Shattered Blue: A Romantic Thriller

by Jane Taylor Starwood

  Stop it!

  She was doing it again, tying herself up in knots for no good reason. She was jittery, on edge, because of those stupid calls and that flashback in the mountains, and her show coming up so quickly, not to mention what was happening, or not happening, with Matt.

  Nerves, that’s all it was. Just nerves. Well, she was stronger than that. She could conquer a silly case of nerves.

  Whatever the reason, the message was gone, and she had no way of proving it had ever existed, no way of proving to herself, or anyone else, that she hadn’t imagined she heard that whisper in the soft breathing.

  All right, fine. Now suck it up and get on with your life.

  She poured herself a glass of water, then went out on the east patio for a quick workout of jumping jacks and fast running in place, followed by twenty-five pushups and her stretching routine. Not nearly as satisfying as a long run, but it would have to do today.

  Within half an hour she was in her studio, evaluating her completed weavings and planning sizes, materials and designs for the new ones. Then she got out the wool for the warp and began wrapping it over and under the top and bottom branches she’d fixed in place on four frame looms of different sizes. Wrapping the warp to the proper tension on the uneven branches was an exacting, time-consuming process that required cutting notches in the wood and then sanding the notches smooth, but she didn’t mind. It was a big part of what made her weavings unique.

  The two largest looms stood on the floor, the smaller two on a long work table. When she was doing more than one weaving at a time, which was nearly always, Shane liked to roam from loom to loom, letting the final designs take shape in her mind as she wove and studied, tweaked and adjusted.

  When she finally looked up at the clock, it was well past noon and her stomach was growling. Lunch time. She stepped back to study her progress and stretch the kinks out of her neck and shoulders. On the spur of the moment, she decided to make a picnic and take it up Matt’s hill. She needed a break; no doubt he did, too. And they both had to eat.

  Besides, she wanted to see him. She needed to know if the sparks that had flown between them last night were strong enough to survive in the daylight.

  The more she thought about last night, the less real it seemed. Things like that—the instant pull, the sudden heat—happened only in those steamy romance novels, didn’t they? And her life was sure as hell no romance.

  So, she’d make a nice lunch and go up the hill to see what was what with Matthew Brennan.

  As she assembled sandwiches and washed apples, she tried to steel herself for the likelihood that, on second thought, Matt had decided she was way more trouble than she was worth. If she’d scared him off, she wanted to find out now, before she let herself truly believe it could be different this time, that she could be different with him.

  Not for her the slow death of kind words and spared feelings. If there was going to be pain, she wanted it over and done with, like ripping off a bandage in one quick, clean jerk.

  It was hot up on the roof. Sweat dripped into Matt’s eyes and trickled down his back. He was hungry and thirsty, and all morning he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Shane and that punch in the heart when she first kissed him.

  Then there were those other memories: the firm muscles of her ass and thighs when he pressed up behind her at the sink; the scent of her hair; the silken skin at the nape of her neck; the way she laughed, full out, nothing held back. If she was like that in bed—

  Shit!

  He put his foot wrong and barely caught himself before he slipped off the beam. He had to get his mind back on his work before he broke his fool neck.

  Then he saw her climbing his hill, carrying a picnic basket. She looked up and waved, and he flashed on an image of her twenty or thirty years from now, walking toward him, waving that same wave, smiling that same smile. He didn’t know what to do with the quiet joy rising in him.

  Matt swallowed hard and climbed down the ladder. He was about to go and meet her, then he realized how he must smell. Not like a rose garden. Before Shane reached the top of the hill, Matt ducked inside his tent and grabbed a clean T-shirt, then walked briskly to the well head behind the house.

  He stripped off his sweaty shirt, turned on the spigot, ducked his head under the cold gush, splashed it over his chest and back, his armpits, gritting his teeth but enjoying the bracing shock as his skin tightened into gooseflesh. A cold dousing was exactly what he needed right now.

