Chapter
Sixteen
Shadows were long as the gravel road became dirt.
Grass grew between the ruts. Zoey consulted the hand-drawn map on
the seat beside her and hoped she was headed in the right
direction. Connor never mentioned anything about a
damn goat path. She’d attempted to nap twice, alternated
drinking coffee and water all day long, and tried several headache
remedies, but she still felt hungover. Her nerves were on edge as
well—she’d been jumpy and distracted, and it had been an uphill
climb to get even the simplest things done. Several times she’d
come close to calling Connor to cancel, but although she couldn’t
imagine what he had to tell her, he had said it was important. Well, she sure wasn’t going to dress up. At
the last possible moment, she’d thrown on comfortable jeans and a
soft cami, topped with a plaid flannel blouse, and forced herself
to get in her truck.
Just as she was certain she must have
taken the wrong road, she was relieved to see a mailbox with
Macleod on the side, and turned in. A long
tree-lined lane opened out to a pleasant farmyard, and she parked
her old red Bronco behind Connor’s clinic truck. “Will you look at
this place? It’s gorgeous!” She emerged from her vehicle slowly,
trying to take in everything at once. The tall two-story house was
freshly painted white with simple black trim. Overgrown gardens
sporting tall irises and lilies fronted the shaded porch and
flanked the steps.
Her publisher had warned her that his
cousin’s farm had been rundown when Connor bought it. To the south,
she counted several weathered farm buildings. They were old and
tired-looking, and a couple were definitely leaning. The red paint
had flaked away from the weatherworn wood, and every roof was
missing shingles. The fences weren’t in much better shape,
mismatched, propped up and no doubt held together by baling wire in
spots. Yet everything was clean. There were no rusting equipment or
abandoned cars, no stacks of junk and old tires. And the place
didn’t have that barren look typical of many farmyards. Thick
stands of trees flanked the old buildings and dotted the corrals,
offering inviting shade.
The quaint old place had character, she
decided. She liked it.
Something strange was bothering her
ears and suddenly she realized it was quiet.
Perfect quiet. Only a soft susurrus came from the surrounding
poplar trees as a faint breeze fondled the coin-shaped leaves. She
sighed a little as peace wrapped itself around her. She breathed
deeply, taking in the cool air and then held it—something huge and
dark was moving between the buildings, gliding from tree stand to
bush. The furtive movement reminded her all too much of the
creature that had attacked her. Straining to see, Zoey could just
make out some black fur and the waving plume of a black tail tipped
with white as it disappeared around a building. With her heart in
her throat, she hoped like crazy it was simply the giant dog that
had been in Connor’s office and not the massive wolf that had stood
over her. . . . Suddenly strong arms wrapped around her from
behind. She nearly jumped out of her skin and the jolt made her
head hurt. “Geez, Connor!”
He chuckled as she turned in his arms.
Zoey shoved at him, but to no avail. He wasn’t holding her tightly,
but she was securely caged nonetheless. Since resistance was
futile, she changed tactics, stepping into him and sliding her arms
around his neck, tipping up her face just so. As she’d sensed, he
didn’t resist the invitation and bent his head to kiss
her.
She bit his chin, hard.
“Ow!” He released her at once and held
a hand to his face. “What the hell was that for?”
“Scaring me. And maybe for ditching me
last night too, I’m not sure.”
“Still hungover, are we?”
“Very.”
Connor held out a hand. “I can make you
feel a whole lot better. I’ve got a couple of great
remedies.”
She eyed him suspiciously, but sensed
he was sincere. She gave in and took his hand, allowed him to lead
her up the wide steps to the porch.
“I did try to make things easier for
you, you know.”
“How?” she asked.
“I told the welcoming committee to lie
low. I figured they’d be a little overwhelming and probably much
too loud. They get pretty excited around new people.”
The welcoming committee . . . “You mean, dogs?” He looked at her and she grinned
sheepishly. “What am I saying? Of course you have dogs. Every farm
has dogs, and a vet with a farm probably has, oh, at least four.
Maybe even five,” she guessed, relieved and unable to stop
blathering. He had dogs, lots of dogs. So there couldn’t
possibly be a wolf on the premises. “I just
saw a dog in fact. I think it was that big black one from your
office.”
