River's Return (River's End Series, #3)

by Davis, Leanne

  “You’ve really never felt bad about it before?”

  “No, I really haven’t.” He let out a long sigh. “Perhaps all your talking and noticing those things have rubbed off on me. It’s all your fault that I feel so bad now.”

  Despite the last ten minutes of misery and regret over her role of silence in her neighbors’ rocky marriage, a smile lifted one side of her mouth. “You deserve it. And good. You should listen to me. I’m right. And most people with any kind of conscience agree with me.”

  “So you’re not mad?”

  “Did you just say that so I wouldn’t be?”

  “No, but I really don’t want you to be.”

  His head was still hanging as he failed to realize how wretched he looked. All big and hulking Shane seemed more like a contrite, little boy idly fidgeting while he stared at his feet in clear discomfort. Allison was glad to know he cared about what she said. At first glance, he looked like someone who’d flip her off and her advice, let alone, listen to her views and even take them to heart.

  “I am just sad for Jett. And it embarrasses me. Because I don’t like being a part of it. But you are my friend too, I guess. So I realize I have no right to tell you who to spend your time with. I just don’t want to be involved in it again.”

  “I’ll tell Celia to tell him we are just friends now.”

  “You mean, you plan to still see her?” Just when she assumed he learned something, or would abide by a code of ethics… but it was so much simpler than that. She really didn’t like knowing he wanted to still go and see Celia. And she most certainly didn’t want to examine her reasons for why that was.

  He turned, shrugging. “Yeah. Small town. No choice. But I’ll be sure it doesn’t reflect on you again.”

  “I would appreciate that.” Her tone contained the prissy crispness she first used with him when they met for a conference about Charlie.

  He rocked on his heels and stuck his thumbs through his belt loops. “So… I guess I’ll let you go. Sorry, the night went so sour.”

  “Yes, Shane, me too.” She cringed. Again with the school marm voice. Damn it! Why did she have to be so off-putting? So rude and so judgmental? It didn’t matter with him before. But now? He was kind enough to mow her lawn and thank her for helping out Erin. He also took her on a horse ride when he had absolutely no interest in doing so. She could no longer pretend that Shane was no more than the sleazy man cheating with Celia. She now knew he was far deeper than that. And… she liked his company.

  If the truth were told, she really did like him. He was quick and sarcastic, easily returning her verbal sparring and just different enough to spark a pretty interesting dialogue that she would have liked to keep going. Plus… there was something about Shane’s way of embracing each day of his life that made her jealous. He just accepted people around him without any issues, taking everyone at face value and without judgment. She was also fascinated at his particular code of ethics and curious to know how far it extended. She wanted to know more about Shane, period. So what if they disagreed? Nothing new for them. Actually, that was probably what made their interactions so much more intriguing than the usual, boring, status quo bullshit.

  He nodded as he turned to leave. She almost called after him. But what was there to say? Please stop having sex with my neighbor because it bothers me so much. And what would be her reason? It offended her prudish sensibilities? Sure, at first. But now, it almost felt worse. She assumed in light of their newfound friendship, he would refrain from screwing her married neighbor, and thereby end her role in his cover-up.

  But he came over strictly to mow her lawn. Not Celia’s lawn. There was no doubting that.

  ****

  Shane never had that happen before: Jett asking them to dinner. Was he so relieved to find Shane with Allison because it meant that Celia was telling the truth about him? Obviously, Jett had to suspect something. Shane tore out of Allison’s way too fast and let the wind rush over his bare knuckles. Most of his body was covered by his helmet and black leather. The rush of air and speed and road zooming past him cleared his head. He did nothing wrong, he kept reminding himself over and over again. He cheated on no one, and lied to no one. Celia did those things. She chose to do them. Allison’s clear cut and very narrow sense of right and wrong was causing his freaking heart to jerk a little, making him feel… almost guilty. Almost sorry. Almost repentant for doing something wrong. He hated guilt and didn’t believe in it. It was a wasted emotion borne by people who denied responsibility for their own actions and behaviors. If you didn’t have the balls to stand up for whatever you did, then you shouldn’t be doing it. That was his old theory on life. And now? He was probably over sensitive because it happened in front of Allison, an elementary school teacher, of all people.

