Real Men Do It Better (11 page)

*   *   *

She woke up completely disoriented. Nothing felt right and nothing felt normal. It wasn’t light but it wasn’t dark, and she let her eyes roam around the room, trying to put the pieces together. For an eerie moment, Kate’s mind floated, grasping for anything that would make sense, and when nothing came to her, she fancied herself the heroine in one of those Lifetime Television amnesia movies—What
day
was it? Where
was
she? What
time
was it? Oh God, what was her
name
?

Then the scent hit her nostrils—wood smoke and cold air and
that man
—that Jorey Matheny guy with the horrendous manners and even worse coffee. She squeezed her eyes tight and rolled over, pressing her face into the pillow, but all that served to do was force the scent of that man further into her brain.

Kate wanted to go home. She wanted her life back—the one where she juggled sixty million dollars in public relations accounts. The one where she spent weekends in Palm Springs with Brad. She wanted the life where Brad told her she was the most amazing woman in the world, the one where her nose and her car weren’t smashed up, where her dad wasn’t recovering from a triple bypass, and her brother wasn’t asking for her recommendations on leg-waxing salons.

That life.

There was a tap at the door. “Miss Dreyfuss?”

“Leave me alone.”

“I brought you some soup. You’ve been sleeping all day.”

“No thanks.”

“You have to eat. It’s vegetable barley. I made it two months ago.”

She rolled her eyes. “So you’re trying to
kill
me?”

She heard his laugh from behind the door. It was a rumbling, happy sound. “The soup was in the deep freezer, Princess. I heated it up so it’s nice and hot.”

She raised her face from the pillow, feeling her exhaustion spread deeper into her bones. She wondered why she felt so tired—shouldn’t so much sleep be rejuvenating? What was wrong with her? She tried to remember what she’d read about the symptoms for Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Or fibromyalgia. “I’d rather have a double bacon cheese. Where’s the nearest In-N-Out Burger?”

“Probably down the street from the Starbucks.”

Kate snorted. With a sigh of effort, she pushed herself up in bed, rubbed her hands over her face, and raked her fingers through her hair. She was being a selfish, spoiled bitch and she knew it. Well, tough. Maybe that’s all she was—an über-bitch—and she’d never be anything more, no matter how hard she tried. That’s what Brad had said, just before he’d run off and married some bimbette just this side of puberty.

“Come on in, I guess.”

She saw the scuffed toe of his cowboy boot first, easing the door open enough that he could step through, one hand carrying a tray and the other a stack of magazines. She was about to tell him to set everything down and get lost, when she noticed his jeans. As he walked over to a table by the window and pulled it toward the bedside, she observed how the worn and pale denim pulled softly against his narrow hips, rounded butt, and lean thighs. There was a slight tear in the left knee and a few drops of dark paint on the right leg just above the ankle. And the way they seemed to cradle what was hiding behind the zipper … Kate swallowed hard, trying not to stare.

Suddenly, he was standing right beside the bed, looking down at her. My God, the man was extraordinary. The clean, white smile and that single deep dimple on his right cheek made him look like a kid. The salt-and-pepper stubble and the self-assured set of his broad shoulders made him seem much older.

But it was the peaceful awareness in those dark eyes that suggested Jorey was far more than he was letting on. And all Kate could wonder was what was a man this fine doing hiding in the middle of Southwestern Bum-Fuck?

“How old are you, Jorey?”

“Old enough to know better. How about you?”

She supposed she should be offended, but she’d started the conversation. “The same. At least most of the time.”

“Ah. Then we understand each other.” Jorey’s lips spread wide and his eyes lit up. He wasn’t shy about letting his gaze stray from her face to her uncovered shoulders, upper arms, and …

Kate pulled the sheet up under her chin, suddenly aware that the combination of the cold air and the hot man was making a spectacle of her chest.

“Don’t bother, Princess. I noticed those happy little girls first thing this morning.” Jorey arranged the tray and magazines, smile still intact.

Kate remained calm, determined not to produce the shock he was clearly fishing for. In a pleasant voice, she said, “Not especially interested in the social niceties, are we?”

“I got expelled from charm school. That’s why they sent me up here.”

