Woodrose Mountain (11 page)

“That’s what my mother meant when she said she knew the steep price of what we were asking of you.”

“I could have said no.”

“But you didn’t.” He was struck again by how lovely she was, that silky mass of blond hair slipping free of its pins, the delicate planes and curves of her features. “We dragged you out of that serenity you fought so hard to find and shoved you back into doing all this again. I wish I’d known.”

“Would knowing have prevented you from pushing me so hard to take on Taryn’s case?”

She looked genuinely curious, not accusatory and he wasn’t sure how to answer. He wanted to think he would have been compassionate to her pain over losing a child. But his daughter had survived, against all improbable odds, and he was fiercely determined to provide her the best chance at a normal life.

“I don’t know,” he finally answered. “But I
am
sorry if we’ve added to your pain.”

She seemed surprised that he could apologize and he wondered just how big an ass she thought him.

“I’ve reconciled to it. I’m doing my best to be Switzerland. Staying detached and uninvolved.”

“Is it working?”

“No,” she murmured, her voice rueful. Over her shoulder, he could see Woodrose Mountain, sure and solid in the murky light.

“I can’t say Taryn is an easy patient but despite her stubbornness, she’s tough,” Evie went on. “And there are definitely glimmers of who she really is. You have to watch for them but they peek out every once in a while. All in all, she’s pretty irresistible. But I guess you know that, too.”

Brodie was more than a little shocked to realize Taryn wasn’t the only irresistible female in his life. Invisible threads seemed to tug him toward Evie. The harder he tried to break free of them, the tighter they pulled. Every time he was with her, they tightened another notch.

“Thank you for not telling us to go straight to hell.” His voice sounded low, slightly husky, and he really hoped she didn’t notice.

“Let’s just leave that option on the table, shall we?”

He had to laugh, even though her smile tempered the words. She blinked a little at the sound and her gaze danced to his mouth. Just like that, those silken threads coiled and strained.

He wanted to kiss her. The urge was a physical ache inside him. He wanted to pull her against him, to cover that soft mouth with his, to touch and taste and explore.

Not smart. What was it about cool and lovely summer nights that seemed made for just that sort of thing? Best not to dwell on it. He would be far more wise to simply send her on her way.

“Good night, Evie. Thank you for everything today.” He held the vehicle door open for her.

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She moved past him. Just before she slid into the SUV, she paused for a long moment, her eyes huge in the darkness. She seemed to want to say something else but instead, much to his astonishment, she leaned up and gently pressed her mouth against the corner of his. “Good night, Brodie,” she murmured.

Shock held him still for just an instant, but he managed to catch her before she could slide into her vehicle. He had just an instant to think that this moment was pivotal, like that moment on a jump when, against all reason and sense, his skis left the snow and he was supported only by physics and aerodynamics. He had loved that moment, the clutch in his gut. He had craved it like a junkie jonesing for his next fix.

But nothing in his life experience—not winning his first ski-jump competition or opening his first restaurant—compared to this perfect moment, when he lowered his head, drew in a ragged breath, and kissed Evaline Blanchard.

CHAPTER SIX

H
ER
MOUTH
WAS
SILKY
SOFT
and she tasted cool and sweet, like the evening. At the first connection of their mouths, she froze, her muscles taut against him. No doubt she was probably as shocked as he was by this crazy impulse.

His mind scrambled to come up with some casual offhand remark about summer nights and beautiful women and irresistible temptations. He was trying to work up the resolve to pull away when he felt the tentative touch of her arms at his waist, felt her muscles relax as she leaned closer and eased into the kiss like a child testing the stream with a toe before diving in.

This soft, wary surrender aroused him more than if she had suddenly stripped off her clothes and thrown him back onto the seat of her vehicle. Everything inside him was urging him to deepen the kiss, to press his body to hers and seize everything he suddenly wanted with fierce heat, but he forced himself to keep the kiss slow and easy. Gentle as the breeze.

This felt too perfect, standing out here on a summer evening with her mouth tasting his while the cool air eddied around them and that owl hooted softly in the trees.

She smelled of flowers dusted with a hint of spice and he wanted to bury his face in that delectable curve where her neck met her shoulder and just inhale.

This was Evie. Frustrating, bossy, argumentative Evie. How could he feel this fragile tenderness—mingled with sheer mind-stealing lust—toward a woman he wasn’t even sure he liked?

The sound of tires humming on asphalt finally pierced the fog around his brain. Move. Now. The message slowly seeped through and he just barely managed to ease away from Evie before his mother’s silver BMW SUV pulled into the driveway.

Evie seemed to be struggling to catch her breath—an endeavor to which he could completely relate. He couldn’t seem to suck enough oxygen into his brain, and could only stand and stare at her, his thoughts a muddle of shock and a sort of numbed dismay—and above all the urge to grab her close and taste her all over again.

