Reaching For Normal Page 11

  "Why?"

  His turn to shrug. "It's the right thing to do. My folks were biologists and taught us early on to care about the environment and the animals in it. They were integral in laying the groundwork for the wolf reintegration program here in Vermont. Humans have created some pretty wild stories about wolves so we have to combat that.” She smiled at that one.

  "And you're a bit like them, aren't you? A lone wolf. With a distinct territory and fierce loyalty to others."

  Well, hell.

  Her laugh was a little too loud and she clamped her lips together but her eyes danced on. "The food helped a lot. Should we move on tonight?"

  Move on? "As in walking?"

  "Of course."

  She surprised him at every turn. "No. We're safe here. You need some real rest." When he saw the protest flaring in her eyes, he held up a hand and continued. "So do I. We have a long way to go tomorrow and we'll need all of our senses about us. Too easy to make mistakes when we're tired." And he was. They were. "You ready to get some sleep?"

  Myla nodded, eyes reaching up to her jacket.

  "Sorry, still too wet. Don't want your arm freezing during the night. You need to stay wrapped in those blankets."

  "Not a chance. I'm not keeping both of them. You'll freeze. I'll keep one, you take the other."

  No way in hell. "My clothing's rated for these kinds of temperatures. I'll be fine."

  Chin set at stubborn, she shook her head. "No. I've caused enough problems for you already. I'm not taking your blanket too."

  The argument heated up and her refusal to give in pissed him off.

  Finally, she rolled her eyes. "Fine." Good. "We'll share."

  "Hell, no."

  Her eyebrows rose to her hat line. "Well, that's insulting. But it's also my final offer. Either we argue until morning, you take one blanket, or we share. Your choice, Boone."

  He wished she didn't crack him up but she did. And she knew she'd won. Instead of glorying in her triumph, she gave him one of those soft smiles. "How do you suggest we do this?"

  Sawyer had to close his eyes against that part of his brain reacting with absolute glee at her words. He'd never had this much of a problem controlling his lust. Focus. The problem was that he knew the best way to keep her warm throughout the night was to wrap himself around her. And stop his body reacting to her.

  Which had proved impossible so far.

  Sawyer stood up and tugged her blanket closer to the fire, then brought the wood within easy reach and added a couple of pieces, all the while working out the logistics to keep her warm. No matter which way he figured it, it involved getting up close and personal.

  "You sure about this, Myla?"

  Wariness shone for a moment but she pushed it back down. "I'm sure. I'm not letting you freeze because of me."

  Facts. Stick to the facts. Keep it professional. "Trust me?"

  Without hesitation this time, she nodded, eyes completely serious.

  Christ, that almost did him in. At the moment, he wasn't sure more than two people trusted him. Or that they should. But, here she was, making it three.

  He wished he could say he felt the same about her. Which made him question his motives for not confronting her about being a reporter. If he tried, he might be able to convince himself it was because he was making sure she had all of her energy focused on surviving. Once he brought up his concerns, her attention would be divided and that could cost them.

  The real reason was that if he didn’t ask, he could believe that she wasn’t using him. Once he found out the truth, there’d be no going back. Coward that he was, he wanted to avoid crossing that line for a little longer. Especially when he was about to wrap her in his arms for the night.

  Sawyer walked to stand behind her then squatted down. "Okay, we're going to get a little close. To make sure you stay warm." He wondered who he was reminding. "Turn to face me, Myla." He unzipped his jacket and she opened her mouth to protest. "Lay on your side facing me."

  She did and he joined her, brought her in. "Wrap your arms around me or curl them up in front of you, whatever’s more comfortable but keep them inside my jacket."

  With a soft intake of breath, she brought her arms in front of her, tucked in front of her breasts. Steeling his body to think of her as a friend and nothing more—or better yet, an enemy—he shifted until they were plastered together.

