Chapter 23
The bobcat fell dead from the tree.
It missed falling on Wick only by a couple of feet. Its hard landing sent up puffs of dust. There was a bloody hole in the center of its chest. Inside Wick's, his heart was thundering.
He swallowed with difficulty. "Nice shot."
Rennie came and knelt beside the carcass.
"He was so pretty." Except for the lethal incisors, the animal did indeed look like an overgrown house cat with a beautiful pelt.
Rennie stroked the soft tuft of white fur, at the base of its ear. "I hated to shoot him, but he looked about to pounce. For months he's been killing lambs and pets. This morning he got into my stable."
"I didn't know he'd prey on something as large as a horse."
"He wouldn't. He was probably looking for something small, like mice, or a rabbit. But he spooked the horses and got as scared as they were, wound up scratching one. I heard the ruckus and reached the barn in time to see him scamper out. For the past hour I've been tracking him."
"And he tracked me."
For the first time, she looked across at him. "You were easy prey."
"The walking wounded."
"The nearly dead. What the hell are you doing here, Wick?"
"Sleeping. Or was." He nodded toward the rifle propped on her knee. "Do you ever miss?"
"Never. Are you going to answer me?"
"What am I doing here? It's a long story.
But the punch line is that my truck ran out of gas. I hope you're not afoot."
She stood up and gave a shrill whistle.
He was impressed. He'd never known a woman who could whistle worth a damn. But that wasn't the extent of her talents. A few seconds later, a mare trotted toward the grove.
"Wow, just like in the movies," he said. The horse stopped a cautious distance away from the dead bobcat and stamped nervously. "I'm not sure I can get on her without a saddle."
"You're not getting on her at all. I am."
Rennie turned and started walking away toward the horse.
"You're going to abandon me here? With this animal carcass?"
"I didn't invite you."
Poetry in motion. That's what it was to see her sink her fingers into the mare's thick mane and pull herself up far enough to throw her right leg over. She accomplished this in one fluid motion, without dropping the twenty-two. She nudged the horse with her heels and the mare danced a dainty circle, head and tail held high.
"You're coming back for me, right?" He thought he saw Rennie smile, but the sun wasn't fully up yet, so he might have imagined it. With a movement of her knees that was almost undetectable, she nudged the mare into a gallop.
So sure was he that she would come back for him that he was asleep before horse and rider disappeared over the horizon.
He didn't know how long he slept. It could have been fifteen minutes or fifteen hours.
When he opened his eyes, Rennie was beside him again.
She was wrapping the bobcat in a thick, quilted furniture pad. When she noticed him watching her, she said, "I'm not going to leave him for them to pick apart."
He looked up through the branches of the tree.
Buzzards were circling overhead. "They might be waiting for me to croak."
"They might be."
She picked up the bundle and carried it to a pickup he'd never seen her drive. He figured it must be restricted to ranch usage because it showed signs of wear and tear. By the time she had placed the bobcat in the bed and closed the tailgate, he had managed to stand up, using the tree trunk for support. He leaned down to pick up his duffel.
"I'll get that," she said, and started back for it. "You get in the truck."
As they passed one another he thought of saluting her, but at the last second he thought better of it.
Of course, her getup offset her military bearing. She had on a red tank top, the kind she slept in, a pair of butt snug blue jeans, and cowboy boots. Her hair was loose and tangled. He guessed that the disturbance in her stable had caused her to jump from bed and pull on the jeans and boots before racing outside. Whatever, it was a fashion statement that won his approval.
Sliding beneath the barbed-wire fence was only slightly easier to do in daylight than in darkness.
By the time he reached the pickup and had managed to climb into the cab, he had broken out in a cold sweat and was trembling.
Rennie returned with his duffel and unceremoniously threw it into the bed of the truck with the dead bobcat. She climbed in and cranked the ignition. She noticed him looking through the rear window into the bed of the pickup.
"Something wrong?"
"No. I'm just glad you didn't toss me back there too."
"I thought about it."
"What about my truck?"
"I've got a gas can."
She didn't outline her plan of how and when they were going to get the gas from her gas can into his truck, but he didn't ask. She pulled out onto the road and drove for at least a mile before saying, "I know Dr. Sugarman didn't release you from the hospital."
"Where did he buy all those teeth?"
"Did you just walk out?"
"Hmm."
"What about the guards?"
"I wouldn't want to be in their shoes when Oren discovers I'm gone."
