The Round Up was busy when they got there, every picnic table on the deck around it seeming occupied, but Carol had saved one for them and stood to smile and wave them over when they approached. The men dropped back to let Mary lead the way with Bailey, and she smiled and greeted several regulars she’d met on past stops as they made their way through the tables. Carol had chosen an outer table, probably because she expected Mary to bring Bailey as usual, and Mary quickly attached Bailey’s leash to one of the legs on the outside, then greeted Carol with a hug.
“How did you sleep?” Carol asked as they settled at the table. “You look tired. I hope the dogs barking didn’t disturb you when those men tried to break in?”
“No. We’re back far enough we didn’t hear a thing,” Mary assured her and it was true, at least for her. She didn’t tell Carol that she hadn’t slept well anyway though. She didn’t want the questions that would follow.
“You must be the nephew,” Carol said, turning her attention to Dante as he stepped over the picnic table’s bench seat to settle next to Mary. Carol’s eyes widened slightly as she took him in and then she murmured, “My, you’re a big fella.”
“Dante, this is Carol and Dave Bigelow,” Mary said, trying to look at him without actually looking at him. A tricky business, but she suspected if she did look at him properly her less than aunt-like appreciation might show. “We’ve been friends for years. Since before they even bought the campground.”
“Yes.” Carol grinned and then leaned across the table to brush a hand over Dante’s arm and explained, “We lived in Winnipeg just around the corner from your aunt and uncle. We’ve been friends for decades.”
“You are Canadian as well?” Dante asked with surprise.
Carol nodded. “We used to be snowbirds too, driving the RV down here like Mary and Joe, but about eight years ago the four of us booked in here as usual, and during our stay the owners mentioned they were looking to sell and move to California to be closer to their kids. We decided we’d buy it and stay year round.”
“The best decision we ever made,” Dave announced with a smile.
The waitress appeared at their table then and Carol smiled at the girl and said, “Oh, Andrea. You remember Mrs. Winslow? And this is her nephew, Dante.”
Mary smiled at the young woman. Carol and Dave hired a lot of locals to help out at the campground in the busy season, but Andrea was one of the year-round workers who had been with them since they’d bought the campgrounds. As Mary recalled, Andrea had started here fresh out of school at eighteen, which put her at about twenty-six, Dante’s age or a little older, she thought. Mary had always liked the girl, but noting the way she was eyeing Dante like he was a tasty treat, she found herself cooling toward her.
“So, what does everybody want?” Carol asked cheerfully. Twisting in her seat, she gestured toward the blackboards on the wall of the cookhouse. “Everything we make is there on the boards, Dante.”
“Yes.” Andrea beamed at him. “Have whatever you want.”
Mary’s eyebrows rose at the suggestive offer and she asked sweetly, “How are you finding married life, Andrea? When I stopped here in the fall it was just a week or so until the wedding, wasn’t it?”
“Oh,” Andrea flushed, and then glanced quickly to Dante and back before mumbling, “Yes. It’s fine.”
“The wedding was beautiful,” Carol put in when Andrea didn’t say anything else. Smiling at Dante, she added, “They held it here along the river. The pictures turned out really nice.”
Mary nodded as if she cared, and then glanced to the blackboards and quickly gave her order. The others followed and Andrea slipped away to take their order to the cook.
“I think our Andrea is a little taken with you, Dante,” Dave said with amusement once the girl was out of earshot.
“Any red-blooded female would be,” Carol said on a laugh and then teased, “If I were thirty or so years younger, Dave would have something to worry about with you here.”
“You flatter me,” Dante said with a smile and leaned to the side to pet Bailey as she moved to sit on the ground behind him and Mary.
Carol frowned and then glanced to Mary and asked, “I don’t remember any of your or Dave’s siblings moving to Italy.”
Mary’s eyes widened with confusion. “None of them did.”
“But Dante has an Italian accent,” she pointed out and then said, “Oh, is this one of Joe’s chil—” She broke off sharply as she realized what she was saying. Eyes wide with alarm, Carol turned to her husband for help.
Rolling his eyes with disgust at her gaff, he changed the subject abruptly by announcing, “Carol thinks we should sell up and move back to Winnipeg.”
