Shameless (4 page)

“Oh.” She felt surprisingly disappointed. Did that mean he wasn't interested in making a new friend?

He lifted a brow and said, “What?”

She had nothing to lose by admitting the truth, so she said, “I was hoping we could be friends.”

He reached out and brushed a callused thumb across her lower lip. “Biscuit crumb.”

The explanation came too late to keep her entire body from surging to fiery life at his touch. Unsettled, Pippa rose to her feet, crushing the foil into a ball in her hand.

He rose as well, replaced his hat, tugging it low on his forehead, and then held out his hand. “I'll take that.”

She dropped the foil into his hand, careful not to touch him.

“I've never had a female friend,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. “Sounds like something worth exploring.”

Pippa's heart began racketing in her chest as though she were facing some feral animal. She knew she should run for the hills, but her feet refused to move. Then it was too late. He'd already turned and headed toward his horse. He untied and mounted it, then rode back to where she still stood by the stone.

“I come here now and again. Guess I'll see you when I see you.” He touched a finger to his hat brim and said, “So long for now.”

“Hooroo,” Pippa called after him.

He glanced back over his shoulder, grinning at her use of the Australian goodbye, then turned and kicked his mount into a lope across the meadow in the opposite direction from which she'd come.

Pippa felt both excited and anxious as she watched the stranger ride away. He'd given her no way to contact him. She didn't even know his name! What were the chances she would ever be here again at exactly the same time as he was? Slim to none.

And yet, he'd offered to be her friend, when a
friend
was exactly what she needed in this new home. She knew he came here in the mornings. Maybe it was time she started eating her breakfast far away from King's Brats.

Pippa looked at her watch and then raced for her mount. By now Nathan would be up and hunting breakfast. At least for the short term, her little brother was her responsibility. There was no telling what kind of trouble he would get into if she wasn't there to keep an eye on him.

Pippa felt happy—and hopeful—as she headed back into the forest. Next time she would ask the stranger's name. And find out who he was and where he lived. And she would ask him all the other things she'd forgotten to ask because she'd been entranced by a lopsided smile and a pair of mesmerizing green eyes.

P
IPPA RACED HER
mount across the meadow in the moonlit darkness as though the hounds of hell were after her. She replayed the terrible conversation with her father in her head as she made her way toward the retreat where she'd found peace over the past week. She'd escaped every morning to the pond, hoping to meet her new friend again. But the stranger had never returned.

Dinner had replaced breakfast as the worst part of her day, and tonight she'd reached her limit. Her father had merely asked Eve to move her herd of mustangs off land that he needed for quarter horses he'd purchased. Instead of saying, “Okay,” Eve had accused Pippa's father of being heartless and demanded, “How can you be so cruel?”

Pippa had responded to the attack before her father could. “My dad doesn't want anything to do with you Grayhawks. We had a great life in Australia until
he
showed up and lured my dad back here.” She'd jerked her chin toward her grandfather, then lurched to her feet and snarled, “I can't wait till this year is up! Maybe then you'll leave us alone and stop making my dad so sad.”

Her father hadn't looked anywhere but at his plate. “Sit down, Pippa,” he'd said quietly, “and finish your supper.”

“I'm not hungry.” She'd thrown her napkin halfway across the table and marched out of the dining room, her stomach threatening to erupt.

Several hours later, hunger had forced her out of her room. Her father had caught her by the stairs on her way to the kitchen and said, “I can fight my own battles, Pippa.”

“You can, but you don't,” she shot back. “How can you let them speak to you like that?”

“Lower your voice,” he hissed. “Do you want the whole house to hear?”

“I hate it here. I want to go home!”

“You know why you can't do that.”

“It's not as though I've committed some heinous crime. I'm just pregnant.”

“With a married man's child!”

Pippa had been struck dumb by the ferocity of her father's voice. And the blame she heard in it. “I loved him,” she'd replied softly. “When I ran away with him, I didn't know he was married. He lied to me.”

He'd tipped her chin up with a forefinger until he could look into her eyes and said in a heartbreakingly sad voice, “The gossip would never have died. You'd have been an outcast the rest of your life.”

She couldn't remember exactly what else he'd said, but his point was clear. There was no going back.

“You can start over here,” he said.

“And do what?”

“Whatever you want. You can give up the baby for adoption and—”

Pippa had jerked her chin free, her heart clutching at the thought of giving up her child. “Stop right there. Is that what you thought? That I'd give up my baby so no one would ever know what a shameless bitch I am? Think again! I'm having this baby. And I'm keeping it!”

