One Tough Cookie

by E C Sheedy

  Willy broke the quiet. "So, did you drive straight through from Madrid? If you did, you must be beat."

  "No. I stayed in Granada last night. I'd have been here earlier, but I had car trouble." He laughed. "Speaking of cars, where's Cissy, Willy? I expected she'd be out there glowing under the porch light."

  "I'm afraid poor Cissy is history. I had to leave her in Marbella and some brave soul drove off with her. I notified the police, but I haven't heard anything."

  "Bummer."

  "Yeah. I miss the old wreck."

  Taylor nodded at the mess of luggage at Dan's feet. "Is that everything or is there more in the car?"

  "A couple things. I'll get them in the morning. I've got what I need for now and I'm bagged. All I want is to hit the nearest bunk, bed, or pallet."

  Taylor had to admit Dan looked tired and decided there was no point in talking to him tonight. But no matter what, tomorrow morning was the deadline.

  "I'm going for a walk," Willy said suddenly. "What about you, Taylor? We've been cooped up here all day waiting for Danny. Want to stretch your legs?"

  Taylor eyed her suspiciously before answering, catching her quick glance toward Elena. "Sure, why not? What about you, Elena? Feel like a moonlight stroll?" The question was posed in bland innocence. No sense making it too easy on them, he decided.

  "Me? Uh, no. I'll stay here and help Dan get settled. Maybe move Willy's and my things from his room."

  "Come on, Taylor, let's go." Willy's strong fingers closed over his wrist and her eyes shot him a warning.

  "You sure, Elena?" he asked again as Willy tugged him through the door. "We'd love to have you."

  Elena suppressed a smile and turned luminous eyes to Dan. "I'm sure, Taylor. Now go already."

  Taylor glanced at his brother. He looked like a man about to drown—in champagne.

  Taylor managed a "Good luck, bro," before he was dragged out the door.

  "It would be nice if you would wipe that dumb grin off your face," Willy said when they were a few steps away from the apartment.

  "Can't help it. That's the first time I've seen Dan in a situation where he can't find the back door. Not that I can understand why he'd even want one. I like Elena. I think she'd be good for him."

  "And if you didn't?"

  "I wouldn't have let you manipulate me out of there," he stated flatly.

  "Manipulate? I practically had to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out." She gave him a disapproving gaze. "You were no real help back there."

  "Should I have been? There was my poor helpless baby bro set upon by two beautiful, tall, robust young women, with me as his only shield against their combined machinations."

  Willy rolled her eyes. "Enough with the drama. Dan will survive."

  Taylor laughed. More than survive, he thought, judging from the glow in Elena's eyes.

  For a few minutes they walked in silence, Willy's hand clasped in his.

  "So why did you do it?" he asked after a few minutes.

  "Do what?"

  "Decide to play matchmaker. I wouldn't think that would be your style."

  "I'm not playing matchmaker. Elena asked me for some advice and I gave it to her, that's all."

  "You gave Elena advice?" Fascinating.

  "That's what I just said, didn't I?" she said, sounding defensive and looking oddly embarrassed.

  "And what would that advice be?"

  "Why should I tell you?"

  "Why not? He is my brother."

  Willy considered for a moment before answering. "Nothing really. I just told her to act assertively. Both she and Dan have been playing games with each other since they met. Neither of them has looked the truth square on. He's got this silly notion Elena's too tall. Which in some weird way makes him think he's not good enough for her." Willy roiled her eyes impatiently. "And Elena's too frightened to take the initiative, to make him believe they're right for each other. She's terrified he'll reject her again."

  "Again?"

  "They were together for a few months last year. Elena was hoping for more, but one day Dan just walked away. Mumbled something about not being the right man for her. I don't know the whole story. All I know is she was devastated."

  Taylor's stomach muscles clenched. He didn't like to think of Dan leaving Elena like that. Like father, like son?

  "Anyway," Willy went on, "she wanted some time alone with him—to sort things out—and she asked for my help. I agreed. Whether or not she plans to take my advice, I don't know. I mean my ideas are my own. They won't work for everyone."

