Shameless (10 page)

“Are you here with anybody?”

“I'm on my own.”

“Where are you parked? Do you want to follow me?”

She recalled her harrowing trip into town trying to stay on the opposite side of the road from what she was used to, and said, “I'd rather ride with you.”

“Fine. Come on.”

When they reached his Dodge Ram, which was parked a little farther down the street, he opened the door so she could step up into it. Before he shut the door, he handed the owl to her and said, “Do you mind holding him? He'll do better if he's kept warm.”

As Pippa cradled the tiny bird, it dawned on her that in a few months she would be holding her own child in her arms. Assuming her father didn't wear her down and convince her to give it away to a loving family. Pippa bit her lower lip. Surely she had more willpower than that.

She wondered if it might be possible to go live with her mother. She imagined a scene where she introduced herself in one breath and admitted she was pregnant and unmarried and needed a place to stay in the next. Tears rose in her eyes, and she turned away from Devon as she blinked them back. Waiting wasn't going to solve anything. She'd just end up greeting her mother for the first time unwed, homeless, and with a newborn baby in her arms.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Pippa glanced around and saw they were passing the elk refuge outside of town. She wished she were as free to roam as they were. But she was as bogged down by her circumstances as a calf in a mudhole. Since she wasn't ready to reveal her pregnancy to Devon, she said, “My father admitted to me that my mother is still alive, and that she's living in Texas.”

“Wow! That's…Wow! Are you going to call her? Maybe go see her?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. She doesn't know I exist. Her parents told her I died at birth.”

Devon raised a brow in astonishment. “And no one ever told her the truth?”

“My dad never did. I don't suppose her parents did, either, since they were the ones who lied to her in the first place.”

Pippa noticed they'd turned off the state road onto what must once have been a wagon trail bounded on both sides by thick forest. “It looks like you live off the beaten path.”

He grinned. “Yep. We have another half hour or so to go to get to my cabin.” He hesitated, then said, “I have to admit I was surprised to see you in town.”

She sighed. “The Brats aren't the only ones making my life difficult. When I got home from our picnic my little brother Nathan was missing, and the police were there helping to search for him.” She saw Devon's alarm and interjected, “We found him and he was fine. But it's my job to watch him, and my dad wasn't too happy with me for delegating the responsibility to Leah. We argued about that…and other things.”

“So you didn't just come into town for breakfast without the Brats.”

She shook her head, feeling her throat tightening again, feeling the crushing weight in her chest that made it hard to breathe. “I needed to get away. From Daddy. From the Brats. From…everything.”

“Then I'm glad I ran into you. You're welcome to hang out at my place for as long as you like.”

Pippa caught her lower lip in her teeth. There it was in front of her. A bolt-hole for a haunted animal on its last legs, so exhausted it can barely draw breath. Pippa grabbed at the chance to escape with her life. “Do you have room for me?”

He looked startled for a second, then said, “You mean somewhere for you to sleep overnight?”

She nodded, realizing that she'd misconstrued his offer, but desperate enough that she was willing to accept a bed on the floor if that was all he had. “Anything would do. A pallet on the floor is fine.”

He raised a brow at that, and Pippa realized she had to do a better job of hiding her anxiety. She didn't want him asking questions she wasn't yet willing to answer.

“It's no trouble,” he said. “I have a second bedroom. I'm just a little…I mean, after what happened at the pond, I'm surprised you asked.”

Pippa flushed and shot him a look from beneath lowered lashes. She was the one who'd said she couldn't be his friend anymore. Did she owe him an explanation? She lifted her gaze to meet his and said, “There's a lot going on I can't tell you about. It would mean a lot to me if I could stay with you for a little while.”

He shrugged as though it were no big deal, and said, “My house is your house.”

Pippa tried to smile in thanks but couldn't manage it. What had she just done? Was she really going to stay with Devon and not go home? Why not? As she'd told her father, she was a grown woman. She could make her own decisions. Right now, space from her father and her aunts was something she needed as much as she needed air to breathe. She felt a fleeting remorse for leaving Nathan on his own, but there was no help for it.

She considered calling to let her father know what she was doing and where she would be staying but decided against it. Knowing how protective he was, and judging by his behavior when she'd taken off with Tim, she was pretty sure he'd insist she come home. She didn't want to have to fight him. She needed time and distance to figure out what to do about her baby. About her mother. About her life.

She'd left the keys in her father's truck, and he could easily find it in town. She'd text him tomorrow and tell him that she was fine and that she'd be in touch when she was ready to come home—if and when that time came.

Pippa felt a niggling sense of unease but tamped it down. She needed the space to breathe freely again. And she was going to do whatever was necessary to get it.

