Читать книгу Conception Cover-Up - Karen Barrett Lawton - Страница 13

The fact that Shannon was more angry than afraid intrigued Caleb. A woman alone in a remote cabin, a wounded stranger collapses on her doorstep. Turns out he’s been shot. It would be only natural for her to feel fear at her discovery. But the angry flush on Shannon’s cheeks showed nothing of the kind. He wondered why.

Hands on hips, Shannon glared at him. “I’d like an answer, Caleb, or whatever your name is.”

She was really something. It took guts to question a stranger when there was a very real possibility he could be dangerous. Because of that, his first instinct was to reassure her. His second told him that reassuring her couldn’t be his first priority. She might be gutsy and gorgeous, but she was still an unknown quantity.

“Well?” she said impatiently.

Time for some fast thinking. He’d already made the mistake of giving her his first name, but that didn’t mean he had to tell her the last, or his reason for showing up on her doorstep bloody and torn, beyond the landslide.

He’d learned in his undercover work that the key to successfully hiding your identity was to keep as close to the truth as possible. “My name is Caleb Joseph,” he said, using his middle name. “A friend and I were visiting a cabin up here.”

“In the middle of one of the worst winters this area has known?”

He shrugged off her suspicion. “We didn’t know the hillside was going to fall down on us.”

“I can imagine,” she said dryly. “So what were you doing up here?” She glanced at his arm. “Hunting?”

The horror that filled her gaze brought an immediately denial. “Of course not!”

He realized his mistake just as her eyes narrowed.

“Dammit, I should have known. You’re a cop, aren’t you?” The conclusion seemed to raise her ire even more.

He regarded her with genuine surprise. “What makes you say that?”

“The lack of detailed information in your answer. And the fact that you have a bullet wound, yet you weren’t hunting. Either you’re a cop or you’re a criminal.”

Good deduction, he thought. Convincing his hostess that she had nothing to fear without revealing his identity was going to be harder than he thought. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, but the gunshot wound was the result of a ricochet, just some guys doing target practice.” He thought it better not to mention that he was the target. “And I work in computers.” Everything he’d said was the truth, as far as it went.

She still looked skeptical. Time to try a different tack. “I have to say I’m a little surprised by your earlier reaction. Most people would be thrilled to find out they had a cop collapse on their doorstep, rather than some criminal on the run.”

“I’m not most people,” she snapped. “One was enough.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “And you are not some dweeb from Silicon Valley, so cut the bull.”

“A man can work in the computer industry and not be a dweeb,” he countered, doing his best to sound offended.

He didn’t know what to make of the bitterness that edged her voice, and his head ached from trying. He closed his eyes and reached up his good hand to try to rub away the pain. The logical answer was that she’d had a run-in with the cops. Which put her on the other side of the law. But Caleb couldn’t see this beautiful caring woman as a criminal. Petty or otherwise. Damn, he wished he didn’t have such a headache. It made it hard to think clearly.

He opened his eyes. “How did you know a bullet made the mark on my arm?”

“Personal experience,” she said stiffly.

“Really?” Disbelief colored his voice. His instincts told him she was as innocent as she looked. “Were you the grazer or the grazee?”

“Neither.”

This time Caleb recognized a hint of pain behind the anger. Whoever had been injured was someone she’d cared about. Her father? Brother? Husband?

“Then who?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She moved to the bed and picked up a sterile pad. “We need to finish this.” She started swabbing at his wound.

The antiseptic stung, and he flinched.

“Sorry.” She continued more gently.

Once it was clean, she slathered on the ointment, then covered the wound with a new piece of gauze, fixing it to his arm with white tape. Her hands were gentle and competent as she wound the bandage around his arm. Her silky hair brushed his bare shoulder. She smelled of rain and wood smoke. Scents he would never have considered erotic until now.

Knowing his turn of thought was completely inappropriate, he stared straight ahead and tried to concentrate on the natural weaving that hung on the opposite wall. It was fashioned of driftwood and pinecones and thick earth-toned yarn. He liked it. But even as he studied the unusual work of art, he couldn’t ignore the fact that if he turned his head another inch, he could taste Shannon’s full wide mouth.

He felt his body warm at the thought and knew he should do something, anything, to dampen the burgeoning spark. Women like Shannon had a way of complicating things. They made a man want to solve every problem, explore every secret. And then they left you wanting. He didn’t need that kind of complication. His best bet was to stay as far away from her as possible.

Seconds later Shannon finished her task. Without saying a word she picked up the first-aid kit and turned to leave the room.

“Shannon?”

She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“You don’t have to worry.” He smiled. “I really am harmless.”

She gazed at him for several seconds. “A harmless computer guy who just happened to be visiting in the area,” she said sweetly, “and just happened to get himself shot and just happened to get caught in a landslide?”

