Here to Stay (Silhouette Special Edition) (11 page)

“Work can be a jealous lover.”

“And a cold companion.” Hunter stood. “Good luck.” He extended his hand across the table. Miles clasped it and they shook hands, adversaries who had declared a draw.

“Take care of her,” he said as Hunter reached for the back door.

“Easier said than done,” Sam reminded him with a grin.

Alone again with his thoughts, Miles finished his coffee, then went upstairs to bring his duffel bag down to the porch. His taxi was due in a half hour.

* * *

After dropping Maggie back at her sitter’s house, Sasha was grateful that her afternoon rounds were mainly routine. All she wanted to do was slink off alone somewhere like a wounded animal and lick her wounds. The way she and Miles had parted left her feeling ill. She should have understood his pride and his anger, and not pressed him to bare his soul to her. She’d chickened out of her one chance to say goodbye properly. Now he was gone, and she felt as if some vital part of her had gone with him.

As if reflecting her dismal mood, the clouds burst into a steady, heavy rain right after lunch. Shortly before two, as she was giving her full attention to a puncture wound a rambunctious yearling colt had given himself in his chest, her pager beeped. When she finished with the colt, she discovered that it was her own number she was supposed to call. Puzzled, she phoned from the truck. On the third ring, Miles answered and her heart leaped into a wild dance.

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” she blurted.

“So did I.”

His amused tone grated on her already taut nerves. She was definitely not in the mood for teasing. If he’d changed his mind about leaving, she didn’t think she could take saying goodbye again later, when she’d had even more time to fall for him.

“Then why—?”

“Can you pick up some dog food on your way home?” he interrupted.

That made her frown. “Dog food? Miles, I don’t have a dog.”

“You do now. Someone left it tied to the front porch. It was there when I went out for the airport taxi.”

“And you canceled your flight?”

There was a long pause before he answered, “No. I postponed it. The dog was whining, and looked pretty miserable. It’s been raining pretty hard.”

Sasha sagged against the wall beside the phone. “How big is it?”

“Big. Looks like a golden retriever, but it’s dirty and matted. I kept it on the porch. I didn’t think you’d want it in the house.”

“Thanks. Can you give it some cool water? There are bowls—”

“In the barn. Did that.”

She sighed in relief. “I’ll stop at the feed store on my way home. I’m sorry you changed your plans for the dog.”

“I know. Totally out of character.” She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard him chuckle. “You must have brainwashed me. Sasha, I’m no expert on dogs, but this one doesn’t look healthy.”

“Okay. I can postpone my last appointments and get home early. Page me again if it seems to be in distress.”

“No problem.”

Sasha disconnected, then phoned her remaining clients to ask them if she could put off her appointments until the next day. With her stomach knotted from worry, she was grateful that all but one client could rearrange their schedules. She made the last call, then drove to the feed store to buy dog chow. The drive home was slower than usual because the rain had made the roads slick.

Finally home, Sasha grabbed the sack of dog food and her medical toolbox and ran through the now-driving rain to the porch. A quick look around revealed no dog, no Miles. Only a greasy, frayed rope tied to one porch column. With her stomach clenched again, Sasha pushed open the front door.

“Miles?”

“We’re in the kitchen.” His low voice held a trace of amusement. Intrigued, she went inside and stopped short in the doorway, her jaw dropping. Miles looked up from the floor where he sat. Their eyes met, and the smile he gave her warmed away the chill of the rain. “Hi. I think we just became godparents.”

The bedraggled golden retriever, which lay on a horse blanket in the corner of the kitchen, looked up at Sasha and gave a doggy grin and a weak wave of a matted tail. Sasha set down her things and crossed the floor to kneel beside Miles. Nestled next to the grungy dog, blindly drawing life from its mother’s milk, lay a wet golden puppy.

“Oh, Miles!” she breathed, sinking down onto the floor.

