“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. Taking the apron from a nearby drawer, she put it on. “What would you like to eat this morning?”
“Just some eggs, ham and toast.”
He never added a please. Everything was an order. “Coming right up,” she said, going to get the black iron skillet. Kira often thought of Shay, growing up with someone like him. Despite it, his daughter was a kind person. Like Shay, Kira had to work at not allowing Ray’s dark, angry mood to infect her. His bad attitude was like getting caught in sticky slime, with no way out. “You have a ten a.m. appointment with your physical therapist today,” she reminded him.
“I know.”
As she picked up the heavy skillet from the drawer beneath the stove, she dropped it. The skillet clanged sharply on the oak floor.
“You stupid girl!” Ray shouted, jerking at the sudden, unexpected noise.
Heart banging away in her throat, Kira switched hands. Her two fingers on her right hand had been at fault. There had been some nerve damage from the bullet wound in her right upper arm. Why hadn’t she thought before reaching for the skillet? Any heavy item could slip because her fingers lacked the strength to hold on to it. “Sorry,” she said, quickly picking it up.
“You can’t do anything right! What if there was food in it? You’d have splattered it all over the floor. Made a damn mess! You’re useless!”
Cringing inwardly, Kira said nothing. She hurried to the sink and rinsed the skillet, then patted it dry. Ray continued to growl and snarl curses beneath his breath. She could feel his glare drilling two holes into her back, like bullets shattering her unshielded body. Adrenaline had shot into her system and she was combating that, trying to focus and control her anxiety.
“One day you’re gonna drop my plate of food. I know you will.”
Her mouth tightened as she hurried to the stove. Grabbing the carton of eggs and ham from the fridge, she tried to ignore his abuse. It was the same all the time.
“You’re just like that damned daughter of mine. She can’t do anything right either.”
Ignore him. Don’t respond. Kira had learned quickly not to try to defend herself. It only made Crawford angrier and more verbally abusive toward her.
“Shaylene has no right running my ranch! I can do a helluva better job than she is! And then she picks losers like all of you vets, like you’re something special. She feels sorry for you. None of you could make it out in the world on your own.” He snorted and growled, “You’re all pathetic and weak. Losers.”
Anger nipped at her. Kira almost turned around to set the record straight with Crawford. He had no idea how each of the men and women who worked there were heroes in their own right. Brave people who had sacrificed so much for their country. And yet she knew there was a part of the US populace that saw anyone in the military uniform as a warmonger, a killer. That hurt. It hurt deep. She quickly got the ham frying in the skillet and worked on setting the table.
“Are you always so damned clumsy?” he snapped.
Kira set the plate in front of him, along with the flatware. She said nothing, avoiding his glare. As she laid down the fork, he grabbed her left hand, squeezing it hard. Kira jerked it out of his strong, painful grip. Crawford was weak on the right but not the left. Her bruised wrist smarted where she’d yanked it out of his grasp.
“Don’t touch me!”
Crawford studied her. “You’re weak, girl.”
She stood there, breathing roughly, rubbing her wrist. Her skin was aching where his fingers had dug in. “Don’t touch me again, Mr. Crawford.” Her voice was low, rattling and off key. Kira held his dark brown eyes and saw his nearly lipless mouth curve faintly with a smile.
“Women like you need to be beat and brought into submission. I’ve had horses like you. You think you’re so good, so smart, but the truth of it is, you’re stupid and clumsy. I’d take a two-by-four to the horse to teach him a lesson.”
Instantly, her anger amped up, with her adrenaline pouring through her. She saw the enjoyment in his eyes at scaring her. It sickened Kira. “Mr. Crawford, let’s get clear on this. You will never touch me again unless I give you permission first.”
His mouth curved deeply. “You’re just a weak, clumsy girl. I’ll do whatever I damn well want. I don’t want you taking care of me. I want you out of my hair. And if you don’t like me touching you, tough.”
