Kiss and Tell (3 page)

Duchess grabbed the sleeve of her mistress's jacket in her mouth and started pulling again. Hopping on one foot to regain her balance, Marnie was only too happy to follow. In seconds the rain plastered her hair against her face and pasted her clothing to her body. She managed to zip her jacket and push her hair out of her eyes before she felt far enough away to pause and tug on hiking boots over wet, muddy socks. "Ugh!"

Duchess nudged her arm, almost knocking her over into the mud. "You could have waited for me. I was right behind you, you know."

God, her heart was racing. She'd never been so happy to see her dog in her life.

"Please tell me the bridge is still there so we can sleep in the car, or tell me you found a warm, toasty dry, animal-free cave somewhere."

Talking to Duchess beat thinking about becoming a shish kebab in Grammy's little house, which was now a pancake. Tears stung her eyes, and she dashed them away. "Did you, huh, clever girl? 'Cause dollars to doughnuts the bridge is flood—"

Duchess barked a warning. A second too late.

"Don't you have enough sense to get out of the rain, woman?"

Oh, joy, Paul Bunyan
, Marnie thought, reacting instinctively to his derisive tone. Nevertheless, she felt a leap of relief at his sudden appearance.

"I can take care of myself, thank you very much." She squinted through the slashing rain and the thick gray gloom of predawn. He was huge – and so welcome she wanted to hug him.

"So I've noticed," he said wryly, walking into the clearing. He wore blue jeans, a navy blue parka, and a black scowl. "By the way, there aren't any caves around here."

"I know that. I was just making conversation," Marnie said stiffly, hugging the sleeping bag, instead of him, to her wet, cold chest. Keeping the shiver out of her voice was difficult.

"With a dog?"

"Don't you have nails to chew or wings to rip off butterflies or something?"

"I came to save your ass."

She narrowed her eyes. "How did you know my ass needed saving?" Marnie shuddered as she realized just how long it had taken her to get out. Ten or fifteen minutes at least.

"Your dog here started whining and howling fit to wake the dead. She woke me up. I let her in. She whined. I let her out. She howled. In. Out. She kept coming back. Obviously she wanted me to follow her."

He looked Marnie up and down in a far from complimentary way. "I did. I'm here. We're wet. Let's go."

"How incredibly sweet and thoughtful of you to dash out here to rescue me. However, silly little me went and rescued herself. So while I'd love to say it's been delightful chatting with you, Duchess and I are going the other way."

She thumbed through the rain in the general direction of the path leading down to the footbridge and her car.

"First of all, it's
that
way." He pointed. "Which is immaterial at the moment. The bridge is flooded."

"Maybe not."

"Trust me on this. It's out," he snarled, as though it were her fault.

"I'd prefer to check that for myself. Come on, girl."

Duchess leaned against him, her big, square head resting on his arm. Marnie tried snapping her wet fingers. All she achieved was a spray of raindrops off her hand and an obstinate yip from her dog.

"You're going to walk three miles in this weather to prove me wrong?"

"It hasn't been raining that long!"

"Long enough. Just follow your dog." He strode off into the trees.

"To where?" Marnie watched his silhouette blend into the darkness of the trees up ahead. "To
where?
" she shouted.

She realized the sleeping bag clutched to her chest was trailing on the ground and now soaking wet. "Well?" she demanded, but Duchess ignored her and bounded off behind him.

"What have you done to my dog?" Marnie yelled into the slanting rain. With a muttered curse she dug a flashlight out of her backpack, tossed the soggy, useless sleeping bag onto the ground, and followed Romeo and Juliet up the hill.

Chapter Two

J
ake heard her muttering as she stumbled along behind him. The dog, big as a horse and fifty times more intelligent than a number of human beings he knew, darted between them, tongue lolling.

At least
someone
was happy.

Damn
. It was cold. And wet. Unfortunately he hadn't taken the time to light a fire in the cabin before he'd left.

The dog's obvious agitation had spurred him to hastily throw on his coat, grab a weapon, and run.