For a split second he looked surprised.
“Right. Well, he’s sort of new so I guess he didn’t quite get the
instructions. That’s what comes of having so many dogs. There are
fifteen or sixteen of them around here now.”
Her eyes widened. She liked dogs but
being greeted by an entire army of excited canines wasn’t on her
list of things to do. “Thanks for giving them something else to do.
I guess I’m sorry I bit you,” she added.
“That doesn’t sound real convincing,
but I’m definitely sorry I scared you.” He tapped his chin
thoughtfully. “You know, you could kiss it better.”
“Maybe it’d be safer after the remedies
you promised.”
“Good point. Later then—but mind you, I
will collect.” Connor grinned and opened the
door for her.
The interior of the sprawling old home
had been renovated extensively, leaving it open and airy in design.
It was more like an upscale lodge, with lots of wood and natural
elements. The stone fireplace and large beams in the ceiling lent
an earthiness that was relaxing and comfortable. Connor’s house is
just like him, Zoey realized. This was how she felt when she was
around him. Grounded. Centered.
He motioned her to a plump armchair in
front of the fireplace. “Relax for a minute and put your feet up.
I’ll get you something for that head.”
She sank into immediate bliss and lay
back with her eyes closed. The busy sounds from the kitchen barely
registered and the next thing she knew, she was waking up to find
that daylight had nearly become twilight.
“I have got to
get one of these chairs,” she murmured.
Connor appeared from the kitchen.
“Great, aren’t they?”
“How long was I out?”
“A little over an hour. You needed it.
And I think you still need this.” He handed her a glass of green
liquid, and chuckled as she eyed it dubiously. “It’s safe, I
promise. It’s one of Birkie’s all-natural herbal elixirs and it’s a
terrific restorative.”
Despite the unexpected nap, she had
little doubt she could use some restoring. “I sure hope it regrows
brain cells.”
“If anything can, this’ll do
it.”
Most hangover remedies tasted horrible,
but this didn’t smell bad. She sipped cautiously, played with it on
her tongue, then drank it down. She could swear every cell in her
body was suddenly reaching out for more. “Wow. Is there seconds of
this stuff?”
“There can be. Let that settle, and
I’ll give you a short tour, get you some fresh air while dinner’s
in the oven.”
The sun was skimming the horizon as
they strolled hand in hand around the farmyard. Connor introduced
Zoey to a variety of animals, both large and small, including the
sixteen-dog welcoming committee he’d diverted earlier. They were
calm and well-behaved but it was still a joy to watch her laugh and
try to pet them all. Her interest in the other livestock was just
as genuine, and she didn’t hesitate to accept his invitation to
scratch a three-hundred-pound pig behind the ears. She did hesitate
at the next paddock, however, which contained a long-haired
Highland bull with a great sweep of horns, but when Connor walked
inside, she followed.
“This is Magnus, one of our herd
sires.” He rubbed the bull’s brow, hidden beneath a heavy fringe of
hair. Zoey reached out and touched the broad forehead
tentatively.
“He looks like a leftover from the last
Ice Age.” The bull snorted. “No offense,” she added
hastily.
Connor chuckled. “Highland cattle are
tough and hardy, perfect for our northern Canadian winters. Not
only are they dressed for the weather, they’re good at digging
through the snow for forage—a lot of modern breeds have forgotten
how to do that. Highlands will fight off predators
too.”
“Like wolves?”
“Like wolves.” Ordinary ones at
least.
No sooner had they left the bull’s
paddock than a wildly spotted horse came trotting over to them,
putting his head under Connor’s hands like a big dog asking to be
petted.
Zoey laughed. “Looks like you’ve had a
jailbreak.”
“This is Charlie, and he’s very good at
opening gates. As you can see by his markings, he’s an Appaloosa.
He has a fancy pedigree that goes all the way back to the Nez
Pierce tribe in the nineteenth century.”
“You’re pretty smart,” Zoey murmured to
the horse as she rubbed its speckled neck. “And really handsome
too.”
