Texas Heartthrob

by Jean Brashear

  Slowly, she turned and studied his still form.

  He was kind, though; she was certain of that. Strong and funny and oddly modest for someone so handsome.

  He loved his family and was adored by them, too, she understood without ever meeting them. He had the confidence of someone who’d never doubted that he was cherished, never been abandoned. Never threatened by those who were supposed to nurture.

  He hadn’t ever really been challenged, either, she’d bet. He could be judgmental about weakness because he possessed none. Hadn’t experienced coming up short.

  Raina understood all about failing challenges. She sank against the rough log wall. One minute. Only one.

  She could not fall short this time. She would make that trip down the mountain for supplies and among them would be a sturdy lock for the door and ammunition for the weapons Gran had left. When she was alone again after Hal’s departure, Frank would come; she never doubted that. Only if she gave him a reason to fear her would he let her be. Even if there had been a sheriff living right next door to her instead of miles and miles away, courts and cops would prove no barrier to a man steeped in mountain justice.

  The ancient codes still ruled here. Eye for an eye. Take the law into your own hands. Might makes right.

  Hal moaned and rolled to his side, his face set in lines of strain. “No—” His voice was hoarse and anguished. “No. She can’t be dead. Why wouldn’t she let me—”

  Dead? Who was dead? Raina struggled out of the cobwebs. “Hal?”

  He tossed violently, shoving the covers off.

  Raina touched him in an attempt to settle him, making a concerted effort not to ogle the body that had given her such incredible pleasure.

  But her fingers registered the layers of hard muscle, the breadth of his shoulders. She traced fingertips down his arm, powerful yet capable of being so gentle. He tossed and tried to roll away. She placed her free hand on his shoulder, murmuring reassurance until he stilled. Finally, he slid completely under again.

  Raina rubbed her eyes and mourned. Sleep called to her, but she couldn’t rest until he was gone, until she’d cut the cord that bound them before it was too late.

  But he’d need his sleep to continue his trip safely. Raina finished packing his belongings, then settled onto the floor. A little more time she gave herself to watch him, to savor memories she’d have to lock away soon or go mad longing for them once he was gone.

  Liam battled the nightmare. A coffin unseen. A funeral not attended. A pull he couldn’t fight. Down the dark hallway of his grief, he approached a circle of light, a rim over which he’d see Kelly’s face, so still and lifeless. Heart nearly ripped from his chest, he forced himself to face the responsibility he’d abandoned, the woman he hadn’t been able to save—

  Oh, God. Raina. Liam shuddered and fell to his knees.

  The woman in the casket was Raina, fragile and lost and—

  Liam bolted up in the bed, unable to comprehend for a minute where he was—

  When he saw Raina sitting by the fire, something inside him leaped. Alive. She was alive. Thank God. He buried his face in arms crossed over his knees and fought to steady his breathing. As he did so, he became aware of silence, utter and complete but for the crackle of the fire. Filled with foreboding. All his joy fled.

  Liam lifted his head. And knew.

  In the faint light of dawn, the soft, singing, shining warrior woman had vanished. A cold, closed-in stranger had taken her place. His duffel lay at her feet, filled and zippered. His clothes were arranged neatly at the foot of the bed.

  He didn’t have to ask why. He shouldn’t have protested, but he would anyway, damn it. “The list isn’t finished.”

  One second. One tiny flicker.

  Gone in an instant. “Enough is done,” she said in a voice he’d never heard. “It’s time for you to go.”

  He was being shown the door. He, Liam Sullivan, Sexiest Man Alive. The Prince of Hollywood. Fury shoved him to his feet, naked. Daring her to notice. Challenging her to ignore him. “What if I’m not ready?”

  She stood, fingers clenched. “Then you’re no different from Frank, refusing to let a woman say no.”

  A cold, terrible wind blew through him, freezing his ability to think past the outrage. There was no trace left of the woman to whom he’d made love so tenderly. Who’d given him a sacred trust he’d held precious.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he demanded.

