"My Emilito has been wounded deeply, but he is very, very strong—stronger than even he knows. Let him give you all that he will."
"But he’s already done so much for me. I don’t know what—I would never have survived this without him."
"Perhaps, but what you do not see is what you have done for him."
"I’ve done nothing but bring him trouble. He could be in danger because of—" Lorie halted, unwilling to worry the old woman.
"I know that this madman threatens the lives of those you love, but I am not worried about my nephew. If he will but accept them, he has powers of his own to stop that one. What I wish you to understand is what I see that you and your son have opened within Quinn. He has been closed off within himself for a long time now. You have given him a reason to emerge and for that, I am grateful. I am sorry that it has meant great troubles for you, but I have every faith in Quinn's ability to protect you."
Lorie grasped Consuela’s hand. "So do I."
Consuela turned to leave. "Come see me, niña, when you are ready." With a stately grace, she walked away, leaving Lorie staring after her in bemusement. Then she poured out the remains of her coffee on the ground and went inside to brew Consuela’s tea.
***
WHEN QUINN CAME in a while later, he found her curled up on the sofa, sound asleep. He stood there, watching her and feeling something unfurl within his chest. The shadows under her eyes had not disappeared, nor had the bone-deep fatigue and strain left her body.
But he’d seen hope in her gaze this morning—hope and something else he couldn't afford to consider. Time enough later, he hoped, to explore that something else. For now, she needed rest and care.
He allowed himself the luxury of studying her as she slept. His gaze wandered over her, appreciating the close fit of her jeans on the curve of her hip, the way her soft flannel shirt caressed her torso, the wide leather belt around her slender waist. He stepped closer, squinting, and had to smother a chuckle. The print on her cream-colored shirt was horses, much like the print on flannel pajamas he’d had as a boy. He chuckled at some New York designer’s sense of humor.
He drank in the picture of her lying on his sofa, in his living room. He allowed himself, just for a moment, to imagine her as a permanent resident.
A damn fool thing to do. She’d never stay here, once she was well and safe—nor should she. He was a broken-down ex-cop with a war zone in his head. Besides, this was hardly the Upper West Side. He could support her, all right, but not in the style she’d known.
He was glad his timing had worked out so he could help her, but he had to face the fact that it would all be over one day soon. When she was back on her feet, she would leave.
And likely take his heart with her.
Not that he’d let her know that. Oh, he very much hoped that they would make love, and he already knew it would be something very special. He’d love her as long and as often as he could, but when the time came for her to walk away, he wouldn’t weigh her down with a sense of obligation.
She deserved better than him.
He’d store up her presence around this place and all the moments he could capture, so that when she was gone, he could take them out, one by one, and savor them. Hoard them against the lonely times he already knew were coming.
Hell, he was better alone, anyway. Solitude suited him better than crowds; he didn’t waste a lot of time on social graces. His horses didn’t require them.
But he missed her already, and she wasn’t even gone.
A movement in the corner of his eye drew him out of his thoughts as he spotted Grant coming down the stairs and gestured with a finger to his lips for the boy to be quiet.
Grant’s eyebrows lifted as he followed Quinn’s pointing finger in the direction of the sofa, then smiled in delight to see his mother. He walked over to the back and peered at her, then wrinkled his forehead and came to Quinn’s side.
"Is Mom okay?" he whispered.
Quinn nodded, leaning down to pick the boy up and take him outside. When they reached the porch, he spoke. "Yes, she’s just real tired, like we talked about before. When she was awake, she was worried that you would be unhappy that she slept so long. I told her you and I would do fine. Was I right?"
Grant smiled. "Yeah, us guys will do just fine." His forehead wrinkled. "How long do you think she’ll be so tired?"
"I don’t know. She looks better already, but I don’t want to rush her. The best thing for her is to rest until she’s all rested up. So," he said, changing the subject, "What do you want for breakfast?"