Shaken, Kira backed away. Her throat ached with tension. Crawford was going to grab her again. Working at the stove, moving the ham to his plate, she put two eggs in next. Her hands shook. Her heart wouldn’t settle down. God, he was awful. Should she tell someone what he’d just done? Or try to handle it herself? What if Shay found out? Was she used to her father physically grabbing her? Hurting her? Her wrist was throbbing nonstop. Her reaction, to jerk out of his grasp, had been instinctive. What was he planning to do if she hadn’t jerked away? That bothered Kira even more.
Quickly, she placed the toast on the side of the plate and carried it over to him with both hands. Wary, she watched his hands, which were resting on the table. There was a gleam in his eyes that reminded Kira of a hunter waiting for his quarry to get just a little closer so he could make another grab for her arm. Her pulse went up as she slid the plate in front of him.
He made no move to pin her again.
Heart pounding unrelentingly in her chest, Kira turned and walked to the kitchen, relief sizzling through her. Crawford’s attack had been unexpected. Shaken, she busied herself around the house, picking up the dirty clothes he’d dropped on the floor. Kira was just getting used to him, to his ways, but his actions had startled and scared her.
She started a load of wash, made his bed and straightened up the living room. He dropped magazines and newspapers on the floor. He was messy and she wanted to tell him to start cleaning up after himself. But that wouldn’t be a good idea. By the time Kira was finished, Crawford had eaten. Picking up the empty plate and dirty flatware, she placed them in the dishwasher.
“I’ll be back at ten a.m. for your appointment in town, Mr. Crawford.”
He grunted and paid no attention to her.
* * *
Garret was glad to see Kira when she entered the house after feeding Crawford his evening meal. He’d just gotten home himself, the darkness of autumn complete. In the kitchen, preparing their dinner, he glanced to his left as Kira entered. She looked pale. Warning prickles stood up on the back of his neck. He saw Kira was upset, but he said nothing as she hung up her parka on the wall peg. “How’d your day go?” he asked. Tonight he was making a mandarin orange salad with baked perch.
“Oh, fine . . . fine . . .” she murmured, turning and smiling at him. “You?”
Shrugging, he said, “Got the parts for the backhoe and got it up and running. That’s always good news.” He picked up the fresh perch he’d bought in town. Placing the filets in a cornmeal-and-spice mixture, he then put them on a baking sheet. “You?”
“Fine,” she answered. “I’ll be back in a moment to set the table.”
“No hurry,” he said. Frowning, Garret watched her leave the kitchen. Something was bothering her. What was it? Instinctively, he knew it had to do with Crawford. She’d had to take him into town for his physical therapy at ten a.m. He was finding that on those days, she was stressed more than usual. Probably because she had to spend additional time around the mean bastard.
Releasing a frustrated sigh, Garret’s conscience railed at him. Something wasn’t right. But Kira wasn’t talking. And the only way to get to her, to get her to trust him enough to let down and tell him, was to open up. Hell.
All day Garret had chewed relentlessly on just that. Opening up. Kira was the only person in the world he’d ever wanted to entrust himself to, but he was scared. Damned scared. Not of her but of himself. It wasn’t something he’d ever done before.
Garret remembered Afghanistan, and how people had interacted with Kira. She was the only woman on the team and the women of the village ha
d worshipped her. They trusted her, relied heavily upon her for medical help, for extra food, for clothes or shoes for their children. They always went to her instead of any man on the A team. It was partly Muslim culture in that women could never approach an unknown man. It was taboo. Still, Kira’s openness and warmth drew these beleaguered women like bees to a flower. And there was no question Kira was a flower in the desert of these desperate women’s lives.
As Garret fixed dinner, he knew he had to open up more to Kira. Would it really be all that bad? No. But the power of the grief he’d suppressed unnerved him. It was like a dark, stalking shadow that, if unleashed, could swamp him with emotion he was afraid he couldn’t control. And then he’d embarrass himself in front of Kira. Shame rolled through him. Would she stop seeing him as the stalwart warrior-knight he’d always secretly considered himself? Stop desiring him because in her eyes, a man shouldn’t ever cry or lose it emotionally in front of her? That scared him even worse.
Kira entered the kitchen.
