by Skye Taylor
Bree was leaning against the counter in the kitchen, holding a steaming mug to her lips.
“Want a cup?” she said, holding hers up.
“What I want is to know what you were doing at the Jolee place after you agreed not to go there alone.” He hadn’t meant to challenge her quite so aggressively, but suddenly the whole afternoon telescoped into this. Sam could have fallen into the well and drowned. He could have broken both legs even if there was no water in the damned thing. And all because Bree chose to ignore his warnings. He might not have any rights where Sam was concerned, and Bree had made it clear she could think and decide for herself. But the frustration bubbled to the surface anyway.
Her shoulders stiffened immediately, her withdrawal obvious. “I thought it would be all right just to go there for a picnic.”
“The beach would have been a better choice.” Anywhere else would have been a better choice.
“But I wanted to take some pictures.”
“For a woman who spends so much effort avoiding risks, you seem pretty blind about the Jolee place.”
“I didn’t take any risks.”
“Oh, and Sam got hurt because you were being careful?”
“I didn’t know about the well. He was supposed to be flying his kite.”
“And where were you while he was flying it? If you’d been doing your job instead of worrying about a rundown old plantation, Sam wouldn’t have gotten bored with the kite and gone exploring.”
Bree’s shoulders caved, and tears sprang into her eyes.
Will changed his mind and grabbed the extra mug she’d left sitting next to the coffee maker. As he poured, he did his best to curb the exasperation that had been building inside him since moment she’d called him. When he thought he had himself under control, he turned to face her.
“I shouldn’t have come at you like that. You’re a good mom, and that was unfair. Boys do stupid things and get hurt all the time. I should know.”
The mug trembled in her grasp, and she set it down on the counter with a clatter.
“Bree. I’m sorry.” Will shoved his own mug back on the counter next to hers and pulled her into his arms. She buried her face against his chest, her hands clutching at his shirt. Her whole body trembled.
It was the aftershock. She’d been frightened and alone, but she’d done what she’d needed to do. She’d even called him knowing he’d probably rip into her. He was venting his own fright on her. He rocked her, murmuring his apology again.
When the trembling stopped, Bree pushed free of his embrace, but he kept his hands cupped about her shoulders. “You going to be okay?”
She nodded and offered him a tremulous smile. “I should probably get used to this sort of thing, huh?”
“Some day I’ll tell you some of the things my brothers and I put my mom through.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t. My imagination comes up with too many possibilities as it is.”
Her cheeks were still wet with the tears she’d done her best not to shed. He brushed them off her face with the pads of his thumbs. “I’m sorry Sam got hurt, and I’m sorry I got angry.”
She buried her face in her hands. He drew her in again, looping his arms around her waist and resting his cheek against the top of her head. The scent and feel of her so close awoke other feelings in him that didn’t belong to this moment. He tamped the desire down and just held her because that’s what she seemed to need from him at the moment.
She mumbled something he didn’t catch. He lifted his head and glanced down into her now upturned face. “What was that?”
“Thank you for being there.”
I could be here for you forever if you’d let me. “I’m glad I was close by.”
The whiskey color of her eyes darkened. Then, before he could guess what was going on in her head, she reached up and pulled his mouth down to hers.
As her body molded itself to his, and her hands raked through his hair, he tightened his embrace. Sam, the afternoon, his anger, and her defiance all dissolved into flaming desire. When she parted her lips, he took that too, plunging his tongue in to dance with hers. Will was as aroused as he’d ever been in his life.
“I want you,” she whispered against his lips when they parted for a breath of air. “I shouldn’t, but I do.”
Her admission brought Will back to earth with a jarring thud. She was reeling with the aftereffects of a frightening afternoon and overwhelmed with thanksgiving for his having rescued her. If he accepted her wide-open invitation, he’d be taking advantage. He wanted her, but not like this. Not because her feelings were wrapped up in gratitude and whatever other repercussions were going on in her mind right now.
He put both hands at her waist and held her away. For several breathless moments he rested his forehead against hers and waited for the raging surge of blood and need to subside.
“When you want me for me, then ask.”
He dropped his hands from her waist and stepped away. She frowned as if she was puzzled by his withdrawal. Hell, he was puzzled by it. He’d wanted to make love to her for weeks, yet the first likely chance it might have happened, he’d turned the opportunity down? What was wrong with him? He was acting like a freaking Boy Scout.
“But I—” Now embarrassment seemed to overtake her as she realized the import of what she’d said and done and might have done had he not stopped her. He hoped she remembered she’d initiated the kiss and the heavy-duty arousal that had come of it.
“You’re tired, and you’re not thinking straight,” he offered to her as a way out.
He reached for his mug, emptied the contents into the sink and put the mug in the dishwasher. “Sam says you have something important at work tomorrow.”
“I . . .” She frowned and wrinkled her forehead as recollection came back. “I have a seminar. It’s a new client. In the afternoon.”