  Of course, she didn’t understand his way of thinking and being; just as he found it difficult to comprehend hers. It didn’t mean they had the right to impose their own opinions on each other, which wasn’t very friendly, now was it?

  He convinced himself by the time he returned to the ranch that he had done nothing wrong. Of course, he’d go and see Celia tomorrow. If nothing else, he did say he’d get her to tell Jett the truth about Allison and him. He was a man of his word, and therefore, he’d do it.

  He stared for a few moments across the river at the little stone house perched there and wondered why he had ever ventured into the house next door to it.

  Chapter Eight

  SHANE PUT A FULL eight hours of work in the next day. Strange. Why the hell was he doing that so dang consistently lately? He wasn’t sure, but he did it nonetheless. He decided to head over to Celia’s. They had some talking to do. He knocked on her back door, their usual arrangement at just after four. Teacher wasn’t home yet. He noticed. Sure, he did. Didn’t mean much.

  “Shane.” Celia’s tone was kind of cold. He blinked in surprise. What the hell did she have to be pissed about? He had the joy of turning down a dinner party with her husband. And she was using the glacial tone on him? He rubbed his forehead. First teacher, now Celia? He was just about done with this whole neighborhood.

  “Jett left, I take it?”

  “Of course,” Celia said, turning away from him, her tone even snider.

  “What the hell are you snipping at me for? I had to endure your husband reassuring himself that you weren’t cheating when he found me with Allison.”

  Celia frowned. “Allison? I thought you called her teacher, or something. Since when are you two sitting around having a beer? And mowing her lawn? Are you fucking her now too?”

  Shane just stood stockstill as he stared, open-mouthed, at Celia. She started pacing while continuing to fling her stupid accusations and the pitch of her voice quickly exceeded the level of acceptability. Who was she kidding? She was the married one. She was the cheater. Shane was always very clear about sleeping with other people, and no one woman exclusively.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Shane thought, maybe this whole married woman thing really isn’t worth the headache. Allison might just have been correct about that. Not for the indignant moral reasons she endorsed, but because it was pretty much just a royal pain in his ass.

  “I mowed her lawn because she tutored Erin at the ranch. It’s our form of payment. And besides, I can mow anyone’s lawn that I want to mow.” He angrily continued, “And I have every right to enjoy a beer with anyone I choose, and that includes Allison Gray.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she shrieked hysterically. Shane could only wonder, Why? They were never in love; so there was no cause for jealousy. They had casual sex, and enjoyed a cold drink afterwards, and sometimes before. Other than that, they shared nothing. No conversation. No curiosity about each other’s lives, or hobbies. For Christ’s sake, Celia would have had no idea why Erin even needed tutoring. That said a lot about their relationship. They didn’t even talk to one another, so where could this jealous rant have been coming from?

  He scrutinized her vaca
nt expression before shaking his head. “I think it’s best if I just go, Celia. This isn’t working for me anymore. I really didn’t appreciate Jett’s suspicions. I think… well, I believe he deserves more respect; you should either be faithful to him, or leave him. But I think you have to do whatever you decide without me in the picture.”

  “You’re dumping me!?” She stopped pacing and her eyes grew dramatically huge. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  No, he wasn’t. Why was that so hard for her to believe? Since they were never really together, he was not dumping her exactly. He just decided to cease enjoying her body. He didn’t feel like explaining that to the now crazy-eyed, scowling woman who had suddenly taken possession of Celia’s body.