“He’s certainly a looker. Charlie was
born with a perfect coat, a beautiful head. Prettiest foal I ever
delivered and could have been a champion in the show ring, except
for a malformation of the front legs. They bow out quite badly,
see?” Connor bent and ran his hands over the horse’s legs, while
the animal nuzzled the back of his head. He laughed and
straightened up, rubbing his hand around the animal’s ears. “As
you’ve probably noticed, he’s a glutton for
attention.”
“So you kept him?”
“The foal was breech and stuck in the
birth canal when the owners called me in. It turned into a long
night. The mare came through it fine, but the owners couldn’t be
bothered with the little guy after they saw his legs. They wanted
him put down, so I traded them even. Tore up the bill in return for
the foal.”
“So now you have another horse. I’ve
seen eleven so far. And twenty-some goats, a couple dozen
mismatched sheep and some pigs, numberless cats, and sixteen dogs.
You must rescue everything.”
He smiled, a little sadly. “Not all—I’d
be overrun in a week—but I do seem to bring home quite a few. Most
I can find homes for, and those I can’t find a place for just stay
here.”
Zoey shook her head. “That’s a lot of
extra work. You spend all those hours at the clinic and on call,
then you have to come home and feed all these
animals.”
“I enjoy doing it when I can. It’s kind
of refreshing to hang out with healthy animals for a change. But
lucky for these animals, Jim Neely looks after them, so they don’t
have to wait around for me to get home. And when Jim can’t do it,
one of my sibs does. Kenzie’s been here lately, working on a book,
so she spends quite a bit of time with the animals.”
“That’s your sister, right? The one
who’s in Scotland just now? I didn’t know she’s a
writer.”
“Actually she’s an archaeologist, and
she’s away on digs more than she gets to be here. Although she says
it’s only because Jim’s here that she dares leave at all. Most of
my family have misgivings about a farm being in my black-thumbed
hands.”
“And Jim is your hired
man?”
Connor laughed a little at that.
More like an acquired man. Old Jim had been homeless, as much in need of a
rescue as any of the animals. A small man with three missing
fingers, he had spent most of his time drinking and getting into
fights. But Connor had discovered by accident that Jim had a
natural gift when it came to animals, and eventually persuaded him
to move to the farm about four years ago. It had saved Jim, and in
turn, Jim was a godsend to Connor. The old man blossomed, taking
his responsibilities seriously and keeping the livestock end of the
farm running smoothly.
“You could say that. I do pay him, but
he’s more of a friend than anything. He lives in a cabin on the
other side of that far stable.” He pointed. “Jim’s at a cattle
auction today, so I said I’d feed the troops.”
“So can I help?”
“Next time. I already took care of that
while you were snoring.”
“I do not
snore!”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s what they
all say.” He laughed when she drilled his shoulder. “Keep that up
and I won’t give you Phase Two of your hangover
treatment.”
“Do I get another glass of that green
stuff?”
“That was Phase One. Phase Two is PT,
and I’ll bet it’ll be even more effective.”
He could tell she was trying to resist
asking, but finally she threw up her hands. “Okay, I give up,
what’s PT?”
“Puppy Therapy.”
“Puppies? You’ve got even more dogs stashed somewhere? Oh!” She remembered the
puppies. “Where is he? I want to see my puppy.”
“Maybe we should eat first—” He turned
as if heading for the house.
She grabbed Connor’s hand with both of
hers and dug in her heels. “My puppy. Now.”
He laughed and threw an arm around her,
gathering her to him so effortlessly that she might as well have
been weightless. She squirmed but there was no escaping. He nibbled
at the corners of her mouth. “Puppy,” she murmured against his lips
just before they took hers over. The kiss was long and deep, but
still just a kiss—yet her nipples hardened almost to the point of
pain, and her thong was suddenly soaked. The want, the desire for
this man, pulsed raw and urgent within her.
She drew a long shaky breath and
stepped back, and was both grateful and disappointed that he let
her. He kept hold of her hand, however, and rubbed his thumb over
it as he led her past several corrals and outbuildings toward an
old barn that stood apart. Its hipped roof sported new metal
cladding and the walls were neatly painted, yet the feeling of
extreme age remained. Zoey figured the building was more than twice
as old as she was. Maybe even three times . . .
