Lucas seemed to be trying really hard to make Cassie feel at home, too. Why was it so difficult to accept his hospitality—or his nearness?
A heavy weariness overcame her. She should go back inside the house and prepare for bed, but she was not ready to engage in further conversation with Lucas. Seeing Milagrosa curled up asleep in the straw, she went to her and lay down beside her, burying her fingers in the cria’s soft fur.
Safe. The animal’s soft breathing comforted Cassie. If only she could stay out here tonight rather than sleep in Lucas’s bed.
Had he even changed the sheets this morning? Would his scent be on the pillow? He smelled of leather and male, a once-pleasant scent reminding her of her homeland, but she no longer wanted to be reminded of that place.
And yet she missed her parents and Eduardo and his family so much. “I envy you, Millie.” Now Lucas had her calling the cria by the nickname he had given her. “You still have your mamá. I miss mine so much.” Cassie heard the latch on the stall door and quickly dashed the tears from her eyes. She batted them quickly, hoping to remove any wetness that might be a sign of weakness.
Never let a man sense your weakness.
“Everything okay?”
Lucas’s caring voice made her feel even more homesick, this time for her cabin on the mountain. She struggled to her knees, keeping her back toward him. “Milagrosa is feeling a little homesick tonight.”
“Know the feeling. One trick I used to help keep homesickness at bay was to take something familiar from my old house to bed with me at night.”
Curiosity won out, and she turned toward him. “What kinds of things?”
“All kinds of things. Might be a rock I’d found in the yard. One of those tiny classmate portraits of a friend from picture day at my last school. The string I had left from flying a favorite kite before it wound up in a telephone line.”
His childhood sounded intensely lonely. “My childhood was so different. I grew up in the Andean village where my ancestors lived for centuries.” She closed her eyes and pictured her house with Mamá working in the garden, tending to her medicinal plants. She’d been the healer everyone in the village came to when sick or needing spiritual guidance when the church did not have the answers.
There had been many times Cassie had wanted to consult with her mamá about something these past five years since her return to the States following the rape. But whenever she tried, Mamá usually wound up crying and begging her to come home. She could not do that. Never again.
“Sure you don’t miss it?”
Cassie opened her eyes and stared at Lucas. “No. I miss my family, but not the culture of that place.” He did not say anything, and Cassie felt the need to put more distance between them. “If you will excuse me, I am going to bed early.” She paused and glanced away before adding, “You are a good man, Lucas Denton.”
The words surprised her, but she believed in speaking the truth. Hopefully, he would not interpret her words in the wrong way.
She started toward the stall door where Lucas stood and breathed a sigh of relief when he opened it and stood back to let her pass. He seemed to sense how to keep from frightening her. He never invaded her personal space unless he had to, like today when they had to ride Picasso together to reach safety.
Cassie did not want to think about the feelings that horseback ride had stirred up, though. In some ways, Lucas was even more dangerous than the strangers she could simply ignore. He had found ways to connect with her soul that no man had done since before Pedro had shattered her trust.
For that reason, Lucas frightened her, even though she knew he did so without malice or intention to trick her into something she did not want.
She did not want to feel afraid ever again.
* * *
Luke watched Cassie practically run toward the house—or, more likely, run away from him. He sighed. Would he ever break down her barriers?
Speaking of which, O’Keeffe hadn’t been worked today because of the emergency SAR mission. Luke sauntered down the barn past the stalls and out into the corral. He’d had this rescue since February, but a short stay in the barn had convinced Luke she was more content out in the corral. She didn’t like being confined in tight places. She might just have been the most abused of all his horses.
Luke knew one thing she enjoyed, though. He picked up the worn football, set it on the ground, and then kicked it in O’Keeffe’s direction, careful not to let it hit her. She needed to engage with the ball under her own terms. The mane covering her withers shook as she prepared to make her move. At the same moment, he edged closer. Her front hoof struck at the ball and sent it rolling back toward Luke.
“That’s my good girl.”
The bay paint tolerated him more each time he worked with her. He continued to play with her for half an hour, coming closer to the horse with each kick of the ball. Sometimes she retreated backward a few steps, but not as far as she had when he started working with her late this winter. Discovering her love of football sure had surprised him.
Hell, with her, he liked playing football again. He would never have expected that. Good thing the former owners of this place had left the ball behind in the barn.
When O’Keeffe didn’t kick the ball back this last time, he reached into his pocket. “All done for the night, girl? How about a treat?”
She eyed the carrots lying in his flat, outstretched hand. He waited for her to snatch them, but O’Keeffe whinnied her displeasure with him for forcing her to make contact with him. She continued to eye the treats with longing. Eventually, she stepped forward, closing the gap a bit more, and Luke took a step forward as well. They sized each other up again, and O’Keeffe took another tiny step in his direction.
He’d reached her previous limit. Would she take one more step? Luke waited. Patience was the key. He could outwait her, but wouldn’t coddle her by giving her the treat without some work on her part.
Come on, girl. Come to ol’ Luke.