  "Don't worry. If your idea doesn't work, I think Elena has plenty to fall back on. And by the look on Dan's face when he saw her, I suspect he'll meet her more than halfway." Taylor didn't know if that was wishful thinking on his part—but he sure as hell hoped not.

  He stopped and swung Willy around to face him, taking her face in his hands. "Because if he feels even half as much for her as I do for you, he's a goner." He nibbled at her lower lip and played his tongue across the crease of her mouth.

  Willy inhaled sharply, drawing in his scent. Taylor always smelled so…clean, like he'd just been sprayed with fresh air and summer. When he deepened the kiss, she gave into it, wanted it to last forever. Could it? Would it? Did what she feel for Taylor have any chance at all? How could she know—for sure?

  Taylor pulled back, his voice low and choppy when he spoke. "Either we keep walking or I'm going to embarrass both of us." He moved into her, throbbing hard and hot against her thigh. "And we'd better take a dark street, a very dark street." Drawing a long breath, he pulled away. "Let's go that way." Willy followed his lead. After the kiss they'd shared, she wasn't sure which country she was in, let alone which street to walk on.

  For the next hour they walked in silence, enjoying the brilliance of the stars and the lush Spanish night. They were nearing the apartment when they became aware of soft footsteps behind them, rapid, stealthy footsteps.

  Instantly alert, Willy spun to face what she instinctively knew was danger. Taylor was a split second behind. One of the men yelled something in Spanish, raised something that looked like a baseball bat, and swung at Taylor. He feinted right, but the bat still connected with his shoulder. He winced with pain, then slammed a fist into his attacker's face. He hit his mark and heard bone snap, but the bastard swung again, and again Taylor's shoulder took the brunt of it. This time, Taylor aimed for his gut and was rewarded with a harsh grunt and gusty explosion of breath from his assailant. His attacker, not up for another try, made a hasty stumbling retreat. Taylor spun around just in time to see Willy toss her attacker across a low-growing hedge. The man wasted no time joining his companion.

  Taylor took the few steps to Willy's side.

  "God, Willow. Are you okay?" he gasped, still struggling for even breathing.

  Willy put her head down and rested her hands on her knees, the stance of a runner after a hard-fought race. She took a couple of steadying breaths before answering. "Better than him I think." She nodded in the direction taken by Taylor's attacker. "I could hear his nose break from here." She managed a quick smile. "You're one mean hombre, Taylor Monroe. Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine." He rotated his shoulder. "Maybe a bruise or two."

  "You sure?"

  "I'm sure."

  Willy stood up, rubbed at her side, and grimaced, "What do you think they were using anyway, billy clubs?"

  "God knows. Let me see that. Come over here to the light." Taylor carefully lifted her T-shirt to look at her injury. He couldn't make out any color, but the skin was already thickening into a large, ugly welt. "You're going to have a bruise or two of your own. But there's no blood." He probed delicately. "And I don't think anything is broken."

  Gently he pulled her close and buried his face in her hair. He didn't speak, just held her.

  "I'm okay," she said. "You know I can look out for myself." Still she tapped into his steady warmth and waited for her heartbeat to slow.

  He nod
ded his head at her response, and she could feel his breath on her neck. "I know you can, and I'm damned glad of it."

  Even as he said the words, Taylor wondered at the truth of them. If he'd needed an object lesson, this attack was it, highlighting facts he'd been refusing to see, or maybe deliberately avoiding. Now those fact were clear to the point of pain. There was no part of this woman that needed him. No part of her that would reach out for him if she was troubled, worried, or alone. His shoulder spasmed with pain, but what pained him more was knowing he had nothing to give this amazing woman. Adrenaline receded, leaving intense disquiet.

  He lifted his head and held her away from him. "Let's go home. You need to rest."

  Willy looked questioning at the tense lines of his face. He looked so... sad, or was it worried? She wasn't sure, but she tried to soothe him. "I'm okay. Really. I've handled worse than this. Weren't you the one who told me I can handle anything?"

  He gave her a grim smile. "Yeah. I guess I did." He seemed to take no pleasure in the thought.

