Brave (4 page)

“I’m
sorry, but that happens sometimes. You’re going to have to put
up with it. We’re stuck together now for the duration of the
storm.” His voice was empty.

“Are
you all right now?”

He
dropped his face into his hand and shook his head. “No. I’m
not.” He picked up my plate and glass.

“Dakota—”

“I
know you want to help and I know you have questions. But I can’t
talk about it…with anyone. You have your personal
business…well…this is mine. We’ll keep it that
way.”

“If
that’s the way you want it, but if you ever change your mind…”

He
gave me a short nod. “And, Alissa?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t
touch me again.”

#

Dakota

I
was vibrating with the memory of her skin against mine. The sounds of
her distress had triggered another flashback. It wasn’t her
fault. She hadn’t meant to do it. But after four months of
successfully keeping the flashbacks at bay, I’d had two in her
presence in less than an hour. She’d only been worried about
her own burden. I didn’t know what it was, but I recognized the
sadness in her eyes. The loss of something precious.

But
it was her scent that had brought me back, the glorious feel of her
arms around me. None of this made sense, though. I barely knew her,
but it was as if our hearts knew each other. I didn’t normally
go in for that kind of crap, but it was true.

I
closed my eyes thinking about how close her lips had been to mine. It
had been such a long time since anyone had touched me. It had felt so
good, so fucking great, but I couldn’t allow myself to get used
to it. I’d come here for the isolation, to suffer alone with my
failures and pain. No one was allowed to help me. I couldn’t
bear it, no longer had the courage to try.

Seeking
calm, I focused on getting Alissa’s dishes washed. I knew I had
to touch her again and I didn’t want to. But she was injured.
She couldn’t walk with her sprained ankle. She probably thought
I didn’t want to touch her, but that wasn’t the real
truth. I did want to touch her. I
ached
to.
But once the snow stopped and she did what she came to do, she’d
be gone. I’d be alone again. That didn’t hold as much
appeal as it had only a few hours ago.

I
bent down and slipped my arms around her, gritting my teeth as my
senses stretched open painfully, like muscles that hadn’t been
flexed in a long time. My whole being cried out for the comfort, for
the simple human contact. I went down the hall adjacent to the
kitchen to the spare room next to mine. I wanted her close, in case
she needed me.

Before
I stepped inside the room, I said, “Do you have to use the
bathroom?”

“Yes,
please.”

I
eased her down onto the commode and closed the door. I had already
put her toiletries case in there for her. Struggling to regain some
detachment, I leaned back into the door, closing my eyes. Why was
this girl having such an effect on me? She didn’t look anything
like Elsa, yet she had the same wonderful spirit, the same comforting
look in her eyes.

And, I
wanted
it.

Desperately
.

When
she called out to me that she was ready, I went in. I swallowed hard
when I saw the soft pink cotton top and pants she had on.

“You’re
totally safe with me,” I said to take that anxious look off her
face. “I would never…hurt you.”

She
nodded. “I already know that. That’s not what worries
me.”

I
shook my head. I didn’t want her to say she was worried about
me. I wasn’t worth her time or energy.

I
lifted her up, and my traitorous body responded. Her breasts were
loose without her bra on, and one rested softly against my chest
wall. Her skin smelled so sweet, a scent that struck hard at my
senses. I stood there holding her, my insides shaking and reacting to
her closeness. I got hard, achingly hard, my dick throbbing in time
to the hot rush of my blood.

“I’m
sorry, Alissa.”

“I’m
sorry, too, for what you’ve been through.”

I
walked slowly down the hall to the guest bedroom, then more slowly to
her bed, not wanting to let her go. I settled her against the
mattress, and paused, bent over her, drawing in her scent again and
the warmth of her naked flesh beneath her clothes.

I
forced my arms to let her go. “I’ll be right back.”
Taking deep, steadying breaths, I went to the fridge for another ice
pack and grabbed some more ibuprofen along with a glass of water.

She’d
pulled the covers up by the time I returned, but after giving her the
water and the pills, I slipped my hands underneath and settled the
ice pack over her ankle.

