DESI'S RESCUE Read online

  And grinned. Gathered around a worn pickup truck were five Ute men, three of whom she recognized. The stocky, barrel-chested man with the thin, long mustache of his ancestor, Chief Ouray, was Helene's brother Charles, soon to be Desi's relative by marriage. He nodded at her. "How you doing, Desi? Helene said you were having trouble."

  Desi danced down the steps and took his hand. "Yes! I'm so happy to see you!" She greeted the others, three young men and two middle-aged. "I've had so much trouble with vandals, and now I guess you heard what happened to Alex."

  Thunderous expressions crossed several faces. "I talked to him a while ago," said one of the younger men, a slim hard-faced youth of twenty-two or twenty-three. "He's doing okay. But I'm mad."

  "Me, too, Daniel." She turned and drew Tam into the group. "Do you know each other?"

  They nodded. Shook hands.

  Charles said, "Why don't you show us what you need, Dez, and we'll let you get on with your day. We'll take turns, two each night, eh?"

  "Good."

  They worked out details of pay, rotation and Desi showed them the cabin. At one point Tam touched her arm. "I'll go get supper hot, yeah?"

  She nodded gratefully. Only when he headed down the hill toward her house did she let go of a breath. Men did not always like a woman who took charge—as her mother had so often told her. They liked to feel in charge and in control. She looked at Tam's retreating back and realized that she was looking for signs of stiffness or resentment. She didn't see any.

  But then, she hadn't seen it with Claude, either. He'd seemed to be very happy at the reversal of their roles—she the primary bread winner, he the nurturer.

  Except—she frowned—he hadn't been much of a cook, had he? Or a housekeeper for that matter.

  "How far out does the land go?" Charles asked, stabbing a brown finger into the map on the wall.

  Desi brought her attention back to the problem at hand. It didn't matter if Claude had been threatened, or if Tam was. She had a job to do. The wolves needed her, and they never cared if she was an alpha.

  * * *

  To Tam's surprise Tecumseh, the white wolf-mix, followed him down the hill, and they found Sitting Bull on the porch, watching out for things, his nose in the air. Crazy Horse, the big red mutt, trotted over to Desi.

  Letting himself into the small house, he breathed in the scent in the rooms. A hint of spice and bread and coffee, all dark and warm, like she was. Desire flowed through his veins, low and steady, giving life and energy to his limbs, his organs, his head, his sex. He wanted her in a way he'd not wanted a woman in a long, long time. Maybe ever.

  And he was sure that she would retreat, that the interlude with the she-wolf and the Indians, then the walk down the hill in the cold, would bring reason and thoughtfulness to her, make her wary of him again.

  A memory of her strong legs looping around his waist flashed over his internal eye, and he could taste her lips, her tongue, as he took out the food he'd brought from the pub. Favorites of his: a pie made of lamb and onion and a thick gravy; fluffy white rolls, made the way his granny made them; roasted carrots. All solid, healthy food for a healthy woman who worked hard and needed her nutrients. It was surprisingly satisfying to feed her.

  But then, he had a lot of his grandparents in him, didn't he? As he bent over the oven to see how to light it, he remembered them urging customers and neighbors, Tam and his sister and all their friends, to eat, eat, eat. Piles of good simple food, which gave him the body he needed to grow tall and strong and play rugby.

  The flame in the oven caught and he tucked the dishes in to warm, thinking how to recapture Desi. He wanted her in his arms, all night. He wanted to make love, to ease the heat in him, but he also wanted to give her some relief, some sense of protection.

  He heard her step on the porch one instant before Tecumseh stood up and went to the door, waiting politely, all fluffy white alertness, for her to come through. When she came in, his tail swept the floor in a dignified way. He kicked his lips, and Desi bent down to kiss his nose. Her braid, heavy as an anchor, slid over her shoulder. Delicately, Tecumseh touched her chin with the very edge of his tongue and raised his paw in greeting. "Yes," she said, "I am still here. I still love you." She touched his head and gave Tam a grin. "How does anyone live without dogs?"

  "I don't have one," he said.

