Hiding Out At The Circle C

walking away from me, remember?'

'Yes, but you came to me. I can't resist that, I'm afraid.'

Good Lord, he was something, all rugged man and sweet smile. 'You'll make me forget I'm mad at you.'

'That was the idea… but okay,' he said agreeably, settling back. 'Then just eat.'

'You keep pushing me to eat. You sound like a mom.' But she took the bite he'd put to her mouth.

'A mom? Not your Mom?'

She stilled, the chicken a solid, unswallowable lump in her throat. His gaze searched her features and something he must have read there made him take pity.

'Take my mom, for instance,' he said easily into the awkward silence. 'She didn't have to nag us boys to eat. We ate her out of house and home.'

'Mine didn't have that problem,' Haley said carefully, pushing away the next bite. She'd lost her appetite. 'And you're changing the subject. We were discussing my being mad at you.'

He crunched into the corn on the cob, licked the butter off his wet lips and smiled innocently. 'What does your mother think of your eating habits now?'

Her mother could care less, but because that hurt to admit, she forced a smile. 'Wouldn't you rather know why I'm mad at you?'

'Oh, I already know that. I'd rather know why you won't talk about yourself.'

'You're impossible.' She sat up, determined to wriggle her way out of the hammock, but once again, she'd underestimated him. With one fluid move, he'd gotten rid of the plate and had her stretched out, flat beneath him. They rocked gently from the movement, every inch of her body touching every inch of his. There was something incredibly erotic about the motion.

'So you don't want to talk about yourself.' He played with her hair and smiled into her stormy, furious eyes. 'We can do something else. Anything. You pick, darlin'.'

'I don't think so. You're crowding me, Cameron.'

'Ah, we're back to formalities.' He cupped her face, wishing those eyes didn't hold so many secrets, wishing she didn't resist him so. He didn't like how pale she seemed, how fragile she felt under him. Or how weary she looked. 'Is your stomach better?'

'There's nothing wrong with my stomach.'

Every muscle tightened. 'I thought you said you weren't a liar.'

She pushed at him, stiff with anger, embarrassment, and who knew what else. 'Move. Just move.'

Frustration purled from deep within, and for once, he couldn't find his patience, his gentleness, his innate kindness. 'Damn it, Haley. How can you let yourself go like this?' He gripped her shoulders tightly. 'You shudder in fear when you think no one is watching and you jump if someone so much as walks up behind you. I know you're frightened and you won't let me help. Now, I've agreed not to push, even though you admit you're on the run, but you've been clutching at your stomach like you're going to die. I can't just stand by while you're in pain. Don't ask me to.'

Since he still lay over her, he was well aware of the fact that she'd gone rigid with tension. Her eyes closed, and she inhaled deeply. He felt her slowly relax, then her eyes opened on his. 'I'm sorry. I've not been very fair, have I?'

He shook his head, waiting. The day had fully disappeared into night, but he had no trouble reading the misgivings in her expression. 'Do you need a doctor for the ulcer?'

'No, it's better.' Her smile seemed bright-too bright, as if, once again, she associated her pain with weakness. 'Much better.'

He just looked at her.

'It is,' she insisted. 'I haven't had any trouble in days. You set your food down. I thought you were hungry.'

'Now who's changing the subject?' He kissed her once because he couldn't help himself, then because she seemed so uncomfortable with him plastered to her, he sat and pulled her up next to him. Immediately he felt the loss of her soft, warm body. 'Now tell me why you're mad at me.'

She crossed her arms and gave him that sassy look he was so fond of. 'I thought you said you already knew.'

'I do. I just want to hear you admit it.' Idly, he pushed his foot to the ground and set them into a gentle rocking motion. He tugged her hair. 'I want to hear you admit you're mad because you can't stop thinking about me.'

She sputtered with that, then finally tipped her head back and laughed. 'You're something.'

'I thought I was impossible.'

'That, too.' She tilted her head and studied him. 'I've never known anyone like you, Cameron Reeves.'

'I'm not sure that's a compliment.'

Her smile had a touch of wistfulness in it. 'It's not. Your ego's big enough without my help.'

'A little confidence never hurt anyone.'

She shook her head. 'You've got more than a little confidence. All of you Reeveses do.'

'And that's a bad thing?'

She looked at him and inhaled deeply. 'No, actually. I find yours unsettlingly comforting sometimes.'

He gave her a quick squeeze, touched. But she stiffened on him.

'I've got to go.'

With his arm around her, the beautiful night making soft sounds all around them, and swinging in his favorite hammock. Cam was hard-pressed to think of anything more important to do. 'Do you now? How come?'

'I've got-'

'Work.' he finished for her, at the same time she said the word. 'You always have work. Haven't you learned yet?' He was absolutely earnest about this, desperate for her to understand. 'Work will wait. Life won't.'

Before his eyes, her face changed. Her sorrow became a weight even he could feel burdened under.

'You're right,' she said softly. 'Life is precious. It won't wait and it should never be taken for granted.' She rose. 'Excuse me,' she whispered. And then, without another word, she ran off.

He watched her go, wondering, worrying, at the glint of tears he'd seen.

* * *

He didn't wonder long. Early the next morning, rising before everyone else, Cam picked up the morning paper, needing a distraction from the woman he couldn't stop thinking about. He'd promised himself he'd stay clear of her, he'd get over whatever strange, unaccountable sense of lust he felt.

It hadn't happened. Even his suspicion of all her lies and secrets had dissipated in the face of her fear. He'd convinced himself-nearly-that Haley was fiercely protecting someone by keeping her troubles to herself, and he had the uneasy feeling that someone was him.

It got to him, as little else could have. He felt something for her, something deep and abiding, and he had come to the realization it wasn't going to go away. Hell, if he was going to be honest, he had to admit he'd never felt like this before.

Mentally skipping away from that thought, he skimmed his eyes over the paper. His heart stopped when he saw the headline. Fear and fury raced with equal strength through his veins but he forced himself to read the report, even though every word was like a knife to his chest.

When he was done, he folded the newspaper.

Haley had told him the truth. She was a geologist, and undoubtedly on the run. But she had left out several critical little facts. Like her real last name. And the fact that the South American authorities wanted her for questioning in association with several bombings, the missing uranium and several murders.

She was a criminal.

God, she wasn't like Lorraine; she was far worse.