Kiersten eased Cookie down the hillside, leaning on the horse’s bare back to keep from sliding forward. The quiet and solitude were relaxing. Having sent Nate and Clay off to return their mounts to the Flyin H, she intended to finish her ride in peace. Today was the last day it would be so quiet on the Peak. Tomorrow she’d help Nate herd her sheep to the corral down at the ranch, then load and have them hauled up to their summer pasture. She’d need to take daily rides around the Peak for the rest of the summer, checking for signs of predators, holes in fences or sick stock.
For the time being, it was nice to enjoy the aspen leaves blowing in the breeze, feel Cookie’s soft back beneath her, and think. Something she’d missed lately, with all the constant company. When she’d lived alone, she’d sometimes gone two days at a time without the sound of another human voice, not even turning on the TV or checking her voice mail. Now there was always another person around, watching her every move.
So today, while riding with Clay and Nate, she’d made up her mind to get out from under them for a bit. It hadn’t been hard to convince them. She’d be fine riding back down from the BLM while they rode off through Cleve’s newly fenced access. Judging by the not-so-secret looks they’d been giving each other, they’d needed some alone time too.
Clay had extended his trip of a couple of days and planned to stay till the end of the week. With a bit of prompting, maybe Nate would take some time off and visit him in Texas. Nate didn’t seem so freaked out lately by the idea of Clay leaving. Maybe they’d made some long-term plans to keep seeing one another.
It was good to see Nate happy. A part of her—obviously a mistaken and self-centered part—had feared he had feelings for her after their misadventure the last night they’d gone out. She didn’t want to be another person who’d broken his heart.
Cookie faltered beneath her, stumbling over a fallen tree branch.
Her heart skipped. Catching her breath, she patted Cookie’s sweaty neck. “It’s okay, girl. Everything’s all right.”
Indeed, it seemed to be. Cleve had become a nightly fixture at her cabin. Waking up with him was amazing. She tried not to imagine what it would feel like when his enormous house was built and he left her there alone. Again. Better to enjoy today and not worry about days yet to come. Think happy thoughts. Saturday, Cleve had knelt alongside her in the moist garden soil, planting early vegetables. She’d look forward to sharing the fruits of their labors later in the summer.
This morning Cleve had gone off to town on business, something to do with signing offers on Fletch and Malcolm’s places. She’d have hell to pay if he found out she was solo, so she intended to keep it between herself and her conspirators. Having him concerned for her safety was one thing, but sometimes it took all she had to avoid rolling her eyes when he got overprotective.
Oscar zipped ahead of her, probably ready to jump in the pond for a swim and a drink. His tongue had been hanging out for some time. With all his zigzagging, he must’ve traveled at least five times as far as the horses had.
“Silly dog.”
Leaning close against Cookie’s back, she avoided a low limb of the last aspen tree, and then was out in the open between the hill and her house.
Cookie tensed. Her own body followed suit, and a deep growl raised her hairs. A strange dog’s growl. Then Oscar’s throaty answer. A feather wafted by her face, carried on a puff of breeze. At her urging, Cookie moved toward the house, but carefully, ears pricked forward.
What other dog could be around? More and more feathers. Chicken feathers, dammit. This wasn’t good. Her chickens were locked safely in a wire cage to protect them from hawks and skunks. But something had gotten to them. Judging by the volume of feathers floating around, the chickens were hurt.
Not trusting her voice to be calm, she squeezed Cookie with her thighs, coaxing her to move faster.
When Cookie rounded the side of the shed....oh God.
She yelped and all but dismounted. The chicken coop, made of small woven wire stapled to posts, was a shambles, apparently torn apart by the beast Oscar now faced.
The Doberman was easily twice Oscar’s size, his face covered in blood and froth.
Her hands sweated around the reins.
The dogs were preoccupied with the face-off, but it wouldn’t be long till the pinscher made his move. Oscar would be no match in a fight.