"He doesn't know?"
"He might by now."
"He'll be upset?"
"Volcanic."
"Because he knows you need another couple days in the hospital."
"Because he knows I'm going after Lozada on my own."
She looked at him sharply. "Then why'd you come here?"
"Find you, find him. He'll come after you, Rennie, and, like me, this is the first place he'll look."
"He doesn't know about this place."
"He will. Eventually. He'll find you. He won't stop until he does. He's got too much of himself, of his ego, invested in you. He'll come."
They said no more. When they reached the house, she parked the pickup close to the front steps. She came around and assisted Wick out of the truck and onto the porch, then opened the door and motioned him inside.
They stepped directly into a spacious living room that was furnished and decorated in Texas chic. Lots of leather and suede, all very tasteful and expensive. Thick rugs on the hardwood floors. Fringed throw pillows. The pieces were large and comfy, inviting one to sit and relax for hours in front of the fireplace, reading the magazines that were scattered--scattered?--on accent tables.
A Mexican saddle of black tooled leather with lots of silver detailing stood in one corner, displayed and spotlighted as a sculpture might be. A boldly striped horse blanket served as a wall hanging. Wick loved it. "This is nice."
"Thank you."
"It doesn't look like you."
She met his gaze. "It looks exactly like me. Are you hungry?"
"I thought about starting on the bobcat."
"This way."
She led him into the kitchen, which held even more surprises. In the center was a work island with open shelving underneath. On the surface was a small copper sink where red and green apples had been left to drain after being rinsed. Cooking pots hung from an iron rack overhead. An opened box of cookies had been left on the counter.
"Soup or oatmeal?"
Painfully, he lowered himself into a chair at the round wood table. "^th're my choices?"
"Unless you were serious about the bobcat. Then you're on your own."
"What kind of soup?"
It was cream of potato and might have been the best food he'd ever eaten in his life. Rennie had started with canned condensed, but she added half and half, butter, and seasonings, then topped off the crockery bowl with grated cheddar and put it in the microwave long enough for the cheese to melt. Her motions were economic and skilled. Like a surgeon's.
"That was haute cuisine after hospital food," he said as he polished off a second piece of toast. "What's for lunch?"
"You'll sleep through lunch."
"I can't rest yet, Rennie. I didn't bust out of the hospital, and then bust my ass to get here, just to go to sleep as soon as I arrived."
"Sorry. That's what you need and that's what you're going to do. I've never had a patient look as bad as you and survive. I should call nine-one-one and have an ambulance take you to the county hospital immediately."
"I would immediately leave."
"That's why I haven't already called." She finished rinsing out his dishes and dried her hands.
"Let's get you upstairs and undressed."
"I slept, Rennie. Under the tree."
"How long?"
"Long enough."
"Not near long enough."
"I'm not going to sleep."
"Yes you are."
"You'd have to drug me."
"I did."
"Huh?"
"When you went to the bathroom, I ground a strong painkiller and a sleeping pill into your soup.
Any minute now you'll catch quite a buzz."
"Goddammit! I'll fight it off."
She smiled. "You can't. It's going to knock you on your can. You'll be more comfortable if you let me get you into bed before it does."
"We've got to talk, Rennie."
"We will. After you've had some sleep."
She put her hand beneath his elbow and hauled him out of the chair. Or tried. His legs were already wobbly and there was a distinct tingling in his toes that he knew was induced by narcotics, not hyperventilation.
"Put your arm across my shoulders." He did as she instructed. She slipped her arm around his waist and lent support as she guided him back through the living room toward the open staircase along the far wall.
"I'm catching a buzz, all right," he said about midway up. "My ears are ringing. How long before this wears off?"
"Depends on the patient."
"That's not an answer."
On the second floor a wide gallery overlooked the living room. Several doors opened onto the gallery. She led him through one of them into a bedroom. The bed was unmade. "Is this your room?" he asked.
"It's the only bedroom that's furnished."
"I get to sleep in your bed?"
She propped him against an armoire. "Lift your arms." He did and she pulled his T-shirt over his head. Then she knelt and helped him out of his shoes. "Now take off your pants and lie down."
"Why, Dr. Newton, I would've thought you'd be more subtle. That you'd ... What's that?"
She'd taken something from the bottom drawer of the armoire.
"That is a syringe." Coming to her feet, she held it up and tapped the clear plastic tube.
"And you're about to get a butt-load of antibiotic."
