Chapter 7: Warm Front

Saturday afternoon…about three hours later

He didn't even realize he'd dozed off until a hand on his cheek brought him around. Such a long day… chasing after Tara… The thoughts had been lazy until her name; then his eyes flew open. "Tara?"

A pair of dark eyes met his, a rather serious expression in them. "You know, I realize this cover got a little involved, but I never realized the extent to which you'd carry it."

"What?" Then it hit him what she was implying. "Tara, no… I mean, I didn't mean… this isn't…" He tried to pull away from her, until her eyes started twinkling and a soft smile touched her lips as she put a hand over his mouth.

"Myles. I'm teasing you."

His eyes widened as he realized two things: first, she wasn't mad at him, and second, she was teasing him as usual. As usual… She's okay! Without even thinking further, he crushed her back into his arms as if she'd been away for years, planting a long kiss in her hair. Then he drew back to look into her eyes again.

"Don't you ever do anything like that to me again— do you hear me, Miss Williams?" He tried to sound stern, but he just couldn't manage it— the relief was too overwhelming.

She nodded, a shine of tears making her eyes even more luminous. "I know. It was stupid. I guess, when Jack suggested I wait for you to get back, I just lost it a bit. I'm sorry."

There was a gentle exasperation in his voice. "Tara, you don't have to prove yourself; we know— I know that you are as good a field agent as the rest of us. If we hadn't figured it out before, that whole incident with Gonzales proved it completely." He reached out to stroke her cheek. "And you've proven it again, so well, on this case. I never had a single doubt when I asked you to join me. I know it's hard— you're in a male-dominated line of work, and sometimes, most of the time, that inherent protective streak of ours comes out, no matter how good we know you are. It's nothing personal, and you just have to thwack us up-side the head once in awhile."

She was looking at him as if she'd never seen him before. "Okay, I never thought I'd hear a word like 'thwack' come out of your mouth. And I certainly never expected Myles Leland the Third to actually admit to having a protective streak." Then she smiled. "Although I've seen it in action plenty of times. You really are a lousy liar around the rest of us, Agent Leland, no matter how hard you try."

He laughed. "Let's just hope you're the only one who noticed. How are you feeling?"

"Like I just ran a marathon in a hurricane," she sighed. "But I'm okay now. I'm warm— that's enough for the moment."

"Hungry?"

"Ravenous." At his grin, she blushed a little. "I know, I know – 'as usual'. You make me sound like Bobby."

"Well, then, perhaps we should get ourselves out of this admittedly compromising position and get you something to eat. I told Ruth you were suffering a migraine. She said the kitchen was open whenever you felt like eating."

Tara smiled, then realized what he'd said. She reached up and put her arms around his neck, her eyes threatening to spill over. "Myles, one thing I want you to know: there is nothing compromising about what you did for me. You saved my life. Thank you." There was embarrassment in his blue-grey eyes, but she wouldn't let him look away until she'd placed a very gentle kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."

stfbe

stbfe

He'd made her go take a hot shower even after she'd insisted she was fine; as strange as it was to have him fussing over her, Tara was warmed further by it. How on earth did we miss this opportunity this whole time we've worked together? she thought as she brushed her damp curls, studying her face in the mirror. She noticed a rather angry red mark on her cheek. Where'd I get…? Oh, the fence post; that's right. A closer inspection revealed a nasty-looking sliver imbedded under the skin.

She finished dressing quickly and stepped out of the bathroom; she heard a soft intake of breath and turned toward the sofa, burying a soft gasp of her own. Instead, she smiled and walked over to sit next to him. "I don't suppose you managed to salvage my pocket knife from the wet jeans? Oh, I think I stuck it in my jacket instead, after I got done prying up that trap door in the shed."

He raised a brow at her. "I didn't find it. Checked the pockets of both your jeans and your jacket when I went to grab the camera. It seems to have survived unscathed, by the way. You need your pocketknife for something?"

Tara nodded and pointed to her cheek. "You missed a spot, Doc."

Myles caught her chin in his hand and inspected the damage. "Ouch."

