Second Nature

by Nora Roberts

  He heard her suck in her breath, felt her stiffen. But she didn’t struggle away. Perhaps she was testing herself, though he didn’t think she could know she tested him, too. He wanted to carry her to the rumpled bed, slip off that thin swirl of silk and fit his body to hers. It would fit; somehow he already knew. She’d move with him, for him, as if they’d always been lovers. He knew, though he couldn’t explain.

  He could feel her melting into him, her lips growing warm and moist from his. They were alone and the need was like iron. Yet he knew, without understanding, that if they made love now, sated that need, he’d never see her again. They both had fears to face before they became lovers, and after.

  Hunter gave himself the pleasure of one long, last kiss, drawing her taste into him, allowing himself to be overwhelmed, just for a moment, by the feel of her against him. Then he forced himself to level, forced himself to remember that they each wanted something from the other—secrets and an intimacy both would put into words in their own ways.

  Drawing back, he let his hands linger only a moment on the curve of her cheek, the softness of her hair, while she said nothing. “If you can get through two weeks in the canyon, you’ll have your story.”

  Leaving her with that, he turned and strolled out the door.

  “If I can make it through two weeks,” Lee muttered, pulling a heavy sweater out of her drawer. “I tell you, Bryan, I’ve never met anyone who says as little who can irritate me as much.” Ten days back in L.A. hadn’t dulled her fury.

  Bryan fingered the soft wool of the sweater. “Lee, don’t you have any grub-around clothes?”

  “I bought some sweatshirts,” she said under her breath. “I haven’t spent a great deal of my time in a tent.”

  “Advice.” Before another pair of the trim slacks could be packed into the knapsack Lee had borrowed from her, Bryan took her hand.

  Lee lifted one thin coppery brow. “You know I detest advice.”

  Grinning, Bryan dropped down on the bed. “I know. That’s why I can never resist dishing it out. Lee, really, I know you have a pair of jeans. I’ve seen you wear them.” She brushed at the hair that escaped her braid. “Designer or not, take jeans, not seventy-five-dollar slacks. Invest in another pair or two,” she went on while Lee frowned down at the clothes still in her free hand. “Put that gorgeous wool sweater back in your drawer and pick up a couple of flannel shirts. That’ll take care of the nights if it turns cool. Now…”

  Because Lee was listening with a frown of concentration, she continued. “Put in some T-shirts; blouses are for the office, not for hiking. Take at least one pair of shorts and invest in some good thick socks. If you had more time, I’d tell you to break in those new hiking boots, because they’re going to make you suffer.”

  “The salesman said—”

  “There’s nothing wrong with them, Lee, except they’ve never been out of the box. Face it—” She stretched back among Lee’s collection of pillows. “You’ve been too concerned about packing enough paper and pencils to worry about gear. If you don’t want to make an ass of yourself, listen to momma.”

  With a quick hiss of breath, Lee replaced the sweater. “I’ve already made an ass of myself, several times.” She slammed one of her dresser drawers. “He’s not going to get the best of me during these next two weeks, Bryan. If I have to sleep out in a tent and climb rocks to get this story, then I’ll do it.”

  “If you tried real hard, you could have fun at the same time.”

  “I’m not looking for fun. I’m looking for an exclusive.”

  “We’re friends.”

  Though it was a statement, not a question, Lee glanced over. “Yes.” For the first time since she’d begun packing, she smiled. “We’re friends.”

  “Then tell me what it is that bothers you about this guy. You’ve been ready to chew your nails for over a week.” Though she spoke lightly, the concern leaked through. “You wanted to interview Hunter Brown, and you’re going to interview Hunter Brown. How come you look like you’re preparing for war?”

  “Because that’s how I feel.” With anyone else, Lee would have evaded the question or turned cold. Because it was Bryan, she sat on the edge of the bed, twisting a newly purchased sweatshirt in her hands. “He makes me want what I don’t want to want, feel what I don’t want to feel. Bryan, I don’t have room in my life for complications.”

  “Who does?”