  "Gads, man! Better get on that. I'm not sure you're allowed to live in Mariposa without one."

  Tam nodded, but he was caught in the energy or aura or whatever it was that was Desi, admiring the angle of her cheekbone, the fullness of her mouth, pink without painting, the curls springing up along her hairline. "I live above the pub. No place for a dog, that."

  "All right, we'll let you have a reprieve, but only six months." She flung her mittens on a table and unwrapped her scarf and hung her coat on a peg by the door. "That smells good," she said. "Do I have time to take a quick shower?"

  Tarn spread his hands agreeably. "It's only pie and rolls. It's just heating."

  "Sounds good." Desi pulled the rubber band out of her braid. "Is there anything else you need? Feel free to look around. Mi casa es su casa."

  "How about some tea? I could go for a cuppa."

  She grinned. "That accent really is adorable. I'd love some, as long as you say cuppa all the time."

  "Cuppa, cuppa, cuppa."

  Tugging off her socks, with one toe and then the other, she padded through the kitchen and paused in front of him, putting one hand on his belly. "Are you as nice as you seem, or is this still the charming thing?"

  Something hot and painful went through the middle of his chest. He put his hand over hers. "No man likes to be thought of as nice, darlin'. I'm charming, yeah? Let's leave it at that."

  "We can do that." She walked into the bathroom and he heard the shower run. Tam put the kettle on, warmed the pot a bit and dropped teabags into it. In the bathroom, he could hear her humming in the shower, and the sound made him wistful. It was a warm and wifely sound, wasn't it?

  To escape the thought, he opened the belly of the woodstove and used the poker to stir the embers, then rebuilt it. By the time she got out, her hair wrapped in a towel, it was roaring, and he closed it with a clunk. The kettle began to whistle and she moved to the stove and rescued it, pouring hot water into the waiting teapot.

  A little shyly she went over to where he knelt, his hands braced on his jeaned thighs. "It's nice to have company," she said, sitting cross-legged on a pillow. She put a brush down beside her and unwrapped her hair, which fell in long, long tendrils down her back.

  He spoke impulsively. "Can I brush it for you?"

  "It's hard to comb when it's wet," she said. "How about when it's dry?"

  "Did I tell you my hair was once down to my shoulders?"

  She grinned. "No."

  "It was." He took the brush out of her hand, gently. "I'm sure yours could not be worse."

  "All right."

  He sat behind her, and starting at the bottom, worked the knots out of the long, long strands. It was curly and thick and healthy. He loved it.

  "If you had long hair, were you a rebel, then?" she asked, rubbing the fluffy body of the omnipresent Crazy Horse, who'd flopped down in front of her.

  "For a bit," he admitted. "Maori pride and all that."

  "Is that when you got the tattoos?"

  "Yeah." He thought of himself at fifteen, lost and lonely, isolated at the northern end of the land. "My sister went to college and it was just me and my grandparents, out in the country along the tourist road. I got drunk one night with my friends and got the tats in a parlor where everyone was doing tribals. My friend got his face done."

  Desi looked over her shoulder in alarm. "Face?"

  He shrugged. "It's not so strange there. Maoris tattoo their faces. It can be beautiful."

  "Really? But wouldn't it be—" she hesitated, "sort of antisocial?"

  "Maybe, but there are some who think they shouldn't be judged for it. Like Ute men w
earing their hair long, in braids, yeah?"

  "Right. Still, is it all right to say I'm glad you didn't?"

  He smiled. "Yes."

  She looked at him again, searchingly. "I like your face the way it is. It's very handsome."

  He thought there was warmth blooming between them again, but he left it there to grow. "Thank you." He nudged her to turn around and worked through another section. "In the old days, the tattoos were carved into the skin and stained with dye. Women had them around their mouths. They are passed down from mother to daughter, father to son, a family thing."

  "Wow." She stared into the fire's bright orange flames. "I envy you the cultural connection of an ancient way of doing things, traditions, all that. We didn't have any when I was growing up."

  "You likely did. You just didn't recognize them. Sunday dinner with pot roast, yeah?"

  Desi chuckled. "Martinis at six, and rack of lamb at eight."

