Connal

He took it that way, too, laughing even louder. “Sure you are,” he said. He threw down the rest of the contents of his glass and reached for the whiskey bottle.

Pepi was faster. She grabbed it away, something she’d never have managed if he’d been sober, and drained it into the sink before he could stagger to his feet.

“Damn you, girl!” he said harshly, staring at the empty bottle. “That was the last I had!”

“Good. I won’t have to tear the place apart looking for the rest. Sit down and I’ll make you some coffee. It will get you on your feet before Dad finds you,” she mumbled. She plugged in the pot. “Oh, C.C.,” she moaned, “he’s combing the hills for you right now! You know what he’ll do if he finds you like this!”

“But, he won’t, will he, honey?” he chided, coming up all too close behind her to take her shoulders and draw her back against the warm strength of his lean body. “You’ll protect me, like always.”

“Someday I won’t be in time,” she sighed. “And then what will become of you?”

He tilted her worried eyes up to his, and little shudders ran through her body. He’d never touched her except in amusement or at a dance. Her heart had fed just on the sight of him, from a distance. He was very potent this close, and she had to drop her eyes to his lean cheeks to keep him from knowing that.

“Nobody ever gave a damn except you,” he murmured. “I don’t know that I like being mothered by a girl half my age.”

“I’m not half your age. Where are the cups?” she asked quietly, trying to divert him.

He wasn’t buying it. His lean fingers brushed back loose strands of her hair, making her nerves sit up and scream. “How old are you now?”

“You know very well I’m twenty-two,” she said. She had to keep her voice steady. She looked up deliberately to show him that he wasn’t affecting her, but the smoldering expression in those black eyes caught her off guard.

“Twenty-two to my thirty. And a damned young twenty-two,” he said slowly. “Why do you bother with me?”

“You’re an asset around here. Surely you know how close we were to bankruptcy when you got hired?” she asked on a laugh. “Dad owes a lot to your business sense. But he still hates liquor.”

“Why?”

“My mother died in an automobile accident the year before you came here,” she said. “My father had been drinking and he was behind the wheel at the time.” She tugged against his disturbing hands and he let her go.

She looked through the cabinets and found a white mug that wasn’t broken or chipped. She put it down by the coffeepot and filled it, and then she took it to C.C., who had sat down and was rubbing his head with his lean hands at the table.

“Head hurt?” she asked.

“Not nearly enough,” he said enigmatically. He took the mug and sipped the thick black liquid. He glared at it. “What in hell did you put in here, an old boot?”

“Twice the usual measure, that’s all,” she assured him as she sat down beside him. “It will sober you up quicker.”

“I don’t want to be sober,” he said shortly.

“I know that. But I don’t want you to get fired,” she returned, smiling pertly when he glared at her. “You’re the only person on the place except Dad who doesn’t treat me like a lost cause.”

He studied her smooth features, her soft dark eyes. “Well, I guess that makes us two of a kind, then. Because you’re the first person in years who gave a damn about me.”

“Not the only one,” she corrected, smiling in spite of her feelings as she added, “Edie cares, too.”

He shrugged and smiled faintly. “I guess she does. We understand each other, Edie and I,” he murmured quietly, his eyes with a faraway look. “She’s one of a kind.”

In bed, she probably was, Pepi thought, but she couldn’t give herself away by saying so. She got up and brought the coffeepot to refill his cup.

“Drink up, pal,” she said gently. “The vigilantes aren’t far away.”

“I feel more steady now,” he said after he’d finished the second cup. “On the outside, anyway.” He lit a cigarette and blew out a thick cloud of smoke, leaning back wearily in the chair. “God, I hate days like this.”

She couldn’t admit that she knew why without incriminating herself. But she remembered well enough what he’d said, and the way he’d screamed when the memory came back in a nightmare delirium. Poor man. Poor, tortured man. He’d lost his wife and his unborn child on a white-water rafting trip that he’d had the misfortune to survive. As near as she could tell, he’d blamed himself for that ever since. For living, when they hadn’t.

“I guess we all have good ones and bad ones,” she said noncommittally. “If you’re okay, I’ll get back to my cooking. Dad’s reminded me that he’s due an apple pie. I’ve been baking half the afternoon.”

“You’re a domestic little thing, aren’t you?” he asked strangely, searching her eyes. “Is Brandon coming to see you tonight?”

She blushed without knowing why. “Brandon is the vet,” she said shortly. “Not my boyfriend.”

“You could use a boyfriend, tidbit,” he said unexpectedly, his eyes narrowing, his frown deepening as he fingered the empty mug. “You’re a woman now. You need more than companionship from a man.”

“I know what I need, thanks,” she replied, rising. “You’d better stick your head in a bucket or something and see if you can get that bloodshot look out of your eyes. And for heaven’s sake, swallow some minty mouthwash.”

He sighed. “Anything else, Mother Mathews?” he asked sarcastically.

“Yes. Stop getting drunk. It only makes things worse.”

He stared at her curiously. “You’re so wise, aren’t you, Pepi?” he asked cuttingly. “You haven’t lived long enough to know why people drink.”

“I’ve lived long enough to know that nobody ever solved a problem by running away from it,” she returned, glaring back when his eyes started flashing black fire at her. “And don’t start growling, either, because it’s the truth and you know it. You’ve spent years living in the past, letting it haunt you. Oh, I don’t pretend to know why,” she said quickly when he began to eye her suspiciously, “but I know a haunted man when I see one. You might try living in the present, C.C. It’s not so bad. Even at calving time. And just think, you have roundup to look forward to,” she added with a wicked grin. “See you.”

She started out the door without her jacket, so nervous that she’d given herself away that she hardly missed it until the wind hit her.

“Here, you’ll freeze,” he said suddenly, and came toward her with the jacket in his hand. “Put this on.”

Unexpectedly he held it for her and didn’t let go even when she was encased in it. He held her back against his chest, both lean hands burning through the sleeves of the coat, his chin on the top of her head.

“Don’t bruise your heart on me, Pepi,” he said quietly, with such tenderness in his deep voice that her eyes closed instinctively at the tone. “I don’t have anything left to give you.”

“You’re my friend, C.C.,” she said through her teeth. “I hope I’m yours. That’s all.”

His hands contracted for a minute. His chest rose and fell heavily. “Good,” he said then, and let her go. “Good. I’m glad that’s all there is to it. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

She opened the door and glanced back, forcing a smile to her lips even though he’d just destroyed all her dreams. “Try some of Charlie’s chili peppers next time you feel like a binge,” she advised. “The top of your head will come off just as fast, but you won’t have a hangover from it.”

“Get out of here!” he grumbled, glaring at her.

“If I see Dad, I’ll tell him you’re getting a snack, before you feed the livestock,” she returned, grinning. She closed the door quickly and she heard him curse.

Her father was already home when she got there. He glared at her from the living room, her mirror image except for his masculinity and white hair.

“Where have you been?” he demanded.

“Out counting sheep,” she said innocently.

“Sheep or one black one named C.C.?”