He'd had no idea what he'd been running
to
. God only knew a pretty blonde could get into trouble anywhere.

She'd been climbing out of the window when he and the dog had arrived at the demolished cabin. The downed tree had cut the small structure neatly in half. It had been a long time, years, since Jake had felt his heart stop as it had when he'd seen her. She was none of his business; still, he'd have hated seeing anything that soft crushed out of existence.

"That was my grandmother's cottage. Did I mention that?" Her voice sounded shaky. "My brothers are coming up in the spring to tear it down. They told me I couldn't put it off another year just because I'm sentimental about it. They said it was a fire hazard. Fat lot they knew."

She took a quivery breath, then said too brightly, "Well, it's obvious that it isn't habitable anymore. I mean, I
knew
that before I came. None of us has done any maintenance in years, so I expected the worst – but hoped for the best." She huffed and puffed for a few moments before continuing. "I just wanted...I just wanted to see it one more time before—"

"The tree saved them a trip."

She gave an indignant little gasp. "Sheesh! I can tell you aren't big on sentimentality. I have wonderful memories here. I adored my grandmother. My family came up here every year, usually in the summer. We'd hike and fish...."

Christ. Is she going to tell me her whole life story?
He turned to look at her and cut her off in midsentence. "Do you ever stop talking, woman?"

Even in the lousy visibility she gave a mean glare. "I stop when I'm not scared out of my wits, okay?"

"Trust me," he said with utmost sincerity. "You have nothing to be scared of. You're as safe as houses with me."

"Not a good analogy."

Trust her to be literal. He let out a put-upon sigh. "If I don't let any more trees fall on you, will you shut up?"

She stopped talking, but she wasn't quiet.

Jake became excruciatingly aware of her, there, right behind him. The small grunts and groans as she placed each foot carefully on the slick ground reverberated in his gut. He wanted to turn around and tell her to shut the hell up.

She sounded as though she was having sex.

Good sex.

Slow sex.

Everything-about-the-body-involved sex.

He didn't want to think about sex. He didn't want to think about
her
. And he sure as hell didn't want to think about sex and her at the same time.

But here she was. He was the only game in town at the moment. He didn't have a choice, did he? No, he didn't. Jake trudged on.

Belligerent. Resentful. Horny.

He gritted his teeth as she made a sweet moaning sound behind him as she stumbled. "How many brothers do you have?" he asked grimly. He'd rather hear her babble than listen to those damn sighs and moans. He had some serious questions to ask, but he wanted to see her eyes when she answered.

"I thought you wanted me to be quiet."

"I changed my mind. How many?"

"Four."

"And you used to come up here every summer to vacation with your grandmother?" He had to practically shout. The wind blew straight into his mouth, freezing his teeth. Which annoyed the hell out of him.

"Yes."

The golden cone from her flashlight screwed up his night vision. First she talked too much. Now the woman was a clam. Go figure. To hell with it, he didn't want to hear her life story anyway.

Under the tree canopy it was still the anticipatory gray before dawn. The air smelled of wet leaves, overlaid by the sharp tang of pine and the musty scent of wet dog. And it was cold.

The rain was going to turn to snow any minute. The trail wasn't particularly steep, but in this kind of weather and with such poor visibility, it was dangerous. Mud, wet pine needles, and decaying leaves made footing unstable. He leaned against the insistent push of the wind, his muscles pulling against the back draft. It howled through the trees, whipping the hem of his thick jacket about his thighs and slashing his hair across his face. He forged on grimly.

Behind him Jake heard a splash. A small, impatient moan. A sigh.

It took everything in him not to stop, pick her up, and carry her the rest of the way up to the cabin before she started bitching and moaning. But he wasn't going to touch her. She and her lovesick dog had disrupted his peace and quiet. He couldn't leave her down there in a cabin of toothpicks, but by the same token, he didn't have to make her feel welcome, either.

He didn't know who or what she was, and until he did, he didn't intend trusting her farther than he could spit.

She started humming under her breath – something perky and totally inappropriate to the occasion, which Jake thought warranted a dirge. The woman was irritating as hell.

