Tempered (A Daughters of the People Novel) (Daughters of the People Series) (11 page)

He hadn’t known.
“It is?”

“Yes, preferably
with a weapon. I emphasize using whatever is handy.” She stood and stared down
at him, her expression a blank mask. “Including one’s own body and vocal
chords. For too long, men and women have been taught to give in, to acquiesce
in the face of danger, under the rationale that an assailant will escalate the
attack if the victim fights back. Nothing…”

Her voice broke,
and with it his heart. He rose and cupped her shoulders, and wished he could
wrap himself around her and protect her from the past that had scarred her so
deeply. “Nothing?” he said gently.

“They say
nothing is worse than death,” she said in a hard voice thick with bitter rage.
“I disagree.”

He pulled her
close, couldn’t help it. He needed to hold her, needed to ease her pain in
whatever way he could, if she would let him. She buried her face in his neck
and curled her hands into fists in his shirt, and he thought,
This is it.
She’ll cry and get some of the anger and hurt out and maybe she’ll heal a
little more
, but she didn’t. Instead, she stepped back, smoothed the
wrinkles from his shirt, and left without another word.

He stood in the
middle of her office for a long time considering the amount of pain a woman
like Hawthorne would have to endure in order to believe death a better
alternative. What he wouldn’t give to have been there the day she’d exacted
revenge on the men who had hurt her so badly. What he wouldn’t give to deliver
a measure of pain back on them.

What he wouldn’t
give to take all of that hurt away from her and never have her feel it, ever
again.

* * *

Ruby arrived at
five on the dot. Aaron sat at the desk in the office Hawthorne had set aside
for his use, listening to the rise and fall of the women’s voices. A moment
after the front door closed, Lali bounded into the room, Ruby in tow.

“Airn, look.
It’s sitter Ruby,” Lali said as she climbed into Aaron’s lap.

“She means
sister.” Ruby propped against the doorframe, her expression granite hard. “What
are you doing here?”

“I’m
collaborating on a graphic novel with Hawthorne,” Aaron said easily. He saved
and closed the drawing he was working on and opened a blank document for Lali.
“Didn’t she tell you?”

“I didn’t
believe her. So, are you here to break her heart again?”

“Are you here to
ask nosey questions?”

She snorted. “You’ve
got a lot of nerve showing your face in this town.”

“Well, there you
go. I’m nervy.” He gently corrected Lali’s grip on the stylus, and grinned when
she stuck her tongue between her teeth and concentrated on the tablet. “But
that’s between me and Hawthorne.”

She pushed
herself away from the doorframe with a pointed glare. “Right. Don’t hurt her
again.”

“Or, what,
you’ll kick my ass?”

Her mouth curled
into a vicious smile. “No, but I won’t stand in her way again.”

If he hurt
Hawthorne again, he figured he deserved a good ass whooping. “Fair enough.” When
she made no move to leave, he added, “Are you really Lali’s sister?”

“Yes,” she said,
her tone flat. “And it’s nearly time for her supper.”

“I’ll leave the
two of you to it, then.” He bussed Lali’s cheek and lifted her off his lap,
unsurprised at her protest. “I’ll be back before bedtime.”

Lali tilted her
head, her gray eyes solemn. “Promise, Airn?”

“I promise. Now
scoot, kiddo. Go spend time with big sis.”

They left hand
in hand, their blonde heads nearly identical in color. Why hadn’t Hawthorne
told him Ruby and Lali were sisters? What had happened to their parents, and
why was Hawthorne raising Lali when Ruby seemed capable of doing it herself?

If Hawthorne
ever opened up to him again, he’d be sure to ask her.

He cut off his
tablet and stored it out of Lali’s reach, shrugged on his jacket, and faced the
brisk evening air. His bike hadn’t arrived yet, though he didn’t mind the walk
into town. The Omega had looked promising, and being as it was Tellowee’s only
bar, he was duty bound to inspect it and sample the local brews.

