Tallchief: The Homecoming (3 page)

Liam resented the need to answer, but she wasn’t the kind to let be. “We’re alone.”

The woman was checking her watch again, distracted by her misfortune. “I don’t have time for this.”

She rubbed her upper stomach in a gesture that Liam knew—the woman probably had an ulcer. But it wasn’t enough to distract her from him— “The Tallchief family is supposed to be very close. All that heritage thing going for them—kilts and Native American.”

“I wouldn’t know much about that.”

“You should. Your son deserves to know all he can about his heritage.”

“That’s our business,” Liam said too quietly, in a raised-hackles, hands-off tone that most people recognized. He’d heard about the Tallchief legend of how a Sioux chieftain captured a Scots bondwoman and how she tamed him. He’d heard of the contemporary Tallchiefs, how they dressed in kilts and tartans at family gatherings. He wanted J.T. to know about who he was, where he came from, but Liam didn’t know how to be a part of a family. He’d tried for his wife’s sake, and loving him, Karen had understood. He didn’t like being pushed; he’d had enough from old Reuben.

She sat straighter, her lips tightening, clearly wanting to say more. One darting glance at J.T. told Liam that, if not for his child, she would be tearing into him. Those green eyes flashed at him through the shadowy cab of the tow truck. Then she checked her watch again, eager to be away from a man who didn’t take good care of his child. Her slight sniff and the way she set her jaw said more than words.

That grated. So did the soft scent filling his cab, tan
talizing over the grease odor and J.T.’s recent boat and bubble bath.

Shifting restlessly in the cab, she ripped a cellular phone from the big business bag. “Eight o’clock in Wyoming. Amen Flats. I’m here. My car is dead, and I’m not happy. I paid a mint for it, and it’s sitting out here in the wilderness steaming like a boiling crab pot. I’ll call when I’m at Silver’s. Make certain that memo to Charleston Presents goes out in the morning. And a mass mailing out to all the applicants for the new opening. I worked overtime getting the text just right on the screening test. When those tests come back, create a file for each one. I’ll go over them when I get back. And have Hazel run a comparison of insurance health benefits and of the funds in our employees’ retirement packages. No, don’t call me. I’ll check in. I don’t want my friend’s household disturbed by my business. And see if you can send an extra supply of my favorite hosiery….
What? Again?
”

When she punched off the cell phone, she sat back against the seat, her elegant hands locked in a white-knuckled grip upon her thick tote-bag. As if remembering something, she tore into the bag, rummaged and came out with an envelope. Her hands were shaking as she opened the letter, scanning it.

Liam concentrated on the winding mountain road. Her problems weren’t his, and he kept to his own life, he told himself as she placed the letter in the envelope and then in the bag too precisely, as if she were filing it away. He recognized her tight, closed expression; the woman wasn’t sharing her problems, and he wasn’t asking.

J.T. watched with fascination as she rummaged in the big tote again, produced a laptop computer and braced it on her thighs. After a moment of frowning and tsking
and punching keys, she clicked it closed, replaced it in her tote and folded her arms over her chest. “My car is just around that bend.”

The silver luxury car was missing a part that would take days to replace, refusing to start. Liam pointed to a safe spot, and J.T. moved to stand quietly aside. “Starter,” Liam said, and J.T. nodded. When Liam finished attaching the car to the tow truck, J.T. stood beside him. J.T.’s small hands hooked into his cutoff pockets the same as Liam had hooked into his carpenter pants. He wore the carpenter pants for a reason—if his hands were busy at the grocery store or when paying a bill, J.T. was to grip the loop for the hammer and stay close. As a single father he’d discovered many ways to keep close watch on his son.

The woman blew a tendril of silky hair away from her nose. “He acts like you, right down to those fierce, scowling looks when he thinks I’m picking on you. Clearly he’s protective of you. You haven’t asked, but my name is Michelle Farrell. You’ll need my name for the bill. You don’t ask questions, do you? In fact, you don’t talk much at all. You need to talk more to your son, not just gesture and point when you want him to do something. Are you certain you know about attaching my car to your truck? You won’t break or dent anything?”

Liam had had enough. He usually shed comments like hers, but there was something about the woman that grated. “Do you have kids?” he asked abruptly.

