DESI'S RESCUE Read online

  The trouble was, she'd always sort of known he was attracted to her. Unlike some men, he liked her sturdy size, her strength.

  And she had used that attraction to her advantage, hadn't she? When she was stuck in jail and the whole town turned against her, she'd sent Juliet and Josh out here to petition for her release. He'd managed to do it, too, and she had no doubt his influence with her case could keep her out of jail.

  What good would it do the wolves if she went to jail, after all? The land would be sold. The wolves would be sent to various places. Fanned out. The house would fall to disrepair. All her dreams would be in ashes.

  And yet, it wasn't right to use someone for such an end, either. She raised her eyes. "You know how much I respect you and love you, Judge. And I'm honored by your proposal."

  He stood up abruptly, knocking the ottoman to one side in his haste. "Save the rest, Desdemona. I understand."

  "No," she said, "sit back down, please, and listen to me."

  He turned, slightly abashed, and did as she asked. "My apologies. I'm just a little embarrassed."

  "Don't be." Desi reached for his hand. "The truth is, I'm so mixed up and confused and under so much pressure that I wouldn't feel right accepting this proposal. I have no idea what's in my mind."

  "That's fair, I reckon. Does that mean you'll think about it?"

  Desi wanted to say yes. She wanted to hedge her bets, make sure there was a backup to her plan. But slowly she shook her head. "I'm sorry, but no. I don't see that I'd ever feel right doing that."

  His face shuttered and he took his hand away stiffly. "I see."

  "Judge, you know I care about your opinion and I would never want to hurt your feelings."

  He held up a palm. "We don't have to say another word."

  But Desi had a sinking feeling that she'd just taken one step farther into the sucking quagmire that had become her life.

  * * *

  When Tam arrived at the Black Crown, the news crew that had been on the mountain earlier was filming a segment in front of his bar. Eyeing the leggy beauty with a raised brow, he turned on the charm. It would be good for business to have the bar featured in a news story. "Why don't you come in, cuz? We'll buy you a beer."

  "Will you answer some questions?"

  He unlocked the front door. "Will you ask some about the bar?"

  She lifted a shoulder. "All right. Tell me about the bar."

  He grinned and flung the door open, inviting the pair inside. "As you see, we're a sports bar. Rugby plays on every set." He flipped the tellie on, and a rehash of a Brazilian game was on.

  "Did you play?"

  "I did." He gestured toward his Blacks shirt, hung in a position of honor over the bar.

  The cameraman looked around his equipment. "You played for the All Blacks? You're not that firefighter, are you? The smoke jumper who nearly got killed dragging all those guys out of the Hayman fire?"

  Tam swore internally, wondering whether it would be better to lie or tell the truth. "I was a smoke jumper, yeah," he said, deciding on a middle ground. "One of my mates was killed in the Hayman fire."

  The reporter looked very intrigued. "No kidding. I remember that story. You got some recognition or something—keys to a city or a medal or something like that, didn't you?"

  "I'd rather talk about my pub."

  "What about Desdemona? You want to talk about her?"

  Tam raised his eyebrows apologetically. "Not really."

  Undaunted, the reporter said, okay, "How about the skier? Christie Lundgren. They say she comes in here all the time. That she was here the night Claude was killed."

  The light on the camera flipped on, blazing white halogen, and Tam scowled. "Yeah, that's right. Christie was here. It's a matter of public record."

  "She around anywhere?"

  "She's skiing the Olympic circuit, love."

  "Ah." She plucked a peppermint off the bar and unwrapped it. "So she is. Now what about Desdemona? You two seeing each other?"

  "That's personal, and no I won't answer any questions about her." He started taking stools off the bar. "Can I offer you a cup of coffee?"

  "No story here," the woman said, using a cutting motion at her neck.

  "Now, that's where you're wrong," Tam said. "There's plenty of stories going around. The wolves up there, for example. There's nowhere else for them to go if Dr. Rousseau goes to jail for a crime she didn't commit."

  "How do you know she didn't commit it?" the reporter asked. The camera was rolling again.

