Only By Your Touch
Read Only By Your Touch Online
Authors: Catherine Anderson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Only by Your Touch
A
Signet
Book / published by arrangement with the author
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©
2003
by
Adeline Catherine Anderson
This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.
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The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,
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ISBN-13:
978-1-1011-9113-2
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Electronic edition: March, 2004
Onyx Books by Catherine Anderson
Phantom Waltz
Sweet Nothings
Signet Books by Catherine Anderson
Always in My Heart
Only by Your Touch
This book is dedicated to my Shoshone ancestors who once ranged the forests and high deserts of Central Oregon. Some would say, “Suvate,” it is finished, but for those of us who remember in our hearts, the story will never end. The People whisper in the wind to us of beautiful things, and the land they so loved is a legacy always to be treasured.
I wish to thank our local veterinarian, Gordon Pickering, for sharing a bit of his knowledge with me about parvovirus and its prevention and treatment. He is greatly concerned because many people don’t realize that their puppies are not automatically immune to disease after receiving their first shots. If you have a puppy, please get a full round of immunizations for your pet and consult with your veterinarian before you begin his or her social training.
I
n the three weeks since Chloe Evans had moved to the mountain resort community of Jack Pine, Oregon, she’d lost count of the times she’d driven by the feed store to let her son, Jeremy, watch the animated scarecrow pitch hay and the old farmer milk his cow. Like all the buildings in the business district, the barnlike structure was quaint and charming. Flanked by towering Ponderosa pines, the store had weathered cedar siding complemented by forest-green trim.
Jeremy grinned as Chloe jockeyed the Honda into a parking space. His sherry-brown eyes danced with excitement. “Are we
really
going in there, Mom?”
“We sure are.” Chloe pushed ineffectually at the wispy auburn curls that had escaped her French braid. “Sue says this store has the best selection of puppy food.” She narrowed an eye at her son. “You
do
still have our list, I hope.”
Jeremy waved a crumpled piece of paper. “Hurry, Mom!” He threw open his door. “Rowdy’s home all alone. After being ’bandoned, he might think he got left again.”
“Whoa!” Relieved to see her son acting like a normal little boy for a change, Chloe leaned over to unfasten his belt. “You can’t go anywhere still strapped
in. And no crossing the parking lot without holding my hand.”
“Aw, Mom.”
“Aw, Jeremy.”
“I’m not a baby anymore. I won’t get hit by a car.”
Chloe grabbed her purse as she climbed out on her side. “As of yesterday, I officially became an old lady, remember? Maybe I need you to hold
my
hand.”
“You’re not that old.”
Chloe felt old. She’d never expected to be divorced and starting over at thirty. Taking Jeremy’s hand, she swung her arm and forced a jaunty bounce into her step. That chapter of her life was closed, she reminded herself. She and her son were making a brand-new start. That was what she needed to think about, this delightful little town and the wonderful future it offered them.
With so many wealthy tourists flocking to the area all year long, there was a lot of money to be made in Jack Pine, and if Chloe’s father had his way, she would have a piece of the action someday. In three years, her folks planned to pull up stakes in Washington and join her, using the proceeds from the sale of their home to buy a business. He claimed he needed something to keep him busy after he retired, but Chloe wasn’t fooled. Once the business was purchased, he would inform her that he was unable to handle the workload, and he’d plead with her to save him from financial ruin by taking over.
My dad
. Just thinking about him made Chloe smile. In many ways, Mike Pritchard had been all that had kept her sane during the difficult times with Roger, a living reminder that there were a lot of good men left in the world. Too often over the last year, Chloe had found it difficult to remember that.
Breathing deeply of the mountain breeze, Chloe focused on the whimsical, fairy-tale feeling of Jack Pine. At the edge of the parking lot, a red sleigh parked under a tree bore a dusty sign on one its runners that read,
SLEIGH RIDES, $15.
Chloe could almost see the small town blanketed with snow, with all the rustic buildings sporting icicles along their eaves.
Across the road was the Christmas Village, a darling little log structure with a shake roof and frosting-pink gingerbread trim, its twin bay windows chock-full of twinkling lights and holiday decorations. Christmas being her favorite season, Chloe couldn’t wait to browse for at least an hour in there.
That was for later, though. Today she had to make this shopping expedition special. It wasn’t every day that a small boy got a new puppy, after all.
