by Denise Agnew
He strode toward her, and self-consciousness battled with a wave of attraction. He walked by her to the coffee maker. “So how is it?”
“Actually it’s excellent.”
“Good.”
Feeling a bit awkward, she said, “I’ll make us breakfast after I take a shower.”
She hurried off, and after the shower she not only felt more refreshed, but less vulnerable. She dressed in a long-sleeved red sweater, blue jeans and athletic shoes. She slipped on a favorite amethyst necklace with matching earrings and ring. The bling made her feel more normal and as if this situation, this stalking might go away soon. That she wouldn’t have to rely on any man’s protection for long. Not even if it was over six feet of hot-as-sin, former Delta Force soldier.
Back in the kitchen she started scrambled eggs and toast. He asked if he could help, but she brushed him off. He sat at the breakfast bar and drank coffee.
“So you journal?” she asked impulsively and hoped she didn’t offend him somehow.
His eyebrows lifted a little and then he glanced over at the journal on the coffee table. Color heightened in his cheekbones.
“Yeah.” He took another sip of coffee. “It helps.”
“I hope you’re not embarrassed about it. I think it’s great.”
Another half smile, and this time the amusement reached his eyes. “Yeah, I guess I am a little embarrassed. I can’t believe I left it out where you could see it.”
She stopped cooking long enough to take a sip of her own coffee. “Please don’t feel weird about it. I’m impressed.”
“Impressed?”
“That you’re journaling. Even if it isn’t for PTSD. I used to journal and got out of the habit. I should start again. It can be great for mental health.”
“So they tell me.”
“Do you think it’s helping?”
He looked into the distance. “I think so.” He locked eyes with her. “I only started the journal a week ago. One of Fletch’s teammates suggested it.”
“Your therapist never told you to try it?”
“Nope.” He lifted one eyebrow. “You were a therapist. Would you have suggested it for me?”
“Hard to say because I haven’t assessed you. Besides, in our current situation, if I was still a therapist…well, it wouldn’t be ethical for me to be your therapist at all.”
“Got it.”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t look at your journal while you were out of the room.”
He laughed. “I never thought you did. That doesn’t seem like something you would do.”
She wouldn’t admit out loud, though, that she wouldn’t mind reading his journal. It certainly could give her insight into how his mind worked. Right now, though, she learned new things about him every moment. So far, she liked everything she knew about him, and that made her a bit uncomfortable. Getting attached to him, even continuing a sexual attraction couldn’t be a wise thing in their present situation.
“Would you like to be a therapist again someday?” he asked.
“Yes. In fact I’m looking into practicing again. Making this area my permanent home. When I first came here there weren’t any openings, and I wasn’t in a position to just begin my own business straight off.”
“That’s good…I mean, that you’re considering returning to your field.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I’m not being entirely honest. When I came to Texas I just wasn’t thinking straight anyway. I wasn’t ready to help other people with their stuff when I couldn’t put together my own life. I’ve got a ways to go before I feel I’m ready. But I’m working on it every day. I’ll know it when I’m ready.”
Saying out loud to Dylan made her realize she had come a long way since she first arrived in the community. She was stronger. More mentally stable herself.
“So how did you get to Texas?” he asked. “I mean…when?”
“I moved in with my parents temporarily. Within a couple of days the police caught Allan in New Mexico. He wasn’t very good at evading escape thankfully. That time, anyway. His trial came pretty quickly and lasted a week. The jury deliberated for a couple of days before convicting him of stalking and assault.”
“He never touched you? He didn’t hurt you or anything?” The worry in Dylan’s eyes touched her.
“No. I was very fortunate. Going through his trial sucked. His lawyer tried to…” She shook her head.
“Make a lot of it your fault?”
His insight impressed her. “Bingo.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
The eggs sizzled in the pan, and she turned down the burner and continued to scramble.
“So am I,” she said. “I used to wish that Allan had resisted arrest and maybe committed suicide by cop.” She swallowed hard. “I wanted him dead after everything he’d done to me and to the doctor.” She looked up, half expecting shock on his face. “Then I’d feel the guilt for wishing such a horrible thing on anyone.”
“I hope you still don’t feel guilty.”
“Not now I don’t. Now I’m almost wishing I’d killed him myself.”
He made a sound of denial. “No you don’t. You don’t want that on your conscience.”
They locked eyes, and she recognized that haunted look in his gaze again. One that told her that Dylan had more to reveal about his own life. Part of her wanted to demand he tell her everything right this minute. Yet the feeling passed. He’d tell her if he wanted, in his own good time.
“Eggs are done and—” Bread popped up from the toaster. “Viola.”
After they’d settled at her table with their meal, she wondered how many more breakfasts and dinners she’d spend with him before Allan was caught. How much longer would she need to play house with him?
“When did you move here?” he asked as he buttered his toast.
She added grape jelly to her toast. “I realized I was suffering my own PTSD after I went to a counselor. As a therapist should have known it…I guess I did know, but didn’t want to admit that I couldn’t counsel myself out of it. I decided I needed a different life for however long it took.”
“I hear that.”
