by Andre, Bella
"What brought you out here, anyway, to Whiskey Creek? To such an isolated place?"
Fred bristled as her hands tensed in his fur, and Andie forced herself to relax. Would there ever come a time when she could remember the past without this awful regret, the terrible sense of failure?
She picked her words carefully. "I had just been through a rough divorce."
"Is there any other kind?"
"Good point." She gave a dry laugh. "I'm afraid I don't have much patience any more for those divorced couples who say they had an amicable parting. They're just better at swallowing their feelings than the rest of us. And probably have more ulcers as a result."
She stared out into the night. "I was wrung out already from some—some physical problems." Andie almost laughed again at the severe understatement. "I knew our marriage was on the brink of disintegrating. It had been that way for a long time, so I guess it shouldn't have shocked me so much when it crumbled away. Then two days after the divorce was final my father died suddenly."
Will made a sympathetic sound, and she shivered again. She'd always feared her divorce had somehow precipitated her father's massive heart attack. Both her parents had been deeply disappointed when her marriage didn't survive.
"It was more than I could handle emotionally," she said quietly. "The day after my father's funeral I packed the car and hit the road. I'd planned to visit an old high-school friend in the Seattle area, hut I landed in Whiskey Creek and discovered this is where I wanted to stay."
There was more, much more, she thought. Her deeply rooted shame that she hadn't been strong enough to stay and fight for a marriage that had been shaky from the very beginning, her bitter disappointment at Peter for being so weak and ineffectual against his parents' constant haranguing, the lingering heartache at leaving so much behind.
Despite it all, she loved the life she'd carved out for herself. The ranch and the school gave her a satisfaction she'd never found anywhere else, and she'd discovered a profound and enduring love for the land, for the quicksilver seasons and the harsh beauty, for the contrasts and the wildness.
Most of all, she'd come to love the people, with their work-hardened hands and their weather-etched faces, like they were her own family. They had drawn her inside their world, as if she'd lived there forever.
"You know," she added, "your sister's largely to blame for turning what was supposed to be a quick detour into a permanent home."
"Why's that?"
"My marriage was over, my life was in shambles, and even my car decided to betray me by breaking down just outside of town. I was sitting over at R.J.'s Cafe, basically having a 'poor me' pity party while I waited for the mechanic to figure out what was wrong with the car. Well, Beth walked into the cafe, spotted me brooding in the corner, and plopped herself down in the booth."
Andie smiled at the memory. "She told me that since she knew every single soul in the county, she knew I couldn't possibly be a local. She'd stopped by because she felt it was her civic duty to warn me, if I cared at all about the lining of my stomach, not to try R.J.'s chicken-fried steak."
A chuckle rasped out of him. "Sounds like Beth."
"I figured a town that cared so much for its visitors' health couldn't be all bad. The next day I took a long walk while I was waiting for my car to be fixed and saw a for-sale sign outside the Limber Pine. The rest, as they say, is history."
It had been more spite than anything, she had to admit, a quick way to spend the obscene amount of alimony she'd been granted, alimony she hadn't asked for or wanted. The guilt money Peter had insisted on giving her, his salve to his conscience for what he saw as discarding damaged property.
Andie supposed she'd subconsciously spent the money so wildly and impulsively as her last rebellion, something the oh-so-correct Peter and his civilized parents would find completely incomprehensible. It seemed petty and childish now, but then she'd been young and wounded and had wanted to strike back.
Despite her small-minded motives, settling in Whiskey Creek had been the best thing possible for her, had given her life direction. Had brought her dear friends who had welcomed her into their lives.
"You know," she said, "I'd never had a friend like Beth before. She's the most caring person I've ever met. You did a good job with her."
He laughed, again with that self-mocking edge. "I can't take credit for the way my little sister turned out."
"You helped raise her, didn't you? You had to have done something right."
"I'm sure not having much luck with Emily." He spoke quietly, his words edged with a resigned failure she recognized only too well.
