Читать книгу Skyler Hawk: Lone Brave - Sheri WhiteFeather, Sheri WhiteFeather - Страница 10

It hurt like hell to grin, but Sky couldn’t help himself. No woman had ever made a sweeter offer. She said something about getting the first-aid kit and he watched her walk down the hall. She looked fresh: purple flowers sprinkled across her spring-green dress; legs bare; painted toenails slung into leather sandals. He hoped she had a first-aid kit. He knew he didn’t.

Windy returned and placed a stack of towels, several washcloths and a first-aid kit on the oak tabletop. The red cross on the plastic container and the clean white cloths seemed official. Sky slid his long body into a chair and smiled again.

“Would you stop grinning.” She touched the corner of his mouth with a damp cloth. “You’re making your lips bleed.”

He closed his eyes and winced like a child being scrubbed clean by his mother. And then he fidgeted, feeling like a little boy as she ran her hands through the front of his hair, moving it away from his face. He couldn’t remember anyone ever fussing over him—babying or mothering him. He decided he liked the attention, maybe always longed for it, even though, like now, he probably didn’t deserve it.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” she asked.

God, no. “The hair part feels good.”

Her hand stilled. “You have beautiful hair.”

When he opened his eyes, the swollen one fluttered, causing him to squint. Her compliment embarrassed him a little, so he chose to change the subject by skipping the “thank you” part. “The fight was my fault, I guess. But I’m not sorry about it. That guy at the bar, he was treatin’ his wife bad, so I called him on it. She was a little bit of a thing. Like you, Pretty Windy. Just a slip of a girl.”

“Oh.”

Sky figured she didn’t know what else to say. He’d made it sound as though it had been her honor he’d defended. She moved the damp cloth down his neck, and he unbuttoned his torn shirt. Suddenly, being this close to her didn’t seem like such a good idea.

“Oh, Sky,” Windy’s voice reached out compassionately. “What did they do to you?” His unbuttoned shirt exposed a colorful patch of bruising on his chest and stomach.

Feeling a little foolish, he shrugged. “Got kicked a few times.” Ugly Hank had big feet and big, steel-toed boots. “Nothing’s broken. And I got in a few good kicks of my own. I got one of them in the…ah—” Sky remembered Jimmy, hunched over, his face twisted in pain. “Well, I got him good.”

Windy stared at his marred flesh, then raised her eyes to his grinning face. “This isn’t funny. You look awful.”

“I’ve been hurt worse. This ain’t nothin’.” He realized how ridiculously macho he sounded and how poor his grammar was. Ladylike women put him on guard, making him feel inadequate in ways he couldn’t begin to describe. Flashing a disarming grin was his only defense, that or flirting.

Windy doused a cotton ball with a strong antiseptic. Gently dabbing it at his chest, she cleaned the bloodied scrapes surrounding the bruises. “Do you get into a lot of fights?”

“Used to,” he responded. “It’s the cowboy way, I suppose.”

Her caramel-colored eyes locked onto his. “What does that mean exactly?”

Surviving the loneliness, he wanted to say. Having to prove you’re a man. “It’s just a life-style.”

She doused another cotton ball. “Sounds dangerous.”

He laughed, his lip splitting a little as he did. It was, he supposed. Stupid and dangerous. “Charlie never went out for that sort of thing, though. Used to give me hell about it.” But then, his boss had a wife and daughter. He didn’t understand what it felt like to be completely alone. “Charlie’s a responsible cowboy.”

She smiled. “I have a feeling I’d like Charlie. How long have you worked for him?”

“Seems like forever.” Sky’s gaze followed Windy’s hands. They were tending his stomach now. There wasn’t much to doctor, just a few minor scrapes. The bruises would heal on their own. “Charlie’s been good to me.” But Sky wasn’t always loyal to Charlie. He’d pop in and out of the other cowboy’s life, work for him sporadically. Sky couldn’t take the show-biz thing year round so he’d find ranch work in between. Maybe it wasn’t just the show-biz aspect, he thought. Maybe he feared the affection he felt for Charlie’s family, the wondering about his own.

