“So you were trying to escape. Did you crash your car or…?”
She nodded. “I crashed my car, yes. I guess I just got sleepy and didn’t want to pull over.” Plausible enough.
“But why did you leave the crash site? Especially in your condition.”
“I was in shock.” she said. “I don’t remember a lot about it. And I didn’t want to be in a hospital and have Seth come in and bully the hospital staff into seeing me. I just really wanted to get away.”
Mark seemed to consider that as he drilled her with those penetrating eyes. “What made you start saving?”
“Pardon?”
“You said you started saving money. It sounds like you had been with Seth for a while. Long enough to know what he was like, long enough for him to take control of cash flow. So what was the impetus to start saving money to get away?”
“I… um… I just decided that I couldn’t spend my life like that.” She blushed fiercely; she could feel the heat of her embarrassment sweep up her neck and burn her cheeks. Her hand on the silver fork had begun to shake. When she risked a glance at Mark, he was looking straight at it. She put the fork down and set her hand in her lap.
“So…uh… What was the phone call about?” she asked in an effort to get his intense gaze off her guilty hands.
“Oh, that. It was my brother Josh. He’s the CEO of the family company. He’s been getting offers from a developer from Aspen, Colorado to buy some of the property out at Starlight Lake to build a golf course.”
“And you don’t want to sell? Or you do?”
“I don’t want to be pressured into it, but Josh thinks it’s a great offer. My other brother Andrew also wants to sell. But my sister Maggie wants to hold on to the property. I’ve started renovating a resort there. We’re supposed to discuss it later.”
“You’ve started renovating a resort? That sounds fun.”
“It is fun,” he said, as if just deciding that for himself.
“I’ve always been fascinated by architecture,” she said. Then she felt herself blush again. That was another thing that Seth had squeezed out of her – her ambition. She was embarrassed to acknowledge how easily she’d surrendered her own hopes and dreams to a man who was not worthy of her. She knew now how poor a trade it was and was ashamed she’d allowed herself to be so easily manipulated. She would never allow a man to subvert her life again. The foundations of her life had to be rebuilt with her own two hands. She would get to Portland eventually and work as a web designer and figure out what to do with the rest of her life. Now that she was on the way to freedom, nobody was ever going to get in her way again.
Mark looked impressed. “That’s great,” he said. “I’ve been interested in architecture for a while. I designed this house.”
“You designed this?” She couldn’t help the awe in her voice.
“Yeah,” he laughed. “Do you like it?”
“It’s gorgeous. Sort of a mix between the old west and Bavaria.”
He smiled, flashing perfect white teeth. “Thanks, I think.” He rose and began to clear the plates. She stood up to help. “Stop,” he said, “You’re still healing.”
So she stood beside him at the kitchen sink while he rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Mark wiped down the granite counters and the stove. Everything gleamed. She thought back to her house in Adams Morgan, how Seth required that everything be just so. But she didn’t think Mark was obsessive. Just tidy. It was about pride in his work, not control.
“I’m going to walk with May for a few minutes. Why don’t you sit down or lie down if you’re feeling weak.”
“Can I go with you?”
“Are you up for it?”
“I’ll walk slowly.”
“Well, if you want to. But don’t overdo it.” He walked to the closet in the entryway and grabbed a jacket for himself and one for Aimee. “It’s in the low forties tonight so you’ll need this. It will be big on you, but you should be warm enough.” He added a warm tartan sweater and wrapped it around her neck.
She put on the wool-lined coat. Like the sweater, it was enormous on her, but she liked it; it felt like she was wearing a very snug, very warm, very nice-smelling blanket. She wedged her feet into her filthy shoes. They were the only shoes she had – the one’s she had worn when she boarded United Flight 134. They were ragged, and stank of sweat and jet fuel. “I need some new shoes, I’m afraid,” she said lightly as she noticed May sniffing them.