Clearly startled, she blinked up at him. “Well, no. I was married, but I…I opted for a career, not children.”

“Well, then. I guess I’m more experienced at child care, aren’t I,” he stated—it wasn’t a question—and then picked her up and sat her on the fender of his wrecker. The slender indentation of her waist burned his hands
long after he released her. “Stay put and out of the way. At least my son knows when not to talk and to stay out of danger.”

He turned away and wondered at the tiny rivulet of pleasure running through him. He wasn’t that accustomed to pleasure, other than enjoying J.T., but Michelle’s startled expression was a definite payoff after her pushing. She quickly adjusted to the situation, looking very much like the queen overlooking her servant as he worked.

Her long, crossed legs, one dainty foot in torn hose and the other clad in an expensive shoe, were hard to ignore. The slight rain began and, used to taking care of his son’s needs first, Liam lifted J.T. into the cab, strapping him into his car seat. Then because the boy looked uncertain, fearing that the woman would ask him prying questions, Liam kissed him and nuzzled his throat, making bear noises.

Through the window he spotted Michelle glaring at him. She’d taken off the rubber band, and her hair caught the mist, the rippling waves floating around her shoulders and lifting in the slight wind. The strands whirled gently around her, fascinating him for just a heartbeat. He sensed she wouldn’t ask for help—women like her were used to being cared for—and with a doomed sigh he went to lift her down from the fender.

Michelle scowled down at the man who had briskly, efficiently detached her car at his service station, as if he’d like to be freed of her as well. He’d driven her to Silver and Nick’s country home with only the sound of the windshield wipers slashing and the child stirring restlessly between them. He’d torn open the door, leaped to the ground, and now he jerked open her door and waited for her.

Liam Tallchief was gorgeous, standing in the rain, his T-shirt plastered to his broad chest, his long legs spread wide and clad in loose carpenter pants, his worn biker’s boots braced on the paved driveway.

She eased J.T.’s head from her shoulder, and with a sigh, the child slept deeply. His raven hair and lashes an exact match to his father’s. The adorable child was one matter, his father another. She hadn’t liked Liam from the moment he’d opened his house door. He’d been too brooding, too silent, and his dark, fierce expression—those stormy gray eyes narrowing at her between his long, black glossy lashes…Or maybe it was the lock of his jaw, his set mouth that set her nerves humming.

“Coming?” he asked in a slow, deep voice with just the touch of insolence to set her off.

“If I find one dent—”

“Uh-huh. You’ll sue.”

“If I ran Dover’s human resources branch like you run your business—”

“Uh-huh. Does all that hair get wild and curly as sunlit witch’s silk when you get mad?”

Sunlit witch’s silk.
The romantic image knocked the air from her. She moved her lips, and nothing would come out. She blinked when he ordered, “Jump. I’ll catch you. That’s a whole lot easier than you falling into my arms.”

Michelle’s thoughts ran across her mind like a digital printout: she ran an office staff of twenty-five people; she organized conferences, testing and training programs, dealt with personnel problems and issued reports. An expert profiler, she drew an ungodly salary, and this service station hero was insinuating that she was a
klutz?
Taking a deep breath, Michelle prepared to tell him off.

His black hair gleamed with rain as he tilted his head
to one side, studying her. She tried with dignity to work her way out of the cab, her shoe slipped on the wet running board and she tumbled into his arms. “Uh!”

He held her tight against him, looking down at her through the heavy rain as though she were a prize he could carry off. The cool damp air quivered between them, and the strong shoulder she had grabbed as she fell flexed beneath her palm. Liam’s gray eyes slowly ran down her body, paused at the crevice of her breasts, nestled in her gray suit jacket, and he trembled, holding her tighter.

There in the slashing rain, he was like no other man she’d ever known—his skin gleaming damply, his cheekbones harsh and his jaw unrelenting. She dug her fingers deeper, wanting to keep this fierce man close, to study him, to feel that raw, stormy essence—

A real man,
she thought,
no pretense, just the thin veneer of civilization.
He could have been a warrior carrying off a bride as Tallchief had carried Una Fearghus—Michelle shivered and licked the raindrop from her lip, and his gray eyes seared her mouth. She sucked in air, catching the scent of rain and of man and a mystery that she had to unravel. Liam Tallchief’s expression darkened as the wind whipped her hair around her, a strand clinging to his cheek.

