Dance Away with Me(53)

But none of that would ever have happened. It wasn’t his nature.

The waters of Poorhouse Creek frothed under the bridge as she crossed. She gazed toward the place where a fallen tree had formed a miniwaterfall. Ian was a new species to her. A man—full grown and mature—who didn’t need coddling.

She reached the cabin and unlocked the back door. The curtains were drawn, exactly as she’d left them, but something was different. A pair of sneakers lay by the door. Sneakers that didn’t belong to her. She took a cautious step inside.

Kelly Winchester lay sound asleep on the couch.

She was curled into a ball, fully dressed, a quilted jacket with a designer logo abandoned on the carpet. She’d pulled the old quilt Tess had tossed over the back of the couch up to her shoulders.

Tess’s stomach churned at this violation of her privacy. And by Kelly Winchester, of all people. She thought of those small clues she’d overlooked—the tracked-in mud, the curtains she’d found open when they should have been closed. This wasn’t the first time Kelly had come here. But why?

Kelly hadn’t stirred. Tess started toward her only to stop. She thought for a moment, then backed out the same way she’d come in, making as little noise as she could. There was no sign of a car, so Kelly must have hiked up here. But why? There was nothing worth stealing, and if she’d intended to vandalize the place to get some kind of twisted revenge, she would have done it by now. Tess had so many unanswered questions.

She also had a weapon.

She’d witnessed something about the Winchesters that didn’t fit. Instead of confronting Kelly, what if she let this play out a little longer? The Winchesters were a powerful financial and political force in Tempest. Kelly’s animosity toward Tess was real, and Brad had a visible ruthless streak. They’d targeted Tess, and they held all the cards.

Except this one.

Tess now knew something that she couldn’t imagine Kelly would want to become public. It was a flimsy weapon, and it might come to nothing, but Kelly wasn’t doing any harm to the cabin, and Tess could confront her anytime she chose. Why not wait and see what unfolded?

As she hiked up the trail to return to the schoolhouse, she decided this was one more thing she wouldn’t tell Ian. At least not yet. He wasn’t a man who believed in subtlety, and he’d insist on an immediate confrontation. He could be right, but then again, he might not be.

*

He and Wren were both awake when she returned. He was sitting in one of the easy chairs in the living room feeding her. He’d crossed his ankle over his thigh with Wren perched on top. She must have soaked through her sleeper because she wore a fresh one. He glared at Tess. “She’s the devil incarnate.”

“True.”

Tess hadn’t imagined he’d noticed the morning bottle in the refrigerator, but apparently he had, and since it didn’t look as though he’d replaced the formula with beer, she could relax. Except for the simple fact that she couldn’t do that when he was wearing only an undershirt and jeans. An undershirt so old and worn she could see his skin through it. He hadn’t shaved, his hair was sleep rumpled, and his hand looked massive around that small bottle.

She was staring. She quickly bent down to roll up the wet cuffs of her pajama bottoms. “Thanks for taking her last night.”

“I must have been out of my mind.”

“Still, it was a nice thing to do.” As she hung his jacket, she remembered she wasn’t wearing a bra under her T-shirt. He probably wouldn’t notice.

He noticed. He gazed at her directly, making no attempt to be subtle about it. His gaze drifted from her breasts to her hips in a way that was technically offensive, but only technically. She hadn’t even had breakfast, and she was already turned on.

Then a cold dash of reality. He was studying her body as an artist would, while she was looking at his body through the eyes of a man-hungry sex fiend. She shoved her sneakers out of the way. “Did you smell her head?

His gaze once again drifted to her breasts. “Hard not to.”

“Pretty great, isn’t it?”

“Better than what comes out the other end. I left a mess in the bathroom for you to clean up.”

“You’re a giver.”

He smiled.

Instead of taking Wren from him, she went upstairs. She wrinkled her nose as she stepped into the bathroom. He hadn’t exaggerated about the mess. She cleaned it up and took a shower. A cold one.

By the time she returned downstairs, he’d propped Wren in her nest on the kitchen counter. He was also frying eggs, which was unusual, since his normal breakfast consisted of black coffee. She stole a piece of bacon draining on a paper towel. “What’s the occasion?”

He flipped two eggs onto a plate, added a slice of toast and more bacon, and passed it over to her. “No occasion.”

“I can’t eat all this. I mean, I can eat it, but I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Only a man who’s never had to lie down to zip a pair of jeans would ask that question.”

“What is it with beautiful women and weight? Do you ever look at yourself in a mirror?”

She was so hung up on the word beautiful that she stood there, plate in her hand, staring at him like a fool.

She could swear he curled his lip at her. “You women love to talk about how much more insightful you are than men, how much more emotionally mature. How men are basically unenlightened goons good for nothing more than burping and scratching our armpits.”