The Sword And The Pen (11 page)

A thin curl of steam hissed from under the seam of the hood. From this angle the damage wasn't as bad as he'd feared, but the SUV would be in the shop for more than a few days.

"Don't worry, you'll soon be all better." He patted the fender.

"I thought you said it wasn't alive."

He jumped at the sound of Seri's voice in his ear. "Don't sneak up on me like that. And it's not."

"Then why do you stroke and speak to it?" She peered around him at the bent and twisted metal.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "Probably a throwback to man's relationship with four-legged transportation. Speaking of four legs, where are the kittens?" He told himself his concern was for the leather seats not that the kittens might get loose and lost.

"I secured them within their box. They're asleep."

"Good. Now we have to figure out how to get home before it starts to rain."

She followed his gaze first to the dark clouds now obscuring the sun then to the empty two-lane road. "How far are we?"

"About five miles."

"We can walk."

The sound of an approaching vehicle stopped him from agreeing. They waited at the side of the road as a dusty old pickup rumbled to a halt. A middle-aged man dressed in denim overalls and a flannel shirt leaned across the seat and pushed aside the large, shaggy brown dog hanging half out the passenger side window. "You folks okay?"

Brandon kept back from the dog as he answered. "We're fine, but as you can see my car isn't."

The man looked around. "Deer run you off the road?"

"Kittens."

"Kittens? Haven't heard that one before." The man scratched his head and laughed.

"It's a long story." The local gossip mill was going to have blast with this one. "Can you give us a ride into town?"

"Sure, but Rich's is closed." He referred to the one mechanic/body shop in town. "Hey, you're that writer guy who bought the Lawrence place, aren't you? Brandon Davis? I haven't had time to read your books yet, but my wife and kids love 'em. They're down at the new mall today for some fantasy hoopla. Hop in. My farm is just up the road from you. I'll run you home." He pushed open the door. "Beau, you get on in back," he told the dog.

The dog jumped down. Brandon froze as the animal paused to sniff his legs then headed to check out Seri.

"Beau!" the man called. With a disappointed look, the dog turned and trotted to the back of the pickup.

"Get in," the man said to Brandon and Seri. "Ain't got all day. Rain's a-coming." A smile softened his words as he glanced at the darkening sky.

"Wait," Seri said, and she hurried down the incline to the SUV. A few seconds later she came back carrying the box of kittens and her sword.

The man frowned at the sight of the weapon, but didn't say anything as she climbed into the cab of the pickup. Brandon followed and shut the door. Crowded together on the bench seat as they were, the soft swell of Seri's breast on his arm and the curve of her hip against his made him shift in discomfort, but there was no escape. Even her legs tangled with his on their side of the floor divide.

With effort, Brandon dragged his thoughts away from her. "What about my car?"

"Should be okay here for a bit," the stranger said. "Did you lock it?"

Brandon pushed the remote lock then nodded.

"Name's Dan, Dan Parson." The stranger reached his arm across Seri.

"Brandon Davis." Brandon shook the man's rough hand. "And this is Seri."

"Pleased to meet you, Seri." Dan gave her costume, her sword and the box she clutched protectively in her lap a curious glance, but didn't comment. He simply asked, "You from around here?"

"No, I'm from--"

"She's staying with me," Brandon interrupted before Seri could blurt something inappropriate. He told himself he was protecting himself from even more gossip if the story got out that his houseguest thought she was one of his fictional characters. "She's an actress they're considering for the part of Serilda in the movie."

"Thought you looked familiar. Guess you were at the mall for the fantasy fair. D.J.--that's my older boy, Daniel Junior--he's got Warrior Woman posters all over his room." Dan's weathered face turned red beneath his tan. "You know how it is with teen-aged boys. But you're much prettier in person. He'll be crushed that he didn't get to meet you--either of you."

"Give me your address and I'll send him some autographed copies of my books," Brandon said to distract the man's attention from Seri.

"That's mighty nice of you. Thanks." Dan continued to chat as they drove. He didn't seem to notice or care that neither Brandon nor Seri had much to say.

