Hawk's Haven (5 page)

Three solid wooden beams ran the length of the ceiling. Although rustic in its Colonial furnishings, the house had a homey comfort. She inhaled the lingering odor of fresh paint, and noted the stark white walls in the living room. Hawk must have spent the weekend painting in anticipation of her arrival. Why, she wondered? If he wanted to impress her he could try being polite instead.

Contrary to her reputation, she’d little experience with men. If she’d in some way offended him, she hadn’t done so intentionally. The way he needled her made her wonder if she’d been appointed his personal voodoo doll.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that she’d bigger problems than her arrogant, albeit sexy, landlord.  The reservation had no supermarket and by her closest guess, the nearest town was four miles away. So, how would she get food, and how long would the twenty dollars in her purse hold out?

She thought about her father and trembled. No. She wouldn't ask him for money. Once she finished her community service and found a paying job, things would get better.  

Who was she kidding? She was at a crossroads and she’d no idea which direction to go.

Her fairy tale life had been ripped from her with one phone call from the Las Vegas police. We are sorry to inform you that your mother has passed away. She told the officer there must be some mistake, that her mother had died years before. However, there had been no mistake. And with that truth, everything else in her life became a lie.

She pulled a pillow from the sofa and crushed it in her arms. All the sorrow she’d buried under a mask of anger erupted with a fury. After a muffled scream in the pillow, she indulged in the one selfish act she’d not permitted herself the last six months. She cried.

Chapter Four

The sound of a distant giggle invaded the barricade of sleep induced peace. Still aching with the dull residue of melancholy, Gillian clung tightly to the pillow. Like a child seeking her mother's embrace she pushed herself into the corner of the chair, but no comforting hug welcomed her.

"She doesn't look like one," whispered a tiny voice.

Realizing she was no longer alone, Gillian bolted upright in the chair. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and a blur of color came slowly into focus. Her initial fear gave way to relief as she noticed two impish faces peeking from behind the top of the sofa. Their dark eyes rounded wide with surprise.

"Who have we here?" Gillian asked her two frightened intruders.

The girls had to be sisters. Although a few inches apart in size, the resemblance between them was striking. The older girl cowered, but the younger one regained her composure and bravely marched closer.

"You don't look like one," the child announced.

Gillian gave her an encouraging smile. "Look like what?"

"A princess. Uncle Thomas said you're a princess. I heard him tell Mama."

She suppressed an angry retort. She would not stoop to the same level of name-calling in front of children. If Hawk Carter had nothing better to do with his time off than to spend an afternoon talking about her, then she should pity his life. "No. I'm not a princess. I'm Gillian Hughes."

"Told you, Amanda,” the younger sister said. "She doesn't even have nice clothes."

"Maya, that's not nice," Amanda scolded.

"Don't worry about it," Gillian said. She knew her old football jersey wasn't haute couture. "Let me get changed and I'll be right with you."

"We have to leave,” Amanda said. "Mama will have a fit if she finds us here."

"Not yet, scaredy-cat. We just got here.” Maya, the instigator, sat down and made herself at home. Amanda, looking as skittish as a kitten, perched herself on the edge of the sofa as if ready to make a hasty retreat.

Gillian darted into the bedroom and slipped into a white cotton sun dress. The unexpected visit of the children eased the hollow ache inside her and she was reluctant to let them escape too quickly. She rooted through her suitcase, looking for white sandals, but gave up when the search took more than three seconds. Barefoot, she returned to the living room.

"Does it work?" Maya asked, curiously eyeing her lap-top PC on the table. "Can it play games?"

"I suppose. But the picture isn't as good as my other computer. That's at the longhouse. Maybe one day you could come by and I'll show you how that one works."

Maya nodded. "Sure, but can I play this one now?"

"Maya," Amanda chided. "You're being rude."

"You both are,” a deep voice grumbled from the open door.  The two girls scrambled to their uncle. Hawk glared down at his nieces, but with a trace of humor that brought guilty grins to their small faces. "I'm sorry if the girls disturbed you."

"Not at all, Hawk," she said with enough saccharine sweetness to cause a toothache. "You can hardly blame them for wanting to see a real live princess."

* * * *

Hawk's smile froze on his face. The two pixies gazing up innocently at him had landed him in the dog house again.

"And she's not even a real princess," Maya complained.

"Your mother is looking for you two," Hawk warned and gave them a push outside. They waved to Gillian and ran off in the direction of home. "May I come in?"

"It's your house.” She yanked the pillow off the recliner and tossed it back on the sofa.

Although her welcome was less than enthusiastic, he stepped inside and closed the door. Many of her belongings were scattered around the room. She’d been in his house less than two hours, yet she seemed more at home than he’d ever felt.

A framed picture on the mantel above the fireplace stood out because he displayed none of his own. He lifted the photograph of Gillian and another young woman for closer inspection. "A friend?"

Her eyes narrowed angrily. "It's hard to imagine that anyone might actually like a spoiled princess like me.” She pulled the picture from his hand and returned it to the mantel.

"You know, calling someone Princess isn't necessarily an insult. My father used to call my sister that all the time."

She crossed her arms over her chest and let out a dramatic sigh. "I didn't realize you held paternalistic feelings for me. I'm sure Aaron will reward you for overseeing my welfare and best interests as lovingly and selflessly as he himself has done."

