Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  “Did you find you often had need to?”

  The laugh returned, and she shook her head, folding her hands on the table in front of her. “No. I guess I’m just experiencing a little culture shock.”

  He pushed his nearly untouched plate away, unconsciously mirroring her posture and leaning closer. “I don’t know. I think people are much the same anyplace you go.”

  She seemed surprised by his statement. “Really?”

  He shrugged and sprung from his chair. She jumped, startled by his sudden movement. When he cleared their plates, she opened her mouth to protest, and he cut her off. “Sure. You’ve always got your gossips living next door to good-hearted people,” he said evenly, dumping the plates on the counter near the sink. “The know-it-alls, mealy-mouths, and your run-of-the-mill jerks are everywhere.”

  “I suppose they are. Bram, the steak was—”

  “Like eating a hunk of charcoal,” he finished for her. With a flourish, he placed a covered casserole dish at the center of the table. “Looks like we’re having peach cobbler for dinner.”

  “Peach cobbler?”

  “I might as well confess now. My mother made it.” He pulled two saucers from the cabinet and yanked a serving spoon from a crockery pot on the counter. “That means two things: One, this cobbler will be so delicious you may think you’ve seen God.”

  Her blue eyes shone with laughter, slicing like a laser through whatever defenses he had left. The heavy glass lid clattered against the dish when he lifted it. He gripped the little knob on top, trying to mask his trembling hand.

  “What’s the other thing?” she asked, gazing up at him with a brilliant smile.

  He cocked an eyebrow, a sardonic smile twitching his lips. “That I’m an unholy mess of a man who thinks because a store-bought cake is chocolate it might be good enough, and doesn’t have enough sense to keep a decent bottle of wine in the house.”

  Her smile faded a notch. She lowered her gaze, fixating on the glass lid he still gripped. With a touch that rivaled a butterfly’s wings, she brushed the back of his hand. His fingers unfurled. Blood rushed in his ears. His breath roared like an Ozark thunderstorm.

  “I’m not much of a wine drinker.”

  “No?”

  A tiny shake of her head was all it took. Tawny waves of golden-brown hair tumbled over her shoulder, shielding her face. His free hand moved of its own volition, stroking the silky strands in a gesture frighteningly new but stunningly right. She tipped her head back and met his gaze. “I do like a cold beer on a hot summer day.”

  The air crackled around them. His chest tightened as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. He wet his lips. “What is it about you?”

  He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until he saw her eyes widen. She released his hand and lowered her gaze. His knees shook. Bram squatted beside her chair, reaching for her face. His fingertips grazed petal-soft skin, turning her head.

  “Oh no, Miss Lynne…you’re misunderstanding me again,” he whispered. Before she could speak, he covered her mouth with his.

  He hadn’t meant to kiss her at all—at least not until he’d walked her to her door—so he couldn’t claim he meant the kiss to be gentle. But her startled little gasp lit him up like a match to a kerosene lamp. Sweet lips softened further under his. He tasted sour cream, salt, and a hint of charcoal, and nearly exploded with need. Framing her face in his hands, he dropped to his knees and angled his head, brushing the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue, fully prepared to beg if he had to.

  She shifted in her seat. Her lips parted. The plush velvet of her tongue caressed him, wrapping him in heat so intense his blood began to boil. Her quiet moan of surrender made his skin tingle. Soft breasts pressed against his chest and his mind melted.

  His fingers sank into her hair. She tilted her head, and he took the kiss deeper, giving them both up to the flash fire raging through his body. Her fingernails pierced his shoulders. Her palms pressed against his chest. It took three full seconds for him to realize she was pushing him away. He reared back as if he’d been scorched to the soles of his feet.

  Bram’s breath came in ragged pants. He gaped at her, mesmerized by her wet, kiss-swollen lips and terrified by the confusion in her wide blue eyes. “I’m sorry,” he rasped.

  Lynne dismissed his half-hearted apology with a brisk shake of her head. Her fingertips grazed her lips, and he hung his head. A cold rush of shame consumed the desire that flared in him moments before.

