Gift of Gold

arching. “I’ll lock up the cafe. Don’t forget to set the alarm. We’ve got to be out of here by five o’clock to catch that flight for Mexico City. It’s a ninety-minute drive to the San Francisco airport.”
    “I’ll see you at five.” Jonas didn’t look back as he strode out of the cafe. Getting up on time was not his main concern. Reassuring himself that Verity wasn’t about to write him off was a much higher priority.
    Jonas’s list of priorities in life was short and simple. His relationship with Verity was at the top. She had originally ranked first because she had the talent to help him control the power that was buried inside him. But now there were other bonds that tied him to her. Passion, friendship, and love were all mixed up with the psychic link. Jonas didn’t worry about separating out and analyzing the bonds that tied him to Verity, but he sensed that occasionally Verity’s very feminine mind did tackle that issue.
    Women had a talent for creating problems where, as far as a man was concerned, none existed.
    Outside, Jonas took a deep breath of the night air. The little town of Sequence Springs was in the grip of winter. All of Northern California was experiencing an unusually cold season. There had been some snow in January, and Jonas suspected there would be more before February was out.
    It would be warm in Mexico—but not as warm as Verity’s bed.
    He groaned at the thought of sleeping without his redheaded beauty for the next few days. Then he pulled up the collar of his new fleece-lined suede jacket. He liked the jacket, mostly because Verity had given it to him for Christmas. He hadn’t owned a heavy jacket when he’d first arrived in Sequence Springs; he hadn’t needed one before.
    Most of the places he’d been drifting in and out of for the past few years while he’d been on the run had been in the South Pacific and Mexico. Places with warm, humid climates, balmy breezes, and a relaxed attitude. Places where people drank too much rum and tequila and didn’t worry much about the past. Places that somehow drained a man of any desire to focus too intently on the future. Places where a man could hide, even from himself.
    Jonas shoved his hands deep into his pockets and headed down the path to Verity’s cabin. He could see lights glowing warmly from the windows. A few hundred yards away, on the edge of the lake, the impressive, neoclassical facade of the elegant Sequence Springs Spa Resort was lit with powerful floodlights. The building glowed in the distance, appearing almost otherworldly. Verity sometimes went to the spa in the evenings to soak in the hot pools. Jonas hoped she hadn’t decided to go there tonight.
    A shadow moved behind the window as he walked up the front steps and across the deck of the cabin. Jonas relaxed slightly. Verity was home, waiting for him. He opened the front door and went in, not certain what to expect.
    Verity turned abruptly as he stepped into the rustic room and closed the door behind him. She was ready for bed, wearing a quilted robe over a long flannel nightgown, her wild red curls pinned up on her head, emphasizing her fine-boned face and huge, expressive eyes.
    As always, Jonas felt a fierce, twisting rush of passion and an overriding need to protect his little firebrand. She needed him, he told himself, not for the first time. She could be amazingly stubborn, but in spite of that prickly exterior she was very sweet and vulnerable. She needed a man to look after her.
    She was still a little too thin, Jonas decided, examining her critically. He had been trying to fatten her up this winter, but it was difficult. Verity worked too hard. The No Bull Cafe was hers, and she suffered all the anxieties and pressures of the small-business entrepreneur. Jonas had been her dishwasher, waiter, and handyperson since he had answered her ad last fall. Lately she had been teaching him how to cook the gourmet vegetarian food that was the cafe’s specialty.
    On the whole, he liked the work, and the fringe benefits were outstanding—he got to sleep with the boss. And he knew for a fact that no one else had ever slept with this particular boss. Verity had been a virgin until he had walked into her life.
    “What are you drinking?” Jonas asked as he shrugged out of his jacket. He would try the calm, rational approach first.
    “Chamomile tea.” She clutched her mug in both hands. “Want some?”
    “No, thanks.”
    “It’s very soothing. Helps