by Dora Hiers
A normal family. As vaporous and illusory as a haze hovering over a lake on a cool morning.
Normal things like that didn’t happen to him.
Ever.
Ryker shook his ibuprofen-laden brain and used the handgrip to maneuver himself from the truck. He massaged the back of his neck again. He hated medication, what it did to his head. He felt like he was walking around in a fog and his cylinders weren’t quite firing.
Never one to wait for a guy to open her door, Dane had reached his side of the truck about the time he stepped from the cab. He shrugged out of his jacket and stretched it over her shoulders, doing his best to cover her exposed front.
“Thanks.”
Yeah. No kidding. A guy could only take so much, especially on pain meds. He pushed the air from his lungs and pulled the overnight bag from the back of the cab. “Home sweet home, eh, sweetheart?”
She jumped and dropped the truck fob. He looked up, just in time to see her frightened gaze skitter across the bushes in front of the house. What had her so rattled? The elevator incident just now sinking in?
He cataloged the bushes, the trees, the shadows, the way the breeze ruffled gently across the potted palms on the porch. Those plants would have to go. Too many places to hide.
Nothing caught his attention. Or rather, nobody. He reached down, scooped the fob from the cool grass, and hoisted the overnight bag over a shoulder.
Danae stood rooted to the spot, not walking, just stroking her eyebrows with a thumb and forefinger like she did when she had a major headache.
“You all right?”
She opened her eyes. A weak smile curved her lips. With a pinched face, she managed a nod. “Yeah. Just tired. Stephen’s wedding and everything.”
“Yeah. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the ‘and everything’ bit. But, let’s get you inside first.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who had to be transported to the emergency room tonight.”
“No, but you are the one that I had to rescue from the crazy lunatic wielding a knife.”
“Actually, Marshal, you rescued me from the guy’s tie that kept me fused to the elevator. I rescued myself from the crazy lunatic wielding a knife. Get your story straight.”
Rolling his eyes, Ryker shook his head. “Let’s go, drama queen. We’ll get the whole story straight inside.” He jerked his head in the direction of the front door and tucked the truck fob in a pocket before looping a free arm around Dane’s back to propel her forward.
He inched along because of pain, but what was Dane’s excuse? He felt like he was swimming against the current trying to get her inside the house. Finally, they reached the door. Two brand new outdoor sconces illuminated the entire front porch.
And the cracked glass in the sidelight.
A television played inside, the volume turned loud enough for Ryker to hear the weather forecast.
Dane fumbled with the keys until she found the right one and inserted it in the lock. Why was she so nervous?
She pushed open the front door. A thousand watts of light glowed from inside the house. Ryker could almost feel his face tanning. “Still scared of the dark, Dane?” Payback for that helicopter comment earlier. Fair was fair.
Her face turned tomato-red. She stomped past him into the family room, the silky material of her gown caressing his arm.
He scowled, tamping down the stirrings the luxurious material evoked. Get over it, McLane. Why are you having such a hard time remembering this is only Dane?
He followed her in. With laser focus, he scanned the room, soaking in every detail. He would find out why she didn’t want him here.
Every light in the house appeared to be on. A soft throw draped across the back of a plump leather couch with fluffy pillows, a matching recliner and an easy chair flanking a round table, all looked normal. The high-piled rug anchored the furniture, giving the room a cozy, comfortable feeling.
Dane walked to the table next to a recliner and reached for the remote, muting the television volume. One of those doily things sat on the table. But no lamp. Didn’t women usually put lamps on end tables?
“Nice fireplace. Gas?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m glad it’s gas or I wouldn’t have much opportunity to use it.”
“Me, too.” He grinned and flicked on the switch, loving the “swoosh” when the flame kicked on, feeling his body release some of the stress that had plagued him over the last few weeks. Either that or the ibuprofen was kicking in again. “Because if it were wood, we probably wouldn’t enjoy it tonight. I don’t think I’d have enough energy to build a fire.”
