The Price He Paid Read online

  “David?” She couldn’t help it, she started shaking, whether from fear or relief she couldn’t say. She grabbed on, dug her fingers in his jacket, slid her hands around his waist and burrowed.

  “Hey, there. What happened? What did you see?”

  She stood on her tiptoes and stretched, wanting her bare feet off the boards, away from whatever the noises had been. Scrabbled her fingers as if to launch herself upward.

  Then he lifted her. “Are you hurt?” He tried the back door, then walked with her around to the front and shouldered inside. “Let me look.” He flicked on the closest lamp, and Callie was blinded by the faint light.

  Quickly he rounded the sofa, then laid her on it. “Talk to me, Callie.”

  She became aware that he was fully dressed and she was barely covered. She scrambled to sit up in the corner of the sofa and pulled a throw pillow in front of her. “I’m okay. It was just…” she shrugged. In the glow of the lamp, her fright faded. “I have no idea what it was.” She gave him a rueful grin. “I…there are so many sounds here, yet it’s unnervingly quiet, too.”

  He nodded and smiled back. “When I first got back…” Dark shadows floated across his eyes. “Never mind.” He looked away.

  She was so tired of him eluding her, of never making a connection. “Prison and cities have some things in common—noisy and always simmering.” Maybe tackling his past broadside would help.

  His look was full of speculation. “Never thought about it that way.” A pause. “I’ve never been in a city, so I couldn’t say.”

  She was struck dumb, newly aware that in his whole life, he’d lived only in two places—Oak Hollow and the prison at Jackson—but pity was out of the question. “I saw something move in the grass, and I could swear I heard a slither.” Just the memory made her shudder.

  “It was only a skunk, though I spotted a possum, too.”

  “That’s all?” She felt vaguely insulted. “I got scared half to death by two little animals?”

  A quick grin. “A skunk’s no laughing matter if he sprays you.”

  “What a city girl I am.” She shook her head. “Embarrassing.” Then she frowned. “What are you doing here?”

  “Out running. Heard you yell.”

  Callie flushed. For the first time she realized that he’d been unusually warm and registered the triangle of sweat on his shirt. Then that broad chest became all she could see.

  “Why are you running at night?” She yanked her eyes away from all that muscle.

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Really? Me either.”

  Silence landed between them with a thud, but it had teeth and toenails, clawing its way beneath her skin and reminding her of too much.

  She sought a diversion. “I have trouble sleeping,” she admitted. “I used to run on a treadmill. Safer place in a city at night.”

  “Less likely to break your neck, that’s for sure.” But his tone held a hint of challenge.

  She cocked her head. Wondered where the daredevil girl had disappeared to. “Can I come with you?”

  He was momentarily nonplussed. “Now?”

  “They say vigorous activity before sleep is a lousy way to get your rest.” Then she wanted to slap a hand over her ungoverned mouth when she realized how vigorous activity could be construed.

  A quirk of his lips, a light in his eyes. “I always wondered who ‘they’ were.”

  The lighter tone compelled her to string out the teasing a little longer. “On the other hand, ‘they’ aren’t here.”

  The moment sang with awareness…of the dim light, of the darkness beyond it…of the fragile truce. Callie was afraid to breathe for fear of disturbing it.

  He seemed to share her reluctance.

  “Or we could play gin rummy.”

  His head jerked up. “Play…cards?”

  She’d surprised him. “A nice gentle game of gin might just send us both straight into the arms of Morpheus.”

  “Hypnos,” he said. At her start, he explained. “The father of Morpheus and the god of sleep. Morpheus was the god of dreams.”

  She was quickly reminded that he’d been not only the best athlete but the smartest kid in his school. Grief for that boy flickered, but she would not let it ruin this odd peace between them.

  “No gin. You got anything but stilettos to put on your feet?”

  “You must not have been paying attention to the Oak Hollow grapevine. Jessie Lee nearly died from excitement when the FedEx truck made its way up the mountain to deliver my clothes.” Then she hissed at the memory of the afternoon and how they’d parted. And what the grapevine had done to him.

  But the wispy truce held. This out-of-time moment continued.

  “Any running shoes in it?” he asked.

  Since that was the extent of her sensible shoes, she’d made her running shoes and her favorite jeans the top of her list, and her assistant Anna had come through for her. “Yes.”

  He rose. “Ten minutes enough?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you in five.” She lifted her chin and pretended she was wearing a power suit and not a thin scrap of fabric, forcing herself to walk past him and not run.

  But the second she was in the hallway, she took off.

  Before this David, so poignantly like the one she remembered, could vanish on her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He’d never run with a girl, David realized. Woman, he corrected himself. Callie was definitely no girl.

  He was forced to adjust his long stride or leave her behind, but not because she was in poor physical condition. Quite the reverse—her breathing was steady, and she held her head high as she focused on the road ahead.

  “There’s more light than I would have expected,” she said. Her lips quirked. “Guess I’m too accustomed to street lamps. You seldom see stars in the city, and this moon is really bright.”

  “I wouldn’t have brought you out here if it hadn’t been a full moon.”

  She looked over at him with a curious expression. “No, you wouldn’t have, would you? I remember that about you. Always the protector.”

