Here to Stay (Silhouette Special Edition) (17 page)

Miles should have felt better when he finished talking to Eleanor, but he didn’t. He still felt like a class-A, brass-plated jackass for yelling at Sasha. He wouldn’t see her until she came home in the evening and he decided to run out now and pick up flowers—something really spectacular—while he was doing his damn laundry.

By the time Sasha came home that evening she seemed to have forgotten about his explosion, but the cream-colored roses made her glow with such pleasure that Miles phoned the florist the next morning and placed an order for roses to be delivered again in a week. After all, he might not be around to bring them himself.

* * *

That evening Sasha lay across Miles’s lap, reading while he watched an espionage movie. When the phone rang he answered, then handed the receiver to her.

“Hi, Doc, it’s Barbara Dugan. Was that the handsome mystery man I’ve heard about?”

Laughing, Sasha sat up. This didn’t sound like an emergency call. “What can I do for you, Barbara?”

“Well, I’ve been talking with Al and we decided we’d like to replace old Silver on the petting farm. Would you be willing to part with Houdini? He’s got such a great story. Kids love that kind of happy ending. And we kinda miss having a horse around the place.”

“Houdini would be in horse heaven at your place,” Sasha told her. “He’ll love all the attention. When would you want to get him?”

Miles got up and walked out of the living room. Sasha didn’t think anything of it until she’d finished making arrangements with Barbara. She looked up to find him glowering at her from the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

“How can you do that?” he demanded. “How can you let that poor old guy go somewhere else? This is his home.”

His vehemence startled her. She started to get up, then sank onto the couch and gaped at him. He scowled back.

“I beg your pardon,” she finally said stiffly. “Are you hollering at me for sending Houdini to a better home?”

“I thought you cared about him.”

“I
love
Houdini! That’s why I’m willing to let him go to people who can give him more attention. The Dugans have a petting farm, and kids come to visit almost daily. Those kids go crazy for a chance to pet a horse, and Houdini loves kids. It’s ideal for him, and I know he’ll never be mistreated. They’re wonderful people, and responsible animal owners. I’ve been their vet since I started practicing. Their last horse died in his sleep at the age of thirty-one, which is well over a hundred people years.”

Miles didn’t look convinced. “What about you?”

His question puzzled her. “What about
me?
“

“Won’t you miss him when he’s gone?”

Sasha stared up at him, wishing she could read his thoughts in his eyes. “Yes, I’ll miss him,” she said. “But I’ll let him go because I love him.”

Miles shook his head, but, to her relief, came back to the sofa and sank down beside her. Immediately she went into his arms. For a long while he was silent. Sasha assumed he’d gotten interested in the movie again, but when they were going upstairs to bed, he said, “It still doesn’t make sense. What’s the point of loving Houdini, if you send him away?”

She turned and wrapped her arms around his waist. Tipping her face up toward his, she smiled to cover the aching sadness she felt whenever she thought about his impending departure. “Sometimes that’s the point of loving.”

She thought he might continue the discussion, but he only stared down into her face for a long moment before groaning and crushing her closer. His hands sifted through her hair, then cupped her head as he bent and kissed her. This was a kiss like none other. Sasha clung to his strong shoulders and absorbed the rough desperation of his mouth on hers. She knew what was driving him, and whatever assurances she could give him, she would.

Miles lifted the hem of her sweater and drew it off over her head, then, with trembling hands, he traced the lacy cups of her bra. His fingers trailed fire over the skin of her neck and chest, turning her bones to liquid. By the time Miles had reached around her back to unhook her bra, she was trembling with the effort to stand.

Sasha managed one lame tug at his T-shirt before he ripped it off and tossed it away. A second later, he had pulled her into his arms again. Her bare breasts met the hard, warm wall of his chest and she lifted her face for his kiss. The expression in his golden eyes made Sasha want to cry. She knew he was thinking that each time they made love could be the last time. She knew, because that was what she was thinking, too.

Without warning, Miles flicked off the lights, then scooped Sasha up and carried her to the bed. She looped her arms tightly around his neck and when he set her down, she pulled him down with her. Somehow he managed to kiss her mouth, her neck, her breasts, and work her jeans down and off her legs at the same time. Then he reared back and stared at her, his eyes a little wild in the dim light.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he said, his voice harsh. “All I have to do is smell your scent on something you wore and I get hard. It’s like a compulsion.”

“I know,” she whispered. She got to her knees so she could look into his eyes. “I feel like a mare in heat around you.”

