Real Men Do It Better (2 page)

Doing without—even for five seconds—was good for the soul. So Karen had been telling herself since the bout with phone sex had revved her up with nowhere to go but dates with courting farmers and the appellate bankers and John Deere salesmen who believed the Olive Garden was the height of gustatory excellence. And romance. She’d never stayed to discover what was the height of sex. Most likely a workmanlike groping between flannel sheets.

Tinker had his nose in the feed bowl before she’d tossed in the extra scoop of oats. He whuffed and inhaled the meager ration in twenty seconds flat, chomping so hard a sweet froth foamed at his lips.

She stroked the gelding’s velvet nose. While she might not be sexually fulfilled, outside of an ongoing experimentation with the alienlike attachments that had come with The Probe, the vibrator her old girlfriends had given her as a returning-to-the-hinterlands gift, she was content.

Contentment ought to be enough. She had raindrops beating on the roof. Warm horse breath on her hand. The rich smells of the barn. Her works in progress lurking in the shadows, potential caught up in every rusted bolt and twisted ribbon of steel.

A loud crack of thunder jolted her into action. She went to shut the back door. The horses would steam dry tucked safely indoors, dozing through the storm, dreaming of green grass and sunshine on their flanks.

“Sounds good to me.” Karen shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and crossed to the front door. Thunder rumbled and the rain gusted, speckling her artwork with glistening silver droplets.

Lightning splintered the leaden sky. The blackened and rainbowed steel of the sculpture flashed blue and white. Karen turned all to goose bumps and prickly short hairs. The horses moved restlessly in their stalls. One of the barn cats looked down from the edge of the loft, a narrow silhouette with its tail standing straight in the air.

More thunder rumbled in Karen’s ears like a train in a tunnel. She quickly secured a tarp over the art piece, double-checked that her equipment was unplugged, and stepped out of the barn, pulling the big rolling door shut behind her. Rain sheeted the concrete she had poured inside and out for safety reasons, the sparks from her welding iron an obvious safety hazard near an old wooden hay barn. Beyond, the dirt area below the grassy slope up to her house had become a mud slick.

She pulled on her hood and huddled for a moment beside the building, waiting for the next crack of lightning. They were coming so frequently now, with the thunder a constant rumbling refrain, that there was no need for counting one-banana, two-banana in between to pinpoint the location of the storm. Her property was right at the center of it.

Through the gray curtain of rain, the farmhouse’s light-filled windows were a homely beacon of comfort. Sheltering in the barn for the duration didn’t appeal to her. Karen made up her mind to risk the dash to the house.

Her hands clenched. She was jittery. Unusual for her, even in a thunderstorm as bad as this one. She was normally an even-keeled type of person, at least before divorce and moving and phone sex had rocked her safe little boat.

Lightning struck near the main road, where pavement made a thin line of wet silver among the trees. For one instant the world became a brilliantly hot white, as bright as day, and she thought she saw a man on the gravel driveway that curved between barn and house.

Couldn’t be.

She squinted, half-blinded, as she ran for home before the next bolt was flung. The smell of ozone hung in the air from the last strike.

Thunder crashed. Karen slammed into a solid body.

She screamed, and fell onto her backside with a splat, her rubber boots slipping out from beneath her in the mud.

The man bent down, she thought at first to scoop her up, but he was shouting something that sounded like, “Stay away from me,” over the crescendo of thunder and rain. A bold fork of lightning brightened the sky beyond his head and she got a glimpse of his face.

His expression. Jagged. Stripped. Terrified.

His eyes. A brilliant burning blue.

She put up her hands, but didn’t know why. She was frozen to the ground.

He said, “Fuck it,” and wound his arms around her, dragging her to her feet.

A sharp burst of electricity zinged through her veins. She yelped. The air was thick with the staticky charges.

“Go to the house.” The stranger almost yanked her arm out of its socket to get her moving. “Run!”

They ran, slipping and sliding up the wet slope. Karen dropped once to her knees, but he got her up again almost without breaking stride, his hands on her ass as he propelled her up the stairs to safety beneath the porch roof.