  * * *

  The only light still on in the apartment was the tiny lamp by the sofa. The door to the bedroom was closed.

  Willy looked first at the door, then at Taylor. She smiled at him as the sound of a softly playing radio and muffled voices drifted through the door.

  "I think we're on our own. What do you think?" He kept his voice low.

  "Looks that way. You take the sofa. I'll take the floor. I've got a sleeping bag still rolled up in my backpack."

  "You take the sofa," Taylor said firmly. "I'll bring in the old lounge chair from the balcony."

  Willy started to argue, but one look at Taylor's set expression changed her mind. "Okay. If you think you can stand it."

  "I'll be fine." His answer was oddly terse and Willy cocked her head to stare at him.

  "Are you sure you're all right?" she asked again.

  "I'm fine." He handed her a couple of skimpy blankets. "Here, take these. I'll get the chair."

  When he came back, she was in the kitchen. Her T-shirt was pulled up and she was applying a cold cloth to the raised welt above her waist, now noticeably blue.

  Taylor set up the lounge chair, cursed when it didn't flatten right out, and groaned inwardly. As it was, it was going to be a long, lonely night with Willy sleeping not three feet away, and by the looks of the teetering, lopsided lounger, damned uncomfortable.

  "Ouch! Damn it!" Willy exclaimed in a loud whisper.

  "Here let me get that," he said, extending his long arm over Willy's head.

  "All I did was reach for a glass. Damn those two little street gangsters. If I ever see them again..." She glanced up at Taylor and grinned mischievously. "How about we go out and see if we can find them? Give them a bruise or two?"

  Taylor gave her an incredulous look. "When and if I want to tangle with muggers, I can find my quota in NY. I don't go looking for trouble and neither should you."

  It was Willy's turn for surprise. He was as stern and sober as an old brick jailhouse. "Hey, I was kidding. Lighten up."

  Without answering, he ran cold water over a tea towel, wrung it out, and folded it into a compress. Gently he pressed the cool cloth to her injury. The softness of his touch belied the expression on his face. He looked as though he could spit nails.

  "Taylor, what's the matter with you?"

  "You're what's the matter with me." She started to pull away. "Hold still," he commanded, increasing the pressure on the compress.

  "Ouch!"

  "Sorry." He eased the pressure. "It would be nice if Dan had a real refrigerator. You know, the kind that makes ice," he said sarcastically.

  Willy turned to study him. His eyes were fixed on the damp cloth he held against her side. "You can't be mad about tonight, can you? It wasn't my fault we were targets for a couple of street toughs. To them we're tourists. It happens."

  He glowered—beautifully, she thought, then it came to her. "You're mad because I defended myself, because I didn't need you to do it for me. That's it, isn't it?"

  "No! That's not it." He threw the towel in the sink.

  She made a quick gesture toward the bedroom. "Sh-h. If you're going to yell, you'll have to do it quietly." She folded her arms and leaned against the counter, shifting slightly when her welt complained. "If that's not it, then what is? You've been prickly since we got back to the apartment."

  "I guess you might say having such a firsthand display of your hard-won skills unnerved me. When you told me about what you've done, the self-defense lessons, giving away your money, continually starting over to avoid attachments, I don't think I really understood what it meant—to you or to me." He gave her a long, curious look. "It's worked, hasn't it. Willy? You've learned to defend your heart with the same icy skill you defend your body. You weren't even scared out there tonight."

  "Of course I was scared! I was terrified—for both of us. I just refused to let it show." Willy swallowed and the muscles in her throat tightened. "It bothers you? That I've learned to take care of myself, that my head rules my heart?"

  Taylor ran a hand through his hair. "Honestly? I'm not sure what bothers me. Tonight, I was proud—God, I was grateful!—you could defend yourself. You've worked hard to become what you are, strong, free, independent—"

  "And now your male pride can't handle it. Better a woman clinging to you—all needy and wanting, right?" Anger met fear in Willy's chest, creating a fist of tension. She inhaled long and deep, her eyes locked on Taylor.

  "When in doubt, blame it on gender," he said. "The infamous male pride. That's a cop-out and you know it. Just a damned weak lob from a poorly defended position."

