Mending Fences

by Lucy Francis

  After examining the cage in the corner for her rat, finding Sassy sleeping at the end of one of the tunnels, she stripped out of her clothes and slipped into her blue and white chevron-striped swimsuit. She grabbed a towel from the adjoining bathroom, then went downstairs to the indoor pool and hot tub.

  She turned on the stereo, playing the CD already in the machine. Handel’s Water Music. The appropriateness of the music for soaking in the hot tub always made her smile. She turned on the jets and sank into the water. It occurred to her that wearing a swimsuit to use the tub when she was completely alone seemed a bit silly, but the idea of skinny dipping always made her uncomfortable. It just didn’t seem right, especially in someone else’s hot tub.

  The liquid heat soothed her cold, knotted muscles, but did nothing to relax her brain. Her thoughts swung back to the puzzle of Curran’s retirement. He’d lived in the limelight, his picture appearing in tabloids and on news programs almost as often as A-list movie stars. What drove him into seclusion?

  Maybe protecting Kelli and little Rob was a factor—oh, no, wait, he’d moved them here well before he retired and joined them on the ranch.

  She shifted so a jet of water pulsed against her spine. Still, the fact that he went to such great lengths to care for his sister meant something to Victoria. The flash of anger and protectiveness in his eyes when he spoke of Kelli, of her ex-husband…these were not the signs of a man who would hurt her.

  Her brain recognized her fear of him as irrational. Emotionally, she was terrified.

  In the past year, she’d finally dated again. Weak, safe men who didn’t ask anything of her. She wanted to flirt and date. Too many women who’d been through hell became victims for the rest of their lives, living in the shadow of their abuse. Or worse, moving on to another man just as bad as the last. She refused to let Nate continue to victimize her, and she absolutely would not allow herself to continue the pattern of choosing the wrong guy.

  But none of that meant dating was easy. She didn’t dare go out with anyone unless she called all the shots, set the pace, and ended it when she wanted to. Keeping all the control protected her.

  Her stomach growled and Victoria climbed out of the hot tub, wrapping the towel around her shoulders. She couldn’t control Curran. He was way too strong, and she didn’t know if she was up to being with someone who was her equal. Or her superior.

  And then there was the way he made her skin tingle. He sparked her desire, and there was no way she would travel that road again, unless there was a ring on her finger. The consequences were simply too devastating.

  After dressing and feeding Sassy, she grabbed the mail from the box mounted on the wide, covered porch that wrapped across the front of the house and around one side.

  She walked back into the ultra-modern, black granite and stainless steel kitchen, sorting through the stack of mail. A couple of utility statements she was supposed to open, just to be sure the bill had been paid by the automatic bank withdrawal her employers had set up. Junk mail, missing person ad, more junk mail. A credit card bill forwarded from her old address—jeez Louise, how hard was it to get an address changed at that company? Maybe she should switch to online statements.

  Finally, an ivory linen envelope, also with the yellow Forwarding Address sticker on it. The return address and postmark said San Diego. What in the world? The only thing she was expecting by mail was one article payment that should come from Chicago, and to the correct address.

  She set the rest of the mail on the counter and slid her finger under the envelope flap to tear it open. A folded page of the same ivory paper rested inside. A sense of foreboding tingled along her spine as she slid the letter out and unfolded it. It was a sheet of letterhead from the firm of Waddell, Brown, McCaren and Schimel. Her lungs constricted, leaving her unable to breathe as she read the two short sentences.

  I’ve missed you, baby.

  Have you missed me?

  Her thoughts swam. He wasn’t supposed to be able to contact her, not from prison. But then, even though it was his firm’s letterhead, the postmark wasn’t from the prison or L.A. Was some friend of his delivering a message?

  Why now? Nate belonged in the past. What did he want with her now, after two years? Her pulse rushed like the roar of a river in her ears, she fought to draw breath into lungs that felt full of ice.

