Keeping Watch: Heart of the Night\Accidental Bodyguard (37 page)

“Thank you, Mr. Beck. I—”

No more nice words. She’d said she didn’t want them. “For what’s left of the night, you can sleep on the couch. I’ll take care of your car once it’s daylight and the rain lets up. Then you’re out of here. Understood?”

“Yes—”

He strode past her to his bedroom, forgoing decent hospitality and ignoring the way she flinched when his elbow brushed her shoulder. He closed the door behind him, leaving her standing in his kitchen, drenched and alone.

He vaguely expected her to fade away into mousy acceptance of his unsociable behavior and his soul-deep need for privacy and peace. He expected her to curl up quietly and stay out of his way and stay off his conscience.

He didn’t expect her to come knocking at his bedroom door.

When he pulled the door open, she was there. Right there. Close enough to touch. Close enough to smell. Close enough to see the black pupils of her eyes dilate with aroused emotions.

“What?” he grumbled, catching a whiff of the pine-tinged rain that saturated her clothes and hair.

She tilted her gaze but not her face, giving her wholesome features an innocently seductive expression. Jonas curled his hand into a fist at his side and channeled what tension he could there. He was noticing way too much about this woman.

But, of course, there was no mutual fascination revealed in her matter-of-fact question. “Do you have a blanket? I’m soaked to the skin. I can’t afford to get sick right now, so I want to take off my clothes and let them dry.”

Take off her clothes?

A naked woman?

Jonas’s body lurched in response. He’d never had a woman invade his mountain sanctuary before. He never had much to do with anything sweet and innocent. He wasn’t about to have someone soft and shapely—and naked!—running around his cabin.

There were some temptations a man just didn’t have to endure.

Uh-uh. Not under his roof.

“Here.” He pulled the blanket off his bed and snatched a denim shirt from the closet. He tossed both at her. She caught them against her chest. “Go to sleep.”

He heard her say “Thank you” as he shut the door on her. He was stalking toward his bed when he heard an even softer “Good night.”

F
AITH STRIPPED
in the darkness of what she supposed was the living room, since it had a sofa and a rug. No coffee table, no bookshelf, no TV. At the back of the long front room was a table and a chair—one chair—next to a wood-burning stove, a fridge and a sink that passed for Jonas Beck’s kitchen.

There wasn’t a photo or painting on any wall, no plants of any type or condition in sight. The only indication that showed the cabin was actually lived in was the stack of library books on the floor beside the sofa—histories mostly—the Punic Wars, the Reformation of England, the Underground Railroad, a travel guide to Alaska and an autobiography about a woman who’d survived child abuse. Odd selections. But then her host was an odd man.

She hadn’t been able to see around him to judge the decor of his bedroom, and find out if it looked any more welcoming. Even in the bathroom she’d discovered nothing but a single brown towel to soften the stark lines of cedar paneling and white tile.

In the harsh grandeur of the Teton Mountains, he lived a spartan existence. She could guess he wasn’t a man who sought out or appreciated company. He spent time with books instead of people. His home and his temperament both attested to that.

And yet he’d helped her.

At first glance she’d been terrified when he opened his door. In the sudden flash of lightning she’d seen a movie monster come to life. A creature that was half man, half beast. The Terminator. Mr. Hyde. Frankenstein. All rolled into one.

But even a handsome man would have spooked her, given her circumstances. She’d been running from men she didn’t trust. She’d lived in terror all day long. She’d imagined a portly sheriff and his good-ol’-boy deputy were monsters, too.

That horrible scar that bisected Jonas Beck’s face wasn’t as long and savage as she’d first imagined. But it was unluckily placed, across the line of his brow and prominent bridge of his nose, and up into his hairline. She wondered what sort of injury he’d suffered to leave such a cruel mark.

And, Lord, he was big. Well over six feet tall, probably closer to seven. He was built like those huge professional wrestlers she saw on TV. And from what she could tell, his bulk was all muscle.

Just to look at him, she imagined he’d led a harsh, difficult life. It told in the grim set of his mouth and the deep, growly voice that boomed inside that grizzly-size chest. Everything about him was big and hard and harsh.