"I don't need it."
"We aren't going to argue about this, Wick."
No, she didn't appear to be in any mood to argue. He couldn't have argued with her anyway.
His tongue had become about as nimble as a walrus. His legs had turned to columns of jelly. It was a struggle to keep his eyes open.
He unbuttoned his fly, dropped his jeans, and stepped out of them. She probably had expected him to be wearing underwear. Well, too damn bad, Dr. Newton. He strutted--as much as he could strut in his drugged state--to the bed and lay down.
"On your stomach, please."
"You're no fun at all," he grumbled thickly.
Rennie swabbed a spot on his hip with alcohol, then jabbed the needle into his muscle.
"Son of a--"
"This might hurt."
"--.bitch! Thanks for the damn warning." He clenched his teeth and waited out the injection, which seemed to take forever.
Laying the empty syringe on the nightstand, she said, "Stay where you are. I'm going to clean your incision."
He thought of something clever to say, but forgot it before he could form the words. The pillow was feeling awfully good.
He was vaguely aware of her bathing his incision with cold liquid, then applying a fresh bandage.
It dimly registered when she covered him with a sheet and light blanket. The room seemed to grow gradually darker. He opened his eyes only long enough to see her at the windows where she was closing the shutters. For a millisecond before she shut the louvers, he saw her in silhouette against the bright outdoor light. It detailed her shape.
She wasn't wearing a bra.
He groaned, Sweetjesus.
Or maybe he didn't.
When he woke up he was lying on his back, favoring his right side. The room was empty, but light was leaking from beneath the closed bathroom door.
He checked the windows. The shutters were still drawn.
God, what had she given him? How long had he been asleep? All day? Two days?
Three?
Just then the light went out beneath the bathroom door. It was eased open soundlessly.
Rennie stepped through, bringing the smell of soap and shampoo with her. She looked toward the bed and saw that he was awake and watching her.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have used the hair dryer. I was afraid it might wake you up, but you were sleeping so soundly I took the chance."
"What time is it?"
"Going on six."
Her bare feet made whispering sounds on the hardwood floor as she moved to the edge of the bed.
"How are you feeling?"
When she bent down to take a closer look at him, her hair fell forward to curtain both sides of her face. She swept it over one shoulder to keep it out of her way. "Can I bring you anything?"
Hair, eyes, skin, lips. She was a beautiful woman. He had thought so the first time he'd laid eyes on her in Oren's eight-by-tens. That's when the desire took root and the lying began. He had lied to Oren and to himself, first about his opinion of her, then about his objectivity. It had died when she turned to him at the wedding reception. He had known in that instant that his professionalism was done for. It sank right along with him into the depths of her green eyes.
During his career he had dealt with all types of women, from hookers to homemakers. Cheats and liars and thieves and saints. Women who dressed in power suits and made it their mission in life to symbolically de-ball every man with whom they came into contact, and women who undressed for the amusement and entertainment of men.
Oren had been right when he said that he'd never had an unremarkable encounter with a woman. All had been memorable for one reason or another, from his adoring kindergarten teacher, to the policewoman who had pronounced him the biggest asshole she'd ever had the displeasure of knowing, to Crystal the waitress. He never failed to make an impression.
Good or bad, he had an innate awareness of females that was reciprocated. It was just one of those things, a component of himself that he'd been born withand more or less took for granted, like his palm print or his crooked front tooth.
He had slept with some of those women--he had slept with a lot of them. But he had never desired one as much as he desired Rennie Newton. Nor had one ever been so forbidden.
She had meant trouble to him from the start, and she would mean trouble to him from here on.
None of that mattered, though, when strands of her hair brushed against his bare chest. Common sense and conscience didn't stand a chance.
"Ah, hell," he growled. Curving his hand around the back of her neck, he drew her head down to his.
It was a full-blown kiss from the start. No sooner had his lips touched hers than he pressed his tongue between them. He probed her mouth lustily. Her breath was warm and rapid against his face, and that urged him on. He tilted her head, found more heat, more sweetness, wet delight.
His hand moved up from her neck and spread wide over the back of her head. His other hand settled on her rib cage. Against his thumb he could feel the soft weight of her breast. Then the center of it, growing firm at his touch, responding, becoming harder beneath his stroking.
"No!"
Backing away, she shook her head furiously. She stared at him for several ponderous seconds, then turned and fled--the only way to describe the speed with which she left the room.