Tempered (A Daughters of the People Novel) (Daughters of the People Series) (10 page)

He left the
house as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake Lali, and shivered as the
cool morning air hit him. Frost covered the ground, turning Hawthorne’s lawn
into an icy landscape. He tucked his iPod into the holder on his arm, twisted
the ear buds into place. He stretched his arms out as he walked down the rock
lined path toward the sidewalk, then headed into town. A block later, he broke
into a light jog, struggling to lose himself in the rhythm of his feet pounding
the concrete and the metal grind of Celtic Frost playing in his ears.

For the most
part, he ignored the other joggers taking advantage of the clear mountain
morning. Lot of women out, he noted with an absent-minded shrug. Young, fit
women who eyed his bare legs and broke into excited chatter that wasn’t
entirely muted by the thud of music streaming from his iPod.

He reached the gated
compound he’d noted the day before and waved at the two women standing guard
duty. One of them spoke, her words a soft murmur under the wave of music.

He pulled out
the ear buds and slowed to a trot. “I’m sorry?”

The woman who
spoke nodded politely. Unless he was mistaken, she was the same one who’d been
on duty the day before. “I said, ‘Good morning, Mr. K.’”

“Ah, good
morning.”

The women
nodded, their gazes cautious as he reinserted the ear buds and picked up his
pace.

Mr. K, huh. Word
spread quickly in the small, Southern town.

How many of them
thought he was there as Hawthorne’s lover?

He grinned. Oh,
yeah. He’d be sure to drop that little tidbit into their conversation, soon as the
opportunity allowed.

He jogged
through town, noting street and business names, and ignored the catcalls and
wolf whistles directed at him. This must’ve been why Hawthorne had smirked at
him. His red-headed witch had sent him through this gauntlet with no warning.
He snorted out a laugh. What man with half a brain would mind having a bunch of
twenty-something women admiring him?

Especially this
group. So far, he hadn’t seen one that wasn’t attractive and in top physical
form. He slowed his pace as the sidewalk rose gently and relished the cool
mountain air stinging his lungs. Plenty of men had been out the day before.
Maybe they’d already gone to work or had slept in or…

His thoughts
trailed off as an attractive forty-something woman with her ash blonde hair
pulled into a swinging ponytail jogged past, her mouth moving politely in a
greeting he couldn’t hear.

Did everyone
know his name?

A light bulb
went off in his head. Of course. Close-knit town, a lot of women in residence.
The phone calls he’d witnessed on his way in had probably been their way of
keeping track of a new resident so no one would panic when they saw him.

Though judging
by the looks he was getting, no one minded him being there.

Made him glad he
kept in shape. Shame to be jiggly in front of this group, even if he wasn’t
interested. A man had his pride, after all.

He crossed the
road at the city limits and jogged toward Hawthorne’s house, letting his mind
wonder.

His inbox needed
a little attention. Scratch that. He didn’t want to deal with outside business,
not on his first day in town, though Jason deserved a hearty thanks for
arranging the job with Hawthorne.

UPS might bring
his things today. He needed to research an attachment for a child’s seat for
his bike. Couldn’t walk everywhere with Lali.

They’d gone
through most of her library books the day before. Hawthorne seemed to have her
on a schedule. Did they have a library day or did they just go as needed?

He’d studied
Hawthorne’s proposal. They’d work on that today. Maybe he’d soften her up by
treating her and Lali to lunch at the café in town.

He smiled, gave
friendly nods to the people he passed, and sincerely tried to keep his ego in
check at the number of women eyeing his legs. Hawthorne loved his legs, loved
running her hands over the firm muscles of his thighs.

And over other
parts.

She had, anyway.
Maybe she’d love it again someday.

He slowed to a
walk a block from her house, pulled the ear buds out, and switched off his
iPod. Next time, he’d run without it and enjoy the birds calling through the
restful quiet.

Two women jogged
past, nodding politely. “Mr. K,” they said in near unison.

Well, mostly
quiet.

He crossed the
street again, bounded up the steps to Hawthorne’s porch two at a time, and let
himself in. He followed the smell of bacon and the sound of Lali’s chatter to
the kitchen at the back of the house, and swung the door open in time to hear
her describing another dream to Hawthorne, who had showered and changed into
yoga tights and a matching top.

