“Where are your parents in all this?”
Something flashed in her eyes then, something dark, but it wasn’t pain. At least not the pain of loss. “What parents?” she said with a sour grimace.
She got to her feet suddenly. Her arms were still wrapped around herself, her hands clasping her own shoulders as if she could protect herself that way.
“Hope,” he said gently as she walked over to the window and stood, her back to him. He had the feeling she wasn’t seeing anything outside.
“My parents,” she said, and there was an undertone in the words he couldn’t even begin to name, “decided when I was twelve that they didn’t want to be my parents anymore.”
“What?” It came out sharply, but she didn’t turn around.
“All my life they told me that I’d been a mistake, a stupid, weak, useless burden. That they’d done their best all those years, but I was a lost cause they couldn’t deal with anymore. So they dropped me off at my grandparents’ one day and never came back.”
True’s breath jammed up in his throat. So much had just become clear to him. The emotional abuse, then abandonment. . .
He got up from the chair, reaching for her before he even got to her. She went stock still, he felt her rigidity, but somewhat to his surprise she didn’t throw a punch at him. He pulled her into his arms and held her. He didn’t say anything, certain whatever he’d come up with would be wrong, until he felt some of the stiffness leave her. Then he whispered to her.
“My God, Hope. How have you managed to stay sane at all?”
“Some would say I didn’t. I. . .acted out, more than a little, after they dumped me.” He heard her sigh. “I got in trouble a couple of times as a teenager, another reason I knew the cops wouldn’t believe me. I don’t know why my grandparents stuck it out.”
“Because they love you.”
He felt her tremble slightly. “They do, despite it all. They’re the best.”
And so you saved them, the best way you knew how. The thought of what courage that had taken, to give up her life, everything she knew, to go on the run to keep the only family she had safe. . .
“I thought Zee and I losing our parents was the worst that could happen. But having them walk out on you by choice, when you were just a child. . .”
“Sucks.”
“In a word,” he said, tightening the embrace.
He felt the last of the stiffness fade away. And then she was leaning into him, as if she were grateful for the warmth, the support.
“You do know it was them, not you, don’t you?”
She seemed to move even closer, and he was amazed at how good that felt. Hell, he was amazed at how good it felt that she hadn’t taken a swing at him, or even tried to escape. The kind of trust that implied, given what she’d been through, awed him more than a little.
“Gran and Gramps always said that. And I overheard them saying that even if my parents came back, they’d have a fight on their hands if they tried to get me back.”
“As well they should. A child isn’t a thing you set aside when you get bored or it gets difficult, then pick up again later and expect no damage to be done.”
She tilted her head back to look at him. So intently he felt a sudden edginess, as if he’d said something that had upset her. But it had been the truth as he saw it, so he couldn’t have said anything else. But when she lowered her head she seemed to snuggle her face against his chest, and he thought she couldn’t be that upset.
He, on the other hand, was starting to have a hard time reminding himself that he was trying to comfort her. She was so close now, so warm and alive, and pressed against him from knee to chest. A soft, curved, luscious woman. And one he admired, for what she’d done to protect those she loved.
But she was also a woman who thought she owed him, and he’d be damned if he’d take advantage of that. Especially when she’d practically expected that, that his required payment for helping her would be sex.
It was the first time he’d put it into so many words even in his mind, and just the thought of sex with her, under any conditions, was enough to send his pulse hammering. Body parts he’d thought arcticly numb came to life in a surge of craving he hadn’t felt in years. Maybe ever.
And that scared the hell out of him.
Chapter Twenty
A child isn’t a thing you set aside when you get bored or it gets difficult, then pick up again later and expect no damage to be done.
Hope heard the words again in her mind as, cheek pressed to his broad chest, she listened to his heart thump. And he would give that strong, steady heart, were he ever to have that child of his own.
That last thought brought a crucial bit of reality crashing back in on her. No matter how good this felt, no matter how much or how often she might imagine exploring the crazy feelings this man roused in her, one immutable fact remained; he would ever and always love his dead wife. Because True Mahan was, as that inscription had said, aptly named. True he was, and true he would ever be.
“Knowing you have someone who’ll fight for you means a lot,” he said. It took her a moment to put his words back in context, she was so distracted by him rubbing his hand up and down her back. She knew he meant only to comfort, but the longer she stayed in his arms, the more her feelings changed, shifted into something much, much hotter than a simple need for comfort.
“It meant everything.”
And yet she’d thrown it away. Charged into that ugly world because she had some crazy idea she could do what Kim’s parents hadn’t been able to, pull her out of the morass that had sucked her in.
He held her, and she couldn’t deny the heat as it expanded through her. Feeling helpless to resist, she leaned into him. It had been so long since she’d felt this. No, that wasn’t right, because she’d never really felt anything quite like this. Now that she had, she wanted it to go on. Forever.
