Texas Heartthrob

by Jean Brashear

  “Please,” was at last all he could think to say. “Let me carry those for you. Then I promise I’ll leave you alone and you’ll never see me again.”

  Her pale hands stilled, her shoulders sagging. “Why?” she whispered, facing him fully. “Why would you want to help?”

  What blew his mind was that she assumed no one would. Liam’s powers of observation had been honed over the years of acting, and a close study of her eyes before she glanced away again showed him a woman pushed to the extremes of both loneliness and despair. A woman, with a deeply bruised soul, holding on to herself with scratched and bleeding fingers.

  Exactly the kind of woman he didn’t need to get involved with when he was still struggling to handle his failure to save another woman at the end of her rope.

  “Never mind.” She turned away again and tried to lift a burden that he could handle with ease.

  He grabbed for the bundle, and her strength was no match for his. “My mother,” he blurted. “I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t help a lady in distress. And my dad and brothers would horsewhip me—that is, if my little sister let them get to me first.” The thought of his family brought a grin to his face.

  She frowned. “You can smile about that?”

  What kind of life had this woman had that she couldn’t understand a family so steeped in love that they’d never have to lay a hand on him because he’d turn himself inside out to avoid disappointing them? “They wouldn’t seriously—” He stopped, seeing her wavering on her feet. “How much farther is it?”

  Liam barely caught her before she crumpled. He dropped the bundle beside them.

  He sank to the ground and pulled the now-unconscious woman onto his lap. Once he assured himself that her heartbeat and breathing were normal, he settled in to give her a few minutes to waken before he started figuring out where she was headed.

  The wind rose, and he shivered in his T-shirt. He nestled her closer to him, reaching over to untie the bundle with one hand, dumping the contents, once again, on the ground, so he could wrap his shirt around her. The chocolate bar, he noted, remained uneaten.

  He scooted back to settle against a tree trunk, aware that the shadows had lengthened. He’d been raised in other mountains and knew darkness would come quickly as the sun sank behind them. The temperature would drop rapidly.

  He would give them both a very few minutes to rest, then he’d awaken her, much as she needed rest, and force her to eat and drink something. Then they’d set off for whatever her destination had been. Once he’d delivered her there, he’d gladly be on his way.

  “Ms. Donovan,” the voice insisted. “Raina—”

  Raina tried to rise from the deep, dark well into which she’d fallen, but she was so tired. So very tired.

  “You have to wake up,” she heard. “It’s going to be nightfall soon.”

  She ducked her head, rolling to the side, snuggling deeper into the warmth. Her nose brushed against cloth covering a firm surface that was warm and smelled good. She burrowed her face against it, her lips grazing the cloth.

  She heard a gasp. The safe, warm nest—

  Clenched.

  Her eyes flew open. White cotton stretched over—

  Muscles. Lots of them.

  Raina scrambled to get away.

  Arms tightened around her. “Easy now,” the low baritone soothed.

  She tensed to fight her way out. Remembered a big body trapping her on the ground, strong hands pinning her wrists—

  He sighed loudly. “Save us both some trouble, all right?” Carefully, he set her away from him. “I don’t want anything from you but to see you safely home. In case you haven’t noticed, the sun is going down. How much farther is your place?”

  Raina battled through the exhaustion, forcing muscles already sore from her efforts to make Gran’s cabin habitable, now molasses-slow in their responses to this man who said he didn’t want to harm her, but—

  Green eyes held concern peppered with irritation, but he kept his voice even. “Are you awake enough to move?”

  She wasn’t sure, but she nodded. “Who are you?”

  His gaze darted away. “Only a guy passing through.” He locked eyes with her again, resolute. “I’m going to pick up your groceries, then follow you home just long enough to make sure you’re okay. Then I’m outta here, got it?” Grabbing her bundle, he rose in one lithe movement and reached out to assist her.

  She kept her hands to herself and made her way to her feet, seeing irritation flit across his too-handsome features. It couldn’t matter. She had only one goal and could not weaken.

  She didn’t want his help—couldn’t afford to accept it. But she didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. He was right; night would come too soon, and her childhood memories of these mountains might not be enough to get her—

  Home, she’d been about to say, but it wasn’t. Not yet.

  It would be, though. It was all she had.

  “It’s not much farther,” she said, hearing the churlish tone and regretting it a little. After all, he’d bought her groceries and raced to her aid when she’d collapsed. He was the only person she’d encountered in weeks who seemed to give a damn.

  Which was what made him dangerous. That seductive sense of comfort to which she’d awakened was something she wanted so badly she was afraid of what she’d give up again to have it.

  She’d sold herself too often, seeking safe harbor. It had turned out badly every time. No more.

  The words of apology were on her lips, but she couldn’t afford to bridge the distance between him and herself. He was right—she could feel it; she wouldn’t make it the rest of the way carrying that load. Much as being in anyone’s debt rubbed, she would accept his help because it was sensible.

  But she had nothing to offer in return. If he knew what a bad bargain she was, he’d be running in the other direction already. As matters stood, the condition of Gran’s cabin would no doubt do the trick. No one who drove a car like his could do anything but recoil.

