2. Come Be My Love (2 page)

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The alluring aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted into Brandi's dreams several hours later. Without opening her eyes, she stretched luxuriously, feeling rested, relaxed and more like her old self than she had in days.

When she awakened enough to register the smell, her eyes blinked open and she stared at the slanted roof over her head.

She wasn't at home, because there was no one there to prepare coffee and the ceiling of her bedroom was not formed by two of the bedroom walls coming together to meet overhead.

It was only then that she remembered the night before, and glanced at the other side of the bed. She had a certain sense of a good-news-bad-news situation. The good news was that she was alone. The bad news was that she was not on her side of the bed, or even in the middle. To be technically accurate, Brandi had awakened on the same side of the bed that had been occupied by Greg Duncan. She could only hope that she had moved restlessly after he had gotten up. Otherwise, she knew that she wouldn't be able to face him without her embarrassment showing.

Now that she was awake, she became aware of other sounds and scents drifting up from downstairs. The mouth-watering aroma of bacon wafted up to greet her, as well as the soft, homey sounds of someone working in the kitchen.

She also caught a distinct hum, as though whoever was in the kitchen were quite pleased with the world. Brandi lunged out of bed, quivering. Had she done something last night to put him in such a benign, even benevolent, mood?

She couldn't remember. She shook her head, then realized that it was too cold to stand there shivering beside the bed trying to remember what she might have done last night. She found her clothes where she had dropped them the night before and hastily pulled on her turtleneck undershirt, a bulky sweater, a long pair of thermal underpants and her jeans. Then she grabbed a pair of thick socks and pulled them on. Her fleece-lined leather boots followed.

Only then did she realize that she had to go to the bathroom, which was downstairs. But at least she felt protected now—against the cold and against the man waiting below.

Greg Duncan from Missouri. If she hadn't been so tired the night before she might have responded differently to his presence. However, once she had accepted that he was a friend of Tim's, she had relaxed, feeling safe—safe for the first time in days. The sleep that overcame her had been like a powerful narcotic, deadening her to everything else.

She grabbed the small zippered bag that contained the few toiletries she had hastily purchased the afternoon before and tiptoed down the stairs, hoping to avoid a confrontation until she was better prepared to meet the day.

"Good morning."

She'd just reached the bottom step of the stairway, and she knew that her luck had run out. Slowly turning toward the kitchen, Brandi smiled tentatively at the man who was leaning casually against the kitchen counter with his ankles crossed, his hands wrapped around a giant mug that contained enticing, steamy coffee.

Seen in the daylight, Greg Duncan was older than she had first guessed. He looked to be in his early forties, the dusting of silver in the blond hair showing only in the bright light. His eyes looked silver, glinting brightly as he studied her.

Brandi had to admit that he was very impressive, not only in his physical build but in the sense of alert intelligence that he seemed to radiate.

"Good morning," she replied in a voice that sounded disgustingly weak.

Greg studied the woman who hovered at the bottom of the stairs watching him with those unforgettable eyes. Now he could see the maturity in her figure and in her face that had been obscured the night before.

He could also see the wariness in her expression, and he felt that he understood it. He had a similar feeling hovering within him. If anyone had told him that he would find himself in bed with a strange young woman within hours of arriving at Tim's place, he would have blasted them all the way into the next county.

After ending his engagement a few years ago, Greg had faced the fact that he was not marriage material.

Other than a few casual friendships, he rarely spent any time with women. His work was his life, and he was content with that life.

His vacation was an opportunity to spend a few days away from his career and relax. It was not a time to be entertaining a curly-headed waif with large sapphire-blue eyes, and especially not one who looked at him as though he might attack her at any moment.

He smiled at the thought of her curling up to his back earlier. Did she remember that? He couldn't forget waking up this morning to find her head resting on his shoulder and his arm wrapped securely around her, holding her close to his side. His leg had been securely held down by her thigh, which had rested across him. Her fingers had rested trustingly on his chest, as though she were reassured by the steady rhythm of his heart beating beneath her palm.

Being the normal, healthy male that he was, Greg had had an immediate physical reaction to the provocative situation, and he had had to decide what to do about it. Despite his body's eager suggestions, Greg's mind had won the day.

