Skin Heat Page 11

  Zeke seemed happier today somehow, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Need anything special done?”

  “I—no, that is. Everything’s fine. Just the usual stuff.” God, she couldn’t sound any stupider if she tried.

  Stop looking, she ordered. But it didn’t help. Now she’d seen him in action as a raw, sexual animal and there was no going back from it. He had gorgeous hands, lean and long-fingered, but callused, too. She told herself he had the hands of an artist, even if he didn’t have a creative bone in his body.

  “Sure?” There was no explanation for the look he gave her. None. But she’d almost call it flirtatious.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.”

  Once he went about his business, she dropped her head on the stack of patient files on her desk and groaned. She tried to make notes after each appointment but sometimes the day got away from her. Neva never went home without updating, however. If she didn’t, memory might fail her and a pet would suffer down the line. So she often worked through lunch, writing up the visits while they were all still fresh in her mind. Julie helped out by logging test results. Credit for any success Paws & Claws achieved had to be shared.

  Julie teased her some more once she got back from lunch, but Neva held firm. No details. She stayed busy with her afternoon appointments and then counseled the pet owner who showed up at six to pick up her newly spayed darling. They always sent home a care checklist, along with signs of trouble in recovery.

  As usual, her friend left first. Unfortunately, her day wasn’t done. As the only vet in the county, she also worked for farmers in the area, and Howard Bailey had a pregnant heifer he wanted her to check out. She was near calving, but he’d been in the business long enough to recognize budding complications.

  “Set?” Zeke appeared in her office doorway, wearing that same inscrutable half smile.

  It was like he’d woken up that morning and decided to drive her crazy. He was also holding her jacket. Such a small thing but it made her feel . . . protected, like it was a silent message: I’ll take care of you when it’s cold outside. Stupid. Even Freud would say a coat was sometimes just a coat, and she was his ride home.

  “I have a call to make out at the Bailey place. You want to come with me?”

  “Anywhere,” he said quietly.

  Oh. Hard not to react to that. Even if he didn’t mean it how it sounded. She could get used to these one-word answers fraught with a metric ton of nuance. Her hands shook a little as she let him help her into her coat.

  “I’ll get the kittens wrapped up. It’s colder than usual tonight. Will you stay with them in the car?”

  “Sure.”

  After locking up and setting the alarm, she led the way to her Honda. She’d been out to the Bailey’s place more than once, so she knew the way. Zeke probably did, too. It wasn’t like the town was so big you could get lost in it. Not if you’d grown up here, and they both had.

  Apart from those mysterious months when nobody had seen him, he had always lived in Harper’s Creek. After they’d eaten at the diner, people made a point of mentioning him to her, along with all the old gossip. Said he’d end up like his mother or his daddy, one way or another, and good riddance to bad blood. She knew the bare bones of his story, but the bones were no longer enough.

  “What’s it like?” he asked, breaking the silence as she drove.

  “What?”

  “Being a Harper.”

  Nobody had ever asked her that. Not even Julie, who knew her better than anyone. Everyone else assumed it was sunshine and roses, and she was just a stubborn pain in the ass for bucking parental expectations. They saw her work as a phase she was going through, not something she loved. So she gave the question serious consideration—and she offered him the honesty she’d never given anyone else.

  “It’s not what people think,” she said. “All dress parties and satin and money in the bank. It’s pressure and . . . suffocating weight. If you’re not a Harper in the right way, then you might as well not be one at all.”

  “That why your brother left?”

  Her hands tightened on the wheel. People didn’t ask about Luke, much in the way they did not ask about Camilla Beau-regard’s son, Jackson, who wasn’t dead, but might as well be, since he lived happily in San Francisco with his life partner and ran an antiques store. Everyone pretended he had died heroically in some war and spoke of him in past tense in Camilla’s hearing.

  “He didn’t. He just . . . disappeared.”

