When she first settled under the covers in her own boxers and t-shirt which miraculously appeared clean and neatly folded on her pillow, she didn’t think she could sleep. There were too many questions rolling around in her mind. She needed to sort out what she saw and separate it from what she thought she saw. These people were all so normal and the events of the night had been anything but. It should have been enough to keep her staring wide eyed at the ceiling for hours, but she couldn’t fight the softness of the pillow at her head or the cool sheets encasing her battered body. She slept deeply without dreams and felt wide awake when she opened her eyes.
A stranger had kindly washed her granny panties and bra, another humiliation to be dealt with, and as much as she appreciated wearing her own undies again – wearing someone else’s was just eeuw - she vowed she would burn the offending garments at her earliest opportunity. The shorts Max left were way too short, especially wearing the granny pants, so she opted for the jeans she’d worn this morning although she had to lie on her back to get them zipped.
Her shoulder felt remarkably good, still tender of course, but the homemade salve Ma Gruver gave her really was a miracle cure. It had worked its magic on her forehead as well. The woman should market this stuff. The aroma alone was soothing.
There was no one else in the house when she came downstairs, but the front door was open and Marshall’s police car was parked in front of the porch. She opened the screen door and winced at the clatter of the spring against the frame. She’d done that in her panic last night.
In the pasture to the right, six of the monster horses nibbled on the grass. Four looked full grown and two as if they had a bit to go. Even from this distance, they looked huge. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen horses before. She’d gone through the same horse phase as many young girls did, and had taken riding lessons for a time, but the tallest horse she’d ever been on was a mere fourteen hands. These looked closer to twenty with backs as wide as tabletops.
The barn doors were open and she wondered if Marshall was within repairing the damage. If he was, he certainly didn’t need her interference. But, as usual, her curiosity won out and she walked to the barn, treading carefully in her bare feet, and peeked in the door.
The area where the fire had occurred was cleared and clean. Only a few blackened boards gave evidence of what had happened the night before. There was a faint odor of burned straw mixed with an antiseptic smell she couldn’t identify.
“Come on, my beautiful girl. We’re almost there. Give us a big push.”
Elizabeth thought she might have interrupted someone’s private moment and she started on tiptoe for the door.
“You’ve done this before, Daisy. Another push and your baby is born.”
Elizabeth stopped, pivoted, and tiptoed in the direction of what she now recognized as Marshall’s voice. The stall door was closed and she peaked over the edge.
Marshall was kneeling on the ground, stroking the distended belly of a horse lying prone on the straw. She could see the head of a foal protruding from its back end. Two tiny feet were pointed outward under its chin. When the head was fully exposed, Marshall moved to the foal and cleaned the fluid from its face and nostrils. The mare extended her neck to sniff at her new creation.
“That’s it Daisy. Your new foal. Now you have to finish the job.”
One snort, one toss of the head and Daisy’s great sides heaved. The foal slid out onto the straw. Marshall wiped it down with towels and treated it with the contents of the bottles lined up and waiting against the wall. The mare expelled the remaining placenta and he cleaned that up as well. All the while he spoke to the mare, comforting and encouraging her.
The resting foal began to struggle and Elizabeth caught her breath.
Marshall looked up at her and smiled, not at all surprised by her presence. He’d known she was there all along. He nodded at the foal.
“This is my favorite part,” he told her. “Watch how she struggles, how determined she is.”
He stood and backed away from mother and child. The foal struggled up, fell and struggled up again. Front legs up, rear down. Rear up, front down. It finally got all four legs going in the right direction and stood, wobbling slightly.
It was amazingly beautiful watching this new life take hold and she told him so.
“Yeah,” he agreed, “I never get tired of it and then it breaks my heart every time one of them leaves.” He shrugged. “But that’s life isn’t it. Joy and heartbreak. My mother would say that life’s pain is what makes its joy all the sweeter.”
She watched him finish his work with the mare and foal and thought with a twinge of envy that Henry was a lucky man to have someone like this in his life.
