Enemy Waters

by Justine Davis

  He had mowed carefully around Nell’s cabin, not wanting to damage the flower beds by the door. Roger had said his green thumb didn’t extend to flowers, so Nell must take care of these herself. And well, he thought.

  And there he was, back wondering about the woman who had landed him here. And that little matter of trust. How did you get someone to trust you when it seemed they were on the verge of panic every other moment? He didn’t usually have a problem with that. People tended to trust him, like they had his father. Women, especially. His mother’s best friend, a wise woman he admired, had once told him it was because he was good-looking, but not so breath-stealing that they assumed he was a conceited jerk. He’d appreciated the feminine take on it. And women did seem to like him, and think he was a nice guy. He was a nice guy, he told himself. There was no reason for Nell to distrust him, specifically. The knowledge that she did—and every instinct he had screamed it—gnawed at him.

  He hadn’t set out to charm anyone so resistant to him since snooty Serena next door when he was thirteen. He wasn’t sure what it said about him that that, too, had been for a less than honest reason; a stupid, adolescent reason, a bet that he could get her to invite him on her family ski trip.

  He’d lost that bet, but only because he’d quit on it. Crazily, he’d come to actually like Serena, especially once he’d realized she wasn’t stuck up at all, but simply shy.

  And amazingly, she’d come to like him, even after he’d told her the truth. He would have liked to have avoided that, but his mother had somehow found out about the bet and was so furious she’d made him do it. His mother was a formidable woman when angry, and not doing as she said wasn’t an option. Besides, he knew his father would back her up, he always did.

  And then a year later, his world had fallen apart, and Serena had been there for him in a way that had pounded home the lesson about never assuming that outward appearances were the whole truth.

  This would be a finer dance, because he had orders to do nothing but keep track of her. But her brother wasn’t even on his way yet, so he might as well do something to make it more interesting. After all, his natural curiosity was why he was in this business.

  His mouth quirked. He was piling up quite a stack of reasons to do what he wanted to do. They were beginning to sound a bit phony even in his head. He might as well admit it all boiled down to one thing: the woman intrigued him. He wanted to know the whys behind what she’d done, taking off like that, changing her looks so drastically.

  Maybe she was just crazy with grief, or maybe not. His gut was telling him there was more to it, and he wanted to know what. And if he had to charm her to find out, that was what he’d do.

  Chapter 9

  Tanya, she of the old life, had been used to attentive men. Not that she believed any of them. While she knew her looks perhaps made it less painful for them, she also knew too well it was her husband they were really after, and thought currying favor with her would get them to him.

  Little did they know, she thought, as she inserted the contact lenses into eyes that were protesting after another night of too little sleep. Jeremy thought about as much of her opinion as he thought of anyone’s other than his own.

  But she wasn’t in that life any longer. She wasn’t that woman any longer. A glance in any mirror reminded her of that.

  And a look in the mirror now showed her a very tired woman. The reflection she saw told her that brown or blue, her eyes were showing the signs of this string of restless nights. And the contacts weren’t helping much. She hated wearing them, but they had seemed like a good idea at the time, and stopping now would require more explanation than she wanted to give to anyone.

  She heard a distant whistle, a light, cheerful, meandering sort of tune. Cooper was up. It was odd, she’d never known anyone who whistled, really whistled, before. But he did, cornily, while he worked. Sort of absently, as if he weren’t really thinking about it, as if it was just something he did while he was concentrating on something else.

  If he ran true to the pattern established for the last week, he would show up at her door momentarily, ready to walk to work with her. She’d been beyond startled the first time.

  “Coffee,” he’d said. “Need coffee. Badly. You’re going. I’m going.”

  Something about the short, choppy sentences, punctuated by a serious yawn, had made her smile as she accepted the unassailable logic.

  “We could ride my bike,” he’d suggested hopefully as they passed the motorcycle now parked on one side of Roger’s driveway.

  She’d cringed at the idea then, and shook her head. But this morning, she might just welcome the lift; she truly was tired. And since it was his fault…

  It was a measure, she supposed, of how far she’d retreated into a protective shell that when he did knock on her door, it took everything she had to suggest it.

  “That ride to work you mentioned,” she began after the half-mumbled greetings that had become the norm; he was clearly not a morning person. Which made her wonder why he bothered to get up this early when he didn’t have to. It wasn’t like boat bums punched a clock.

  But her words made him brighten. “You want a ride? Really?”

  By the time they walked over to where his bike was parked, she was having second thoughts. She stood there looking at the shiny, black machine and wondered if she’d lost her mind. Walking would be better. It would wake her up. It would get her blood moving. It would—

  “You’ve never ridden a motorcycle before, have you?”

  “That obvious, huh?” she muttered.

  “Pretty much, yeah,” he said.

  She realized she’d been eyeing the thing somewhat balefully. She tried for a smile, but was sure it was somewhat weak.

  “It’ll be all right,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Give it a chance. You may love it. And if you hate it, well, you never have to do it again.”

