Wyoming Strong
She was grateful. She didn’t want to have to say so.
He chuckled softly as he got a glimpse of her expression when he opened the door of her car. “Accepting help from the enemy won’t cause you to break out in hives.”
“Want to bet?” she asked. But with a resigned sigh, she got into his car.
* * *
IT WAS A MERCEDES. She’d never driven one, but she knew a lot of people who did. They were almost indestructible, and they lasted forever.
She was curious about the windows. They looked odd. So did the construction of the doors.
He saw her curiosity. “Armor plating,” he said easily. “Bulletproof glass.”
She stared at him. “You have a lot of people using rocket launchers against you, do you?”
He just smiled.
She wondered about him. He spoke several impossible languages. He wasn’t well-known locally, although he’d lived in Jacobs County for several years. Of all the spare tidbits of information she’d been able to gather about him, he’d once worked for the elite FBI Hostage Rescue Unit. But apparently, he was involved in other activities since then, none of which were ever spoken about.
Gabriel found him amusing. He only said that Wolf had moved to Jacobsville because he was looking for a little peace and quiet. Nothing more.
“My brother knows you.”
“Yes.”
She glanced at him. He was looking at his cell phone, pushing through screens, apparently sending emails to someone.
She averted her eyes. He was probably talking to his date, maybe apologizing for keeping her waiting.
She wanted to tell him he could go, she’d wait for the wrecker alone; she wouldn’t mind. But she did mind. She was afraid of the dark, of men who might show up when she was helpless. She hated her own fear.
He glanced at her hands. She was worrying the purse again.
He put away the cell phone. “I don’t bite.”
She actually jumped. She swallowed. “Sorry.”
His eyes narrowed. He’d been deliberately provoking her for a long time, ever since she ran into him with her car and then accused him of causing the accident. She was aggressive in her way. But alone with him, she was afraid. Very much afraid. Such a beautiful woman, with so many hang-ups.
“Why are you so nervous?” he asked quietly.
She forced a smile. “I’m not nervous,” she said. She looked around for car lights.
His eyes were narrow, assessing. “There was a pileup just outside the downtown loop,” he told her. “That’s what I was checking for on my phone. The wrecker should be here shortly.”
She nodded. “Thanks,” she said jerkily.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Do you really think you’re that attractive?” he asked in a cool drawl.
Her shocked eyes went up to meet his. “Excuse me?”
There was something ice-cold in his look, in his manner. She was bringing back memories he hated, memories of another beautiful brunette, provocative, coy, manipulative. “You’re sitting there tied in knots. You look as if you expect me to leap on you.” His sensual lips pulled up into a cold smile. “You’d be lucky,” he added provocatively. “I’m very selective about women. You wouldn’t even make the first cut.”
She stopped twisting the purse. “Lucky me,” she said with an icy smile. “Because I wouldn’t have you on toast!”
His eyes flashed. He wanted to throw things. He couldn’t leave her here alone, but he wanted to. She made him furious.
She started to get out of the car.
He locked the door from a control panel. “You’re not going anywhere until the wrecker gets here.” He leaned toward her abruptly, without warning.
She shot back against the door, suddenly trembling. Her eyes were wide and frightened. Her body was like taut rope. She just looked at him, shivering.
He cursed under his breath.
She swallowed. Swallowed again. She couldn’t even look at him. She hated showing that weakness. Aggression always provoked it. She’d never dealt with her past. She couldn’t get over it, get through it.
Headlights came up from behind and slowed. “It’s the tow truck,” Sara said. “Please let me out,” she choked out.
He unlocked the door. She scrambled out and ran to the vehicle’s driver.
He got out, too, cursing himself for that look on her face. She’d done nothing to cause him to attack her, nothing except show fear. It wasn’t like him to attack women, to threaten them. He was disturbed by his own response to her.
“Thank you for staying with me,” she told Wolf in a hunted tone. “He’s going to drop me off at my apartment and take the car to the dealership,” she choked out, indicating the elderly driver. “Good night.”
She ran to the wrecker and climbed up into the passenger seat while the driver worked at securing her car.
Wolf was still standing beside his car when the tow truck left. Sara didn’t even turn her head.
