Tallchief: The Homecoming by Cait London

Author:Cait London
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Silhouette
Published: 2000-03-07T05:00:00+00:00

Michelle huddled beneath the plastic trash sack. The large hole cut for her face allowed her to see the man’s body outlined by lightning. In the doorway—well, it should have been a doorway, except the rotted wood wouldn’t hold the door upright against the wind—In the doorway, wind whipped the man’s hair and battered his jacket. Braced against the fierce impact, his legs looked as if nothing could move them—until he took a step into her house, the harsh beam of his flashlight lasering around the room covered in plastic.

“I have a gun. Don’t come any closer,” she said, holding up the lifter to the old wood cookstove to imitate a revolver. If Oswald found her somehow, chose now to take his revenge, there wasn’t a telephone installed or security guard or a— “And turn off the flashlight—” she added, just as the beam caught and blinded her.

The rich, deep chuckle surprised her as the flashlight roamed over the trash sack around her. The blinding beam clicked off, and Liam Tallchief’s dry, humorous tone asked, “Nice and comfy?”

She stood to her feet, eyeing him through the hole she’d cut in the trash sack. She hated to be caught, her incompetence spread before Liam. She’d come back to prove to him that she could manage in a small town— “I’ll manage.”

“Uh-huh. Come hold this flashlight while I brace up the door.”

“I don’t need rescuing. I’m enjoying myself. This is nothing, and I’ll fix it in the morning.” The steady dripping of water on top of her bag mocked her. The roof would take more than the plastic she had tried to staple on the shingles, both torn away by the wind. Unaccustomed to taking orders, she resented taking the flashlight.

His low grunt didn’t sound as if he believed her, and she resented how easily he picked up the door, eased it into place and dragged her small desk in front of it. She’d discovered she liked diving into the used-furniture store, the corners stacked with unique and beautiful furniture that suited the cottage. The desk needed refinishing, but she’d loved it at first sight, picturing what it would look like sanded and rubbed with oil. Maybe she had a penchant for second-hand, a new discovery about the woman who never took time to experience or to discover the beauty of old things.

Water dripped steadily into the puddle between them as Liam recovered the flashlight from her and the beam pinpointed the layers of plastic sheeting around the room. Above the beam his face was grim as he turned to her. “Do you want to talk here or at my place?”

“I haven’t exactly invited you into my home, you know.”

“I know. You don’t like asking for help, and you don’t like getting caught needing it. Am I right? Bad weather and a bad roof weren’t in the tidy little plan, were they?”

“I knew it needed work. There are carpenters available, you know. I loved it. I bought it with plans of restoring it.

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