The Ugly Duckling (28 page)

She did want to go, she realized suddenly. She wanted to meet Jean Etchbarras and see Peter again. It would do no harm to take a break. She would work twice as hard when she came back. She walked swiftly toward the porch. “I’ll meet you at the stable.”

J
ean Etchbarras was no more than five foot six, stocky, muscular, and his smile lit his lined, round face with humor. Nell would no more have connected him to the statuesque Michaela than to Cleopatra.

“I’m glad to meet you.” He beamed. “My Michaela says you’re a fine woman.”

Nell blinked. “She does?”

He nodded and turned to Tanek. “We lost one sheep to a wolf. Still, that is good.”

Tanek smiled. “Yes, that is good. Nell came to see Peter. Where is he?”

Jean gestured to the back of the herd. “There. He did well.”

Peter had seen her and was eagerly waving but did not come forward.

“See? He stays and guards the sheep. Sometimes he forgets things, but never to watch the sheep.” Jean’s proud smile caused the sun lines around his dark eyes to deepen. “He learned quickly.”

“May I go to him?” Nell asked.

Jean nodded. “It’s time to set up camp anyway. Tell him to set the dogs to watch and come in and eat his supper.”

Nell handed her horse’s reins to Tanek and started around the huge herd. She wrinkled her nose as she came closer to them. Sheep en masse were definitely not sweet-smelling, and their fleece was dirty beige, not white. So much for Mary’s little lamb.

“Aren’t they pretty?” Peter asked when she got within hearing range. “Don’t you like them?”

“Well, you certainly appear to like them.” She gave him a quick hug and stepped back to look at him.

He was not as brown as Jean, but he was tanner than she had last seen him. He was wearing a ragged wool poncho, boots, and leather gloves. His eyes were sparkling, his expression glowing. “I don’t have to ask if you’re well.”

He pointed to a black and white Border collie circling a straying lamb. “That’s Jonti. He’s a shepherd, like me. At night, when we’re not on guard, we sleep together.”

“How nice.” No wonder he smelled like a combination of sheep and dog. Not that it made any difference. Nothing mattered but the fact that he was happy and proud of himself.

“And Jean says that when Jonti’s mate has puppies, I can have one and he’ll teach me how to train it.”

This was beginning to sound disturbingly permanent. “Won’t that take a long time?”

His smile faded. “You’re thinking I may have to leave.” He shook his head. “I’m never going away. Jean doesn’t want me to leave. He says I’m a good shepherd.” He added simply, “I can belong here.”

She felt tears sting her eyes. “That’s wonderful, Peter.” She cleared her throat. “Jean says for you to set the dogs to guard and come in to supper.”

Peter nodded and called sternly, “Guard, Bess. Guard, Jonti.” He turned and fell into step with her. “Isn’t it pretty here? You should see the high country. It’s all green and soft and yet you look up and see the mountains right on top of you and it’s kind of scary but not really and …”

“H
e’s happy.” Nell took a sip of her coffee and looked over the leaping flames to Peter and Jean on the other side of the campfire. Jean was showing Peter how to whittle and Peter’s brow was knotted in concentration. “He’s walking on air.”

“Yes.” Tanek’s gaze followed her own. “Nice.”

“He wants to stay.”

“Then he’ll stay.”

“Thank you.”

“For what? He’s earning his place. It’s not easy being a shepherd. Isolation, hard work, sun, snow. I tried it for a season when I first came here.”

“Why?”

“I thought it would make the place more my own.”

“Did it?”

“It helped.”

“Possession is important to you.”

He nodded. “I didn’t have anything but the clothes on my back when I was a kid, and I wanted to grab
everything in the world and hold on tight. I suppose I still have the instinct.”

She smiled. “No question about it.”

“At least, I’ve modified my demands.” He poked at the fire with a stick. “And nowadays I pay for what I want.”

She looked up at the mountains. “You love this place.”

“From the first moment I saw it. Sometimes it happens that way.”

“It did for Peter. He said he belonged here.” Her gaze returned to the boy’s face. “I believe it. He looks … complete.”

“Complete?”

“Finished.” He was still looking at her inquiringly and she searched for words. “He’s not an ugly duckling anymore.”

