Читать книгу Heart and Soul - Jillian Hart - Страница 9

The plump woman behind the motel’s front desk cracked her gum and tilted her head to the side, forcing her bleached beehive at an angle that reminded Michelle of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. “Honey, we’re booked up solid. It’s tourist season. There are no vacancies from here to Yellowstone, but I’ll call around for you, if you’d like. See if there was a last-minute cancellation somewhere.”

“I’d sure appreciate that, ma’am.” Brody sounded patient and polite.

Michelle noticed he was looking pasty in the bad overhead lighting. He was in pain, she realized with a cinch in the middle of her chest. Much more than he was letting on. She remembered the prescription he didn’t want to fill.

So, he was a tough guy, was he? She wasn’t surprised.

But she was shocked at the dark patches in the woman’s hair. Someone had done a bad job—a seriously sloppy coloring job. Shameful, that’s what it was.

That was something she could fix. Michelle dug around in her purse and found a business card. This side of Bozeman wasn’t far at all from the pleasant little town she lived and worked in, and so, why not?

God had given her a talent for hairstyling, and maybe she ought to do good where she could. She dug around for a pen, found one beneath her compact and wrote on the back of her card, “Free cut and coloring. Just give me a call.”

“Maybe you’d better sit down before you fall down.” Michelle eyed Brody warily. He stood militarily straight, but dark bruises underscored his eyes. The muscles along his jaw were rigid, as if it took all his will to remain standing.

“I’m fine.” His terse reply was answer enough.

Yep, definitely a tough guy. Too macho for his own good. Michelle rolled her eyes and capped her pen. He wasn’t her responsibility, not entirely, but what was she going to do? Just leave him? He obviously needed help and he didn’t even know it.

“I’m sorry,” the clerk returned. “I’ve called all the chains and independents around. The closest vacancy I could find was a room in Butte.”

An hour away. Brody groaned. That wasn’t going to work. Maybe he’d call his emergency contact at the local office. See if he couldn’t crash on a fellow agent’s couch for the night. Brody thanked the woman for her trouble.

“If you’re interested,” Michelle said as she handed something to the woman. “On the house. For your trouble tonight.”

“Why, that’s awful nice of you.” She beamed at Michelle. “I’ll sure do that. I’ve been needing to make an appointment, and gosh, just couldn’t fit it into my budget.”

“Then I’ll be seeing you.” Michelle joined him at the door.

Had she just given away a free haircut? Brody pondered that.

“What are we going to do with you, mister?” Rain dripped off the overhead entrance and whispered in the evening around them as she flipped through her key ring.

“Abandon me in the street?” He shrugged. “I’ll be fine. Let me get my pack out of your truck before you go.”

“I’m not leaving you here.” With a flick of her hair, she marched toward her truck, fearless in the rain. “What are you standing there for? Hurry up. You’re coming with me.”

“As in, going home with you?”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

No way. That was too good to be true.

“What are you going to do? Sleep in the rain? My parents have this big house. They won’t mind a guest for the night.”

An invitation to spend the night in the McKaslins’ home. He was speechless at this rare opportunity. “They’d take a stranger into their house, just like that?”

“You can have the bed over the garage. Don’t worry. It’s nice. You can get a good night’s sleep, and in the morning one of us will drive you to town so you can check out the damage to your bike.” With a shrug, Michelle unlocked her truck and climbed behind the wheel.

He swiped rain out of his eyes and took refuge inside the cab. Unbelievable.

As the rain began falling in earnest, tapping like a hundred impatient drummers on the roof, he had this strange, sinking feeling. Just like the time when he’d been diving and his gear hung up on a snag, pulling him down against his will. “You shouldn’t be offering perfect strangers rides in your truck. Or to stay overnight in your parents’ house.”

“I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“You’re a man of faith.” She touched her own dainty cross.

“I don’t suppose you realize some people pretend to be what they’re not. To take advantage of others.” When he did so, he did it for justice. To protect the innocent citizens of this country.