Where did this dog come from? There was no other vehicle in her driveway.
She needed to reach the house and get her gun, but she’d have to get past the dogs first. As she nudged Cookie forward, the mare backed up. Dismounting wouldn’t be smart.
The Doberman snapped as if waking from a trance, forgetting Oscar and pointing toward her. She struggled to keep her seat astride skittish Cookie. The dog snarled and looked her in the eye.
His eyes rolled back as he lunged. Cookie skipped to the side and bloody teeth grazed her leg. Oscar was close behind. She urged Cookie forward. If she could just get to the house, and her gun...
Oscar yelped, a gurgling, muffled cry, rolled over and over under the horse’s feet, the Doberman’s jaws clamped around his throat.
“Oscar!”
Cookie danced, nearly dumping her off her right side.
Over a pile of chickens and feathers, down the pond bank the dogs rolled, while she had all she could handle just to stay on the prancing mare.
“Cookie, come on girl, let’s go.” Her panicked voice would probably freak out the terrified horse even more.
Oscar rolled into the water. The shock of it, the cold, must have taken the mad black monster by surprise, for he let go of Oscar’s neck. Oscar bit one side of its head, wounding its eye.
Furious yelps erupted from the pinscher. It clamped down into the soft flesh of Oscar’s stomach, rending a hole that made him howl and reel in pain.
The black dog attacked Cookie, taking a surprise mouthful of her hind quarter. No sooner had he gone back to the ground than the horse kicked him, landing a blow between the hate-and-death-filled eyes.
The slick, nervous lather coating Cookie got the best of Kiersten. She slid off in a hard thump next to the still-whining Doberman.
Cookie thundered up the hill the way they’d come, her hoofbeats sounding otherworldly and distant.
For an awful, terrifying moment, she couldn’t catch her breath. Then it whacked back into her, painful as it had been when she’d gotten the wind knocked out of her in a childhood fall from the swingset. Rising and ignoring the pain in the back of her head, she tore down the pond bank, sobbing.
“Oscar!” Blood rushed from his neck and stomach. Everything blurred around her. But she had to be calm, for Oscar. He was still breathing, though not conscious. She bent and scooped him up in her arms. She was going to lose him.
* * * *
Nate rounded the last curve up the driveway to Kie’s cabin. Cookie was beating it up the hill, reins dragging beside her, a storm of feathers in her wake. His laugh at Clay’s joke died in his throat. Kie ran up the pond bank with blood pouring down the front of her, and what looked like Oscar in her arms.
As he jerked his Xterra to a halt, Kie stopped near a black lump, kicking it repeatedly and shrieking, “You found me motherfucker, now look. Look who’s dead, motherfucker!”
He didn’t know how he got to her. In her hysteria, she managed to convince him she was fine
“Oscar. Oscar’s bleeding. Please help him. Not me. Please, please...not Oscar.”
Clay figured out a dog had attacked them, and Clay drove to the vet, because Kie was too worried about Oscar, and Nate was too worried about Kie. Clay called Cleve and told him to come to the vet’s, and Clay—ever the horseman—got Rowdy on the phone after what seemed like a thousand calls, and sent him looking for Cookie, to corral her and doctor her wounds.
Within one second of standing behind Kie at the counter in the vet’s office, Nate knew she was positively not fine. The blood in the back of her hair had nothing to do with Oscar, and one leg of her jeans had been shredded. Through her tattered jeans, nasty red welts swelled around drying blood.
He sat on a plastic chair with his head in his hands beside Clay, hating himself for what he’d been off doing while Kie was attacked by a dog. “This is my fault. I should’ve been with her. Did you see her? If she’d fallen off the horse, that dog would’ve—”
“Nate, it wouldn’t have been much different if we were there. The dog was sent to find her. One of her jackets was torn to shreds on the deck. Somebody sent the dog to get her.” Clay’s calm voice did little to soothe him.
