Protecting Peggy

by Maggie Price

  Stifling the moan that rose in her throat, Peggy pushed away from the door. Her bruised hip felt stiff, and the headache now brewing dead center in her forehead told her all the sleep she’d lost over the past nights had finally caught up with her.

  She moved to the table, carried the dishes Kade had used to the sink, rinsed them and placed them in the dishwasher. That done, she headed toward the front of the inn for her ritual of settling the inn for the night.

  Leaving a dim light burning in the foyer, she moved into the study. The fire she’d built earlier simmered in the grate, its warmth drawing her across the room. Rain pattered softly against the windows. Feeling the fatigue in her legs and back, she settled onto the leather couch that faced the fire. She would sit here for a minute or two, she told herself. Sit here, and wait for Charlie O’Connell to return with her station wagon.

  Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the soft leather while deep in her restless heart, the truth stirred. Rory was whom she waited on. Rory whom she wanted to walk through the door. Rory whom she wanted to come home.

  The sky broke the same instant Rory walked out of Jake’s. He dashed across the tavern’s gravel parking lot, slid into his car and shook the rain from his hair. Seconds later, he pulled out of the lot and turned the car onto the dark coastal highway for the short trip to Honeywell House.

  He had hoped the stop at Jake’s would help his thoughts steady. Instead, they had constantly turned to Peggy. The memory of her warm, subtle taste, the soft feel of her skin had left his mind as restless as the sea that churned against the ragged cliffs edging the dark shoreline.

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel. Here he was, a man who had never wanted the restriction or the responsibility of a home, drawn to a woman who thrived on those very things. Things he had never had. And didn’t want, he reminded himself.

  He steered around a curve, then headed across a bridge. Below, the angry surf rolled in, crested, then broke. His jaw tightened as his car’s headlights stabbed through the darkness and the rain to illuminate the thin ribbon of road leading up to Honeywell House. Something was happening inside of him and he had no idea what it was. All he knew was that no one had ever had a hold on him like this before. No person…or thing, he amended when he pulled into the parking lot and turned off the engine.

  The inn sat nestled against the hill, the small spotlights spreading dramatic fans of illumination up three stories to the widow’s walk. A light, weak but welcoming, glowed with golden warmth behind the window in the foyer.

  It wasn’t just the woman who had left that light burning that drew him. It was the home she had made.

  “Christ.” Rubbing his eyes, he sat in silence while the rain drummed against the car’s roof and slid down the windows. For the first time in his life, he knew what it felt like to come home.

  He took a mental step back, stunned by the realization, stunned it had been there to come out. He didn’t know what was causing the change inside of him. Had no clue how to stop it. Didn’t know if he could. Or even if he wanted to. He couldn’t deny that he cared about Peggy more than he had ever cared about any other woman. Still, his feelings didn’t alter the fact he had lived his entire life on the road to somewhere else. It was a lifestyle that fit him like a glove. That he was now wondering if he could settle in one place, be on the inside looking out was foreign territory and needed to be approached with caution.

  As did Peggy’s determination to never again involve herself with a man who wore a badge.

  In truth, he had no idea what to do about either issue—if, in fact, he should do anything. Since it was apparent he wasn’t coming up with any solutions sitting in his car, he shouldered open the door and ducked into the rain. Perhaps because his mind had been so weighted down with thought, he didn’t notice until this moment that Charlie O’Connell’s rental car was the only other vehicle in the lot.

  Where the hell was Peggy? he wondered as he dashed up the porch steps. It was nearly ten o’clock—what was she doing out so late with Samantha?

  Using his key, Rory swung open the front door and stepped into the foyer where the dim light glowed. He locked the door behind him, his gaze flicking in the direction of her small office. The door was closed, no sliver of light showed beneath.

  He took two steps toward the staircase, pausing when he came even with the arched entrance to the study. The waning flames in the fireplace put out just enough light for him to see Peggy curled on the couch.

  Because he couldn’t help himself, he moved across the study to stand near her.