Except for those strangely fascinating eyes. They’d seemed cold and soulless when she’d first glimpsed his craggy face. But just now their glacial surface had melted with an onslaught of emotion. Maybe it was only anger and annoyance. But he felt things. Felt them deeply. Even if he didn’t want to.

And even if he didn’t want to take her in, he had. So, for whatever reason he had opened up his home, sparse and uninviting as it was, she was grateful.

She slipped into the soft, faded denim shirt he’d given her and buttoned it up to her neck. The tails hit her above the knee, and she rolled the sleeves three times just to get them past her fingertips. It was a vivid reminder of how much bigger he was than she, how much stronger. More man than she had ever seen before in real life. Miles and miles of sculpted chest, sprinkled with earth-brown hair and dotted with streaks of silvery snow just like the salt-and-pepper hair that crowned his head. Jonas Beck was a force of nature, like the storm or the mountain itself.

It seemed only fitting that a man like that should finally come to her aid and—temporarily, at least—stop the madness that pursued her.

Faith draped her clothes over the shower rod in the bathroom, then settled onto the boxy, antique gold sofa. She pulled Dr. Rutherford’s handkerchief from her purse and checked to be sure the disk was intact. Then she carefully rewrapped it, inhaling the fading reassurance of Dr. Rutherford’s spicy scent.

There were tears in her eyes as she stretched out beneath the scratchy, government-issue wool blanket. But she was warm and she was dry. And she was too exhausted to decide whether or not she trusted her misanthropic host.

Faith slept. Deep and hard. Her dreams were filled with visions of faceless stalkers with hands that tore at her and snatched away her memories and hopes. She ran from huge, wicked knives that cut her unmercilessly, that sliced out her heart. She ran and ran until her legs gave out. And then she was falling. Spinning helplessly out of control, down into the stormy rapids of a bloodred stream.

Before she crashed against the rocks, a giant, blue-eyed bear caught her in his jaws and pulled her free. His massive paws held back the flood of crimson as he carried her to shore.

But was he taking her to safety? Or was she a tender morsel about to be gobbled up?

W
HAT THE HELL
?

Was that coffee? Jonas pushed the pillow off his face and crinkled his nose, testing the air once more. The fragrant, homey scent reminded him of one of the earliest memories of his childhood. Before…

“Ah, hell.” He shot up in bed, scratched at the stubbly beard growth on his jaw and neck, and cursed the morning. He knew enough about the harsh realities of life to hate them.

This was the worst time of day. A time when soldiers woke up to surprise attacks. A time when the creeps and cheats and villains of the night scuttled away to hide, lying in wait for the next sunset and their next innocent victim. Morning was an unsettling time when he never knew what to expect from the day. Peace or violence? Success or failure? Life or death?

For him it had never been about the mouthwatering smells of food cooking and coffee brewing. Not in his house.

He pushed aside the cotton sheet that pooled at the waistband of his black boxers and swung his feet to the icy wood floor. It might be the end of summer, but at this altitude, mornings were still downright cold.

He pulled on his jeans and scrounged through his dresser for a clean pair of socks. If he didn’t have company, he’d have skipped the white T-shirt he shrugged over his arms and torso. He strapped on his watch. It was only 7:00 a.m. What was she doing out there, anyway? Humming? Singing?

He’d have to put a stop to that right now. His scruffy morning glower ought to do the trick.

She saw him as soon as he opened the door. “Good morning.”

She was pouring herself some coffee at the stove. She set down the mug and started puttering around the kitchen area with an efficiency that hurt his sensibilities. Jonas could only take up space and stare. God, she was bright and cheery. Sunny in looks and disposition. The hair that had been too wet to identify in color or style last night now fell in soft tawny waves across her forehead, while golden wisps of it brushed the apples of her cheeks, the straight line of her jaw and the nape of her neck.

Could he feel any more beastly compared to her fresh, fair-haired beauty? He’d never had to deal with company in his home before, much less perky, pretty, female company.

“I made breakfast.” When she pulled out the chair at the table and indicated he sit, he noticed she’d set a place with matching silverware and a folded paper towel for a napkin. What the hell was she trying to pull with this domestic crap? He’d taken her in, hadn’t he? He’d promised to get her car running again. What more did she want from him?