Grant’s eyes lit up. "Do you think Tía Consuela would like to fix us some more pancakes? Hers were really good!"
Quinn chuckled. "Go get dressed, you little beggar. I don’t usually expect her to cook for me, but it would be good not to make any noise here so your mother can sleep. I’ll bet Tía could be talked into more pancakes. If she’s busy, I’ll make them myself."
He set Grant down after warning him one more time to be quiet. As the boy tip-toed across the living room, Quinn smiled and sat down on the porch to wait.
***
THE SOUND OF Grant’s giggles floated across the pasture, and Lorie struggled up from an exhausted sleep. She stretched and rose, crossing to the window to see where he was.
As she looked out the screen door, she saw him on Wind Dancer’s back by himself with Quinn holding the reins. Quinn led the horse back toward the barn, his head tilted toward Grant, his smile visible from here.
The lines of Grant’s body showed his excitement, and his laughter was music to her ears. She leaned against the doorway, drinking in the sight of them together, so happy.
Though a sunny child in New York, he’d been weighed down by so much; she’d never really considered how different life could be. There was so much even a small child had to learn to watch out for in any big city. Here, he could run free.
But she had to go back. What would she do here? How would she earn a living? She had a career she’d worked hard to build and a life already carved out.
Without Quinn.
That was the catch. She felt a sharp ache in her heart at the thought of leaving and never seeing him again.
She wanted to be more than a rescue mission. Once the danger was gone, would the magic still be there?
She yawned and realized that she was still sleepy. Grateful that she could relax and know that Grant was in good hands, she collapsed back on the sofa.
***
THE NEXT TIME she awoke, Lorie smiled as she lay there on the sofa, hearing Grant’s little-boy loud whispering to Quinn. She opened one eye a fraction, to see him holding a stringer with a fish on it, earnestly whispering to Quinn, who argued back in a voice barely softer than Grant’s.
"But, Quinn, I know Mom would want to see them. Nobody can need this many naps." She could hear his bewildered disgust.
"We can tell her about the fish later, but right now, let’s let her sleep."
"But, Quinn…"
"What’s that you’re holding, Grant? Is that a whale? I never saw such a big fish in my life!" she mumbled, sitting up and ruffling her hair.
Grant’s eyes popped wide, and he raced to her side. "Mom, look what I caught! Look at my fish!" Water was dripping everywhere.
She tried not to recoil. It smelled awful. She heard Quinn chuckle.
Before she could react, Grant crowed in triumph. "Isn’t he pretty, Mom?" Grant clutched the stringer in his fist, then handed it to her.
The fish’s mouth opened and closed, and Lorie yelped, dropping it. "It's not dead!" She jumped back just as Grant swooped forward to rescue his prize. She lost her footing on the wet floor, and she and Grant went down in a tumble.
Quinn’s uproarious laughter was one of the sweetest sounds she’d ever heard. Soon she and Grant joined him, and Grant threw his arms around her in a wet, fishy hug.
"I’m glad you’re awake, Mom," he said, kissing her cheek. He wrinkled his nose. "I don’t know how anybody
could take so many naps." He shuddered.
"Well, you certainly gave me something interesting to wake up to, sweetie."
Grant giggled, then sobered. "Where’d my fish go? Quinn said I could help him cook it and I could eat it myself!" He cast around frantically on the floor.
"Here it is," Quinn’s deep voice answered. "Carry it back out on the porch and I’ll show you how to clean it."
"Great!" Grant shouted as he raced out, the poor fish flapping behind him.
Lorie looked over at Quinn. "I doubt he’ll feel that way for long. Ugh!" she shuddered.
"Don’t want to come clean, too?"
"No, thank you. I’ll make myself useful and mop up this puddle before the water ruins the floor."
"You don’t have to do that."
She gave him an indignant look. "I’d be a pretty poor guest if I didn’t clean up my own messes."
"Well, this isn’t actually your mess."
