Texas Heroes: Volume 1 (31 page)

Davey shrugged. “Your voice just gets sorta mean when you talk to her.”

Mitch exhaled in a gust. “I don’t know your mom. She’s been sick ever since she got here.”

“I can take care of her if it makes you mad.”

Oh, hell. “It doesn’t make me mad.” Not exactly. If only she weren’t such a contrast, so damn beautiful…and such a cold heart. And if only her lying there so still and pale didn’t make him remember another fragile blonde who had died in his arms…

“I miss my room and my toys. I want to go home.” Davey dropped the fish. His bottom lip quivered.

Aw, man. He didn’t know anything about kids. Awkwardly, Mitch reached out and patted the boy’s shoulder.

Davey latched on with both arms around Mitch’s neck, his breath coming in short gasps and snuffles. “I don’t like this place. I want my mom to get better and take me home.”

Deep within Mitch stirred memories. All alone on a dark highway, everything familiar lost. Deep, wracking guilt mingled with rage and bitter knowledge that he could never go home. Nowhere to go, no one to care. He’d been sixteen and had wanted to cry himself. But he’d known somehow that if he ever started, he’d never stop. So instead, he’d started fights and gotten drunk.

Poor kid. Mitch pulled him up off the chair and wrapped his arms tight around the small body. Davey’s legs wrapped around his waist, and he cried in earnest.

Mitch’s rusty, unused heart ached, but he didn’t try to tell the boy platitudes. Maybe it would turn out all right; maybe not. You just had to keep going, no matter what.

So Mitch simply held him.

When the boy’s sobbing slowed, Mitch leaned back. “Not much I can do about getting you home right now. Looks like we’re stuck together. Might as well make the best of it. You know how to play checkers?”

Davey’s shoulders sagged. “No.”

“Then it’s time you learned. After we eat, I’ll teach you. Now you still want to fry some fish?”

Davey leaned against his chest again for a moment.

Mitch closed his eyes and stroked once across soft blond hair.

The boy drew in a shuddery breath, lifted his head and nodded.

Mitch set him back on the chair as though he was dynamite, set to blow. He turned his face away quickly. “Good.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s fry yours first.”

After ten games of checkers and another excursion to the porch, finally, Davey was asleep. Mitch grinned, looking at the tousled blond hair. He was going to have to convince the little guy that the porch was for extreme circumstances, not regular use. But it gave Davey such pleasure that it was difficult to say no.

He was a great kid. Mitch didn’t understand how a woman who could raise such a terrific child could be so thoughtless toward her grandfather in his time of need. She must have been ashamed of him in her fancy new life.

From what Davey said, his father hadn’t been around much. Except for his mother, the boy spent most of his time around servants. He was full of stories about pranks he’d played on the maids and jokes the butler had taught him, but he didn’t have much to say about his father.

Mitch turned, checking on Perrie one last time before he went to bed himself. For a moment, he stood there, studying her. Trying to understand her.

Was she cold to everyone but her child? Davey’s stories were full of his mother; there could be no doubt that she took an active part in his life. The kid could even read some, as Mitch had discovered when he’d read to him from one of Cy’s favorites, an old book called
Freckles
by Gene Stratton Porter. Davey had picked out a surprising number of words here and there.

She lay swallowed up in the bedclothes, the blond braid spilling over one shoulder. For a moment, a memory of white limbs seared his brain. He’d tried not to notice as he’d worked to bring down her fever, but he couldn’t forget the sweet curve of her hips, the tender rose of her nipples.

She was small yet perfect. A china doll who belonged on a shelf, who should be safely ensconced in a Boston mansion. Who should be wearing designer gowns and giving teas.

Instead, she was in Wyoming, in an area so remote that few men ever set foot here. She had driven far beyond the end of the road, then walked two miles with a small child through a forest she hadn’t been inside for years.

And the china doll had dark smudges of exhaustion beneath her eyes and hollows in her cheeks.

Why?

Then Mitch started, realizing that her eyes were open and clear. He walked closer to the bed. “Need anything? A drink? Or the—” He nodded his head outside.

“Maybe some water.” Perrie’s throat felt like sandpaper.

He poured a drink and lifted her with one arm behind her shoulders, holding the glass to her lips.

Perrie drank long, grateful swallows. Finally she stopped and looked up at the golden eyes that had bored through her from the doorway. She glanced over at Davey.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to take care of him.”

He stood up and shrugged, whispering. “He’s a good kid.”

She smiled. “You don’t have to whisper. He sleeps like the dead once he’s out.”

The corners of his lips curved faintly. “That’s the trick, getting him there.”

Her smile widened. “How many stories?”

“It wasn’t the stories so much. It was the ten games of checkers.” His eyes sparked with wry amusement.

Perrie wondered if he knew how even a faint smile transformed his face. Power always surrounded him, a magnetism that shimmered even in his harshest moments—but that smile stole her breath.

Then the smile winked out like the Cheshire Cat. “Why?”

Perrie couldn’t keep up. “Why what?”

“Why are you dragging him around the countryside? He wants to go home.”

Perrie glanced away. “We came to see my grandfather.”

“Your grandfather has been dead for six months.”

But I didn’t know that
. A fresh wave of grief threatened to drown her. “Does Davey know?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t think it was my place to tell him.”

Perrie couldn’t think about how hard it would be, telling her son that their last hope was gone. She dug her fingers into the bedspread. First things first. She needed a place to hide Davey. “Did he leave a will?”