He had to admit the woman would have made a great interrogator. A less-experienced cop might have been ready to confess here and now. And so would he. Later. When he was sure she was out of harm’s way.

For now he just smiled wryly. “What can I say? I’m a klutz.”

Her own smile was grim. “Well, try not to fall out of bed, all right?” Then she left the room.

Against his will Caleb waited for her to come back. Impatient with himself, impatient for her presence, he found himself a victim of the very complication he’d dreaded.

He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to know why she was so bitter. He wanted to soothe away the hurt. He wasn’t the only one with something to hide. There were secrets behind her anger and pain. What man had hurt her so badly?

He caught himself again, pulled himself back. She doesn’t need or want you, buddy. So put away the sword and shield. The woman might be a damsel in distress, but she’s obviously determined to fight her own battles. And you have your own problems.

Brandon. His partner and best friend could even now be lying under tons of rock and mud. Had he escaped, only to run smack into Jim Driscoe? Or even worse, that weasel Larkin? Caleb shifted on the bed. His body screamed in protest.

He lay still until the din eased. Once he was able to relax a little, he had to laugh at himself. Who was he to be thinking about slaying dragons?

Hell, his own dragon had nearly devoured him. A months-long undercover investigation had blown up in his face. A landslide had come close to burying him forever. He had a concussion that kept his head banging constantly, and he was stuck in the middle of nowhere while his partner was out there alone. He had enough to worry about without dragging out the armor and steed to go jousting with the demons of a woman who’d just as soon toss him out in the rain.

SHANNON PUT AWAY the first-aid supplies and tried not to think about the man who lay on her bed. No stranger had ever affected her so thoroughly. Her fingers still tingled from touching the firm strength of his arms. Those weren’t the muscles of a man who spent his life in a high-tech firm.

She saw the soup waiting for her, but her appetite had fled. She poured the cooled soup back into the pot and put the mug in the sink, along with a few dishes from earlier. Washing them would give her something to do. She turned on the faucet, but no water came out. Duh, Shannon, she thought. No power, no pump.

She looked over at the computer that had been her lifeline. If she had electricity, she could work. As a syndicated advice columnist, she always had work to be done, letters to be answered, subjects that needed researching. Dealing with the problems of the faceless readers who wrote to her for advice was much easier than dealing with her own.

She rubbed her arms, feeling out of sorts. Having a man in the house was not doing her nerves any good. Especially when she suspected he was lying about his identity. Which made her physical reaction to him all the more frustrating. She wished she could take a long walk to work off her restlessness, but the deluge outside would likely drown her.

Letting out a long sigh, she opened the old trunk where she kept extra blankets and took out a pile. She covered the couch, still damp and dirty thanks to her unexpected guest. Sitting, she stared at the fire in the hearth and wished with all her might that the storm would end, the power would come on, the phones would work, and her guest would go home.

But even as she wished, she knew it was futile. She’d seen storms like this before. By now the stream at the foot of her property would have flooded the road. Even if she could get safely through it with her four-wheel-drive, that didn’t guarantee passage on other area roads. Caleb’s landslide probably wouldn’t be the only one.

The thought of spending several days with this handsome stranger, who suddenly didn’t feel like such a stranger, unnerved her. She hadn’t lived with another person for three years, and she’d come to like it that way. No disagreements, no fights, no dispute over what to have for dinner, what to watch on TV, when to get a new car.

No love, a little voice added.

What did love have to do with it? she scoffed. Love was useless. Love promised everything, but in the end it left you with nothing. She didn’t need love anymore. She needed her work and she needed her solitude. And thanks to this storm, she had neither.

She crossed to the fireplace and added a couple of logs. What she had was a perfectly normal female reaction to a big handsome male. Hormones. If he wasn’t here, she’d be sitting by the fire, wrapped in an afghan, enjoying the sound of the rain.

Alone.

The last time she’d visited Santa Cruz, she’d bought several books she looked forward to reading. What better time to do that than when you were stuck inside on a rainy night?

Alone.

Shannon closed the screen and went back to the couch. In spite of the glowing heat, she felt chilled. She grabbed the afghan off the back of the sofa and draped it over her shoulders. Still she shivered. Damn him for showing up on her doorstep and disrupting her quiet peaceful evening.

She did not want him here. She didn’t need the warmth that radiated from him. She didn’t need his problems.

She didn’t care how many times he told her he worked in computers. She had a hard time believing it. But she couldn’t come up with a reason he’d lie about his identity, either.

Well, liar or not, she didn’t want the responsibility of taking care of him. Tending his wounds had brought back her experience with Tony as vividly as if it were yesterday. She did not want to patch up another man just to have him turn around and get shot again. She’d barely survived the first time.

“Shannon?”