“He looks a little tanner, but I don’t see any startling improvement in his appearance.”

“That’s not what I meant. When I was a little girl my grandmother used to tell me about the ugly ducklings of the world and how they all became swans.” She shrugged. “And then I found out that it wasn’t necessarily true.”

“It was for you.”

“But that was a miracle. Joel’s miracle. But lately I’ve been thinking that perhaps everyone has a shot at becoming a swan. Because it’s partly inside. If you search out who you are and come to peace with yourself, maybe that’s a kind of miracle too. Maybe as we grow out of all the awkwardness of immaturity and self-doubt, it all comes together. Maybe that’s what we—” She stopped and made a face. “I sound so profound. Why aren’t you laughing at me?”

“Because I applaud any sign that you’re thinking of something besides Medas. So Peter is finished?”

“You
are
laughing at me.” When he didn’t reply, she said, “Maybe not finished, but he’s taken a big step.”

“A goose step?” He held up his hand. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. All these fowl allegories are befuddling me. Actually, I think it makes sense. So Joel created a swan in more ways than one?”

She shook her head. “Not me. I’m not finished. I’m … splintered. But I think you know who you are. So does Tania.” Her gaze shifted to his face, and she found he was no longer smiling but was looking at her with disturbing intentness. She quickly glanced away and said lightly, “Tania may be a swan, but I’m sure you’re a chicken hawk.”

“Possibly.” His tone was absent and she still felt his stare on her face.

She shivered as a breath of icy wind pierced the warm cocoon of the circle of the campfire.

“Button your jacket,” he said.

She didn’t move.

“Button it,” he repeated. “It gets cold here in the hills.”

She thought of disobeying him, but why cut off her nose to spite him? She buttoned her jacket. “I don’t need you to tell me how to care for myself. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”

“Not very well,” he said with sudden harshness. “You let everyone within striking distance make a doormat of you. You gave up a career you loved, you let your parents stampede you into marriage to a man who didn’t give a damn about you, and then—”

“You’re wrong.” She was caught off guard by his abrupt roughness. “Richard cared for me. I’m the one who cheated him.”

“I can’t believe you. He’s still managing to manipulate your emotions even though—”

“Richard’s dead. Stop talking about him.”

“The hell I will.” He turned his head and met her eyes. “Why won’t you admit the bastard used you? He had a sweet little well-bred wife he could dominate to his heart’s content, a wife who would never say no because she was filled with gratitude that he had lowered himself—”

“Shut up.” She drew a deep breath. “What difference does it make to you anyway?”

“Because I want to go to bed with you, dammit.”

Her mouth fell open. “What?”

“You heard me.” His words hammered at her. “Or should I use more earthy Anglo-Saxon terms? Do you want to hear it in Chinese? Greek?”

“I don’t want to hear it at all,” she said shakily.

“I know that. I didn’t say I was going to try to drag you into bed. I know you’re not ready for that.”

“Then why mention it at all?”

“Because I want it,” he said simply. “And I’m tired of fighting it. And because it won’t hurt to put the thought into your head. Maybe I’ll get lucky.”

She moistened her lips. “I wish you hadn’t said anything. It will make things uncomfortable.”

“Join the club. I’ve been uncomfortable for some time. I’m uncomfortable now.”

Her gaze dropped to his lower body and quickly sidled away. “I’m sorry. I never meant … I wish you—”

“Would let you put your head under a pillow and ignore it?” he asked. “Just as you’ve been doing for the past few weeks?”

“I haven’t been ignoring it. I didn’t know.”

“You knew. It’s hard to ignore.”

“You hid it well.”

He smiled lopsidedly. “Not that well. It’s a condition that’s not easy to disguise.”

Had she known and buried her head in the sand? Perhaps. It was possible she had rejected Michaela’s words because she had not wanted to believe them. “I didn’t want this to happen.”

“No, sex would get in the way, wouldn’t it? Though we could probably squeeze it in between murder and mayhem.”

“You needn’t be sarcastic.”

“Yes, I do. Sarcasm can be very satisfying. The only satisfaction I may get from you.”

“Use someone else for your verbal punching bag.” She paused as a sudden thought occurred to her. “Does this mean you won’t teach me anymore?”

He stared at her. “You’re incredible.”