Mitch looked at her like she had crawled out from under a rock. His voice chilled. “If you’d bothered to care, you’d know that Cy wasn’t much for paperwork.”

She couldn’t let his contempt matter. Only Davey mattered. “I’m his only relative.”

“Who hasn’t given him a thought in years.”

He had loved her grandfather. She could hear the grief in his voice. And he was wrong about her, but she wouldn’t argue. He could think what he wanted. Only survival was important. Only Davey’s safety. She didn’t know this man. Couldn’t afford to trust him. “How soon will you be leaving?”

His eyes went wide, then narrowed. “Lady—” Then he glanced around to be sure Davey was still sleeping. “I’m not the one who has to leave. Cy gave me this cabin and everything he had left, once he realized you weren’t coming.”

“But I—”
Didn’t know
.

Guilt battered at her heart. When she’d gotten her own place after the divorce, so much had been going on. She had intended to write her grandfather and give him her new address, even though he was not a man to write letters.

She would have done it, too, because she’d missed him for all those years. But then Simon had shown up again, with his threats and his demands.

It was on the tip of her tongue to explain. Mitch was a hard man, a strong man who could help her.

But he couldn’t wait for her to leave. And she had no choice but to stay until she could figure out what else to do. If this cabin belonged to him, she had to buy some time. It rankled her to be so helpless.

“I know I’ve been a lot of trouble. I’m not staying in bed tomorrow. I’ll be up and pulling my weight.”

“You’ll be lucky if you can walk across the room.” He exhaled in a gust, hands on hips. “You don’t have to push it. Stay until you’re strong enough.” He turned and left.

Perrie closed her eyes in thanksgiving.

A reprieve. Time to plan.

Perrie made it to the table before her legs turned to spaghetti. It was barely light, and Davey still slept soundly.

Outside, she heard a steady rhythm. Glancing out the window, she saw him.

What a beautiful male animal.

Gilded by shafts of light streaking down through the trees, he could have stepped out of a legend. Stripped down to a sweat-soaked t-shirt, every muscle showed clearly the raw power of the man.

Perrie had borne a child, but she had never known desire. Simon had taken a child-woman and taught her all about sex, but nothing about passion. It had been the happiest day of her life when he had stopped visiting her bed and had gone back to his other women. When he had fallen hard enough for one of them and demanded a divorce, she had gladly agreed to any terms to escape him.

Perrie had always believed that she lacked something essential, some ability to be fully a woman. She had buried herself in being a mother and planned to live out her life alone.

But watching this man’s hard, dangerous beauty, Perrie wondered.

“Mom?” From behind her, Davey’s sleepy voice interrupted her thoughts. “Are you all better?”

She arose and clutched the chair as the room tilted. Quickly, she sat back down. “Maybe not all better, honey, but I’m really tired of that bed.”

He smiled and ran to her, wrapping his arms tightly around her neck. “I missed you, Mom.” His voice dropped to a fierce whisper. “I was scared. You were sick and I don’t know where Grandpa Cy is. You said he would keep us safe.”

Traitorous tears threatened. Perrie hugged him tightly, then settled him on her lap. “Listen, sweetheart, I have something…” Perrie squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted Grandpa here, too.

Then she straightened her shoulders and leaned back to look into Davey’s eyes. “Sweetie, Grandpa Cy got very sick, and he can’t be here to help us, after all.”

“When will he come back?”

She swallowed hard. “He won’t be coming back, Davey. Grandpa Cy is in heaven with the angels.” She watched her son’s beautiful blue eyes widen.

“You mean he’s dead? Like Sparky?”

The only time Davey had been allowed a pet had been the brief hiatus after the divorce. His little puppy had escaped and been run over. Davey had struggled with the concept of death.

Blue eyes glistened with sudden moisture. “You said he would be here.”

“Yes,” she nodded, “And I know he would want to be with us if he could. I know he’s watching over us right now. You don’t have to worry.”

He cocked his head as if she’d spouted nonsense. “I’m not worried. Mitch is here. He’ll take care of us.”

Perrie knew that her son’s confidence about their welcome was misplaced, but now wasn’t the time to make him feel less secure. “He hasn’t—he didn’t hurt you or scare you?”

Davey pulled back, honestly shocked. “Mitch?” He shook his head. “Mitch is great. He showed me how to fish and he doesn’t make me take a bath and he lets me—” He stopped suddenly, covering his mouth with one hand.

She couldn’t help grinning. “What?”

Blue eyes went wide, and he shook his head.

“Shall I tickle you until you tell me?”

Davey squirmed to get away, but Perrie held him close, laughing. “No bath? Better tell me what else.”

He giggled and squirmed harder. “Mitch said—” His eyes danced, and he shook his head.

Perrie’s fingers started moving. “Mitch said what?”

“No, Mom, you—” He squealed one loud scream, then laughed harder.

Perrie was laughing, too, but she knew she’d better stop before she dropped him. “I what, sweetie? You know you want to tell me—”

The door crashed open. Mitch charged inside, looking wild and fierce—

Perrie and Davey stopped cold, both faces still wearing traces of laughter.

Mitch’s heartbeat thundered. He’d heard the scream and known a fear beyond anything he’d felt in years. There was so much the boy could have hurt himself on—

He lost it. “What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

Every trace of a smile vanished. Davey’s eyes filled, and Perrie ruffled like a wet hen. She set her son down and rose to face him like a small warrior.