  So she swallowed the inadequate words and simply put one foot in front of the other, heading uphill toward the place that represented all she’d ever known of home and being loved.

  Liam was too busy keeping an eye on both her and the unfamiliar terrain to notice what lay ahead until she stopped and held out her hand.

  “I can handle this now.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m sorry I could see no choice but to take your shirt. If you can wait a minute, I’ll give it back. I—” She seemed about to say more, but shook her head. “Thank you.”

  But Liam was too lost in studying the most ramshackle cabin he’d ever seen. He wasn’t unaccustomed to the sight of poverty; his own rearing had been solidly middle class, and many of the people of his part of Texas lived barely over the poverty line. But this—

  “You can’t stay here,” he said.

  Instantly, she bristled. “It’s not your decision.”

  He took in the ancient weathered logs, the mud used to chink them missing in spots, the rampant vines doing their best to bury the structure itself. “How long has this been uninhabited?”

  “Go away—” She grabbed at the bundle.

  He saw the shame then, and berated himself. Had he gotten so spoiled that he couldn’t imagine living in less than the obscene amount of square footage he inhabited?

  That wasn’t it. He looked at her and couldn’t understand the contrasts she represented. He grabbed one of her hands. She hissed in pain, and he turned the hand over, muttering at the blisters, broken open and bleeding, remembering the gloves in the bundle.

  She wasn’t used to this. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Why isn’t anyone helping you?”

  She snatched her hand away. “Please,” she said in a strained whisper. “Just go.”

  Liam laughed then, though there was little of amusement in it. “You’ve got to be kidding. I can’t walk away and leave you to—” His arm sketched out utter astonishment. “This.
”

  “It’s my home.” Her voice was nearly too faint to be heard.

  Liam threw his head back, exhaling in frustration. “Lady, I don’t know what the deal is here, but you’re coming with me. Surely someone in town has a room you can have for the night.” Seeing her shoulders stiffen, he remembered for the second time the old man’s scornful treatment of her.

  Raina Donovan was always too high on herself.

  What was going on?

  And why did he care?

  He was on his way to his family, and he’d left an expensive car down the hill. He had no business trying to solve the problems of a woman who wouldn’t thank him for the attempt.

  All he’d wanted was a nice, quiet road trip. A span to think, to get his head back on straight after Kelly—

  Movement arrested his jumbled thoughts.

  The woman was already halfway to the cabin that looked as if it would fall down around her shoulders if she opened the door—

  “Wait—” he shouted.

  She didn’t slow.

  Sighing loudly, Liam once again followed. With long strides, he closed the distance, but she leaped up the steps like a gazelle while he stumbled on a broken one before recovering barely in time to avoid a gaping hole in the porch—

  She slammed the door in his face.

  The only good news was, the house didn’t fall with it.

  Raina heard him muttering on the other side of the door. Gran had never cared to lock a door in her life; all he had to do was turn the knob. She stared at it as though a serpent bobbed and weaved before her.

  She rubbed her temple. Why was he doing this? Why wouldn’t he simply wash his hands of her and go away? He’d be glad if he did; he just didn’t understand that yet.

  I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t help a lady in distress.

  Were there really families like that? Too wholesome by far to be believed, no matter how she’d longed to be part of one as a child. How she’d hoped to create one herself until she’d faced the truth of her marriage.

  “Lady, if you think I’m just going to walk away…”

  Raina couldn’t think. She was so tired.

  The latch rattled. “Tell me you’re all right. I don’t want to break down this door, but—”

  Before she could respond, the door swung open and there he was, filling the room, frowning as he glanced at the wobbly, chipped porcelain knob.

  “Get ou—” She let the words die away and sank to the wooden chair behind her. Suddenly, the effort to battle him was too much.

  In a second, he was before her, crouching to look up into her face. Those brilliant green eyes scanned her features, and he frowned, then pulled a chocolate bar from the bundle. “You didn’t eat this.” He shoved it at her. “Do it now.”

  She was too hungry to argue. With shaking fingers, she tried to slit the wrapper. With a soft oath, he took it from her and unwrapped it, then broke off a piece.

  “When’s the last time you ate a decent meal?”

  She couldn’t speak. The first bite was heaven. The second, bliss. She abandoned all thought of ladylike behavior and wolfed it down.

  He drew out another bar and started to open it—

  Then swore as he unveiled what looked like the crisp green of money.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  Color stained his cheeks. “Nothing.”

  She grabbed for the candy. “How could this get inside—” Her gaze flew to his as understanding dawned. “You—” She swallowed hard against humiliation. “I don’t need your money—or your pity.”

  “It wasn’t like that—” He broke off, and she knew that it was exactly like that. The rub was that she was desperately short of funds.

  But she’d die before accepting. She carefully rewrapped the bar, then handed it back, money, too. “I don’t need it. Or your food.” She curled her arms around her middle. “You can go now.”

  Her stomach growled, making a lie of her words.

  “I’m not leaving. I’ll stay the night.”

