“You Flynns are full of surprises,” she said with a rueful smile. The smell of frying bacon filled the cabin and made it seem even more homey. Pippa’s stomach growled as she studied the delicate spindles on the homemade rocker.
“Wait until you see the painting Brian did of your aunt Taylor,” Devon said. “Now, that’s a masterpiece!”
“How did he paint her?” she asked, sinking into the rocker and rocking a few times, making the hardwood floor creak.
“Stark naked.”
She stopped rocking. “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.” The toast had come up, and she watched him butter it.
“Can I get you something to drink? Orange juice? Milk? Coffee?”
“Milk, please.”
He filled a glass of milk for her and poured himself a glass of orange juice. She realized he’d set two places for them at the breakfast bar, including plates, silverware, and napkins.
“Actually,” he continued, “what Brian painted was a naked fairy reclining in a forest glade surrounded by wild animals. It looked a lot like an illustration for a children’s book—except for the nudity. The fairy just happened to have Taylor’s face, and I suppose what Brian imagined Taylor’s naked body might look like. It certainly had Taylor’s generous curves. Then he donated the painting to one of the charities in town for their silent auction.”
“Oh, that’s brilliant, in a terrible sort of way.”
“Breakfast is served,” he said.
She realized he’d retrieved the plates and loaded them with food before returning them to the counter. She settled back on her bar stool and surveyed the huge breakfast. “This looks great. I’m not sure I can eat it all.”
He grinned. “Wulf will take care of the leftovers.”
As he left the kitchen and joined her at the bar she asked, “What did Taylor do when she saw Brian’s painting of her?”
“As you can imagine, she wasn’t real happy when she found out about it. Especially since the painting wasn’t signed and nobody knew who the artist was. She tried to buy the thing, but someone kept outbidding her, and she lost it.” He picked up a slice of bacon, which quickly disappeared, along with a couple of forkfuls of eggs.
“Did she ever find out who ended up with it?”
He laughed. “Brian bought it, of course.”
“And she never found out he was the culprit?”
“I didn’t say that.” He ate a triangle of toast in three bites. “Taylor’s pretty resourceful. She offered someone at the charity a big donation if they’d spill the beans. They did. Not just that Brian was the artist, but that he’d bought the painting to keep for himself. Ever since, she and Brian have been scratching and clawing at each other like two bobcats in a gunnysack.”
Pippa smiled. “It’s hard to think of my aunt as a victim after all the trouble she’s caused me and my father since we arrived.”
“You must admit King played a pretty dirty trick on your aunts, giving away Kingdom Come to a son who’d disappeared for twenty years without a word.”
She drank a few swallows of milk before setting the glass down. “So why not be mad at King instead of my father and me?”
Devon shrugged. “Maybe they hope your dad will pick up and leave. From what I’ve heard, he needs to stay at Kingdom Come for an entire year before it’s his. That gives the Brats a lot of time to make Matt’s life hell and hope he heads for the hills.”
“They don’t know my father. He isn’t going anywhere.”
He lifted a skeptical brow. “Maybe not, but I’m afraid your behavior today is only going to encourage them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you just run away? They’re going to think that whatever they’re doing is working.”
She almost blurted out the truth about the biggest reason she’d left the ranch, but the words got caught in her throat. She swallowed hard and said, “There are things going on between me and my dad that have nothing to do with his coming here to live.”
A silence fell between them, and she knew Devon was waiting for her to elaborate. She stared down at her plate and realized she’d eaten every bite of the enormous plate of food he’d put in front of her. She looked at his plate and saw it was empty as well. “Since you made breakfast, I should do the dishes.”
“The dishes will be fine in the sink,” he said, jumping up and stealing her plate and silverware. “I’ll stack them in the dishwasher later.” The dishes landed in the sink with a clatter. He turned back to her and said, “I want to introduce you to Satan.”
“Where are you keeping him?”
“In the barn. Shall we go?”
He helped her into her coat, then put his own on as Pippa followed him out the door. Wulf was on her heels, but Devon said, “Wulf, stay.”
He sat down but yelped at being left behind.
“He wants to come,” Pippa said, glancing back at the wolf.
Devon firmly shut the door. “I keep my menagerie of wounded animals in the barn—which includes a fawn right now. Wulf would just as soon eat her as look at her.”
“I see,” Pippa said with a laugh.
When they got to the barn, he led her past several stalls containing horses that thrust their heads out to be petted. Pippa greeted each one—with a pat on the jaw, by scratching behind the ears, by soothing a silken nose—and then reached the last stall, where a coal-black horse was backed up in the corner facing out, every powerful muscle tense, nostrils flared, his ears laid back flat against his head.
When Pippa laid a hand on the stall door, Satan raced at her with a shrieking cry of challenge, teeth bared. If she hadn’t stepped back she would have lost her fingers when he snapped at her. Once she was at a safe distance, Satan backed up again into the corner, ready to attack if she tried to come near again.
Pippa stayed where she was, just out of reach of the stallion’s teeth, and studied the beautiful animal. Which was when she noticed the scars on his chest. And on his neck. And on his flanks.