  The distant ringing of her cell phone threw her a lifeline. She focused on the sound, dragging herself out of the panic clawing at her insides. She finally surfaced, finally breathed, and raced to grab the phone from her parka pocket. It stopped ringing before she reached it. She glanced at the display. Mara. She’d call her back later.

  She looked down at the paper still in her hand, started to crumple it, then stopped herself. She set it on the nearby table and stared at it, frightened but no longer beyond rational thought. She wasn’t ready to handle him again. Fighting Nate sapped everything out of her. If this was the start of some ploy to get back at her, how would she fight it?

  She stepped back mentally and reviewed the facts. He wasn’t up for parole for another year. She could contact the D.A.’s office. They might be interested in Nate bothering her.

  Victoria drew a deep, shuddering breath and straightened her back. She’d panicked, damn it, and now that she was calming down, she hated Nate for still being able to frighten her. If he could do this to her with words on a piece of paper, how would she handle appearing before the parole board to argue against his release? And what if they did let him out and he came after her again?

  She picked up the note, went into her room, and tossed it into the side drawer of the desk. Later. She’d deal with it later. Right now she needed people around her, needed some fun to take her mind off Nate until she felt in control again. She pulled out her cell and checked the voicemail. Mara wanted her to come to dinner at the new sushi bar down in Salt Lake’s Gateway mall.

  Perfect. She’d call her cousin back on the way. A few hours of Mara’s bubbly personality should chase away the ghosts haunting her.

  Curran sat on the front porch stairs just before midnight, ignoring the bitter cold. He watched the path of his sister’s torch beam as she walked the distance from her house to his. “What’s dragging you over here at this time of night, Kel?”

  She stopped in front of him, shook her head, then climbed two steps and sat beside him. She tugged her scarf away from her face to talk. “Rob thinks he left his school backpack over here.”

  “He did. It’s just inside the door.” He took a deep drag from the cigarette in his left hand and closed his eyes, feeding his addiction before blowing the smoke from his lungs. He despised himself for relaxing as the nicotine hit his brain, for finding pleasure in something that shouldn’t have any control over him.

  “Weren’t you going over to see Victoria?”

  He glanced at Kelli sideways. “She wasn’t there. Must’ve had plans tonight.”

  She stared at him as he took another drag. “I thought you were quitting.”

  “I did.”

  “And now you’ve started again.”

  “Bingo. Give the lady a prize.”

  She swatted his arm. “Don’t be a smartass, Curran.”

  “Careful, you sound like Mum.”

  They sat in silence. He watched a smoke plume disperse in the slight breeze, then asked, “Robby’s in bed?”

  “An hour ago. You like her.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah, Kel, I do.” Something about Victoria completely twisted him into knots. Her eyes haunted him. He wanted to see her, wanted to touch her. But she’d vanished. Again. And driven him back into the embrace of his addiction. God, he was so damned weak.

  Kelli sighed, then stepped behind him and crossed the porch to the door. He looked back at her when she exited the house, Rob’s backpack dangling in her hand. “It’s freezing out here. I’m going home.” She paused beside him on the stairs, touched his shoulder. “Try quitting again tomorrow, okay? I’d like you to see Rob’s
graduation someday.”

  He crushed the cigarette butt on the step with his boot, then ran his hands through his hair. “I know. I’ll quit. Just not tonight.”

  “Right, I’ll try not to nag you. Goodnight.”

  He waved at her, watched her click on the light and make her way back to her home. He slipped another cigarette from the pack. Two cravings tortured him. He couldn’t do a thing about needing Victoria. The least he could do for himself was soothe the desire for nicotine.

  It was a stupid rationalization. Giving in to his addiction would only make it worse, harder to give up the next day. Just like spending time with Victoria again made the desire for her after Halloween seem practically nonexistent by comparison.

  Did he like her? Damn, he had it bad. Now he had to convince Queen Victoria to give him a chance.

  By the time he finished the cigarette, the wind had kicked up, numbing his nose and chilling him to the bone. He gave up, reconciled himself to a night alone, and managed to fall into a fitful sleep in his otherwise empty bed.

