by J. A. Dennam
Sure enough, as the quiet moments began to stretch, Ty grew quieter as well. When he finally disappeared into the office, Rena worried over his change in mood. Had she spooked him?
Or maybe he was just tired. He and his fire crew had had six calls the prior day, three of them through the night, one ending in fatality. He’d come home that morning physically and mentally exhausted. It was times like that when their connection was strongest, because she could always interpret his mood. She knew when he needed her, or when he just needed to crash. That morning, he’d needed her with a vengeance, so the man was surely exhausted.
In the kitchen, Rena filled the empty tray with more treat bags when a suspicious crackling sounded from the living room.
Chewie came trotting through the house and scratched at the closed office door.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rena caught sight of a faint orange glow reflecting off the couch.
Her hands stilled.
The glow brightened, stretched through the entire room until it reached the quaint ladder-back chair positioned against the far wall.
Her chair. Isak had supposedly rescued it from his front lawn after the explosion because it was all that was left of the family she and Crystal had lost… and all that survived the fire. Sometimes she would sit in it just to run a hand over the carvings and remember.
Just then, the ghost by the door burst into life. Rena jumped, nearly dumping the tray she’d just picked up. It had been silent until now, when no one was around to set it off. As it flashed, wiggled and moaned, Ty opened the office door. Chewie darted in and hunkered beneath the card table, head down, ears back.
Ty took one look at Rena and froze. “What’s wrong?”
Was her ghost back? Could it be the start of another round of strange occurrences? With tray in hand, Rena slowly approached the living room. Sure enough, the wood fireplace was aglow with burning logs that seemed to have lit on their own.
“Were you cold?” Ty asked, moving up behind her. As soon as his hands closed over her shoulders, the ghost fell silent.
“I didn’t light that,” she whispered, just as smoke began to roll out over the hearth. “I swear.”
He walked over, adjusted the damper that hadn’t yet been opened that Fall, and the smoke instantly cleared. The light set his golden whiskers ablaze as he gazed at the burning logs. Finally, he said, “I’ve told you my theory.”
Rena began to relax her grip on the tray. “I know.”
“Do you believe me now?”
“I’m starting to.”
But she’d always thought Ty was just protecting her. What were the odds that Isak’s fire had been caused by an electrical short in the ceiling fan? She didn’t care what the investigative report said, it was too convenient. Too coincidental. She knew more than anyone that reports could be changed with the right technical savvy.
But, here was the proof that Ty’s theory could be right. This fire had certainly been set under mysterious circumstances. Perhaps whoever haunted her before needed Isak’s house to burn. Needed her to watch. To heal. And to move on.
Ty took the tray from her hands, set it down on the coffee table. Mesmerized, Rena approached the fireplace. “So, why now?”
Behind her, he said, “Maybe it has something to do with this.”
When she turned, it was to find a small velvet box in his hands. He slowly lifted the lid, revealing an elegant diamond ring set in white gold.
“Marry me, Rena.”
Heart pounding, Rena covered her blush with trembling hands. Every excuse she’d come up with not to want this had been complete lies and she knew it. This was what she wanted most in the world. What would make her life complete. “Are you sure?” she breathed. “After all, our relationship started with rope burns and a butcher knife.”
It was something he’d teased her about relentlessly.
Ty’s mouth formed into a crooked smile. “Even then, after you thoroughly used me, you fell asleep on my chest and….” He shook his head. “I don’t know. It felt right.”
His image swam before her as her eyes filled with happy tears. “Even then?”
“Is that weird?”
A watery laugh escaped. “A little.”
He took the ring from the box, slipped it onto her outstretched finger. Diamonds sparkled as he asked her again to be his wife. Rena, unable to speak, nodded out a heartfelt yes and suddenly they were engaged. Ty then gently moved the loose tendrils back from her face while his thumbs brushed her tears away. Rena struggled with her composure, but the longer he looked at her like that….
“I love you, Rena,” he whispered, then lowered his mouth to hers. She met him halfway, angled into the kiss as his tender lips slowly consumed her senses. His arms lowered, tightened around her middle as she began to sway. “I can’t wait to make you mine.”
“In that case,” she whispered back, “what the hell took you so long to propose?”
He made a subtle gesture toward the fireplace. “It’s amazing what a little mood lighting will do.” They smiled, but the amusement faded from his eyes. “I’ve had the ring for a few weeks now. I just thought you’d want more time, considering what you’ve been through. But I’ve been thinking a lot after Guadalajara, and I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want it to be real.”