She never heard the rest of what he'd said. She was already running. She'd grabbed her coat and left the house, muttering angrily to herself that she would love her child no matter who its father was. But all the while, she felt chilled to the marrow of her bones at the thought that it simply might not be possible to separate her loathing for Tim from the child he'd sired.

She'd saddled a horse and galloped away, wishing there were some way she could keep on riding and never come back.

But she had nowhere to go.

Except the refuge she'd found where the ever-constant wind rustled in the evergreens and the elegant white swans came during the day to glide silently by. She wondered where the stranger was and what he was doing. And why he'd never come back to see her.

The pond seemed different at night. Eerie and fantastical, as though there were ghosts in the shadows. She stepped off her horse and tied the reins to a nearby pine, then headed for the perch where she'd first sat down with the stranger. She shivered as her jean-clad bottom hit the cold stone and wrapped her arms around herself to stay warm in her fleece jacket.

She put a hand to her belly and murmured to her unborn child, “I will find a way to put the past behind me. And I will love you with all my heart and soul and mind.”

But she wasn't going to be able to live at Kingdom Come any more than she'd been able to stay in Underhill. Here everyone would know she was an unwed mother. She needed to go somewhere else. But where? And how?

Tears stung her nose and one fell onto her cheek. She angrily brushed it away. Tears solved nothing. She had to start planning a life for herself and her unborn child. But the enormity of the task ahead caused more tears to well in her eyes. Pippa covered her face and sobbed for her lost dreams of a husband who would love her and a child who would laugh and play in their happy home.

She heard a low growl and froze. She'd been warned that gray wolves stalked these mountains, along with cougars and bears. She'd felt safe riding through the forest during the day because she always made plenty of noise, knowing the wild animals would do their best to stay out of her way. She'd hardly given the danger a thought when she'd left the house tonight. She regretted that now.

She had no weapon with her. She was totally defenseless. She rose slowly, backing toward her horse.

She heard the growl again, louder, more threatening, and stopped where she was.

Behind her a familiar voice said, “Hello again.”

“Be careful!” she said. “There's something—”

The growl came again, right beside her. Pippa saw the wolf's eyes and its sharp teeth reflected in the moonlight and struggled to hold her ground against the wild beast, when every instinct urged her to flee.

“Don't move,” the stranger said, his voice filled with enough warning to raise the hairs on the back of her neck.

“Stay back,” she whispered.

“Wulf,” he said. “Sit.”

To Pippa's amazement, the wolf licked its chops and then sat down meekly in front of her.

Pippa felt a hand on her shoulder and, with a sob of relief, turned and threw herself into a pair of strong, waiting arms. Her whole body trembled with relief as she clutched the stranger around the neck. “I thought I was done for!” she said in a strangled voice.

She felt his hand on her back pressing her snugly against him as his deep, male voice offered soothing words of comfort. She held on tight as her heartbeat slowed, accepting the solace she'd sought when she'd come here. It felt so good to lean on someone, to be held close and know she was safe.

Pippa gradually became aware of her surroundings. Of the wind rustling the trees. Of the stranger's warm breath against her cheek. Of an owl hooting in the distance. And that the man holding her had become aroused. She fought against the urge to arch her body against the hard length she could feel pressing against her belly.

Instead, she slowly freed herself from the stranger's embrace and backed away, staring warily at the man before her. The stranger's eyes gleamed with desire in the moonlight. She hitched in a breath of fear, aware that she was alone in the wilderness with someone she barely knew. He'd seemed friendly enough, but she had little reason to trust any man right now.

The wolf must have sensed some threat in her, because it was suddenly on its feet again, growling low in its throat.

Pippa took a deep, calming breath. What had happened was the natural result of a man and a woman being in close proximity. It was a struggle not to let her bad experience with Tim—and her fear of trusting another man—influence what had just happened. She wanted to believe the stranger had only good intentions.

She held out a hand to the wolf and said, “It's all right, Wulf. I'm not going to hurt him.” She met the stranger's gaze. “And he's not going to hurt me.”

Then she reached down and scratched the wolf behind his ears. The animal sat and licked her hand, at which point Pippa dropped onto her knees beside him and ruffled the fur along his back. The wolf, it seemed, was no threat, but she still wasn't sure about the man.

A moment later the stranger was beside her again. She glanced up and saw a look of awe on his face. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Lay hands on Beowulf without getting bitten.”

“I thought he was tame,” she said, still clutching a handful of the wolf's fur.

