Burned

by Melody Anne

  They were taken to the emergency room, and then transferred to a private room in the back, where medical staff came in and out asking questions and checking their temperatures. After about an hour the man who’d been calling for Michael entered the room. Wrapped in heated blankets, the three boys were sipping hot chocolate and eating sandwiches. The man looked at them with tear-filled eyes.

  “I don’t know how I could ever possibly repay you for what you’ve done. I don’t think you even comprehend what heroes you truly are. My son is going to be fine thanks to you. He’s in the room next door sleeping,” he said before pausing for a moment. “My name is Martin Whitman, and the boy you risked your lives to save is my only son, Michael. He’s my entire world. We lost his mother two years ago and now all we have is each other.” Martin’s voice was choked.

  The boys looked at him in surprise. They’d done what any other human being would do, hadn’t they? But this man seemed to think they’d performed a great service.

  “How long have you been living in the foster home over on Spruce?” Martin asked. Since Spence was the oldest—he was fourteen to Camden’s thirteen and Jackson’s twelve—he was the one to respond.

  “We’ve been there for two years now.”

  Martin hesitated before he spoke again. “I talked with your social worker. She’s on her way down here now. I’d like to make an offer to you boys.”

  They looked at him with distrustful eyes. They’d been in the foster-care system too long and had learned to trust no one but each other. They shared a common heartache—no one seemed to want any of them. Being alone was much better when you were “alone” with someone else. It had caused a unique bond to form—a brotherhood.

  At least this man’s eyes were kind. They waited in silence to see what he had to say.

  “I’d like for you to come live with me. What you did today showed me more than I need to know about your characters, and I would be honored to adopt each of you. The judge here in town is a good friend of mine. He can give me temporary papers so you could come home with me right away. Then, if you like it at my place, we could make it permanent.”

  Spence took the lead again. “We’ve been lied to a lot. It would be pretty crappy of you to say something like this and then decide you hated us after a few days. They call us throwaway kids because we’re older than kids who are typically adopted,” he said with a slightly wobbly voice.

  All of them were trying desperately to put up a brave front, but it was beginning to crumble as hope filled them. The pain that held all three of the boys in its grip was evident to Martin, whose heart filled with a deep sadness. What had they been through to be so wounded and so afraid? He hoped they never would have to carry that fear again.

  “I understand that you don’t know me, and it will take a lot of time to build up trust, but I don’t lie and I never make a promise I don’t keep. My father taught me to always be a man of my word. You three boys gave me the greatest gift today, one that only my wife had given me before now—the life of my son. Not everyone gets the kind of second chance you gave him. You deserve a second chance at life as well. I’d feel privileged to have you come home with me. You’re not too old at all. My son is ten, right around your age. I think we could be a family if you give me a chance.”

  Spence immediately turned away when a tear started to slip down his cheek. The others pretended not to see and gave him a chance to pull himself together. They never cried, at least not where anyone else could see. They’d learned long ago that tears didn’t matter from a throwaway kid anyway.

  Martin Whitman did something then that no one had done for so long that the boys had forgotten what it felt like. He wrapped his arms around Spence and gave him a solid hug, and then did the same to Camden and to Jackson. All three boys were shaking with emotion by the time he let go.

  Martin stood and walked to a nearby restroom so he could compose himself and give them a moment alone to discuss his offer.

  “What do you think, Spence?” Jackson asked with a hopeful expression.

  Spence looked at both Jackson and Camden, who stared back with a mixture of faith and disbelief. Though Jackson didn’t want to get his hopes up, the thin layer of ice that encased his heart was beginning to thaw. He wanted to believe. He wanted this to be real. If Martin took them all, they would never be separated.

  The rational part of him knew that a brighter tomorrow would never come. But for the sake of Camden and Spence, he put a confident smile on his face.

  “I don’t see what it would hurt to give it a try,” he said.

  Ultimately, the decision lay with Spence, though, since he was the oldest. They waited for his verdict.

  “Why not?” he told them, trying to look composed, but excitement burned in his eyes.

  Camden and Jackson beamed eager smiles his way, hopeful for the first time since they had been dumped at the state’s doorstep when they were barely out of diapers.

  When Martin emerged from the bathroom, Jackson and Camden looked at him with happy apprehension. Spence looked the man in the eye, issuing him a silent challenge: this is me—take me or leave me.

  Martin smiled, not breaking eye contact for even a second, as if to reply that he would take him as he was, chip on his shoulder and all.

  Chapter One

  TWENTY YEARS LATER

  I promise you, Mom, I’m fine.”

  But Alyssa’s mother kept on saying all the usual motherly things, full of worry and false cheer, not offering her daughter even the remotest chance of interrupting. Alyssa Gerard held her phone wearily against her ear. She had no more words to say, nothing that would make this nightmare end. A nine-hour flight was still ahead of her, then one connection, and she’d be home.

  Or maybe not. Alyssa had waited in the crowded airport as her “on-time” flight was delayed again and again. It was already midafternoon, and she’d been in this boarding area for hours. Were there any other flights with open seats?

