Father And Child

by Rebecca York

  “No.”

  Of course she didn’t. There was too much she didn’t know. Things he had to tell her. Things he didn’t want to talk about. But he needed her cooperation. “Promise you’ll keep this between the two of us-for now, at least.”

  An eternity passed before she answered. “All right” Turning her palm up, she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “You’d better start the car and get us out of here-in case Sebastian decides to come back.”

  Her head snapped around and she looked frantically into the darkness, her gaze zeroing in on the evergreens that framed the garage door. He hated to frighten her, but he wasn’t going to be caught flat-footed again.

  The car bounced as Elizabeth drove over a small tree branch, and he couldn’t hold back a hoarse cry of pain.

  “Zeke, I’m sorry.”

  “Just go,” he managed.

  The wind was louder outside, and Elizabeth had to steer around a larger branch farther down the driveway. Some storm, he thought as she wove her way up the street, avoiding various obstructions. Had a bolt of lightning really broken the window? Or had the tempest given Sebastian the chance to set things up the way he wanted?

  He was too light-headed to sort though the possibilities. Instead, through half-closed eyes, he watched Elizabeth concentrate on driving a route that had turned into an obstacle course. Several blocks from the house, the street lights came on, and she visibly relaxed.

  “Make sure we’re not being followed,” he grated, angry with himself for not thinking of it sooner. It was more proof that his brain was only functioning on half its neurons. If that.

  Her hands whitened on the wheel as she glanced in the rearview mirror. “There’s a car in back of me.”

  “Turn up a side street. See if he follows.”

  She took the next turn, then another. “No.”

  “Good.”

  He felt his body start to shiver and switched his limited energy to keeping his teeth from chattering. But it was a losing battle. His clothes were soaked through.

  “If you won’t let me take you to the emergency room, where are we going?” she asked.

  With a rueful grimace he realized he hadn’t thought that far. “Your house?”

  “Okay,” she answered without missing a beat.

  The promise of a safe haven was enough for him to give up the fight to keep his eyes open. Maybe he even dozed. When the car stopped, he jerked awake.

  “Zeke?”

  “I’m fine,” he repeated. From the look in her eyes, he knew he wasn’t fooling either one of them. The sweat on his forehead had turned icy. Making a concerted effort not to wince, he pushed himself up and looked around, recognizing her driveway. Overhanging trees hid the car from the road, and a feathery hemlock, blocked the view of the front windows of the comfortable Parkville Victorian he’d visited several times.

  “I’m going to open the door,” Elizabeth advised him.

  Slipping out of the car, she climbed the back steps. By the time she turned around, he was standing up and walking slowly to the trunk of the car.

  “What are you doing?” she called out in alarm, as she hurried to his side.

  “I need my bag.” Too bad he hadn’t had it in the house, he thought.

  “Zeke—”

  “I’ve got to bring it in. Stuff I need.”

  “You shouldn’t be walking around,” she countered.

  “I feel better.”

  “Sure.”

  “We don’t have too many options, unless you’re plan ning to carry me.” He laughed hollowly as she glanced up at his six-foot frame, probably thanking God that he was still mobile.

  By the time she’d retrieved the duffel bag he’d packed that afternoon, he was already two thirds of the way up the steps, his hand gripping the banister to keep himself erect. The damn shivering was getting worse.

  “You’ve got to get out of those wet clothes,” she said as she set down her bag and purse so she could guide him to the second floor and into the bathroom. Like the rest of the house, the bathroom was old-fashioned and large. The black-and-white tile had been in place long enough to have come back in style.

  He sat down heavily on the closed cover of the commode, silently acknowledging that the short journey had taken more out of him than he cared to admit.

  He tried to shrug out of his coat, then winced as fire shot through his shoulder.

  “Let me,” Elizabeth offered. Slowly, she pulled his right arm out of the sleeve, then she switched to the injured side and eased the fabric down his left arm. With the jacket off, Zeke took a better look at the dark stain. It covered most of his shoulder now, but the bleeding had stopped.

