Scout's Honor (14 page)

The quiet interlude was broken by a sharp
rap on the door. St. John. She’d forgotten about St. John. Mitch
seemed to have that effect on her, making her forget about the rest
of the world.

“Anna,” St. John said, his voice cutting
through the door, “I need to see you. There isn’t much time.”

As she reached for the doorknob Mitch bent
his head and stole a kiss, tantalizing her with the swift caress of
his tongue over her lips. “Whatever you decide, Anna,” he said,
“please include me in your life for a few weeks.”

It was a straightforward request—no
pleading, no coercion. She opened the door, and he stepped away
from her.

St. John was angry. Eyes didn’t really shoot
flames and ears didn’t smoke, but he was doing a pretty good
imitation. He grabbed Anna’s arm and jerked her to his side,
leveling a dangerous stare at Mitch. “You,” he said through
clenched teeth, “should be drawn, quartered, and hung out to
dry.”

Threat and violence arced between the two
men, and Anna didn’t know whom she feared for the most. St. John
was bigger, but Mitch had already proven how meaningless that was
in a fight. Heaven forbid he should do to St. John what he’d done
to Carlton.

It was up to her to defuse the situation,
fast. She wrapped an arm around St. John’s waist and started
walking toward the living room, away from Mitch.

“Get the hell out of my house.” St. John
threw the words over his shoulder.

Mitch’s eyes snapped to Anna’s, silently
asking her for a decision
.

She was torn, but if she let him leave like
this, it would be good-bye. She couldn’t take the chance. “Don’t
go, Mitch,” she said.

St. John’s muscles instantly tightened under
her arm. He gazed down at her with stormy gray eyes, searching for
a reason she was incapable of giving him. St. John would have to
trust her on this one. She’d have to trust herself.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a
plane ticket. “I bought you a ticket on Chalk’s next flight out of
here to Miami. You’re going to be on it. I called. Dad, he’ll
be at the airport.” He ignored
Mitch, focusing all his attention on Anna.

She drew the ticket out of his hand,
glancing back at Mitch. “We need another one—and two connections to
Denver.” The dice were cast. She’d have to play them as they
lay.

“Anna,” St. John whispered harshly, pulling
her around and placing himself between her and Mitch. “You can’t be
serious.”

St. John had never been angry with her
before, not like this, and it shook her confidence. She tried to
explain. “I won’t go to Miami with my tail between my legs. I own
part of a ranch in Colorado with my own house on it. No one will
look for me there. St. John,”—she emphasized his name by lowering
her voice—“
I
wouldn’t even look for me there.”

“You got that right,” he snapped, then
changed his tactics from anger to concern. “I didn’t tell Dad the
particulars. He loves you, Anna. He won’t make it hard for you to
be home. He’s worried. Doesn’t he deserve some consideration?”

“Cheap shot, St. John.”

“Truth, sweetheart
.”

“I’m going to Denver,” she said with a calm
authority she was far from feeling.

St. John’s eyes pleaded with her, his hands
gripping her shoulders. Finally, at her lack of response, he gave
up and turned on Mitch with the remainder of his pent-up
animosity.”Does this ranch have a phone?”

Mitch nodded.

“Then write down the number, along with the
name of your brother’s law firm,” St. John demanded, jabbing a
finger at the desk pad next to the phone. “And I want directions to
your place.”

When Mitch was finished, St. John ripped the
page off the pad. “Now, Mr. Summers, listen to this. Anything
happens to my sister and you have no place to hide. And when I’m
finished with you, your brother loses his job, his license. He’ll
never work in the States again.” He glanced down at the paper
clenched in his fist. “Well, you got the law firm right. The rest
of this had better check out.”

Mitch’s face was passive, his body relaxed,
as he listened to St. John’s threats. If anything he was the
calmest one in the room. Then suddenly Anna remembered the scene on
the yacht. Surprise had given Mitch his edge. No one looking at
that face would expect danger.

He moved, and she caught her breath, a shaft
of panic cutting through her insides. But he only reached for his
jacket on the back of the couch. Pulling out the deeds, he shot her
a quick glance and smiled, the crooked grin that always fought with
his nose.