He let his mind
drift as he walked, waved absent-mindedly to the people who called greetings. A
few he even recognized. A slender man who brought his son to the park every
day. A jogger who’d passed him that morning. The guard on gate duty at what
he’d learned was the Institute for Early Cultural Studies.

“Don’t you ever
go home?” he asked the guard.

“Twelve hour
shifts,” she said with a grin. “Not all of them on gate duty, though.”

“See you
tomorrow morning, then, huh.”

“Naw. Rotating
off tonight. I’ll tell the incoming crew not to harass you.”

“Appreciate it.”

“You’re
Hawthorne’s man.” She lifted one black bedecked shoulder in a shrug. “She’s
liable to skewer anybody who messes with you.”

He let the
remark go unchallenged. Hawthorne’s man he might wish to be, but until she
forgave him, they were nothing more than colleagues who’d had a brief affair.
As far as her skewering anyone, he highly doubted she could be moved to raise a
protest over him, let alone a sword.

The thought
depressed him. Not that he wanted her to go hacking away at anybody, but it
would be nice if she could show a little emotion every once in a while. Maybe
regret that their time together had ended the way it had, far preferable to the
blank expressions she’d given him since he’d showed up on her door. They hadn’t
been apart so long that he’d forgotten how to read her. She seemed to’ve
clamped down on her emotions so hard that precious few bled through.

Damn her control
anyway.

He slipped into
The Omega behind a laughing couple and ignored a pang of jealousy. The
situation with Hawthorne was entirely his fault. Well, almost. Who could’ve
imagined she’d spin such a tall tale about her past? No one in their right mind,
that’s who, and who could fault him for not taking her story at face value?

He made his way
through the early supper crowd to the bar and slid onto a barstool, his stomach
rumbling from the scent of fried food wafting from the back.

So, yeah, maybe
he should’ve taken the time to actually look at the proof she claimed to have,
and he would’ve if his first reaction hadn’t been,
Not again
. After all
of Jeanne’s craziness, how could he
not
have reacted that way to
Hawthorne?

And now she
wanted him to take it on faith, which was asking too much. No one lived to be
two centuries old, let alone two millennia. He thought back to his days at day
school and silently amended that. No one outside of myth lived more than two
centuries. It was physically impossible. Therefore, Hawthorne’s tale had to be
false, even if it rang true in every other way.

He still hadn’t figured
out how to reconcile that one falsehood. She seemed incapable of anything other
than straight-forward honesty. That’s what had changed his opinion, the belief
that her mind had simply warped under the damage inflicted on her body. Dammit,
she needed to heal, needed to face what had happened head on and see the truth
for the horrible reality it was instead of burying it in a story she’d used as
an escape. He didn’t know how to do anything other than be there for her while
she coped with it.

God, he hoped
that was enough.

A stunningly
attractive young woman with her dark blonde hair pulled into a ponytail stepped
up to the other side of the bar. “What’ll you have?”

He leaned on the
bar and mustered an easy grin for her. “What’s good, food-wise?”

A dimple flashed
in her tanned cheek. “Whatever cook feels like making.”

“As long as it’s
not pork, I’m game.” He eyed the hand-written list of microbrews posted on a
blackboard behind the bar. “Which one of those do you recommend?”

“Duck Rabbit,”
she said promptly. “It’s a stout. Smooth. A local favorite.”

“Sounds great.”

She left and
pushed her way through the door into the kitchen. Aaron twisted on the stool
and scanned over the crowd of mostly twenty-something women, all physically fit.
Most of the men were, too, with a few notable exceptions. He’d never seen so
many people obsessed with fitness before, not even in image conscious
California.

“Here you are.”
The bartender handed him his drink as he swiveled around to face her. “Cook’ll
have your food out in a bit.”

“Thanks.” He
took a testing swig from the bottle she’d given him. As she’d said, it was smooth
with a pleasant milky undertone. “This is good.”