  He watched her trying not to register alarm. Instead, she began to slip open the shirt buttons one by one. But he felt her fingers trembling. They were long and graceful, and he thought about the times he’d imagined her undressing him. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to pretend that she wasn’t bent on tending his wound. As he concentrated on her gentle touch, it was tempting to let his mind drift into a fantasy that featured the two of them in a nice, warm bed. But he couldn’t afford the luxury. He couldn’t afford to lose control tonight. Or any time, for that matter.

  THE OLD MAN’S FACE was lined beyond his years. But his mind was still sound. And focused.

  “Yasou, Walter. To your health,” he murmured, as he raised a glass of ouzo between leathery fingers and sipped the clear liquid, savoring the licorice flavor. During the twenty years he’d been in prison, the potent liquor had been just a memory. Like freedom.

  “Ah, how I wish you could be here with me, Walter,” he whispered as he walked slowly to the window of the handsome whitewashed villa he’d rented in the mountains. It was evening, and the setting sun painted the rock-strewn vista with soft pink and orange. The air was pure and clean. Symbols of his freedom. Yet freedom was hardly as sweet as he had imagined.

  The wardens had released him early for good behavior. But he’d come home to the ruins of his life. His land was gone to pay his debts, because there had been no way to tap the secret stash of money he’d hidden. His lovely Helen had died of shame. His sons had scorned his name and moved from the village of their birth. And he had come to this new place, not to start again, but to settle the unfinished business that had eaten at him for the past twenty years.

  He set down the small glass with a thunk on the windowsill. The stark reality of prison-and of his own dishonor-had turned the dreams of his youth to ashes. Once he had thought he’d be the richest man in his village, honored and respected among his peers. Now he had the wealth he’d hidden, but it brought him no joy and no respect. In prison, he’d had nothing left except the one goal that had sustained him during the long bitter years of confinement. He would find Walter Chambers, the man who had come from America with promises of wealth and power. Instead his friend Walter had led him down the path to dishonor. And he would make him pay for his treachery.

  But it hadn’t worked out the way he’d expected. The son of a whore had cheated him of his revenge, the way he’d cheated him of everything else. Walter was dead. His wife, too. Someone else might have given up, the old man conceded. But the ability to keep old animosities alive had always been a characteristic of his race, like when the city states of old had fought among themselves incessantly. They’d weakened each other, leaving the whole region ripe for conquest. His people had hated the invaders with every drop of blood in their veins. He was simply continuing old traditions on a personal scale.

  His dead enemy had a son named Zeke Chambers. He was still within reach. And he would have to pay for the sins of his father.

  From the courtyard, the woman softly called his name.

  “I’m in here,” he answered, schooling the blood lust out of his face. Moving to the bed, he lay down comfortably with his hands behind his head.

  “Would you like some company?” she asked, her hips swaying sensually as she approached.

  “Ye
s. I was waiting for you.” For a little while, she would ease his body-distract his mind. He smiled “Take off your clothes for me, the way I like to see you do it.”

  She nodded, and her hand went to the black scarf that modestly bound her hair in the traditional way. She was no longer young, yet the years had been kind to her.

  He hadn’t told her of his past disgrace. He let her go on believing he was the best thing that had ever happened to her. No matter how wrong she was.

  He was lucky to have made her beholden to him. For as long as he could, he would enjoy the solace she offered. Then he must get rid of her-painful as that would be.

  ELIZABETH SLOWLY EASED open the buttons of Zeke’s shirt, watching him. This wasn’t supposed to be a sensual experience, she reminded herself. Yet the smoldering look in his dark eyes told her he was reacting to the intimacy as much as she was. When she came to the waistband of his slacks, she hesitated, then gingerly pulled the shirttails out.

  She cleared her throat. “Lean forward a little.”

  He obeyed, his face pressing against her shoulder so that she felt his warm breath on her skin as she removed his shirt. When he was naked to the waist. she stepped back and looked at the blood-soaked handkerchief still covering the wound. It was enough to snap her back to reality.

