Shame the Devil (Portland Devils Book 3)

by Rosalind James

  “Unbelievable,” Jennifer answered. “I don’t think there’s a whole lot of Mafia activity in North Idaho.”

  Six or seven or forty-five hours later, because she’d lost track of the endless slog of time, she had no idea what Dyma was telling Owen, and she didn’t care. Her daughter was getting an advanced ski lesson, presumably somewhere far, far ahead. She might have worried about that, but since the temperature had never topped about ten degrees, she didn’t imagine anybody was taking off any clothes.

  As for her? She was (A) frozen, (B) bruised, and (C) frustrated. Oh, and probably (D) humiliated, too. Kris had asked, “Want to try a slightly hillier trail today, up in the trees? I hear we could see some elk up there.” The problem was that she’d imagined herself, for one reckless instant, as some other person, the kind of woman who did Zumba at the gym instead of the elliptical machine due to her immense coordination, natural athletic ability, and sorority-girl personality, and said, “Sure.”

  Now, she was in one of those spots where you couldn’t go back, because it was too far, and you couldn’t go home, because that was what you were trying to do anyway, and also because they probably didn’t do helicopter rescues just because you’d had enough and were about to cry. She’d fallen on her butt at least six more times, some of them hard enough to rattle her teeth and do her bruises no good at all, she had a headache from all the teeth-rattling, Kris had had to help her get upright at least half of those times, after she’d flailed around like a walrus on an ice floe, or slid sideways down the hill with her skis in the air like some kind of dead bug, and she was long past the point of laughing gaily at her misadventures. Also, right now, she was looking at the steepest downhill yet, or rather, observing Kris doing a slalom thing down it, even though he’d said he was a beginner, too.

  He did a sort of turn-in-place to stop, shoved his goggles up to look back up at her, and beckoned her down, and she thought, No. I can’t. I refuse.

  Which was when he skied back to up to her, using some more skills, and said, “You can snowplow all the way down. Look. Bend your knees as far as you can, and turn your toes all the way in.” And demonstrated. Gracefully.

  Her thighs ached. Her butt hurt. Her triceps and shoulders and forearms burned from her efforts with the ski poles. She’d spent too many hours tense and scared. At least, she assumed that was why her throat was closing up and she was saying, “I’m not sure I …” Her voice wobbled, and she steadied it with a major effort, felt the tears pricking behind her eyes, and said, “You’re right. I’m going to do that.”

  Not because of impressing him. After tomorrow, when she’d help him through his event, she’d fly home and never see him again, and anyway, she was pretty sure that any shot she’d had of “impressing” had died somewhere around the dead-bug stage. This wasn’t going to be about impressing him. This was her proving to herself that she could try something new, and that fear didn’t have to stop her. If her legs were trembling with tension and exhaustion? They were nearly back to the lodge, she’d skied nine miles, they hadn’t all been flat, and that was a victory. She was going to make it a victory.

  Sounded good, anyway. That was before she snowplowed down the hill, got going too fast anyway, had her skis tangle, and fell over on her side, giving her a good whack exactly on her most-bruised spot. After that, she slid down the rest of the hill on her butt like a toddler. When she’d struggled upright again at the bottom, climbing out of a pit of extremely deep snow, since she’d gone right off the track, she told Kris fiercely, “Do not say something encouraging. Just don’t. I am not going to cry. I am going to ski back to the lodge, take about four Advil, sit in the bathtub until my fingers wrinkle, and then possibly talk to you again, unless I’m too humiliated.”

  “Does this mean our trip tomorrow is off?” He was trying not to laugh, she could tell. “And hey. I’ve been put on my butt plenty of times. I bet there are highlight reels of that.”

  “You’re encouraging me,” she informed him. “What did I say about encouraging me?”

  “Whoops. Sorry.”

