Defending the Eyewitness. Rachel LeeЧитать онлайн книгу.
the old friend anymore, either.
Devil of a conundrum, he thought as he walked around town. He couldn’t trust anyone except himself, Corey couldn’t trust men, and he supposed he ought to find it amazing that they’d managed to get through a whole week now without any problems.
He tried to stay out of her way, which hadn’t been too difficult considering that she worked long hours. Occasionally he drifted past her shop and was amazed by how busy she often was, especially in the evenings. At night and on Saturdays, the place filled to the rafters with women. The local churches would probably be happy with such high attendance.
The women came in all shapes, sizes and ages, they arrived with smiles and left with smiles. All of them carried big totes full of their projects and materials. When they left, the totes were fuller than before. Corey ran around looking happy, a tape measure draped around her neck, a big pair of scissors sticking out of her work apron.
He tried not to hang out in the vicinity too often. He didn’t want to make Corey, or anyone else, nervous. He’d found Mahoney’s Bar where he could get a shot of tequila and lime and one night had even gotten into a drinking contest with a couple of guys. He had a great head for tequila. He’d had to.
But that episode had had an amazing effect. Men nodded to him on the street now. Friendly town. But he didn’t trust it one bit. He’d been in a lot of friendly towns the past six years. It was what went on underneath that mattered.
He realized he was scoping Conard City just the way he’d done with other towns across the border. Looking for a way in, looking to get clued in, looking to be taken as an insider. Damn. Would he ever get rid of the old habits?
Should he?
He almost laughed at himself. He hadn’t landed yet, obviously. So he turned his thoughts back to Corey. Maybe not wise, given her distrust of men. Every time he thought about her, his brain ran to sensual and sexual activities.
She wasn’t even his type, not that that seemed to be helping. Fair, blonde, blue-eyed... But while she didn’t exactly flaunt it, she had a great shape, too. His eyes had a tendency to want to roam over her in a way that invariably left him hot and bothered. He thought he had pretty good control over his impulses because control had been essential to survival for a long time now. He couldn’t afford distractions.
But Corey was proving to be one hell of a distraction. He had plenty of stuff to deal with, but his mind kept rambling right back to her. Like it or not, regardless of the number of times he tried to cross her off his mental list of possibilities, she kept bobbing right up in his thoughts.
When he watched her talk, he wondered how her lips would taste. When she laughed, something inside him sparked with pleasure. When she grew pensive, he had the worst urge to reach out.
She couldn’t have been more off-limits if she’d been surrounded by barbed wire, but he kept wanting to jump that fence and bed her. He hoped she didn’t suspect.
How could she? he reassured himself. He’d been staying out of her way, keeping their meetings as light as he could manage. If he’d been doing it right, he’d become the nearly invisible roomer in the background.
But he knew he wasn’t entirely invisible. A time or two he’d seen an answering spark in her. A flicker of interest that she quickly buried. So he wondered just what it would take to get past that woman’s fence. As near as he could tell, no one ever had. She’d come back to this town as a child, and nothing she said led him to believe she had ever left it again.
That struck him as sad. There was a whole world out there, good and bad, but mostly good, and she’d nailed herself to this tiny town because she was afraid of the dragons outside the gates.
He wished for her sake that they’d been able to catch the perp who had killed her mother. Maybe then, not being able to remember wouldn’t be so crippling.
And what the hell did it matter, anyway, he asked himself irritably. He needed to find his own forgotten self, and he’d be moving on once he settled his own mental and emotional tab. Right now he was useless to everyone, himself included.
So leave Rapunzel safely in her tower, and get his head out of his groin.
Rapunzel? Really? He was losing it.
The thought made him laugh out loud, which drew a few looks his way as he strode down the street. He didn’t care. A few of the people even smiled.
As long as he didn’t run around town giggling like a lunatic, it would probably be okay.
Autumn just tinged the air and he noticed how much shorter the days had grown in the week he’d been here. Oh, they were still long, but the change was more noticeable here than down south. Maybe he was dealing with more than culture shock. Maybe he was dealing with climate shock, too. Desert nights at high altitude could get surprisingly cold, but he was used to hot days. No such thing up here, at least not now. People walked around looking perfectly comfortable in shirtsleeves when he was wishing for sweaters and a jacket.
Well, he’d been raised in places that rarely saw snow or ice. San Antonio had a kind of winter, but he suspected that if he stayed here for long, he might be in for some new experiences. After all, when he’d shopped for clothes, he’d seen some jackets that he had hitherto seen only in movies. He hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to buy one yet, but inside the denim jacket he had chosen, he realized he had some adapting to do. What would have worked most places he’d lived was already failing him.
Amused by his own thoughts, he started whistling as he walked, cheered by the prospect of a totally different experience. Maybe that would help jar him out of the past.
He unlocked the front door of Corey’s house and stepped into aromas that immediately snapped him back in time. He froze, working on centering himself, even as the scents called to mind another time and place.
“Austin?”
He closed his eyes, gathering himself.
“Austin?”
The voice came closer. He opened his eyes and drank in Corey, in all her Nordic beauty. She definitely didn’t remind him of the past. Today she was wearing her golden mane in braids that wreathed her head. With a wrench that felt almost physical, he felt himself land in the present once again.
“Hi,” he said.
“I’ve got a surprise for you.” She was smiling with delight.
“I can smell it.”
“Tortillas,” she said, looking as pleased as if she were giving him a huge gift. “My friend made them. Some with white flour and some with cornmeal because I wasn’t sure which you’d prefer. Come tell me if I’m cooking them right.”
“Sure.” He followed her, trying to shake off a sudden woodenness in his legs. Ridiculous reaction. Stupid reaction. Just some tortillas, for crying out loud.
Apparently she had taken him at his word about stacks, because there were large ones sitting on two plates. Another plate held the ones she had cooked.
“I don’t have a grill,” she chattered. “So I’m making do with a skillet. Will that work? And you said they were cooked fast, so I assume the fire was hot?”
“Just enough to heat them and maybe give them a touch of brown.”
“Try one and let me know what you think.”
He wondered if he would even be able to swallow. What had possessed her to do such a thing for him? What had possessed her friend? They didn’t know him, and Corey had this thing about men, so what the hell? Suspicions began to arise in him. Strings were always attached.
But her face looked so open and pleased. Maybe she was just trying to be nice, although he couldn’t imagine why.
Just as her smile began to shrink, he made himself go to the table and pick up one of the tortillas. White flour. He’d loved them as a kid, but in Mexico he’d more often eaten corn. He bit into it, aware