Chapter Fifteen

Showered and shaky, Suede limped out of Chance’s bathroom a new but exhausted woman. Why he had a blow dryer in there she didn’t know. He surely didn’t use it, but it was a godsend for a woman fighting what felt like bronchitis settling in her lungs. Wet hair would only make everything worse.

Her plan to escape had been put on indefinite hold. All she wanted now was to climb back into his bed, pull the covers over her head, and feel sorry for herself.

The steam from the shower had loosened her lungs, but man, standing to shampoo, rinse, lather, and repeat was a lot of work. She’d removed the gauze on her fingers, which stung at first. By the time her knees were about to give out, she’d used his body wash, rubbed a dab of toothpaste over her teeth when she couldn’t find an extra toothbrush, and left her damp towel on the counter. Enough was enough. She had to sit before she fell down.

The waterproof wraps he’d left on the counter to keep her bandages dry were helpful, although she hadn’t used one on her backside. Too gross to save, she’d ripped that bandage off and tossed it. The open wound stung, but the burning lump she’d dealt with for days before this debacle, was gone and that was relief enough.

Damn. That big bed of Chance’s looked enticing and safe. Trembling, she rested her hip to the edge of it. She’d brought a hand towel to catch any infection still draining from her left butt cheek, but other than that, she felt better. Tired as hell, but clean. If only he were there. She wouldn’t mind his help. In fact, she might enjoy watching his reaction to her request to re-bandage her derriere. He embarrassed easy, not what she’d expected from a guy his size.

“Are you okay in there?” Pagan asked at the closed door. That was nice of him NOT to barge in when she was still wrapped in a bath sheet and holding onto her rear. Chance’s clean shirt waited on the bed for her to shimmy into it. One thing at a time.

“I’m good,” she called out. At least she tried to call out. Her sore throat didn’t have the volume she’d intended.

Sure enough, Pagan either hadn’t heard or chose not to. The knob turned, the door opened, and he about dropped his teeth. At least, his mouth fell open so wide he could’ve lost his teeth when he gaped at her.

“Do you mind?” she hissed, drawing up to every last bit of her five-foot-one-inch indignant height. She snugged the towel up to her chin. This was not the Sinclair brother she wanted ogling her.

“Ah, ah, yes, I mean no, ah… shit.” Red-faced, he slammed the door.

“I’ll be right out,” she called as she dropped the towel and drifted Chance’s shirt over her arms and head. The hem of it settled at her knees, but the smell of it. Ahhhh. Suede closed her eyes and hugged herself, imaging those were his arms around her.

Wouldn’t you know? When she opened her eyes, Pagan was standing at the door again, still red-faced. Gawking.

Suede dropped her arms, embarrassed he’d caught her acting foolish. “What do you want?” she asked, her nose in the air. She refused to be intimidated by another man for as long as she lived.

His head jerked to the side once, then again. She nearly laughed. Pagan looked like he had a bad tick or was having a minor seizure.

“Umm, lunch is served.” His palm came up as if to placate her. “If you’re hungry, that is. Unless you want me to bring it in here. I could do that, you know. I’m here to serve, and you should, umm, probably get back into bed. To sleep, I mean. Just to sleep.” His head kept bobbing like he needed her to agree with one of his more than kind options.

Suede couldn’t help it. He was as handsome and as shy as Chance, but his shoulders were wider. Dressed in comfortable looking faded jeans and a white short-sleeved T, Pagan waited. His wavy hair was the identical shiny, ebony black, but longer, and his eyes were green, a deep crisp emerald green instead of warm amber. If anything, he was endearingly cute. Best of all, he hadn’t been rude. “How about if I eat with you instead of by myself?” she asked.

“With me? Ah, sure. You bet.” He spun on the ball of his foot, then turned as if he’d forgotten something. “You’ll probably need help walking, huh?”

“Just a strong arm to lean on, that’s all.” Chance’s arm would’ve been better, but Pagan’s would do.

