Slow Fever

by Cait London

  It was the same porch swing on which fourteen-year-old Kylie had tried to vamp him with Anna’s flowers and herbs perfuming the summer air. Anna Bennett’s daughter was off limits to a man who had little to offer. Michael accepted that he had no heart to give, no future to offer a woman. And yet tonight, he’d wanted to wrap his fists in that soft, wild storm of silky hair and devour her from head to toe.

  She had him going again, he brooded darkly and resented his inability to deny the attraction. He’d known she was alone at the midnight hour and the need to see her was unnatural for a man who preferred his solitude. At Tanner’s wedding two weeks ago, Kylie had been pale and taut, but she never let anyone see her shadows. Michael had wanted to hold her then, but one searing stab from Kylie’s blue eyes told him she wasn’t in a friendly mood.

  Women should have digital readings across their foreheads that prepared a man for their emotions. Michael rolled his shoulder, aware of his tense muscles. With Kylie in his vicinity, anything could happen.

  Insight into her failed marriage made Michael want to punch something—preferably her ex-husband. A controlled martial arts expert, Michael leashed his dark mood. He didn’t want attachments, not even with Kylie’s soft heart. Was he with her now because of his tenderness for Anna?

  Michael didn’t trust the storm of emotions circling him. He should have known better than to bring her here, with the night wind churning the past and mocking his fascination for her.

  Dressed in a short wool plaid jacket and tight jeans, Kylie stood with her back to him, her legs braced. “I can’t do it, Michael,” she said. “I wanted my marriage to last like Mom and Dad’s. I thought I could make it work. I wanted— I know you’ve had women, but did you ever marry?”

  Michael walked slowly to stand behind her; a strand of her hair floated on the wind, snagging gently upon the stubble on his cheek. He wrapped his finger around the silky softness and brought it to his nose, inhaling the fresh clean scent. This wasn’t the Kylie who as a child had pestered him. This was Kylie, a woman trying to make sense of her life. He wouldn’t touch her—she was too sweet and pure and…too damn voluptuous, looking like Mother Earth when she opened the door. Little had kept him from reaching out and placing his hands over her breasts, from devouring her mouth. He’d wanted to be in her, enveloped by her, holding her tight and— Michael breathed unsteadily, shaken by the deep primitive instincts to take Kylie, to bond with her.

  He closed his eyes, remembering how many women he’d helped who had had men with those same unleashed instincts. He realized now that his hand was trembling, the hard impact of his need still circling him, but mixed with tenderness now. Michael’s life hadn’t prepared him for tenderness.

  She looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes silvery and haunted in the moonlight. “Help me. Talk to me. Tell me why dreams go so wrong.”

  He caught the windswept hair curling about him in his fist, tethering it gently and rested his hand upon her shoulder. He’d known her all her life and respected her family. He shouldn’t be here with her, her soft body leaning slightly, trustingly back against his. The curved nudge of her bottom against him thrust a white-hot need into his lower body, startling him. His free hand shot to rest on her hip, his fingers latched to the rich curve. He was acting as her brother, he reminded himself, and he would not take advantage of Anna Bennett’s daughter. He could see Anna in Kylie and Miranda, that loving nature. A man like himself—one too scarred by life—could easily tear Kylie apart. He forced his fingers to loosen and eased his hand away, shoving it into his pocket so as not to touch her. “I don’t know about dreams.”

  As a child, his dreams had been torn away from him. He’d been ashamed of his life, but Anna Bennett had given him pride. Clean, patched clothes and a full stomach had done wonders for his self-esteem.

  “Life is made of dreams, Michael. Everyone dreams. It’s a part of life. Without dreams, nothing could happen—would happen.” Kylie’s eyes searched his face, reminding him of Anna’s.

  With Anna’s help, he’d found a measure of peace in Freedom Valley. As the town’s bad boy who could potentially infect other righteous men, he’d been labeled a “Cull” by the Women’s Council. He wasn’t expected to follow the traditions of the Founding Mothers, the women who had begun the traditions of men courting women. Kylie should have those traditions.

  “I never married,” he replied, skirting the issue at hand. He’d determined long ago never to marry, never to love, because love of any kind brought heartache. Yet he had to know about Kylie. “Did you love him?”