Not that he
noticed, or admired, or wanted.

Lali greeted him
with a wide grin from her perch on the island in the middle of the room. “Airn!
You came back.”

“Course I did,
kiddo.” He ruffled her hair on his way to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of
water from its cool depths. “Though I nearly didn’t make it. I was attacked on
the way by a bunch of Amazons who wanted to drag me back to their lair and
force me to draw stories
forever
.”

Her eyes widened.
“Really?” she breathed.

“Naw, but it
makes a good story, huh?”

She giggled and
rolled from side to side on the counter.

He reached out a
steadying hand, catching her an inch from the edge. “Careful now.”

She blinked up
at him, her gaze full of laughter. “You is a good puppy, Airn.”

“I try.” He
sidled up behind Hawthorne and peered over her shoulder at the eggs she was
scrambling, breathing in the warm scent of her freshly scrubbed skin. “You
could’ve warned me,” he said softly.

“It is a right
of passage.” She met his gaze over her shoulder, their faces inches apart. Her
eyes drifted to his mouth and lingered there. “No one will bother you unless
you wish it.”

“The only woman
I want to bother me is standing right here.” He stepped back before he could
give in to the urge to claim her mouth in a kiss that would not be appropriate
in front of the avid eyes of a four-year old child. “Shower. Back in a few.”

He tugged a lock
of Lali’s hair as he passed, earning another giggle, and made his way to his
bedroom, trying not to think of how close he’d been to finding out if
Hawthorne’s body fit as well against his own as he remembered.

The morning rolled
slowly by. Hawthorne helped Lali with her somersaults while Aaron answered
e-mails and performed other business related tasks. Once she and Lali finished
and dressed, Lali scampered through the house and pulled Aaron into their
activities. They all went to the park and Aaron treated them to lunch in town
before coming home and settling Lali in for her nap.

And then came
the time Hawthorne dreaded, the hour when she had no further excuse to avoid spending
time alone with him.

He had settled
on the couch in her office with his socked feet propped on her coffee table.
She stood in the doorway observing the back of his dark head as he bent over
his laptop. He would be eager for this, had likely chosen the couch precisely because
he knew it would force them into the kind of intimacy she would rather avoid.

He was right.

Her run that
morning had done nothing to clear him from her mind. When he had entered the
workroom looking rumpled and warm as if he had come straight from his bed, she
had been hard pressed not to relive the few moments before her run when she had
lain on top of him, savoring his embrace.

Allowing him to
tug her into his bed had been a mistake, one she would avoid in the future.
That nearness had thrown her, disoriented her. She, of the icy control, had
actually smiled at him, a real smile, an expression she had not formed in years
except with her progeny, and then only rarely. All because he had expressed an
interest in running into town and back amidst the keen stares and whispers of
her distant kin.

Of course, he
could not have known exactly what he was subjecting himself to, but thinking on
it had sparked a mischief that had broken her control long enough for a smile
to curve her mouth.

She eyed him
now, remembering his long, muscular legs displayed beneath the short hem of his
running shorts and the way his long-sleeved athletic top had molded itself to
his toned upper body. Yes, the women of Tellowee would have admired him from
both far and near, depending upon whether or not they believed he was under her
protection or merely working with her.

Something
twisted within her, a confusing, cockeyed mixture of emotion. Surely she could
not be jealous of other women showering Aaron with attention. If he wished to
consort with another Daughter, then he was free to.

Emotion twisted
again. Hawthorne sighed. Perhaps she was, indeed, jealous.

Aaron peered at
her over his shoulder. “You gonna come in or stand in the doorway sighing?”

“I did not wish
to interrupt your work.” She stepped gingerly around the sofa and perched as far
from him as she could, which was not far. He had taken the middle cushion,
leaving her few options for sitting comfortably without touching him. “It would
be easier to discuss the graphic novel at a table.”

“Nope.” He
placed his laptop on the coffee table, exchanging it for a copy of the synopsis
and outline she had submitted to her publisher. “You didn’t do a detailed
script.”

“I have never
written one before,” she admitted. “That is why I wished to collaborate with
someone more experienced than I.”

