by Cindy Dees
To their credit, most of the citizens of Honey Creek who hadn’t been hit by the tornado turned out to help those who had been unlucky enough to fall in its path. Chain saws roared and portable generators rumbled all through the several-block-long and -wide area. By nightfall, huge piles of tree branches and debris stood along the affected streets. Blue plastic tarps were tied down across damaged roofs, and lights began to flicker on in areas that had lost power during the storm.
But Rachel couldn’t bring herself to go home. She wandered up and down the streets of her neighborhood long after dark, calling for Brownie. It was all to no avail. There was no sign of her injured dog. Finally, exhaustion began to overwhelm her panic. She hadn’t eaten since noon and was getting shaky and light-headed.
Desolate, she turned her dragging footsteps toward home. The prospect of facing her empty little house alone was almost too much to bear. In desperate hope that Brownie might have come home in her absence to the dishes of food and water she’d left out for him, she picked her way around the stacked woodpile in her yard that had been her neighbor’s tree and headed wearily for her back porch. She rounded the corner of her house and her heart leaped in anticipation as she spotted movement at her back door.
But in an instant, she realized she was not looking at a canine form. The shadow crouched over her kitchen doorknob was too big, too vertical for a dog. That was a human. And he looked to be breaking into her house.
“Hey!” she shouted.
The form straightened abruptly. A shadowed face turned her way and then the guy bolted, vaulting the rail at the far end of the porch and taking off around the far end of her house. She might have given chase in her initial outrage that someone was trying to break into her place, but her legs were just too damned wobbly and she was too exhausted to run a single step.
She sagged against the woodpile and dug out her cell phone. Thankfully, it was operational now. She dialed the police station.
“Sheriff Colton,” a male voice answered at the other end of the line.
“Hi, Wes. It’s Rachel Grant. I just startled someone trying to break into my house. I don’t think he got in, but I’m not sure.”
“Anything of value in your place missing?”
“I didn’t go in. But given that I’ve still got those contracts I showed you in my briefcase inside, I thought you might want to know.”
“Where are you?”
“Standing in my driveway.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Go to a neighbor’s house. Now. Get inside and with other people. You hear me? Don’t stop and think about it. Just get moving. Stay on the phone with me until you’re with someone. Okay?”
Sheesh. Whoever said men didn’t overreact in a crisis was dead wrong. It wasn’t as if she were about to die. The would-be intruder was already long gone and probably more scared than she was. Nonetheless, she walked around the woodpile and dutifully knocked on the Johnsons’ front door. Thankfully, a few lights were on in their house, powered by a generator she heard rumbling out back like a car with no muffler.
Bill Johnson looked mighty surprised to find her standing there. She spoke into her phone. “Okay. I’m with Bill Johnson. Now what?”
“Stay with the Johnsons until I send someone over to check out your house. I don’t want you going into your place alone. Understood?”
Definitely overreacting. “Yes, sir.”
“I’ll have a deputy out there shortly.”
Her neighbors were understanding, and Mary Johnson fed her a ham sandwich at the kitchen table while they waited for Wes’s man to arrive. About halfway through the sandwich the delayed reaction hit her and her knees began to shake. That had been really stupid to charge, shouting, at the intruder like that. The guy could’ve been armed and shot her dead for all she knew. Why on earth would anyone want to break into her house? She didn’t have anything of any great value to steal. Her first impulse had to be the correct one: the guy had been after those damning papers from Walsh Oil Drilling. Had Lester Atkins sent someone to get the contracts from her before she had a chance to read and study them? She chided herself for her suspicions. Just because she didn’t like the guy didn’t mean she had to assume he was a criminal.
And then the rest of her horrendous day hit. The shocking discovery of why Finn had dumped her all those years ago. The terror of nearly dying. The stunning realization that her feelings for Finn were still there. The worry for her mother. The loss of her dog.