  Shane stood where she’d halted when Matt emerged from his tent and walked away from her. Walked? He’d practically run in the other direction. Was it going to be that simple, that crude? Just walk away? Well, she’d wanted it fast, hadn’t she? But if she’d thought fast meant painless, her aching heart was telling her something quite different right now.

  She was still trying to decide how to react when he came around the side of the house, his dark, curly hair drenched and dripping. He was pulling on a clean white T-shirt as he walked. When his head poked through it, he grinned.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he said. “Sorry. I was pretty rank.”

  Shane shook her head at her own foolishness and said the first thing that came to her. “You’re all wet.” Oh, the cleverness.

  “On a day like this, I’ll be dry in no time.” He shook his head like a dog after a bath, flicking cold water on her. “What’s in the basket?” he asked.

  “What?” She couldn’t tear her gaze away from that damp T-shirt clinging to his torso.

  Matt touched her arm and she shivered.

  “Shane, the basket?” he said. “Please tell me it’s lunch. I’m starving.”

  “Basket?” She had to get a grip on herself. She took a deep breath and smiled what she hoped was an innocent smile.

  “Sandwiches,” she said. “I hope you like Virginia ham.”

  “I crave Virginia ham.” He glanced around the building site. “I’m afraid I don’t have much furniture yet.”

  She shrugged. “It’s a picnic. I know you have a blanket.”

  “Because you snooped in my tent.”

  “Which I confessed, and for which I was forgiven.”

  Matt grinned wickedly. “Ah, but I haven’t given you your penance yet.”

  Shane felt the heat rising in her cheeks. The look on Matt’s face told her he’d noticed her discomfort and decided to let her off the hook. He glanced away and raked his fingers through his wet hair.

  “I’ll get the blanket,” he said, “and we can dine in the dining room.”

  When he came out he took the basket and led Shane inside the shell of his house. She looked around at the rising walls, the wooden frame stacked nearly shoulder-high with bales of straw, the gaps for doors and windows, the outline of a roof overhead, the framing for interior walls.

  Matt spread the blanket on the plywood subflooring and Shane knelt and began unpacking the basket. “Are you doing all this by yourself?” she asked him.

  “Aside from a little help with the framing and having the well drilled, I’ve done the rest so far,” he said, “Starting next week I’m bringing in contractors for the roof, electrical and plumbing. I’ll give you the tour after lunch.”

  Shane handed him a fat ham sandwich on whole-grain bread with Dijon mustard and a thick slice of tomato. Matt unwrapped the waxed paper, took a huge bite and grinned around it.

  “Iced tea, apple juice or water?” Shane asked. “I didn’t think you’d want beer while you’re working.”

  “You thought right. I’ll take the water. This is good. Really good.”

  Shane smiled her thanks, uncapped the water and handed it to him, then unwrapped her own sandwich. She watched him while she took a modest bite. He was devouring his sandwich with the unconscious joy of a small boy coming in from a hard day’s play.

  Come to think of it, it seemed to her, in the brief time she’d known him, that he did pretty much everything with that same unconscious joy. She envied Matt’s ability to stay in the moment,
to milk it for all it was worth. If only she could recapture that for herself. Maybe, with Matt at her side, she could.

  She felt tears behind her eyes and blinked them away before he had a chance to notice.

  EIGHTEEN

  Jordan lowered his binoculars. He couldn’t see them inside the half-finished house, but he knew what they were doing in there on that blanket. Oh, yes, he knew. He’d known what Shannon was after the minute he saw her walking up that hill, swinging her hips in that provocative way of hers, carrying a picnic basket as a transparent excuse.

  And Mr. Blue, strutting around half naked, baring his muscular torso in a crass display of crude sexuality, Marlon Brando in a filthy undershirt, bellowing “Stel-la!” from the sidewalk. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d knocked Shannon over the head and hauled her inside his straw cave by her hair. But he had to admit it surprised him that his innocent little stepsister had grown up into a common slut.