“Well, you’ve
got the right guy then. Here. You hold this.” He gave her the synopsis and
picked up his sketchpad and pencil. “And I’ll draw. Tell me about the main
character.”

“Una Longshadow.
She is a young woman, a handmaiden of the Black Queen.”

“I know that
part.” At her raised eyebrow, he said, “Read the first book.”

Her stomach clenched
on a flutter of nerves and a storm of questions raced through her mind. When
had he found the time? Why had he done so? Had he liked it? What had he thought
of her work?

“Relax,
Hawthorne.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.
You look like I’m gonna bite you or something.” He tapped one end of his sketchpad
against his thigh. “Look, this will go a lot smoother if you’ll sit back and
pretend you don’t hate me.”

“I do not hate
you.”

“Right.”

“Truly.” She
slid backward on the couch, seating herself fully, her arm inches from his,
their thighs nearly touching. Warmth radiated from his skin through the flannel
shirt he wore untucked from his jeans. From the corner of her eye, she admired his
forearms, bare beneath the rolled up sleeves of his shirt, the play of muscle,
the crisp, dark hairs lightly covering his skin. “You were the one who did not
want me.”

“Only for a
little while. Sanity hit about thirty seconds after you left.” He dropped the
sketchpad on his lap and twisted around, facing her. “I looked for you, but you
were already gone.”

He had come
after her? “Ruby took me home,” she murmured. Her granddaughter had feared
Hawthorne would behead Aaron, as she had every other man who had betrayed her.
Only that morning had she learned that this man was safe from her vengeance.
Curious that her heart protected him, even as it mourned the loss of his
affection. “You should not have sought me out.”

“Hard to make amends
without seeing you,” he said mildly. “Could you at least try to look at me?”

“I am not avoiding
your gaze, Aaron. This situation is…uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable
because you don’t want to be around me or uncomfortable in the same way that it
was unpleasant to be…”

When he
hesitated, she faced him. “You may speak plainly.”

He shook his
head. “I don’t want to bring up your past.”

“Is it not my
past that stands between us, that and your refusal to believe me?”

“I’m willing to
listen now if you want to explain.”

“I tried to
explain,” she said in a voice far sharper than she had intended. “For all your
talk of building trust, you held yours back.”

“No, that’s
not…” He sighed. “Ok, you’re right. I didn’t trust you, but when you drop a
bomb like that on a guy, what do you expect?”

“Faith,” she
said flatly. “A moment of consideration for the proof I was willing to offer.”

“Proof you’re
withholding now,” he pointed out.

“Because you
broke my trust.” She inhaled through her nose, stemming the hot ball of anger
rising in her gut. “I do not wish to be hurt again.”

“Hawthorne,” he
said gently. He reached toward her with one hand, then pulled back without
touching her. “I would give anything to go back and change that.”

“Such is
impossible, Aaron.”

His bark of
laughter held a twist of bitter regret. “Maybe. Still want to do it, though.”
His hand reached for her again and he bit back a mild oath. “Could you at least
lift the moratorium on touching while we’re working?”

“That is not
wise. However, you seem to have difficulty communicating without touching. I am
amenable to lifting this moratorium while we work, but only when touching is
appropriate.”

His grin
flashed. “You’re something else. Come sit on my left so I won’t be so tempted.”

“As you wish.”
And though it was a strange request, she rose and stepped over his legs, still
propped on the coffee table, and sat down on his left side. “Is this better?”

“Much.” He
waggled his eyebrows and a mischievous spark lit his brown eyes. “Now you can
lean against me while I draw.”

She bit back the
smile that threatened. “Do not expect such liberties.”

“Just a hope. Now,
tell me about Una.”

She did, describing
the young girl as she envisioned her. She did not reveal that Una had once
lived, that the Black Queen quadrilogy was based on an episode in the life of
Hawthorne’s only sister. That would cause an additional rift between them, a
rift she wished to narrow, not widen. Perhaps one day, Aaron would be ready for
the truth, though she suspected he was still quite far from it now, and would
be until he had earned her trust, if such was possible.

Aaron’s pencil
stroked long, smooth lines on the blank page of his sketchpad, bringing Una to
life once more. Hawthorne leaned forward, fascinated by the image forming
rapidly beneath his skilled hands. If her body brushed his arm too frequently,
he did not object, and she chose not to notice.

