Snow Angels

by Sabrina York

  “People think you’re weird?”

  She picked up her fork and poked at her eggs. He suspected she did this just to have something to do. “It’s okay. I’m used to it.” She gored him with a fierce frown. “I know who I am. I know what I am. And you have to be true to yourself no matter what other people think. Even if it means you spend a lot of time alone.”

  Crazy or not, he couldn’t argue with her logic. And there was something there, woven through her words that made his heart ache for her, this beautiful, fragile, crazy woman.

  Then all sympathy fled. Because her cat once again darted onto the table, stole his bacon and fled.

  It occurred to him her cat was something of a porker.

  And a thief.

  ***

  After breakfast, they suited up to make the long hike to her car. It was all Lyssa could do to focus on dressing herself.

  As gorgeous as Wade had been in a fluffy towel with pink hearts, he was even yummier in his cold weather gear. His bulky jacket highlighted the breadth of his shoulders, his boots clung to his calves, and the furred hunter’s hat made his stark features seem all the more prominent. She didn’t look at his hands.

  Men’s leather gloves were something of a weakness for her.

  It was a damn shame he thought she was crazy.

  But she couldn’t blame him.

  All through breakfast Jax had been jabbering in her ear, distracting her. She couldn’t be altogether sure she hadn’t answered him aloud at least once.

  Jax had been urging her to start dating again, even though he knew her issues. Dating for her wasn’t like it was for other people. Nothing about intimacy was easy when you were a sensitive.

  People tended to freak out when you could read their deepest, darkest secrets as though they were tattooed on their forehead. People also tended to deny the truth. Whether they felt the need to lie, or they were in denial about their truth. Regardless, sharing her observations was, more often than not, awkward.

  Lyssa couldn’t remember how many friends she’d lost before she’d learned to keep her mouth shut. She still wasn’t very good at that, but she tried. And boyfriends? She didn’t even want to think about those disasters.

  Before Jax, she’d had one miserable encounter after another, struggling to balance the pain of intimacy with a burning need for connection. For her, touching a man came with complexities and challenges a normal woman didn’t have to deal with.

  But Jax had been a sensitive as well. He’d understood her. Probably because they were so very similar, both connected to the energies flowing through the universe.

  Their relationship hadn’t been perfect by far—more often than not they drove each other crazy—but it was nice having a companion, a lover who understood.

  But he was gone. Well, physically gone. And it was time for her to try again.

  Or so he said.

  Jax thought this man would be perfect for her.

  And he might have been. If he didn’t think her a complete loon.

  “Are you ready?” Wade asked, tossing a backpack over his shoulder and giving her the once over. The muscles in his face tightened. His nose curled.

  “What?” She couldn’t help snapping. She really disliked the way he looked at her sometimes. As though she smelled bad.

  He shook his head. “You’re so tiny.”

  She bristled. “I’m hardly tiny.”

  “It’s a long way.”

  She glowered. “I made it last night. In the dark.”

  “I should go alone.”

  “You don’t know where my car is.”

  “I’ll follow the road.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  Tension between them hummed as they stared at each other, and then he relented. “Fine. Come along.” He took her elbow, and she wrenched it away. A reflex probably, for both of them. Unless she was working with a client, she avoided physical contact as a rule. At her sharp retreat, a muscle clenched in his jaw. “But if you get stuck in a drift,” he snapped, “I’m not pulling you out.”

  ***

  In the end, he was the one who got stuck in a drift. And it was a damn good thing she’d come along, or he would have been there all night. They’d only made it halfway to her car, slogging through waist deep snow. It was waist deep for him, chest deep for her. The only way she could make any progress at all was following the trench he plowed. Behind her, she pulled the sled he’d suggested they bring—to carry the food on the way back.

  It was a good thing she was behind him because in a narrow bend in the road, he stepped too close to a pine tree. Anyone who knew anything about snow and pine trees knew—never step too close to a pine tree. The snow collects on the branches and when it becomes too heavy, the branches bend; snow falls around the base of the tree, creating a kind of cave, a hollow, close to the trunk. Falling into the tree well, when alone, could be a death sentence.

  This one was only five feet deep, so probably not a death sentence, but an annoyance. If she hadn’t been there to rescue him he could have spent the night—or longer—in a freezing well.

  And how glorious it was, to rescue him. Wiped that supercilious expression right off his face.

  By the time she hauled him out, they were both panting and pale.

  He, because it was clear he was in extreme pain, and she because she had touched him.

  She’d had to. Had to grab his arm and steady him, bolster him, and yank him out of the hole. It hadn’t been skin to skin, but it hadn’t mattered.

  The connection resonated through her like a live wire. Images, thoughts, voices, and ghosts flickered through her consciousness. The power of his emotions and the depth of his ache, nearly shattered her.

  She let go as soon as he was clear of the well.

  They both lay in the snow, breathing heavily as they recovered.

  It’s not his fault.

  Lyssa squeezed her eyes closed. Tried to shake off the flurry of whispers.

  It’s not his fault.

  “Shit.” Wade levered up into a sitting position and rubbed his thigh. “I think I ripped something.” He glanced back in the direction of the cabin. She knew what he was thinking. Could he make it back?