“Was this before or after you flunked out of the hospitality management program?”

“Enjoy your soup.”

With that, he left her in the bedroom to mull it all over. Jorey Matheny was a strange man—about as far as she could get from the L.A. urban pretty boys she was accustomed to. He was too blunt. He was no-frills in his manner and his dress. But she didn’t sense any bitterness in him, especially because no matter what he said, it was accented by that disarming, half-dimpled smile. Jorey seemed relaxed. Peaceful.

How strange.

The soup was good, full of flavor and texture, and Kate was surprised how much she enjoyed it, considering it wasn’t even remotely related to the bacon double cheeseburger she craved. As she ate, she flipped through the back copies of
Vegetarian Times
and
Yoga Today,
finding some of the articles marginally interesting. Who knew that colonic irrigation could improve your love life?

She fell asleep again, not having a clue what time it was and not caring. She had a series of strange dreams. She dreamed her nose had swelled to the shape and size of her dearly departed Range Rover, that her brother wanted to borrow her favorite open-toed pumps, and that Jorey was riding naked on a burro, which, as she awoke the next morning, left her slightly disturbed. She chalked up the bizarre dreams to caffeine withdrawal combined with whatever disease she obviously had. Not to mention the excess sleep. She’d probably spent twenty of the last twenty-four hours unconscious.

Kate blinked a few times and stretched, then swung her legs over the side of the big bed. It was obvious that the sun was out. Bright light slashed through the louvered wooden blinds, and her heart skipped with the hope that now that the rain had stopped, she’d be back to Los Angeles and good coffee by nightfall.

While in the shower, she decided to take control of the situation. It was so obvious that Jorey was making more of this rainstorm than necessary. If he wouldn’t take her into Santa Fe, she’d get there herself. When had she ever let a man define her limits, anyway? Moments later, Kate rummaged around in the front zipper pocket of her rolling suitcase and found the rain poncho she’d cleverly remembered to pack. A little rain wasn’t going to kill her. The main road couldn’t be more than a mile or so away. And once she got there it would be a cinch to find a ride to Santa Fe.

She’d be damned if some crazy, middle-aged vegetarian survivalist was going to keep her prisoner—no matter how cute his butt was.

2

Archie Apodaca had been kind enough to ride his roan mare through the muck to check on everything up at the lodge, so Jorey offered him a cup of tea and a seat in front of the fire. Jorey knew that as far as neighbors went, he’d lucked out with Archie and his wife, Joan. Their house was about a mile down Route 52 behind a wall of cottonwoods, far enough to keep their distance and close enough to offer a connection to the world beyond Windwalker Lodge. Since their kids left the nest, Archie and Joan had made a living raising chickens and selling woodcrafts to the busloads of tourists who wandered through nearby Sanctuario de Chimayo, seeking the legendary healing powers of the red dirt around the old Catholic church.

“Hope you hadn’t planned on going into Santa Fe for anything.” Archie handed Jorey a wire basket of brown eggs and eased himself into one of the two wooden rocking chairs by the lobby’s large kiva fireplace. “The center support on your bridge has washed away again. Had to ride down the slope of the east escarpment to get here.”

Jorey placed a cup of fragrant tea in his neighbor’s work-worn hands and shook his head. The sandy arroyo that cut through his property—like thousands of natural gulches all over the region—was prone to flash flooding. In the five years he’d been up here, raging water had damaged or washed away his simple beam bridge at least eight times. The arroyos were deceptive—bone dry one second and a merciless torrent the next. He’d heard stories of children swept away out of their parents’ arms. He’d seen everything from motorcycles to roosters rushed to their demise.

“I’ll get to it tomorrow,” he told Archie.

“Not likely. They say the rain will be back by noon today and it’ll keep up ’til Thursday. But who knows? Nobody can forecast nothing up here. Never could, right?”

Jorey settled back in his rocking chair and clasped his hands behind his head, smiling. “That’s one of the reasons I like it, Arch. It’s a wild place. Keeps me on my toes.”

The sun-browned skin of his neighbor’s face crinkled when he grinned. “I don’t see the beauty all the time, you know, unless I have to go into the city for something. Then I’m always glad to get back.”

