Blood Brothers

by Anne McAllister

  The door opened a crack. Claire stood there, wrapped in a large towel.

  “I’m looking for the liniment.” He gave her a friendly smile. “Some instinct made me look here.”

  “I’ve just finished with it.”

  “Are you sure? You must be bruised all over your back. Can’t I help-as one sufferer to another?” When she still hesitated he added, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  That won him a faint smile. “Sure.” She backed away to let him in, holding defiantly onto the towel.

  He didn’t look around the room too obviously, but he noticed that the picture of Gabe had been removed from her bedside. She was protecting herself.

  She sat down with her back to him, and he gently loosened the towel, drawing in his breath at what he saw.

  “You’ve got the biggest bruise I’ve ever seen,” he exclaimed.

  “Bet some of yours are bigger,” she said bravely.

  “Bet they aren’t. Lie down, let me do this properly.” He saw her reluctance and said, “To hell with modesty! You’re going to be fit for nothing in the morning.”

  “I feel fit for nothing now,” she sighed, stretching out on the bed.

  He eased the towel down the length of her back, waiting for her to rally her defenses and tell him to stop right there. But she seemed too worn out to speak and he began gently rubbing liniment into her skin.

  It was lovely skin, he couldn’t help noticing, pale and smooth. After her brusque mannerisms it came as a slight shock to find her body so softly rounded and feminine.

  He began to wonder if he’d been wise to do this. Even with the ugly discoloration of the bruise, she was beautiful. Her back was long and elegant, tapering to a tiny waist and hips that flared into round, womanly curves.

  He moved his hands rhythmically up and down her spine, trying not to hurt her. Trying even harder not to be too aware of her. But that was impossible.

  “This will make you feel better,” he murmured. “What would we do without liniment, eh?”

  “Well, we wouldn’t smell like horses, that’s for sure,” she said with a yawn.

  “Yes, it’s a pity about the smell.”

  If she were a horse, she would be a racehorse, he decided: with a proud, high-stepping beauty and a flowing red mane. Her hair had come loose and splayed over her shoulders. He pushed it aside and began kneading the back of her neck. She gave a little grunt of contentment that went straight to his heart, making him smile.

  “Is that nice?”

  “Mmm,” she said.

  She raised an arm to pull her hair right out of the way, then rested her head on her elbow. He guessed she was growing too hazy to realize how the movement made the towel slip, and drew one glorious breast into view.

  He forced his eyes away from the tantalizing sight, wondering what had possessed him to take such a risk. But the boyish clothes she wore had disguised the details that were designed to tempt a man. Now he realized that her breasts were heavy in proportion to the rest of her. In fact each one was just about the right size to fit into the palm of his hand.

  He tried to force his thoughts away, but they were more rebellious than his eyes. They insisted on wandering over what he could see of her body, and even creeping under the towel to discover hidden secrets. He knew he should be ashamed, fight down the heat that was surging through his body, taking over from good resolutions. He drew a long breath, trying to subdue himself, but the part that was reacting most vigorously wasn’t amenable to thoughts.

  “It wasn’t such a bad day,” he said, talking for the sake of it. “Bit rough, but I was expecting that.”

  “Mmm!” she said.

  “I’ll manage better now. Practice makes perfect and all that.” He had an uncomfortable feeling that he was burbling, saying anything, trying to hear the words through the roaring in his ears.

  Get out before you do something that will make her slap your face!

  “What’s the program for tomorrow?” he asked, smoothing his hands down to her waist and forcing himself to stop there. “Claire? Claire?”

  Her breathing had deepened, telling him she was asleep. He froze, his hand still on her waist, shocked at himself. This had begun so innocently, but now his whole body was aroused. Claire rejected feminine wiles but without trying she was simply the sexiest woman he’d ever known.

  But she was also the most vulnerable, especially now.

  That’s how much you inspire her, he thought. You send her to sleep. Get out of here.

  While he hesitated Claire gave a long sigh and moved very slightly, so that her skin slid against his hand, making his fingers drift involuntarily lower.

  Involuntarily? Who was he trying to kid?

  She settled down again, making a little contented sound in her throat, smiling a small secret smile.

  For Gabe! he thought suddenly. She was dreaming that this was Gabe. If she awoke and found him there her sense of betrayal would be terrible.

  Breathing hard, Randall rose to his feet and backed away. He found he was actually shaking from the force of the sensations that possessed him. He must put things right before there was a disaster.

  But there was something he must do first. Moving carefully, not to awaken her, he pulled up the towel until it covered her again. Then he took the sheet and blankets that she’d pushed down, and inched them back into place, so that she would be kept warm.

  When he was finished he backed out of the room and stood in the corridor, taking deep breaths.

  It was only then that he remembered he’d left the liniment on her bedside table. He cursed but there was no help for it. Hell would freeze over before he risked going back in there.

  He returned to his own cold, solitary bed and lay down to spend the rest of the night struggling with the pain of bruises and frustrated desire.

  Randall was late coming down the next day. He’d finally fallen into a late doze and slept on. Susan explained that Claire had ordered that he shouldn’t be disturbed. The others had already gone out to work.