“We aim to
please.” She leaned casually against the bar and gave him a friendly smile.
“So, are you passing through or are you a new addition?”

“New addition.
I’m staying with Hawthorne while we collaborate on a novel.”

She recoiled and
the color leached from her face. “You’re Aaron Kesselman.”

“That’s me. Are
you ok?”

“Please don’t
tell her I was flirting.” She fled, racing past a young man with the same dark
blonde hair and friendly features who stepped aside and turned, following her
progress through the swinging doors leading into the kitchen.

“What did I
say?” Aaron asked.

“With Casey,
could’ve been anything.” The young man stuck his hand out. “Will Corbin. My
parents own this place.”

Aaron took
Will’s hand and shook it briefly. “Aaron Kesselman. I’m…”

“Hawthorne’s man.”
Will’s mouth twisted into a rueful grin. “That’d be why Casey left.”

Aaron muttered a
choice oath under his breath. “It’s not like I bite.”

“You might not,
but Hawthorne does. Casey’s flighty, not stupid.”

Aaron rubbed a
knuckle over the sudden ache in his forehead. “What’s she gonna do? It’s not
like we’re an item.” Yet.

“Sorry, man.
Word’s already out that you’re taken. No woman here’ll touch you with a ten
foot pole.”

“Christ.” It’s
not like he wanted to date any of the local women, but still. He’d be here for
a while, and it’d be nice to not have women fleeing from him wherever he went.
“Any way to head that off?”

“Not a one,”
Will said cheerfully. “We’re a loyal bunch. Until Hawthorne gives the contrary
word personally, you’re as good as mated.”

“Mated,” Aaron
said flatly. “As in married?”

“That would be
it.” Will’s gaze slid past Aaron to a spot over his right shoulder. “Speaking
of.”

Aaron glanced
over his shoulder. Two women were striding through the entrance, a svelte
blonde of Nordic descent and a petite woman with her strawberry blonde hair
stuffed under a chunky knit cap. “One of those your wife?”

“I wish,” Will
muttered. “Pretty sure she doesn’t know I exist.”

Aaron hunched
his shoulders and rolled the beer bottle between his hands along the top of the
bar. “Kinda in a similar boat there, pal.”

“Yeah?” Sympathy
bled into Will’s even features. “Wish I could say it’ll get better.”

Aaron saluted
the younger man as he made his way to the two women, who had taken stools at
the other end of the bar. The redhead leaned across the bar and pulled Will into
a smacking kiss on the mouth. The blonde stared coldly through the younger man.

Yup. Aaron had
been on the receiving end of
that
stare a time or two.

Casey stepped
tentatively through the doors leading from the kitchen carrying a plastic
basket of chicken fingers and fries. She bobbled it as she placed it on the bar
in front of Aaron, carefully avoided meeting his gaze with her own, and
scurried away, ignoring his attempted thanks.

He scooped up
the basket and his ale and wended through the bar to a table. God knew he
didn’t want to make one more woman
uncomfortable
around him.

To keep his mind
busy, he watched the crowd while he ate, checked the score on the soccer game
playing on the huge TV mounted to the wall, and generally tried to be as
unobtrusive as possible. Casey brought him another beer, only because Will
refused to, Aaron figured. A few of the women and all of the men sent curious
glances his ways, but she was the only person who came within five feet of his
table.

Either
Hawthorne’s rep was really that bad or the residents of Tellowee didn’t take to
strangers.

He had a funny
feeling it was the former.

When Aaron tried
to pay for his meal and the beer, Will refused his money. “I’ll put it on
Hawthorne’s tab and send her a bill at the end of the month.”

“What’s wrong
with paying for it now?”

“That’s just the
way we do things here.” Will held his hands up in a
don’t shoot the
messenger
gesture. “The women rule. You stick around long enough, you’ll
see.”

Aaron shoved his
wallet into his back pocket. “I’m trying to find a way to stick.”