Miles groaned, a low, feral sound, and tore at his jeans. He kicked them away, then knelt in front of her on the bed, his body powerfully aroused. She ran her fingers down his chest, following the cen-terline of dark, silky curls down past his navel, teasing at his thick shaft, smiling at the way his breath caught. A moment later her own breath caught at the feather-light brushing of his fingertips on her beaded nipples.

“If I were a stallion, what would I do?” Miles asked in a rasping whisper. Sasha felt her eyes widen. “Tell me, Sasha.” She tried to speak, but her voice stuck in her throat. Miles leaned close and kissed her lips softly. “That’s okay. I think I can figure it out,” he told her.

And then his hands were stroking all over her, making her tremble in anticipation. He touched her everywhere except between her legs, where she was damp and hot for him. When he drew her down so she rested on her hands and knees, his hands touched her gently, telling her wordlessly that she could stop him at any time. Like a mare in season, all she wanted was the joining of their bodies. Feeling him behind her, she shifted her hips.

Miles reached under her pillow, then trailed kisses over her back and shoulders as he quickly took care of the condom. He lifted her hair and pushed it to one side, then leaned over her. She felt his thigh brush hers, felt his hardness resting on her hip, felt his body surround her. His teeth closed gently on the back of her neck and a shudder ran through her as his fingers slid between her thighs. His ca-resses brought her higher and higher, until all she could do was gasp his name.

And then he knelt behind her, his belly against her bottom, his hands clasping her hips. He entered her slowly, with far more tenderness than any stallion ever used to claim his mare. Sasha felt Miles deep inside her, felt as if there was no part of her that he wasn’t touching. With every stroke he branded her as his. She closed her eyes and saw fireworks.

When they finally collapsed together, Miles gathered her close and held her tightly. A long, long while later he kissed the side of her neck and murmured, “This being a stallion is a tough job, but I like the perks.”

* * *

Miles came back bursting with enthusiasm from his morning meeting with the owner of a small publishing company. A black pickup truck he didn’t recognize sat in the yard. The logo on the driver’s door had a picture of a black-and-white horse standing in a horseshoe. Framing the picture were the words, D. Eckley & Family, Champion Appaloosas, Mount Albert, Ontario.

Sasha had mentioned that there were breeders interested in Desperado, but she hadn’t said any of them had been invited to nose around when no one was home. Frowning, Miles strode toward the paddock. As he came around the corner he saw a young woman standing beside the fence. Desperado, the rogue, was slurping at her hand through the bars. Mindful of the stallion’s tentative grasp of social graces, Miles slowed his pace and called a greeting quietly so he wouldn’t startle either the horse or the woman.

The stallion’s head rose and his ears pricked forward at the sound of Miles’s voice. The woman turned toward him, then wiped her hand on her jeans and smiled, revealing a mouth full of braces. He reas-sessed his impression of her age to about seventeen.

“Hi. I’m Candy Eckley. Are you Mr. Reiss?”

Miles smiled, both at her mistake and at her guileless expression. “Miles Kent. Doc Reiss is out on calls. Is there something I can help you with?”

“My dad said Desperado is for sale. We looked at him earlier this year, when Mr. Hogg still owned him, but no one could handle him.” An earnest frown puckered the girl’s face. “Daddy promised I could breed my mare this year, and I wanted to see Desperado again before I brought her to another stallion.” Her expression cleared. “I can’t wait to tell him Desperado is such a sweetheart now.”

“Don’t underestimate him,” he warned. “Sasha says he may never be totally reliable.”

Candy nodded. “We wouldn’t try to break him to saddle. We’d only use him as a stud.” She smiled. “Can you tell Doc Reiss that Daddy will call her for an appointment, so not to sell him before we get a chance to make an offer? Here’s our card.”

Miles took the card. He wanted to tear it up, but he stuffed it into his shirt pocket and muttered something about relaying the message to Sasha later in the day. Candy Eckley thanked him profusely, crooned a long string of baby talk to Desperado—who lapped up the attention without any apparent twinge of conscience, the traitor—then returned to her father’s truck with a jaunty wave.

Seething, Miles stomped to the house. How could Sasha sell Desperado? She’d worked so hard with him, and risked her neck too many times. Now that the damn beast was finally trusting enough to eat out of her hand, she was planning to sell him to strangers! It was Houdini and her grandfather’s hunters all over again. And the cats and the puppies. The woman had a peculiar way of showing she loved something, if she was so willing to let it go. Not that he was any expert on love, but he figured that if you loved something, letting go was the last thing you’d want to do.

By the time he’d reached the porch, some of the edge of his anger had dulled. He didn’t even really have a clear idea of
why
he was so angry.