Mark opened the door and the puppy bound out of the house. The night was bucketwashed in moonlight, making everything seem silvery and very dark, like a photo negative. The glaciated peaks of the Bitterroot Mountains rising beyond the black foothills gleamed under the full moon and a plush black field of stars. The river was black, and its light burbling was the only sound she could hear. No traffic noise, no hum of other people. Aimee inhaled a deep breath of air so pure and cold it felt like menthol in her lungs.
May bounded off into the tall grass. “This way,” he called to the dog as they walked toward a narrow flowing river. “There’s a path over here. That way you’re not jostled by snake holes or whatever.” It was just a dirt rut in the grass, wide enough for two people.
May ran ahead, then stopped and looked back at Mark. “No, May. Do not jump in the water.”
Aimee laughed. “She would freeze!”
“She’s a Husky so I don’t think she’d freeze, but it would be a pain to give her a bath and dry her off at this late hour. She loves water.”
May trotted head.
Aimee marveled at the sky. Nets of stars strung from every corner of the blackness, as if giant mirrors had been placed in the sky, reflecting countless stars from deep galaxies, space so remote it could not be named. She’d never seen anything like it.
She glanced at Mark’s face in profile, marveling at the man who had rescued her, who made her feel so safe.
“Why are you so kind to me?” she asked abruptly.
He took in a little breath, as if the question took him off balance. He looked up at the stars, ostensibly thinking. “You seem like you need just a little time,” he replied. He met her gaze then, his face strangely gentle. “To heal physically and … probably emotionally.”
How had he done it? How had he said the thing that would strike so deeply. He was protecting her. After being treated like an object by Seth for so long, she felt amazingly prized by this stranger. She kept her face in profile to his, afraid to allow him to see the emotion welling in her eyes.
It had to be the drugs making her so weepy. Normally she wasn’t quite so emotional. She couldn’t afford to be, not in Seth Sabich’s house. But Mark did not seem inclined to judge her for her tears. Guilt tugged at her conscience. He was so sweet to her, and she had not even told him her real name. She regretted her lies. She would have liked to hear him call her by her real name.
Mark was walking unnaturally slow in an effort to keep abreast of her, and his arm brushed hers. She thought for a moment he might take her hand, and her heartbeat accelerated, but he didn’t. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets.
“I love this place,” she sighed. “I’ve never been to the mountain states. I was missing out. I mean…. Except for Idaho. I’ve never been to Montana or Wyoming. Though really I should have because they’re so pretty.” She was rambling to cover up her slip, and dared not glance at Mark to see if he noticed. “Have you lived here your whole life?”
“I spent my first eighteen years here. After I moved away, I came back for summers and Christmas. But I guess you could say I’m from Washington D.C.”
She smiled faintly. Strange coincidence that they were both from D.C. Only, she couldn’t say so. Her lies had trapped her.
“And have you moved back? Permanently, I mean?”
“I think so.” He shrugged his heavy shoulders. “I came here to figure out some things. But I’ve realized that it feels like home.”
She wanted to know what those things were that
he had to figure out. What could ever become so complicated for him that he had to return to his childhood home to reflect? This was a man in complete control of his life.
Women, she supposed, remembering the condoms.
She pondered that last phrase “feels like home.” She never quite had that after leaving her childhood home in Salem, Portland. She had lived with Kimberly in Portland for a while, in an ancient two bedroom apartment that while it did have some charms, it didn’t quite seem like home. Surely her Adams Morgan house had been lovely… but it hadn’t felt like home either.
She hoped she would find that when she returned to Portland. She wasn’t sure where she belonged anymore; she wasn’t sure where she’d ultimately end up.
A cold wind whooshed down the mountain and Aimee shivered beneath the jacket that Mark had given her. “Ready to go back?” he asked.
She nodded. “Sorry,” she said with a regretful smile. “If you want to continue, I can make it back alone.”
“That’s just crazy talk,” he said lightly and whistled for May, who came running, and they began to trek back toward the house.
