"It does look deeper." She kept her face straight, but her eyes were dancing. "If I'd known Mother Nature was going to dump so much snow here, of course, I never would have suggested Taylor come out here."
"Well, something's deeper," muttered Dave, with a look at his wife.
Matty looked back at him as if she didn't have the least idea what he was talking about But everyone else knew. Then Matty's expression changed as she met her husband's gaze, and Taylor looked away.
Was she as transparent as Matty?
She shook her head at herself. It wouldn't matter if she was, because even if everyone could see straight into her, what they'd see would he confusion and uncertainty. Along with a contradictory satiation and growing hunger.
"So, what kind of job does it look like to get this car out, Cal?" Dave asked. "Won't your truck tow it out? Think mine will?"
"That's not the problem," Cal started.
The men lapsed into a technical discussion that came to the same conclusion Cal had drawn yesterday. Trying to tow the car out of the ditch could do considerably more damage to it than it had incurred with its slow, gentle slide in. They finished shoveling, then decided three would push from the front and one would be behind the wheel, feeding the gas as soon as the tires gained traction. Cal insisted Taylor be the driver. "She doesn't have cold-weather gear on and she knows the feel of the car," he explained.
To prevent anyone from having to worry about Sin's whereabouts while they tried to maneuver the car, he got in with Taylor.
Cal and Dave each took a front corner and Matty was in the middle.
They would need coordination, the human force pushing the car toward the road at the same time Taylor fed it gas, then letting it slide downhill a little before they repeated the process. The rocking motion kept the tires from spinning and digging into one spot. Finding the right balance would be difficult
Maybe so difficult she'd just have to stay till spring.
Sin's bark jolted her out of a reverie brought on by that thought. The pushers were pushing, but she'd missed her cue.
"Now, Taylor!" Dave shouted.
She touched the gas pedal, but the timing was off.
"Sorry!" she called out, as the pushers relaxed for the next attempt.
She met Cal's gaze through the windshield and had the oddest notion that somehow he knew what had distracted her. A new warmth bloomed inside her. Was he wishing she could stay, too?
When the trio began pushing again, Taylor still had her gaze on Cal, and seeing him strain against the weight of the car, she couldn't do anything but her best in trying to get the car out of the ditch.
"All right!" Dave and Matty whooped when the car finally was back on level and plowed road. Sin barked four times in excitement.
Cal, she noticed, was as silent as she.
With Sin pawing at the passenger side door, Dave opened it to let the dog free, bending to ruffle the fur at the top of the puppy's head. Sin licked Dave on the chin in passing as he leaped from the car and cavorted around Dave, then Matty.
Cal opened the driver's door and held out a hand. She needed no help getting out, but she put her hand in his anyway. And it didn't even matter that it was glove to glove, she felt the warmth of connection there.
For an extra beat, their hands remained locked, then he opened his, and she followed suit.
"I think we should get ourselves a dog, Matty," Dave announced, chuckling over Sin's darting charge at a snowbank. "One for the house."
"Sure. That would be great. Maybe the next rescue dog."
Taylor frowned. "I thought you were allergic."
Dave looked around as if to see whom she might be talking to. When he realized she was looking at him, his brows shot up. "Me? No. We always had house dogs when I was growing up. It wasn't until after my folks started their wanderings and I moved in there alone that it didn't seem fair to have a dog. What made you think I was allergic?"
"Matty made me think that."
"I must have gotten confused." Matty was a fearless but lousy liar. "What is it you're allergic to? Dogwood trees? Dogtooth violets?"
Shaking his head, Dave looked as if he wanted to laugh, but was restraining himself. "Not that I know of."
"Must be something," Matty insisted. "Well, we better get going now. We've got to pick up supplies in town. Can we get you anything, Cal?"
"No thanks."
"Okay. I'll come over in the morning if you need any help around the place."
With waves and smiles, Matty and Dave got back in their truck. While Dave expertly maneuvered it to turn around in the single lane that was plowed, Cal and Taylor stood side by side, silently watching, not touching.
Only after the truck had disappeared from view did Taylor turn to him and put her hand on his arm.
"Cal, I didn't know. Truly, I didn't know Dave wasn't really allergic. I wouldn't lie to you. I wouldn't have tried to trick you into taking Sin."
He put his gloved hand over hers. "I know."
Relief swept through her, quickly joined by sensations familiar from the past two days as he kissed her. He ended the kiss while she was still sinking into those sensations, leaving her feeling as if she'd just had a rug pulled out from under her.
Cal had been used by so many people, perhaps it was natural that his first thought was always that someone was trying to manipulate or use him. But as long as his second thought told him that she wouldn't do that, perhaps they … no, she wouldn't put it into words even in her own head. She'd simply leave it as perhaps.
"You better go. Daylight won't last long."
"Yes, you're right." She got into the car, thinking there should be something else to say, some way to wrap up the past few days into a string of words that would let him see what they meant to her, what she felt – and what she thought she might be on the verge of feeling – without his shell dropping down around him.
She rolled the driver's window halfway down, fiddled with the keys, let the engine warm up, checked the windshield wipers, adjusted the rearview mirrors. She knew she was stalling, giving Cal time.