Copper greeted him with her entire body wagging. He stopped to play with her and the pups for a few minutes. Their eyes were open now, and they were clumsily tumbling all over each other and their mother. Stroking their silky coats and laughing at their antics erased the remainder of his anger. Perhaps Sasha was right. Even if she wasn’t, it was her business.

“Where are your owners, Copper?” he asked her. The dogs ears lifted and her head tipped to the side as if she were considering the question. “They loved you and let you go, didn’t they?” The dog grinned as if she understood. He shook his head. “But that was different. They couldn’t fight for you any other way, could they? Sasha was taking care of Houdini and Desperado just fine, even if she wasn’t riding the hunters. It doesn’t—”

The ringing of the phone saved him from further philosophical discussions with the panting dog.

“Hi, Miles. It’s Donna. My kids said they saw a couple of notices about a lost dog that could be about Copper.”

“Where?” he demanded.

She gave him the cross streets, then added, “They were on their bikes and didn’t stop to read the posters, so it could be a wild-goose chase.”

After thanking her, Miles hung up, then started to dial the number McLeod had given Sasha, which was taped to the wall beside the kitchen phone. Then he reconsidered. What if it was a fool’s errand? He and McLeod weren’t exactly good buddies. He didn’t want to call the constable unless this was a firm lead.

The only thing to do was check out the posters himself.

M
iles raced outside and revved the rental car much too hard. He managed to get his anxiety under control by the time he pulled up at the first intersection Donna had given him. Sure enough, there was a crudely lettered poster on the utility pole, but it was torn and barely legible. What was left of the note said, “Dog lost. Gol... male....e soon. Kids miss...swers to Co...”

“Close enough for rock ’n’ roll,” Miles muttered, then steered the car to the second intersection Donna had told him about. There was nothing but paper bits hanging on to staples scattered over the sur-face of the pole, as well as the other poles in the immediate area, as if someone had recently torn off all notices.

Cursing under his breath, he decided to cruise the nearby streets. If there had been two posters, there must be more, he reasoned. He couldn’t call McLeod on the strength of a couple of scraps that might not refer to Copper at all.

But none of the utility poles in a three-mile radius bore a poster advertising for Copper’s return. Disgusted, Miles drove into a gas station to phone Sasha and tell her why he wasn’t there at lunchtime. As he got out of the car next to the phone booth, he noticed a gaunt, pale woman in a worn dress tacking a paper to the utility pole at the curb. Two scruffy, raggedly dressed children, a young boy and younger girl, stood to one side, their faces too wary for such young kids. They had to be Copper’s owners, he thought with a surge of adrenaline. Their sadness tugged at his heart.

Their faces tugged at his memory. He saw a brief flash of an image. Several kids, about the same age as these kids, dirty, hungry and scared, huddled together. With a shudder of anger Miles pushed away the memory. The past didn’t matter when the present was so urgent. He had to do something to rescue Copper’s kids and their mother.

Casually Miles approached and read the paper. “Dog lost. Golden retriever female. Pups due soon. Kids miss her. Answers to Copper.” At the bottom of the hand-printed notice was a phone number repeated on strips that could be torn off.

“Lost your dog, huh?” Miles said, hoping he sounded friendly and sympathetic, rather than threatening.

The woman flinched and shuffled a step back. The little girl clutched at the boy’s shirt and stuck her thumb in her mouth. The boy slowly looked up at Miles. His fearful expression faded slightly when Miles smiled, making him wonder if the boy had seen him through the windows when he’d left Copper on Sasha’s porch. Guardedly, the boy nodded.

“I haven’t seen her,” he told the youngster, “but I’ll take your number just in case.”

The trio simply stared at him until he’d taken one of the strips of paper from the notice. Then the mother backed away and turned, pushing the children toward the next utility pole. Miles strolled to the pay phone, then fumbled through the weather-beaten directory until he found the number for the Ontario Provincial Police. The voice on the other end told him McLeod was off duty, but would be in later in the day.

“Tell him it’s about the dog and the kids,” he said after leaving his name. He also left the phone number of the sad little family.

As he spoke into the phone, Miles covertly watched the three walk to the third utility pole in front of the gas station. When he finished leaving his message for McLeod, he hung up, then reached for an-other quarter to phone Sasha. The mother and kids retraced their steps to the edge of the gas-station parking lot. Miles froze, his attention fixed on the trio. The woman shoved the little girl into a battered old car parked across the street. The boy climbed in after his sister, and the woman shut the door. After two tries, the car started, sending up a cloud of black exhaust. Miles held his breath as the car drove past him and out to the narrow side road.