Elizabeth followed Marshall into the kitchen. He washed his hands, scrubbing to his elbows, and took a foil covered plate from the refrigerator He held it out to her in the palm of his hand.
“Your supper,” he said. “I would have called you down, but I thought you might need a few more hours sleep.” He removed the foil and slid the plate into the microwave instead. “Two minutes ought to do it. Coffee, cola or beer?”
As she walked over to the counter where the microwave sat, Marshall moved to the other side of the table.
“Any milk?”
He walked around the table, opened the refrigerator door so that it stood between them and pulled a half empty gallon from the shelf, removed the cap and sniffed the contents. “Yep. We got milk.”
She helped herself to a glass from the cabinet and poured her own.
“I have questions,” she said, moving toward him. She knew it was foolish, but she was drawn to him, wanted to be close to him, wanted to touch him. Wanted him to touch her.
“I figured you would.” Marshall grabbed his duty belt from the counter and stepped back to strap it around his waist. “But it’s going to have to wait. I’ve got work to do.”
She would have made an issue of it had he not looked so worn and tired. His face was ashy with fatigue and his blue eyes were rimmed in red. He’d been up for as many hours as she the night before, but while she’d slept the day away, he’d obviously worked. Her hand reached out, needing to stroke his face, to offer comfort. The microwave dinged and her hand snapped back to her side. Glancing nervously around, she spied a towel on the counter and used it to bring the plate to the table.
“This looks delicious,” she said to cover her discomfort. She eyed the plate heaped with pot roast, mashed potatoes, green beans and corn. It was true. It did look delicious and there was enough to feed her for her next three meals. “I’ll never be able to eat all this.”
“Thank Henry.” Even his laugh was tinged with nervous exhaustion. “He cooks, he cleans and he decorates. Don’t let him do your laundry, though. Last time he tried it I wore pink underwear for a month. Other than that, he makes a great little housewife.”
“There’s nothing little about Henry,” she laughed back.
Though she’d met him only briefly that morning, he wasn’t someone you’d be likely to forget. He was a great bear of a man; maybe five nine, at least two hundred and fifty pounds with a frizzy mass of hair that hung to his shoulders and a beard that hung halfway down his chest. He’d hugged her like a long lost friend and told her he was happy she’d arrived.
“You got that right. He’s a good man to have beside you.” Marshall picked up a rifle from the corner.
“I suppose he is,” she said, although she wished he was beside someone other than Marshall. “Are you going out to hunt wolves?” She couldn’t help it, she smirked. “Or maybe they were deer or bear.”
He didn’t apologize for his earlier disbelief, but he did color a bit and grin sheepishly. Now that she was sitting at the table, he seemed more at ease.
“No, they weren’t” he said, “But telling me I told you so will have to wait. I’ve got a lead on some growers that need to be taken care of first.” He answered her question before she asked. “These hills are a great place t
o grow marijuana and we don’t want the Feds sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”
Elizabeth eyed the rifle and holster at his hip. “You don’t actually shoot people with those, do you?” she asked in a horrified voice.
He hefted the rifle. “It’s one of the perks that come with the job, though I don’t usually take advantage of the privilege,” he laughed and then relented when he saw her distress. “Not tonight, though. Not unless they shoot first. I need to find them. See how many and how they operate. Then I’ll decide how to take care of the problem. Dead growers can draw attention same as the live ones.” He started for the mudroom and the back door.
“Wait! What about the horses? What time will you be home?” She didn’t want a repeat of the night before.
“The barn door’s padlocked. No one can get in there and after the hell you gave them last night, those wolves won’t be back.” He turned his back and said over his shoulder, “Anyway, you hear something out there tonight you stay inside where it’s safe.”
“But the horses!”
“Are horses, Lizzie,” he said. “I love them, but you’re worth more than they are. I won’t be home until late. You just relax and get some rest.”
