The Sheikh's Secret Son. Kasey Michaels

the right shoe and shook it, but she already knew the locker key was no longer there.

      “I have the key,” a voice said behind her. “I put it away for you.”

      Braced to flee, she turned to face the man. But this wasn’t the hairy, half-naked giant she dimly remembered from the night before. This was a tall, youngish man with light brown hair and green eyes, broad-shoulders and a strong, calm face.

      “How are you feeling?” he asked.

      Isabel stood with the shoe in her hand, at a loss for words.

      “Here,” he said, opening a wooden box on the dresser. “This is the key I found in your shoe.”

      He held it out to her. She accepted the key, then merely clutched it in helpless silence.

      “How about if I put it back?” he suggested gently. “It’ll be right here in this box.”

      She nodded and gave him the key. His hands were big and square, with callused palms and surprisingly long fingers.

      Nice hands, Isabel thought, remembering how they’d trimmed her hair and bandaged her arm with such gentleness.

      “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much for helping me.”

      He was watching her intently. “I didn’t have much choice, did I?”

      “You could have thrown me out,” she said. “Lots of people would have.”

      “That’s not the way we treat folks here in the country.” He moved to the door. “Care to join me?” he asked over his shoulder. “I haven’t had a chance to eat breakfast yet.”

      “But aren’t your children…” Isabel began nervously.

      “I took them over to my uncle’s place for a few days. None of them have any idea you’re here.”

      She followed him to the kitchen and sank into a chair at the table while he poured her another cup of coffee. “Cream and sugar?” he asked.

      She nodded and he fetched the cream jug from the fridge, then opened a little ceramic canister shaped like a tomato, handing it to her along with a spoon.

      “So that’s where the sugar is. I didn’t think of looking in there,” she told him, trying to smile.

      He didn’t smile back, just popped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster and brought some butter and jam to the table.

      “Did you take another pill?” he asked. “Let me see that arm.”

      She held it up for him to examine.

      “The rest of your arm’s not as red and swollen today,” he said, holding her wrist. “How does it feel under the bandage?”

      “It doesn’t hurt as much, but it’s getting pretty itchy.”

      “Well, that’s supposed to be a sign of healing. I’ll change the bandage after we eat, and put some more salve on it.”

      Isabel watched him, marveling at his calm, capable manner. He acted as if there was nothing unusual about a wild-eyed woman breaking into his house and trying to steal his food, then being dumped in his bathtub, sleeping in his bed…

      His bed!

      For the first time she remembered him lying beside her in the darkness of the night, holding himself away from her, his body so hard and muscular when she brushed against him that it was almost like sleeping next to a block of wood.

      “I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling tears of shame stinging her eyelids. “I’ve been such a huge bother to you.”

      His toast popped up. “Want some?” he asked. When she declined, he buttered both slices, then fixed his green eyes on her face. “What are you running away from?”

      Isabel stared into the depths of her coffee mug. “I’m afraid to tell you,” she said at last. “I don’t want anybody to know who I am.”

      “I already do know. There was a picture and an article about you in the paper last night.”

      She tensed. “What did it say?”

      “It said you were Isabel Delgado, an heiress from San Antonio, and that your car went into the Claro on Friday night, but your body hasn’t been recovered yet.”

      Isabel felt sick with fear. “My picture was there, too?”

      “I recognized you right away.”

      “Oh, no!” She gripped the mug tightly. “I was hoping they wouldn’t do that.”

      “I guess it’s pretty big news when a rich girl goes missing. So what are you hiding from, Isabel?”

      She glanced nervously around the silent kitchen. “Please don’t call me that!”

      “There’s nobody around,” he said. “My nearest neighbor is about a mile downriver.”

      “Is this farm anywhere close to where the McKinneys live?”

      “That’s him. My neighbor, I mean.”

      Isabel felt a return of that strange, dreamlike confusion and panic. “You mean J.T. McKinney is your neighbor?”

      “Why? Do you know him?”

      “Oh, God,” She dropped her head into her hands. “There’s nowhere to hide.”

      “If it’s any comfort,” he said after a moment, “I can tell you that right now you don’t look anything like the woman in the picture.”

      “I don’t?” She raised her head to look at him.

      He grinned, showing even white teeth. “Haven’t you seen yourself in a mirror lately?”

      “Yes, but I wasn’t sure if…”

      “Well, my haircut and all those cuts and bruises have done a real job on you. You look like a totally different person.” He watched her thoughtfully. “So what should I call you?”

      She pondered. “Call me Bella,” she said at last. “That’s what my…my sister used to call me,” she added wistfully, “when I was a little girl.”

      “Okay, Bella. From now on, that’s your name and we’ll never use the other one. Okay?”

      “Okay,” she said feeling relieved. “My name isn’t Isabel anymore. It’s Bella.”

      “Now, Bella, why don’t you tell me what you’re so afraid of? And then we’ll try to figure out what we can do about it.”