"What are their names?" he asked desperately.

"Michael—"

"Can't hear you," he yelled. Let her work for it. Maybe she'd be hoarse by the time they reached the cabin.

"Michael," she shouted, "Kyle, Derek, and Kane."

Rain continued coming down in torrents. Hot on his heels, she came abreast, and slipped on the muddy runoff. Jake grabbed her arm before she went down.

"Thanks," she panted, her breath a white drift as she paused to center herself. Through the sleeve of her jacket he felt her muscles quiver with her fight against the elements. He let go but kept one large hand open and inches from her back in case she needed steadying.

Thank God she didn't, and he didn't have to touch her again.

The second her boots found purchase she was off. He dropped his arm and overtook her, then positioned himself as a windbreak. Oh yeah, he was the original immovable object.

She kept pace surprisingly well. He wasn't slowing to accommodate her shorter legs. Obviously she didn't want to have to shout.

"They're a little overprotective. Okay, a
lot
overprotective," she chatted as they climbed.

Lord, did she ever run out of juice?

"But I'm the only girl, so I guess it was automatic for them to spoil me. Although it gets old after a while, you know?" She huffed and puffed but kept pace with his long strides.

The woman had two speeds; on, at sixty miles per hour, and off.

"I've been able to keep up with them for years." She laughed, and the sound grabbed a seldom-used part of his chest.
Oh, man
.

"The boys are big on bets. Always daring each other to do some crazy thing or other. I wouldn't let them exclude me, so I—"

"Ever been married?" Jake interrupted, desperate for a break from the chirpy familial story. Besides, she didn't need to tell him she'd been spoiled rotten.

That was why cute, delicate blondes had been put on the earth. To be pampered and spoiled and doted on by thickheaded males.

Been there, done that. Got the scar to prove it.

He ruthlessly dredged up the memory of another "chance" meeting, another sweet-faced, helplessly appealing blonde – and felt better for it. Nothing like a quick refresher course to remind a man of his priorities.

Jake quickened his pace, feeling the pull of his muscles and dragging in a large breath of chilly air. The tree canopy sheltered them from the continuing torrent, and the wide trunks deflected some of the wind. She kept up, close enough for him to smell. Cute, delicate. Delicious. Off-limits.

"Nope. Never married. But engaged a couple of times."

"Can't commit?"

"Apparently not."

Don't ask
, he instructed himself. "Why the hell not?"

She breathed through her mouth a couple of gut-wrenching times. "Maybe I'm picky."

"Then you should have thought of that before you got those schmucks to fork over big bucks for engagement rings, shouldn't you?"

"I gave them back." She was starting to breathe hard from the climb, but it wasn't slowing her down any. "And it wasn't like I broke their hearts or anything. They weren't in love with me."

"Why'd they ask you to marry them, then?" Besides wanting to get her into the closest bed to hear those little noises she made. Between crisp sheets, instead of climbing up a mountain in the frigging rain. He didn't want to know any of this. He shouldn't have asked. He should have let her take her chances on the bridge.

She sighed. "My family has a bit of money."

Jake glanced down. It was hard to see in this light, but he discerned enough to know that whatever the light, whatever the circumstances, the last thing a man would think about when he looked at her was money.

He snorted.

"Okay, a
lot
of money."

"Does your family own a liquor store?" he asked dryly.

"A liquor store? No, why?"

"Just an old joke." The one about the rich blonde and the liquor store required her to be mute.

"Look, we're almost there. Conserve your energy."
And give me a few moments of silence.

She managed not to talk for a while, and he managed to block out the infernal noises she made. Jake slowed as she trailed him past the felled tree near his cabin, the one she'd sat on yesterday. The slate-colored light was now tinged with a pale yellow as dawn struggled through the thick clouds overhead. The rain had slacked off slightly.

The dog danced around them, then raced to the front door and sat there, tongue lolling, tail thumping the wooden planks of the porch.

The beam of Miss-Engaged-a-Couple-of- Times's flashlight wavered on the ground as Jake stepped up onto the narrow porch and opened the door. He glanced down at her.