“I have to announce our presence,”
warned Connor. He began to scuff his feet, then whistle, as they
approached the barn. “Lila is a little protective for the first few
minutes.”
“You found a mother for the
puppies?”
“Lila’s one of the best surrogate moms
around.”
Zoey was about to ask questions when
something enormous, dark, and shaggy appeared in the doorway. “A
bear? Jesus, Connor, you gave the puppies to
a bear?” Her grip on his hand tightened as
she backed up several steps.
He burst out laughing. “I guess she
does look like a bear, especially in the dark. Lila, come here and
meet Zoey.”
“But—” Zoey froze as the creature
marched over. It was even bigger up close, and its broad head was
level with her waist. It snorted loudly as it smelled her up and
down with a wide black muzzle. Suddenly a huge tail emerged from
the shaggy shape and began to wag. “Omigod, it is a dog!”
“Newfoundland. An old breed,
specifically developed to protect children and save people from
drowning.” Connor waggled his fingers and Lila went to him at once.
“Here, pet her,” he called to Zoey. “Lila’s a great mom. She’s
fostered dozens of orphans over the years, even litters of kittens
and a couple of piglets.”
Zoey reached out tentatively and ran
her fingers through the thick reddish-black fur in wonder. “It’s so
soft—and there’s so much of it!”
“Don’t be fooled, there’s a lot of dog
under it too. Lila’s big, even for her breed. She weighs better
than a couple hundred pounds, so don’t let her lean on
you.”
Suddenly the high-pitched whine of
puppies could be heard. The dog chuffed once and trotted into the
barn.
“See?” said Connor, flipping on a light
switch beside the door. “She’s always on the job.”
They followed the big dog and found her
lying on her side as several puppies clambered their way to her
teats. There were five big balls of fuzz—baby Newfs, Zoey
assumed—and between them wriggled four small boxer pups, their
white markings standing out in stark contrast to the ocean of black
fur that surrounded them. Connor knelt beside the group and held
out a hand for Zoey, pulling her down with him.
“They’ve grown!”
“The pups were small to start with but
I think they’ve caught up nicely. Even yours isn’t much of a runt
anymore.”
“He’s not a runt!” she retorted. And he
wasn’t. Three of the pups were chestnut with white feet and white
faces. Her puppy had those white markings too but the rest of his
coat was dark and uniquely striped. Brindle,
Connor had explained. She remembered the feel of the pup in her
hands, so tiny as she tried to get him to breathe. . . . Now he was
plump, almost roly-poly and every bit as big as his three boxer
littermates. “He’s gorgeous.”
She couldn’t help being glad, however,
that he’d never grow as big as the Newf puppies would become. It
would be too much like having a pony in her apartment.
“You got a gorgeous name for him
yet?”
“No,” she chuckled. “And it won’t be a
silly name either. I just haven’t had time to think about it yet.
When can I take him home?”
“Ideally, he needs about five more
weeks, maybe six. We want him to get a good start. But he needs to
be socialized, so I’d encourage you to visit a lot.”
“I’d like to pick him up but he’s busy
eating.”
“He’s going to chow down a little
longer and then he’s going to fall asleep. Maybe we’ll come back
later, after we have our own dinner. It should be ready
now.”
“Okay.” She trailed her fingers over
his fuzzy little body. He was so warm, so soft. She jumped as
Lila’s wide black nose bumped her hand suddenly.
“She’s just making sure you’re being
gentle enough,” laughed Connor.
“I guess I don’t have to worry about
him with Lila on the job!”
“Not a bit.”
Connor’s arm was around her shoulders
as they walked back to the house. When her heart began racing, she
slid away and held his hand instead. The little extra distance
didn’t help much. She was finding it impossible to be close to this
man and not want him. Any moment, she was in danger of
drooling.
She almost did drool when he opened the
front door but it was a reaction to the savory aroma that met them.
Her stomach growled, and she was grateful for the distraction as
she followed Connor to the kitchen, to the table set in a spacious
breakfast nook. The bay window overlooked the back of the property,
where the land sloped away to a river that ran silver beneath the
twilight sky. The hills beyond had turned to dark blue and purple,
while above them, the evening star seemed impossibly bright. “It’s
beautiful,” she breathed.
