Joe knew what he was asking of her. More important, Mattie knew that he was asking her to put aside the nightmare of what that man had done and turn to another man for comfort, which was a frightening move. She had lived alone with the memories for so long they had become a part of her. Now Joe was asking her to share that part of her with him. Joe, she thought achingly. Her best friend, Joe. She didn't hesitate, throwing herself into his pleading arms and burying her tear-stained face against his throat.
"Thank God," Joe whispered tightly, pressing a gentle, soothing kiss to Mattie's temple. "Mattie, cry.. .let the tears heal you. I'm here to hold you, to keep you safe. I'll always be here for you."
Mattie barely heard the soothing words or felt the desperate, consoling kisses he pressed to her burning face. She only knew that finally she had shared the pain and she could feel the poison seeping from the wound. She would always bear the scars, but maybe now, because of Joe, she could begin to heal.
They stayed like that for a long time, clinging tightly to each other as the dawn began to break on the horizon. Sometimes they spoke, and sometimes they were silent. But even in the silence, an almost tangible wave of communication flowed between them.
"You were touching me," Mattie's voice was husky with confusion as it rose from his shoulder where her face was buried.
Joe smoothed a careful hand over her short dark hair and searched for a defense to the accusation in those four simple words. He could hardly tell-her about the need, the hunger, the love he felt, when in Mattie's mind those words, those emotions were only a prelude to violation. He could hardly claim friendship, when she must have felt his body trembling with the uncontrolled desire he felt with her in his arms.
"I didn't mean to frighten you," he finally evaded quietly.
"There—there's not a price for friendship, too, is there, Joe?" Mattie's uncertain and frightened tone clawed into Joe's heart like razor sharp talons.
"No." He swallowed tightly and pressed his lips into her wavy tresses. "No price for friendship."
Mattie sighed and drifted to the edges of sleep.
Joe tightened his hold and stared into the darkness for a long, long time.
When Joe awoke a few hours later, Mattie was still in his arms. Her quiet, shallow breaths brushed against the warm cord of his throat like the most evocative caress, and her head nestled trustingly against his shoulder. He shifted carefully to study her sleeping form.
She was so pretty! She looked so fragile asleep and vulnerable in his arms. But now he knew that there was nothing fragile about Mattie Grey. Something hurt and lost and sad, but never fragile or insubstantial. She had survived a nightmare and somehow found an inner strength to carry her through the memories. Maybe she had lost a part of herself, as she had told him so desparingly last night. He wondered if she understood that she had found something, too.
Easing carefully out of the chair, Joe left Mattie still sleeping. They had spent all of the night holding each other, talking and giving comfort, but he didn't want her to be frightened, waking up in a man's arms.
He stumbled to the kitchen, wryly rubbing the morning stubble on his face. He probably looked like a renegade pirate. Mattie would have run screaming out the door, waking up to him. After putting some coffee on to brew, Joe crossed to the back door to check on the weather.
The freezing rain had stopped, he noted with relief, and the sun was out. The silver drops of melting ice were proof that the thaw had set in. They should be able to leave today.
"Good morning."
Joe drew a steadying breath and turned to face Mattie.
"Good morning."
She looked tired, he thought in concern. Tired and pale. And seemed more than a little uncertain as she hovered awkwardly in the doorway.
"I made some coffee." He crossed to the counter to pour two cups.
"Oh, no."
Joe turned to face Mattie, wounded. "What's wrong with my coffee?"
Mattie answered weakly but good-humoredly. "Other than the fact that it could be used to pave a driveway?"
"Just because your coffee wouldn't kill a petunia—" Joe began defensively.
"It's a good thing, then, isn't it," she said sweetly, "that I've never had a desire to kill a petunia with my coffee?"
Joe snorted and shoved the cup into her hand. "Drink it. You look tired."
The cup halted midway to her lips at his abrupt comment.
"I slept in a chair all night," she reminded him gently.
With me, Joe added silently. "How do you feel?"
Mattie did not pretend to misunderstand. "Funny. A little.. .scared."
"Scared?" Joe picked up on that immediately. "Why scared?"