Time to ask to see her again. Time to say he'd call her. Time to say anything to indicate this wasn't an end.
Standing beside the car door, looking in at her with his face impassive, he said nothing. But silence now didn't mean there wouldn't be more between them, just as his saying something wouldn't have guaranteed there would be more between them. She could only wait and see what happened.
She produced a smile and a would-be jaunty wave as she put the car in Drive and pulled away.
The road was probably easy going for one of the big ranch trucks, but with her small car she had to concentrate on her driving. Still, in the moment before a curve would cut off her view, she looked into the rearview mirror.
Cal was standing just where she'd left him, utterly alone in a landscape of stark white except for the truck in the background and the brown-and-white dog sitting next to him.
"Take care of him, Sin."
* * *
Motionless, Cal watched the smudge of green that was Taylor's car turn to the right, onto the highway, heading for Knighton. Back to ordinary life. Real life.
He gave himself until the green was swallowed between the whiteness around it and the blazing blue above it. Then he pivoted away, a jerky motion from standing too long in the cold, and headed for the truck. Back to the life he'd led before Taylor.
For how much longer?
Could he hold off his past and the people who would be looking for him harder than ever now?
What was that old expression about where there was a will there was a way? Well, there sure as hell was a will, and it essentially turned him into the quarry in an old-style fox hunt.
And that might not even be the worst danger to his sanctuary.
The worst danger was Taylor. Hell, be fair, it wasn't Taylor as much as his weakness for her.
I know.
They'd been the topper on all those words that had co
me since he'd spotted her car in the ditch and felt as if his guts were being squeezed in a vise. What had possessed him to tell her so much about his past, about his family? If she worked at it, she might even piece it together.
That would give her one hell of a motive. The kind people didn't pass up.
She'd said she wouldn't have lied to him, wouldn't have tried to trick him, and he'd said he believed her.
It even made sense in a way to believe her about that, since he'd heard her surprise when Dave said he wasn't allergic to dogs, and he'd seen Matty's guilt.
I know.
He'd seen the relief cross Taylor's face that he'd accepted what she'd said. Relief and something else. Did it mean that much to her that he'd said he believed her?
He hadn't had cause to doubt either Matty or Dave Currick on the important things to this point. So maybe some people could be trusted on some matters. If Taylor was one of those people, maybe—
Or maybe she was smart enough to know trust was a step toward a much more powerful weapon. A weapon that could destroy a lot more than an identity he'd come to enjoy. A weapon he'd seen destroy hearts and souls and the will to live.
He'd vowed to never give that weapon to another creature on this earth, and that rule had stood him in good stead these past years.
Taylor must have used every weapon she could while climbing the ladder at her high-powered law firm. That wasn't the sort of skill someone forgot. And the fact that he was letting himself wonder about trusting showed exactly how dangerous she was.
Well, he just wouldn't see her anymore. He wouldn't call. If she called, he wouldn't return the call. He'd avoid town for a few weeks, which wouldn't be hard with spring chores around the corner. They were hardly likely to get snowbound again, no matter what Matty said or did. If the temptation of Taylor was out of his way…
Barely remembering how he'd gotten back in the house, he stared at the opposite corner of the couch from where he sat. It was as if she was sitting there. His old sweatshirt trying to slide off one shoulder, her hair bright in the firelight, legs drawn up, her arms wrapped around the excess fabric of socks and sweatpants cushioning her ankles, her chin on her knees, and her eyes on him. She was smiling.
And he was hard.
He wanted to hear her and taste her and smell her. He wanted to be inside her, and then to lie beside her.
She hadn't been gone an hour and he was ready to cave from just the memories of her sitting on the damned couch. What would he do when he tried to sleep in the bed where they'd—
He stopped that thought with a sound that brought Sin's head up off the rug.
Determination had gotten him through a lot of situations, but he was afraid it wasn't going to be enough this time.
He needed something more than his own willpower to keep him away from the danger named Taylor Anne Larsen.
* * *
"Cal?"
Taylor's heart lurched at the sight of him. It had only been a day, but there'd been something about that kiss before she drove off that had unsettled her. She'd spent yesterday afternoon on the phone to her family telling them about her adventure without telling them the whole story. The past three hours she'd been sorting out the work she needed to catch up on and pushing down the thought that the kiss had tasted of the New Year's Eve not-wanting-to-want-her Cal.
Smiling, she stood and started around the desk to him.
His posture went stiff and he gave his head a slight shake. Lisa was closing the door, her gaze going from one to the other of them. Was that why he'd reacted that way?
But the door closed and he sat in the client's chair across from her desk, leaving her standing in the strained limbo of uncertainty.
"What's wrong, Cal?"
"Nothing's wrong. I'm here to give you more business. To consult you in your professional capacity. I'd think you'd consider that good news."
He was in trouble, and he'd come to her.
The warmth of that hopeful interpretation didn't stand up to the coolness in his voice and eyes. Whatever he was here for, all her instincts said it wasn't good news. "Business?"
"I want to hire you."