“It is, isn’t it? You can see why the
dining room doesn’t get used much.” He lit a trio of votive candles
on the table and switched off the overhead light. “You can see it
better this way. I’ve got the same view upstairs too, from my
bedroom balcony.”
His bedroom . . . a tiny thrill
shivered through her and her mouth went dry. She definitely wanted
to see that room, and it was strangely
irritating that she wanted it so much. The hangover made everything
irritating, of course, but the nap and the elixir had taken the raw
edge off that. Nope, it had to be plain old unfinished business—the
business she and Connor had begun in the Watson side yard. Sure,
she’d had the best orgasm of her life, but she couldn’t help
wanting more. Wanting it all . . .
Flustered, she rubbed her hands over her face and through her hair,
and tried to focus on the exquisite view, the pattern of the wood
on the table, the color of the pottery dishes, anything but what
she’d like to be doing with Connor Macleod.
Oven mitts in hand, Connor paused to
look at Zoey, appreciating anew her thick russet hair. It wasn’t
tied back tonight, but fell free in soft waves that gleamed red in
the candlelight. He wanted to gather it in his hands while he
kissed every golden freckle on her body. She was staring out at the
twilit scene, but he had the feeling she wasn’t seeing it—and
suddenly he caught the subtle scent of pheromones newly released.
His groin tightened and the wolf within stirred restlessly, but
remained at bay. He breathed a quick thanks to Jessie and the
corded bracelet he now wore on his wrist. She’d made it look like
simple braided hemp with scattered stone nuggets. Close inspection
revealed tiny bits of fur and a wolf’s tooth woven into it. A
gris-gris, Jessie had called it. Whatever it was, he was damn
grateful it was working. He was taking Zoey Tyler to bed tonight,
come hell or high water, and his inner wolf wouldn’t be able to get
in the way.
He shook himself, struggling to get his
mind back on food, and pulled a pair of steaming pies from the
oven. Zoey jumped a little as he set them on the table, and he had
the satisfaction of knowing exactly where her thoughts had been.
“Smells wonderful,” she
said.
So do you.
“Before you get any notion that I can cook, this is strictly a
Watson specialty,” he said as he cut into one of the pies and set a
slice on her plate. “Rosemary Chicken.”
“Bill and Jessie do
takeout?”
“Not exactly. They showed up at the
clinic one day during winter calving season a few years ago and
asked if I’d try the catering service they were starting. They
offered to stock the fridge with meals at cost in return for
getting feedback on the service. I was up to my armpits in cases
and not paying enough attention, so I said yeah,
sure, fine. As it turns out, the food was a godsend.
Individual meals of every description, ready to nuke and
serve.”
“Perfect for a busy
veterinarian.”
“And his grateful assistants. Believe
me, they were happy. Meanwhile, Bill and Jessie just kept stocking
the fridge every week like clockwork. It was a month after calving
season before I finally clued in that there was no catering service
to be tested. Turns out that Birkie had given up trying to get me
to eat properly, so she plotted with the Watsons to fix the
problem. Worked like a charm, and the clinic fridge has been full
ever since. This one too, when I’m not looking.”
“Sounds like the Watsons have adopted
you. Did you get to know them at the Diner?”
“Actually I met Bill when I was
facedown in a muddy corral. Rob Garrick raises rodeo stock and I
was getting ready to do a herd health inspection for him when his
newest bull decided he didn’t want me in the corral. Knocked me
down without any warning.” The bull, a 2,200-pound spotted monster
with long curved horns, had been utterly unstable.
“My God, were you hurt?”
“He hit me pretty hard. For the first
couple of moments I just lay there stunned,” explained Connor.
“Then this red-haired giant jumped the fence, hollering and
swinging a shovel like an avenging angel with a sword. Hauled my
sorry butt out of there. Probably saved my life.”
In truth, if the massive animal had
attacked him again, death wouldn’t have been the worst outcome.
Having his life in imminent danger would have triggered Connor’s
powerful survival instincts. He would have Changed to wolf form
right there in broad daylight for anyone to see.
“Anyway, Bill drove me to the clinic,
where Lowen told me I had a broken shoulder and five cracked
ribs.”
“Ouch. So you guys have been friends
ever since?”