From the outside, it was a cedar and glass castle, a spectacle of grey stone and raw timber, a beautiful, sprawling two-level house with warm buttery lights glowing in the windows. If she wasn’t careful, she might start to think of this as a wonderful vacation instead of what it truly was: a temporary respite while she healed.
As they came inside and put up their coats, Mark said, “How about some ice cream?” as he headed to the kitchen.
Aimee followed. “You eat ice cream even when it’s cold?”
He flashed a smile from the sub-zero door that made her knees wobble. “Sure. There’s a fire. I can get you a blanket. There should be a throw over there on the sofa.” Mark pulled out two flavors. “Butter pecan or mint chocolate chip?”
“Those both sound terrific. Mint chocolate chip.”
Mark filled a bowl for her, and then chose butter pecan for himself, and took both bowls to the sofa.
“How is your rib? Do you need a pillow to brace it?”
“I’m fine, honestly.”
Even so, he took a small throw pillow and handed it to her. “Just wedge it between your rib and the sofa.”
She did as he said. “There, happy?” she asked, with a sweetly exasperated roll of her eyes.
He smiled and sat down beside her. “Yeah, actually, I am. And you will be too when you can walk without feeling like a shank is stabbing your ribs.”
“Honestly, it isn’t that bad.” She took a bite of the ice cream and moaned with pleasure. “This is delicious.”
“Carrie, in town, makes desserts. She sells cakes, pies, all kinds of pastries really. And she just added ice cream this summer.”
“Tell Carrie she is a genius with ice cream.” She looked around the spacious living room, smiling at May lying on the rug in front of the fire, and feeling altogether snug and safe. “This is nice,” she mused. “I can see why you’d want to stay.”
After ice cream and conversation, Aimee waited at the bottom of the stairs while Mark turned off the downstairs lights and set the alarm. They then walked upstairs together.
At the landing, Aimee turned to say goodnight, but was too quick. She bumped into Mark, feeling a hard chest and the impressive length of his body against hers, sending a current of shock and pleasure through her traumatized body. She stumbled back, and he easily grabbed her arm to steady her.
“Sorry,” she muttered, a little too breathlessly.
“No problem.”
“Well, um… see you in the morning,” she said.
“Goodnight.”
She walked to her room, shutting the door behind her.
The room was dark and cool. Digging in the bureau she found another of Mark’s old soft t-shirts. They were good for sleeping; they smelled vaguely of him. She slid it over her body, enjoying how it softly skimmed her breasts and hung down to her mid-thighs, almost as if she were naked. She crawled into the wide, comfortable log post bed, waiting for the cool sheets to warm up.
A soft knock at the door surprised her. “Come in,” she said.
Mark opened the door holding a glass of water and something in his other hand. “Sorry to disturb. Take two of these. They’ll help you sleep and help with any soreness tomorrow morning.”
Aimee sat up and swallowed the two tiny pills with the glass of water. “Thank you.”
“Are you doing okay?”
“I’m great,” she whispered.
“Okay. Goodnight.”
She said his name when he reached the door. He turned back to her. “Yes?”
In the negative light, his face looked impossibly beautiful, like a sketch with sharp cheekbones and slashing brows. She was blown away by the male energy he emitted, that vital, vibrant life force that left her fluttery and giddy. A very female feeling. She had never experienced anything like his gale force sex appeal. Resisting it was going to be a full-time occupation.
“I just wanted to say thank you for all this.”
He smiled at her. “It’s no problem. Sleep well.” He shut the door, leaving her in darkness.
Aimee shut her eyes as the familiar images formed in the darkness: her sister, then Seth and the money. But they didn’t linger. The old images were gradually replaced with May and Mark and how beautiful and stark the mountains looked, in this safe, hidden pocket of the world.
Adrenaline catapulted him into consciousness. Mark jackknifed up in bed, his fevered gaze stabbing wildly through the dark, momentarily unsure where he was. He’d kicked the damp covers to the foot of the bed in his tormented sleep, and when he brought his hand up to his forehead, he was sweating profusely.