The short ride seemed to take forever. With every jounce of the pickup, Seri's body rubbed enticingly against Brandon's. The sweet scent rising off her body tantalized him. To keep from reaching for her, Brandon gritted his teeth. She appeared oblivious to the contact, until he noticed her white-knuckled grip on the box.

Finally, and yet too soon, they pulled up the gravel drive in front of Brandon's house.

"Thanks for the lift, Mr. Parson." Brandon got out of the pickup. Clutching the box to her chest, Seri hopped down next to him.

"Dan," the man insisted as he dug a crumpled business card out of his overflowing glove compartment. "Here's my wife's card. She sells real estate. You can send the books to this address. Thanks in advance. D.J. will be thrilled." He waved as he drove off.

"Damn!" Brandon realized he hadn't asked the man to call the towing service.

Seri raised her gaze from peeking inside the box. "What's wrong?"

"We'll have to walk after all."

"Why?" she asked. She didn't look a bit guilty as he glared at her.

Sudden anger made his tone harsh. "Because you smashed my phone."

After giving Seri terse instructions to stay in the house and out of trouble, Brandon set off for town. He ignored the growing wind, churning clouds and dropping temperature. The fresh breeze felt good against his heated skin.

When he'd first moved into the house a few years earlier he'd been pleasantly surprised with how much he enjoyed hiking and jogging through the woods surrounding his isolated home. Seeing life in the wild eased his discomfort around the creatures, too. Somehow a squirrel chattering at him from a tree branch above his head was less threatening than a neighbor's dog barking from behind a fence. A spider web strung between two bushes glistening with early morning dew inspired awe rather than apprehension.

As he walked his anger faded, and he remembered the hurt look on Seri's face when he told her to stay home. Guilt niggled at him. In no mood to deal with it, he pushed it aside; the walk into town would give him the time he needed to think about what to do.

Even without her bizarre claim of being Serilda, her presence had turned his life upside down and inside out. When they were apart, logic told him to call the authorities, to get her out of his life. But the moment he saw her again he knew he couldn't do it. Her strength and vulnerability stirred things to life inside him that he'd thought long dead: laughter, hope, desire. Love.

Love? His step faltered. Where had that thought come from? He shook his head. What he felt for Seri couldn't be love. Compassion. Concern. Respect. And lust, he admitted honestly. But not love. He wasn't even sure he knew what love was. His track record with the women in his life was dismal.

Rather than care for him, his mother had succumbed to demons in her mind. His grandmother, though she'd loved him and done her best, had been old when she took him in; her child-rearing style had been a strange mix of New Age philosophy and old world rules. And after he'd screwed up his marriage, he'd pretty much given up on the idea of having any kind of normal relationship.

Halfway to town, the rain started.

"Great, just great," he muttered through the water dripping down his face. An hour later he arrived.

A bell jingled as he entered the town's one diner. On the few occasions Brandon came into town, he'd eaten here, at Maxine's. The fare was simple, plentiful and delicious. Several people glanced up at him. Warm air, fragrant with the smell of fry grease, apple pie and fresh brewed coffee, filled his nostrils.

"Hell of a storm, ain't it, boy? I think we're in for a spell of bad weather. Yar dripping all over Max's floor there." A grizzled old man in denim overalls grinned at him over a dinner of roast beef and mashed potatoes.

Max, the owner/cook looked up from behind the counter. "Mr. Davis, what are you doing out in this weather?" The tall, rawboned yet attractive middle-aged woman gripped his arm and propelled him to a booth. "Come in and dry off. I'll get you some coffee."

He hesitated to sit down. "I'll get your seat wet. I just need to use your phone."

"It's vinyl." She pushed him into the booth and handed him a towel. "Storm knocked the phones out."

In seconds she'd placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. The first sip made him aware of how chilled he was, inside and out.

"Who do you need to call?"

"A tow truck."

She lifted an eyebrow but didn't ask. Instead, she turned toward a man sitting in the booth behind him playing checkers with the Council Falls sheriff. "Hey, Rich, Mr. Davis needs his car towed. Can you spare the time?"

"Sure."

