Outsider (10 page)

“Doesn't he kiss you?” he taunted.

While she was trying to find a suitably cutting reply, he bent and lifted her gently over one shoulder, pocketbook, umbrella and all.

“Off we go,” he mused, heading for the steps in the bank. “Hold on, now. We wouldn't want you to go headfirst into a nasty mud puddle, would we?”

She could barely breathe at all, and her mouth was sore. She hadn't remembered how expert he was, how sensuous. That horrible night they'd spent together had begun as a veritable feast of the senses when he started kissing her. She'd been on fire for him, until the pain started…

He was up the steps in a flash, his powerful body still in prime condition, despite his war wounds. He put her down gently, grinning at Bernadette, who grinned back and closed her door.

He opened the passenger door and guided Sarina's cold, trembling hand to the handhold just above the door, helping her boost herself up into the high vehicle and into the seat. He paused to take off his wading boots and throw them in the back of the truck.

Sarina was still dazed, sitting in the front seat but with the door still open. He grinned widely as he fastened her seat belt and then closed the door before he went around to his own side. He climbed in with a lighter heart than he'd had in years.

“Everybody settled and buckled in tight?” he asked, looking at Bernadette in the backseat.

“Roger, wilco,” she said, giving him a thumbs-up.

His eyebrows lifted and he chuckled. “Good to go,” he replied, flashing a dark, smiling glance at Sarina, who was trying to redo her hair. He reached over and pulled down the visor, which automatically lit up at both sides. His eyes met hers at very close range, dropping sensuously to her swollen mouth. “There you go,” he said softly.

“Thanks,” she whispered, almost choking on emotion.

He started the SUV and backed out into the parking lot. He glanced at the map Hunter had given him, but it didn't include the school. “Somebody will have to direct me to the school,” he pointed out.

“Turn right at the stop sign,” Bernadette said at once. “Then you go through three traffic lights, and it's on the left.”

He smiled. “Okay.” He turned where she indicated, but at the bottom of the hill, the water ran across the road in a flood. He turned right onto another, smaller road.

“But…” Bernadette began.

“You never drive through standing water, when you can't judge the depth,” he told her gently. “When I was a boy, they had to rescue five construction workers from a truck that stalled in the middle of the road in what looked like a trickle of water. They had to stand on the roof to keep from drowning.”

“He's right,” Sarina said, smiling over the seat at her daughter as she struggled to speak normally. “Remember how quickly the dips in the road filled up in Tucson, even when the rain was miles and miles away?”

“Yes, Mommy,” Bernadette agreed, smiling. “I forgot.”

Colby glanced mischievously at Sarina, who was still struggling with her hair. “Sorry,” he said softly. “You don't even have a brush, do you?”

She grimaced. “Not with me.”

“We'll manage something before we get to the office.”

 

H
E PULLED UP IN FRONT
of the school, under the shelter, so that Sarina could climb out and get Bernadette out of the backseat, with her book bag.

“Aren't you going to come, too?” the child asked as Sarina started to close the doors.

He hesitated. The question was unexpected.

“You have to come in with us,” she persisted.

Colby cut off the engine like a sleepwalker and came around the SUV. He'd probably have a parking ticket when he emerged. Bernadette caught his good hand in hers and held on tight, grabbing her mother's at the same time, her book bag slung over the back of her tattered raincoat.

He couldn't explain the way he felt, having that soft little hand clasped so tight in his own. It actually hurt him. He'd missed so much in his life, but the most noticeable and painful omission was children. He'd wanted them…!

They went into the office first. Sarina smiled at the clerk, a woman wearing no makeup and a frown. She perked up when she saw Colby and grinned widely.

“Hello, Bernadette,” she said, but she was staring at Colby.

“I know we're late,” Sarina said quickly. “We were flooded, and Mr. Lane had to come get us…we work together at Ritter Oil Corporation. Mr. Lane is…our assistant chief of security.”

“I'm Rita Dawes,” the other woman purred. “
So
nice to meet you, Mr. Lane.”

“Can you give Bernadette a slip for her teacher?” Sarina asked gently.

“Certainly!” The woman wrote quickly on a slip of paper, which she handed to the child. “There you go, dear.”

“Thank you,” Bernadette said. She hugged her mother. Then, without hesitation, she turned and lifted her arms to Colby.

He swung her up and returned the hug, smiling. “Have a good day,” he said, letting her down again.

She grinned up at him. “You, too.”

She turned and went out into the hall, but she stopped suddenly as a blond boy with two companions spotted her and smiled with pure malice. Sarina saw the boy and held her breath. Colby didn't know, but it was no secret at the school that Bernadette's ancestry was Apache. She held her breath, hoping against hope that the boy wouldn't let the cat out of the bag.

“There's the Arizona aborigine,” the boy drawled. “Why don't you go home to your mud hut and take your backward culture with you…”

He stopped suddenly because Colby was towering over him, glowering dangerously.

Colby went down on one knee, so that his black eyes were on a level with the boy's. “Bernadette comes from a long line of shamans,” he said in a cold, soft tone, without realizing exactly what he was saying in the heat of anger. Subconsciously he'd noted her ancestry as Apache with the reference to medicine men. “Her people were on these shores long before yours landed. When your European culture was hiding in caves, hers was building canals and irrigated farms. I wouldn't call that inferior. Would you?”

The boy reddened while his two cohorts looked on, embarrassed. “Uh, no. No, sir,” he added.