Windy studied him as though trying to read his mind. Her being a psychology student made him uneasy. He didn’t like being analyzed, especially by a decent woman. If she looked deep enough, she wouldn’t like what she saw.

“Where are you from originally?” she asked.

He shrugged evasively. “Nowhere. Everywhere. I get restless, move a lot. I enjoy a change of scenery.” How could he tell her he didn’t know where he was born, or who his people were? Or that he had recurring nightmares about a tiny gray-eyed boy and a hawk? Sky blew an exhausted breath. Dreams of hawks, dreams of his son. Nothing in his head made any sense. Was the hawk his son’s protector? Was it angry at Sky for what he’d done to the boy? Or was the hawk appearing in his dreams strictly as a messenger, sending messages he didn’t understand? He knew animal medicine carried great power—power one shouldn’t misinterpret.

Windy studied Sky’s frown. What was he thinking? Oh, for Pete’s sake, he was probably disturbed by her question. The man had amnesia. He probably didn’t remember where he was from. Edith had said he knew very little about himself.

Windy sighed and tossed the soiled cotton balls into a plastic bag. She wished he would confide in her. He needed to trust someone. Why not a woman exploring the human psyche?

“You done?” Sky asked. “I got a few scrapes on my back. Will you take a look at them?”

She nodded. It appeared he found comfort in her medical ministrations. “You’ll have to take your shirt off.”

“No problem.” He removed the torn garment hastily, as if resisting the urge to shred it. There wasn’t much left of it, Windy noted. It had been a nice shirt, detailed with silver piping and nickel buttons. She wasn’t surprised that he’d destroyed something of quality. He probably did that often. He didn’t appear to value material items.

“The cuts are down here.” He touched his lower back. “It might be hard for you to reach them if I’m sittin’ down. Should I stand up, maybe?”

Windy took a deep breath, his big, bronzed chest suddenly making her ill at ease. “Sure.”

He stood, turned his back, then jolted forward. “Damn.” He winced, clutching his midsection.

There were a few cuts low on his back, just as he’d said, but she decided they weren’t the problem. The bruises on his stomach had to hurt. She couldn’t imagine being kicked there.

She placed her hands on his shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. I just got stiff sitting for so long, I guess.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Offering comfort, she allowed her hands to express her concern. For an instant she kneaded his shoulders, then made consoling strokes through his hair.

Seeping through the protective shell of Sky’s rough-and-tumble ego was a thin veil of vulnerability. It circled around Windy like the sweetened smoke of incense, begging for more of her compassion, her touch.

He needed her.

And she needed him. Needed to explore the breadth of his shoulders, the silky hair falling down his back. Windy combed through the thickness, capturing the midnight strands in between her fingers.

She felt him shudder, saw the muscles ripple down his back, listened to his pleasured sigh. Although she touched him tentatively, Sky responded as though he wanted to fall into her arms. Hold her close. Kiss her.

But when he turned abruptly to face her, a thick silence fell between them.

For several uncomfortable moments they stared at each other, aware of the heat passing between them. They stood paralyzed, suspended in time, her fingers frozen in his hair, his eyes as silent as a vast summer sky. She inhaled his scent: blood, sweat and traces of peppermint candy. The unusual combination sent a tingle down her spine.

Windy moved her throat just enough to swallow. She had no business encouraging him, not in a romantic way. He might want more than she was willing to give. Drop your hand. Step back.

Oh, my God. Mortified, she glanced away. Somehow her ring had become caught in his hair, twisted in the heavy black mass.

Whispering an apology, she tugged gently in an effort to release her hand, trying for a noncommittal focus. In spite of herself, her gaze met his, spicing her blood until it seared through her veins. Immediately her knees weakened. If her legs buckled, she would either pull Sky to the ground with her or tear out a handful of his hair before collapsing.