He handed the deeds to St. John.
“Collateral,” he said. “And, Mr. Lange . . . before anything
happens to Anna, they’ll have to get through me.”

St. John gave him a disgusted look, summing
up his appraisal of Mitch Summers with one deprecating sneer.

Mitch only smiled more widely.

Black asphalt raced under the Speedster.
They wound their way up I-70 through the mountains, the wind
roaring in their ears, Mitch wrapping the gears all the way.

Their reception in Miami had been cold, with
James Lange echoing St. John’s sentiments exactly. His welcoming
smile had faded fast when he realized what Anna was going to do,
where she was going to go—what she had already done. He hadn’t
tried to dissuade her, though, knowing his bridges had been burned
on that avenue a long time ago. Parting words between father and
daughter had been kept to a minimum, with only the slightest
fragment of a deeper love showing through.

Denver had been different. In Denver she had
stepped into Mitch’s world—brighter sunshine, bluer skies, and his
infectious enthusiasm lighting everything within a fifty-yard
radius.

He’d hustled her up the concourse, taken the
escalator steps two at a time down to the baggage-claim area,
grabbed their luggage, and hailed a cab—all in a record-breaking
twenty minutes. Anna had never gotten her luggage in under half an
hour in her life, and that had been on an island hop.

When the cab headed away from the jagged
mountains to the west, Mitch explained that they were going to pick
up his car at a friend’s house. The taxi stopped in front of a
two-story town house, lushly landscaped with river rock and
evergreens. A bright red Porsche was parked on the street. Anna
didn’t think anybody ever parked a Porsche on the street, not when
there was a perfectly good single-car garage attached to the
house.

Mitch knocked once on the door and opened
it. A petite blonde peaked around a corner farther down the hall,
and a wide smile split her face when she saw him.

Yes, this was a lot different from their
reception in Miami, Anna thought as she watched a warm greeting,
full of hugs and kisses. A very warm greeting. She was about ready
to go back outside and stop the cab, when Mitch turned and put his
arm around her, drawing her close. Introductions were made. Her
name was Mandy. Sweet, cute, bouncy Mandy. Mitch and Mandy. The
thought almost made her gag.

“How is she?” Mitch asked Mandy.

For a second Anna thought he was soliciting
an opinion about her. But no. Mandy plucked something off the wall
behind him, then dangled a set of keys in front of him.

“I didn’t even warm the engine,” she said
with a sly smile, “and we’ve had a couple of cold nights since
you’ve been gone.”

Anna knew that smile. She’d used it herself
a few times. But under these circumstances, and directed at Mitch,
it made her heartsick.

Mitch smiled the same smile back at Mandy
and lifted the keys out of her hand. “I’ll warm her engine just
fine, thank you, and I’ll talk to David about warming yours,
sweetheart.”

Anna breathed an inward sigh of relief.
David and Mandy she could handle. The sexual teasing was just
that—teasing.

They trooped into the garage with their
luggage, and when the light went on Anna let out a slow
whistle.

Gleaming black, looking fast, the sports car
hugged the floor. Half a windshield raked, baggy top, fancy wheels.
A Speedster. She fell in love at first sight.

“Do you feel lucky?” Mitch asked her.

Lucky, light, and loving every minute of it,
she thought. She couldn’t wait to snuggle into one of those leather
bucket seats. “How lucky do I need to feel?” she replied.

“Lucky enough to hold back the rain and snow
for two hours.”

“No problem, scout.” She inched her way
around the car, one hand rubbing the sleek, dark curves.

When they were roaring down the
block—Speedsters roar even in first gear, Anna discovered—she
turned to Mitch and said, “You and Mandy . . . and David must be
awfully close friends.”

“David and I worked on the force together in
San Francisco, but what makes you say that?”

“They parked their Porsche on the street and
let you have their garage.”

He turned to face her, and a grin spread
over his face and lit his eyes. “Ah, honey.” He sighed. “But I’ve
got the Speedster.”

With the luggage tied down on the diminutive
space behind the seats, they couldn’t put the top up. Wind and
noise created a maelstrom of excitement as they screamed down Floyd
Hill, practically airborne on the wide, sweeping curves.