She jerked around and saw Caleb leaning against the back of the couch. He’d wrapped the quilt around himself, and his face was pale from exertion.

All thoughts of the past faded. She jumped up and went to him. “For heaven’s sake, what are you—Never mind. Come and sit down before you fall down.”

She put her arm around his wide back and guided him to the couch. It seemed incongruous that she should be helping a man who made her feel tiny and vulnerable. Yet when she looked at his mouth, pinched with pain he’d probably scoff at, she couldn’t help feeling protective.

As he sat on the couch, the quilt slipped from around his shoulders, reminding her that he wore nothing underneath. Not that she’d really forgotten. That would have been as hard as ignoring the fact that he was a man. A dangerously attractive man, with a dimple charming enough to make the hardest woman melt at his feet.

“You must be cold,” she said, hoping he’d take the hint and cover himself.

He looked up at her. “I’m fine.”

His blue gaze met hers. His eyes were quite beautiful, she thought involuntarily. Clear and shiny, like the sky reflected in a raindrop. They seemed to see inside her, sense things Shannon didn’t want to share.

She looked away. He was much too compelling. She’d told herself her reaction had nothing to do with him, but that wasn’t exactly the truth. Taking him into her home, she’d probably saved his life. It didn’t matter that he was a stranger, and a lying one at that. She still didn’t want to pick up the newspaper next week or next month and see an article reporting the death of Caleb Joseph in some freak accident. Thinking of those beautiful blue eyes cold and lifeless hurt her heart in a way she hadn’t felt since she’d lost Tony.

Not liking the path her mind had taken, Shannon searched for an out and found it. “I put some chicken soup on the stove earlier. I’m sure it’s been hours since you’ve eaten.”

Caleb shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry. If you’ll give me my clothes, I’ll get out of your hair.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. The concussion had obviously scrambled his brain. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to accept my hospitality for a while longer.” She walked over to the stove and turned on the burner.

“Shannon, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your taking me in and taking care of me, but I have to check on my friend. He got caught in the landslide, too. I really need to borrow your Jeep.”

“It won’t do any good,” Shannon told him patiently as she stirred the soup. He really sounded worried. Her heart went out to him.

And that has to stop right now, she ordered herself. You’re better off treating him like one of your readers. A stranger looking for expert advice. Though she’d never felt less like an expert.

“It’s a four-wheel drive,” he persisted. “Surely it’ll be able to negotiate a little flooding.”

Lightning flashed, followed immediately by thunder so loud it rattled the windows. Shannon turned on him, hands on hips. “Are you paying attention at all? The Santa Cruz Mountains don’t know what ‘a little flooding’ means. It’s been raining off and on for weeks. Power lines are down. The hills are saturated. The landslide that almost buried you wasn’t the first this winter and it won’t be the last. Until the rain stops, you’re just going to have to stay put.”

She swung back to the stove. This was really something, having to convince the man to stay when she didn’t want him here in the first place!

The soup started to simmer. She picked up the wooden spoon and stirred it. “Besides, your right arm is injured. How do you propose to drive a stick shift?” Realizing that might sound like a challenge, Shannon hurried on, “But if you’re really set on leaving, I guess I could drive you.”

“Absolutely not!”

Shannon turned to look at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“There’s no way in hell I’d let you drive in this kind of weather. The roads are far too dangerous and—” Caleb stopped abruptly. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Shannon shrugged and picked up a soup mug and ladle. Reverse psychology. Tony had used it on her so often that she’d picked up the trick herself. She filled the mug, then found a spoon and returned to the couch.

He looked up at her, eyes narrowed. She could almost hear the wheels turning. She held the mug out to him. “Go ahead. You won’t lose any macho points by eating a little soup.”

He took it. “This isn’t macho posturing. There are people out there who are counting on me.”

“Counting on you to what? Fix their computers?” she asked innocently. “Since there’s no electricity for miles, I bet they can wait.” She took her own mug and crossed to the rocking chair next to the fireplace. “Besides, you’re not going to be much help to those people if you’re dead. Driving around in the rain with a concussion is not conducive to good health.” An understatement to be sure, and the reason she refused to tell him about Tony’s automatic four-wheel-drive pickup truck sitting in her garage. He might be capable of driving it, but that didn’t guarantee he wouldn’t end up in a ditch. “When the weather calms down a little, I’ll drive you wherever you want to go. For now you’re stuck, so you might as well enjoy your soup.”

Obediently Caleb ate a spoonful. He couldn’t argue with her logic, but it wasn’t going to be easy waiting around until he could safely leave. Well, one thing he could be grateful for: If he couldn’t get out, then no one could get in. Which meant he didn’t have to worry about one of the Driscoes showing up looking for him.

He glanced over at Shannon. With the light behind her, her face was cast in shadows. He suspected she preferred it that way. Secrets and shadows.