She pondered his statement. “That’s why you left the military in a way.”
He nodded. “Yep.”
Silence covered them a moment until she continued with, “I’d met Emily at a conference awhile back, and we became good friends through social media and calls. She knew what I’d been through and suggested I look for work down here. Through Emily I found out about the opening at the school. I knew it was going to be a huge pay cut if I got the job, but I wanted out of Denver. I came down here for the interview and fortunately got the position because of my excellent references. My apartment lease was almost up, so I was able to move quickly. That was almost a year ago. A year of prison for Allan. I thought it was all over.”
“Did the PTSD improve once you moved to Texas?”
She finished a bite of eggs. “As I mentioned earlier, it isn’t where I want it to be but I’m getting there one day at a time.”
“You’re frustrated that it hasn’t disappeared completely.”
“That’s an understatement.”
Understanding filled his dark eyes. “I get it.”
“Enough of my sob story. I’ve started a new life here, and I’m not going to let Allan wreck it,” she said with determination.
A smile curved his mouth, adding to something incredibly warm and reassuring she saw in his eyes. And maybe, just maybe admiration. The thought he might admire her started a tingling low in her belly. Yeah, but it’s just hormones. Doesn’t mean it’s anything more.
Maybe not. But she could enjoy it, couldn’t she?
“I hope the cops catch Allan quickly so I can go back to work next week without the situation hanging over me,” she said.
“We’d work it out.”
She wanted to feel reassured, but the nagging thoughts of what could happen assaulted her. A rush of panic rose i
nside her.
Damn it Terra, get ahold of yourself.
She placed her fork down on the plate and stared at the table as her heart started to bang in her chest. She took a deep, shivering breath. She pushed back her chair and almost made a run for it. Where she’d run, she didn’t know.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Before she knew it, he was around the table and squatting next to her. He gathered her hands in his.
“Hey.” His deep, calm voice said again. “Look at me sweetheart. Come on, breathe. Just breathe.”
The tenderness in his tone took her off guard and penetrated through her racing thoughts and galloping heart. She jerked her gaze to his. Those damn, liquid brown eyes melted Terra, and her panic slowed immediately. All she saw in that gaze was pure empathy.
“That’s it.” He squeezed her hands gently, and the sensation of Dylan’s big, hard fingers calmed her. “Another deep breath.”
She felt so much better she almost drew her hands from his grip. Instead, she kept them inside his touch, using him as an anchor.
“God, talk about embarrassing,” she said.
“You don’t want to see what happens to me when I panic.”
She smiled and laughed softly. “Okay. Thank you. I…don’t know what happened there. What set it off.”
“You were thinking about something. Overthinking, right? When I panic it’s because I’m allowing myself to think about a whole crapload of things at once. Stuff I can’t do anything about. Stuff that’ll work itself out.”
She nodded. “You’re right. Maybe you should be my therapist.”
“Don’t tell me that too often. I might get a big ego.”
“Nah. Somehow I don’t get the impression you’ve ever had an oversized ego.”
“Thanks.”
She snorted a laugh. “But calling me sweetheart was bold.”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “I figured saying that would bring you out of the panic. Or that it would bring you out of the panic and you’d slug me.”
Another laugh bubbled out of her. “I guess I won’t slug you. Not exactly a good idea to hit my bodyguard.”
“Probably not.”
He released her hands and as his flesh slid over hers, her mind went in another direction. His hands gliding over her body and arousing every part of her along the way. As their eyes locked again, she felt that pull toward him, honest and compelling. Warmth blossomed low in her body as she saw something unmistakable in his eyes. Attraction. Desire. Oh. My. God.
He stood and went back to his side of the table. Which was probably an excellent idea.
“Don’t beat yourself up about the panic. You know how it is. Even people who haven’t been blown up in Iraq or stalked.” Silence dropped in for a moment before he said, “Things can happen that compound the trauma.”
“True.” Curiosity pushed her to say. “I sense there’s another story in there.”
“Yep.”
“I’m all ears.”
For a moment it looked like he might not tell her anymore. Uncertainty clouded his expression.
“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable.”
He grinned. “Now that sounds like something a therapist would say.”
She couldn’t help but smile with him. “Sorry.”
“No problem.” He took another sip of coffee and shoved aside his plate. “It wasn’t just what happened to my friend in Iraq that made me think I shouldn’t be trusted to protect someone.”
She almost said she understood, that she’d guessed he had more skeletons rattling in his closet. Instead she waited silently and patiently for him to tell her.
Her cell phone rang and she almost jumped a mile. She laughed. “God, that scared me.” She looked at the screen on her phone. Unknown caller with no city listed. “I’m not answering that.”
“What?” He leaned over to look at her phone as it kept ringing. “Let it go to voice mail.”
She did as he suggested and a minute later the message tone rang. She put it on speaker and played the message. The voice came through loud and clear.
“Hi honey. Miss me?”
Terra gasped and shifted back from the breakfast bar. “Oh, God. It’s Allan Rivers.”