  Neither of them spoke as he maneuvered them and the blankets into place, making sure she was completely covered and that no wind was going to sneak in and freeze her. When he was satisfied, he ran the blanket over his back and tucked it beneath him.

  By the time he was finished, he was breathing hard and had a new respect for contortionists. He shoved his arm back into the warmth and wrapped it around Myla's back and blew out a deep breath. "Hope you're not a restless sleeper because that almost knocked me out."

  The breath from her soft laugh tickled his jaw and Sawyer clamped it shut. No reaction. Take it like a man.

  A man with a sexy woman wrapped in his arms.

  Facts. Think of facts. Dry, boring, non-sexual facts.

  Running through the manufacturing process of snowshoes helped.

  Then Myla shifted and her hip brushed his. Damn it, he was a SEAL, trained to remain focused through pretty much anything. Dehydration, hypothermia, war, disease, days without food or water, torture. But Myla shredded his focus. Without any effort.

  Beaker would be laughing his ass off. The techno-geek had tried a million times to break Sawyer's focus during training. A million. And he'd succeeded exactly zero times.

  Yet, since the day the little reporter had stumbled into his life, he'd been as focused as a gnat.

  Myla squirmed a little and sighed into his chest. It was going to be a hell of a long night.

  #secrets®rets

  Myla had been cold since she’d left the B&B, so she was shocked at the heat pouring from Sawyer. Her body wanted to snuggle even closer, which wouldn't be possible as there wasn't enough space for a snowflake between them.

  Unless they lost the clothing. That'd be closer. Better. She wanted her hands on his skin and his on hers. Even the thought of a man stalking them out in the bush wasn't enough to tone down her thoughts. With the tiniest hint of interest from the man, she'd shred their clothes and jump him.

  Everything about him fascinated her. His strength, intelligence, bravery. With shadows in his past. Shadows she wanted to pull apart. Something had hurt him badly. And to hurt a man like Sawyer Banks, it had to be bad. Worse than someone like her could imagine.

  What would crack the heart of a SEAL and make him retreat into himself?

  He and Darby were both protective of the other. Fiercely protective. Hard to imagine someone caring about another human being that much. Having someone who listened and cared. To know they'd have your back no matter what.

  "Any other brothers or sisters out there?" She hadn't meant to ask. Hadn't meant to talk.

  "No. Just me and Darby." But his voice told her it was enough. "What about you?"

  Damn her tired brain. She never asked questions like that because they always came back at her. "No brothers or sisters."

  His hand moved softly on her back. Nothing sexual but offering comfort. Warmth. An almost absent-minded move. Enough to distract her brain from coming up with a new topic of conversation.

  Sawyer filled the gap. “Where are you from? Do your parents still live there?”

  And that was the sixty-thousand-dollar question. She didn't want to talk about that. She didn't talk about that. Ever.

  His hand moved again, stroking her, soothing her. “That’s a tough one? Okay, something easier then. Tell me about your name, Myla, I've never heard it before."

  The questions ripped into her. Light, easy questions that tore down to the very heart of her, making it hard to breathe. Instinctively she tried to push away, get some space between her and the questions but Sawyer’s arms held her close. The air thickened and pressed in on he
r until she had to gulp in a breath.

  "Shit, Myla." Sawyer’s hand moved away from her back, leaving it cool. Then he was leaning back, tilting her chin up so she was forced to look at him. The tears that seemed omnipresent over the last few days swam in her eyes for a few seconds before she managed to blink them away.

  In the soft firelight, his eyes glowed with compassion. His glove brushed her cheek. "Sorry. I was trying to make polite conversation. Forget it." His hand moved to cup the back of her head and he tucked her into him again. She felt his lips against her hair and blinked back more tears. They lay quietly for long minutes while his hand moved over her.

  "I don't know who my parents are. I was found in a dumpster when I was a few days old. Downtown Miami."

  At first, Sawyer's only reaction was to press her more closely to him. After a few minutes, his soft voice broke the silence. "Tell me about it, Myla. Talk to me."