"Problems?"
He stopped rocking and was silent for a long time. "I can't reach her anymore," he finally said. "It's like she changed overnight from a little girl to somebody I don't know. I have no clue what she wants or what she needs, and she won't tell me."
"It's a hard age for a girl. If she knew herself what was wrong, she'd probably tell you, Will."
"Things were going okay, I thought. We were managing. I wasn't home much, I'll admit it, but she seemed happy enough."
Peering through the dark, Andie could see his hands were clenched on the arms of the rocker.
"Then about three months ago, I was stupid enough to get myself shot, and it seemed like I woke up in the hospital to a different kid. It's like she's angry about something, but I can't get her to tell me what it is. Hell, she barely even talks to me."
He sighed. "All year long she had good grades, then in the spring she just quit doing her homework and started hanging out with a bunch of older kids. Skipping school. Lying about things. Hell, she's only eleven years old, and I caught her trying to sneak out one night. I thought it might be her new friends, that they were just a bad influence on her. I told myself if I could just get her away from them for a while, she'd settle back down."
"Has it worked?"
"Not that I've seen. Now she's even angrier at me for dragging her here to what she considers the end of the world. She barely has a civil word for me."
"Maybe you could find something to do with her while you're here, like horseback riding. It seems like just about every girl her age is crazy about horses. Jace would probably lend you a gentle saddle horse while you're here. She's welcome to keep it in the pasture."
Will frowned. "I don't know. I honestly don't know her anymore. What kind of a parent am I when I have no idea what she likes?"
"Don't be so hard on yourself, Will. As far as I know, there are no hard and fast rules about what makes a good parent, other than giving your child unconditional love. And maybe don't feed them mac and cheese for every meal," she teased.
He glanced at her. "It helps to talk about it with someone. Thanks for listening."
"Anytime," she said, and meant it. They sat quietly for several more minutes, and she thought how nice it was to have the company. She hadn't even realized how much she'd missed this, having another person with whom to share her thoughts.
While she swayed, she gradually became aware that the storm was fading. The pyrotechnics slowed and then stopped completely until there was only the rain, a hushed sigh in the darkness.
Content to let the now-gentle night sounds wash through her, she leaned her head back against the hard slats of the porch swing and closed her eyes. Her wide yawn seemed to come out of nowhere. She covered her mouth, but Will must have seen it. In one lithe motion, he rose to his feet.
"I guess that's my cue to go."
"I'm sorry, Will." She could feel herself flushing. "It's just been a long week and I'm afraid it's beginning to catch up with me."
"Well, thanks for sharing the storm with me. I, uh, I enjoyed it."
Maybe it was because he stumbled over the words, as if he had found few things to enjoy recently, but Andie instinctively reached a hand out and touched his arm, intending to offer comfort.
He flexed his biceps at the contact, and she felt the corded muscle there, the heat and the strength. As it h
ad the day before in his kitchen when they touched, electricity crackled between them, more potent than any summer thunderstorm, and she jerked her hand away as if she'd touched a live wire.
"You're—you're welcome," she whispered.
He gave her a long, searching look, then turned and walked out into the rain.
***
"Come on, Andie. Open up," Will muttered. He glanced at his watch and swore under his breath. He had one hell of a nerve knocking on her door at two a.m. on a Friday night, but he didn't have too many other options. If he didn't hustle his butt over to the Stockman, he was going to have more trouble than just a stupid bar fight to deal with, judging by his deputy's near-hysterical phone call a few minutes before.
"You gotta come, Sheriff," Joey Whitehorse had shouted into the phone. "The way they're going, somebody's gonna get killed."
It was a pretty sorry situation when his deputies couldn't handle a lousy bar fight. No wonder Hank hadn't wanted to leave any of them in charge.
