"But after your parents died..." Mattie filled in understandingly.
Joe shrugged a little awkwardly. "I sort of lost direction after that," he admitted softly, gripping her hand gently. "I couldn't go back there. The memories... all of our plans were still so much a part of the place, of me. We had planned to work the land together, to build together."
Mattie watched his sadness and felt sad. "So you decided to play football instead."
Joe nodded. "I turned pro right after graduation, but I never intended to abandon the ranch. I always knew that someday, I'd go back to it."
"And it's someday?"
Joe smiled at her understanding. "I'm ready to go home. I need to go home. This will be my last season. I'm retiring to raise cattle and wildflowers."
"Retiring?" Mattie scoffed lightly. "You're only thirty-two."
"I'm an old man by football standards, Mattie. I want to be young again. I want to start building things."
Mattie raised her head questioningly, and Joe carefully dammed the emotion in his eyes. "What kind of things?"
He shifted uneasily. Love, he answered silently. A family, a life. But he knew he could not say the words aloud. Not now, not yet. "Come on, sweetheart," he said, changing the subject. "It's getting late. Get ready for bed." He gave her a gentle shove toward the cabin's one and only bedroom, with its narrow single bed.
Mattie resisted. "Where will you sleep?"
"Right here in front of the fire," Joe indicated the floor easily. "I'll be warm enough."
Mattie nodded doubtfully and turned back toward the bedroom. "Joe..."
He turned to meet her eyes.
"I really like your cabin. Thank you for bringing me."
"Thank you for coming," he responded quietly.
"I—I'd like to see your ranch sometime," she said tentatively.
Joe turned away carefully. This was the opening he had been waiting for. "Christmas is coming up," he told her with every bit of casualness he could muster. "We could spend it there, together."
Mattie's heart leaped. "Wouldn't you rather spend Christmas with somebody else?" she asked awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other on the cold wood floor.
Joe turned to face her, his eyes solemn. "Mattie, you're my best friend. Who else would I spend Christmas with?"
"But before we met—"
"Before we met I spent the holidays with my neighbor at the ranch, Cole Baron."
"Won't he miss you this year?"
Joe shook his head, a quiet smile deep in his eyes. "I doubt if Cole will even remember my name this Christmas. This is going to be his first with his new wife."
"Oh."
"How about if we stop at their house on the way to the ranch? That would give us a chance to exchange presents without intruding."
Mattie stared at him without answering, and Joe saw a kind of suppressed yearning in her eyes.
"Mattie—"
"It's just that I'm not much good at Christmas stuff," she burst out in self-defense, wrapping her arms around her body to ward off a sudden chill. "I haven't had much practice at it, you see."
Joe narrowed his eyes on a wave of pain. Sometimes she unconsciously let these clues about her childhood drop, and Joe was forming a grim and empty picture of what it must have been like for her. She never spoke of those years, never mentioned her parents or any family. Joe thought that she must have never known love, or warmth, or caring. Maybe that explained why she didn't recognize what lay in his eyes.
"I'll take my chances," he told her huskily. "Okay?"
Mattie met his eyes helplessly, wanting so badly to accept that it was almost a physical pain within her.' 'Okay."
"Good. Now go to sleep, Mattie. You're going to need all of your strength to shovel us out of here tomorrow."
"I'm going to shovel us out of here tomorrow?" she demanded incredulously. "And what, pray tell, are you going to be doing?"
Joe grinned wickedly. "Supervising."
Mattie threw a pillow at him and ran for cover.
Joe caught the pillow in one large hand and watched her run. Away. Again.
No more than three hours later Mattie woke up shivering so hard that her bones ached. She was curled up into a ball, with a down comforter swathing her from her neck to her toes, and she was still so cold she couldn't even feel her face. With a muffled sigh, she pulled herself from the bed, clutching the blanket around her slender form. She crossed to the old-fashioned radiator in the corner and touched it. Cold, stone cold. Sometime in the past three hours the heat had gone out. Mattie had a feeling that a lot of power lines had snapped under the weight of ice coating them, and that they weren't the only ones without power. On the other hand, there was a roaring fire in the very next room. Joe would have to share.