"Cal, you don't have to hire me. If there's something I can—"
"I want this official. What's your usual retainer?"
And there it was – the shell, the wall, the cave – whatever name she called it. He'd retreated once more, and he was pulling boulders up over the entryway as fast as he could. Leaving her outside.
"I might not be your best choice for representation, Cal," she said as calmly as she could. "The appearance of impropriety can—"
"I know you won't do anything improper."
In fact, she understood in a flash, he was counting on it. It was one of his boulders.
"Since we have a personal relationship, it could be awkward." If he tried to deny they had a relationship, the fight would be in the open. That would be something. "You could ask Dave—"
"I want you."
Half a heartbeat after the words left his lips, a flare that should have been visible at the Canadian border heated his eyes. He did want her. In the carnal, primitive way that bypassed whatever was tangling up his mind and his heart.
"You have a personal relationship with Matty and you've done fine by her. That's good enough for me. Will you be my attorney?"
She looked away because it hurt too much to see the flare ruthlessly brought under control, especially now that she knew how it felt when he let the flare become a flame.
Business. Professional. Attorney. Retainer. All the words he used to close off the real Cal Ruskoff. He'd ventured out, or he'd let her in these past few days, and now he was letting her know that was over. He meant things to return to the way they were before the blizzard. Just as after New Year's Eve, when he'd done everything to avoid her.
But he wasn't avoiding her this time. He'd left a crack open between the boulders.
Her gaze snapped to his face, then away. If he didn't realize what he was doing but read it in her face, she'd lose even this opportunity.
"Yes, I'll be your attorney."
As his attorney she would have reasons to talk to him. As her client he would have to see her. The crack would remain open, and the fire would stay stoked.
He hesitated, and she held her breath. He could say he'd changed his mind, that he wanted to see what might happen between them if they gave this relationship a chance. He could say he'd changed his mind, that he wanted no connection with her, even as her client.
He said, "How much do you want as a retainer?"
"What sort of a matter do you want me to handle?"
"I don't think I can afford what it would cost me if you based your charge on that."
He shifted onto his left hip to reach into his right back pocket, and her gaze followed the motion as he drew out his wallet. Cal had shifted nearly that way in a prelude to covering her body with his own. Her hand had slid over the sleek power there, unfettered by clothing.
"Taylor – did you hear me?"
She blinked, feeling her cheeks heat. "I'm sorry. What?"
"I said, I'd give two hundred dollars now so I'm officially your client and attorney-client privilege applies, and then we can work out compensation when you know what you're dealing with." He counted out twenties and laid the neat stack on her desk.
"Two hundred? You don't have to give me that much."
"Take it. I want this official."
Representing him was almost certainly her only opportunity to keep a connection to him, yet she paused before she pulled the stack to her side of the desk.
"You've now officially retained me."
His chest rose, then fell slowly – in relief, sorrow, satisfaction, regret? It could have been all or none of those. He was back to being unreadable. Except for the grooves cutting much deeper from his nose to his mouth.
"You can't tell anyone anything I tell you without my permission?"
"That's right. Unless you're about to commit a crime
that could endanger someone."
He snorted. "The only danger is to me."
"Cal, what—?"
"Don't worry, the people after me want me alive, not dead. Trouble is, they also want my soul."
She fought down the stream of worried questions brewing in her mind. Letting a client tell the story not only went faster, but it often produced information she wouldn't think to ask for.
"To start, the name on my birth certificate's not Cal Ruskoff. What I didn't tell you about my family is that my mother's maiden name was Bennington. Her family founded a chemical company. My father was Laurance Whitton. That is the first thing I don't want you to go telling anyone."
"Laurance Whitton." She ignored the jab in that last sentence, trying to remember where she'd heard the name. Something recent. But before she could snare that memory, the other name he'd mentioned hit like a hammer blow to her head. "Bennington? Bennington Chemical? Janice and Laurance Whitton!"
"Yes. Janice Bennington, heiress to the Bennington fortune, who married ambitious Laurance Whitton, who became chairman of the board of Bennington Chemical, and since my mother's death, the chief stockholder."
"But…" And then she remembered where she'd heard the name recently. "Oh, Cal, I know you haven't been in touch with your family and working such long hours at the Flying W, you might not have heard—"
"Don't worry, you're not breaking the news – I know. The sonuvabitch is dead."
She shouldn't have been surprised, not after what he'd told her, but at some level she was. There would be no chance of a reconciliation now – clearly, to Cal, there never had been.
"I saw it in the paper," he continued. "Would have ticked him off that the Jefferson Standard only gave him three lines. I read through the library's Wall Street Journals last week for more. That's why I'm here."
She remembered seeing him go into the library. It seemed a hundred years ago. Right now, yesterday seemed like a hundred years ago.
"Because your father passed away?"
"No. His dying doesn't make any difference. Or it wouldn't make any difference if he wasn't trying to control me from the other side of the grave the same way he tried to manipulate me and everybody else this side of it. It's not his death that brought me. I want you to take care of things so people won't look for me anymore."
MATCH MADE IN WYOMING Page 14