“If
you need me, call me. I’ll come to you. Anything at all.”

“Thank
you, Dakota.”

I
could see she wanted to say more, but there was nothing else to say.
“Goodnight, Alissa.”

I
left the room as she said, “Goodnight, Dakota.”

#

I
prowled around outside the house making sure everything was secure. I
looked toward the cliff, but it was too dark and obscured by the
hard-blowing snow. I couldn’t see it. But I knew it was there,
and it pulled at me. My breathing increased, my breath frosting the
air. Inside the generator shed, I double-checked to make sure it was
ready to go in case we lost power.

I
grabbed up the ax that was propped next to the now-buried chopping
block and quickly swept off the snow in case I needed to chop more
wood. Grabbing my frozen shirt off the railing, I headed back inside,
turning off all the lights before settling on the couch.

The
fact that I had a patient seemed to ground me in some fundamental
way. Another pathway that had been clogged seemed to be clearing. She
had brought me purpose and reminded me I was a highly trained health
professional. Suddenly, I missed doing my job and the satisfaction
that brought me. Surprisingly, I hadn’t thought these things
for a long time, and the awareness of these feelings now made me
restless.

My
perceptions of myself and the world had fractured in blood and gore
on the Ivory Coast at the hands of the scarred man and his vicious
rebels.

I
should have died that day. Felt like some essential part of me
had
died. The me I had known was obscured and blank. Like a quiz where I
knew none of the answers. But the crucial part of me, the healer,
Alissa brought back and made me yearn.

But
I was still at the mercy of the despair and frustration I’d
hoped to escape by walking away from a world where I no longer
belonged or could function. I got up and paced, the fear and ugliness
inside me swelling like a tsunami. It would be best not to touch her
again. My heart cried out at the thought. Exploring every inch of
Alissa would be a pleasure that I would cherish.

I
had to do something to distract myself. Then I got an idea and I went
back outside, searching around the bases of the trees. Finally I
found a branch of a size and length that would work for her. At the
kitchen table, I stripped off the old bark down to the exquisite bare
wood, then used a pencil to draw on it. Retrieving my tools from my
workroom, I started to carve.

It
was the only thing that kept me from walking out the door, out into
the snow, and giving into the call of the cliff.

I
finished the carvings about four a.m. I used quick-drying shellac and
gave it a couple of coats. After stretching my cramped back and
shoulders, I slipped quietly down the hall and entered her room. She
was sleeping so peacefully. I hadn’t had a decent night’s
sleep since before…since about six months ago.

I
should have left after I set the walking stick next to her bed.
Instead, I stood there like a creep watching her sleep. She was so
beautiful, her pale hair spread out on her pillow, her lovely face
soft in sleep.

I
recognized that what I was feeling was lust, but not in that sexual
heat way. It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before, a sweet
craving for peace, a fierce yearning to have her, and the odd notion
that I’d somehow gain serenity from it, that I would lose
myself in her as if she were some primal element; a beckoning isle or
a tantalizing, sunlit glen, instead of a bewitching female.

I
wanted to curl up with her and just sleep. Find that place where she
was and let go of reality enough to rest. But the demons were
especially adept at finding me in the dark.

I
had become so lost, so directionless—like a ship without a
rudder or a broken compass. I didn’t know how to function
anymore, how to interact with people. All I had done so far with her
was shout at her and go wild-man crazy.

That
must have impressed the hell out of her. But I remembered the way
she’d looked at me before I went to get her luggage. That look
in her eye that had said more than words.

I
wasn’t a fucking hero.

Why
had she looked at me like I was?

Alissa

I
drifted for a while in the hazy place between sleeping and waking,
and then my first thought was of him, which jarred me. For the last
few days I’d only thought of what I had to do. What Charlie
asked me to do.

But
Dakota’s fear and his suffering were clearly unbearable. I
wanted to know what had happened to him. But it was none of my
business, and I was getting sidetracked, although I couldn’t
perform Charlie’s task until the storm passed.