Greg's mind took control of every situation in which he found himself, regardless of what he might be feeling.

So, although he had clearly registered how appealing she looked cuddled so snugly against him, Greg had eased away from her until he'd been out of bed. Then he had tucked the covers around her and left her sleeping soundly while he'd dressed.

By the time he'd showered, started a fire in the fireplace and had his coffee poured, Greg had a list of questions that he fully intended to have answered by his unexpected and impromptu roommate.

"Would you like some coffee?" he asked.

Brandi had noticed his smile as he had carefully studied her, and she knew that she must look a mess. Holding up the bag, she pointed to the bathroom. "Yes, as soon as I get presentable."

He nodded and straightened, reaching for another mug.

Greg watched her disappear into the bathroom and close the door, then slowly poured her coffee, wondering what tactic to use to get Brandi Martin to talk.

When she reappeared in the kitchen a few minutes later she had combed her hair and no doubt washed her face, but she was still pale, and he could count the tiny smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She'd made no attempt to hide the slight shadows beneath her eyes.

"How do you like your eggs?" he asked, motioning for her to sit down. He had such an air of authority about him that she responded automatically, sinking onto one of the bench seats by the table.

"Over easy," she replied, vaguely surprised to see him place a skillet over one of the burners. Brandi hadn't realized she was hungry until the smell of the bacon had caused her stomach to growl earlier. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten.

Brandi picked up the cup he'd placed on the table and took a swallow of the revitalizing liquid. Her eyes were drawn back to the man before her. He made everything he did appear to be easy. There were no wasted moves, no unnecessary searching for things.

Everything had been laid out as though waiting for her to appear. He tapped an egg on the side of the pan, breaking it open with one hand and gently letting it slide into the pan.

"Are you a professional cook?" she found herself asking.

Greg glanced around, then back to what he was doing. "I'm a professional eater. I discovered a long time ago that if I didn't feed myself there was a strong possibility I'd starve."

"Oh." She continued to watch him for a few minutes in silence, then was appalled to hear herself ask, "Are you married?''

He laughed. "No. Why do you ask?"

She could feel herself blushing. "No reason."

"Are you?"

"Married?"

"That was the topic under discussion, I believe."

"No. No, I'm not."

"Then you aren't running away from a husband, either."

"What makes you keep thinking that I'm running away? I just needed a place to stay for a few days, that's all."

He slipped two eggs onto a warmed plate, put freshly buttered toast and crisp bacon beside it and set the dish in front of her. She stared at it until he said, "Eat before it gets cold." Picking up her cup, he refilled it and handed it back to her. Then he quickly prepared his plate and sat down across from her.

"Why were you looking for Tim?" he asked, ignoring her last question.

''What are you, a reporter?"

''No. I'm a lawyer. So why don't you answer my question?"

"Because it's none of your business."

"That's true. However, something seems to be bothering you, and if I knew what it was, perhaps I could help.''

"Well, at least that explains your cross-examination style of conversation," she said, finishing the last bite of food on her plate and relaxing back in her seat with a sigh. She picked up her cup and sipped. "You serve a mean breakfast, Mr. Duncan. Thank you. I hadn't realized how hungry I was."

"You're welcome. I must say that you have a real knack for sidestepping my questions."

She grinned. "Being around Tim taught me how to do that, although I was never very successful at keeping things from him."

"How long have you known Tim?"

She shrugged. "All my life."

"Are you a relative of his?" he asked, knowing full well that Tim was an only child. But she might be a cousin.

"Not by blood, no. But in every way possible, Tim has been like a big brother to me. He's always been there when I needed him." Almost under her breath, she added, "and, boy, do I need him now."

Greg got up and refilled their cups, then sat down again. "Have you talked to him recently?"

She shook her head. "I tried calling his apartment, but all I could get was his recording machine. I left messages, but there's no way of knowing when he'll get them. I also tried another number he once gave me in case of an emergency, but that didn't get me anywhere."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I got some sort of answering service. They said they never heard of a Tim Walker. I must have gotten the number wrong or something."

"So you came here, hoping to find him."

"Yes."

"How did you get here?"