* * *
GABRIEL WAS HOME for a few days. Sara went to Comanche Wells to cook for him.
He noticed her subdued attitude. “What’s wrong, honey?” he asked softly as they drank coffee at the kitchen table.
She grimaced. “I had a flat tire, coming home from Houston after the opera.”
“At night?” he asked, surprised. “Why did you drive? Why not take a limo?”
She bit her lower lip. “I’m trying to...grow up a little,” she said, managing a shaky smile. “Or I was.”
“I hate to think of you sitting in the dark waiting for a wrecker,” he said.
“Mr. Patterson saw me there and stopped. I sat in his car while the wrecker got to me.”
“Mr. Patterson?” he mused. “Wolf was in Houston, too?”
“Apparently, he likes opera, too, and there isn’t a company here right now,” she said through her teeth.
“I see.”
Her expression was tormented. “He...he didn’t even do anything. He just turned in his seat and leaned toward me. I...reacted like a crazy person,” she bit off. “Made him mad.”
“We’ve had this discussion before,” he began.
“I hate therapists,” she said hotly. “The last one said I wanted people to feel sorry for me, and I probably overreacted at what happened!”
“He what?” he burst out. “You never told me!”
“I was afraid you’d hit him and end up in jail,” she returned.
“I would have,” he said harshly.
She drew in a breath and sipped coffee. “Anyway, it wasn’t helping.” She closed her eyes. “I can’t get past it. I just can’t.”
“There are nice men in the world,” he pointed out. “Some even live right here in Jacobsville.”
Her smile was world-weary. “It wouldn’t matter.”
He knew what she’d gone through. He hadn’t known that the rape attempt wasn’t the first one, that their stepfather had spent months making suggestive comments, trying to touch her, trying to get her into bed long before he used force. That, combined with the court trial, had warped Sara in ways that made Gabriel despair for her future. What a hell of a thing to happen to a girl at the age of thirteen.
“You love children,” he said quietly. “You’re dooming yourself to a life all alone.”
“I have my entertainments.”
“You live in that virtual world,” he said irritably. “It’s no replacement for a social life.”
“I can’t cope with a social life,” she replied. “I have never been more sure of anything.” She got up and bent to kiss his forehead. “Leave me to my prudish pursuits. I’ll make you an apple pie.”
“Bribery.”
She laughed. “Bribery.”
* * *
GABRIEL WAS AT the feed store the next Friday when Wolf Patterson came in. He was scowling even before he saw Gabriel.
“Is she with you?” Wolf asked.
Gabriel knew who he meant at once. He shook his head.
“Is she crazy?” he asked. “Honest to God, I stayed with her in my car until the wrecker came, and she acted as if I was bent on assault!”
“I’m grateful for what you did,” Gabriel said, sidestepping the question. “She should have taken a limo to Houston. I’ll make sure she does next time.”
Wolf calmed down, but only a little. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his expensive jeans. “She ran into me with the car, you know. Then she blamed me for it. That started the whole thing. I hate aggressive women,” he added shortly.
“She tends to overreact,” Gabriel said noncommittally.
“I don’t even like brunettes,” he said curtly. His pale eyes flashed. “She’s not my type.”
“You’re certainly not hers,” the younger man pointed out with a grin.
“Who is?” Wolf asked. “One of those tofu-eating tree huggers?”
“Sara...doesn’t like men.”
Wolf raised an eyebrow. “She likes women?”
“No.”
Wolf’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not telling me anything.”
“That’s exactly right,” Gabriel replied. He pursed his lips. “But I’ll tell you this. If she ever showed any interest in you, I’d get her out of the country by the quickest means available.”
Wolf glared at him.
“You know what I mean,” Gabriel added quietly. “I wouldn’t wish you on any woman alive, much less my baby sister. You still haven’t dealt with your past, after all this time.”
Wolf’s teeth were clenched.
Gabriel put a hand on his shoulder. “Wolf, not all women are like Ysera,” he said softly.
Wolf jerked away from him.
Gabriel knew when he was licked. He smiled. “So, how’s the wargaming?”
