Beauty and the Mustache (17 page)

As usual, he was watching
me, but his gaze was devoid of the weird, intense heat that he’d
employed the first few days of our acquaintance. He seemed to be
regarding me with measured yet detached interest.

“
You have a history with
Jack?”

I nodded. “He was my high school
boyfriend.”

Drew frowned. “I thought you were smarter
than that.”

A spike of irritation shot
up my spine and I stepped away from him, the day’s events and
lingering adrenaline fueling my blunt response. “Not that I need to
explain myself to you, but growing up, Jackson James was the only
person other than my momma who didn’t see me as an ignorant,
disposable piece of ass. He saw more in me than what I looked like.
At least, I thought he did. But the years have given me wisdom.
I’ve learned that no amount of good intentions or education on my
part are going to change people’s first impressions of me, or
seeing what they want to see. I might be able to debate the merits
of Gestalt theory with acuity and confidence, but that doesn’t make
a lick of difference if the other person isn’t even listening. So I
guess you could say that I am smarter than that
now.
”

Drew’s eyes sparked hot
and fierce as I spoke, but I got the impression the ferocity wasn’t
directed at me. When I finished, he was once again glaring at me
with his trademark heated intensity, but it was subdued and
hesitant like he was trying to rein himself in. Several long
moments passed, our bodies swaying toward each other. I felt like I
was being pulled toward him, I was dizzy with it.

Or maybe it was just low blood sugar.

I broke the silence, no
longer able to tolerate the electrified tension between us. “I can
drive myself, you know. I did drive here earlier. Momma’s car is
down the hill.”

Drew frowned, his eyes
moving over my body, assessing me. “When’s the last time you
ate?”

I stared at him and rewound the day. When I
came up empty, I rewound yesterday. I swallowed and said, “I had a
bagel.”

“
When?”

“
For
breakfast.”

“
When?”

I pressed my lips together and scowled.
“Yesterday.”

He watched me for a beat,
but before he could issue his retort, I yielded. “Fine. You have a
good point. I shouldn’t be driving when I’m exhausted and
lightheaded from hunger. Point made and conceded. Moving
on….”

I rocked on my feet,
feeling slightly dizzy, and I had to take a step back and hold on
to the table to steady myself. Drew wrapped his arm around my back
to keep me upright.

“
I’m carrying you,” he
growled, though he didn’t sound put out. Mostly he sounded
determined.

“
Don’t be stupid,” I said
and pushed him away. “I can walk.”

“
Ash….” My name was a
whisper close to my ear. “Let me help you.”

“
I don’t need your
help.”

“
You needed it
earlier.”

“
I didn’t need you. I just
needed your gun.”

From the corner of my eye,
I saw Drew close his eyes slowly, his mouth pressing into a stiff
line. I couldn’t tell if he was upset or trying to keep himself
from blurting
that’s what she
said.

At length he cleared his throat and lifted
me into his arms. I thought about pitching a fit but decided
against it. Really, I only had enough energy for an eye roll.

“
I’m carrying you down the
hill.”

“
Fine.”

“
Then I’m
driving.”

“
Whatever.”

“
After that you’re going
to eat.”

“
Okay.”

“
Then you’ll
sleep.”

“
Sounds great.”

Drew glared down at me in
his arms and mumbled, “‘Ah, women. They make the highs higher and
the lows more frequent.’”

Good Lord, I must’ve been
half-unhinged, because that Nietzsche quote made me
laugh.

“
The person, be it
gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be
intolerably stupid.”

―
Jane Austen

Drew gave me
a protein bar when we reached his truck. He
motioned to it with his hand and his chin, indicating that I should
eat it. I surmised we were now past the point where he felt it
necessary to issue verbal commands. Mere gestures had become
completely acceptable.

The only time Drew spoke
to me during the drive was when I reached for the brown
leather-bound notebook in the center console of the
truck.

“
Don’t touch that.” He
snatched it away from me and placed it in the driver’s side door
pocket.

I held my hands up,
gripping the empty protein bar wrapper in one fist. “Fine. I wasn’t
going to read it. I was just moving it so I could put the wrapper
in the cup holder. What is it, anyway, your diary?”

His grip on the steering
wheel tightened, and he appeared to be tremendously intent on the
road even though he could probably drive these switchbacks
blindfolded.

Abruptly he ground out,
“It’s field notes. Don’t touch it again.”

We didn’t speak again
during the drive, and soon I was lulled to sleep by the ups and
downs and twists and turns of the mountain road.

I woke up on a couch that
I didn’t recognize in a very dim, unfamiliar room. I must have
slept a long time because I could see the moon through a series of
windows that spanned and entire wall. The moon cast everything in a
pale, silvery light that reminded me of Drew’s eyes…and that
thought made me feel warm and discombobulated. Therefore, I pushed
it away.

Then I noticed that I wasn’t wearing my
jeans.

I twisted my neck to get a
better look at my surroundings. The other three walls were lined
with bookcases, which, if my eyes could be believed, were stuffed
with books to the point of overflowing. Other than the shelves, the
room was outfitted with the brown leather couch I was laying on, a
large wooden side table, two big leather club chairs, and a thick
wooden coffee table. An acoustic guitar rested on a stand in the
far corner.

I decided I liked the
room. It felt like a real place, a place where I could knit and
read, or lay in the moonlight and watch shooting stars as I gazed
out the wall of windows.

I was covered with a
sheet, which I tugged to the side, blinking as I sat upright and
listening for a sign as to where I was and what I should do next. I
heard a noise and spotted light from under a door I’d initially
failed to notice. Feeling like the door was the obvious choice, I
gained my feet and walked to it.

