by Kay Hooper
“Coffee?” she asked casually, moving toward the counter and a large thermos there.
“Thanks.” What, he wondered, had terrified this woman? Her remoteness, he was now almost certain, was neither innate to her nor indicative of coldness. It was control, he thought; a rigid, fierce control over fear. And something told him that Brooke Kennedy wasn’t easily frightened.
He no longer thought Pepper’s worry the product of imagination.
She set a cup of steaming liquid in front of him on the table, gesturing wordlessly toward the sugar and cream containers near the lamp, then retreated back to the counter and leaned against it to hold her own cup.
“I tried to stop you from coming,” she told him in the distant, oddly gruff voice. “But by the time I got hold of Pepper, you were already on your way.”
Cody sipped his coffee slowly as he watched her. He ignored both tone and words to say casually, “You must be a good friend of hers.”
He was rewarded for the statement by the first sign of warmth he’d yet seen on her lovely face. There was even a faint, brief spark of humor in her remarkable eyes. “Do you think,” she asked dryly, “that anyone could meet Pepper and not become a good friend?”
Cody grinned. “Not a chance! Pepper hugs the world.”
Inexplicably the spark vanished as though it had never existed. “Yes,” she murmured, then shook her head slightly and abruptly changed the subject. “Sorry about the welcome. I was walking back up from the barn when I heard you coming around the corner. I decided to stack the deck in my favor before asking questions.”
He felt his sore stomach ruefully. “Is that what you call it? Stacking the deck in your favor? I thought I’d been hit by a train.”
“Karate,” she said, his remark winning no spark this time. “Comes in handy sometimes.”
Cody nodded, watching her and reaching for another spark. “Is that why you learned first aid? To be able to patch up your victims?”
She looked at him for a long moment. No spark, no visible reaction. Then her eyes slid almost involuntarily toward the door again before returning to his face. Abruptly she said, “You won’t be able to drive back down with that ankle. I can take you down in the Sno-Cat; there’s a shortcut.”
“Anxious to be rid of me?” he drawled softly.
Green eyes reflected the fire’s light and nothing else; her voice remained even and remote. Disinterested. “You can report to Pepper that I’m fine, and that I’m sorry I worried her. I have guests coming next week; the lodge is doing great. Then, your duty discharged, you can go on to wherever you’d planned to go before Pepper roped you into this.”
Presented with a quick and easy way out of his obligations, Cody was perversely determined not to take advantage of it. “Oh, I think I’ll stick around for a few days. This is a guest lodge, right? So consider me a paying guest.” As she opened her mouth to speak he added smoothly, “At least until the ankle heals.”
Instead of speaking immediately, she sipped her coffee for a moment. When she finally did respond to his statement, he could have sworn that there was a note of relief in her voice. “Am I going to be faced with a lawsuit, Mr. Nash?”
“Cody.” He smiled slowly. “Of course not. Why would I sue you? Just because I slipped on an icy path and loused up my ankle? Going to court is no way to start a…friendship.”
Quite suddenly she laughed. And it startled Cody in more ways than one. It was an oddly musical laugh, catching one by surprise after the soft gruffness of her speaking voice. And it was puzzling because the amusement in her voice never reached her eyes. In fact, the riveting green orbs held more than a touch of bitterness.
“Pepper didn’t warn you about me, did she?”
“Warn me?” he probed cautiously.
“She didn’t.” Brooke raised her coffee cup in a slightly mocking toast. “Here’s to Pepper and her tact. I wonder if she realized I’d tell you myself.”
“Tell me what?” Cody asked warily.
Brooke Kennedy threw the answer at him as if it were a gauntlet, a challenge she didn’t expect him to take up. She flung it at him in the tone of a woman who was braced for a reaction she’d seen one too many times.
“I read minds, Mr. Nash. I’m a certified, bona fide psychic.”
“Really?” Cody leaned forward, both his tone and his posture that of keen interest. “That’s fascinating. All minds, or just some? Can you read my mind?”
Green eyes flickered in a surprise nothing short of astonishment and then dropped as she sipped her coffee again.
Cody silently congratulated himself. It didn’t take a genius to realize what kind of reaction she was accustomed to after that statement: wariness, mistrust, even fear. He was thankful that she wasn’t the first psychic he’d encountered, thankful that he was aware of the problems she’d probably gone through because of her gift. He realized then that her rigid control guarded more than just fear.
“You didn’t answer me,” he prodded softly.
She looked back at him, the shutters down for a brief moment and uncertainty peeking out. Then, with the control probably built up over a lifetime of being a target for suspicion, she was shut inside herself again. “To the first question: I don’t know; I haven’t encountered ‘all minds.’ To the second question: I don’t know; I haven’t tried.”
“You have to try?” he asked, honestly interested. “I mean, d’you have to concentrate?”
Brooke nodded a bit jerkily. “I do now. I learned to—to build a wall. I had to.”
“I’m sorry,” he said very quietly.
“You’re…sorry?” Her tone was surprised, wondering.
