Slow Fever

His breath was rough and had a catching sound. His voice was deep and husky and uneven. “I’ll take a rain check on the massage.”

“You’re not a massage kind of guy. Well, sports massage maybe. You have to give yourself over to relaxing to get the full impact, and you won’t give a part of yourself away like that. You never have, not even when we were younger. You always seemed sort of coiled and ready to strike. I can’t imagine you really unwound and relaxed,” Kylie said, noting Michael’s honed features, his clean-cut jaw and dark gleaming eyes. The candlelight drifted along his glossy lashes and softened the harsh lines across his forehead and beside his mouth. She leaned closer and scanned his face. At Tanner’s wedding, the scar on Michael’s jaw had shocked her. She hadn’t asked how he’d gotten it, because Michael was a very private man. The chances of getting an answer were none to zero. “You could use some moisturizer. I was just getting ready to do my legs. I could shave you and—”

“No. I’m not into mutual-benefit preening.” Michael’s tone said he was just as immovable as when he’d tugged her off that bucking mechanical bull, plopped her over his shoulder and packed her out of the tavern to take her home.

Payback for the bucking bull incident and other matters would have to wait as Kylie dealt with her immediate healing process. She settled for needling him. “Mmm. Sun weathered skin. Tiny white lines at the corners of your eyes. You’re only thirty-four, Michael. Your women will have you turned into an old man before your time. You’ll have hair on your shoulders and be in the old men’s turkey-neck club pretty soon. Moisturizers can help. I hope you’re using a sunscreen.”

He smiled slightly before Kylie stuffed a cheese topped cracker against his lips. There was just the slightest resistance before he accepted the companionable gift, and his lips opened. The heat from his mouth burned Kylie’s fingertips as she drew away. A nervous little tingle shot through her as he studied her.

The trembling of her fingertips shot through him, surprising him. Other women had fed him, flirted with him, but Kylie wasn’t on his list of potential bedmates.

“Okay, here’s the scoop,” she said, preparing to use Michael’s ears to the fullest. He’d always been a good listener, despite his own rough life. Even then, he hadn’t let too many people close to him, except Anna who thought of him as a son. “My mother would have adopted you,” Kylie said softly, remembering how Anna cared for Michael.

He studied the strands flowing through his fingers, considering the light dancing upon them. “I know, but she had enough problems. I wasn’t going to add to the mix. Keep on track. You’re still running in all directions at once… I like the way your hair feels, the way it ripples against my hand.”

“Now that is jumping tracks and not keeping to one direction.” She’d tied her hair on top of her head with a blue ribbon, keeping it free of the various face masks. “I wasn’t lucky enough to have Tanner’s deep waves or Miranda’s sleek, straight hair. Oh, no, I have this stuff, too curly if it’s short. You could cut it for me, so short it couldn’t curl. If it weren’t so cold, I might try to shave it.”

“No, thanks. I like long hair and the sky-blue color of this ribbon. It matches your eyes.” Michael gently tugged the ribbon free and her hair spilled around her shoulders.

“I just haven’t had time to deal with my hair or anything else—like a really good pedicure. It’s been a busy year.” Kylie settled deep into her thoughts, allowing Michael’s toying with her hair to soothe her. “I thought when I got married, it would be forever.”

“Did he hurt you?” Michael asked slowly, almost too carefully.

“He was a wimp. What can I say? Leon knew better. I’m in better shape than he was, faster and more flexible.” Kylie pushed back the sleeve of her flannel robe to flex her muscle. The robe gaped, her breast leaped against the plastic and Michael sucked in his breath. She supposed this was because he was impressed with women who kept themselves in shape. She’d had to be physically active to stave off the emptiness of a sexless marriage. “But it didn’t help my ego to work like a dog, try to build our business and then find him layered on my massage table with his girlfriend under him. The next thing I know, the company is belly-up, we’re bankrupt and getting a divorce. He’s married to Sharon now, a very good aerobics instructor. I sent a toaster, the wide-enough-for-a-bagel kind, but I really couldn’t live with his suggestion—a communal sort of thing. I grew up here and though I married outside the permission of the Women’s Council and The Rules for Courting, my values are still pretty much those of Freedom Valley. You know me—I just jump into life. Well, this time my instincts—that I could make this marriage work—were dead wrong.”