Mary had frozen at Carol’s words. She now glanced quickly to Dante, noting that he was staring at Carol with the same concentration he’d had in his eyes as he’d looked back at her the first time she’d seen him lying on her RV floor. Had he been trying to read her mind then? she wondered. And was he now reading Carol’s thoughts to find out what she’d been talking about? The possibility was a humiliating one for Mary. Forcing a smile to her face, she said quietly, “You mentioned that when I stopped in the fall. But you didn’t seem interested.”
“He isn’t,” Carol said unhappily.
“Of course not,” Dave said with a grimace. “It’s damned cold in Winnipeg in the winter, and I’m too old to be shoveling snow.”
“We could get an apartment,” Carol argued at once. “Besides, I miss the kids, and the grandbabies are growing up so fast.”
“They visit,” Dave pointed out with irritation.
“Once a year,” Carol countered. “I want to see them more than that.”
“You could always visit them up there,” Dave pointed out. “I told you. You should go this summer and stay a couple months, then come back for the winter. We’d be driving an RV down here for the winter anyway if we didn’t own this place. In fact,” he continued, “If you want you could get a small apartment and stay there for the summers, we could afford that. Then you could come back in the fall for the busy season.”
Carol frowned at the suggestion. “And leave you here alone all summer?”
“I’d have help running the place,” he pointed out dryly. “I’d be fine.”
Her mouth tightened. “Don’t you want to see your grandchildren too?”
“I see them when they visit,” he pointed out with a shrug. “Hell, I probably wouldn’t see them any more than that if we lived in Winnipeg. Their lives are so busy, they wouldn’t have time for us old fogies. Look, here comes Andrea with the drinks.”
Carol opened her mouth as if to continue the argument, but then just sat back with a sigh and shook her head wearily as Andrea arrived at the table and began to set out the coffees and juices they’d ordered.
Mary murmured a thank-you as the girl set an orange juice and cup of coffee in front of her, and then glanced from Dave to Carol with concern. It was obvious that Carol wasn’t happy, and it seemed equally obvious that Dave didn’t care. He was happy with their life the way it was and was unwilling to bend. She had noticed that Dave had suggested Carol go north alone if she wanted, not even mentioning the possibility of his joining her for part of the time. It seemed after forty years of marriage, there was trouble between the Bigelows.
Once Andrea had left, Dave turned the conversation to attractions in the area that Dante might like to see. Mary noticed that Dante murmured politely in response to each suggestion, but didn’t encourage him much, and then the food arrived and the conversation dwindled as they tucked into their meal.
Dave often claimed they had the best cook in Texas working for them, and Mary couldn’t argue the point. Every meal she’d ever had at the Round Up had been excellent, and this breakfast was no exception. She would have enjoyed it more, however, had the mood at the table been less tense. Where she usually enjoyed visiting with Dave and Carol, this time she was actually glad when one of the workers hurried to the table as they finished their meal and dragged Carol and Dave away to deal with an unhappy camper.
“I’m sorry, we’ll visit more later,” Carol said apologetically as they rushed away.
Mary murmured in agreement, but was kind of hoping that later never came. She knew if Carol got her alone she’d have more questions about Dante that she just had no idea how to answer. And Mary really didn’t want to get in the middle of the argument Carol and Dave were having about moving or not moving. Her advice to Carol would be to do whatever the hell she wanted. If she wanted to move back to Winnipeg to be close to her kids, then do it. Life was too damned short to constantly push your own desires down and always do what others wanted. On her deathbed, Mary’s mother had told her to follow her dreams, that on her own deathbed she wouldn’t lie there patting herself on the back for all the times she was so good and kindhearted and did what others wanted, she’d be regretting all the things she’d wanted to do and hadn’t.
Mary hadn’t always followed that advice, but the older she got, the more she recognized the sense behind the words. Her mother hadn’t been suggesting she act without considering others. She’d just been saying to be kind to herself as well as to others. Her own wants and needs should be at least as important as those of the others in her life. Because, frankly, if you didn’t care about yourself, no one would, and you’d spend your life living for others.
“Your husband was unfaithful,” Dante said bluntly once they’d left the restaurant and started the return walk to the RV.
Mary’s hand tightened on Bailey’s leash at that comment. He obviously had read Carol’s thoughts. Either that or he’d realized the significance of what Carol had stopped herself saying. “Oh, is this one of Joe’s chil—” Joe’s children was what she’d started to say. One of his biological children, not with her, but with one of the many women he’d had affairs with over a fifteen-year period during the first part of their marriage.