He knocked again impatiently, and the door swung open. Andie stood there, her dark hair tousled, wearing another one of those plain white cotton nightgowns and a matching robe like she'd had on the other night. His gut clenched.
"Will! What's wrong? Is it Beth?" The lingering sleep disappeared from her eyes.
"No. Bunch of drunk cowboys are fighting it out down at the Stockman, and Joey called for backup. Problem is, Beth and Jace stayed over in Jackson for her doctor's appointment, and I don't know what to do with Emily."
"I'll stay with her," Andie said immediately.
"I was hoping you'd say that." He grimaced. He didn't deserve her help the way he'd been avoiding her all week, ever since they'd shared the storm together.
Something had happened between them that night, some indefinable softening and settling in their relationship. He could feel both her fresh exuberance and quiet compassion tugging at him. At odd times during the day he found himself staring off into space thinking about her, the way her eyes lit up with an inner fire when she talked about something she cared about, how her smile seemed to sneak out from nowhere.
Nearly every night he'd seen her working in the garden or feeding the animals or just sitting on the porch swing, swaying gently in the evening breeze.
And nearly every night he had to battle a powerful urge to go to her, to share with her some little thing that had happened that day. About Mrs. Rossetti's stolen laundry. About old Seth Checkett's ornery bull he'd helped corral after it went on a wild rampage through town. About the two little towheaded boys who stopped at the jail every day around noon, just to "chew the fat"—as they called it—with the sheriff.
He could feel the easy pace of the town and the woman who seemed to fit in so well casting a charming, soothing spell on him. And he was fighting it with every ounce of strength he had left. He didn’t dare let down his guard. He couldn't afford to let her or the town slip under his skin any more than they already had.
"I'm happy to do it," she answered now. Barefoot, she picked her way across the driveway toward the cottage. He followed her, trying like hell not to notice the way her white robe swirled around her long legs or the way her dark hair caught the moonbeams.
"I could probably leave her alone—she's nearly twelve, after all," Will said when they reached the kitchen door. "But she... lately she's been having these nightmares. She used to get them after her mother died, and they came back just a month or so ago. I'd hate for her to have one and wake up with no one there."
"Don't worry about it. Just be careful, Will, okay?" In that blasted physical way of hers, she reached out a hand to touch his arm, and both of them froze.
As had happened a week ago, he felt his breath catch, felt the rapid pulse of blood spilling through his body like water from a dam, and he cursed his unwilling response to her.
She was beautiful, even just roused from sleep. Or maybe especially just roused from sleep. Without any artificial enhancement, she looked fresh and appealing, a rosy hue underlying her sun-kissed skin. But what wrenched at him most had nothing to do with the adorable freckles on her nose or the lush softness of her lips.
It was the concern that darkened the startling green of her eyes. How long had it been since he'd had anybody to worry about him? He didn't like it, he told himself. Didn't need it. But the fact that she cared about his safety warmed some place cold and dark deep inside him.
Involuntarily, he clenched his fist, flexing his muscle, and her hand immediately lifted from his arm. He was glad, he told himself fiercely, and cleared his throat. "I shouldn't be gone longer than an hour or so."
He shoved on the tan Stetson that came with his Whiskey Creek uniform and walked out, swearing at himself for letting her get to him once again.
Andie tried to sleep after Will left, but she was too aware of him here in the cottage. After he packed away his aching soul and his funny, defiant daughter and left Whiskey Creek for good, would she ever be able to walk into the place without seeing him there, without smelling that subtle pine-and-cedar scent that clung to him? She knew she'd never be able to enjoy another summer storm without thinking of sitting on the porch swing while he rocked beside her, in peaceful contrast to the violence of the night.
Her last thought before drifting into sleep was that she would have to guard her heart well. She'd worked too hard to find happiness again to let a wounded warrior like Will Tanner leave her bruised and broken when he decided to march on.
She didn't know how long she'd been asleep when a hushed cry jerked her upright on the couch, her heart pounding. Emily! She must be having one of those nightmares Will had warned her about.