“Well, I’m off tomorrow if you want me to stay with Sam.
Bree bit her lip. “But . . .”
“But—?”
“I should be here with him. I need to take care of him. I’m his mother.”
“I really don’t mind, Bree. Besides . . .” Will touched her cheek with his knuckle. It was all he dared let himself do. “I told him I’d think of something to take the place of baseball. Has he ever made a model?”
Bree shook her head.
“Good. That’s what we’ll do then.” He turned and headed for the front door.
Bree followed him and put a hand on his arm when he turned to face her.
“Thanks, Will. For everything. I—” She blushed again.
“Get some sleep. You look like you could use it.” Then, before he could change his mind, he let himself out and closed the door.
Chapter 20
TIRED AS SHE WAS, sleep was a long time coming. Snippets of the afternoon kept replaying over and over in her head. Riding down Stewart Road behind Sam, marveling at how quickly he was growing up. Sam with his leg thrust through the hole in the old well cover and panic in his voice. Will caring for Sam with incredible tenderness. Will glowering at her for her stupidity. Will stepping away from her with regret on his face after she’d thrown herself at him.
That last bothered her more than all the rest. If he hadn’t put a stop to things, she’d have thrown caution to the winds. Actually, she had thrown caution out the door when she’d admitted she wanted him. She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but the words had slipped out anyway.
He thought her desire was just gratitude. And maybe she should let him continue to think that. But it was way too late to convince herself.
For weeks she’d been telling herself that the physical attraction she felt for Will was only that. Because she was a healthy young woman with normal appetites. Because it had been too long since any man had touched
her with desire. Dismissing the lack of any similar yearning when Bob kissed her as not important, she had been lying to herself because it seemed safer not to get involved with Will.
She’d kept telling herself Will was just a jock, addicted to anything that created an adrenaline rush. A cop who enjoyed the dangerous aspects of his job. An overgrown kid with too many big toys. A man she could not afford to love.
But then she’d begun to see the other side of him. Even when she was being argumentative, and in his opinion, unreasonable, he’d been even-tempered and fair. He’d lost his cool only twice, and both times had been fully justified. Even then he’d exhibited restraint and apologized for any harsh words he’d said.
He was amazingly patient with Sam, taking far more time and interest than could possibly be expected of an unattached bachelor, even if he was Sam’s Cub Scout den father.
Their date that Will still smilingly insisted was not a real date had been a turning point. Looking back now, it was easy to see, but at the time she’d still been clinging to the fiction that all she wanted was a friend.
But friends did not feel the way he’d made her feel tonight. He’d kept his promise, so she’d made the first move. He’d offered compassion and comfort. She’d taken both and turned them into a heady roller coaster of passion. She’d pressed her aching, needy body to his and let herself be consumed by his answering arousal. If he hadn’t stopped her, she’d have taken him to bed.
Was she really crude enough to take a lover without a permanent relationship? Or was she brave enough to let herself fall in love and give Will her heart as well? Was that even what he really wanted from her?
Answers to those questions were troubling, but even without answers, what she felt for Will was not gratitude, and perhaps it was dishonest to let him go on thinking it was. He deserved better than that.
SAM STILL SLEPT. Bree had left for work almost an hour ago. Will put his feet up on the coffee table, sipped his third cup of coffee, and contemplated his situation.
He could have taken her to bed last night. She’d been aroused and willing. But then he’d had an attack of scruples. Even a cold shower had not taken the edge off his need. But he was still glad he’d turned her down. If he hadn’t, he’d never know what her real reason for wanting him was.
The litany about why she didn’t want to get involved with him was getting threadbare, but she’d continued to cling to it in spite of moments he knew they’d connected on some far deeper level than just friendship.
He remembered Jake telling him that Zoe wanted a Cinderella ending. How ironic to discover he was just as idealistic as his new sister-in-law. If he’d made love to Bree last night, he was sure it would have been amazing. But he hadn’t wanted gratitude. He wanted her love.
“Momma?”
Will shot off the sofa, glad to have his fruitless thoughts interrupted. He set his coffee mug down and hurried down the hall.
“Where’s Mom?” Sam asked when Will reached his bed.
“She’s at work. You get me instead. Gotta go the bathroom?”
Sam nodded and started to get up, then looked at his new cast as if he’d forgotten he had it. “Are you going to carry me again?”
“Depends on how bad you gotta pee.”
“Kinda bad,” Sam admitted, clutching at himself.
“Just this once, then.” Will scooped him up and strode to the bathroom where he set him down in front of the toilet and lifted the seat for him. “Be right back.”
He had to hunt for Sam’s new crutches. Bree hadn’t left them by the bed where he thought they’d be. They turned up leaning in the corner by the front door where she must have propped them when they came in the night before. He carried them back to the bathroom.
“These are going to be your new best friends for the next eight weeks. Might as well get used to them.”
Sam fitted them under his arms the way the nurse had shown him the night before, took a couple tentative steps, and grinned up at Will.
