by Becky McGraw
“I did some reading online at the library and iron will help your bones heal faster. Steaks are full of iron. I bought liver too. I also bought an extra gallon of milk for the calcium and some vitamins you need to start taking.”
“My bones aren’t broken,” Zack said, as he flipped through the frozen packs until he found the steaks. Thick ribeyes that cost her nearly twenty dollars. And that wasn’t the only pack in there. He’d seen at least three more. She shouldn’t be spending that kind of money. “Ground meat, meatloaf, hell—red beans and rice will be just fine,” he said shutting the freezer door. “You’re a good cook, so whatever you fix will be fine.”
Surprisingly, a pretty blush stained her face, as she turned back to look at him. “You think I’m a good cook?” she asked, the corner of her full mouth ticking upward.
“As good as my sister, for sure,” Zack replied, moving aside as she pushed him to open a lower cabinet in the small kitchen.
“That’s not saying much…” Heather dropped to her knees to stick her head inside the cabinet. Pots rattled until she came back out with a cast iron griddle in her hand. She looked up at him and her smile reached her eyes this time. “Twyla has her talents, but she is about the worst cook I’ve ever seen.” Leaving the heavy griddle on the floor, she scrambled to her feet then hefted it up onto the stove.
“She has being hardheaded down to an art,” Zack said with a snigger, as she turned on the burner. It felt good to hold a normal conversation with her without the threat of an argument, so he relaxed a little.
Heather glanced at him, and raised a brow. “I’d say her older brother was a good teacher there,” she replied, as she turned to shove the pack of steaks inside the microwave and set it to defrost. When she turned back around, Zack hadn’t realized how close he was to her.
The tips of her breasts practically brushed his chest when she breathed. His eyes fell to meet hers and electricity zapped him right in the middle of his chest to travel down to his dick.
What was it about this woman that made him want her so badly?
That was something else Zack finally admitted to himself, after he became aware that she visited his room at night to check on him, leaving behind that cotton candy scent to torture him all night. He wanted her, more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life. Zack had even resorted to sniffing that damned bottle of bath gel in the bathroom like crack to fuel his fantasies of burying his cock inside her delicious body.
But he also wanted to know her better. There were things that just didn’t add up about her. The more little glimpses he got into what made this woman tick, the more confused he became. How could a woman so soft and feminine, beautiful, on the outside be so granite hard on the inside? Zack thought about it at night, because he had nothing better to do while he lay awake rock hard. What he decided was that something in her past had caused Heather to be the way she was. Comfortable with women like his sister, but damned wary around men. From the vibes she put out, the way she acted, he was sure she wasn’t a lesbian, so that wasn’t the issue. Despite the way she dressed, what she did for a living, Heather Morrison was uncomfortable around men. The tenseness in her shoulders right now as he stared at her, invaded her personal space, verified that conclusion.
When his buddies visited, she’d been nice, but she didn’t engage them or flirt, even though they did plenty of it. She was nice but kept her distance. Zack had been watching Lucky and Sam watch her, and until that moment, he hadn’t realized it wasn’t just him she was wary of—it was all men. It just didn’t make sense to him. The curiosity was probably what was pushing him to think about her so much. If he had the answer, maybe he’d be able to stop thinking about her. But he knew she wasn’t going to tell him voluntarily. He’d never met a more close-mouthed woman in his life, one that held her cards to her past closer to her chest. Even though it would likely take him down a path he’d sworn not to go, he knew the only way he’d get that answer was to push the envelope with her until she broke down and told him.
Zack’s hand drifted to her cheek, and he stroked it with his thumb. “Why dancing?” he asked softly, not saying stripping because he knew that would insult her. Everything he said to her insulted her it seemed. He wanted answers, not another argument.
“Why bull riding?” she countered, lifting her chin a notch.
“Because it’s exciting, fun. I’m good at it, and I make damned good money doing it,” he replied without thinking about it.
“You answered your own question—that’s exactly why I dance,” she said smartly, then turned when the microwave beeped. Her ass settled on his fly, and biting back a groan, he stepped back.