Long ago she’d discovered the deep basic instinct she had for nurturing, sometimes unwisely. Leon had been a user, knowing how to push her need-to-help buttons. To be truthful, much of what had happened was her fault. She knew that she should have made him take more responsibility, but in a misguided sense of wifeliness, she’d taken most of the work load…and Leon, of course, was only too happy to give his share to her. “I can’t place all the blame on Leon. By doing too much, I took away some of his feeling of accomplishment that his ego required. He’s perfectly capable of running a spa. I just gave him too much time to play.”

Her head was a little heavy now, and Kylie rested it on Michael’s shoulder. “I tried college, because it was important to Mom and Miranda and Tanner. After two years, I knew I wanted something else. I met Leon while working in a San Francisco health spa and retreat. I was studying for my license and met him at a Shiatsu conference…he’s excellent at Shiatsu and reflexology, women used to praise his technique, though I never experienced it. Our interests were the same and I considered us to be Yin and Yang. Not an argument in our entire relationship. Leon never argued. He considered it beneath him. Now I’m thirty-two—was married for nine years, and worked so hard to build a business. I should have come home to see Mom more. Leon didn’t want children and I agreed to wait—looking back, I don’t think I would have wanted them to have his jaw. Leon had a really weak jaw and we hadn’t had sex for years.”

Beneath her head, Michael’s heartbeat seemed to have picked up pace. “I need sex, Michael. I’m a physical woman with needs. My clock is ticking and she’s pregnant with my baby!”

“Your baby?” Michael asked in that very wary tone as if he were picking his way through a field of land mines.

“Well, the baby that I eventually wanted. I wanted to be like Mom, to have a family and care for them, and to make her a grandmother. Leon wasn’t up to par, and sex with him wasn’t that good, and it’s my only experience. Instinctively I knew his performance might lack as a baby-maker. I’m a nurturer, a loving woman, I need sex, and I’ve got nowhere to go with all my energy. It’s frustrating.”

“Don’t drink any more wine, Kylie,” Michael said rather shakily after a long hesitation.

“I’m just mellow, not drunk. I never drink. It’s the ring,” she said, flopping back on the sofa to rest her head upon a pillow. Michael’s shoulders were too hard for real relaxing.

“Ring?” he repeated slowly, looking at the flannel robe that had just parted full-length to reveal her plastic coating.

“Ring! Wedding ring!” Kylie waved her left hand and the gold band that had symbolized her marriage in front of him—because he didn’t seem to be following her logic easily. His eyes slowly drifted from her body to her hand as Kylie said, “I can’t seem to just take it off. I mean what would I do with it? It’s got to be a ceremony of sorts. A burial in a tin can, that sort of thing.”

“What’s this mummy act?” Michael asked, his fingertips smoothing the plastic on her thigh. They dug in slightly and his expression did that tight, darkening thing again. “Take it off.”

The deep, raw edge to his order was unfamiliar. The dark, rich tone curled around Kylie, and she got that odd prickly feeling again. She studied Michael closely and pushed away the warning signals. Tonight, wrapped in plastic and dealing with the past, her logic could be akilter. She was having an off-night and not about to be intimidated by his order. “I have to take care of the man-catching equipment. Moisture is good for old divorced women who have to rebuild their lives. The prune look isn’t appealing to potential sex-partners.”

“You’re thirty-two, Kylie, not ninety,” Michael said roughly. “Take it off, dress in something else and I’ll take you down to Valentina Lake where you can throw in the damn wedding ring and do what you have to do.” Michael’s voice was dark and rich, almost a growl. He scowled at her, poured another glass of wine and this time downed it quickly.

The idea appealed to Kylie, like the perfect maraschino cherry atop the nuts atop the banana split. She considered going to the lake, the drama of September winds sweeping across the lake as she hurled the ring into the dark mysterious depths. Michael was perfect for drama and late night adventure. “Good idea, but wrapping myself took a good hour. The stuff clings to itself and it will be a real job to take it off.”

“I could help,” Michael offered quietly, studying her with those dark forest-green eyes. Suddenly the air crackled with electricity, raising the hair on Kylie’s nape as she scooted off the couch.

The tight binding around her knees almost caused her to fall back again, but Michael’s broad palm flattened on her backside to push her upright. He had that closed-in, dark brooding look and the air seemed to steam around him as she wrapped her flannel robe around her protectively. “Mmm, no thanks. I’ll be right down.”