Katherine parked beside Evie’s vehicle and he could see Evie weighing whether to drive away or wait to speak with his mother. She ended up staying, though he had the feeling that particular state of affairs was mainly an effort for her to catch her breath after that stunning kiss.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” his mother said with a cheery smile. “Wouldn’t you know, my hair color went long—I’m afraid Chet isn’t happy with me for ignoring my roots. And then I stopped off at the store for a few things. At least I had the chance to see you for a moment before you leave for the evening.”

She pressed her cheek to Evie’s and then stepped back. He knew precisely when his mother picked up on the currents zinging between him and Evie—a little pucker suddenly appeared between Katherine’s eyes and she cast a quick, sharp look in his direction.

“Sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

He glanced at Evie, whose features had turned a quite delectable pink.

“Not at all,” she said quickly. “I was just leaving for the day. We were, um, talking about my treatment notes for the day.”

He was quite certain his mother wouldn’t fall for that, especially when Evie refused to even look at him—a conviction that was reinforced when Katherine sent him a swift, censorious look.

“Is that right?” she asked blandly.

“Yes,” Evie said. Her voice sounded a little thready and she cleared it before continuing. “I also needed to check with Brodie about taking Taryn into town to the bead store tomorrow. I told Hannah Kirk I would finally help make those earrings I’ve been promising for her mother’s birthday. I thought the outing might be good for Taryn.”

“Oh, Taryn will probably adore that. She always loved coming to visit me at the bead store.”

“I hope it will remind her of some of the things she once enjoyed.”

“Great idea.” His mother beamed, though there was still suspicion in her eyes. “Whatever you need my help with, make sure you let me know.”

“I will.” Evie looked desperate to leave suddenly, her gaze darting between Katherine and the road and her vehicle.

While he didn’t necessarily want her to leave—after that kiss, he would be more than happy to drag her into the bushes right now—he also didn’t want his mother asking her probing, uncomfortable questions.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for the interview then,” he said.

He really wished he could read her expression but it was difficult in the dusky light, especially when she wouldn’t look at him. “Right. I’ll be here. Eight-thirty sharp.”

“Oh, and don’t forget your lederhosen.”

“My…oh.”

She shook her head at his reference to Switzerland and her intentions to remain neutral. “I think it’s way too late for that, don’t you?” she muttered, then climbed into her car and turned the key.

A moment later, she backed out and then headed down the winding road. He watched her for a moment, then turned reluctantly back to his mother—only to find Katherine wasn’t watching after Evie. She was gazing at
him,
her mouth a stern line.

“Don’t even go there,” Katherine spoke firmly.

The phrase might have sounded more appropriate coming from Taryn and her friends than his sixty-year-old mother.

“Go where?”

“Evie is my dear friend. I love her like a daughter. I won’t let you hurt her.”

He frowned, more than a little annoyed at the assumption. Yeah, he might have been a little wild when he’d been on the ski-jump circuit and had gone through a healthy line of women. He’d been young, athletic, moderately good at what he did. Ski bunnies had been an inevitable part of the life.

Compared to the other guys on the team, he’d been a freaking monk but, okay, he still had liked to party. Those days were long gone. A wife and a kid on the way tended to settle a guy down in a hurry—or at least they did when said wife—and mother of said kid—was a wild party-girl herself who would have rather been out making the rounds of après-ski events than taking care of their child.

Marcy had been irresponsible and selfish and spoiled. When he’d dated her, he had not been interested in her character, only in her wild reputation. It seemed the height of childishness now but he’d dated her at the time mostly as one more way to piss off his father—and then she’d gotten pregnant and his world had changed. One of them had to be the grown-up after Taryn came along and the job title had gone to him by default.

He turned his attention back to his mother. “Why would I hurt Evie?”

“I’m not saying you would be deliberately cruel.”

“Aren’t you? Do go on. This is fascinating.”

She sighed. “Don’t be mad, Brodie. You know I love you. It’s just that… Evie needs heat and passion. A man who adores her with every breath.”

Instead of someone cold and unfeeling, like his bastard of a father.
Katherine didn’t say the words—she probably didn’t even think them—but that’s how Brodie interpreted her meaning.

Did she really see him that way? Cold and unfeeling? Okay, maybe the disaster of his marriage had sobered him, literally and figuratively. He hadn’t wanted to become a father, but once Marcy declared she was keeping the baby Brodie had channeled his competitive drive from the slopes into making the best living he could for his family.

He’d done a pretty damn good job, too, he thought as he looked at the sprawling house here in the foothills. Nobody could argue that point.

He wasn’t looking for heat or passion. Marcy had been one big, messed-up bundle of emotions, and just look how delightfully that had turned out for all parties involved. Of course, she had also been childish and irresponsible and addicted to drama. By the time she’d left for good, when Taryn was three, he’d been mostly relieved.