Rock and roll pounded out a heavy rhythm
under the roar of the engine. Mitch had outfitted Anna with an
iPod, using the headphones to anchor a large-brimmed navy ball cap
to her head. SPEED SKIING was written in bright yellow letters on
the cap, and after this ride Anna felt ready to take it on, willing
to bet that Mitch had done it and loved it. He looked like a racer
in his worn leather jacket and aviator shades, his hair blowing in
the wind.

Having fun was turning out to be another one
of the things Mitch did best. She put it on the list she was
keeping for him—right up there with his kisses.

He handled the oversteer with true finesse,
especially on the exits. The Granby sign was a flash of green as
they zoomed by. He banked for the outside, flicked the wheel, the
rear end slid into place, and they tore up the ramp. Anna loved it.
This was definitely fast-track action.

Berthoud Pass was another story. She
clutched the dash, her knuckles white, bracing herself on every
hairpin turn, forcing herself not to look at the drop-off cliffs
speeding by, inches from the tires. She would have closed her eyes,
but her stomach kept telling her not to chance it. People didn’t
invite friends back who threw up in their Speedsters.

The road leveled out as they pulled into
Winter Park, and she watched the little towns fly by. They didn’t
fly by because of Mitch’s speed—he was doing the limit—but because
they were so little. Fraser, Tabernash, which she almost missed.
Granby took a little longer.

On the western outskirts of Granby they
crossed the Colorado River. Before the next bridge Mitch signaled
for a left-hand turn and downshifted the Speedster onto a graveled
road.

They roared and crept along half a mile next
to the river. Cottonwoods fluttered a shower of golden leaves into
the sports car. Late summer in Nassau was mid-fall in the Rocky
Mountain high country. Sunlight dimmed as heavy blue clouds rolled
in over the mountaintops and shadowed the meadows.

Mitch pulled up in front of an ancient
weathered barn and jumped out to swing the doors open. He took a
moment to let his gaze wander over the tranquil solitude of the
ranch, stretching his body and breathing in the crisp, clean air. A
smile of pure satisfaction lit his face.

Anna watched every move as if she were
seeing him for the first time. Only it was better than the first
time. Tight, button-fly jeans hung low on his hips, a real
improvement over the worn-out tuxedo. One ragged-edged pocket
peaked through a hole at the top of his right thigh. She wondered
what had worn his pocket out and tried not to wonder how his
muscled thigh would feel wrapped around her own.

The flush of fantasy warmed her cheeks and
brought a smile to her face. Her gaze took in his untied tennis
shoes, the white tongues pulled up and out.

Count on Mitch not to tie his shoes.

He breathed deeply and raised his arms above
his head, pulling the knit sport shirt up to expose taut stomach
muscles, the swirling dip of belly button, and a marked line of
white where his tan ended. The fantasy continued with her mouth
tracing that line, her soft breath warming his skin, her senses
filled with his special scent. If this was a private performance,
she was enjoying every minute of it.

The cracked brown leather jacket broadened
his shoulders, making his waist and hips seem even narrower than
they were. Fashion plate he wasn’t. Sexy he was. She was going to
have to weigh the odds very carefully in this game.

She decided she’d had all she could take and
opened her door. As she stood on solid ground, her head started to
spin. She slumped back against the door and moved a hand to cover
her eyes. The action helped a little, but not enough. She slowly
slid down the curved panel until she was sitting in the dirt. This
girl had seen the best bodies on the
C
ô
te
d’
Azur, she thought. He couldn’t have had that much of an effect on
her. Impossible.

“Anna?” He was at her side, kneeling in the
dust and touching her shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

The feel of his hand steadied the world, and
she reached up to take that hand, holding on while she stared at
the ground and tried to get it in focus.

“I’m so dizzy,” she whispered in an unsteady
voice.

“It’s okay, babe,” he said, gently pushing
her head between her knees. “It’s the altitude. You’ll be all right
in a minute.”

He sat down next to her and shrugged out of
his jacket, then draped it over her shoulders. He nestled her under
his arm and held her for a while before asking, “You ready to move
into the house?”