"That’s okay. It’s better than cleaning fish, I’m sure. Go on outside, and you boys have your fun. Me, I’d rather scrub toilets or something."
"Yes, ma’am. See you in a few minutes." At the door he halted. "You feeling better?"
She nodded. "I’m sorry I slept so long. I didn’t mean to."
His voice was gentle. "You needed it, and I don’t care if you sleep for a week. We’re doing fine. Don’t worry about Grant."
"Quinn, I don’t know how to thank you enough…"
"No thanks needed. I like having you here."
She could feel herself blushing. "I like being here."
Amber eyes glowed, and the sight of him tugged at her heart.
"Well…I guess I’d better check on Grant." Quinn tipped his hat to her and walked out the door.
The promise of moments yet to come lingered in the air long after he was gone.
Lorie sighed with anticipation.
Chapter Fifteen
* * *
A CHILD'S SCREAMS savaged Quinn’s sleep.
"Grant!" He woke up, heart thundering in terror. He leapt from the bed and raced up the stairs.
Grant slept, safe and sound.
Quinn sagged against the doorframe.
When his pulse steadied, he moved toward Lorie’s room and glanced inside. She looked like an angel when she slept.
His feet dragged as he descended to his bedroom, heartsick that the visions had returned. Please don’t let it mean he’s here. Uneasy to the point of nausea, he stood at the doorway to his room, staring into nothingness.
He needed to sleep. He had to be there for Grant so Lorie could rest. Rubbing the back of his neck in frustration, he climbed back into bed and stared at the ceiling.
He tossed and turned for an hour, bits and pieces of his previous black dreams pounding inside his skull. Finally, he gave up, desperate to escape them, and fled outside.
As he approached the table rock, he knew a longing so sharp it sliced into his soul.
He wanted so badly to be free. Free of despair…of an impending sense of menace…free of knowing he deserved no better.
Because he’d failed. Clarissa was dead and he, in all his cocksure glory, so certain he would always come out on top—had failed. Miserably. As badly as it was possible to fail.
His gut twisted in icy fear that he’d fail Lorie, too, worse than he already had. That either she or Grant would be harmed again.
Wasn’t that the meaning of his dreams? He’d dreamed before, and Clarissa had died. He'd dreamed and Lorie’s life had been devastated. What did it mean that only Grant appeared in tonight's darkness? He was afraid to sleep…because he might dream.
He had to get this under control somehow. He could work through it—he would. Starting with the table rock, the real-life place his mind used as a respite when he meditated. Drawn to the canyon's edge, in desperate need of cleansing, he sat down to search for the still, calm place in his soul.
He shivered a little in the night wind, but he persisted, immersing himself in the quiet and searching for oneness. Starlight rained down on him, and he floated on the silence, letting the wind sweep away the shadows in his mind. Soaking in the moonlit splendor, he let the peace of this place pacify his tortured spirit.
***
Lorie wasn’t sure what had awakened her. She sat up, scanning the room to remind herself of where she was, then climbed from the bed and looked in on Grant.
HE SLEPT THE careless slumber of the young, boneless and innocent. His covers thrown off, one leg hanging. She smiled at the familiar sight and moved closer to tuck him back inside. She placed a kiss on his head, and her thoughts flew, inevitably, back to Quinn.
What a good man he was. How careful of this young one, yet conscious of leaving Grant his dignity. He encouraged Grant to try things, to reach out, yet he was always there to catch him if he fell.
A lot like the way he cared for her.
She knew she should return to her room and go back to sleep, but she’d slept for most of three days. Just one look at him, she promised herself. Just one look, and I’ll leave.
She crept down the stairs quietly, her heart thumping in anticipation of being able to look her fill at Quinn. To see him when he wasn’t always on guard, always watching over her.
The door to his room was wide open. Where could he be in the middle of the night?
Was he all right?
She hurried out to the porch, unease crowding in. She thought about returning for a sweater, but it wasn’t that chilly and she didn’t want to waste the time. What if something had happened to him?