The fierce, elemental storm circling them seemed meek when compared to the electricity leaping between them as gray eyes locked with dark green—

“Michelle!” Silver’s voice startled her, breaking the spell, and Liam tensed. Then in the next moment he was running through the rain, carrying her to the Palladins’ front porch. He returned to the tow truck, extracted her two large designer suitcases from the back and ran through the rain, carrying them easily.

She had just finished hugging Silver and was preparing to tell him off, when he grinned and knocked away her breath. “She’s mad as a wet hen,” he said to Silver, and reached to stroke away a strand of hair from Michelle’s cheek.

Then he frowned briefly, quickly turning and hurrying back to his sleeping son…and leaving her heart pounding wildly, inexplicably.

“Okay, let’s have it. You usually handle unexpected situations easily. You’re very capable. It isn’t the car breaking down, is it? It’s something to do with Liam Tallchief,” Silver said as Michelle stalked the length of the guest room, dressed in black satin pajamas. Nick and Silver’s three-month-old daughter, Jasmine, was asleep in her crib, and Nick was washing the dishes and settling the house. A basket of diapers sat on Michelle’s bed, waiting for Silver to fold them.

“Liam Tallchief is rude, brooding, evil and despicable. He’s overbearing, too macho, and when he does manage to talk, he orders. I cannot stand arrogant men. More than likely he expects women to wait on him and fall at his feet, obeying his every whim.”

“Oh, is that all?” Silver asked with amusement and sprawled on the quilt, grinning, her head propped in her hand and looking ready for girl talk. A nursing mother, Silver’s body was ripe and curved and she was clearly in love with Nick, who adored her. A professional perfumer who once had white-blond hair, Silver’s hair was now gleaming black, fashioned into two long braids.

“I’m going to investigate him. I’ve handled enough personnel records to know that he’s hiding something. He’s wearing a big Hands Off sign.”

“Can’t help you much. He came here about six months
ago and leased that service station from George Myers. George’s wife wanted to travel in their senior years, and Liam drove that wrecker into town with J.T. sitting right next to him. One look at Liam and J.T. and you know they’re related to the Tallchiefs. The whole family is one to respect privacy and they are not asking questions. It’s enough for them that he’s here. When J.T. isn’t feeling well, Liam closes the station and stays with him. They seem so alone. Liam always finds some excuse to avoid coming to Tallchief House and has little to say to the family. We keep inviting him, and he keeps turning us down. Elspeth seems awfully quiet when his name comes up, and that usually means something is afoot that she doesn’t want to share. One thing is for certain—Liam is totally dedicated to J.T.”

Michelle folded her arms over her chest. “He refused to work on my car. He said I’d have to have it towed to the next town, to the dealer licensed to make repairs…. Why wouldn’t he want to visit a family as obviously loving and close as the Tallchiefs? Why wouldn’t he want J.T. to play with children his own age?”
Why did he hold her as if nothing could take her away, as if she were rightfully his?

Why did her body tremble against him? Why did she feel a fierce urge to claim him? The unexpected softness within her, the need to place her hand along his cheek and soothe him couldn’t be explained.

She was highly educated, a competent businesswoman with career goals. She didn’t function on basic instincts, rather filtering knowledge as she was trained to do. Liam Tallchief raised raw edges in her smoothly honed personality, and she didn’t like being aware of him as a man.

Who was he? Who was she?

Michelle ran her hands through her hair, smoothing it.
She sensed his need to grip her hair, to fill his fists with it.
Why?

She decided to blame her unsteady, stormy emotions on the night, on her mishap, on an overpriced car that hissed steam at her, on the long walk into town with a broken heel.

She ran her hands over her face. She’d been divorced for two years, and perhaps in her heart she was never really married. She didn’t have the natural urges to have children, but J.T. made her want to cuddle him.

“These small-town mechanics think they’re gods with special rights. He thinks he can push me around—well, he can’t. I’m going down to that station tomorrow and—”

“Liam Tallchief doesn’t seem like a man who likes being pushed,” Silver noted with a delighted grin. “He’s got to you, hasn’t he? You never could stand a good mystery…you always wanted everything in black-and-white and instantly. He’s got the patience to finish a crossword puzzle. You don’t.”