Still struggling to gain control, Windy gauged Sky’s reaction. He was going to say something. Do something. Make a joke. Pretend this was amusing. With that warped sense of humor, he probably thought this was amusing.

On cue, his slightly damaged lips curved into a big, lopsided smile.

Windy’s breath expanded. “I suppose we do look rather silly,” she said, her legs regaining their consistency. “But if you laugh—”

Her warning came too late; he was already laughing.

“Sky, this is not funny. My ring is stuck in your hair. And you’re splitting your lip again.”

He made a face at her. A hideous face, which she thought effective with the addition of his black eye. Giggling seemed her only option. She had never met anyone quite like him. “You’re a strange man.” She felt him pulling at her hand. “What are you doing?”

“Getting your hand out of my hair.”

She stepped back and wiggled her finger, displaying Sky’s handiwork. Attached to the ruby ring were several long strands of black hair. They exchanged a quick burst of laughter.

He lifted an eyebrow. “So I’m strange, huh?”

Strange. Gorgeous. Mysterious. She could hardly wait to talk to Edith about him. Windy glanced at the microwave clock. In two hours she would be sipping tea at Edith’s house. “You make some weird faces.”

He shrugged and spied the coffeepot. “Is that fresh?”

“I made it about an hour ago.”

“Good enough.” He strolled over to the counter, poured a cup, then added an enormous amount of sugar.

She watched in fascination. Odd. He struck her as the kind of bar-brawling cowboy who would prefer his coffee strong and bitter.

He tasted the dark brew, winced and reached for the sugar bowl once again. She tidied the mess on the table and tried not to laugh. “Why don’t you have a little coffee with your sugar, Sky?”

He flashed his signature smile. “I have a sweet tooth.”

Her heart warmed and fluttered. How could a man be virile and boyish at the same time? Rough yet gentle? Strong yet vulnerable?

Windy sat at the table and pushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. Her lack of experience was showing. She understood children, not men. At twenty-six, she’d been dating less than ten years, but never serious dates, or long-term boyfriends. Although plenty of men found her attractive, she’d never lost her heart, made earth-shattering love or even cuddled in masculine arms all night. Call her old-fashioned, but she didn’t mind waiting for the real thing.

What would it be like to sleep next to Sky? she wondered. To curl up beside that long, copper body? Feel those rippling muscles? Old-fashioned or not, a girl had the right to dream, didn’t she?

Sky clanked a spoon against his cup. Windy looked up with a start to find him watching her, a knowing look in his eye. Uncomfortable, she fussed with her hair again—hair that curled haphazardly no matter what the style or length. She pushed an annoying ringlet away, but it sprang back, slapping her cheek. This time an exasperated huff blew it behind her shoulder. A moment later it returned.

Sky’s dimples surfaced. “You have bedroom hair.”

“Excuse me?”

He came forward, coffee cup in hand. “Your hair looks as if you just tumbled out of bed.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Nothing’s sexier than a thoroughly loved woman with tangled hair.”

Windy tried not to blush. For Pete’s sake. What a thing for him to say, especially after she’d been fantasizing about sleeping in his arms. “My hair always looks like this.” And she’d never been thoroughly loved.

He leaned on the table, his husky voice low and intimate. “Say, Pretty Windy with the bedroom hair, are you hungry?”

Her pulse raced. “Hungry?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. For food. You know, breakfast.”

Windy regained her composure. Her flirtatious new roommate had a dastardly sense of humor. Hungry indeed. He knew darn well the way he’d made it sound. “I would imagine you’re ready to eat.”

“Hell, yes. I got the tar beat out of me last night, slept in my truck, then brushed my teeth in a service station rest room. I’m downright starving.”

She couldn’t imagine living such an irresponsible life-style. “I can fix you something. I always keep a well-stocked fridge.”

He smiled. “Sure, okay. It would save me the trouble of going back out again.”

