Damned (SOBs Book 4)

by Irish Winters

  “Humph. Just like people.”

  “Yeah, sure. Trust me, we don’t care what bear comes calling, understood? If any come into this camp—” He popped the top off the yellow-labeled aerosol can with a large, round trigger. “Aim for eyes and nose. That’s where this stuff’ll do the most good. It’s got a thirty-foot reach, so don’t let him get too close. Keep spraying until he starts bawling and hightails it out of here.”

  “Will it kill him?”

  “No, it’ll sting like a son of a bitch, and it’ll make him think twice before he comes around again. We just want to scare him. There’s no sense killing a curious animal.”

  “Then why the big gun?”

  “Last resort, Bree. When dealing with a crazed animal, this’ll put it down.”

  By then, her heart was racing. Bree lifted a hand to her chest, as if there were any way she could slow the poor thing.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I just…” What could she say? A little fear kept people alive. “I’m fine, honest. You’re the one with a hole in your side. I’ve just got a crazy flutter in my chest.”

  Man, Kruze was adorable, even injured. His jaw seemed sharper with the five o’clock scruff shadowing his face. He put a hand on Bree’s shoulder, as if to reassure her, when what she really wanted was a kiss. “You’re scared, I get that. And I’m injured, but trust me, I won’t let anything get to you. And yeah, bears sniff around at night—”

  “You mean they hunt,” she said pointedly.

  “Yes. Carnivorous animals all hunt at night, but we’ll be okay. I’m from Montana now, remember? I’ve hunted bigger, badder animals than bears.”

  “If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it’s not working.” What could be worse than a crazed bear?

  Kruze stood his can of bear spray next to the ammo. He dusted his hands together. “We need a bed. You didn’t happen to find any tarps or ropes or—”

  Bree jumped to her feet and retrieved what he needed. By the time she was back, Kruze was on his feet, unsteady, with one palm to the tree trunk, but upright.

  “You should sit down and let me figure this out,” she told him.

  He shook his head, as if that helped him see better, but his forehead glistened with sweat, and he was breathing hard. “I’m good. Done this a million times,” Kruze said as he split the plastic wrappings on the tarps, both which were eight-by-twelve. “The black side goes up.” He uncoiled the nylon rope next. “Grab that rock” —he nodded his chin at a nearby hand-sized rock and broken branch— “and pound that stick into the ground, about eight feet from this tree. If it breaks, find another one.”

  When he reached both arms around the tree, Bree had enough. “You’re bleeding. Sit down. I can do this.”

  “In a sec,” Kruze bit out, as he brought both ends of the rope around the trunk, tied a quick succession of slipknots, then tossed her the longer end of the rope. “Secure this on that stake, then we’ll clip one of these tarps to the rope. Hustle.”

  She hurried, her need to get Kruze off his feet urging her on. Without asking, she dug through his gear bag and located several metal clips that looked like potato-chip-bag clips. Whatever their primary use was, she didn’t care. Bree had the tarp clipped to the rope in no time, stretched out, and staked into a decent lean-to. It might not keep them warm, but it would keep them dry if it rained. Then, because she’d worked up a good head of steam since Kruze was still on his darned feet, she grabbed the other tarp and floated it over the ground beneath the one-sided tent, and told him, “You. Bed. Now. Take your holster off and reorganize all that ammo while you’re at it.”

  “Good hell, you’re bossy.” He gave her a smart-aleck salute, but pain etched his handsome face when he walked over to their dwindling stack of supplies, peered down at it, and asked, “We got anything to eat?”

  “You bet,” Bree told him tartly, her hands on her hips and tired of playing this guy’s games. Honestly, Kruze had so much male ego, she was surprised he could walk into any room without knocking himself out on the doorjamb. “I’ll be happy to fix something for you, but only if you sit down. Now.” She pointed at the tent’s floor for emphasis. “Who do you think salvaged all our supplies?”

  “You did. But I brought another bag with us and—”

  “It’s full of protein bars and MREs, I know. I dragged it out of the burning plane. Is that what you’re looking for?”