  There was some sausage and bacon left. He would have been happy with it, but Susan insisted on cooking him a huge meal from scratch, and he didn’t have the heart to hurt her feelings.

  Afterward he called Gabe. He’d been too easily put off by bright pleasantries the day before. They needed a serious talk.

  But all he got was a young woman informing him that, “Mr. McBride is in conference with the advertising editor and does not wish to be disturbed.”

  “But that doesn’t mean me. Tell him it’s Randall. I can give him a few wrinkles about advertising.”

  There was a click and some muttering, then the secretary announced, “Mr. McBride thanks you for your call, but is unavailable.”

  Randall breathed hard. What the hell did she mean, “Mr. McBride”? This was ol’ Gabe they were talking about. Wasn’t it?

  “Then kindly give ‘Mr. McBride’ a message,” he said. “Tell him to stop playing the fool and come to the phone.”

  More clicks and muttering. Then, “Mr. McBride says he will call you back.”

  “Tell him to do that,” Randall said, incensed.

  He was left staring at the receiver, wondering what sort of idiot game Gabe thought he was playing. He needed Randall’s help and advice, and he was damned well going to get it-just as soon as he answered the phone.

  Looking around the house, he discovered a computer, and switched it on. As he’d expected, Gabe had treated himself to all the latest software.

  “Are you any good with that thing?”

  He turned to find Claire looking at him. Her face was neutral and there was nothing to be learned from it.

  “Reasonably,” he said.

  “Elaine does the accounts,” she said, “but I promised to keep them up-to-date while she’s gone.” She left the implication hanging in the air.

  “I’m a dab hand with a spreadsheet.”

  Luckily it was a program he knew. Claire showed him some invoices waiting
to be entered, and soon he had the hang of Elaine’s system.

  The hands began to drift in, full of amusement at his defection.

  “Guess one day’s hard work was enough for you?” Dave said gleefully.

  Randall shrugged, refusing to be provoked. “I was late getting to sleep,” he said.

  Claire had avoided looking at him directly, but at this he sensed her whole body come alive. She was standing next to him and he was convinced, as surely as if he’d touched her, that the memory of last night was there in her flesh as well as her mind.

  She knew what had happened as well as if he’d said the words, knew he’d lain awake most of the night, tormented by her. The awareness was like an erotic vibration coming from her, catching him up in its rhythm. It would have told him everything, even if he hadn’t been able to see the delicate pink come and go in her cheeks.

  “I guess you’d just about had enough,” Dave chortled.

  “Leave it, Dave,” Claire said quietly.

  “Aw, c’mon-”

  “I said leave it!”

  The fierceness in her voice was like a burst from a flame-thrower. All the hands fell silent, astounded by an intensity they’d never seen in her before. They began to drift off, until Claire was alone with Randall.

  “I’ll see Susan about some food,” she muttered and hurried into the kitchen.

  Coward! Claire told herself furiously. Coward! Coward!

  But she hadn’t wanted to be alone with Randall after that moment of revelation. She hadn’t wanted to see him this morning either, not after the hectic dreams that had tormented her last night. Dreams in which his hands were always on her body, touching her intimately as no man had ever touched her before. And she’d offered herself shamelessly to his caresses.

  He’d been lucky to have lain awake, for the wakeful could control their thoughts. They didn’t return to consciousness burning with shame at the way desire had overcome them while they were helpless.

  She’d told Susan to let him sleep because she couldn’t face him. That was the truth. He would be bound to look at her and know that she’d taken his brotherly help and wrought it into something else.

  When she’d found him at the computer she’d felt relief. They could act normally, as though the moment had never happened. But she hadn’t allowed for the mutual consciousness that had possessed them, destroying her carefully built defenses.

  And then there was Gabe, whom she loved, but whose image had never tormented her like this. He didn’t want her passion, so why did she feel as though she’d betrayed him?

  In the days that followed Claire was careful never to be alone with Randall. Luckily North seemed willing to take him under his wing. Dave, who fancied himself as a wit, had taken a marked dislike to Randall, and had a stream of barbed remarks always at the ready.

  Randall countered this by becoming more and more British. Nothing Dave said ever seemed to get under his skin. He would merely look at the hand from under languid eyelids, smile insufferably, and murmur, “I say, old bean-no really-”

  It reduced North and Olly to fits, and it drove Dave wild.

  Once Randall had casually mentioned that Gabe had taught him to use a rope. Dave had promptly challenged him to a contest and Randall had agreed before she could stop him.

  “Dave’s the best for miles,” she told Randall urgently. “There’s no way you’re going to beat him.”

  Randall had given her that strange look from under his eyelids and murmured, “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

  At first she thought this was just bravado. Randall’s roping skills could hardly be described as skills at all. What had possessed him to put them on display?

  Dave’s mouth was twisted into a mean little smile, and he gave his braying laugh. “Guess it ain’t like being in the Household Cavalry,” he said gleefully.

  “I’ll just have to practice,” Randall said meekly. “Let’s try again.”

  He whirled the loop high and wide and it floated down to settle perfectly over Dave’s shoulders, pinioning his upper arms.