She was quiet for several minutes before she answered in a quiet voice. "I took a bus from Denver, then had a taxi bring me up here."

"A taxi! We're at least twenty miles out of town."

''I know."

"Don't you think you could tell me what's going on?" he asked. Not only was his curiosity stirred, but he was surprised to discover a feeling of compassion for this woman, who was obviously on edge.

Brandi replaced her cup on the table with a slight thump and stared at the insistent man across from her. 'Tm trying to get away from some men who are trying to kill me."

G
reg recognized the distraught expression on Brandi's face. More than one client had come to him for help wearing a similar expression. He also recognized that she needed to talk. Speaking in a soothing tone, he slowly stood and said, "Why don't we take our coffee and sit in front of that gorgeous fire in there? We might as well enjoy it while we talk, don't you think?"

He picked up both cups and led the way, confident that she would follow him. He placed her cup on the end table by the long, comfortable sofa facing the fireplace. Then he gracefully folded his long legs and sank onto the rug.

Brandi felt as though she no longer had a will of her own. After a good night's sleep and a decent meal, she was beginning to feel as though she'd just awakened from a nightmare and that none of the strange happenings of the past few days were real. Only the man waiting so patiently for her in front of the fireplace seemed to have any meaning at the moment.

He wanted her to tell him why she was there. At this point, she hardly knew herself. She had been running away, but she wasn't sure from what. She had been looking for Tim, but she wasn't sure why.

''Ahhh," he said, watching her as she slowly followed him into the room. "This is my idea of living. No phones ringing, no demands being made on my time. Just a warm fire—" he waved toward the scene on the other side of the glass "—a picture-perfect scene outside, and someone to talk with."

Brandi sat down on the sofa and picked up her cup as though it were the only security she had to cling to at the moment.

"What happened, Brandi, that has frightened you so?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle. It seemed to flow over and around her, soothing her somehow.

"I live in a rural area, in the foothills," she began, staring down at the coffee in her cup. "I live alone, but it has never bothered me before, living alone. I like the quiet, the solitude, the opportunity to work long, uninterrupted hours."

"What do you do?"

Her eyes slowly lifted until they met his. "I make inlaid designs in wood—marquetry. Jewelry boxes, tabletops, room dividers, whatever I think might sell."

"Sounds interesting."

"I enjoy it. I spend a lot of time outdoors, looking for some of nature's designs that I can duplicate—" she glanced out the window and nodded "— such as that limb that is almost touching the deck railing."

Greg glanced where she indicated and saw a branch weighted down with snow. Pine cones hung in a cluster at the end. He had never really noticed the symmetry of such an arrangement before.

"You must have a special eye for beauty," he admitted with a smile.

"I love nature. I enjoy each season, and I spend a great deal of my time exploring, snapping pictures, looking for ideas."

"You seem very content with your choice of a life."

"I am. At least I was, until I realized how vulnerable I am. I don't have any close neighbors." She turned her head until she was facing him once more. "I prefer to be independent."

Greg had so many questions, but he was hesitant to break into her story. Now that she was slowly opening up, he didn't want to distract her with interruptions.

She paused, as though thinking about what she wanted to say next. "We had snow last week, and that left everything so beautifully fresh and bright. I decided to take my cross-country skis up into the hills and explore. I've had plenty of time since then to regret the impulse."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure exactly where I was in the hills. I know that there are some military installations up there, but I'm positive that I didn't accidentally go into a restricted area. After all, they're carefully marked." She took a quick sip of her coffee. "I was high up on the side of a hill, and as I rounded a crest, something below was detonated. I looked down and saw some sort of rough encampment. Men dressed in white and carrying some type of hand weapons were watching as something—I don't know how to describe it—began to climb into the sky, higher and higher. I stood there and stared. I didn't know what to think. Then I heard shouts, and when I glanced back down I saw men pointing at me and yelling. I started to wave back when I realized that they were angry, running in my direction and aiming their weapons at me!"

"What did you do?"

"I managed to turn and ski away as quickly as possible. Luckily, I had a long downhill slope ahead of me, and I was able to reach the shelter of trees before they spotted me." She shivered at the memory. "They began to fire into the trees."

Greg leaned forward. "They actually shot at you?"

