Texas Heroes: Volume 1 (39 page)

If only
… Two more useless words did not exist in the language.

His mother was dead. It was his fault. He couldn’t even blame Sam for banishing him forever, after that night.

He rose to pace the small room. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? The only safe path was not to feel…anything. He’d begun to feel too much lately.

It had to stop.

He had to be careful, for the child’s sake. Davey gave his affection so easily, like it was as natural as breathing. If he had a son of his own, he’d want him to be just like Davey.

But he would never have a son. He would live—and die—alone.

And it was best, that way.

Just ease away
, he thought.
Pull back slowly. Don’t get in any deeper
. The boy was devoted to his mother, and he had latched onto Mitch when he was the only adult awake, that was all. Just that simple.

And if it bothered Mitch to lose the boy’s growing devotion, well, he’d get over it. He’d gotten over worse.

Mitch left his room, headed for the coffee pot. He poured a cup and lifted the lid of the stewpot on the back of the stove.

Heaven. His mouth watered at the scent. Then he looked in the wood box and saw that she knew how to handle a cook fire. She might be a pampered socialite forced into a few days of primitive living, but she obviously remembered what Cy had taught her.

And it smelled like she was a damn good cook. Mitch couldn’t remember the last time someone else had cooked for him.

Just then, a shriek from outside drew him toward the window. Holding the full mug in his hand, Mitch watched them.

And smiled.

Davey pelted his mother with a small, mushy snowball that fell apart even before impact. Then he danced around, his arms lifted high in glee.

Perrie stood there, bundled in her own clothes, golden hair braided again, smiling like a teenage girl with no worries. He hadn’t realized, until he saw her now with all the caution smoothed from her face, just how tense she’d been since he’d met her. Around him, she was on edge. Even with Davey, she was always watchful, ever cognizant that she was a mother.

His mother had been like that. Good to him, good as any angel could have been. But firm. And always vigilant, wanting him safe.

Mitch closed his eyes, thinking about how he’d repaid her.

Don’t let your anger win, Mitch
, she’d said as she lay dying in his arms. He could still feel the cold trickle of the rain down his neck after he’d removed his hat to shield her. Could still see the trails of red washing out to pink on the gravel beside the road.

And even then, her only concern had been for him and for the others she’d loved.
Poor Mitch. Take care of Boone and Sam for me. I love you all
.

Mitch watched Davey drop to the snow and fan his arms and legs, making a snow angel though the ground only held perhaps two inches of snow so far.

Perrie smiled and clapped, then answered Davey’s pleas and laid down beside him, making her own snow angel.

The whole scene blurred as Mitch viewed it through the eyes of a boy who’d been loved…of a young man who’d laid love to waste.

He turned away from the window. He was older now. He’d learned to live without love a long time ago.

Perrie entered the living room with trepidation. With Davey now asleep, she was effectively alone with the glowering giant. Her bones ached with weariness, but she wasn’t sleepy yet. Instead of sitting in the dark in the bedroom, she would brave the living room where Mitch sat before the fire.

He glanced up as she entered, then quickly back to the piece of wood he was carving. “Davey’s asleep?”

“Finally.” She sank down on one corner of the sofa. The clothes had dried and been taken down before they’d eaten. She wished for the barrier between them again.

“It was a good meal. Thanks.”

“Thank you for cleaning up.” Such polite strangers, both of them.

He shrugged. “Least I could do.”

“Not hardly. Not after you hiked all that way to get our things.”

He stared into the fire for long moments. “Cy taught you how to cook cornbread in the fireplace?”

She smiled, remembering. “The first time, I burned it to a crisp. Grandpa told me to rake some coals onto the hearth and set the pan there instead of on the fire, but I was in a hurry and thought the bread would cook faster with the coals where they were.” She laughed faintly. “It did. Just not edibly.”

A tiny smile quirked his lips. “My grandfather taught me to cook over a campfire. I’ve had my share of screwups.”

“Was that who taught you to hunt? Your grandfather?” She held her breath, wondering if he’d answer.

The knife scraped against wood for a long time before he answered. “Yeah. He taught me to fish when I was about Davey’s size.”

“Did you always like it?”

He nodded. “A lot more than ranch work.”

So he’d grown up on a ranch. She waited, hoping he’d tell her more, but he didn’t.

She needed to thank him for what he’d done. “Davey told me what you said about thanking his fish.”

She saw his shoulders stiffen and rushed to explain. “Thank you for not making him feel foolish that he’s tender-hearted about animals. His father…” How to explain without telling too much? “His father wasn’t so thoughtful.”

The dark head turned her direction. “I wasn’t so tough myself at his age. I liked it, but I had my squeamish moments. I don’t trust anyone who kills without remorse.” Brown eyes softened. “What did his father say?”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t about hunting or fishing. When Davey was three, his father thought he should try the high diving board.” Anger rose again, tightening her throat. “He called Davey a coward because he was afraid.”