“Why not singing? You have a lot of talent, as much as I’ve heard on the radio,” he offered. If he could just convince her to pursue that instead of stripping, his job would be done here. Zack watched her as she sat the meat on the counter to violently rip the plastic open, but she didn’t reply, which frustrated him.
Finally, she glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled, but she still didn’t answer his question. “Speaking of which, I heard you singing in the shower. If the bull riding and ranching thing doesn’t work out for you, you might try that too.”
Zack stopped breathing, shocked to the toes of his boots, and he laughed. “Only if the crowd is paying me to stop butchering their favorite song. I can’t sing worth shit.”
She shrugged as she laid one thick steak onto the griddle and it sizzled. “Sounded pretty damned good to me. And that was my favorite song.” She added the second steak, then twisted the knob to increase the heat.
“Cowboys and Angels?” he asked, surprised again. That had to be the song she meant, because it was the only one he knew all the words to.
“Yep—I love that song.”
“You don’t seem like the type,” Zack replied.
Heather slowly turned to face him again, and she wasn’t smiling anymore. “What type is that, cowboy?” she asked, her words like velvet coated steel.
Zack ran his hand over his face, and realized he needed to shave again. He wasn’t about to ask her to do that right now, not with that look in her eyes. “For love songs,” he replied, running his hand over his face again. “I guess I should say sorry again, maybe make it a standing order since all I seem to do is insult you, huh?”
“Just get the damned butter out of the refrigerator,” she grated, with anger bristling around her like a force field as she turned to tiptoe and open the upper cabinet beside the stove.
It looked like their temporary truce was done. Zack sighed, grabbed the door handle with his right hand and without thinking jerked it hard. Red hot pain sliced up his arm to his shoulder, and he moaned, bent over to cradle it. Heather was at his side in a flash, putting her arm around his shoulder to guide him toward the sofa.
“Dumbass,” she muttered, as she pushed him down, grabbed the ice pack from the table, plopped it on his arm, and took his left hand to place it on top to hold it in place. Standing up, she put her hands on her hips to glare at him. “Now stay on this damned couch this time,” she growled pointing a finger at him. “You are way more trouble than you’re worth sometimes, a lot more than you pay me for sure. I swear if you keep this up for the next six weeks, you’re going to give double-time.”
“Done—you deserve it,” Zack replied, his eyes gliding up to hers. “And I owe you for groceries and gas too.” From past experience, he knew he’d be paying a helluva lot more than that for professional nursing care, and she was doing a lot more than that for him. He couldn’t afford to pay her even what he was, but he was going to. Maybe that would give her time to make the right choice and not go back to dancing after he left.
A puzzled look pinched her face, and she shook her head, sending her dark hair swishing around her shoulders. “You’re not supposed to up the ante, nimnuts. You’re supposed to argue with me—negotiate.”
“Why? I agree I’m a pain in your ass…” There was no doubt about it, and with this woman he c
ouldn’t seem to help it for some reason. “But I do have one stipulation.” Maybe he could kill two birds with one stone.
“What’s that?” she asked suspiciously, folding her arms over her chest.
Wary. There it was again, and dammit he wanted to know why. If he had to pay for those answers, he would. “Before I leave here, I want to know your story. All of it. I want to know why you’re so damned cautious around men.”
Her arms unfolded, and she shook her head again, as she turned back toward the kitchen. “That story is not for sale, cowboy—that’s my business.”
Zack let a few minutes pass, listened to her banging around in the kitchen, then he slid the ice bag off his arm and dropped it on the table again. Although he knew damn well he should just let it drop to keep the peace, he couldn’t. Pushing up from the sofa, he walked to the kitchen.
“What could possibly be so awful—” He stopped when he rounded the corner and found Heather leaning on the counter by the sink, her hands gripping the edge. Her hair covered her face, but the shaking in her shoulders, her bowed head, were sure signs she was crying. Because of him. Guilt shot through him, as Zack stalked over to her.