Two

Healing hands are a gift and so is a gentle, loving heart. If I could have my wish, there would be more people like my daughter, Kylie. When she is a woman, that kind, patient nature could be her undoing. Yet, there hovering cold in the shadows, the most lonely, torn heart will open to her healing touch.

—Anna Bennett’s Journal

At two o’clock in the morning, Michael stood in the shadows of the pines bordering Valentina Lake. Outlined in the moonlight, Kylie stood with her ring clenched in her hand. She looked too small and alone, and he wanted to wrap her in his arms. He’d always wanted to protect Kylie, even when she was a girl and tormenting him.

She was all woman now—defenseless, explosive, steaming with sensuality. She moved like a dancer, and each succulent curve had called out to him. Michael frowned, unfamiliar with the hard desire riding him. The way her mouth had curved around the word “sex” had drained his mind and filled his loins. Holding her to comfort wouldn’t work, not with his body hard and needing the warmth of hers. Michael lifted his face to the cold night air, scented with pines and Kylie’s earthy womanly fragrance. He trusted the solitary life he’d built with Anna’s help. He didn’t trust himself with Kylie, not the hot raw need that had leaped to life when she’d opened that door. He turned up his collar against the cold wind sweeping down from the mountains and knew that Kylie’s unpredictable and volatile moods could trigger emotions he couldn’t afford. The hard jolt of seeing her almost nude had hit his body with the impact of a brand. He could do little but sink onto Anna’s porch swing.

It was the same porch swing on which fourteen-year-old Kylie had tried to vamp him with Anna’s flowers and herbs perfuming the summer air. Anna Bennett’s daughter was off limits to a man who had little to offer. Michael accepted that he had no heart to give, no future to offer a woman. And yet tonight, he’d wanted to wrap his fists in that soft, wild storm of silky hair and devour her from head to toe.

She had him going again, he brooded darkly and resented his inability to deny the attraction. He’d known she was alone at the midnight hour and the need to see her was unnatural for a man who preferred his solitude. At Tanner’s wedding two weeks ago, Kylie had been pale and taut, but she never let anyone see her shadows. Michael had wanted to hold her then, but one searing stab from Kylie’s blue eyes told him she wasn’t in a friendly mood.

Women should have digital readings across their foreheads that prepared a man for their emotions. Michael rolled his shoulder, aware of his tense muscles. With Kylie in his vicinity, anything could happen.

Insight into her failed marriage made Michael want to punch something—preferably her ex-husband. A controlled martial arts expert, Michael leashed his dark mood. He didn’t want attachments, not even with Kylie’s soft heart. Was he with her now because of his tenderness for Anna?

Michael didn’t trust the storm of emotions circling him. He should have known better than to bring her here, with the night wind churning the past and mocking his fascination for her.

Dressed in a short wool plaid jacket and tight jeans, Kylie stood with her back to him, her legs braced. “I can’t do it, Michael,” she said. “I wanted my marriage to last like Mom and Dad’s. I thought I could make it work. I wanted— I know you’ve had women, but did you ever marry?”

Michael walked slowly to stand behind her; a strand of her hair floated on the wind, snagging gently upon the stubble on his cheek. He wrapped his finger around the silky softness and brought it to his nose, inhaling the fresh clean scent. This wasn’t the Kylie who as a child had pestered him. This was Kylie, a woman trying to make sense of her life. He wouldn’t touch her—she was too sweet and pure and…too damn voluptuous, looking like Mother Earth when she opened the door. Little had kept him from reaching out and placing his hands over her breasts, from devouring her mouth. He’d wanted to be in her, enveloped by her, holding her tight and— Michael breathed unsteadily, shaken by the deep primitive instincts to take Kylie, to bond with her.

He closed his eyes, remembering how many women he’d helped who had had men with those same unleashed instincts. He realized now that his hand was trembling, the hard impact of his need still circling him, but mixed with tenderness now. Michael’s life hadn’t prepared him for tenderness.

She looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes silvery and haunted in the moonlight. “Help me. Talk to me. Tell me why dreams go so wrong.”