  She shouldn't. Never had. Not to anyone. But the quiet command in his tone and the warmth of his hand had her considering. And her mouth caved. Along with another piece of her heart. "Apparently a dumpster-diving homeless man found me. Wailing. Scared him half to death but he picked me up, bundled me in some of his clothes, and carted me off to a cop walking his beat. I stayed in the hospital for the first few years because of the operations. My leg was a mess."

  And probably the reason she'd been abandoned. Sawyer's hand never stopped its steady rhythm. "Because I didn't have a name, one of the nurses always called me My Lady and it caught on. Irene had immigrated from Scotland and she always said it with this beautiful lilt.” The memory had her smiling in the dark. "They shortened it to Myla for the birth certificate and that stuck, too. Another nurse, Gabriella came up with my last name."

  His lips pressed to her hair again and he let out a soft chuckle. "Myla Esperanza. My Lady Hope. You must have made one hell of an impression. It's a beautiful name."

  "They're sweet ladies. We still exchange Christmas cards."

  He squeezed her briefly, plastering them even more closely together. "So, they're your family."

  They were. She nodded into his chest, unable to squeeze the words past the lump in her throat. The only people who knew the truth of her name and her past were the people from the hospital and Irene and Gabriella were probably the only ones who remembered her with any kind of affection.

  Still, she didn't regret telling Sawyer. Not yet. Maybe in the morning but not in the quiet night, where they might be the only two in the universe. He'd already figured out more than anyone else ever had. And he hadn't run screaming yet.

  But he would walk away unless she did it first. Her stay was for a little more than another week. Then she'd move on to the next story with more than enough material for dozens of blog posts and articles.

  And a bruised heart. Every time she tried to harden it, Sawyer did something to melt it a little more. She wasn’t sure if his touches and light kisses were signs of friendly affection or attraction. He might simply be offering comfort. If she wanted more, she had to be brave.

  Take a step. See if she could offer him the same kind of comfort he'd offered her. "After being a SEAL and helping people all over the world, how did you end up back in Bloo Moose teaching people to walk around in snowshoes?”

  Sawyer’s body froze, right down to his breathing. Complete stillness for long seconds. Like when he’d been searching for the guy who’d killed the wolf.

  “What the hell are you really writing about?”

  Myla jerked at his harsh words. What?

  When she didn’t answer, he asked it again, this time his words barely more than a growl.

  “How do you know I’m writing anything at all?”

  His snort couldn’t have been more filled with disgust. “Answer the question. What are you writing about?” Gone was the comforting presence, the careless caresses.

  Her mind raced. Darby wouldn’t have shared, she was the one suggesting Myla keep it to herself. How had he found out?

  “You’ve been booking time with me to get a story. What’s your angle? What spin are you planning on taking?”

  Angle? Spin? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Another snort. “Nice non-answer. I have a right to know what you’re writing about me.”

  Myla shook her head in confusion. “You? What makes you think I’m writing about you?”

  Sawyer’s snort was full of disdain. “Right. You just happened to book me as a snowshoeing guide. And you just happen to be a journalist. Now, you’re digging into my past. I haven’t confirmed that I was in the teams. I never mentioned traveling the world but somehow you know it all. The innocent act is a waste. I know your kind.”

  “My kind? My kind of what? What are you insinuating?”

  “I’m not insinuating a damn thing. I’m telling you I know you’re a journalist and I want to know what the article’s about.”

  His words were sharp enough to slice. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. I have no interest in writing about you. I write adventure travel stories for magazines.”

  The noise he made didn’t have a name but it reeked of disbelief. “Right. You’re such an expert on snowshoeing, I bet all the magazines are clamoring for your work. Try something believable this time.”

