Posted by hisdinner on March 23, 2005 at 23:16:14:
3-23-05
King of the Mountain
It was better than dying, but not by much. Daniel scrabbled his fingers into the sharp rocks and slippery soil of the bank, kicking in new footholds as he rose. About 15 feet more to go and he'd be back up to the road. His shoulders quivered with the strain of pulling his body up a nearly vertical slope, and he lost three feet for each two he gained, getting a mouthful of red mud each time he slid down again. Forty minutes passed, a hawk circled high out over the canyon behind him, and somehow Daniel managed to throw an arm and then a leg up over the verge. He grunted and swore and pulled the rest of himself over the edge and rolled onto the slick clay shoulder of the mountain road.
It was ten a.m., and the sap was starting to scent the air as the sun warmed the pines. Daniel lay flat out on the shoulder and caught up on his breathing. He hadn't planned a rock climb today, just a little bike ride from his summer cabin, down the mountain to the tourist trap below. Now his bike lay in a tangled heap over the edge and damned if he was going back down there to retrieve it without some rope and—the hell with it, he'd get a new one. That bike was as mangled as he might have been. The logging truck had come around a blind curve, swerved and bumped him off the road. Lucky it had clipped the bike and not his skull. Lamebrain driver hadn't even noticed, Daniel figured. That truck was probably down to the turn off to Highway 200 by now.
"This is my reward for trying to get a little exercise," he said. "Hell with that, too, life's too short, ow, damn it!" Daniel had just discovered a pretty deep gash in his calf. He touched the rip in his new jeans, gingerly peeled apart the denim to look at his wound. Dan swore again and began hiking the two miles back up the road to his cabin. He limped as the bruises began announcing themselves; Daniel hobbled, sweat poured, and he vowed to never leave the cabin again without his Jeep.
The first mile wasn't bad, but the second zigzagged up the nearly vertical face of the mountaintop. He got to a bend and noticed a little logging road running straight back into some dense pines. It looked cool and dark in there, and Daniel needed a rest. He wondered if that spring came close, he could use some water. He'd left his canteen hooked to his twisted bike. Daniel turned from the paved road and picked his way down a rutted narrow logging path.
Trees shaded the road, and sure enough, up ahead he could hear water splashing down on rock. The road sloped a little downward and into a thicker grove, and Daniel stumbled as his knees protested the strain. The gash in his calf was throbbing and his mouth was dry. But he was almost there, the water rushed; he could smell the dampness in the air.
"Shit!" His foot slipped out beneath him on a moss-covered rock, and he fell hard onto his knees. But he'd reached the tiny stream, maybe a foot wide where it began at the base of the tiny waterfall, four feet up the rise of rock above his head. Daniel moaned and let the snow melt shock him, so icy cold, it took his breath away. He held his head beneath the stream until he thought his head might explode, and then he pulled it out, sank down to the level of the burbling creeklet, and drank his fill.
Daniel sat beside the stream, watching the clear water run shallow over the surface of rocks, sunlight dappling, summer heat staved off. Eden, if only his body weren't banged up like a demolition derby car. He grinned. He was getting too old for this. He grunted as he daubed the chill water onto his wound. He'd live. Back that last mile to the cabin, now, then maybe a nice nap before he set off in the Jeep for those groceries. He made a mental note to add beer to his list. Maybe a pint of brandy for medicinal purposes. Yeah.
Daniel was picking out a path away from the spring, minding his way around the slicks of moss, when he smelled smoke. "I didn't think anyone lived below me till the Johnson's, down the next zigzag." If someone lived down this road, you could bet they didn't commute by mountain bike. This road needed goats to negotiate its dips and washouts. Winter runoff had carved deep chasms into the narrow path in irregular intervals. Daniel was curious. Anyone who lived back here had to be an interesting sort. The type who probably thought a shotgun blast was a neighborly way to say hello. But still he followed the little path and the smoky air. He told himself that he'd better check to be sure it wasn't an unguarded campfire, some kids out setting the woods aflame. He wasn't being nosy, no—he was being a good citizen. Make Smokey proud of him.
