So he was going to be her reluctant knight, was he? She rather liked the sound of that. But she didn’t want him to think she was some helpless little female who needed looking after. It’d been a very long time since she’d been helpless.
“I can take care of myself.”
He was beginning to believe that. Still, she was under his roof and his responsibility. “I’ll come along anyway.”
She smiled at him. “I’d like that.”
She might, he mused, but the problem was, he wasn’t too sure if he would.
Or worse, that he would.
Chapter Eight
Shayne didn’t like the way Jean Luc was looking at Sydney. As if she were a rack of freshly roasted lamb and he was a timber wolf just coming off a fourteen-day hunger strike. Hell, if he were being honest with himself, Shayne’d have to say that he didn’t particularly like the way any of the men crowding into the seventy-five-year-old saloon were looking at her.
One of the McGregor twins bumped into Shayne as he tried to forge his way into the thick of things. Into the huge misshapen circle of men weaving in and around Sydney. Every damn one of them wanted to get close to her. Like seals nudging each other out of the way for the best sunning place on the rock.
She was the only woman in the place. Not an unusual fact on its own, but a source of growing irritation for him right now.
Sydney looked as though she were enjoying all this shallow attention she was receiving. She wasn’t flirting the way he’d seen Ben’s Lila do, but then, the last time he’d seen the woman who’d made his brother lose what little sense he had, it’d been several years ago. She’d been just a slip of a girl then, testing her powers, seeing how far they’d take her.
This was no mere girl at the opposite end of the Salty. Sydney was a woman full-blown and ripe. So ripe, she could make a grown man ache just by being there.
Shayne’s fingers lightened around the handle of his mug. Sydney had no need to test any of her powers. He figured she knew what they were.
A jukebox, stocked with songs from a decade or two ago, was vainly trying to pierce the din of raised voices and laughter within the wide, wood-paneled building that had been painstakingly remodeled to resemble Juneau’s Red Dog Saloon.
It hardly scratched the surface.
It seemed odd to Shayne, with all the noise that was ricocheting about in the Salty, that he could hear her laughter above everything else. It wasn’t loud, or high, just haunting.
Like the scent she wore.
Like the look in her eyes.
He raised the mug to his lips, then put it down again, forgetting to drink as he watched Nils O’Hara whisper something in Sydney’s ear. She laughed in response, the sound piercing him. Something stirred inside Shayne. He hadn’t a clue as to what. The closest he could place it was the way it felt when he’d once gotten himself lost in the deserted mine for more than two days. His stomach was so empty and pinched so bad it felt as if it’d been stapled to his back.
It felt kind of like that. Only worse.
He frowned into his drink. It was none of his business, of course, what she did or didn’t do. None at all. Still, he didn’t have to like it.
And he didn’t.
“Remind me to thank your brother the next time I see him.” Shayne looked up to find Ike across from him at the bar.
Ike was wiping at an imaginary stain. Ike was always massaging the wood, polishing it when there was a lull in business, pampering it like an obsequious lover in between pouring drinks when business was booming. He loved this old place and it showed.
Leaning one elbow on the bar, Shayne looked down at the amber liquid in his glass mug. The overhead light grazed it, dancing along the surface like a fairy trying to pick her way over tiny stones in a rushing brook. He stared at it for a long moment before looking up again.
“What do you want to thank him for?” It took an effort not to growl the question. He was having a hell of a time holding on to his temper tonight, something that usually gave him no trouble at all.
Ike laughed. “Last time I remember business being this good, a blizzard trapped a quarter of the mill workers in here. They drank for the duration. Almost drank me dry.” The till had overflowed that time, Ike recalled fondly. “When the weather finally let up, they were feeling no pain.” The look on his face was almost sentimental as he remembered. “Jean Luc and I had to drive them all home, but hell, it was worth it. That’s when I got the money to buy the jukebox and the satellite dish.”
Half the time the television set had as much snow on the screen as they had outside. Shayne looked at Ike’s grinning face. “Yeah, well, glad you’re so happy.”
Jean Luc was busy tending the other end of the bar. Ike figured he could pick up the overflow for a few minutes. He stopped rubbing the counter and leaned forward to peer at Shayne’s face, growing serious.
“What’s eating at you? Times tough without Ben?”
The last thing Shayne wanted to do was discuss his frame of mind. He didn’t believe in baring his soul, not even to someone who’d known him for years. “You might say that.”
“Heard from him, yet?”
“No, not yet.”
Not that he expected to. It’d been less than a week since Ben and Lila had taken off. Ben was undoubtedly high on his newly achieved status as husband. Or fool. More than likely, knowing Ben, he’d be like that for some time to come. Once he came down, Ben might think to call him, but Shayne wasn’t about to hold his breath until that happened.
“Look at it this way, you get to keep what he left behind.” With a lift of a brow, he indicated where Sydney was standing with a nod of his head.
Ike had survived all that Alaska had to throw at a man, partially because he’d always been able to see the bright side of everything. His sense of hope was also what made him perfect for his chosen vocation.
Shayne looked at him sharply. “She’s a woman, Ike, not a shirt.”
