She nodded, staggered across the floor to a rack with towels hanging from it, reached for one and missed. Blinking slowly, she tried again, snagging a towel this time and half falling, half sitting on a bench to rub at her hair, and her face, and her arms. He wanted to do it for her.
Adam walked over, dripping dark-colored water. His clothes were not chlorine proof, then. Great. He snatched a towel of his own. “Hey, Kirsty, you’d best turn around, unless you want an eyeful. If I don’t get out of this stuff, my skin’s gonna be dyed to match my pants.”
Without looking at her to see if she’d obeyed, he shucked off the trousers, peeled off the shirt. Stood there in his dripping wet shorts and nothing else. When he started rubbing himself down, he glanced her way and figured it was a damned good thing he hadn’t had any of that whiskey, because the way she was looking at him just then would have been too much to resist.
Maybe it was anyway.
He dropped the towel and took a single step toward her. Then he stopped himself. She was drunk. His daddy had never sired any son who would take advantage of a woman in the condition she was in right now. Especially after what she’d been through today. His mama would be ashamed of him if she could see him. And Garrett would knock him right square on his backside for even thinking about it. Garrett put a lot of stock in honor and chivalry and respecting a woman. Enough so that Adam knew better than to do what every cell in his body was screaming to do right now.
He clenched his jaw and turned away, knotted the towel at his hip to hide the bulge of his arousal. Didn’t do a hell of a lot of good. Then he reached for her hand, pulled her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s find some dry clothes. Then we’ll see if a plateful of food does anything to absorb all the whiskey in your belly.”
“Hell, it’s all in my bloodstream by now, Adam. And I like it there.”
He frowned at her, worried by those words. “Don’t get to liking it too much.”
“What difference would it make if I did? I’m only going to prison anyway.”
“You think so?”
She shrugged as he led her back through the house. “That or Mexico.”
“Why, Kirsten?” He watched her face, half expecting her to confess to murder, half praying she wouldn’t.
“Because it’s looking like that’s what Joseph wants. And Joseph Cowan always gets what he wants.”
Adam narrowed his eyes on her. What the hell did she mean? Did she think her husband was setting her up from beyond the grave? Hell, she was drunk. She wasn’t making any sense, and he probably shouldn’t pay a lot of attention to anything she might say.
“That’s what he was always saying.” They stopped outside the library, and she flung open the double doors and stood staring inside. Adam followed her gaze to the huge portrait of Joseph Cowan that hung on the wall above the fireplace.
‘“Don’t try to fight me, Kirsten,’” she quoted, mimicking Cowan’s voice. “‘I’m a powerful man. I always get what I want.’” Then she pressed a hand to her lips to stifle a bark of bitter laughter. “Well, guess what, you bastard. You didn’t. Not always.’”
There were wet footprints throughout the house, and more water dripped from Adam now, to puddle on the library floor. He secretly gloried in that.
“You didn’t get a baby, did you, Joseph?” Kirsten suddenly cried. “And God knows you tried.” She laughed again, but the sound was so anguished it was more like a cry. “You stupid old fool—on me all the time. Grunting and sweating until I thought your heart would give out. I hoped it would, I really did. Did you know that, Joseph? Did you know I was lying there wishing your heart would explode in your chest? Did you know how much I hated your hands on me? How I used to throw up when it was over? How I used to stay in the scalding shower until my skin was raw trying to wash your stench away? Did you?”
Adam felt his stomach convulse, and his entire body came alive with a painful rage. He touched her shoulders from behind. She shrugged his hands away. Fury seemed to emanate from her like a living force.
“You never knew about the birth control pills, did you, Joseph? I won that round. I won that round! It was all for nothing. I beat you, you son of a bitch.”
“Kirsten…” Adam gripped her shoulders, spun her around and searched her face. He saw the hatred in her eyes. He didn’t know what to say, what to think.
“Thank God he’s dead,” she murmured, and the tears welled. “Thank God he’ll never put his despicable hands on me again.” She fell against Adam, and he closed his arms around her.
