Icecapade (4 page)

“I am serious.”

He sounded serious, no lie. And yet…maybe it was that underlying mockery, as though Cuffe was enjoying a joke Noel wasn’t in on. Maybe it was Josh Lanyon

35

the glint in his dark eyes. Nothing so friendly as a twinkle, but too sharp and hungry to be mere professional interest. Noel remembered that glint from a long ago New Year’s party just for two.

“Do you usually spend it with family?”

Cuffe said harshly, “No.”

It was such a fierce and unexpected response that it caught Noel off balance. He didn’t know what to say. Somehow he had hurt Cuffe, and it was the last thing he intended.

His confusion must have showed because Cuffe said, correcting himself with a complete absence of emotion, “I used to. My parents were both killed in that Continental Airlines crash in Buffalo last February.” He lifted an impatient shoulder. “Only child.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah. Too bad. You could have used it in that book.”

Noel stood motionless, registering that. He deserved it, of course, but it still felt unfair.

Nothing he’d done, not a single word he’d written, had been intended to hurt Cuffe. He wanted to explain himself, make Cuffe understand, but this was about Cuffe’s feelings, not his. Cuffe was the important one here. It would be his first Christmas since his parents’ deaths and it was clearly not going to be an easy one. You couldn’t pay Noel to spend a holiday with his family—or even get in 36

Icecapade

touch with them—but he could still imagine how painful and lonely this holiday would be for a man like Cuffe, who obviously had been loved and knew how to love in return.

He went to Cuffe, subconsciously noting that Cuffe infinitesimally braced himself, and put his hand on the other man’s arm. “I’m sorry. Very sorry, Robert.” He wasn’t sure if he was still sympathizing over the loss of Robert’s family or apologizing for ever creating the Richard Cross character, but he was genuinely sorry.

Robert stared down at his hand. His gaze lifted, his eyes met Noel’s, so dark they almost looked black. Black and—for one startling instant—soft as the fur of something quite dangerous.

A strange, tense pause when Noel thought Robert might…say something? Do something? He wasn’t sure. He held his breath, waiting.

But Robert changed his mind—if, in fact, he’d had anything in mind—and Noel realized that he was still standing there clutching his arm.

Probably a bit weird. He let go and took a step back.

“Think about it at least.” What was he asking Robert to think about? He wasn’t sure. He turned away. “I’ll be right back. I need to get the Christmas ornaments out of the stable.”

“The stable? How appropriate.”

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37

Robert’s drawl reflected none of the discomposure Noel felt. Noel laughed, mostly because he was unsure of what to do or say. There was something here he didn’t understand, undercurrents he was having trouble reading.

Robert was angry, even bitter perhaps, but there was definitely attraction.

Noel might not be an expert in relationships, but he was familiar with lust, and that’s what he read in the way Robert’s moody gaze continually sought his own, lingered on his own.

Maybe he didn’t want to feel it, but the connection was still there.

The recognition warmed Noel, excited him in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time. Maybe Robert Cuffe didn’t like him, maybe he didn’t want to believe he’d gone straight, maybe he did plan to arrest him and throw him in jail. Maybe.

None of that changed the fact he still wanted Noel.

Chapter Three

“I should have done this earlier in the week. It slipped my mind with the book launch.” Noel’s boots crunched on the snow as he led the way to the barn.

Robert, who was accompanying Noel to the stable—perhaps to keep him from jumping on one of his horses and galloping away—grunted noncommittally.

Maybe bringing up the book launch wasn’t such a great idea. Noel was curious, though. Had Robert read
Crawl Space
? It had only been out four days. Surely if he’d read
Crawl Space
he’d see that Noel was trying to make amends.

Unless Elise was right, and revealing to the world that Richard Cross AKA Robert Cuffe was gay had been the final straw. He winced inwardly at the thought.

“Are you—?”

“Am I what?” Robert’s gaze turned from the paddock where the puzzled, blanketed horses wandered, exploring their snow and whickering their bemusement to each other.

“Er…out.”

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39

“Out?” Robert’s brows drew together. “Oh,
out
.