Kie was still in with the vet when Cleve’s truck pulled up. With heavy feet, Nate followed Clay outside to meet him. They had to tell Cleve that they’d left Kiersten alone, defenseless.
“What’s wrong with Oscar?” Cleve asked.
Clay had been the picture of calm when he’d called Cleve and asked him to meet them at the vet’s. Was Clay always a rock in a crisis?
“Where’s Kiersten?”
With guilt roiling in his gut, he relayed what they’d seen at the cabin. “Cookie finally dumped Kie after she kicked the dog,” he told Cleve. “She has a lot of bumps and bruises, but most of the blood is Oscar’s.”
Cleve’s face went hard and his eyes narrowed, but he went inside without a word.
Taking his seat next to Clay again, Nate stared at the closed exam room door, numb with anxiety. Poor Kie. What if Oscar didn’t make it?
After only a few minutes, the vet ushered both Cleve and Kie out to the waiting room. He intended to do surgery to repair the tears in Oscar’s stomach and intestine. His throat was injured and the Doberman had left a small hole in his jugular. No guarantees. He’d lost so much blood.
Cleve kept his cool. But the accusatory glares he shot toward Clay and him left him feeling as defensive as he was pissed at himself.
* * * *
They’d come to the ranch so Kiersten could clean up, though Cleve had tried to get her to the ER.
Alone in the bathroom, she collapsed to the linoleum floor, crying.
Cleve came in quietly. He offered comfort and then physical support in the shower, letting her lean against him and cry while the water washed away the grime and soothed and stung her.
“Cleve. He came for me. That dog, he was a monster. He came to find me.”
Towel-drying her hair, he remained wordless.
“Like a possessed dog in a movie. Killed the chickens. Wanted to kill me. P-p-people trained him, didn’t they, to kill?”
“Sounds like it. Rocky, why were you alone? Where were Nate and Clay?” His voice wavered with barely-controlled emotion.
“I sent them away. Don’t be mad at them, please. I wanted to be alone. They couldn’t have prevented the attack if they were with me.”
He lowered the towel and rubbed her shoulders dry. “That’s not the point, dammit! You shouldn’t have to face that alone. Something else, anything else, could have happened. They were so crazy to go off for a screw that they left you alone. It’s bullshit.” His voice had lowered to a growl. “It’s their fault.”
Oh, God. Instead of being pissed at her for sending Nate and Clay away, he was blaming them. “Blame whoever made that monster, not Clay and Nate, and not you.”
With a quiet sigh, the towel he’d been using settled on the floor.
She turned in time to see him stomping down the hall. “Cleve.” Her anxious call echoed unanswered through the house. Seconds later, the front door slammed. Without a second thought, she wrapped the towel tighter around her middle and followed.
* * * *
Nate brooded in his truck. Clay stood somber inside the house, looking out the front window. Poor Clay was probably getting Cleve’s angry vibes on a much clearer frequency. Obviously torn between consoling him and facing Cleve’s accusations, he’d stayed inside when he’d told him he intended to clean the blood from his seats. Which was fine. He needed space.
He sat in the driver’s seat, slumped over the wheel. Damn. He’d been thinking with his dick when he let Kie talk him into leaving her alone.
The sound of crunching gravel brought his head up. Clay may have respected his need for time alone, but it looked like Cleve had no such concerns.
Instinct and self-preservation sent him to meet Cleve toe to toe, in front of his vehicle.
“You stupid son of a bitch! This is all your fault,” Cleve yelled, jabbing a finger at his chest.
“Don’t you think I know that? I—”
“You were so busy fucking my brother that you couldn’t even do the one thing that mattered most.”
“Fuck you, Howell!” His response was little more than a feral growl. “What matters most to you is making your ranch bigger. This is all because of your greedy father and that fat bastard manager of yours. I don’t see you jumping to track him down, because maybe you don’t want Daddy implicated.”
“My father has nothing to do with this.” Cleve’s fist raised.
He put his up too. On the edge of his vision, Kie came down the front steps two at a time, Clay right behind her.
