“I don’t think that’s what he meant.”
“It’s what he said.” She marched back up the porch steps.
“But the wolf didn’t finish. The meditation broke before completion.” He caught up and took her hand again, gently between both of his. Enveloped in his warmth, her fingers uncurled. She hadn’t realized she’d been making a fist. “We can try again tomorrow. From here. Invite the wolf and ask him to complete his message.” He skimmed his thumb over the top of her hand.
Delphine glanced down at his thumb caressing her in slow circles. All his attention could add up to manipulation.
“I can guide you deep enough.” He chuckled softly. “Hell, you probably don’t even need me to guide you, that is if you’re willing.”
She studied his gaze, searching for a tell, searching for a deceit.
No manipulation. Not at this point. Not with Cowboy.
Filled with a sense of belonging to someone that cared about her, even for a short while, she made a decision she’d been putting off.
“I guess the only way out of Hell is through it. At least I don’t have to enter through the Gates.” She mustered a wan smile. “Yes. I’m willing.” No longer afraid to speak everything in her heart, she latched onto his gaze. “Now I have a question for you. If my mother has tapped into something evil, can she be healed? Can she escape the torture?”
Zane nodded. “Yes, but probably not through conventional exorcism.”
“Conventional exorcism?” She shook her head. “Two words I’d have never put together.” She placed her other hand on top of their joined ones and gripped. “If not through conventional exorcism, then how?”
“Soul tap.”
“Much as I don’t want to ask, what is that?” She squeezed harder and braced for the worst.
“What I believe the wolf meant by your journey. You’re going to have to link with your mother.”
“Link? Like you did with me today?”
“Yeah, but forcibly and deep enough to communicate with her. You must convince her to release whatever is tormenting her. She’s holding on. Make her let go.”
“I can’t even get into her room, let alone invade her thoughts. And I don’t have any idea what I’m doing.” She backed away, wrenching to free her hands, but his grip remained firm. “Why can’t George do it? Or Seth?
“Because it’s your journey. As her daughter, you’re probably the only that can reach her. Logically, the reason she holds on is because she believes she’s protecting you. A mother will tolerate any danger to protect her child. You have to show her you don’t need protection. You have to show her you’re the strong one. Remember, the wolf said—”
“I know what the wolf said, I know it’s true. But…” She slipped her hand out of his grasp and instantly regretted losing his touch. His hands, his body, his mind, all of him conveyed strength. It was as if he could share his energy through simple contact. If she was going to journey alone, she couldn’t rely on him. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she self-comforted.
“But what?” he asked softly and cupped one of her shoulders with a big hand.
Delphine closed her eyes and drank in his support. “I’ve spent my entire life denying the validity of my nightmares. I never once considered evil—real evil—drove the machine.”
“There’s no shame in denial. Denial helped you get by.”
“Get by. I can’t simply get by anymore.” Her pulse began to ratchet as the roots of too many truths grew deeper.
No more hiding.
No more protests.
Suppressed fear released in a rush. Her whole body started to tremble.
Zane closed his arms around her. “Let it happen. Let the fear out. Then kill it.”
“Kill it?” she asked against the smooth skin of his neck. He smelled of sweat and earth and fading sunshine.
“Together. I’ll be with you every step of the way, as long as you want, holding your hand.”
Delphine wanted more than holding his hand. Without any reluctance, she slid her arms around his rib cage and clung. She let her head fall onto his shoulder, her cheek supported by steel muscles beneath the cottony T-shirt he’d worn since early this morning.
Despite his confidence and unshakeable support, she understood her journey meant risk. Risk of losing her talent. Her mind. Her mother.
Her Cowboy.
If she had to be fearless, facing down evil, she should practice by showing courage in the face of good first.
If only for one night.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The SUV took another uphill switchback at breakneck speed, and Emil clutched at his stomach with both arms. Somehow outside pressure staunched his desire to yack up his supper. But for how long?