“Far from it,” the stranger said. “He's been willing to share my company and obey a few commands. But Wulf's never let anyone except me touch him. What did you do to him?”

Pippa felt the stranger's hand grasp her elbow to help her up as she let go of the wolf and rose. She realized her knees were still weak and sank onto the stone again with a laugh of relief that neither the stranger—nor his pet wolf—had turned out to be dangerous. “I guess animals know when someone likes them.”

“I've raised Wulf from a pup, and I can tell you he's nearly taken my hand off enough times that, even though I like him just fine, I have a healthy respect for the fact that he's a dangerous predator.”

“How did you end up with a wolf as a pet?”

“I heard a gunshot where no one should be hunting and found his mother dead. When I tracked my way back to the den, the single pup I found was too young to live on its own, so I took him home with me. I'm not sure I made the right decision.”

“It sounds like Wulf wouldn't have survived without your help.”

He shrugged. “Likely not. But he's a fish out of water now.”

“What do you mean?”

“He's too wild to be around people, but he's lost his fear of humans, so he can't go back to the wild. There are enough ranchers around here who don't like wolves preying on their cattle that he'd end up getting shot for sure.”

Pippa felt sorry for the wolf's plight. “Come here, Wulf.” The wolf rose and crossed to her, sticking his cold nose into her open palm. “I think Wulf's lucky you came along.” She scratched his soft ears again as she looked up at the stranger, then gestured with her chin toward the other side of the stone and said, “Come join me.”

A moment later he was sitting beside her, cutting off the bitter wind. He was dressed much as he had been the last time she'd seen him, except he'd lost the chaps and had on a shearling coat.

“What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” he asked.

“It's a long story.”

“I don't have anywhere else to be.”

Pippa opened her mouth to speak and shut it again. She couldn't tell this stranger she was unwed and pregnant. And she didn't want to relive her trials and tribulations with her aunts and her father. Instead, she said, “I'd rather talk about you. To start with, what's your name?”

The lopsided grin that she'd found so charming the first time she met him reappeared. “I was afraid you were going to ask that.”

“Afraid? Why?”

He took a deep breath and said, “I'm Devon Flynn.”

Pippa gasped. The man she'd thought was one of her grandfather's cowhands was actually the youngest son of King's mortal enemy, Angus Flynn.

D
EVON HAD KNOWN
from the first moment he laid eyes on Philippa Grayhawk exactly who she was. He should have told her right away that he was one of “those awful Flynn boys” who were the bane of her aunts' existence. But he'd been entranced by her compelling gray eyes and an air of loneliness that he understood far too well, since he lived in a secluded cabin in the woods, with animals rather than humans for company.

So he'd kept his identity secret. He'd stayed away from the pond because he'd known that any relationship with her—even a friendship—would be fraught with difficulties because of the isolated life he preferred to live and, of course, the feud between their families.

Not that her father was part of that feud. In fact, in the last year of her life, Matt's mother, Jane, had lived with Angus and his sons, and sixteen-year-old Matt had been a constant presence at the Flynn supper table. Jane's death, which Angus blamed on King's treatment of her during their marriage, had created a hate in Angus that had survived—and thrived—for twenty years. In return, King had blamed Matt's disappearance on Angus—and Angus had never denied it. Devon had been only eight at the time, but that was old enough to know that seventeen-year-old Matt had been sullen and short-tempered in the months and weeks before he'd departed.

Now Matt was back with a daughter who had to have been born before he'd left. Was Pippa the reason he'd disappeared?

Devon eyed the extraordinary young woman askance. She must be something special for Wulf to have given her his trust. He wondered what burden she was carrying that was making her so sad. She reminded him of one of the wounded animals he was forever rescuing, desperately in need of a safe haven where she could rest and heal.

He just wasn't sure he was the right person to help in this particular case. With his injured animals, he was always careful to keep his distance, to let them remain the wild creatures they were, to stay carefully detached so that he could let them go when they were ready to leave his care. It was how he'd always lived his life where humans were concerned as well. Disconnected. Separate. Alone.

From a very young age, Devon had felt like he didn't belong in the family to which he'd been born. He didn't look the same, and he didn't like doing the same things as his three older brothers. He'd been six years old when he'd heard his father utter the words “He killed his mother, or she'd be with us here today. He looks just like—”

Devon knew he wasn't supposed to be listening, because when his father caught sight of him, he'd cut himself off. Devon had asked his eldest brother, Aiden, what their father meant.

