True to You

by Jennifer Ryan

  She closed the distance between them and stood toe-to-toe with him even if she had to look up. “Are you?” The demand in her voice didn’t hide the underlying hurt in the question she believed he’d answer with a yes.

  He leaned down even closer and tried really hard not to show his reaction to having a woman—her—this close to him. “No.”

  Her breath hitched and she stepped back.

  She smelled like flowers and pie. Roses and cinnamon.

  Her scent went to his head, but he tried to stay focused. “And since you don’t believe anything that comes out of my mouth, I’ll assume your father doesn’t either, which puts me in his crosshairs for the most likely person to rat him and that damn truck out to the cops.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  That stopped him cold.

  “You just got out of jail. The last thing you’d want to do is get involved in anything illegal. Right?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “And if you wanted to get in with his crew, making trouble for them would only get you killed.”

  He needed to stay on his toes, or this too-smart woman would find him out.

  “Trust me, Iceman will know it was me.”

  King looked pointedly at her scarred hand, his gut twisting thinking about all the gruesome ways she got those scars. “Will he hurt you because of it?”

  She quickly hid her hands behind her back, then caught herself and let them fall back to her sides. “No.” She held her hand up and glanced at the scars, her mouth pinching into an angry scowl. “He didn’t do this.”

  “But he’s responsible all the same.” Based on her animosity and need to get back at her father, it had to be true.

  “He’s responsible for every bad thing that’s ever happened in my life. Stay away from him or he’ll ruin yours, too.”

  Before he could ask who hurt her, she strode out of the room.

  He thought she’d be happy to see the drugs discovered and off the street, but it only made her angrier. He wondered if seeing her father behind bars the rest of his life would finally bring her peace and allow her to be happy. He’d like to give her that, but didn’t know if anything could overcome whatever darkened her mind and sky-blue eyes.

  Chapter Seven

  Cara packed the canned vegetables and soup at the bottom of her bag and stacked the crackers, loaf of bread, and Oreos on top. Mustn’t forget the cookies. She’d never hear the end of it.

  The persistent thwack out the kitchen window drew her attention like a beacon in the night. She tried desperately to ignore it, but like a light in the dark it drew her in. She snuck a peek and tried not to stare, but, oh God, resistance was futile.

  Every woman, young or old, would stare at the six-foot-two man made of pure muscle splitting wood on the side of her house in nothing but a tight pair of well-worn jeans and no shirt. When did he take it off? He’d only been out there for twenty minutes, yet he’d worked up a fine sheen of sweat across his broad chest. His ribs were splotched with greenish-yellow bruises that matched the one fading on his jaw. The blond hair at his forehead stuck to his skin, darker than the rest of his golden head. His biceps bunched as he raised the axe above his head. He split the log clean in half on the downswing, bent at the waist, giving her a great view of his tight ass, grabbed another log, stood it up, then hauled the axe up and down again.

  She’d like to stand here all day admiring the gorgeous view. But her uncle needed supplies and company. She needed to get away from the man she thought about far too often. She’d been reluctant to hire him for exactly this reason. Temptation.

  The other people she’d helped never looked like him. They also didn’t go out of their way to do a good job or take on extra work just to lighten her load. Over the last two weeks, he did his job and did it well. And she didn’t know what to make of him at all, because he wasn’t like any other drug dealer, ex-con, or parolee she’d ever met.

  Ray liked him. And Ray didn’t much like anyone.

  Tandy wanted to sleep with him. Bad.

  Cara understood all too well.

  But Flash politely avoided Tandy’s flirting and casual but suggestive brushes against him. While he smiled back at her, he never approached her or encouraged her advances.

  The guy acted like a Boy Scout. Either he was that good at pretending to be a stand-up guy, or he really wasn’t like the other men she knew and who came through her place.

  Lost in thought, she didn’t realize the noise had stopped until her focus cleared on the outside and she found Flash staring right back at her. His easy smile sent a wave of heat through her system she didn’t want to acknowledge or feel, but couldn’t ignore.

  The second she realized she was smiling back at him, she spun around embarrassed he caught her ogling him. She didn’t want him to think it meant anything.

  It didn’t. He was her employee. That’s all. Anything more . . . impossible.

  Nightmares of her last relationship flashed in her mind, reminding her why relationships sucked.

  She wiped her damp palms on her thighs, snagged the backpack, pulled it on, and headed out the side door to see her uncle. She picked up the newspapers he loved to read off the porch, stuffed them in the side pocket of her bag, and headed down the stairs.

  Flash stepped into her path. “Hey. Where are you going?”

  She found it hard to look Flash in the eye when all that muscle was three feet from her face. All she wanted to do was reach out and touch him. It had been a long time since a man held her.

  “Hiking.”

  She didn’t add anything about who she was going to see. Her uncle didn’t like people knowing his business. He didn’t like people in general. She might be the sole exception to that rule, probably because she supplied the Oreos, so he tolerated her . . . barely. Don’t get him started on politics and people’s rights unless you wanted to listen to half-baked conspiracy theories all night. No thank you.

