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The woman had more thorns than a briar patch and more contradictions than a television preacher. That didn’t stop some foolish part of his soul from wanting to know more about her. To unravel the secrets that she kept hidden behind those big gray eyes.
“Have a seat and warm up.” He stood and stared down at her, abruptly realizing that the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. She was so tiny. Any doubts he had about letting her find her own way to her cabin died. “I’ll be right back with the stew.”
He served up venison stew made from meat that he’d cured himself. Living on the mountain reaffirmed his belief in the man he’d become. He’d come a long way from his wild, roaming youth in the rodeo. A long way from the young man who’d watched his best friend die beneath the stomping hooves of a beast. Part of him still longed to prove to his father that he’d made a success of his life without his father’s land, approval or the hand-picked wife.
Now he had to deal with a city woman again. A lady with crystal eyes that gleamed with intelligence and fatigue. A lady who was used to control—she bristled at every order he issued—yet here on his mountain was oddly vulnerable. A lady whose body promised pleasure that would lead to trouble.
Why then did exhilaration make the back of his neck tingle? The same outlaw feeling as when he pushed his Harley to the limit. Wearing no helmet, using no common sense and obeying no rules. Just pure thrill and a fear he’d never admit out loud.
“Enough,” he said, not realizing he’d spoken out loud until his voice broke the silence that had fallen.
“What?” Miranda asked. The fire’s light played over her brown hair, picking out the red highlights and making her seem more untouchable than ever. An ethereal fairy sent to cast a spell over him and make mischief in his life.
“Nothing,” he replied gruffly. He forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand—finishing dinner and getting her safely out of his cabin. He tossed the remains of the cigar into the fire, unable to enjoy it any longer.
“How long will you be vacationing up here?” he asked, needing to know exactly when she’d be leaving so that he’d be able to hunt in her neighborhood again. He wanted to avoid her while she vacationed on his mountain.
“I’m not on vacation.”
Luke felt as if he’d been sucker punched by fate. Damn it all. When was life going to stop throwing these tricky little kinks at him? He should have learned that lesson long ago. “So when are you leaving?”
Her mouth curved down and she looked away from him. He heard her take a shaky breath before she glanced back at him. “I haven’t decided. A few months, maybe more.”
Luke stood and gathered the dishes, dumping them in the sink. The sooner he got her to her cabin the better. He wasn’t going to ask her any more questions, though he was tempted to get to know her better. He grabbed his slicker off the peg near the door. “I’ll be right back.”
The late April rain had let up a little and a sliver of moon lit the sky, the illumination not enough to brighten even a small distance in front of him. Luke cursed as he walked back into the cabin for a flashlight. He didn’t want her staying on his mountain tonight or any other night. He didn’t want to have to think of her sleeping in that old, decrepit cabin, a soft city woman in his domain. He didn’t want to think of those peachy pink lips, crushed beneath his, because if she stayed, he’d kiss her. The temptation was slowly eroding his defenses much the way Mother Nature had worn away the valley that he gazed at each morning. Slowly, but inevitably.
He scanned the room and found Miranda stretching in front of the fireplace. Her arms held high above her head, her breasts pushing against the cotton of her shirt, her eyes closed, and a smile of sensual delight on her face as the fire’s warmth played against her skin. Lust hit him—hard. He clenched his fists.
He had to get her out of here before his control snapped. Before he forgot that he didn’t want a woman in his life. Before he forgot that short-term affairs weren’t that fulfilling anymore. Before he forgot that he was a loner because life was safer that way.
“Let’s go,” he said, his voice sounding gritty and deep to his own ears. It was a wonder he didn’t frighten her with it.
Her eyes snapped open. All semblance of relaxation vanished. She tensed under his watchful gaze.
“Is it getting worse outside?”
Her husky voice toyed with his mind, creating images he had no business thinking. Images of him and her on the quilt his grandmother had made for him. Clothed only in the fire’s light and a sheen of sweat. Luke closed his eyes and counted to ten. Control, he reminded himself. Ride the beast, don’t let the beast ride you. His father’s advice echoed in his head like the unwanted ringing from a hangover.