  “Holy cow,” she whispered through her fingers. She drew her hand back and a soft, tinkling laugh tumbled free. “And I haven’t even tasted your mama’s cobbler yet.”

  ****

  A soft spring drizzle muffled the sound of gravel squelching under tires. Anna Albertson pulled the hood of her fuchsia rain slicker tight under her chin as she dashed for the back porch. Even the crickets knew to stifle their little symphony when she approached.

  She cursed colorfully when her toe connected with something hard. She pressed the button on the tiny flashlight attached to her keychain, her jaw tightening when it illuminated the stack of fresh-cut lumber next to the storm door.

  “Hmmph,” she grunted and yanked the door hard enough to pop the ancient latch. She stumbled through the mudroom, fingering the keys she’d swiped from the unlocked desk Percy Jenkins kept in his unlocked office.

  “Percy’s just too darn trustin’,” she mumbled, fumbling with the doorknob. The door held, and she smirked. “I guess we’re not as smart as city folk.”

  She held the flashlight steady as she tried key after key. When one slid home at last, Anna’s smile widened, her Passion’s Promise lip-gloss gliding against her teeth.

  Using the skinny beam of light as a guide, she prowled the kitchen in search of what was rightfully hers. She spotted it propped against a chipped enamel sugar canister on the shelf above the stove.

  She’d been so good. It was supposed to be a matter of time. Bram had to snap out of his funk eventually. She’d be damned before she let some designer diva, hoochie mama slip in the back door and swipe what should be rightfully hers.

  “Mine,” she hissed, snatching the recipe card from its perch. Her lips compressed into a thin line. She cast a scornful glance at the old-fashioned kitchen accessories lining the countertop.

  “She needs to go back where she belongs. There must be thousands of men up there. Hell, there are only two single men over forty and under seventy in this whole damn town, and I’m not settling for Percy Jenkins and his starched shorts. I need a man. A real man—like Bram Hatchett.”

  A series of piercing peeps jolted her from her thoughts, scaring the bejesus out of her. She jumped back, crumpling the card against her heaving bosom, and swung the narrow strip of light in a wild arc across the counter. A glint of yellow caught her eye. The spotlight zoomed in on a cage holding a pair of fuzzy yellow chicks, and she released a gusty breath of air.

  “Oh, for the love of sweet Jesus.” She huffed. “What kind of a woman keeps livestock in her kitchen? It’s unsanitary.” Anna pulled another recipe card from the pocket of her slicker. “And poultry, no less,” she muttered, propping the new card against the canister.

  A nice bout of salmonella would serve the man right. What’s he thinking, fooling with a woman like that? The chirps grew more strident, pecking at her ears. “Oh, hush up.”

  She pocketed her pound cake recipe and took a step back to survey her work. Satisfied, she lowered the flashlight. The blue-white beam lit the toes of her new patent-leather ballet flats, highlighting the gouge where the rough lumber had peeled the finish from the leather.

  “Agggh!” Her cry of dismay stirred a fresh round of cheeping. Anna whirled and advanced on the cage, her hand trembling with rage. “These were brand new,” she screeched at the beady-eyed birds. “She’s gonna pay for these.”

  The chicks’ tiny beaks gaped as they fluttered around the cage. Anna’s eyes narrowed to slits. She glared at the sunny little p
uffs of fuzz. One pecked at the shallow food bowl, and she exhaled slowly, her eyes widening with practiced innocence.

  “Aw, are you hungry, little babies?” she cooed. “Did your mama leave you here all alone?”

  She spotted a canister of feed on the counter next to the cage, the familiar yellow Hatchett’s price tag stuck to the label. Anna swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.

  “Yes, that’s too bad,” she murmured as she unlatched the cage. Vermillion claws closed around the nearest one sending up a cry of alarm. To quiet that one, she stuffed the ball of yellow fluff into the pocket of her slicker while the second one chirped loudly, obviously hopping mad at the intrusion. “You come with me,” Anna hissed through gritted teeth.

  “We’re going for a little ride.”

  Minutes later, the empty cage stood open. Anna Albertson locked the deadbolt behind her and smuggled her hostages into the damp, foggy night.