  “Leon? I knew it wasn’t exactly a steaming love-match. He has a great family, and I thought he’d have the same values as I. It’s been months since the massage table discovery and my hurried divorce. I’m past the hurt stage, now I’m just mad at myself for wasting my life. Nine years…zip…gone, trashed. I was a virgin on my wedding night—I’m that old-fashioned.” Kylie turned back to the dark lake and her fist pushed back at him. “Help me.”

  Virgin. Michael closed his eyes and tried not to think of Kylie’s small soft body, another man loving her. He regretted drawing his hand from the confinement of his jeans pocket; he regretted the need to hold her tight and safe. “Are you ready? Maybe you’d better think about it.”

  “No. I want to do this now and get it over. Thinking won’t change anything. I’ve got to get on with my life.”

  Michael breathed unsteadily and enfolded Kylie’s small hand in his. “At the count of three, right?”

  The gold circle spun an arc into the moonlight and then slid silently into Valentina Lake. Kylie was silent for a long time, and Michael prayed she wouldn’t cry. Even as a child, when Kylie cried, a part of him went all weak and soft. “You’ll be okay,” he murmured finally, nettled that she was spending so much time grieving over a man who didn’t deserve her.

  He stepped back, determined not to hold her. He couldn’t allow her softness to blur the truth of what he was, and he’d keep his distance.

  Michael looked out to the whitecaps of the dark lake. It was rumored that a woman’s soul walked the lake, restless to be reunited with her lover. He traced the waves and by habit, briskly pushed away romantic notions and the haunting legend. Kylie was right; he gave little of himself to others. But he knew how to protect women when the law was inadequate. The women he and Rosa Demitri rescued didn’t deserve to be abused. They’d had their dreams torn apart by rough hands. Rosa had been his first rescue, and working with her ever since, he’d managed to change a few women’s lives. He liked the feeling that he was passing on Anna’s work, tending others. He brought the women and their children here to Freedom Valley where they could see how women should be respected and loved.

  “‘I’ll be okay,’ you say. What would you know about it? Besides the gossip says you’ve got a regular flow of women at your house and that you sport them all over town, never leaving them alone for a minute. It seems you’ve been the sperm donor for quite a few children. Boy, you must really have stamina.”

  “I like women,” Michael returned slowly, amused at Kylie’s nettled tone. He loved holding the babies he’d delivered with Anna. Their mothers had needed Anna’s healing hands and gentle midwifing. He loved holding the children close and snug against him, knowing that their new lives would be better.

  “How did you get that scar?” Kylie asked, touching the zagged white line on his jaw. Michael jerked his head away, fearing he would lean into her soft warm touch.

  “Knife. Working as a bouncer in a bar has disadvantages… Did you have men customers? I mean, did you massage them?” He didn’t want to think about Kylie’s hands on other men, and that he should be affected by the thought rankled.

  “Sure. For relaxation and sports injuries. I did lots of men… Mom said you went on to do high-priced security work.”

  “It paid the bills.” His silent partnership in Newton Security Inc. still paid the bills for the women he sheltered. His needs were simple, but the regular divide
nds paid for new clothes. It also provided education so they could provide for themselves and a start in a new life. One of their early cases, Maureen Sanders, had sorted out her life and gone in for computer training, and she had recently sent Rosa a small “payback” check. Rosa’s position as a substitute nurse for a national firm gave her insights into the case studies of abused women—information that she evaluated and forwarded to Michael. Not all women were candidates for rescue, but when protection and muscle was needed, Michael filled the job. He liked giving them a home in which to heal and not be afraid.

  “How did you get from security work to electrical work?”

  Michael skipped the electronics he’d set up for protecting clients—the alarms, sensors, cameras and listening devices. “Just fell into it. Anna was my first. I rewired her house. Your dad did a good job, but some old wiring and the fuse box needed replacing. It took three weeks, and I enjoyed being with her.”

  “Mom and Dad loved each other desperately. Her eyes lit up when she talked about him,” Kylie murmured.