  “Yeah. Where is it?” If he were feeling more like himself, Kruze would’ve already found it, since she’d put it next to him while he’d slept.

  “Not until you’re off your feet, mister,” Bree meant to sound stern, but he was tilting to one side. She ran to him and had her shoulder under his arm before he fell. “Why do you have to do everything the hard way?” she scolded as she steered his stubborn ass back to their makeshift tent.

  “You’re beautiful when you’re mad. But I’ve got one more thing to do.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, what now?”

  “This.” He jerked the tarp off the floor and sat heavily alongside his bag with it. Pain bracketed his lips, but out of his bag came another coiled rope. Kruze was a study in determination, sitting there, lacing the rope through the tarp’s brass grommets until he’d crafted it into a bulky bag.

  “First rule in bear country,” he huffed. “Don’t give bears reason to ransack your camp. Secure all foodstuffs, edibles, anything that smells good. Bears have excellent noses. A metal box would be better, but this tarp’s all we’ve got. You want anything out of this bag of food before I hang it up a tall tree? Come get it now.”

  After Bree grabbed two protein bars and four MREs, he tossed the food bag into the tarp/bag, tied it off, then lifted to his feet. By then he was in rough shape, leaning into the tree trunk. The long end of the rope dangled from one hand, as if that was all he could do.

  “What now?”

  “I need another rock.”

  “I’ll find one. How big?”

  “Big as my palm ought to do it.”

  Bree ran to the river, grabbed a rock that looked like what Kruze needed, then ran back to him. She knew what he was doing now. “Give me the rope. I’ll take care of our food.”

  “You sure?”

  “It’s not rocket science, is it?” She took the looped rope from Kruze and wound the end of it around the rock, tied it off, then wound it the other way, making a crisscross pattern to keep the rope snug. “It’s just like wrapping presents,” she explained, hefting the rock now turned anchor, in her hand. “Go sit down. I’ll hang this bag high in some tree and be right back.”

  Without waiting for an argument, Bree went back to the river’s edge, searching for a high enough branch, one she could still reach. She located the perfect pine a short ways up the river. It took a few tries to get the rock over a high enough branch, but the rope stayed tied on the rock, and that helped. At last, she made it, which was a miracle all by itself, considering the lack of daylight.

  She tied the other end of the rope around the tree’s trunk and hurried back to camp. When she arrived, Kruze had his jacket and all his holsters off. He was flat on his back again. Bree stripped two bottled waters off the twenty-four pack, handed one to Kruze, then popped the other and took a long, slow swallow. After that, she hurried and warmed a couple MREs. Once they’d eaten, he stretched an arm out to her, fluttering his fingers to entice her. “Come lay down with me. Please?”

  “But I’ve still got a couple bars for us to eat. Aren’t you still hungry?”

  “I am,” he said with a sigh. “Just not for food.”

  Before she joined him, Bree added two more bottled waters to the bars. She hadn’t fixed nearly enough dinner to satisfy a big guy like Kruze. Ducking into the lean-to, she started to climb over his long legs with the bars and bottles in her hands. Kruze stopped her before she made it all the way over. She ended up straddling his thighs, and his hands ended up on her waist.

 
“What do you want?” she asked, afraid of what he’d say. More afraid of what he wouldn’t.

  “You,” he breathed raggedly. “A way to turn back time would be nice.”

  He was breaking her heart. Bree set the bars and water aside, then settled her chilly, wet palms to his chest, loving the solid feel of manly power beneath her fingers. This was no college kid or untested wannabe. This was a tried and true American hero lying beneath her. Kruze was so much bigger than life. Broad-shouldered. Coiled muscular thighs and biceps. The man was strength incarnate, from his muscled calves to his thick neck. But she was a sweaty, dirty, smelly mess, and she’d already given him her heart. Did she dare get close to him again?

  “Someone once said time stops for no man,” she whispered.

  “Geoffrey Chaucer.” Kruze replied, his voice raspy. “‘Time and tide wait for no man.’”

