Master of Solitude (Mountain Masters & Dark Haven Book 8)

by Cherise Sinclair

  Mallory frowned at him. “You can put me down now.”

  Now, why would he do that when he was enjoying the feel of her in his arms? “I’m good.”

  “Mal!” A pretty blonde dressed in blue scrubs rushed out from the exam rooms. “What happened?”

  “Hey, Sunny. I twisted my ankle. Nothing major.” Mallory scowled up at Sawyer. “He’s being overly macho.”

  Catching Sawyer’s grin, the nurse snorted. “I see. In that case, Mr. Macho, can you bring her to the back?” She led the way to an exam room.

  After setting his delightfully tough little neighbor on the table, he stepped back.

  “Sawyer, I know you met Virgil Masterson last week.” Mallory motioned toward the nurse. “This is his wife, Summer, aka Sunny to some of us.”

  “Pleasure.” After nodding at Summer, Sawyer gently tugged Mallory’s wet coat off.

  As the nurse unwrapped the improvised sock “strapping”, Mallory’s voice tightened with pain. “This is my neighbor, Sawyer Ware, Atticus’s brother.”

  Summer smiled at him. “Atticus has talked about you. It’s nice to meet you.”

  After dropping Mallory’s coat on a chair, Sawyer frowned. Despite the warm room and her heavy green sweater, she still shivered.

  Dammit, she was probably hypothermic. “Got any warm blankets, Summer? She got pretty chilled before I arrived.”

  “In the cabinet in the hall.” Summer eased Mallory’s boot off and shook her head. “This is pretty swollen, Mal. I’m going to cut your sock off.”

  A couple of minutes later, Sawyer wrapped a heated blanket around Mallory. Her sigh of pleasure eased the knot in his gut and made him smile.

  The exam room door opened.

  “Mallory. Looks like you took a spill.” The doctor was lean with receding gray hair, glasses, and a standard white lab coat. He glanced at Sawyer. “I’m Dr. Vickers. Are you a relative of Mallory’s?”

  “Neighbor. Sawyer Ware.”

  “Good to meet you. If you’ll wait in the reception area, then—”

  “I’ll stay.” Sawyer crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s a mite on the stubborn side. I’d rather hear what’s wrong and what needs to be done from you instead of her telling me everything’s fine, and she doesn’t need a thing.”

  Summer snickered. “He knows Mal pretty well, doesn’t he?”

  After giving the nurse a scowl, Mallory turned her gaze on Sawyer. She apparently understood his obstinate expression since she only sighed and didn’t protest.

  Her disgruntled pout was damned cute.

  Lips twitching, the doctor set to palpating the bones on each side of her ankle and foot.

  Sawyer frowned. Her swollen ankle had doubled in size with reddish bruising on both sides. Looked fucking painful.

  As the doc poked and prodded, Mallory didn’t let out a sound, although her fingers curled around the exam table edges so hard her knuckles went white.

  Unfortunately, they weren’t good enough friends for him to hold her hand. The contractor was damn tough—and was breaking his heart.

  “Does she need x-rays?” he asked as the doc helped her take a few steps.

  “Not according to the Ottawa protocol.” The doctor smiled at Mallory. “It appears you escaped broken bones, but you have a nice healthy sprain.”

  “Strap it up and put ice on it, right?” she guessed.

  “Exactly right.” The doc smiled at her. “Elevate your ankle. No aspirin. I want you to use crutches for two days. You can touch your toe for balance as long as you keep most of your weight off your foot.”

  “Crutches?” She frowned at him.

  “Yes, crutches.” He glanced at Sawyer. “Are you taking her home?”

  “Yep. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  “You’ll have your work cut out for you.” The doctor started his work on the ankle.

  Mallory turned to stare at Sawyer as if he’d grown a second head.

  Too bad.

  *

  By the time Sawyer got Mallory home, the sun was close to setting, and the rain had slowed to a drizzle. As he walked around his pickup, he studied her house in the remaining daylight. It was a two-story, white clapboard with a steel gray roof and dark red shutters. The wraparound covered porch held a wide porch swing, chairs, and tables. Planter boxes studded the dark red railings.