He breathed in the cool air, trying to reclaim his own mind. The dream was always the same. He was pressing the stethoscope against the man’s chest. The heartbeat started out normal, then increased, until it became one long pitching tone. The masked interrogators with blank eyes grabbed him with leather-gloved hands and shoved his face under the water. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs were burning, deprived of oxygen. His whole body was burning. He twisted and writhed and tried to get up, but death clawed deep into him. Finally, his body followed its desperate, instinctive commandments and inhaled, and water rushed into his nose and mouth, drowning him.
Then he bolted awake, heart pounding, face sweating, his world spinning out of control.
Mark scrubbed his face with his hands as reality began to slowly come back into focus. He was in his bedroom at the ranch. A sanctuary he had designed in the midst of the scandal, when he was attempting to scratch out some little bit of his own tranquility in a world that was suddenly brutal and illogical. His home. And Lauren was asleep down the hall. That was a comforting thought, for some reason. Her female energy permeated the space with comfort and fresh optimism.
Mark’s emotional defenses seemed to be melting – a possibility that left him confused since he had not been aware he required any defenses. But now he thought of Shelby and realized that had been exactly what she was: a defense against progress. A tattered link back to life before it had spun out of control.
Lauren didn’t make him feel like he was clutching at a life had left behind. She was a completely new experience. The days had a little more color and meaning now that she was here. He felt a little bit alive inside of him for the first time in a long time. He regarded that development with mingled terror and awe.
He glanced at the clock. 4:04am. Knowing he would not sleep any longer, he got up.
Mark walked down the corridor to Lauren’s door and paused. Quietly, he cracked open Lauren’s door and peeked inside her room. Beneath the downy drifts of covers, she appeared to be deeply asleep, her chest rising and falling with every breath. Her tangle of brown hair had fanned out on the pillow beneath her, and her face was tilted back. High cheekbones, fully lips, long white throat. His crimson Harvard t-shirt was very loose on her slight frame; the neckline dipped over her fluted
collarbone to reveal the luscious curves of her breasts.
He looked away. There was no sense thinking about her in that way. Neither of them was in any condition for a relationship, despite their close quarters and the attraction he felt for her. Looking after someone in your own home had a way of compressing the sense of intimacy. It was rather ironic that Shelby had so passionately wanted to move in and he’d refused, then he’d insisted Lauren stay in his house, where he looked after her, fed her, gave her medication. Strange.
Besides her physical bumps and bruises, there were still some deep emotional wounds for her to attend to. Whatever mess she’d left behind in Idaho would need to be cleaned up. Or where-ever she had come from.
He was certain that she was lying to him. That little show she’d put on at dinner about deciding to save money had been pathetic. He had to force himself not to laugh. She was the worst liar he’d ever seen – she blushed and fidgeted, and looked so uncomfortable that he almost felt sorry for her. But why? She was so young; what could she have done that would shame her? What was she running from?
Aw hell, he had his own secrets to worry about.
Eight
Aimee awoke at dawn to the utterly peaceful sound of nothingness. She took in a deep breath and sank into the blissful silence.
Peeping under her heavy lids, she looked out the window to the dramatic white-capped peaks, against the sky, broad and deep, colored a rich glowing blue.
It looked so freaking marvelous, like the whole world was beckoning her to get out there and enjoy it. She wanted to frolic through the wildflowers, stand on the peaks with her arms thrown wide, and inhale the silky, dry, flower-scented air.
It had been such a long time since she’d woken up feeling good, her mind clear and unburdened by a checklist of things she had to do, to be, in order to keep the peace.
She sighed contentedly. Beside her on the floor, May stood up and put her face on Aimee’s shoulder. Aimee loved the puppy’s intelligent, icy blue eyes. The dramatic markings around her eyes made her look like she was wearing a pair of designer shades.
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