  He was grinning again, and she brushed the snow off her back and her butt as best she could, pulled her scarf up around her chin, wondered if your face fell off from frostbite or if that was just the tip of your nose, shuffled her feet forward, aiming for a gliding motion that she still didn’t have the hang of, tried to ignore the blister forming at the back of her heel, and said, “I’m holding the thought of tomorrow, when I’m the one supporting you. You’d better be suffering tomorrow, though. You’d better tell me you’re suffering. Because we’re going to get back to the lodge with me feeling like I need an hour in a hot tub, except that there is no hot tub, because it’s the frigging wilderness, and for some reason, lodges in the wilderness don’t have hot tubs, because we’re all too tough and Nordic for that. Dyma and Owen are going to be sitting in those big chairs having hot cider, because they got back an hour ago, and Dyma’s going to tell me how awesome skiing is, and how it’s too bad we can’t afford for her to do it some more, but she doesn’t blame me, of course, because I’m doing my best, and I’m going to want to smack her and not going to be allowed to. So somebody needs to suffer.”

  He was laughing by this point, and trying to pretend he wasn’t. “I promise to suffer. You have my word. And you can comfort me. I’ll even see if I can provide a hot tub. If you need one today, you’re going to need it even worse tomorrow. Hate to tell you, but tomorrow’s going to be worse. Meanwhile, think about those Irish Coffees I’m going to buy you. Imagine the first one sitting there on the bar, steam coming out of it. It’s got whipped cream on it. It’s sooo hot, and sooo delicious. Just across this meadow and down the path a ways. Another mile, max.”

  “Caffeine,” she said. “Afternoon.”

  “Whiskey,” he answered. “Evening. Somehow, I doubt anything’s going to be keeping you awake tonight. Not even me.”

  Which could have been flirting, but wasn’t, because he was right. They ate dinner at six, and as soon as she was done, she dragged herself to her feet, flapped a hand at Dyma, and said, “If it’s after ten and you’re not back, I’m hunting you down. I’m making a scene. In my flannel PJ bottoms with deer on them and my comfy slippers. It’ll be embarrassing.”

  “Mom.” Dyma sighed. “Owen’s right here. Don’t you think he’s the one who needs this talk?”

  “Nope,” Owen said. “I’m all clear on the score. You, though … you could be a handful.”

  “Mm,” she answered. “I could be.” And looked at him under her lashes with her dimples showing in a way she sure hadn’t picked up from Jennifer.

  Jennifer said, “I’m ignoring that, because I’m seriously almost too tired to care. I’m going to bed.”

  “I’ll walk you,” Kris said, and he did. All the way to her door, where she held up her key card and said, “Well. This is me.”

  “Yeah.” He scratched his jaw and said, “About tomorrow …”

  She said, “Oh. You don’t want me—us—to come,” and was surprised at the lurch of disappointment. She felt it in her stomach. “That’s fine,” she hurried on. “It was a crazy plan, buying last-minute plane tickets for even more people. We’ve paid for another night anyway, and Dyma’s loving the skiing. I’ll probably just hang out here at the lodge, honestly. You’re right, I’m going to be too sore for anything else. I’m sure you’ll be fine, now you’ve decided to go. You’re a strong guy.”

  He touched a hand gently to her mouth. “Could you just … stop a second?”

  “Oh.” Her face was burning again. She needed to get out of here before she had to be embarrassed forever. She’d had a very hot bath and two Irish Coffees, and all of it had gone straight to her head.

  “You’re tired,” he said. “We’ll talk in the morning. But—no. I’m glad you’re coming.” Then he took a step closer, took her gently by the shoulders, bent down, and touched his mouth to hers. The softest, briefest brush of his lips over hers, but it was like she’d
been shocked. She could smell the clean, woodsy scent of him, and she could feel the size of him, too. He kissed her again, taking a little longer this time, and she felt it all the way down her body. Overwhelming. Embarrassing. That was why she stood there, rooted to the ground, even though all she wanted was to put her hands on his shoulders and hold him there so he’d kiss her some more.

  He lifted his head before she got up the courage, gave her a rueful smile, and said, “Don’t worry about Dyma. Owen’s a good guy. He might kiss her, because sometimes, a woman’s just too tempting. I can’t swear it won’t happen. But nothing else will.”

  14

  Still Lying

  Harlan looked up at the knock on his door. “Come in,” he called.