Jorey nodded, comfortable in the rhythm of this conversation, one of hundreds just like it he’d had with Archie over the years. The unpredictable weather. The evils of city life. The untamed magnificence all around them.

“Tell Joan I appreciate the eggs.”

“Sure will.”

Jorey remembered how mesmerized he was by the passing of time during the first full year at the lodge. Seattle had its own charms, of course, but after his heart attack and the divorce, he knew he had to change his path. Jorey came to New Mexico to find solitude, and ended up opening his home to people just like him—people who needed to reconnect with the sacred.

He’d started the pilgrimage business three years ago, and had found the work rewarding, fun, and good for his soul. He led people on hikes to ancient Anasazi ruins and took them to Native American ceremonies on the nearby Tewa Pueblo. He arranged for groups to study with tribal healers, led meditation hikes in the wilderness, taught visitors about the connection between Native American wisdom and the world’s major spiritual traditions. He liked to think he gave people a place to open their minds and hearts to the power of the land and the culture tied to it. In the process, Jorey had been able to keep tofu on the table, keep his hands busy, and keep peace in his own spirit.

Archie moved closer to the fire and spread his fingers before the warmth. “So the burner you ordered for the furnace didn’t show up before the rains? Nobody delivered it?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“When it does, I’ll come up to help you install it.”

“That would be much appreciated, Arch.”

“In the meantime, it’s too bad there ain’t none of those beauty queens around to keep you warm.” Archie laughed at his observation, and Jorey joined him. The fact that Jorey only occasionally had the pleasure of a woman’s company was a running joke with them. When Archie had asked him why, Jorey had explained that he was “discriminating.” Archie assumed that meant a woman would have to be Miss America to catch Jorey’s eye, and had never let it drop.

Jorey grinned to himself, thinking that if the old guy knew what was sleeping the day away in his bed at that very moment, he’d probably flip backwards in his rocking chair. Jorey stared into the fire, imagining what she looked like in there. She was likely curled up under his covers, a slender, raven-haired, hard-nippled cutie with a real bad attitude, a woman who lived the kind of life he’d happily left behind, a woman he had no business lusting after. He sighed, knowing that Kate Dreyfuss may be trapped in his lodge, but that didn’t give him the right to imagine how good she’d feel trapped between his body and damp, twisted sheets.

Jorey blinked hard. To hell with the bridge. He’d have to find another way to get that woman on her way to Santa Fe so he could reclaim his balance.

“Hey, Arch? Do you think I could borrow Joan’s gelding to—”

“Madre de Dios.”

Jorey looked up to see Archie staring right past him and out the lobby’s big picture window. He turned to find what fascinated Archie so, and barely made out a small human figure trudging down the road. The figure wore some kind of yellow rain poncho and lugged what looked like a suitcase.

Archie’s mug of tea landed with a thud on the rocking chair armrest. “You devil,” he said to Jorey when he turned back around. “Here we were worried you weren’t prepared for the rains!”

“Uh—”

“I hate to bring this up, but it looks like she’s trying to get away from you.”

Ignoring Archie’s ribbing, Jorey rose from his chair and moved to the window where he could watch Miss America herself, making decent progress down the lane despite the inappropriate footwear, the muck, and her suitcase.

Jorey peered closely and grinned to himself, appreciating how she’d strapped her large shoulder bag to the suitcase handle. “Now that’s a girl with some serious baggage,” Jorey muttered to himself.

“At least it’s on wheels,” Archie noted, and they both laughed.

Jorey put his hand on his neighbor’s shoulder and gave him a friendly pat. “She’s the no-show from last month I was telling you about. Got the dates mixed up. She marched up on my porch two nights ago, demanding to check in, all uppity because I didn’t put out the welcome mat.”

Archie looked shocked. “Two nights ago? Are you sure?”

Archie was in rare nonsensical form today, it seemed. “I’m sure, my friend.”

The old man laughed and shook his head, then returned his gaze to the retreating figure. “She looks kind of cute from here, but I can’t see too much under that poncho.”

“She is cute.”

One of Archie’s eyebrows shot high on his forehead. He bit his lip in thought. “You don’t got no rooms right now.”