He knew for a fact there were bad people in this world. And those bad people kept him and his colleagues well employed. Didn’t she have a clue? “I could be dangerous.”

“But you’re not. I have a sense about these things.” Michelle’s smile was pure sunlight—gentle and bright and true—as she turned her attention to her driving.

Unaware that she was about to bring a wolf in sheep’s clothes into her family’s home. A protective wolf, but one just the same.

The hard edge of his trusty revolver cut into his side, mocking him, concealed in the slim leather holder beneath his leather jacket.

“Besides, what else are you going to do? Walk all the way to Butte? You’re injured and I told you, I feel responsible.”

The way Michelle saw it, God might have placed her on that road at that exact moment just so that Brody wouldn’t be alone when he crashed to avoid the deer and her fawn.

Maybe she was meant to help him. As a Christian, it was her duty. How could she not help? It would be wrong.

She didn’t know if her mom would see it that way, but she was absolutely sure that her dad would, because he was cool. By now, her parents ought to be used to her habit of bringing home strays, right?

Even if she’d never brought home a stray this big before.

Or one so handsome he made her teeth ache.

The house was dark, except for the lone lamp in the entryway. It wasn’t Mom’s Bible-study night. Or Dad’s grange hall meeting night. Where were they? And didn’t they know she worried?

Maybe they’d gone out to dinner. Could it be? Afraid to hope, afraid to say it out loud, Michelle grabbed fresh linens from the hall closet. If her parents had gone out together, it would be the first time in six years. Ooh, the curiosity was killing her as she stole a pillow off Kendra’s bed along with the plain blue comforter.

Brody. He’d turned down her invitation to come into the house and was checking out the apartment over the garage.

He sure was a courteous guy. Concerned about her safety. Maybe it came from the kind of life he’d lived. Always on the road with the rodeo. He’d probably seen a lot that she couldn’t even dream of.

She liked that about him. That he was worldly. Experienced. But when he smiled, his eyes sparkled with a quiet kindness. She liked that. Which was too bad. Brody didn’t have plans to stay. He was just passing through.

At least it didn’t hurt a girl to dream.

She caught sight of him through the second-story windows. He stood gazing around the small apartment, wandering around to look at this or that. A zip of warmth flooded her heart, and she couldn’t stop the sigh that bubbled up until she felt as if she were floating with it.

What a man. He stood like a soldier, alert, strong and disciplined, and so inherently good, it made her eyes glisten. She knew beyond a doubt that helping him was the right thing to do.

She closed the front door, skipped down the steps and dashed through the remaining splashes of the rainstorm. In no time at all she was bouncing up the steps and into the attic apartment where Brody turned to her.

And made her pulse stop.

“This is a nice place you’ve got here.” Brody gestured around at the shadowed front room that led into the small kitchen.

But Michelle didn’t bother to look around the place and admire it with him. How could she notice anything when he was so near? He’d taken his leather jacket off and folded it on the tabletop, leaving him in the black T-shirt where torn fabric gaped over another thick bandage.

Was her heart ever going to start beating again, she wondered as air rushed into her lungs and she could breathe. Maybe she’d waited too long to eat dinner—they’d grabbed takeout on the way out of Bozeman—and that’s why she felt funny.

“Does someone live here?” Brody strolled to the wide front windows and closed the blinds. “Or do you just keep this place for random strangers in need of a good night’s sleep and patching up?”

“The foreman used to live here until my dad had a cottage built down by the creek. Then my sister Karen lived here for a long time, but then she got married, and my uncle lost both his job and his wife and needed some place to stay but he said it was too small….” Oh my, was she rambling? Yes, she definitely was. Stop it, Michelle.

“As it turns out, we don’t have a foreman anymore, so my uncle took over the cottage last month. So, no one’s staying here right now.” Was she still holding the sheets and stuff?

Yes. What was with her anyway, staring at handsome Brody as if she’d lost her cerebral cortex? She dropped the pillow, sheets and comforter on the corner of the couch.

She still felt nervous. Why suddenly now? Because she was alone with him, and that didn’t make any sense at all. They’d been all alone in the truck. This felt different. When was the last time she’d been alone with a guy like Brody? Had she ever?