“He was beaten!” she said, outraged on the animal’s behalf.
“Yes, he was. Repeatedly.”
Pippa heard the anger in Devon’s voice and asked, “Did you punish whoever did it?”
“I don’t know who did it. By the time I got Satan he’d been through several good-hearted owners who wanted to help but couldn’t do anything with him.” He met her gaze and said bitterly, “I’m one of them.” He took a step closer, and the stallion’s black body quivered with fury—and with fear. Devon backed up, putting enough distance between himself and the wary animal so that Satan remained in place. “Do you think you can help?”
Pippa observed the stallion’s defensive stance, feeling pity well up inside her. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen a horse as damaged as this one.”
Devon’s shoulders drooped.
She put a hand on his arm. “But I’m willing to try.”
Chapter 14
DEVON AND PIPPA had spent the morning on horseback as he showed her around his ranch, where his Angus cows were suckling their spring calves, returning to the house in time for lunch. He’d asked her if she wanted to call her father and let him know that she was planning to stay overnight with him, but she’d declined. He’d taken one look at her troubled face and let the subject drop.
After they’d eaten some sandwiches and chips, she’d insisted on loading the dishwasher while he made some business calls. Then she’d settled into the comfortable corduroy chair in his living room to read some of his ranch journals while he finished up paperwork for his cow-calf operation—and tried to figure out what to do about their sleeping arrangements.
Devon had told Pippa he had two bedrooms, which was true, but he was using the second one as an office. The second bedroom contained a full bath, and he’d put an enormous upholstered couch in the room, which his brothers had told him made a comfortable place to sleep.
While they were having dinner, he’d convinced Pippa to take his bed while he slept on
the couch in his office. She was in his bedroom right now—with the door closed—changing into one of his plaid wool shirts and a pair of long john bottoms he’d provided in lieu of pajamas, which he didn’t wear.
He glanced at his watch as he reached for the ringing phone. He’d been expecting this call—and dreading it. Someone was surely looking for Pippa by now. He’d said nothing to his brothers about meeting Pippa at the pond, because he knew they’d give him a hard time about it. But since he was a Flynn, he was as suspect as his brothers whenever there was trouble in Jackson.
As soon as he picked up the phone, Brian said, “Pippa Grayhawk is missing. Matt’s crazy with worry. He found his truck abandoned in town. Do you have any idea where she might be?”
“She’s here with me.”
“You’d better call Matt and let him know she’s all right.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Pippa needs some time to herself. I’m making sure she gets it.”
“Are you telling me she’s planning to stay there overnight with you?”
“Overnight and as many nights as she wants,” Devon replied.
“Holy shit, Devon! What’s gotten into you? Have you gone nuts?”
“Pippa’s a grown-up. She can decide what she wants to do with her life.”
“She’s nineteen,” Brian said. “You’re twenty-eight. What are you doing getting involved with a kid like that?”
“She’ll be twenty in a couple of months.” That response sounded lame even to Devon’s ears. “The point is, she’s had plenty of opportunities to contact her father, but she hasn’t. All I’m doing is giving her a safe place to stay until whatever argument she had with Matt blows over.”
“Don’t you think Matt deserves to know she’s safe? That she hasn’t been kidnapped and killed and buried in a shallow grave? You know we had those teenage girls go missing a while back. The ones who turned up dead?”
Devon had forgotten because the culprit had supposedly been caught. That didn’t mean there weren’t other loonies out there, so he could understand Matt’s fear. But surely Pippa wouldn’t leave him to worry long. “Pippa asked for my help. I can’t refuse her any more than I could refuse to help any creature that needs a refuge.”
“What’s going on, Devon? Are you infatuated with her or something?”
It was definitely something, Devon thought, but he wasn’t sure exactly what himself. “I told you, I’m only giving her a place to stay.”
“At least let me tell Matt she’s safe,” Brian pleaded.
At that moment the bedroom door opened and Pippa stepped out. Her eyebrows were raised, as though questioning who was on the phone.
Devon hissed in a breath when he realized she was wearing his shirt but her very long, very attractive legs were bare. The long john trousers dangled from one hand. Apparently, she’d been halfway done dressing when the phone rang. He wondered if the rest of her was equally naked under his shirt. Her long hair had been released from its ponytail and fell over her shoulders like golden silk.
His body responded so quickly that he stepped behind the corduroy chair so she wouldn’t see the thick ridge forming in his jeans.
“Who is that on the phone?” she asked.
He responded to the anxiety in her voice by covering the mouthpiece and saying quietly, “It’s Brian.”
Her eyes opened wide in concern, and her body remained tense as she took two steps toward him. “What are you telling him?”
“I’ve told him you’re here—”
“Oh, no!” she wailed, crossing the rest of the distance between them and flinging the long johns over the top of the corduroy chair behind which he was standing.
He edged his body sideways, aware that it wasn’t going to help the situation if she figured out the condition he was in. “Brian won’t say anything.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I asked him not to.”
“Devon? Are you there?” he heard Brian ask.
He took his hand off the mouthpiece but kept his eyes focused on Pippa. “I was telling Pippa that you won’t spill the beans to her father about where she is.”