Dane smiled and reached down to pull off a high-heeled sandal. “The bathroom is down the hall to the left.” She tugged off the other and gripped both sandals in her fingertips. In bare feet, the top of her head only reached his chest. “This way. Let me get you a couple towels to wash up.”
Ryker scooped up his bag and followed her down the hallway, stopping outside the bathroom door.
She opened a closet door and grabbed a couple towels. Off to the right of the closet, a large white rectangular area contrasted against the taupe colored paint on the wall of the hall.
Dane handed him the towels and took a couple steps past the bathroom, pausing in another doorway. Her bedroom? “I’ll meet you in the kitchen after I change. Next to the eating area off the family room. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.” He nodded and stepped into the bathroom. The taupe colored paint continued in the small space, tastefully renovated with a claw foot tub and pedestal sink, giving it the illusion of being larger. No patched holes in here.
He splashed cold water on his face, cleaned the area around the fresh bandage, then quickly changed into the jeans and shirt he’d stowed in the overnight bag.
He eased open the door and peeked at the bedroom door. Still closed. Good. That gave him a great opportunity to poke around, check things out. See what had Dane so unnerved. Barefoot, he crept to the drywall patch, testing each step on the hardwood floor for squeaks.
The patch hadn’t been painted yet, so in all probability, it was fairly new.
He made his way to the kitchen, stopping to study the square table with only three chairs. Who had a square table with only three chairs? He looked around and spotted the missing chair. Broken. Scooted up next to the wall.
New outdoor lights. Television blaring. The interior lit up like a Christmas tree. Missing lamp. Drywall patch. Broken chair.
Rage boiled up from Ryker’s gut. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to ram one of them, or both, through the kitchen wall.
Stephen was wrong about someone breaking into Dane’s house while she was gone. Someone had gotten into her house and attacked her.
No wonder she was reluctant for him to be inside her house.
Well. She’d get over that. Because he wasn’t leaving her side until she told him the whole truth.
****
Danae pulled her hair into an elastic band and breezed into the kitchen, the bottoms of her sweatpants making scuffling noises against the hardwood floor.
Ryker stood at the counter, pouring water into the coffeemaker.
She smiled. He looked so at home, especially in his bare feet. “Did you find everything?”
“Yep. Your organization is easy to follow. I like that you keep your coffee supplies in the cabinet directly above the coffee pot.”
Forget the smell of freshly brewing coffee. She could lose herself in that deep roasted voice of his, a little more gruff than usual, probably because he was in pain. “Thanks. Want some ice cream?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Well, yeah. You did promise.”
She grinned. “Espresso chip okay?”
“If that’s all you have.”
She pulled a couple bowls and mugs from the cabinet. “I knew you’d finally see it my way.”
While she retrieved the ice cream, he grabbed spoons and an ice cream scoop, left them on the counter, then took the mugs to the coffeema
ker. “Do you still like your coffee with cream and lots of sugar?”
“Just two packets of sweetener, no sugar, and no cream.” Danae answered over a shoulder, scooping the ice cream into bowls.
“Got it.”
She smiled, her heart feeling light and good with her old friend back home. Would he stay this time? Or was the move only temporary? And why wasn’t Jennifer with him? So many questions swirled in her head, but she was afraid to ask.
“Where do you want these?” He held both mugs, steam drifting toward his face.
“Want to sit in front of the fireplace?”
“Sure. Sounds great.”
Danae grabbed the bowls and led them into the family room. She plopped down on the sofa facing the fireplace and tucked her legs under her rump, surprised when Ryker sat down next to her instead of choosing the recliner.
He sipped the coffee. She went straight for the ice cream. The coffee could wait. She could always heat it up.
“So, do you want to tell me about it?”
The spoon paused halfway to her mouth. She coughed, then pushed the spoon the rest of the way. Relaxing in front of the fireplace with the man of her dreams and he was totally going to ruin the moment.