Mattie shrugged uneasily. "You, you know things about me no one else does. It might..."
"It might what?" Joe prompted, setting his cup on the counter to cross to her side. He cupped her face and forced her to meet his eyes, forced her to remember the hours spent talking in his arms. "It might what, Mattie?"
"Change the way you feel about me." Mattie told him in a rush, her gaze sliding from his gaze.
"Why?"
"You know why," she insisted harshly. "Because I've been—used."
"Used?" Joe repeated tightly, eyes flaming. "What, like a car?"
"No!" Mattie tried to draw away from the fire in his eyes, but Joe's thumbs forced her chin up.
"Mattie, you're a person. A beautiful lady who has been hurt in a way you should never have had to bear. It wasn't your fault. You told me that, and it's the truth. You are not any less a person because of what he did to you. Not to me."
"Do you really believe that?" There was something so hurt and desperate in her shadowed eyes that Joe couldn't answer for a moment.
"I really believe that," he confirmed gently. "What's important is that you believe it."
Mattie searched his eyes. "He never...he only...touched me. He never raped me," she finally managed to say in an embarrassed rush.
Joe wrapped her carefully in his arms, barely breathing until he felt her relax against him. More than anything else he wanted to hold her and show her gentleness, show her what a man could give a woman.
There were all kinds of violation, Joe thought grimly. And Mattie's heart had been violated. That bastard had not raped her body, but he had raped her mind. The scar was just as deep and just as painful.
"I'm glad, sweetheart," he whispered into her tumbled hair. "I'm glad. But it really would not change what I feel for you. Believe that."
Mattie pulled away, surreptitiously brushing a lone tear from her cheek. "Why do you put up with me?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood.
"I've told you once. You're a part of me."
Mattie reached up a trembling hand to touch his hard jaw. "You are so special."
Joe fought not to press his lips to her palm, his eyes closed on a wave of intense emotion. "This is getting disgustingly sentimental," he muttered thickly, drawing carefully away. "Don't think all this sweet talk is going to get you out of shoveling us out of here."
Mattie noticed Joe drawing away from her for the first time and felt something knot inside her. He had said it didn't matter, but...
Afraid to continue that train of thought any further, Mattie followed his lead.
"I think there must be a more democratic way to decide who should shovel us out of here," she protested mildly.
Joe raised one brow interestedly. "Oh?"
Mattie nodded solemnly. "I propose a snowball fight. Fast, dirty and decisive."
Joe raised the other brow. "A snowball fight? I'm going to cream you!"
Mattie regarded him haughtily. "Grab your coat, Ryan. And prepare to meet your master."
Joe laughed and loped into the living room to get their coats. Mattie watched him go with a melting tenderness in her eyes. She had to learn to trust again, she thought sternly. Joe meant so much to her. She could not, would not drive him away with her doubts and fears. He had said it didn't matter what her f
oster father had done to her.
she corrected herself thoughtfully. He hadn't said it didn't matter. He had said it didn't change the way he felt about her.
Mattie was mulling over the implications of this when Joe came back into the kitchen, interrupting her thoughts. He was frowning while dangling her rather thin coat from one strong hand.
''Mattie," he began doubtfully.
"Yes, Joe?"
"This coat is much too thin. I don't want you to catch cold," he told her solemnly.
"No, Joe," Mattie agreed with suspicious submissiveness.
"You can wear mine," he determined cheerfully, bundling her ruthlessly into his huge wool coat.
Mattie, feeling very much like a little girl playing dress-up, studied the hem of the coat, where it lay on the floor. "Isn't it a little—" she waved her arms expressively, six inches of material dangling past her fingertips "—big?"
Another time, Joe would have laughed. She looked ridiculous in his coat, lost in the sheer bulk of the garment. But right now he was overwhelmed with a wave of emotion and a fierce desire to protect her from harm. His Mat-tie would never know a moment's pain again, he determined grimly. Not as long as he had breath in his body would she be hurt again.
Swallowing past a suddenly tight throat, Joe strived for some semblance of normality. "I've got a better idea. Give me the coat."