  “She had soft, blue eyes like yours. Clear as the Montana sky, as if she knew the truth of life, free from shadows.” Michael remembered Anna’s love of her husband. Kylie deserved a man like that, solid, tender, loving. A man who could give her the traditions of Freedom Valley, and who would make a good father to the children she should have.

  Michael didn’t intend to have children—he could have inherited his father’s dark side. His instincts told him to stay away from Kylie and settle for what he’d rediscovered in Freedom Valley. He’d watch another man hold her in his arms at the traditional Sweetheart Dance. He’d watch another court her and he’d be glad for her happiness, as Anna Bennett’s daughter deserved. Michael inhaled the night air and Kylie’s disturbing scent. Uncomfortable with his prowling, undefinable emotions, he said, “I’m hungry. I’ll cook.”

  “Jerk. I’m dealing with a broken heart here and you’re thinking of food.”

  “Let it go, Kylie. Move on.” Michael’s uncustomary impatience startled him. He didn’t want to think of Kylie’s love of life imprisoned by the past—too many women hadn’t been able to move on, even with his and Rosa’s help. Those women had eventually gone back to the men who had abused them.

  “You think this is easy? Why are you here? Don’t you have some woman’s bed to warm?” Kylie asked, turning her frustration on him.

  He studied her flashing eyes, now the color of moonlit steel and admired the sight. Kylie was a fighter and she’d struggle back to what she wanted, to the future she should have.

  “I’ve done my share. I’m here because Anna was special. So are you.” He would rather have that than her tears, mourning a man who had hurt her. Michael eased a wind-tossed ringlet away from her face, his thumb caressing the fine warm skin of her cheek. It had been five years since he’d last had a woman, and he had the unshakable feeling that last time he’d been doing the mechanics. That hard cold stark realization was enough to make him recheck his life and his values. He’d been shocked to discover that he’d become old-fashioned and that lovemaking should mean more than bodies locking to feed a hunger.

  Maybe a little of Freedom Valley’s old-fashioned ideas about love and romance had washed off on him in the three years since he’d been back. He studied Kylie’s face, and knew that she deserved the best, the courting and the treasuring of a bride. He shrugged and moved away, shoving the lingering warmth on his hand into his pocket. Kylie’s soft heart wasn’t for the likes of him.

  “If you tell anyone about tonight and how I’m feeling, I’ll kill you,” Kylie promised adamantly, glaring up at him.

  “That might cost,” he returned slowly, and enjoyed her flash of anger.

  She punched him lightly in the chest and Michael caught her hand in his. It was small and delicate and yet strong. The impulse to bring it to his lips surged through him as their joined hands rested over his heart. He pasted a leer upon his face, just to remind her that he wasn’t a tender man. Kylie ripped her fist away, rubbing it with her other hand. “I made your life miserable when you were chasing every girl in the countryside and I can do it again.”

  “I promise never to make fun of your concoctions for removing freckles again. They’re rather sexy.” Michael couldn’t resist bringing her small fist up to his lips and kissing it. Kylie’s stunned expression was worth the punch to his stomach that followed. “So how do you like your eggs cooked?” he asked, as she walked toward his truck and he reluctantly admired the sway of her hips in the moonlight.

  She turned to him suddenly, looking very alone in the moonlight, her hair flowing around her. “I embroidered the pillowcases and tea towels for my hope chest. Mom wanted that. She wanted me to have all the values that she had, stuffing that chest for the home I’d have with my husband someday. I skipped all that, leaped right out there and hurt her. She was at our Justice of the Peace wedding in Kansas City, but I knew that she wanted me to be wearing white and coming down the aisle of Freedom’s church. My hope chest is still in Mom’s house and I can’t bear to open it. Miranda left hers, too.”

  “Take it easy on yourself, Kylie. Anna loved you.”

  “She loved you, too. Don’t try to deny that you loved her, either.”

  Michael thought of the woman he’d adored, the closest thing to a mother that he’d had while growing up. “Yes, I did love her. And that is why I’m taking you home now. She wouldn’t want you out here catching cold.”