  It wasn’t going to be Jennifer. He was sure she was fast asleep. Would he like it to have been, though? You bet he would. That kiss had been something. Her mouth was just as perfect as he’d imagined, and she’d drawn in her breath when he’d done it like it felt way too good.

  Or maybe not, because she hadn’t done any kissing back.

  He was right. It wasn’t her.

  “Hey,” Owen said, dropping onto the other bed.

  Harlan set down his book, which he’d found in one of the bookshelves in the lobby. “Hey.”

  Owen asked, “Good book?”

  “Yeah. Unbroken. This book’ll make you feel like you’ve never known tough. Athlete gets his plane shot down in World War II, ends up taken prisoner by the Japanese. I’m going to have to buy a copy so I can read the rest.”

  “Motivational for tomorrow, then,” Owen said.

  “Yep.” Harlan scrutinized his friend. “So how was that?”

  “What, how was sitting around having about four hot ciders with the prettiest little eighteen-year-old I’ve ever seen, because I didn’t want to leave? While she flirted with me and then forgot to flirt and was just funny and cute and so damn smart, and I wanted to pick her up more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life?”

  “A little frustrating?” Harlan asked.

  Owen crossed his ankles on the bed and blew out a breath. “You could say that. Also, I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t know whether you’d done it yet. Tell me you did it.”

  “Not yet. I’ll do it in the morning. Hey,” he protested at Owen’s sardonic look, “she was tired.”

  “Or you’re scared she won’t go if you tell her the truth.”

  “It’s nice, all right?” Harlan said. “Being with somebody who actually likes you for your … personality, or whatever.”

  Owen grinned and took a swig of the beer he’d brought in with him. “You sure about that? She looked like she wanted to kill somebody earlier today.”

  “She’s not a fan of skiing,” Harlan said. “Also, I could’ve pushed her a little hard on that. She’s tougher than she thinks, though. Wanted to cry, but didn’t. Got back up again instead and kept going. I admire that. So you didn’t kiss little Dynamite? I kind of promised you wouldn’t, so you know.”

  Owen said, “Well, sort of.”

  Harlan looked at him sideways. “Sort of what?”

  “She put her hand on my thigh,” Owen said. “Sitting at the table. While she was making this really serious point about the future of astronautics. I asked her about getting those piercings, and she told me she had a few more, and then she looked at me all sideways and didn’t tell me where. Am I supposed to be made of stone, or what? Because I’m not. I walked her back to her room, and she …” He sighed and took another swallow of beer. “She pulled my head down and kissed me. And I kissed back. Sorry. It was an impulse.”

  “I bet it was.”

  “But I left,” Owen said.

  “Didn’t put your hand on her ass or anything?” Harlan said.

  “Maybe a little bit,” Owen said. “Hey. She’s tiny. I had to hold her somewhere.”

  Harlan was the one sighing now. “One more day. Just don’t, OK? I like Jennifer. She worries. She tries to act cool about it, but she’s terrified something bad’s going to happen to Dyma.”

  “Maybe she should be terrified something’s going to happen to me,” Owen said. “Because I about died there. That girl’s a killer.” He swung his feet off the bed and stood up. “And if you want Jennifer to keep liking you for your personality? You’d better think how you’re going to explain lying to her for two days. What does she think you do?”

  “I may have mentioned farm equipment.”

  Owen heaved another gusty sigh. “Yeah. That’s not going to cut it.”

  Dyma sat on the edge of the bed the next morning and yawned. “Explain this to me again? This makes no sense. Also, are we going home tonight, or tomorrow? I’m confused.”

  Jennifer kept on with her packing. “We’re going with the flow. You’re just grumpy because I woke you up early.”

  “Well, yeah,” Dyma said. “At five-thirty in the morning. I was up late, but don’t worry, Owen got me home by curfew, Your Honor. I thought the snow coaches left at nine.”

  “You can rent one, it turns out,” Jennifer said. “And since there are four of us, I guess that was reasonable.” Though it wasn’t, not really. Kris hadn’t let her make any of the arrangements, but a quick search on the lobby wi-fi yesterday afternoon with her last bit of energy had showed her that there was exactly one possibility for a flight out of Bozeman going in the general direction of North Dakota, and it left for Minneapolis at 10 A.M. Was there such a thing as a high-speed snow coach? She’d asked Kris at dinner about the logistics, and he’d said, “Don’t worry about it. We’ll make it.”