I’m not marching in this year’s Gay Pride Parade, if that’s what you mean. On the other hand, I’m not marching in the St. Patrick’s Day parade either.”

“Are you Irish?”

“I am. On both sides.”

“Is it tough being gay in the FBI?”

“Officially? The FBI does not discriminate against a person's sexual orientation. The FBI welcomes and appreciates the contribution of its LGBT employees.”

“You sound like you’re quoting from a job application. What about unofficially?”

“Law enforcement is rough on personal lives.

Anybody’s personal life. So if you’ve got the kind of personal life that requires a lot of time and attention—”

“Do you? What I mean is, are you in a committed relationship?” Noel waited for the answer, aware that he was—once again—holding his breath.

“Not now.”

Noel let out a small, relieved sigh. “Me neither.”

“No.” Robert sounded pretty sure of that. How much checking up on Noel had he done?

“How hard
is
it on relationships? Your job, I mean. According to everything I’ve read—”

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Icecapade

“Probably not as hard as being a crook.”

Noel gave Robert a sideways look. “Ow.”

Robert gave him an equally twisted smile in return.

When they reached the barn Noel led the way inside, greeting Tommy Rankin, his stableman.

“Looks like Arapaho is showing some bruising on the sole of his rear left hoof,” Tommy informed him. “We’ll need to keep an eye on him with this snow and ice.”

Noel spoke to Tommy for a few minutes, conscious of Robert poking around the stable.

“I prefer to hide my ill-gotten gains in the Amazing Gains Treat dispensers,” Noel said, when he was finally able to join Robert in the tack room. The room smelled pleasantly of leather and liniment and Robert’s aftershave. “That’s a little stable yard joke,” he added when Robert made no comment.

Robert was studying the line of framed photos and trophy cups arranged along the bottom shelf of one of the cabinets. He straightened. “In fact, you prefer a Swiss bank account.”

Noel tried very hard not to show that struck home, saying casually, “Even if that were once true, I’m strictly a Bank of America customer these days.”

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Robert’s expression was sardonic. Surprisingly, he let it pass. “Why pintos?” He nodded at the photos.

“They’re not. These are American Paint horses.

Different bloodlines. Do you like horses?”

“I don’t know anything about them.”

Noel said philosophically, “As flaws go, it’s minor. We can get past that.”

He almost earned a laugh. Robert asked, “Did you grow up with horses?”

“Me?” Noel did laugh. “No.”

“You grew up in Arizona, right?”

Now where the hell had he managed to dig up that information? Noel said neutrally, “That’s right. We didn’t have horses. The boxes I need are in the hayloft.”

Robert followed him out of the tack room.

Noel would have preferred to do this without an audience. He’d have preferred not to do it at all, in fact, but he refused to give in to the doctors and therapists who had told him his best bet was to keep both feet firmly planted on the ground.

He picked up the long ladder, propped it against the edge of the loft, fixed his gaze on the old dart board on the wall, gripped the ladder tightly and began to climb.

It was worse knowing he had an audience.

When he was relaxed, focused, he could usually manage about four feet before the vertigo hit him, 42

Icecapade

but this morning, three rungs up, his stomach flopped over, sweat broke out across his shoulders and his head began to swim.

Noel gripped the sides of the ladder so hard his knuckles hurt. He kept his gaze fastened on the dart board and reminded himself the ladder was not really whirling out from under his feet.

Keeping his head very still, he managed another rung. He wasn’t even halfway up the ladder. The loft seemed miles away, the ladder might as well have been a stairway to the stars. He was never going to make it, and even if he did, no way could he get those boxes and climb down again. It had been a stupid idea to store the boxes up there. A decision driven by emotion rather than logic. A refusal to face facts.

“Something wrong?” Robert asked.

Noel didn’t dare look at him. He cleared his throat. “No. I don’t think the ornaments are up here.”

“How would you know? You can’t see

anything from there.”

“No. Only I…don’t remember putting them up here.” He was conscious of floorboards squeaking beneath Robert’s footsteps, aware of Robert coming to stand beneath the ladder.