“You okay back there?” Mundy’s Native American friend, Seth, cut his gaze to the rearview mirror. His brown eyes shown nearly black in the shadowed car interior.
“As I explained at the outset of our journey, I have a propensity for car sickness.”
“So do, I,” Mundy reiterated. “I’m guaranteed to puke, so I get the front seat.” For some reason, Emil didn’t believe him.
“Don’t you puke.” The driver glanced again into the rearview, and the steering wheel drifted with his gaze.
“Keep your eyes on the road.” Emil waggled a finger at the windshield.
Again the SUV swerved and Emil groaned, throwing his hand over his mouth. He belched, and the stench of his own sour breath shot up his nose. Airline-grade filet and Bordeaux mixed with stomach acid. The back of his throat burned, and a layer of perspiration covered his forehead. His meal wouldn’t stay put long.
Mundy opened the glove box and rummaged. In a second, he jutted his arm between the front bucket seats and handed him a stack of paper napkins. “Here. Wipe your face, lay down, and try not to think. We’ll be home soon.”
What else could he do but take the advice of the man he’d handed all his available cash? Knees bent so his head didn’t bash into the door, he laid down and blotted his face with the full stack of napkins. Miserable, at least the urge to vomit subsided.
“Jeannine can’t wait to see you, man.” At first, Savard thought the driver was speaking to him. “There’s a big-ass picnic tomorrow over at the Gideon ranch, but she couldn’t wait until then. She came over tonight.”
“To see me? Or sleep with you?” Mundy said, a hint of irritation in his voice.
Emil perked up. Not only had the Gideon name been dropped, but a little tension between friends sweetened the pot.
“Hey. Whoa. She’s your sister, man. I don’t—”
“Don’t give me that. I’ve seen the way you look at her. And your reputation is—”
“Not in this case.” Seth’s tone took on an urgent quality, adding to the entertainment value. “And of course I look at her, I can’t help it. Everybody looks at her. She’s smokin’ hot with black hair down to her ass and legs up to her neck. Not to mention those blue eyes.”
“For fuck’s sake, Seth, Jeannine’s not just my sister. She raised me. She’s as good as my mom. Ogling my mom’s body is taboo.”
Emil grinned slyly. He’d read Mundy right. Poor kid. No parents. Malleable target. For more money, he might buy himself an accomplice, not just a tracker.
“Those are not the legs of a mom.”
“Watch it, Seth. You’re cruising—”
“I’m just saying my mom doesn’t have legs like that.”
“True that. She sure doesn’t.” Mundy snorted a chuckle.
“Asshole,” his friend retorted.
“Douche-bag.”
Both young men laughed, deep and hearty. An exchange that probably happened every time they met. Now Emil wondered if any of their bullshit was true.
The only thing that mattered was the Gideon picnic. He may not have to hunt down the lake house after all. Save a little money and spend it where it counted most. No doubt, these simple country folks would invite him to the gathering, even withou
t strong-arming Mundy. The Gideon boy would bring the oracle with him, and he, along with Sasquatch-of-the-air, could snatch her away during all that insufferable family hubbub.
The SUV rumbled to a stop, almost pitching him to the floor. He scrambled to sit upright. Bright floodlights burned his eyes, and he threw a forearm up to shield them.
Doors to the SUV creaked open, and he heard feet hit gravel. The passenger door to his right opened, and he heard Mundy.
“We’re here, Mr. Savard.” A meaty hand jutted into view. Help disembarking? A car?
He pushed the proffered hand aside and scooted out on his own.
“I need a shower and something to settle my stomach. Do you think you can arrange that?”
Mundy raised both eyebrows and then smirked. “I’m sure we can drum up something in this little cabin.” He walked away, an overnight bag under each arm.
That’s when Emil’s eyesight finally cleared. Mundy followed his friend up a walkway of pavers. Nice pavers. Expensive. Slowly, he drew his sights up.
Not the run-down bungalow of his imagination.