A cold feeling infused his entire body, as if his blood had been replaced with snow and his heart with a hunk of ice. What in hell had she been through? And why? Why had she given herself to a man she obviously hated? Why had she married him?
He asked her.
But she didn’t reply, and he realized her body had gone limp in his arms. He turned her face to his, looked down at her. Out cold.
Swallowing hard, Adam lifted her into his arms and carried her—not to the kitchen, as planned, but up the stairs and into her room.
He laid her down on the bed, with a towel underneath her so she wouldn’t soak the covers through. Then he bent over her, reached for the zipper on her sexy little black swimsuit and slowly pulled it down.
Chapter 5
Adam stopped with her zipper in his hand. This was definitely not a good idea. “Hey, Kirsty. Come on, wake up.” He shook her none too gently.
Her eyes opened and gazed myopically up at him. A silly, crooked smile twisted her lips. “You called me Kirsty again. I wish you’d stoppit.”
A lump formed in his throat. “Sorry. It just slipped out.” No one else had ever called her Kirsty and lived to tell about it. But when he’d done it, way back when, she’d liked it. Hell, there was a time when she’d pretty much liked everything he did.
But he wasn’t going to think about that now. Not while he was standing over her bed, and they were both wet, and he was dressed in no more than a pair of damp shorts and a towel, thinking about undressing her. “Don’t you have a maid or something?”
She blinked, bunched up her brows as if she were thinking very hard. “Nobody’s comin’ today. I told ‘em not to bother.”
“Well, you need to get into some dry clothes, and I’m the only one here to help.”
She lifted her brows and looked up at him. No ice princess in sight. She looked worried.
“Unless you can manage by yourself.”
“‘Course I can.” She sat up. Put her feet down. Braced her hands on the edge of the mattress and started to stand, then teetered and landed on the bed again. “Or maybe not.”
“Just sit there,” Adam said. “I’ll find you some clothes.”
He started off in one direction, but she pointed him in another. “In the closet, Adam. The big warm snuggly blue one.” She hugged herself as she said it, and Adam guessed she didn’t mean the big warm snuggly blue closet but something inside the closet.
He opened the door and found it. Hanging inside the door, a flannel nightgown somebody’s granny ought to be wearing. “Perfect,” he said. If he couldn’t keep his thoughts in line when she was wearing that number, then he was beyond help. Taking it down, he turned, but before he handed it to her, he noticed that it was as soft as down and he ran his hands over the fabric, then closed his eyes, because even the granny gown now seemed somehow erotic to him. Man, he was one sorry pup.
She yanked down the zipper of her swimsuit. Then lifted her head and said, “Turn around.”
He didn’t know what kind of look she sent him, because his eyes were glued elsewhere. But he did tear them away and turn his back to her. Not that it did anything to erase the image from his mind. “Just, uh…holler if you need help.”
“I been dressing myself all my…ouch!”
“Kirsty?”
“Stop saying that!”
He heard muffled cussing and the squeak of the bed-springs as she wrestled with her clothes. Eventually she said, “Okay
.”
He turned around. She had the nightgown on backward. His heart made a funny lump in his chest that felt a lot like a big lead ball of regret. He walked over to her and tugged her arms out of the sleeves without lifting the nightgown any higher than her knees. She sat just as docile as a lamb. He stood her up, turned the nightgown around and helped direct her arms back where they belonged. She grinned. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Did you say something about food earlier?”
“You think you can cling to consciousness long enough to eat it?”
She shrugged. Her eyes drooped. “Come on,” he said, and he scooped her up. He didn’t set her down again until they reached the kitchen. And by then her head was nodding toward his shoulder and resting there every few seconds. He put her in a chair. “Stay awake,” he ordered.
She giggled. “You’re still wearing that towel.”
“Yeah. Hang in there a minute and I’ll fix that.”
He scooped the chicken and vegetables onto a plate, grabbed up a fork and set it all in front of her. “I won’t bother heating it up. I doubt you’d notice, anyway.”
She smiled and dug in. Chewed, licked her lips and started shoveling.
“I take it that means you like it?”
“Mmm,” she said with her mouth full.