She snorted her frustration, and just when he thought perhaps they were finished for the evening, she took one last step, closer to him than she ever had been to this point. Score! She gobbled up the three baby carrots in his flattened palm, and Luke scooped up the football and carried it back to the barn in the crook of his arm.
His mind flashed back to a Friday night game with his high-school team where he’d been the quarterback. He was heading off the field after a rare interception.
“You should have evaluated the coverage better.”
“Sorry, Dad. I’ll do better next time.”
“You’ll have to. Recruiters from UT could show up at any game. Hell, maybe they were in the stands tonight. They’ll move on if they see you playing like that.”
“Yes, sir.” He didn’t know what he could promise other than to do better, so he left it at that. Maybe he’d go over to Mr. Proctor’s workshop tonight and work on that cabinet. He always found the troubles of the day drifted away when he was working on a project there.
Luke shook off the memory and wandered back inside the barn. As he approached Picasso’s stall, he heard the horse whinny his greeting. He opened the stall door and crept inside, careful not to approach him too quickly, but Pic came over to him willingly. Luke wrapped his arms around the horse’s neck and pressed his head against his shoulder, absorbing his energy and spirit and filling the void left by that memory.
“Love you, boy.”
He snorted a reply of sorts, and Luke smiled as if Pic had returned the affection. The moment of sadness passed. Luke released the horse and pulled the remaining carrots from his pocket, feeding the whole bunch to him even though he knew Picasso hadn’t come to him only for a treat. This one had come to love him unconditionally, of that Luke was even more certain after what Cassie had told him earlier.
“We rescued each other, didn’t we, Pic?”
The bond he had with this horse was stronger than he had established yet with any of the other horses. Hell, with an
yone, actually. They’d started out on shaky ground, but after months of work had reached a point where they knew they could trust each other.
“Thanks again, boy, for finding Cassie today.” Luke’s tracking skills were rudimentary, but this horse, once neglected by an aging owner, remembered his training when Luke and Cassie had needed him. Luke would have to work more on those skills now that he knew the horse was up to the task.
Eventually, he hoped all his horses could be trained for SAR work. But for now, he’d rely on Picasso. The wounded horse gave Luke hope he’d someday be able to reach O’Keeffe, too. That one had suffered more abuse than neglect in her past. She’d take longer to reach, but the reward would be that much sweeter.
Maybe someday he’d reach Cassie’s wounded spirit, too. Somehow he couldn’t think of O’Keeffe without also thinking of Cassie.
Chapter Sixteen
Cassie tossed fitfully in the enormous bed for more than an hour after awakening in the wee hours of the morning, but sleep would not return. If she had been at her cabin, she could have gone to her studio and worked on something, as she often did on sleepless nights like this. As long as the animals were fed on time, she could keep any hours she liked, especially in winter when the daylight hours were shortened.
A glance at the clock told her it was not quite three o’clock. She wished she had a book or something to read, but there had been no time to pack the heavy things when she was forced to flee her home. Would her art books survive the fire if it reached her cabin? She had been amassing her own personal art library since college. While there were few material possessions in the cabin she would miss, the loss of that collection would hurt.
She sighed and tossed the coverlet aside. Flipping on the bedside light, something on the nightstand caught her eye. The familiar folded paper with her wedding vows had not been placed there by her.
He had found it in her jeans!
Lucas now knew she had rescued that scrap of paper when she fled her cabin. Why had he not gloated that the vows meant more to her than she had led him to believe? Still, he had placed them here to let her know he was aware she had them.
She opened the paper and reread the words he had written—words she had spoken when she married him.
Beside me and apart from me,
in laughter and in tears,
in sickness and in health,
in conflict and serenity,
asking that you be no other than yourself.
She could not read more. In some ways, she had grown closer to Lucas, but not as a wife. And yet he seemed intent on living these vows—until death parted them.
Why? Who was this man she had married?
Cassie scanned the room searching for answers. On the other nightstand, she saw a book called Angel Horses next to one on the raising of alpacas. He must have been reading about alpacas because he had had to jump into taking care of them so suddenly. So conscientious.
She walked around the bed and picked it up. She opened to a chapter on how important it was for alpacas to be together. If one was isolated from all others, she might die of loneliness. Cassie had instinctively known that she wanted more than one, after seeing how close they were on the ranch from which she had adopted them.
She understood loneliness. Isolating herself on the mountain, while safe, had left her slowly dying inside. Her spirituality had been the first thing she lost, although she kept trying to reconnect, and then she had slowly withdrawn inside herself to venture out very rarely—usually only to see Kitty. But the alpacas had accepted her among them almost as if she were one herself. She would have hated for any of them to be taken away from her.
Next she picked up the one about horses, stories of how they had affected the lives of the wounded and disabled. The healing power of animals. Lucas believed in that as much as she did.
Under that book had been one on building furniture, which did not surprise her but also did not interest her. She had noticed a bookshelf in the living room, though. Dressed only in a T-shirt and panties, she did not worry about Lucas seeing her because he had agreed to sleep in his studio or the barn. Funny that both of them had studios separate from their living quarters.