Mattie gladly divested herself of the cumbersome garment and followed Joe at a trot as he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the bedroom. Stopping before a beautiful pine chest of drawers, Joe released her hand to search
through its contents. Throwing clothing around with blatant disregard, he asked idly, "Why are you panting?"
Mattie regarded him incredulously, thinking of the forced march from the kitchen. "Excitement," she answered dryly.
When Joe just looked blank, she burst out laughing. "Well, honestly, Joe! Look at your legs."
Joe studied his legs obediently.
"Now look at mine."
He studied her legs with considerably more interest.
"Notice any difference?" Mattie prompted.
Joe nodded vigorously, his eyes still on her limbs. "Yours are prettier."
Mattie was nonplussed. She had never allowed any man close enough to make a comment on her legs, and she certainly wasn't in the habit of studying them herself. Did she really have pretty legs?
"What else?" she demanded hurriedly, strangely frightened by the feeling Joe's admiration evoked.
"Softer."
Mattie swallowed. "The point I'm trying to make is that your legs are longer than mine. You have legs all the way up to your ears! That means that you walk faster than I do."
"All the way up to my ears?" Joe repeated incredulously.
"Close enough," Mattie insisted vaguely. "So naturally when you drag me along behind you I'm bound to get out of breath."
Joe studied her for one more minute, shrugged resignedly and turned back to the chest of drawers.
"Aha!" he muttered, triumphantly pulling a sweatshirt from the depths of a drawer.
At least, Mattie thought it was a sweatshirt. It looked big enough to comfortably house a family of six and their pet walrus. It was a funny green color. A funny putrid green color, with white lettering across the front.
"This will keep you warm," Joe told her cheerfully, pulling it over her head and forcing her arms into the sleeves. "This is my sweatshirt from my college football team."
"You want me to wear this?" Mattie questioned warily, holding the shirt away from her body as if it carried some horrible disease.
Joe didn't seem to notice, however, rummaging through the same drawer for a pair of white cotton socks, which he just as efficiently placed onto her small hands.
"Uh, Joe..."
"And the piece de resistance—" Joe intoned enthusiastically, pulling a purple baseball cap over her ears "—a hat to keep you warm."
Mattie peeked out from underneath the bill that rested on her nose, looking for all the world like a Salvation Army reject.
Joe hustled her into her own jacket, put on his coat and led her from the cabin. "Now, aren't you toasty warm?" he demanded happily.
Mattie ran into the doorframe she was unable to see because of the hat and said nothing.
"You're also," Joe announced grandly, "a perfect target." He swept up a handful of snow, packed it into a loose ball and threw it at the only visible part of Mattie... her chin.
From beneath the oversize hat, Mattie didn't even see it coming, but she felt it as it oozed with frozen slowness past the neck of the sweatshirt. She shot Joe a killing glare from beneath the hat.
"It was nice knowing you, Joe," she told him glibly, scooping up a handful of snow and throwing it in his face.
Joe let out a roaring protest and the fight was on. Mat-tie never bothered to run for cover. She stood her ground, scooping up handfuls of snow like a windmill gone out of control and being pelted by Joe's unrelenting attack. Breathless and laughing, she finally decided that some subterfuge was called for if she was to win this particular battle.
Spinning around, Mattie dashed toward a copse of trees, feeling Joe's continued attack as snowballs pelting her back.
"I love it," Joe gloated over her retreating form. "The enemy runs, the victor—"
His words halted abruptly as Mattie executed an unbelievably realistic skid in the snow and dropped to the ground to lie still and silent.
"Mattie?" Joe raced toward her, his face taut with concern. Reaching her side, he dropped to his knees in the snow, his hand touching her face gently.
"Mattie? Sweetheart?"
Mattie kept her eyes shut as her hands stretched surreptitiously at her sides, gathering fistfuls of snow.
Joe was really concerned now, whipping the horrid purple hat from her head to check for what he was sure must be an awful, gaping wound.
"Sweetheart, please wake up. Please be okay."