Directly behind them, lightning tore from the sky. Flames leaped high at the point of the strike, splitting open one of the elm trees. Karen jumped. The crash of an ancient branch dropping to the ground was so loud and jarring it reverberated in her bones.

The stranger took hold of and folded her against his chest. She started to pull away, but he held her with a possessive security that was so comforting she was suddenly willing to stay, waiting for the sounds of the storm to stop ringing in her ears.

She saw the white flash of the next lightning bolt, even with her face buried against his chest. It seemed to be
inside
of her, sparking and sizzling, as if she’d stuck a finger in a socket, jumping from her body to the stranger’s, then back again before she could draw breath. The electric charge became one continuous current, heating her blood, melting her resistance.

She felt shattered inside—pliant and weak. Dimly, the thought occurred that she was in a dangerous position. The man could be anyone … do anything. And part of her was already welcoming that idea.

“Inside,” he said, pushing her away from himself.

Karen nodded numbly. Recognition returned as soon as he released her. The sensation of electric shock lessened, too, although she could still feel it running through her, draining from her body like a fever that had broken.

What the hell?
She swiped rain from her eyes, opened the front door, and stepped inside. The man was no longer beside her.

She turned, pushing aside in her mind the warnings about letting strangers into the house. Of course, she would invite him in. He’d practically saved her life.

He stood on the porch, hunched and shivering, dripping wet. He was breathing hard, eyes downcast. Despite his state, she remained aware of an intrinsic power and confidence. So very male. The cut of his body was harsh but beautiful. He had a solid build, all hard muscle beneath the jeans and shirt glued to his skin.

The exterior lights had gone out. It was difficult to discern his features except for the general impression that in better circumstances he’d be a good-looking man. She hesitated, thinking of his wild expression earlier, but something in the way he’d rescued her—and held her—said that she could trust him.

Rough as he’d been.

Electric as she’d felt.

“Come in,” she said, barely audible above the storm. “Come in,” she repeated in a louder voice, although she knew he’d heard her the first time.

He didn’t move, except to shudder in reflex at the endless rolling boom of the thunder.

“The storm’s not moving on.” Her trembling hand reached for him. She was wary, and turned on, and mystified all at once. “It’s too dangerous to stay out here.”

He gave a quick nod. “Thanks.” He stepped through the doorway, ducking sideways to avoid her hand when it hovered between them. She looked curiously at her numb fingers before giving them a shake as she bumped shut the door.

The past few minutes had happened so fast. Her mind was whirling with questions. Who was he? How had he appeared so suddenly? Normal sensations were slowly returning to her body, yet she continued to feel strange. Twitchy and uncertain. Her senses were heightened, but she’d also been numbed, as if her body chemistry had spun off-kilter and she hadn’t adjusted to the new reality.

Merely the storm, she told herself.
You had the shit scared out of you.

They stood in the front hall, a fancy term for the narrow passageway beside the stairs. Karen’s stomach went hollow as she felt for the light switch. Futile. No wonder her reactions were off. The entire house had gone as dark and silent as the grave.

The man, too, but she was certain he’d react in an instant if he had to. Kind of eerie, that, especially when lightning flashed and she saw he’d been watching her all along. As if he could see in the dark.

She wet her lips. “Power’s gone out.”

He made a sound of agreement.

Her eyes were adjusting. “Stay there. I’ll get flashlights and candles.”

He took a big step out of her way when she moved off toward the backside of the house where the kitchen opened off the mudroom. Didn’t trust her not to bump into him in the dark?

“I’m Karen Jaffe.” She rummaged in a drawer, adding, “New in town,” in case he was a local who hadn’t heard of her. Which was pretty unlikely, since Kidder’s grapevine yielded gossip like the Loire produced
vin.
In her first month of residence, whether she’d gone to set up bank accounts or purchase a sack of oats at the feed store, she’d been greeted with, “Yep, I’ve heard about you. Bought the Hanson place, didja.”

“Tomzak,” her mystery guest said from the doorway right behind her. His deep voice went up her spine like a chill.

