by Dinah McCall
“Why don’t you go sit over there and let me do whatever it is that needs to be done while you catch your breath.”
She hesitated, but only briefly. “Yes…I think maybe I will,” she said, and sat down on the hay bales before she fell down. Her legs were trembling, as was her entire body. She felt as if she might throw up but was too weak to give it a try.
“What first?” Mike asked.
She pointed to the big cat. “Drag it out of the barn.”
“Does it matter where?” Mike asked.
She glanced at Puppy, then sighed. “Yes, probably. It will take you a bit longer, but if you could get it as far as the trees beyond the corral, it would be better. Scavengers will take care of the carcass, but I don’t want them any closer to the place than necessary.”
“Will do,” he said, then pointed at her. “You stay seated. I’ll feed the animals just as soon as I get back.”
“I’m really okay,” she said. “Just a little bit rattled.”
“Rattled is a small word for going head to head with a cougar.”
She grinned. “Welcome to my world.”
“Lord,” Mike muttered as he grabbed a length of rope, looped it around the dead cat’s head and took off out of the barn with it, leaving a long drag mark in the snow as he went. Puppy followed, sniffing and growling with every step.
14
Feeding Puppy and the cats, then milking a cow, seemed somewhat anticlimatic after killing a cougar, but it went a long way in settling Deborah’s nerves. Mike was at the back of the pasture, dragging the carcass away, when Evan appeared at the door of the barn. She stood up, saw the concern on his face and felt a sudden burning in the back of her throat. Too much sympathy had always been her downfall.
“What in blazes has been going on out here?” he asked.
“I killed a mountain lion,” she said, and then started to shake and sat back down on the bales of hay.
Evan’s expression went slack. “The hell you say.”
She shrugged, then nodded.
“Where’s Dad?” he asked.
Deborah pointed toward the back of the barn. “Dragging the carcass away.”
“Jesus,” Evan muttered, then squatted down in front of her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said, and then burst into tears.
He sat down beside her, put his arm around her shoulders and just held her while she cried.
By the time Mike got back, Deborah had pulled herself together and was scooping Mildred’s sweet feed into a bucket. Evan was nowhere in sight.
“Evan was here,” she said.
Mike nodded. “I guess he heard the shots and came to see what was happening.”
“I guess,” Deborah said, and poured the feed into Mildred’s manger. “I told him we were fine.”
The cow moved into place without urging. She was calmly chewing her first bite when Deborah pulled up the milking stool and sat down.
“What can I do?” Mike asked.
“Pour some cat food into those two bowls, then dump the ice out of their water bowl and fill it up with fresh water.”
“Will do,” Mike said.
When he was done, he picked up the rifle, gave the barn loft another long look, then sat down.
Deborah’s hands were still trembling, but the routine of her evening chores had gone a long way toward calming her. The scent of warm milk, the intermittent mewing of the cats and Puppy’s cold nose on the back of her ear reminded her that all was well with her world. Sadly, the O’Ryans couldn’t say the same.
“Do you think James is okay?” she asked.
Mike glanced out at the gathering darkness and tried not to think about the number of things that could go wrong on a trip down the mountain. But then he made himself relax. His dad was a law unto himself. He’d survived four years in Vietnam and countless years afterward without going off the deep end as so many of his compatriots had done. He was as tough as they came. A little walk in the snow would be nothing to a man like him.
“Yeah, I’m sure he’s fine,” he said, then remembered who he was talking to. “Do you have a reason to believe otherwise?”
She glanced up at him and almost smiled.
“No…no, nothing like that. I was just thinking about him, that’s all.”
“Okay,” Mike said. “You think about him, and I’ll think about you.”
A little embarrassed, Deborah quickly finished milking. Very aware of Mike’s gaze, she shakily poured a bit of warm milk into the cats’ bowls, then gave the barn one last glance, checking to make sure the doors on the grain bins were secure and the animals were set for the night.
“Are we done?” Mike asked.
Deborah took a deep breath, then turned around and stared him straight in the face.
“We haven’t even started.”
Mike’s heart skipped a beat. He shifted the rifle from one hand to the other as he watched the play of emotions on her face.
“Deborah…”
“Yes?”
“How far are we taking this?”
She took so long to answer that Mike started to wish he hadn’t asked. Then she lifted her chin, as if bracing herself for rejection.
“How far do you want it to go?”
Mike touched the side of her face, frowned at the small scratch the cougar’s claw had left on her chin, eyed the bits of hay caught in her hair, then pulled the hood of her coat up over her head.
“You know something, lady…for the first time in my life, I don’t have an answer. If I told you what I’m feeling, I’m afraid you’d send me packing. We’ve only known each other three or four days, but it seems like I’ve known you forever. I know that when I saw that cougar leap toward you, my heart stopped.”
He leaned forward.
Deborah’s lips parted.
They could feel the warmth of each other’s breath against their faces as the kiss began. Heightened by the danger they’d endured, the passion between them exploded.
“I want you, Deborah…more than I can ever remember wanting a woman.”
Deborah looked at him closely, watching his mouth form the words that would change her world.