  Flash glanced up at the clear blue sky. “It’s a beautiful day for it.”

  Warm, sunny spring had arrived and turned the landscape bright green with wildflowers swaying across the fields. Her garden bloomed in myriad colors and scents. The air smelled sweet, clean, and crisp. The soft breeze rustled the new leaves on the trees. The sparse forest would make a lovely walk to her uncle’s cabin.

  “Want company?”

  “No.” The word came out sharper than she intended. Every time she talked to him she put that look of frustration on his face. She didn’t mean to insult him or make him feel like she didn’t like him. She did. She just didn’t want him to know it. If he did, working with him would be really difficult.

  Flash wiped the back of his hand over his sweaty brow. The muscles in his chest and arms bunched.

  Her belly dropped and set off the long dormant butterflies. She placed her hand over her fluttering stomach. The lightning-bolt scar on his bicep drew her attention. She wondered how he got it but didn’t ask. She needed to keep their relationship business, not personal.

  “Okay, well, guess I’ll get back to work.” He turned and took three steps away.

  Feeling like a total bitch, she called out, “Flash.”

  He turned back, one eyebrow up in question. “Yeah?”

  She quirked her lips. “I like to walk in the quiet. Clear my head. Spend some time alone.”

  His head dipped forward and his gaze sharpened on her. “By the looks of it, you spend all your time alone.”

  Her head whipped back. “No, I don’t. I spend most of the day with you and the others at the shop where a ton of people come in and out every day.”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

  Maybe she was becoming too much like her hermit uncle, pushing people away, outright avoiding them, and isolating herself to the point she couldn’t even carry on a halfway decent conversation.

  She kept others at arm’s length and beyond. She had her reasons. Most of them even sounded good. Some were actually true.
But it wore on her, always believing the worst in others, expecting them to turn on her. And why not? Her father did. She’d been used by too many people not to keep her guard up. But some days, like today when a handsome man asked if she wanted company on her walk, she wondered if that guard had actually imprisoned her.

  Flash walked away, back to the pile of wood he was helping her cut just to be a nice guy.

  She wanted to call him back again, apologize for being rude, and show him she was better than that. She should thank him for all his hard work and tell him how much she appreciated everything he did for her, right down to his always asking how she was with genuine interest.

  But she didn’t.

  She sensed how much he wanted her to open up to him and felt his patience when he waited for her to say something more than telling him what to do next at work. Every time the urge rose up for her to reach out to him in some way, she squashed it. Better to be safe and alone than left broken and disappointed again.

  But here she was, safe, alone, and still disappointed.

  “Hey, Cara, enjoy your hike. I’ll see you when you get back.”

  The comfort in his statement settled into her. He’d be here when she got back. One of the many scars on her heart burst open and something akin to happiness poured out of it, warming her chest and reminding her that moments like this were rare and to soak it up. Because it probably wouldn’t last.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him to come with her, but because of her uncle, she didn’t. But the desire to share something with him, even a simple walk, stayed with her as she trekked across the yard and into the forest, following the path only she knew and altered all the time. Her uncle insisted.

  If she kept up the way she lived, would she be that paranoid one day?

  Maybe she already was but didn’t recognize it because she didn’t show the crazy going on in her head on the outside. She wasn’t hiding away in a cabin with nothing and no one around to disturb her.

  She had a house with guests. A shop with customers.

  And no one to come home to at night.

  She wanted to shut that thought down, but lately her little house seemed far too big and empty and quiet.

  All she needed now was a dozen cats to complete the lonely spinster picture her life had become.

  She wanted to go somewhere else. Do something different. Be someone different.

  Her life’s path had turned into a rut she didn’t know how to escape.

  She shook off the picture in her head of Flash standing on the edge of her rut, his hand held down to her, ready to pull her out and into a better life.

  Dreams are not reality and reality is rarely a dream come true.

  Not even the trees and pretty landscape gave her comfort today. Instead of taking her time, she rushed to her uncle’s place. Her mood darkened with every step to her uncle’s cabin and soured even more when she reached the dismal dwelling. An opossum hung from a thin rope over the cabin porch railing. No doubt a fresh kill this morning her uncle would turn into stew. A large metal washbasin hung on the wall next to the door. Newspapers covered the windows on the inside. The tiny place barely got any light through the surrounding trees, but her uncle refused to take the papers down. He didn’t want anyone spying on him.

  Like some fool, besides her, would come all the way out here to spy on some old guy. One who didn’t do anything more interesting than hunting and fishing and reading newspapers just so he had something to bitch about to the only soul willing to come back and endure his company.

  Endure seemed harsh. She adjusted her poor attitude. In reality, she came because she loved him. He’d never hurt her. He was the only family she could count on. And wasn’t that just another sad state of affairs in her life. The man barely left his little hovel. If not for her, he’d eat nothing but what he caught in the river or shot and scavenged in the forest.

  She knocked on the door twice. The familiar ratchet and cocking of the shotgun echoed through the wood. Most people would run. She rolled her eyes.