Hiking the comforter up to her calves, Mattie stumbled to the living room, her eyes only half-open.
Standing above Joe's peacefully slumbering form, she sighed. "Joe."
No response. Not even a twitch.
Shuddering as another chill racked her body, Mattie prodded him with her freezing toes. A little more forcefully than was strictly necessary. "Joe!"
"What!" Joe was on his feet before Mattie could so much as blink. His eyes were wild and his hair tousled.
"Mattie, what the... ?"
Mattie smiled sweetly. "The heat's gone out. I'm freezing my little tootsies off." She promptly plopped down on Joe's blanket and stuck her feet toward the warmth of the fire.
Joe regarded her closely through sleepy eyes. "Your tootsies really aren't that little," he pointed out honestly. "In fact, for someone your size, they're absolutely huge— Ouch—" He broke off with a screech as Mattie slapped her absolutely huge, totally frozen feet against his hairy calf.
"You were saying?" she demanded sweetly. "Absolutely—"
"Gorgeous," Joe substituted hurriedly, moving out of range. "Absolutely gorgeous tootsies. Tootsies men would die for, tootsies that could start a revolution, launch a thousand ships."
"Oh, Joe, I'm too tired to laugh. Don't make me."
Joe rubbed his hands together bracingly, shivering in the cold air. "Look, I'll try to get the heat going again."
"I think the lines have snapped," Mattie told him disinterestedly, luxuriating in the heat of the fire as it bathed her body. "Couldn't we both just sleep here?"
Joe regarded her with deep consternation. "Mattie—"
"You take that side, and I'll take this one," Mattie was being reasonable again, arranging their blankets side by side on the floor with a respectable distance between them.
Joe regarded her helplessly, listening as every one of his good resolutions, so painfully made in the woodshed earlier that day, began to crumble at his feet like a condemned building.
"Look, you can sleep here and I'll sleep in the bedroom—" he tried hopelessly.
"Don't be silly," Mattie told him briskly, already settling in before the fire. "We wouldn't be able to defrost you until August. Go to sleep."
And with that Mattie snuggled deeper into her blanket, sighed once and blissfully drifted off to dreamland.
Joe studied her disbelievingly. Asleep. Here. Half on his blanket. Closing his eyes, he repeated his good intentions to himself, his lips moving silently as he recited them under his breath. After ten minutes he felt marginally stronger and opened his eyes.
Mattie innocently wriggled under the blanket, sighed, and Joe closed his eyes, repeating his silent resolutions all over again.
Five
It was two-thirty in the morning when Joe finally gave up the fight. And only then, he assured himself virtuously, because, in her sleep, Mattie had pressed close to his hard body, cuddling for warmth. Joe stifled a groan as her head made an inviting, nestling motion at his throat and her hips brushed against his own in soft allure.
Dear Lord! How was he supposed to calmly go to sleep when he ached for her from his teeth to his toes? Just to touch her one time would be enough.
The nagging voice i
n his mind, which had made him repeat his good intentions six times before lying down beside her must have done the sensible thing and dozed off hours ago, for it did not taunt his rationalizations again. He could touch her now, he thought, unconsciously clenching his fists. The softness of her skin, the warmth of her body. It would be enough just to touch; he wouldn't need more.
Even as he heard the words in his head, he knew he was lying to himself. He would always need more. But he also knew that he couldn't stop himself now.
As though watching from a distance, a disinterested observer, he saw his hand lift slowly to brush a dark sweep of curls from her forehead. A silent, graceful motion that spoke evocatively of his need for her. The second his skin made contact with hers, though, all illusion of distance was erased. It was as if a white-hot flame had been turned on inside of him. His breath caught somewhere deep in his chest, his heart raced and his eyes closed in an agony of pleasure.
Mattie, deeply asleep and innocently unaware, snuggled closer.