His arm came around her back and she leaned into him. He felt solid and warm against her side, and smelled wonderfully male. Sasha tipped her face up to look into his eyes. He gazed back steadily. Slowly she drew closer to him as he drew closer to meet her. She let her eyes drift closed and savored the first tentative touching of lips.

She heard his breath catch, felt her pulse surge. As if in a trance, she let her lips part under his. Miles took what she offered, so gently that she couldn’t help but offer more. When his arm tightened around her, she opened her lips to his hot, wet tongue. One touch. One searing touch, and desire scorched her from deep within. The soft sounds she heard came from her own throat. Sounds of longing. Sounds of need and want.

The high-pitched yelp of the mother dog made Sasha jump. Miles lifted his head, his reluctance clear in his hooded eyes. Sasha drew a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Slowly, but inevitably, she turned her attention to the mother dog.

Two hours later the dog lay panting on her blanket, a totally satisfied, dopey look in her eyes, as six pups finally fell asleep curled against her.

* * *

“There was a note with the dog,” Miles told Sasha when she came downstairs later. She wore ivory-colored leggings and a cinnamon-colored overblouse that made her look fresh and elegant. For the first time, her long, thick hair hung loose, shiny and soft from washing. Miles’s fingers curled with the need to reach out and touch her. He was glad he’d postponed his flight until late the next day. It was heartlessly greedy, but he wanted every second he could get with Sasha.

She moved to the pan where a steak lay marinating in teriyaki sauce. “Oh? Where is it?”

“Right here. When she started to have that first pup, I stuck the note in my pocket so I could get her inside.” He unfolded the stiff piece of yellow paper and held it out for her. Sasha read it, then handed it back. Tears glistened in her dark eyes when she looked up at him. “Yeah. The cops need to know about this.”

He watched her throat move as she swallowed, wanting to pull her into his arms to comfort her, but she stood just out of reach, as if she needed to deal with this alone.

She nodded. “I have Dave McLeod’s card. I’ll call him. Can you throw the steak on the grill? The rice will be ready just about when the steak is done. I’ll make a salad when I finish calling.”

Miles watched Sasha walk out of the kitchen, heading for her office, clearly troubled. He turned the gas up on the indoor grill under the exhaust hood. Then, while the lava rocks heated, he reread the note that had been awkwardly printed in heavy pencil.

Plees keep ar dog Copper. Ar moms boyfrend sais he will kill her becaws she ait his shoos. We beleev him becaws he killd ar boy dog and he hits us wen ar mom is at werk. Dont try to giv copper bak or we will get in trubble.

P.S. She is a good dog.

Something deep inside resonated at the thought of this “boyfriend” hitting children when their mother was working. Something about that scenario stirred uncomfortable feelings. Much as he wanted to know who he was, the growing realization that he’d probably been a battered, bullied child made Miles feel raw and vulnerable. And angry. Deeply angry. How did the real Miles Kent deal with these kinds of emotions? Did he lash out irrationally, the way he felt like doing now? Did he keep everything buried, letting the feelings poison him?

Sasha came back into the kitchen just as Miles was turning the steak. She took a bowl of lettuce from the big refrigerator, then tossed him a fat red tomato. He caught it and started slicing it on the cutting board beside the sink. Sasha tore up half a head of lettuce before she spoke. Miles could feel her tension as if it were his own as she ripped lettuce into a wooden salad bowl.

“Dave will be over in about an hour,” she said finally.

He grunted, irrationally irritated at her calling the young cop by name. It shouldn’t matter to him what she called the guy, Miles reminded himself. Just this morning he’d flat-out told Sasha that there could be nothing between them. Tomorrow he’d be gone. He had no right to be jealous. Nevertheless, he was.

Sasha lifted the steak onto a grooved carving board and carried it to the table. Then she looked up at him. “How are you feeling? No more flu symptoms?”