  It was a fitful sleep, he decided as he pulled off his leather jacket and laid it on one of the nearby wing chairs. She was lying on her side, one hand fisted against a small throw pillow. In the flickering light, her skin looked stunningly pale, the shadows deep where her dark lashes fanned across her cheeks. She murmured something indistinguishable; a crease of worry formed between her brows.

  A bad dream, he thought as he moved over and crouched in front of her. The need tethered tight inside him strained hard at her scent. She smelled like the inn, of that welcoming combination of lemon, cinnamon and lavender that had greeted him the first night. And was so much a part of what had drawn him back over the past days.

  When her head jerked, her dark hair pooled across the pillow like rich mink.

  Wanting to soothe her, he traced a fingertip down the deepening crease between her brows.

  “No!” Her fist swung out, caught him on one shoulder. “Don’t—”

  “Wake up, Ireland. You’re having a bad dream.”

  “No! Don’t touch me.” She shot awake, her eyes wide, glazed and unfocused. At the same instant, she lunged to her feet, rocked a bit.

  He gripped her upper arms to steady her. “It’s Rory,” he said quietly. Her skin had gone deathly pale. “You had a bad dream.”

  She gulped in a breath, blinked her eyes. “Rory?”

  “You had a bad dream,” he repeated. His hands slid up, cupping her shoulders. “You’re okay now.”

  “Oh, God. I dreamed…” She shuddered. “He came back.”

  “Who?”

  “The man in the greenhouse. He came back.”

  When she leaned in and pressed her face into his shoulder, Rory felt the thunder of her heart. He closed his eyes. It felt right having her in his arms. So right. Even as he told himself to step back, he buried his face in the soft fall of her hair. “You’re okay. It was just a dream.”

  “Yes.” Her arms slid around his waist. “A bad one.”

  “Do you want a glass of wine?” He rubbed a hand gently up and down her spine. “Maybe something stronger to steady you?”

  She inched her head back to look up at him. The firelight shaded her green eyes with gold. Rising on tiptoe, she pressed a kiss to his throat. “You. I want you.”

  “Ireland.” The feel of her teeth scraping against his throat shot desire through him like a bullet. Knowing he needed to distance himself from an edge that had suddenly spun closer, he forced himself to think about the badge in his pocket. “I’m not the right man for you.”

  “I know.” Her mouth was urgent and frantic and hot against his neck, his jaw. He felt the tremors that coursed down her body, heard her shuddering breaths. “You’ll leave Prosperino. You won’t come back. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Eventually it will.” Fighting to hold on to control, he gathered her hair in his hand and drew her head back until their eyes met. The desire he saw there made his knees weak. “There’s no future for us. I can’t promise you any kind of future.”

  She reached up, framed his face with her hands while her body molded itself to the lines of his. “When Jay died, I made a future for myself and Samantha. I don’t need a man to do that for me. I’m not thinking of tomorrow, Rory,” she said, her voice low and thick. “I’m thinking of right now. You’re who I want right now.”

  He could have taken her in one greedy gulp. For a brief, blinding instant, he considered falling
into the mindless pleasure of her touch and taking what his body ached to have. It was his heart and his mind that held him back.

  “This can’t happen.” He tightened his hands on her arms, gave her a gentle shake. “Not like this.”

  “I…” She stilled against him while a dull flush crept into her cheeks. Her arms slid from around his waist. She took a step back. Then another. “I’m sorry. You made it clear over the past three days that you don’t want…” She dropped her face into her hands. “Oh, God, I can’t believe I just attacked you.”

  “If you think I minded, you’re wrong.” He shackled his fingers around her wrists, forced her hands down. “Look at me. Ireland, look at me,” he repeated, then waited for her gaze to meet his. When it did, the mortification in her eyes made his chest tighten. “Dammit, there’s no reason for you to be embarrassed.”

  “I think there is.”