  Not on this day of the year, New Year’s Eve. She could either wait for her original flight, or give up—which wasn’t going to happen. She was more than done with Paris, done with modeling, and done with people in general. This week had started out badly and kept on getting worse.

  “. . . and I know you’ll really love it in Sterling . . .” Yes, her mom was still speaking, and yes, she should listen, but as she looked around at all the people in bright colors with what seemed like permanent smiles on their faces, she grew even grumpier and simply couldn’t force herself to respond. Not that she needed to, as her mom was speaking enough for both of them. Alyssa should be happy, should feel like celebrating, but instead she was fighting tears.

  “. . . Martin is a wonderful boss. Your dad has never been happier . . .”

  It was all over—everything had ended so much more speedily than it had begun. She’d set out at the tender age of fifteen, ready to change the world with all the millions she’d make, to see her name in lights, or at least to see her face on every magazine cover ever to grace store shelves and racks.

  She’d gotten her dream . . . for a while. And then—poof!—it was gone. Her body tensed in anger as she found herself wedged between two large men who surely hadn’t bathed in eons.

  Her mother continued to yammer away, though Alyssa was long past listening.

  “. . . and you should see Martin’s boys. They are so handsome . . .”

  Shaking her head, she took a deep breath. To her left, a heated debate had broken out between a man in a dark blue suit and an attractive blonde. The exchange flung her back into her own head as she was forced to think about what had happened between her and her ex.

  Her “trustworthy” manager, who’d also happened to be her boyfriend, had taken it all—he’d run away not only with her fortune but with her hopes and dreams and reputation. Now she was stuck in Paris on New Year’s Eve, and all she could think about was how badly she wanted to be home, where she could lick her wounds in peace.

  “. . . y
our father and I are so excited to have you home. I only wish you’d been here last week. It was our first Christmas with snow . . .”

  To top everything off with a nice, fat cherry, her parents had decided to move out of the thriving Texas town she’d grown up in and hare off to the backwoods of Montana, settling in a place she had never heard of before—Sterling. Her mother swore up and down they’d visited an aunt there several times when she was a kid, but the place must be awful because she couldn’t even remember it.

  Great! Just great. She had to go home with her tail tucked between her legs, and it wasn’t even home. They had snow in Montana? Lots of snow? Like the sort of snow that buried people alive, and they weren’t found again until months later, when the spring came and the roads finally cleared? She had a feeling she was going to be one of those unsuspecting victims—huddled in the fetal position as she froze to death in her car.

  That is, if she was lucky enough to find a car she could afford.

  “. . . I’ve had quite a time learning to drive in snow, but it can actually be fun . . .”

  Alyssa had heard some of this before. She still wasn’t interested in living in Montana, not that she had a choice. She’d never thought she’d want that twenty-year-old Toyota so badly, but she was praying now that it had made the journey with her parents when they’d trekked north for her father’s new job. Alyssa didn’t even have enough money left to buy a five-hundred-dollar “preowned” lemon to get her to and from whatever job she’d manage to find back in the States.

  “. . . your dad sold the car, but I’m sure we can find you something when you get here . . .” Great. She didn’t have the Toyota.

  She could try to start again, try to make a go of a modeling career from scratch, but the reality was that she hated the industry, had hated it almost from the beginning, and now, at twenty-four, she was considered old in this world of the rich and beautiful, the sleek and connected. Connections that her manager/boyfriend had managed to sever irreparably.

  “Honey? Are you still there?”

  Alyssa jumped. She’d been sunk inside her own head so heavily that she’d forgotten her mom was on the phone.

  “Mom, I love you and I promise I’m doing fine. I really appreciate the ticket home. But they’re speaking to the passengers, so I have to hang up now.”

  With a little grumbling, her mother finally allowed her to disconnect her cell, though by then Alyssa had missed the agent’s message. Scanning the seating by the gate, she promptly spotted a nice, quiet corner, one with no loud orsweaty men nearby, and made a beeline for it.

  A few minutes later she heard a commotion and she glanced up to see an unhappy passenger arguing with one of the customer service agents. This wasn’t anything new. Alyssa wasn’t thrilled with the delay, either, but she’d been traveling a lot over the years and knew it was par for the course.

  Would the passengers rather fly in an unsafe plane? Alyssa would prefer to fly with her mind at ease, and to land the same way. Delays were never fun, but she wasn’t going to argue with people who knew a lot more about the airplanes than she did.

  When several other people surged around the guy who’d gone ballistic—his voice was rising by the minute—and gained the “courage” to yell at the agent along with him, Alyssa tried not to watch. But it was like passing a wreck on the freeway. You knew it was ridiculous to slow down, but no matter how much you lectured yourself not to twist your head, it just seemed to happen.

  As Alyssa focused on the clamor, she felt the air stir next to her as someone sat down. No rank odor assailed her, so she didn’t pay attention to her new neighbor; she was busy watching two policemen walk to the customer service counter. The noise finally began dying down when the officers told the passengers that the next person to cause a problem would be escorted off the premises.