He caught the windswept hair curling about him in his fist, tethering it gently and rested his hand upon her shoulder. He’d known her all her life and respected her family. He shouldn’t be here with her, her soft body leaning slightly, trustingly back against his. The curved nudge of her bottom against him thrust a white-hot need into his lower body, startling him. His free hand shot to rest on her hip, his fingers latched to the rich curve. He was acting as her brother, he reminded himself, and he would not take advantage of Anna Bennett’s daughter. He could see Anna in Kylie and Miranda, that loving nature. A man like himself—one too scarred by life—could easily tear Kylie apart. He forced his fingers to loosen and eased his hand away, shoving it into his pocket so as not to touch her. “I don’t know about dreams.”

As a child, his dreams had been torn away from him. He’d been ashamed of his life, but Anna Bennett had given him pride. Clean, patched clothes and a full stomach had done wonders for his self-esteem.

“Life is made of dreams, Michael. Everyone dreams. It’s a part of life. Without dreams, nothing could happen—would happen.” Kylie’s eyes searched his face, reminding him of Anna’s.

With Anna’s help, he’d found a measure of peace in Freedom Valley. As the town’s bad boy who could potentially infect other righteous men, he’d been labeled a “Cull” by the Women’s Council. He wasn’t expected to follow the traditions of the Founding Mothers, the women who had begun the traditions of men courting women. Kylie should have those traditions.

“I never married,” he replied, skirting the issue at hand. He’d determined long ago never to marry, never to love, because love of any kind brought heartache. Yet he had to know about Kylie. “Did you love him?”

“Leon? I knew it wasn’t exactly a steaming love-match. He has a great family, and I thought he’d have the same values as I. It’s been months since the massage table discovery and my hurried divorce. I’m past the hurt stage, now I’m just mad at myself for wasting my life. Nine years…zip…gone, trashed. I was a virgin on my wedding night—I’m that old-fashioned.” Kylie turned back to the dark lake and her fist pushed back at him. “Help me.”

Virgin. Michael closed his eyes and tried not to think of Kylie’s small soft body, another man loving her. He regretted drawing his hand from the confinement of his jeans pocket; he regretted the need to hold her tight and safe. “Are you ready? Maybe you’d better think about it.”

“No. I want to do this now and get it over. Thinking won’t change anything. I’ve got to get on with my life.”

Michael breathed unsteadily and enfolded Kylie’s small hand in his. “At the count of three, right?”

The gold circle spun an arc into the moonlight and then slid silently into Valentina Lake. Kylie was silent for a long time, and Michael prayed she wouldn’t cry. Even as a child, when Kylie cried, a part of him went all weak and soft. “You’ll be okay,” he murmured finally, nettled that she was spending so much time grieving over a man who didn’t deserve her.

He stepped back, determined not to hold her. He couldn’t allow her softness to blur the truth of what he was, and he’d keep his distance.

Michael looked out to the whitecaps of the dark lake. It was rumored that a woman’s soul walked the lake, restless to be reunited with her lover. He traced the waves and by habit, briskly pushed away romantic notions and the haunting legend. Kylie was right; he gave little of himself to others. But he knew how to protect women when the law was inadequate. The women he and Rosa Demitri rescued didn’t deserve to be abused. They’d had their dreams torn apart by rough hands. Rosa had been his first rescue, and working with her ever since, he’d managed to change a few women’s lives. He liked the feeling that he was passing on Anna’s work, tending others. He brought the women and their children here to Freedom Valley where they could see how women should be respected and loved.

“‘I’ll be okay,’ you say. What would you know about it? Besides the gossip says you’ve got a regular flow of women at your house and that you sport them all over town, never leaving them alone for a minute. It seems you’ve been the sperm donor for quite a few children. Boy, you must really have stamina.”

“I like women,” Michael returned slowly, amused at Kylie’s nettled tone. He loved holding the babies he’d delivered with Anna. Their mothers had needed Anna’s healing hands and gentle midwifing. He loved holding the children close and snug against him, knowing that their new lives would be better.

“How did you get that scar?” Kylie asked, touching the zagged white line on his jaw. Michael jerked his head away, fearing he would lean into her soft warm touch.

“Knife. Working as a bouncer in a bar has disadvantages… Did you have men customers? I mean, did you massage them?” He didn’t want to think about Kylie’s hands on other men, and that he should be affected by the thought rankled.