“That wasn’t the flu this morning,” he admitted. He pulled her chair out for her, but she didn’t sit down. “I had a flash of a memory that hit me hard.” He watched her face for signs of pity, but she only looked interested. Probably because he was leaving, she felt she didn’t have to work at healing him.

“Was it something you could make sense of? Something connected to your other memories?”

“Not really. Just random flashes. Too little, too slow. It makes me feel raw, like I’ve got no skin.” The admission spilled out before he actually realized the truth of his words. Then he felt even more vulnerable. He didn’t understand why he’d confessed his weakness to Sasha, except to guess that he felt safe, knowing he was leaving tomorrow. After he left, he wouldn’t have to deal with her pity when he wanted so much more.

“Things will come back to you, Miles. I suspect it would be worse if you remembered everything all at once. Too overwhelming, especially if there really is something horrible that triggered this—what did Peter call it? Memory deficit?”

He shrugged. “It will be worse if I never remember.”

Across the room again, Sasha took two wineglasses from the cupboard and brought them to the table. “I know you think I’m wrong, but if things in your past were so awful, perhaps the best thing to do is start over now.”

“That’s not what your friend Sam Hunter says.”

Sasha sat down and lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? When did you speak to Sam?”

“He came over this afternoon, while you were with Maggie. He wanted to make sure I kept my distance.”

She sighed. “I wish Sam would stop playing big brother.”

To his surprise, Miles felt compelled to defend Sam. “He cares about you. And he’s right. Without a past, there’s no future.”

“That’s a matter of opinion. Some people would give anything to be able to start over with a clean slate,” she said softly.

“I’m not some people. Until I get my memory back, I’m not
anyone,
damn it!”

Sasha didn’t say a word. With a surgeon’s skill she sliced the steak diagonally, then helped herself to several perfectly medium-rare slices. Miles began to feel like an idiot. Sasha passed the salad bowl across to him, her bruised face beautiful in its serenity. By the time she’d given him the bowl of rice, he was squirming with guilt over losing his temper. And feeling guilty, according to El-eanor Dobbs, wasn’t something he did on a regular basis. At least, in his business dealings he’d been pretty ruthless and single-minded.

“Thanks for staying with Copper, Miles. I appreciate you changing your plans for her.”

He set down the rice bowl and looked into her soft, dark eyes. “Sasha?” He had to clear his throat to speak again. “Some of the things I’ve remembered about myself... Don’t be so grateful. I’m a selfish bastard. I don’t do favors for free. Everything has a price, and from what I’ve learned about myself, I always collect.”

T
he questions in Sasha’s eyes warned Miles he would have to explain his last remark. He owed her honesty, but the truths he’d been learning about himself would turn her against him. Before he could come up with some delaying tactic, the doorbell startled a muffled
woof
out of the dog in the cor-ner. Princess, the cat, flew from the chair where she’d sat watching the puppies. Sasha got up from the table. “That will be Dave,” she said as she hurried out of the kitchen.

Miles frowned at the sudden stab of jealousy. He didn’t need any kind of memory restoration to tell him that Sasha’s quick dab at her lips with her napkin and the way she brushed at her hair with her fingers were the things a woman did when she was interested in a man. Well, that was none of his business, but
McLeod?
He was too young, too cocky, too...
here.

McLeod’s laughter made his ears itch. When Sasha led the guy into the kitchen, they were both chuckling. McLeod offered his hand to Miles with a long, assessing look that Miles returned.

“I thought you’d be back in Florida.”

“I’m not.”

He held McLeod’s gaze, daring the other man to challenge him. The silence stretched.

“Come see the puppies,” Sasha said, as eager as a little girl. “The mother doesn’t have an ear tattoo, but these all look like golden retriever pups, so I’m guessing whoever had her was breeding unreg-istered purebreds.” Her tone hardened as she went on. “They sell for a fraction of papered pups, but you have no guarantees about their health or dispositions. A lot of them end up being destroyed, or suffering, because of serious breeding faults.”

