A Time to Live (11 page)

****

The telephone rang, sending a blaze of pain through Nikki’s head. She bolted awake, finding herself in her room, darkness surrounding her. “Michael?”

The phone kept ringing and Nikki picked it up just to stop the ache it caused in her skull.
“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello?” she said again, deciding it was probably a wrong number.

“You should have left Roumare in jail,” a deep, muffled voice said.

Fear cut through her and her heart slammed against her ribs. “Who is this?”

“Next time it might be worse,” the voice growled and the line went dead.

Nikki shoved the phone away from her and it clattered to the floor. Her body quivered in fear and she grabbed her inhaler to soothe her aching chest. She heard the whine of an engine and then the bang of the front door. Gusts of wind howled around the house and Nikki’s terror increased.

The stairs creaked and her gaze snapped to the door.

It opened with a soft squeak and Michael peered at her. “Nikki? What are you doing awake?”

Relief washed over her as he stepped into the room.
“Where...,” her voice shook and she fought to steady it. “Where did you go?”

“I went home to pick up some clothes, feed my hawk and get the snowmobile.
We’ve got a bad storm developing. It’s already knocked out the power.” He lit the small hurricane lamp on the nightstand and gazed at her worriedly. “Nikki, what’s wrong? Your face is gray.”

She swallowed hard.
“Well the telephone still works,” she muttered. It was only a crank call. No doubt Taylor or one of his goons wanted to scare her again. If the sheriff found any evidence against them and not Michael, with her testimony, they could go to jail for a very long time.

Michael’s gaze locked on the phone on the floor and he picked it up, placing it back on the nightstand.
“What happened, Nikki?” he asked, his voice firm.

She took another breath and the words poured out of her like a flood.
She didn’t want to worry Michael, but she couldn’t stop herself. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his arms. Nikki closed her eyes gratefully as her fear eased. The strength of his embrace sheltered and protected her.

“I think you are right,” he said gently, his voice rumbling through his chest.
“Taylor is just trying to scare you. I’m sorry I wasn’t here, Nikki, but I thought you would be okay for a few minutes.”

She sighed softly.
“It’s nothing, Michael, but a stupid crank call.” She rubbed her eyes, her head still aching.

“Here,” Michael said handing her a pain pill.
She took it and laid back down. “I’m going to be here the rest of the night.” He picked up the phone and turned off the ringer. “I’ll answer the phone if it rings again.”

She nodded, her eyelids drooping as he caressed her face.

“Get some rest, Nikki,” he whispered.

****

Nikki ended up sleeping the rest of the night, most of the next day and night as well - waking only when Michael roused her. On the third morning, she awoke to discover her head no longer ached so terribly. The lump on her skull was still sore and her leg hurt, but it was much improved. She sat up and gazed out the window, seeing the snow storm continuing to rage, turning into a veritable white out. But at least the power was back on. She took her meds, still grateful Michael had not pushed her for answers.

Michael knocked softly on her door and opened it.
He grinned brightly when he saw her. “Hey, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?”

“Much better.”

“That’s good. I thought you might like a change of pace and come downstairs.”

“That would be nice.
I can only stare at the same four walls for so long.”

He chuckled and helped her to the bathroom where she cleaned up and changed into comfortable sweatpants and a
n oversized sweater.

Michael looked at her as she emerged and grinned.
“Good grief, Nikki, you can fit three of you in that sweater.”

She held up her hands, the sleeves flopping a good four inches.
“I know, I love it.”

He laughed, carried her downstairs, and put her on the couch, with her leg propped up.
Nikki was surprised to find the place absolutely spotless. Michael had taken care of everything.

She spied a large sketchpad on the table.
Her breath caught in her throat. The pencil sketches were simple but they were the most beautiful she had ever seen.

“Michael,” she whispered in awe.
“Did you do these?”

His cheeks turned a darker shade of bronze.
“Yeah. When I sneaked out to get some clothes, I brought some of my art supplies with me.” He gestured toward the window. “When it gets like this, drawing and painting keeps me from going stir-crazy.”

“May I look at them?”

“Sure,” he replied, but as she picked up the pad, Michael darted into the kitchen as if afraid to watch her.

Nikki gazed at the pictures, stunned by his talent. “Michael,” she said.

He stopped fiddling in the kitchen and looked at her with an odd expression. As if he feared what she might say. “Yes?”

“These are fantastic.”

His shoulders relaxed and he awarded her with his bright smile.

Nikki’s heart lurched.
That smile was so rare, but it seemed to light the room.
Three times in as many days, I should fall off of cliffs more often.

“Thank you, Nikki.
I make my living as an artist.”

Her jaw went slack.
“Wow. I didn’t think Shadow Mountain would be much of an art community.”

He shook his head.
“It’s not. I sell my paintings in various tourist spots around here. Because I’m half Arapaho, I can also sell them at the reservation’s visitors center.”

“Did you go to school for this?”

He nodded. “I earned a MFA in Studio Art at the University of Denver.”

She blinked at him, stunned.
“I have a MFA from USC.” She paused and grinned ruefully. “But the drawing and painting almost killed me, that’s why I focused on photography...no pun intended.”

He chuckled.
“I had the same problem with photography. I must admit I’m surprised you didn’t earn a degree in business considering your ownership of the family corporation.”