  “Hey!”

  “I say, I’m most awfully sorry. I’ll have it off you in just a jiffy.” Randall tugged at the line, apparently overcome by confusion.

  “You’re just pulling it tighter,” Dave bawled.

  “Oh dear, yes I am-if you’ll only keep still-”

  “Let me go, you idiot!”

  There were more snickers, but this time at Dave’s expense. Olly chortled openly, North grinned and Claire made choking noises.

  At last Dave was freed. He glared malevolently at Randall. “You did that on purpose,” he raged. “You made a fool outa me.”

  “My dear fellow, I wouldn’t try to improve on nature.”

  “You-”

  “Cut it out, both of you,” Claire said, barely smothering her laughter. “Come in and have something to eat.”

  Luckily, Frank arrived just then, back from an errand in town, and in the introductions the moment passed.

  But it wasn’t forgotten. Randall guessed that Dave could be a bad enemy, and he would have to watch his back.

  Claire was beginning to realize that there was more than one type of man. There was the kind she’d always known out here, brash, up-front, rawly macho. And there was the kind who deflected an enemy with cool irony, endured quietly, but never yielded an inch, the kind whose apparent mildness covered steel. Randall’s kind.

  He was a gentleman. Before this she’d never defined the word for herself, but the night he’d seen her half-naked might never have been for all the use he made of it. There were no sly hints, no attempts to make her uncomfortable with the memory. It was a delicacy of feeling that would have made the others hoot with derision, had they known.

  But they didn’t know, and must never know. It would remain their secret, hers and Randall’s.

  The discovery that they shared a secret alarmed her. It was a step toward an intimacy she didn’t want. She was very firm in her own mind about that.

  But then, being human and contrary, she began to wonder if Randall’s gentlemanly restraint actually covered indifference. From there it was a short step to feeling offended. How dare he act as though it hadn’t happened!

  She caught herself watching him. She tried not to, but her eyes refused to be controlled. They persisted in drifting toward him when they should have been elsewhere. They noted every inch of his big, graceful body, the outline of his thigh muscles against his jeans, the thickness of his neck and heavy shoulder muscles, the suggestion of power in his most careless movement.

  That evening she came into the kitchen and found Randall helping Susan with the washing up she understood something else about him. He didn’t need to trumpet his masculinity because everything about him was so unmistakably male that his confidence came from deep within. The others could laugh if they liked. He would merely shrug.

  “Go to bed, you must be tired,” she told Susan, gently edging her away from the sink and taking her place.

  And Susan went like a lamb, concealing her smile. She knew what was what without needing it spelled out.

  There were still plenty of dishes to wash, and in handing them to Randall to be dried Claire found their fingers touching more often than not. She could have simply placed the plates in the rack, but this didn’t seem to occur to her.

  “You must be tired too,” Randall said gently. “You run this place, do a share of the housework and still come out working with us every day.”

  “Trying to get me to stay at home?” she asked at once.

  “Hey, don’t be so prickly. How about changing the routine and showing me some of the district?”

  She concentrated on the sink. “North can show you. I’ll give him the day off.”

  “I rather think Gabe would expect you to do the honors.”

  Trapped, she thought dizzily. Forced to spend a day alone with him. She bent over the sink lest her happiness show in her face.

  Next day they
set out in the truck, headed for the little town of Marmot where Claire needed to pick up some supplies.

  Marmot consisted of Main Street and little else. There was a drug store, a post office, a grocery, a meat locker, a hardware store and welding shop, an implement dealer, a few bars, a cafe, and a place that sold one of everything because that was all there was room for. Randall, accustomed to tiny English villages, was instantly at home.

  The weather had improved. Snow still lay on the ground, but the sun was out and everywhere had a bright and cheerful appearance.

  They went from store to store, collecting goods and introducing Randall. Everywhere there was the little start of amazement as people saw his face. When everything was loaded onto the truck Randall said casually, “I think I’ll let you treat me to a coffee.”

  They found a little place, and she bought them both coffee and pie. When they were seated he realized how little he’d seen of her. This was the first time they’d been alone since the night he tended her, and he wondered if she was avoiding him.

  How much did she remember from that night, and how did she remember it? In his fever of longing had he done something unforgivable?

  She looked up quickly, met his eye and looked away. A soft, pink blush glowed in her cheeks, and the conviction grew on Randall that whatever he’d done it hadn’t been unforgivable.

  A middle-aged man, called Joe, hovered, wanting to know if everything was okay. It was the third time he’d done this, so Randall lifted his head to give the man a good view of his face.

  “That better?” he asked amiably, and Joe grinned.

  “You gotta take him to the dance,” he told Claire. “Folk’ll just blow their minds.”

  “What dance?” Randall asked.

  “There’s one here every February,” Claire told him. “Just a few folk.”

  “They come for miles,” Joe assured him. “And they’ll sure come to see him.”

  “I seem to be the local entertainment,” Randall observed wryly. “Mustn’t disappoint them, so we’d better go to this dance.”

  “We?”

  “I can’t go alone. I shall need you to hold my hand and give me courage.”