She didn’t know whether to cry or scream or just go completely numb. She was saved from having to choose, however, by the Johnsons’ front doorbell ringing. She flinched, her nerves completely frazzled. Bill waved her to stay where she was and went to answer the door. She heard a murmur of male voices and then Bill stuck his head into the kitchen.
“Deputy’s here.”
Rachel murmured her thanks to the Johnsons and stepped out into the front hall. And froze. “You? Since when are you a sheriff’s deputy?”
Finn shrugged. “Since a tornado came through town and Wes had to draft every able-bodied man he trusts to help keep order. C’mon. I’ll take you home.”
Chapter 11
Finn’s knees were shockingly wobbly. Thank God Rachel was safe. When Wes had called and told him to get over to the Grant place, he’d felt like someone had knocked his feet out from under him with a two-by-four. He hadn’t had a moment to slow down since the tornado and to process what it had been like to nearly die with Rachel in his arms. But he needed to at some point. And in the meantime, the idea that something else might have happened to her, when he wasn’t around to protect her—it was nearly as bad as that frantic phone call she’d made that had led him to believe she’d been shot.
“You gotta quit making me think you’re dying, Rachel,” he muttered as he ushered her out of the Johnson house.
She frowned up at him. “Wes knew I was fine. He made me stay on the phone with him until I was with the Johnsons.”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t share that with me when he told me to get over here as fast as I could because someone had been seen breaking into your house.”
Rachel blinked up at him, looking surprised. “Sounds like your brother was pulling your chain.”
Now why would Wes do something like that? Finn scowled. Either Wes was trying to give his little brother heart failure or make the point that Finn’s old feelings for Rachel were still alive and well. Wes had laughed his head off when he heard the story of Rachel’s phone call about Brownie that’d had Finn tearing down the mountain thinking she’d been shot. Bastard.
Without any real heat, Finn murmured, “Remind me to kill Wes next time I see him.” He took Rachel’s elbow to steady her as they picked their way around the pile of smaller tree limbs left over from a tree that had been blown over by the tornado. The big branches and the trunk had already been cut up into neatly stacked cord wood. Nobody in Honey Creek was going to run out of firewood this winter.
“I checked out your house,” he told her. “It’s all clear.”
“How did you get in?” she blurted.
“The back door was unlocked.”
That made her frown. “I wonder if the intruder was breaking in or letting himself out, then.”
“Your place isn’t messed up like someone tossed it, looking for valuables. At a glance, it didn’t look like anything obvious was missing, like your computer or your television. Did you have cash or jewelry in the house? Something small that someone might have known about and gone in specifically to steal?”
Rachel rolled her eyes at him. “Are you kidding? I’m broke. My mom’s medical bills are taking everything I’ve got and then some.”
A stab of desire to make it all better pierced him. He could afford her mom’s bills, no problem. If they were married, she wouldn’t have to worry about—whoa. Married? Not a chance. He could never trust her not to betray him, and he wouldn’t survive losing her a second time. He could never go down
that road with her.
“You’re sure it’s safe to go inside?” Rachel asked in a small voice as they stepped up onto her porch.
“Want me to go first?” he offered.
“If you don’t mind.” Damned if that grateful look she threw him didn’t make him feel like some kind of hero. No wonder Wes liked being sheriff so much. He got to rescue people and get looks like this every day.
Finn stepped into the kitchen and flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. “Looks like you don’t have electricity back, yet. Electric company’s working on the downed power lines now. Wes expects everyone to get power back by morning.”
He felt Rachel’s shiver behind him. Since the evening was still unseasonably warm and muggy, he gathered the shiver was less about temperature and more about not being thrilled to spend a night involuntarily in the dark. “Come with me. I’ll show you there’s no one here.”
She tagged along behind him reluctantly as he pointed his flashlight into every room again, looked behind every door and under her bed again and checked in all the closets. She made a little sound of relief when he shined his light on her briefcase standing unopened beside her nightstand. Finally, as they stood back in her living room at the end of his second search, she let out a long, slow breath.