  “I think it’s best if I go now,” he repeated as he turned and slipped through the back door. He ignored the sudden thump he heard when Celia threw something at him. Luckily, it merely hit the wood door and missed him. He shook his head, still wondering why things turned out the way they did. He never dreamed she’d try to play the wounded, betrayed girlfriend, or even a sweet lover. Where did she get off anyway? They were mutually interested in uninhibited, unfettered sex. He was not mistaken in that; and never expected her to leave Jett, for crying out loud. He never expected them to end up as… anything. And bullshit if she did. She was fine until maybe yesterday, after she spotted him at Allison’s. But, no doubt, that was only because, he guessed, Celia never considered Allison as a woman who could attract a man’s attention. She even expressed that to him. So it had to be jealousy over that fact, and not owing to some epic loss she suddenly felt upon no longer seeing him.

  He decided Allison needed to know he’d broken it off with Celia. She’d be pleased, of that he was sure and it made him smile to think of her reaction. She’d say something like, ‘finally, you see the error of your ways. Now don’t you feel better?” He could nearly hear her saying it. He crossed the lawn while reasoning that all out when he heard a scream.

  Jerking to attention, he had no doubt it was a woman, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. When he heard something break, he sensed it wasn’t Celia. It was a muffled, but very definite noise. He was sure of it. A crash and clink. Glass breaking. Raising his head up slowly, he went perfectly still and heard it again. What was that? He had no idea, but it was definitely coming from teacher’s house. Something was off, and he was sure of it now. He hopped across her patio. Reaching her sliding door, he stared into the window and finally found Allison. She was sitting on the floor at the far end of her dining room table. On. The. Floor. What the hell? Shattered glass shards were all around her. Plates and cups and… She lifted up a saucer before hurling it against the opposite wall, purposely breaking it. Had she lost her fucking mind?

  Shane had no idea, but quickly grabbed the long, door handle and yanked it open. Luckily, it was unlocked and he stepped inside, nearly smashing the door behind him in his haste. He stopped short when he saw her leaning against her china hutch. Both doors were open and she continued to pull out random combinations of plates, saucers, and cups, which she planned to use as her next set of missiles. They were spread around her, in jagged pieces and white dust. She was crying. But it was not like tears were rolling down her cheeks. No. She heaved huge, body-rattling gasps of air that made her entire body shudder. Screaming a strange half cry, half shriek fueled by pure rage, she hurled another piece of chinaware at the wooden floor with all her strength. It, too, shattered and lay in pieces at her feet. Luckily, she still wore her heels.

  Rage. Why was there was so much rage in her screams and crying? She wasn’t just upset or sad, Allison Gray was boiling, bursting, no, nearly combusting in a red-hot mass of quivering fury he’d never seen anyone display, or such a physical explosion. Apparently, she did not comprehend his presence, and he had no idea what to do. Prior to this moment, Allison was the most sane, calm, ordinary woman he knew. He never even heard her raise her voice. Let alone, shriek into a room for no apparent reason. And why was she breaking her china all over the floor? It made no sense.

  Nearly teetering over, she curled up on her side into a small, sad ball. He could hear the sound of broken glass as she pulled her legs together. He was terrified she would turn over and become a bloody, cut-up mess from the tiny slivers strewn everywhere. Jesus, didn’t she know better? With no damn idea what to do, he watched her shoulders and torso shake as she began sobbing into her hands. She cried without taking a breath, and he stood there, frozen with shock. What the hell happened? He couldn’t imagine anything that might explain her response. She had only been home for a few minutes, twenty at the most. How could she manage to lose it so fast?

  She started to get up and he quickly stepped forward to scoop her up into his arms. He worried more about her cutting up her skin than trying to repress her sobbing, howling, primal cries.

  She barely glanced up when she felt him against her as he stood up, lifting her in his arms, and she allowed him, falling nearly limp. Her crying didn’t cease. Her crying made her gasp for air as snot and tears smothered her face. She lifted her shirt and sobbed into it, giving Shane an unobstructed view of her smooth stomach and black bra, but that didn’t matter. Not anymore. He was witnessing something extraordinary and rare. A physical demonstration of pain that seemed to go far beyond this world.