And she might as well wish for the moon. So at last she made herself break the embrace, although it tore her up inside to do it. But she had to. Just as she had to do what she’d begun here. For his sake.
She walked back to the bed, stared down at her half-finished packing. He came up behind her. It was a tribute, she supposed, to her trust in him that she didn’t feel the urge to run.
Or a tribute to the crazy sensations he caused in her simply by being that close.
“Do you know how amazing you are?”
She went very still as he said it softly, his breath brushing over her ear. Amazing? Her?
“Amazingly stupid.”
“For trying to help a friend? And then doing what you thought you had to do to keep the only people who ever stood for you safe? I’d call that admirable, not stupid.”
Admirable? He admired her? She almost laughed, it seemed so absurd to her.
“Why is that funny?” he asked, and she realized a small chuckle had escaped.
“I thought I was just one of your rehab projects. Another of the things you want to fix.”
He let out a compressed breath. He was so close she could feel it as well as hear it. “In the beginning, maybe. When I thought you were. . .just a scared kid.”
She turned, faced him. “Oh, I was scared.”
“But not a kid. Thankfully. I was afraid I’d become some kind of pervert.”
She went very still. She fought the word that rose to her lips, but lost the battle. “Why?”
“You have to ask?” his tone was wry. “Because I was having some highly inappropriate reactions to somebody I thought was only about fifteen.”
She stared up at him. She could barely breathe at the thought that he’d looked at her that way even then. Under any circumstances. Longing bubbled up within her, the same sort of ache she’d fought ever since she’d first seen the man she’d clobbered with that mop handle.
“With some men, that wouldn’t make much difference,” she finally said.
Something flared in his eyes. “I’m not one of them.”
“
I know. I may be a lousy judge of people in most areas, but that one I know.”
“Because you ran into a few of them?”
She shrugged because she didn’t know what else to say. He was so close, so solid, so warm, making her heart race so she wasn’t sure she could find the words even if she did know what to say.
His voice was even quieter when he asked, “Were there any you. . .weren’t able to get away from?”
She knew what he was asking. She leaned over and reached into one of the outer pockets of the pack. She pulled out the single thing that had saved her more than once. Held up the carved bone handle, pressed the switch. She could tell by his lack of reaction when the five-inch blade flipped open that he’d known what it was. Then again, it would probably take a lot more than a switchblade to rattle True Mahan.
“No,” she said in answer to his question.
“Good.” Then he lifted an eyebrow at her. “Why didn’t you pull that on me?”
“It’s my last resort, not my first.” She gave him a crooked smile, somewhat forced. She closed the blade. “And I try not to carve up nice people.”
When, after a moment, he spoke again his tone was entirely different. “Is that what I am? Nice?”
“Yes.” And she couldn’t help herself, she looked him up and down, from boots to thick, dark hair. Nor could she stop the shiver in her voice when she added, “Very nice.”
He drew back just slightly, and she thought she saw him suck in a quick, deep breath. As if he’d heard exactly how she’d meant that last “nice.”
“Then why leave?” he asked, acknowledging for the first time that that was what she’d been packing to do.
Her eyes widened. “You can’t be that thick. I know you’re not.”
He blinked. “Thanks. I think.”
She shoved the knife back into its pocket. “If you won’t worry about yourself, how about me? You’ve done nothing but help me. How do you think I’d feel if. . .if they. . .if. . .”
He looked startled. “Wait. You’re worried they’ll come after me?”
“Or you’ll be collateral damage.”
He looked bemused now. “I was born and raised in Texas. That rifle in my truck isn’t just décor.”
“That only works if you see them coming. And they will come. I’m active in the system now, thanks to what happened.”
“But why would an accident here get back to L.A.?”
She sighed. “You think they don’t have alerts on me? Add that to your friend poking around. . .”
She forced herself to keep moving, shoving things into the pack. Wondering if she was going to have to leave something behind, because, amazingly, she’d acquired some things here.
“But that’s the police,” he said.
She gave him a pitying look. “Now who’s naïve? You think they don’t own a couple dozen cops?”
“But not all,” he said.
“You mean the ones who want to drag me back to testify? Who say they’ll protect my grandparents?”
It was a moment before he said softly, “I notice you left protect you out of that.”
“They’re all that matters.”
“Not to me.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She imagined she saw a million things in his eyes, promises of things she’d never dared hope for. She knew she was imagining it, because nothing this good ever happened to her, men like him didn’t want anything to do with women who had so thoroughly messed up their lives.
“Why?”
God, had she really said it, asked it? Asked him to put it in so many words?
“Do you really not know?”
“Amanda,” she whispered.
His jaw tightened slightly. “Yes. I loved her. She will always have a piece of my heart. She taught me a great deal with her quiet sort of courage. Because of her I know a little something about going on when you don’t think you can take another step. About going on when you can’t even remember why you have to, only that you must.”
She stared at him as he described exactly how she felt right now.