Ike looked thoughtfully over toward where Sydney was holding court. He watched the way she held herself, the way she moved when she turned to look at someone. Made a man start thinking about giving up the high life and settling down.
“Sure wouldn’t mind keeping her,” Ike murmured, appreciation throbbing in his voice. And then he saw the look in Shayne’s eyes. It was the kind of look that made a man step out of range. He’d seen that kind of look before. It had possession written all over it. Well, well, who would have thought it? “You’re going to have to make up your mind about this, Shayne.”
Shayne’s expression darkened. What the hell was Ike going on about now? “About what?”
Ike took no heed of the warning note in his friend’s voice. He’d never been afraid to talk to Shayne, not even when Shayne’s wife had picked up and left him. Everyone else in town had avoided the subject with Shayne because they were afraid of having their heads bitten off.
Ike looked Shayne in the eye. “Either you don’t want her, or you do.”
What the hell made Ike think he had the slightest interest in the woman? “You’ve been sampling too much of your stock, Ike. I already said—”
“I know what you said,” Ike stated flatly. “How you look when you’re saying it is a whole different matter.” Because Shayne didn’t immediately jump down his throat, Ike went a little further. “I think she makes you remember that you’re a flesh-and-blood man and not just the local witch doctor.”
That was so absurd, Shayne didn’t know where to begin to refute Ike’s observation. Exasperated, Shayne waved a disgusted hand at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ike’s broad shoulders rumbled beneath his shirt as they rose and fell, not in surrender but in momentary retreat. “Have it your way.” He looked at Shayne’s mug, the contents of which had hardly changed since he’d first poured it. “Are you going to drink that or just pray over it like you’ve been doing for the past two hours?”
From the corner of his eye, Shayne noticed a
man three stools over raise his hand, trying to get Ike’s attention. Shayne pointed toward him. “Go peddle your spirits, Ike. Someone’s buying. I’m doing fine just the way I am.”
Shayne could have sworn he heard Ike mumble, “Your opinion,” as he moved away to see what the man would have. Shayne wasn’t about to ask Ike to repeat what he’d said. Ike just might tell him, and he was in no mood for more lectures.
Eyeing the contents of his mug, he finally raised it to his lips and took a long swallow. The beer tasted particularly bitter tonight.
He glanced toward Sydney again. There was a fresh circle of lechers around her.
Or maybe that was just the taste in his mouth and not the beer, he thought. No reason for the latter.
It didn’t change anything, though.
Someone jostled against him, this time trying to get to the bathroom. Shayne was surprised there wasn’t a huge line snaking its way out of the tiny accommodation. Ike had recently opened up a fresh keg, the third one tonight.
Ike was right, he mused. There was an inordinate amount of people in here. Far more than he ever remembered seeing. Hades’s population hovered around five hundred souls at any given time. Right now, it felt as if two-thirds of them had shoehorned their way inside the 24 by 48 building.
The press of bodies was getting to be more than he could put up with. It was decidedly hot in here and growing more so. He’d removed his parka over an hour ago but that was no longer good enough. He needed to get some air, even if it was freezing outside. It’d be an improvement, if only for a few minutes.
Making up his mind, Shayne plucked his parka from one of the hooks that lined the back wall and began the slow journey toward the front door. He felt like a salmon trying to make it upstream. A salmon encountering a lot of other salmon swimming in the opposite direction.
He hadn’t been out of her line of vision all evening, no matter who had been in front of her or what they’d been saying. Sydney thought of Shayne as her anchor. She saw him now, making his way to the door, despite the fact that she was carrying on a seven-way conversation with the Riley brothers and their cousins, a collection of men, mill workers all, ranging from the age of eighteen to seventy-one.
Shayne was leaving. The thought telegraphed itself through her brain. Was he going home without her? She wouldn’t put it past him. Shayne was too accustomed to keeping his own counsel to probably even remember that he’d brought her here. There was no way she was about to be abandoned again. Twice in one week was twice too many.
“Excuse me,” she murmured to the man directly in her path. She tried to move around him, but it wasn’t as easy as she would have liked.
The youngest Riley, who fancied himself more of a ladies’ man, was reluctant to let her get away. “Are you leaving?”
“Don’t go yet,” someone said from behind her. “It’s still early.”
She was already halfway to the door. Glancing over her shoulder, amusement played over her generous mouth. “How can you tell?”
The question was met with more than slightly inebriated laughter. The sound, swelling and lusty, followed her as the crowd obligingly parted the way it hadn’t for Shayne.
The blast of cold air that met her as she walked out the front door of the Salty instantly stung her cheeks. It was like stepping into a cold shower, only far worse. The warm cocoon that had surrounded her only a moment ago cracked wide open and fell off.
Shivering, she pulled her parka closer to her, overlapping the two ends. In her haste to get out, she hadn’t bothered to zip it up. Worse, she realized belatedly, she must have dropped her gloves inside somewhere. They weren’t in her pockets.
Shayne turned when he heard the volley of voices crescendo then ebb as the door opened and closed. He raised a brow, surprised that she’d followed him.
“Had enough fawning?”
The choice of words confused her. “‘Fawning’?”