  “Listen, I’m grateful for last night. You were right.” Her smile mocked him. “I owe you for enlightening me.” She turned away. Busied herself with the poker, her voice breezy. “You’re very talented. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble getting any woman you want.”

  As long as it’s not me. She might as well have said the words out loud.

  Liam hadn’t gotten a brush-off from a woman since he was fifteen years old. The effrontery of Raina’s action nearly shocked a laugh from him, except that he was insulted and mad as hell.

  He shook off the growing rage and focused on grabbing clothing and donning it, consumed by a sense that he’d stripped his soul naked, too, only to have her reject him at his most honest.

  And that concept was a laugh in and of itself, since every time she’d moaned and called his name, it had compounded his lies.

  She was right. He could talk to Noah, force the old guy to accept money to arrange for the needed repairs still not crossed off his list. He’d pay a premium and she’d be off his conscience—

  Dressed now, Liam had already hefted his duffel over his shoulder when he cast one last, angry look at her—

  And saw the bow of her shoulders, so reminiscent of the day they’d met. Spotted the white knuckles at her sides.

  “Raina—” He had to try one last time to reach her. Bare himself once more. “Talk to me,” he urged. “Tell me why you’re doing this. Last night was…” He didn’t have the words to express what he’d thought they’d shared.

  But when her head rose and she turned to face him, he saw that he’d been wrong. No uncertainty lurked in her. No special understanding, no soft remembrance.

  Only a smile that cut him to the bone. “It was terrific,” she agreed briskly. “Now I need your address so I know where to send the payments. Do you think ten dollars an hour is fair for the work you did, or should it be more?”

  Stunned, Liam froze to the spot, unable to believe what he was hearing. He stared hard at her, refusing to let the hurt of it inside, while wondering where his vaunted instincts about women had fled if he could be this wrong about her.

  She stared right back, but the fire cast her features into shadow and he couldn’t be certain of anything.

  That he was nearly ready to beg shook him worse than anything had in a long time. Liam Sullivan didn’t have to beg women, ever. He wouldn’t start now.

  “Forget the money,” he growled, and headed for the door.

  “I won’t do that. I can’t. Tell me how to reach you. I pay my debts.”

  “Screw your debts. Consider your bill paid last night.” He slapped her with words, blinded by pain he shouldn’t feel, confusion he didn’t need, sorrow he didn’t want.

  Then he jerked the door open and charged down the steps as if the devil himself followed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Raina huddled on the floor, staring into the weak morning light through the old, wavy glass. The fire faltered, nearly as weak as her dying heart.

  But she’d done the right thing for both herself and Hal. If she could explain, he’d understand that and be glad.

  And someday, she’d forget the pain of their parting after all the joy he’d brought into her life. Oh, please, please…let the agony ebb soon, before she died of it.

  She heard the sound of a motor, faint at first, then growing louder. Her treacherous heart leaped.

  Had Hal come back? Why? And how would she explain—

  A loud knock on the door. “Rainie? Where are you, girl?”

  She
froze. Not Hal. Frank.

  “I know he’s gone. I’ve been watching, see. We got some business to finish, you and me.”

  And she hadn’t had time to get that lock.

  “Raina—” he shouted. “You hear me?”

  Raina stared at the door as if snakes writhed on the other side of it, ready to slither in.

  “Don’t make me mad, darlin’. Come on out where we can talk. Or maybe we’ll talk later, after.” He laughed, the sound of it harsh and grating. “Get out here, or I’m gonna be forced to come in after you.”

  Raina kept herself beneath window level, scooting across the floor toward the corner where Gran’s shotgun stood—

  The door burst open. Raina screamed and scrambled—

  Frank caught her arm and jerked her against him, his smile widening, his eyes cold and flat. “Hey there, sugar,” he crooned. “Where you goin’ in such a hurry? Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  Raina couldn’t let herself flinch. Frank’s temper was a dangerous thing, coiled to strike when you least expected it. “I wasn’t going anywhere.” She swallowed hard. Forced a smile past the nausea, seeking her long-unused hostess smile. “How are you, Frank?”

