Skyler Hawk: Lone Brave

Windy grimaced. “All of what?”

Edith sighed again. “Sky lost his memory in the accident. He remembers very little about himself.”

Windy’s heartbeat doubled. Amnesia? Sky had amnesia? “Oh, my God.” No wonder he had a difficult time talking about the accident. “He must remember something. I get the feeling he’s at odds with his past.”

The other end of the line remained silent, as though Edith pondered Windy’s observation. When she finally answered, her voice lowered. “There is a bit more to his story, but it’s much too complicated to discuss over the phone. I promise we’ll get together this week. We’ll have a cup of tea, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Anxious, she toyed with her fork. “I don’t think I can wait that long.”

Edith “tsked” like a disapproving grandmother. “You always were an impatient one. A few days won’t make a difference to you or to Sky. That accident happened almost sixteen years ago.” Fatigue sounded in the older woman’s voice. “Now I should get to bed. It’s late and I have a busy day tomorrow.”

Windy knew Edith’s days consisted of volunteer work: church rummage sales, women’s shelters, literacy tutoring. Things far more important than Windy’s nagging curiosity. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

“Goodbye, dear.”

Windy tossed the phone aside and filled her mouth with another bite just as a light knock vibrated her bedroom door.

“Honey, it’s Sky.”

Honey? The endearment sounded intimate—sensuous and husky—even through the thick, painted wood. The food nearly stuck in her throat. “Just a minute,” she called back.

She bounded off the bed. Should she open the door and peek out the crack, or keep it closed and simply ask what he wanted?

No. She smoothed her oversize attire. That would seem rude. Smile and act friendly. Platonic friendly, she reminded herself. Don’t pant or drool. And don’t pester him about his memory. Be patient. Professional.

She opened the door just enough to expose her head and shoulders. “Hi.”

“Hi.” A slow smile spread across his face. “I saw your light on. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“No. I’m up.” And breathing him in. She tried not to, but couldn’t help herself. His scent had changed. An earthy blend misted him now. Horses, hay and…beer?

She looked into his eyes. A gaze as clear and blue as a summer sea stared back at her. A social drink, she decided. He wasn’t drunk.

“Just wanted to let you know that I’m movin’ my things in,” he said. “Didn’t want the noise to scare you.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Windy noticed he wore the same clothes, but his hair wasn’t flowing over his shoulders. It rested in a tight ponytail at his nape. “How was work?”

“Good. It was my first day, but I know the routine.”

“Did you work the early show?”

“Yeah.”

She wanted to touch his dimples. He looked boyish when he smiled, rugged when he didn’t. “Do you play a cowboy or an Indian?”

“Both.” The left dimple indented deeper than the right. “In one segment I’m an Indian. In the other, a villainous cowboy. I get shot in that one. Fall right off my horse.” Shyness crept into his voice. “And then near the end, I’m just me. Riding and roping.”

“Do you like being a performer?” Unlike most of the gorgeous L.A. population, Sky didn’t fit the let’s-have-lunch, I-want-to-be-a-star mold. But then, how could he? He hated California.

He shrugged. “The horses are the true performers. I just consider myself along for the ride.”

A fast, crazy ride, no doubt.

Windy realized she had allowed the door to fall open while they’d chatted. She stood in full view now. A tousled blonde in a Minnie Mouse nightshirt and bare feet, an unmade bed and carton of half-eaten stir-fry behind her. She sent him a nervous smile. Her room had caught his attention. She could see him scouring it with an amused gaze. Apparently he hadn’t expected mosquito netting and various shades of leopard and zebra prints.

“My room wasn’t vandalized,” she said. “I guess they didn’t get that far.” Thank God. Although she didn’t keep anything particularly valuable in her bedroom, it was her sanctuary, with her bras and panties, scented candles and perfumes.

“I like the jungle motif. Always thought animal prints were sexy.”

“Oh, umm…thanks.” She glanced back at the bed. It did look sexy. Wild and inviting. What a thing for him to notice.

Silence clung to the air like moss. Thick and heady.

When he shifted his stance, his boots scraped the hardwood floor. “Guess I should bring my stuff in. The terrarium won’t fit in my bedroom, though. It’ll have to go in the living room.”

Terrarium, aquarium. Plants, fish. It didn’t matter. She needed to escape. He stood too close, smelled too virile, looked too good. “That’s fine. Good night, Sky.”

