MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN Read online

  "I didn't do anything with it. Oggie took care of all that before I moved in. I understood he was going to store everything for you." She held out the ice pack.

  He ignored it. "You're on a first-name basis with my dad?" He looked up at her, both eyes slitted and one of them swelling perceptibly because of the injury she'd inflicted.

  Eden's irritation with him increased, partly because he wouldn't take the darn ice pack. And partly because he was right. She most definitely was on a first-name basis with Oggie Jones. And she suspected that Jared Jones was not going to be pleased to hear the exact nature of her relationship with his father.

  "Your dad is my friend. He's about the sweetest old guy I've ever met."

  Jared Jones snorted in response to that, then looked away. Her irritation at him increasing, Eden slapped the ice pack down on the table. He glanced at her again, a very superior glance.

  Eden seriously considered turning on her heel, striding to her bedroom and locking herself in for the rest of the night. But that would solve nothing. Judging by his behavior so far, Jared Jones would probably still be here at dawn if she did something like that. She'd emerge from the bedroom to find him snoring on the couch. After all, he'd entered without even bothering to knock. And even when he'd found out who she was and that she was a legal tenant, he still hadn't left. It was going to take more than walking away from him, she feared, to get him out of the cabin so she could get back to sleep.

  But before she got rid of him, she was going to disinfect that wound. She'd caused it and she would treat it, whether he welcomed her efforts at nursing or not.

  Resolutely she opened the first-aid kit and took out a sterile pad. She doused the pad with hydrogen peroxide.

  He was slouched in the chair, his legs aggressively spread. She pointedly slid around him, moved to his left side and nudged his thigh with her knee. He had the grace to pull his legs together so she could get near without stepping between his thighs.

  She began swabbing the wound. Up close, she could see that the cut was only minor. The bleeding had almost stopped. But he was going to have a real shiner by tomorrow. Already, the swelling flesh was turning the color of a ripe plum.

  "There. All clean," she murmured.

  He gave a small shrug. "Fine." He started to duck away from her.

  She caught his shoulder. "Wait."

  He looked up at her. All at once, she was acutely aware of the feel of his shoulder beneath her hand: lean, sharply contoured, as strong as tempered steel. She picked up the scent of him, an outdoorsy scent, like evergreen and leather and dust.

  His expression was very strange. She couldn't read it at all, but suddenly she was pondering things that, until that moment, she'd been very careful not to consider in any depth.

  This man had watched her as she slept. He had wrestled her to the floor of her bedroom and subdued her. He had been pressed against her intimately. And he had become physically aroused.

  She let go of his shoulder as if the heat of it burned her.

  He was still looking in her eyes. "What?" he asked.

  She frowned at him, feeling a slow warmth creeping up over her cheeks. She hadn't the faintest idea what he was asking her.

  He reminded her. "You said to wait. What for?"

  "Oh. Right." She glanced away, then back, hoping he hadn't noticed her blush. She made her tone very businesslike. "Because I have some antibiotic ointment. I'll put a little on the scratch."

  "Not necessary. It's fine."

  "It'll only take a second." She edged around his knees and took a little foil pouch from the kit. Then she moved back into place at his side and squeezed the contents of the pouch onto the cut.

  In spite of his protests, he allowed this final ministration, remaining very still and seeming to look off toward a far corner of the room as she bent over him. One of her fingers touched his cheekbone. His skin there had a rough, new-beard feel. Her knee accidentally brushed his thigh. It was as solid as granite. She felt bewildered suddenly, to be so very conscious of this rough stranger, of the scent of him, of his hardness and his strength.

  "All right. Is that it?"

  She stepped back, conflicting emotions playing leapfrog inside her. "Unless you'd like a bandage."

  "No."

  "Well, okay then, that's all." She swiftly gathered up the contents of the first-aid kit and took it back to the bathroom, where she put it away.

  When she returned, he was still sitting in the kitchen chair where she'd left him.