“Ever since we barbecued that miserable
animal.” And discovered they shared a passion for singing under a
full moon. Connor had been aware of new wolves in the area for a
few days. He had been delighted to discover his rescuer was one of
them.
Zoey laughed. “You’re
kidding!”
“Really and truly. I told Rob plainly
this bull would kill somebody if he took it on the circuit. He’d
already had plenty of trouble with it so that was that. Both Bill
and I had a freezer full of beef by the end of the week. I split
mine with Lowen and Bev.”
Zoey was quiet for a long moment.
“Jessie tells me you can talk to animals,” she said at
last.
He looked at her steadily, and part of
him couldn’t help being captivated anew by Zoey’s amber eyes. The
flicker of candles brought out a golden light in them, reminding
him once again of that long-ago falcon he’d treated. Fierce and
beautiful. “Not in so many words. And not to that particular bull.
I couldn’t reach him at all. Didn’t sense what he was about to do
either. But usually, yes, I know what an animal feels, what it
needs. Usually I can get across what I want them to do, too. Stand
still, lift a paw, whatever. It comes in pretty handy in my
practice. It also came in handy tonight—I told the welcoming
committee to go hang out by the river until I called
them.”
“And they just went?”
“Sure they did. In their eyes, I’m
their pack leader.”
“I could certainly see that they adored
you.” She laid her silverware across her empty plate and sat back.
“Look, I have to ask. Are you psychic? Jessie says that’s how you
knew the wolf was there last night before anyone heard it. Before
I knew it was there.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Just like
that?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re so matter-of-fact about it.
Your face, your expression—I don’t know, it’s like asking someone
if the sky is blue. As if it were an everyday occurrence to know
the future in advance.”
“For some people, it is. Look at you,
for instance. You know things too, see things. You saw a wolf in my
face last night.”
Zoey laughed at that. “That was hardly
prophetic. That was just weirdness. I was bone-tired and had a
drink on an empty stomach. Seeing things. That’s all.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” She didn’t sound
certain at all. “Look, Jessie says your gift is really solid. But
mine’s flaky and seeing your face turn into a wolf just proves it.
I’d been dreaming about that wolf, so it was already on my mind.
Case closed.”
“Uh huh. Is it my imagination or are
you a teensy bit defensive about your gift?”
“I’m not—okay, I guess maybe I am. You
and Jessie keep calling it a gift. My mom, her sisters, and my
grandmother do too. Me, I’m not so sure.” She told him what she had
shared with Jessie, her fears and her frustrations. Especially the
frustrations.
“So you want it to tell you things in
advance, give you time to warn people, help people.”
“Of course I do! What good is it if all
I get to do is stand over bodies?”
“You write their stories. And you tell
the truth. That’s something.”
“Not enough, not for me. I will
never forget that child’s face, the one
killed by the drive-by—” She choked up then. And she obviously
hadn’t meant to say so much. Connor said nothing, just waited as
she took a few breaths and cleared her throat. Her voice was much
softer when she spoke again. “I don’t want to just record tragedy.
I don’t think I can. I think it would break something in me after a
while.”
Connor reached across the table then
and held her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “Can’t
anyone in your family teach you how to focus your talent? I once
heard psychic ability described as a radio receiver of sorts, and
if that’s so, perhaps you can learn to tune in to the
signal.”
She shook her head. “My mother, my
aunts, my grandmother—none of them have a clue how to instruct in
that area because they’ve all had their talent in spades pretty
much since birth. And it’s pretty hard to look for that kind of
help in secret. I’ve always tried to keep it hidden from anyone
outside of my immediate family.”
“Why?”
“Are you kidding? Look, I don’t know
what kind of a world you grew up in, but you don’t know what it was
like . . . .” She rested her chin in her hand and sighed. “I’m
sorry. I didn’t realize how much the whole book thing still upsets
me.”
It was like pulling teeth, but Connor
was prepared to ask questions all night if he had to. “What
book thing?”
She took a deep breath. “My mother is
Jayne Tallyson.”
Connor whistled long and low. “I think
I’m getting the picture now.” Jayne Tallyson was a household name.
The book was Seeing with an Inner Eye. He’d
read it himself more than once, but decided he wouldn’t get any
points for saying so.