Windy’s mood brightened. There were advantages to having a male roommate. Security, safety. Someone to haul the trash cans out to the curb, someone to fix the plumbing, someone to cook for. She wasn’t used to having a man around. Sky would be the first man with whom she had shared a home. Her father had died when she was still small, and her mother never remarried.

“What would you like to eat?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Anything. A bowl of oatmeal, frozen waffles. Don’t go to any trouble on my account.”

“It’s no trouble. I like to cook. I even enjoy going to the market.”

He placed his empty coffee cup in the sink. “Really? Well, maybe you could shop for me, too. I could give you some money and you could add my stuff to yours. Mostly I just keep snacks around. Candy, chips, stuff like that.”

Windy smiled. So the big strong cowboy liked junk food. “No problem.”

Sky leaned against the counter as she rummaged through the refrigerator. “You’re different from most California girls.”

She looked up. “I am? How so?”

He cocked his head. “Well, you’re blond and all that, but you’re domestic.”

She wasn’t quite certain how to take the unusual comment. “I guess you don’t know many women who like to cook.”

“Not ones as pretty as you.” He closed the first-aid kit. “Does this go in the bathroom?”

She nodded. He had a way of saying whatever came to mind. And although his compliments weren’t offhanded, they weren’t polished, either. Of course, neither was he.

Sky gathered the soiled cloths and stacked them on top of the first-aid kit. “I’m gonna take a shower. I won’t be long.”

“Okay.”

Enjoying her task, Windy hummed as she cracked eggs into a bowl and added a dash of milk. Next she diced onions and mushrooms, then scooped them into a separate bowl. Before starting the pancake batter, she opened the freezer. Some pre-seasoned hash browns should please Sky as well as a tall glass of orange juice. A simple fruit salad would follow: apples, grapes, bananas, a little whipped cream, tiny marshmallows.

She supposed her domestic qualities weren’t hard to miss. Although she intended to have a successful career, she also wanted a husband and a house full of children. And she didn’t mind admitting it one bit. Too many people didn’t appreciate family values. In her opinion being a parent was the most important job in the world.

And now Sky’s virile presence and charming smile made her long even more for what she didn’t have. A husband. A family. Strange that a man like him could encourage that yearning. Handsome, blue-eyed Sky. The reckless drifter. The rebellious cowboy. Engaging, but not husband material.

When Sky returned, breakfast waited on the table. He stood stiffly at first, staring at the food. Windy wondered if the loner in him wanted to run from the domestic welcome. Luckily the other side of him, the bright-eyed boy, smiled and pulled up a chair. “This looks good.”

Windy poured juice in their glasses, then joined him at the table. She noticed he’d changed into loose-fitting sweatpants. His wet hair looked even longer and his scent suggested a deodorized bar of soap, fresh yet masculine. His bare chest glistened, even through the bruises. Strange, but the purplish discoloration didn’t seem to detract from his charm. They only reminded her of his dangerous, if not heroic, nature.

“You’re not eating much,” he remarked.

She glanced down at the small portions on her plate. “I had some toast earlier.”

Sky attacked his food with gusto, pouring a glob of ketchup over his hash browns. Apparently she had done well, choosing foods he liked. He drenched the pancakes in syrup and moaned when he tasted the omelet. “Do you bake? Cookies, pies. Stuff like that?”

She did for her students on occasion. A vegetarian who counted her caloric intake, Windy rarely indulged in sinful desserts. At the moment Sky reminded her of one of those treats. Mouthwatering and forbidden.

“I bake around the holidays. Pies at Thanksgiving. Cookies and brownies at Christmas.”

“Edith bakes for me,” he said.

“What’s your favorite dessert?”

Sky looked up and laughed. “You don’t want to know.”

Windy tried to guess. “Something with lots of chocolate? Mud pie or double-fudge cake?”

“Nope.”

She sent him a smug smile. “I can always ask Edith.”