Though the old man had died fifteen years ago, Luke had never reconciled with him and felt his father’s presence as keenly as he felt the absence of the land he should have inherited. He felt it fitting that his father still tried to control his life from beyond the grave. Fitting because he’d had the chance make peace with his father but chose instead to stay silent. A father should believe in his son always.
“Yes, but I’ll get you to your cabin.”
She nodded, sliding her feet into worn deck shoes. Her feet were long and slender with high arches and a delicate peach tint on her toenails. The color only a shade lighter than her lips.
Get busy, he ordered himself. He grabbed a canvas laun dry sack from his days on the road with the rodeo, tossing her wet clothes into it. “Do you need anything else from the car for tonight?”
“Yes,” she said, slinging the strap of the overnight bag over her shoulder. “I’ll go to the car with you.”
He realized she didn’t have a raincoat. The next time he saw Edgar Jennings he was going to kick his old, gnarled butt down the mountain. Why couldn’t he rent his cabin to someone who knew how to pack for this kind of weather? Someone who didn’t show up in the middle of the rainy season in a car without four-wheel drive. Someone who looked like Edgar and was about as friendly as a hungry alligator.
But the poncho leaked and the rain showed no sign of letting up. He shrugged out of his slicker and handed it to her. He had a duster upstairs in a box somewhere.
“Use this. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He climbed the stairs with a carefully measured stride and paused at the top. She stood in the middle of the room staring up at him from those brilliant crystal eyes. “If you go outside, take the flashlight from under the sink.”
Luke refused to acknowledge the small tightening as anything other than anger. He grabbed the duster from the bottom of the old cardboard box and ignored the items that spilled onto the floor. He stalked back down the stairs. Picking up her overnight bag and the laundry sack, he went outside.
Miranda stood by her car with a large bag slung over her shoulder and her grocery bag. “This is all I’ll need for now.”
The spring rain made the roads impossible even for the Suburban. The mountain was treacherous and malevolent toward the foolish and the stupid. Something Luke had learned the hard way. He took the grocery sack from her.
“Thanks.”
“Let’s go,” he said between clenched teeth. The path between his place and Miranda’s was difficult in full daylight, at night it was downright dangerous, but not impassable.
Luke cursed under his breath as a wet tree branch smacked against his shoulder. The rain had slowed but the water hung suspended in the leaves, showering them with a cold blast whenever the wind blew.
He shifted the overnight bag to his left hand where he held the flashlight. He reached back to help Miranda over a fallen log. She glanced at his hand, then at his face before placing her hand in his.
She would be happy to be rid of him. But he couldn’t leave her to fend for herself. He’d take care of her, whether she wanted him to or not. The thought of her lost out here haunted him like the memory of past mistakes.
A quarter of an hour later the ramshackle old hunting cabin came into view. The lack of light made the small wood structure look like a fright house at the fair. Luke knew from experience that it didn’t look much better during the day. But it was fairly sturdy.
He played the light over the front porch, checking for rodents. He glanced at Miranda wondering if she’d change her mind now. If she’d agree to go back to his place and then let him escort her off the mountain in the morning. He expected to see some sign of disappointment or revulsion.
“At last,” she said. “Just dump that bag inside the door.”
Luke was sure that the fatigue from the long day must have caught up with her. She’d brought a sack of junk food and had only two bags of possessions with her. She stared at that damned eyesore as though it was...home.
He didn’t think the run-down cabin was much of anything, but if his alternative housing was a small convertible he guessed he’d be more excited about the shack in front of him.
“Let me check inside,” he said gruffly. He didn’t want to like her, but he admired her grit. It was the one city trait he could relate to. He figured it was a kickback to Neanderthal times when humans had been forced to carve a place for themselves in the world—only the trappings had changed and the corporate world demanded as much from its challengers as Mother Nature did.
“That’s okay. I’ll take care of it. I’m sure you want to be on your way.”
“This place has been empty since last June. There could be all kinds of critters inside.”
“I’ll take my chances,” she said firmly.