The mountain curved back in on itself here, and the ground leveled out to make a natural shelf that widened as he rounded the edge of the path. The terrain resembled one of those corner nooks that every grandmother has, filled with precious knick knacks. Daniel wondered what sort of trinkets he'd find on display, outside of trees, trees, and more trees. Up ahead, he could just make out a small clearing through the pines; the smoke came from a fire there. Beyond the clearing, the wall of the mountain rose up again, rocky and nearly vertical with outcroppings hosting scraggly pinions and juniper. Trees shrouded the base of the mountain, but there was darkness behind the pines--darker than it should be, this time of day. A cave? Daniel stopped to think this over. God knows, he had almost got himself killed for his first half-cocked notion of the day—that he could fly down a twisty mountain road on a bicycle. How much dumber would it be, he wondered, to go strolling into somebody's hermit dwelling, unannounced?
Pretty dumb, he figured. But that's what separates me from the average idiot. He decided he'd make extra noise, like they say is good in bear country. Let them know you're coming; they won't mind you if you don't mind them. He just hoped he didn't smell like dinner. He limped along, approaching the fire. It was a dugout pit with a covering of pine bows and wet grasses slung over it, there was as much steam as smoke rising in the air. --And a smell, so very sweet. He stopped four feet from the pit, amazed at the heat he felt rising. Whatever was cooking there was getting close to done. His belly growled. He was ravenous. Add hot dogs to the list, he told himself. And more beer.
Daniel saw a flash of cloth behind the pines that shielded a small cave entrance. This was no miner's claim, he figured, this was a natural hole, not much bigger than the double doors leading into say, a 7-11. Damn, he was hungry. "Hello? Anybody around?"
Daniel's mouth watered as the smoke drifted his way. He'd been to Hawaii once and sat through the obligatory luau. The hula girls were nice, the drumming was frenetic, but the pork those Hawaiian girls had served? It was ambrosial. The scent in the air reminded him of that. Smoky, sweet, and—he saw movement again, a small hand waving from the mouth of the cave. No face attached. Daniel was a little spooked. Was there a Neanderthal with an upraised club waiting for him to duck inside? One way to find out, he figured. Daniel used both hands to part the low-hanging branches as he made his way to the cave.
He found a girl. She hadn't spoken because she was gagged. And she hadn't come further out because one of her ankles was tethered to a chain, manacled. She was filthy, she was frightened, and Daniel thought she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. When he reached out to tug her gag free, she flinched at the end of her chain. He shook his head and made soothing nonsense sounds, wondering if she even understood English. He felt wildly confused, as if he'd wandered right down that rabbit hole and into some bizarre alternate universe—any minute now, the pirates would come, lugging their booty, he just knew it.
He whispered, "I'm Daniel, uh-- Are you ok?" And flushed, embarrassed. This girl is being held prisoner, and you're asking if she's ok? Idiot. She cleared her throat, brushed frantically at her hair as if to make herself presentable. Daniel wanted to tell her that she needn't bother. Then he felt like a lecherous old man again—
"Here you are, chained to a rock and I'm making small talk. Let's get you out of here first." He hunted around for something to break that clasp and free her. She hadn't spoken, she'd simply stood there, suddenly conscious of her torn dress, her mud-streaked legs and dirty face. Daniel watched her helplessly as she began to weep.
"Delia," she said. "Take me with you? Please, he'll be back any minute now, Mister, you gotta help me." Daniel stopped digging for tools and embraced the girl. She was warm, with masses of mahogany hair, tangled over clear green eyes and a trembling berry-red mouth. So kissable. Daniel soothed her, feeling guilty for the other feelings he had, holding this little thing. She might be twenty? His daughter's age! All he knew was that she felt just right, here in his arms. And that if he didn't stop daydreaming, things could get ugly.
Daniel sat her down on a crude bench, found a crow bar and some sort of mallet back by the woodpile. He was in luck; he was able to work the crowbar into a rusty ring and force it nearly apart, and the mallet finished the job, and he freed her. The girl ran out into the sunlight and then stopped short, the scent from the fire wafting around her. Her face blanched, and as Daniel reached her, she sank to her knees, sobbing.
"What's the matter? Did you step on something?" Daniel's body ached with every turn and twist he took, the tumble down the mountainside had banged him up worse than he thought. He knelt in front of Delia, gently lifted her foot. She shook her head and pointed toward the fire pit, sobbing, saying something he couldn't quite understand.
