Texas Heroes: Volume 1 (35 page)

“But she couldn’t. Because fingers were already tickling her tummy and she was laughing too hard to move.”

“Fish can’t laugh,” Davey interrupted. “Can they?”

“Are you so sure?”

“Unh-uh,” he replied sleepily.

“Well, Ermengilda’s no ordinary fish, you see.”

“So what happens next?”

“I don’t know. I was thinking about adding kissing and stuff.”

“Eck,” replied Davey. “Gross.”

“I don’t guess there has to be kissing, but usually when princes save princesses there’s at least a little kissing going on.”

“Could there be a sword fight first?”

Perrie smiled. “Who’s the prince going to fight?”

“The bad guy.” He opened his eyes again. “There’s got to be a bad guy, right, Mom?”

“Maybe.”

“Sure there does, so the prince can rescue the princess.” His eyes were closing, his voice growing soft. “I would rescue you, Mom, ’cause you’re like a princess.”

She stroked the hair of the child who held her heart in his small hands, and tried not to cry. In a voice less steady than she would like, she whispered to her now-sleeping child.

“I know you would, sweetheart.”

Then she kissed his forehead and tucked the quilt around him on the sofa. She made a feeble attempt to lift him, but he was getting too heavy for her to carry even when she was well. When Mitch came back, she’d ask him to help her. She sank down before the fire and stared into the flames.

She’d wished for her own prince for many years, but she’d made a mistake when she thought she’d found him. Being a romantic was dangerous, Perrie had learned.

Life wasn’t a fairytale, she knew that. She would raise Davey to be smart and strong and wiser than she had been.

But with all her heart she wanted a part of Davey never to have to give up his innocence. She had to find a way to protect both him and his dreams from a father who would destroy both.

She could only hope she would be enough.

Mitch turned away from the window and stared into the darkness, locked into place by memory. Another mother’s voice echoed in his head and for a moment, he could almost feel the warmth where he was tucked into her side. Could remember delicate fingers stroking his hair as she read him a story and he fought the claim of sleep, never dreaming a day would come when he would not be protected by that golden web of love.

Perrie shouldn’t be filling Davey’s head with all those romantic notions. It would only make it harder for him when the world outside destroyed them.

He turned back to see her tenderly tuck the quilt around the boy, then try to lift him. His muscles tensed to go inside to help her, but when she pulled her arms away and settled in front of the fire, he turned his attention to the dark night, the stars winking past the treetops.

He would take care of carrying Davey, but not yet. Not while she was so close, in a cabin that was shrinking by the day.

When he turned back, she had curled up on her side in front of the fire, her breathing slow and deep.

Oh, hell. Now he’d have to carry her, too. The only thing he wanted less than to be near her was to have to touch her.

Shaking his head, Mitch sighed and straightened. He entered the cabin and stood there for a minute, watching them sleep like two innocents. Then Davey snored softly, and Mitch smiled, crossing the floor to pick him up.

When he did, Davey frowned slightly, then snuggled closer, his head pressed into Mitch’s chest. Something inside Mitch did a slow revolution, and he knew that though he couldn’t wait for them to leave, he would miss this child.

But that couldn’t be helped. Anyway, the sooner they left, the sooner he could get on with his life. With long strides, he carried Davey to his cot and tucked the quilt around him. For one moment, his hand hovered over the tousled golden hair, close enough to touch. But he didn’t.

“Sleep well,” Mitch whispered. Then he turned away and tried to decide which would be worse, to have to touch Perrie to carry her, or to have to talk to her if she were awake and could take herself to bed.

There, before the fire, he stood over her and studied the woman who was a mystery to him. Her ever-present braid lay limply behind her on the rug, and he wondered how it would look, loosened so that the curls making constant bids for escape were freed. For just a moment, he tried to imagine her, golden waves cascading over her shoulders and down her back, blue eyes alight with laughter and looking at him like—

Mitch cursed beneath his breath, and Perrie stirred, a tiny frown appearing between delicate brows. The purple shadows smudging her eyes had receded, but exhaustion still lined her face.

Wondering was foolish. Even if she woke up and gave him a perfectly good reason why she’d been so callous to Cy, it wouldn’t matter. He wanted no one in his life. Needed no one. That was how it had been for twenty years now, and how it would continue. Some people were simply meant to be alone.

Before she could awaken, Mitch knelt on the floor and scooped her into his arms, simply a burden to carry like a stack of firewood or a load of supplies. He rose to his feet.

She stirred softly and nestled closer, turning that china doll face into his chest, the golden braid falling from her shoulder. Her hand grasped the front of his shirt for an endless second, and she whimpered faintly. Mitch’s own hands tightened around her, all too aware of her bottom against one arm, her slender back against the other beneath the thin layers of cloth. He froze, barely breathing, willing her to continue sleeping.