  She looked at him curiously. “Do you love it? Or is it just the only way to have wheels when you’re on land?”

  “Can’t afford a car in every port,” he quipped. “But I do love it. Especially on a good, open road, one with some curves and tilt.”

  The image that conjured again almost made her change her mind. But before she could speak he reached out and grabbed the helmet that was strapped to the bike, undid it and handed it to her.

  “What about you?” she asked, taking it reluctantly.

  “Passengers always get the headgear,” he explained. And then he grinned at her. “Besides, it’s a good excuse to skip it. Nothing like riding free.”

  “Isn’t there a law?” Against that grin, she added to herself. It could cause skipped heartbeats all over the place.

  “I like living dangerously now and then,” he said.

  She knew a thing or two about living dangerously, and didn’t see the appeal at all. But she felt committed now. Unhappily.

  “Two miles,” he said. “And if it freaks you out too much, I’ll stop and you can get off.”

  That seemed fair enough. What could happen in two short miles?

  Moments later, as she strapped on the helmet, she was again second-guessing her decision. And remembered wistfully the days when she hadn’t worried about such things, when everything hadn’t seemed fraught with peril.

  You could always go back to the days when all your decisions were made for you, she told herself sharply.

  The mental chiding worked. At least, until she was astride the bike behind Cooper and she realized just how close they were going to be. And that he was bigger, stronger, than she’d realized.

  Calm down, she told herself. After all, what could happen on a motorcycle? It wasn’t like he could take his hands off the controls and grab her.

  But she also hadn’t realized she was going to have to hang on to…him. But this was a small bike, not one of those big ones with a separate, cushy backseat. And she was pressed against him like a lover, because she had no choice.

  His matter-of-fac
t tone as he instructed her to keep her feet on the pegs he lowered, and to lean when he did, helped somehow. He put her hands decorously on his waist, with no urging to hold tight or jokes about the side benefits of a female passenger.

  Idiot, she told herself. Why would he? You’re nothing special, and that’s the way you like it. You—

  The roar of the engine beneath her as he fired up the bike made her heart jump, cutting off her thought. And as they started to move, all thought seemed impossible.

  They started out slow, as befitted Roger’s quiet street and the early hour. But once they were on the bigger, two-lane street, he picked it up a little. Instinctively her grip on him tightened, she couldn’t help it.

  It was the Monroes’ red barn that did it. In a car, it was just sort of there, but now it leaped out at her, all of it, vivid and bright without the interference of metal or glass.

  She drew in a deep breath to steady herself. Caught the scent of trees, of earth, with a touch of the approaching fall flavoring it all. Something she savored on her walks, but never would have noticed in a car.

  Okay, so maybe she understood a bit of the appeal.

  Then they hit the main highway, and he opened it up. Or at least, it seemed like it to her. And she realized with a jolt of fear that they’d never discussed how she could tell him if she freaked and wanted off. It wasn’t like normal conversation was possible.

  She tightened her grip, barely managed not to close her eyes. But after a moment she began to realize it wasn’t so bad. And she’d thought she’d get cold in the chill morning air, but warmth was beginning to rise from the bike beneath her. And Cooper himself served as the perfect windbreak, and if she drew herself in behind his broad shoulders, she wasn’t really cold at all. That realization distracted her enough to think about the sounds, the smells, the sense of speed and the hyperawareness of the road itself. And the odd sensation that was building in her, filling her.

  On the next curve she leaned as instructed without even thinking about it; she had the rhythm of it now. And she thought of what he’d said, about a road with curves. She could see that now, the appeal of the constant shift and adjustment as you took each turn. You didn’t just sit there and steer, your whole body was involved.

  When he pulled to a halt in front of the café, much sooner than she’d expected, she was almost disappointed. Energy was surging through her, even more than after her usual two-mile walk here.

  It took her a few moments to realize it was exhilaration she was feeling. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this kind of heart-pounding awareness except in fear. It was more than a little shock to her, and she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it.

  She fumbled with the strap-heavy helmet for a minute with fingers that were oddly numb. Strangely, Cooper just sat there on the bike, not even looking at her, for a long, silent moment. Then at last he dismounted, and reached out to help undo the unfamiliar fastening. He lifted the helmet off her head. Took one look at her face and grinned. That damned grin again.

  “I knew you’d love it.”

  She didn’t bother to deny what was probably showing on her face. “I’m not sure love is the right word, but it certainly is…invigorating.”

  “C’mon, you loved it.”

  “Maybe. A little.”

  She flexed her fingers, trying to get them to move normally again. He set the helmet down on the seat of the bike. Then he turned back. Reached out and took her hands. The contact startled her. Her gaze shot to his face, and she fought the urge to jerk away.

  “Next time, relax a little.”

  “Relax?” She wasn’t sure there’d be a next time, or that she’d ever really relax again in her life. “I didn’t realize it was supposed to be relaxing.”

  “No,” he agreed, “but it would be easier on me.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “I think I have your fingerprints dug into my ribs.”