Great. At least he’d have a cushion to fall on if his grip gave out.

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43

“What’s up there you don’t want me to know about?” Robert’s tone was suspicious again.

Noel made the mistake of turning his head to look down. All the logic in the world couldn’t defy the sensation that the ladder had turned a cartwheel. He instinctively moved to steady himself, but as he was already balanced, the sudden shifting of weight threw him off center.

The ladder slid sideways. He heard wood knocking wood, scraping as it slid.

He knew how to fall. He knew he wasn’t far off the ground. Despite the vertigo, he knew he was not really tumbling head over heels. He was dropping to the floor. Nothing to it. He’d fallen from far greater heights than this.

He let go and tried to relax his muscles.

A sickening moment of sailing through empty space—

Slam.

Solid, warm flesh. Hard arms locked around him. Noel’s feet were on the ground and he and Robert did a clumsy shuffle step across the rough floor boards.

“What was that about?” Robert asked.

It felt good to stand in the circle of Robert’s arms. It felt good to rest fleetingly against human support. Noel lifted his eyelashes. There it was again, that indefinable emotion in Robert’s eyes—

a flare of response in the dark gaze a few inches 44

Icecapade

from his own. Robert’s breath was warm on his face, his mouth close enough to kiss.

If Robert would only…

And it was there in Robert’s face. He wanted to. He was considering it.

Noel waited, barely breathing, watching Robert’s conflicted face from beneath his eyelashes. He didn’t want to seduce Robert again.

This time Robert had to make the move.

He was conscious of the quiet warmth of the stable, the sweet smells of hay and alfalfa, the more earthy scents of horse and human—

Conscious—
shit!
—of Tommy’s footsteps approaching and then quickly—but not quickly enough—retreating.

Robert’s hands dug into his arms and he was pushed away. “What was that supposed to be?”

Robert sounded slightly out of breath. Noel wasn’t sure if he was referring to the fall or the attempted kiss.

“If you don’t know, one of us has a problem.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Robert was already moving away, going to straighten the ladder which had wedged mid-fall behind a cross beam.

“Why don’t I have a look at what’s in this loft.”

“Be my guest.”

Robert planted the ladder against the shelf once more and scaled it quickly. Noel eyed him Josh Lanyon

45

critically. Not built for cat burglary, that was for sure, but he moved well. Powerfully, swiftly. He had a good sense of balance. Noel liked that in a man.

He was grinning at his own nonsense when Robert reached the loft and disappeared.

He reappeared with a large box marked Christmas. “Something funny?”

“Yeah, but the joke’s on me. You can go ahead and drop that box.”

“Drop it?”

“It’s light enough. And it’s well-packed.”

The box came hurtling down and Noel fielded it easily.

Robert went to get the next one. In all he dropped three cardboard boxes down to Noel.

They carried the large containers out of the barn and up the hillside. For the first time Noel really noticed Robert’s parked car. A sports sedan, not an FBI sedan. Noel had seen enough of those in the old days to recognize them a mile off.

Though possibly not at night.

He directed a narrow look at Robert. “Was that you following me last night?”

“Were you being followed last night?” Robert asked blandly.

“It was you.”

“The wicked flee when no man pursueth.”

Noel was sure now. “It was you.”

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Icecapade

“If it
was
me, I might have a thing or two to say to a lunatic who drives one hundred and thirty miles per hour under poor road conditions.”

“If you hadn’t startled the hell out of me, I wouldn’t have been speeding.”

“What happened to that famous icy nerve?”

Noel started to answer, but his attention was caught by an old-fashioned pickup with a holly wreath adorning its grill trundling down the road toward them.

“Now what?”

“For the middle of nowhere, you get a lot of visitors,” Robert observed, and Noel didn’t think it was his imagination that Robert’s voice echoed his own exasperation.

“Not usually. This is one of my neighbors.

Francis Rich.”

Noel carried the two boxes he held to the edge of the porch, setting them down as Francis pulled into the front yard in a great semi-circle, spraying snow.

The truck was still rolling to its stop as he jumped out and came running toward the porch.