Jonas slowly eased himself into the chair, keeping a guarded eye on his houseguest. She still wore the shirt he’d loaned her last night. The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and the tails were tied at her waist, revealing a stretch of smooth skin and the indentation of her belly button as she reached for the oven mitts on top of the fridge.

The chair legs scraped across the floor as he angled himself away from her Suzy-Homemaker-goes-to-camp impersonation. He shouldn’t notice things like that about her. And he refused to acknowledge his vivid response to a little female flesh. His brain and mood might be frustrated, but his body wasn’t too used up to resist the sexual call of an attractive woman. And that was wrong. It was pointless. She’d leave. No. He’d send her away. He had to.

Faith Monroe just didn’t seem to have grasped that concept yet.

Jonas glared while she carried the plate to the stove and filled it. Then she poured him a mug of coffee and brought everything over to the table. “It took me a while to figure out how to fire up the woodstove. But then I realized it’s a lot like the one my grandma had near Carthage. That’s in southwest Missouri. Down in the Ozarks. That was before she moved in with Uncle Wes and me up near Saint Jo. That was after my folks died. Car crash. Uncle Wes and Gran raised me.”

He watched her lips move, baffled by how she could have so much energy and make so much noise this early in the morning. “Do you always talk this much?”

His broody silence finally registered. That soft, crooked mouth snapped shut and the sunshine faded from her face. She paused a good foot from the table, forcing herself to lean forward at an awkward angle to set the mug down. Then she quickly backed away to the sink, as if realizing too late that she’d climbed right into the cage with the hungry bear. “I wanted to thank you for helping me last night. I didn’t have anywhere else to turn.”

“You could have turned to the sheriff. Most folks would have.”

“Sheriff Prince doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would listen to a different opinion once he makes up his mind about someone.”

“He’s not.”

Curious. Last night she’d said Prince wouldn’t let her explain her side of the story. He wondered what that story was and what was so unbelievable about it? Had she done something that made her afraid of being caught? Or had it been done to her? How long had she been running from the law?

And how desperate did a woman have to be before she decided
he
was the safest option?

“I’m sorry that I made myself at home.” She turned her back on him, running soap and water in the sink and setting the skillet in to soak. “I know you said you wanted to fix my car and send me on my way. I didn’t realize you meant at first light. I’m sorry for delaying you.”

“Quit apologizing.”

“You’ve done nothing but help me. I’m taking advantage—”

“Shut up.”

A beat of silence passed.

“Excuse me?” Her spine stiffened before she turned, and there was reckless hell to pay brimming in her eyes. “I know I’m an inconvenience, Mr. Beck, but there’s no call to be rude.”

“I wasn’t—” Jonas squeezed his hands into fists and shook them beneath the table. He didn’t know which ticked him off quicker—that insulting, poor-me string of apologies, or her apparent ability to function in both perky and self-righteous modes so early in the morning. “I know that wasn’t polite. But you said you didn’t want nice, so I was just being myself.” He breathed in deeply, collecting himself, digging up what he could remember of civil behavior. “I don’t know what you have to deal with, lady, and a lot of me doesn’t care. I just…I need quiet in the morning.”

“Okay.” Her face squinched into a cautious, contrite expression. “Do you take milk or sugar in your coffee?”

He glared.

“Sorry. No talking.” She pantomimed zipping her mouth shut, but it didn’t work. “I’ll just leave you to eat your breakfast and go back out on the porch. You had a beautiful sunrise this morning.”

This woman was full of surprises. “You were up to see the sunrise?”

Her gaze drifted to some place far away. “I didn’t sleep all that well. I have a lot on my mind.”

Welcome to the club.

But Jonas didn’t comment out loud. He picked up his fork and debated as to where to start tackling the mound of food she’d piled onto his plate.

Obeying his request for silence, she dried her hands, picked up her coffee and headed toward the front door. His alert eye couldn’t help but notice how the baggy sea of his shirt tied above her waist emphasized the hug of her jeans across her firm, round backside. But the peace and the view were too good to last. At the door she turned, her expression sheepishly apologetic. “I ate two eggs and two slices of bacon and a piece of toast.”