Chapter Seven
“When I first went to war I knew what could happen. I knew the dangers. You can try and prepare yourself, but you never know, man. Just don’t ever know how you’ll react. How anyone will react. I never thought James would lose it and blow himself up. That he’d ever feel so bad, so hopeless he’d resort to extreme measures. I don’t claim to fully understand the pain it takes to want to kill yourself. I’ve never suffered so deeply I couldn’t crawl out of the darkness. James couldn’t. And maybe that’s on me. That I couldn’t do something, see something…say something.”
-Journal of Dylan Westcott.
Terra stood, and her gaze pinned the cell phone as the message ended. “Damn it.”
Dylan wanted to fix this now and hated the asshole had taken control by harassing her again. He was tempted to call Rivers and tell him where he could shove it. Yet he knew that wouldn’t be wise. It could cause a hell of a lot more problems than it would solve. On impulse he stood and slipped his arm around her shoulders. He drew her against him, savored her warmth and the way she instantly relaxed. For a moment her arms slipped around his waist, and she buried her face in his shoulder. Heat and a desire to protect enveloped him all at once. He cupped the back of her head for a moment and held her there. Silence lingered, and then she drew back a little, her expression showing a little bit of embarrassment. Yeah, she didn’t like that she’d clung to him for a moment.
“It’ll be okay. Take down the number. We’re calling one of my contacts from the police department to trace the number,” he said.
“You have friends in the police?”
“More than one. One is a guy I met in Iraq, and the other is former Delta. Retired after twenty years. He’s friends with my father.”
“I thought your father wasn’t that enamored of the military.”
“He wasn’t enamored of me going into the military, but he respects the institution and his friend is an old buddy.”
Pressed close into his side, she looked up at him with those amazing brown eyes, and he drowned in the trust he saw there. Part of him loved that she felt safe with him, but if he looked into her eyes too much longer, he might do something stupid as hell and kiss her. Before he could lose his mind, he released her.
It didn’t take long for him to look up Andy Walton, his father’s old friend. After Dylan gave the man the details, Andy promised he’d see if he could look up the number.
“Can’t promise much,” Andy said over Dylan’s cell phone. “It’s probably a burner phone. I’ll check on this as quickly as I can.”
When Dylan hung up, frustration ate at him. “This may take awhile.”
Worry clouded her eyes. “How long do you think?”
He shrugged. “Wish I could say.” He rubbed one hand over his chin, caught in his own tumultuous feelings. “Wish I’d kept my dad’s old pistol.”
Her eyes widened. “Do you think we really…that you really need that?”
He didn’t know what to say at first, questioning his line of thought himself. “When you knew him, did Rivers seem interested in guns?”
She sat on a barstool again. “He never said anything about them.”
“He didn’t give you an idea about what he thought of them?”
He could see her wheels turning as she looked away. “No. Never came into our conversation.” She frowned deeply. “Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have developed a fondness for firearms.”
“Right. I’ll keep that in mind.” He planted his hands at his waist. “We need to stay put while Andy works things from his end. Got any board games?”
A mischievous look came over her pretty face. “Several.”
“Damn. A woman after my own heart. I love board games.”
&nbs
p; She crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side. “I never would’ve guessed you’d like old fashioned board games.”
“Analyzing me?”
“Would I do that?”
“Yes.”
She laughed. “Maybe a little.”
“Don’t get too cocky. I also like a few video games.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Why?”
“Young man, former military and…I dunno. Maybe I’m making stereotypical assumptions.”
“Do you think less of men because they play video games?”
“Not necessarily.”
He leaned forward a little. “Then I still like you.”
She laughed, and the warm, sensual sound of it sent heat exploding in his center. He hadn’t known her more than a couple of days and everything inside him wanted to know her better. Part of him wanted to analyze the hell out his feelings. Maybe he shouldn’t allow anything personal to come into their relationship.
I can keep this professional without being a cold bastard. I need to remember this isn’t a date.
Right. Serious business. Protecting her life was still number one priority.
She headed toward the hallway. “Okay, I’ll get the games.”
While she did that, he peered through the blinds, scanning for any sign of Allan Rivers. Other than a general description of the man, he didn’t know exactly what Rivers looked like. Clouds scuttled across the sky. Wind tossed nearby trees and bushes. The sudden howl of a gust sent a chill rolling across his body. He stayed at the window until he heard her come back with the games.
“What do you have?” he asked as she sat the stack of boardgames on the breakfast bar.
“Monopoly, Clue, you name it. I haven’t played in ages. I almost gave them all away. Maybe I need to start a game night and invite friends to the party.”
“Count me in. Want to play here or the dining table?”
“Dining table.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Let’s clean up the dishes first.”
“I’ll wash.”
The rhythm of them working together added to the growing sense of domesticity. He liked standing beside her at the sink, talking current events and not so current events. Piece by piece he learned more about her, fell more under her spell. When they’d finished cleaning up, they picked Clue for their board game. He hadn’t played it in so long, the simplicity of it reminded him of childhood. Before long he realized how relaxed he’d become. He could almost convince himself Rivers wasn’t out there planning to terrorize or hurt Terra. She won the game. Andy called Dylan’s phone after they’d progressed halfway through an already long game of Monopoly.