He flew to her side, his elbow cocked and an impressively inked forearm presented for her to hold onto. She clutched it as a wave of dizziness swarmed up from the floor. By then, she’d been on her feet a whole thirty minutes that felt more like hours. “I’m just a little unsteady,” she assured the gentle giant at her side as she shuffled through the door and out into the real world. I will not faint or fall down. Only sissy girls do that.

Suede took a moment to take in the rustic, male appeal of Chance’s magnificent log home, at least the massive overhead timbers and joists were constructed of logs, although the wall looked like any other wall. Wow. For a cabin, this place was breathtakingly huge.

One hallway stretched to her left, another to her right, both lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the still snowing blizzard quite perfectly, if you liked frigid, wintery pictures. The rich burnished glow of hardwood floors combined with partially peeled logs beckoned her into a lavish family room with several leather couches, a high chandelier of deer antlers or… She squinted at that amazing piece of art in the rafters. Those clever things could be moose antlers for all she knew about North American wildlife.

A stone fireplace dominated the wall just outside her door, umm, Chance’s door. A kitchen filled with copper pots and pans hanging over a stainless aluminum range glowed beyond. A huge black bear, stuffed of course, stood in the far corner near the entry with its claws raked high and a butterfly on its nose. Cute.

Cabinets and closets lined the double doors at the entry, itself a carved masterpiece of bounding deer, bears, and pine trees set in a thick rough-hewn frame. The entire room had been done in evergreens and browns, mimicking the décor of Mother Nature’s forests. Delightful. Simply delightful in a masculine, guy sort of way.

Gallo lay on a rug by the fire, completing the cozy picture. He opened one eye, thumped his tail a couple times, then went back to sleep.

“Here you go, Princess,” Pagan murmured as he stepped lightly around her, seating her in the corner of the couch. He took a minute to tuck a plush blanket over her lap before he stepped back and nodded as if he agreed with himself. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yes, thank you.” She smoothed the wrinkles out of the blanket. “This place is, wow, really nice for a cabin.”

“It is,” he agreed, rubbing his hands. “Umm, lunch. I made lunch. Broccoli cheese soup. I’ll, um, get a bowl for you. Toast tips?” he asked on his way past her to the kitchen.

“Yes, please,” she called over her shoulder, projecting her squeaky, scratchy voice so he wouldn’t think she was close to passing out. Exhausted was more like it. Suede curled her knees to the couch, careful of her hip and… Oh damn. She’d lost track of the towel for the open sore on her ass. By now, it had to be seeping through Chance’s shirt and the blanket and onto this beautiful leather couch and...

Unsteadily, she lifted to her feet and twisted around to see what was going on back there. Wrong move. The cabin tilted and down she went, only she didn’t get far. Strong, capable hands lifted her off her feet before she hit the floor. Suede found herself pressed against a warm chest, the heart beneath it pounding like a jackhammer.

“I’ve got you,” Pagan murmured, gulping so hard she could hear the muscles in his throat constrict. “Are you okay? You didn’t hit your head, did you? Chance will beat my ass if I let anything happen to you while he’s gone.”

She shook her head, embarrassed at her quandary. Do I tell him? But if I do, I’ll have to show him my bare butt and… Suede stalled, worrying her bottom lip while she weighed her options.

His brows clenched when his gaze hit the red streaks on the leather cushion. “You’re bleeding,” he said, his voice quavering with male trepidation. Silly man. He thought it was that kind of blood, when it was only—blood.

“I couldn’t reach the hole on my ass to bandage it.” Okay, that didn’t come out like she intended. “I mean” —Suede drew in a deep sigh and confessed— “I had a bad infection, and Chance lanced it, and I took the bandage off when I showered, but now… but now…” But now tears brimmed at yet another helpless predicament. “Can you help me?” Without ridiculing me or making me feel worse than I already do?

“You need a pressure bandage,” he said like he knew what he was talking about.