“Tell you about what?” She asked around the spoonful of icy goodness melting in her mouth.
“The attack.”
“Mmm, the elevator.” She nodded. Nothing to tell that he didn’t already know.
He turned sideways on the couch, facing her, and stretched an arm along the back of the couch, fingering the tips of her long hair like he used to do when they were teens. Danae didn’t think he realized what he was doing. She never said anything back then because she didn’t want him to stop. And she wouldn’t say anything now for the same reason.
“We’ll get to the elevator, Dane. Tell me about the first incident. The one that happened here.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Ryker hadn’t been in her home thirty minutes and he’d already figured it out. Man, he was good.
A huge glacier lodged in her throat. She reached for the coffee, took a sip to melt the ice cream so it would slide down instead of choking her.
She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to remember it. Couldn’t she just close it off from her brain? Let it slip away into nothingness? When he’d forced his mouth over hers, his hot breath reeking of beer, she’d almost passed out. And she could still feel the guy’s clumsy fingers clawing at her shirt, violating areas with his hands no man had ever touched. Her whole body shuddered with the memory.
“Oh.” Danae whimpered and wrapped her arms around her middle. She closed her eyes, willing away the vivid image from her brain. The sweet wind chimes on the back deck blared an evil chant, mocking her, blocking out everything except the thump thump of her pulse throbbing in her head and the ugly words the man had uttered.
“Dane, breathe. You’re all right, honey.”
She exhaled, more like a ragged pant, and a mangled sob escaped her chest. She felt the coffee cup being wrestled from her fingers, then someone tugged at her wrist.
She raised an arm, knocking away a hand. She had to get away, get away from this awful man. But where could she go? This was her house. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear anything but the relentless pounding of her pulse and that vile man’s scratchy voice.
Strong arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders and tugged her into an embrace. Danae held her breath. She had to get her bearings. She peered through a crack in her eyelids, fear holding her hostage.
Ryker.
Her body relaxed. She exhaled, breathing in the vanilla from the bathroom soap and some scent Ryker always wore.
These were Ryker’s arms. She’d known what his arms felt like her whole life.
Comfortable. Protective. Sheltering. Secure.
Arms that had plucked her out of a middle schooler’s reach after he’d said some horrible things about her mom. Danae got the first punch in, but Ryker grabbed her around the neck and yanked her away from Sammy’s flying fist. Ryker had looped an arm around her shoulder while her brother restrained Sammy and told him what would happen to him if he hurt Danae again.
Those same arms had reached to hoist her off the ground after a friendly game of flag football transitioned to tackle. And during a dance at her senior prom, he’d wrapped arms around her waist, like she was special to him. She knew she wasn’t. He just wanted to make her feel better because none of the guys had asked her to the prom.
That was Ryker. Always trying to make her feel better about herself.
Yeah.
No worries now. These arms belonged to her oldest friend. Definitely arms she could trust with her life.
But were they arms she could trust with her heart?
4
It was worse than he thought.
Ryker massaged Dane’s back, resting his cheek on the top of her head, waiting for her sobs to subside and the tremors to stop. He didn’t want to speculate on what had happened. Dane never cried. She got mad. Sometimes she got even. But…
Dane never cried.
He stared into the fireplace, the guilt churning up more turmoil in his gut than the spleen injury. He hadn’t been here when Dane needed him. That seemed to be a repeat pattern with people in his life, impossible for him to break.
Dane went still in his arms. He continued stroking her back with one hand, but his other tugged the loose band from her hair. He fingered a lock of long brown hair, twirling it around a finger.
Mmm. Silky, smooth. He held it up to his face and sniffed. With a hint of some kind of berry.
Sweet little Dane. Always running along behind him and Stephen, always smiling, eyes always twinkling. Usually with mischief, some way to get him in trouble. Or to rescue her from trouble.
Dane’s housemother had been wrong.