“I told you he wasn’t perfect,” she muttered with a shrug.
“Yes. But you neglected to tell me he was repeatedly unfaithful to you during your marriage,” he said grimly, sounding angry on her behalf. “That is a little less than imperfect.”
“It was during the early years of our marriage,” she said quietly. “But he made up for it during the last half of our marriage. He was the best husband a woman could ask for then.”
“He was not,” Dante assured her. “He simply got better at hiding his indiscretions.”
“What?” Mary asked sharply, her steps halting. Then she scowled at him. “You don’t know that.”
“I read both Carol and Dave,” he said quietly.
Her eyes widened with alarm. “He and Carol didn’t . . . ?”
“No. Carol, like you, is a faithful wife,” he assured her solemnly.
Mary let her breath out on a sigh. She and Carol had been good friends for a long, long time. The thought that she could have betrayed her like that would have been crushing. Which was ironic, she supposed. She should have been more distressed at Joe’s betrayal had they had an affair. Instead, it was Carol’s betrayal that would have hurt more. She supposed it was because she’d long ago given up any hope of being able to trust her husband in that regard. At least back then.
“Dave is how I know your husband continued his infidelities,” Dante continued, “He and your husband were made from the same mold. The pair often trolled the bars together, knew each other’s girlfriends, and covered for each other with “the wifey” as he put it in his thoughts.”
Mary sighed at this news and continued walking. She wasn’t terribly surprised by the information, but also wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with it. Should she be furious and confront Dave? Why? What did it matter? Joe was dead.
“He continues to philander here in Texas,” Dante said grimly. “And Carol is aware of it. That is part of the reason she wants to move back to Winnipeg. Dave uses the campground as his own personal hunting grounds. He has affairs with many of the women who camp here, married or not. He also has had the occasional fling with workers.”
Mary’s mouth tightened and her heart went out to Carol, but again, she didn’t know what to do about it. If, as he said, Carol knew . . . well, she wouldn’t want to add to her humiliation and bring up the subject with her. They’d only discussed the subject of Joe’s infidelities once, years ago, after the car accident that had led to her not being able to have children. Mary had almost left Joe then, but . . .
“Carol believes you stayed with Joe because you could not have children,” Dante said quietly. “She believes you felt no other man would want a woman who couldn’t give him children.”
“Children are important to most men,” she said quietly. “But that wasn’t the only reason. He made a mistake, but no one is perfect.”
He was silent for a minute and then said uncertainly, “Are the pictures in the RV of your husband’s children with other women?”
Mary’s mouth tightened. She hated being reminded of the children he’d had with other women. She knew they existed, but not how many. “No. They’re our adopted children. We adopted a boy and a girl. Both grown now with children of their own.”
“I see. But Joe had children of his own without you?” he asked, not letting the subject go.
Mary opened her mouth to tell him she didn’t want to talk about that subject, but then sighed and said, “He traveled a lot for work when we were younger. It was at a time when we were having marital problems. Sometimes he was away for months in foreign countries negotiating this deal or that one. He was lonely and took up with other women.”
“I would never be unfaithful to you Mary,” he said solemnly. “No matter how long we were apart.”
The words surprised a short laugh from her and she shook her head. “Dante, you’re far too young for me. Save proclamations like that for someone your own age.”
“I am older than I look,” he said solemnly.
Relieved to see that they’d reached the end of the lane and were approaching the RV, Mary smiled at him and said dryly, “So you’ve said. But, sweetheart, if you’re over twenty-five or twenty-six I’ll eat my hat.”
“I am well over twenty-five but would never make you eat anything you did not want to, especially a hat.”
Mary raised her eyebrows, then just shook her head and led Bailey to the picnic table to collect her double dish. She carried it to the RV and quickly unlocked and opened the door. Bailey immediately tried to rush up the stairs, but Mary stopped her with a sharp, “Stay.”
Bailey sat then and waited for Mary to mount the stairs before following her into the RV. Mary wasn’t very good at consistency, but according to the dog training books she’d resorted to lately, she should have made the dog wait for Dante to enter as well, but the leash made that difficult. Pausing next to the table, Mary set the dish on it, then bent to undo Bailey’s leash as Dante followed them in.