  Willy lifted her chin.

  Taylor's voice lowered a tone. "I don't think it's a crime—or a weakness—to want to be loved, and needed, by the woman I care about. And I don't think it has a damn thing to do with pride, male or female." He shook his head at her stubborn expression. "Love is about trusting, taking risks. And more than that, it's about real, forever kind of commitment. It's looking out for each other, emotionally and physically over the long haul. It's letting go once in a while—admitting and sharing weaknesses as well as strengths."

  Taylor's words moved her, touched her in that deep, icy place called her heart. She was loosening, slipping into the words. No way. Not ever. She closed her eyes against the thawing behind her lids, tensed her mouth, and said, "Lord, you're old-fashioned, Taylor." She raised dry eyes to his. "And for your information, I don't want or need looking after—and I'm not big into sharing."

  His green eyes darkened, saddened. "Yeah," he drawled. "So you told me. I guess until now I didn't believe you."

  * * *

  An hour later, Taylor shifted his long body in another vain effort to find a position even close to comfortable. It didn't help when his shoulder fired up pain at every turn. The damned kid had bruised him to the bone.

  And there was Willow's soft breathing. The woman was sleeping like a played-out puppy. And why wouldn't she? he thought ruefully. Everything was right in her structured world, the fortress walls were strong and the drawbridge was up. Willow Desmond was invincible. Just the way she liked it.

  He'd been crazy to think she'd do anything to compromise her independent life-style. Independence wasn't merely a goal to Willy—it was an all-consuming cause. She pursued it with the fervor of a zealot. He put his good arm behind his head and turned to look at her. He couldn't make out details, but he could see she was sprawled, loose limbed, face down on the sofa. A sliver of porch light tattooed a triangle on her bare calf. She was in almost exactly the same position she'd been in the night they'd met.

  Suddenly agitated, he threw off his blanket and stood up. He yanked on pants and a shirt and headed for the door. The truth of it was, he couldn't stand to be in the same room with Willy and not have her in his arms. His body ached for her. Ached for a woman who neither needed nor wanted anything he would offer, least of all his love. Which had no value to her. He stepped out into the c
ool night air and gripped the balcony railing. To hell with it… The day after tomorrow he'd be going home—alone. As for Willow, she'd survive. He wasn't sure about himself.

  Willow stared at the door long after it closed behind Taylor. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and her throat strained against her efforts to breathe rhythmically. It was time to pull back. Even Taylor knew it. She could see it in his eyes, sense it in his cool behavior.

  So be it. She would not, could not turn herself inside out for him. One more day and he'd be gone. When he was, she'd simply repair whatever emotional damage he'd left and move on. She'd done it a thousand times before; she could do it again. No sweat.

  Love be damned. It was nothing but a cold, ruthless deceiver selling promises and empty visions. Willow threw an arm over her face and couldn't stop the convulsing in her chest.

  Whether she liked it or not, that cold, ruthless deceiver had sold another broken dream.

  Chapter 11

  "I know I promised, but I only need a few more months, Taylor. I've already got funding from the Spanish tourist people, but they say it will take a while for the money to come through. I—"

  Dan's voice came to Willy through the door to the balcony. She blinked her eyes and looked out the window. The sun was barely up.

  "A damn cookbook! God, what next, Dan?"

  At the sound of Taylor's voice, Willy set to alert.

  "Not just one cookbook. A whole series. And in full color," Dan said excitedly. "And not just an ordinary cookbook either. Along with the authentic Spanish recipes, there will be a full-scale pictorial of Spain's landscape and countryside. If it works—and there's not a reason in the world why it won't, Willy and I plan to propose the same idea to other tourist organizations throughout Europe."

  There was a long silence before Taylor answered.

  "Sounds like you'll be doing a lot of traveling," Taylor said in a dry voice. "And that's what you want?"

  "Yes. I'm not made for the financial business and you know it. I'm just not the drudge type, you know, nine to five, wandering around in a three-piece suit with a calculator. I mean it's okay if that's how you want to live your life, but I'll take a miss."