  Well. That was offensive. Myla worked her fingers free enough to poke him in the chest. “Listen up, Mr. Egomaniac, I have no idea what makes you think you’re so interesting but whatever it is, I don’t care. I write for magazines that cater to two groups of people. First, people who want to try the things I write about as I try them for the first time. Second, people who want to sit in their offices and pretend they’re one day going to try them. Neither group has any interest in you and your ego.”

  “Who the hell would want to read about learning to snowshoe but not actually do it?”

  “Apparently enough for magazines to pay me to write about it.”

  Sawyer’s head shake was tight and she thought she heard his teeth grinding.

  “I don’t care if you believe me or not.” Myla hoped the snotty tone kept Sawyer from hearing the lie. “I’ve been traveling and writing about it for years now. There’s a market for what I do. Some people like to hear from the experts but just as many want to hear from beginners. From people like them. Then they can see how it might be if they try it themselves.”

  She nodded to emphasize her point and then clamped her lips together. He’d either believe her or not. Up to him. Her silence lasted for almost a minute. “I don’t identify the places I visit. I never photograph people—well, I don’t use their faces—and never without permission.”

  His breathing was harsh in the quiet night as if he was on the edge of control.

  “My editors like it best when the setting is generic. As if the adventure could happen anywhere. That way, more people can imagine themselves in the middle of it. And more people can plan the same kind of adventure in a place near them. Better for local tourism. They sell more ads that way.”

  Her voice wobbled and she pulled in a breath and held it to steady herself. She hadn’t done anything wrong and she had nothing to feel guilty about.

  “What makes you so sure I was a SEAL?”

  Myla shook her head. “Seriously? Everything about you screams military. You move like a cat being stalked by alligators. You have crazy-extreme control over every part of you from your muscles to your eyes. You’re so hyper-vigilant you notice when the snow starts to fall. If you’re not a former SEAL, I’ll spend my next birthday eating cake with your wolves.”

  That surprised a rough laugh out of Sawyer and she felt some of the rigidity melt out of his body. For several moments, they lay wrapped together, huddled in the quiet night. Myla wanted to know his thoughts but didn’t want to ask. She wanted him to believe her. Wanted it badly. He was an honorable man and she couldn’t bear the thought of him thinking so little of her.

  “I need to see it.”

  The deep rumble of his voic
e distracted her and it took a few seconds for her to figure out what he meant. “My writing? You want to see my articles? Most aren’t finished yet, they’re notes and bits and pieces.”

  “Is that another evasion?”

  Myla figured she’d sprain her eyes with all the rolling she was doing. “No. It’s not an evasion. I don’t usually let anyone see my writing before I send it to my editor.” She’d never had anyone to show it to. “But, if it makes you feel better, yes, you can see it.”

  “How will I know you’re showing me everything?”

  “Not much on trust, are you?”

  “Not with writers.”

  “Why?” Who had done what to him?

  His grunt was the non-answer he’d accused her of earlier but she didn’t push.

  “I’ll show you when we get back. I’m sure you know how to check when files were added and edited.”

  He nodded his response and she felt herself relax.

  “If you’re telling the truth, why do you lie about it in the first place?”

  Definitely not big on trust. “I didn’t lie to you.”

  “Omission is a lie. A big one.”

  “People get weird when they find out I’m a writer. I know you’ll be shocked but some people don’t believe me and it makes them act like idiots.”

  In the tight quarters, Sawyer’s growl rumbled through her. His body stiffened again but it wasn’t fear flickering in her belly. “I’m not lying. I wouldn’t do that to you or anyone else.”

  Sawyer harrumphed but his hand moved softly on her back again. A soft brush of his fingers, up and down. Slowly. Her skin reacted, her body wanted to lean into his touch.

  “But you did it to one sailor. The one with hypothermia. Your explanations aren’t adding up.”

  Staying mad required more energy than she possessed. “I’m a freelance writer, Sawyer. I write what they pay me to write. That story was years back, before I started making money and specializing in adventure writing. I wrote his story because he asked me to write it. When we get back, I can find his contact information and you can call him.”