"Now that it's thawed out, yes. But without my knife, I'll have to ask Ruth for a needle and a pair of tweezers, then try to explain how I got a sliver in my cheek in the first place."

His slow smile was mischievous and totally endearing. "Then I guess it's a good thing you partnered up with an Eagle Scout." He reached into the pocket of his khakis and pulled out a Swiss Army knife. "Too bad the first-aid kit's under three feet of snow right now; I don't have anything to sterilize this with."

"How'd a first-aid kit get into a rental?" she asked.

Another of those silver shrugs. "Told you— Eagle Scout."

She laughed. "Except 'Sir Eagle' left it in the car. It's a good thing you partnered up with a woman who believes in oversized purses." She got up and grabbed her purse, then returned to the sofa. A moment's rummaging, and she handed him a disposable lighter. "That should work. Now could you please get this thing out of my face before it puts down roots?"

"I think I can manage that." His touch was sure but gentle as he lightly probed for the sliver. While he worked, that same smile appeared again. "So how come, if you stock a lighter in that arsenal of yours when you don't smoke, you didn't have a needle and some tweezers?"

It took some doing not to smile back; she knew that would seriously jeopardize his task. "The tweezers were a part of my knife; it must have fallen out of my jacket pocket while you were carrying me back here. As for the needle, every time I attempt to sew on a button, I end up skewering my finger, so I gave up."

A low chuckle escaped him. "And here I thought you were one of those ladies who could chase down the bad guys then go home and whip up a cheese soufflé to serve on your hand-sewn tablecloth without batting an eyelash. Here, can you grab the tweezers out of my knife?"

She did so, wondering how she'd never noticed how his eyes went much more blue when he was teasing. Then again, how often do any of us get to see this side of him? He spends so much effort veiling it all in sarcasm. "Here. And I don't think I've even had cheese soufflé, let alone attempted to make one. Martha Stewart I'm not."

"No, you're much more interesting." Suddenly, he rather abruptly drew back and his manner went totally businesslike as he pulled the sliver out of her cheek. "There you go," he said distantly. "Do you have an alcohol wipe or something in your purse? That cut could stand some cleaning, or else Ruth will notice it for sure." He stood and walked over toward the window seat, effectively shutting her out.

Tara sat for a moment, stunned. Then she realized what he'd said, and the look in his eyes as he'd said it. He'd allowed her further inside than likely anyone in a long time, and it had scared him deeply. The realization made her smile, then realized she was doing the same thing; it just didn't scare her as much. How did we get here? she thought in amazement. And why did it take us so long?

Deciding she could give him time to regroup, she grabbed a first-aid wipe out of her purse, dabbed at her cheek, then stood and walked over to him. Unconsciously avoiding the view of the storm outside, she gave him a light swat on the arm. "Hey, I thought we were going to get something to eat."

She decided to ignore the flash of gratitude in his eyes as he finally turned to face her. "Oh, that's right." He'd backed off to the quip-trading they'd fallen into so easily. "I just hope Ruth has that kitchen well-stocked."

stfbe

stbfe

Dinner was relaxed; Cal spent most of the time spinning "yarns" about the area, the people, and even a few past storms. Tara found herself laughing, even though she had a hard time working through his accent and the idioms of the area. She glanced over at Myles several times, finding him smiling over his coffee cup or shaking his head as what had to be a myriad of childhood memories came back.

After dinner, the men made sure the woodboxes were filled for the main room and both the Alleys' and "Lelands'" rooms. Tara helped Ruth clean up the kitchen, then they trimmed and filled a half-dozen kerosene lamps. Their timing was perfect; they'd just finished filling the last one when the lights went out.

"There's that," Cal said as he and Myles walked back into the kitchen. "I'm surprised it stayed on as long as it did."

Ruth touched a match to the first wick, and shortly there was a soft glow throughout the room. She pushed a lamp each toward Myles and Tara, smiling. "Now, we've worked the two of you long enough on what is supposed to be your 'honeymoon.' Go enjoy each other."