  But he hadn’t abandoned them. Of that much, Neva was sure. The private detectives had found no trace of him and no use of his credit cards since that last day. Her dad still demanded a report from Sheriff Raleigh once a week, not that the man had anything new to add. It was a sad ritual, one that left them all heavier each time.

  Luke had gone on a business trip, looking for cheaper supply alternatives. Everyone had been hit by the recession, as her parents made clear to her at every function. And if she had any sense of duty at all, she would marry well. If not Ben Reed, then someone like him. Ben didn’t have money, but he had connections. In their world, those could be just as important. They’d really like to transition away from a failing industry and she could facilitate that, if she’d only consider her heritage and do the right thing.

  Like hell.

  The Bailey farm was halfway to Zeke’s place, but she turned off on county road 1 N first, and followed the bend around until she saw the big red barn. Howard Bailey stood waiting for her in a fleece-lined jean jacket. He was a weathered man in his early sixties with a shock of white hair and a weary smile.

  “Evening, Doc. Thanks for coming out.”

  Despite being tired, she said, “I’m happy to help. She in there?”

  He nodded. “She’s in distress.”

  Neva shouldered her pack, which contained basic supplies. Inside the barn, she saw at once that Bailey was right; the cow showed all the signs of dystocia. He had two buckets of soapy water waiting; he knew the drill. She scrubbed up and then lubed up with mineral oil, so she could perform a pelvic exam while Bailey soothed his heifer. Breech birth.

  “We have to pull,” she told him. “It’s malpresentation, hind legs first.”

  Bailey knew what that meant, so he went to get the chains. With the second bucket, Neva cleaned the area around the birth canal, rinsed with clean water, and then slid her arm inside, leaning in to find a hoof. Movement reassured her that they hadn’t lost it yet. Speed and timing mattered now; the umbilical was pinched between the fetus and the cow’s pelvis, so blood flow was diminished. She straightened the calf and then attached the chains, one to each leg. The cow bleated in protest, but she seemed to know they wanted to help her.

  “Ready?” Bailey asked.

  He’d helped her before, so he knew when and how to pull. They did it incrementally, walking it out, which allowed the calf a chance to catch its breath as they went. Eventually they got it clear, but her shoulders ached by then. Neva cleared mucus from its throat and mouth, then tickled its nostrils. The heifer took over.

  “Make sure it nurses within the first hour,” she said.

  “How much do I owe you?”

  She smiled tiredly. “I’ll send you a bill.”

  Zeke had been in the car for quite a while, and she was eager to get home. With a parting wave for the farmer, she headed out of the barn. It was cold enough that she could see her breath, and overcast, with a whisper of a crescent moon nipping at the night. The darkness filled her with foreboding, though she couldn’t have said why. Her skin crawled with the suggestion of someone’s eyes on her. A passing car reflected on something in the trees, just a momentary flicker, light on glass.

  Binoculars?

  In the distance, toward the tree line, she saw a shadow, or the silhouette of a man moving away from the farm. No cars. No other signs of life. She was shaking when she let herself back into the Civic. Since the motor had been running, it was delightfully warm. Neva rubbed h
er hands over her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  God, he read her so well. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought as much, but his insight was uncanny. Before Zeke, she’d never thought she broadcast her moods this way. “I don’t know. I’m probably just tired.”

  “Tell me.” He didn’t give up easily, either.

  “It’s going to sound dumb, but . . . I saw someone. Out there.” She gestured toward the far edge of the field. “And I think he was . . . watching me.”

  “Your ex?”

  She shivered, buckled up, and put the car in drive. “Surely not. That wouldn’t make sense. Ben is many things, but he’s not crazy.”

  He eased out of the car and stood peering into the darkness for long moments, as if he thought he could see something out there. As Neva watched, he cocked his head, listening. She heard only the wind. When he got back in, he seemed tense and jumpy, as he had early on. And she didn’t feel safe until they reached the farm and Zeke locked the door behind them.

  CHAPTER 10

  When Zeke woke, he wasn’t where he should’ve been.