  He went still, those predator’s eyes fixed on her.

  Then he smiled back.

  And slapped her hard.

  Raina tasted copper where her teeth cut the inside of her mouth. She shook her head to clear the dizziness and forced herself not to react.

  “What’s wrong, baby?” he sniggered. “Waiting for that bodyguard?”

  “No.” The worst thing she could do was show her fear.

  He let go of her arm suddenly, and the release made her light-headed. She wavered for a second—

  He pounced. “I own you, Rainie. You never understood that.” He grabbed her head and ground his mouth against her, brutally forced her lips apart to thrust his thick tongue inside.

  Raina gagged. Shoved at him.

  Frank gripped the neck of her shirt, twisting it in one meaty fist, then ripped it open. “I told you I’d be waiting, you bitch. You goddamn slut—” He jerked at her waistband while the other hand worked at his belt, unsnapped his jeans—

  Though she knew she couldn’t win, Raina fought him, using nails and teeth, kicking and gouging for his eyes—

  Frank bellowed and knocked her to the floor, yanking his pants open as he followed her down.

  Before he reached Ladyville, Liam’s head cleared enough for him to see what was off about Raina’s behavior. He reversed directions, kicking himself for being too hurt, too stunned by the about-face she’d pulled right on the heels of his nightmare, to think straight.

  Only an idiot wouldn’t remember that a wounded animal would fight when cornered, would defend itself by going on the offense. Raina, with her inexplicable self-loathing, had laid herself as bare as he had the night before. If he, who had boundless self-confidence, had felt vulnerable, how much more would Raina feel stripped naked and defenseless?

  Cielito, he could almost hear Abuelita say, she is in need of healing, the pobrecita. Bring her home.

  He’d do his best. He hadn’t the faintest idea how to convince her, but he had to try.

  When he neared Raina’s cabin, though, his heart stuttered as he saw an unfamiliar pickup abandoned just down the road from it. A flash of memory recalled that same pickup at Noah’s store the day he’d bought all the supplies.

  Frank.

  Liam abandoned his car, bounded toward the cabin.

  And heard Raina scream.

  He burst through the door and took in the scene in a split second.

  Breasts bared, jeans yanked down, Raina choked against the fist gripping her throat, her eyes filled with terror.

  “Get off her—” Liam roared.

  Frank twisted to face him, pants open, body poised to drive inside her, his face a distorted mask of lust and the rage to punish—

  Liam dove at him, knocking Frank aside, both of them hitting the wood hard.

  Vicious eyes intent on Raina, Frank dislodged Liam with inhuman strength, already reaching to trap Raina beneath him again.

  Liam lost his mind then, casting off everything civilized, wild and blind with man’s primitive need to protect his woman. He leaped on Frank’s back, yanked him around and smashed his fist into Frank’s face. Bloodlust ran high as he pounded again and again, barely feeling the blows he took in return—

  Raina’s warning scream snapped him out of it, just as he felt the agonizing slice into his side.

  He put a hand down and it came away glistening red.

  Frank unbalanced him, kicking his head as Liam stumbled. Frank smiled through his battered mouth, deadly as a raptor, and brandished the bloody stiletto.

  Reeling, Liam thought about what Frank would do to Raina if he got hold of her again. He charged Frank once more, dodging and weaving around the blade, ignoring the burn in his side.

  But his movements were slower now, his coordination less as he battled the ringing in his head and the loss of blood.

  Cunning and feral, Frank watched. Seized a moment of inattention and swept Liam’s feet from beneath him. He loomed over Liam with the knife, coiled to strike—

  A blast rang out. “Don’t do it, Frank.”

  Liam squinted through his swimming vision to see Raina brandishing her grandmother’s shotgun.

  Movement in the corner of his eye drew him back. Frank’s arm rose again in a deadly arc—

  “Frank—” Raina shouted. “I promise you the next one won’t be aimed high.”

  Frank froze, chest heaving, the light in his eyes savage. He started laughing, and the sound of it lifted the hair on Liam’s neck.