He gritted his teeth. Luke had the feeling he’d just been dismissed. God save him from bossy women, he thought.
“Fine,” he said, but hesitated.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked.
Common sense to kick in, he thought wryly. “You to go inside.”
She frowned at him—an intimidating expression that made him want to grin. If he’d learned one thing about Miranda, it was that the woman liked things to be her way. He waited, living on the mountain had taught him patience.
“Very well. Thank you again for your help, Mr. Romero.”
“No problem, darlin’.”
He waited until she disappeared inside through the front door and he saw her light come on. He walked away knowing that it was the sensible thing to do.
A stubborn woman as a neighbor and raging hormones he’d thought he’d finally mastered. He wanted her and he damned himself for it.
Three
Luke’s cabin was deserted when Miranda arrived three days later. She left a basket of chocolate chip cookies on the front porch. She’d scraped all of the black burnt stuff off the bottoms and they looked pretty good. Her mother had been so excited when she’d called to get the recipe from her. She’d baked eight dozen cookies, but had only been able to rescue a few.
Determined to tackle nature and take control of her surroundings, she stepped off his porch and retrieved her fishing gear from the ground. She planned on catching dinner today. The thought of eating another peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich made her cringe. She’d eaten so much junk food in the past two days that she’d had trouble sleeping. Focusing on the disturbing images of those chocolate brown eyes or that twinkling stud earring hadn’t helped.
She picked her way across the meadow. The mountain that seemed so malevolent toward her that first night, now apologized with a beautiful spring day. The air still had a chill to it, but the sun promised warmth. She spread her arms and lifted her head, drinking in the beauty that surrounded her.
The tow-truck driver who had dropped her car off this morning had talked endlessly about the weather, the tourist season and the wildflowers blooming in the meadow. Friendly chitchat that had no point. She’d been at a loss as to what to say. Miranda wanted to ask questions about Luke but knew in a small community such as this one the gossip would flow steadily out of control. So instead she’d held her tongue, leaving her imagination free to create whatever images it wanted to.
The detailed tattoo danced through her mind. The tanned skin underneath the hawk made her fingers long to caress him. She wanted to test the resilience of the padded muscles on his back.
Enough, she thought. Her laptop computer and modem would be installed tomorrow afternoon. She wanted something to occupy her time. The mountain, though pretty, still wasn’t an environment she felt comfortable in. Her adjustment time was taking longer than she’d expected, but the only obstacle she’d been unable to conquer was her own body’s weakness. She knew in a few weeks she’d find the balance she was seeking and she’d have something familiar to concentrate on instead of Luke Romero and his disturbing sensuality.
She found the stream and spent a few minutes picking through the grass and debris left by the storm until she found the perfect spot.
Clean, clear water rustled softly, winding its way downstream. The fish swimming at the bottom were visible and a crisp fresh scent of wildflowers filled the air. She stood perfectly still for a moment letting nature’s beauty soak into the fabric of her being.
“Okay,” she muttered to herself.
The Field and Stream magazine she’d purchased before leaving Atlanta had a few pictures of fishermen—all of them standing in the middle of a stream in hip-high waders. She wanted to cast from the relative safety of the bank.
She’d baited the hook easily, having no trouble imagining the squirmy little worm as her ex-fiancé. It was petty and spiteful, but worked dam well.
She glanced at the book on the ground and then back at her rod and reel. It should be easier than this, she thought. Children do this every day.
She stood, mimicking the stance she saw on the magazine’s glossy page. She raised her arm over her head and tried to copy the wrist-snapping motion she’d seen others use. She hooked something before she landed the line in the water. She started to reel it in, but the line grew taut and wouldn’t budge.
Miranda set the pole on the ground and grimaced at the branch of the tree holding her hook captive. The lowest branches were too high for her grab hold of and swing herself into the tree. She doubted she’d be able to scale the trunk without help. But what kind of help?
She was alone in the forest, miles from civilization and her only neighbor was a man who wanted nothing to do with her. Besides, the role of helpless woman wasn’t one she wanted to play. She tugged on the line, hoping to free the hook, but the lure tightened its grip on the small branch and hung on.