  “I know exactly where I’m going,” Lee insisted, a bit too vehemently. “I know exactly how to get there. Somehow I have a feeling that Hunter’s a detour.”

  “Sometimes a detour is more interesting than a planned route, and you get to the same place eventually.”

  “He looks at me as though he knows what I’m thinking. More, as if he knows what I thought yesterday, or last year. It’s not comfortable.”

  “You’ve never looked for the comfortable,” Bryan stated, pillowing her head on her folded arms. “You’ve always looked for a challenge. You’ve just never found one in a man before.”

  “I don’t want one in a man.” Violently, Lee stuffed the sweatshirt into the knapsack. “I want them in my work.”

  “You don’t have to go.”

  Lee lifted her head. “I’m going.”

  “Then don’t go with your teeth gritted.” Crossing her legs under her, Bryan sat up. She was as rumpled as Lee was tidy but seemed oddly suited to the luxurious pile of pillows around her. “This is a tremendous opportunity for you, professionally and personally. Oak Creek’s one of the most beautiful canyons in the country. You’ll have two weeks to be part of it. There’s a man who doesn’t bore or cater to you.” She grinned at Lee’s arch look. “You know damn well they do one or the other and you can’t abide it. Enjoy the change of scene.”

  “I’m going to work,” Lee reminded her. “Not to pick wildflowers.”

  “Pick a few anyway; you’ll still get your story.”

  “And make Hunter Brown squirm.”

  Bryan gave her throaty laugh, tossing a pillow into the air. “If that’s what you’re set on doing, you’ll do it. I’d feel sorry for the guy if he hadn’t given me nightmares.” After a quick grimace, her look softened into one of affection. “And Lee…” She laid her hand over her friend’s. “If he makes you want something, take it. Life isn’t crowded with offers. Give yourself a present.”

  Lee sat silently for a moment, then sighed. “I’m not sure if I’d be giving myself a present or a curse.” Rising, she went to her dresser. “How many pairs of socks?”

  “But is she pretty?” Sarah sat in the middle of the rug, one leg bent toward her while she tried valiantly to hook the other behind her neck. “Really pretty?”

  Hunter dug into the basket of laundry. Sarah had scrupulously reminded him it was his turn to sort and fold. “I wouldn’t use the word pretty. A carefully arranged basket of fruit’s pretty.”

  Sarah giggled, then rolled and arched into a back bend. She liked nothing better than talking with her father, because no one else talked like him. “What word would you use then?”

  Hunter folded a T-shirt with the name of a popular rock band glittered across it. “She has a rare, classic beauty that a lot of women wouldn’t know precisely what to do with.”

  “But she does?”

  He remembered. He wanted. “She does.”

  Sarah laid down on her back to snuggle with the dog that stretched out beside her. She liked the soft, warm feel of Santanas’s fur, in much the same way she liked to close her eyes and listen to her father’s voice. “She tried to fool you,” Sarah reminded him. “You don’t like it when people try to fool you.”

  “To her way of thinking, she was doing her job.”

  With one hand on the dog’s neck, Sarah looked up at her father with big, dark eyes so much like his own. “You never talk to reporters.”

  “They don’t interest me.” Hunter came upon a pair of jeans with a widening hole in the knee. “Aren’t these new?”

  “Sort of.
So why are you taking her camping with you?”

  “Sort of new shouldn’t have holes already, and I’m not taking her; she’s coming with me.”

  Digging in her pocket, she came up with a stick of gum. She wasn’t supposed to chew any because of her braces, so she fondled the wrapped piece instead. In six months, Sarah thought, she was going to chew a dozen pieces, all at once. “Because she’s a reporter or because she has a rare, classic beauty?”

  Hunter glanced down to see his daughter’s eyes laughing at him. She was entirely too clever, he decided, and threw a pair of rolled socks at her. “Both, but mostly because I find her interesting and talented. I want to see how much I can find out about her, while she’s trying to find out about me.”