“You’re imagining things.” He reached into the car for the shopping bags Katherine had been grabbing. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve kind of got my hands full here right now, Mom. I’m not exactly in the market for the complicated mess of a relationship right now. Even if I were, Evie isn’t really my type.”

He needed to keep reminding himself of that, he thought as he headed into the house. Despite that delicious kiss and that silky tug of desire between them, they were complete opposites.

“What’s wrong with her?” Katherine asked from behind him. “She’s a wonderful girl, better by far than any of those cool customers you tend to date with such careful discretion. The ones you don’t think I know about.”

Brodie laughed in disbelief. No wonder he had absolutely no understanding of how the female brain worked. His mother first told him to stay away from her friend and then she acted out-of-sorts when he made it clear he intended to do just that.

“Nothing’s wrong with Evie. Absolutely nothing.”

Other than her bleeding heart, her zeal for fighting injustice, the way he completely lost his head when he was within ten feet of her. “We just don’t have much in common. Not that it matters, because she’s only working with Taryn for a few more days and then she and I will go back to politely ignoring each other when we cross paths in town, and sitting on opposite sides of the city council meetings whenever you and your cronies are debating anything remotely controversial.”

“Be kind to her, okay?” Katherine said after a pause. “You have no idea what we’ve asked of her by bringing her here to help us with Taryn.”

He shifted, suddenly angry with his mother for reasons he couldn’t fully explain. “Yes, I do. She told me tonight about losing her adopted daughter. I’ll remind you that I didn’t have any idea about it when we asked her. You, on the other hand, knew full well the cost to her and you asked her anyway.”

Katherine looked guilty and shocked at the same time. “She told you about Cassie? I can’t believe that. Evie is an intensely private person. She never talks about her daughter. I don’t think Claire or Alex or Maura even know, as dear friends as they have all become.”

He shifted uneasily. So why would she have confided in him? Brodie wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about that. She didn’t tell her long-term friends something so personal and painful but she had spilled it to him. Why?

Suddenly he almost wished she
hadn’t
told him. He wanted to turn back the clock about twenty minutes, to that moment when he’d been standing in Taryn’s doorway watching Evie tease and cajole and make his daughter laugh.

He didn’t want this soft tenderness somewhere in the vicinity of his chest when he thought of the courage it must have taken her, agreeing to help Taryn when it obviously caused her pain.

And he certainly didn’t want this urge to tuck her away and keep her safe from any further harm. “The point is, now I know. Since we’ve had such a devil of a time finding someone else competent enough to take over Taryn’s home therapy, I was thinking about trying to persuade Evie to continue on with the great job she’s doing. Obviously I can’t do that now, so I guess it’s back to the candidate search.”

In the meantime, he owed her the courtesy of ensuring he did everything he could to make sure she didn’t regret helping them. If that meant resisting any inconvenient, overwhelming urges to kiss her again, he would just have to make that sacrifice. No matter the cost.

* * *

“
Y
OU
’
RE
GOING
TO
HAVE
TO
GIVE
me a break here, kiddo, and slow down.”

Jacques didn’t listen to her, only continued bounding up the Woodrose Mountain trail with his tail wagging like crazy and his long retriever nose sniffing the trail for possible enemy combatants. He would have made an excellent trainer on
The Biggest Loser,
since he seemed to have no pity whatsoever and no patience with normal things like sore muscles and general exhaustion.

She would have loved to skip the run this morning, for once. Turning off the snooze on her alarm clock just before the sunrise had been harder than walking out of a bead store without buying anything. But Jacques needed exercise. So did she, come to think of it—not only for the obvious physical benefits, but for the energy and stamina it gave her to face another day with Taryn.

Though she hadn’t wanted to get out of bed, she had been surprised by the little burst of anticipation tingling through her for the day. She couldn’t wait for the outing to String Fever with Taryn. Time spent in the bead store was never wasted, even if Taryn proved as reluctant to cooperate there as she did at home.

For all her frustration at not finding the right combination of things to motivate Taryn, Evie wasn’t completely hating her work with the girl. This seemed different somehow from the professional paralysis she’d slipped into right after Cassie’s death. She found a definite challenge in trying to come up with creative ways to help Taryn and in the knowledge that she just might be making a difference.

Friends back in L.A. used to ask why she’d chosen to specialize in pediatric rehab physical therapy instead of the sometimes more lucrative fields of geriatrics or sports physical therapy—and why she had chosen to work with those who had the most severe disabilities or acute injuries requiring extensive care.

Her answer had always sounded trite but it was the truth. Knowing she was helping children in real, quantifiable ways had been a powerful motivator. She still loved knowing there were former patients of hers in California who could do things now they hadn’t done before, in part because of her help. She wasn’t arrogant enough to think no one else could have helped them, but
she
had been the one to do it.