  "There you go. Which reminds me." He stood up and went over to check on the food. "Lamb pie," he said, "and white rolls and roasted carrots. Ready anytime you like."

  She stood, and the magnificence of her hair tumbled around her shoulders, over her full breasts, touching the top of her jeans. Her face was freshly scrubbed, her complexion as clear as a glycerin soap.

  In no way was she beautiful, but that did not seem to matter to Tam's sense of pleasure, to the warmth spreading through him. He thought her shining dark eyes, her natural cleanliness, her sturdy strength and thick, long hair alluring beyond belief.

  "I'm starving," she said.

  "So am I," Tam said, and bent down to kiss her. Again her lips, plush as marshmallows, were a delectable surprise, and he found his hands on her face, cradling the delicate bones of jaw and cheek.

  She kissed him back for one minute, then pulled back. "Food," she said, and touched her belly.

  He held on to her arms for a moment, then rubbed them. "Don't run away from me, girl."

  "Is that what I'm doing?"

  "I don't know. Maybe you're just hungry."

  She grinned, a genuine, spreading of light across her face. "Maybe."

  "It's good food," he said, and touched her nose with the tip of his finger. "Sit. I'll make our plates."

  * * *

  As they were eating dinner, Desi's phone rang. She groaned. "I'm starting to hate this phone. It seems like bad news every time I pick it up." Warily she glared at the screen. It showed a photo of Juliet and her soon-to-be stepdaughter, Glory, mugging for the camera in rhinestone tiaras. Maybe it wouldn't be so terrible.

  She flipped open the phone. "Hey, sis. What's up?"

  "Did you know there are cameras stationed outside of the Black Crown, and in front of my house and all over town, waiting to ambush you?"

  Or maybe it would be that bad. Desi's heart plummeted. "Jeez, I'm tired of this! I'm sorry if it's causing you trouble."

  "No problem for me," she said. "I wonder about Tam, though. Is he there with you?"

  Desi shot a look toward him. "Why would you ask that?"

  "It's been on television, Dez."

  "That he's at my house?"

  "That he was. That you made breakfast for him."

  "Well, I didn't exactly make breakfast for him, but I told them that because I wanted to get rid of the reporter."

  Tam raised his eyebrows questioningly. Desi shook her head.

  Juliet said, "You did make breakfast for him?"

  "No. I mean, I had to have breakfast with Helene." Had that only been this morning? What a long day it had become! "But Tam lied to help me get rid of the reporters who were here this morning."

  "Tam—Tamati from the Black Crown, right?"

  Desi scowled at her sister's tone. "Yes."

  "He was at your house at breakfast time this morning."

  "Not like that," Desi said. Though—she met his wolf eyes—he might be tomorrow. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and turned slightly away, embarrassed. "He just came to see about the wolf pup."

  There was a pause at the other end of the line. Then, "Are you seeing him, Desi?"

  Over the table, spread with the remains of their very good lamb pie and excellent bread, Desi grinned at Tam. "I'm looking at him right this minute, if that's what you mean."

  "You know what I mean," Juliet said.

  "I do," Desi replied, "and it's none of your business, little sister."

  "Desi, it's too soon. I don't want you to get hurt."

  "Juliet," Desi said with exaggerated patience, "again, none of your business. I'm a big girl."

  Tam was smiling.

  "Whatever. You want to butt into everyone else's lives, but no one is allowed to say anything about yours. Did you ever think—"

  "What? That I should have listened to Mother and Daddy about Claude, that he wasn't good enough for me, all that stuff?"

  "No," Juliet said evenly. "I was going to ask if you ever think maybe I just worry about you?"

  Desi bowed her head. "Sorry. You're right. Thanks for your concern, but I'm okay."

  "Thank you. Listen, I also called about something else—the injunction you wanted me to look into."

  From her plate, Desi plucked a corner of bread. "That was fast."

  "It's not a big place, you know. I just called over to the courthouse to do some checking, and I found out something very interesting."

  "Tell me."

  "There have been some geothermal studies done on the area, including your land. Really focusing on your land, actually."

  "I don't understand why that's significant."