“Come on, Cleve. Be the man. Hit me. It’s what you want, right? Show Kiersten how tough you are. Kick the fag’s ass. If you can. Come on.”
Towel-clad Kie wedged herself between them. “Jesus Christ, you two are a big help. Neither of you better touch the other.”
Clay followed at a safe distance. “Yeah, you guys are actin like barbarians.”
“You’re part of this problem,” Cleve snarled at Clay. “If you two woulda kept your dicks in your pants, you could’ve been there to help her.”
“Cleve, there’s a million woulda’s and coulda’s. Think what you’re doing right now.” Clay’s words were obviously meant to distract him, but Cleve’s hand still clenched in a fist. “Is this gonna help Kiersten, or her dog? Help figure out who did this?”
Kie tugged him by the arm toward the house, and Cleve’s face went deep red.
“I’ve never called you a fag,” he yelled behind them. Then, to Clay, “I didn’t.”
Clay answered, “I know, Cleve. You’re both pissed. It’s not gonna make her feel better with you two acting like a pair of fucking Vikings. You and Nate might as well have been out here beating your bare chests, and what did it help?”
Inside the house, he followed Kie to his room, where she asked him to lend her some clothes. He rummaged in a drawer for a pair of shorts and one of his smaller shirts. Thinking of her little body in his big clothes made him think of her body in the hotel bed. Guilt steamrolled him these days. Guilt for not wanting Kie to be happy with Cleve, guilt for sleeping through Win’s pet being slaughtered, over hiding his feelings for her, over being crazy about someone else when he was in love with her.
He tossed the clothes on the bed he’d been happily sharing with Clay. To hell with the guilt. He pulled her to him, his hands hugging her soft skin around the edge of the towel.
“God, Kie, I’m sorry. I fucked up. I’m so sorry, honey.” He kissed her forehead, still holding her tight. “If anything ever happened to you—”
“Nate, I’m okay. Really. I’m—”
His lips drowned out her answer. She didn’t fight him, but she was slow to respond to his passion. God, he wanted her. Her lips were so soft. Her tongue so salty. From tears. Because of him. He pulled his mouth off hers in a hurry.
“Jesus, I’m sorry for that too, Kie.”
She blinked in confusion as his hands kneaded her back.
“God, I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes. What else could he screw up in one day?
“Nate. You’re emotional right now. It’s okay. Are you okay?”
Cleve and Clay clamored in the front door.
* * * *
Nate stepped away from her quick, way too quick, then shut the door on his way to the bathroom.
She dressed, feeling nothing less than miserable. What was with Nate now? Why had he kissed her like that? She’d thought he was happy with Clay. That damn night in the bar, when she’d been turned on by him and told him so, that was the problem. Her stupid, stupid big mouth. Nate’s kiss today didn’t turn her on, it just tore her up. Why would he do that? Did he still feel sorry for her? Was her stubborn, self-imposed celibacy going to screw up Nate’s chance for happiness with Clay? God, her head hurt. She had a bump back there, and it ached more now than when she’d hit it.
Dressed, she went to the living room to find Nate answering her phone. It looked like he’d composed himself in the bathroom, but his eyes didn’t meet hers. Or Cleve’s. He nodded and grunted a few times, thanked the other person, and hung up.
Without looking at her, he said, “Oscar’s out of surgery. He’ll be sedated till tomorrow. They washed him up and he looks a lot better. They’re optimistic.”
She blew out the huge breath she’d held while Nate spoke.
Cleve wouldn’t look at her either.
Rubbing her eyes to clear them, she tried to think. What did she need to do? Call the sheriff. While tugging the tattered directory out from under Grandpa’s phone, she noticed the message light blinking. She pushed ‘Play’.
“This is Patty at Dr. Campbell’s office. I’ve got Winston’s lab work back. Please call me at your earliest convenience.” Another sigh, then she dialed the number for the clinic, and Patty’s extension. Patty informed her Winston’s bloodwork showed he was anemic, so he should add iron to his diet with a supplement, but he seemed otherwise healthy.