“He doesn't mean you actually
killed
her. It wasn't anything you did wrong. He just means that Mom died when you were born.”

But how could he not be responsible when she'd died giving birth to him?

Dad blames me for killing my mother.

He'd felt guilty and ashamed. And despite Aiden's dismissal of his responsibility for their mother's death, he couldn't believe his brothers didn't blame him just a little. If not for him, their mother would still be alive.

Devon was a little older, maybe twelve, and learning genetics in biology class, when he'd first focused on the physical differences between himself and his brothers. Every one of them had black hair and blue eyes, like their father. And they were broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, where he was more long and lean-bodied. He was the only one with eyes a different color.

Devon had been surprised, when he started looking for a picture of his mother to compare his eye color to hers—expecting to find that she had eyes of either gray or green, since his looked gray in some light and mossy green in others—to suddenly realize that there were no photos of her around. When he dug up a photograph at last, he knew why they'd all been hidden.

She was looking back at him with very beautiful, very
blue
eyes.

He'd questioned his biology teacher about recessive genes, wondering about the probability of two blue-eyed parents producing a child with mostly green eyes. It was pretty much impossible.

Devon had remained in shock for several days. And then had come to the only conclusion that seemed to make sense.

Angus Flynn is not my father.
At last he had a reason that explained everything. Why he felt different. And why his “father” treated him differently than his other sons.

He couldn't believe that his “brothers” had never put two and two together and figured out that he wasn't “brother” number four. To be fair, none of them, not Aiden or Brian or Connor, had ever treated him as anything other than another brother. But because he was two years younger than the next youngest of his brothers, he was often left out or left behind.

From that point on, every variance in Angus's behavior toward him, as opposed to his brothers, was magnified a thousand times. Over his lifetime, the slights had occurred in subtle ways that folks wouldn't have noticed if they weren't the person being snubbed. Like giving his brothers their own horses when they were six while withholding that gift from Devon until he was eight. Or missing Devon's track meets at school but making his brothers' football games.

Worst of all was the way his father had made fun of Devon for bringing home so many injured wild animals and nursing them back to health. It was Angus's contention that nature decided which animals should live and die, and Devon had no business getting involved. “In this dog-eat-dog world, it's survival of the fittest. Remember that, Devon.”

There didn't seem to be anyone he could blame for his plight—except his mother. She had cheated on his father. She had been bad, and he was paying for her mistake.

Devon had grown up keeping his mother's dark secret. What if his father didn't
know
his mother had cheated on him? What if he only
suspected
? Or what if he'd never suspected at all? What if all this supposedly different treatment from Angus was actually the result of the fact that Devon had stolen his mother's love and companionship from his father by causing her death when he was born?

Whenever his father had made some snide remark about Devon's interest in treating wounded animals, behavior foreign to the rest of his family, Devon wanted to confront him and say, “What do you expect, when I'm not your son?”

But he'd never spoken to Angus and demanded the truth. What would be the point? His “father” hadn't thrown him out, so obviously he was willing to raise him in the same home with his other children. Then again, maybe Angus didn't want his friends and neighbors to know that his wife had cheated on him.

Or maybe Angus didn't know the truth himself. After all, Devon had the same chestnut hair as his mother. And his moss-green eyes looked gray often enough that he might be mistaken for one of Angus Flynn's blue-eyed sons.

But if the reason for being treated differently was that he'd killed his mother, and not that his mother had cheated, why hadn't Angus—not once in Devon's entire life—called him “son”?

Ever since he'd figured out the truth about his birth, Devon had spent many hours wondering why his mother had cheated—and who his father might be. He'd wondered why a woman who had three sons with one man would betray him with another. He'd never understood his mother's behavior, and he had no one to explain it to him.

He'd understood better how his mother might have done what she'd done once he'd fallen in love himself. It had happened in tenth grade. Melissa Stevens was pretty and smart, and he'd tumbled for her like a ton of bricks. His heart had been in his throat the first time he'd asked her out. To his amazement, she'd said, “Yes.”

She seemed to like him as much as he liked her. When they'd been together for three months, he'd told her he loved her, and she'd said she loved him. They'd been dating five months when she announced that she'd met someone she liked better. As simple as that, she'd walked away from him and into the arms of another boy.

He'd felt crushed.

Devon had compared Melissa's behavior toward him to what he thought might have happened to his mother. Maybe she'd met a man she liked better than his father. Despite her vows to his father, she'd indulged that whim, and he'd been conceived.