Jeremy beamed. “Thank you, Mom,” he said for at least the twentieth time. “I know we can’t ’ford a puppy right now.”
“Sure we can. Remember all those pop bottles and cans we’ve been picking up off the side of the road? Tomorrow night while I’m at work, you can put them in plastic bags, and we’ll go redeem them on Friday.”
“Will we make a lot of money?”
Not by a long shot,
Chloe thought dismally, but she wasn’t about to tell Jeremy that. “Enough to afford puppy chow and chew toys.” She bent over to plant a kiss on his forehead. “No worries. Okay?”
“ ’Kay.” Jeremy suddenly braked to a stop, his gaze fixed on something high and to Chloe’s right. In a faint, tremulous voice, he asked, “What’s that?”
Chloe’s heart kicked hard against her ribs. Perched atop the cab of a dusty green pickup, a silver-and-black wolf stared at them with feral yellow eyes. Instinctively, Chloe moved her son behind her and
retreated a step. It was only a dog, she assured herself. Malamute huskies had a wolfish look. This animal was probably a malamute mix.
“Nice doggy,” Chloe said. Normally she got along well with canines, but the ones she’d encountered had never stared at her with a hungry look in their eyes or been sitting on top of pickup trucks, poised to leap. “Good boy,” she trilled as she shoved Jeremy back another step.
The dog growled low in its throat. Getting a tight grip on her purse in case she had to use it as a weapon, Chloe continued backing away.
One step, two.
Jeremy clung to her leg, the clutch of his hands conveying his terror.
“It’s just a dog, sweetie. Don’t be afraid.”
“He’s
big,
Mom, and he looks mean.”
When Chloe had put some distance between them and the dog, she walked calmly to the boardwalk, where she felt marginally safer, and hurried toward the front doors. An overhead bell jangled as they pushed inside.
Still clinging to her slacks, Jeremy, his eyes as round as quarters, went up on his tiptoes to peek out the door window. The wolf stared through the glass at them with its eerie yellow gaze.
“Big bully,” Chloe muttered.
She wanted to find the dog’s owners and give them a piece of her mind for allowing such a vicious animal off its leash in a public place.
“He’s scary.” Jeremy finally let go of Chloe’s leg.
“I know.” Mustering a smile, Chloe swatted at the wrinkles in her slacks, where Jeremy’s damp fingers had bunched the twill. “I doubt he would bite anyone, though. Mean dogs aren’t usually left loose like that.”
Jeremy’s eyes went wide. “Uh-oh.” He held out his hands. “I dropped our list.”
Chloe looked out the window and saw the crumpled piece of paper fluttering across the parking lot. Ruffling Jeremy’s hair, she said, “I think I can remember what we need.”
“Puppy chow,” he reminded her.
“Oh, yes, definitely.”
“And dishes, Mom. We can’t forget those.”
“And puppy biscuits.”
“And a chew toy so he doesn’t eat our shoes.”
Taking her son’s hand, Chloe headed for the merchandise area of the feed store. Open wooden barrels lined both walls of the foyer. Being from Seattle, she found the earthy scents strange and unfamiliar, but placards on the barrels identified the commodities as barley, oats, and alfalfa pellets.
As they moved up the center aisle, Chloe saw an older woman with sandy hair working behind the counter. Wiping her hands on her green bib apron, the woman asked, “Can I help you folks find somethin’?”
“We’re looking for the puppy food,” Jeremy informed her.
“Puppy food, huh? Sounds to me like somebody just got a dog.”
“Yup,” Jeremy said proudly. “A golden ’triever.”
“Ah.” The clerk nodded. “That’s a very popular breed.”
“Do you have any chew toys?” Jeremy asked.
“Aisle five.” To Chloe, the clerk added, “You’ll find the dog food there as well. The carts are by the front windows.”
“Thanks.”
Tugging Jeremy along beside her, Chloe set off for the dog-food section. With her gaze lifted to read the overhead signs, she wasn’t watching where she was going as she rounded the end of an aisle, and she ran face-first into what felt like a cement wall. She lost
her grip on her son and her purse. Lipsticks, pens, car keys, and loose coins spilled over the floor as she staggered to catch her balance.
Large, capable hands clamped over her shoulders to keep her from falling. “Are you all right?” a deep voice asked.