Acting strictly on impulse, Miles jumped into his car to follow the woman home. He would phone Sasha later. If he could give McLeod an address for the creep who beat the woman and her kids and killed their other dog, they’d be one step closer to getting free of him. After reliving some of his own memories, he felt even more the urgency of helping anyone in the same circumstance to escape.

Following the woman was harder than he’d anticipated. The old car crept along, doing well under the speed limit. The two-lane country road ran nearly straight, and at midmorning it was almost empty of traffic except for their two cars, forcing him to drive very slowly in order to hang back. Finally she signaled, the light blinking dimly behind the tape holding the taillight in place. He slowed enough so she wouldn’t see him turn behind her. The side road was unpaved and rutted. The woman drove even more slowly. Impatiently Miles forced himself to stay well back until he saw her turn down a gravel driveway barely accessible through densely overgrown bushes on both sides.

He decided to be prudent and park the car on the shoulder of the road, where it was hidden by those wild bushes. Leaving the doors unlocked but pocketing the keys, he got out of the car and crept toward the ramshackle house practically invisible from the road. He told himself he was looking for a house number, so he could give McLeod an exact address, but he knew he couldn’t just drive away after that. Not if those sad-eyed kids and their worn-out mother were in danger. The police might not understand, but he knew Sasha would. Somehow, she’d become his conscience since the accident had wiped his mem-ory clean. If she were with him, she’d do the same. Hell, he’d stuck around at Sasha’s farm on the excuse that he wanted to make sure the kids were okay, so here was his chance. Maybe it was his way of helping the helpless child he’d been himself. Whatever his rationalization for butting in, there was no way he could back out until he knew the kids and the woman were safe.

Using the bushes for cover, Miles made his way toward the house. The weathered structure listed slightly, the porch sagged, several windows had been covered with plastic or cardboard, suggesting that they’d been broken. The yard resembled a junkyard, with rusting car parts and farm machinery scattered in weed-invaded piles. For a disorienting moment Miles felt as if he’d been here before. Then he realized he must be picturing the house where his childhood tormentor had locked him in that nightmarish basement. With a shudder he shook off the memory and edged closer to the house.

Suddenly the front door flapped open. A tall, thin man in ragged overalls started to step out onto the porch. Abruptly he turned and strode back inside. There was a muffled crash from inside, as if a piece of furniture had been smashed. A man’s voice, raised in unintelligible shouting, followed. More crashing, mingled with the sounds of dishes breaking, and more of that furious snarling. Then the man appeared again, his fingers closed around the woman’s upper arm in a grip that Miles knew would leave bruises.

From his hiding place among the bushes, Miles heard the woman’s voice, her words indistinct, her tone whining. Another snarl from the man, then the sound of a car door slamming. A moment later the other car door slammed, and the car groaned to life. Miles ducked farther back into the bushes and prayed the man would be too preoccupied to notice Miles’s white rental car parked on the shoulder in front of the house. His prayers were apparently answered. The car tore backward down the driveway, spitting gravel within inches of Miles’ feet. Through the leaves and branches, he saw the car speed backward into the gravel road, turning rapidly away from his rental car. Miles suspected the driver hadn’t even glanced in his rearview mirror.

The scene Miles had witnessed seemed so familiar that for a moment he felt as if he were watching a movie he’d seen before. Then he remembered, in a flash of clarity that stole his breath. Eleanor Dobbs! He’d witnessed her ex-husband trying to kill her and had subdued the animal until her son, Jonathan, also badly beaten, had been able to phone the police. The bastard had decided to kill them, rather than allow Eleanor and their son to leave him. Eleanor had been permanently disabled, and Miles had hired her as his office assistant, even though she didn’t know how to type and he had hardly enough income for himself.

So, now at least he remembered why Eleanor and Jonathan thought they owed him something. But if he’d done all that for them, why did he sense some lingering guilt, as if he hadn’t done enough? Was there someone else in his past he should have tried to save? Or had he fulfilled the legacy of violence and hurt someone the way he had been hurt?

Overhead, a crow cawed. The raw sound shook him out of his thoughts and reminded him that those two sad ragamuffins were still in the house. After all that snarling and smashing of furniture and plates, they must be scared stiff. And they were much too young to be left alone, even for a few minutes. Kids could get into trouble without realizing it. He’d check on them, then call McLeod from the house. Not for the first time, he wished Sasha was with him. He could use her calming influence if the kids panicked at his presence. After all, he figured, one big guy looked a lot like another when a kid was small and battered.

