MERISSA FOUND CARSON hard going as a houseguest. He never said a word. He nodded as he passed them when he got up in the morning, but he was constantly out and about on the property. He checked out all the rooms. There was an attic, too, but Merissa assured him that it was only a crawlspace and a ladder would be required to access it. They didn’t even have a ladder.
The second day he was there, Merissa got up the nerve to ask him if he wanted coffee when he started out the door.
He paused, glanced at her wary expression and retraced his steps. He was much taller than she was, about Dalton’s height. But he was much more somber and uptight.
“It’s okay if you don’t,” she said quickly. “I just wanted to offer. I mean, you don’t eat meals with us or... We wouldn’t mind, you know, there’s always extra food...”
He liked her shyness. It was unusual. Well, Cash Grier’s vicious little secretary was shy when she wasn’t verbally assaulting him. He hated the memory of her. He hated having hurt her...
Merissa swallowed, because he looked suddenly angry. She had a terror of angry men, learned at a very early age from her father.
Carson saw it and forcibly relaxed his expression. “I appreciate the offer of food, but I have meals at the Kirk ranch, so that I can keep Dalton up-to-date.” He smiled. “He really has a case on you.”
She smiled back, and her whole face lit up. “I sort of have a case on him, too,” she confessed. “He’s...very special.”
“He feels the same about you.” He hesitated. “I would like coffee.”
She beamed. “I just made a fresh pot. It’s rather strong,” she said hesitantly.
“I like coffee that needs to be cut with a knife,” he told her.
She was amazed at the difference it made when he smiled. He was an odd sort of man, reclusive and introverted. But she sensed tragedy about him. Great tragedy.
Her eyes became that odd opaque shade that indicated she was seeing things far away and back in time. She poured his coffee and put it in front of him. She sat down with her own. Her expression was troubled.
He was quick. He knew about her special gifts. “You know things about me,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” she confessed.
“And not gleaned from any conventional source.”
“That’s also true.” She looked at him with true compassion. “I’m so sorry, for what happened to you.”
His face hardened for a moment and then suddenly relaxed. He stared into the black coffee. “I’ve never spoken of it,” he replied quietly. “My parents are both dead, and I had no siblings. I have a cousin or two spread around in the Lakota and Northern Cheyenne reservations. Nobody close. Not anymore.”
“Losing the child was the worst of it,” she said in a soft monotone, her eyes far away. “She lied to you.” Her face tautened. “But it wasn’t your fault,” she said suddenly, staring right into his shocked eyes. “He was drinking...”
He drew in a sharp breath.
“You didn’t know,” she said, nodding. “You should check the police report. It was why he wrecked the car. He didn’t mean to kill her, or himself.”
“I chased them,” he gritted.
“Of course you did. You were young and in love, and she’d hurt you. It’s not a good thing, but it’s a human thing. It was a mistake. But you’re still punishing yourself for it. What sort of life is that?” she asked gently.
He bit his lower lip, almost hard enough to draw blood.
“I know. You don’t speak of such matters to anyone. But I’m...not like other people,” she faltered. She swallowed. “I know things. I see things. I’m outside, looking in. I don’t belong to this world, except in a disassociated fashion. I’m an outcast. Like you,” she added with a sad smile.
He looked at her with his true face, the one he never let show. It was vulnerable and still and sad. “Her cousin told me the child was mine. She was seven months pregnant, but she didn’t want me. She wanted him. He beat her, abused her...treated her like dirt. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t leave him. I couldn’t make her see sense. He came to her house and saw me, and ordered her into the car. He jerked her in, with no consideration for her condition, and sped off. I thought...he was going to hurt her. She had my child inside her. I chased them, trying to save her.” His eyes closed. “He hit the side of the bridge. It was made of wood and the car went through it. They dropped into the river, far below. They found the bodies downstream the next day.”
“I’m so sorry,” she told him, and meant it. “It destroyed your life.”
“Yes,” he said tautly. “I decided that variety was better than commitment.” He looked world-weary. “But it’s not. At the end of the day, I’m still alone.”
“We’re all alone, inside ourselves,” she said, her voice quiet and soft. “I’ve lived that way, too. Well, not with the variety thing.” She laughed. “My mother and I are people of faith. We don’t walk in step with the modern world.”
He cocked his head and studied her. Innocence. It was as clear as day. It reminded him of Carlie’s face, as guileless as a child’s. He remembered what he’d said to Carlie and it shamed him all over again.
Merissa frowned. “There was an attack,” she said in a monotone. “With a knife. She tried to save him...”
“She? Who?”
“She works for a man in a uniform,” she said. She blinked. “I’m sorry, I can’t see any more than that. But there are secrets, deadly secrets. She doesn’t even know some of them. Her father...” She cleared her throat. “It went away.”
He knew who she was seeing. Carlie. He remembered the odd fit of her T-shirt at the shoulder and her fear of his knife. He remembered what she’d told them about her father being attacked with a knife. Maybe she’d gotten in front of him, been cut. And he’d said he liked his women prettier and more physically perfect! He almost groaned.
“You have...a remarkable gift,” he managed after a minute.
“A gift and a curse,” she replied. “I hate most of the things I see. It’s what saved Dalton, though,” she told him. “I told him that he was under threat because of something he didn’t remember. He had no idea.”
He nodded. “His assailant would probably have killed him if you hadn’t given him the warning.” He hesitated. “What do you see, in my future, if you don’t mind my asking?”
She studied him for a long time. Her eyes took on the opaque look once more. “Your past will mar your future,” she said quietly. “It makes a wall, between you and something you want. Something you’re afraid to want.”
He frowned. “Do you know what it is, exactly?”
She drew in a breath. “Sorry. It doesn’t work that way. It’s like I can see the pattern of things, but not the substance. Sort of like seeing the skeleton, with no flesh on it.”
He smiled. “Well, I guess I’d better lie about my past when whatever it is presents itself,” he said with a twist of his lips.
“Lying is never a good idea,” she pointed out. “Even when it’s painful, the truth is the best path.”
“Perhaps,” he said. He finished his coffee and got to his feet. “Thank you,” he said solemnly.
“For what?” she asked.
He smiled. “For being a good listener.”
She smiled back. “I might add that I never speak of personal matters to people who aren’t involved with them. I won’t tell anyone what I know about you.” She pursed her lips. “Not even the crocodile thing, overseas.”
“That wasn’t really me. It was Rourke. I just assisted.”
“Why did Rourke feed a man to a crocodile?” she asked curiously.
His face went taut. “The man in question tortured a young woman—a personal friend of Rourke’s who’s a photojournalist. He used a knife on her. She’ll carry the scars forever, unless she decides to have plastic surgery. Right now, she won’t talk about it. She calls them badges of courage.”
“What a brave young woman,” Merissa said.
“Very brave. Rourke’s known her since she was a child. He hates her most of the time, God knows why. But he went berserk when she was kidnapped.”
“Yes. I saw her,” she replied. “I told Rourke what I saw.”