It was a carrot, and Wolf bit. “New expansion coming out,” he said, and smiled. “I’m looking forward to it, now that I’ve got somebody to run dungeons with.”
“Your mysterious woman.” Gabriel chuckled.
“I assume she’s a woman,” he replied, shrugging. “People aren’t usually what they seem in these games. I was complimenting a guildie on his mature playing style, and he informed me that he was twelve years old.” He laughed. “You never know who you’re playing with.”
“Your woman could be a man. Or a child. Or a real woman.”
Wolf nodded. “I’m not looking for relationships in a video game,” he replied easily.
“Wise man.” Gabriel didn’t tell him what Sara did for amusement. It really wouldn’t do to sell her out to the enemy. He hesitated and glanced toward the street. “There’s a rumor going around.”
Wolf turned his head. “What rumor?”
“Ysera got away,” he reminded the other man. “We’ve searched for over a year, you know. One of Eb’s men thinks he saw her, at a small farm outside Buenos Aires. With a man we both remember from the old days.”
Wolf’s face tightened as if he’d been shot. “Any intel on why she’s there?”
Gabriel nodded grimly. “Revenge,” he said simply. His eyes narrowed. “You need to hire on a couple of extra men. She’d have your throat slit if she could.”
“I’d return the favor if I could do it legally,” Wolf returned with faint venom.
Gabriel slid his hands into his jeans pockets. “So would the rest of us. But you’re the one in danger, if she really is still alive.”
Wolf didn’t like remembering the woman, or the things he’d done because of her lies. He still had nightmares. His eyes had a cold, faraway look. “I thought she was dead. I hoped...” he confessed quietly.
“It’s hard to kill a big snake,” the other man said flatly. “Just...be careful.”
“Watch your own back,” Wolf replied.
“I always do.” He wanted to tell the other man about Sara, to warn him off, to avert a tragedy in the making. But his friend didn’t seem really interested in Sara, and he was reluctant to share intimate details of Sara’s past with her worst enemy. It was a decision that would have consequences. He didn’t realize how many, at the time.
CHAPTER TWO
GABRIEL WENT BACK to work, and Sara had a weekend jaunt to the Wyoming ranch with Michelle during spring break. Then Michelle went back to school, and Sara went shopping in downtown San Antonio.
Sara shopped for spring clothes and then tried on mantillas in the huge Mercado in San Antonio, enjoying the sounds and smells of the market. A few minutes later, she took her purchases to the River Walk and sat down at a small table, watching the boats go by. It was April. The weather was warm and dry, and flowers were appearing in the planters all around the café. It was one of her favorite places.
She put her purse under the table and leaned back, her beautiful hair rippling with the movement. She had on black slacks and loafers and a candy-pink blouse that emphasized her exquisite complexion. Her black eyes danced as she listened to a strolling mariachi band.
She moved her chair to accommodate two men sitting down behind her. One of them was Wolf Patterson. Her heart jumped. She rushed to finish her cappuccino, gathered her bags and went to pay for it at the counter.
“Running away?” a silky, deep voice asked at the back of her head.
“I was finished with my coffee,” she said stiffly, smiling and thanking the clerk as she was handed her change.
When she turned, he was blocking the way out. His pale eyes were flashing with hostility. He looked as if he’d have liked to fry her on a griddle.
She swallowed down the nervousness that always assailed her when he was close. She tried to step back, but there was no place to go. Her huge, beautiful eyes widened with apprehension.
“When does your brother get back?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “He thinks maybe by the weekend.”
He nodded. His eyes narrowed on her face. “What are you afraid of?” he asked half under his breath.
“Not a thing, Mr. Patterson,” she replied. “Because I’m not your type.”
“Damned straight.”
She was ready to try to push past him, frustrated beyond rational behavior, when one of his companions called to him.
While he was diverted, she slipped to the side of him, and went out of the area at a dead run. She didn’t even care if people stared.
* * *
THERE WAS A ballet later in the week. She loved the ballet. She loved the color, the costumes, the lighting, all of it. She’d studied the art in her childhood. At one time, she’d dreamed of being a prima ballerina. But the long years of training and the sacrifices the role demanded were too much for a young girl just discovering life.