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, praying the mother and her creepy boyfriend would stay away long enough for him to make sure the kids were okay, Miles snuck up to the house. The porch stairs rocked under his feet, and the floor creaked with each step. The screen door sagged on its hinges. The inside door stood open. Cautiously he walked into the front foyer. The smell of garbage and stale smoke hit him immediately. He looked around the dark rooms of the first floor, appalled by the litter of ashtrays, beer cans and junk-food wrappers. There was little furniture, and what there was sagged raggedly.

The upstairs rooms were little better. Miles stayed there only long enough to make certain the kids weren’t in any of the rooms or closets. Puzzled, he went back down to the front hall. Where could they be? Maybe outside. There was a dilapidated garage behind the junk piles. He’d check there as soon as he was sure they weren’t hiding in the house.

“Kids!” he bellowed, hoping he wasn’t going to scare them further. “Where are you? It’s okay. I’m a friend from the farm where you brought Copper. I want to help you. Okay?”

He paused, straining his ears for any answering sound. Nothing. He drew another breath to call again, and heard a faint sound from somewhere in the house. In the kitchen? He moved as quietly as he could, listening for the noise so he knew which way to go. There it was again. Muffled thumping. And muffled, high-pitched calls for help.

Suddenly he knew where the kids were.

More than ever, Miles wished Sasha was with him. He needed her strength now, as much as the kids trapped in the basement did.

* * *

Filthy and exhausted, Sasha ducked home for a quick change and an early lunch. She fed the horses, refilled the cats’ water bowls and let Copper out. Miles wasn’t around, but she found the note he’d left about the Appaloosa breeder, along with Dan Eckley’s card. She grabbed an apple, then brought the apple core out to Desperado, who lipped it gently from her palm.

“Well, at least I’ve succeeded with you, old boy,” she murmured. “But Miles is not a horse. And I knew from the start that he would have to go home to get back the rest of his memory. It was just too easy to love him, too easy to fool myself.”

She sighed and gave the horse a final pat. Whatever happened between her and Miles, she’d always have the sweetness of loving him, and memories that were hers to treasure.

* * *

Miles flung open the stained and peeling door to the basement. A dim light from deep inside cast eerie shadows. The children’s cries suddenly stopped. He knew instinctively that they were hold-ing their breath.

“It’s okay, kids. I’m a friend,” he called down to them. “You can come up now. You’re safe. I’m going to get you out of here. Copper and her pups are waiting for you.”

Their only answer was a renewal of thin, high whining. Miles stood in the doorway, fighting nightmare visions, fighting nausea. He drew in a breath of the foul air and called again for the kids to come upstairs.

“We can’t,” a reedy, very shaky voice finally replied.

“Sure you can. There’s no one here but me, and I’m a friend. I’m taking care of Copper, too. She had her pups. Six of them. Come on upstairs and I’ll bring you to the farm so you can see them yourselves. Okay?”

“We can’t. We’re stuck.”

“Stuck?”

The whimpering intensified, punctuated by shushing. Miles didn’t have any idea in what way the kids were stuck, but he knew he was going to have to go down into that basement and get them unstuck. There was no way to know when the mother and her vicious boyfriend would be back. He couldn’t count on having enough time to call the cops. Anyway, if the cops were going to arrest the creep brutalizing them, the kids didn’t need to see that.

None of which made the first step easy.

Praying that some of Sasha’s strength had rubbed off on him, Miles clutched the sticky doorframe and concentrated on steadying his shaking knees. One step down. Two steps down. By the time he’d made it halfway he was sweating like a pig and fighting not to black out. He couldn’t afford to pass out and get himself caught trying to rescue the kids. Whatever memories this musty black basement was trying to trigger were memories he could do without.

Blindly he shuffled his foot from creaking step to creaking step until he reached the uneven dirt floor. The musty smell gave way to the rank stink of sewage and garbage. And there, in the middle of the low-ceilinged basement, cringing on the floor beside one of the support beams, sat the two ragged kids. Even in the dim light he could see their eyes were wide with fear, and their dirty faces streaked with tears. For a moment he was looking into a mirror deep within his soul. Then the image changed to Sasha’s gently smiling face, and he knew he was finally free of the demonic hold of this memory.

“It’s okay, kids. I’m here to help you. Now, what’s this about being stuck?” Then he looked closer and his heart sank.

* * *

Sasha drove up her driveway faster than usual, eager to see Miles and feel his arms around her. Instead of Miles’s rental car sitting in its usual spot in her yard, she found a white OPP cruiser, Donna’s truck, plus a blue station wagon and a gray sedan she didn’t recognize. Heart pounding at the horrific possibilities, she raced up the porch stairs and burst into the front hall. Her work boots thudded to a halt at the sight that greeted her when she looked into the living room.