Cody felt a sudden surge of rage so strong that he had to swallow hard before he could even speak. Lord, had no one ever shown compassion for this woman? he asked himself. Was she convinced that no one would understand what it meant to be locked away inside herself? “I’m sorry…because walls are lonely things. I’m sorry you had to build one.”
A slight frown drew her flying brows together as she studied him, a frown of uncertainty and confusion. Then she shook her head. “You’re an unusual man, Mr. Nash,” she said almost inaudibly.
“Cody,” he repeated gently, patiently.
After a moment she murmured, “Cody, then.”
“May I return the favor?” he asked, still gentle.
She nodded slightly, but said nothing.
He studied her, a frown beginning to draw his own brows together. Cody had met few women toward whom he felt any protective impulses, probably because he’d come of age during the women’s movement and had tried to respect everything that it stood for. But instincts and impulses were stirring to life now; he felt an almost overwhelming urge to protect Brooke Kennedy.
But from what?
She was afraid of something or someone, and the control she’d built up couldn’t stand against that fear. He could have asked her point-blank, but knew that she wouldn’t tell him. Not yet anyway. Cody had the feeling that Brooke didn’t trust easily. That the lack of trust was all bound up in her psychic abilities he didn’t doubt; it made his self-imposed task more difficult. For her to trust him, she’d have to open up, and he couldn’t help but wonder if years behind her wall had destroyed that ability.
TWO
BROOKE FELT HIS searching stare, and she didn’t need telepathy to realize that Cody had made some sort of decision. This golden man, she thought, had decided to stay here for a while.
She felt stiff, uncomfortable with that realization. She’d always been more nervous around men, and the compassion in this man’s eyes unnerved her even more. At the same time she was glad he would be around tonight; she was afraid to be alone tonight.
Hurt…
Setting her coffee cup aside and instantly regaining control of the tremor that shook her hand, she asked him calmly, “Have you eaten? I have a small butane stove, and I was planning to fix an omelet.”
Cody, who’d seen the tremor, bit back a question
. “I had something in Butte, but that was hours ago. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble…”
“Of course not.” Brooke was already getting the small stove out of the closet near the back door, silently fighting to keep her concentration at full strength.
“I’d offer to help,” Cody said wryly, “but—”
“I think I can manage.” Her mind only half on his response, Brooke wasn’t conscious of her abrupt tone.
Cody felt his fingers beginning to drum rhythmically on the table and quickly stopped them. He told himself to be patient, to go slowly unless he wanted to put her even more on-guard than she already was. But the remoteness of her voice cut at him. He searched his mind for some casual conversation, something to help her relax.
“Do you live up here all alone?” he asked finally.
“When there are no guests, yes. Except for Mister, that is.”
“Who’s Mister?”
“He’s a burro.” Brooke went to the refrigerator for the ingredients for the omelets. “He was my uncle’s…pet.”
“But not yours?” Cody gathered that she spoke of the uncle who’d left her this lodge.
Breaking eggs into a large bowl, Brooke sent him a quick glance, feeling a faint prickle of humor. “Not exactly. Mister’s almost as old as I am. He’s nearsighted, bad-tempered, and hates every living thing now that my uncle Josh is gone.”
“Is he the reason you were at the barn when I arrived?” Cody asked easily, determined to keep alive that spark of amusement he’d seen.
She nodded. “With weather like the kind we’ve been having these last few weeks, he prefers his stable to the pasture. I was down there feeding him.”
After a moment of silence broken only by the crackle of the fire and the slight sounds she made cooking, Cody tried again. He was beginning to feel like a salmon swimming upstream.
“How often do you have guests up here? Is there a definite season?”
“No real season. I usually have a group stay four or five times a year, mostly during the summer.”
“No more often than that?” He shook his head slightly. “You’re up here alone the rest of the time?”
“I’m used to being alone.”
Her words had been easy, her voice still remote, and Cody felt a sharp stab of compassion. Lord, but she had a right to be bitter. He wondered if she guarded her mind even while alone, and knew somehow that she did. Could she never allow herself to relax?
Caution went by the board.
“I’ll bet you weren’t alone before you learned to shut out everyone else’s thoughts,” he said probingly.
Brooke tipped the first omelet into a plate and carried it and a handful of silverware over to the table. She set the plate in front of him, looking at his inquiring expression with nothing at all on her own face. Whe she spoke, it seemed as if she’d gone off on a tangent.
“Have you ever been around others and thought something which was, let’s say, unkind? A thought that never made it to speech because of innate good manners or tact?”
“Sure,” Cody frowned a little. “I’m sure we’ve all done that.”
She nodded. “But we don’t speak, because thoughts put into words can never be taken back.”
“True.”
“Before I learned to build a wall,” she told him tonelessly, “I heard those thoughts. All of them. The petty jealousies, the cruelties, the insults never voiced. Even the unconscious thoughts that would horrify if one were aware of them.”
Cody stared up into the remarkable green eyes, and what he felt in that moment he couldn’t define. “I’m sorry, Brooke,” he said huskily.
She looked at him for a moment. “Your omelet’s getting cold.” Then she turned and went back to the small stove on the counter.
Silently he dug in. After a moment, watching as she prepared her own meal, he said, “You’re a good cook.”