  "I didn't even know her then," he said. "Another story you might want to do is about her sister, who's got a whole organization going, to help the people who come in to staff the hotels and restaurants. And there's no place for them to live in Mariposa, so they set up tent villages and trailer parks in abandoned lots outside of town, but that offends the upscale types, so they're moving them out. Do a story on that."

  "You know," she said in a voice that was throaty and strong, "I'd love to do those stories, but my boss sent me down here for the sensational story and that's what I have to cover. Indian artist murdered by his wife, and a famous, beautiful skier is the third member of the triangle. Great stuff."

  Tam narrowed his eyes. "What if it had been your husband?" he asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "What if your husband had been unfaithful, then he was murdered and the whole world was talking about you?"

  The woman shrugged. "It's nothing personal."

  "Dr. Rousseau has suffered enough," Tam said, folding the bar towel carefully. "Don't drag her through all this."

  "New is news," she said, and spun on her heel. "I'm staying at the Centennial Hotel if you change your mind." At the door she paused. "And just so you know, I'm not the only journalist there. Because of the art sales, the story broke on AP two days ago. I was just the first one here."

  Great, thought Tam. That was all Desi needed. He made a stab at shifting this one's attention, however. "You want a story on something with substance, I gave you some ideas. And you're welcome to come back and eat if you're hungry later today."

  They left, and Tam started the work of opening the front of the house. The kitchen staff had been here for hours, and he popped his head in to say good morning and find out what they had planned for a special. The smells of a bleached sink and roasting pork and freshly cut onions perfumed the air, a scent so redolent it eased away any lingering annoyance with the reporter. "How's it going, mates?" he called as he came in.

  Oscar, the level-two cook who followed the main chef around like a pup, had onion tears streaming down his face, but he said, "Fine, boss. Fine. We found you some whitefish for fish and chips."

  "Yeah?" he came around the cutting area. "Just remember to use stale old grease," he said, clapping the boy on the shoulder. "Even better, for my tastes, if you let it lie under the warming table for a bit." He headed into the office, and spent an hour entering figures into the computerized books and inventory system. Inventory losses had cost his grandfather thousands every year, and Tam had resolved to be sure he kept up. As he finished, he was whistling under his breath—February looked to be his best month ever, in spite of having to train new staff in three stations and the resultant overtime.

  "Boss," cried Amy, "somebody here to see you. Name's Desi."

  The center of Tam's chest bumped, like somebody had jabbed him with an elbow. Anticipation? Excitement? Worry? What? He sat back and threw his pencil on the desk. Curiously he rubbed the place on his breastbone and tried to sort it out… All of the above, along with some hunger and curiosity and good old lust.

  "Tell her I'll be right out," he yelled back and stood up, smoothing his shirt in front, running a hand over his short curls. All felt okay.

  He found Desi sitting at the bar, a tall lime-green drink in front of her. Her face had not a scrap of makeup and her cheeks were pale, half-moons of darkness showing beneath her eyes. Her posture was defeated. "Well, you look like you lost your last friend,"
he said.

  "I might have," she said, and sighed. "I don't want to go into it, but it's been a terrible morning."

  "How's the boy?"

  "Alex? He woke up and they took him to Denver. They think he'll be all right, but they want to keep a close eye on him for a few days."

  "Makes sense." He took a tall, skim glass from the bar mat and filled it with ice, then cola and squeezed a lime in it. "Did the deputies come to see you?"

  Desi nodded. Springs of hair wafted around her ears, touched her brow. "What did they do up there?"

  He shrugged his disappointment. "Nothing much. Took a cast of the tire tracks. Looked around, made notes."

  "I think they're pretty disappointed, too. Whoever is doing this is being very careful."

  "Or they're professionals."

  "Good point."

  "You look done in, girl. You want something to eat? You want to go home? I'll drive you."

  "Don't you have to work?"

  He cocked a brow. "That's what I've got staff for."

  She nodded. "Then yes, I'd love to go home. This is all just driving me nuts and I need to figure out some answers."

