Body Heat (Vintage Category Romance) (11 page)

Bending over to pick up the turkey, Darian stared at the limp neck of the bird.
Limp. That was just how he felt about right now. Lifeless. Blaire Kincaid had already drained the last bit of reserve he had. That and the fact that she somehow knew about Angelina and Nicky.

Nicky.
Poor Nicky. If only….

Darian snapped out of his trance.
Lifting the turkey by its feet, he watched the blood ooze out the fatal wound—the shot had nearly severed its head—dripping thick scarlet globules on the crisp white earth. As he walked toward the cabin, he wondered how it would feel to bleed dry, to die a slow agonizing death. Then it occurred to him—he’d been bleeding for the past four years, experiencing a slow agonizing death of another kind.

Chapt
er Six

Darian
burst through the door. Startled, Blaire jerked back from where she stood washing dishes, and turned. He took two steps toward her and thrust some gawd-awful dead thing her way. Without thinking, she curled her fingers around the scaly feet of a big damn bird.

“
Oh. My. God. What is this? A buzzard?” She was tempted to fling it back at him.

Darian shook his head.
“You wanted Thanksgiving? I give you turkey.” He stepped back, waving his hands away in a sweeping gesture.

Holding the bird as far away from her as physically possi
ble, she wrinkled her nose. “But it still has feathers and everything!” Her gaze lifted to Darian’s face. He was not amused.

“
Do you think the turkeys you buy in the store are bred featherless?”

“
No, it’s just that I didn’t think—”

“
Yeah, you didn’t think. Again.” He crouched next to the wood burner and checked the fire inside. After stoking it and adding two small logs, he stood. Blaire still held the bird. “Well, aren’t you going to do something with it?”

Alarmed, Blaire turned the bird around to look it all over
and then shot her gaze to him. “Its neck is broken.”

“
Where I shot it.”

“
It’s dripping blood?”

His face was set, all angles and hard edges.
“We all drip blood when we’ve been wounded, Pixie. Now, are we going to have a turkey dinner today, or what?”

Blaire didn
’t know what to think. Or do. He had stormed out of the cabin earlier with the look of death upon his face. She had been concerned about him after he’d gone, she was afraid he might hurt himself. Or…

Or, leave
me alone in this godforsaken place.

She raised one eyebrow
. “You didn’t have to take it out on the poor bird.”

Definitely taken aback, Blaire watched
Darian’s eyes widen. “What are you implying?”

She shrugged.
“You were mad at me, then you stormed out of here and took it out on the poor turkey. A random act of violence.”

“
Violence? Wait a minute. I’m
not
a violent man! I’m a hunter. I saw the bird. You said you’d cook dinner, so I shot it. I brought you turkey.”

“
Oh, so now it’s my fault?”

Darian huffed.
“I didn’t say that.”

“
Then why?”

He
shook his head and moved closer. “Look, I told you. I didn’t take my anger out on the bird. I kill my own food.”

“
But you didn’t intend to go out to kill the bird, did you? You stormed out of here because you were angry with me. It was happenstance.”

“
Yes, perhaps, but…”

He stopped talking as his gaze dropped to her lips.
Blaire swallowed. She didn’t want him looking at her lips. It made her tummy all warm inside and everything… “Then that makes it all the worse.” Flustered, she thrust the turkey back into his hands. “Go cook your own bird, you turkey killer.” Blaire feared she’d gone a tad too far.

“
Hell yes! I am a turkey killer! Among many other things, apparently.” He exhaled, hard. “Look, Blaire, I was in the woods, trying to come to grips with the cutting jabs you hurled at me before I left, and I saw the bird. I live off the land as much as I can. I don’t waste things and I don’t kill unnecessarily. We need food. Here it is. You talked about Thanksgiving. Here’s the turkey. Forgive me for being so considerate.”

Dropping the turkey to the floor with a thud, Darian stalked away.
He picked up his rifle, placed it in its usual place by the door, then hung up his coat, and turned to stand in the center of the room, arms crossed over his chest, watching her.

A
s if to say,
I’m not running away.

And Blaire watched him, her fists firmly placed on her own hips, her face taut, gaze focused.
Finally, after several long seconds, she looked to the limp turkey on the floor. Tiny droplets of blood were spattered around the bird’s head.

She
crouched beside the bird, picked up a wing and examined it. “I guess if you can go out and shoot it, the least I can do is cook it,” she mumbled. “So what do I do here, mountain man?”

Darian crossed
the room and knelt beside her. He lifted the wing that Blaire still held in her hand, their fingers touching. After several seconds, she covered his hand with hers. “Darian, I’m sorry. I was out of line earlier. I don’t know why I mentioned—”

Without a sound, Darian
took both her hands and lifted her to her feet. Standing in front of him, their hands still clasped, Blaire found herself staring at the row of dull eggshell buttons on his brown flannel shirt placket. She took a breath and let it out slowly. “I’m an idiot.”

He crooked a finger under her chin and lifted. The
corner of Darian’s mouth turned up slightly beneath the coarse whiskers of his mustache. “You’re not an idiot.”

“
I am.” She watched his face, every wrinkle around his eyes, every expression that dared form there. “And, and not just for the turkey thing. I shouldn’t have said… I mean, earlier… I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

“
About Angelina. N-Nicky.”

It wasn
’t lost on her how painful it was for him to say their names. His grimace made her heart ache. What
was
his story?