  Carved lions curled around the posts. Interesting.

  As Mallory tried to maneuver herself out of the truck with the crutches, Sawyer snorted, reached in, and picked her up.

  “I can walk.”

  “Sure you can. Do it tomorrow.” As if he’d let her try to manage crutches in the twilight and rain.

  Once inside, he carried her through the small foyer and past the kitchen on the right. A bathroom was on the left, and Sawyer paused at the reminder.

  Females. “Bet you could use a bathroom break, right?”

  “Yes, please.” When he looked down, her face had turned red with embarrassment. Damn, she was cute.

  Remembering the way all too well, he took her to her master bedroom and into the large, spotless bathroom. With blue and white floral wallpaper, blue hand towels, and a fanciful old-fashioned mirror over the sink, it seemed very feminine. He set her down, held her steady until she had a good grip on the washstand, and removed her coat. “Stand there a second.”

  He rummaged in her dresser drawers, digging out sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a loose sweatshirt. A drawer filled with bright undergarments made him step back. Uh-uh, not going there.

  Great. Now he was wondering if she’d worn something so sexy under her clothes.

  “Here’s dry clothing.” He set the pile of clothes on the counter next to the toilet. “I’m going to fetch your crutches, and I’ll set them right outside the door here.”

  “Got it.” Her voice softened. “Thank you, Sawyer. For everything.” Her jade sweater made her big green eyes simply stunning.

  He smiled down at her. She thought he was leaving? Wrong, pet. Not worth the bother to correct her now. He’d been around enough women to know their thinking went to hell if the need to piss was urgent.

  After leaving the crutches by the door, Sawyer went outside to give Achilles a run in the front yard.

  Once done, he carried the pup and crate in, then prowled through the downstairs level of the house. The house was maybe forty years old and in excellent shape. Staircase in the center. Master bedroom on the left—and he had fond memories of that room. The right half of the house was an open arrangement with the kitchen and dining area in the front. In the back, a large great room opened to a sunroom.

  With high ceilings and huge arched windows, the rooms were as filled with light as an oceanside cottage. In the great room, a pale blue and white Oriental carpet lay over a gleaming golden hardwood floor. The colorful pillows piled on the white slipcovered furniture looked like vivid blooms. Lush plants spilled over wrought-iron stands in the corners and hung from macramé hangers in front of the windows.

  He could feel his tension seep away. Could a room radiate peace?

  Hearing Mallory exit the bathroom, Sawyer tucked Atticus in his carrier and headed back to perform escort service.

  Her eyes widened when he appeared. “You’re still here.”

  “Yep.” Standing close enough to catch her, he let her use the crutches to walk to the great room. As she sat and leaned back against the couch’s armrest, he lifted her legs, propped the injured one up on pillows, and tucked a fluffy knitted blanket around her. “Want some coffee or something to eat?”

  “Who are you, and what have you done with Ware?” When he laughed, her eyes widened more.

  Well, hell, she was right to question him. Too bad he lacked any answers for her. Damned if he knew what he was doing, either. Nonetheless, he couldn’t leave her here, hurt and alone. “Coffee? Food?”

  She eyed him warily. “All right. I’d like some tea, if you know how to make it.”

  “I spent time overseas. I learned.”


  He got a kick out of her old-fashioned whistling kettle. As the water heated, Sawyer rummaged through the cupboards to determine if he should fetch food from his cabin.

  Nope. She had plenty of food, both fresh and canned goods. Looked like she was well prepared for the apocalypse…or being snowed in.

  She sure as fuck had enough tea. What kind of a person owned a dozen different kinds?

  He shook his head. The little contractor might downplay her gender on the job, but her home was all woman. Tiny herb plants lined the large kitchen window, which looked out on the front porch. The white cupboards were glass-fronted, the islands and countertops a white marble. A vase of yellow and white mums stood on the counter next to a bowl of apples. The carved paper towel holder was an elongated cat.