“’Night, Pretty Windy.”

Pretty Windy. She closed the door and leaned against it. Another minute and she would have melted into a pool of hot, steaming liquid.

Oh, get over it, she told herself, hating the watery feeling in her legs. Swooning over a man was shallow and immature. She knew better. Dang it. What was it about him that had her behaving like a doe-eyed teenager? The cowboy drawl and long-legged swagger? The shoulder-length hair and sparkling blue eyes? Or was she just caught up in the mystery surrounding him?

Moving toward the bed, Windy fingered the sheets. She knew. Deep down, she knew. Troubled souls fascinated her. And this troubled soul sported dimples and a crooked smile. A dangerous combination for a woman hell-bent on mending fractured lives.

She sighed and climbed under the covers, even though sleep would be a long time coming.

The following morning brought a bright ray of sunshine and a stiff neck. Windy stretched and groaned. What her weary body needed was a long luxurious shower, water therapy. After gathering a fluffy new bath towel and her favorite worn-out terry cloth robe, she stumbled down the hall to the bathroom, noting Sky’s door remained closed.

A pulsating spray from the shower head massaged her shoulders, washing away the tension. She hadn’t slept well. Her “sexy” bed, with its sleek leopard-print quilt, had blanketed her like a jungle cat’s warm, muscular body—a jungle cat with exotic blue eyes.

Struggling to clear her mind, Windy reached for the shampoo, squeezed a large citrus-scented dollop into her hands and lathered her hair. Don’t think about him, she told herself. Don’t think about his lopsided grin or his—

Something brushed her foot. She glanced down. Something long and gray.

A snake!

She froze, praying sleep deprivation had fueled her imagination. But when she glanced down again, it was still there. A huge slithering creature, coiling in the splash of water.

Windy screamed, then jumped, her feet slipping and sliding on the slick white porcelain. Suds stinging her eyes, she climbed out of the tub. Still shrieking in blind panic, she snatched her robe and raced out the door.

In the hallway she fumbled with the robe as her legs turned rubbery. Oh no! Not her robe. A towel. A lousy towel, which of course meant her robe was somewhere in the bathroom. With an enormous snake.

Shivering, Windy wrapped the towel around herself. What if that reptile was a rattler or a man-eating python? She’d heard stories on the news—snakes who’d attempted to eat people, swallowing their limbs whole.

Modesty be damned. She clutched the towel and headed straight for Sky’s room.

Two

“Skyyyy!”

He shot straight up from a deep sleep, blinking and squinting, trying to focus on the frantic woman screaming in his bedroom. Instantly he panicked.

“Is the house on fire?”

“No!” Windy pranced around nervously. “There’s a snake in the bathtub! A snake!”

Relieved, he sighed, then fell back onto the bed, his rapid heartbeat stabilizing. “It’s okay, honey, that’s just Tequila. She won’t hurt you.”

“Tequila?” Her mouth fell open. “You mean that thing is some sort of pet? That horrid, slimy thing?”

Sky sat up, pushed several stray hairs away from his face and evaluated Windy with an irritated frown. Tequila wasn’t a “thing.”

A moment later he found himself amused. There she was, dancing around, dripping water onto the hardwood floor, while struggling to keep the towel on with one hand and wiping shampoo suds off her forehead with the other. He bit down on his bottom lip to suppress laughter and watched her bat away another stream of suds. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost. The woman had insulted Tequila.

“Dang you, Sky,” she shrieked. “I can’t believe you brought a snake into this house. A snake. My God, that thing is as big as me. I could have had a heart attack.”

“I told you last night I was puttin’ her terrarium in the living room.”

“I thought you were talking about a plant terrarium. Or a fish aquarium.” She narrowed her watery eyes. “If I had known you meant a snake…oh…just get that thing out of the bathroom.”

“All right. Calm down, okay?” He slid out of bed and strode past her, reaching for the front tie on his low-riding shorts. What a way to begin the day—his gray sweat shorts nearly falling off his hips while his sexy roommate stood wrapped in a towel.

The bathroom check proved futile. He turned off the water, grabbed Windy’s robe and returned to find her hopping up and down, alternating feet. He withheld a grin. Did she think the snake would bite her toes?

“Tequila’s not in the bathroom. At least not that I could see, but there was a hole in one of the cabinets.” A hole leading to the wall interior, he’d noticed. “I can’t patch it till I find her, though. She might have slipped through it.”