Those had been good days. Her father had still been alive. Her mother had been kind, if distant. She remembered the happy times they’d had together with a bittersweet smile. How different her life might have been if their father had lived.
But looking back served no real purpose, she told herself. Such as her life was, she had to try to cope.
She sat down in her seat near the front of the concert hall, smiling as she looked at the program. The prima ballerina was an acquaintance of hers, a sweet girl who loved her job and didn’t mind the long hours and sacrifice that went along with it. Lisette was pretty, too, blonde and tall as a beanpole, with eyes as big and dark as chestnuts.
The ballet was Swan Lake, one of her absolute favorites. The costumes were eye-catching, the performers exquisite, the music almost enchanted. She smiled, her heart swelling as she anticipated the delightful performance.
She heard movement nearby and almost had a coronary when she saw Wolf Patterson and yet another beautiful blonde moving into the seats beside hers. She actually groaned.
The woman stopped to speak to someone she knew. Wolf dropped down into the seat next to Sara’s and gave her conservative black dress and leather coat a brief scrutiny. His glare could have stopped a charging bull. “Are you following me around?” he asked.
She counted to ten. In her hand, the program was twisting into large confetti.
“I mean, just a couple of weeks ago, there you were at the opera in Houston, and here you are tonight at the ballet in San Antonio, with seats right next to mine,” he mused. “If I were a conceited man...” he added in a deep, slow drawl.
She turned her black eyes up to his and made a comment in Farsi that made his hair stand on end. He snapped back at her in the same language, his eyes biting into her face.
“What in the world sort of language is that?” his blonde companion asked with a laugh.
Wolf clenched down on more words as Sara turned her head and tried to concentrate on the stage curtain. The orchestra began tuning up.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” the blonde woman persisted, glancing at Sara’s discomfort with an honestly worried expression.
“I am not,” Wolf said, enunciating every word. “Curtain’s going up,” he added shortly.
* * *
SARA WANTED TO get up and walk out. She almost did. But she couldn’t bear to give him the satisfaction. So she lost herself in the color and beauty of Swan Lake, her heart in her throat as the preliminary dancers gave way to the title role, and Lisette came on stage.
Her friend’s exquisite beauty was apparent even at a distance. She twirled and pirouetted, making the leaps with precision and grace. Sara envied her that talent. Once upon a time, she’d seen herself on the stage in a costume like that beautiful confection Lisette was wearing.
Of course, reality had put paid to that sad dream. She couldn’t imagine standing in front of a lot of people, having them all look at her, without flinching. Not after the trial.
Her face grew taut as she remembered the trial, the taunting of the defense attorney, the fury in her stepfather’s face, the anguish in her mother’s.
She didn’t realize that she’d crumbled the program in her slender fingers, or that the tragic look on her face was drawing all too much reluctant interest from her acquaintance in the next seat.
Wolf Patterson had seen that look before, many times, in combat zones. It was akin to what was called the “thousand-yard stare,” familiar to combat veterans, a blank expression with terrible eyes that recalled things no mortal should ever have to witness. But Sara Brandon was pampered and rich and beautiful. What reason would a woman like that have to act tormented?
He laughed silently to himself, faint contempt on his hard features. Pretty little Sara, tempting men, ridiculing them in passion, making them plead for satisfaction and then laughing when they achieved it. Laughing with contempt and disgust. Saying things...
A soft hand touched his. The mature blonde woman beside him was frowning.
He shook himself mentally and dragged his eyes away from Sara. He managed a reassuring smile at his companion, but it was a lie. Sara unsettled him. She reminded him of things past, things deadly, things unbearable. She was everything he hated in a woman.
But he wanted her. The sight of her lithe, elegant body made him ache. It had been a long time. He hadn’t been able to trust another woman after Ysera, want another woman.
In the back of his mind was the ridicule and the laughter. He hadn’t been able to control his desire, and Ysera thought it was funny. She loved manipulating him, tormenting him. And when she’d had her fill of humiliating him in bed, she’d sent him off on a chore of personal vengeance with a lie.