Karen swallowed. “You scared me. I didn’t hear you come in.” The wide, plank floors she’d adored at first sight creaked badly, but between the thunder and rain—never mind her racing pulse—she wasn’t hearing much else.

“Sorry. I’m Gabe Tomzak.”

Her fingers closed around the slender Maglite she kept in the kitchen junk drawer. She flicked it on, just able to resist an intense desire to shine it full in her guest’s face to get a good look at him. Instead, she followed the path of light to the mud room, where she kept a big, heavy-duty flashlight. Her mouth was as dry as mothballs.

She swallowed again. The sense of onrushing desire rose back up. “You from around here, Gabe?”

“Nope. St. Louis. I’m on … vacation. Staying at a friend’s cabin on Torch Lake.”

A few miles northeast of Karen’s property. She switched on the big flashlight and set it on the counter to illuminate the kitchen. “What were you doing out in the storm?”

Gabe stayed out of the wide arc of light. “It came up fast.”

“Yes.” Her fingers tightened as she swung the weaker beam toward him. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

He didn’t try to avoid her inspection as she played the light across his face. Strong bones, even features. Younger than she’d thought, maybe late twenties.

“I was caught out,” he said, looking at her with a blank expression. “Biking to town for groceries.”

While he seemed trustworthy, she was torn. Her intuition was sending up alarms. The man had a secret. Not a serial killer, turn-her-internal-organs-into-canapés kind of secret, but …

She needed to see more. When the beam of light lowered toward his chest, still heaving despite his otherwise calm, she thought that his eyes flickered. A trick of the light, she told herself, before she caught the fleeting smile.

Aha. He was brash.

Well, so was she. Instead of glancing the light across his body, she let it linger. A vintage Barking Irons tee stretched across his broad chest, topping a white thermal shirt with ragged sleeves. Faded blue jeans sculpted his thighs and a nicely full package. She stared for a couple of seconds, her body turning warm and liquid, before she dropped her eyes. He wore big, heavy work boots with thick rubber soles.

“Biking, huh,” she said. In those boots?

His hands flexed, hanging at his sides.

“I didn’t see a bike,” she added with a level calm to match his own, even though her libido was spiking off the charts.

“I left it behind when the lightning started. Metal.”

“The tires are rubber.” She moved the light across his boots.

He didn’t reply. Didn’t move. Except for a tightening in his abdomen, plainly evident under the thin skin of the wet shirts. And, again, the flicker of something secretive in his eyes.

She mused over the swell of his chest for another few seconds before a cold rivulet trickled down her nape and brought her back to the present. “We need to warm up.” Ignoring that she was already warm enough, she grabbed candles off the top of the refrigerator and set them near the flashlight. “I’ll go get towels. You’ll find matches in the—”

A bolt of lightning cracked nearby. They both flinched. “Damn,” Karen said. “The storm’s still so close.”

She leaned over the sink to see out the window. The flames were out. The rended tree smoked in the rain, raw and blackened where the branch had split away. The barn was barely visible through the downpour.

She snatched up the big flashlight and thrust it at Gabe. He fumbled, resisting. She pushed it on him. “Here, take this and go into the living room. There’s a fireplace. We can—”

The flashlight crackled, then sputtered out.

“Shoot,” she said. “I don’t know if I have more batteries.”

“It’s not—” He stopped.

She aimed the Maglite at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” He hit the back of the plastic flashlight casing against his palm, jiggling the batteries inside. “Nope. It’s dead.” He set the light on the counter. “Sorry.”

“Take this one.” She pressed the other flashlight on him.

“No, you keep it,” he said, thrusting it away as the beam blinked out. A spark shot between their hands.

Karen let out a squeak and jumped away. The flashlight hit the floor with a
crack.

For a moment, beneath the drumming rain, they stood unmoving in a black and total silence. Then thunder rumbled and lightning crashed, still dangerously close. Every hair on Karen’s body rose in tingling warning. She’d seen in the flash of light that Gabe was shivering with tension, his eyes squeezed shut. Almost as if in pain.

Curious and curiouser.

He sucked in a breath and swayed away when she bent to retrieve the light. She straightened, tempted to touch a fingertip to his arm to see if another spark would fly.