Joe swallowed thickly and allowed his fingers to drift down the sweet curve of her soft cheek to her determined chin. Soft, so soft. He leaned down to test that softness with his lips, brushing a butterfly kiss into the dimple he found there. The exploration went on. From her delicate neck to her slender shoulders Joe drew a line with his fingers. The hollow at the base of her throat beckoned his lips, and Joe could not resist, beginning to lose himself in her.
Mattie slowly drifted towards consciousness, vaguely aware of butterflies dancing over her skin. Butterflies ... in December... Mattie yanked to complete wakefulness as a hard, male hand moved caressingly over the swell of her breasts. Dear God, not again! Not the nightmare again...
With a strangled little moan, she tore herself away from those hands, blinded by fear and memories as she dragged herself across the cold floor, searching for a place to hide. Tears cascaded down her face silently, endlessly, but she did not sob because she had learned her lesson well. Noise only brought the promise of more pain.
"Mattie!" Joe cried out, feeling something rip inside of him as he watched her drag herself across the floor away from his touch. "Oh God, Mattie..."
Mattie was trembling so badly that she barely heard him. She felt lost in the past. She searched madly for the walls within herself, the walls she could erect to hide behind and that would keep her safe from those hands.
"Mattie, sweetheart, it's Joe." The voice came from a long way away, urgent and tormented and strained. "Do you hear me? It's Joe, just Joe. It was me touching you, only me. Do you understand me, Mattie? It was me. I won't hurt you. I would never hurt you..."
The soothing litany continued until Mattie began to listen, and Joe's voice was hoarse and broken.
"Just Joe. Only touching you. Oh, God, come back to me... sweetheart...."
"Joe?" Mattie's voice was weak, as her eyes finally began to focus on the present again.
Joe drew a deep, shaky breath and rocked back on his heels. "Oh Lord, you scared me there, sweetheart. Don't do that to me again."
Mattie didn't even hear the fear in his shaky plea.
"You were touching me." The words were flat as Mat-tie's eyes were drawn blindly to the fire. She concentrated on the soft hush of the flames as they lapped against the wood and tried to block out Joe's unsteady breathing behind her.
"I would never hurt you, Mattie," Joe repeated hollowly, rubbing his eyes. "I wasn't trying to hurt you."
Mattie wrapped her arms tightly around her updrawn knees and began to rock her body protectively.
Mattie nodded her head wearily, acknowledging the truth of what he said. "I—I'm sorry I...panicked. I don't know why."
"Don't you?"
Mattie's eyes raced to his as she recognized the gentle dissent in his rough tone. Dear God, what did he know?
"Joe—"
But Joe did not let her finish whatever denial or diversion she was attempting.
"You know, Mattie, ever since we met, I've had this nagging feeling of,..recognition. I could never quite figure out what it was, but I know now. It's not your face, or your smile, or the way you walk. It's your eyes,- the expression you try to hide in them. The fear, the pain, the wariness. That's what I've seen before." Joe exhaled carefully. "In Janie's eyes."
Mattie flinched as if he had slapped her with the words, and her stiff face whitened in the firelight. Joe's own eyes closed in mute agony.
It was true, he accepted with a silent, overwhelming pain. His beautiful, proud Mattie... The hurt that raced through him was almost paralyzing in its intensity. No rage, not yet. Only the unbearable knowledge of what she had suffered, and he allowed that pain to consume him totally. Now he understood the fear of physical closeness, the wary evasions, the silent terror. The knowledge had been building within him for a long time, but seeing her dragging herself across the floor, trying to hide from him exactly as Janie had done...
Mattie slumped in defeat, her forehead falling to rest on her drawn-up knees as the memories overtook her and the silence lengthened. A fine trembling that had nothing to do with cold shook her. She would have to tell him now. He had a right to know who and what he had befriended. And now she would lose him, too.
Joe watched her tremble and ached to touch her, to drive the fear away, but he knew that he could not, knew finally how much a part of her it was. His throat tightened painfully as he watched her head rise slowly, her eyes wide and glittering with tears she refused to let fall.