She looked up at Daniel, glanced at the sun and shot up to her feet, tugging at both of his hands, urging Daniel up and out of there. He bit back his need to howl against the sharp pain in his ribs, and followed her up the path he'd taken into the place. They were in the trees, still in sight of the clearing when she turned to him and said, "That was my sister. There!" She ran ahead of him, leaping over rocks and fallen branches. Daniel pursued her like a clumsy but loyal dog, determined to catch up to her, to make some sense out of this. Who was her sister? Did she mean her sister had chained her up back there? Daniel was out of breath and rasping, his knees and his wounded calf were screaming. She finally stopped and clambered off the path and behind a thick tree trunk to wait for him. She watched as Daniel panted and hobbled the last few feet up the soft earth of the hillside. He fell against the tree trunk, unable to speak.
Delia peered back toward the camp. A man had emerged at the far side of the clearing. He carried a knapsack and a large staff that he used to pull himself up to the flattened surface of the shelf. "Got them berries you like so much, girl! And wild asparagus, my own secret patch of it. Mike ain't telling nobody where that shit grows."
Daniel's heart thumped and he nearly lost his balance against the tree when he heard the booming voice. "Christ, is that the guy who captured you?" Daniel stared back at Mike as he tended his barbecue pit. That guy was a walking caricature. Daniel shook his head, and almost giggled with the crazy exhilaration of it. "He is going to be so mad when he finds out –" But they'd got away, it was ok, now, what a story to tell, my god, if he wrote this up, the guys would never believe him. "You trying to write boys adventure now, Danny?" He could just hear them.
Delia's eyes widened and she shushed Daniel and pulled him down to the path again. Daniel took one last glance at the bear of a man lumbering around the clearing, talking to himself. Lucky for them, Mike had decided to tend his fire before he delivered his groceries. The burly, wild-haired, bearded man sprinkled the grass and pine boughs with water, and then he sat by the fire and lit a smoke. Daniel felt Delia tugging, heard her frantic whimper, and got moving again, despite the ice picks playing hopscotch in his side and in his legs.
Delia reached the mossy stones and slipped through them, casting a fleeting, longing glance at the stream cascading down the rock. Daniel expected that his face mirrored her expression. Touching her had filled him with such a powerful thirst. He watched her clamber over the slick stones and onto the sharp rocks and up the path again, sure-footed, sturdy, compact, browned from the sun. Her body obeyed her, it went where she told it to go, whereas Daniel's fought him at every turn, each step got worse, he feared he might have a cracked rib, maybe two. Watching Delia almost took the pain away, though. She resembled some natural forest creature—a puma, a mountain cat, something sure and lean and –Daniel stumbled onto the paved surface of the main road and almost lost his balance. Delia stood in the shadows, suddenly looking far less assured.
"Where is your car?" she asked, glancing up and down the road. Daniel pointed uphill. He couldn't get a breath to speak, and when he did, it those ice picks tickled him again.
"About a--mile to go. I rent the cabin on the top." His back was starting to report in, too. His muscles were quivering. He wanted to ask her so many things. If only he could breathe.
"You were out hiking?"
"I was. Taking. A ride. On. On a bike." He managed to stammer it out. So hard to talk and move straight uphill after tumbling the hell all the way down. Damn, he was in rough shape.
Delia moved in beside him and propelled him along with an arm, so casually draped around his waist. Her touch electrified him, and he increased his pace. Mountain Mike be damned, this girl was his!
Where did that come from? Daniel asked himself. Course, it's not every day I save some girl from a caveman, is it? Daniel glanced at Delia and she looked up at him, and then flicked her gaze behind them. No sign of Mike, still. She pushed the two of them up the steep stretch of road until they reached the tiny drive that led to Daniel's cabin. The road crested there, nothing but blue sky and fat cumulous clouds beyond. Delia forgot her monster for a moment and gasped at the view.
"Yeah, I'm king of the mountain, that's me," Daniel said, as soon as he'd caught his breath. "Let's get inside, come on."
Delia shook her head. "We have to go now, before he finds us. He'll kill you. He'll kill me, too." She shook when she said it. Daniel tried to pull her down the trail to the cabin, and she pulled her hand away, refused to leave the road.
"Delia, listen. I have to go in, I need my keys, they're in the cabin. Come in, get a drink of water. Want some clothes? Come on." Daniel watched her face. She stood in the sun —like a small bronze statue, Daniel thought. A golden girl. He stood there, awed at the sight of her.