  Well, sluts had their uses, and she would have hers. In a way, it gave him more to look forward to. Tyler had spoiled his carefully laid plan to take Shannon’s virginity, and the sweet, innocent child she’d once been was long gone. On the plus side, when his chance came again, there would be no need to hold back. He was free to punish her in any way he chose, and she would have no right to complain. No right at all.

  NINETEEN

  By the time she and Matt finished lunch, Shane was feeling guilty about leaving the studio for so long.

  “I really have to get back to my weaving if I’m going to be ready for the show,” she said as she packed away sandwich wrappings and empty bottles.

  Matt glanced up from folding the blanket. “Show?”

  Shane looked at him in surprise. “Didn’t I tell you? Beth is giving me a solo exhibit the last two weeks of June.”

  “That’s great, Shane. Why do you look so worried?”

  “Because it’s the last two weeks of June. I have to finish at least six more pieces by the fifteenth.”

  “That sounds like a lot.”

  “It is a lot.”

  “Then you’d better get your pretty little ass down the hill and back to work.”

  “I really wanted the tour, Matt,” she said.

  “Later. The house isn’t going anywhere and neither am I.”

  “The opening reception is next Friday. Will you come?”

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said. “Why don’t we make it our first official date?”

  “Our first date? That means I asked you out first.”

  “You got a problem with that, MacKinnon?”

  She laughed. “No, not at all.”

  “I’ll have to do some shopping,” he said. His eyes were filled with amusement. “I left my tux in L.A.”

  “It’s not exactly a formal occasion, Matt.”

  “Damn. I look hot in a tux.”

  Shane pictured that and grinned. “I’ll bet you do.”

  “What are you wearing?” he asked her with a playful leer. “Something cut low and clinging? I’m only asking so I’ll know what to buy.”

  She smiled and ducked her head. “Most people will probably come in jeans, but I’m going to dress up, just for fun and because I seldom get the chance. If you want shopping advice, get a solid-color dress shirt, black trousers and black shoes. You don’t need to get a jacket or tie, unless you really want to. Silver City isn’t Manhattan, or even L.A. Besides, your shopping choices are limited.”

  “How limited?”

  “You’ve got Walmart, and then you’ve got Walmart.”

  Matt laughed. “Walmart, here I come.”

  She kissed his cheek and he pulled her into a quick hug, kissed the top of her head, then let her go. Shane snagged the picnic basket and started walking away.

  “Wait a minute,” Matt said.

  She turned back, her head cocked. “What?”

  “White socks, right?”

  Laughing, Shane set the basket on the ground, ran back to him, grabbed him by the ears and pulled his head down for a smacking kiss on the lips.

  When she let him go, he grinned. “What was that for?”

  “Reminding me how to laugh,” she said, then retrieved the basket and continued on her way.

  Watching her go, his arms felt empty. “Hey,” he called. “One more thing.”

  She stopped, looked at him over her shoulder.

  “How about inviting a homeless guy to supper?”

  She smiled brightly. “Seven,” she said, and waggled her fingers in the air as she disappeared over the curve of the hill.

  Matt couldn’t stop smiling. She was falling for him, he’d seen it in her eyes. Maybe she was still too scared to admit it to herself, but she was definitely falling for him.

  Life was good. Hell, life was friggin’ glorious. He whistled as he went back to work.

  As Shane walked down the hill toward home, she knew she had her answer. Last night had been real after all. Amazingly, astoundingly real. The question was, would it last? And what would happen next between them? But she didn’t have time to think about those things; she had too much work to do.

  At six o’clock, reasonably satisfied with her progress, she left the studio to feed the animals and cage the cats. It wouldn’t do to put that task off and forget again. She recalled the coyote she thought she’d glimpsed last night and shivered.

  Then, out of nowhere, she remembered Matt in that wet T-shirt and shivered with a different emotion. She seemed to have developed a habit of forgetting everything else whenever he was within a mile of her.