“Fat chance,” she said to the closing door. Drug runners, wolf packs, horses with hooves as big as her head. What was waiting out there tonight? Dracula and his band of merry vampires? To hell with the Silverton Citizens Against Guns. The closest they ever came to the viciousness of nature was watching Lanie Pendleton’s cocker spaniel chase chipmunks in the backyard!
She went to the mudroom and took down the shotgun she’d used last night, loaded it and set it next to her plate on the old oak kitchen table and patted it affectionately.
She took a few more bites of her dinner intending to put the rest away, but the pot roast had a unique flavor she’d never tasted before and the gravy was to die for.
She had to find some paper, make some notes. It was the best she could do until she got her things back. Someone - George? - promised they’d pull her car out sometime today and tow it to the garage in town. Tomorrow she could get her things, although how she was supposed to do that she wasn’t sure. Somehow Rabbit Creek didn’t sound like the kind of place you’d find one of the car rental agencies her insurance company approved of.
In the meantime, she could do some work. After all, it was her reason for coming here. She rummaged around in the kitchen drawers and came up with and old steno pad and two pens, the kind you found in hotel rooms that rarely had a full load of ink.
Write about what you know. Isn’t that what all the authorities said? Well, she didn’t know about any of this, but she was learning fast. She already had the beginnings of a cast of characters. Marshall, of course, was the handsome hero whose tortured heart would be healed by the beautiful, witty and confident Cassandra who was, in this case, the fantasy image of herself. And, of course, since this was her fiction, the Sherriff’s poor tortured heart would definitely be a hetero one. Henry would remain as he was. She would simply replace his lover. She’d find him a wonderful man to partner with. It just wouldn’t be Marshall.
Her mind skipped right over the plot to the sex scenes. What was a romance without sex? Elizabeth grinned. A common assumption was that librarians only read high toned non-fiction and classic literature. She couldn’t speak for all librarians, but for herself, she devoured the paperback racks and read every steamy romance before it hit the shelves. It was her secret vice and could be found somewhere on her mother’s list of Things Well Bred Women Don’t Do.
Cassandra’s breasts were just spilling from her lacey bra into Morton’s – she couldn’t call him Marshall – worshipping hands, when she thought she heard something out on the front porch. Gun in hand, she checked at the window. Two squirrels were arguing over some kind of nut rattling across the wooden boards.
Twice more Cassandra and Morton were interrupted before Elizabeth decided to do her writing on the front porch where she could keep an eye on things and finish her daydreams, uh, scene writing.
She was scribbling away when the stranger appeared at the edge of the trees. Without thinking, her hand went to the gun lying beside her chair. She snatched her hand back, horrified at her actions. Shooting at vicious animals was one thing; she reminded herself, and not a good thing at that. This was a human being for heaven’s sake.
Just a few days ago, she would have been horrified at the thought of using a gun. Twenty-four hours in this place and she’d become Rambo, ready to purchase and use an arsenal. At this rate, in another two days she wouldn’t have to worry about white cotton undies. She’d be trading them in for camouflage. Cassandra wouldn’t need a gun. She had other weapons in her arsenal.
Taking a lesson from Cassandra, Elizabeth smiled her most winning smile. “Hello there.”
Even though the stranger saw her withdraw from the gun, he raised his hands in surrender.
“Don’t shoot,” he said, but he was smiling, too, and what a charming smile it was. “Just thought I’d stop by and say hello. Heard you folks had a time of it the other night.”
“That we did. You’d never know it from tonight. It’s so quiet and peaceful here.” Her attempt at nonchalance needed work. She’d have to practice.
The man stopped about ten feet out from the porch. He stood, relaxed, inside the circle of light thrown by the electric lantern on the wall by the door. He waited patiently while Elizabeth checked him out as if being so scrutinized was an everyday occurrence.
He was a little taller than Marshal, though not so broad in the chest. His hat shaded his face, but beneath it she could see a fringe of straight blonde hair that was neatly trimmed away from the edge of his collar. He smiled around straight, pearly white teeth and held himself with an easy grace that seemed vaguely familiar.