He poured her a glass of milk and placed it on the table. “Be right back.” She only nodded and kept on eating, oblivious, he thought, to anything else.
Adam went to the foyer, where he’d dropped his overnight bag when he’d come in. Taking it to the nearest bathroom, he tossed on some dry clothes and carried the wet ones back into the kitchen with him. It took him only five minutes. But when he got back, it was to find Kirsten facedown on the table beside an empty plate and a drained milk glass. And he guessed she was down for the count this time.
“Come on, princess. Time for bed.” He picked her up again. She was warm and totally limp in his arms. He carried her up to her bed, tucked her in and stationed himself in the overstuffed chair nearby. He didn’t expect her to get up and go wandering off during the night—unless it was to the bathroom to lose her dinner. But he figured he’d best err on the side of caution as long as Joseph Cowan’s killer was on the loose.
He would like to pin a medal on the guy who’d murdered the rich old bastard. But he would be damned if he let him get his hands on Kirsten.
Adam settled into the chair and tipped his hat down over his eyes. But sleep didn’t come easy, and when it did, it was far from peaceful. He dreamed of Kirsten. Not the sophisticated rich man’s wife, but the fun-loving girl he’d been hell-bent on marrying. Then he saw her lying on her back, eyes unblinking and cold, beneath that disgusting old man. He saw Cowan’s hands on her. His mouth on her. Saw the light that used to be in her big brown eyes slowly die.
She’d never loved the man. She’d never loved any man but him. So why had she married Cowan? For the love of God, why?
Kirsten woke up and wondered why her mouth felt so dry and sticky. Then she moved, and her head swam and her stomach writhed. She slammed her eyes closed, because the brightness hurt. “Oh, God, I’m dying,” she moaned.
“Nah. Just hung over.”
She opened one eye. Adam stood beside her bed with a big glass of what looked like tomato juice in one hand. Damn, he was still here. “Why am I not surprised?” she muttered.
“Here. Drink this. Guaranteed cure for what ails you.”
She took the glass, sat up very slightly, sniffed it. “What’s in it?”
“That’s a secret. Wes would shoot me if I gave away his recipe.”
She blinked. Adam’s brother Wes used to be a hellion. If anybody would know about curing a hangover, she would bet on him. “I don’t usually drink something if I don’t know the ingredients.”
“Well, you knew the ingredients of that Jack Daniel’s last night, and I don’t see that it did you much good.” She frowned at him. Her head throbbed. Adam went on. ‘“Course, if you’d rather feel like hell all day….”
She tipped the glass to her lips. It was good. Tasty and tangy, even though her stomach rebelled at the first swallow. She forced it down, motivated by the dim hope of relief. God, her head was spinning in the most sickening way.
She set the empty glass on the nightstand. And then realized she was wearing her favorite flannel granny gown and didn’t remember putting it on. Uh-oh. Lifting her head slowly, she searched Adam’s face for a telltale satisfied smile but saw no clue. “I…um… don’t remember much that happened last night.”
“We made out in the hot tub, and then I took you to bed.”
“We…?”
He grinned and sent her a wink. He didn’t look like a man who hated her guts. But she knew Adam too well to think he would have engaged in sex with a woman too drunk to know what she was doing. No way. The Brand boys had the market cornered on honor. It wasn’t in him.
Odd that the one person she trusted pretty much unconditionally was the man she’d made into her worst enemy. The one she was lying to with every minute that passed without her telling him the truth.
She closed her eyes, searched her memory. Then they flashed wider. “My God, we did make out in the hot tub.” She remembered it. She got hot remembering it. The feel of his mouth devouring hers, his hands on her, his body pressing into hers. She searched his face.
He shook his head. “Don’t look so mortified, Kirsty. Nothing happened. Well, nothing much. I mean, I didn’t…we didn’t….”
“I know.” She bit her lower lip. “Thanks. For being a gentleman.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“And for the cure.” She nodded at the empty glass. “I think I feel a little better.”
“Up to company?”
She blinked fast, and her heart skipped. “The rangers are back? Already?”