Windy’s sniffling grew louder, warning the threat of tears. “What am I going to do?”

Aw shoot, Sky thought, she was gonna cry. He held out her robe and turned away, even though he would have enjoyed watching her towel fall. Watery eyes and soapy hair didn’t detract from Windy’s figure. Although her legs weren’t long, they boasted a slender shape, with just the right amount of muscle tone. Sky glanced up at the beamed ceiling, deciding it best not to envision her breasts swelling beneath that flowery-printed towel. Having her in his room proved difficult enough. She brought a feminine glow to the otherwise dark, masculine surroundings. The tall oak dresser and navy-blue bedspread would never be the same.

She sniffed again. “You can turn around now.”

Her fuzzy pink robe made him smile. He could almost imagine her wearing a pair of big, fluffy slippers to match. The forlorn expression on her face was hard to swallow, though. He knew Tequila was responsible for her distress. Of course, if Tequila was at fault, then so was he. That knowledge was even harder to swallow.

She hugged herself as if to ward off snake-induced goose bumps. “Will you come in the bathroom with me and stand guard? I have to rinse my hair.”

“Me? Stand guard?” The guy lusting after you?

She gave a tight little nod. “I can’t go back in there by myself. What if the snake is hiding? She might attack me.”

Tequila wouldn’t attack a mouse, he thought. Okay, a mouse, but not a woman. ’Course, she might be hiding in the drywall somewhere, it was kind of a game he and the snake played. Reptile hide ’n’ seek. “Are you that scared?”

She nodded again. “Please, Sky.”

His pleaded name on her lips was all the encouragement he needed. Fear never sounded sweeter. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms, imaginary bunny slippers and all. “Okay.”

Windy tightened her robe. “First I’ll have to get dressed.”

He cocked his head. “Huh?”

She squinted through red-rimmed eyes, sounding quite prim and proper. “I’m going to wear my swimsuit in the shower.”

Unable to control himself, Sky erupted into a fit of boisterous chuckles. Adorable and naive didn’t begin to describe her. He didn’t normally keep company with innocent little blondes wrapped in cotton-candy robes. “You’re somethin’ else, Pretty Windy.”

Rather than share his mirth, she clenched her teeth. “Don’t you dare laugh at me. This is all your fault. You and that snake.”

Sky sobered, even though he still felt like grinning. She had no idea how sweet she was. The girlish burst of temper made her look like a hissing kitten trapped in a giant robe, claws bared, matted fur drenched with shampoo. “Sorry. I have sort of a warped sense of humor. I usually laugh at all the wrong times.”

She snorted in indignation. “A snake in the shower isn’t funny.”

“Not to you maybe, but I bet your grandchildren will hoot and holler over it.”

Slowly a tiny smile worked its way across Windy’s lips. “I suppose you’re right about that.” Quickly the smile faded. “But you have no idea how much I hate snakes. I’ve heard stories on the news about pythons, about how they—”

“Tequila’s a boa,” he interrupted, thinking both pythons and boas made fine companions. “And I swear she won’t hurt you. She likes people.”

Windy didn’t seem convinced. “Will you wait outside my bedroom door while I put my bathing suit on?” She nibbled her lower lip and cast him a nervous glance. “Just in case.”

In case what? The snake attacked her? Windy darted into her room, and Sky crossed his arms and leaned against the door. Tequila was harmless. He was the one capable of an attack. After nearly a year of celibacy, the warrior blood was boiling, running through his veins in hot, hungry surges.

About three minutes later she opened the door.

“I’m ready.” Pink robe in place, she strode past him.

He followed closely behind.

Too closely. When Windy hesitated at the bathroom door, her abrupt halt caught him off guard. Like an oversize oaf, he bumped right into her.

She gasped and he brought his hands forward, fisting her robe to steady her. Damn. He almost had Pretty Windy in his arms again. Almost. Just ease closer, press your face against the bubbles on her neck, inhale her skin.

Instead he swallowed and released her robe. “I didn’t hurt you, did I, honey?”

“Huh? Oh, no, I’m fine.” Apparently more concerned about Tequila’s whereabouts than his proximity, she poked her head in the bathroom door. “Will you go in ahead of me?”

“Sure.” When he brushed by, Windy reached for his hand.