  He found a china teapot sitting on the island, chose a chamomile-peppermint tea mix, and poured in boiling water. A carved tray—another feline—held the teapot and two cups. Noticing a hand painted stoneware jar, he checked it and scored big.

  Real oatmeal-raisin cookies. Home-fucking-made.

  He ate two on the spot and was reaching for a third before he caught himself. Focus, Ware.

  But he added ample cookies to the plate on the tray.

  After setting the tray on the sturdy oval coffee table, Sawyer squatted next to her and handed her a filled cup. “Here. Drink some tea, and we’ll get you warm from the inside.”

  She looked at him—and flushed.

  Yeah, there were other ways to warm a woman up from the inside, but it wasn’t what he’d meant. Instead of teasing her, he gave her a level look, which made her drop her gaze.

  She took the cup. “Thank you. And…I didn’t mean to be rude earlier. About you being helpful.”

  “Not a problem. In fact, I’ll give you another chance to show your mean side—I’m staying the night.”

  “What?” Her jerk almost spilled the tea, and he closed his hand around the cup and over hers. Her fingers were chilly.

  “New crutch users shouldn’t be left alone. Backup is needed. By tomorrow, your ankle will be sturdier—and won’t give out if you need it when you’re on the crutches. Today, you’re still learning. Hell, I’ve seen even SEALs go down their first time using the damn things.”

  “Seals?” Was the man delusional? Mallory sputtered. “Seals don’t even have legs.”

  He turned those blue eyes on her, and a genuine smile transformed his face. A stern jaw, a hard face, cold eyes. And…his smile would melt an ice queen. It was good he didn’t want her, or she’d be lost.

  “Not the furry kind. U.S. Navy SEALs.” He sat on the coffee table, his legs so long his knees brushed her hip. “I was in the service.”

  “Oh. Right.” She dared a question. “Did you want to leave the Navy, or did you get hurt?”

  “Got a medical discharge. Took some shrapnel. And my head got fucked up.” He looked away. “I’d planned to stay in for my twenty.”

  She studied him, seeing the way his aura had darkened with…grief? “Does fucked up mean you had a PTSD kind of thing?”

  His nod confirmed her guess. “You should know who you invited into your house.”

  She waited. This was apparently something he had to say.

  “I wasn’t sleeping because of nightmares. Then I had a couple of drinks with a buddy who got wasted, so I had to drive.” On his knee, his hand tightened into a fist. “I fell asleep at the wheel, and the car drifted into the other lane.”

  She’d known the outcome—but not what had led up to it. She laid her hand over his. “There was a wreck…”

  “Yeah. Oncoming headlights woke me. I yanked the wheel to avoid a collision and skidded right off the road—down the side of a mountain. The family in the other car was all right. I wasn’t hurt too bad.” He took a slow breath. “My friend died.”

  “Sawyer, I’m sorry.” He had so many reasons for the darkness in his aura—war, death, grief, guilt. Tears burned her eyes, one trailing down her face.

  He used his fingertips to wipe her cheek and shook his head as if he felt nothing, yet she could see the wounds slicing deep into his soul. “My time in service and having PTSD meant my sentence was lowered to a misdemeanor DUI manslaughter charge, but the judge gave me a couple years in prison. I deserved it.” The stark look in his eyes said he thought he’d deserved more.

  His friend had died. By the sun and stars, how such a loss would hurt…

  “Shit happened, and I got released early.”

  The “shit” being how he’d risked his life during the prison breakout.

  He ran his hand through his short hair. “Figured you should know the facts. I thought you already knew when—”

  “When I took the job?” Trying to seem unaffected, she sipped her tea.

  A corner of his mouth tipped up. “When you said you knew exactly what I was and went to bed with me. Some women find felons and violence exciting.”

  She choked. “What?”

  Amusement lit his eyes.

  “You’re serious. Women actually…”

  His smile faded. “Yeah, they do. Or they cross the street to avoid being anywhere near an ex-con.”

  Oh. “You weren’t sure what I knew, so that’s why you told me all this today?”

  He nodded. “And why I’ll let you call someone to stay with you if you’re worried about me sleeping on your couch tonight.”