  Nothing more to see there. She turned her head idly and then started in surprise; her eyes surely widened to the size of small saucers. Sitting next to her was a heart-stoppingly beautiful man—and she never used that term lightly. His thick, dark hair was cut just a little longer than was conventional, brushing the top of his ears. His solid jawline and high cheekbones gave him an air of natural sophistication, and the straight, smooth shape of his nose perfected his features.

  But what really caught her attention were the sultry dark brown eyes with their perfect almond shape, and thick, long lashes that most people in her former industry would pay thousands of dollars to acquire. The man was positively delicious, which sent an instant shot of awareness through her stomach. And she had no business gazing his way.

  Something was making him unhappy. His flawless lips were clamped in a straight line and his eyebrows bent inward in a scowl. When Alyssa finally exhaled, she found herself sitting up a little bit straighter. His scent was now dancing inside her, and—mmmm—whatever cologne the man was wearing was meant to seduce. Meant to make women turn their heads. And it was doing the trick on her.

  “Mr. Whitman, is there anything else I can do for you?”

  Alyssa turned to find one of the airline’s agents hovering around her compelling neighbor. The name was familiar, but she couldn’t place it.

  “No. Leave me.”

  Wow! He was an unhappy man.

  Alyssa decided that staying silent would be the wisest course of action. But she had never really been the silent type, and for some odd reason, this stranger’s disgruntled mood made her feel less sorry for herself. It looked as if his day was going worse than hers. And that was saying a lot.

  “I’m so sorry about the delay, Mr. Whitman,” the agent said. “We’ll be boarding within the next twenty minutes.” When he didn’t respond, she shifted on her feet before shuffling away.

  The man’s cold dismissal would make anyone uneasy. The little show that had just taken place told Alyssa that she should stand up quietly and find another seat. But she wouldn’t. Not when she was suddenly so entertained right where she was.

  The man was retrieving his laptop from his computer bag when the device slipped and he jerked his hand out to catch it; in the process, his elbow leapt over the armrest separating him from her and jabbed her in the ribs. She couldn’t help giving out an oof of pain.

  Chapter Two

  Cold.

  Untouchable.

  Forbidding.

  Those words described Jackson Whitman perfectly. It was the way he wanted to be viewed. It was safe—it protected him. After the loss of his daughter, he was done. Done with love. Done with playing nice. Done with it all.

  People skirted around him, steered clear. Most people, that is. Certainly not his meddling family, who couldn’t get it through their heads that he was now a lone wolf and preferred it that way. Of course, if they ever actually gave up on him, would he like that? He wanted to think that he would, but he knew the truth, knew he needed them. No one, however, would ever hear him say those words aloud.

  Okay, he didn’t need companionship; he didn’t need long talks or people to be in his face. Sex, on the other hand—oh, yes, that need bubbled up inside him like molten lava boiling for an eternity in the confines of the earth, begging for release.

  Right now, sex should be the last thing on his mind, but his neighbor, the woman he’d just managed to elbow, was making him unable to think of anything else. As he took in her pale blue eyes, sleek yet curvy body, silky reddish-blond hair, and ripe parted lips, sex was his only thought. Thrusting that thought away, he opened his mouth to apologize when her lips turned from an O to a smile.

  “Well, that’s certainly a new greeting,” she said with a chuckle.

  What the hell was she talking about? “Excuse me?”

  “An apology would be expected, but you don’t seem to be the sort of man who goes around apologizing, if your interaction with the airline employee is any indication of how you normally speak to strangers.”

  She wasn’t being rude, exactly. She was just being . . . he couldn’t quite put his finger on what the hell she was being.
Jackson was used to women batting their eyelashes, licking their lips, leaning in to give him a clear invitation with a close-up of their cleavage. He wasn’t used to anyone mocking him. It took him several silent seconds to form two words.

  “I apologize.”

  “Wow. You really need to work on that.”

  Again he was floored. It was just as she’d said: he practically never apologized for anything. And she’d just thrown his sincere—all right, maybe not completely sincere, but still . . . She’d just thrown the words back at him without even a nod of her head indicating acceptance.

  “It wasn’t as if I intentionally elbowed you,” he pointed out.

  “I would hope not, since we don’t know each other, and I’ve never done anything to warrant being hit by you,” she said, the same grin in place.

  “No woman should ever be hit.” He wasn’t amused.

  “Ah, so you’re a gentleman.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” And miraculously, he felt his lips turning up just the slightest bit. Sheesh, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled. Too much had happened in the past five years to make him feel like grinning.

  “That’s good to know, Mr. Whitman.”

  How did she know his name? Suspicion entered Jackson’s thoughts. Then he remembered the rep who’d been busy kissing his ass. Airlines annoyed him. He hated flying commercial, preferring to use his jet, but one of his brothers was using it this week, and he’d had little choice but to come to Paris any way he could. He’d have put the trip off, but with the holidays, he’d been under certain pressing deadlines.

  Now, inevitably, the flight was delayed, and here he was, sitting next to a distressingly intriguing woman. Dammit. Jackson didn’t want to be intrigued, but it seemed as if his body had taken the reins from his brain.

  That she’d mocked him gave him a measure of respect for her. It was refreshing to have a conversation with a woman who knew nothing about him, seemed to want nothing from him. He was tempted to change her mind on that front.