After all, a
woman could only hold her control for so long before it broke, even when that
woman had had centuries of practice.

* * *

Lali’s nap was a
short one. She bounded down the stairs, searching for them only an hour after
Hawthorne had put her to bed, and crawled onto the sofa beside Aaron, her eyes
intent on the rough concept sketches he made as Hawthorne described characters
and settings.

It took her much
longer to become bored with their work than he figured. After half an hour of
nearly silent observation, she slid off the sofa and heaved a basket of art
supplies from under the coffee table. A few minutes later, she settled herself
at the table with blank paper and crayons and proceeded to draw picture after
picture of the three of them, eyeing each critically for flaws while tapping
the end of her crayon against her bow mouth.

He’d never seen
anything so adorable in his life.

They broke for a
snack in mid-afternoon. Aaron brought his sketchpad to the kitchen and sat down
across from Lali while she picked through a plate of fruit and cheese.

“Maria will
return next week,” Hawthorne said in a quiet aside.

“Maria?”

“Our
housekeeper. She watches Lali while I work.”

“Oh.” Aaron
glanced down at his sketchpad, hiding his disappointment. “I kinda like having
her around.”

“She is a good
girl, but her presence is occasionally distracting. If we were not on a
schedule, I would allow her more freedom.”

“We can always
work around her. I don’t mind.”

Hawthorne’s gaze
drifted to his. “I see that you do not.”

“You sound
surprised.” He winked at Lali and snagged a piece of cheese from her plate,
startling her into a laugh. “I thought we had the whole I’m-not-a-monster thing
sorted out.”

“You’re not a
monster,” Lali said. “You’re my puppy.”

“He is a man,
Lali, not a canine,” Hawthorne corrected gently.

“Silly Nana. I
know Airn’s a boy.” Lali held up a piece of fruit, squinted at it suspiciously,
then placed it back on her plate. “Only boys can be puppies.”

Hawthorne blinked
and Aaron bit back a laugh.

“Finish your
snack and we shall play in the leaves for a while before Aaron and I must
return to work,” Hawthorne said.

“That sounds
like fun.” Aaron bumped her elbow with his. “Mind if I tag along?”

Hawthorne slid
him a bemused glance. “If I said no, it would not stop you from joining us,
would it?”

“Not a bit,” he
said cheerfully. “I’ll get our coats.”

He grabbed
outdoor wear for all three of them while Lali finished her snack and Hawthorne
helped the little girl wash her hands. For a blissful hour, the three of them
raked leaves shed by the enormous oaks in the backyard into a dormant garden
plot on one side of the lawn. As soon as they had a big enough pile, Lali threw
down her pint-sized rake and leapt into them, scattering leaves everywhere.
Hawthorne unbent enough to smile, softening her expression and, if possible,
making her more beautiful.

Aaron wished she
would smile more often, and began planning ways to tease happiness out of her.
She so seldom showed joy, not because she wasn’t happy. He often sensed her
amusement and knew she’d found pleasure in his touch. Her control was so rigid,
though, that she rarely let anything show. He wanted to change that.

They put in
another hour and a half of work, making steady progress on roughing out concept
sketches he would later refine. Lali sketched at the coffee table for a while
before going to her room to play.

At four thirty,
Hawthorne said, “Ruby will be here soon to watch Lali.”

Aaron plopped
his sketchpad onto the couch. “Why? Are you leaving?”

“I am.” She
stood and began clearing the coffee table, sorting Lali’s art supplies into
their proper containers. “I shall not be long.”

“And?”

She glanced up
from the box of crayons she was methodically straightening. “And what?”

He tamped down
on his impatience. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither was a woman’s trust.
“Where are you going?”

Her eyes slid
away from his as she resumed cleaning and sorting. “I teach self defense
classes at the rape crisis center in Gainesville.”

“That’s such a
great thing to do.” And it lifted his hopes that she might actually be dealing
with what had happened to her.

“It is my duty
to help others protect themselves when I could not.” She dropped the box of
crayons into the basket and stowed Lali’s art supplies under the coffee table.
“Knowing how to defend oneself will not always stop an attacker, but fighting
back is the number one deterrent for further assault.”