  "I'll drive you and help you, then."

  "It won't take long," she said. "You can drop me off."

  Tam smiled and put his hands on the bar. "I have a better idea. Why don't you let me make a care package to take up the mountain, and we'll tuck it away in the fridge for later."

  The cocoa of her eyes turned liquid. "And what will we do in the meantime?"

  "You'll show me the hot springs."

  "Will I?"

  He nodded, watching the secretive dimple flash in her cheek. "Yeah. Then you can catch me up on all the things that have gone on today, and I'll catch you up. Two heads are better than one—maybe we'll come up with some ideas together."

  The smile that emerged was reluctant, slow, but very winning. "See, here I am, knowing that you're a big charmer, that I should leave you alone, that you say the same things to all the girls and what am I thinking?" Her gaze was frank.

  Tam met it, feeling his nostrils flare. "What's that, love?"

  "That I don't care." She picked up her glass of limeade. "Go gather up your tools of seduction, Mr. Neville, and let's get outta here before something else shows up to ruin my day."

  "Tools of seduction?" He grinned. "I do like the sound of that." As he headed away from the bar, however, he remembered something else. "First, come with me. I want to show you something."

  Quizzically, she raised her eyebrows.

  He took her hand and pulled her to the back of the bar and opened a door that led to some stairs. "Go up. I'm going to tell the boys in the kitchen some things, then I'll be right there."

  Her expressions said she didn't remember his maps, but she would see them when she got there. "Trust me. Go."

  * * *

  Desi ascended the stairs with a feeling of tense resistance. She didn't really want to go up to his lair. She didn't want to deal with anything. She just wanted to go home.

  But the stairs led to a space that made her halt and catch her breath. It was wide-open, with long, double-hung windows on three sides and a gleaming kitchen at the back. Bookshelves were packed with every conceivable kind of book—big, heavy coffee table books, paperbacks by the hundreds and carefully shelved hard-covers that had been well tended. It was not the collection of a man who moved around a lot—too much weight.

  Here, too, she was swamped with a recognition that he was from elsewhere. A framed photo of an unfurling fern hung in a place of honor on the walks, and there were sculptures representing a style of carving she associated with the South Pacific, which of course, New Zealand was, though she'd never really realized it before.

  But the reason he'd sent her up here was obvious. With a soft gasp of pleasure Desi moved toward the wall away from the windows, where a series of antique maps hung. Magellan's journey. Marco Polo's. Cook's. On a table beneath the maps was a thick book—maps of the explorers—and a globe. A shiver walked up her spine.

  Tam's footfall on the stair alerted her, and she turned with a grin. "I'm enchanted. I'm plotting terrible thefts."

  "Amazing, isn't it?" His fingers hovered over the journey of Marco Polo, in the late-thirteenth century. "They had no idea what was out there, and they climbed in their ships and sailed away."

  "So brave. I wish I could have done that."

  "Me, too." He smiled gently. "Sounds like we both have, a bit. You wandered with the Peace Corps, yeah? And I've been wandering, too, all over, until I found this place."

  Desi nodded, a thick loss in her throat. "I thought I'd found my home when I came here," she said, and it was impossible to keep the sound of sorrow out of her voice. "It's devastating to find out I didn't."

  He put his arm around her. "Things will work out." He gave her a squeeze and let her go. "Come on, now, let's get you home, yeah?"

  Desi looked at him. "Yeah. Thanks."

  * * *

  By the time they reached Desi's cottage, every bone in her body was exhausted and aching. For two solid days the bad news had been coming and coming, and she wanted it to stop—even for one afternoon.

  And maybe, she thought, looking overhead at the gathering clouds, she would get her wish. Surely if it snowed, everyone would just stay inside and mind their own business.

  "Bring all that inside," she said to Tam, who lugged a bag of groceries and a cooler full of mysterious foods he'd taken out of the kitchen of the Black Crown. The weight of it made his bicep bulge against his long-sleeved T-shirt.