Garret turned, seeing she’d changed into a soft white angora sweater and loose-fitting, gray gym pants. She was wearing a pair of old elkskin moccasins over her stocking feet. There was a bit of pink to her cheeks and she looked less stressed. “How did it go today with the old man?” he asked, placing the fish in the oven.
“Okay,” she said, pulling down plates from a cupboard near him. “So the backhoe is ready for action again?”
Garret was finding that if he got too close to something Kira wanted to hide, she automatically shifted the focus to something else. It was distraction at its finest, and he would find himself admiring her abilities had he not been personally involved with her.
“Yeah,” he said, finishing up the salad. He added a half cup of orange juice to the European greens. “Reese told me another ranch in the valley is hiring us for a weeklong trench dig. The ranch is building a new ditch through a pasture that will connect up to the Snake River. They want us to dig it.”
“Lucky you,” she said, walking to the table. “Will you be gone that whole week?”
“Yes. I won’t be trying to drive fifty miles one way every night. Too much snow and ice this time of year, and besides all that, I’ll be exhausted digging in half-frozen earth. October, from what Shay told me, can be as bad as December if we get a lot of hard freezes now. The soil will be a lot harder to dig.”
She placed the red linen napkins next to the red ceramic plates. “I’ll miss you.”
He grinned and gave her a glance. “Oh, come on. The truth is you’ll miss my cooking.” He saw her flash him a warm smile as she placed the flatware next to the plates. A sense of peace came over him when Kira was near. It was her presence that made him feel that way, and he felt like a hoarder every time it happened.
“Well,” she hedged with a soft laugh, “that’s true, too, but I like your company more, Garret. I won’t have anyone to talk to at night. Or sit with me when I watch a TV program.”
“Hmmm; sounds like I’ve infected you.”
Laughing, Kira said, “You’re not a virus, you know.” She came to the kitchen counter as he handed her the bowl of salad. Their fingers touched as he transferred it to her.
Garret saw something in Kira’s gray eyes. They had been dark when she’d arrived in Wind River Valley. The way her lips curved sent heat stabbing down through him. “What? So I’ve spoiled you instead?” he teased her.
The bowl slipped to one side as her left hand didn’t quite keep it stable.
Garret quickly slid his hands around the bowl. “Okay?” he asked, seeing how suddenly stricken she looked. She’d told him earlier that the last two fingers on her right hand were sometimes weak. He kept his large hands around hers to steady the bowl.
“Y-yes . . . thanks,” Kira apologized a little breathlessly.
He saw starkness in her eyes now. Fear. Her hands were cool beneath his warmer ones. “It’s okay, I’ve got you . . .” He saw instant relief come into her expression, the fear easing.
For a split second Garret wanted to do more, but he cautioned himself. The act of touching Kira settled her. That was a helluva realization. “Are those fingers acting up?”
She pulled away from his hands. “It seems the cold makes them less cooperative,” she admitted unhappily, taking the salad to the table.
Frowning, Garret heard something in her voice. What was it? Damn, he really needed to forge a closer link with her. “What’s the prognosis on them?”
“It’s nerve damage. Docs said they didn’t know if, over time, the nerve would repair itself and I’d get partial or full use of them again.”
“It’s been a year.”
“Yes, but nerves grow back very slowly,” Kira said, defeat in her tone. “So often I forget those two fingers don’t work well at times and I pick up things and drop them. It’s maddening.”
“Well,” Garret said, catching her worried glance, “we saved our bowl of salad, so relax. Okay?” Because she was hyper in comparison to yesterday. Something had gone on at Crawford’s and damned if he could figure it out. “Come here.”
She hesitated at the sink. “What?”
“I want to give you a hug. Is that okay?”
“Oh . . .” and she looked away for a moment.
“I’m not going to squeeze you to death,” he teased, opening his arms. Would she come? Garret saw real consternation in her expression. “You look like you could use a hug,” he finally admitted, his voice dropping gruffly. He wiggled his fingers in a gesture for her to come toward him. She did. There was a change in her eyes, moisture collecting in them, and he felt his heart wrench as he saw anguish for a moment.