  “You’ll let me, huh?”

  He snorted. “I don’t scare you, do I?”

  “Scare, no. Irritate, yes. You’ve sure been rude a time or two.” Don’t ever give the man soup or smile at him in stores. Her brows drew together. “When I saw you in the feed store. You were rude because you thought I’d only”—wanted you? Made love to you?—“f-fucked you because of your convict status?”

  He winced.

  Oh, that was so it. She’d thought he was wonderful, had fallen for him, and he’d thought she was… “If you thought I was such a sleazy person, why in the world did you… Why didn’t you just slam-bang and leave?” Her cheeks heated as she thought of how he’d concentrated on her pleasure.

  He shrugged. “A gentleman sees to the lady, even if she is just looking to score on a SEAL or a convict.”

  “Ah.” His words, just looking to score, sounded somewhat bitter. She’d thought men liked sex, no matter how shallow. Males. Sex. The words went together like peanut butter and jelly. It seemed Sawyer was different. “I guess a guy eventually starts feeling as if he’s being used, huh?”

  “Got that right.” His face softened, and he ran a slow finger down her cheek. “Although it bothered me to think you got off on violent men, I enjoyed our night.” The gentle look in his eyes said he was telling the truth.

  The hard knot of pain wrapped around her memories slowly unraveled.

  “So.” He straightened. “Can you trust me to be a gentleman and care for you tonight? Or do you want a phone so you can call someone?”

  “Listen, I don’t need babysitting. I can—”

  “I gave you an either/or question.” His expression was firm. She’d bet he’d been an officer in the military.

  “Stay.”

  His expression eased enough she could see he was pleased. “Good. Let me get a fire started, then.”

  As he rose, she settled back, feeling as if she’d strayed into unfamiliar territory. Sawyer Ware would spend the night. Here. And they weren’t friends. Not really. Having touched her, seen her naked, kissed her intimately, and been inside her, he knew her body. He knew her mind not at all.

  Yet he’d carried her, taken her to the doctor, told her about his past. They’d spent quiet hours together in his cabin during the remodeling. She smiled. Maybe they knew each other better than she thought.

  After the fire began to blaze, he closed the glass door on the fireplace insert and returned to sit beside her. A whine made him glance at the puppy in the carrier. Achilles had woken up. “You mind if I let Achilles run around inside? I’ll take him out often, but if
he’s loose, there’s a chance he might piss on your floor.”

  She laughed. “It wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve hosted strays until I could find them homes. Aslan is good with other animals.”

  “Seems to me, you said different when I tried to get you to take Achilles. Your cat finds puppies annoying.”

  “He does…at times. Other times, he thinks they’re interesting.”

  He gave her a hard stare. “You wanted me to have a damn puppy.”

  She tried not to smirk.

  “I’m going to remember how sneaky you can be.”

  “I’m not…”

  With a disbelieving snort, he rose. “Ready for a sandwich when the pup and I get back?”

  She struggled to sit up. “I can make it.”

  “You can lie still.”

  The firm order made her bones turn fluid and her insides go all gooey. She couldn’t keep from staring at him, and when her eyes met his, the couch seemed to drop.

  He smiled and touched her cheek with his fingers. “Those big eyes of yours are something.”

  The flutters in her stomach increased until he released her gaze. “Take a rest, Mallory. We’ll be back in a bit.”

  As he and the puppy headed out the front door, Mallory snuggled lower into the nest of pillows. The fire crackled busily, and she could hear Sawyer’s low voice outside, talking with the puppy.

  She wasn’t alone. The comforting knowledge was unexpected—and wonderful.

  Chapter Twelve

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  Sandwiches for supper was within his cooking abilities, thank fuck. Once the food was ready, Sawyer carried the tray into the great room, stopped, and simply…looked.

  By the light of the fire, he could see Mallory was sound asleep. Freed from the usual braid, her rich brown hair fell over her breasts, and the firelight brought out chestnut and copper strands. Curling slightly, her thick eyelashes were the same color. Her lightly tanned skin was flushed, probably from the huge orange-and-white cat sprawled across her chest.