  He looked around, clearly at a loss. He expected her to become shy, or even angry at him for watching. But she either didn’t care, or maybe she just didn’t comprehend his presence. He finally stumbled to the couch with her and sat down, rearranging her so her face was pressed into his shoulder. Her small hands circled his neck and she held on. Then something weird happened inside his chest. His heart felt like he just slapped it, or was trying to squeeze it painfully. His own eyes filled with tears, something that never happened. But how could he witness her ordeal and not sympathize?

  He pulled her closer to him and tried to absorb the shudders and trembles that intermittently wracked her body. He shushed and soothed her, whispering tender words into her ear. Leaning down, his lips were on her neck and ear as he peppered her with soft, little kisses, his last effort to calm her down. He was afraid she would make herself sick. But then… shit. What if she was ill or had a terrible disease? What if this was a reaction to a horrible lab result or something?

  What else could it be?

  His stomach knotted. He didn’t want to picture her being sick. Or dying… so he refused to think about it. He refused to believe the possibility even existed. No. Why did Allison cling to him like a broken, hysterical female? She was usually kind of balls to the walls. Never, before today, could he have imagined anything, or anyone making her cry. She seemed more like the type that might tear up momentarily, only to stiffen her spine and analytically handle whatever the conflict or upset was.

  Breaking plates? Becoming hysterical? And clinging to him with total abandon? That was not a familiar Allison to Shane at all. What could it be?

  He waited for her to tell him what was wrong, but she didn’t. She kept crying. It soon became a whole body co-experience that ripped through his heart each time her body trembled and jerked. He rocked her against him, letting his chest absorb her shuddering sobs.

  “Allison, shh, what happened, honey? What happened?” he crooned softly into her ear. Was she even aware he was there? If this were her normal self, she would never have allowed him, of all people, to hold her like this, let alone, see her this way. The Allison he knew would have socked him in the shoulder for calling her honey. She would have done whatever it took to make sure he didn’t observe her as being anything less than composed and fully in control.

  Slowly, she regulated her breathing and the constant trembling became momentary quivers. She sniffed as her tears started to subside. It was a slow process, however, and she didn’t just cease crying altogether. When her tears grew silent finally, only then did she become completely still in his arms, plunging the house into an awkward silence. His arms were still wrapped around her,
and her breasts were crushed to his chest. He was holding her as tightly as he could, while trying to vanquish her chilling tremors. Her head was buried against his chest as well; and her hair was all messed up. No longer the once neat braid she previously contained it in, frizzy strands trailed everywhere. Something about seeing her messed up hair made his heart twist with tenderness more than anything. Allison was always so put together. Her attire was like a shield she carried to face the world. She wasn’t an extravagant dresser, but her hair and makeup, although subtle, always appeared neatly applied and precisely styled. Smeared black mascara around her eyes was all that was left of her makeup now. It only highlighted her paleness and the stark redness of her hair. That was not how he pictured Allison. She was the capable one, the put-together one. Not like him. Just holding her like he was now almost made him dizzy.

  He kept waiting for her to shuffle around and blush and stammer out an excuse about whatever happened. He kept waiting for the awkward moment when she’d get embarrassed by her unexpected meltdown and try and explain it away. He even hoped they could ignore it, pretend it never happened, and go back to being friends again who gave each other shit. Their shared conversations were fast becoming the highlight of his days.

  He frowned. That’s what he was asking of Allison? To share his day? He shivered inwardly. What? Since when did he want that with anyone? He wasn’t even aware of what she was becoming to him.

  Shit. She mattered to him. He frowned at the revelation. Yeah, he cared about her. It was not like he just wanted to have sex, not at all. He cared that she was in so much obvious pain. He cared what happened to her even when she wasn’t so upset. He shifted under her weight as the realization seemed startling and strange to him. Still… when and how would she explain this?

  She suddenly sat up, and Shane had to jerk his head back. She shifted a bit, and before he knew what happened, she was straddling his lap, and facing him. Her eyes were nearly level with his. She looked tired and pale and tragic. But her gaze wasn’t on his. She was staring at his mouth. He saw no blushing shyness or discomfort about whatever just happened. Instead, she scooted forward and her lips touched his.