“I appreciate the hospitality.” He favored his injured right ankle as he ambled over to grab the set of floral-printed linens. “I can’t say that I’ve slept on pink and blue flowers before.”

“Flowered sheets are more restful.”

“Is that a scientifically proven fact?”

“Absolutely.”

They should have been teasing, but it was something else. Something that flickered in an odd way in her chest. A warmth of emotion that she didn’t know how to describe because she’d never felt it before.

She turned away. Feeling like this couldn’t be a good thing. Vulnerable, that’s what she was, and she didn’t like it. She retreated to the open entry where a dark slash of the deepening night welcomed her. “The bedroom’s through those doors. If you need anything, let me know.”

“Thanks, Michelle. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.” He looked sincere. Strong. Like everything a good man ought to be.

Michelle fled onto the tiny porch, pulling the door closed behind her. She felt her face flaming and her pulse jackhammering. She was feeling a strange tug of emotion, longing and admiration all rolled into one.

Great. Had he noticed?

Probably. How could he not? At least he was leaving come morning. She could pretend she didn’t think he was the coolest man ever for a few more hours.

It wasn’t like she had a chance with him. He was too worldly, and he had a life. It wasn’t as if he was going to drop everything and move to a tiny town in Montana that was a pinpoint on a detailed state map.

Be real, Michelle.

Common sense didn’t stop the stab of longing that pierced through her chest. It didn’t stop the pain of it.

She wiped her feet on the welcome mat on the front porch. She locked the door behind her. As she did every night, she hung her denim jacket on one of the hangers inside the entry closet. There was a note tacked to the message board in the kitchen by the phone. Her mom was the queen of organization.

“Michelle, went to supper and a show with your gramma. Make sure you start the dishwasher when you get in. Don’t stay up too late.”

There went the hope that her parents were out together. After all this time, she knew better than to hope. But it was one of those wishes that never died, that flickered to life new and fragile every day.

The message light on the answering machine was blinking and she hit the playback button. The old machine ground and hissed and clicked. There was a message from older sister Karen, calling to remind Michelle about her shift tomorrow at the coffee shop. A message from some old guy looking for Dad.

Michelle groaned at the third message. It was from Bart Holmes. The farmer who lived down the road. The same Bart who’d been mooning after her sister Kirby, until Kirby had married.

As if! In disgust, Michelle erased Bart’s nasal voice. She was so not interested in going out to dinner. She’d do her best to avoid him in church. She was not interested in joining his Bible study, either, thank you very much! Couldn’t he get a clue?

Just her luck. The guys she didn’t want to notice her, pursued her. And the one that she did want to notice her was so far out of her league, she might as well be trying to jump to the moon.

Give it up, Michelle. She squeezed dishwashing soap into the compartment and turned on the contraption. She left the kitchen to the hissing sound of water filling the dishwasher, and hopped up the stairs.

Every step she took was like a glimpse at her past. School pictures framed and carefully hung on the wall showed the six McKaslin girls, all blond and blue-eyed, alike as peas in a pod, smiling nearly identical smiles.

As she climbed toward the second story, the pictures grew older, marching through the years. To high school portraits in the hallway and Karen’s and Kirby’s wedding pictures. Everyone looked so happy and joyful, all the sisters crowded together in colorful bridesmaid dresses in both sets of wedding photos, but one sister was missing. Allison.

Nothing would ever be the same, she knew, as she stood before the final picture in the photo saga of the McKaslin family. Karen’s newborn daughter, Allie was named in honor of the sister who had died so young.

What other pictures would follow, Michelle wondered? There would be more babies, more weddings. She had no doubt her two currently unmarried sisters would find love.

Would there be love for her? Or would she always be like this, running behind, left in the dust. She’d watched as her sisters were old enough to do what she couldn’t: ride horses, ride bikes, go to school, become cheerleaders, go to the prom, go steady, marry a great guy.