Adam sat down on the side of the bed. There was an edginess about him this morning. A tightness to his jaw that hadn’t been there even when he’d been in the full throes of hating her guts. What the hell had she said to him last night?
“No. You’re scared to death, aren’t you?”
She met his eyes, hated admitting to weakness, and nodded anyway. “It’s tough wondering if they’re going to come charging through the front door with a warrant for my arrest at any second.”
Adam drew a breath, sighed. “Maybe I can help with that.”
“How?”
“Well, my brother is the sheriff.” He licked his lips, studied her eyes. “Tell you what. If you’ll give me your word that you won’t make a run for it…I’ll ask Garrett to let us know if things progress that far.”
She could not believe this guy. “You think he would do that? Warn us if the rangers decide it’s time to place me under arrest?”
“He’s my brother,” Adam said, as if those three words not only answered the question but explained the answer, as well. “That way you know you’ll have some advance warning. Time to prepare yourself. And you won’t have to worry that they’re going to show up at any time. Unless Garrett calls, you’ll know they aren’t going to show up at all.”
She nodded, and another heavy weight seemed to be lifted off her shoulders. God, why was he helping her? Why was she letting him? Was it possible that Adam Brand still felt something for her?
Something besides plain old lust, which still flowed full force between them. They’d pretty much established that last night. But Adam couldn’t feel anything beyond that. Not after all she’d done, and all this time. It made no sense. He hadn’t felt that much for her to begin with. Oh, he’d said the words, walked the walk. But there had always been a part of himself that he held back. A part he couldn’t share. A place she couldn’t touch. She’d believed once that, given time, she would be able to reach that spot inside him. But she’d run out of time. And she could never get it back.
She blinked and brought herself back to the present.
“So if it isn’t Officer Friendly and hi
s paddy wagon, who is the company?”
“A pair of Brands. Ben couldn’t keep Penny away. The quicker you see her, the quicker he can get her back to the ranch, where it’s safe.” He blinked. “If you were smart, you’d pack a bag and let me take you back there, as well, Kirsten.”
“Yeah, well, I never claimed to be Einstein.” She sat up, leaned over and rubbed her temples. “Go keep an eye on her, will you? Give them coffee or something. Buy me some time to–”
“Put the mask on?” he asked with a nod toward the vanity and the makeup scattered all over it. Then he turned back to her. “You don’t need it anymore, Kirsty. Cowan is dead. It’s just us here now. And there’s nothing you need to hide from me.”
He didn’t have a clue to all the things she had to hide from him. She tried not to look scared. “Just buy me some time, would you?”
With a sigh, he nodded. Then he gave her one last searching glance, got to his feet and headed downstairs to join his brother and sister-in-law.
He was seeing too much. More than she wanted him to see. He’d already gotten past her icy-bitch persona and touched the woman she used to be, the one she’d thought was dead and buried. Nobody had ever been able to get to her the way Adam had. God, she’d loved him to utter distraction once.
She forced herself to get up, choose clothes. A cool frosty green sleeveless jumpsuit, white belt and flats. She laid them on the bed and took a five-minute shower. Then spent thirty more blow-drying and spraying and applying makeup. She didn’t have time to do her nails, but yesterday’s white polish didn’t look too bad, and it matched. Little white pearls on her ears. Great. She glanced into the mirror. “The bitch is back,” she muttered. But she wasn’t. Not really. Her eyes were soft with something she really didn’t like seeing in them. Something she didn’t even dare analyze right now. She wasn’t ready for what she was glimpsing hints of in her own eyes.
Kirsten found Penny pacing the living room, back and forth past the foot of the stairs, pausing every so often to glance up. Catching sight of Kirsten, she threw her arms open and raced up to meet her. That warm hug almost brought Kirsten to tears, but she hugged Penny back. Penny, the woman who’d been her best friend, then a total stranger who not only didn’t remember her but mistrusted her, and finally her friend again, and closer than before. And even she didn’t know the truth. Her husband, Ben, knew part of it…but not all. If he knew it all, he would hate her, too.
Lone Star Lonely Page 6