Looking the way he did, being so scrutinized probably was an everyday occurrence.
The corner of his mouth turned up in a naughty boy smirk. “So, what’s the verdict? May I join you on the porch? Do I look harmless enough?”
“Yes, you may join me on the porch,” Cassandra said through Elizabeth’s mouth, “And no, I don’t think you’re harmless at all. I think you’d devastate any female population you came in contact with and you know it. So, there is no verdict. The jury’s still out.” She finished with a half smirk and slow wink, that implied, “I’m the jury, convince me.”
Wow, that was really good. She wondered if it would spoil the moment if she paused to write that down. Yeah, it probably would. Her fingers itched to pick up her pen and add the scene to her grocery list of notes.
“Oh hell,” she muttered and waved him onto the porch, “I’ll be with you in a minute.” She grabbed the pen and started to write.
The stranger waited patiently while she recorded her quotes. He leaned back against the porch post, seemingly casual, but angling his body so his profile was on display.
“I’m sorry,” she said looking up. She gulped and had to force her eyes away from the long, lean sculpture of his body. “If I don’t write it down when I think it, it’s gone when I need it.”
“I see.”
His slight smirk and raised eyebrow said he found her amusing. Men rarely found Elizabeth amusing. This Cassandra thing really worked!
He shifted a little and crossed his right foot over his left ankle, resting his booted toe on the floor. Were those snakeskin?
She’d gone through an animal rights phase where she became a vegan and refused to wear animal skin, but she felt as if she was slowly starving to death and when she saw an ostrich skin handbag that she just had to have, the whole thing collapsed. She’d had a love affair with exotic hides ever since. It was why she joined Silverton Citizens Against Guns. They were against hunting, but liked their steaks rare and their loafers’ Italian leather.
Elizabeth made a show of dotting the last period and smiled sympathetically. “I’m a writer,” she explained, “Or a would-be writer anyway. I’ve taken a sabbatica
l to pursue my craft full time.”
“I see,” he said again. “Am I the hero or the villain?”
“Oh, I wasn’t…” She paused as Cassandra came to her rescue again. She smiled. “That’s yet to be determined. I’m not being very neighborly, am I? I’m Elizabeth. And you are” She held out her right hand to shake and looked up into his face. Oh. My. God. The man standing before her was a blonde version of Marshall! His hair was professionally styled and highlighted, his skin silky smooth and freshly shaven. His long, tapered fingers ended in even, buffed nails and his hands were uncalloused.
He held one of them out to her, but stayed where he was and she had to rise from her chair to meet him. When their fingers touched, she caught her breath. It was the same feeling she’d experienced with Marshall. She didn’t want to let go.
Unlike Marshall, this man drew her up and to him.
“Charles Goodman.”
Elizabeth put her free hand on his chest to keep some distance between them. His heart seemed to be beating as strongly as her own.
“Are you related to Marshall?” she asked weakly.
“He’s my brother, but I wasn’t looking for him.”
Startled, she looked up into his face and was met by a pair of vivid green eyes. Those eyes unsettled her more than anything else.
“Didn’t you say you stopped by to say hello?”
“I did. But not to him. To you. As soon as I heard about a woman living here, I had to come see if it was true. Are you and he…?”
“I don’t know,” she said inanely, because of course she knew. She was being held close by a man who was sex personified and yet all she could think of was, “Personal space, personal space. I need to move back from his personal space.”
Which she did, so quickly that she bumped the rocker in which she’d been sitting. The back crashed against the wall while the rising seat caught her behind the legs, buckling her knees. Had the chair been of the four legged variety, she would have made an ungraceful but secure landing on the seat. No such luck. Her butt connected with the wooden seat at the same time as the rocker tilted forward with the same speed with which it had hit the wall. The seat was no longer a seat but a slide and a slippery one at that.
The Alpha's Mate Page 4