Kira wrapped her slender arms around him, pressing her head against his massive chest. Garret groaned silently, his arms sliding gently around her, hugging her lightly. Nothing sensual. Nothing predatory. Just a hug. And damned if she didn’t stay! He felt the soft press of her breasts against his chest, the way she burrowed her face into him, her arms tight around his waist, as if she were clinging to him like a leaf in a storm.
The sensations were hot, scalding, and without thinking, he leaned over, pressing a kiss to her hair. Inhaling her scent, the way she fit against his hard body, sent him into a spiraling ache of need. He wanted to kiss her, search and explore that mouth of hers, those full lips, taste her . . .
Kira tightened and moved closer, their hips nearly touching. What if she felt his erection? Garret panicked inwardly. It was too soon for Kira to realize just how much she affected him. And right now he wanted to give to her, not take from her. She could completely misread his intentions. It could break the trust he was trying to build with her. Not wanting to, but knowing he must, Garret gave her a quick squeeze and released her.
“There,” he murmured, smiling down at her. “Now, don’t you feel better?” Her cheeks were flushed. There was arousal in her eyes when she lifted her lashes to look up at him. Was he honestly reading Kira right? She wanted him?
His brain and heart were at odds with each other. He loved her. He wanted her. All of her. Any way he could get her. How could he admit his feelings for her so she would believe him? Garret didn’t know and reluctantly allowed his hands to slide off her small but so-capable shoulders.
Kira managed to give him a lopsided smile. “I do feel better. Thanks . . .”
“Come on,” Garret urged, “the perch is about ready to eat. Why don’t you pour us some water?”
Kira jerkily moved her fingers through her hair. “Right . . . water . . .”
She was shaken, Garret realized. But this time he knew it was because of him. She liked his embrace. Maybe way too much; the arousal was still banked in those dove-gray eyes of hers. Kira didn’t realize how much he could ferret out of her expressions sometimes. Hope flared through his chest. His erection throbbed. Good thing Levi’s zippers hid most everything.
For the next five minutes silence reigned in the warmth of the kitchen. The scent of perch covered with cornmeal and Moroccan spices
filled the air. It was a simple meal, Garret knew, but it would be tasty. He covertly watched Kira out of the corner of his eye as he transferred the fish from the baking dish to a platter on the counter. He liked the flush on her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. Just one hug. One. Think what could happen if she allowed him to move in to kiss her. His whole body flamed over that tempting thought.
Garret had to take solace in the fact that Kira had allowed him to embrace her. It was a huge step forward in their intimacy with each other. Another step in trusting him. He didn’t know what had possessed him, urging Kira into his arms, but he sensed that was what she’d needed: a hug. To be in a safe harbor. Garret wanted to always be exactly that for Kira: a safe place where she could come. The first step had been taken. He felt delirious with joy. She had trusted him enough. Just enough.
As he placed the fish between them on the table, he pulled out her chair so she could sit down. “Have you forgotten about that surprise I promised you tonight?” he teased.
Kira smiled a little as she picked up the linen napkin and spread it across her lap. “No. But knowing you, Fleming, you’ll spring it on me. Probably scare the bejesus out of me.”
He grimaced. “Hey, when did I ever play mean tricks on you, Kira? Never.”
Chuckling, Kira put one of the perch on her plate. “The pouch full of goat turds? Remember?”
“Oh . . . okay . . . well, that’s fair. Yeah. One time, Kira, in our three years together I did play a dirty trick on you.”
Scooping some salad onto her plate, she met his wounded expression. “That’s true. It was just one time, but I still remember it to this day. It only takes once, you know,” she said dryly, holding his laughter-filled gaze.
“I did some nice things for you,” Garret pointed out, filling his plate with the rest of the perch. “You liked crossword puzzles, so I went through a scrounger who could get anything and got you some magazines. Remember that?” he demanded, reaching for the salad bowl.
“Indeed I do. And that was very sweet of you.”
He preened. “See? I’m not the bad guy you make me out to be.”
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