A two-story wood-shingled house with a modern flair that somehow still reflected the woodsy landscape around them.
“Hey, sis.” Mundy’s deep voice echoed from a wide porch at the top of a long column of stairs.
Emil meandered in a circle to look out at his new surroundings. Partway up a mountain, he could look out onto the town below. Lines of cables that would carry skiers in the winter crisscrossed low on the night horizon. A ski town that bustled in winter. But not in summer. Out in the middle of God’s country, not a neighbor could be seen. His stomach drew up tight again.
“Mr. Savard?” A female voice with a hint of whiskey roughing it up. Sexy. He liked that and turned to see if Seth’s description proved true.
She stood alone at the top of the stairs, wearing a pair of denim shorts and a tight black tank top.
“You look like you need a drink.” She waved him up. From the foot of the steps, her legs did indeed appear to go on for miles. Long black hair drawn over one shoulder, she’d anchored her hands on her narrow hips.
“Yes,” he replied, climbing up and never taking his eyes off of her. The closer he got, the more he understood. Mundy’s sister was not old enough to be his mother, but too old for Seth to ogle.
She wasn’t too old for Emil though. In fact, she was damn near perfect.
“Jeannine.” She offered her hand with the same forthright efficiency as her brother. “Friends call me J9.”
He closed his fingers around her palm and grinned. “Emil. Pleased to meet you.”
Everyone had a type. Everyone gravitated to the same basic attraction over and over. Emil wasn’t an exception, and J9, supplanted mother to Mundy-of-the-sky, with her long dark hair and sexy voice, transported him back in time. Had it really been almost thirty years?
“I hear you’re looking for Zane Gideon.” She let go of his hand, and he was filled with loss. “We can help you with that.” She nodded toward the door, indicating he follow, and then she stepped inside.
Help? Yes, she could help. In as many ways as she’d be willing to try. Even if he had to pay. One more time he could relive a memory.
The night kept getting better.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Exhausted, though sure he wouldn’t sleep, Zane grabbed a pillow off his king-size bed and stared longingly at the turned down sheets.
Where Delphine would sleep.
Alone.
Shame he hadn’t managed to get a bed into the guest room. The couch wasn’t bad for napping, but too short and narrow for serious shut-eye. Raised proper, he’d never consider asking a guest to sleep downstairs. Especially one prone to nightmares and capable of using utensils in her sleep. The open-concept kitchen provided too much danger.
He stuffed the pillow under his arm and strode toward the door.
“Zane?” That mash of American with a taste of French turned his one-syllable name into a musical note. Turned his groin into a hammer. “Is something wrong with your pillow?”
He stopped and twisted his head toward his shoulder, but couldn’t reply. His peripheral vision zeroed in on Delphine standing in the bathroom doorway. Her thin top clung to her breasts, narrow straps draping over her shoulders. Flimsy. Breakable. The matching shorts rode low on her hips, exposing her flat belly and most of her shapely legs.
He croaked out “No,” and walked away.
“Don’t tell me you’re sleeping on the couch?”
Almost over the threshold, he stopped again and held his breath. Could she possibly be that naïve? Or a tease? Not likely on either count.
“You’re way too tall. And this is your home. Your bed.”
Considerate. She was being considerate, and he fully expected her to remove the pillow from under his arm and sashay down the stairs. All attitude and self-righteous purpose.
When she didn’t, he started the slow turn in her direction. Even realizing the mistake in following curiosity, he let the divining rod in his cargo shorts lead him in the direction of his head.
She flicked off the bathroom light and rubbed her hands together and then skimmed them over her arms. Freshly showered, every inch of her looked softer than the pillow he squeezed in his pit.
With a sigh, he spoke more calmly than he felt. “I’m not having you sleep on the sofa. It’s too dangerous if you sleepwalk with the open kitchen.”
