Brave (3 page)

He
was also closed down, tight as a skinflint with his money. I
shouldn’t be intrigued by him, but I couldn’t seem to
help it. Okay, so he was gorgeous, brooding, and built, but I was no
Katherine and he was no Heathcliff, and this certainly wasn’t
the moor. As I pondered my rescuer, I absent-mindedly reached down to
touch the backpack, to assure myself that the precious cargo was
still inside and safe.

His
eyes darted to it when he came back into the room, and my possession
of it clearly registered. But I certainly wasn’t going to clue
him into what was inside. That was strictly my business. This was
mine to do and I intended to carry it out. Alone. It was all for
Charlie. Emotions from the last time we spoke tried to overwhelm me,
but I couldn’t let anything sidetrack me until what I came here
to do was done.

Dakota
knelt down again, and when he did, the scent of him washed over me,
making me breathe deep. Wow, musky and male. What a delicious
combination. He set the ice on my ankle, then handed me a glass of
water and some ibuprofen.

I
reached out and grabbed the medication, my fingertips brushing his
palm. He flexed his hand when he brought it back to his side.

Still
on his knees, he said, “Are you all right?”

“What
do you mean?”

“What
happened to you out there could have ended very badly.”

I
melted. Most of the time I live with people who didn’t even
make eye contact with me. Who could care less what happened to me,
yet this man, who didn’t want me here, was concerned about my
mental state.

“I’m
tougher than I look,” I said. “I was scared, but you
saved me. Are you asking me if I feel safe here?”

“Do
you?”

“Yes.
I do. Thank you for taking care of me. If you hadn’t been a
jerk, I would have said it sooner.”

That
brought a reluctant smile to his mouth. Damn, I didn’t think I
could melt any more. “I realize it’s an inconvenience and
I’m crashing your holiday.”

“That
doesn’t matter. What are you doing here in this part of Aspen?
This isn’t exactly part of the tourist haunt.”

“I
don’t know. Your abominable snowman was pretty interesting.”
He wasn’t amused and I shrugged. “It’s private. I’m
not discussing it.”

He
did that heavy, huffing breath thing again, rose and glared at me. I
guess the niceties were over.

“Do
you have any luggage?”

“In
my car down the hill.”

More
huffy breathing, but I saw he was going to get my stuff for me. I
don’t think he could have refused. He muttered to himself the
whole time he was putting on his coat and fitting on snow shoes.

Our
gazes collided and I realized that he knew exactly what I was
thinking. Could he see it in my eyes, how sexy I thought he was? Fire
blazed in the gray depths. I saw longing there, not lust, but
confusion, and wondered if he was attracted against his will.

I
was floating, unanchored as our eyes met and held and fused. I felt
as lost as he looked. I might have had sex, but I’d had no clue
what passion was. No clue at all.

I’d
just discovered that passion was tanned skin and gray eyes as elusive
and light-tricked as smoke, and a character that wouldn’t
falter, even when it was dangerous to continue. This man knew about
passion, and my pounding heart responded to the way he returned my
gaze. A part of me wanted him to teach me what he knew.

Who
was
this guy? I trembled with the need to understand, to know him
intimately. Even more deeply than I had known my dearest friend and
brother of my heart, Charlie.

I
trembled because the intensity between us was palpable. Looking at
him was almost unbearable.

“Don’t,”
he whispered.

“Don’t
what?” I noticed his mouth again. It was so sexy, and this time
when he spoke, I couldn’t tear my eyes away

The
tortured sound of his voice made my stomach clench. The pain in his
eyes deepened. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Why?”

His
voice was soft and broken. “I’m not a fucking hero.”

He
yanked the door open and bolted outside, and the storm howled and
spit snow and freezing wind into the room, but it did nothing to get
rid of the heat that rose in me. What had he meant by that comment?
My curiosity only deepened. Maybe by the time this blizzard was over
and it was time for me to leave, I’d have found out.

Without
his presence, the enormity of what I had done in the last fifteen
hours rolled over me.
Great,
just great.
I
was supposed to have been in and out of here without anyone being the
wiser. Now they were going to discover my theft. They might even come
after me. But I wasn’t going to back down.