She’d always felt as if she’d never caught up as her sisters grew up and left home. And in the grief of losing Allison, she’d felt like she’d lost her family, as well. The house that was once full now echoed around her as she made her way down the hall.

She supposed that’s why she wanted to fall in love. To try and finally have what had been so wonderful and then slipped away. The warm tight cohesive love of a family and the happiness that came from it.

“Patience,” Gramma was always telling her. “The good Lord gives us what we need at just the right time.”

Well, how long would she have to wait? Her steps echoed through the lonely house that once had been filled with laughter and love.

She knew better than to hope that a stranger, a man passing through town on his way to a more exciting life, would be the one who could save her from this aloneness.

She was old enough to have stopped believing in fairy tales. But she wanted a happily-ever-after of her very own. She wanted a white knight on a fast horse with a heart strong and true.

That it was impossible. There weren’t men like that in the world. Well, maybe the world, but absolutely certainly not in tiny, humble Manhattan, Montana.

She could see Brody’s window from her bedroom. Just the corner of it, where a small light shone through the dark and the winds and rain. Her heart caught and remained a stark ache in the middle of her chest.

Brody would be moving on come morning. She knew it. That’s why she was sad as she brushed her teeth, washed her face and changed into her pj’s. The sadness deepened as she said her prayers and turned out the light.

It wasn’t about Brody. That wasn’t it. It was the promise of what he could be. Of what she wanted a man to be. Protective and disciplined and honest and strong. The kind of man who would never lie, never fail, never betray her and love her forever.

Were there men out there like that?

Only in fairy tales.

She drew her comforter up over her head and closed her eyes.

“I’m in.” Brody kept the lights off as he sat on the little balcony deck, tucked beneath the awning just off the small apartment bedroom. “I took a spill on the bike, but—”

“Are you okay?” His partner sounded concerned.

“When haven’t I been? I’ve crashed and burned before.” He’d learned how to avoid serious injury during his training. He related the sequences of occurrences that had him bunked up in the McKaslins’ spare apartment. “Banged up, but I’ll survive. I don’t have my pack with me, or I could start surveillance tonight.”

“You’re on the property? Man! Talk about Providence.”

“No kidding.” Hunter Takoda was a good partner, the best of the best, and they’d worked together for the past five years.

“Your footwork paid off. I’m going to head out tonight, once the lights are out and everyone’s bedded down for the night—”

He heard the crunch of tires on gravel, and high beams upon the driveway cast spears of light around to the back of the garage, where he was.

Because of years of being partnered together, Brody didn’t need to tell Hunter that he had to check something out. Hunter waited patiently on the other end of the secure call while Brody limped through the dark apartment as fast as he could go, stubbed the toe of his injured foot on the leg of the coffee table, bit back the gasp of pain and crouched in front of the windows.

He heard the garage doors crank open as a big gray car—the one registered to Mrs. Alice McKaslin—drove into the garage beneath him and out of sight. He heard the engine die, and the garage doors eased downward.

A tidy, well-kept woman in her fifties, wearing a dress and heels, tapped down the walk to the front porch, opened the door and disappeared inside. Lights flashed on in the kitchen windows, but the blinds were drawn.

“I’m going out tonight. I’ll rough out the property. There’s got to be a few more service roads around here than I could find on the map. McKaslin’s moving the money somehow.”

“Think it’s a family operation, like the last case we busted over in Idaho?”

Brody thought of Michelle’s easy goodness. It was hard to see her engaging in criminal activity. “I may just have to spend some time ferreting that out for sure.” Wasn’t that too bad?

“Oh, I know. All those pretty blond women.” Hunter laughed. “Yeah, I did the original surveillance. I know what you’re thinking. When was the last time we got to work with really pretty women?”

“Really pretty and really decent women don’t have a tendency to garner the FBI’s interest.” Brody hoped Hunter wouldn’t figure out the truth—that he had a personal interest in Michelle.

Interest. That’s as far as it could go. He could secretly like her, what did that hurt? As long as he kept his objectivity. He was a professional. He was the best in the agency at what he did.

He’d finish this job the right way.