  “Zeke, it could start to bleed again if I take it off. You need a doctor”

  “I’ve had some experience with this sort of thing.”

  “What sort?”

  “Knife wounds.”

  “Personal experience?”

  “An occupational hazard,” he tossed out.

  She had little time to take that in, before Zeke plowed on. “If he’d slashed an artery, we’d know it by now.”

  She was no battlefield nurse, but she conceded the assessment was probably true. Still, she noted that his steely tone contrasted with the tremor shaking his body.

  “I just need a little patching up, some rest, and antibiotics to make sure I don’t get an infection.” He paused for a moment. “And I’ve got to get warmed up. Do you have a blanket?”

  “Yes.” Darting out of the bathroom, she opened the door to the linen closet and snatched an old comforter off one of the top shelves. When she returned to the bathroom, she found Zeke fumbling with his belt buckle. But his hands were awkward from the tremors, and after several seconds he swayed dangerously.

  Elizabeth tossed the blanket over the side of the clawfooted tub and took over the task of undressing him. Her ability to remain detached lasted only a few seconds. If she had felt awkward removing his shirt, it was even worse lowering his zipper. Willing her hands not to betray her nervousness, she slipped them inside the waistband and pushed downward. But the feel of his thighs against her palms sent a ripple of sensation through her. They were rock hard and muscular. The right one was marred by a long slash that had healed to a thin line. His previous experience with knife wounds, she thought.

  She realized suddenly that she had been standing still for several seconds staring at his jockey shorts. The damp fab- ric had molded itself to his body, leaving almost nothing to her imagination. The masculine part of him was as impressive as the rest. He broke the spell by sliding his right foot out of the pant leg. Her cheeks turned rosy as she hastily reached for the comforter, which she managed to drape around his shoulders without making eye contact. It was a relief when he pulled the blanket closed.

  “Well, now for the fun part,” he muttered in a flat voice. “Too bad you can’t kiss it and make it better.”

  Her gaze rose to his face. His gray eyes were filled with an intensity that sent a shiver through her.

  “We could try it,” she heard herself say.

  Time seemed to stand still, until finally he bent slightly and brushed his lips against hers. It was the merest touch, yet she felt it in every cell of her body.

  “Don’t I wish,” he murmured softly.

  Her throat clenched. She wished, too.

  Before she could speak, he appeared to deliberately shake himself, and his voice changed from intimate and soft to no-nonsense and practical. “The handkerchief is probably stuck to the wound, so I’d suggest using a clean cloth dipped in boiling water—cooled, of course,” he added.

  “Um-hum.” She tried to match his tone.

  “Maybe I should lie down while you get ready.”

  “In my spare room.”

  Although she took his arm, he didn’t let himself lean on her as she ushered him down the hall to her guest room. Still, his face was drained of blood by the time he lay down, pulled the blanket around himself and closed his eyes. She thought he was going to sleep, until he said, “You should put on some dry clothes, too.”

  She’d been so focused on him that she’d forgotten about herself. Now she glanced down and realized with chagrin that the light summer dress she’d worn to dinner was plastered to her body. Worse, it had turned transparent, revealing everything underneath in vivid detail. Cold—it must be the cold—had turned her nipples to small, hard points, and the outline of her panties was clearly visible. Horrified, she started to make a quick exit, then heard him chuckle. Her gaze flew to his. He might be wounded and in pain, but a little grin played around his lips as he stared at her.

  “The view is good for morale. Too bad I’m temporarily out of commission.”

  “Zeke!” She sputtered, before turning on her heels.

  “Bring the duffel bag, too,” he called out. “There’s medicine in the first-aid kit.”

  Once she was in her own bedroom, she studied herself in the mirror as she unbuttoned the front placket of her dress. Her hair was a riot of dark brown curls around her face, her checks were flushed and her deep blue eyes shone with a brightness she hardly recognized. Methodically she yanked off the sodden dress and dropped it in a heap on the floor. Then she shucked her slip and panty hose and pulled on a T-shirt and shorts, before heading down the hall. When she looked in on Zeke, he appeared to be dozing, so she tiptoed down the stairs.