“You have that same kid of courage, Hope.” He held up a hand when she began to deny that absurdity. “Don’t tell me you don’t. Amanda never thought she was brave, either. But she was. Braver than I could ever have been.”
“No.”
“Yes. She deserved a lot better than what life threw at her.”
“So do you. And a lot better than what getting tangled up in my mess will throw at you.”
“News bulletin. Too late.”
Her knees couldn’t seem to hold her any longer. She sank down on the edge of the bed. The bed, she realized with a shiver that rippled through her entire body, where she would lie down for him in an instant if he asked just now.
“Then why don’t you. . .?” She couldn’t finish even the thought, let alone the words; the images that flashed through her mind, of True taking her up on the offer she’d nearly spoken. Of him, that tall lean body naked in her arms, taking her with all the gentle strength she knew was his very core.
He groaned aloud. “Damn, Hope, don’t look at me like that, or I will. Right here and now.”
In that instant she couldn’t think of anything she wanted more. She held out a hand to him, seeing even as she did that it was trembling. After an instant of hesitation, he took it. But he didn’t come to her, rather pulled her up to him, into a fierce, hot embrace that was much, much different than the comfort he’d offered earlier. And before she could even begin to put a name to the difference his mouth was on hers, his lips warm and firm against hers. More than her knees went weak, and she finally understood why people talked about melting with love.
Love.
She was such a fool, to even think that word. For so many reasons. Her life was a mess. She was nowhere near good enough for him. And he still loved his dead wife.
But the sweetness of this, the hot, swamping sensation was unlike anything she’d ever known, and she simply didn’t have the strength to do what she knew she should. Even though she knew she should be thinking of him, of what it would mean to him when she did what she had to do, run again, she couldn’t. All she could think of was that no matter what happened, if she stopped now she would forever regret not grabbing this fire when she could have.
And then it was gone.
Chapter Twenty-One
That one step back he’d taken felt like a mile.
He stared at her as he sucked in a deep breath, wondering where all the oxygen in the room had gone. She stared back, those cinnamon eyes wide, lips—God, those lips—parted. She looked nothing less than he felt.
Stunned.
“You stopped.”
She sounded so lost something seemed to shatter inside him. At that instant he couldn’t find a coherent word in his head, and doubted he could have gotten it out if he had. He could only shake his head. And finally she lowered her eyes.
“I understand,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“That makes one of us,” he muttered.
“I know you still love your wife.”
“I always will,” he said; he would never deny what he and Amanda had had together, and that it had made him a better man.
“So, I understand,” she said, and it took him a moment to realize they were back to where they’d started.
“Wait. . .you think I stopped because of her?”
“Didn’t you?”
He reached out and grabbed her shoulders. “Look at me, Hope. I loved her, deeply. But she’s gone. Almost six years, and this is the first time I’ve felt. . .anything more than a flicker.”
Her eyes widened. “Then why—”
“I told you why. You’re scared, and you needed help, and I’m not about to cash in on that.”
She looked up at him for a long, silent moment. Then, slowly, she shook her head. “This is the first time since I left home that I don’t feel scared.”
That warmed him in a way he didn’t even have wor
ds for. But it didn’t change the underlying problem. “It won’t last, Hope.”
She flushed. And said, rather sharply, “I know that. I know you’ll never love anyone the way you did her.”
The words hit him like the kick of a pile driver. Is that what she wanted? She wanted him to. . .fall in love with her like he had with Amanda? He had to fight down his gut’s instant reaction to straighten out his mind.
“I. . .meant not feeling scared.”
She went pale, then red. “Oh, God. . .” It came out as a moan, and she buried her face in her hands.
“Hope—”
She threw up her hands and backed away, not looking at him. “I’ve humiliated myself enough for one day, thanks. I’m sorry. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish.”
He blinked, snapped out of his confused thoughts and belatedly tuning back in to what she was saying. And he who was usually so with it, who knew what needed to be done, had no clue.
“Finish? You’re still. . .leaving?”
She stopped with the pair of jeans she’d mended from the barbed wire tear that day—could it really only have been six days ago?—in her hands. She gave him a smile, but it wasn’t happy. “No choice.”
“But I thought. . .you said. . .we were. . .almost. . .” He had apparently lost all capacity for coherent speech.
“Almost only counts in horseshoes, isn’t that what they say around here?” She shoved the jeans into her pack, then looked back at him. “We almost made a mistake. Or rather, you did.”
He frowned. Managed some semblance of sense this time. “I think what we almost did requires two.”
“But I’m the one with all the baggage.”
“Hope—”
“You made the right decision, all right? It doesn’t take a genius to see that.” She slapped the flap on the pack shut, then met his gaze head on. She looked both angry and hurt, so much that it was hard to see her eyes. “Do you think I don’t know that no one in this town would ever think I’m good enough for you? You think that I don’t think that?”
Whiskey River Runaway (Whiskey River Series Book 2) Page 13