She shot past him, landing on his porch, rattling the door. "Let's go let's go," she begged. "He's going to come, I know he is. Please!" She yanked the door again and the flimsy lock popped open. Daniel shook himself, dazed. It was hard to keep his head focused on the reality of the situation. Just below them was a crazy mountain man. And right here, in his summer cabin, was a girl with a manacle on her ankle, begging him to run away with her. Daniel started to laugh, and the pain grabbed him and wouldn't let go. He got a little feeble, gray dots in his vision, and he sank to the floor on hands and knees. Woozy. Shit. Almost passed out.
The girl was tentative, terrified. "What's wrong?" She touched his shoulder, tried to help him up—and Daniel stifled a yelp.
"Think I cracked a rib, I had an accident." He took his time getting to his feet again and then hobbled to the cabinet and pulled out the first aid kit. "Tell you what. Let me just get some tape around me, we'll drive into town and call the sheriff on that creep."
Daniel pulled out the widest tape he could find and tried to wrap it around his ribs. He failed miserably, unable to fight the pain enough to raise his arms. Delia took the tape and pressed it to him. Daniel flushed, winced and nodded as she ran the tape around him. She had to lean in close, to reach around him and secure it to his sides. The scent of her was wild, piney, spicy, and pure. He reached out a hand, caressed her hair.
Delia stepped back, her mind on getting out, running. She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, more frantic by the minute. Daniel's hand fall away from her. He turned to the sink, filled up a huge cup with water, and handed it to her. She sipped it, eyeing the windows, the door, and the Jeep keys on the counter. Daniel grabbed a handful of T-shirts from the closet, tossed one to her, and hobbled to the door. He turned back to her and started to say, "I need to get some antiseptic on this cut; the med-kit was out—"
The screen door exploded against the side of the house, and a monster filled the doorframe. Daniel jumped and came down hard on his bad leg, lost his balance and rolled away from the roaring brute that stormed inside.
"Delia! Delia!" Mike shouted, hoarse and lathering, his stench filling the air. The grizzled man aimed one kick at Daniel and managed to graze his side, just where Delia had taped it, moments ago. Daniel howled as he connected hard with the wall, knocking his head against it, coughing, seeing stars. His heart raced as he watched Mike chase the girl. Spittle clung to the wild man's beard as he closed in on Delia, and she screamed. She couldn't get past Mike and out the door and so she turned and ran into the back of the cabin, shrieking, "Nooo!"
Daniel rolled over and pulled himself to his feet again. He wasn't a small man, but at six foot even, he was dwarfed by the bulky monster. And monster Mike was about to catch that precious girl. Again! Couldn't let it happen. Daniel raced back to the cabinet and reached into the back for his .44. It had been a joke gift from the guys in his office; they loved to kid him about his summers in the Wild West. He had killed a lot of beer cans with this thing. Over killed 'em, really—a .44 put a ridiculously big hole in an empty can of Bud. Daniel checked-- all loaded, safety off. He bet it would make just the right-sized hole in a gorilla like this.
Delia ran to the great room, found the loft, clambered up the ladder and pulled it up behind her. She was throwing things at the brute. Mike cast about the room, looking for a way up, a way to get his hands back on his prize. He swung his walking stick at her, several feet short of his target.
"Stop it, go away, aaaaa!" She screamed and pelted books and pens at him, anything within her reach. Daniel winced as he saw her take aim at Mike's head with the box containing his latest failed manuscript. She had good aim, and Mike's forehead caught a corner of the box; papers fluttered everywhere. Daniel figured his writing was finally worth something. Daniel hobbled into the room, lugging the big gun at his side.
Mike wouldn't be deterred. He dragged a barstool close, he climbed up on it, swearing, mumbling, "Cordelia girl, you are in so much trouble."
Daniel stumbled closer, his body quivering, sapped of strength and running raw on adrenaline. He gripped the heavy pistol in both hands and raised it, sighting in. Damn! His ribs caught him, he couldn't pull the gun higher, he knelt to compensate, and all the while, the monster was straightening up, getting closer to her. Daniel rested his wrists on the back of the couch and aimed at the mountain man's head. "Damn it, Delia, get out of the way!" Daniel shouted. The monster teetered on top of the stool, reaching up to grab the heavy cross brace that supported the loft. He could swing up easily once he got hold. Daniel tensed and gasped, tried to steady himself. He sighted down the long barrel and he fired.