  At four o’clock in the morning, Michael swung up on his horse, Jack. The gelding stomped and tossed his head, sensing Michael’s restless mood. Michael sat on Jack for a time, studying the home he’d rebuilt for security, to protect the women he championed. A simple ranch house design, it was his first real home. Anna had helped him design the privacy elements, a woman’s bathroom, a playroom and nursery for children that could be turned into a birthing room. A kindhearted doctor in a neighboring county would take care of the women when needed, managing birth certificate legalities. Thomas White quietly supported Anna’s midwifing and both had tutored Michael to care for the women.

  He hated the sound of women crying. The sounds were the first in his memory, his mother sobbing.

  The night wind slid through the autumn leaves, rattling them in the starry night. In Anna’s house, Kylie could be crying. She was just as sweet and prickly to him as ever, and now she was in pieces.

  A sharp order to Jack sent him racing across the field. Another order and Jack sailed over a small fence, racing into the wide Montana countryside. Bent low on the gelding’s back, Michael wanted to work off his dark mood before meeting Rosa two states away. Another restraining order hadn’t worked and Mary Ann Lucas was pregnant and needed help. Michael didn’t want his dark mood to complicate the discussion with Mary Ann’s brutal husband. He didn’t want mistakes that could ruin Mary Ann’s chances for a new life. With Rosa, Michael dealt with details, efficiently blocking the women’s past from their future.

  Years ago someone like Mary Ann’s husband had taken Michael’s older sister’s life, but there had been no one to protect Lily, not even the law. He’d made a vow upon discovering Lily’s senseless violent death, that he’d protect other women like her. With each woman he rescued, he felt he gave back a little of what no one had done for Lily.

  “Everyone knows that Michael Cusack is a Cull and that his service truck was parked outside your place for most of the night,” Karolina Jones stated firmly the next day in her small, tidy community library. She slammed the Date Due stamp down on a library card and filed it neatly. An anonymous donor had just supplied the library with a hefty contribution that couldn’t be traced. “If he weren’t a Cull, but a man with a good reputation hunting a wife, you’d be called up before the Women’s Council. He’d be obliged to go before them and ask to court you. They’d slap a Rules of Bride Courting handbook in his hands so fast, he wouldn’t have time to run.”

  “‘Fast Hands Michael’ didn’t get that reputation for nothin
g. He’s been labeled a Cull by the Women’s Council since he was thirteen, already hot to trot. Every girl rode on the back of his motorcycle—except me, of course, and Miranda and yourself.”

  Kylie smiled as she thought of her sister. Miranda had been elegantly nettled by Michael and his lack of interest in her as she was trying out her flirting skills. Sadie McGinnis, a member of the Women’s Council, had already called as Kylie was struggling out of bed—reminding her that Michael’s reputation was dark and that with the number of children visiting his house, he had the ability to impregnate the state of New York.

  However, Michael had stopped to fix Sadie’s front door light this morning and had informed her that the yard light at Anna’s was more of a problem than he’d suspected. And, Sadie knew that though divorcées sometimes leaped into the arms of waiting male predators, Kylie—as Anna’s daughter—was far too sensible. The Women’s Council had decided to dismiss the incident. However Michael’s Cull status remained. “Scandalous, just scandalous how many women he has visiting him in that house. No telling what goes on there. There are probably leopard skin throws and black satin on round beds in every room, push buttons to close the curtains and turn on seductive music. And the way they look at him, as if he were all they had in the world, their guardian,” Sadie had said.

  Kylie didn’t want to think about Michael, or the way his dark study of her had sent off clanging warning signals. “Mmm. I don’t want to talk about Michael. Are you still hunting information about LaRue and about the woman in Valentina Lake?”

  “LaRue’s the only one on the 1880s Founding Mother’s Council who isn’t really portrayed well. The woman haunting Valentina Lake is supposed to be nothing more than a legend. But once I find the right document, I’ll verify that legend. They haven’t named me ‘Super Snoop’ for nothing. I like mysteries and one of them is finding the person who is donating so much to the town. He paid the well digging company to go out to old Mr. Franks’s farm and drill a new well. Several other incidents have happened, like the Williams girl, Netta, received a notice from an orthodontist that she should set up an appointment for badly needed braces. The Freedmans couldn’t pay their medical bills and their mortgage was up—suddenly the bills were cleared. Weird things—but good things—are happening, and someone with money is behind them.”