“I wasn’t going to sleep on the couch.” Like a cat, she padded silently on bare feet and approached the left side of the bed. She winged back the covers and turned to face him. “We can share. This bed is huge and extremely comfortable. I probably won’t move all night.”
“I can’t stay,” he insisted, injecting all the irritation and frustration he felt building up.
“You won’t even know I’m here, Cowboy.”
Her gentle rationalization only served to annoy him to the point of breaking.
“Yes. I would.” Harshly and tinged with his constant frustration, the words left his mouth before he could pull them back. His jaw felt as tight as his undershorts.
Hands on her hips, she challenged him. “Honestly, stop with the Boy Scout routine.”
Pushed beyond limits he knew damn well should be locked in place, he threw the pillow across the room.
Her eyes widened as he stomped toward her.
Time he tested her limits the way she tested his.
He didn’t ask permission.
He didn’t allow her to question or push him away.
He didn’t bother to think at all.
Hands sliding into her damp hair, he cradled the back of her head with a firm grip and tilted his head to the side before molding his mouth over hers.
Warm and generous, her lips crushed against his, the angle awkward in his haste, but satisfying. And electric. He caressed her lips with abandon. He never broke contact for a second. Never allowed her control. Impulsively, he sidled closer until their hips aligned and he could feel the nothingness of her shirt and the tweak of her belly ring against his bare middle.
She tilted her head back against his hold and parted her lips, whether to protest or breathe or accept, he didn’t care. He took advantage of her mistake and slid his tongue past her breath and into the sweet dampness beyond.
The moan into his mouth seared a warning to his brain and pulled him out of the moment.
He’d gone too far.
Every nerve, every molecule, every natural impulse begged him to continue, but Zane pulled back.
He broke their kiss and held her head with vibrating hands.
“That’s why I can’t sleep here. I can’t have you, and I want you. Every second under those sheets with you at arm’s length—unjust torture.” With that he let her go and stormed out of the room. Shame he hadn’t hung the interior doors. He’d like a door to slam. He’d have to settle for stomping.
“Who said you can’t have me?” Husky from the long day, her voice reminded
him of pillow talk and sleepless nights.
He stopped but didn’t turn around. Instead he kept his gaze aimed over the hall railing at the cold fireplace below.
“You did,” he barked.
Something soft clipped his ear. It slid off his shoulder and dropped to the floor at his feet. A pale puddle of cloth. The loop of a shoulder strap curved like the letter Q against the hardwood floor.
“You changed my mind.” Half a beat passed. “Long before the kiss. You changed my mind. I’d like the chance to change yours.”
“Before?” Zane swiveled on the ball of one barefoot and took another wad of fabric to the face. This time he caught it before it hit the floor, but he didn’t need to examine his prize to know what she’d winged at him.
In the doorway, Delphine leaned against the jamb in nothing more than a pink thong and sinful grin. Her gaze roved over him. She pinched her bottom lip with the tips of her teeth, and her chest rose in a deep breath. Her rosy nipples, twin points stiff and ready for his mouth. He could make them harder. He could make her scream with the pleasure.
“Forget the couch. Forget the mission. Forget I’m not your forever woman. Forget everything. Please. Give me something to remember. I promise to do the same for you.” She curled her body into the dark bedroom and disappeared.
He didn’t need to be asked twice.
Zane fisted the tiny shorts and tossed them over the railing to the living room below.
If there’s one thing Zane knew better than history, better than ranching, better than the Rings of Hell, it was how to make a memory.
He only hoped a memory would be enough to sustain him when she finally got her wish and left.
»»•««
Delphine pulled back the curtains and lifted the lever on one pane of the three vertical windows. She pushed it open, and a cool breeze filled the room with the earthy scents of pine and old leaves and the muggy damp off the lake’s surface. Fingers of moonlight extended over the floor, the bed, her naked flesh. Never had she experienced such an overwhelming sense of freedom. Of choice.
Of unencumbered control.
Dream Breakers, Oath Takers Page 22