“I’m fine.” Chloe was so jarred by the impact that she couldn’t focus for a moment. She couldn’t believe she’d barreled into someone. “I’m so sorry.” She realized she was apologizing to a shirt button, broke off, and located the face that went with the chest and shoulders. “I should have been paying attention.”
“That makes two of us. I didn’t mean to mow you down like that.”
His voice was a rich, vibrant baritone with a raspy edge. Even with the brim of a brown Stetson dipping low to shadow his face, she could see that his features were striking. High, sharp cheekbones underscored eyes so clear and intense a blue, they were startling in contrast to his dark skin and jet-black brows. Deep creases slashed his lean cheeks, bracketing a perfectly shaped mouth that might have looked hard if not for the sensual fullness of the lower lip. He had a strong, angular jaw, and his cheek muscle bunched and rippled, giving him the look of a man with turbulent emotions roiling just beneath the surface.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“No, no, I’m—fine.”
The collar of his blue shirt lay open at the throat, revealing a circlet of cobalt beads, from which was suspended a crude stone medallion with a star burst etched on the face. Chloe had never seen anything quite like it. Slipping free of his grasp, she bent to collect her things.
When he crouched to help, she said, “Oh, no, please. I can manage.”
Ignoring her protest, he began picking up stuff, a blur of blue shirt and sun-bronzed skin as he shoved items in her bag. He had the hands of a man who labored outdoors, callused at the palm, with rough ridges capping his knuckles. The sleeves of his shirt were folded back to reveal thick, sinewy forearms with only a sparse dusting of dark hair.
Low in her abdomen, Chloe felt a quickening. It had been so long since she had experienced the sensation that it took her a moment to realize it was sexual attraction. Surprised at herself and more than a little unsettled, she forced her attention back to the task at hand.
As the mother of a small boy, she had developed a bad habit of carrying a little of everything in her purse, not to mention all the little treasures that Jeremy had given her—pretty rocks, a wilted violet, a ring he’d made from braided pine needles. The collection was a junky-looking mess.
When the stranger picked up an unwrapped peppermint candy with more hair on it than stripes, Chloe wished the floor planks would separate and swallow her. His hard mouth twitched as he dropped the candy back in her purse along with an emergency tampon whose wrapper had nearly disintegrated.
“Thank you,” she said when the mess was finally cleared away.
“No problem.” Still hunkered at her eye level, he nudged up the brim of his hat to regard her with unsmiling intensity. “I just hope I didn’t hurt you.”
Chloe waved a hand as she pushed to her feet. “I’m fine. Next time maybe I’ll watch where I’m going.” Smiling at Jeremy, who’d backed away to stare, she
added, “My little boy just got a new puppy, and we were searching for the dog-food section.”
“Ah.” He glanced at the child. Then he tipped his hat to Chloe and said, “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
As he walked away, Chloe turned to get a better look at him. His chambray shirt and snug denim jeans were common garments for a man in Jack Pine, but nothing else about him was ordinary. Hooked behind his ears, his jet-black hair fell to his shoulders, the gleaming strands as straight as a bullet on a windless day. In place of a standard leather belt, he wore a woven sash decorated with intricate beadwork. The band encircling the dusty crown of his Stetson bore a similar design, as did his knee-high moccasins of heavy canvas.
“He’s wearing a necklace!” Jeremy blurted loudly.
“Shh!” Chloe herded her son down aisle five.
“Well, he
is!
”
“I know. Lots of men wear jewelry.”
“Not that kind.”
“I think he’s a Native American, sweetie.”
“What’s a native ’merican?”
Chloe wished her son would speak softly. “An Indian,” she whispered.
“Oh.” Jeremy glanced worriedly behind them. “Does he scalp people?”
“No, of course not. Native Americans don’t scalp people anymore. That happened more than a century ago when they were fighting to keep their land.”
“What land?”
Chloe searched her son’s upturned face. “This land,” she finally found the presence of mind to say. “That’s why they’re called Native Americans, because they lived here first. We came along much later and took everything from them.”
Leaning closer, Jeremy asked, “Do you think he’s still mad about it?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“He looked kind of mad to me.”
Chloe struggled not to smile. If the stranger was overhearing this, she could only hope he liked kids and had a sense of humor. “I’m sure he’s not mad, sweetie.”
“He didn’t smile.”
“Just because people don’t smile doesn’t mean they’re mad.”
“What’s it mean then?”