  “Maybe this will change your mind.” He stepped closer; he couldn’t help it. “You’re driving me crazy. All I’ve done for the past three days is think about you. I can barely do my job. Dammit, I can’t even breathe without wanting you. I’ve stayed away because I’m not sure I can keep my hands off of you.”

  Her lips parted as a glimmer of relief spread over her face. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “I thought…you weren’t interested.” She closed her eyes, opened them. “This coming from the woman who just tried to jump your bones.”

  His mouth curved. He freed one of her wrists, used his fingers to nudge a wave of dark hair from her cheek. “I’m not complaining.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re just saying no.”

  “I have reasons.”

  Shifting his gaze to the row of rain-streaked windows that looked out onto the front porch, he fought the urge to tell her he was an FBI special agent. The instant she knew he carried a badge, she would turn away. He was sure of that. What he wasn’t sure of was Charlie O’Connell. Rory had no proof that the EPA inspector had his own agenda in regard to the contaminated water on Hopechest Ranch. Still, Rory couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut that told him there was more going on with O’Connell than met the eye.

  For all Rory knew, O’Connell could have been the man who attacked Peggy in the greenhouse. O’Connell claimed he had been at the reservation checking the site where Springer was drilling the new water well. Rory had checked, and couldn’t find anyone who could verify the EPA inspector’s alibi. That didn’t mean the man was guilty, but it sure as hell didn’t put him in the clear, either.

  Rory bit back a frustrated curse. He knew if he told Peggy he was FBI, her behavior toward him would change. It was possible O’Connell would sense that change, and wonder about it. He might start thinking that Peggy was hiding a secret or two about the chemist Blake Fallon had hired. Depending on what O’Connell was up to, any suspicions on his part could put Peggy at risk.

  The prospect tightened Rory’s throat. For now, it was safer for everyone to continue to think he worked for a private company.

  Brow furrowed, he caught Peggy’s waiting gaze. “There are things about me that I can’t tell you. In the long run, they probably don’t matter much since I’m leaving Prosperino as soon as my job here is done.”

  “I keep reminding myself of that.” She was gazing up at him as if she were looking beyond the surface, to what no one else had seen, even himself. “I know I shouldn’t let myself get close to you because you’ll leave soon.” She dropped her gaze. “I tell myself that, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference. It should, but it doesn’t.”

  Suddenly, it was important to him that she understand why he couldn’t stay. Sliding his hand from her wrist to curve around her fingers, he settled on the couch, then nudged her down beside him.

  “I told you the other night that I don’t have a home. I’ve never had one. My mother died when I was young. My father had no clue how to raise a child, and he didn’t bother to find out. He sent me to boarding schools, camps. I did my time at those places, then I walked away without looking back. I’m good at walking away. I’ve been doing it all my life.”

  She nodded. “I figured that out when you told me you can put everything you need into suitcases and toss them into your airplane. You don’t like roots.”

  “I’ve got no use for them. You do.” Staring into the fire, he laced his fingers with hers. “You put down deep roots, Ireland. You stay in one place and you make that place a home not only for you and your child, but for any stranger who happens to come your way.” He turned his head, met her gaze. “You need a man who will put down roots right beside yours.”

  “Eventually, that’s what I want.”

  “I’ve never stayed anywhere for long. I don’t know that I can stay anywhere. Or if I even want to try.” He eased out a breath. “I care about you, more than I’ve ever cared for anyone. I don’t want to hurt you. I need you to know up front that there’s no future with me. It just isn’t in the cards. If something happens between us, I don’t want you looking back with regret. I want you to be sure.”

  She shoved a hand through her hair. “I thought I was. When I woke up and saw you standing beside the couch, I thought I was sure.”

  “You’d had a bad dream. Your face was chalk white, you were shaking. Vulnerable. You reached for me because I was the nearest safe port in the storm.” He angled his chin. “You told me you don’t take intimacy lightly. If you hadn’t had the dream, would you have reached for me the way you did?”

  “I don’t know.” Her dark brows slid together. “I just don’t know.”