After hanging up, she announced to the room at large, “Grandpa’s iron deficient.”
Clay acknowledged with a nod from his seat on the couch.
Nate rummaged without a word in the fridge, and at the table, Cleve sat, back to her and stone silent.
She rolled her eyes at Clay and put a call in to the deputy she’d dealt with earlier in the week. He agreed to meet her at the Peak.
Her resolve firmed as she dropped the phone in its cradle. “Clay, I’ll catch ya later.”
* * * *
Cleve watched the back door slam as Rocky’s fine rear end wiggled down the steps. “What’s she—”
“Win’s truck,” Nate muttered. “Goddammit!”
Unfortunately, they were too late to stop her gravel-spewing departure.
“She is such a pain in the ass sometimes,” Nate complained.
“No kiddin. You’d think she’d have the sense to know she can’t be goin off by herself.”
“I’d call a tie,” Clay announced, “for which one of y’all is the bigger shithead.”
Racing up the gravel road in his truck, Cleve couldn’t believe how fast Kiersten was driving. Finally, they were catching up to a dust cloud. With any luck, it would be hers.
“We’ll catch her on the long hill,” Nate predicted. “She never shifts Win’s truck down soon enough, and it peters out halfway up.”
They came around a corner at the bottom and saw the old blue Dodge crawling to the top. Nate really did know her. One scowl in his rearview at Clay, and he knew his brother wasn’t any happier about Nate and Kiersten being so close.
He’d all but caught up to her when they reached her cabin. With his truck parked, he closed his eyes to block the vision outside. By the number of feathers around, it looked like a couple dozen chickens must have been plucked bald. The killer lay in a heap near the pond, the chicken coop was demolished, and there seemed to be blood everywhere. He wanted to clean it all, take it away, so Rocky wouldn’t have to face it again, but the deputy would need to look at it and take pictures.
“Kie, are you okay?” Nate asked through the bathroom door when Cleve got inside. He gestured that she was vomiting.
She came out a moment later, her face still damp from splashing water on it.
“Shit, Kie. Are you dizzy?”
She nodded.
“You have a concussion, girlfriend. Look at these pupils! I can’t believe you drove like this. You’re a veritable Nazi about drunk driving, and you drove up that road concussed?”
Rocky didn’t reply.
Nate stepped behind her and probed through her hair.
“Oww! I live in there!” she yelled. “Jesus, you wanta stick your fingers in the scratches on my leg, too?”
“You drove with a concussion? When we were all right there, ready to take you home?” Cleve demanded. What in hell had she been thinking? And how could Nate play doctor with him standing right there in plain sight?
Then Clay stepped in, shaking his head.
“Did you lose consciousness at all?” he asked, looking at her pupils. “Let’s get you some ibuprofen. It’ll help with the swelling. Cleve, you find that. You want an ice pack?”
Nate stepped aside to let Clay lead her to the couch, and he rummaged in the cupboard for the pain reliever.
“Does your back hurt? Or your neck?”
When she lay comfortably, Clay turned to Nate and him. “I’m goin outside to call Mama. Try not to act like Neanderthals while I’m gone.”
Outside, Clay’s boots rapped on the decking as he dialed his cellphone.
“Hey, Mama, how are ya?...Good. I’m fine. Cleve’s girl’s got a concussion....Well, she got thrown from her horse.”
Cleve had no shame in eavesdropping by the open window. After all, Clay was out there talking about his woman.
“No, she’s a good rider, but the horse was bein attacked by a dog...Yeah. So what do we need to watch for?...Yeah, I’m sure. She threw up and she’s dizzy and her pupils aren’t the same. Got a heck of a bump... Okay. Yeah, I’ll make sure.”
Clay must be smiling when he said, “He’s crazy for her.”
Got that right, Clayster.