  “She’ll drive you crazy, boy. I promise you’ll regret the day you dipped your wick in her. She’ll chew through you and spit you out like you were nothin’.”

  Liam squeezed his eyes to narrow slits, trying to steady his vision. His head was light, and his side felt as if someone had poured battery acid in it, but he gritted his teeth and made it to his feet. He glanced at Raina’s stricken face, her knuckles white on the gun.

  Frank wiped at his bleeding nose. “You won’t shoot me, Rainie.” He stalked toward her, every step filled with menace. “Go ahead. Prove me wrong.”

  “Drop the knife, Frank.” Oddly steady now, aware that Hal’s life depended on her, Raina pressed the butt of the shotgun into her shoulder. “I can’t miss at this range.”

  Slowly, Frank studied her, his eyes mocking. “You may be a whore, but I don’t believe you’re a killer.”

  She stood her ground. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  His head cocked. “Oh, I know plenty about you, girl. You bet I do. Want to discuss it in front of lover boy here?” He took a step closer.

  Raina watched him coming and shuddered. She flicked a glance at Hal, his shirt rapidly staining red at his waist. She forced herself to focus on Frank. Both of them realized that she had only one shell left, and he still had the knife in his hand, well within reach of Hal.

  Then Hal surprised them both. Face twisted in pain, swaying on his feet, somehow he found the strength to make one swift strike at Frank’s wrist.

  The knife went flying, and Frank spun to retrieve it.

  Raina covered the distance between them and pressed the shotgun into the back of Frank’s neck first. “You’re right that I don’t want to kill you, Frank, but you’re wrong if you think I won’t. You have one more chance to leave before we see who’s drawn the winning hand.”

  She saw his neck flush mottled red with his rage, but he didn’t move toward the knife. She held her breath, aware that snakes were deadliest up close, but filled with an urgency to deal with Hal’s wound. Her last glimpse of him had revealed his golden skin turning pasty white. She couldn’t imagine how he’d remained on his feet this long.

  “I don’t forget, Raina Donovan. You better run far and fast once I go.” Frank’s voice was low and dangerous.

  But she’
d won. For now, at least.

  It was all she could do not to sag in relief. She was staying, but this was not the time to discuss it.

  He bent to pick up his knife.

  “Leave it there.” She tightened nearly numb fingers on the trigger.

  He straightened slowly and faced her. In his eyes she saw a trace of respect mingled with the dregs of a yearning that had festered into hatred. He locked his gaze on hers and held it for endless seconds.

  At last, however, he left, his unspoken threat still ringing in the air.

  She stayed right where she was, her arms quivering from holding the shotgun, her hands clasped like claws.

  Then Hal was beside her. “Raina,” he said quietly.

  She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think.

  “Let me take the shotgun, sweetheart.” His voice slurred.

  Raina blinked. Lowered the weapon. Looked at Hal.

  “Ohmigod,” she gasped. “Sit down. Let me see.”

  He clasped her forearm and swayed, but his eyes were intent. “Forget me. Are you—Raina, did he—”

  She glanced down at herself, at the torn shirt, the jeans barely clinging to her hips. With a gasp, she turned away to fasten them.

  “Raina, talk to me.”

  She covered her mouth with one hand, struggling against the nausea. Remembering Frank’s thick fingers and hairy thighs, the weight of him as she fought for a breath and tried to escape—

  Raina shoved away the nightmare vision. Hal was hurt, and she didn’t know how badly. His needs had to come first.

  “I’m okay.” She kept most of the tremor out of her voice. “Please—” She grasped his arm and steered him toward the bed, her mind racing.

  The last two steps, he leaned much of his weight on her. As gently as possible, she eased him to the mattress. With shaking fingers, she pulled his blood-soaked shirt away. Oh, God. She bit her lip to keep from saying it out loud. Gran always said keeping a patient calm was important.

  “You’re going to be all right.” The wound was to the left side of his waist and about an inch or so long, but she couldn’t tell how deep—only that it was leaking a steady stream of his life’s blood. “I’ll be right back.” She hurried to grab something with which to staunch the flow.