  The next day, Curran took Rob skiing after kindergarten, like he’d promised. Spending the afternoon on the slopes with an ever-energetic five-year-old left him starving, for the sight of Victoria as well as for food. He cleaned up, changed into a thick fleece pullover and jeans, picked up a Chinese takeout order from Papa Wok and stood ringing the doorbell of the house down the lane at half past six.

  When she opened the door, he soaked in the image of her. Barefoot, in plaid pajama pants and an old University of Utah sweatshirt. A headband held her chocolate curls off her face, she wasn’t wearing a touch of makeup, and she was frowning at him.

  She was beautiful.

  “Tell me you haven’t eaten.”

  “Curran—”

  “Don’t turn me away.” He put one foot on the threshold, but forced himself to stay outside on the porch. “Come on, it’s not really a date, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s simply eating together. My treat.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Curran—”

  He dropped his gaze to his boots, trying to look dejected. “She’s going to say no. Then I will have failed in my mission to deliver her fortune. Her life will be ruined if she doesn’t get the secret message baked into the cookie contained in this very bag.”

  When he looked back up at her, she wore the hint of a smile, so he pressed on. “Give me a break. It’s cold out here and holding all this food is hard work. And I swear—” He stepped over the threshold into the house. “If I don’t get to at least have dinner in the same room with you tonight, I swear I will die of loneliness.”

  She cocked her head and stared at him for a moment, hands on her gently curved hips. The coldness in her eyes faded, and she smiled, sending an unexpected bolt of light through his heart. She gave the door a push to close it behind him, then pointed over her shoulder.

  “Table’s in there. Did you get chopsticks or do we have to eat with forks like heathens?”

  Chapter Four

  Curran sat at the table after dinner and checked the takeout boxes, a bit surprised by the smashing success of his idea. A few grains of fried rice in this one, dregs of sweet and sour sauce in that one. A stray lo mein noodle or two. “I don’t believe it.”

  “What, that we ate everything?” Victoria called over her shoulder as she carried dirty plates into the kitchen.

  “Yeah.” He stacked the little boxes inside one another then carried them into the kitchen. He tossed the stack into the garbage can she’d pointed out earlier, in the cupboard under the sink, then washed his hands.

  “You have to understand, this is a first for me,” he said, drying his hands on the towel he pulled from the drawer she opened to his right. “I’ve never had a takeout dinner for two without having leftovers for the next day, unless I ate it with Kelli and Rob.”

  Victoria shrugged, thrusting her own hands under the faucet. “In defense of your other dining companions, that was a huge amount of food, Curran.”

  He leaned his hip against the granite countertop, his hands resting on the coved edge. He liked watching her. He’d bet that she’d taken ballet lessons in her youth, given her graceful motions, even in small things like the way she hung the towel over the edge of the sink to dry, then hopped up to sit on the countertop.

  For a sharp moment, Curran deeply envied the granite, warming under her lovely curves. He pushed off the edge, taking a step toward her. Amber eyes watched him, locked into his gaze. He swallowed a groan. She made him burn, but he was learning her, bit by bit.

  He’d always had a knack for seeing through the facades other people wore. Some were thicker than others. Most people weren’t aware they had them, even when they could see them in others.

  Though Victoria was friendly, laughing at his jokes, and in all a thoroughly pleasant dinner companion, he wasn’t seeing her. He was seeing the Victoria Linden mask she wore when she was in a good mood. In the club, he’d seen a bit of that, and a bit of her annoyed self. The kiss, though, was different. Unless his instincts were completely rusty, when she kissed him, it came from the other side of the image she showed in public. He’d caught a glimpse of it yesterday, when he would have kissed her again, before Kelli shattered the mood.

  He was going to at least crack the surface of her facade tonight. It was just a matter of poking around, trying various points until he found a weakness. If that weakness happened to be kissing her again, more the better.

  Another step and her heat touched his skin. “Tell me something. Everyone has a secret fear. What is yours, Victoria?”

  Something flashed cold in her eyes, then the smile returned. “I’m afraid of paper cuts.”