And
now I was trapped here with
him
,
an enigmatic, knee-melting man who wanted nothing to do with me.

To
my parents I was invisible. To this man I was…a threat?
Somehow dangerous? That helped me get some perspective. Well, I would
just have to weather him like we were going to weather this storm.

He
had all three of my cases and my laptop when he came through the
door, his cheeks red, looking windblown and covered in snow. He
stamped it off his boots, then glared at me. “Your car is
pretty stuck. We won’t be able to do anything about it until it
stops snowing.” He sounded so pissed I didn’t dare say
anything. “The pass is definitely closed by now. There won’t
be any traffic in or out until this blows over and the plows come
through.” He pulled off his cap and his mussed hair tumbled
around his face. He pushed it back. “The storm is going to be
massive, but I’ve got enough firewood, plus a generator in case
the power goes out.”

Awww,
that was sweet, trying to put me at ease. I bet he wasn’t even
aware he was doing it. That information made me think that most of
his mad might be about something else and not necessarily about me.
He avoided my gaze and I was kinda relieved. He was so intense. After
brushing off the snow, he picked up my cases and disappeared through
the door towards the kitchen. Must be where the bedrooms were.

When
he came back out, he leaned one of his broad shoulders against the
door jamb. “Are you hungry?” he asked, obviously still
thoroughly disgruntled.

“I’m
starving.” I hadn’t eaten anything since I left
California fifteen hours ago…where it had been sunny and dry.

He
strode into the room and, without a word, scooped me up into his arms
and grabbed a pillow. He’d done more than his share of heavy
lifting today. Before I could even wonder why I was so tempted to
nestle into his chest, he deposited me at the kitchen table and
tucked the pillow he’d snagged under my foot. Yep, he was
definitely some kind of medical guy. No normal man thinks of that
kind of thing.

“How
old are you?” he asked abruptly before going over to the fridge
and pulling out a glass dish with lasagna in it, spooning it out onto
a plate he got out of the cupboard, then nuking it. He also set a
piece of garlic bread into the toaster oven on the counter.

“Old
enough to know better.”

He
turned, pinning me with an I’m-not-accepting-that-for-an-answer
look.

“Don’t
you know that you never ask a woman her age or her weight?”

“One
ten soaking wet.”

He
was absolutely correct. “How did you know that?”

“Practice.
Age?”

“Twenty-two,”
I said as he assembled my dinner and set it down in front of me. “How
old are you?”

“Old
enough to know better.”

That
made me laugh and his face changed. He got this soft look in his
eyes.

“How
old, Dakota?” I blew on the lasagna and took a bite. It was
delicious.

He
opened the fridge and pulled out a cola and popped the top.
“Twenty-six just this past May.”

I
finished chewing and took a drink of the soda he set down “So,
you climb?”

He
looked at me blankly.

“The
gear, the ease that you showed coming down and going up that cliff
face.”

“I
cave climb, and I’ve done some summits.” He pulled out a
chair and straddled it.

“I
don’t particularly like heights or tight, enclosed spaces.”

“It
doesn’t affect me. It must be my Indian heritage. Bound to the
earth.”

“You’re
Native American?”

“On
my mother’s side.”

That
explained those gorgeous cheekbones.

I
dug into my food while he rose, grabbed a jacket hanging on a peg and
opened the door to the deck and stepped out. I watched the snow
coming down in a continual fall of white. With his arms full of wood,
he kicked the deck door shut and went past me into the living room.
Then I heard the distinctive sounds of him starting a fire.

Then
I remembered. My backpack. Alarm zapped through me like electricity.
He wanted to know why I was here. He might look. I didn’t want
him to. I couldn’t talk about it. I just couldn’t. In my
panicked state, I jumped out of the chair, totally forgetting about
my ankle. It buckled under me, and I crashed to the floor with a cry
and a moan.

Dakota
rushed into the kitchen, his eyes wild, his breathing harsh. He
backed away from me as if I was some kind of threat. He closed his
eyes, moaning. His back hit the wall hard and he slid down the
length, covering both ears with this hands. The gut-wrenching sounds
that ripped out of him stunned me.