The doorbell rang. It went ignored as they watched each other in the light of the dancing flames. “You made letting go of my past easier than it should have been,” Rena said softly. “And I can’t imagine spending my future with anyone else. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, Ty.”
“I know,” said in a cocky manner. “After all, you did drop the L-word first.”
Something else he teased her about regularly. She laughed, delivered a soft punch on the arm. As they hugged it out, Rena buried her face in his neck and simply basked in the essence of him. After a quiet moment, she asked, “So, will this make me Mrs. February?”
With a low, dangerous growl, Ty swept her off the floor inciting a squeal of laughter from his captive.
Halloween was officially over.
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Mercy of the Lawless - part 1 #MOTL1
Danny turned the ring in her hand, studying the inside inscription one more time. Austin said he’d found out it belonged to Jenny Bennett, the unfortunate relative who’d disappeared at the hands of a Cahill back in the late 1800s.
Wow. If her family found out about the ring’s discovery, what kind of shit-storm would that stir up?
Danny recalled when she’d found it. It had been one of those hot, insufferable days toward the beginning of her “imprisonment” at Cahill Salvage:
Arid waves rose from the ground to distort the work site around her. Danny wiped the moisture beneath the bundled hair at her nape with her sleeve. The handful of men she worked with were most likely sweating their balls off, but at least they were allowed to go shirtless.
Lucky bastards.
Beside her, Mac’s cutting torch went silent and the sparks ceased to fly. He lifted his goggles, frowned. “Something wrong?”
Since the man was still more of a stranger than a friend, Danny chose not to answer. She fitted the goggles back over her eyes and continued to cut apart the rusty tank they’d been assigned to break down.
“You’ve been moody all morning,” he continued. “You hormonal or something?”
Danny extinguished her torch befor
e calmly reaching into her tool belt.
Mac put up a hand, scrambled backward. “Whoa, Bennett, not the rubber bands.”
She cocked one and aimed.
“Hey, I was just kidding!” He dodged left, but remained in her crosshairs. “I’m one of the good guys, remember?” He dodged right. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry!”
Danny’s best defense against the bunch of sexist pigs she was forced to work with stretched between her fingers. She was a crack shot, and though rubber stung like a bitch on impact, anticipation was what turned these men into quivering girls. Knowing this, she crooked a finger and let it fly. The rubber band zinged past Mac’s ear and disappeared into a pile of junked vats behind him.
Mac pointed his torch. “I felt that one, dammit.”
She jerked her chin. “Hormones must be affecting my aim.”
“Hormones my ass,” he grumbled as they continued their work. Then he shouted above the crackle of burning metal. “I know you don’t like it here, but you’re the one who applied for a job under false pretenses.”
“With the demolition teams,” she shouted back. “Cahill was just being an asshole when he tricked me into working salvage.”
“I don’t know if you’re pissed at him or at yourself for getting caught in a lie.”
Mac had a point. “Oh, I’m plenty pissed at myself,” Danny admitted darkly. “I should have known better than to come within five miles of Cahill territory, but Austin’s the one with the agenda.” And the most amazing bare ass she’d ever seen. Danny squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the image out of her head.
“Hey, watch it!”
She opened them again, noticed her torch had wandered way off mark. With a huff, she abandoned the job and removed her sweaty gloves. “I’m taking a break.”
“Good idea,” Mac mumbled, his wide, expressive brow creased with angst.
Dirt crunched beneath her work boots as she made her way toward the fenced edge of the salvage yard. The hardhat came off and dangled in her loose grasp as she leaned over the chain link. There, the ground fell sharply into a wooded abyss. As she stared down into unknown depths, her mind wandered to the scene she’d encountered the night before…
Water sloshed, making it hard to push the mop bucket past the tiled threshold of the shower room. All men would be gone by now since it was nearing 7:00 PM, making it a safe time to perform this part of her nightly duties. Never again would she attempt it an hour earlier and find the room occupied by naked bodies under the showerheads… one of them belonging to Austin Cahill.
A shiver ran through her and she labeled it as one of disgust. That big sonofabitch had probably done it to her on purpose. One more attempt to humiliate her during her imprisonment here.
As her mop swished back and forth, something moved behind her. She looked back, caught a glimpse of tan.
Knobs squeaked. A spitting sound from the showerhead indicated she was no longer alone. Trapped, she’d have to sprint past whomever it was in order to make a quick exit. When the whistling began, two things became painfully clear. Cahill was once again standing naked mere feet from her. And he’d definitely planned it.
Bastard.