Jumping, she latched onto a sturdy branch and tried to wiggle her way up the trunk. Her sweaty hands slid on the bark and she slid back toward the ground. She hung suspended.
“Great,” she muttered.
“Need some help?”
Miranda screamed and fell to the ground. She braced herself, ready to do battle. Luke Romero stood there looking... she struggled to describe the expression in his eyes. He looked as if he didn’t want to be at this place at this time.
“Can you free my line?”
He rocked back on his heels, staring up at the large tree. The fishing pole swayed with the branches.
“Maybe.” He paced under the branches for a few minutes. “Stand back.”
He leapt, catching the lowest branch and then pulled himself up the tree. Miranda watched the graceful movements with envy and awe. Luke moved like a man sure of himself and his environment.
Today, his hair was held off his neck in a ponytail and his Stetson was nowhere to be found. The bill of a faded baseball cap was tucked into the back pocket of illegally tight jeans. A small hoop earring hung through his ear, enforcing his outlaw image, and the pungent scent of a cigar lingered on his clothes. He looked like a pirate who had been at sea for too long.
He freed her line and joined her on the ground. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” she said, watching his large hands move carefully over the hook, freeing bits of greenery from its teeth. She wondered if they’d handle a woman with the same attention.
“No problem,” he said.
He handed the fishing pole to her, before pulling the baseball cap out of his back pocket and putting it on.
“Thanks for the cookies.”
Miranda blushed, wondering if he’d actually eaten one. “Did you try them?”
“Yeah,” he said, grinning suddenly. “Well, you know, they weren’t the greatest cookies I’ve ever had.” His voice was so soft she had a hard time hearing the next words. “But no one’s ever baked anything for me before.”
Miranda felt a tiny clenching around her heart and all her maternal instincts urged her to reach out to the boy inside of Luke and comfort him. Maternal instincts, she thought with a touch of sadness. Was it possible for a woman who couldn’t have kids to be maternal? She’d never thought so until that very moment.
His gaze met hers, his brown eyes full of emotion and pain. She started to touch him, then stopped. Her hand hung awkwardly between them. The tanned shade of his skin made hers look pale.
“It was a first for me, too,” she said at last, dropping her hand.
He smiled. Miranda felt something open up inside of her that she’d thought she’d lost. Something rare and fragile that reminded her of childhood and the days of wonder. Something beautiful and scary but she refused to analyze it now.
Miranda’s soft laughter echoed the sound of the water tripping over the rocks downstream. The rippling effect spread slowly throughout his body. He’d warned himself to stay away from her. Knew that he shouldn’t have left the safety of the north face of the mountain where she would never wander. Knew that he should’ve gotten on the Harley and gone to town. Knew that this was the worst possible thing for him to be doing, but he stayed all the same.
The sunlight dripped through the leaves of the trees that surrounded the bank, bathing Miranda in its golden light. Her skin had the same hue as orange-blossom honey. Soft, light and tempting as hell. The urge to taste her was overwhelming, to lick at her skin until the essence of her was imbedded in his senses. But he fought it.
He groaned, picking up the fishing pole he’d set aside a half hour earlier. Time to put things in their proper perspective. He’d known he was in trouble when he opened the lid on that basket and seen the cookies lying inside. No one ever made cookies for him.
His mother died long before he was able to chew them on his own and his dad’s girlfriends weren’t the type to spend time in the kitchen. The cookies were definitely the worst he’d ever tasted but that didn’t matter. It was the thought that counted.
“Ready to catch your supper?”
She nodded. “I’m guessing you don’t need the magazine to show you how to stand.”
“What magazine?”
She lifted a new issue of Field and Stream, showing him the marked page. “It’s just as well, these instructions got me into trouble the first time.”
“Darlin’, that man is fly-fishing.” The picture reminded him of years earlier when he and his estranged brother Jake had spent a weekend at the river. Luke scowled and pushed the memory aside, ignoring the remembered camaraderie. Jake’s betrayal was all he wanted to associate with his brother.