  That surprised Bree. “You know your English literature, Mister Sinclair.”

  “I used to know a lot of things. Famous author mom, remember?” He sunk his fingers into the root of the braid at the back of her head. With one stroke, the braid was undone, and her hair fell in loose crimped waves over her shoulders and into his face. Kruze turned his nose into the end of the grimy strands and breathed, “You were a redhead. Why’d you change?”

  “Because I didn’t feel like much after you left me,” she replied honestly, “and I needed a change once I realized I’d soon be a single mother. I thought blondes had more fun. What a joke, huh?” She didn’t want to hurt Kruze, but he’d asked, and he needed to know what she’d gone through after she’d found herself alone in that Paris hotel room. Dyeing her hair had been the least of her problems. “I wasn’t that naïve girl anymore. Red was the old me.” Dirty blonde is who I am now. Dirty, tired, sweaty blonde.

  “You were a firecracker in Paris, full of energy and life and… Was it hard?” he asked quietly. “Were your parents with you when Robin was born? I mean, were you alone?”

  “I didn’t have you,” she reminded him gently. “But yes, my parents were there the entire time I was in the hospital, and no, my labor and delivery weren’t particularly hard. Robin was in a hurry to get here. She only weighed six pounds and three ounces. She’s no lightweight now, that’s for sure, but she’s only three. Her baby fat will be gone before we know it.”

  “I like that word. We.” He sounded pensive. Sad.

  “I do, too,” she breathed. “I like us and you and me and…” Dare she say it? “…family, too.”

  “My job… I work… I’m not…” Kruze pulled her down to his nose, his face contorted with anguish he obviously didn’t know how to put into words. “Kee-rist, I’m not an easy guy to live with. My job requires travel at a moment’s notice. Sometimes, I’m gone for weeks or months, and I never know when I’ll get called to leave. I take orders, Bree, and I do a damned good job. I save lives. My brothers and I, that’s what we do. But if you and me… If we…”

  Bree crossed her arms over his chest and settled her chin to her arms, ready to wait him out.

  “You said you love me before, but I… Honestly, Bree, I don’t know how you can. Look at all you’ve gone through because of me, at what I’ve done to you.”

  She inhaled a deep breath before she told him, “You gave me a daughter, that’s what you’ve done to me, and I love you for it. I mean it. I do love you. Even as mad as I was three years ago, I want something good to come of all the lonely nights and that one night, Kruze. I loved who we were in Paris. We talked like missing halves of the same person, as if we’d known each other for years and finally found each other again. At least that’s how I remember it. We laughed, and we played, and I fell in love with you. That hasn’t changed.” As much as she’d tried, it was true. She still loved this man.

  He blinked those big, green, expressive eyes at her. “You should hate me.”

  She nodded, unwilling to let any half-truths stand between them this time around. “Trust me, I tried. But you know what stops me every time I get a full head of steamy anger?”

  He shook his head slowly from side to side. “Your mom?” he guessed.

  “Your. Daughter. I can’t hate you, because every time I look into Robin’s eyes, I see you looking back at me. Did you leave me? Yes, you did, and it hurt. You hurt me, Kruze.” Admitting the truth was hard. “But here we are again. Together. And I can’t help but believe that things happen for a reason.” She ticked, “Paris. Turkey. Maine,” off her fingers. “Want to bet the next time, we’ll be in—”

  “Heaven,” he growled, pulling her body up, his hands cupping her head, and his mouth swallowing her words.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  She loves me. Despite me. She still loves me.

  He didn’t know how she could, not after what he’d done to her. But Kruze couldn’t help inhaling Bree’s sweet lips. More than anything, he needed her back in his life. She was his reason to breathe. The guilt of their past encounter was a hard beast to tame. Ruthlessly, it trampled his heart with hooves forged by the years of self-hatred he’d already instilled in his soul. Self-flagellation for leaving Julianna behind licked over his shoulders and up the back of his neck. Kee-rist, he’d turned running away into an art. First Juliana, then Bree, and all those other women. There was no way he deserved another chance, and Kruze knew it.