“Okay. Sure.” That sounded good. He hadn’t called her ‘dumb bitch’ or ‘stupid cow’. “As long as it won’t leak, and…” One tear got away, and that was all she-wrote. Suede lowered her lashes, tired of being the damsel in distress. This is so not me! I refused to cry in front of York. Why am I falling apart with these guys?

The answer seemed obvious. York bullied her. Chance and Pagan didn’t. They treated her with undue respect, and she didn’t know what to do with that.

Pagan eased her back down to the couch. In two seconds, he returned with a first-aid kit, a fresh T-shirt, and a clean blanket from Chance’s room. “Don’t worry. I’ve dressed plenty worse wounds in my time. I’ll be gentle.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she breathed. “It’s just that…”

‘Way to go, loser,’ her mother’s voice snapped to life as if she were there in Chance’s log cabin. ‘Act like a worthless child and you’ll always be treated like one.’

I’m not worthless! Suede screamed at the domineering witch in her head.

“Of course you’re not worthless,” Pagan muttered, his brows pinched in dismay and his eyes on the backside he was about to treat. “I never said you were. Are you okay?”

Did I say that out loud? Suede bit her bottom lip and nodded, her cheeks flooded with heat. “Sorry, umm, yes. I’m good.” Just fucking great. I mean, oh hell, darn!

Embarrassed to death, she hooked her palms over the wide leather armrest and looked away while Pagan lifted the blanket and took care of her south end. He didn’t say another word, just swiped her butt cheek with an antiseptic wipe before he pressed a squared bandage over it, which had to be easy to find as quickly as he finished. He tugged the soiled shirt back over her rump and stood. “I’m going to the kitchen. While I’m gone, change shirts, and when I get back, I’ll clean the couch and trade blankets, deal?”

She nodded, embarrassed for having treated him like he was an imbecile before. Pagan had a soft touch and he seemed to care. And he’d made soup! What guy does that for a woman he doesn’t know?

Tears glimmered again, and she swiped a quick finger under her eyes before they fell. “Thank you,” she said, and this time, she meant it from the bottom of her heart.

He retreated to the kitchen. She traded shirts. Before she knew it, the smear on the leather couch was wiped clean, the soiled blanket was replaced, and she was warm and cuddled in another plush blanket. Talk about an exhausting morning.

Pagan served her a small cup of rich, creamy soup. He’d cut the broccoli into tiny niblets and the toast tips were done to golden perfection. He settled into the easy chair at her right, his long legs eating up the real estate between his chair and the coffee table.

The Sinclair boys were both out of some men’s magazine where bodies were wide and rough-cut, muscled and massive. His boots had to be size twelves, at least, and his hefty biceps stretched the sleeves of his short-sleeved T. Like Chance, he wore the uniform of a man used to hard labor outdoors. Jeans. Calluses. A deep tan.

But Suede’s ears were tuned for the stomp of another man’s work boots on the porch. No matter how she fought the inclination, her traitorous eyes stole to the front door at every creak of Pagan’s leather chair.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, his much larger and empty soup bowl on the table, his hands on his knees as if he’d spring to his feet at her bidding.

Suede startled, her mind up on that mountain again. “No, I’m good,” she said. What a lie. She wasn’t good. She was in trouble once more, only this time it felt different. This thing she felt for Chance seemed real. Solid. The difference between junk food and meat and potatoes. She swallowed hard and set her soup spoon in her empty bowl.

“You like him?” Pagan asked out of the blue. “My brother. Chance.”

“No. He helped me. That’s all. I’m just very grateful.” She shook her head, then added. “To the both of you.”

His head nodded, but his lips pursed. His brows slanted as if he was thinking. “He’s my older brother, you know. There’s three of us, Chance, Kruze, and me. Mom had us eleven months apart, then she stopped.”

Hadn’t that woman ever heard of birth control? “Sounds like a smart decision.”