“You gonna be okay now?” he asked.
“Not hardly. But I’ll survive.”
His eyes were pretty well adjusted to the dark and Rachel looked just about done in. He frowned. Whether it was his usual physician’s compassion kicking in or specific concern for Rachel, he didn’t know and couldn’t care less. Either way, that haunted look in her eyes goaded him to action. He asked, “How can I make it better?”
A frown gathered on her brow. “Now’s probably not the time…”
“For what?” he prompted.
“You’re a deputy. You probably have other people to go save from the boogey man.”
“Actually, I was on my way back to the ranch when Wes called me. Things have pretty much settled down around town for the night.” Which was to say, he didn’t have anywhere he needed to be right now, and frankly, he’d be glad for some excuse to spend a few more minutes with her. He didn’t know what in the hell had happened to him during that tornado, but he did know his compulsion to be with her was stronger than ever.
She shook her head. “We’re both wiped out, and I’ll say something I’ll regret.”
Alarm lurched through him. Regret? Was she going to break things off between them for good? Had nearly dying put her life into some new perspective that didn’t include him at all? The thought made him faintly nauseous. Why did he care if she didn’t want him in her life? After all, he knew better than to make her part of his life. Although, a tiny voice whispered in the back of his head, a little fling wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it? Maybe he ought to scratch the itch she’d been to him for most of his adult life. Maybe it would get her out of his system once and for all.
But then his better self kicked in. He didn’t go to bed with women just to get them out of his system. Regardless of what she’d done to him, it was beneath him to sleep with any woman for purely selfish reasons. Better for her to end it now between them once and for all. He sighed. “Go ahead and say it, Rachel.”
Except she didn’t say anything at all. She took a deep breath. And another. And then her shoulders started to shake. And then…oh, for crying out loud…those were tears on her face. With deep alarm, he spotted their glistening tracks streaking her cheeks in the dim night.
He didn’t stop to think. He merely stepped forward and swept her into his arms. “Hey, Blondie,” he murmured. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything’s wrong,” she mumbled, sniffing.
“You lived through the tornado. Your house wasn’t blown over. It doesn’t look like anybody got into your place, after all. There’s nothing to be scared of.”
But in spite of his comforting words, she cried all the harder. He tightened his arms around her. He shouldn’t be enjoying the woman’s distress, but darned if she didn’t feel like a slice of heaven in his arms. “Hey, honey. It’ll be all right.”
Another burst of tears. Maybe he shouldn’t try to say anything soothing to her. Flummoxed, he tucked her more closely against him, pressing her head gently down to his shoulder. Their bodies fit together as perfectly now as they had fifteen years ago. More so. Her teenaged skinniness had filled out to slender curves any man would drool over.
He’d buried his nose in her hair and was already kissing it lightly before he realized what he was doing. It might be madness, but what else could he do? It wouldn’t be gentlemanly to turn away a damsel in distress.
Her arms crept around his waist as she cried out what was undoubtedly the stress and terror of an awful day. And something moved within him. Deep and fundamental. Profound. Who was he kidding? This was his Rachel. He’d always looked after her. Taken care of her. Comforted her when she needed it. He could no more walk away from her when she needed him than he could order himself to quit breathing. Like it or not, she was a part of him. Weird how his head could be so opposed to being with her, but his heart could be so completely uninterested in what his head thought.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m getting your shirt all wet.”
“No worries. It’s better than some of the stuff that gets on my shirts at the hospital.”
That got a little chuckle out of her.
“What’s on your mind, Rachel?” Crap. The question provoked another flood of tears. Must not have cried out all the stress yet. He guided her over to the sofa and pulled her down into his lap. He maybe should’ve thought better of that idea before he did it, but it was what he’d always done with her and it had just come naturally to do it. Just like when they were kids, she curled into his lap like a kitten finding its perfect nest, her cheek resting in the hollow of his shoulder. And it felt like…home.