He closed his eyes. A shudder ran through his powerful frame. He couldn’t escape the past. It tormented him still. There had been no consequences, but there should have been. Ysera at least should have been held accountable, but she was out of the country before she could be arrested. For over a year there had been no word of her. He’d thought she’d finally gotten what she deserved—that she was dead. Now she was back, still alive, still haunting him. He would never know peace for the rest of his life.
“Wolf,” the blonde woman whispered urgently. She wrapped her hand around his clenched fist. “Wolf!”
Sara realized, belatedly, that something was going on beside her. She turned her head in time to see an expression of such anguish on the tall man’s hard face that concern replaced her usual resentment.
His fist was clenched on his chair arm. The blonde woman was trying to calm him. He looked like a drawn cord.
“Mr. Patterson,” Sara said, her voice very soft so that it didn’t carry. “Are you all right?”
He looked down at her, coming out of the past with the pain still in his eyes. They narrowed, and he looked at her as if he hated her. “What the hell do you care?” he gritted.
She bit her lower lip almost through. He looked coiled, ready to strike, dangerous. She forced her attention back to the stage, a deathly pallor in her cheeks. More fool me, for caring, she thought.
He was trying to cope with memories that were killing him. Sara reminded him too much of things he only wanted to forget. He cursed under his breath in Farsi, got to his feet and walked out of the theater. The blonde woman looked at Sara with a grimace, as if she wanted to explain, to apologize. Then she just smiled sadly and followed him out.
* * *
THAT TORMENTED LOOK on Wolf Patterson’s face haunted Sara for the rest of the week. She couldn’t get it out of her mind. He’d stared at her as if he hated her in those few seconds. She began to realize that it wasn’t necessarily her whom he hated. Perhaps it was someone she reminded him of. She smiled sadly to herself. Just her luck, to feel the stirrings of attraction to a man for the first time in her life, and have him turn out to be someone who hated her because she reminded him of another woman. An old flame, perhaps, someone he’d loved and lost.
Well, it was hopeless to look in that direction anyway, she consoled herself. She’d only really been alone with him once, and look how she’d embarrassed herself when he came too close. She still flushed, remembering how she’d run from him after her flat tire. He wouldn’t understand why she’d reacted that way. And she couldn’t tell him.
* * *
SHE CLIMBED INTO her pajamas late that night and pulled up her game on the computer, setting the laptop on a board across her lap as she propped up in bed.
Her friend was on. Hi, she whispered.
Hi, he whispered back.
He was usually more wordy than that. In the middle of something? she queried.
No. Bad memories, he said after a minute.
I know all about that, she wrote sadly.
There was a brief pause. Want to talk about it? he asked.
She smiled to herself. Talking doesn’t help. How about a battleground?
He wrote lol on the screen, invited her to a group and queued them for a battleground.
Why does life have to be so hard? she wrote while they waited.
I don’t know.
I can’t get away from the past, she wrote. She couldn’t tell him everything, but she could talk a little. He was the only real friend she had. Lisette was kind and sweet, but she had so little free time just to talk.
Neither can I, he wrote after a minute. Do you have nightmares? he asked suddenly.
She grimaced and wrote, All the time.
Me, too. There was a hesitation. Damaged people, he wrote.
Yes.
Holding each other together, he added, with another lol.
She returned the laugh, and smiled to herself. BRB, she wrote, gamer’s slang for “be right back.” I need coffee.
Good idea. I’ll make some and email you a cup, he wrote.
She chuckled to herself. He was good company. She wondered who he was in real life, if he was a man or a woman or even a child. Whatever, it was nice to have someone to talk to, even if they only talked in single syllables.
He was back before the queue popped. We should get one of those chat programs like Ventriloquist, he commented, so that we can talk instead of type.
Her heart almost stopped. No.
Why?
She bit her lower lip. How could she tell him that it would interfere with the fantasy if she brought real life into it? That she didn’t want to know if he was young or old or female.
You’re frightened, he wrote.
She hesitated, her hands over the keyboard. Yes.
I see.
No, you don’t, she replied. I have a hard time with people. With most people. I don’t... I don’t like letting people get close to me.
Join the club.
So in a game, it’s sort of different, she tried to explain.