P
IPPA ISSUED AN
“Aaah!” of appreciation when she saw Devon's home for the first time. She hadn't expected his cabin in the mountains to look so rustic. The huge logs blended into the surrounding forest of pines and budding aspens and the pitched roof created a cozy porch across the entire front of the house. Scattered patches of snow surrounding the cabin were interspersed with sunlit patches of green growth.

“What a wonderful porch,” she said.

“What a
necessary
porch,” he replied as he took the owl-in-a-blanket from her. In response to her questioning look he explained, “That's the only way to keep the snow from blocking the front door in the winter.”

Wulf came loping around the corner of the house and ran straight to Pippa to be petted.

“Hey,” Devon said. “What about me?”

The wolf put his paws on Devon's shoulders and immediately stuck his nose into the blanket in his hands. Devon quickly pressed the blanket against his chest to protect the baby owl. “This is
not
food!”

Wulf dropped to all fours and headed up the steps toward the front door, where he sat and waited to be let inside.

“I guess he must be hungry,” Pippa said with a laugh.

“I keep him well fed so he doesn't turn the local cattle into lunch.”

Pippa gestured toward the baskets filled with spring flowers that hung on the front of chest-high pine stumps. The stumps also provided a base for ornamental lamps on either side of the steps. “All of this is lovely.”

“And also necessary,” he said as he headed up the steps before her, cradling the owl. “It's pitch black out here at night.”

The door wasn't locked, and he opened it and gestured her inside. “Welcome to my home.”

Pippa shivered as her left breast accidentally brushed Devon's arm when Wulf crowded her as she entered the house. She took three steps inside, then turned in a circle that ended with her facing Devon, who stood just inside the door, which he'd closed behind him.

She smiled. “Your home looks like something from another century.”

“I made most of the furniture myself,” he admitted. “The buffalo hide I picked up from an estate sale, and I bought the Navajo rug over the fireplace at an art festival in town.”

She crossed to a painting on the wall and studied it. She glanced back at him over her shoulder and asked, “Local art gallery?”

“Good guess, but no.” He crossed to an empty cage on the kitchen floor, put the baby owl—blanket and all—inside, and turned on a light above the cage intended to keep whatever was inside warm. Then he took off his coat and hung it on the back of one of the two stools at the cut-stone counter that separated the living room from the kitchen. He immediately began pulling out pots and pans.

“Can I help?” she asked.

He gestured with his chin toward one of the bar stools and said, “Make yourself comfortable. I've got this.”

She arranged her coat on the back of the second stool and sat down. “So where did that lovely painting come from?”

“My brother Brian.”

“It was a gift?”

“He's the artist.”

Pippa swiveled the stool around to look at the exquisite painting again. “Brian the
firefighter
?”

Devon chuckled. “You sound surprised.”

She swiveled the chair back around to face him. “I am.”

“How do you like your eggs?” he asked.

“Scrambled.”

“Bacon? Raisin toast?”

“Yes, please.”

He spread a half dozen slices of bacon on a flat skillet and began cracking eggs into a bowl. He dropped four pieces of raisin toast in a toaster and shoved down the lever. Once he had their breakfast started, he began preparing what turned out to be a bowl of food for Wulf, who was investigating the owl with his nose. Pippa was interested to see that the bowl contained mostly raw meat, which finally diverted Wulf's attention from the injured bird.

Devon set down the bowl and continued, “Firefighters have a lot of spare time on their hands at the station. Some of them work out. Some learn to be better cooks. Some read a lot of books. Brian spends his time painting.”

She left the stool to take a closer look at the painting of a cowboy in a yellow slicker on horseback, riding along a creek with a single Black Angus cow in the foreground. She studied the cowboy's evocative face. He looked lonely and alone. “Your brother's a good artist.”

“Better than just
good,
I think,” Devon said. “But Brian refuses to show his art. He gives his paintings away to friends, but only if they promise not to reveal the artist.”

“You Flynns are full of surprises,” she said with a rueful smile. The smell of frying bacon filled the cabin and made it seem even more homey. Pippa's stomach growled as she studied the delicate spindles on the homemade rocker.

“Wait until you see the painting Brian did of your aunt Taylor,” Devon said. “Now,
that's
a masterpiece!”

“How did he paint her?” she asked, sinking into the rocker and rocking a few times, making the hardwood floor creak.

“Stark naked.”

She stopped rocking. “Uh-oh. That doesn't sound good.” The toast had come up, and she watched him butter it.

“Can I get you something to drink? Orange juice? Milk? Coffee?”

“Milk, please.”

He filled a glass of milk for her and poured himself a glass of orange juice. She realized he'd set two places for them at the breakfast bar, including plates, silverware, and napkins.

“Actually,” he continued, “what Brian painted was a naked fairy reclining in a forest glade surrounded by wild animals. It looked a lot like an illustration for a children's book—except for the nudity. The fairy just happened to have Taylor's face, and I suppose what Brian imagined Taylor's naked body might look like. It certainly had Taylor's generous curves. Then he donated the painting to one of the charities in town for their silent auction.”