There was nothing on earth he hated more than a crying woman. Twyla and he could be arguing, and if she turned on the water works he was done. It was the same with his mother—any woman. That this hard-shelled woman was crying, because of him, ripped at his insides. Walking up behind her, Zack wrapped his left arm around her waist and kissed the crown of her hair.
“Shh…what’s wrong, angel? I’m sorry for being a nosy bastard. Is that it?” he asked, hugging her tighter.
She sucked in several gulping breaths, sniffled a couple of times then raised her right arm to run her wrist under her nose. “No,” she squeezed out, before he heard her sob again.
“What’s wrong, then?” he asked, his heart doing strange little jerks in his chest.
Heather reached back to slap at his thigh, and Zack loosened his arms to step back. When she turned to face him, she was still crying. Tears poured from her green eyes, streamed down her face, and slid over her chest to disappear into the front of her shirt. It felt like every one dripped into his burning gut too.
She hiccupped, ran her wrist under her nose again, then took a deep shuddering breath, before she said, “I’m cutting onions to go with the steaks. They always make me cry.”
“Then we don’t need the damned onions,” Zack growled, his eyes on her lower lip which was plumped up from her crying jag.
“We need smo—” She hiccupped again, and bit her lower lip causing Zack’s system to go haywire. “Smothered onions,” she finished with a watery laugh.
Without realizing it, he took a step closer to her and the pungent aroma of onions smacked him in the face making his eyes water too. He didn’t give a damn, he wanted to kiss her and he was going to do just that. Pinching her chin, he lifted her face to meet her red-rimmed eyes. “I’m going to kiss you, Heather, so keep your knee right where it is.”
Zack shifted his hips to the side just in case, and her eyes widened as his head lowered and he sealed his lips to hers swallowing her gasp. She tasted faintly of onions, but mostly wet, delicious, salty heat. He released her chin to slide his palm up her cheek to bury his hand in her thick hair and pull her closer. Her body stilled, melted into his kiss with a shudder, and Zack devoured her mouth, drank every ounce of sweetness there and surprisingly she let him. She tasted so damned sweet, Zack’s whole body was steeped in it, ready for more. So much more, he thought, changing position just slightly to press her against the counter with his body. Heather whimpered, her hands opened releasing his shirt, and he thought she’d slide them up around his neck, but instead she pushed hard sending him staggering backwards.
Zack watched the shaking that started in her legs travel up her body until even her hair shook. The fear in her eyes sliced through his insides, before she bent at the waist to hold herself. Sliding down the cabinet to sit on the floor, he knew the tears he’d seen in her eyes this time weren’t from onions. Rushing over to her, Zack eased down beside her to slide his left arm around her shoulders, and stoke her hair.
“What’s wrong, angel?” he asked, his own voice shaky.
She didn’t utter a word, but he heard a soft sob, so Zack pulled her to him. Heather struggled but he pulled her onto his lap and clamped his arm around her. He was trying to comfort her, but it only seemed agitate her, make the shaking worse.
“Let me go!” she wailed, struggling to break his hold.
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong with you!” Zack growled, unable to hide his frustration anymore. He held her tighter, put his chin on top of her head and she finally stopped struggling, but she didn’t stop crying. “Talk to me, angel. I want to help. Why do you start shaking every time I kiss you?”
“My question is why the fuck do you keep kissing me?” she mumbled brokenly into his shirtfront. “I told you not to do that again!”
Zack laughed because he couldn’t help it. “I kissed you because you smell like cotton candy. That bath gel of yours drives me insane, and I can’t stop wanting to kiss you. I think it has magical powers.”
“No, you think I’m a whore that’s why you want to kiss me. You’re just like my stepfath—” she started, but stopped. The shaking which had all but stopped started again, but worse. Her body practically had him shaking. Zack’s arm tightened around her again, as he chewed on what she said and what she’d almost said.