Not wanting to scare the girl, Andie eased quietly into her room. Compassion and tenderness welled up inside her at the distressed sounds coming from Will's daughter. Anguished murmurs sounded in her throat, and she tossed her head restlessly on the pillow.
Andie knelt beside the bed and laid her hand on Emily's skinny arm.
"Dad, where are you?" the girl whispered, and Andie gently squeezed her arm.
"Shhh. Emily. It's only a dream, sweetheart."
"Don't leave me, Daddy. Don't leave. Please. Please."
She didn't awaken, but Andie's presence seemed to help her calm down. After a few more minutes of shifting on the bed, her breathing slowed and she settling into a deeper stage of sleep, her features again relaxed.
It gave Andie time to look at her. In sleep, Emily lost her air of belligerence, looking innocent and sweet instead.
Her first child would have been four years younger than Emily.
The thought sneaked up on her, and Andie had to concentrate to steady her breathing against the sudden, piercing pain. It had been a boy, the doctor had told her in his clinical, but not unkind, voice. A perfect little boy who had never had a chance at life.
With the ease of long practice, Andie forced her thoughts away. She smoothed Emily's hair back from her sticky forehead until she had her own breathing—and her thoughts—carefully under control.
Poor thing, she thought, touching Emily's cheek. To lose her mother in such a violent way had to have been devastating. And then to nearly lose her father must have terrified her.
Maybe that was why her nightmares had reemerged. It seemed likely, especially since she'd called out for her father not to leave. Maybe Will's gunshot wounds had revived the terrible loss of her mother. It could also explain why the girl had changed in the last few months into a wild rebel, searching for attention from her distant, preoccupied father.
She felt a sudden rush of anger at Will. Was he so consumed with his own grief over the death of his wife that he had forgotten his child was grieving too? Not that it was any of her business. She was just the landlady, and he was just the stubborn, ornery man she couldn't keep out of her thoughts.
When she was sure Emily had settled down again, Andie rose. She knew she was too keyed up now to sleep, so she walked back to her house for the mystery she'd left on her nightstand, then retur
ned to the cottage to curl up with it on the couch.
She was still there two hours later when she heard Will's Jeep pull up outside. She walked to the kitchen to greet him, and an involuntary gasp escaped her when he opened the door.
"What on earth happened to you?"
He gave a sheepish half smile, then winced as the motion jostled the deep red bruise ringing one eye. "You ought to see the other guy. 'Course, you'd have to go down to the jail to do it."
"That'll teach him not to mess with the sheriff," she teased. "We frown on that around here. Lock him up and throw away the key, that's what you should do."
"Well, he'll only be down there for a few more hours. At least that's when his shift ends."
Andie burst out laughing, then stopped so she didn't wake Emily. "You were slugged by your own deputy?"
"Yeah." Will wore a disgruntled frown.
"Which one, Joey or Wade?"
"Whitehorse."
"I didn't know Joey had it in him."
"Neither did he." Will rolled his eyes, then winced at the motion. "I nearly had things settled down, and some drunk idiot took a swing at him. Joe punched back and I somehow managed to step in the way. Everybody else joined in, and it took us another twenty minutes to clear out the place."
"Here. Let me take a look at it." She reached on tiptoe and cupped his chin to turn his head for a better view.
Time seemed to grind to a jerky stop.
Too late she realized how close she was standing to him, her breasts pushed against his chest, the length of her body resting on his. She could feel the heat of him, feel the leashed power in his hard muscles, feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Her own heartbeat seemed to pick up a pace as a seductive warmth uncoiled deep inside her.
He must not have shaved before leaving earlier, she mused, because his skin against her fingers felt rough and stubbled. Erotic and male. Her breath snagged in her throat and her gaze locked with his. She watched, frozen, barely breathing, as naked desire dilated his pupils, darkening the silver to a cloudy gray.