“Yeah, that’s when Dad skipped out on us and got himself killed.” Pagan shoved his long legs forward as he toed out of his boots. “Mom had just hit the big time with one of her books. New York Times bestseller. Guess it pissed him off. Big ego, small brain, you know the type. He went on a three-week drunk. Never came back.”

“I’m sorry,” Suede murmured. She surely knew that type of male.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like any of us miss him, but Mom…” A sigh escaped Pagan as he interlocked his fingers behind his head, his eyes cast up to the ceiling. “We all miss Mom. She was unforgettable.”

Suede’s heart clenched. Pagan’s voice had mellowed at every mention of his mother. These rugged men weren’t so rugged after all. They loved their mom. “Chance said she was an author?”

The dark curls at the top of his head trembled as he nodded, still looking up. “She was. We lost her…” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “The same day Chance…” Pagan trailed off. “I don’t know why I’m talking about this. It’s not like you’re interested and—”

“I am interested,” tripped off of her tongue before her common sense could rein it in. “I care. I mean, it sounds like you and your brother were close to your mom.” Wouldn’t that be something?

He nodded. “She told us stories when we were kids. She took us camping. We lived in San Diego then. It’s a big Navy town, so I guess it’s no wonder we all joined up.”

“You and Kruze and—”

“Yeah. Chance. He started it, no, that’s not right. Mom started it. She was one of those dyed in the wool, don’t-step-on-my-flag, love-it-or-leave-it patriots. She and a friend of hers taught us to shoot before we hit kindergarten, then taught us to stand up for truth and justice. The American way. All that stuff.”

His gaze hadn’t moved from the ceiling, so naturally, Suede’s eyes were drawn to the heavy wooden rafters overhead, too. She hadn’t noticed the rustic metal stars decorating them until then, nor the pinecones carved into the polished timbers. So much time and effort spent on beauty most people would never see. “It’s lovely,” she whispered.

“That she was.” Pagan slapped his palms to his thighs, misunderstanding, yet saying the right words.

Suede gulped, afraid to ask. “What happened to her?”

His chin dropped and his lashes fell. With his longish hair hiding his eyes and his heavy brows, he looked more sinister than sad. Until glimmering eyes peered out through all that shaggy hair and said, “Stage four bone cancer. We never knew she’d already had breast cancer when she was younger or that it came back in her bones. ‘Course we never knew she wasn’t supposed to have children either, but she did a lot of things they said couldn’t be done.”

“I’m sorry,” Suede said. How awful to actually love your mother only to lose her so early.

Pagan cleared his throat. “Yeah, well…” His voice trailed off until his eyes scrolled back to her.

Wait a minute. “Your mother was Scarlett Sinclair? That author? The one who wrote My Enemy Tryst?” What were the odds that Suede would now be in that famous woman’s son’s home?

He nodded, a tender glint in the corner of his eye. “That’s the one. She would’ve liked you, ’course she would’ve kicked your butt for some of the stunts you’ve pulled, too. Mom was a stickler for education and reading. For amounting to something in the world. For doing good even when no one’s looking.” His index finger lifted off the armrest, pointing straight ahead to a massive set of bookshelves built out of the same gleaming wood as the rest of the cabin. “Chance keeps her books over there if you need something to read while you’re here. There’s no TV this far north.”

Suede followed the direction he’d pointed. “I might just take you up on that.”

“You do that,” Pagan agreed, smoothing his hands over his thighs as he eased to the edge of his chair, the leather creaking with the shift of weight. “But right now, I’ve got to give Gallo his treat, and it’s time you rested. May I help you back to bed, or would you rather stay out here by the fire?”

“Here,” Suede answered. She might be exhausted, but she’d had enough of being alone.

He paused at the edge of his seat, his eyes narrowed. “You’re nothing like I thought you were.”

She grunted. “What was that, a slut?”

His head shook. “No, I wasn’t thinking that, but you’re…” He seemed to be searching for the right word. “Soft,” he ended up saying, “not hard and coarse or bitchy like most hookers. Not trashy.”