How long she cried into his collar, he couldn’t say. But he did know that every minute of it was sheer bliss. And sheer torture. He wanted this woman so badly he could hardly breathe. And yet with every breath he took, he knew it to be a colossal mistake to even consider making her his.
“I’m so sorry, Finn—” she started.
“I think we already covered the 'no apologies needed' bit,” he replied gently. “I’m still waiting for the part where you tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”
He felt her lips curve against his neck into a tiny smile. The feel of it instantly had him thinking thoughts that had nothing whatsoever to do with comfort and everything to do with hot, sweaty sex.
Finally, she mumbled, “Brownie’s missing.”
“I thought you’d taken him to a neighbor’s or something.”
“I left him out on the back porch this morning. He—” her voice hitched, but she pressed on “—he loves to lie in the sun. The Johnsons’ tree knocked over my back fence, and when I got home he was gone. Oh, Finn, he must be scared. And he needs his antibiotics. And he doesn’t have his painkillers. He must be hurting so bad after walking around on his leg this long…”
Finn’s gut twisted, too, at the idea of her having lost the mutt. Brownie kind of grew on a person. More important, Rachel loved him, and if he was being honest with himself, he’d grown a little attached to the critter, too. “He’s a smart old dog. He’ll have found somewhere safe and dry to hunker down for the night. He’ll show up tomorrow morning bright and early wanting to know where his breakfast is.”
“I left his supper out for him, but he didn’t come home to eat it.”
Finn shrugged. “He might still have been too scared after the storm. Give him overnight to come to his senses. Trust me. When he gets hungry enough, he’ll come back to you.”
“If he can. Oh, I hope he wasn’t hurt or killed in the storm. Something could’ve fallen on him. Or he could’ve reinjured his leg and not be able to walk. Or coyotes—”
Finn kissed her. He didn’t know what else to do. But he knew Rac
hel would work herself up into a state of hysteria if he let her. She was exhausted and distraught and in no mood to listen to reason. Not that he blamed her. She’d had a hell of a day. They all had.
At first, his goal was simply to silence her and distract her. And those were accomplished in the first moment of their kiss. Why he kept on kissing her after his initial missions were accomplished…well, he’d rather not examine that too closely. He really ought to stop this insanity—
And then, oh Lord, she kissed him back. So much for logic and reason. His hand went to the back of her head lest she consider escaping this kiss any time in the next century, and then he let go of everything else. All of it. The restraint and control and sensible arguments against having anything to do with her. The long years of wanting and wondering what it would have been like between them. His ethics and values and codes of personal conduct. His obligations to his family, of his sense of responsibility, of always being the Colton to do the right thing.
He was Finn. She was Rachel. He wanted her. And apparently, she wanted him. It was a miracle. And he wasn’t about to walk away from it. To hell with his head and every cursed reason why he shouldn’t do this. He’d missed her like a desert missed the rain, like a new shoot missed the sun. She was his life. And for now, that was enough.
He slanted his head to kiss her more deeply, and she met him halfway, her mouth opening and her tongue swirling against and around his as if she were starving as badly for him as he was for her. She moaned deep in her throat and the sound resonated through him more forcefully than the tornado.
“Rachel.” He sighed. “My Rachel. Always mine.” He kissed her eyelids, her brows, her jaw, every part of her lovely face. Her hands splayed through his hair as he shifted, lowering his mouth to her neck. He lapped at the hollow of her collarbone, then kissed his way up to her earlobe, which he sucked into his mouth and scraped with his teeth lightly, but with enough emphasis for her to know he was marking her as his. She threw her head back, and her thick, honey hair spilled over his hand, cool and silky. He reached for the first button of her shirt and popped it open, baring more of her shoulder to him. His lips encountered the satin of a bra strap, and the sudden need to have it off of her, to have no more obstacles between him and all of her, surged through him. He worked his way down the row of remaining buttons quickly, all but tearing the cotton off her body.
