Echoes From The Past (Women of Character)

by Grace Brannigan

  She laughed just a little bit, as if he had said something funny. "I’m fine. I’m a survivor, Garrett. You should understand that about me by now."

  He was very aware of the sweep of her glance across his chest. He stiffened his resolve not to touch her. "You may be a survivor, but that almost changed tonight." He turned toward the door and gripped the casing. "I’ll leave you to get cleaned up."

  "Daddy?" Hannah’s whimper reached his ears. She stood on the threshold of his room. Garrett quickly crossed the room and squatted beside her as she rubbed her eyes.

  "Sweetheart, why are you awake?" he asked with concern.

  "There’s too much noise," she said plaintively. "You smell like smoke," she added, wrinkling her nose.

  Garrett pulled Hannah close in a quick hug. "Let’s get you back to bed. Everything’s okay."

  Garrett moved to his dresser and pulled out a T-shirt. He turned to Christie as she stood in the bathroom doorway, looking ready to fall asleep on her feet. Slowly, she began to unbutton her nightshirt.

  Seeing a span of creamy shoulder, Garrett clutched his shirt in his hand and left in a hurry. There was nothing else he could do. It would be too easy to lose himself in Christie.

  Garrett looked at his daughter, who stared at Christie, a frown between her brows. Before she could say anything he urged her from the room, closing the door behind him. Getting involved with Christie would put an end to this torment and create a whole new load of problems. He was already in way over his head.

  ###

  Garrett reentered the house several hours later. He and Sam had talked to the fire police and the investigators. Everyone had finally left, including Randy, who would be contacting the painters. There would be an investigation but it seemed likely the fire had started from a carelessly discarded cigarette butt. It had smoldered for hours before catching paint rags on fire, even though the rags had been bundled into a trash bag for disposal. Considering what could have happened, they had been lucky.

  Garrett walked into his bedroom. Christie lay curled up in his bed, her dark hair splayed across his pillow, slim shoulders barely covered by the sheets. She had washed away the black soot from the smoke, but again Garrett saw her in his mind's eye, again he felt the terrible fear that he had lost her. He resented the deep ache, the fear he experienced. He wanted to remain untouched by her, but he wasn’t. He had an overwhelming urge to crawl into his bed beside her and touch her, wake her to make sure she was still breathing and alive. He wanted her awake and responsive to life; to him.

  He carefully reached out and pulled the sheet and blanket over her shoulders. He made sure not to touch her skin, afraid the slightest contact would undo his resolve to remain detached. Despite his care, she stirred. Quickly, he stepped back. He needed a shower to finally rid himself of the smell of smoke. Maybe it would free him from the weight sitting on his chest, but deep down he knew he was kidding himself. That weight involved more than tonight’s fire.

  Garrett entered the bathroom and closed the door softly. He turned the shower on full blast, welcoming the hot, stinging spray. When had he begun to care for Christie more than he should?

  He ducked his head under the water, letting the hot spray wash over his face and neck. The soot and grime from the last several hours washed away, swirling around his feet and down the drain.

  He put his head back, wishing he could ease himself out of this restlessness that gripped him. He had asked Christie to stay on longer but she hadn’t committed herself. Right at this moment he couldn’t envision letting her go, but he honestly didn’t know how she could stay either.

  ###

  Christie stretched and turned over, feeling the sheets warm and soft twisting around her body. She’d been so tired after her quick shower she had dropped into Garrett’s bed naked. The soft sheets were scented with Garrett, a faint memory of his aftershave clinging to them. Recall of the horrible fear of the night before began to trickle in.

  Christie looked at the digital bedside clock. It had only been four hours ago.

  She saw again Garrett's face when she opened her eyes as she lay on the hard ground. The first time she had seen him, when she’d pulled Hannah out from in front of that truck, she’d seen the same panic on his face. Garrett had looked like he’d been brought to his knees. No one wanted someone dying on their property! No wonder he looked so ill, his face ashen. She wished it was because he loved her and thought he’d lost her, but she knew that was far from the truth. He desired her and probably cared about her, but love, well, that was something a man like Garrett might keep to himself.