  The warmth of her gaze was a caress. He indulged himself in it for a second.

  Move on. There’s no future here. “These old roads are too uneven,” he continued. “Pockmarked by winter, and the only maintenance is what the locals do for themselves. This county’s too sparsely populated for a decent tax base.”

  “I forget sometimes.” At his wrinkled forehead, she explained. “That you always paid attention to so much outside yourself.”

  He shrugged off the compliment, but she persisted. “You were forever seeking out information about all kinds of topics, and you were interested in so much more of the world than many teenagers. You’re still one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met.”

  He didn’t know how to respond, so he said nothing.

  “Did you—” Abruptly she stopped, and he braced himself for a return to the conversations about his case.

  But she surprised him. “Did you have things to read in there, David? Were you able to take your mind away?” She slowed her steps. Halted. He had no choice but to stop, too. “Can we talk about this, or is it too painful?”

  He looked down at her earnest expression, her skin ivory in the moon’s glow, those milk chocolate eyes round and soft. He reached out slowly and brushed one stray curl back from her forehead.

  She didn’t flinch from his touch but closed her eyes instead.

  Those lips tempted him so. One kiss, just one…

  He stepped back. No future. He had everything to lose by starting something that would have to end. He began to run again.

  Soon she joined him. They ran for a while in total silence, only the sound of their mingled breaths disturbing the night.

  When he’d locked his yearnings far enough away, he sought to make amends for his brusqueness. “The prison library wasn’t too bad.” He felt her attention like a physical caress. “The librarian took an i
nterest in me, and after a few years, he requested that I be allowed to become his assistant.” He thought of Earl Rasmussen with a mixture of gratitude and fondness. “He was a retired classics professor, convinced he could save the prison population single-handed if he could just get everyone to read the works that had endured the centuries.” At that, David found himself smiling.

  “Did he?”

  “No, but he was a sneaky old man. He brought in comic book versions for the hard cases and hooked them that way first. He actually got a reading group started, and some of the guys who’d dropped out of school in junior high did make the transition from superheroes to mythology.”

  “He sounds wonderful.”

  “He was. He gave me a window on the world. We spent a lot of hours talking while cataloguing or repairing books. He could argue any side of any issue.” He saved my life.

  “Is he still there?”

  Fond memories plummeted, smashed on the rocks of reality. “He died stepping between two inmates to stop a fight.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah.” The old debris began rising. Lock it down. The sweet clear night tarnished under the smear of his filthy past. “Let’s turn around. It’s late.” He did so without waiting for her, and he no longer shortened his stride as much, though he stayed close enough to be sure she was all right.

  The high tide of destruction wouldn’t be held off forever, though. He could hardly wait to get her back to her place.

  When they arrived, he stood like a sentinel, expecting her—needing her—to go inside right away.

  “David, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things worse.”

  “It’s not you,” he managed. Can’t you see, Callie? Everything I touch turns foul.

  She stepped closer. He stepped back.

  She grabbed his forearm before he got too far. “What you’ve been through—no one comes out without marks. I know that world as well as someone not locked inside it can.” Her grip tightened, and as much as he longed for it and knew he shouldn’t, heaven help him, he didn’t shake her off. “You can talk to me about it. I won’t be shocked. The universe I’ve operated in…there’s not much that can rattle me anymore.” She slid her hand down and grasped his. “We don’t know what’s inside us, what we can do if we’re pushed, not until…” Her eyes became distant and haunted. “Not until we’re faced with one moment, one instant…”

  He stopped breathing. Could she know? Could she really understand if he told her, if he gave up his most buried secret? For a moment David felt a nearly irresistible temptation to take that chance, to at last let someone see.

  But in that same second he thought of the person who would be destroyed by the truth, and he knew that, yet again, he would swallow the words that had choked him for fifteen endless years. “I can’t, Callie.” He heard the hoarse voice that hardly sounded like his own.

  He clasped her hand for one bittersweet beat, then let her go. “Thank you, though.” He could give her that much. Owed her that. Especially when, by withholding his own confidence, he was denying her the chance to share her burdens. You can talk to me if you need to, he almost said, but couldn’t afford to.

  They had no future. They could come no closer.

  “I hope you can sleep now.” He turned away like the loser he felt himself.

  She said nothing, which he deserved.

  He ran home, every step dogged by his yearning to turn back.

  She did sleep well. Even though heartache had accompanied her to bed, her muscles were warm and lax and she’d barely managed to change out of her clothes before her eyelids had closed.

  Now, as she stretched in bed and listened to birdsong, she let her mind range over the night before.

  David was hiding something, the conviction grew within her. He was fighting himself…but why? She went over all that they’d said during the run, picking at it for hidden treasures, tiny gems of truth that would provide new pieces to the puzzle that was David.

  Maybe he’d simply become that private. Even as a teen, there had been depths to him, yes, pockets of maturity beyond his age. But no secrets, she would swear to that. He’d been a young man filled with confidence in his own abilities, a leader both of his football team and his school, liked by everyone. He’d been under great pressure to be Oak Hollow’s shining star when he moved out into the world, but he’d borne even that with grace.