“I am serious, Mary. I am much older than I look,” he insisted, pulling the RV door closed behind them.
Something about the tone of his voice made Mary glance warily his way as she finished removing Bailey’s leash and straightened. He had sounded determined. He looked determined too. She wasn’t sure what that determination was about, but it made her nervous, so she simply slipped past him to hang the leash from the hook next to the door and waited for him to continue.
“Come, sit,” Dante suggested when she turned back.
Mary watched him take a seat at the dinette booth, but grabbed Bailey’s dish, rinsed it out at the sink and filled both sides with water. She set it on the floor by the table for the dog, then settled at the dinette across from Dante, sliding further in and petting Bailey when the shepherd jumped up to lie on the bench seat next to her. “Okay, I’m sitting.”
Dante nodded, and then paused briefly as if considering how to start, before saying, “Mary, my people are different.”
“Your people?” she queried uncertainly, her gaze sliding over his dark hair and olive skin. That and his accent had made her assume that he was Italian. But Indians had darker skin and black hair, they also had sharp cheekbones as he did and often referred to their tribe as their people. Tilting her head, she asked, “Are you Indian?”
“No. Atlantean.”
“Huh?” Mary peered at him blankly. “You mean from Atlanta, Georgia?”
“No,” he said with a small smile, and then reached across to take her hands gently in his. “You’ve heard of Atlantis?”
“Atlantis?” she repeated slowly. “That place that supposedly existed and sank into the ocean or something like forever ago. That Atlantis?”
“Yes.” Dante smiled as if pleased she knew that much. “That Atlantis. My ancestors were from there.”
“Riiiiight,” she said slowly. “And who told you that?”
“My grandfather Nicodemus told me.”
Mary nodded slowly, and then shook her head. Grandparents told their grandkids all sorts of delightful tales to entertain them, or to make themselves seem more interesting than they really were. Most kids grew up and realized they should take those tales with a grain of salt. Dante obviously hadn’t and still believed them. Poor schmuck, she thought.
“He told Tomasso and me all about Atlantis,” Dante went on. “About the tall buildings built from a white stone found only there. About the creeping vines that quickly grew to cover the buildings, helping to insulate them from the heat. He said that every summer they would sprout beautiful flowers, much like the flowers we call azaleas today, but larger.”
“Dante,” she said gently, “Even if Atlantis existed, your grandfather couldn’t possibly know what it looked like. No one knows if it even really existed, let alone what it looked like.”
“He does know. He lived there,” Dante countered quietly.
“Ah, sweetheart,” she murmured pityingly. “Surely you know Atlantis is supposed to have collapsed into the sea or whatever ages ago?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then your grandfather couldn’t possibly—”
“My people are different,” he interrupted, repeating his earlier words. “They were advanced technologically, Mary. They were isolated from the rest of the world and had created transportation before the rest of the world even came up with the wheel. And scientifically they were advanced beyond where the rest of the world is even today.”
“Dante,” she said on a sigh, trying to pull her hands free of his, but he held on.
“Please, just let me tell you,” he insisted quietly. “It will sound incredible and unbelievable and I know this, but let me just tell you anyway.”
She hesitated, but then relented and nodded, her posture relaxing. What harm could there be in letting him tell her the stories his grandfather had told him? “All right. Go ahead.”
“Thank you,” he said, his lips lifting in a charming smile.
It made Mary want to try to snatch her hands away again. He was so damned beautiful, it was almost painful to peer at him. No one should be that good-looking. Or smell this good, she thought grimly as his scent wafted to her, setting her hormones buzzing. Images from her interrupted dreams last night started sliding through her mind: him leaning over her, his naked chest so wide and beautiful, his hair dropping around their faces like a curtain as he kissed her. His hands moving over her body, pushing her T-shirt up to caress her . . .
Damn, Mary thought, bringing her wayward brain to a halt. How had she got here? Holding hands with a handsome young stud half her age or more, and lusting after him like some twenty-year-old hopped up on hormones? She was a dirty old woman!
“As I said, the people of Atlantis were far more advanced scientifically,” Dante began again, completely oblivious of her inner turmoil. “They had cures for many of the ailments we still do not have cures for today. But just before the fall of Atlantis, they had begun working with nanos.”