McLeod squatted beside the makeshift nest, frowning. He put out a hand to let the mother dog sniff. She wagged her tail with much more enthusiasm than Miles thought the guy deserved.

“Well, even if we can’t prove this creep killed another dog, there’s the charge of beating the kids. The letter might be the wedge we need to get in and lay some other charges that might stick. Looks to me like the tip of an ugly iceberg. Losers like this don’t normally limit themselves. We go into a situation like this, something like cruelty to animals, we uncover all kinds of stuff. Drugs. Batter-ing. Illegal weapons. Smuggling. It’s like hitting the jackpot.”

McLeod stroked the mother dog’s head. One of the pups squeaked in its sleep. He grinned. Sasha beamed. Miles felt his mouth draw into a hard, thin line. McLeod got to his feet, towering over Sasha in a way that thoroughly irritated Miles.

Sasha sighed. “How about some coffee and a puppy? Coffee now, puppy in seven weeks.” She tipped her head and looked up at the cop in a way that reminded Miles that she was one powerfully attractive woman. Not that he needed reminding. And neither did McLeod, he’d bet.

“Coffee, with sugar, thanks. Hold the puppy,” McLeod said with a laugh. “We always had goldens when I was a kid, but I’m not home enough for a dog. I’ll check around with the married guys who have fami-lies.”

“Great. I can keep the mother, and maybe one pup, but not all six.” She brought the coffeepot to the table and topped up Miles’s mug, then poured a fresh mug for McLeod. Her simple gesture of putting him first lightened Miles’s mood irrationally, as if he were a moonstruck adolescent.

“Let’s see that note,” McLeod said after a swallow of coffee. Miles handed it to him and watched the other man’s face as he read. McLeod’s expression went from grim to murderous. “I’d like to nail this bastard,” he growled. Miles agreed totally with McLeod. “And the mother... How can she leave her kids with a monster who beats them and kills their dog?”

A vision flitted through Miles’s brain of a woman smiling gaily, blowing a kiss from the doorway. The door closing. A man coming toward...
him.
An ugly, twisted face coming closer and closer. A hand lift-ing, then descending....

Miles blinked away the image.

“I’ll take this in and start working on it first thing tomorrow,” McLeod told Sasha. “The Children’s Aid Society will be interested.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she agreed, almost fiercely. “If there’s anything else I can do, let me know.”

“Yeah, well...” McLeod got up from the table. “Thanks for the coffee, Doc. I’m out of here.” He sent Miles a look that said he’d rather stay. Then he put his hand on Sasha’s shoulder in a way that looked way too familiar to Miles.

Why did he care? He was leaving tomorrow.

McLeod turned his head toward Sasha and lifted his free hand to cup her chin. Something ugly with sharp claws ripped at Miles’s heart. Sasha smiled up at the young cop. Miles clenched his fists at his sides.

“Stay away from that devil, eh?” McLeod released her chin and glanced at Miles, making it clear he wasn’t talking about the stallion.

“We’re working on a truce,” she said with a saucy grin, apparently missing the double meaning. “He let me feed him.”

“Be careful he doesn’t bite the hand that feeds him,” McLeod warned her.

Miles anticipated her answer, but the soft words still hit him too hard. “He already has,” Sasha said, meeting his eyes.

* * *

Sasha hung up the dish towel and turned to Miles. What was going on in that thick skull? she wondered. He hadn’t said a word since Dave had left. The silence that vibrated between them made her edgy. She wasn’t used to feeling edgy. She didn’t like it.

“I’m going to take Copper outside for a few minutes,” she told Miles. “Don’t worry if the pups start to cry.”

He grunted, which she took for agreement. Copper responded quickly to Sasha’s invitation, stopping only briefly at her water bowl. The dog followed her outside and sniffed around while Sasha checked on the horses and made sure all the security lights were working. In the barn she located some plywood that would be suitable for a box to keep the pups from wandering once their eyes opened and their little legs grew stronger. She wished that taking care of the kids who’d left Copper with her could be as simple.