  “Who’s there?” Uncle Otis shouted.

  “Big bad wolf. Let me in, little pig.” She felt much more like Little Red Riding Hood delivering her goods to the cottage in the forest. She bet Little Red’s grandmother’s house didn’t smell like rotting leaves, dust, and dead opossum.

  “Cara, is that you?” He asked the same thing every week. He knew damn well it was her.

  “None other.”

  “You alone?”

  “Just me and the flies.” She waved her hand over her head to swat one of the little buggers away.

  Her uncle finally unlocked one after the other of the three locks on the door and opened it a crack, peeking out at her to be sure she was indeed alone, the shotgun barrel six inches out the door just in case she wasn’t. She sometimes wondered if he’d really shoot a stranger.

  She’d give it sixty-forty, not in that brave soul’s favor.

  “Do you have the Oreos?”

  With a shotgun pointed at her, she didn’t mess around holding out on him. “Yes. In my bag. Mind putting the gun away and welcoming me inside?”

  He hung the gun on the hooks over the door, then opened it wide enough for her to squeeze through. The second she cleared the threshold, he slammed it shut, and snapped all the bolts back in place. Locked in, she faced her uncle and shook her head for all the unnecessary paranoia.

  “I heard a helicopter this morning. Damn government spying on good folks trying to live their lives in peace.”

  The helicopter could be anything from a local news station, the forestry service, a private air tour, or some rancher who hired one to scout his vast property for stray cattle or check on his water supply.

  Try telling that to her uncle. “Do you want your cookies or not?”

  He rubbed his hands together and smiled, though she couldn’t really tell if his lips moved under his thick beard. “Hand them over.”

  Before she did, she tugged his blond and white whiskers. “You need to trim that up before someone sees you out here and thinks you’re a Sasquatch.”

  “Bah.” He waved off her teasing scolding, then wrapped an arm around her back and hauled her close for a hug that always felt real and heartfelt. His familiar scent wrapped around her. The great outdoors mixed with the wind, a hint of fireplace smoke, fresh-cut wood, and coffee. Old-guy smell. Uncle Otis. Home.

  This morning she held him a bit tighter, taking in the love he only showed when he held her close. She needed it to stave off the black mood rising in her for wanting something she didn’t think she’d ever have and hold on to before it turned into another broken promise.

  She needed to stay away from Flash. She should fire him and send him on his way.

  Self-preservation.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He needed the job. She liked looking at him. But she didn’t like the way he made her feel and the dreams that sprouted in her mind that she kept mowing down because they were foolish and reckless.

  Uncle Otis grew uncomfortable and gently set her away with a questioning look she didn’t have any intention of answering.

  She turned and headed back to the kitchen. A pot of barley boiled on the stove, scenting the air with its savory, herbed broth. Probably for the opossum stew her uncle would make for dinner. She shrugged off the heavy backpack, unzipped it, and handed over the cookies. Her uncle stood by, waiting to get his hands on them like an impatient child. He tore open the package and stuffed two in his mouth, then—cookies and all!—hooked his hand behind her neck and drew her in and kissed her on the forehead.

  “You’re a good girl.”

  The familiar affection and glimpse of the man she’d grown up wishing was her father instead of the one she got made her sigh with relief. He was all the family she had left as far as she was concerned. He may be weird, but he hadn’t dedicated his life to breaking the law and destroying people’s lives with drugs. He’d never turn his back on her.

  A loner by
nature, he found relationships with others too messy and complicated. Her grandparents told her even as a small child he just never seemed to fit in with others. They found him odd. She preferred to think of him as eccentric. He liked his simple life, where no one invaded his space, told him what he should say and think, or judged him for not conforming to the kind of life others thought normal.

  But even she had to admit, the older he got, the stranger he got.

  She worried that one day he wouldn’t be the man she knew growing up who smiled for her, talked to her, when he ignored most everyone else. One day, he’d leave her all alone.

  She unpacked the canned goods and stacked them on the shelf over the bucket that served as her uncle’s sink. He didn’t have running water, just an old well that she’d insisted on having a new electric pump put in when the old crank gave out last year. He had electricity, but insisted on running the line himself after she had a new power line run onto the property they shared. He didn’t want anything in his name. He didn’t want anyone to know what he was doing out here. Even the satellite dish service was in her name. He didn’t have a phone, so it was left for her to come out here every week to be sure he was okay and had the supplies he needed. He’d been living off the land and holed up in this cabin so long she didn’t much worry about him, but as he got older, the slower he moved, the more radical his ideas and musings became, she worried he spent far too much time alone.

  What if he fell or got sick? She might not be back out here for days. But he refused to move into her house, or even the barn with Ray. He insisted on his privacy. Plus, he and Ray might kill each other, or at least go deaf with all the bickering they did.

  Uncle Otis snatched the newspapers from her hand the moment she pulled them out of the pack. She eyed him as he spread one of them wide on the coffee table and sat down to read. Fox News droned on in the background on the old TV her uncle only turned off when he slept. His only company, a bunch of journalists posturing about the state of the world.