Page 10 of Too Hot To Handle

„Easy, boy, easy,“ murmured Reever, calming the animal, for Tory lay half beneath those dancing steel-shod feet.

The thought of what a blow from those hooves would do to Tory’s soft body made Reever’s blood chill. Despite that his voice was as gentle and firm as his hands while he held the trembling Blackjack still. Tory lay dazed on her back and wondered if that was really Reever’s voice, gentle and sweet, deep and soothing, a voice that verified her instinctive belief that there was much more to Reever than his harsh surface. She tried to sit up, to get closer to that reassuring voice.

„Don’t move,“ snarled Reever. „If you spook Blackjack any more with your clumsiness, he’ll forget his manners and step all over you.“

That voice belonged to Reever, too. Tory had no doubt about it. She had felt its icy lash before. She closed her eyes because suddenly the sunlight was so bright it felt like hot sand beneath her eyelids. She blinked fiercely, wondering why a stupid little fall made her want to cry. It had never been like that in the pool when she was learning a new dive and landed wrong, knocking out her breath and raising livid welts on her skin. She hadn’t cried then. Not once.

Maybe it was just that she was so hungry. Maybe that was why she felt as though everything familiar was falling away from her, a row of dominoes kicked over by the doctor’s calm description of what had happened to her knee, what might happen again, the future she had worked so hard for toppling in front of her.

Tory didn’t bother to look up when she felt Reever’s hands easing her foot from the stirrup. She didn’t even open her eyes when he swung her up into his arms and began carrying her to the house.

„Are you all right?“ he asked roughly.

She nodded and turned her face away from him, hoping he wouldn’t see the tears that she felt scalding her eyelids. She wasn’t like this. She hadn’t cried since she was seven and her father had looked at the first swimming ribbon she had ever won and asked her if third place was the best she could do.

„You sure, honey?“

It was the voice Reever had used to calm Blackjack, warm and gentle and reassuring. It was Tory’s undoing. She was accustomed to whip-cracking lectures when she fouled up, not compassion. A shudder went through her.

„Poor little green-eyed cat,“ Reever murmured, shifting Tory in his arms until her face was tucked against his neck. „This just hasn’t been your day, has it?“

Her only answer was the trembling of her body and the hot, silent slide of her tears down his neck.

Reever carried Tory into the ranch house and set her gently in a big oak kitchen chair. „Got your breath back now?“ he asked.

„Y-yes.“

„Can you sit up without help?“

Tory nodded and leaned back, her eyes still closed. The tears had gone, but she was too embarrassed to look at Reever. He already thought her a clumsy little girl, and she had just proved that he was right in the most humiliating way possible. One corner of her mouth turned down in a bitter smile. It really hadn’t been her day.

Yet it had been magic to be held like that, to be cherished by him, if only for a moment.

While Reever ran hot water into a pan, he watched Tory out of the corner of his eye. Beneath her tan she was as pale as a morning glory in moonlight. Her pallor didn’t disturb him as much as the sudden quenching of the life in Tory’s body that told him she was just about at the end of her rope. Watching her, he knew that he couldn’t drive her in to town, dump her at the Sunup Cafe and drive off. Hell, he didn’t even know if she had enough money for the crummy motel at the edge of town. How would she live for the next three days until the bus came in?

Frowning, Reever wrung out a clean cloth in the water, added a mild disinfectant to the pan and carried it over to the table.

„Here,“ he said, lifting Tory’s hands gently. „Soak them in this.“

The water was hot without being painful, and the familiar smell of denatured iodine rose from it. It was a favorite disinfectant around the pool because it didn’t stain, sting or leave grease floating on top of the water. Tory sighed and sat back again, only to make a startled sound when she felt a warm, moist cloth moving over her face.

„Easy now,“ Reever said, holding her still. „The war’s over, little girl. You’re in no shape for any more fighting.“

Tory felt both Reever’s strength and his gentleness as he cleaned her dusty, tear-streaked face. After the first surprise passed, she made a tiny, inarticulate sound of pleasure and relaxed, giving herself to the unfamiliar luxury of being cared for. Without thinking, she rubbed her face slowly against the cloth and his hand, moving as she had while she bent over the stream.

The hunger that hadn’t left Reever since he had first seen Tory sat up and howled. He watched her through narrowed eyes, reassuring himself that she wasn’t playing a teasing game with him. She wasn’t. Nothing showed on her face but simple, sensual pleasure. She didn’t look nearly twenty-one right now. She looked like fifteen, and she made him feel like a lecherous sixty. The longer he looked, the more he became convinced that she had lied about her age.

„I think you better call them,“ Reever said finally, tossing the wet cloth into the sink and leaning back against the table with his arms crossed, watching her.

„Who?“

„Your parents.“

Tory’s eyes flew open. „What do you suggest I call them?“ she asked flatly.

„Hell, honey, nobody gets along with their parents,“ Reever said, shrugging. „It’s not the end of the world. Call them and tell them you’re sorry. They’ll be glad to send you bus money to get home.“

„How did you know I – “