  Raw emotion coursed through her. In the aftermath of what had occurred, her emotions were close to the surface, burning inside her, wanting to be released. She wanted to rejoice in her feelings for Garrett, yet the hard lump inside urged her to push those feelings aside.

  Garrett. He shouldered responsibility without asking, he was a good father and an honest man. Anyone who came under his care knew they were special, including her. He had offered her a job and a place to stay when she had reached an all time low. In his way he had looked after her like she was part of his family. That’s the kind of man Garrett was. How could she help but love him?

  She had never known anyone like him. She loved him with a growing passion. . .but apparently that wasn’t enough. She had given him enough opportunity to come to her and he had turned her down. Another man might have taken what she offered and then went on. Not Garrett.

  With her background and one broken engagement behind her, Christie didn't fool herself into thinking love was so easy or that she knew much about it.

  Resting on an elbow, she traced patterns on the pillow beside her. She had no future at Winding Creek Farms if Garrett didn’t love her. Christie cocked her head, suddenly aware of the sound of the shower running. Garrett. She could picture him in her head. His hair dark from the water, slicked back, the water running down his chest, over a flat stomach ...

  Restlessly, she left the bed, her gaze on the closed bathroom door. They could have both died tonight. Smoke inhalation could kill you before flames ever reached you. Right now Christie knew life was too precious to waste.

  Go for it, Christie ...

  Christie heard the words in her head. Encouragement from her sister. She envisioned Ellen’s face before she became so ill, the laughter in her eyes, the sheer love of life her sister had never tried to hide. Could her sister have known she had a limited time on this earth? Christie swallowed back the tears. Why had Ellen been the one to die? She had loved life and it had hurt her time and again.

  Desperation seized Christie, confusing her with its depth of anguish. Nothing terrible had happened tonight, no lives had been lost, why then did she feel so awful? Tears welled behind her eyes. Angrily, she rubbed the heel of her palm across her face. It’s over, she told herself, don't go into a tailspin now.

  Reaching forward, she picked up the clean shirt Garrett had left out for her. With trembling hands Christie settled the shirt around her shoulders. She pulled the front of the material up to her nose and inhaled deeply. The want inside deepened to an all-consuming ache. Biting her lip, Christie stared at the bathroom door. Did she dare show Garrett how much she cared? Was she prepared to take that step? There would be no going back.

  Chapter Fourteen

  In the shower, Garrett shook his head under the hot spray. Everything should be okay, but he still felt unsettled, on edge.

  The shower door slid open.

  Stunned, Garrett looked into Christie's dark, turbulent eyes. She wore one of his flannel shirts. Dark blue, it contrasted sharply with her light skin. Reaching mid-thigh, the old, soft fabric had slid off one shoulder as the flannel molded her breasts. If she had come in here naked, she couldn't have looked more alluring. Garrett had no control over his body's response. There was no room left for denial. She looked deeply into his eyes, then her glance dropped lower.

  He could have resisted if she hadn't reached out a hand and trai
led her fingers down his chest, and then further, tracing his ribs, his waist. How could she look so vulnerable, yet so wanton? Passion and want, or was he seeing what he wanted to see? A woman who desired him and one he had fought against desiring in return ... or at least he’d fought against acting upon that desire.

  After what had happened, almost losing her, Garrett couldn't hold out against what he so badly wanted. When he'd thought her dead, he had felt a deep empty hole in his chest. He needed her warmth to know she was really alive. He had been brutally reminded tonight how fragile life could be.

  "I want you, Christie." Living, breathing, giving, Christie Jenkins. He reached forward, his wet fingers undoing one button, two, leaving a wet spot where they brushed her breast. He pushed the material aside, watched the shirt pool at her feet. She stood before him, naked in body and heart, and he felt humbled. He wanted to give her back what she was giving him. In that moment Garrett wanted to give her everything he was.