“Thanks.”
Cody reached desperately for normality. “Did your mother teach you?” Brooke sat down across the table from him with her own plate, and in the flickering light, he saw pain and bitterness flash in her eyes briefly before the shutters closed.
“No,” she said flatly.
He realized then that he couldn’t expect normality, and Cody wasn’t one to strive for what wasn’t there. There were murky waters to get through before he could expect to know this woman. He wanted to know her. Had to know her.
“Here there be dragons,” he said softly.
Brooke looked at him sharply. “What?”
Cody’s eyes were hooded, watchful. “Think back to history classes in school. Remember those old maps of the world when it was mostly uncharted?” He didn’t wait for a response, but went on in a musing voice. “The continents were weird shapes and all squashed together; a lot was missing. And at the edges of the unknown, unexplored territory were the words Here there be dragons.”
She shook her head. “You’ve lost me.”
“It’s a problem in getting to know someone.” He kept his voice easy. “You say something casual, maybe just making conversation, and touch a nerve without meaning to. You suddenly find yourself teetering on the edge of a pit, an area of darkness not to be probed…. Here there be dragons.”
He continued to watch her, but Brooke returned his gaze without expression or comment. After a moment Cody shrugged slightly.
“When that happens, you have two choices. You can back off; catch your balance, retreat to safer ground. Explored territory.”
“Or?” Brooke asked evenly.
“Or?”—he smiled crookedly—“if you’re an inquisitive soul, an explorer, you ignore the warning and step off into the pit. Launch yourself into those uncharted areas and battle the dragons. Or prove they don’t exist.”
Brooke looked down and concentrated on her food. “And so?”
“And so”—he took a deep breath—“tell me about your mother.”
“I see you’re a dragonslayer,” she said without looking up, striving to keep her voice casual.
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t try to slay my dragons, Cody,” she told him very quietly. “They’re the fire-breathing kind. You’ll get burned.”
Those statements caused Cody to chalk up several points in her favor. Because she was quick enough to understand exactly what he’d meant; because she was honest enough not to pretend that she hadn’t understood; and because she was clearly warning him to turn his damn boat back around and get out of those uncharted seas.
The lady was a challenge.
Lightly he said, “I’ll wear an asbestos suit.”
“You’ll be burned to a cinder.”
“I’ll bring along a fire extinguisher.”
“Ineffective against a dragon’s fiery breath.”
Delighted with the humor, Cody said sadly, “Better men than I have tried before, eh?”
A faint flush rose in her cheeks, and Brooke shot a wry glance at him. “No,” she murmured.
“No?” he probed in surprise.
She hesitated, wondering irritably why she was telling him this. “I’ve always avoided—uh—relationships. For some reason telepathy tends to frighten men more than women.”
“You mean, you’re—”
“Yes,” she muttered.
Cody was honestly astonished. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
He stared across the table at the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and wondered briefly how many total idiots one woman could encounter in her lifetime. “Then the men you’ve known have been morons,” he told her calmly.
She laughed in spite of herself, looking up just in time to see the intent way he was looking at her. Trying to ignore the warmth of his golden eyes, she said reasonably, “You can’t blame them. It must be very unsettling to find out that the lady can read your mind.”
“Doesn’t unsettle me,” Cody said firmly, wondering how to extract that musical laugh more often.
�
��So you say.” Brooke kept eating, feeling more relaxed now because only the wind was howling outside. Nothing else. It was gone again.
Cody finished his own omelet and sipped his coffee. “I don’t mean this to sound crass,” he said carefully, “but when did you confide your psychic ability to these moronic gentlemen?”
Brooke laughed again at the careful phrasing. “D’you mean, at what stage of the game did they back off?” she asked wryly.
There was an answering twinkle in the golden eyes meeting hers. “I was trying to be delicate,” Cody said reprovingly.
“Mmm.” She lifted a brow at him. “Well, I’ll be blunt. The gentlemen were told at a very early stage; I thought it was only fair that they be warned.”
“Is that why you told me right off the bat?” he asked softly.
The question caught Brooke off-guard, and she stared across at him, her mind moving in slow motion. Was that really why she’d told him? Had that instant and confusing awareness of a stranger caused her to employ the weapon of her abilities so quickly? Had a deeply buried, little-used feminine instinct warned her that this man could hurt her?
She looked down at her plate. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a stranger. I—”
He reached across the table to cover one of her hands with his. “Don’t. Don’t run away from me.” His voice was very deep.
Brooke stared at the strong brown hand covering hers for a long moment, her gaze finally lifting to his face. “You’re a stranger,” she repeated steadily.
“I don’t feel like a stranger.”
“But you are.”
His hand tightened on hers. “Brooke, I know what’s in all the unwritten rule books. I know that in relationships one step follows another—usually slowly. But I feel as if we’ve skipped a few steps. I came in here intending to leave as soon as possible. I’m being honest, you see. Then I met a fascinating lady—and it’ll take more willpower than I’ve got to make me leave.”
Brooke sat back abruptly, pulling her hand from beneath his. “D’you usually get results with that line?” she asked in a brittle voice.