  She stood in the doorway and sighed. What to do now? The clock on the kitchen wall said it was 2:15 a.m. She wanted to return to her bed. Yet Jared Jones was infuriatingly unforthcoming about what he was doing here. And he was showing no inclination whatsoever to be on his way.

  Eden decided to take one more crack at polite inquiry. "Does … anyone else know you're in town, Mr. Jones?"

  He tore his gaze away from the far wall to give her another of those expressionless stares of his. "You talk a lot."

  She took a deep breath, released it slowly and kept her voice calm and unchallenging. "Yes, I do talk a lot when I'm nervous, Mr. Jones. And, in this situation, you really can't blame me for being nervous. After all, you—"

  He waved a preemptive hand. "Look. Let's cut through the chitchat here. I don't know any other way around this situation but to tell it to you straight. It's like this. Things have changed. I don't want to rent this place after all. You'll have to move out."

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  Eden rubbed her eyes. She'd suspected this was coming, when he'd seemed so annoyed at the news that he had a tenant. But still, to hear him actually say the words made her very, very tired.

  She slumped against the doorjamb, feeling put-upon. First, he'd terrified her half to death, then he'd wrestled her into exhausted submission, and now he was telling her that she was evicted.

  Well, he had another thing coming, and that was all there was to it.

  She was the soul of reason when she spoke. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jones. But you can't just order me to leave."

  "What do you mean? I'm doing it, aren't I?"

  "I have a signed rental agreement."

  "So?"

  "So you are required by the terms of that agreement to give me sixty days notice to vacate the premises."

  "Lady, it's only a piece of paper."

  "It has your own signature on it, as well as mine. Heather said you gave it to her when you told her to look for a tenant."

  "That was then. I've changed my mind since then."

  "Well, apparently you never bothered to inform your daughter."

  "Look. I need a place to live."

  Eden blinked, confused by what his words implied. Was this more than a visit? Did he actually plan to live here? Jared Jones was supposed to be through with towns and people, from what everyone in his family said. But he was talking as if he intended to return here to stay.

  Well, if he is moving back to town, Eden thought, he'll have to find another house. She remained firm. "I need a place to live, too."

  He stood up. "You can move out tomorrow."

  "How generous of you." She folded her arms across her breasts. "Forget it. I'm staying. I get sixty days notice to vacate, and I intend to use them to find another place."

  He took a step toward her, his lip curling in that mean-dog snarl again. "You keep jabbering about that damn contract. What do you think you are, a lawyer?"

  Eden eyed him warily, but refused to back down. "No, I'm no lawyer. But I do have a legal right to be here. For at least another two months."

  "I want my house back."

  "Well, that's just too bad."

  "I oughtta…"

  "You ought to what?" she challenged, keeping her chin up and her shoulders back. "Spy on me in the middle of the night? Terrify me out of my mind? Tackle me and knock me down and … sit on me and fight with me until I'm too tired to fight anymore?"

  "I did not sit o
n you."

  "Right. But you did everything else. We both know what you did. And you still haven't said why you came in my room and just stood there. And I'd also like to know, exactly how long were you standing there?"

  "Not long. A minute or two. Hardly any time at all."

  "Right. I'll bet."

  "You are a damned irritating woman."

  "Fine. So answer my questions. Or get out of my house."

  "My house."

  "Okay, your house that I'm renting. Your house that I don't have to leave until sixty—count 'em—six-o days after you serve me formal, written notice to vacate."

  He was less than two feet from her now, glaring and snarling and looking like he could snap her neck with his bare hands and not think twice about it. For several seconds, they stared each other down.

  And then, with a low, enraged growl, he whirled around and stomped out the kitchen door.

  Eden stood where she was and stared at the place where he had been and didn't know whether she felt shaken or triumphant.