No sign of him on the porch, but when she stepped to the edge of the steps, the sight that greeted her in the bright moonlight robbed her of breath.
Quinn. His broad, muscled back and shoulders glistening in the moonlight as he faced out toward the canyon. She was loathe to disturb him, yet she descended the steps, unable to stop herself from going to him.
Every other man she’d known in her life faded to nothing beside him.
She crossed the flower-strewn grass barefoot, her senses enhanced in the magic-laden air.
Goosebumps rose on her body.
"Quinn?" She kept her tone very quiet and even so as not to startle him.
His breathing changed. A slow stirring of his body, then a soul-deep sigh. His head dropped to his chest.
Then he straightened once again.
She'd never seen anyone look lonelier. She longed to go to him but didn't want to trespass.
He rose. Turned to her. "You don’t have to leave."
"Are you all right?" she asked.
He looked up to speak, and her breath froze at the pain in his eyes.
"What is it?" On instinct, she pressed her hand to his jaw and felt a visceral jolt, curiously uplifting, yet tinged with an underlying note that was dark and seductive. Slowly, she moved her hand away and stepped back, breaking the connection.
His hand snaked out, grasped her wrist in a lightning move. Immediately, he gentled his hold, but he did not slow the inexorable pull of her body toward his own.
His eyes, that glowing amber light drawing her in, evoked feelings more raw than any she’d ever felt. Uneasy, jittery wanting. Dark, brandy-smooth desire. A wish to slide within him and nestle right under his heart.
"Quinn…" I want you so, but…
"Sh-h, don’t talk. Now is a time to feel," he murmured as his mouth moved over hers, his warm breath gentling the way. His fingertips brushed her jaw, then tunneled into her hair as he eased her into the kiss.
Their first kiss surrounded her, burrowed within her, made her forget where she ended and he began.
Just a breath of pausing, the tiniest sliver of hesitation told her he waited to know she was ready.
She'd been ready for him all her life.
She’d known that his kisses would be lethal. She’d understood long before that the impact would be devastating once they’d leapt the last barrier between them.
Casting away all doubts, she leaned across the void an
d entrusted herself to him.
Quinn groaned with the ache of maintaining his control. Savagery boiled barely beneath the surface. The civilized veneer that he’d struggled to keep whole during the aftermath of her ordeal slid away in a vortex of need so merciless that he shuddered under its power.
Her lips beneath his softened…succored….scorched. When she opened herself to him, he nearly buckled under the onslaught of yearning. As his tongue swept the silkiness within, he knew how it would be as he sheathed himself inside her woman’s heart, what it would be like to join at breast and belly, to twine those pale slender legs with the dark hair of his own.
He wanted that joining with a fierceness that seared him until coherent thought was impossible.
Lorie knew she should be stepping back, but all she could do was sink closer, grab on tight. Quinn had been her comfort and strength, always there when she needed him, no matter how crazed and confused she might be. But this was a different man, wild, ruthless…potently male. In the life that she’d known, being borne to the ground and taken in white heat had been beyond her imagining, beyond consideration.
Tonight, her imagination ran wilder.
Desperate to warm herself within him, craving his touch, she pulled her wrist from his grasp and reached up to drive both hands through the cool, damp thickness of his barbarian’s hair.
Oh, God, she’d thought of doing that so very many times.
The feel of his naked chest through the thin cotton of her gown teased her, so close but not close enough. A savagery she’d never known she possessed had her sliding her lips down his jaw and biting the nexus of muscled shoulder and strong, tanned neck.
Holy— Quinn went blind with need. The long time of denial and the intense emotion of their time together coalesced into a firestorm he was helpless to push back into the genie’s lamp. One hand seized her thigh. "Wrap your legs around me," he growled. She slithered easily around his waist, her dancer’s agility making it seem effortless.
Wounded Heroes Boxed Set Page 94