“I don’t think you’re a whore at all, angel. I think you’re confused, and wary of men for a reason. That’s why you’re afraid to let anyone get too close to you.” Her breathing hitched, her body tensed, but she didn’t respond. Zack swallowed hard, trying to work up moisture in his dry mouth to ask the question. “Did your stepfather abuse you, Heather?” Anger, the likes of which he’d never known, coursing through him. “Is that why?” If that was the case, Zack wanted to find that man and strip every inch of skin from his hide, before he killed him. “Answer me, angel. I’m good at keeping secrets…I promise I won’t tell a soul,” he cooed, stroking her hair.
But Zack would kill the bastard if he ever had the pleasure of meeting him. Just like he’d killed that thug behind the arena for trying to assault her. There was no reason on earth for a man, any man, to hurt a woman, especially one who was as small as she was. Both of those bastards deserved their place in hell.
A heavy sigh escaped, and Heather’s warm breath brushed his throat. “He tried,” she replied, her voice weak and raspy.
Zack hugged her to him, his eyes watering, his heart sick. “I’m so sorry, angel. If I ever find the man, I’ll make sure he learns better.”
“You won’t find him—I think he’s d-dead,” she mumbled into his neck, and another shiver wracked her. She coughed, an alarm blared, and Zack noticed the thick, gray smoke floating near the ceiling.
With a gasp, Heather broke free from his hold and sprinted to the stove, as Zack pushed up to his feet. She yanked the dishtowel from the counter to fan it near the smoke detector, but Zack snatched it away to grab the handle of the griddle and move it to the center of the stove. Their steaks were as black as tar, but he wasn’t wasting twenty-dollar steaks. And he wasn’t done getting answers. “I’ll make something to go with these. You’ve been busting your ass all day—go take a shower and relax. We’ll eat in the living room.”
“They’re burned,” She said with a watery laugh. “See, I told you I can’t cook.”
The reason they were burnt had nothing to do with her cooking skills, and everything to do with how fucked up she was because of a man she should have been able to trust. The first man who should have shown her he could be trusted.
“You cook just fine…” he said, shoving her backwards toward the hallway. “Now, go take a shower and watch me burn the potatoes and vegetables. We’ll have the trifecta of burnt offerings for supper.” He smiled and gave her one more nudge, which thankfully pulled an easy, but wobbly, gr
in from her.
“Thanks…” She turned toward the hallway, but looked back over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t burn yourself, or set the kitchen on fire.”
“I’ve got this—you go shower, but use the soap, because that cotton candy gel really does drive me crazy.” That wasn’t much of a drive these days, especially with this woman in his life now. Heather nodded, and he saw her shiver as she walked down the hallway.
Zack had a feeling the information he’d just mined like precious nuggets from her was just the tip of a very deep vein about the circumstances that formed Heather Morrison. He was almost scared to dig the rest of it out of her. He didn’t know if he could take hearing it.
But now that he knew at least some, he had to know the rest. Keeping that misery inside of her for however long had helped harden that shell of hers. She needed to get it out, tell someone, and Zack was determined that person would be him.
Chapter Seven
Zack filled two plates, and carried them one by one to the coffee table. He made two more trips to the kitchen for a couple of beers and utensils. He had no idea how he was going to cut the damned tough, burnt steak himself. He’d just have to pretend to eat it, and fill himself up on the frozen peas and mashed potatoes he’d fixed. Thank God she’d bought a bag of frozen peas, because the two attempts he’d made to open a can of green beans had been terrible. Zack had no idea how left-handed people functioned in a right-handed world.
With a huffed breath, he sat down on the sofa and grabbed the remote. He’d wait until Heather got out of the shower so they could eat together. When one boring sitcom ended, and another began, he got worried. From living with his sister, Zack knew women took long showers, but she’d been in there at least forty-five minutes now.
And their dinner was getting cold.
Pushing up from the sofa, Zack walked down the hallway to listen at the bathroom door. The shower was still running, but there couldn’t be any hot water left. He knew himself her tank was small, because he’d taken a few cold ones himself when he didn’t beat her in there, or wait for an hour or two. He tried the knob and the door opened, but he didn’t see Heather anywhere in the light cloud of steam that filled the small room.