He’d wandered into the closest cottage to get some iced tea for the guys playing football on a sweltering, record-setting summer day. Mrs. Crandall stood in front of the oven with a mitt, a hand poised to pull out a tray of chocolate chip cookies. “You know, Danae, you keep playing rough with the boys like that, you’re going to turn into a boy.”
Milk spewed from twelve-year-old Dane’s mouth all over the kitchen floor. “Mrs. Crandall!”
“See what I mean?” Mrs. Crandall frowned at her.
Dane popped the last piece of a chocolate chip cookie into her mouth, then grabbed a paper towel to clean up the mess. She turned her head from cleaning the floor to plead with her housemother. “I have to play sports with Stephen and Ryker and be as good as they are. If I didn’t, they would never notice me.”
Ryker shook his head to dislodge the memory. His gaze traveled down from Dane’s wavy hair splayed across his chest to the pink toenails peeking out from under loose-fitting sweatpants. She felt incredibly warm and soft in his arms. Nothing like Jennifer, stiff and starch, and always worried that he’d ruin her hairstyle or wrinkle her clothes.
Nope. Dane didn’t have to play sports for him to notice her. And she definitely hadn’t turned into a boy.
Her breathing evened out, and he angled around to peer into her face, surprised to find that she’d finally fallen asleep. Probably for the best. He could hear her story tomorrow. He didn’t plan to go anywhere tonight.
He repositioned her, careful not to put pressure on his wound. Scooping her in his arms, he carried her down the hall to her bedroom. She burrowed her face against his chest and murmured something he couldn’t understand. He smiled, appreciating the feel of her in his arms, then scowled. What was going on with him tonight? These pain meds were making him a tad delirious.
He wouldn’t take any more pills tonight. He’d just have to tough it out.
With his foot, he nudged Dane’s bedroom door open and lowered her gently onto the bed. He tugged the down comforter over her and backed away from the sleeping beauty.
Maybe he should be running instead of slowly backing out of the room. He closed the doo
r, waiting for the firm click, not giving room for his thoughts to wander where they shouldn’t.
He wasn’t feeling so brotherly right now.
And he wouldn’t be much protection for Dane with these thoughts swirling through his brain. Or provide any peace of mind for Stephen.
Ryker trekked back into the family room and flicked the switch to extinguish the flames glowing in the fireplace. A bit of cold air might do him some good, clear the cobwebs, douse the heat coursing through his body. Fever? He didn’t think so, but maybe.
He should take a walk outside and scope out the footprint of the house and yard. Did Dane have a deck? A big back yard? More plants and landscaping someone could hide behind?
He flipped on the light switch and peered through the window in the back door. Sure enough. A deck, some chairs, a hammock.
Something, or someone, shifted in the blackness beyond the deck. Ryker flicked off the light and backed away from the window, reaching for the cold metal of his gun. He slid it out and eased the door open, his pulse thundering in his ears. If somebody were after Dane tonight, they’d have to get past him.
He didn’t allow his head to move while his eyes swept the back yard. His ears strained to hear anything over the wind’s howl. Tree branches swayed. Clouds raced across the darkened sky. A train’s horn sounded in the distance.
Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. Including Ryker. His lungs screamed for release.
The compressor for the heater kicked on outside the house. A head snapped up, then four more, wide eyes staring in his direction.
A family of raccoons.
Ryker let out the breath he’d been holding, relaxed his grip on the weapon, and smiled. He’d lived so long in downtown Charlotte that he’d forgotten how wildlife tended to take over the wide-open spaces in this small town at night.
He slid the gun back into its hiding spot and eased the door closed, then turned the deadbolt. He’d let the raccoons watch over the back yard tonight.
****
Danae pushed unruly hair away from her face and stumbled into the kitchen with swollen, half-closed eyes, her nose leading her directly to the source of caffeine. And something else. Chocolate? Maple? She pulled out a mug from the cabinet, eyes closed, lungs inhaling the wonderful aroma.