Back in the kitchen, Sasha found Miles sound asleep on the floor beside the puppies’ nest. Copper grinned at her, then picked her way past Miles to join her babies. Miles didn’t stir. For just a moment, before she had to wake him and send him upstairs to bed, Sasha allowed herself the luxury of simply gazing at him.

The bruises had faded, and sleep had softened the hard lines of his face. His hair fell across his brow, appealingly shaggy and boyish. But she knew how deceptive that was. There was nothing boyish about Miles when he was awake. He was all man. Now that he wasn’t scowling at poor Constable McLeod, Miles’s mouth looked soft, in a very masculine way. And he knew how to use his mouth very effectively, she recalled with a delicious little shiver.

From out of nowhere Princess flew across the room. She landed with a surprised
meow
on Miles’s unprotected belly, then streaked off and away with an indignant yowl. Miles sat up with a muffled bellow, followed by a groan. He glared around the room until he met her eyes. Sasha clapped her hand over her mouth too late to smother her snicker. His glare threatened thermonuclear meltdown.

“I didn’t do it! Honest!” she said, then gave in to her laughter. He raked his hand through his tousled hair and sighed. Sasha managed to get herself under control. “I think Princess was trying to tell you it’s bedtime. When is your flight tomorrow?”

“I’m not going tomorrow,” he told her, his voice sexily rough.

She felt as if the floor had shifted under her, and sank down beside him before her knees gave way. “You’re not?”

“No. I want to find out what happens with those kids.”

“Oh.” She considered that. “Why? I thought you were a selfish bastard.”

His grin looked rather wolfish. “I am.”

“So you have some ulterior motive for being concerned about the kids?”

“Probably.”

She felt herself smiling into his half-closed eyes. “Am I going to find out what that motive is?”

His grin widened. “Possibly.”

When he teased like this, he seemed to be a different man. A very likable man. “How enlightening. I can’t tell you how glad I am that we’re having this conversation.” Then she took a chance. “What if it takes a long time to find the kids?”

He caught a strand of her hair in one hand and wound it around his fingers, slowly, gently drawing her closer. She trembled with the effort to resist letting herself sink onto his broad chest. His warmth drew her, the fullness of his lips tempted her. His hand hovered inches above her breast, its phantom caress making her yearn for real contact. Why, she asked the Fates, did she have to feel this way about the wrong man?

“I won’t overstay my welcome,” he said. “Assuming I am welcome.”

“You are,” she breathed.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll bite again?”

His challenge caught her by surprise. “No. I’m not afraid of being bitten.”
I’m afraid it will never happen again,
she wanted to add. But that would be taking too much of a chance.

“You should be.” Perhaps he meant the words as a warning, but they sounded like a promise to her. His fingers in her hair drew her a little closer. She felt his breath kiss her cheek and let her eyes drift shut. Her head tipped back, her lips parted.

“Don’t you ever listen to your friends’ advice?” he murmured, his breath warm in her ear.

“Only when it suits me,” she whispered.

He released her and stood so abruptly that she nearly tumbled to the floor. “Go to bed, Sasha,” he growled. “Alone.”

* * *

According to the clock radio, it was 6:02 a.m. Miles stretched and rolled out of bed, feeling rested and ready to go. Fifteen minutes later, showered and shaved, he dressed in his jeans and only clean shirt, which Princess had been using for a mattress. Then he stalled.

He still wasn’t sure why he’d decided to stay. The kids? Yes, but that wasn’t all. Sasha? Definitely. But why? From clues Eleanor had dropped, he suspected he had seldom done anything truly altruistic in his real life. But here he was caring what happened to a couple of kids he didn’t know. And restraining the constant, clawing urge to make love to Sasha, because he didn’t want to hurt her when he left.