As steam billowed out of one of the stalls, she abandoned the mop and tiptoed toward the exit. Having grown up with eight brothers, Danny knew the mechanics of the male psyche better than she should. Her inner voice told her to stay and finish the job, not to give Austin the satisfaction of throwing her off balance. But the desire to flee was too strong to ignore.
Until she caught sight of his full, tanned body beneath the showerhead. Her feet ceased to move. Rubber gloves dangled uselessly at her sides.
Strong hands washed the suds out of a thick crop of raven hair. His raised arms did something to those broad, muscular shoulders a woman simply didn’t see every day. So her gaze lingered a while, followed the bubbles as they glided down the sculpted V of his back, over the white lobes of a firm, bulbous ass and down the full length of long, hairy legs.
Sweat collected in the valley between her breasts while her inner thighs screamed for attention.
“Want me to turn around, Bennett?” his deep voice rumbled, starling her back to reality.
The hardhat slipped from Danny’s fingers and disappeared over the edge of the cliff. Danny filled her deprived lungs with air, blew out a shaky breath. Holy shit. Her brother would peel her corneas if he knew what she’d seen… and that she fantasized about his mortal enemy on a regular basis. Austin had gotten what he wanted from her. She’d bolted, his laughter following her out of the shower room. How on earth was she going to survive another two months as his prisoner when all she could think about was what his wet posterior would feel like beneath the touch of her lips?
“You will not kiss his ass,” she grumbled cantankerously. “Never.” And she may have to in the figurative sense if she lost her hardhat.
With full intent to retrieve it, Danny climbed the fence and found a narrow foothold as she surveyed the terrain below. There it was. A ball of green plastic wedged in a row of thickets about six feet down. Piece of cake.
“Danny!”
She turned around to find Mac huffing toward her.
“Don’t do it!” he yelled. “For the love of God, it’s not that bad!”
Amusement turned up the corner of her mouth. She’d only been acquainted with the big lug for twenty-four hours, but he was seriously growing on her.
With a smirk, she stepped off. Gravity took hold, pulled her downward, but only for a little while. The growth was thick enough to break her fall and she used it to navigate her way to the hat. When she reached for it, something glinted from the dirt directly in front of her.
Gold. Perplexed, she reached out, dug it from the earth. A small, thin ring rested in her palm, smooth but not shiny. There was a crusty inscription inside. J something with a date she couldn’t quite make out. Hmm.
“You know,” Mac yelled from above, “you can be a real piece of work sometimes.”
Danny put the ring in the breast pocket of her denim shirt with every intention of turning it over as Cahill property. “And you’re adorable,” she retorted smartly then slapped on the hat. “Coming up!
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This is a special landmark for me, having finished my first complete series. I have many people to thank since I actually went on fieldtrips this time in my quest for facts. First of all, I'd like to thank Marty Schmitt for helping me gain backstage access to a most wicked wooden roller coaster.
To Brian Montgomery and all the courageous firefighters of Consolidated Fire District #2, Station 21. Four pages of notes could never capture the reverence and bravery that infuses every room.
I'd also like to thank Lillian Lockwood and Mike Sirna for your medical and drug expertise.
To all those who make me look good, and the list is long. Starting with my wonderful critique partners, Sherry (kickass critique partner) Sirna, Jane (thirsty) Kurtz, and Emily (literary sex pusher) Hemmer. My editors, especially Callie Rice and Sue Rice. Last but not least, my ever-helpful beta readers, especially Kathy Jones and Ketty Beale.
Most importantly, I would like to thank my fans. You are the reason and my justification for feeding this obsessive-compulsion of mine. For that, I am eternally grateful.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. A. DENNAM, an award winning author and member of Romance Writers of America, resides in a small Kansas town with her husband and four children. She shares many passions for the arts including fine arts, culinary arts and music.
Storytelling has been a part of her life since childhood, when insomnia forced a young girl of six into counting popcorn on the ceiling in the dead of night. Confessing her problem to her older sister, they decided to tell each other stories to entice sleep; however, the inevitable snore always tore through her sister’s nose before she could utter the words Once Upo
n A Time. So, the stories began to flow in silence, her imagination taking her to quiet, private places so enthralling, the trick was suddenly to stay awake. Each night, she went to bed anticipating the continuation of the adventure that had been interrupted by sleep the previous night. Soon, insomnia was no longer a problem and the stories would sometimes take months to complete.
Those habits carried on to adulthood until the need to purge her stories demanded she put them in print. Her fascination with romance, fast cars and adventure films is what structures her stories today, making Romantic Suspense the genre she was simply born to write.