“Sure. For relaxation and sports injuries. I did lots of men… Mom said you went on to do high-priced security work.”

“It paid the bills.” His silent partnership in Newton Security Inc. still paid the bills for the women he sheltered. His needs were simple, but the regular dividends paid for new clothes. It also provided education so they could provide for themselves and a start in a new life. One of their early cases, Maureen Sanders, had sorted out her life and gone in for computer training, and she had recently sent Rosa a small “payback” check. Rosa’s position as a substitute nurse for a national firm gave her insights into the case studies of abused women—information that she evaluated and forwarded to Michael. Not all women were candidates for rescue, but when protection and muscle was needed, Michael filled the job. He liked giving them a home in which to heal and not be afraid.

“How did you get from security work to electrical work?”

Michael skipped the electronics he’d set up for protecting clients—the alarms, sensors, cameras and listening devices. “Just fell into it. Anna was my first. I rewired her house. Your dad did a good job, but some old wiring and the fuse box needed replacing. It took three weeks, and I enjoyed being with her.”

“Mom and Dad loved each other desperately. Her eyes lit up when she talked about him,” Kylie murmured.

“She had soft, blue eyes like yours. Clear as the Montana sky, as if she knew the truth of life, free from shadows.” Michael remembered Anna’s love of her husband. Kylie deserved a man like that, solid, tender, loving. A man who could give her the traditions of Freedom Valley, and who would make a good father to the children she should have.

Michael didn’t intend to have children—he could have inherited his father’s dark side. His instincts told him to stay away from Kylie and settle for what he’d rediscovered in Freedom Valley. He’d watch another man hold her in his arms at the traditional Sweetheart Dance. He’d watch another court her and he’d be glad for her happiness, as Anna Bennett’s daughter deserved. Michael inhaled the night air and Kylie’s disturbing scent. Uncomfortable with his prowling, undefinable emotions, he said, “I’m hungry. I’ll cook.”

“Jerk. I’m dealing with a broken heart here and you’re thinking of food.”

“Let it go, Kylie. Move on.” Michael’s uncustomary impatience startled him. He didn’t want to think of Kylie’s love of life imprisoned by the past—too many women hadn’t been able to move on, even with his and Rosa’s help. Those women had eventually gone back to the men who had abused them.

“You think this is easy? Why are you here? Don’t you have some woman’s bed to warm?” Kylie asked, turning her frustration on him.

He studied her flashing eyes, now the color of moonlit steel and admired the sight. Kylie was a fighter and she’d struggle back to what she wanted, to the future she should have.

“I’ve done my share. I’m here because Anna was special. So are you.” He would rather have that than her tears, mourning a man who had hurt her. Michael eased a wind-tossed ringlet away from her face, his thumb caressing the fine warm skin of her cheek. It had been five years since he’d last had a woman, and he had the unshakable feeling that last time he’d been doing the mechanics. That hard cold stark realization was enough to make him recheck his life and his values. He’d been shocked to discover that he’d become old-fashioned and that lovemaking should mean more than bodies locking to feed a hunger.

Maybe a little of Freedom Valley’s old-fashioned ideas about love and romance had washed off on him in the three years since he’d been back. He studied Kylie’s face, and knew that she deserved the best, the courting and the treasuring of a bride. He shrugged and moved away, shoving the lingering warmth on his hand into his pocket. Kylie’s soft heart wasn’t for the likes of him.

“If you tell anyone about tonight and how I’m feeling, I’ll kill you,” Kylie promised adamantly, glaring up at him.

“That might cost,” he returned slowly, and enjoyed her flash of anger.

She punched him lightly in the chest and Michael caught her hand in his. It was small and delicate and yet strong. The impulse to bring it to his lips surged through him as their joined hands rested over his heart. He pasted a leer upon his face, just to remind her that he wasn’t a tender man. Kylie ripped her fist away, rubbing it with her other hand. “I made your life miserable when you were chasing every girl in the countryside and I can do it again.”

“I promise never to make fun of your concoctions for removing freckles again. They’re rather sexy.” Michael couldn’t resist bringing her small fist up to his lips and kissing it. Kylie’s stunned expression was worth the punch to his stomach that followed. “So how do you like your eggs cooked?” he asked, as she walked toward his truck and he reluctantly admired the sway of her hips in the moonlight.