When he paused then and hesitated, looking uncertain, Mary guessed he was trying to decide how to explain nanos and said dryly, “I know what nanos are. Or at least enough to follow this tale.”
Dante relaxed and smiled again.
Mary followed the movement of his lips, noting that he was growing some serious stubble on his face, and, big surprise, it too looked damned good on him. She probably would have noticed it earlier if she hadn’t been studiously avoiding looking directly at him all morning, thanks to her night of torrid dreams. Mary was looking now though, and thought that was probably dangerous. It made her want to run her fingers over his face to see if the stubble now gracing his face would feel as good as it looked. Fortunately, she was saved from herself when he began to speak again, reclaiming her attention to his words rather than how pretty he was.
“They had reached the point where they were experimenting with the use of nanos in health care,” Dante continued. “They had bio-engineered nanos that, once introduced to the human body, could use human blood to reproduce and repair themselves as they worked to heal and repair the human body. For instance, if someone had cancer, the nanos recognized those cells as not belonging and would destroy them, and if a person was injured, the nanos would repair the wounds and so on.”
Mary raised her eyebrows at this claim. It sounded like an awesome invention if it were possible. She just didn’t think it was likely. These nanos would have to be programmed with every single little bit of knowledge about the human body, a lot of info to stick into something smaller than the head of a pin. However, she held her tongue.
“But as a result of a flaw in their design, the nanos had some unexpected side effects,” he said solemnly.
“What kind of flaw?” Mary asked, curious, despite knowing none of this could be true.
Dante paused and frowned, and she wondered if he was making up an answer, and then he said, “The human body is attacked by many different illnesses and diseases; cancer, diabetes, Alzheimer’s, meningitis and so on. And then there are about a million different injuries a human could sustain, anything from damage caused by a stroke to a punctured lung from a stab wound. Programming nanos specific to each possible need would have meant creating hundreds or even thousands of illness- or injury-specific nanos.”
“More than that,” Mary said dryly. She couldn’t even guess how many different illnesses and injuries humans could suffer from. She’d read something once that had claimed there were at least 100,000 diseases in the world. How many injuries could be added to that? Creating that many programs for the nanos would have been a herculean task.
“Yes. So, rather than program the nanos for each specific need, the scientists developed a program that included the information for both male and female bodies at their peak, and programmed the nanos with the directive to ensure their host was at their peak condition and then self-destruct. At which point they would be flushed from the body naturally like all dead cells are.”
Mary nodded. “Sensible.”
“They thought so,” he agreed with amusement. “However, it did not go quite as they planned. Nanos are ultimately machines, and machines are very literal, so if you gave them to a seventy-year-old man with cancer, not only did they eradicate the cancer, but they set about returning his body to the peak condition they had been programmed with.”
Mary raised her eyebrows in question, not seeing a problem there. A fit seventy-year-old would be a good result.
“As it turns out, the human is at their peak condition in their mid to late twenties,” he said quietly. “And so the nanos worked to return their hosts to that peak.”
Mary sat back slowly as his words flowed over her. What he was talking about was that in a mythical land they had developed a mythical, scientific fountain of youth of sorts.
“Even once they had accomplished that, though, the nanos did not self-destruct and get flushed from the body,” he continued. “Because the body is constantly under attack by the environment, the air we breathe, the sun, or just the passage of time, the nanos simply could not get the body to remain at what they considered its peak long enough to self-destruct. They would finish repairs only to find several cells had died from exposure to the sun or just because they’d reached their optimum age. So the nanos remained in the host, continuing to work and repair. Their hosts never sickened, did not age, and were they injured, the nanos quickly repaired them.”
Mary let her breath out on a little sigh, thinking that it was a damned shame none of this was true, because that would rock. Or maybe not, she thought in the next moment. She’d lived a long time, gone through a lot and seen a lot, and frankly, Mary was kind of tired. It wasn’t that she was suicidal or anything, but death to her was starting to look like a bit of a respite or rest, rather than the scary ending she’d always thought of it as when she was young.
“And that is how I survived being crushed by your RV,” Dante announced.
Mary blinked and refocused on him.
“What?” she asked sharply.
“I was badly injured in the accident,” he said quietly. “My lower left leg was crushed, my one lung was punctured, I had several broken ribs, and I’m pretty sure several of my organs were crushed or at least seriously banged up in it as well. The tires tore my skin open in several places and the nanos simply couldn’t close everything up before I lost a good deal of blood. They do need blood to work with after all and I was losing it quickly.”