  But with every lick and nibble of Bree’s tongue and teeth on his skin, he was damned if he’d let her go. That was him, a sinner caught between heaven and hell, damned for too many past transgressions to count, now fighting for the only forgiveness in the universe that mattered—Bree’s.

  But she gave too freely! As she’d given her body to him in the past, so was she making the same mistake tonight. Yet he craved every glimpse of the heart she was willing to share. Like a dying man who’d been lost too long in the desert, Kruze craved every single droplet of moisture that fell from her mouth, every tear from her eyes, and every truth from her tongue. If he was the darkest, cruelest hour of night, Bree was the bright light of a brand-new day. She was sunshine, the promise of life, and she loved him.

  Like a beggar, he was torn between the brash, crude half of himself and his gentler half, the part that was desperate to love this woman with his full heart. He was the father who craved his child, the man who adored that child’s mother. Surely Bree knew. Surely after all these years of them living separate lives, searching for their better halves, she recognized him for what he was—a loser who would die for her. But a damned loser nonetheless.

  In that instant of clarity, Kruze faced his blackest, dearest memory and let it go. She would hold him back no more. He let the love he’d once had for another, the long-lost and long-dead Juliana, slip into the shadows where she belonged. Where she already was. Juliana would never be again. Her time had come and gone, their time together as well. She’d been a flash of what was good and right in the world, but Bree…

  Bree was so much more. She was the air Kruze sucked into his lungs, so he could kiss her longer and better. She was the honey on his lips, giving him the energy to love her more. She was the end of the road where all his past dalliances had led. She was the homesick ache in his heart and the gaping, empty wound in his soul, his past, worst mistake, the sin that drove him now.

  Bree was mercy. She was life. And she was right then stripping her sweatshirt off over her head, freeing her lovely breasts, that fell like plump gifts onto his chest. Kruze went insane with pleasure. He hefted both her breasts in his needy palms, the weight of them delightful, the feel of her skin warm, living silk. His greedy mouth latched onto the tip of one breast, suckling and tugging until, finally, she arched her back and stretched the heavenly morsel into a tight, hard bud. A throaty, rich growl of need and want exploded out of her, a symphony to his ears.

  Kruze let her elongated nipple pop from his slick lips. Leaning forward, he planted kisses over the pillowy tops of her breasts, into the valley between them, and up her neck. Goosebumps prickled to life at
every touch of his mouth. Bree was magic in his hands. Writhing, moaning magic that worked his body like the beautiful enchantress she’d been in Paris.

  “I’m c-c-cold,” she whispered, her teeth chattering.

  And he was an idiot for letting his mind wander through prose and fairytale land, while she lay exposed and freezing. Kee-rist! He was not Prince Charming material. Reaching for the blanket he’d tossed aside, he ordered his goddess, “Pants off.”

  “Yours too,” Bree demanded, as she slid to his side, kicked off her shoes, and scrambled out of her jeans. “If I’m going to freeze my ass off, so are you.”

  He wanted to obey, but that damned screwdriver wound sent a stabbing reminder to his cortex that he was not up to calisthenics tonight. That he could still bleed to death and leave Bree behind, by dying this time. Dying when he had everything to live for. The thought turned Kruze into a very sober man, one who had everything to lose.

  “I… I…” he stuttered, used to being in charge, capable, a driven, competent male. Yet he’d failed her again. When Bree said she loved him, he’d said nothing. Not ‘thank-you’, ‘I love you, too’, nor anything else. It was time to be the man she thought she loved.

  Grunting because the pain in his side was now a blazing, red-hot poker, Kruze unbuttoned his shirt and undid the snaps on his jeans. The bandage was still in place, but getting undressed would be damned difficult. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.

  By then Bree was beautifully naked, and he was a half-dressed fool. Kruze tugged the blanket over her back when she crawled to his side.

  “You need help with those pants, big guy?” she asked. There she was again, the incredibly sexy woman he’d made love with in Paris. All Bree needed to complete the transformation was red hair, and he’d believe they’d stepped back in time.