“I want you, too,” she said. “As for where this is going…who knows? I’ll take what I can get.”
“Good enough,” he said softly.
Deborah glanced toward the house, its outline blurring in the coming darkness.
“Let go inside,” she said, and picked up her bucket of milk.
Puppy appeared from behind a stack of hay bales, nosed two of the kittens back into their bed and then led the way home.
By the time Mike and Deborah left the barn, long purple shadows had stretched as far eastward across the snow-covered yard as they could go without disappearing into the trees.
Deborah carried the milk. Mike carried the gun.
Johnny met them at the back door, big-eyed and full of questions, as Puppy slipped in between them and headed for the fireplace in the living room.
“Daddy said you killed a mountain lion. Did you really kill a mountain lion? Did it eat the barn cats? Is Mildred okay?”
Deborah was a little taken aback, but Mike picked up the slack.
“Yes, Deborah shot a mountain lion. The barn cats are fine, and so is Mildred. Something smells good. What’s for supper?”
“Daddy made soup. He made some corn bread, too, but it’s burned on the bottom. What did you do with the dead mountain lion?”
“Soup sounds good, and we’ll just leave the burned parts of the corn bread in the pan. I dragged it away.”
“It’s canned vegetable soup. Will Puppy eat burned cornbread? Why didn’t you bury it?”
Deborah laughed.
Mike and Johnny stopped talking long enough to look at her.
“What’s so funny?” Mike asked.
Deborah just shook her head. “Do you know how alike you two are?”
Evan looked over his shoulder as he was stirring the soup.
Deborah was still smiling as she grabbed the empty milk crock and went out onto the back porch to pour out the milk. By the time she finished and came inside, the kitchen was empty. She could hear voices in the back of the house and guessed that they were washing up as best they could without water. When the electricity had gone off, the water pump had gone with it. Fortunately for her guests, her penchant for cleanliness was being put to good use. She had several small dispensers of hand cleanser scattered throughout the house and heard Evan telling Johnny how to use it as she hung up her coat. She traded her boots for shoes, then used some cleanser on her own hands. She lifted the lid on the soup pot, gave the contents an appreciative sniff and then replaced the lid before hurrying to her room. The savory scent of the soup, coupled with the corn bread warming in the oven, made her mouth water. It had occurred to her more than once since the O’Ryans’ invasion that they were very competent at feeding and caring for themselves. In her experience, men had a tendency to sit and wait for the women in their lives to care for them. She made a mental note to compliment them when they sat down to supper later.
The oil lamp in the kitchen had already been lit, but there were extras in the pantry, as well as some candles. She distributed them throughout the house, then lit them, preparing for the possibility that the electricity would still be off when they went to bed.
When she got to her room, she lit a candle in the bathroom and a lamp near her bed, then she changed out of her work clothes, grimacing at the blood splatters on them.
The weak glow of candlelight cast dark shadows as she glanced around the room. Tonight with Mike was going to be a step in a different direction. Whether or not it was a positive direction still remained to be seen.
A few minutes later, she left her bedroom. As she walked down the hall, she was struck by the life in this old house. It hadn’t seen this much excitement in years. When everyone finally left and she was, once again, alone, she knew she would be sorry they were gone.
“There you are!” Johnny said as she walked into the kitchen. “We can’t eat until you sit down. So sit down fast, ’cause I’m really hungry. Molly’s here. She’s hungry, too.”
Deborah laughed out loud. It appeared that Johnny O’Ryan was definitely recovering nicely from his trauma.
A little embarrassed by his son’s emerging personality, Evan managed a grin.
“Sorry to keep you all waiting,” Deborah said as she winked at Johnny. “I’m hungry, too, so let’s eat.”
“Yay!” he said, and thrust his spoon into the soup.
“Just for the record…I must thank the O’Ryans who keep cooking our meals and cleaning up afterward. It’s delicious, and greatly appreciated.”
“It’s the least we can do after what you’ve done for us,” Evan said.
“And I double the thanks to everyone, since I’ve been no help whatsoever,” Molly said.
“On the contrary,” Evan said quickly. “You saved my son’s life. In my book, you’ve earned a free ride from me for the rest of your life.”
Molly waggled her finger at Evan.
“Ooh, that’s something you should never promise a woman. She’s likely to take you up on it.”
Evan’s expression didn’t change as he passed her the butter.
“O’Ryans always mean what they say.”
Molly’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say any more. For a few minutes there was little conversation in the house other than a request for butter to be passed, or a comment on the good taste of the food. It wasn’t until their first pangs of hunger had been quenched that they began to talk again.
Johnny, however, was still in the business of eating. He pointed to a jar of honey at the other end of the table.
“Can I have please have some honey?” he asked.
“May I,” Evan said, absently correcting him as he reached for the honey.
Johnny beamed. “Yeah, Daddy, you can have some, too.”
Evan grinned as he passed the honey to Johnny, who proceeded to string it over a small piece of corn bread. When he missed the corn bread, he tried to catch it and managed to get the rest of it on the table and himself.