  She flushed, backed up a half step. His hands, still on hers, tightened and kept her from going farther. Panic bubbled up inside her. It was silly, he was still grinning at her, he clearly had no ill intent, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. You did great.”

  She stopped herself from screaming at him to let her go. Barely. And then he did, of his own accord. He busied himself fastening the helmet to the bike. And that quickly, her panic ebbed. She had to stop this, she thought, judging every man by one. With an effort, she smiled at this one.

  “Thanks for the ride,” she said. “It truly was invigorating.”

  “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he drawled. “We should take a good, long run, where you can really get the feel of it. I’d say up to Olympic National Park, but we’d need a bigger bike, with two of us. I’ll have to check out some local roads.”

  She nearly told him not to bother, it wasn’t going to happen, but she was too stunned at the thought of actually doing such a thing, just for enjoyment, to get a word out. And then Riley was there, the keys to the café in hand. The wiry cook eyed her, Cooper and the motorcycle, letting off metallic noises as it cooled in the morning air.

  “Go start the coffee, will you, Nell?” Riley said after he unlocked the door.

  “Of course.” She was glad for the chance to escape into work. She looked at Cooper. “Thanks again for the ride,” she said politely, and darted inside to what suddenly seemed like a refuge.

  Cooper started after her, but stopped when a strong hand gripped his arm. Surprised, he turned to look at the man standing there.

  “That girl’s been through a hell of a lot,” Riley said, and there was no mistaking the undertone of warning in his voice. And something about the man’s steady gaze, and the surprising strength of his grip, told Cooper he’d be wise to heed that warning.

  “I know,” he said, not trying to pull away. “I only intend to make that better. I don’t want to see her hurt anymore.”

  Absolute truth, Cooper thought. It had been the truth since he’d found her. But somehow it seemed a bit more intense this morning. More personal.

  After a moment of intense scrutiny, Riley finally nodded. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Cooper knew he meant it. Just as Roger meant it. There was something about this woman that inspired a certain protectiveness. Not that she was weak, or helpless, it was just that aura of pain, that look of fear that flashed through her eyes now and then. Any man, any real man, would feel the urge to ease that.

  He wished Tristan Jones would get here and end her hell.

  Or did he? Sure, he wanted her hell over, but when it was, his job was done. And he’d be moving on.

  Or would he?

  Cooper Grant shook his head as he followed Riley into the café, wondering what rabbit hole his mind had dived into.

  Chapter 10

  He’d been a little surprised when she said yes. He’d expected her to beg off, but after some gentle encouragement from Roger, she’d agreed. Maybe she’d had enough of spending her one day off holed up in her little house or helping Roger in his garden.

  Or maybe it was the promise that Roger would fix a nice lunch for them to take on the proposed ride through the countryside. If Cooper had to guess, he’d go for the latter; Roger’s meals were nothing to take lightly. He’d been a guest at two of them now, and he’d never eaten better. He didn’t even give a silent apology to his mother; she knew her cooking was good and hearty, but plain, as his father had liked it.

  But he was more surprised at himself. He’d made some routine preparations yesterday, after she’d said she’d come. He’d risked that she would, as had been the pattern every day, never leave the café once she’d arrived. He’d fastened on the saddlebags, which would carry that lunch, a small blanket and rain gear just in case the predictions of a nice day were wrong. He’d scouted the planned route, along the western edge of the Hood Canal. Then he’d taken the hour’s ride to the nearest motorcycle shop and picked up a helmet for h
er, a smaller one that would fit better and be more comfortable. It was a bit extravagant for one day’s ride, but he told himself her brother was in essence paying for it. Besides, she’d been worried about his lack of headgear. And that made him feel…he wasn’t sure how that made him feel.

  What he was sure of was that somewhere along the line he’d morphed into a guy excited about a date with a girl he really liked. Crazy as it was, fake as the date was, it was true; he was as revved up as he could remember being in a long time. And he did like her. There was something about her quiet ways that got to him, and that made the rare moments when she would smile or laugh as precious as sun breaks on a gloomy February day. He found he had to remind himself of the glamorous blonde in the photograph. And when he did, he wondered if he would like her nearly as much. Tanya Brown was some golden ideal, but Nell Parker was real, genuine and down-to-earth in a way he wasn’t sure golden girls like the one in that picture ever were.

  And he was lying to her every minute.

  Cooper shook his head at himself as he pulled on his boots, then the heavy leather jacket he rode in. This was a job, nothing more. And he was just doing that job as instructed. After all, her brother had the right to give her this good news himself. And after nearly eight months, he guessed another week didn’t matter so much. But Cooper found himself hoping he could at least see the moment when she realized the nightmare was not only over but had never really been true in the first place.

  And surely, once she saw her beloved big bro, she’d forgive him for lying to her.

  He laughed inwardly as he headed up toward the little yellow-and-white house. Like he was going to matter to her one bit in the joy of that moment. She’d barely remember he existed. But still, he couldn’t help but want to see her, for once, free of that haunted look, feel of the wariness and that edge of tension that always seemed to hum around her.