  Jared Jones had a reputation as a hot-tempered man. It was said of him that he never came to town without getting in at least one good fistfight—and more likely than not, precipitating a brawl. Of course, it was also said that he would never hit a child or a woman and that he was as protective of women as he was distrustful of them. Sit was probably unlikely that he would have actually hurt Eden, no matter how much she had goaded him. Still, after witnessing the seething rage in those pewter eyes, she knew she'd been taking a chance to taunt him like that.

  But it had been worth it, she told herself. Because she had made him so mad, he left. Now she could go back to her bedroom, crawl beneath the covers and get what was left of a decent night's sleep. Outside, Eden heard a vehicle door slam.

  Over on the table, her homemade ice pack had begun to drip. She went and got it and emptied the melting ice cubes in the sink, then she wrung out the towel and laid it over the counter rim to dry. While she did all this, she was listening, waiting to hear the engine start up and the crunching of tires on gravel that would mean Jared Jones was driving away.

  Those sounds never came.

  Instead, moments later, the kitchen door was thrown back and he strode in once again. This time, he was carrying a backpack in one hand and a sleeping bag slung over his shoulder.

  Eden longed to scream. But she didn't. She asked, "Just what do you think you're doing?"

  "I'm beat. I'll sleep in the loft."

  "But you can't just—"

  "I won't bother you at all. Go back to bed."

  He brushed past her and headed through the door that went to the living area and the stairs that led up to the loft. Eden stared after him with her mouth hanging open, thinking she ought to chase after him and demand he leave the cabin this instant.

  But then she reconsidered. It was late. And it wouldn't really put her out at all for him to roll out his sleeping bag on the guest bed in the loft. Beyond that, this was his house, even if she had a legal claim to stay in it. And he had returned here thinking he would find it vacant. And he was Laurie's second cousin. And Oggie's son…

  He had already disappeared in the shadows overhead before she collected herself enough to march to the foot of the stairs and call up to him, "All right! But just for tonight!" He didn't bother to answer. She had no idea what he was doing up there. Perhaps laying out his sleeping bag—or peering down at her from the shadows with a smug grin on his face. She added, "And if you want to use the bathroom, please do so right now!"

  That got a response. "Fine, I will!"

  "Well, good night, then!"

  "Good night!"

  Not knowing what else to do, Eden returned to her room. She was careful to engage the privacy locks on both the door to the hall and the one to the bathroom. She found her alarm clock on the floor and checked it for dents. There were none. Then she reset it for an hour later than usual and put it back on the little table by her bed. She took off her robe and climbed in beneath the covers.

  A few minutes later, she heard water running in the bathroom, which had another entrance in the main part of the cabin. She also heard the toilet flush.

  And then there was silence.

  * * *

  A pair of squirrels jabbering and chasing each other up and down the big fir tree outside her open window woke Eden the next morning. Then the alarm chimed in.

  Eden reached out and silenced the clock. After that, she got up on her knees at the head of the bed and leaned on her brass headboard to watch the squirrels for a while. The squirrels scampered like furry trapeze artists, following each other from limb to limb, letting out their urgent, breathy squirrel noises, sounds that made Eden smile.

  Overhead, the sky was pale blue and clear. And though it was only nine o'clock, the air was already warm. Today would be another scorcher, by North Magdalene standards. It might even hit a hundred at the height of the afternoon.

  But Eden wouldn't suffer from the heat, nor would her customers over at The Hole in the Wall Saloon. Since June, thanks to Eden, The Hole in the Wall had boasted air-conditioning.

  She'd been insistent about putting in central air, explaining to her new partner, "Oggie, it's an important investment. People have to be comfortable. Especially if we want to draw in a wider range of clientele."

  Oggie had let out one of his cackling laughs. "You mean less lowlifes, more regular folks."

  "Well, Oggie. I mean, since we're the only game in town, if we spiff things up a little, appeal to the ladies as well as the gentlemen—"

  "Gentlemen?" Oggie cackled again. "What gentlemen? We ain't never had no gentlemen around this joint."