Sky’s breath caught reflexively in his throat. Her feathery touch sent him straight into hormone overdrive. Linking his fingers through hers, he walked slowly through the bathroom, heightening the pleasure, if only for a brief, forbidden moment.

Still holding hands, they neared the bathtub. After making a thorough examination of the surroundings, Windy tugged her hand away. “Go wait over by the sink. And turn around.”

Turn around? Jeez, she wore a bathing suit under that robe. After dragging him out of bed and teasing him with that towel display earlier, the least she could do was give him a quick thrill. “Do you keep your robe on when you go to the beach?”

“Dang it, Sky, just turn around.”

He almost laughed. The hissing kitten had returned, too tiny to look tough, too sweet to sound menacing. He imagined dang was as far as she went.

“Skyler!”

He bit back another grin. Apparently she meant business with the use of his formal name. “You sure are—”

“I mean it, Sky.”

A cute little filly. “Okay…okay.”

He moved over to the sink, rolled his eyes and turned away. When he heard the spray of water, he wrestled with his conscience. Should he sneak a peek or just imagine what she looked like through the bubbled shower enclosure? Edith Burke’s hanky-panky speech sounded in his mind. If that sweet old lady knew what he was up to, she’d skin him alive.

Oh, what the hell. He flashed a wicked grin and turned around.

Windy’s robe lay in a heap on the floor. He shook his head. The pile of worn-out terry cloth actually ignited his pulse. Stop now, he told himself, before it’s too late.

Naw, he deserved a peek. Just one.

Making a quick mental note to reward Tequila, he sat on the edge of the sink, stretched out his long legs and leaned over. There she stood, a slim, shadowy figure behind rippled Plexiglas, arms raised, hands moving through her hair. Female flesh and bits of white fabric.

He tilted his head, expanding his view. A tantalizing aroma wafted through the gathering steam, filling his nostrils with a treat: a woman’s sweet perfume, vanilla-scented soap. Her damp skin would feel soft, like flower petals after a summer rain, moist and smooth, blooming with color—inviting his caress, his kiss.

It was all in his mind’s eye. The two of them together under the warm spray of water, her soapy hands sliding across his chest, his eager hands peeling off her bikini. Mouths tasting, bodies aching. Damn. Sky shifted his hips. The shower steam was rising and so was he.

When Windy opened the enclosure door, he sat staring in her direction. Glassy-eyed, he knew his sinful expression combined hunger and guilt. Feeling like a sneaky child who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he grinned—a sheepish don’t-punish-me grin.

She reached for her robe, and Sky wondered what to do now. Pretty Windy had him behaving like a randy teenager who didn’t have an ounce of control over his raging hormones. And she looked good enough to eat: eyes wide, damp cheeks flushed, wild hair wet and tangled.

Time to hightail it out of here, he thought, planting his feet firmly on the floor. “I’m going to go look for Tequila,” he said, racing out the door as if the devil himself were on his heels.

Sky had spent half the day and part of the evening searching for the snake. It was his own fault Tequila was so clever at hiding. Since he had encouraged her throughout the years to play the silly game, she would find a hiding place, poke her head out, then sneak into another spot while his back was turned. He usually tired of the game before she would, so he would abandon the search in favor of a sugary snack and an old-fashioned shoot-’em-up Western. Eventually Tequila would surface, climb onto his lap and fall asleep.

Of course, that had changed, thanks to Windy. Once again, Sky found himself in a bar when he’d rather be lounging in front of the TV. Staying home with her unnerved him. Celibacy was downright self-torture now. A good stiff drink seemed to be the only cure. Well, not the only cure, but Windy might not like the alternative.

This time he avoided the local bar with the nosy cocktail waitress. Today he had headed for a small town in the high desert. To a ratty little dive where people minded their own business. No happy hour. No chic L.A. women. No trendy haircuts. Just a broken-down bar stool, a shot of whiskey and peace of mind.

“Just sit yer butt down and shut up.”

Sky knew better than to turn around, but he did it, anyway. The sharp words belonged to a big, crude man, shoving a skittish little redhead through the front door. The man nodded to the bartender, gripped the redhead’s arm and seated himself at a table directly behind Sky.

“Bring us a couple of beers,” he called out.

“Sure thing, Hank.” The bartender waved the rag in his hand.

The woman’s timid voice protested softly. “I don’t want a beer, Hank. I just want to go home.”