Once opened, I followed
the sounds of dishes and pots, which also happened to be the source
of the light. Tiptoeing around the corner, I found Drew at a gas
stove stirring a steaming pot of something that smelled delicious
before tasting it and adding salt.

He asked without looking up. “How are you
feeling?”

I leaned against the doorframe. “Thirsty
and…confused.”

Drew’s eyes flickered to
mine, his brows drawn together. “Let me get you some
water.”

I watched him as he moved
around the kitchen, grabbing me a glass and filling it with tap
water. He was wearing dark blue jeans that fit him quite nicely,
low around his hips, accentuated by a thick brown leather belt.
Regrettably, he wasn’t shirtless; he had on a white T-shirt that
also fit him quite nicely. He walked toward me holding out the cup
of water.

I accepted it with thanks
and downed its contents, fresh and pure as a mountain stream, and
felt instantly better. He stood in front of me, his hands resting
on his hips. I felt his eyes moving over my body, which was still
shrouded in his giant (and now dirty) T-shirt.

His belt buckle was rather
big; the entire thing was the word SAVAGE. He was also barefoot,
and I noticed that he had nice feet.

“
Do you want more?” He
asked as his eyes moved from my feet to my neck then to the purple
bruises on my arms.

“
No, thank you.” I licked
my lips and glanced around the room.

“
Feeling
better?”

“
Yes, thank you.” My eyes
were consuming the sight of his kitchen. It was perfect. The
counters were thick butcher block; his sink was oversized
porcelain. The cabinets were painted a slate gray, almost blue, and
the walls were pale yellow. It was uncluttered and charming and
spacious. It looked like it should have been part of a movie
set.

“
I love your house.” I
said this without knowing I was going to say it.

Drew took the glass from
my hand, our fingers brushing. The contact startled me and brought
my attention back to him. His hand loitered, covering mine for
several seconds as our gazes clashed.

He cleared his throat
before responding. “Thank you. It’s a good spot.”

“
A good spot?”

“
Yeah. We’re on Bandit
Lake.” He tipped his head toward the window above the sink where
nothing was visible except an inky night sky.

“
Whoa…really?”

He nodded. I noted his
expression was one of hesitant pride. He should be proud; owning a
place on Bandit Lake was more difficult than convincing a pig to
take a shower. The houses were deeded to families and couldn’t be
sold. If the owners wanted to leave, they had to sell to the
federal government because the land was part of the national
park.

Each house sat on several
acres and surrounded an exceptionally pristine lake at the summit
of the mountain just ten miles from the parkway.

The lake used to be a gold
mine in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It was
eventually abandoned, and the gaping hole was filled with water.
The lake allowed only trolling motors—so no gasoline engines—and
had no runoff from fertilizers or other chemicals. It was on the
top of the world and was one of the cleanest lakes in the United
States. It was also very well stocked with fish.

How he’d managed to nab
the house likely made for a fascinating story.

“
We’re facing west. The
sunsets are momentous.”

I quirked a smile at his
use of the word
momentous
to describe a sunset.

“
I’ll have to check it out
sometime…” I said, and with these words I remembered where I was
and who I was with and why I was confused by both. “Hey, so, why
are we here?”

Drew stared at me for a
beat and seemed to struggle—like he was restraining himself—before
he turned back to the stove.

“
What you do you mean?”
His attention was once again focused on his pot of steaming
something.

“
I mean, why didn’t you
take me home?”

“
I stopped by your house.
Cletus packed a bag for you; it’s in the bathroom.”

“
Why didn’t you just leave
me there?”

Drew sighed. “Because
someone needs to take care of you, and your brothers have their
hands full right now with your momma.”

This logic made no sense
at all.

“
I can take care of me,” I
said, pointing out the obvious.

His gaze lifted from the
pot where he’d just added a pinch of mystery spice, and pinned me
where I stood. His expression was unreadable and unnerving. I felt
like he’d decided something about me since we’d last exchanged
words. He was much cooler and more reserved now. The light in his
eyes had dimmed considerably.

Finally, he said, “I
know.” Then he looked back at the pot.

“
You do?” I asked the
room, making no attempt to hide my confusion. “Then why am I
here?”

This elicited a sigh.
“Because you need to eat, and I need to eat, and I have soup and
bread and pie.”

“
You have soup and bread
and pie?”

He nodded, still studying the pot.

I sniffed the air,
realizing that the room smelled like chicken soup, fresh bread, and
mystery pie of the dessert variety. My stomach noticed too, because
it rumbled. Suddenly I was starving. Soup and bread and pie sounded
really, really good.

“
What kind of pie?” I
stepped farther into the kitchen and searched the counter for
pie.

“
Pecan pie.”

I shrugged to hide my
pleasure. I loved pecan pie. So did my momma. Suddenly, I felt
guilty for having pecan pie. Maybe I could bring her back a piece.
Maybe she could have a bite.

“
Your stuff is already in
the bathroom. Go take a shower. Then we can eat.” Drew basically
dismissed me by turning from the steaming pot and busying himself
with the dishes. I stared at his back for a few seconds and noted
that his hair was damp. He must’ve already showered.

I glanced at my hands.
They were dirty and scraped. In fact, I was dirty all over. I
hadn’t really noticed.

On autopilot, I shuffled
out of the kitchen and down the hall. I had made it ten steps when
I heard his voice call out, “It’s the third door on the
left.”