  She noticed that he was limping, too. "How bad did you hurt that leg of yours?" she asked, lifting her chin toward it as she took her own bags of supplies out of the back of his truck. The dogs, alerted by the engine, came racing from behind the house, tails high, happy barks ringing into the still forest.

  "Dogs," he said, laughing. "Gotta love 'em."

  Desi bent over and let each of them give her kisses in turn, then headed for the cabin. "No dodging the question," she said.

  "Pretty bad," he said. "Spiral fracture. Landed badly in a parachute jump. It was a bad day."

  She opened the door and led him into the kitchen, feeling the same mix of pleasure and pain that she felt every time she came into these rooms. She loved the light spilling through the windows and the smooth handiwork of the wide boards of the pine floor and the faint, lingering scent of woodsmoke.

  But Claude had laid the floor and fitted the windows. Desi had sanded and varnished the counters, the sills, the doors. Every molecule of the building was mixed up with Claude.

  She dropped her stuff on the chair. "Let's get dressed to go up to the springs."

  "Not just going naked, eh?"

  "You wish."

  "You bet I do." His phone rang and he glanced at it with a frown. "Sorry, I have to take this. It'll be quick."

  Desi waved a hand.

  "Hello, Zara," he said into the phone, and pointed toward the fridge with his free hand, gesturing to show he wanted to put the food away.

  Desi nodded and turned her attention to putting the groceries away. Nothing fancy. Powdered hot chocolate. Cheese, bread, cider, pears—wildly expensive and out of season, but Desi didn't care today. A person deserved a treat now and then.

  Behind her, Tam seemed to be using an exaggeratedly calm voice, as one would with an unreasonable teen or cranky five-year-old. She wondered what children he knew.

  She wondered if he wanted children of his own, and flushed at the thought.

  And yet—it was impossible not to imagine all kinds of things with Tamati Neville, with his big strong body and capable hands and kind heart. If she were a wolf, she'd be circling him intently, responding instinctively to the good genetic material presented by him. Were humans really so different? Wasn't she responding to Tam, in part, because he was good father material, both genetically and in terms of his character?

  A little voice in her head said, Nice try, Rousseau.

  B
ecause she'd been forced to be honest with herself this past year of upheavals, she recognized the authentic sound of that voice. While it might very well be true that on some level she was responding to Tam as father material for her unborn children, the bottom line was she just wanted him. She wanted to see his body naked. Taste his strong neck, run her tongue over his Adam's apple and the little patch of hair just below his lip.

  He kept talking to the person on the other end of the phone, giving Desi an apologetic expression. "Zara," he said, "I've really gotta go. I've got things to do." He listened a minute longer. "Right. Call the numbers you have for the doctors. Get out and take a walk. Don't sit and brood. And I'll see you in a few days, yeah?"

  Desi tried not to eavesdrop, but there wasn't any place to go. From the tone of the conversation, she thought it sounded like he was a rescuer. Uh-oh. Maybe that was why he liked her, too—she was in trouble and needed rescuing, or at least that's how he saw it.

  She'd just have to prove to him that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She'd been doing it all her life, thank you very much.

  The tinny voice spoke a single sentence, and Tam hung up. "Sorry about that," he said. "I'll explain, but before anything else comes up, let's get our butts out of here and up to that pool, yeah?"

  "Agreed."

  * * *

  By the time they hauled their towels and late lunch up the hill, the sky was thick and dark, the color of a gray crayon. There was no wind, and as Desi stood by the side of the pool, trying to psych herself up to take off her coat, she said, "It'll be great once we actually get in."

  "Only one way to get there." He sat on a big red-granite boulder and started untying his shoes. Desi watched, suddenly shy to take off her own protective layers. Her bathing suit was modest, as were all her clothes, a tankini with plenty of coverage, but it was still embarrassing to take off her coat and yoga pants. She kicked off her boots stripped off her socks and waited for Tam to turn around.

  When he reached for the hem of his purple fleece, to pull it off over his head, she was going to slither right out of her pants and wade into the water, at which point she could shed the coat. But the best-laid plans "oft went agly," as Burns said. Hers went.