Slow Fever. Cait London
romantic notions and the haunting legend. Kylie was right; he gave little of himself to others. But he knew how to protect women when the law was inadequate. The women he and Rosa Demitri rescued didn’t deserve to be abused. They’d had their dreams torn apart by rough hands. Rosa had been his first rescue, and working with her ever since, he’d managed to change a few women’s lives. He liked the feeling that he was passing on Anna’s work, tending others. He brought the women and their children here to Freedom Valley where they could see how women should be respected and loved.
“‘I’ll be okay,’ you say. What would you know about it? Besides the gossip says you’ve got a regular flow of women at your house and that you sport them all over town, never leaving them alone for a minute. It seems you’ve been the sperm donor for quite a few children. Boy, you must really have stamina.”
“I like women,” Michael returned slowly, amused at Kylie’s nettled tone. He loved holding the babies he’d delivered with Anna. Their mothers had needed Anna’s healing hands and gentle midwifing. He loved holding the children close and snug against him, knowing that their new lives would be better.
“How did you get that scar?” Kylie asked, touching the zagged white line on his jaw. Michael jerked his head away, fearing he would lean into her soft warm touch.
“Knife. Working as a bouncer in a bar has disadvantages… Did you have men customers? I mean, did you massage them?” He didn’t want to think about Kylie’s hands on other men, and that he should be affected by the thought rankled.
“Sure. For relaxation and sports injuries. I did lots of men… Mom said you went on to do high-priced security work.”
“It paid the bills.” His silent partnership in Newton Security Inc. still paid the bills for the women he sheltered. His needs were simple, but the regular dividends paid for new clothes. It also provided education so they could provide for themselves and a start in a new life. One of their early cases, Maureen Sanders, had sorted out her life and gone in for computer training, and she had recently sent Rosa a small “payback” check. Rosa’s position as a substitute nurse for a national firm gave her insights into the case studies of abused women—information that she evaluated and forwarded to Michael. Not all women were candidates for rescue, but when protection and muscle was needed, Michael filled the job. He liked giving them a home in which to heal and not be afraid.
“How did you get from security work to electrical work?”
Michael skipped the electronics he’d set up for protecting clients—the alarms, sensors, cameras and listening devices. “Just fell into it. Anna was my first. I rewired her house. Your dad did a good job, but some old wiring and the fuse box needed replacing. It took three weeks, and I enjoyed being with her.”
“Mom and Dad loved each other desperately. Her eyes lit up when she talked about him,” Kylie murmured.
“She had soft, blue eyes like yours. Clear as the Montana sky, as if she knew the truth of life, free from shadows.” Michael remembered Anna’s love of her husband. Kylie deserved a man like that, solid, tender, loving. A man who could give her the traditions of Freedom Valley, and who would make a good father to the children she should have.
Michael didn’t intend to have children—he could have inherited his father’s dark side. His instincts told him to stay away from Kylie and settle for what he’d rediscovered in Freedom Valley. He’d watch another man hold her in his arms at the traditional Sweetheart Dance. He’d watch another court her and he’d be glad for her happiness, as Anna Bennett’s daughter deserved. Michael inhaled the night air and Kylie’s disturbing scent. Uncomfortable with his prowling, undefinable emotions, he said, “I’m hungry. I’ll cook.”
“Jerk. I’m dealing with a broken heart here and you’re thinking of food.”
“Let it go, Kylie. Move on.” Michael’s uncustomary impatience startled him. He didn’t want to think of Kylie’s love of life imprisoned by the past—too many women hadn’t been able to move on, even with his and Rosa’s help. Those women had eventually gone back to the men who had abused them.
“You think this is easy? Why are you here? Don’t you have some woman’s bed to warm?” Kylie asked, turning her frustration on him.
He studied her flashing eyes, now the color of moonlit steel and admired the sight. Kylie was a fighter and she’d struggle back to what she wanted, to the future she should have.
“I’ve done my share. I’m here because Anna was special. So are you.” He would rather have that than her tears, mourning a man who had hurt her. Michael eased a wind-tossed ringlet away from her face, his thumb caressing the fine warm skin of her cheek. It had been five years since he’d last had a woman, and he had the unshakable feeling that last time he’d been doing the mechanics. That hard cold stark realization was enough to make him recheck his life and his values. He’d been shocked to discover that he’d become old-fashioned and that lovemaking should mean more than bodies locking to feed a hunger.
Maybe a little of Freedom Valley’s old-fashioned ideas about love and romance had washed off on him in the three years since he’d been back. He studied Kylie’s face, and knew that she deserved the best, the courting and the treasuring of a bride. He shrugged and moved away, shoving the lingering warmth on his hand into his pocket. Kylie’s soft heart wasn’t for the likes of him.
“If you tell anyone about tonight and how I’m feeling, I’ll kill you,” Kylie promised adamantly, glaring up at him.
“That might cost,” he returned slowly, and enjoyed her flash of anger.
She punched him lightly in the chest and Michael caught her hand in his. It was small and delicate and yet strong. The impulse to bring it to his lips surged through him as their joined hands rested over his heart. He pasted a leer upon his face, just to remind her that he wasn’t a tender man. Kylie ripped her fist away, rubbing it with her other hand. “I made your life miserable when you were chasing every girl in the countryside and I can do it again.”
“I promise never to make fun of your concoctions for removing freckles again. They’re rather sexy.” Michael couldn’t resist bringing her small fist up to his lips and kissing it. Kylie’s stunned expression was worth the punch to his stomach that followed. “So how do you like your eggs cooked?” he asked, as she walked toward his truck and he reluctantly admired the sway of her hips in the moonlight.
She turned to him suddenly, looking very alone in the moonlight, her hair flowing around her. “I embroidered the pillowcases and tea towels for my hope chest. Mom wanted that. She wanted me to have all the values that she had, stuffing that chest for the home I’d have with my husband someday. I skipped all that, leaped right out there and hurt her. She was at our Justice of the Peace wedding in Kansas City, but I knew that she wanted me to be wearing white and coming down the aisle of Freedom’s church. My hope chest is still in Mom’s house and I can’t bear to open it. Miranda left hers, too.”
“Take it easy on yourself, Kylie. Anna loved you.”
“She loved you, too. Don’t try to deny that you loved her, either.”
Michael thought of the woman he’d adored, the closest thing to a mother that he’d had while growing up. “Yes, I did love her. And that is why I’m taking you home now. She wouldn’t want you out here catching cold.”
At four o’clock in the morning, Michael swung up on his horse, Jack. The gelding stomped and tossed his head, sensing Michael’s restless mood. Michael sat on Jack for a time, studying the home he’d rebuilt for security, to protect the women he championed. A simple ranch house design, it was his first real home. Anna had helped him design the privacy elements, a woman’s bathroom, a playroom and nursery for children that could be turned into a birthing room. A kindhearted doctor in a neighboring county would take care of the women when needed, managing birth certificate legalities. Thomas White quietly supported Anna’s midwifing and both had tutored Michael to care for the women.
He hated the sound of women crying. The sounds were the first in his memory, his