  She whipped off her glove and set her bare hand on his thigh.

  His eyes widened, and he almost flinched away. It was clear what was running through his mind. But it didn’t matter. Sometimes it didn’t matter what people thought of you, you just had to do what was right.

  “You pulled a muscle,” she said. “You shouldn’t try to walk.”

  His eyes narrowed. “How can you tell that by touching my leg?”

  She dipped her head. “I’m…a therapist.”

  “A physical therapist?”

  “Hmmm.” Before he could ask any more probing questions, she stood and grabbed the sled, eyeing the track they’d created on their way here. She turned it around, facing back to the house. “Get on the sled, and I’ll pull you back.”

  He snorted.

  She frowned. “Why did you snort like that?”

  “I’m heavy.”

  “And?”

  “You’re tiny.”

  “You said that before,” she bristled. “I may be small, but that does not mean I am helpless. Now get your ass on the sled. We need to get back. It’s snowing again, and I’m getting cold. I know you must be cold.”

  Her tone must have been adequately severe, because he did as she commanded, and damn…he was right. He was heavy. The sled dug down deeper into the snow as she plodded slowly, diligently, and determinedly toward the cabin.

  Dusk was falling by the time they finally reached shelter, which surprised Lyssa. The short trek had taken the entire day. Granted, the sun set early in the winter, but the day was gone. She steeled herself for the ordeal to come. Judging from what she’d felt when she’d laid her palm on his thigh, there was no way he’d be able to get inside without her help.

  And that meant more touching.

  She d
id a quick meditation, asking only the best for all and surrounding herself with a protective light, just as she did with all her clients. Still, it was a shock when he took her hand and struggled to his feet. When he draped his arm over her shoulder and pressed his body flush against hers, she nearly lost consciousness.

  In fact, she stumbled on the first step, which almost sent him tumbling as well.

  “Stop thinking about it,” she grumbled.

  He stilled. Fixed her with a dark look. “Stop thinking about what?”

  “You’re not paralyzed. You’re walking just fine. It’s just a torn muscle.”

  He paled. “Wh-what are you talking about?”

  “Come on. Move. We need to get inside.” She frowned at him. “You’re heavy.”

  He didn’t budge. “What did you mean? Why did you say I’m not paralyzed?”

  “Tell me about the wind chimes instead.”

  He stared at her. Adam’s apple bobbed. “Jesus. Are you reading my mind?”

  Lyssa wrinkled her nose. “Only a little.”

  “Don’t read my mind!”

  She firmed her chin. “You are kind of shouting. Focus on the wind chimes again. That was nice.”

  He did. Even though she could feel his shock and horror, and downright disbelief, of her abilities. He focused on the wind chimes and a lovely peace filtered through her mind.

  “Up one step.” Slowly, he lifted his leg.

  A memory. Of a time before. On another porch. Wind chimes hung from the rafters. Hundreds of them, dancing in the breeze and creating a delightful, healing cacophony.

  “Another step.”

  Wade on that porch with Bo by his side. Struggling with a pair of crutches, willing his legs to work. “One step. Just one fucking step.”

  “Last step.”

  He sucked in a deep breath and, through the sheer force of will, made his leg move. One step.

  One step and then another. That’s all it takes.

  Lyssa glanced up at him as he relived one of the darkest moments of his life. She could see it, etched on his features. His fear, his panic. “You did it,” she whispered, more to that wretched man in the past than the one who stood by her side right now—though they both needed affirmation. “You did it.”

  He’d walked again. Then, and now.

  Slowly, she guided him through the door and to the chair by the fire where he collapsed. She pulled the ottoman closer and lifted his leg. Before he had time to offer a denial, and before she had time to rethink this insanity, she went to work.

  The injury was high on his thigh. She tried not to think about how close it was to…something else. She blew into her palms and rubbed her hands together until they heated and then set them on the spot—that glowing wound in his aura—and began to work.

  Chapter Four

  Wade winced as this delicate, diminutive creature ripped into him. Damn, her hands were strong. But she knew just where it hurt and her massage, while exceedingly firm, gave him almost immediate relief. He groaned as she hit a tender spot. She lightened her touch and worked around the sensitive area. When it was warmed up, she moved back in, smoothing out the kinks and soothing the screaming muscle.

  Amazingly, the pain waned. Agony became a dull throb, then a slight ache, and then a tingle.

  She seemed to know when the worst of it was gone and stopped. She drew back, sat on her haunches, and peered up at him. “Better?” she asked through tight lips.

  “Yes. Thank—”

  Before the word was out of his mouth, she was on her feet and sprinting for the kitchen. He gaped at her as she turned on the water and furiously scrubbed her hands.

  And then she threw up. In wrenching heaves.

  He struggled to his feet and hobbled across the room. “Are you all right?” he asked, concern rippling through him. She was as pale as a ghost.

  She whirled on him. “Sit down,” she snapped. “I don’t want to have to do that again.”

  He sat. Stared at her. His lips worked.

  What the hell had just happened?