  Startled, she glanced at him. “You can’t.” Her gaze slid away, landing on the bed pushed against one wall of the two-room cabin.

  For the first time, he looked around, and she saw the place through his eyes: ancient logs stained dark with time and the smoke of too many kerosene lamps and fires on the timeworn hearth. The one room served as living area, bedroom and dining space; the second area was the kitchen, which had no running water. The bathroom was an outhouse, and there was no electricity.

  Raina shivered. She’d intended to be back hours ago to start the fire that would be her only defense against the night’s chill.

  He merely shrugged. “I’ve stayed in worse, hunting with my dad and brothers.” His incisive glance caught her shiver, and he gestured toward the fireplace. “Where’s the woodpile?”

  “You can’t—” Seeing the determination on his face, she didn’t finish. She was too drained, anyway. “Out there.” She indicated the direction with a nod.

  “I’ll be back,” he said. “Don’t bother locking the door—” He broke off, glaring. “No locks? You’re up here alone, and you have no lock on the door?”

  “Gran never needed them,” she said, staring at the floor, trying to summon the strength to move.

  He surprised her again by smiling. “That’s how it is at home,” he said softly. “I’ve lived in cities too long.”

  Where’s home? she wanted to ask.

  But didn’t. Darkness encroached, and she would do the decent thing and offer shelter for the night, though she herself wouldn’t sleep a wink in case the kindness he’d shown was a ruse.

  But she wanted to know nothing about this man, even his name. Not where he’d been, where he was headed, nothing.

  Except how soon he would go.

  Leaving her, as she’d always been, alone.

  She just hadn’t understood that until far too late.

  Chapter Three

  Liam stalked outside after ordering her again to eat the chocolate. She’d refused until he’d stuffed the money back in his wallet.

  On the porch, he skirted the hole and stopped on the top step to look around for a moment.

  So different from the mountains where he’d grown up. The Davis Mountains rose in the midst of sere desert landscapes that extended for hundreds of square miles of far West Texas. These lush mountains, ripe with towering oaks and pines, thick with rhododendrons and rich emerald grasses, shimmered with starbursts of flagrant scarlet and gold where the foliage was beginning to turn.

  To the right, perhaps fifty or sixty yards away, stood an ancient barn with vines creeping over the fence of the enclosed corral. To his left, he spotted what seemed to be the remains of a garden. Weeds flourished, though here and there he could see something resembling the vegetable plants his mother grew each summer.

  At the thought of Celeste Sullivan, yearning seized him. Spending the night in this place would delay him. Though he’d given his family no timetable, he’d hoped to arrive there in two days, three at the most.

  He glanced, noting the absence of electric lines or telephone wires, thinking wistfully of the cell phone in the middle compartment of his rental car.

  Which he’d abandoned on the side of a deserted mountain road.

  Liam shrugged. Nothing he could do about it now. The light had faded to the violet gray of what his dad called the gloaming, and if he didn’t get his butt in gear, he’d break his neck before he found the woodpile, much less made his way down to the road. With a shake of his head, he set off, carefully avoiding the broken stairs.

  Scant minutes later, he knelt before the fireplace, stacking the assortment of logs he’d wrenched from more vine cover. “Please tell me you have matches here,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I was a Scout.”

  “You were a Boy Scout—” She clamped off the question, shoving a box of matches at him. Their fingers brushed. She dropped the box into his hands and skittered away.


  “Look, I’m getting sick of being treated as if I were some kind of criminal bent on raping you. I’m not that desperate—”

  At the hurt on her face, he swore beneath his breath. “I didn’t—”

  “Forget it,” she said. “Of course you wouldn’t be—I know what I am.”

  Liam frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged and turned away. “I—excuse me, but I have to go outside.” She colored, and her voice dropped. Then she stiffened. “I’m going out to use the facilities.” The set of her shoulders dared him to mock her.

  “Wait.” Liam’s hand shot out to grab her arm. He stopped himself, remembering her reaction before. “I wasn’t saying—”

  But she was already through the door.

  Liam sighed. Damn, but she was prickly.

  He glanced around once more.

  She didn’t belong here; those slim, blistered hands made that clear. But everything about her demonstrated that her life hadn’t been a cakewalk. What was her story?

  He scrubbed his face with both hands and vowed not to ask any more questions of her. It wasn’t his business; he was only passing through. A stranger stranded for the night but with a clear path toward the future. In six weeks, he’d be filming an action adventure story that could be his highest-grossing picture to date.

  Yet as he stood in this dilapidated log cabin whose walls barely slowed the wind, his real life seemed far away indeed. For a minute he experienced an odd vulnerability he hadn’t felt since he was a kid on his first camping trip away from home.

  He was out here where nature didn’t care about the necessities of mere humans, where the night held unseen dangers, where civilization seemed barely to have established a foothold.

  Winter was coming, and when it arrived, he would be far away from this place that hovered so close to being swallowed by Mother Earth. He’d be in the desert, or on a soundstage somewhere, minutes from the nearest coffeehouse or a caterer’s van, surrounded by people who were paid to accommodate his every wish—