What
was wrong with him? I crawled closer, unable to bear his distress. He
pulled at his arm as if it was immobile and screamed obscenities.
Then a name.

“Elsa!”

It
seemed as if he was somewhere else. The look in his eyes: stark
terror, pain so deep it twisted my heart, and a wrenching
helplessness that only made me want to soothe him.

Alissa

Wanting
to help somehow, I touched his forearm, but he jerked away from me,
his eyes desolate. I grabbed onto him anyway, compassion making my
throat tight. I scooted close to him, and simply wrapped my arms
around him, murmuring, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Awash
with a whole storm of emotion, my heart constricted when he uttered a
broken cry and I tightened my hold convulsively when he tried to
break it. A tremor coursed through him, and he buried his face
against my neck, his hand spanning my head, his breath hot against my
skin. With a deep, shuddering sigh, he settled his weight against me.
Tenderness stole through me as I held him. “I’ve got
you,” I said softly into the silence as his breathing quieted.
“You’re safe.”

Charlie
used to say those words when I was upset, and they always made me
feel better.

He
shook his head as if disagreeing with me. He pushed at me, but I
didn’t want to let him go. This must be some kind of a
flashback. Had he been in the military? In the war?

Who
was Elsa?

He
pushed me away and I reluctantly let my arms drop.

He
got to his knees and knelt there, his head hanging for a moment. Then
he looked up, searching the room with a quick sweep. He saw me,
seemed to register that I was still there and safe, and then with a
weary heave sank back against the wall. His breathing was harsh and
labored as he struggled with the aftereffects of his personal battle.

Something
I understood all too well.

I’d
held Charlie plenty of times when he was in a lot of pain. Held him
when he was distraught and lost in fear.

“What’s
with Winnie the Pooh?” he asked, not looking at me. “Aren’t
you a little too old for that?”

Talking
would probably help, so I complied. “I have a friend whose name
is Charlie. We lived next door to each other our whole lives, so he’s
been my friend ever since we were born. He was born with cystic
fibrosis, so he’s been sick forever. We used to read Winnie the
Pooh books together and he’d say I was like Pooh Bear, all
sunshine and compliance, and he was Piglet, always fearful. When I
was ten, he gave me that backpack for my birthday.”

Dakota
lifted his head, his face ashen and carved by strain, his eyes
shadowed by some emotion I could only guess at, and my heart twisted
seeing his agony. I wanted to ask him what had happened to him…but
I barely knew him, and it seemed so personal.

He
pushed off the floor and, with a powerful move, picked me up. He was
so warm, so hard and male.

“I
wouldn’t have touched it,” he said and settled me back
into my chair, but I couldn’t force myself to let go of him. It
was totally a response to his intense outburst, the fear and horror
on his face. I wanted to comfort him, simply as one flawed human
being to another. For a moment, he lingered there, his face close to
mine, and I could see the sunburst of gunmetal gray that rimmed his
pupil. His mouth hovered a whisper away from my lips, and he swayed
even closer. My whole body leapt at the thought of him touching me
with that sexy mouth.

With
a groan of despair, he pulled away from me and disappeared out the
back door.

I
closed my eyes, better to savor the heat of him. He probably thought
I was too innocent for him, but even though I might not have gone
through anything as horrible as he had, my parents’ emotional
neglect seemed to have heightened my own intuition and insights. I
felt such compassion for him that the pit of my stomach fluttered
with reaction and shock. And, I had to admit, attraction. And, he
felt it, too. It was in every line of his body, in his eyes. My mouth
felt swollen, needy. I was breathing hard from the emotion and the
sexual tension between us.

After
about ten minutes I started to get worried, but he came back in. He
sat down at the table sideways so that his profile was to me. He
didn’t say anything for a few moments. Then he turned his head
to meet my eyes and my heart turned over in my chest. Who
was
this man? This man who came to my rescue, who treated me with respect
and gentleness? I had a burning desire to know. But I shouldn’t.
I should focus on Charlie and why I was here.