  She wet a paper towel and mopped her face. He noticed the sweat beading on her forehead, as though she had been the one in piercing pain—

  “Lyssa?”

  “Give me a minute.” She shook as she braced herself against the counter, gulping in deep draws of air. After a minute or two, she stumbled to the table and pulled out a chair. She nearly missed as she fell into it.

  Still, he waited.

  And waited.

  Until she peeped up at him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry for yelling,” she said. “That was worse than I expected.”

  He shook his head. “What was worse than you expected? What did you do? I thought you said you were a therapist.” He’d encountered many physical therapists in his recovery, and none of them, not one, had done anything at all like this. And his leg hadn’t felt this…renewed in years.

  She put her shoulders back and crossed her arms. “I am a therapist.”

  “But not a physical therapist.”

  She shrugged.

  “What kind of therapist are you?”

  Her nose wrinkled. “You don’t want to know.”

  “What did you do to me?”

  She nibbled on her cheek, shrugged, and glanced around the room. “Are you hungry? Because I’m hungry. It’s too bad we didn’t get the bacon, but I can make something else. I saw burgers in the fridge. Do you want—”

  “Lyssa.” A growl.

  Silence bubbled between them.

  “What did you do?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I gave you a massage. It’s very simple really.” She stood with a great scraping of the chair against the floor, and went over to troll the fridge.

  “I’ve never had a massage like that.”

  She winked at him over her shoulder, but he could tell her insouciance was forced. “I’m very good.”

  He decided to circle back to an earlier befuddlement. “Were you reading my mind before?”

  She froze. Then reached in the fridge and brought out a plate of hamburger patties. “How about I cook these up? I won’t make fries, though. Too many carbs. Maybe a salad?”

  “You were. Weren’t you? How else would you have known about the wind chimes?” It was his place. Where he went when he was in pain.

  It didn’t exist in the real world. No one knew about it but him.

  “Do you like tomatoes?”

  “Can you read my mind right now? What am I thinking?”

  She fixed him with a somber look, tipped her head to the side and said, in a very mystical voice, “You hate tomatoes.”

  “I love tomatoes. Answer the question.”

  She blew out a breath. “You don’t want to know, Wade.”

  “I do.”

  “Nobody does.” Her dispassionate scales flaked away and her fierceness rose to the fore. “Nobody wants to hear about it. Nobody wants to talk about it. No one wants to know. I’m a freak, Wade. Pure and simple.”

  “You’re not a freak.” He would have thought so yesterday. This morning…an hour ago. Now he saw her for what she was. “You’re a healer.”

  “Yes. I heal people. By reading their energy. Does that freak you out?”

  “That you can read my mind whenever you want? Maybe a little—”

  “I can’t read your mind whenever I want. And it’s only flashes. And only when I touch you.…” Her voice petered out, ended softly on that word.

  “But that you can take away the pain? Hell, no.”

  “I don’t take it away. I take it.”

  He stared at her, processing her meaning. He glanced at the sink. Oh. That’s what that had been. The pain. His pain. The shock of it. He knew the force and weight of it well. But it had been too much for her slight frame and—

  “Shit Lyssa. You’re not doing that again.”

  Where it came from, this rising, raging urge to protect her, he didn’t know. That she had taken his pain and lived it for him, was humbling. And
mortifying.

  “You needed it.”

  Simple words, but they devastated him.

  She pressed her lips together. “And while we’re on the subject of mind reading….”

  “Were we on the subject of mind reading?”

  She ignored him. “Who’s Sam?”

  His heart stopped. Right there in his chest.

  “Sam?”

  A blast echoed in his head and his heart, as it always did when he heard that name. “No-no one.”

  “Liar.” Lyssa pulled out a pan and turned on the gas. “It’s burgers for dinner.” She shot him a glare. “And when you’re ready, Sam has something to say to you.”

  Fuck.

  Acid roiled in his gut. The last thing—the very last thing he wanted to know—was what Sam had to say to him. He didn’t think he could bear the condemnation. The confirmation of the bitter truth.

  Because it was his fault Sam was dead.

  He’d killed her.

  ***

  Dinner was kind of dismal.

  Wade was in a sour mood and sat across from her wolfing down his burgers, and occasionally shooting surly looks in her direction. She tried to tune out his bristling energy, but had little success. It felt as though he’d crawled inside her brain and wouldn’t leave.

  The only ones who enjoyed the meal were Biby and Bo—though on opposite sides of the room, each vying for their share of the last burger. Bo was brave enough to inch over when Biby didn’t eat fast enough, sniffing at the air as though he could draw the chunk closer with the strength of his indrawn breath. He received a swat for his trouble.

  He didn’t try it again.

  “So.” Wade pushed his plate away and cleared his throat, the first sound he’d made since she’d dropped her bombshell. She understood his reticence. Knowing about her healing ability was one thing, and the mind reading, yeah, still another. But the fact that dead people chatted with her on a regular basis was probably more than he could accept.

  Sometimes it was hard for her to even accept. Like now. Since she’d touched him, since she’d walked through the pain with him, and since their physical connection had opened the door…Sam wouldn’t shut up.