  Chapter Ten

  Though she didn’t consider herself a particularly vain woman, Lynne had to chuckle at herself. Staring into her closet, she ignored the stiff new jeans folded over a wire hanger. It didn’t take a fashion consultant to know the cut of the designer denim was infinitely more flattering to her figure than the clothes she picked up at the farm store. She’d caught a certain farmer-proprietor-wood-working artist eyeing them with breathtaking intensity.

  She dragged the brush through her hair then bundled it into a messy knot, telling herself it wasn’t the call of the hammer making her forgo her morning stumble for the coffee pot, but resilience. After all, it took strength to master a decades-long caffeine habit.

  In deference to her delusions, she chose one of the plain cotton blouses she’d picked out in an effort to blend in with the women Heartsfield. It was easy to ignore the chafe of the rough seams when she caught sight of her flushed cheeks in the speckled mirror above the dresser. She grinned at her reflection. He’s right outside, and you’re not fooling anyone.

  She padded into the kitchen and flipped the switch on the coffee maker. Lynne hummed softly as she unlocked the kitchen door, stepped into the mudroom, and lifted the lid on the washing machine. Her heart beat in time with the hammer, reverberating down to her toes. She forced herself to carefully remove the eyelet shams and dust ruffle she’d bleached and washed the night before.

  The night before…She smirked at the bottle of liquid bleach on the shelf and stole a peek at the dirt-clouded storm door. Even if I wanted to, no amount of liquid chlorination could bleach that scorching kiss from my brain. Good thing I don’t want to.

  She loaded the bedding into the dryer, reliving each one of Bram’s smiles and replaying the rolling rumble of his laughter. They sat across from each other, talking about anything and everything, mining the tiny details of each other’s lives. Spoons in hand, they ate sweet peach cobbler straight from the dish like naughty kids.

  Her heart fluttered like a teenager’s when his strong hand engulfed hers, anchoring it to the bench seat between them while he drove her home. A giddy laugh escaped her lips when she leaned against the front door, stroking her lips and tasting the remnants of his tender, lingering goodnight kiss. He’d been the perfect gentleman for the rest of the night.

  Damn him.

  She sauntered back into the kitchen and pulled two mugs from the shelf. Coffee hissed on the burner as she yanked the carafe from its resting place. Be strong. Coffee first, gorgeous man second. Or maybe a combo—gorgeous man and coffee. She hummed “Here Comes the Sun” as she strolled to the back door, freezing in her tracks when she spotted him through the hazy storm door.

  “And that’s more than all right,” she whispered, tipping her head for a better view.

  A faded thermal shirt stretched taut across broad shoulders. Hard ridges of muscle molded the fabric to his back. The lucky little red tab winked at her from his back pocket when he bent to retrieve another plank. She released the breath she’d been holding and watched him swing it into place. She fumbled for the latch, scowling as the usually stiff metal gave way too easily. Her frown melted the second his head jerked up.

  “Good morning,” she said, lounging against the doorframe. She raised the pot. “Coffee?”

  Bram scraped his palms against his jeans. His eyes locked on hers. “Are you an angel?”

  Her smile widened. “Maybe.” She gave the storm door a nudge with her foot. “Come on in.”

  She didn’t peek to see if he followed. The heavy footfalls of his boots gave him away. She added a smidgen of sway to her hips, and a blush heated her cheeks when she heard him pick up the pace. The pot and mugs barely landed on the table before she turned and ran into a solid wall of man.

  “Good morning,” he whispered and brushed his lips over hers.

  “Mmm.”

  She blinked drowsily. Her hands slid to his shoulders. Muscle bunched beneath her fingers. Heat that came from more than early morning sunshine seeped into her fingertips. He pulled her closer, every inch of his long, lean body pressing flush against hers.

  “I thought about doing that all night,” he murmured, stealing another soft peck.

  Her fingers tangled in the short curls at the nape of his neck. “Hmm. Thought about doing what all night?”

  A breathy chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Aw, now, no angel would say a thing like that to a guy.”