“It came out when I was in eighth grade
and it became a bestseller.”
“Did that make things hard for
you?”
“People talk. Adults talk and their
kids hear, and then their kids talk. My mom and Aunt Tildy were
interviewed on TV. And somebody asked them if everyone in their
family was psychic.”
“They said yes,”
he guessed.
“They sure did. I don’t think they
realized what effect it would have on my life. I didn’t share much
of it with them for fear of hurting their feelings. But a lot of
kids started pestering me to tell their fortunes—you know, tell
them what they were getting for their birthday, who their boyfriend
was going to be, that kind of stuff. I wouldn’t do it—couldn’t do it even if I wanted to—and they were mad.
Some already disliked me because I got good grades, and they
thought I cheated through my alleged psychic powers.” Zoey pulled
her hand away from Connor’s and began toying with her
napkin.
“So you caught a lot of grief over an
ability you didn’t even use. Sounds like high school was pretty
rough.”
She nodded. “Everyone talked about
me—kids, teachers, neighbors, store clerks. I was kind of quiet and
so they started referring to me as The Weird
Kid. So I got even quieter. Creepy Girl.
Freakazoid. The only time I was asked for a date in my
hometown was when someone dared the guy to do it.”
“Ouch. That had to hurt a
lot.”
“It sure does when you’re a teenage
girl. I applied to a college on the other side of the country,
someplace where no one knew me. It was a breath of fresh air—for
once, I was just like everyone else. I even made a few
friends.
“Then my mother showed up on campus for
a surprise visit and somebody recognized her.” She shifted in her
chair, stared out the window as if seeing the past before her. “My
mother signed autographs for half an hour and accepted an
invitation to speak at a sorority that night. I couldn’t deal with
it. I walked away and refused to be seen with her, but the damage
was done.”
“She blew your cover.”
“Big time. She didn’t even understand
what was wrong, why I was upset. After she left, things were still
okay with a couple of my friends, but others disappeared. You know,
the paranormal is really trendy, but people aren’t so excited about
it when it turns up in their roommate or their girlfriend.” She
turned away from the window, and it hurt him to see so much sadness
in her face. “That’s when I decided to change my name. I had to. I
changed my major and went to a different university.”
“You didn’t cut ties with them, did
you?” He could understand that she might have been tempted. It had
always been difficult for the children of celebrities to have a
life of their own, but in this century’s media-frenzied climate, it
would be almost impossible.
“No, of course not. I phoned Mom every
Sunday morning like always. Still do. But I admit, the idea of not
telling them where I lived crossed my mind.” She laughed, but not
with humor. “Only for about five minutes though. I mean, how do you
hide from a family of psychics?”
“That’d be quite a
challenge.”
“No, the real
challenge was making them all promise not to come see me,
especially my mother. No more visits, surprise or otherwise. Ever.
No mentioning my name in public, no showing family pictures to the
media. They didn’t understand then and they still don’t get it. I
love them but we still fight about it.”
Zoey ran a hand through her hair, then
put the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Good grief. I didn’t
mean to go on so much. It’s just that it’s a new experience for me
to talk about this aspect of my life and not have someone think I’m
strange or abnormal.”
“You’re not strange. Not even a teensy
bit abnormal.” He tried to make it sound light, but inside him
sudden anger flashed like lightning toward whoever or whatever had
made this vibrant woman doubt herself for an instant. “You’re
perfect just as you are.”
Zoey took in a breath that was going to
come out as a laugh—until she caught sight of Connor’s face. His
eyes had gone silvery, and the intensity in them had her swallowing
that breath and feeling as if there suddenly wasn’t enough air in
the room. Maybe not in the entire atmosphere. . . .
Without warning, Connor was on his
feet, and she was wrapped tight in his powerful arms. He had made
love to her with his lips before, but these kisses were hard, hot
and hungry, as if he desperately needed to express something he had
no words for. As if he simply needed.
She had needs too. A bolt of pure
electricity seemed to rocket through her core, ricochet crazily
through her belly and zap her nipples to attention. In fact, every
cell in her body was at attention and focused on this man. She
needed. Now.
And this time, she was determined to
have.