  “Honestly,” she’d said, “you should let me check over the arrangements. It’s my job.”

  “Nope. It was simple. And don’t worry, I’ll get you back home by Monday, too.”

  “That’s pretty mysterious,” she’d told him.

  “Oh, yeah,” Owen had said, taking a bite of lasagna. “Or it’s the home-town crowd, North Dakota, and some extra time on a plane. One or the other. The things I do for you, bro.”

  It wasn’t mysterious on the snow coach. It was just loud in the tracked vehicle, and it was early. It was also still dark, which meant no animals to watch for, and Kris wasn’t talking. Which was probably why Jennifer fell asleep.

  She was dreaming about driving a bulldozer. She was supposed to operate it, but it was too noisy, and there were too many levers. She had to do her job, but nobody had taught her how. She was pulling on a stick and pressing buttons, and somebody was trying to give her instructions that she didn’t understand. She was going to get fired if she didn’t do this right, but she couldn’t figure it out.

  She swam back up to consciousness, because somebody was saying something. Oh. Kris, saying her name. She opened her eyes, realized that her head was on his shoulder and his arm was around her, and sat up fast. “What?” she asked, wiping her mouth. She’d better not have drooled on him. “What happened?”

  “We’re here,” Kris said.

  “What? Where?” This wasn’t Mammoth Hot Springs, where they’d transfer to a wheeled van for the long drive to Bozeman. This was … She blinked. Somewhere else. A town.

  “West Yellowstone,” Kris said. “We’re changing to an SUV for the drive to the airport.”

  She looked at her watch. The trip had only taken an hour and a half. She forced her fuzzy brain into action and said, when Kris was holding her hand to help her out of the high vehicle, “Oh. Does that work? The … uh, connections? They only fly to Salt Lake City out of here.”

  “No worries,” he said. “It works.”

  He looked nervous. She hadn’t realized he could look nervous. He was so laid-back, he was practically a professional at it. That was probably good for selling farm equipment, though. He’d be spending his days chatting about crops or weather or whatever with farmers, who probably didn’t appreciate high-pressure sales tactics.

  He wasn’t looking laid-back now. She stopped where she was, in the snow and the freezing cold, halfway to the ot
her vehicle, which was, for some reason, a black Suburban with blacked-out rear windows of the type you’d expect to see in a presidential motorcade. The Suburban was being loaded by a driver wearing a black outfit complete with chauffeur’s cap, with some help from Owen. That was fairly bizarre. What was the demand for uniformed chauffeurs in West Yellowstone, Montana? The guy must be really into his job. She said, “Wait.”

  Kris stopped. Still looking tense, like he was sure she was going to say something bad.

  She said, “First, it’s your birthday. It’s your day, and I just want to say—you’re choosing to do this, and that choice is coming from a place of strength. You’re doing it because you’re a good person, and you don’t want to let people down, and that’s admirable. I’m saying that, because I think you may need to hear it. And—oh.” She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small paper bag. “Happy birthday.”

  He unfastened the tape holding the bag closed and pulled out the flat little package, and then he smiled. It wasn’t the charming smile. It was more real than that. “Whiskey stones,” he said.

  “With wolves on them,” she said. “You put them in the freezer and use them to keep your whiskey cold without diluting it, since you don’t like it with water.” She hesitated, then went ahead and said, “I saw them in the gift shop, and I thought they might remind you that you saved somebody’s life, and that she’s grateful. You weren’t just fast. You were brave, too, and you were … loyal, I’d say, to put yourself on the line for somebody you don’t even know. Brave and strong and loyal. Isn’t that how you said the Mountain Shoshone saw the wolf?”

  She felt stupid and exposed as soon as she’d said it. Too much to say, except that she’d thought about him last night. About that boy whose father had beaten him, whose father was still telling him he wasn’t enough, whose mother had left. She didn’t want him to go into this thing today, whatever it was, still feeling like he wasn’t enough. Not on his birthday.