  “You’ll find out more,” Sarah declared, idly tossing the socks up in the air. “You always do. I think it’s a good idea,” she added after a moment. “Aunt Bonnie says you don’t see enough women, especially women who challenge your mind.”

  “Aunt Bonnie thinks in couples.”

  “Maybe she’ll incite your simmering passion.”

  Hunter’s hand paused on its way to the basket. “What?”

  “I read it in a book.” Expertly, she rolled so that her feet touched the floor behind her head. “This man met this woman, and they didn’t like each other at first, but there was this strong physical attraction and this growing desire, and—”

  “I get the picture.” Hunter looked down at the slim, dark-haired girl on the floor. She was his daughter, he thought. She was ten. How in God’s name had they gotten involved in the subject of passion? “You of all people should know that things don’t often happen in real life the way they do in books.”

  “Fiction’s based on reality.” Sarah grinned, pleased to throw one of his own quotes back at him. “But before you do fall in love with her, or have too much simmering passion, I want to meet her.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Still watching her, Hunter held up three unmatched socks. “Just how does this happen every week?”

  Sarah considered the socks a moment, then sat up. “I think there’s a parallel universe in the dryer. On the other side of the door, at this very minute, someone else is holding up three unmatched socks.”

  “An interesting theory.” Reaching down, Hunter grabbed her. As Sarah’s laughter bounced off the lofted ceiling, he dropped her, bottom first, into the basket.

  Chapter Five

  It was like every western she’d ever seen. With the sun bright in her eyes, Lee could almost see outlaws outrunning posses and Indians hiding in wait behind rocks and buttes. If she let her imagination go, she could almost hear the hoofbeats ring against the rock-hard ground. Because she was alone in the car, she could let her imagination go.

  The rich red mountains rose up into a painfully blue sky. There was a vastness that was almost outrageous in scope, with no lushness, with no need for any, with no patience for any. It made her throat dry and her heart thud.

  There was green—the silvery green of sage clinging to the red, rocky soil and the deeper hue of junipers, which would give way to a sudden, seemingly planned sparseness. Yet the sparseness was rich in itself. The space, the overwhelming space, left her stunned and humble and oddly hungry for more. Everywhere there were more rocky ridges, more color, more… Lee shook her head. Just more.

  Even when she came closer to town, the houses and buildings couldn’t compete with the openness. Stop signs, streetlights, flower gardens, were inconsequential. Her car joined more cars, but five times the number would still have been insignificant. It was a view you drank in, she thought, but its taste was hot and packed a punch.

  She liked Sedona immediately. Its tidy western flavor suited the fabulous backdrop instead of marring it. She hadn’t been sure anything could.

  The main street was lined with shops with neat signs and clean plate glass. She noticed lots of wood, lots of bargains and absolutely no sense of urgency. Sedona clung to the aura of town rather than city. It seemed comfortable with itself and with the spectacular spread of sky. Perhaps, Lee mused as she followed the directions to the rental-car drop-off, just perhaps, she’d enjoy the next two weeks after all.

  Since she was early for her arranged meeting time with Hunter even after dealing with the paperwork on her rental car, Lee decided she could afford to indulge herself playing tourist. She had nearly an hour to vacation before work began again.

  The liquid silver necklaces and turquoise earrings in the shop windows tempted her, but she moved past them. There’d be plenty of opportunities after this little adventure for something frivolous—as a reward for success. For now, she was only passing time.

  But the scent of fudge drew her. Slipping inside the little shop that claimed to sell the world’s best, Lee bought a half pound. For energy, she told herself as the sample melted in her mouth. There was no telling what kind of food she’d get over the next two weeks. Hunter had very specifically told her when he contacted her by phone that he’d handle the supplies. The fudge, Lee told herself, would be emergency rations.

  Besides, some of Bryan’s advice had been valid enough. There was no use going into this thing thinking she’d be miserable and uncomfortable. There wasn’t any harm getting into the spirit a bit, Lee decided as she strolled into a western-wear shop. If she viewed the next two weeks as a working vacation, she’d be much better off.