  He nodded. “So, tell me about the dream.”

  “It was so real. I could feel the man’s fingers clenched in my hair, on the back of my neck.” She shook her head. “What Kade said when he was here a while ago must have brought it on. Everything was so fresh in my mind.”

  “Lummus was here?”

  “Yes, I called him when Mr. O’Connell didn’t come back.”

  “Come back?” Rory narrowed his eyes. “His car’s parked in the lot. Yours isn’t. When I drove up, I thought you were gone.”

  “That’s right, you weren’t here, so you don’t know.”

  “I don’t know what?”

  Peggy slid her fingers from his and rose. “This afternoon Mr. O’Connell borrowed my station wagon because his car wouldn’t start. He said he’d be gone only an hour, two at the most. That was around four o’clock.”

  “You haven’t heard from him since?”

  “No.”

  “Why did he need to borrow your station wagon?”

  “He said he had a meeting. An important one in which he might finally get some answers about what happened to the water on Hopechest Ranch.”

  Rory leaned forward. “Did he say who he was meeting with? And where?”

  “No, and I didn’t ask.” She raised a shoulder. “I called Kade around nine o’clock to get his advice on what to do. He came by and got the information he needed on my station wagon so dispatch can put something on the air tonight. He said if O’Connell doesn’t show up by morning, to call him and he’ll list him as a missing person and issue an APB on my car.”

  “That’s good.” Rory rose. “Did you check O’Connell’s room to make sure his things are still there?”

  She tilted her head. “You’re thinking like Kade. We did that while he was here. As far as I can tell, all of Mr. O’Connell’s belongings are still here.”

  “What about his work papers? Files? Any of that in his room?”

  “No. But then, I’ve never seen any of his work when I’ve cleaned his room.”

  Rory walked to the fireplace, stared into the glowing embers. He thought about Blake having seen O’Connell’s car parked at one of the hay sheds on Hopechest Ranch. Another car had been nosed deep in the shadows. A white car.

  Rory retrieved his jacket off the wing chair. “I’m going out for a while, see if I can find O’Connell.”

  Peggy raised a brow. “Please don’t do that
just because he has my car. It’s late, it’s raining and the police are already looking for him.”

  Rory shrugged on his jacket, then walked to her. Because it was undoubtedly unwise to touch her, he kept his arms at his sides. “I’m pretty sure that my putting the brakes on our making love tonight, then telling you to take some time to think things through might be two of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. If I go upstairs to bed right now, I’m going to lie awake all night, telling myself how big an idiot I am. Trust me, it’s better for my mental health to get some fresh air and keep busy for a while.”

  Her mouth curved. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to lie awake all night thinking. If it weren’t for Samantha, I’d go with you and get some of that fresh air for myself.”

  He dipped his head. “Good night, Ireland.”

  “Good night.”

  He took one last look at her and thought how gorgeous she was, standing there in the fire’s wavering glow. Her dark hair was a beautiful mess, her lips slightly parted, her green eyes glistening.

  “Idiot,” Rory muttered as he strode toward the door. “You’re a flaming idiot, Sinclair.”

  Nine

  Rory swung by Jake’s Tavern to make sure Charlie O’Connell hadn’t stopped off for a beer on his way back to Honeywell House. Although Peggy’s black station wagon wasn’t parked in the gravel lot, Rory checked inside the tavern just to make sure no one had seen O’Connell. No one had.

  When Rory climbed back into his car, he turned on the engine before putting a call in to Blake to let him know about the EPA inspector’s disappearing act.

  “He didn’t tell Peggy whom he was meeting?” Blake asked. “Or where?”

  “No. All he said was that the meeting would take about an hour. Two at the most. O’Connell was either lying or he got sidetracked somewhere along the way. Peggy called Kade Lummus after O’Connell didn’t show up. Lummus put the car’s description on the air.”

  “The cops won’t find O’Connell if he’s having another clandestine meeting at one of my ranch’s hay sheds.”