When she spoke, her voice was soft and rusty with pain. "My parents deserted me when I was three. They were young.. .they divorced." Her mouth twisted, but it was not a smile. "They 'loved' me too much to drag me down with them, I was told. But not enough to give me up for adoption." This was obviously a pain she had dealt with and accepted long ago. "I grew up in foster homes. No one kept me for long—just long enough to do their duty by me. Oh yes, they all did their duty—and collected their money. Until I was eleven...twelve...thirteen..." Her voice drifted off, her eyes hard and impenetrable.
A part of Joe wanted to scream at her to stop, not to torture herself this way, but the best part of him knew that they both had to hear the words if they would ever be free of the past. His hands clenched into fists and a muscle kicked to life in his jaw as she continued in that quiet, curiously emotionless tone.
"When I was eleven, they placed me in anew home. A man and his wife. She was very sick, I think. She hardly ever spoke. It was like she was.. .waiting to die. I was only eleven—it took me a while to understand that it was because of him. It was all because of him. He was very big...
He used to t-touch me___" Mattie stuttered badly, her throat tight and aching. "He h-hurt me___"
Joe's soft moan was that of an animal in pain, but Mat-tie was deaf to the sound, blind to him, lost in the past.
"I ran away, but they always took me back.. .to him. And he always punished me." Silence. A horrible yawning, remembering silence, and something inside of Joe ached for the child she had been. "She died when I was thirteen. They took me away then." Her eyes were blank, empty. "But I think they forgot a part of me. I think there was something he took that they couldn't get back. I've never been whole since then."
The tears had slipped from her smoky eyes now, silent and warm as they drifted down her hollow cheeks. No sobs shook her, no cries escaped, but the tears spoke of such deep pain that Joe winced.
His own eyes were burning with tears for the child who had been so abused. There was no doubt in his mind what she was trying to tell him. He understood exactly what it was she had talked so carefully about. Mattie had been sexually and emotionally molested at the ages of eleven... twelve... thirteen. His gallant Mattie had suffered more pain and degradation than any person should ever have to bear. His beautiful, brave Mattie had been left with nightmares and scars across her soul that might never heal.
"He used to call me Matilda. That's why I hate the name so much." His voice echoed in her head and she whimpered in pain. "Hold still, Mati
lda. You'll love this, Matilda. I love you, Matilda."
Joe's control broke and rage overtook him. It burned in him to the same fiery depths his pain had carved. His body shook with it, his voice trembled with it.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
Mattie heard the despairing question, but it did not seem to touch her. Joe's hands closed gently over her upper arms, forcing her limp, pliant body to respond to him.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?" he demanded again, his face twisted with pain.
Mattie answered lifelessly, obscurely. "All those years I spent alone, without a family...I used to dream that someday, somebody would love me."
Joe immediately understood what that bleak little voice was telling him. "No. Oh, no, Mattie. That wasn't love." He shook her urgently, emphasizing what he said. "Mat-tie, that wasn't love."
"He said it was," Mattie told him stonily, not meeting his eyes. "He said he loved me."
"No, Mattie. He was sick. He hurt you. Love doesn't hurt like that. We talked about it, remember? A man would never hurt the woman he loves. Remember?"
"I remember."
"And he hurt you," Joe persisted grimly.
"Y-yes."
"So he didn't love you," Joe insisted intently.
"He said he did. He said that's why he t-touched me. That touching was the price I had to pay for being.. .loved."
"Dammit, get it through your head that love is not like that!" Joe's tone was hard and driven, and Mattie seemed to shrink into herself.
"You're angry," she said flatly.
"Hell, yes, I'm angry!" Joe exploded in pain and frustration, his eyes fierce.
Mattie wretched herself from his hold, her face crumbling. "It wasn't my fault," she cried pitifully as the sobs finally came, racking her slender body with a force that frightened Joe. "It wasn't my fault. I didn't want him to.. .I hated him!"
"Mattie! Oh, Mattie," Joe whispered brokenly, afraid to reach for her. "I know it wasn't your fault. I know. You were a child, an innocent child. Oh God, Mattie, let me hold you," he begged helplessly, his eyes burning. "Please let me hold you—"
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