“Does it?”

“No, I rule my body, it doesn’t rule me.” He muttered, “Most of the time.”

“Good.” She put her forgotten cup of coffee on the ground and lay down in her blankets. “Then it won’t interfere.”

“It wouldn’t interfere if you decide to go to bed with me either. I’m asking for sex, not a lifetime commitment.”

“You don’t understand. I’m not like you.” She bit her lower lip. “I can’t just—I’ve had sex with only two men in my entire life.”

“Did you like it?”

“Of course I liked it.”

“Then maybe you should try a third. You say Nell Calder is dead. Why are you clinging to her sense of morality?” He smiled recklessly. “Let Eve Billings go to bed with me. She’s alive and functioning, and I’m not particular.”

She frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just wish you hadn’t seen fit to tell me, since it’s an exercise in futility.”

“Not entirely. It made you aware of something about me besides my knack for martial arts.” He spread his blanket. “You’ll think about it and wonder about how we’d be together.” He lay down and closed his eyes. “We’d be very good, Nell. I wasn’t raised in a whorehouse without learning how to make damn sure of it.”

She felt heat flood her and she instinctively sought to stem it. “You left there when you were eight years old,” she said tartly.

He opened one eye. “I was precocious.”

She shut her own eyes and drew the blanket over her. “Bull.”

“You’ll never know unless you try me.” She heard the rustle of his blankets as he settled.

Go to sleep, she told herself. Tanek had propositioned her and she had refused. It was done. There was no reason to feel uneasy. He was a civilized man who would take no for an answer.

He was also a man who had fought for everything he wanted from childhood and won. He would not give up easily. He would not force her, but he was not above persuasion.

But you could say no to persuasion, you could refuse anything you didn’t want. She didn’t want the disturbance and hot mindlessness connected with sex. She wanted to stay cool and focused, to stand outside, apart.

She opened her eyes. Tanek was lying with eyes closed, his lax hand outstretched toward the fire. A strong hand, well shaped, capable, the nails cut short. She knew that hand well. She knew its power and lethal force. A dangerous hand. Yet now it didn’t look dangerous. Just strong … and masculine. She had always loved to paint hands. There was something magical about them. Hands built cities and created great works
of art, they could be brutal or gentle, bring pain or pleasure.

Like Tanek.

She felt as if she were melting just looking at the damn man’s hand. Why the devil did this have to happen? She wanted her sexuality to stay soundly asleep.

Too late. But not too late for control. Maybe it would go away.

She closed her eyes again. She could smell the evergreens and the burning oak and feel the coldness of the air. Awareness. She was suddenly acutely sensitive to sound and scent, the rough feel of the wool blanket against her bare arms. Nothing had changed. Jill was still dead. Her body had no right to come alive again.

Damn Tanek.

“S
harper,” Tanek said. “You’re sluggish. I could have put you down twice this morning.”

She whirled and kicked him in the stomach.

He staggered back but instantly recovered to grab her arm as she closed in to finish him. He flipped her down and straddled her. “Sluggish.”

“Let me up,” she panted.

“Maritz wouldn’t let you up.”

“I was distracted. I wouldn’t be distracted with Maritz.”

He got off her and pulled her to her feet. “Why are you distracted?”

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“You never sleep well. You wander around the house like a ghost.”

She hadn’t realized he knew. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

“You do disturb me.” He turned his back on her.

“Go take a bath and a nap. Tomorrow I want you alert and razor-sharp.”

Like him. Since they had come back from the mesa two days before, he had been razor-sharp and all edges. She did not know what she had expected, but it was not to have him treat her with brusque indifference.

No, not indifference. She knew he was aware of her, that was part of the problem. He
exuded
awareness beneath that cool, incisive exterior.

And she was aware of Tanek.

Christ, she was aware of him.

“G
o to bed.” Tanek closed his book and stood up. “It’s late.”

“In a minute. I want to finish this sketch.” She didn’t look up. “Good night.”

“I thought you were done with the sketches for Michaela.”

“Another few won’t hurt before I start painting.”

She could feel his eyes on her, but she didn’t look up.

“Don’t be late. You were so groggy, you weren’t worth my time this morning.”

She flinched. “I’ll try not to disappoint you.”