Mitch swore under his breath. “His father was a fool. That boy has the heart of a lion. He was ready to take me on to protect you.”

Perrie met his gaze, seeing the fierce pride glow. Pride. For her son.

Why couldn’t Simon have been like that?

Useless thoughts. “He’s got his stubborn streak, but he has a good heart.” She smiled. “Protecting me, huh? How sweet.”

“Not a lot of five-year-olds would make their way through an unfamiliar forest to get help. He was scared to death of me, but he didn’t give an inch. Stood over you like a guard dog.” Mitch shook his head once. “Hell of a kid.”

The way he looked at her, the questions in his eyes, made her wish she could explain their lives.

But as she searched for answers, he saved her the dilemma, rising to his feet. “Well, I’m turning in. It’s been a long day.”

“Mitch…” She had to get this one thing straight. “Davey’s getting so attached to you. I…” How did she say this?

Again, he saved her the trouble.

“It won’t last. He just latched onto me because you were sick. Once the storm has let up, I’ll make myself scarce until you’re well enough to go.”

But she was watching him as he said it, and despite his words, she could see a shadow cross his face.

For a moment, she thought she saw hunger in those dark eyes.

The hunger of a man too long alone.

She’d never met a man more solitary in her life. But hearing the fondness in his voice when he spoke of his grandfather…seeing his eyes when he spoke of her son…Perrie had to wonder, yet again, what had made this man close himself off from love.

She felt an urge to comfort him, to bring him closer to the fire, like a dark wolf who roamed the perimeter of a campsite, starving to death.

But that was foolish in the extreme. He wouldn’t thank her for her sympathy, she knew instinctively. He was a grown man, a strong man who had made it through life without her help. Davey must be her only concern.

So she merely nodded at him and closed off the part of her heart open to his pain.

“Thank you.”
And I’m sorry. More sorry than I can say
.

Mitch lay in his bed and listened to her moving around the cabin, wishing she’d just go to bed and let him be. Quit playing with his mind.

But his mind didn’t want to quit playing with her.

She wasn’t the china doll he’d first thought. Oh, she looked like one, all right, all big blue eyes, creamy skin and rosy lips. And that hair. His fingers still itched to tangle themselves in it, to stroke from scalp to tips, letting the waves shift against his skin like ribbons of silk. The one sight he’d had of it unbound made him understand why the sight used to be reserved for a woman’s husband. He understood why hair was called a woman’s crowning glory.

He wanted to free it from its braid, separate the heavy skeins with his fingers. Feel it brush over his body with languid, drifting strokes. For a bittersweet moment, he wished that she was someone else—and that he was. That they could meet as strangers. Nothing between them but the night and the wanting.

He turned over with a groan, his body hard and aching.

Damn this storm.

He punched the pillow again and shifted against the sheets. Squeezing his eyes shut, he searched for sleep. But sleep taunted him like a scornful lover.

Who was Perrie Matheson, really? Was she the callous socialite who hadn’t cared enough to come when her only blood needed her? Mitch wasn’t sure what a socialite should look like, but Perrie didn’t fit any description he could imagine. Her car was several years old and nondescript. Her slender fingers sported no jewels, her nails short and unpainted. The only clothes she’d worn so far had seen better days.

And she was stronger than she looked. Still physically weak from her illness, she’d put in a full day’s labor, anyway. Hadn’t considered herself too good to wash his socks. Had cooked a damn good meal on a cantankerous stove.

There was more to her than one would think, just looking at her small frame. But she was lying to him, he knew it. Why? With every day that passed, Mitch found himself more curious, yet as someone with plenty of his own to hide, he’d made it a religion not to pry into the lives of others.

Live and let live
had been his motto.
Don’t get involved. Pack light and move fast
.

And
silence is golden
.

She had a right to her secrets. And he didn’t need the hassles. A few more days, that’s all he had to survive.

A few more days of watching her…and wondering.

Of wanting to touch.

Of seeing the world through Davey’s eyes, feeling the magic of the boy’s innocent wonder.

Of looking at a mirage that mocked a longing he’d thought long ago drained from his very bones. The way the woman and the boy had moved into a stark cabin—

And made it feel treacherously like what he remembered of home.

Mitch bolted up in the bed and scrabbled for a match in the moonlight. He lit the kerosene lamp and reached for a book—any book—to make the hours pass until dawn.

In the faint morning light, Perrie worked as silently as possible to build up the fire. She should have left the bedroom door open last night to draw in some of the heat, but she’d wanted distance. Waking up to a frigid room had been a real jolt to the system. She’d covered Davey with her own blankets and left the door open.

Mitch’s was closed, too. It was the first time she’d ever awakened before him. She thought about opening his door at least a crack but reminded herself that he was a grown man—and a very private one, at that.