  She laughed, and he swooped in, swallowing her gasp of surprise. He cradled the back of her head in the palm of his hand. His fingers sank into her hair, loosening the clip.

  Oh, cheater.

  Sugar and cream sweetened his tongue. He’d had coffee. So not fair. She lapped him up, knocking his ragged ball cap to the floor. The coffee mugs clanked when she stumbled into the table. He braced her back, his fingers splayed wide and sliding temptingly lower. She flailed, attempting to plant her hand on the tabletop to gain leverage. Instead, her knuckles grazed the steaming glass coffee pot.

  “Aghhh,” she yelped.

  “What? Did I hurt you?” he panted.

  Lifting her hand to her mouth, she shook her head as she sucked on her knuckle. “No. I’m okay.” He tried to pull back, but she reached for him again. “Coffee. Hot. Bad coffee.”

  She laced her fingers at the base of his skull, sliding her hips along the edge of the table and pulling him along with her. “You had coffee. Gimme more of yours,” she whispered and yanked his head down again.

  He chuckled against her mouth, his lips molding to hers—tasting, testing, tempting. “Like that?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “No. Yes. More.”

  He stroked the skin of her throat, his breath stirring her hair. “Awfully bossy in the mornin’, Miz Prescott.”

  “Haven’t had enough coffee. I’m not awake.”

  “Oh. Well, then, maybe I can help.”

  He kissed her thoroughly, sharing the dregs of his morning elixir. Her fingers clenched, pulling him closer by fistfuls of woven cotton. His hand slipped under the hem of her shirt. Warm fingers grazed the small of her back. Lynne moaned and pulled harder, leaning back on the table.

  The mugs skittered across the table. Hot coffee sloshed from the pot, splattering the hand he used to brace his weight. She arched against him, catching his groan and rewarding him with a triumphant laugh when they broke for air.

  His lips brushed her cheek. He drew the tender flesh below her ear into his mouth, his warm tongue laving her skin. This time she moaned, and he answered with a chuckle. He ducked his head and nuzzled her neck.

  “I am never gonna get the damn porch done,” he said in a husky whisper.

  “I’ll get someone else.”

  He reared back, his dark eyebrows shooting for his hairline. “The hell you will.”

  “The porch. I’ll hire someone else to finish it.”

  His chest expanded as he dragged in a deep breath. He exhaled slowly through his nose, brushing her hair from her face with the backs of his fingers. His gaze was steady and solemn. “I have to finis
h the porch for you.”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  ****

  Her capitulation almost made him fold like a house of cards. He wanted her breathless. He needed her warm and pliant in his arms. A desire he once thought was best forgotten made him weak. “Maybe you can owe me dinner?”

  “Okay.”

  “I have a yen for pot roast. Can you make pot roast?”

  She snickered. “Yeah, I can make a pot roast. I’ll even throw in dessert.”

  His lips twitched into a smirk. “You’re a heck of a girl.”

  “Tonight?”

  Bram pulled her hands from his neck, gently disentangling himself but brushing the promise of soft kisses across her knuckles. He cradled her hands between his. His voice came in a husky rumble. “I hafta run into town for a bit.”

  “Me too. Need to buy a roast. Someone’s got a yen,” she drawled.

  He caught her chuckle with a kiss then turned to leave. “I’m glad you think I’m so funny. I don’t say anything about the way you…” He spotted the empty cage on the counter. “Aw, crap.”

  “The way I what?” She trailed off, her gaze following his. “Oh no. Thelma! Louise!”

  He crossed the room in two strides and slammed the gate shut. “The cage was open.”

  She rushed to his side. “No, it wasn’t.”

  “They’ve gotta be around here somewhere,” he muttered, pushing the bird food canister and the toaster aside.

  “How did they get out?”

  “It was open.” Bram yanked the coffee maker from the counter.

  “It wasn’t open. I’d never leave it open.”

  “Well, I doubt they pecked their way out,” he grumbled, working his way along the countertop. “Are you sure you latched the gate when you fed them this morning?”

  She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. He shot her a look. “It wasn’t?”

  “I forgot to feed them this morning,” she whispered.

  He scowled. “Last night, then.”