  Eden grinned to herself, thinking of Oggie. The cagey old charmer was just such a sweetheart. He was crotchety and crude and full of naughty jokes. Yet his heart was as big as the whole Sierra Nevada mountain range. Eden had adored him from the first.

  "Hell," Oggie had said. "It's your money, gal. If you wanna spend it on air-conditioning, then you go right ahead."

  Eden had begun collecting estimates that very day. And now, when the mercury got near the triple figures, people in town often came into the tavern just to cool off a little from the heat of the day.

  Yes, The Hole In The Wall was a lot different than it used to be. Eden was proud of the improvements she'd made there. She'd done a lot in a very short time.

  Outside, the squirrels dashed out of sight. From the bathroom Eden heard water running, the shower this time. With a sigh, she fell back on the bed and closed her eyes. For a few moments, she'd succeeded in forgetting about Jared Jones. But the respite was over.

  This morning, one way or another, she had to deal with him. She had to get his agreement that he'd let her have the cabin for sixty days. Or at least until she could find somewhere else to live.

  She also knew she should break the news to him about her partnership with his father. But that was something she wasn't looking forward to at all. In fact, it got her heart going a little too fast just thinking about telling him.

  She'd been informed by more than one person in town that Oggie had promised to leave The Hole in the Wall to Jared when he died. Of course, she'd gone right to Oggie when she heard about that. And Oggie had given her several reasons why she shouldn't worry about Jared. So she hadn't worried about Jared.

  Until now.

  "Relax, Parker," she muttered to herself. She reminded herself firmly that she had no reason to feel guilty. She had done nothing wrong.

  "So why do I feel so … reprehensible?" Eden asked her own reflection in her vanity table mirror.

  She had no answer for herself. So she pulled on her robe and went out to turn on the coffeemaker, so the coffee would be ready whenever her uninvited visitor wanted a cup.

  * * *

  Eden took a quick shower after Jared left the bathroom. She dressed swiftly for work in black slacks, a man-tailored white shirt with a string tie and a black vest. She slid her feet into low-heeled black shoes. Then she
pinned up her chin-length strawberry-blond hair. For work, she wore it off her neck, but loose and curly around her face.

  After that, she went out to the kitchen and set about making breakfast. She fried bacon and toasted bread. She set the table for two and mixed up a can of frozen orange juice. Judging by the level of the coffee in the pot, Jared had already been into the kitchen once or twice. She was counting on the smell of frying bacon to bring him downstairs again.

  He came just as she began cracking the eggs in the pan. Again, she caught a glimpse of him coming through the door before she heard a sound. It was really amazing how silently he could move around.

  She beamed him a smile. Today was a new day, after all. Maybe they could start it off by being pleasant with each other.

  "How do you like your eggs?"

  He didn't smile back. "Cooked."

  She refused to be less than cheerful. "Over easy is fine, then?"

  He grunted.

  She decided that would have to do for ayes. "How many would you like?"

  He went to the coffeemaker and refilled his cup. Then he turned and leaned against the counter with a kind of rangy, ready grace that made her distinctly uncomfortable. The eye she'd smacked with the clock was swollen shut and the color of burgundy wine. His good eye, though, could see just fine. It made a slow, roving pass from the top of her curly head to her trim black flats and then back up again. "What kind of getup is that?"

  "I'm dressed for work."

  "What kind of work?"

  As soon as she told him, she'd have to explain about the partnership. She evaded his query. "Do you want eggs or not?"

  "Yeah."

  "How many, three? Four?"

  He sipped from his coffee again. "Sure. Four." She set about frying the eggs, all the while waiting grimly for him to quiz her more about the work she did. But he seemed to have become more interested in the meal she'd prepared than in her job.

  He looked at the table, at the two place settings, the carafe of orange juice, the tall stack of toast and the bacon, crisp and brown on a serving plate. "What are you up to?"

  "Look." She pointed her spatula at him. "Do you want these eggs I'm cooking or not?" This time, she didn't bother to keep the edge from her voice.