  Without words he pulled Christie toward him until she too stood under the hot spray. He watched the water run down her cheeks and across her lips. Tenderly, he pushed the hair back from her face, the thick, silky strands clinging and capturing his fingers.

  Christie leaned into him, her breasts now against his chest. Garrett closed his eyes, his breath hard and fast, feeling as if he’d run far to get to this point. How many times had he thought of Christie like this?

  Garrett couldn't turn her away, not when he wanted her this much, not after the night they'd had. Christie was special, he knew that, and vulnerable. That thought made him pause, but in that moment she cupped his jaw and urged his mouth down to hers. Her lips were warm, wet, touching his softly, then more deeply, as if she were thirsty and she wanted to drink him.

  Garrett loved the feel of her flesh, soft and warm, alive beneath his questing hands. She stood on tiptoe against him. He pulled her into the shower fully, dropping his mouth to hers, pushing her gently against the shower stall.

  The gentle, life-affirming caress of her mouth breached his final barrier. Reaching behind him, Garrett pushed down the shower nozzle, and the spray ceased. He stepped from the shower into the steam-clouded bathroom. Christie's hand entwined with his and she brought his hand to her heart.

  Grabbing a large towel, Garrett began to dry her skin, his lips following the path of the towel, watching her eyes, reading the desire burning there.

  She wound her arms around him.

  "You’re so beautiful, Christie," he said softly. "I’ve wanted you for a long while. I tried to keep my distance."

  Her eyes were clear and direct. He couldn’t mistake the desire there. She ran her tongue over her lips and he groaned, trying to slow the rampaging of his heart.

  Tenderly, she brushed the hair from his eyes. Garrett dropped the towel over her shoulders and behind her neck, using it to pull her to him. He saw the change in her when their flesh contacted again, hers warm and slightly damp, his still dripping. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed and her hands gripped his arms with a new tension.

  "My turn," she whispered, gently tugging at the towel. He felt the trembling of her hands as she slowly, caressingly, wiped the droplets from his back, then moved to stand in front of him. When Christie touched the towel to his stomach he pulled her with him into the bedroom.

  Slowly, he lowered her to the bed and rolled until she lay on top of him. Spikes of her hair lay across her shoulders. He caught her hair and gathered it in one hand and slowly rubbed the towel over it. He separated the strands and ran his fingers over her scalp. Her face peered at him from the depths of the towel. Deep brown eyes, slim straight nose and full red lips.

  He abandoned the towel when she pressed her lips into his neck, a shock of heat spiraling to the core of him. Christie’s movements against his body increased the heat and urgency he felt. Garrett needed to complete the unbelievable closeness he now felt. He needed Christie.

  ###

  Christie felt every hard, muscled part of Garrett. The man was built so tough. She stretched sensuously beneath him, loving the feel of his body along hers. She ran her toes up the back of his hair-roughened legs, her hands slowly tracing the contour of his back, remembering and cherishing each shudder she felt in him. This man reacted to her.

  Christie felt so strange, so heated, a terrible want building inside her. She wanted to love Garrett. There was no doubt, no question. She needed to experience all of him. It felt right. Nothing else was as important as the two of them right now.

  Garrett’s tongue traced erotic patterns over her lips and Christie’s body reacted immediately, muscles clenching as his hand moved down her back, her hip, then lower to cup the rounded softness.

  His mouth moved to her breasts, his lips teasing the tender flesh.

  Reaching over to the bedside table, Garrett pulled a foil packet from the drawer. There was still a question on his face. If she wanted to stop, he would, she could see the message in his eyes. Tenderly, she pulled him closer, offering him everything she was.

  "I want you Garrett." She pushed against him, and he groaned aloud, his hand pressing into her hip to hold her still. She could see the powerful effect she had on him as an expression curiously like possessiveness hardened his face.

  Emotion coiled deeply inside Christie, waiting to burst forth. She wanted to push him over the edge, follow him down and then save them both. She splayed her fingers and moved up his chest, her lips feather-soft on his jaw. She insinuated her leg between his.

