Untamed

“Your overnight bag is still on the porch. I’ll go get it.”

He was back in a moment.

She’d managed, during that brief interlude, to regain a bit of composure. And caution. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Thomas, I’d like to see some identification.”

“I was wondering when you were going to think of that.” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his billfold and handed it over. “You’ll find an Arizona driver’s license, American Express card, a couple of Visas and a Mogollon County library card. That should convince you I’m who I say I am.”

She glanced through the plastic-encased cards and lingered momentarily over one, thinking that it was unfair for any mere mortal to look so sexy in a driver’s license photo. His dark hair, swept back from his forehead, was disgustingly thick, his hooded eyes were so darkly brown as to be almost black and his jaw could have been chiseled from granite. She decided that the cleft in that square chin was definitely overkill.

“You seem to be who you say you are,” she agreed. “But that still doesn’t mean I can trust you.”

“Your grandmother entrusted her house to me,” he said pointedly. “And there’s a letter waiting for you on the upstairs dresser that will undoubtedly vouch for me, as well.”

“She left a letter? For me?”

“It’s got your name on the envelope.”

“Why didn’t you send it to me?”

“Because I had my own letter instructing me to leave it for you to read when you arrived. Besides,” he pointed out, “it’s a good thing I didn’t forward it, since all my other letters appear to have gotten lost.”

Once again his tone told her that he knew she’d been lying. She would have been uncomfortable about that had her mind not latched on to another thought.

“Don’t you think that’s strange? Her death was so sudden, but she’d already written letters to both of us to be read after her death?”

“I did in the beginning. But then I decided she was just one of those people who likes to plan ahead. I’ve heard of people leaving instructions with their lawyers. Or letters in safe-deposit boxes.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Tara allowed. “Since you were included, you must have been close to her.”

He shrugged. “She was lonely.” His tone was edged with a hint of censure she tried to ignore. “She didn’t have any family in Whiskey River, and I was a stranger here, as well. So, I guess you could say we kind of adopted each other.”

“Did she happen to mention to you what she did for a living?” Tara’s voice held an unmistakable challenge.

“You’re not talking about her mail-order herbal business.”

She folded her arms across her chest and met his gaze with a long, level look of her own. “No, I’m not.”

“She told me she was a witch. Since the fantasy seemed harmless enough, I didn’t let it bother me.”

“How open-minded of you.” She reached out and took the gray overnight case from his hand. “And for the record, Mr. Thomas,” she said as she headed toward the doorway and the stairs that led to her grandmother’s bedroom, “it wasn’t any crazy old lady’s fantasy. My grandmother was a genuine, card-carrying, crystal-gazing, spell-casting, druidic witch.”

That said, she swept from the room, leaving Gavin to wonder if lunacy ran through the genes of all the Delaney women. Or just the gorgeous ones.

Her grandmother’s bedroom was just as she remembered it. Cabbage flowers bloomed on the yellowed ivory wallpaper and the antique sleigh bed was covered by a quilt that had been in the family for generations. Celtic animals and geometric patterns echoed the stone carvings and metalwork of that ancient time.

She found the letter on the dresser, just as the annoying man downstairs had told her. The handwriting was a bit more spidery than she remembered, but there was no doubt that it was her grandmother’s. And even if she hadn’t recognized the delicate script, the energy emanating from the ivory envelope was unmistakable.

The paper was handmade, speckled with dried flowers and herbs from the garden, and carried the familiar lavender scent that Tara had always associated with Brigid. She inhaled the evocative fragrance and sighed.

“I’m sorry, Grandy,” she said softly. “I should have been here for you. In the end.” Instead, she’d continually put off her grandmother’s requests that she visit, leaving a lonely old woman to befriend the man downstairs. A man who was not only a stranger, but an obvious disbeliever, as well.

Feeling horribly guilty, Tara sat down on the thick feather mattress and began to read.

Dearest Tara,

If you’re reading this, it means you’ve overcome your reluctance to return to your roots, at least temporarily. And although I have always understood your need to follow your own spiritual path, it saddens me that past circumstances have caused you to view the gifts you’ve inherited as a curse, rather than a blessing.

I realize how difficult this journey has been for you, darling Tara. And just as I cannot erase the pain you’ve suffered, neither can I promise instant miracles.

But what I do promise is this—if you stay beneath this roof for one cycle of the moon, your life will inexorably change. At the end of this time you’ll be able to put the past behind you and move on.

You’ve already made the first step, Tara. Now I’m asking you to trust in your grandmother, who loves you, one last time. I promise you will not be disappointed. Blessed be.

The traditional words of farewell blurred through the mist of tears gathering in Tara’s eyes. She had to blink to clear her vision in order to read the PS.

I know Gavin Thomas is not the type of man you’re accustomed to. But since his arrival in Whiskey River, he’s come to mean a great deal to me. In fact, I consider him almost like family. It would please me very much if you could open your heart to him, if only as a friend. His own road has not been an easy one. I believe you may find you both have much in common.

“Dammit, Grandy,” Tara muttered, “this really is dirty pool. Even for you.”

She glared up at a needlepoint-framed photo of her grandmother and was struck by a resemblance she’d never before noticed. Except for the fact that she had a time-saving, no-fuss haircut, she could have been looking in a mirror.