Brandon sat back in befuddled amusement as, with only minimal information from him, Max and Rich coordinated plans to collect his SUV and tow it to Rich's service station for repair. After Rich left, Max smiled at Brandon. "Small town life has its advantages.

Cradling the coffee cup in his hands, he wondered why he'd avoided contact with the people in town. While he now sat comfortably inside, a man he'd barely met went out in a storm to tow his car.

"Thank you for your help," he told the diner owner.

"No problem. That's what neighbors are for. Did you want something to eat?"

"No, the coffee is fine."

"Relax then. When you're ready, the sheriff will run you home. Won't you, Ken?" she asked.

The sheriff gave Brandon a searching look then nodded. Maxine went back behind the counter.

Brandon bent his head to avoid the sheriff's sharp gaze. Though not much older than him, the lawman had eyes holding a wealth of experience. For a brief minute Brandon considered telling him about Seri and letting him handle the problem. The urge passed quickly. Seri was his.

He looked up as the bell jingled and almost dropped his cup. "Hillary?"

"In the flesh." She didn't sound happy.

Lessons of polite behavior learned from his grandmother had him standing as his agent approached. Red stiletto heels clicked out an angry rhythm on the diner's wooden floor. All eyes in the restaurant followed her. He didn't blame them.

Tall and model thin, with blue-black hair cropped close to her scalp, even on the far side of forty Hillary commanded attention. Here in middle America, her looks and dramatic style stood out like a Picasso at a country art fair. Her olive complexion hinted at a European ancestry, but her dark slanting eyes and high cheekbones gave her an exotic Asian look. A sleeveless red leather cat suit with a dramatic plunging neckline clung to her small breasts and lean hips, while a floor-length black silk coat billowed around her like a cape.

Peeking up over the edge of the oversized bag she carried was Muffin. Brandon groaned. Hillary went nowhere without her obnoxious, black tea cup poodle. Last time he'd seen the animal it had tried to bite him.

He banked his irritation at her arrival. Despite, or maybe because of her flamboyant appearance and eccentric nature, she was an excellent agent, and a good friend.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as they sat.

"Getting lost." She waved one hand with long, blood red nails and used the other to dab at the moisture on her face with some paper napkins. "I've been driving around in this storm for hours trying to find you. Muffin and I are absolutely exhausted, aren't we, babykins?" she cooed. In response, the dog whined and burrowed deeper into the bag.

Hillary glanced around the modest little diner and sniffed. "Not exactly LeSwank." She'd named the hottest new restaurant in New York. In Hillary's opinion, nothing outside of Manhattan was worth considering. She ignored the glares of several diners.

Without being summoned, Max came over and poured a second cup of coffee. Brandon was glad the dog was out of sight; he had no desire to be tossed out into the rain on its account. Always gracious if not always tactful, Hillary murmured her thanks and turned her gaze on him.

"Lower your voice," Brandon whispered after Max moved away, then added in a louder tone, "The food here is better." He didn't know why he felt compelled to defend the diner.

"Well, I am hungry. The food on the plane was atrocious. The flight was awful. And I've been on the road forever in a horrid little rental car. I wanted a--"

"Why are you here?" he interrupted.

She looked surprised by his question. "I was planning on coming out next week, but after you told me about that woman and then your phone suddenly went dead I got worried about you, so I pushed up my trip. I hope you appreciate all the trouble I've gone through." She leaned forward and patted his cheek. "You are, after all, my favorite client."

When Hillary mentioned Seri, Brandon caught sight of the sheriff's interested look. Concern tightened his stomach muscles.

"Would you like to order?" Max's tone held a chill as she stared at Hillary.

"Do you have fresh su--?"

"No, we're leaving." Though the locals were generally accepting of strangers, Hillary was proving a tad too strange. It was time to leave. Before the sheriff became suspicious.

His reluctance to reveal Seri's presence to the sheriff confused and angered him. He should march over to the man and tell him the whole sorry tale; instead he stood and put a ten-dollar bill on the table. "Thanks again for your help."

"You're welcome. Come back again soon, Mr. Davis." Max emphasized for whom she made the offer.