  Garrett’s lips and teeth skimmed her shoulder, making Christie shudder. She thrust her breasts against him and this big man began to shake. Christie arched her neck, bombarded by pleasurable sensations, her overloaded senses wanting even more.

  When Garrett sought her warmth she welcomed him. It felt so right, his body with hers, giving and taking, one hard, one soft.

  "Christie." The hushed whisper rasped across her jaw, up her neck, hungry mouths met as Garrett thrust forward.

  Christie gave a soft cry, unable to believe the heightened sensation, like an explosion in her brain. Consumed as emotion and sensation ruptured, she squeezed her eyes and shook, hardly aware her nails dug into his skin, unwilling, unable to let go as sensation reached to the very tips of her toes. Surely the energy of their coming together flew around the room, skimming the walls until slowly it dissipated. Christie felt free of all the pain and loneliness in her life. In this glorious moment of forgetfulness the past meant nothing. It held no power over her and in a flash of fire, she felt totally free.

  In the aftermath she lay as still as Garrett. She didn’t open her eyes in case it was a dream and it all vanished. "I love you," she whispered inside. The words came directly from her heart and could not be contained. Once said, they could never be withdrawn.

  ###

  Garrett jerked awake, his breathing hard and painful, waiting . . . willing the bad dream to fade away. He stared at the ceiling, then at the woman beside him, her skin smooth and supple. He ignored the damp chill on one side of his chest, the side that wasn't touching the smooth skin of Christie's back. His arm was still around her as she lay curled against him, having finally fallen into an exhausted sleep. He didn't want to let her go.

  With the sheet twisted about his hips and one of his legs touching hers, Garrett thought about the intimacy they’d shared. They had made love, there was no getting around it. It felt as close to love as he had come in this life.

  Judith had never touched the spot in him that Christie had. That thought scared the hell out of him.

  Christie stirred against him, turning into him even before she woke, her fingers splayed across his stomach, moving to his chest, gently tugging the hair. She sat up, leaned over him, a tangled length of dark hair like rich silk against his chest. He reached out to twine his fingers through it as they made love again.

  ###

  Christie woke with incredible feeling of release singing inside. She turned her head to find the source of her joy. Garrett. He melt
ed her heart, just looking at him. This strong, tender man. Honest. Her smile faltered at the seriousness of his expression. Be strong, she told herself. Don't stumble now.

  Christie looked around, saw the shirt she’d worn half draped on the end of the bed, one sleeve trailing the floor. She reached for it, trying to bide herself time.

  "Hey, come here," Garrett said softly, his calloused yet tender palms sliding across her bare skin.

  Christie slid to the edge of the bed, wanting to fall back to the bed, let him touch her. She pulled the shirt over her shoulders, staring at him as she buttoned the shirt.

  "Garrett, there’s something we have to talk about," she said slowly. She hated that a hint of wariness entered his expression.

  "What’s that?" He put his arms behind his head, causing the triceps to flex and bulge.

  Christie looked away. "There’s something you should know. When I got that letter from Judith two years ago, she asked me for something." Christie swallowed, pain a constriction in her chest.

  "I’m listening."

  Christie bit her lips nervously and then rushed on, "She told me she had gotten involved with someone -- and she needed to get out. She needed money to leave."

  "And?"

  "I sent her money. I had a thousand dollars saved up. I sent it." She looked at him. "I’m sorry," she whispered. "She had never asked for anything, I didn’t even know her, but I knew she needed help. She was my sister," she ended on a whisper, knowing her voice was pleading. His frozen expression broke her heart. Christie put out her hand but he ignored it.

  "And you’re telling me this now? Why?"

  "I- I wanted to be honest with you. I care about you Garrett. And I care about Hannah. I can’t go on with this secret between us."

  Garrett reached for his boxer shorts, jerked them up his legs and settled them on his hips. Christie stared at the dusting of hair on his chest and the hard ridge of muscle beneath. She pressed her fist to her own chest, fighting a heavy, sinking feeling.

  "So you helped my wife leave me." His jaw bunched and a vein throbbed along his neck.