“So who was the man who made you bury yourself in the wilds of the Santa Cruz Mountains?”

Shannon started at his deliberately abrupt question. “How do you know I’m not just staying here for a vacation?”

He glanced around the room, taking in the surroundings with a trained eye. “Bookshelves filled with books. Curtains on the windows. Furniture old but well cared for. Art on the walls. Way too homey to be only a temporary retreat. Besides, even the most dedicated techie doesn’t travel around with all that state-of-the-art equipment.” He gestured toward her computer. “I should know,” he added. Even if she did suspect the lie, she couldn’t be sure of the truth. It was safer that way. “So why don’t you tell me about—”

“It’s really none of your business,” she said coolly.

And he might have let it go if he hadn’t seen the flash of pain that crossed her face. “Well, the storm outside isn’t letting up. And until it does, as you pointed out, you’re stuck with me. We can’t just sit and stare at each other.”

“I’m sure we can come up with lots of subjects to discuss.”

Yes, he thought, but none of them interested him as much as learning about the man who’d been idiotic enough to hurt this lovely woman. “He must have meant a lot to you.”

She took a sip from her mug, then placed it carefully on the side table. “I really don’t want to talk about this, Caleb, so—”

“You might not want to,” he interrupted, “but you need to.”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “So now you’re a psychologist?”

The sarcasm didn’t bother him. It meant he’d gotten to her. He didn’t know why this was so important, but it was. “You can be as rude as you like. It doesn’t change the fact that you could use a sympathetic ear. And I need something to keep my mind off my friend.”

Shannon searched his expression, looking for signs of manipulation. What she found was genuine concern. “Tony Garrett,” she supplied, still a little reluctant. “He was my husband.”

“Was?”

His expression was interested, not avidly curious. He wasn’t looking for a sensational story. He was offering an ear.

Needing to move, she got to her feet and walked over to put her mug in the sink.

For days after Tony’s death his fellow officers had dropped by. They’d offered her a shoulder to cry on, too. But she’d gotten the feeling that they needed to talk about Tony, to reassure themselves that the same thing wouldn’t happen to them. When she’d tried to express her own frustration, they’d turned off. They didn’t want to hear what their wives and girlfriends felt when their loved ones put their lives on the line time and time again.

She walked back into the living area. Caleb had set his empty mug on the coffee table. “Can I get you anything else?”

He shook his head. “Come sit down.”

She sat on the opposite end of the couch from him. Two seat cushions separated them. It wasn’t enough. She could feel the warmth radiating from him. His arms were tanned and muscular, their strength undiminished by the cuts and bruises that marred the flesh. Her fingers tingled as if remembering the texture of his skin.

She wrapped her arms around her waist to keep from reaching out. What the heck had gotten into her? Had she lived within her self-imposed seclusion so long that she was ready to throw herself at any man who came along?

“Shannon? Are you all right? I’m sorry I pressed you. If it’s still too painful to talk about your husband…”

She looked at Caleb, saw the concern on his handsome face and knew that he was not just “any man.”

“I’m fine.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “I was just thinking.” About him, not about Tony, as Caleb must have thought.

The twinge of guilt that followed loosened her tongue. “Tony was a police officer in San José. He was killed three years ago in the line of duty.”

“I’m sorry.”

The simple words eased the lump in her throat. Her friend Zoe had often told her she’d feel better if she talked about it, but she’d never been able to discuss Tony with anyone, even her best friend. Was that why she’d suddenly decided to talk? Or was it just a cover-up for her inappropriate feelings?

“Don’t stop now.” Caleb touched her hand.

The resulting tremor rocked her to her toes.

She pulled her hand back, looked away. Oh, no, she could not have this. He was a lost soul, just passing through. And she? She was even more lost than he was. No matter how her senses reacted to him, physical attraction did not equal a relationship. And even if it did, a relationship was the last thing she wanted.

“Shannon?” he said softly. “Tell me what happened.”

And because telling Tony’s story suddenly seemed easier than dealing with her own feelings, she did.

“It wasn’t the first time he’d been shot. Tony was very brave and capable. But his sense of responsibility for his fellow officers…” She gazed into the fire, remembering. “He was always first—the first to arrive, the first to volunteer.”

“The first to be wounded?”

She nodded. “I can’t count the times I had to go to the emergency room to pick him up.” Gashes, knife wounds, bullets. “Time after time, I’d tend Tony’s wounds. Time after time, he’d go back to the job.” Eagerly, happily, as soon as he could, she remembered bitterly. “Being a police officer was his life.”

“And in the end it was his death,” Caleb said quietly.

Shannon nodded.

“I don’t mean to be judgmental, but it sounds like he was reckless.”

She half laughed, feeling no humor. “Men are. Haven’t you noticed?”