“I’m not sure, Mama. She hated us all for so long, but it’s mostly Pop she hates now... I don’t know either, but Cleve ain’t backin down...I think so, Mama. He thinks so, too, I can tell... Probably the end of the week. I...well, I guess I like it here. A lot.” Clay’s voice lowered. “Yeah, I like him too... I know, and we miss you too. Y’all should come out. Maybe if Pop met her— I know he is, and so’s Cleve. But I think she’s as stubborn as the two of ’em together.”
Better watch yourself, Clay. Not that it wasn’t the truth.
With his voice more somber, Clay asked, “Mama, has Chaz been there at all?”
Cleve’s ears perked up. What would Mama answer? Hopefully ‘no.’
“No, there’s some crazy stuff happenin around here, and I think Chaz could be behind it. Pop says he’s in Hawaii... No, I’m not accusin Pop of lyin. But somebody’s tryin to run Kiersten off, and you know how much Pop wants that.” He sighed deeply. “I do respect him, I just don’t like some of the ways he’s done business.” Sounded like Mama was as prickly about Chaz’s possible involvement as Pop was. “Mama, try to make him understand, Kiersten’s not goin anywhere, except maybe into the new house with Cleve.”
“No, I don’t reckon he will, but if there’s anybody he’ll listen to, it’s you. Bring him out to meet her... I will. Okay. Bye.”
Against Mama’s recommendations, Rocky wouldn’t stay lying down. She insisted on going out to make her statement to the deputy. When the deputy left, Clay sent her directly to bed.
Cleve wasn’t impressed with the investigative skills employed. He located a black trash bag, hefted the messy Doberman’s body inside and put it in his truck bed.
Nate came out to help clean up the mess. “So, what will you do with the pinscher?”
“Looks like a purebred,” he answered. “Our Sherlock Holmes looked for ID tags, but I wonder if this beast didn’t have one of those implanted ID’s? I’m gonna have the vet scan him tomorrow. Maybe we’ll find out who owned him.”
“You’d think that deputy would’ve thought of it,” Nate muttered.
“You’d think.”
“Sorry about earlier, man.”
No matter what the guy’s feelings toward Rocky were, he was obviously sorry. And he wouldn’t deliberately get her hurt. Water under the bridge.
“Me, too.”
Cleve spent the evening essentially alone after Nate and Clay left in Winston’s truck.
Rocky slept, waking only when he periodically roused her to make sure she was still coherent, as Clay had advised. He puttered outside, repairing the empty chicken coop.
When darkness fell, he went in to check his email. While the machine fired up, he emptied his pockets, laying his cellphone on the desk.
Pop had finally reached him today, as he’d been leaving the police station, where he’d learned some kids had found a can of red spray paint under the dumpster in back of the burned shop. They’d been caught tagging the dumpster, the can confiscated and fingerprinted. The fingerprints of the person who’d left Kiersten’s warning, which would have been usable, had diminished to a few partials sandwiched between those of the kids.
So Pop had caught him in an especially bad mood. Listening while he pissed and moaned about the money Kiersten cost him hadn’t been pleasant.
“Well, Pop, she’s the monster you created. Maybe you oughtta hire her to do your fightin from now on, huh? I’m surprised anybody’ll sell to a Texan around here, after the shit you and Strom pulled... No, I ain’t listenin to any more, Pop. I’ve got business to do now. If you wanta fight with Kiersten about it, then haul your ass up here and do it face to face. It’s between you two. I’ll not have you disrespectin her, though... I ain’t takin sides, but I ain’t gonna be in the middle anymore. Bye.” He’d hung up on his father. That’d come back to bite him in the ass.
He’d stopped at the attorney’s office to sign the offers, then ducked in the jeweler’s next door. Since nothing they offered had seemed right, he’d resigned himself to having a ring sent from the jeweler back home. Maybe Mary Ellen or Susie could help him out some.
Then the call from Clay about the dog attack had come.