His first shot went into the timbers above the man's head. Mike turned and roared, lost his balance and tumbled off the stool. Daniel fired again, not even trying to aim, and missed. Delia screamed and Daniel decided to try another tack. He ran through the back door and out onto the deck. Daniel felt something give inside him. Not good. Mike pursued him, wielding his heavy walking stick, roaring, "Kill you bastard! Kill you dead!"
Daniel backed up until he felt the railing at the edge of the deck against his thighs. He drew the pistol up to waist height, thought, "Oh what the hell," and fired. The bullet would either hit Mike, or Mike would hit him. He figured his time in seconds now. Some summer vacation, rent a cabin, rescue a beautiful young girl and pow! --get smashed to smithereens. The bullet was straight on target, Daniel was sure of it, but Mike showed surprising agility for his bulk, twisting away, spinning and running back at Daniel like a bull.
He threw the .44 away and dove for giant's knees instead. Daniel caught the monster just as Mike was about to smack him with the walking stick. Daniel's arms wrapped around Mike's legs, just below the knees. Now what? Daniel screamed inside his skull. You caught the fucking tiger by the tail, now what do you do? Daniel felt the railing against his back and he did the only thing he could.
He got his knees beneath himself and he pushed straight up, his arms locked in a death grip around Mike's thick calves. They swayed, each man sputtering and grunting, and Mike hung in the air for torturous seconds, the monster flailing at the crazy man holding him like some circus strongman act. And then momentum took over, and Mike tipped forward, out over the railing, farther, his bulk pulled out into the thousand foot drop. Daniel barely remembered to let go. And he knew his back would never be the same.
Gasping, leaning up against the railing, Daniel heard a guttural wail as the big man tumbled through space. Long seconds later Mike's scream chopped short as he hit the boulders at the base of the cliff. Daniel grimaced and forced himself to turn and look. Delia's monster had landed in a crumpled heap on a ledge at least 500 feet below. The trees there looked like scale replicas from a model railroad set.
As he watched, the body rolled into the trees. Had to be momentum. It had to be. He squinted, could he see a spot of red on the rocks where Mike had landed? He wanted to believe he could. Daniel closed his eyes.
Delia touched his forehead with her lips. Daniel moaned. "Can't move so good," he muttered, as she gingerly undid his shirt.
"You're bleeding!" she said. Delia looked around. "Where's Daddy?"
----------------------------------------------------
That's when he passed out, Daniel figured—it was as much from Delia's little revelation as it had been from the abuse his body had taken. Her Daddy? Yeah. As it turned out, Mike was a man who had gone a little crazy when his daughters got to be teenagers. He'd packed the family into the RV and headed as deep into the mountains as he could. Delia told him all this while she sat next to him in the emergency room, waiting endless hours for doctors to check him out, fix him up, and send him home.
"He kept you chained up in the mountains?" Daniel was x-rayed, taped and stitched and drugged. He felt damned good right now, but he knew he'd be paying weeks for this. But still. Look at this beautiful girl. Sitting here, not wanting to go. He figured –hell, he had no idea why she'd taken to him, but he sure wasn't going to fight it.
"No, not at first, we just were camping. Then he started getting weird." Delia squirmed and looked away. Daniel drifted on morphine, let it go for awhile. Felt her hand in his. All he needed, for now.
"Think you can drive us back to the cabin?" Daniel was sitting up, putting on his shoes. He was woozy as hell, but he wanted out of here. The hospital smells, the miseries all around them. It had been only four hours since Mike had gone sailing over that rail. Neither one of them had said a word about the sheriff. It was too much to think about, somehow.
"Do we have to go back there?" Delia shivered, dwarfed in Daniel's oversize T-shirt.
We. Daniel liked the sound of that; he liked the feel of her hand in his. She'd hardly let go of him since she'd managed to get him into the truck and down to town, twenty miles away. Now they were headed back up the mountain road. "It's where I live," Daniel had whispered. "All my stuff is there—want to join me?"
Delia kept her eyes on the road, but she nodded and smiled shyly. She drove the jeep badly, but kept them between the lines, all the way to the top and into Daniel's driveway. She helped him hobble into the cabin. She helped him to undress and lay back on his bed. She lay with him, kept her distance at first, afraid to hurt him. He motioned her closer, and she hovered above him, hair falling onto his chest, staring into his eyes. "Thank you, Daniel," she said. And she kissed him. She wriggled in close behind him, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, tried to soothe him as he rested. Daniel might have dreamed it, or else they'd made love, slow and deep and good.
