Crossed Hearts (Matchmaker Trilogy) Page 11

“None of us is perfect.”

  “Tell that to Richard.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass. He sounds like the kind of guy I avoid.”

  “You’re very wise.”

  “Either that, or very weak. I haven’t quite decided which yet.”

  Leah shifted, turning her head so that she looked up at him. “You, weak? I don’t believe that for a minute. Look at the way you live. It takes strength to do what you do.”

  “Physical strength, yes.”

  “No, psychological. To live alone on a mountainside, to be comfortable enough with yourself to live alone—many people can’t do that.”

  It was the perfect opening. He knew he should say something about himself and his past, but the words wouldn’t come. He wanted Leah’s respect. He feared he’d risk it if she knew where he’d been. “I’m not sure I’ve done it so well, judging from the way I’ve latched on to you.” Hauling her higher on his chest, he gave her a fierce kiss. But the fierceness mellowed quickly. “You taste so good, Leah,” he whispered hoarsely. “You feel so good.” His hands had begun to glide up and down her body. “You feel so good on top of me.”

  That was precisely where she was. Her breasts were pillowed by the soft furring of his chest hair. Her thighs, straddling his, knew their sinewed strength. He felt so good beneath her that her body began a slow rocking while her mouth inched over his nose, his cheek and down to the warm, bare skin below his beard.

  “You smell good,” she whispered against his throat.

  Garrick grinned in pure delight. He felt redeemed, almost defiant. He smelled earthy, but Leah liked it. So there, L.A.! Take your Brut and stuff it!

  “Garrick?” Her voice was muffled against his chest.

  “What is it, love?”

  She kept her face buried. “I want you again.”

  He laughed in continued delight.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You. You’re wonderful.”

  “Does that mean you want me, too?”

  He arched his hips against hers. “What do you think?”

  “I think yes, but maybe you think I’m only after your body.”

  He didn’t laugh this time. Instead his long fingers caged her head and gently raised it. His expression was soft and filled with wonder. “What I think is that I’m the luckiest man alive.” He didn’t say anything else, because his mouth covered hers. His hands spread over her hips, lifting, lowering, until she was fully impaled.

  Leah had seldom been in the dominant position, but her desire more than compensated for her lack of experience. He guided her at first, moving her up and down in slow, sure strokes, but then he began caressing her breasts and she let instinct be her guide. She heard the quickening of his breathing and increased rhythm. She felt him lower his head and craned upward so he could reach her breasts with his lips. She sensed when he approached his climax and ground herself more tightly against him. And when he cried out in release, she was with him all the way.

  When her heartbeat finally slowed she thought she’d be exhausted, but she wasn’t. Her body was sated, but her mind had only begun to hunger. She wanted to talk. It was as though a dam had burst, years of holding in thoughts and questions given way now to a steady flow. She was fearing that Garrick would rather sleep, when his voice drifted over her brow.

  “I’ve never had a woman here before.”

  They’d slipped between the sheets and were snuggled warmly and closely. “I know,” she breathed against his chest.

  “I’ve never had much of anyone here before. Another trapper will stop by once in a while. And buyers come for my furs.”

  “Is that only in the winter?”

  “Pretty much so. I can’t trap the good stuff after the middle of January.”

  “The good stuff—fisher, fox and raccoon?”

  “Um-hmm.”

  “Why not after the middle of January?”

  “That’s the law, and it makes sense. The furs are thickest in winter, and prime fur draws the best price. But that’s secondary to the concept of wildlife management.”

  “Explain.”

  “The theory is that hunting and trapping shouldn’t be done to exploit the wildlife population, but to control it. Raccoon threaten local cornfields. Beaver threaten the free flow of streams.”

  “You don’t have to justify what you do.”

  “But it’s all part of the explanation. Trapping isn’t a free-for-all. At the beginning of each season, the Fish and Game Department issues strict guidelines, in some cases limiting the catch of certain species. For example, I can take only three fisher a year. With roughly eight hundred trappers in the state, three fisher per trapper, the number adds up. If limits aren’t set, the population will be endangered.”

  “How are limits set?”

  “The department decides based on information it gets from trappers the previous year. Every catch I make has to be tagged. I tell the department where and when I made the catch, what condition the animal was in and what I observed about the overall population while I was running my trapline.”

  “Then the limits vary by year?”

  “Theoretically, yes. But in the past few years the various populations have been stable, which means that the department has been doing its job right. Once in a while there’s politicking involved. For example, fisher feed on turkeys and rabbits. The turkey and rabbit hunters lobby for a higher take of fisher, so that there will be more turkeys and rabbits left for them to hunt.”

  “Do they win?”

  “No. At one point, in the early thirties, fisher were hunted nearly to extinction. The department is very protective of them now.”

  “But why the January deadline?”

  “Because come February, the mating season begins. Trapping after that would be a double hazard to the population.”

  “Then you trap only three months a year?”