“Fawning,” he repeated. When she continued to look at him as if he were making things up, he elaborated. “Falling all over themselves to get close to you. Have you had enough of it?”
He looked angry. She had no doubt that somehow in his mind, it had to be her fault. Now what had she done?
“‘Enough’? I wasn’t aware that I was trying to get my fill.” She shivered as the wind found its way under her parka. Why did he have to take such a dour view of things? He certainly wasn’t a thing like his brother But then, Ben was gone and Shayne was here. And he’d offered her a place to stay and a job. That counted for something. Her expression softened. “They were just being friendly.”
Friendly, hell, Shayne muttered to himself. Was that what it was called these days? He laughed shortly. “Any friendlier and you’d all be bedding down together for the night.”
She stiffened and raised her chin, her eyes narrowing. She’d just about had her fill of the Doctors Kerrigan, present and absent. This one refused to react to kindness. “Is there something you’d like to say to me in a straightforward manner, Shayne?”
He looked away. By his estimation, he’d already said too much. “No.”
Sydney wasn’t about to drop the subject that readily. “I forgot, you don’t like to say too much at all. But that doesn’t stop you from thinking it, does it?”
His expression was mild when he looked at her again, his words carefully measured. Like the calculated steps involved in assembling a bomb. “Last time I noticed, a man was still entitled to his own thoughts.”
She’d been having a good time, a harmless good time. She didn’t think that was too much to ask, given what she’d been put through by the thoughtless actions of his brother. What was it that Shayne wanted from her? Why was he condemning her?
“Maybe, but when they’re written all over your face, then I’d like to hear them.”
His eyes met hers. There was fire in them. A fire so intense, Shayne felt as if he could warm himself in them. Burn himself. “If they’re all over my face then you already know what they are.”
The man was insufferable and infuriating. “Did you take a vow of semisilence or something?” She could feel her temper flaring. “You are the most difficult man to get a straight answer out of that I’ve ever met.”
Her eyes were beautiful, Shayne thought. Even in the dim light coming from the saloon. He could feel himself becoming hypnotized. He struggled to keep from going under.
“I give very straight answers, Sydney. And I don’t lie. Be very sure you want to hear what I have to say before you ask.”
He was putting her on notice. She wrapped her arms around herself, tucking her hands against her body. Her fingers were growing numb. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”
Shayne didn’t want it to sound personal. Personal carried implications with it that he wasn’t ready to deal with. “I have nothing against you.”
That, Sydney realized, left only one conclusion to be drawn. “Then it’s the gender you don’t care for?”
“I have no feelings for the ‘gender’ one way or another.” At least, that was the way he was trying to keep it. But dealing with this particular member of the opposite sex threw a serious crimp into his resolve. “Unlike those men in there—” he nodded toward the building behind her “—I’m not in the market for anything—no night of hot love, no lifetime of companionship. I just don’t like to see people make fools of themselves, that’s all.”
She didn’t want to take that as an insult, but what else could he mean? And where did he get off, judging her? Sydney’s eyes narrowed. “Are you referring to me or to the men?”
The heat that had assaulted him inside the saloon and had driven him out, seeking relief, had completely dissipated. If he was cold, Shayne thought, she had to be colder. She was standing with her parka unzipped and her hands had no gloves on them. Fool woman must have left her brains parked in there with those fawning jackasses. She was going to get sick and then he’d have one more patient to add to his roster. Just what he wanted.
&nbs
p; “Both.” Frowning a silent reprimand, Shayne stepped toward her, took the two ends of her parka and hooked one into the other. With a snap of his wrist, he moved the zipper all the way up. “Where are your gloves?”
He was talking to her as if she was younger than Sara. It killed her to admit that she didn’t know. “I seem to have lost them.”
Shaking his head, he stripped off his gloves and held them out to her. “Here.”
They were far too big for her. “I can’t take your gloves.”
She’d hardly finished the protest before he was tugging the gloves on her hands himself. “If you’re going to work for me, I don’t want you starting out by taking sick time.”
Sydney shook her head, amused and oddly disappointed at the same time. This could have been a very tender scene if he hadn’t sounded like an irate employer. Still, her mouth curved at the humor of it. “You have a way of ruining a moment, you know that?”
Women definitely came from another planet. He hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about. “We weren’t having a ‘moment.’”
But even as he said the words, that strange restlessness returned, a little stronger, a little more disorienting. Instead of moving to his car, he found himself just standing there, looking at her. Looking into her eyes.
She trapped him there, he realized too late. No matter how much he struggled, he couldn’t seem to free himself. He just kept falling. Deeper. Losing his train of thought.
Losing himself.
“A word of advice,” he said, striving to think rationally. “Stop wearing that scent. Bears are attracted to perfume and cologne. Draws them out.”
“I’m not wearing perfume. Or cologne.”
Then that scent, he groaned, had to be her.
The restlessness gave way to an impulse that spun out of nowhere and refused to retreat. Doggedly, it ensnared him, taking hold and urging him on.
He hadn’t had enough ale to inebriate a hamster, Shayne reasoned, so he couldn’t blame his next move on what he’d consumed.
Wife in the Mail Page 10