  Ten minutes later she was back with sterile gauze, adhesive tape, the duffel bag and a number of other supplies she thought she might need.

  Zeke’s eyes snapped open the moment Elizabeth walked into the room. He visibly relaxed when he saw it was her.

  “Expecting company?” she asked.

  “I hope not.”

  She’d only been kidding, but the tone of his voice made goose bumps rise along her arms. “I kept checking in the rearview mirror,” she protested. “I’m sure we weren’t followed. How would…Sebastian know where to find us?”

  “Sebastian is pretty resourceful.”

  “Well, he was surprised to find a woman attacking him with a poker, and he sure didn’t know who I was,” she countered. “So he can’t look up my address in the phone book.”

  “That’s a point in our favor.” Zeke cleared his throat. “Set the duffel bag over here.” With his good arm he gestured toward the floor beside the bed.

  She nodded and did as he asked, wondering why he wanted to keep the bag so close to him.

  When she glanced up, she found he’d slid the blanket from his shoulder and was peering at the blood-soaked handkerchief. “Let’s get it over with.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, as she adjusted the reading light beside the bed. To her relief, there was no more fresh blood on the handkerchief and no immediate redness of the surrounding skin. So far, no infection.

  Although she proceeded as gently as possible, she knew she was hurting him as she worked the fabric free from his flesh. Yet when she paused for a moment, he urged her to hurry.

  When she finally got a look at the wound, she found a slash that was long but not very deep.

  “I thought I deflected the blade,” Zeke said with satisfaction. “It could have been a lot worse.”

  “You still need stitches.”

  “Why don’t we try to get away with butterfly bandages?”

  “You’re more likely to have a scar,” she informed him. “And the cut could p
ull open.”

  “I heal fast.”

  She gave him an exasperated look, but sensed there was no use arguing. It was his funeral, she thought, as she let him tell her what to do, ending with a loose bandage.

  “Hand me the duffel bag,” he said. “And I’ll get some antibiotics.”

  “You lie still. I’ll get them.”

  “No.” He leaned over the side of the bed and made a grab for the bag.

  But she had already pulled open the zipper. On top of some neatly folded shirts, glinting in the light from her lamp, was an automatic pistol.

  Chapter Three

  Zeke watched Elizabeth staring at the gun.

  “Is it loaded?” she asked in a strained voice.

  “Yes.”

  She stood very still for several seconds, then sat down in the chair beside the bed and turned deliberately so that she was facing him. Gone was the feeling of intimacy that had been building between them since she’d brought him to her house. “Okay, Zeke, now that we’ve got you patched up, maybe you’d better fill me in. Were you expecting Sebastian-or someone like him?” she inquired, her voice raspy.

  He wasn’t exactly at the top of his form, and he wasn’t used to answering questions about his private business. He felt his jaw harden, and before he could think about what he was saying, old instincts took over. “You don’t have to marry me,” he snapped. “I’ll figure out a way to solve the problem myself. I just need a good night’s sleep, and I’ll clear out.”

  After a moment of silence, she murmured, “I gave you my word.”

  “Unfortunately, neither one of us knew what we were getting into.”

  She pinned him with a gaze that was both steady and unnerving. “So the moment I try to find out what I’m facing, you don’t want my help. Is that it?”

  The challenge in her eyes made him realize he was acting like a jerk. She’d been magnificent tonight. Hell, she’d probably saved his life when she’d attacked Sebastian. Then she’d taken him home, instead of dropping him on his ass at the nearest emergency room. Now she was asking him perfectly reasonable questions, and he was responding like a POW at an interrogation session. He suspected it had as much to do with his attraction to her as with his instinct to play his hand close to his chest. Over the past two years, he’d tried to fool himself into thinking that they could keep up a friendship, when what he really wanted was to take her to bed. Now he was worried about how to be her husband for a little while and not make love to her. He sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m being unreasonable, aren’t I?”