  She’d watched David minister to lost cats and lonely old ladies. He’d accepted the burden that the town placed on him with no complaints or self-pity. He had his ambitions—a lot of them, in fact—but he didn’t fight those of others for him; instead, he simply incorporated them into his load and moved on.

  So what could have broken him? What had made the amiable teen turn into a self-confessed killer?

  Her musings were interrupted by a catfight right outside her window. If that interloper was running off her scarred old tom again…

  Callie leapt from the bed and charged outside, grabbing a broom along the way. “You leave him alone, you little creep!”

  Sure enough, the sleek, muscled juvenile delinquent was on the attack. She ran after the aggressor. “You get out of here, you hear me?” Barefoot on cool morning grass, she bent and tried to soothe the old tom, who rewarded her with a swipe of his claws and took off like greased lightning.

  “Well,” she grumbled, settling back on her heels. “You remind me of someone else who doesn’t appreciate my help.”

  “Ouch,” said a very familiar voice behind her.

  Callie jumped to standing. “David! What are you doing here?”

  “Thought I’d fix that kitchen faucet of yours before I got started on the Chambers house. They’re not quite ready for me.”

  His gaze skimmed over her, and abruptly Callie realized that she was outside in a tank top and flannel drawstring pants that hung low on her hips, leaving both her arms and a wide strip of abdomen bare to the chill.

  And her nipples were standing up. She crossed her arms over her chest, but that still left other parts of her exposed. “Oh. Ah, well, um…I’ll go make coffee. Want some?”

  When she finally met his eyes, he was actually smiling.

  Just a simple smile, but relaxed and easy for a change, with a little spark thrown into the mix. The very normalcy, along with the absence of anything like it from him since they were teens, gave that smile a punch that socked her right in the solar plexus.

  “Yeah, I would.” Something more in his heated gaze had her wondering if he could possibly be interested in more than coffee.

  Down, girl. So far, he’d been the master of the mixed message. Stay—go. Start—stop. Leave me alone—come here. Kiss me. Don’t touch me.

  And she was little better, she had to admit.

  Oh, stop thinking so much. Just let the moment stand, would it kill you?

  Maybe not. She’d always been lousy at living in the moment, but nothing else was working, and she was tired of the constant struggle.

  So she smiled right back and was rewarded by an increased wattage in his. They stood there like that until a breeze made her shiver, and she realized that her feet were wet with dew and the hems of her pajama bottoms were rapidly getting that way.

  “You better cover up,” he said, but his voice was warm and just a little husky.

  “I guess I should,” she responded. But just for a second or two longer, she stayed right where she was.

  Until the wind picked up and ruffled her hair, sending a chill across the back of her neck and woke her from her sensual trance.

  “Coffee.”

  “Coffee.” He nodded.

  “Be right back,” she said.

  “Stay inside where it’s warmer,” he responded. “I’ll get my tools and fix that faucet.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t move.

  “All right.” He didn’t either.

  At last he broke into a full-fledged grin and turned her with a gentle push. “Get inside, Callie, before you turn into a pop
sicle.” He strode off toward the shed.

  Maybe then you could come and warm me, she thought.

  She hadn’t been truly warm in a very long time.

  “Can I do that?”

  “What?” David wished Callie would back away. She was dressed now at least, but he’d come in from the shed to hear the sound of the bathtub running, then waited for the coffee to finish dripping while listening to too-intimate splashes from behind the connecting wall. With each silvery slide of water, he could so easily imagine the trail of moisture over the curve of her breasts, the slickness of pale skin that had barely been interrupted by the skimpy tank. Her belly was smooth and toned, her hips a feminine curve that taunted his hands—

  “…the faucet. I’d like to try it myself.”

  David yanked himself back from the fantasies he could ill afford. Vigilance had been everything for fifteen years, and now was no less treacherous. “You want to learn plumbing?”

  She was bent over the kitchen sink, her jeans tight and low-slung, her equally formfitting T-shirt riding up to reveal again that sweet strip of skin that had his fingers burning to touch. She glanced over at him, and he didn’t tear his gaze away fast enough. Her eyes asked questions while her sweet lips formed words he barely registered. “If I’m going to own property, I should understand how things work. I don’t like to rely on others much.”

  She’d been like that before, stubborn and independent, impatient with being so young. “That’s wise.” He dragged himself all the way into the present, past lips he hungered to kiss, flesh he yearned to caress…

  Hadn’t he spent the night lecturing himself about what was possible? He cleared his throat. “This is simple, really. The first thing to do is to study what you have, get it fixed in your mind before you take it apart. Then focus on each step and lay out the parts you remove in a line, so you know the order to replace them.”

  She gnawed at that full lower lip, and he thought he might lose his mind. He busied his hands with plumbing parts instead of flesh. “I’ll put back what I’ve done and let you try.”

  “Really?” Her eyes shone with delight. She bent closer as he worked, and he could smell her, no fancy perfume, only soap and woman. She had no makeup on that he could tell, and she needed none to take a big bite out of his control. His fingers lost their coordination, and his wrench slipped, scraping the knuckles of one hand. He cursed beneath his breath.