“I cannot believe that you’re asking me to give up my life in San Francisco to move in here for a month, befriend an obvious nonbeliever, come to grips with my past and, oh, yes—you’re not fooling me for a minute here—in my spare time I’m supposed to fall in love with your precious Mr. Thomas, which isn’t going to happen because I’d rather kiss a toad.”

As if possessing an energy all its own, the lie reverberated around the room until she could practically feel it bouncing off all the flowered walls. Tara closed her eyes and shook her head. It was impossible. She simply couldn’t do it. Whiskey River held too many painful memories.

The thing to do was to spend the night here, since the idea of driving back down that twisting mountain road in the dark was less than appealing. By tomorrow morning, the storm would have passed and she could go to Kauai as originally planned, where she would spend the rest of the days she’d allotted for her vacation basking in the sun before returning to her uncomplicated life.

As impossible as others might find it, Tara could actually hear her grandmother’s voice challenging that last thought.

“All right. So, in this case, uncomplicated may translate to boring,” she allowed. “But it’s what I like.”

It was also, she admitted as she changed into dry clothes, what she needed. A boring, predictable, normal life.

She left the bedroom on her usual brisk, efficient stride determined to send Mr. Gavin Thomas back to wherever it was he’d come from.

Gavin had just started a fire in the stone fireplace when he heard her coming back down the stairs and inwardly cursed Brigid—not for the first time—for getting him involved with her house. And as if broken windows and juvenile vandals weren’t enough, he now had her ill-tempered granddaughter to deal with.

“I thought you might have left already,” she said pointedly.

There was no way he was going to leave her alone in this house, without power or a telephone, with those potential juvenile delinquents running loose, but Gavin decided to save the argument until he learned her plans.

“Actually, I was waiting around to hear the verdict. So what is it? Are you going to stay?”

“Not that it’s any of your business. But no. I’m not.”

He nodded. “I figured that would be your decision.”

“Now you’re a mind reader?”

“No. But I am pretty good at reading people. It only makes sense that if you had any deep feeling for the place, you would have come home before now.”

While your grandmother was still alive. He didn’t say the words out loud, but Tara heard them, just the same.

“Since you don’t know anything about me, it’s a bit presumptuous of you to pretend to understand my reasons for staying away.”

“Ah, but there’s where you’re wrong.” A log shifted, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. He took a black iron poker and began rearranging the wood. “As it turns out, I know a great deal about you.”

“From my grandmother.” It was not a question.

“She talked a lot about you,” he agreed as he worked on getting the burning logs where he wanted them. “I figured a lot of the business and school stuff was typical grandmother bragging. But I was referring to more personal things.”

“Such as?”

He replaced the poker and turned toward her once again, enjoying the way her lips had formed into a sexy pout. “Such as the fact that part of the reason for your career success is that you threw yourself into your work after being stood up at the altar by that hotshot Montgomery Street lawyer.”

Ignoring her sudden sharp intake of breath, he crossed the room, picked up a bottle of brandy he’d brought with him and poured the amber liquor into two Irish crystal balloon glasses.

“She had no right to tell you about that.”

“Brigid worried about you. She thought you needed a man in your life.” He held one of the glasses out to her.

Tara took a sip of the brandy in an attempt to soothe her ragged nerves. Although it was smooth as velvet, and warmed her all the way to her toes, it did nothing to instill calm. Deciding the only way to tackle a man like Gavin Thomas was head-on, she tossed up her chin, determined to put a stop to this right now. Before it got out of hand.

“For your information, Mr. Thomas—”

“It’s Gavin,” he corrected.

“For your information,” she began again, “I have men in my life. Lots of men. More than I can keep track of.”

“Tara, Tara.” Gavin clucked as he shook his dark head with feigned disappointment. “What would your grandmother say if she could hear you telling such bald-faced lies?”

“I’m not—”

“Of course you are,” he smoothly overrode her protest yet again. “Look at you.” He eyed her over the rim of his glass. “You’re a lovely woman, but you insist on hiding any feminine attributes beneath that oversize shirt and baggy jeans.”

She wished they’d never gotten on to the unpalatable subject of her love life. Or lack of it. She also wished he’d button his own damn shirt. His chest, gleaming copper in the flickering firelight, was unreasonably distracting.

“Excuse me.” Frost tinged her voice, her eyes. “Perhaps I should go upstairs and change into my red lace teddy and hooker high heels.”

Oddly enough, although she was practically spitting ice chips at him, Gavin was enjoying himself. “As appealing as that might be, it would also be a bit intimate. Since we’ve just met. But you could loosen up just a little.”

He tossed back the brandy, then closed the gap between them. “Unbutton a couple of buttons so the collar isn’t choking you to death.” Without asking permission, he did exactly that. When his fingers brushed the skin framed by the now-open neck of her white blouse, Tara stiffened. “And next time tell the cleaners to go easier on the starch.” He frowned at the stiff pleated front. “A bulletproof vest would probably be softer than this.”

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. “My choice of clothing is none of your business.”

“I suppose that’s true. In theory.” Gavin rubbed his chin. “But it offends my artistic sensibilities to see a woman working overtime to hide her beauty.”

Before she could respond to that outrageous statement, a sudden crash shattered the silence, followed by the sound of breaking glass.

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