He shrugged. “Were I mortal, I would have died quickly, I think. But I am not and when you brought the doctors to me, I fed from them and the nanos began to work in earnest. Of course, I couldn’t take all the blood I needed from them. It would have killed them, so I had the female fetch—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Mary interrupted with exasperation. “What do you mean you fed on them?”
“Their blood,” he explained and reminded her, “The nanos need blood to do their work, as well as to power them.”
“Their blood,” she echoed in a whisper, then tilted her head and asked, “You saying that lady doctor fetched those men from the diner so you could . . .”
“So I could feed on them,” he explained with a nod. “I fed on the EMTs too, and between them, the truckers and the doctors I gained enough blood for the nanos to make the necessary repairs. Fortunately, Tomasso and I have always been fast healers. Another immortal might have needed more time to allow the nanos to make the necessary repairs, but—” He paused and peered at her warily when Mary cursed under her breath.
She ran one weary hand through her short hair and shook her head with disgust as she muttered, “You’re like a damned roller coaster, Dante. And I’m a bloody idiot.”
“You are not an idiot,” he said indignantly.
“I am,” Mary assured him, pulling her hands from his and urging Bailey off the bench seat so she could get up. She started toward the door, and then paused and swung back, saying, “You pop up in my RV with mad stories of being kidnapped and escaping, and I, like an idiot, believed you,” she pointed out. “At least I did until you started spouting off about reading and controlling minds. I smartened up just a little at that point and decided maybe you weren’t the innocent victim but a lunatic. But what do I do? Do I call the police like any intelligent woman would? No, I call that idiot friend of yours.”
“Er . . .” He cleared his throat. “It might be best not to call Lucian that to his face. He would be offended and no doubt say or do something unfortunate, and I would hate to have to kill him. It would cause trouble in the family.”
Mary ignored his interruption and continued, “That idiot friend backs you up, claiming you can indeed read and control minds and I think, all right, maybe like Horatio, there are more things in heaven and earth than I’d ever dreamt of, and I go back to at least accepting it’s possible and believing that you were kidnapped again.” She glared at him. “But then you come up with this? I’m supposed to buy that you’re some kind of new vampire?”
“Immortal,” he corrected softly.
“Vampire,” Mary snapped. “Let’s call a spade a spade here, shall we? You’re claiming you drank the blood of those people at the truck stop and got all better, your broken ribs and crushed organs healed. That’s a vampire,” she spat, and then added, “And I don’t believe it, so go sell it to some witless little girl who can’t see past her hormones.”
Dante frowned and then tilted his head and said something that she was pretty sure was a curse in Italian. Sighing, he tugged out the elastic he’d tied his hair back with, and then ran his hands through his long hair as if his head hurt, before muttering, “You are the most frustrating woman.”
“So control me,” Mary suggested dryly, snatching up a coffee mug and sticking it in the single coffee server. She placed a single-serve cup into the machine, closed it, turned it on and waited as her coffee was made.
“I have already told you that I am unable to either read or control you,” Dante said patiently.
Mary snorted her disbelief. “You’ve told me a lot of things.”
“And everything I’ve told you has been the truth, Mary. I would not lie to you.”
“All men lie,” she growled. “If nothing else, I’ve certainly learned that life lesson.”
“Do not judge me by your husband’s behavior,” Dante growled back, sounding furious. And a lot closer, she noted and turned to find he too had stood up and was directly behind her, his face flush with anger and his hands balled as if he wanted to hit something.
“Every man I’ve ever known has cheated and lied,” she said grimly. “My father, my husband . . . even Dave, according to you.”
“Mary—”
“Why do you care about what I think anyway?” she snapped. “I’m surprised you’re still even here. I got you away from your kidnappers. Why don’t you go find your friends now and go after your brother? I know you want to.”
“I do,” he admitted grimly. “However, I cannot leave you so long as there is a possibility my kidnappers might stalk you in their hunt for me.”
“Oh, yes, we’re bait. I forgot,” she muttered, turning back to the coffee machine.
Dante immediately caught her arm and swung her back. “You are not bait. I am bait. You are . . .” He paused, frustration crossing his face, and then he growled that frustration aloud and pulled her forward.