckle and glanced up to see him shaking his head. “What is it about boys and fighting?” she asked.

His face sobered. “Men protect. That’s part of who we are, since time began.” A darkness crossed his face, a stab of pain that made her want to soothe, to seek out his sorrow.

Had he failed to protect someone? Was that the sadness that filled him?

“Mom?” Davey wiggled in her lap. “So what’s next?”

Perrie jerked her gaze away from the man who was such an enigma. Drawing a deep breath, she grasped for the threads of the story.

“When we left them, Ermengilda was laughing so hard she couldn’t swim away. The Prince of the Pretty People was tickling her belly, and she felt all her bones turn to jelly. The next thing she knew, she was way up in the air, gasping for breath—

“Prince of the Pretty People—ack.” Davey turned to Mitch and rolled his eyes. “Men can’t be pretty, can they, Mitch?”

“It was never a goal of mine.”

He wasn’t pretty, no. But he had a hard, dark beauty of his own. Compelling…haunting…his face was one she would never forget.

“Then what, Mom?” Davey asked.

Mitch turned back to his whittling, and Perrie grasped at scattered thoughts.

“The Prince was looking at her very closely. Ermengilda was a little nervous at first, but she was sure he didn’t mean to harm her. So she spoke to him first.”