But something of his tension must have communicated itself to her. Slowly, dark lashes swept upward, blinking once…twice. Eyes as blue as a mountain lake looked at him with unprotected softness for a span of time that was only a second or two but could have been years. Her hand tightened again against his shirt, and he felt her touch like a brand on his body. Desire rose, swift and shocking, and it was all Mitch could do not to drop her like a hot potato.

For endless seconds, he felt the blue eyes look into his as though she could see down to the bottom of his shriveled soul. And no matter what he knew or what he believed, he could not look away, nor could he speak.

Then her lashes flickered, and her eyes closed.

And like a prisoner who has seen a glimpse of sunlight from the dungeon, Mitch felt forgotten yearning shudder through him. Averting his mind’s eye from the sight, he took her to her bed and escaped the room with all haste.

Behind the closed door of his own bedroom, Mitch drew in his first deep breath of the night.

Perrie awoke, blinking against the bars of buttery-yellow sunlight making the log walls glow golden. She stretched, then glanced over to see Davey’s cot empty. Listening for sounds to indicate that he and Mitch were inside, she heard nothing.

Mornings were already cold. Sweeping the quilt aside, she glanced down at the thick socks on her feet. By all rights, they should be able to stand by themselves, she’d had them on so long. She needed to get to the car to get more clothes but as she stood up, she quickly realized that she was far from ready to walk the two miles.

Making her way across the room, Perrie paused by the tall pine chest that flanked the doorway, running her hands across the surface of it, still covered with that same strip of once-bright Mexican cloth. Her mind’s eye returned to the past when she couldn’t see to the top of the chest, could only see the edges of the cloth’s fringe. Grandpa Cy had finally asked her one day what she was staring at so intently.

He’d laughed when she’d told him that she wondered what was up there. Picking her up, he let her look where she had imagined treasures. Instead, she’d found little. Change from his pocket. A photo of her mother as a girl. Perrie’s own school picture, front tooth missing. And a dark, grainy photo of Cy and his beloved Adele, the grandmother she’d never known.

They hadn’t seemed treasures to her then, but now she wished with all her heart to see them just once more.

Maybe Mitch… She shook her head. Would he have kept them? Likely not.

Perrie swept her fingers over the carved square wooden pulls of the top drawer, wondering if the chest contained her grandfather’s things, or Mitch’s. Had he given up this room to them or made the second bedroom his own? Her fingers hovered over the pull.

No. It wasn’t right. She was a guest here, nothing more. Maybe she’d come here expecting to be family, but that was not the reality she’d found. Sliding her fingers across the rough wood, she turned away and headed for the living room.

Sunlight flooded through the small window over the sink in the kitchen area to her left. Straight ahead, the window beside the front door was shadowed by the porch, but more sunlight brightened the living area from the window off to her right. In the fireplace, flames crackled.

On the old oak kitchen table, the torn edge of a brown paper sack stood against the salt shaker.
Davey’s with me
, it read, in a bold, masculine scrawl.

No signature, but none was needed. The handwriting was like the man, strong and to the point. Not one superfluous word. She smiled. Mitch guarded words as though he couldn’t replace the ones he used.

At least he’d thought to prevent her worry.
Mitch will take care of us, Mom
. Her smile vanished. Davey had opened his heart to Mitch, but she couldn’t. He was too full of contradictions, too much a mystery.

Just for a moment, an image darted across her mind. Strong arms beneath her, hard chest against her cheek. The smell of a man’s sweat and wood smoke and piney forest. Eyes burning amber locked on hers.

She wanted to understand their pain, the source of the dark shadows. To burrow closer and lose herself in their depths.

Shivering at the memory, Perrie moved near the fireplace to snag the quilt she’d used to cover Mitch, wrapping it around her. With brisk steps, she headed for the woodstove and poured herself a cup of the coffee he had left warming on the back.

Stay busy, Perrie. Make yourself useful. And stay out of his way
.

In the corner, she saw a barrel Mitch used to store water. She checked the reservoir on the right side of the woodstove, finding it already full of still-warm water. She would wash herself with it, then heat more.

Then she’d wash their clothes and scrub away foolish thoughts in the process.

“How come you don’t have a TV, Mitch?” Davey asked from his perch on Mitch’s back.

The boy had lasted longer than Mitch had expected, hiking a good mile and a half without complaint. Probably closer to three miles, if you counted all the times he’d darted off to the side to find some new treasure. And he’d asked at least a million questions. Maybe two million.

“Don’t need one.”

Davey fell silent, but it was that kind of silence that was almost loud with all the brain clicking he could see going on.

Sure enough, it didn’t take long. “So you don’t miss seeing
Ben 10
?”

Mitch turned his head to the side. “What’s that?”

Davey’s fingers tightened on his shoulders. “Oh, wow, you should see him. He’s this kid who has this watch that makes him turn into different aliens, and he fights the bad guys like Dr. Animo and Vilgax. It’s really awesome.”