Well, she used to, anyway. No doubt it had been destroyed by fire as well.
In the living room, she bent down and perused the shelf. Mostly non-fiction titles about horses, photography, and woodcraft.
A number of well-worn paperbacks on a lower shelf caught her eye, all with the theme of grief and coping with the loss of a loved one. Had Lucas made peace with the tragic losses in his life? She had the feeling he still harbored some anger…and a lot of guilt.
Cassie could relate to the anger and even grief, only she mourned the loss of herself.
If only she was not so restless tonight. When would she learn about the fate of her home? Lucas said the dispatcher had no news about her section of the mountain because their crews were focused on more populated areas first and knew she had been safely evacuated. She did not blame them. Possessions and houses could be replaced.
Cassie scanned the room and found it rather sparse. No knickknacks cluttered the space. The furnishings gave it a homespun, rustic appearance. Someone had handmade the dust cloths and doilies on the backs of the sofa and chairs. The old-fashioned tatting was something rare these days, a lost art. Her grandmother had tatted, but Cassie and her mother had not shown any interest in being taught how to carry on that fine skill. Regrettable, because Cassie might have been able to use the technique in some of her fiber-art pieces, but she would just have to make do without that knowledge since her grandmother had passed over many years ago.
Surely there was something here that would occupy her mind—or help her go back to sleep. Her gaze returned to the bookshelf where a small tome with a well-worn cover nearly jumped out at her. She had not noticed it before, but lying horizontally on top of the lower shelf of books was a copy of The Secret. She pulled the small volume from the shelf and stared at the cover a moment. She had heard of the fairly recent book before, although the philosophy was nothing new.
Like attracts like. Positive thoughts lead to positive outcomes in your life. She did not need a book to tell her how thoughts manifested into vibrations that would come back to bite her in the backside unless she made her originating thoughts more positive.
Knowing the book would not delve too deeply, she decided to read it a while as she waited for sleep to return. Then she noticed a book about one of the techniques she had been studying in fiber arts—Shibori. Excited, she pulled the book out and opened it only to find herself staring at images of women tied in elaborate rope bondage. She closed the book and looked at the title again. Shibari, not Shibori. The two-toned cover looked like a scientific journal or textbook, not a book filled with pornographic images.
And yet something made her open the book again. In truth, the images were not obscene, but artistic. The intricate designs used in binding and sometimes suspending the women were beautiful. Was this an art form Lucas dabbled in or wanted to explore? How could something so beautiful be used to subjugate women?
And yet the peaceful-looking women in the photos seemed more enraptured than vanquished.
A key turned in the door, and Cassie slammed the book shut and crammed it back into the bookshelf as Lucas walked into the room. She stood to face him, heat rising in her face even before his gaze zeroed in on her and roamed up and down her body. She trembled, feeling for the first time the cool air on her bare legs.
“I’m sorry, darlin’. I saw the light on and wanted to make sure you were okay. Do you need anything?”
Just to be left alone.
She’d kicked the man out of his home and bed. The least she could do is show some gratitude.
“I am fine. I woke up and am having trouble going back to sleep.” She fought the urge to run to the sofa and drag the afghan off the armrest to hide her body from his scrutiny. Why did he continue to stare at her like that?
“But I am
headed back to bed now. Just wanted to find something to read.” She realized she held no book in her hand. At his puzzled expression, she quickly turned to the bookshelf and grabbed The Secret, triumphantly showing him her selection. Nothing to be embarrassed about with this reading material.
He grinned. Had he seen the book she had been looking at when he entered the house? Mortified, she moved away from the bookcase.
“I can make you some cocoa or warm milk, darlin’. Always helps me sleep.”
“No, thanks.” The only thing that was going to relax her was putting distance between them. The man left her…unsettled. She put her feet in motion in the direction of the bedroom, but something drew her up short before making her escape. “It is awfully early. You should be sleeping, too.”
He shrugged and averted her gaze. “Sleep doesn’t come sometimes. Your past comes back to haunt you when you’re at your weakest—sleeping.”
You do not have to tell me.
For the first time, she noticed the haunted expression in his eyes. After all he had done for her, the least she could do was spend some time talking with him until he was ready to go back to bed in the studio or barn or wherever he slept. Her own chances of sleeping would elude her this night anyway.
“On second thought, cocoa sounds delicious.”
When he smiled in her direction, she hoped she had not made a mistake. He turned toward the kitchen before she could change her mind. “I’ll put the milk on.”
Cassie drew in a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves before grabbing the afghan and following him. She placed the book on the table. A manual for communicating with this man might have been more beneficial at the moment.
Taking her seat, she watched him work. Lucas knew his way around a kitchen. No surprise. He had been on his own a long time apparently. He had above-average survival skills when it came to providing for his needs—his physical ones, at least.
Do not think about Lucas’s physical needs.
Nobody's Dream (Rescue Me Saga #6) Page 35