  “Paper cuts?”

  “Yes. For being so small, they hurt like crazy. I worked with a lot of paper as a writer before everything went digital, so you can imagine how this became something of a phobia.”

  Curran laughed. Agile brain, this one. Quick answers. But he wasn’t reaching the heart and soul of her.

  She glanced over his shoulder at the countertop behind him. “Coffee’s ready. How do you take yours?”

  “No cream, two sugar.”

  Her fine brows rose. “I pegged you for a straight black kind of guy.”

  He shrugged. “Looks can be deceiving.”

  “So I’ve heard. Have a seat in the great room. I’ll bring in the coffee.”

  Victoria sipped her heavily creamed coffee, enjoying the conversation as she and Curran worked around from small talk to politics to books. Finally, she set her empty coffee mug on the table, then tucked her leg under herself on the black leather couch, pulling the other knee up, clasping her fingers around it. She watched Curran stretch back into the opposite overstuffed couch arm.

  He wanted to kiss her. She saw it in every glance, in every shift of his body toward hers. He’d wanted to yesterday, and the hunger in his eyes had grown worse since then.

  She wanted to kiss him, too, so badly that the very thought had her stomach rolling with electricity. What she needed to decide, and fast, was how far she really wanted this thing to go. If she took the plunge, she’d have to give up the idea of writing about him. To do otherwise was completely unethical.

  Her attention snapped back to the moment when Curran said, “Tell me your favorite flower.”

  “Pale purple irises. Tell me your favorite movie,” she fired back.

  “Casablanca. Yours?”

  “Beauty and the Beast, Disney version. What’s your favorite color?”

  “Blue. What world landmark would you most like to see?”

  “Hmm, have to think about that one.”

  He shook his head, his dark hair nearly falling in his eyes. “No, give the first answer that occurs to you.”

  “Fine. St. Basil’s Cathedral in Red Square. Same question for you.”

  He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. His eyes were bright, warm. “That mountain carved into Crazy Horse in South Dakota.” He reached out, lightl
y touching her knuckles. She unlaced her fingers, allowing him to clasp her hand in his. “Favorite holiday.”

  She smiled. “Christmas. Yours?”

  Curran’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he gave her hand a gentle tug. “Halloween.”

  The quietly spoken word drew a crystalline memory of sitting astride him, tasting him. A hot tide of desire flooded through her. Whether because she failed to conceal it, or because the same rush swept over him, his green eyes darkened.

  He rose over her, his hand sank into her hair, the gentle pressure of his fingers on her nape tilted her head back. The anticipation inside her rocketed, and she gasped as his mouth lowered to hers.

  His lips caressed hers once, twice. Soft, warm, inviting. The third time, she slid her hands behind his neck and kissed him back, flicking the tip of her tongue against his mouth. A rumbling groan escaped him, and he pulled her up to her knees, his arms folding around her, molding her against him.

  Curran brushed his tongue into her mouth, the warmth, the sugared coffee taste of him demanding her focus. Ripples of heat rolled through her, pooling low in her body, pressing thought aside in favor of simply feeling his arms tighten around her, the silken strands of his hair between her fingers.

  His mouth left hers to trail along her jaw, down her throat. With one hand, he eased the top of her sweatshirt away from her neck and gently set his teeth against her skin, stealing her breath. She clutched at his soft shirt, reveling in the hard warmth of his chest beneath the fabric. When his left hand found her backside and pulled her against his hips, the hardness of him sent electric shivers through her. Her knees weakened, her senses reeled as she drowned in his heat, in his dark, mysterious, wholly male scent.

  Somewhere, at the edge of the sensual cloud enveloping them, she heard a high-pitched sound, climbing and descending the musical scale. Reluctant, her skin screaming in disagreement with separation, she ran her hands between them, pressing his chest. His mouth captured hers again as she tried to disengage herself. For a moment she let herself be swept away before her senses cleared enough to identify the scales ringing from the direction of the chair where his coat lay. She broke the kiss, pushing against him more firmly. “Phone, Curran. Your phone.”