For several minutes, he simply stood there,
searching her face. “I want to tell you about them,” he began. “I do. All of it. But not now. Later. Right now I need to think. I’ve pushed everything so far away, for so long, I’m not sure I know where to start.”

He dropped her hands and
picked up the bird. “Besides, I’ve got a turkey to pluck. Let’s have dinner, then talk. That is, if you want to listen.”

Blaire nodded.
“I do.”

****

It took most of the morning to ready the turkey for the oven, all of the afternoon and into the evening to roast it, and until well after nightfall that their bellies were full of wild turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, cornbread, and canned green beans.

They
’d worked together, neither mentioning any event that had occurred between them prior to that moment, simply preparing their feast together, almost in harmony.

Darian faced Blaire across the table, her
strawberry blond head bathed in the warm glow of the kerosene lamp next to her. He’d stared at her in silence for quite some time. At first, she didn’t notice, as she finished her meal. Then, when things were too quiet, she lifted her eyes and met his. Her freckled nose reminded him of a spotted newborn fawn, fresh, new and untouched. Somehow, he thought of her that way. Unspoiled. He didn’t know why. She was just so damn beautiful.

Darian blinked and
realized he was smiling. She smiled back. That perfect bow mouth smiled back at him.

“
Good dinner,” she finally said.

He nodded.
“Good company.”

Blaire stopped chewing, her smile faded, their gazes held.
After swallowing the last bite, she lowered her fork to the table. She stood and picked up her plate. “Guess we better clean up now.” She went to the sink.

Darian followed.
She’d started pumping water like she’d done it every day for years, but he grasped her elbow and gently turned her toward him. “Leave it. We need to talk.”

After a second
’s hesitation, she answered. “I know. I’m just not sure about what I’m going to hear.”

****

Blaire had thought about it all afternoon. Since they had promised not to discuss any of it until after dinner, she hadn’t brought it up, but her mind hadn’t stopped wandering from time to time. There were too many questions. Why was he here? Where was Nicky and Angelina? What has Darian been running from for all these years? Why did he leave Vermont so young and never go back? What kind of a man
is
Darian MacGlenary, anyway? Did he have anything to offer her? And why, suddenly, did it matter so much?

She didn
’t know. But now, as this man took her shaking hands to lead her across the room to sit before the fire, she realized that the answers would all become apparent soon. Perhaps too soon. What if she didn’t really want to know the answers to all those questions?

The room was dark save for one lit lamp on the table where they were eating and the light from the fire.
Darian sat on the pallet of quilts he’d slept on the night before and pulled Blaire down beside him. For a while, she sat there, staring into the fire, feeling his gaze on her—then not being able to stand it any longer, she looked at him.

His large hand cradled her face, whisked back a few
stray hairs from near her eyes. Darian gathered her into his arms, against his ruggedly massive chest, and held her to him. She heard his contented sigh; felt his soft caresses on her back—and closed her eyes against the warmth she felt between them, his heart beating strong against hers.

She was feeling close to him. Dangerously close. Not just physically, but emotionally. And she needed, wanted it. Could she handle it?

Could he?

Then
, as if reading her mind, he released her and leaned away. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I just needed to hold you for a minute.”

“
Tell me, Darian,” she said softly.

H
e turned toward the fire. Blaire watched his profile as he worked out the words he wanted to say. The expressions racing across his face ran the gamut of emotion.

“
Have you ever seen anyone die?” he whispered, his gaze still fixed on the fire.

Blaire felt a jolt of panic grip her.
“No.”

He waited for a length of time
and then continued, his voice low and broken. “Have you ever held someone in your hands, felt the breath fade out of them, their life slip away—knowing that there was nothing you could do about it? Knowing that you were responsible for it?”

Oh no.
Blaire watched his face freeze hard as he stared into the fire.

He looked hard at her.
“Have you?” he urged.

Blaire shook her head.
“No.”

He swallowed
and then looked back to the fire. “Well, I have.”

Blaire grasped his hand, gently weaving her fingers with his.
“Talk to me.”

He turned on her then, his face contorted in pain.
Ripping his hand from her grasp, he lunged away and stood. “You don’t want to know about it.”

“
That’s where you’re wrong. I do.” She stood and faced him.

He stared at her for a moment longer
and then broke away, raking his fingers through his hair. He paced back and forth in front of the fireplace.

“
You’re running away again, Darian. Or you’re fighting the urge, at least.”

He stopped directly in front of her.
“I’m not.”

She grasped his arm.
“You are.” Her voice was calm. “Darian, you are.” Her free hand grasped his other arm. His muscles grew tense and she sensed his urgency at bolting away from her. But he didn’t. He fought it—and he didn’t. “Sit down. Tell me about it.”

He collapsed,
crumpled to the floor at Blaire’s feet, his head falling into his hands. Blaire followed, and sat before him.

“
Tell me,” she repeated softly, laying her hands over his on each side of his face.

He took a deep breath.
His face rose. The pain he was feeling was evident.

“
I killed my son.”

Ohmigod.
She stopped breathing. Knew she had because it was like someone punched her in the stomach and all the breath in her had exited in a painful force, leaving her lungs burning. His eyes played over her face and Blaire knew he could see the horror there. Stunned, she forced herself to speak, her voice soft, but quivery. “What do you mean, you killed your son?”