Colby stood up slowly, putting the boy at an even greater disadvantage. “Have a good day, sweetheart,” he told Bernadette in a softer tone than he realized.

She looked up at him with pure hero worship. She smiled. “Thanks!”

He shrugged, glaring at the boy. “I thought bullying was against the rules,” he added, his black eyes glittering. “Perhaps we should speak to the principal.”

The boy looked scared. “Hey, man, I'm not bullying anybody! Honest! Come on, guys, we're going to be late.” He and his friends almost ran. Bernadette gave Colby a wicked smile as she followed after them down the hall.

Sarina and the clerk were smiling.

“Have you ever thought about a career in education, Mr. Lane?” the clerk asked.

He cocked an eyebrow. “I don't do dangerous work,” he replied, tongue-in-cheek. He glanced at his watch. “We'd better hurry,” he told Sarina. “I've got a meeting at ten.”

“Of course. Thank you, Miss Dawes,” she added, smiling over her shoulder.

“It was no trouble at all!” Miss Dawes replied, sighing over Colby.

Sarina felt a twinge of jealousy, which she carefully hid before Colby could see it. Miss Dawes wasn't bad-looking.

They went back to the SUV. He noted the lack of a ticket with relief as he pulled out of the school parking lot and back toward the highway.

“Thanks for what you did back there,” Sarina said in a husky tone. “That boy has caused us some problems. He upsets Bernadette.”

“He won't anymore,” he said decisively.

She smiled. “Probably not.” His protective attitude toward her daughter both delighted and disturbed her. It wouldn't be wise for him to get too close to her, in case Bernadette let something slip that she shouldn't. She recalled curiously the remark Colby had made to the boy about Bernadette's ancestors being shamans, or medicine men. He didn't know about her ancestry. He couldn't. Where had the remark come from?

He tried to close his left hand around the steering wheel and it locked. He cursed under his breath when he tried again with the same result.

“What's wrong?” Sarina asked, curious.

“The prosthesis locked down,” he muttered. “Damned state-of-the-art twitchy piece of junk,” he added furiously. “I was better off with the hook. It drew stares, but at least it was dependable!”

“Do you…have a spare?” she wondered.

“Yes. It's not high-tech, but it's fairly realistic and dependable. I'll have to stop by my place and get it. Sorry,” he added, glancing at her. “We'll be even later. But I can't work without it.”

“I don't mind,” she said, and meant it.

 

H
E PARKED IN FRONT
of his apartment. It was surprisingly elegant, a quiet gated community with good security and lighting, and even a front porch. It was far better than her own.

She'd planned to sit in the SUV, but he opened her door, and helped her down.

“It takes a few minutes to get it in place,” he said. His face tautened. “And I may need a little help, if you don't mind.” He was thinking of the harness that had to span his chest and be buckled in place. He could do it himself, but it was time-consuming and they were already late.

“Of course I don't mind,” she said easily.

He unlocked the door and ushered her into the living room. It had Mediterranean furniture, and earth-toned drapes and carpet.

“Want coffee?” he asked.

She smiled and shook her head. “I'm fine.”

“I won't be long.”

He went off down the hall. She looked around, noting that there were no personal touches at all to the décor. There wasn't even a photograph. His barren life was quite evident and he probably didn't even realize it.

She got up and looked at the small stash of books on a side table. He liked the Greek classics, she noted, in the original Greek. She'd forgotten what an educated man he was.

“Can you help me with this?”

She turned, and her breath caught. His shirt was off. His broad, muscular chest with its sexy covering of black, curling hair, and his shoulders and flat stomach were on blatant display.

His face tautened. “I know it's distasteful…”

“What is?” she asked, genuinely surprised by the comment.

“This!” He held up the stump, which ended just below his elbow.

“Oh,” she faltered. “Is it?”

“What were you looking at?” he demanded hotly.

Her eyes went to his chest and stomach involuntarily and she flushed as she averted them back to his face.

His expression was odd. He had the prosthesis in his right hand, but he put it on the side table and went to her, his heart pounding like mad as he realized that it wasn't his arm that was making her so unsettled.

He paused just in front of her, scowling at the way she flushed and stepped back. She might have gone farther, but the wall stopped her retreat. He moved until he blocked her in there. His dark eyes searched hers in the hot, tense silence.

“The first time I took my shirt off, you had that same look in your eyes,” he said huskily. “I'd stripped you to the waist and kissed your breasts, and you gasped when you looked at me. When I took you in my arms, I thought you were going to faint. You moaned…”

“Please,” she whispered frantically, trying to look away from him.

He stepped right up against her, his good hand going to the wall behind her, his hips levering down against hers. His arousal was instant, painful. He actually groaned.

“Colby!” she protested. Both her hands went to his chest, but she couldn't make them push. He felt good. His body smelled of soap and cologne, that sexy brand he'd worn so many years ago. The thick hair under her cold hands felt good, too, like the warm muscles it covered.

“Seven years,” he whispered, holding her gaze, “and I still go hard as a rock the minute I touch you.”

“Please!” she protested, embarrassed enough to push. She couldn't budge him.

“You haven't changed, Sarina,” he said in a soft, husky tone as his gaze fell to her mouth. “You're as innocent as you were then, despite the birth of a child.” He frowned. “How did you get Bernadette? Did you really give birth to her?”

Her eyes widened. “What a question!”

“I know I gave you scars,” he persisted. “Emotional and physical. I can't believe you were able to give yourself to another man, after what happened.”

She swallowed hard. “This is…not your business!”