“I think you’re making a big mistake keeping her whereabouts a secret from Matt. Tell Pippa how worried he is.”
“I don’t think—”
“Tell her!” Brian insisted.
He covered the mouthpiece again. “Brian said to tell you that your father’s going crazy wondering where you are, that he’s imagining you dead in a ditch somewhere.”
Pippa winced at the image Devon had described.
“Brian thinks you should give Matt a heads-up so he can stop hunting for you.”
Pippa crossed her arms protectively, unintentionally raising the hem of the shirt—and Devon’s blood pressure. Then her jaw firmed and she shook her head. “No.”
“Why not?” Devon asked, curious as to why she wouldn’t want to assuage her father’s concern.
“Because Daddy’s liable to come here and haul me home like a naughty five-year-old,” she retorted. At his look of disbelief she added, “He’s done it before!”
Devon felt a pang of misgiving. Pippa had run away before? When? And for how long? Maybe he was making a huge mistake keeping her here without her father’s knowledge.
“I’ll explain everything to you,” she promised. “But please ask Brian to keep my whereabouts secret. Just for a little while.”
Her gray eyes glistened in the firelight, and Devon realized he couldn’t betray her. He took his hand off the mouthpiece and said, “I’m counting on you to keep what I’ve told you in confidence, Brian. Matt will just have to trust that his grown daughter can take care of herself.”
“All right. I’ll keep my trap shut. But I think this is a bad idea.”
Devon ignored the warning, focusing instead on his brother’s agreement to keep Pippa’s presence a secret. “Thanks, Brian.”
There was a pause before Brian said, “Be careful, Devon.”
He eyed Pippa, who’d retrieved the long john bottoms and was stepping into them. “What does that mean?”
“Don’t let yourself get embroiled in something you can’t get yourself out of.”
“There’s nothing—”
“Keep your hands off Matt’s daughter,” Brian said flatly.
Devon felt himself flushing. “Goodbye, Brian.”
“Don’t forget what I said.”
Devon hung up the phone. He wouldn’t forget, because touching Pippa, holding her and kissing her and putting himself inside her, was all he’d thought about all day. He’d been surprised when she took up his offer of shelter, but he’d also been glad. This interlude would give them a chance to get better acquainted, even if it came at the cost of a little of Matt’s peace of mind.
Pippa deftly pulled the long johns up under his wool shirt. It came to mid-thigh on her, so he still had no idea whether she was bare beneath his clothes. Once she had the leggings on she said, “Do you have a pair of wool socks I can borrow? My feet are cold.”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
He headed into his bedroom and noticed that both a lacy bra and skimpy panties were dripping wet and hanging off the shower rod in his bathroom.
So she had been naked under that shirt.
He remembered Brian’s warning. He needed to get some answers from Pippa before he let himself get any more involved emotionally—or physically—than he was. How recently had she run away? And why had her father come hunting her?
Devon grabbed a pair of thick, gray wool socks from his top drawer and headed back out to the main room of his cabin. Pippa was sitting cross-legged in his corduroy chair in front of the crackling fire, leaving him the rocker.
He tossed her the socks. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, Devon.” She uncurled her legs and pulled the socks on, then crossed her legs again.
To avoid staring—he couldn’t help noticing that her toenails wer
e painted a delicate pink—he busied himself putting more wood on the fire.
“I was going to bank this for the night,” he said, down on one knee by the fire, “but I think we have a little talking to do first.” When he was done, he sat down in the rocker and settled one ankle on the opposite knee. “You promised me an explanation. I’d like to hear it.”
“I’m afraid what I’m about to say doesn’t paint me in a very positive light,” she began.
He waited for her to continue, watching as she played with a loose string on one of the buttons on his shirt.
At last she looked up and met his gaze. She took a deep breath and said, “My father’s cattle station in the Northern Territory was about forty-five minutes from Underhill, a town of six hundred people. There was nothing except flies, snakes, green frogs, and roos—that’s kangaroos—for three hours in any direction.”
Devon had known she’d grown up isolated from civilization, but what she described sounded more remote and exotic than anything he could have imagined.
She continued, “My stepmother—Nathan’s mother—ran away when he was just a baby, so the closest female I might have spent time with lived in Underhill. My father went there once a week to shop for whatever we needed and collect the mail. He took me and Nathan along, because he didn’t want to leave us alone at the station. Otherwise, I was surrounded, day in and day out, by a dozen young men, all of them my father’s ringers—what you call cowboys.”
“Your father didn’t have a housekeeper?”
“I took care of the house—and Nathan. No woman wanted to live so far away from the world.” Her voice was bitter as she added, “Especially Nathan’s mother. That’s why she left us.”
“Didn’t any of the cowboys—the ringers—have wives or girlfriends at the station?”
“It would have caused too much trouble to have a few women but not a woman for every man. Besides, the women wouldn’t have stood for the isolation. Once a month the hands were allowed to go into town.”
“Once a month?”
“They tended to drink too much, and they got into fights over the local girls. It was better to keep them at the station. They were allowed two beers every Friday night.”
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