There
was something between us, between me and this wounded man who’d
rescued me. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I was sure of one
thing—it was compelling. Okay, maybe it was attraction, pure
and simple. But I’d been attracted to boys before, had my share
of relationships, and had casual sex a couple of times. This was like
nothing I’d ever experienced before.

Maybe
it was because he wasn’t a boy. And this wasn’t some
adolescent crush. He was dealing with grown-up problems. Debilitating
problems. And, maybe, just maybe, I was growing up a little.

I
opened my eyes and I noticed a wooden walking stick near the bed. It
was really beautiful, with delicately carved flowers down its length.
I tested my ankle, and it was still sore but much better. Even the
swelling had gone down. I got up and carefully put my weight on it
and found that, with the walking stick, I could get around pretty
well.

I
was kind of sure he’d given me the walking stick so he wouldn’t
have to touch me anymore. I sighed to relieve a sudden tight feeling
in my chest. I got better with the stick as I made my way into the
bathroom, then removed the ace bandage, took a shower and got
dressed, redoing the ace bandage. But it was a bit sloppy. Finished
with that, I hobbled over to the window to discover that it was still
snowing.

I
made my gimpy way out of the bathroom and breathed deep of the
heavenly aroma of coffee.

I
was a coffee whore. Hands down. To me it was liquid gold.

“That smells
heavenly….” I trailed off, caught by the sight of him at
the kitchen table working on his laptop. I forgot to breathe. The air
just stopped, as if a great cataclysm had sucked all the oxygen out
of the atmosphere.

Light
from the window over the sink flooded the room. It highlighted his
face in strong profile, shadow and light, his eyes a clear gray
beneath black lashes, dreamy as if he was caught in a figment of my
imagination. His broad shoulders shifted and the reality of him was
just as good. He smiled—a soft upturn of his mouth, a glance
like a secret shared between us, brief and poignant. It sparked a
pleasure so unexpected and brutal that I felt bruised inside.

“Good
morning,” he said, his voice gruff. “Sounds like you’re
ready for some coffee.”

“Whore,”
I said.

He
blinked and frowned. “What?”

“I’m
a whore.”

“What
the hell are you saying?”

“Oh,
God. I mean…I’m a whore…a…a…coffee
whore.” I cleared my throat.

There
was utter silence as he stared at me. Then laughter burst out of him,
rusty and beautiful, as if he was testing to see if he was capable.
The mirth transformed his face and brought a shine to his eyes. He
was even more gorgeous now than he had been just moments before.

And,
again our gazes caught and held, the shared laughter between us an
aphrodisiac. I trembled inside at the intensity of his look.

He
pulled his gaze away with some effort and said, “Well, don’t
let me keep you from your addiction.” He chuckled again.

I
laughed, too. “That was completely messed up and embarrassing.
I was just thinking about it as I walked down the hall, and then I
saw you at the table.”

He
did that huffing, exasperated sigh, but the glance he gave me just
made my blood rush. How could he do that with just a look from those
smoky eyes?

“Just
to set the record straight, I’m not a whore…you know…the
sexual kind,” I said.

“I’m
too much of a gentleman to comment on that. Would you like me to pour
you a cup?

“No,
look at me. I can walk.”

He
smiled again and my heart skipped.

“I
see that.”

“Thank
you for this. It’s beautiful. I love the flowers. Has it been
in your family for a long time?”

“Um,
no, not long. They’re Mountain Columbine, that’s
Colorado’s state flower. It’s a pretty purple.”

“Oh,
can you show me on your laptop?”

He
started to type as I hobbled over to him. He pulled up a picture and
I went to hit the scroll key to read about the flower and our hands
touched. For a minute, I couldn’t move as the air around us
heated, the texture vibrating. I had never felt so much tension
before when I was this close to a man. I turned my head slowly to
look at him.

He
looked tired. I wondered if he’d slept at all. But maybe those
terrible ghosts in his eyes kept him awake? They were as strong as
ever. He inhaled deeply, as if he was trying to breathe me in. My
whole body suffused with heat, a huge rush from the top of my head
down to my toes. He closed his eyes, cutting off that dreamy look,
and he swayed toward me. I had the sweetest urge to meet his mouth
more than halfway.