They slept. Her scream woke them both. "Don't cut her! Regan!" She sobbed and clung to him, and he held her against his bruised body and felt her shake.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he whispered into her hair. She didn't answer for the longest time. And then she told him nothing. Cut who? The sister, the one who got away, or—what? So many mysteries here. Daniel hoped she'd have years to tell him, years to heal.
"Could he—is he still alive?" she asked.
Daniel had been dreading this. "I don't know for sure. I can go down there. I can check."
Delia drew into herself. "What if he comes back? Oh god." She sobbed against him, he held her. And then Daniel sat up and put on his clothes.
"I'll take the Jeep; it's going to be ok. You stay here."
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So that was how Daniel happened to visit the camp two times in less than a day. His ribs protested every rut and bump on the terrible road, but this trip would be worth it for the peace of mind it would bring, he figured. He was still running on a weird adrenaline high, sort of buzzy-headed, like Channel 8 was permanently trying to tune him in. All crazy. But why worry about telling the sheriff about some worthless dead guy? If the guy turned up NOT dead—well, Daniel figured, that would be the time to get the cops involved.
He pulled the Jeep around the fire trail that traced the backside of the mountain. He could see the lights of the cabin from here. He knew he was in the right place. Daniel turned on his high beams and scanned the trees by the edge of the outcropping. There. He pulled the Jeep up as close as he could. Just to be sure. Yes. It was the mangled body of the man. Daniel pictured Delia, chained and gagged and he wanted to go out and kill Mike all over again, tear his heart out, destroy every bit of him. But yeah, he was dead, and the scavengers would feast on him. Daniel maneuvered the Jeep around and headed back to the main road again. Good enough for him.
Heading back up the mountain, he came to the turn just shy of the crest. Something made him veer off course, made him visit the camp where Delia had lived. He pulled up close to the rough table that paralled the fire pit. Hm. Something there. He played the headlights on it. A shovel, some fire tools, a big flat pan.
Daniel got out of the Jeep and the scent hit him again, stronger than ever. How long had it been, eight hours or more since he'd first been here? If Mike was roasting anything smaller than a pig, it would be charred to nothing by now. But this was too much to resist. The luau scent, what had they called it? Kailua pig. He had to see. He just had to have a taste of this.
It took him longer than it should have to unearth the roast, but he was beginning to feel the hurt again. He'd shoveled away all the layers of boughs and ash and dirt, he'd pulled up a muslin-wrapped carcass that was surprisingly long. Deer? He wondered. It was dark, he'd had to shut off the lights on the Jeep, couldn't risk running the battery down. There was no way he was going to make that hike up the mountain again.
Moonlight revealed a footless, headless torso that practically melted off the bones as he parted the muslin casing to reveal the roast. The clouds of steam that rose nearly brought him to his knees. Oh yeah. Whatever this was, it was gonna be dinner tonight. Ouch! Hot!! He stripped off a tender bit from the upper leg of the animal. Delicious! Sweet, juicy, heaven. Well, ok Mike, Daniel thought. Why not have a meal on you?
He drove home, weakened, smiling, the bundled carcass in the back. His face was shiny with oily juices, he didn't mind. When he got to the cabin, Delia rushed out to him.
"Is he--?" She asked.
"Yes. For sure. But he left us a nice supper, look. Least he could do, right, Delia?"
The girl shrank back as she watched Daniel. Daniel was unaware, pleased with himself, tossing back the muslin casings with a flourish. "Ta Daaa!" he said.
He looked at Delia, confused. She had taken one look at the meat and turned away, choking, sobbing. Daniel didn't get it. He opened the door to let the cabin light shine on his bounty. And then he saw it. How had he mistaken that body for a deer? Such lovely lines, slender legs running up to rounded thighs, slimming to a trim waist—even remnants of luscious, tender breasts. He wanted to feel sick. But he didn't. And she could see it on his face.
"My sister. Regan!" Delia sobbed.
Daniel sighed and slumped against the side of the Jeep. Third time's the charm, he thought. Some days, it just doesn't pay to get out of bed.