  Though she toyed with conch belts for a few minutes, Lee rejected them. They wouldn’t suit her, any more than the fringed or sequined shirts would. Perhaps she’d pick one up for Bryan before heading back to L.A. Anything Bryan put on suited her, Lee mused with something closer to a sigh than to envy. Bryan never had to feel restricted to the tailored, the simple or the proper.

  Was it a matter of suitability, Lee wondered, or a matter of image? With a shrug, she ran a fingertip down the shoulder of a short suede jacket. Image or not, she’d locked herself into it for too long to change now. She didn’t want to change, in any case, Lee reminded herself as she wandered through rows and rows of hats. She understood Lee Radcliffe just as she was.

  Telling herself she’d stay only another minute, she set her knapsack at her feet. She wasn’t particularly athletic. Lee tried on a khaki-colored Stetson with a curved brim. She wasn’t flighty. She exchanged the first hat for a smaller one with a spray of feathers in the band. What she was, was businesslike and down-to-earth. She dropped a black flat-brimmed hat on her head and studied the result. Sedate, she decided, smiling a little. Practical. Yes, if she were in the market for—

  “You’re wearing it all wrong.”

  Before Lee could react, two strong hands were tilting the hat farther down on her head. Critically, Hunter angled it slightly, then stepped away. “Yes, it’s the perfect choice for you. The contrast with your hair and skin, that practical sort of dash.” Taking her shoulders, he turned her toward the mirror, where both his image and hers looked back at her.

  She saw the way his fingers held her shoulders, long and confident. She could see how small she looked pressing against him. In no more than an instant, Lee could feel the pleasure she wanted to ignore and the annoyance she had to concentrate on.

  “I’ve no intention of buying it.” Embarrassed, she drew the hat off and returned it to the shelf.

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve no need for it.”

  “A woman who buys only what she needs?” Amusement crossed his face even as anger crossed hers. “A sexist remark if I’ve ever heard one,” Hunter continued before she could speak. “Still, it’s a pity you won’t buy it. It gives you a breezy air of confidence.”

  Ignoring that, Lee bent down and picked up her knapsack again. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long. I got into town early and decided to kill some time.”

  “I saw you wander in here when I drove in. Even in jeans you walk as though you were wearing a three-piece suit.” While she tried to work out if that had been a compliment, he smiled. “What kind did you buy?”

>   “What?” She was still frowning over his comment.

  “Fudge.” He glanced down at the bag. “What kind did you buy?”

  Caught again, Lee thought, nearly resigned to it. “Some milk chocolate and some rocky road.”

  “Good choice.” Taking her arm, he led her through the shop. “If you’re determined to resist the hat, we may as well get started.”

  She noted the Jeep parked at the curb and narrowed her eyes. This was certainly the same one he’d had in Flagstaff. “Have you been staying in Arizona?”

  He circled the hood, leaving her to climb in on her own. “I’ve had some business to take care of.”

  Her reporter’s sense sharpened. “Research?”

  He gave her that odd ghost of a smile. “A writer’s always researching.” He wouldn’t tell her—yet—that his research on Lenore Radcliffe had led him to some intriguing conclusions. “You brought a copy of the rest of your manuscript?”

  Unable to prevent herself, Lee shot him a look of intense dislike. “That was one of the conditions.”

  “So it was.” Easily he backed up, then pulled into the thin stream of traffic. “What’s your impression of Sedona?”

  “I can see that the weather and the atmosphere would draw the tourist trade.” She found it necessary to sit very erect and to look straight ahead.

  “The same might be said of Maui or the South of France.”

  She couldn’t stop her lips from curving, but turned to look out the side window. “It has the air of having been here forever, with very little change. The sense of space is fierce, not at all soothing, but it pulls you in. I suppose it makes me think of the people who first saw it from horseback or the seat of a wagon. I imagine some of them would have been compelled to build right away, to set up a community so that the vastness didn’t overwhelm them.”

  “And others would have been drawn to the desert or the mountains so that the buildings wouldn’t close them in.”