  "I didn't see the results of the studies, but they could be looking for energy modules or something like that. Maybe you need to have some studies of your own done."

  Desi nodded. "Okay. And does it say who contracted for these studies?"

  "One is held by a corporation, the other is as you expected, your new neighbor, the developer. His name is … let's see—" there was a sound of rustling papers "—Biloxi."

  "Yeah, that's him."

  "Hmm," Juliet said, "this is interesting—this name sounds familiar. Franz? Who is named Franz?"

  "That's the art dealer from Aspen."

  "It's also the name of Biloxi's wife. Elsa Franz."

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  "Elsa Franz?" Desi echoed.

  Tam's head lifted. "She's a model, just married Biloxi," he said.

  A soft headache started between Desi's eyes, and she rubbed the place. "This just gets more and more complicated all the time. What would they have to do with each other?"

  "I don't know," Juliet said. "Maybe it's coincidence. Maybe it's not. But it's worth looking into."

  "You're right. Thanks, Juliet. You've been a big help. I'll come by tomorrow and we'll talk about your life instead of mine."

  "I do have a wedding in four months," she said. "Oh, and Miranda called me, by the way. She has actually agreed to wear a bridesmaid's dress as long as it isn't satin. I told her you'd already vetoed it."

  Desi chuckled. "I'm glad she's coming."

  "Look into the geothermal studies, babe. I think it could be very important."

  "Will do." Desi hung up and put the phone on the table. "I'm half tempted to just turn the damned thing off."

  Tam pulled his out of his pocket and held it in his hand. "I will if you will."

  She met his direct gaze. "Then what?"

  His mouth lifted on one side. "Turn it off and I'll show you."

  Recklessly Desi picked up the phone and flipped it open and pushed the button. The powering-off song sounded, and she put it aside.

  Tam stood up and came around the table. "That's more like it," he said, and held out a hand to her. Patiently.

  For a moment she simply looked up at him. His sturdy thighs, planted like tree trunks before her. His broad chest, his strong hand, held out to her. His hard-cut, handsome face—the angles of cheekbone and sensual mouth and the light-struck pale green eyes regarding her
so calmly and steadily. Below his lip, that tiny patch of rebel hair that made him look like a rock star or a bad boy.

  She wanted him. Putting her hand in his, she stood up. "It's so rare for a man to be taller than me, so much bigger than me."

  "And for me," he said, pulling her into his body, it's a rare pleasure to have a woman who is strong and sturdy."

  Desi winced. "Ow!"

  One side of his mouth lifted, even as he pulled her close to his body, bringing their hips and thighs and torsos into contact. He was hard as rock, shoulder to knee and the full-frontal contact gave Desi a jolt of almost knee-buckling heat. It had been so long since she'd made love. Had sex.

  Whatever. Even the words—sex, making love, man—gave her a snapping band of heat over her forehead.

  "You were thinking you were a frail little flower, babe?" he teased gently. "Maybe a violet or something?"

  "No," Desi said, and lowered her gaze. "But a man doesn't want to be 'nice'—a woman doesn't want to be 'sturdy.'"

  His arm looped around her neck, and he bent down to taste her mouth. "I need a woman who is as strong as I am," he said, and again that tongue, hot and thick, nudged its way into her mouth. "I need a woman who is my equal. As you need a man who is yours."

  Desi opened, letting him draw circles on the surface of her tongue, feeling her nipples pearl in readiness. She let her hands move upward, sliding over his powerful chest, to his broad shoulders. She kissed him back, feeling something just let go, as if there was a break in some dam that had been holding back the natural flood of passion a woman in her prime experienced.

  Tam made a low, male noise and pulled her into the other room, to the piles of pillows and quilts that were nested in front of the fire. "Let's lie down here, yeah?" Without waiting for an answer, he tumbled backward and pulled Desi down on top of him.

  For one breath she paused, suspended in a time before she let him in, aware that once she let him take off her clothes she would tumble into another reality, a life that was different from the one she thought she would have. By making love to Tam, she was no longer standing on the edges of the ruin her life had become, but risking the possibility of a new life—and more ruin.