  Back in the kitchen, with half an hour before he was due, she checked the fridge and cupboards for something to throw together for a quick supper. Then she assembled eggs, ham, onions and potatoes, got out two cast-iron skillets and a cutting board, tied on an apron and started dicing potatoes for home fries.

  She hoped Matt didn’t mind having breakfast for supper. Somehow she didn’t think he would. He was so easy-going. Too easy-going? Was there going to be a catch somewhere down the line? Before her mind had time to go down that path, she heard a quick knock at the kitchen door and Matt poked his head in. She hadn’t heard his truck, so he must have hiked over.

  At the sight of him, a rush of joy started in her toes and traveled to the top of her head. Her body wanted to break into a happy dance, but she held herself still. It was so new, so strange to her, this delight in the mere presence of someone. Someone she hardly knew, and yet felt as if she’d known forever. Was this really love?

  This afternoon she had allowed herself to believe it might be. But maybe she wanted love so badly that she was seeing it where it didn’t really exist. In any case, as much as she might want it, she knew she wasn’t ready to go there. Not when her body still betrayed her at every turn. She sliced into an onion as an excuse for the tears that filled her eyes. She hoped Jordan Ripley was suffering the worst torments of hell.

  All at once Matt was beside her, gently taking the knife from her hand.

  “Here, let me do that,” he said.

  Shane wiped away her tears with the backs of her hands and got him an apron. When he ducked his head to let her slide the strap around his neck, he planted a quick kiss on her lips, then turned to let her tie the strings at his waist. That swift kiss made her feel cherished and, momentarily at least, banished the ugly memories into the mists of time.

  Shane took another knife from the block and started dicing ham. “I hope you don’t mind eggs for supper,” she said.

  “I love eggs for supper.”

  They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, until Matt stopped in mid-slice and turned to her.

  “Hey, I figured out how you can go see your grandmother.”

  “You did?” She slid the potatoes from the cutting board into the hot oil, spreading them over the bottom of the skillet with a spatula while they sizzled.

  “Here’s the plan: I’ll drive you to Phoenix, park you in a motel, then drive to your
grandmother’s house by myself. But she doesn’t know me, so I can’t just walk up, knock on her door and tell her I’m taking her to see you.”

  “No, you can’t do that. You’d scare her half to death.”

  “So, we make a video.”

  “We do what?”

  “Make a video, on my smartphone. You do know what a smartphone is.”

  She nodded. “Beth tried to get me to buy one.”

  “It wouldn’t be much use out here. No signal.”

  “That’s what I told her. Go on with the plan.”

  “Right. We make a video of us together. Smiling, happy, kissing, whatever. Maybe not kissing. Anyway, the idea is, you tell her I’m your friend and it’s safe to come with me to the motel.”

  Shane stared at him. “That’s brilliant, Matt,” she said. “You’re brilliant.”

  “The potatoes are burning,” he replied.

  Shane whipped back to the stove just in time to rescue the home fries from a blackened death. “I hope you like them crisp,” she said.

  “Crisp is perfect.”

  “I guess I’d better concentrate on this meal before I burn the house down.”

  When they sat down at the table a few minutes later, Shane said, “Do you have a date in mind?”

  “Yeah, and that’s the catch,” he said, forking up a big bite of eggs. “This is really good.”

  “Thanks. What’s the catch?”

  “It’ll have to be this weekend.”

  She put her fork down. “This weekend?”

  “I know you’ve got a lot to do for your show, but my construction schedule is already set, with contractors coming in one after the other over the next couple of weeks. If I pull one domino out, the whole thing falls apart. That means if we don’t do it this weekend, I can’t go until July. Do you want to wait that long?”

  Shane thought about it. Now that she had a chance to see Gram, she couldn’t stand to wait any longer than necessary. “No,” she said, “let’s go this weekend. I’ll just have to work longer days.”