“I checked the weather, and it’s warm enough for shorts. That will make getting dressed a whole lot easier, but I’ll help with the stuff you can’t do by yourself.”
Sam accomplished the task of dressing himself with a lot less help than Will would have guessed. His underwear was the biggest hurdle, but once Will had stretched them over the bright blue cast, Sam managed the rest.
“Now for breakfast and then we have to go out.”
“Out where?” Sam asked, hobbling along in front of Will toward the kitchen.
“Two places. First to your school to pick up your books and homework for the rest of the week.”
Sam groaned, made a face, then brightened. “And where else?”
“That’s a surprise.”
BREE SORTED THROUGH her keys, then remembered the door would probably be unlocked. She let herself into her apartment, and the first thing to hit her was the delicious aroma of something cooking in the kitchen. Curious, she dropped her briefcase and the book she had bought for Sam and followed her nose.
Sam and Will sat at the table, their heads bent over a project spread across layers of newspaper.
Will looked up first. “Hi. How’d the seminar go?”
“It went fine.”
“Look, Mom!” Sam held up a half-constructed model of an old-fashioned biplane.
Will got to his feet and met her in the archway between the kitchen and the dining area. For a minute, Bree thought he was going to kiss her. As if this were the end of a normal day, and he always welcomed her home like this. The thought made her heart race, and she rather wished he would kiss her. But he just passed by and headed for the stove.
“What smells so good?”
“Just spaghetti with a twist.”
Will had surprised her again. “I didn’t know you were so domestic.”
“Would it be to my advantage?” He dumped the pasta into her colander in the sink, set the empty pot on a potholder, and winked at her.
“Mo-om.” Sam had lost patience with her delay in checking out his project. “Look at what I’m making.”
Bree dragged her gaze away from the appealing image of Will with his hands thrust into her kitchen mitts and a grin on his face. He had a smudge of something red on his cheek that she wanted to wipe off. Or kiss off.
She tried to banish that last thought as she turned to her son. Her face burned. “You’re doing a really good job of it.”
“It’s the first ever airplane.” Sam made the model swoop in a circle and land in the middle of the newspaper-covered table. “I saw the real one last year. Remember?”
“Yes, I remember. How is your ankle?” She hugged him, still struggling with the embarrassingly wayward thoughts that only she knew.
Sam held up the blue cast for her inspection. “It’s good.” He dropped his foot and went back to his model. “Will says maybe we can build a model airplane that really flies next.”
Bree turned to Will. “Really?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Because they’re expensive. And hard to fly. Have you ever flown one?”
“No, but I’d like to try. And I’d pay for it.”
The last thing Bree wanted right now with her emotions so tangled and her intentions totally up in the air was to feel indebted to Will. She already owed him a great deal, but so far, she wasn’t willing to give anything back. That wasn’t fair to him. She started to say so, but Will neatly changed the subject.
“Time to put the model away and set the table for supper, sport.”
Sam, who usually lollygagged about picking things up, immediately began scooping up tiny plastic model parts and dropping them into the box they’d come out of. He set the airplane on the sideboard and rolled up the newspapers. “I’m done.”
“You are a miracle
worker,” Bree said in a quiet aside to Will.
“I’m a novelty,” he replied, setting a handful of tableware in front of Sam. “Wash your hands first. Then set the table while I serve, and your mother gets to sit down and get waited on for a change.”
I could get used to this. The thought rattled around in Bree’s head as she took a seat while Sam hobbled off toward the bathroom, and Will set a steaming bowl of spaghetti on the table next to a pitcher of sauce.
“It’s nothing fancy,” Will said. “Just something I saw on Facebook that my nephews and nieces all think is pretty fun.”
Bree peered into the bowl. “Whoa! How did you do that?” Cooked spaghetti protruded from both ends of short sections of hotdogs.
“It’s magic.” He grinned at her and set a plate at each place.
Sam returned, swinging between his crutches as if he’d been using them for months.
Will used her salad tongs to grab a bundle of spaghetti and hotdogs and placed it on her plate. Sam pushed utensils into place and dropped into his seat. Will plopped a serving of spaghetti and hotdogs on Sam’s plate.
“Wow! Mom. Look at that!” Sam stabbed a chunk of hotdog and lifted it up to inspect Will’s magic. “How’d you make it do that?” He touched the totally limp pasta and looked to Will for an explanation.
“It’s my super-secret recipe.” Will laughed and ruffled the top of Sam head. “You going to offer grace first or just be a heathen?”
Sam dutifully set his fork down, crossed himself, and held one hand out toward Bree and the other to Will, before rattling off the grace he’d recently learned.
When Will’s hand closed around Bree’s, her heart jumped. She closed her eyes and tried to act as if his touch didn’t distract her from her son’s prayer. Sam finished, let go of her hand, and grabbed his fork. Will’s fingers tightened around hers before she could draw her hand back.