The whispered litany reached Mattie and she melted inside. He sounded so worried, and his hands were moving over her so gently. Suddenly time reversed, and Mattie was back in the end zone of the Conquerors' stadium on the day that she had met Joe. Remembering her reaction then, Mattie almost smiled. Her hands loosened on the snowballs she had fashioned, and her eyes opened.
Joe breathed a sigh of relief as his eyes met hers. ' 'Thank God! Tell me where it hurts, Mattie?"
Mattie smiled quietly into his eyes, and one cold hand rose to caress his cheek. "Nowhere, Joe. The hurt's almost gone now."
Six
Hey, Ryan, where were you yesterday?"
Through the usual roar in the locker room, Joe barely heard the question Coach Rusky directed at him. Certainly he had no intention of answering it. He concentrated on lacing his shoes and pretended that he hadn't heard.
Unfortunately Bill Jackson had. "Oh, Joe was probably with his lady friend," he began tauntingly.
"Lady friend?" K.C., a wide receiver, picked up the thread of the conversation. "Why, Joe ol' buddy, you have a lady friend you're not telling us about?"
The guys on the team loved nothing better than to tease. Knowing this, and realizing they meant no harm, Joe could ignore them. He had more important things on his mind, anyway. Like where he had been yesterday and what Mat-tie had told him at the cabin a week ago.
Bill Jackson stepped back into the conversation, not ready to give up on the chance to get some friendly revenge for what had happened in the locker room. "Does Ryan have a lady friend?" He repeated loudly, joking. "My goodness, does he have a lady friend! I met her myself, right here. 'Course, old Joe never did explain why he had her in the locker room after hours—" several loud guffaws greeted this comment "—but let me tell you, she was one sweet little thing. Why I could start at her toes and work myself all the way up to her—"
"Shut up, Bill." Joe's voice was frighteningly soft, emphasizing the anger he was fighting.
"Aw, come on, Joe. The guys want to hear about sweet little Mattie."
/> "Shut up before I make you shut up." The flat warning brought instant silence to the rowdy locker room as Joe's teammates sensed the danger brewing between the two men.
"My goodness," Bill marveled, still obliviously having fun, "this one's really got you by the b—"
"I suggest you do what Joe told you to and shut up, Bill." It was Freight Dumbronkowski's voice that halted Jackson's obscene comment, and all eyes turned to him. "Before I get it in my mind to remove your vocal cords myself."
Bill Jackson, a six-foot-four, 240-pound defensive end, paled at the comment. "Hey, listen Freight, I didn't mean nothin'by it."
"You never mean anything, Bill. Why don't you just keep your mouth shut until you do."
"Sure, Freight. Sure," Bill agreed quickly, backing away. "Joe, I'm sorry about what I said. I was just joking."
Joe unclenched his teeth long enough to mutter a reluctant, "That's okay, Bill. Just don't—"
"I won't," Bill agreed fervently, shooting a quick glance toward the hulking shadow of Dumbronkowski.
The normal roar of the Conquerors' locker room resumed as Bill Jackson left the room. Joe's eyes met Freight's questioningly.
Freight's response was quiet. "There are some things a man doesn't joke about."
Joe smiled a little. "Yeah."
Freight turned and left the room to pass that comment on to Bill Jackson, and Joe once again concentrated on his shoe laces. He stared at them intently, but he was remembering yesterday.
He had gone to see Dr. James Wright because he wanted to help Mattie. Dr. Wright was a psychologist, a noted sex therapist. Joe needed to know how to stop Mattie's hurt, how to make her stop blaming herself for wanting love.
Joe sat facing the calm direct gaze of a man barely five years his senior and began steadily, "I have a friend who was sexually abused as a child."
"Sexual abuse is very traumatic for a child," Dr. Wright murmured with professional expressionlessness.
"It also makes it damn near impossible to attain any kind of physical intimacy again," Joe stated flatly.
"Is that the problem? Are you afraid to get close to anyone?"
Joe's eyes met his blankly. "Dr. Wright, I'm not—"
"I'm not making any judgments. You are actively seeking help. Hopefully, what we discuss here can help you—''
Just Joe Page 9