Behind the contempt, he heard a quiet anguish. Whatever her problems with her father
were
, they went way beyond the incident in court. "You accused me of having a mean streak? Well, you're lethal with that tongue of yours. Do you think we could call a truce?"

She arched one delicate eyebrow. "Are you sure you can trust a pale face to make a truce and not break it?"

"No," he said simply. "But in your case, I'll risk it."

After a long deliberating pause, she nodded. "Okay. A truce. It shouldn't be that hard to keep since we won't be seeing much of each other."

He bit his bottom lip to keep from grinning. Why spoil the day for her? She would learn soon enough that he planned to take a few weeks off around the time of the Strawberry Thanksgiving. Not that her presence had anything to do with canceling his original plans of a European vacation. He still had a lot of work to do on the house.

"Do you need anything before I leave?"

Gillian shook her head. She swayed and fell into the chair behind her.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"I felt dizzy for a second.” Her face had paled to a pasty white.

He stepped closer and placed his palm against her cheek. She tensed but his hand remained until he satisfied himself that her temperature was normal.

Her stomach rumbled and she winced.

"When was the last time you ate?" Hawk asked.

She lowered her head and muttered, "I don't remember."

"Give me a day.” He barked out his demand more harshly than he intended. Was she trying to make herself ill?  

"Yesterday."

Another wave of guilt washed over him. He’d just come from having lunch with his sister without giving a thought to the fact that there was no food in the house. He should have had the courtesy to ask her if she wanted to stop at the supermarket before dropping her off.

"I'll drive you to the store."

Chin held high, she pulled herself to her feet. "I can walk.”  

His gaze moved to her hand, clutching the arm of the chair for support. "You can't even stand up."

* * * *

Shopping with Hawk was an exercise in frustration. The handful of fresh strawberries he’d picked for her to eat in the car, gave her the strength to put back the items he kept tossing in her cart. Finally, she threatened to make a public scene if he didn't wait for her in the car.

Aunt June had once told her that a careful shopper could survive on ten dollars a week in hard times, and Gillian was forced to test that theory. A package of hot dogs could last her a week, as would the free box of whole wheat cereal included with any five dollar purchase. Canned vegetables were bland, but filling and cheap. Her only extravagance was fresh fruit for lunches. When she finished, she had two bags of food and change from her ten dollars.

Hawk refused to leave until she ate her dinner. Unable to physically remove him, she was forced to put up with his presence. And in truth, she didn't mind the company. She’d a long, lonely week ahead of her. When she sat at the table, he joined her.

"It's hardly the fine cuisine you're used to, is it?" he asked.

She looked over her dinner and shrugged. "What do you mean? I have tube-steak au gratin, pommes friet, gherkins marinated in light dill brine and for the palate, someth
ing in a dry white, vintage 2012
."

His brow raised in a dubious arch. "Forgive me, my working class roots. It looks like a cheese dog, potato chips, pickles and a glass of milk."

Gillian smiled. "What would you know, anyway? There's nothing classy about being rich. Class is a matter of attitude that has no basis in reality. How else would we manage to eat snails with a smile and not complain about the price?"

He laughed. A deep, rich laugh that held none of his usual mocking tone. "I never thought of it that way."

"No, because you choose to buy into the illusion; if it costs a lot it must be worth more.” She took a bite of her hot dog and relished the taste. "Ambrosia. I could live on this, and probably will."

Deep lines creased his forehead, and then as if he’d received some great revelation, the corners of his mouth turned down in a curious frown. "You don't have any money, do you?"

"What an absurd question.” Her words sounded forced even to her own ears.

"No it's not. Your father told me he controlled your trust fund until your twenty-fifth birthday. How much money do you have, Gillian?"

"None of your business.” The mention of her father killed her appetite. She shoved the plate away in disgust. "You can tell Aaron I'll survive just fine without his handouts."

"I won’t be discussing your finances with Aaron."

"You already have."

As she tried to get up, he clamped his large hand on her shoulder, keeping her firmly rooted in her seat. "Eat your dinner or I'm not leaving tonight."

Her scathing glare had no effect on him.  He inched the plate closer. Viciously, she snapped up a chip and bit down hard. He not only knew the reason for her sentencing, but the humiliating details of her personal life as well. A one sided version of her life.

* * * *

While Hawk made one last check of the house, Gillian cleaned her dishes and put them away. The sun began a flaming descent into the red and orange sky as she held the door openfor him to leave. He paused in front of her and took her hand, pressing something into her palm.

She glanced down and saw the folded hundred dollar bill in her clenched fingers. Indignation coursed through her. She raised her trembling hand and stuffed the bill in his shirt pocket. "Contrary to what you may think about me, I draw the line at accepting money from men."

Undisturbed, he removed the money and slid it down the front of her scoop neck dress. His fingers lingered longer than necessary along the lace edge of her bra, but she was too stunned to move. Shocked, not by his action, but her reaction.

Slow warmth began where his hand rested and spread like wild fire through her. She gasped for the air that had been zapped from her body. No man had ever taken her breath away.

She raised her head and met his gaze. His triumphant grin hit her like a bucket of ice water. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, and worse, he was gloating about it. She smacked his hand away. Before she could retrieve the money and throw it at him, he laced his fingers through hers.

* * * *

"If you try to give it back again I'll stick it down another piece of your dainty lingerie. You might not survive it the next time."