“Here, son, let me help you,” Evan said as a thick drip of honey took a swing off the plate onto the table.
Without thinking, Molly took her napkin and helped by wiping the honey off Johnny’s fingers. Deborah saw the way Mike was watching them and wondered if he had the same impression about the trio as she did. Whether they knew it or not, they had the makings of a family going on.
Mike caught her gaze, arched an eyebrow, then shrugged, as if to say that whatever happened between them was none of his concern.
Deborah watched the play of emotions on his face while thinking how much her mother would have liked this man and smiled.
Mike’s first reaction to her smile was curiosity. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“That you look a little bit like Tom Berenger.”
Mike looked confused. “Who?”
“The actor?” Molly asked.
Deborah nodded.
“Good grief,” Mike muttered.
Evan grinned. “Don’t tell him that. He’s got a high enough opinion of himself as it is.”
“Ooh, you know what, Deborah? I think you’re right,” Molly said. “Hey, Mike, may I have your autograph? Make it out to Molly, with love, Tom.”
Mike tried to glower, but Johnny’s curiosity kept the moment light.
“Hey, Daddy Mike, what’s a ottagraf, and who’s Tom?”
At that point, even Mike had to laugh.
“Who’s Tom?” Johnny asked again. “Is it Tom Bunyan from my storybook?”
“The name is Paul, not Tom,” Evan said.
Johnny appeared more confused than ever. “Tom’s name is Paul?”
“I’m out of this conversation,” Deborah said.
She was still grinning as she got up from the table and began carrying dirty dishes to the sink. Mike grabbed a handful and followed her. Before she knew it, he had her pinned against the sink.
“Look what you started,” he said, nodding toward the table where Johnny was still talking in high gear.
Deborah turned around. They were body to body—face to face. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheeks; then she looked up and forgot what she’d been going to say. The glitter in his eyes was a promise of the night to come.
“I…uh…”
He grinned. “Now you know how I feel,” he said softly. Before she could answer, he brushed a quick kiss across her lips, then left her standing there as he went back to the table for more dirty dishes.
“Daddy Mike! You kissed Deborah! Why did you kiss Deborah? Is it love? You’re not a’post to kiss girls ’less you love ’em.”
“And who told you that?” Mike asked.
Johnny took a big bite out of his honey-covered corn bread, then proceeded to talk while trying to chew.
“Um, my friend Dewey. Dewey says you’re not a’post…”
“The word is supposed, not a’post, and don’t talk with your mouth full,” Evan said. “And besides that, you ask too many questions. Leave Daddy Mike’s kissing business to Daddy Mike, okay?”
Johnny eyed the adults dubiously, well aware that their silly smiles hid a secret they weren’t willing to share, but before he could voice another opinion, the electricity flickered, then came back on.
“Yay!” he cried. “Now can I watch cartoons?”
“Not can, son…it’s ‘may I watch cartoons,’” Evan said, having another go at correcting his son’s grammar.
Johnny looked at his daddy and grinned. “Yeah, sure, Daddy. You can watch ’em with me. I’ll tell you what’s happening on the side of the TV that you can’t see.”
Evan suddenly realized Johnny believed that because his father had a patch on one eye, he could only see half of what was before him.
“I can see just fine, son,” Evan said softly. “So let’s go wash the honey off of your mouth and hands, and then we’ll watch those cartoons together.” He paused at the table, then held out his hand to Molly. “Maybe Molly would like to come with us.”
“I’d like nothing better,” she said softly, and after a quick thank-you to Deborah for her meal, followed them out of the room.
“Molly is falling in love,” Deborah said.
Mike nodded. “I think Evan is, too.”
The silence that followed lengthened noticeably.
“Now that we have power again, I’m going to finish the dishes,” Deborah said, and began running water in the sink.
Mike walked up behind her, reached over her shoulder and turned off the tap.
“No. I’m going to do the dishes. You’re going to go take a long, leisurely bath.”
“But I—”
Mike took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him.
“Look at me,” he said.
Deborah sighed, then lifted her chin. “What?”
“After the evening you’ve had, don’t you think you deserve a little babying?”
“I suppose,” she said softly.
“So take a bath, damn it.”
The gruffness in his voice was offset by the tenderness of his touch.
She grinned. “Don’t mind if I do.” Then she added, “See you later?”
His eyes darkened. “Count on it.”
A shiver of longing swept through her. It had been ages since she’d felt a connection this strong with anyone. She wanted it to happen. She did. She just wasn’t sure if she could remain heart-whole once he was gone.
James regained consciousness in a world of hurt. Groaning, he rolled over on his back only to realize that the first star of evening was already out. In a panic, he pulled himself up by sheer will. After packing his glove against the wound in his side to stanch the bleeding, he knew he had to get moving.
Two brutal hours later, by his best estimate, he decided he should be coming up on the crash site any time. He was weak from loss of blood, and light-headed to the point of hallucinating. Twice he’d thought he’d seen his own mother down the hill from him, urging him forward, and both times, it had given him pause for thought. He’d never believed in ghosts until today.