  The dark forest surrounded him. He wore nothing but a pair of jeans. This wasn’t the first time it had happened; only the most recent. A bitter curse escaped him because he’d dared to hope he had these dreams under control. No time for weakness, though. He needed to figure out where he was. Pushing down the fear, he spun in a slow circle, looking for a landmark.

  Something slicked his hands. He didn’t need to raise them to the moonlight to know it was blood. The sweet coppery stench nearly overwhelmed him as bile filled his throat. He wiped his palms on the bark of a tree and sought the source. Please let it be an animal. A few yards away, he found a dead deer. Its throat had been torn out. Judging by the evidence, he guessed he’d done it with his bare hands, and the sour taste in his mouth made him think he might’ve eaten some of its raw flesh. Normally he might wonder if that would make him sick, but he was so far past normal he couldn’t even imagine what it might look like from here.

  He listened to the night noises. Other wild creatures shared the woods with him. By scent and by sound, he recognized them: raccoon, squirrel, owl, and coyote. Mice left the smallest signs of all but he heard them, too. Zeke fought his first instinct—to run. The darkness protected him. Another animal would eat the deer carcass. He just needed to clean up and get home before Neva missed him.

  This was why he hadn’t wanted to spend the night with Aunt Sid. If this happened in town, and it was somebody’s dog he went wild on, he’d be lucky to wind up in a mental hospital. More likely, they’d shoot him as rabid and ask questions later.

  Tremors shook him. Out here he had no way to shut down the unwelcome thoughts about that . . . place. Mostly he tried to pretend it had never happened, that nothing had changed. Impossible. He remembered the recurring nightmare: the screams and the needles and the weird, flickering light in his cell. Probably nothing worse than a faulty fluorescent bulb, but in his memories it became a torment of its own. He’d had no control over anything, and there would be no justice. It comforted him to know the bastards had died in the fire, but that offered no answers. Little wonder he was crazy. But he didn’t want to chase the rabbit of his past down a dark hole. He just wanted to move on. Build something brighter and better than he’d had before.

  At length Zeke gave up on trying to use his mind to puzzle out where he was. Trees. Dead leaves and branches. His brain was all but worthless anyway, so he closed his eyes and focused on home. Like a horse galloping for the stable, he knew the way, but only if he didn’t think about it. When he was sure he could run without losing himself to the wildness in his blood, he did, long strides that carried him through the darkness.

  He had no sense of time. Once, he stopped at a tiny trickle of a stream to wash his face and hands. On the off chance Neva might be up with the kittens, he didn’t want to scare her more than necessary. God, if she saw him like this, there was no question that she’d go. Maybe he should let her. He shouldn’t get involved with her and yet he couldn’t stop himself. Need for her sawed at his belly like a rusty blade.

  When he reached the farm, he came up on it from behind, rounding the barn to find he’d left the back door open. Shit. This couldn’t go on. What if someone came in? What if someone hurt her? A growl began in his throat. If they did, he’d hunt them by scent and tear them apart with his bare hands. But that wouldn’t bring her back or heal her hurts. Oh, God, I can’t do this to her. He closed the door behind him softly. The kittens mewed as he came from the kitchen into the parlor and headed for the stairs.

  Zeke showered quickly, washing away all traces of blood. He scrubbed at his skin until it felt raw, and then once wrapped in a towel, he brushed his teeth four times, like that would change anything. With an angry hand, he swiped the steam from the mirror. The same face stared back at him, eyes a little tired, jaw rough with stubble. Funny. He didn’t look like a monster.

  After dressing in sweats and a T-shirt, he went to care for the kittens. This, at least, he could do without causing harm. He seldom slept eight hours straight anymore anyway. He’d found he napped more like an animal, a few hours here or there, but always lightly, and with a wary sense that roused him the instant anything shifted in his territory.