He rubbed the back of his neck, tense from a full day of high nerves.
Kiersten’s computer was a relic. She could sure use an upgrade. But he’d sell his soul before he’d suggest it to her, lest she feel insulted. Opening Outlook Express, he’d only just remembered that it wasn’t his email when a message flagged ‘Urgent’ for Kiersten, from Cook-N came up.
Kie,
I hope you’re feeling better. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help you today.
About that thing in the bedroom. Please forgive me and forget about it. Seeing you there in a towel, it reminded me of that night...It was stupid and I don’t want it to screw up our friendship.
Please let us look out for you, girlfriend. It makes us feel strong and male, and we’d all be lost without you.
I’ve got Bobby coming over tomorrow to help round up the sheep. I want you to rest, OK?
Love ya,
Nate
His hands shook as he closed the email program and typed in the web address for his own mail. Then he covered his eyes. Lord, why didn’t she have a password or something, so somebody couldn’t come and read her mail? Because she was the only person here, and her dog sure wouldn’t ever invade her privacy like that. Goddammit, what did that mean, that thing in the bedroom? Or that night? How was he supposed to live, wondering what the hell was going on with them? If he admitted to reading the message, she’d probably never forgive him, and did he really want to know what was going on?
He had to because of Clay.
The pictures of rings his sisters sent were pretty, but he couldn’t concentrate. Not when that other business kept coming at him like a freight train down a hill. Damn. He had half a mind to call Nate and ask him point-blank what the hell he’d done with Kiersten, but that would ruffle her feathers without a doubt. The price of being snoopy. He either had to live with what he’d found, or fess up to poking his nose where it didn’t belong.
Giving up on all else, he shed his clothes and climbed in bed beside her. Holding her close eased his mind some. What if there was a budding romance between her and Nate, and he’d showed up right as it took off? He’d gotten in the way. If she wanted to be with Nate, wouldn’t she send him away? Maybe not, if she needed protection. Or if she wanted to spite Pop. But if she wanted to be with Nate, she wouldn’t risk it by discussing Cleve with him like she did. Would she? How could Nate stand it? He must have heard way more about him from Kiersten than he wanted to.
He almost felt sorry for the guy. Not sorry enough to keep him from wanting to go bloody that pretty nose, though. After leaving her to face a trained attack dog alone, the guy had the nerve to...what? Touch her? Kiss her? Proclaim his undying affection? What? The question rattled over and over in his mind, squelching all else. What? What?
“Cleve?”
“What?”
“Relax.” She rolled in his arms and faced him. “And hold me.”
He did.
Sighing, she murmured, “I have a confession.” Here it was. End of the line for old Cleve when he got booted off for a prettier model. “I’m scared. Really scared.”
Thank God she was scared and not something else. “It’s okay, darlin.” He wished he knew it was, for sure, but he’d tell her so.
“It won’t be okay till whoever hurt Oscar is locked up.”
“Do you always ignore when you get hurt and pretend it didn’t happen?” Why was she always so concerned with taking care of everybody else, without a thought for herself?
“I try. Sometimes it’s better not to dwell on it, you know?”
“But you have to face reality sometimes too.”
“I know, and it’s scaring the hell out of me to do it. At the risk of sounding soft and feminine...” She paused and drew a deep breath. “Make love to me, please? I really want you to, need you to.”
“You sound like Elvis. You want me, you need me. You love me?”
“Promise you won’t use it against me?”
“Use what against you?”
“Jesus. It couldn’t be easy, could it? If I love you, you won’t use it against me?”
He swallowed hard in the dark, shook his head.
“You’re not married to anybody else?”
Another shake.
“I know you’re not after me for money, so we’re clear there. Um, okay. Yes.”
“Yes,” he repeated. “Yes, you love me?” He held his breath.
“Yes.”
Would wonders never cease. “You hittin your head may be the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Rocky.”
He was so happy over what she’d told him, he gave up worrying about Nate’s email.