She nodded.

"What did you do?"

"I kept going as fast as I could. I think the only thing that saved me was that my four-wheel-drive Blazer wasn't all that far away. I managed to get to the car, removed my skis and left."

"Did you see the men again?"

"Not right away, no. I really thought I'd managed to lose them. Then, several miles down the road, I happened to glance up and saw something following me."

"What was it?"

"I don't know. It was too big for a car. It looked like a camouflaged truck of some sort. You know the kind you see in army movies—big, with a heavy grill in front."

"What did you do?"

"I realized that I couldn't go home. I would really be isolated then. I didn't even slow down at the road where I live. Instead, I kept driving."

"Did they continue to follow you?"

''Yes. I was lucky to get into fairly busy traffic and managed to gain some distance on them. I was afraid to stop until I made it into town."

"You got to town, then?"

"Yes. I decided to go to the sheriff's office and report what I saw. I hid the Blazer on a back street and walked to the sheriff's office. Only when I got there—" She stopped and swallowed hard.

"When you got there-" he prompted.

"I had just turned the corner to the sheriff's office when I saw his door open and he came out—talking with two men dressed in white, wearing some kind of white military hats!"

"Did you recognize the men?"

"No. Only the way they were dressed. They wore the same type of clothing as the men I'd seen in the hills."

"What did you do?"

"I dodged back around the comer and waited. I could hear them talking and laughing. I heard the sheriff say he'd run a check on the license number right away and get back to them."

"Do you think they were talking about you?"

"I have no idea, but I was too scared to take a chance." She took a hasty sip of coffee. "That's when I decided to call Tim."

"Why Tim?''

"Because I know he's got some kind of connection with the government and I thought he might know what was going on."

"But he wasn't there."

"No. I filled the Blazer with gas and decided to drive to Denver, hoping to get lost in the larger city. After I got there, I knew I needed to hide the Blazer and get out of my ski clothes. So I parked in a parking garage and went to a local department store and bought these." She looked down at her sweater and pants. "I tried a couple more times to reach Tim, then decided to look for him here." She ran her hand through her short curls. "I was afraid to use the Blazer, so I came by bus."

Brandi took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. Somehow, talking about it had helped. She was no closer to finding a solution, but sharing what she had gone through with another person had eased the tight band that seemed to have constricted her chest for days.

They sat before the fire in companionable silence for several minutes.

Greg recognized that Brandi believed she was being pursued. He was certain that what she had experienced had been very traumatic. It wasn't surprising that she had reacted so violently. However, he also knew that she could easily have misunderstood what she had seen and heard.

But he couldn't be sure. There was always the slim possibility that she might be in danger. That possibility gave him pause. Tim wasn't here. They didn't know when he'd return, but Greg knew him well enough to know he would respond as soon as he heard Brandi's messages.

"Did you tell Tim you were coming here?"

"Yes."

"Good." he said with some satisfaction. "Then I think you'd better wait until he shows up.''

"Which could be in a day, a week, a month—or next summer sometime," she pointed out.

"Well, let's give it some time, okay? If he hasn't shown up in a few days, then I'll take you back home and see what we can find out, okay?"

She looked at him in surprise. "You'd do that for me?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"You don't know me."

"Any little sister of Tim's is a sister of mine," he said with a grin. "Of course, I was rather hoping to get some skiing in first. So if you don't mind waiting here a few days—" He paused, looking at her expectantly.

"I don't mind," she responded slowly. She looked around the room. "I can always sleep down here."

"I'm sure we can work out something." Greg got to his feet. "Now, then. Why don't we run into town and get you some ski equipment." He glanced at what she was wearing. "Did you bring your ski clothes?"

She nodded. "I have them in a bag upstairs, with another change of clothes."

"Great. Then let's run to town and find you some skis."

"You don't think they followed me?"

He allowed himself to smile slightly. "I think you were very clever eluding them. If anything, they are probably watching either your house or your car at the parking garage."

She stood up with a pleased smile. "You really think so?"

He nodded. "Yes. I'm impressed with your quick thinking."

"Then you don't think I overreacted?"

"I think you were playing it safe. I also think Tim will agree with me." He held out his hand. "Come on, let's go."