  So when Neva’s phone rang upstairs, she didn’t hear it, but Zeke did. He sat on the sofa, listening to it chime, and then he pushed to his feet with a growl. It had to be important. Why else would anyone call at this hour? But if it was Reed, he’d feed the guy his fist. Maybe a beating would get him to answer whether he was the crazy fucker stalking her wherever she went.

  By the time he got to her bedroom, the call had quieted. He stood for a moment, watching her sleep. The moonlight kissed her skin, so she almost seemed to glow. Deep down he still couldn’t believe she was here. More than anything he wanted the right to curl up behind her and set his head on her shoulder. That was the last thing he should ever do; he needed to drive her away before she got hurt. Or before she broke his heart. Of the two choices, one would be inevitable.

  “Neva,” he said, sinking down on the edge of the bed. She half stirred, rolled over, and put her hand on his thigh. He felt the touch keenly through the soft cotton. Maybe he should’ve put on jeans before coming to wake her. The pleasure made him rigid, so for a long moment he couldn’t think.

  Her eyes opened, but by her dreamy smile, she wasn’t fully awake. Her hand went farther up his leg and she mumbled, “It’s about time you got here.”

  Did she even know who he was? For a moment, he considered letting her do it. But if she roused fully, she’d be shocked and embarrassed by it—and she’d wonder why he didn’t stop her. It just about killed him to lift her hand before she got where she was going. He’d save the feeling for a private moment; that was how it had to be, and pretty much all he could have of her.

  “Phone was ringing.”

  Finally, she pushed herself upright. “What?”

  He handed her the cell. “Here. Check your messages?”

  “I—Okay.”

  Being an animal doctor, she was probably used to calls in the middle of the night. She dialed into her voice mail and listened, a frown forming. Neva closed her phone and rolled off the bed, scrambling for her clothes. He discovered she slept in a tank top and she favored high-cut briefs; they revealed enough of her to make his mouth go dry. But she wasn’t thinking of that as she bent over, rummaging in her bag.

  “That was the alarm company. There’s been a break-in. The police are probably there by now.”

  Zeke pushed off the bed. “Getting dressed.”

  She paused in the midst of hopping into her jeans. “You don’t have to come with me. I’ll be fine.”

  “I know. Still going.”

  Relief surged through him when she didn’t argue. It didn’t take long for him to throw on some real clothes and bundle up the kittens. This would take a while, certainly longer than a quick trip to the hardware store. Though
he’d been awake when her phone rang, chances were, it would’ve woken him anyway. Sometimes birds in distant trees kept him up if he didn’t block them, and he couldn’t control that as well as he wanted. But her voice always gave him peace.

  Zeke met her at the car, box in his arms. She drove fast, obviously worried about the clinic, and he didn’t have the words to make it better. Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot, where a deputy was already waiting for them. Neva got out and hurried toward the squad car. He could hear them, even with the radio on, even with the windows closed, and debated if he should join her. Though he hadn’t wanted her driving alone at night, maybe she’d find it hard to explain his presence and might prefer him to stay low.

  “How bad is it?”

  “The inside’s pretty tore up.” Zeke recognized the other man’s voice—he’d gone to school with Bobby Pickett. “You’ll have to take a walk-through and tell me what’s missing.”

  The guy had been a year ahead of him and pretty popular from what he remembered. Bobby had done some kind of sport and went around with Janette Hanes, one of the cheer-leaders. Funny he could recall that, but not the color of his mother’s eyes, or if he had liked chocolate ice cream before his incarceration.

  “How did they get in?” she asked, walking with Bobby toward the front doors.

  She didn’t look back at the car or give Zeke any sign of what she wanted, but he made sure the kittens were wrapped up and then climbed out of the car. Maybe she’d need him to help clean. That was his job.

  “Jimmied the back door. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Zeke swept the lot with a glance, seeing a car that shouldn’t be there. All the businesses were closed. Strange. Instead of trailing Neva and Bobby around back, he went toward the far end of the parking lot. It wasn’t the car her ex had been driving. This was an older one, even junkier than Neva’s. It had splotches of paint and primer along the sides, poorly covering the rust.