  “I can take beaver through the end of March and coyote whenever I want. But the first I use mainly for bait, and the second don’t interest me other than to keep them away from my traps. They’ll eat the best of my catch if I let them. And they’re smart, coyotes are. Trap a coyote in one place, and the rest don’t go near that spot again.”

  Leah loved hearing him talk, not only for his low, husky voice, almost a murmur as they lay twined together, but for his knowledge, as well. “It must be an art—successful trapping.”

  “Part art, part science. It’s hard work, even for those few short months.”

  “A little more complicated than sticking a spigot in a tree, hmm?”

  He chuckled. “A little. The work starts well before the trapping season opens. I have to get a license, plus written permission from any private landowners whose land I may be crossing. I have to prepare the traps—season new ones, repair and prime old ones. Once the season opens and I’ve set my traps, I have to run the line every morning.”

  “Every morning?”

  “Early every morning.”

  “You don’t mind that?”

  “Nah. I like it.” He never used to like getting up. When he’d worked in L.A., he’d hated early morning calls. More often than not he’d been partying late the night before, and particularly in the later years, he’d awoken hung over. There were no parties here, though, and no drinks. He had no trouble waking up. Indeed, he’d discovered that the post-dawn hours were peaceful and productive.

  “Why early in the morning?”

  “Because most of the furbearers are nocturnal, which means that they’ll be out foraging, hence caught at night. I want to collect them as soon as possible after they step into the trap.”

  “Why?”

  He laughed. It occurred to him that he’d laughed more in the past few hours than he had in weeks.

  “What’s so funny?”

  He hugged her closer. “You. Your curiosity. It never quits.”

  “But it’s interesting, what you do. Do you mind my questions?”

  “No. I don’t mind your quest
ions.” And he meant it, which surprised him almost as much as the sound of his own repeated laughter. The past four years of his life had been dominated by silence. He’d needed it at first, because he hadn’t been fit to carry on any conversation, much less one with a woman. He’d spoken only when necessary, and then with locals who’d been blessedly laconic. Even the old man who’d taught him to trap had been a miser where words were concerned, and that had suited Garrick just fine. He welcomed words that held real meaning, rather than shallow platitudes. He’d had his fill of the latter—sweet talk meant to impress, crude talk meant to hurt, idle talk meant to pass the time, patronizing talk meant to buy or win.

  He’d never had the kind of gentle, innocently genuine talk that he now shared with Leah, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever get his fill. Unusual as it was to discuss trapping in the dark after lovemaking, he was enjoying it.

  “Why do I want to collect my catch as soon as possible? Because if I wait, the fox may close in or the fur may be otherwise damaged. Once I’ve made the catch, I try to concentrate on the art of preparing the fur.”

  “There’s an art to it?”

  “Definitely. For example, when it comes to fleshing…” He hesitated. “You don’t need to hear this.”

  “Okay,” she said so quickly that he chuckled again, but she was immediately off on a related tangent. “So the trapping season is pretty short. What do you do during the rest of the year?”

  “Read. Whittle. Go birding in the woods. Grow vegetables.”

  She popped up over him. “Vegetables? Where?”

  “Out back.”

  “What’s out back? There aren’t any windows on that wall so I haven’t been able to see.”

  He stroked her cheek with a lazy thumb. “There’s a clearing. It’s small, but it gets enough sun in the summer months to grow what I need.”

  “You eat it all?”

  “Not all. You can only consume so much lettuce.”

  “Lettuce. What else?”

  “Tomatoes, carrots, zucchini, peas, green beans. I freeze a lot of stuff for the winter months. Whatever is left over, I give away. Or trade. The maple syrup we had with the pancakes came that way.”

  “Not bad,” she said. Her hands were splayed over his chest. Dipping her head, she dropped an impulsive kiss on the hollow of his throat. “Actually, I’m in awe. I have a brown thumb. Plants die on me right and left. I finally gave up trying to grow them, which I suppose is just as well. If I’d been attached to a plant and then had to give it away when I packed up to come here—”

  “You could have brought it.”

  “It’s a good thing I didn’t. I mean, here I am with most of my stuff still in the car in the cold. Victoria’s place is worthless, and I have no idea where I’ll be going—”

  Garrick cut off the flow of her words by flipping her onto her back and sealing her mouth with his. He didn’t want her to talk about going anywhere. He didn’t want her to think about going anywhere. He wanted her to love him again.

  Leah needed little urging. The weight of his body covering her, pressing her to the mattress, branding her with blatant masculinity was enough to spark fires that she’d thought long since banked. They kissed again and again. They began to touch and explore with even greater boldness than before. Lines and curves that should have been familiar by now took on newness from different angles, heightening the fever that rose between them until, once again, they came together in the ultimate stroke of passion.

  This time, when it was over and they’d fallen languidly into each others arms, they lay quietly.

  After a bit Leah whispered, “Garrick?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Three times in one night. I never thought I had it in me. I never wanted to … more than once.”