Wow. Most hookers. So that was how he saw her. What an ugly comparison. A quiet huff escaped through her nostrils. “Thanks, I guess.”

“So what changed?” he asked, his gaze piercing. “You went from zero to sixty, then back to zero pretty damned fast.”

Suede had the grace to squirm. He thought she’d done drugs. That’s what he’d meant, and he was right to think that. Her behavior had been wildly erratic the last year, even to her. It was difficult to put into words the jolting conversion she’d so recently experienced. Her fingernails were suddenly easier to look at than her handsome benefactor, only they were as shredded as her past. Where to begin?

“I guess, umm, everything changed when I should’ve died last night,” she murmured to herself. “Until your brother resuscitated me and brought me back to life, I was a skank, Pagan. I know that. I was nothing but throwaway trash, but he...” God, it was true. “He saved me.” In more ways than one. “He made me realize I could go back to being what I used to be, or I could move forward and be someone better. I could change. He made me believe in myself again.”

It was strange. Suede had thought of herself as nothing most of her life, but to finally have someone believe in her was—she swallowed hard—life altering. She should’ve been strong enough to make those changes before, but all that enlightenment hadn’t come until she truly was at the end of her worthless life. Only now she knew better. She had never been worthless. Just lost. Just searching.

Pagan slapped his thigh, grabbing her attention. When she made eye contact, he winked like he knew a secret. “That’s Chance for you. Sorry to break it to you, but Big Brother’s got a savior complex. He’s always saving the world. Guess it comes from being the oldest and having a crap dad like we did. He’s got this idea in his hard head he has to take care of Kruze and me like we’re still little boys, that he’s the man of the house” —this was said with considerable swagger— “especially since Mom passed.”

“He’s a good man,” Suede whispered.

“He’s a pain in the ass, is what he is, “Pagan teased, “but I’m glad he found you. You’re good for Chance. I can tell.”

A huff of ‘who me?’ nearly snorted out of Suede’s nostrils. She rolled her eyes instead. “I doubt that, but thanks for saying so.”

A genuine smile lit Pagan’s rugged features, changing him into Chance’s kid brother. For a split second, Suede glimpsed Scarlett Sinclair’s baby boy. How strange. The more she got to know these guys, the more she liked their mother.

“Want me to get you one of Mom’s books to read? That’ll keep you busy.”

He almost made it sound as if she were staying. Wouldn’t that be a fairytale come true? Suede decided to play along. She wasn’t up to leaving at the moment anyway. “Sure. That would be nice.”

“Which title?” His brow lifted, and Suede nearly laughed. Pagan knew she’d never read any of his mother’s works. She could tell by the way he’d just baited her. She’d only known who wrote My Enemy Tryst because it had hit the jackpot last year as a blockbuster movie. And wasn’t that sad? Scarlett was more famous now that she’d died, now that she’d left behind the boys she’d loved, the boys who still grieved for her. It didn’t seem fair.

Suede spiked a brow back at Pagan, but knew it couldn’t match his in ferocity. “Bring it on, Pagan. I want to read them all. How about we start at the beginning?”

His face cracked into a teasing smile. “You do know she wrote over two hundred novels, don’t you? They’re not exactly short little fairytales. You might be here a while.”

Wouldn’t that be nice? She rubbed her hands together, her plans to leave indefinitely postponed. “Then you’d better get cracking, hadn’t you?”

He cocked his head at her. “I know what Chance sees in you, Suede. You’re… nice.”

She bowed her head at that simple compliment. These Sinclair boys had a way of getting to her. Their wonderful mother, too. It seemed as if Scarlett hadn’t left them behind, but lingered in this cabin and those elegant stars overhead. “I didn’t used to be, but where there’s a will, there’s a way, right?”

Pagan sent her a sly wink. “You got it, sister.”

A tear came out of nowhere. Suede dashed it away, her heart unexpectedly So. Damned. Full. Pagan had just made her feel like family.