“I’m goin’ outside for a minute,” Hank said, pushing his chair away. “And I don’t want to hear you whinin’ when I come back. Jimmy’s meeting us here for a drink. I’d like to enjoy an evening with my brother for once.”

Sky watched the man saunter off, wide shoulders and an even wider girth protruding over grubby, ill-fitting jeans. Hell, damn and hell again. He cursed what he was about to do.

“Are you all right?” He stood at the redhead’s table, tapping a pack of cigarettes on his wrist, an old habit he hadn’t quite abandoned.

She lifted her chin—empty eyes, pale skin and wiry hair sticking out from the back of a chipped metal clip. She appeared too old to be a runaway, he thought, and too young to look so haggard. As he toyed with the cigarette pack, her eyes grew hungry.

“You want one?”

She nodded and he sat down to light it for her.

“You better go before Hank comes back.” She closed her eyes and inhaled, as if savoring something vital. “He has a bad temper.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that,” Sky said as the bartender slid Hank’s beers onto the table. “What’s your name?”

She took another nervous drag. “Lucy.”

“How old are you, Lucy?”

“Twenty-three.”

Damn. “Hank your boyfriend?”

“Husband,” she answered, keeping a close eye on the front door. “We got two kids.”

“He do that to you?” Sky reached up to touch the faded bruise on her left cheek.

She looked away. “Why are you talking to me?”

He dropped his hand. Good question. She was twenty-three years old with two kids and an abusive husband. How was he supposed to help? “I thought Hank looked like he needed to pick on someone his own size,” he answered, fingering a cigarette. “I don’t know much about these things, but I’ve heard there’s places to get help. Women’s shelters. I’m sure the police could—”

Lucy interrupted, flicking ashes carelessly. “What are you? A Good Samaritan?”

“No.” Sky smiled wryly. “I been called lots of things but Good Sam ain’t one of them.”

Lucy almost smiled. “You better go, Sam.”

He dropped a couple cigarettes on the table. “Nice talking to you, Lucy.”

When Sky turned around, he stood eye to eye with Hank. “What were you doin’ sitting with my wife, Injun?”

Injun? “Just offering the lady a smoke.” Sky noticed there were two Hanks now. Two big, ugly Hanks.

“Stay away from my brother’s wife, half-breed,” the second Hank said. “We don’t like yer kind around here.”

Must be Jimmy. Charming family. “Don’t know if you boys have heard, but my kind are called Native Americans now.” And mixed bloods in the Creek Nation were revered, but he decided to keep that information to himself. One or two of his mixed-blood ancestors may have been chiefs. Now wouldn’t that gall Jimmy to think Sky could have descended from Creek royalty?

Hank reached for the cigarettes on the table. Shoving them against Sky’s chest, he flashed a cocky grin to his brother. “Take your smokes and go, blue eyes.”

Sky’s jaw twitched as Hank crumbled the cigarettes against his chest. What he wouldn’t give to ram his fist down this man’s throat. But his days of brawling in bars were over. “I’ll just go finish my drink.”

“You do that.” Jimmy gave him a little shove. Instinctively Sky’s fists clenched.

Don’t do it, he told himself. A couple of rednecks aren’t worth a night in jail. What possessed him to stop at this hole-in-the-wall, anyway? How many times had he been in similar situations? Honky-tonk bars in the middle of nowhere. Truckers, bikers, rednecks, other cowboys. He’d brawled with them all. The smart thing to do—get out and don’t look back. “Like I said, I’ll go finish my drink.”

Hank and Jimmy sat their wide behinds down, and Sky could hear Hank cussing at Lucy. Damn, he had only made things worse for her.

And then he spent the next two hours thinking about another woman—a pretty little blonde. Why did he find Windy so appealing? Was it her innocence? Her gentle nature? When she’d caught him ogling her through the shower door, he’d embarrassed them both, yet she hadn’t snapped at him. And the fact that she didn’t kind of warmed his innards.

Sky fingered the cigarette pack. Forget about her. You gave up women months ago. And for good reason. The more he remembered about his past, the more he realized his inability to love, to participate in a healthy relationship. And substituting sex for love was one of those weird Freudian things he wanted no conscious part of.

What decent woman would want him, anyway? Especially a woman dedicating her life to children. What he’d done made him a dishonorable man, a first-class, A1 bastard. The kind of guy who didn’t have the right to look at a woman like Windy, let alone fantasize about her.