So which was he, a selfish bastard or a human being? Would the real Miles Kent stand up?

With a hollow laugh, Miles stood. Princess wound herself around his ankles, trilling softly in her throat. When he opened the bedroom door she raced down the stairs, then waited for him and entered the kitchen at his heels.

Sasha stood at the kitchen counter, washing down her usual handful of vitamins with orange juice. She looked the way he’d seen her every day. Faded jeans, T-shirt, thick socks showing over the tops of scuffed work boots, and dark hair in one long, thick braid down her back. Practical. Countrified. Unglamorous. And so appealing that his throat closed with the sudden ache that rose from somewhere deep inside him.

“‘Morning,” he said quietly, not wanting to startle her. She turned and smiled, but there was an uncertainty in her expression he hadn’t seen before. It cut like a knife that he’d done that to her. Even that damn stallion Desperado hadn’t destroyed her faith or trust in spite of the bruises he’d given her. “I think we can safely say I’m a morning person.”

Her smile widened, chasing the uncertainty out of her dark eyes. “Good morning, then. Coffee’s almost ready.”

“How are the pups?”

“Have a look. You can pick them up if you want. Copper won’t mind. She’s so proud of them.”

He crouched beside the nest of blankets holding the mother dog and her squirming, squeaking babies. “They look like little pigs.”

Sasha laughed. “They are little pigs. Poor Copper is going to need megadoses of vitamins to keep up with them. Go ahead, pick one up. They feel great, all soft and warm.”

It wasn’t an image of puppies that flashed into his mind at the words
soft
and
warm,
but of Sasha in his arms. Giving himself a mental shake, he slid his hand under the tummy of one of the fat little pups and lifted it gently. The thing squealed as if it were being murdered, but Copper just looked calmly at him and grinned. Sasha was right. The pup was soft and warm, and touchingly dependent the way it rooted blindly against his fingers.

“I wonder how those kids are,” he said. “Think the cops can trace them from that note?”

Sasha shook her head. “I don’t know. I hope so, and soon. It’s heartbreaking to think Copper’s pups are getting more love and TLC than they are.” With a little catch in her voice, she added, “It’s not fair.”

“Sometimes life isn’t. We have to play the hand we’re dealt and hope for luck if we can’t get fairness.”

Sasha turned from the coffee she was pouring. “Sounds pretty cynical.”

He shrugged. “What I’ve remembered so far doesn’t make me believe I’m any kind of optimist.”

The pup chose that moment to cry piteously. Carefully he tucked it against his chest and stroked it with his fingertips. To his surprise, he found himself murmuring nonsense sounds in an effort to soothe the little guy. Must be some universal human reaction to babies, to forget your dignity and start cooing. Still, there was something sweet about...

A warm, wet patch spread over his shirtfront. He set the pup down against Copper’s side and stood. Gingerly he plucked the wet, now-cooling fabric away from his skin.

“Uh, Sasha? These things aren’t wearing diapers.”

“No, of course not!” She chuckled. “Their mother takes care of... Oh, no!” She covered her mouth with her hand, but her eyes widened and finally a laugh burst out. “Oh, Miles! Oh, dear!” And she laughed again, not even trying to tone it down.

“It’s not that funny,” he said, but he couldn’t help grinning. “This was my only clean shirt.”

“Oh, no! Oh, Miles, I’m sorry. I can lend you a T-shirt.”

The thought of having something on his body that Sasha had worn on hers sent blood rushing to his loins. Dumbly, he nodded.

“Come on. And the least I can do is wash your stuff with mine.”

He followed her upstairs and stood outside her door until she came out with a large white T-shirt with a horse head on the front. In the bathroom, he tore off his wet shirt and washed his chest, then slid the shirt over his head. It smelled of sunshine and Sasha. Back in the kitchen, he found her still smothering the occasional giggle. There was something warming about sharing a laugh—even at his own expense—with her.