Tara felt her cheeks grow warm, then glanced at Myles. He seemed to be having a harder time than she was with Ruth's comment, but only Tara would have noticed it. To Ruth, he simply smiled and said, "I know better than to argue with a DownEaster. Good night, then." He offered Tara his arm, and they headed toward their room, kerosene lamps in hand.

stfbe

stbfe

He knew she was a bit confused; still, he was grateful she hadn't pressed the issue. How did we reach this point? he wondered as he knelt to add some wood to the fireplace. Here, with her, I feel like I could drop every wall I've ever set in place, and it would still be safe. But this isn't real… it's part of a cover. Or is it? How much is real and how much is cover? Right here, right now?

He considered very carefully what he knew of her; Tara was as open an individual as he knew, in some aspects. Yet he knew very little of her personal life, save her litany of endless, and apparently disappointing, blind dates. He knew that feeling well; it seemed he'd fared no better in his own social engagements. Still…

Then he remembered the conversation they'd had while they sat in the restaurant the night they took Carlos Gonzales down. Neither of them had been on radio, since they hadn't wanted to take the chance of tipping their hand. As such, it was the first opportunity he'd had to really talk to her since the whole mess had started.

She'd been understandably wary when he brought it up; he knew she didn't like to show what she perceived as weakness to her fellow agents. But he'd related to her his own "first-time" experience, and some of the aftermath he'd gone through. He'd watched her eyes widen, both at the fact he'd open up that much to her, and in realization that she wasn't alone in her feelings.

Since that night, he'd realized not only that she was far more adept at all the angles of her job, she was also very good at keeping things to herself. No one else had ever said one word about the discussion they'd had, not even Sue. And he knew that Sue would have found some discreet way to show him she knew, had she found out, even simply to thank him for helping Tara. It was too much of a deviation from his typical behavior for her to have just let it go.

I can trust her. The realization hit him with startling certainty, and the defenses he'd put back up earlier faded again. Just then, he heard a very soft sound off to his left, just barely over the screaming of the wind outside. He stood and turned.

Tara was sitting on the window seat, her knees drawn up to her chest, staring out the window. The heavy snow wasn't as visible in the dark, but it was there, along with the wind and a chill against even the double-paned glass. Her eyes were wide and almost vacant; she was caught up in the memory of being out in the storm, he realized as a shiver ran through her. Two single tears tracked down her cheeks.

"Tara?" He sat down next to her and reached for her hand. "Hey, are you okay?"

The change in her demeanor was as abrupt as his had been earlier. "I'm fine," she said, quickly scrubbing at her cheeks. "I'm just tired, I guess."

He knew better, but he granted her the same space she'd given him, for the moment at least. "All right. You're welcome to the bed; I'll take the sofa."

She laughed, a bit of a pained sound. "Myles, you're about eight inches taller than me. There's no way you'll be comfortable on that sofa."

It was as good an opening as he was going to get. "What? A guy can't make a decent sacrifice for his partner?" He reached up and wiped the remainder of a tear from her cheek. "Tara, you're safe now. That storm can't hurt you anymore. I won't let it."

She looked at him for a very long moment, searching for whatever she'd heard in his voice. What she saw made her eyes go very wide as she realized he wasn't afraid of opening up to her anymore. And that she didn't need to be afraid, either. The dam burst, and she buried her head against his chest.

Myles gathered her in his arms and held her tightly, stroking her hair and rocking her slightly as she released the trauma of the storm and everything that had come with it. When she was spent, she looked up at him, a bit embarrassed.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

She dropped back onto safer ground. "For getting your shirt all wet, for starters."

A very soft laugh came in reply. "Hey, that's what flannel was created for. You didn't know that?"

She couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. "I have to admit, you gave me quite a shock earlier this evening. That red plaid with the white turtleneck was about as 'un-Myles' as I'd have ever dreamed, yet you can make even that look classy."

Myles raised a brow at her, a grin quirking the corner of his mouth. "Why, thank you. You made me take an extra breath, too, Miss Williams, with that teal sweater of yours— that blue-green is definitely your color. So now that we have the fashion review out of the way, would you like to talk?"

Something made her search his eyes once more before she quipped softly, "Only if I'm not the only one baring my soul."

There wasn't even a flicker of hesitation, and he matched the quiet tone. "You're on."

stfbe

stbfe