That single, devastating high school experience had left a lasting impression on Devon. Love didn't necessarily last. He'd learned a hard lesson, but he'd learned it well. He'd dated plenty in high school after that, but he never told another girl he loved her—because he'd never allowed himself to fall foolishly in love again. If the words weren't spoken, there was no opportunity for betrayal later.

As he'd gotten older, Devon had been unwilling to commit, leery of giving his heart to anyone for fear of having it broken. Until at last, it seemed easier to take pleasure from the women who freely offered it and keep his heart to himself.

And yet, he yearned for a woman who would love him, and whom he could love. Someone who would say the words and mean them for a lifetime. He wanted a family of his own. He might be a lone wolf, but he wanted a mate to share his life. He just wasn't sure he would ever find a woman he could trust not to betray him.

His behavior with Pippa had been no different from his usual response upon meeting someone new. As soon as he recognized the depth of his attraction to her, he'd drawn back. A woman like Pippa, a woman to whom he felt such an instant affinity, could steal his heart—and then destroy him. Better to keep his distance. Better not to get involved.

And yet, there was something about her that made him yearn for that emotional connection with another human being that was missing from his life. Maybe Pippa was different. Certainly, his reaction to her had been different.

Devon was tempted to turn and walk away from her, to protect himself from the disappointment of discovering that she was nothing special after all. But something kept him standing there, until at last he said, “You haven't told me what brings you here in the middle of the night.”

She shrugged. “The Brats, of course.”

He smiled ruefully. “I have a little experience with them myself. I remember a long walk back from the middle of nowhere once when Brian and I went hunting.”

She lifted a questioning brow.

“The twins had put a hole in the gas tank of Brian's truck.”

“Oh, no!”

“We got back at them by letting the air out of all four tires while they were picnicking at Berry Creek, one of the more isolated areas of Grand Teton National Park.” He grinned. “They came back to the car at dusk and didn't get out of there until midnight.”

“I'm surprised you hung around that long.”

“Wouldn't have been much fun if we hadn't seen the payoff.”

At least, that was the reason he'd given Brian for staying put. Actually, he wasn't sure the twins would have cellphone reception to call a tow truck to come fill up their tires. There were a lot of bears and cougars around that season, and he wouldn't have put it past the two of them to try hiking back to civilization rather than waiting at their truck until someone realized they were missing and came looking for them.

“The first day I saw you here on my grandfather's meadow I thought you were one of his cowhands,” Pippa admitted with a sheepish smile.

He shook his head. “Nope. And for the record, this land borders Kingdom Come, but it's part of the Flynn ranch, the Lucky 7.”

She looked startled. “But you said King used to come here.”

“He was married to my aunt Jane at the time.”

“Oh. Then I've been trespassing all week.”

“You've been coming here?”

“Every morning.”

He wasn't really surprised. Part of the reason he'd been so leery of coming back was that he'd been aware of the fact that she was as fascinated by him as he was by her. He'd feared that exactly what had happened would happen. He liked her more than he'd liked anyone in a long time. He was atop a slippery slope, and he didn't want to slide down and get hurt.

If she hadn't thrown herself into his arms, he never would have touched her. But once he'd had his arms around her, he hadn't wanted to let go. Their coats had kept their upper bodies from touching, but he'd felt her silky hair against his cheek and her warm breath in his ear. And that was all it had taken for his heart to gallop and his body to harden to stone.

“I was hoping that you'd come back so I could talk to you again,” she said, shooting him a look from beneath lowered lashes.

He felt a spurt of pleasure and told himself
Whoa, cowboy!
He'd already had one lesson tonight on how quickly—and with how little effort—she could arouse him. Not that he didn't want her in his bed. He just had to make sure she understood the rules first. It was sex he wanted, nothing more.

It was like being doused with cold water when she added, “Like I said before, I could really use a friend.”

She emphasized the word
friend
in a way that told him in no uncertain terms that she wasn't interested in a relationship that ended up in bed. That was new. That was different. That wasn't the usual behavior from the women he met. He looked at her with new eyes. As he'd told her before, he'd never had a female
friend.
The idea definitely sounded intriguing.

The truth was he had few friends of either sex. He lived alone, away from the rest of his family—and the rest of the world, for that matter. As soon as he'd gotten old enough to leave home, he'd gone. With money left to him by his mother, he'd bought himself an isolated cabin at the foot of some of the most beautiful mountains in the world, began running a few cattle and quarter horses, and continued saving as many wounded animals that crossed his path as he could.