  “Know something?” he returned in the same whisper. “Me, neither.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Strange, but he was proud to say it. How often he’d lied in the past, how many times he’d bragged about nonstop bouts of sex. He’d had an image to uphold, but it had been an empty one. If a woman had asked for more, he’d always had a ready answer; either she’d worn him out, or the woman the night before had worn him out, or he had an early call in the morning. The fact was that once his initial lust had been fed he’d lost interest.

  But it wasn’t lust he felt for Leah. Well, maybe a little, but there was love in it, too, and that made all the difference.

  “How long have you been here, Garrick?”

  “Four years.”

  “And you went places when you felt the need … the urge to…”

  “I haven’t felt it much, but there were women I could see.”

  “Were they nice?”

  “They were okay.”

  “Do you still see any of them?”

  “No. One-night stands were about all I could handle.”

  “Why?”

  Again she’d given him an opening. He could easily explain that he’d been going through a rough time, finding himself, but then she’d ask more questions, and he didn’t want to have to answer them. Not tonight. So he gave an answer that was honest, if simplified. “None of them made me want anything more.”

  “Oh.”

  “What does that mean—oh?”

  “Are you gonna kick me out tomorrow?”

  “I can’t. Remember, the mud?”

  She scraped the nail of her big toe against his shin. “If it weren’t for the mud, would you kick me out?”

  “We’ve already had more than a one-night stand.”

  “You’re not answering my question.”

  “How can I kick you out? You have nowhere to go.”

  “Garrick…”

  His elbow tightened around her neck. “No, Leah, I would not kick you out. I will not kick you out. I like having you here. You can stay as long as you want.”

  “Because I’m good in bed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Garrick!”

  “Because I like being with you. How’s that?”

  “Better.”

  “You want more?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because you do things for my sweater that I never did.”

  “I thought you wanted it back.”

  “I want you to keep it. Wear it.”

  “Okay.”

  “And you can cook if you want.”

  “But you hate Chinese food.”

  “I didn’t hate what you made tonight. I was just being difficult.” He paused, then ventured more cautiously, “Do you do anything besides Chinese?”

  “I’ve taken courses in French cooking. And Indian. I doubt you have the ingredients for either of those.”

  “Do you always cook foreign for yourself in New York?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “What do your normally eat?”

  “When I’m not pigging out with Victoria?”

  “Come to think of it, you do eat a lot. How do you stay so thin?”

  “Lean Cuisines.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Lean Cuisines. They’re frozen. I heat them in the microwave.”

  “You eat frozen dinners?”

  “Sure. They’re good. A little too much sodium, but otherwise they provide a balanced meal.”

  “Oh. If you say so.”

  She yawned. “I do.”

  “Tired?”

  “A little. What time is it?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have a watch.”

  She held her wrist before his nose. “I don’t have my glasses. What time does it say?”

  “Twenty past a freckle.”

  “Oh.” She dropped her hand to his chest. “I left my watch in the bathroom.”

  “That’s okay. The fire’s gone out, so I wouldn’t have been able to read it anyway.”

  “It has a luminous dial.”

  “You come prepared.”

  “Usually.”
She burrowed closer, stifling another yawn. “I don’t want to go to sleep. I like talking with you.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Will we talk more in the morning, or are you going to go mute on me with the break of day?”

  He chuckled. “We’ll talk more.”

  “Promise?”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “Were you a Scout?”

  “Once upon a time.”

  “I want to hear about it,” she murmured, but she was fading fast.

  “You will.”

  “Garrick?”

  “Mmm?”

  It was a while before she answered and then her words were slurred. “How old are you?”

  “Forty.” He waited for her to say something more. When she didn’t, he whispered her name. She didn’t answer. Smiling, he pressed a soft kiss to her rumpled bangs.

  6

  WHEN LEAH AWOKE the next morning, Garrick was beside her. He was sprawled on his stomach, his head facing away, but one of his ankles was hooked around hers in a warm reminder of the events of the night before. Heart swelling with happiness, she took a deep breath and stretched. Then she rolled against him, slipped a slender arm over his waist and sighed contentedly.

  Weak slivers of light filtered through the shutters, dimly illuminating the room. It was still raining, she knew, but the patter on the roof had eased to a gentle tap, and anyway, she didn’t care what the weather was. Garrick had said she could stay as long as she wanted. She wasn’t going to think about leaving.

  When the body against her shifted, she slid her hand forward, up over his middle to his chest. His own covered it, and then he was turning to look at her.

  It was the very first time in his life that Garrick had awoken pleased to find a woman in his bed. He smiled. “Hi.”

  Oh, how she loved his voice, even that lone word, working like fine sandpaper to make her tingle. “Hi.”

  “How did you sleep?”

  “Like a baby.”

  “You don’t look like a baby.” His gaze was roaming her face, taking in the luster of mussed hair on her forehead, the luminous gray of her eyes, the softness of lips that had been well kissed not so very long ago. “You look sexy.”

  She blushed. “So do you.”

  His eyes skimmed lower, over her neck to her breasts. “I’ve never seen you in daylight,” he said softly.