“Oh, that's brilliant, in a terrible sort of way.”

“Breakfast is served,” he said.

She realized he'd retrieved the plates and loaded them with food before returning them to the counter. She settled back on her bar stool and surveyed the huge breakfast. “This looks great. I'm not sure I can eat it all.”

He grinned. “Wulf will take care of the leftovers.”

As he left the kitchen and joined her at the bar she asked, “What did Taylor do when she saw Brian's painting of her?”

“As you can imagine, she wasn't real happy when she found out about it. Especially since the painting wasn't signed and nobody knew who the artist was. She tried to buy the thing, but someone kept outbidding her, and she lost it.” He picked up a slice of bacon, which quickly disappeared, along with a couple of forkfuls of eggs.

“Did she ever find out who ended up with it?”

He laughed. “Brian bought it, of course.”

“And she never found out he was the culprit?”

“I didn't say that.” He ate a triangle of toast in three bites. “Taylor's pretty resourceful. She offered someone at the charity a big donation if they'd spill the beans. They did. Not just that Brian was the artist, but that he'd bought the painting to keep for himself. Ever since, she and Brian have been scratching and clawing at each other like two bobcats in a gunnysack.”

Pippa smiled. “It's hard to think of my aunt as a victim after all the trouble she's caused me and my father since we arrived.”

“You must admit King played a pretty dirty trick on your aunts, giving away Kingdom Come to a son who'd disappeared for twenty years without a word.”

She drank a few swallows of milk before setting the glass down. “So why not be mad at King instead of my father and me?”

Devon shrugged. “Maybe they hope your dad will pick up and leave. From what I've heard, he needs to stay at Kingdom Come for an entire year before it's his. That gives the Brats a lot of time to make Matt's life hell and hope he heads for the hills.”

“They don't know my father. He isn't going anywhere.”

He lifted a skeptical brow. “Maybe not, but I'm afraid your behavior today is only going to encourage them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Haven't you just run away? They're going to think that whatever they're doing is working.”

She almost blurted out the truth about the biggest reason she'd left the ranch, but the words got caught in her throat. She swallowed hard and said, “There are things going on between me and my dad that have nothing to do with his coming here to live.”

A silence fell between them, and she knew Devon was waiting for her to elaborate. She stared down at her plate and realized she'd eaten every bite of the enormous plate of food he'd put in front of her. She looked at his plate and saw it was empty as well. “Since you made breakfast, I should do the dishes.”

“The dishes will be fine in the sink,” he said, jumping up and stealing her plate and silverware. “I'll stack them in the dishwasher later.” The dishes landed in the sink with a clatter. He turned back to her and said, “I want to introduce you to Satan.”

“Where are you keeping him?”

“In the barn. Shall we go?”

He helped her into her coat, then put his own on as Pippa followed him out the door. Wulf was on her heels, but Devon said, “Wulf, stay.”

He sat down but yelped at being left behind.

“He wants to come,” Pippa said, glancing back at the wolf.

Devon firmly shut the door. “I keep my menagerie of wounded animals in the barn—which includes a fawn right now. Wulf would just as soon eat her as look at her.”

“I see,” Pippa said with a laugh.

When they got to the barn, he led her past several stalls containing horses that thrust their heads out to be petted. Pippa greeted each one—with a pat on the jaw, by scratching behind the ears, by soothing a silken nose—and then reached the last stall, where a coal-black horse was backed up in the corner facing out, every powerful muscle tense, nostrils flared, his ears laid back flat against his head.

When Pippa laid a hand on the stall door, Satan raced at her with a shrieking cry of challenge, teeth bared. If she hadn't stepped back she would have lost her fingers when he snapped at her. Once she was at a safe distance, Satan backed up again into the corner, ready to attack if she tried to come near again.

Pippa stayed where she was, just out of reach of the stallion's teeth, and studied the beautiful animal. Which was when she noticed the scars on his chest. And on his neck. And on his flanks.

“He was beaten!” she said, outraged on the animal's behalf.

“Yes, he was. Repeatedly.”

Pippa heard the anger in Devon's voice and asked, “Did you punish whoever did it?”

“I don't know who did it. By the time I got Satan he'd been through several good-hearted owners who wanted to help but couldn't do anything with him.” He met her gaze and said bitterly, “I'm one of them.” He took a step closer, and the stallion's black body quivered with fury—and with fear. Devon backed up, putting enough distance between himself and the wary animal so that Satan remained in place. “Do you think you can help?”

Pippa observed the stallion's defensive stance, feeling pity well up inside her. “I don't know. I've never seen a horse as damaged as this one.”

Devon's shoulders drooped.

She put a hand on his arm. “But I'm willing to try.”