Nikki wrinkled her nose at him.
“I minored in business only because I had to. I really don’t like it. I almost had a double major in journalism, but never found the time to complete the hours.”

His smile grew.
“I minored in drafting.”

“Now that’s quite a combination.”

“I love building things, so it was a natural step. I thought about earning another graduate degree, but by the time I finished my MFA, I was sick of school.” He grimaced. “Josh and I had a falling out and I hated living in the city.”

“Josh?
Josh Starwell?”

Michael nodded.
“He was my roommate in college, we rented an apartment together. But he moved out and a month later I graduated. I had my MFA and decided enough was enough.”

“But I thought Josh studied medicine.”

“He did. Josh had a hard time finding a focus at first. He’s brilliant, but that also causes him to get bored easily. Josh pursued art, then architecture, and even tried for a Bachelor Degree in English, but he could never finish anything. For a while, I thought he was going to be a professional student. But after I left, he settled on psychiatry and earned a degree.”

Nikki nodded.
“I was a little like that in college too. But when I started photography, I found my passion, especially wildlife.”

Michael arched an eyebrow at her.
“Then why did you stay in L.A.?” He paused and grinned. “Of course, there are those who would say Los Angeles has its own indigenous wildlife.”

She laughed.
“True. Once I figured out the company could run by itself, and got tired of the CEO crap, I started spending most of my time with wolf reintroduction groups. That job got me out of L.A. enough to keep my sanity.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something more and Nikki cringed, fearful he would ask her again why she quit her photography.
But he snapped his jaw shut and stared at the floor.

Nikki abruptly remembered the ruined canvasses she had seen.
“So you did paint those,” she said.

He scowled.
“What?”

Nikki’s heart lurched, she had not meant to let that slip.
She ducked her head, blushing furiously. “I...just before Taylor knocked me off the cliff, I went exploring and found myself at your house.”

Michael stiffened, his features turning harsh.
“And?”

“I...uh...knocked and the door swung open.”

He gazed at her as if she had committed the ultimate act of betrayal. Muttering under his breath, he turned his back, his hand tearing through his hair.

“I’m sorry...but when I saw the mess, I was afraid something had happened to you - that you were hurt. So I went in.”

His shoulders slumped and he bowed his head. A moment later he faced her again, but his anger had vanished, replaced by a look of surprise. “You...you were really worried about me?”

She nodded.
“Can you tell me what happened?”

Michael’s jaw tightened, and Nikki clearly saw pain reflected in his amber eyes.
“That day I met you at the café - the sheriff’s deputies trashed my place. I’ve been trying to fix it, but....” he shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

“Oh God, Michael, I’m sorry.”
She held her hand out to him.

Slowly, he crossed the room and took her hand in his, then sat next to her.
With her free hand, she gently brushed his long hair away from his face. “I have an idea. As soon as I’m up and around again, we can work on your house. I know some associates in Los Angeles who can repair those paintings.”

He blinked at her, stunned.

She scowled, drudging through her memory. “And they can probably fix the old chest I saw, as well as the wedding gown.”

Michael gaped at her.
“The chest is very old.”

“They
work at a museum and specialize in restoring things.”

His hand tightened on hers.
“Nikki, that would be wonderful. The chest was my mother’s hope chest, and the wedding gown has been in the Roumare family for generations. It’s all I have left of my parents.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighed heavily. “My parents died when I was seven.”

“Michael, I’m so sorry.”

He slowly lifted her hand to his lips, his gaze locked on hers. Nikki’s heart lurched as his lips touched her skin, warm and soft. “It would mean a lot to me if your friends could repair everything.”

She smiled, losing herself in his beautiful eyes, and surprising herself with the realization she wanted to kiss him again.

The sharp whistle of the teapot broke their moment. Michael reluctantly went into the kitchen.

“Michael?” she asked
as he returned with two cups of hot tea. “Do you have any other family here?”

“My aunt on my father’s side still lives on Shadow Mountain, she owns the general store.
But my cousin, Chris, and his wife, Susan, moved to Denver a few months ago.” He paused and picked up his sketch pad, flipping to some older drawings. “Chris and Susan.”

Nikki gazed at the large, highly detailed pencil sketch.
A young man with long, light colored hair, held a pretty woman with black hair close, her head against his chest.

She smiled.
“Very nice.”

“Thanks, they are dear friends.
I really wish they hadn’t moved. My grandfather on my mother’s side lives on the res, but I haven’t seen him in a long time.” He gazed at the barren walls around them. “You don’t know how close I came to hanging those photos for you.”

“Huh?

“The photos you took and have framed…the ones that are hiding in the closet where no one can see them.”

“What about them?”

“These walls are empty. I was going to hang them, but I worried the noise of the hammer would drive you nuts.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly. “But honestly, Michael—”

“They are beautiful. You really should keep your photography going.”

She sighed softly.
“I was thinking about making part of the basement into a dark room but....” She bit her tongue. She probably wouldn’t live long enough to see it completed, let alone use it.

Michael
flipped to a blank sheet on his sketch pad. “How big is the area?”

“Michael, I don’t think--”

“You shouldn’t need too much space.”

She stared in shock at the room taking form under his deft fingers.