“Honey, this isn’t something Edith knows about.” His raised eyebrow made him look wicked, especially with the cuts and bruises. “A pretty woman who smells like vanilla ice cream isn’t something I could tell the old lady to whip up.”

Vanilla ice cream? A pretty woman? Windy narrowed her eyes. “You’re teasing me because of my perfume.”

“Maybe.” He reached for the fruit salad, his lips working into a smile. “Then maybe not.”

She decided it was time to stand up to his machismo. “You’re a flirt, Sky.”

“Yeah.” The smile turned crooked. “I guess I am.”

She wagged her finger, reprimanding him like the modern schoolmarm she was. “I’m used to men flirting. So quit trying to embarrass me. It won’t work.”

Amusement slipped into his grin. “So it won’t embarrass you if I tell you that you remind me of Lady Godiva?”

Lady Godiva, the woman who supposedly rode naked on horseback? Although her heart had dived for her throat, she managed an unaffected shrug. “No.”

“She was the blonde, the one with all the hair who—”

Windy interrupted quickly “I know who she was.” For Pete’s sake, she didn’t need him mentioning the naked part.

Sky finished the last of the fruit salad and reached for his drink. “So, Pretty Windy, do you like to ride?”

“Horses?” Lord, no. She had fallen from one when she was a child. “I think they’re beautiful but I don’t ride.” That sounded better than saying she was too nervous to get back on.

Sky leaned forward. “I could teach you. Trail riding is something everyone should experience. A loyal horse and Mother Earth, there’s nothing else like it.”

He made it sound romantic. “I don’t know. I’m—” She chewed her lip. “I’m—”

“Afraid?” he interjected.

She nodded. Afraid of snakes, afraid of horses. She must have sounded like a basket case—a psychologist who needed her own therapist. “I was bucked off when I was little.”

Instead of the teasing retort she expected, his voice softened. “I’d be patient. Charlie has some gentle trail horses. But if you’re too afraid to mount up by yourself, you could ride with me. In my culture, horses represent power and wealth. And spiritually a horse could enable a holy man to fly through the air in search of Heaven.” His gaze sought hers. “We could take a trip to Heaven.”

Windy’s pulse hammered. Lord, he was beautiful. Did he know how enticing his offer was? “I need to think about it,” she said, telling herself to beware. He would only be in town for three months. A trip to Heaven might leave her yearning for more.

When the conversation lulled, they sat in awkward silence. She toyed with her napkin while he studied the kitchen walls. Now she understood why he flirted. Acknowledging their attraction was easier that way.

Quickly Windy hopped up and began clearing the table. Sky offered to help. As they busied themselves, her brain went into its rational mode. Flirting, even fantasizing was one thing, but falling prey to his charms was another. She imagined summer flings suited him just fine. They were not for her.

He rinsed the dishes, and she loaded them into the dishwasher, but when he glanced up at the window, a glass slipped from his hand. It shattered into the sink.

Windy jumped back, recalling the day her home had been vandalized—the broken china, smashed stereo and cracked television screen. For a brief moment, the fear and nausea returned.

She took a deep, cleansing breath. This was just an accident, that was…

She looked over at Sky. He stood gazing out the window, his hands trembling.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her own discomfort immediately forgotten.

“Huh?” He turned toward her, his eyes glazed, his voice mechanical. “There was a hawk outside the window.”

A hawk? Why would the sight of a bird make him tremble to the point of dropping a glass? “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. It just seemed weird that it came so close to the house. Startled me, that’s all.”

But why? “Are hawks dangerous?”

“No.” He smiled a bit nervously. “Not unless you’re a rodent.”

She peered out the tiny kitchen window yet saw nothing but the neighbor’s fence and the trees beyond it. “Do you think it was searching for food?”

“Maybe.”

He raked his hands through his damp hair, and she noticed they appeared steadier. Maybe he had the right to be jumpy. He had, after all, been in a fight the night before. Then again, a hawk? Maybe she should question Edith about it. Sky certainly wasn’t an easy man to understand.