by Laurie Paige
"What lesson?" Kate asked.
Shannon realized her cousin didn't know about yesterday's little adventure. Not sure what to say, she glanced toward her right where Rory sat.
"She got restless and took a walk in the woods," he said casually. He chuckled and ruffled her bangs. "Luckily she heard me yelling for her."
"You went outside alone?" This from Megan.
Shannon nodded guiltily. "Yes. It was stupid. When Rory didn't find me in the house, he came searching. I … he saved my life. Again."
"Hardly." he corrected on a humorous note. "Actually I came over hoping she'd invite me to stay for dinner. Her cooking is better than mine."
"Daddy cooked French fries and burned them," Mandy announced indignantly.
That brought a protest from her father and laughter from the others. After sharing the pie, the men filed back outside. The three women worked together to clean up. Mandy helped by putting the silverware in the dishwasher.
"That was fun," Megan said in a quiet tone. "It's nice to have family and friends, isn't it?"
"Yes," Shannon agreed.
"Mandy and I have to run. She's starting piano lessons today, and we don't want to be late for the first one."
Kate and Mandy kissed Shannon goodbye.
"How's Grandfather?" Shannon asked when she and Megan were alone.
"Not so good. He's losing weight and his blood pressure is up again."
"I hope he doesn't have another stroke. Remember how, as children, we were terrified of making him angry?"
"Yes. He had a temper, but he never used it on us kids. I don't know what we found so scary."
They chatted about the past, then Megan left to get ready for the afternoon riding classes. Shannon put on her jacket and mittens and went outside. She found the two posts beside the porch. Taking hold of the left cable, she walked to the shed and garage. Kate and Jess had stored her car there for her. Pleased, she retraced her steps and found the cable from the other post.
Following the new trail, she heard the crunch of gravel under her feet. At the end of the gravel path she discovered a wooden bridge arching over the creek, complete with railings on either side. With a hand on the top rail, she walked over the narrow crossing and found the cable again and the continuation of the gravel.
She hesitated, knowing she was no longer on Windraven land. The path led straight to his door.
Retreating to the high point of the little bridge, she stood there breathing in the cold mountain air, sensing the coming storm in the faint scent of ozone that wafted around her. Then she felt a familiar warmth on her face.
The sun had come from behind the clouds, she deduced.
Recalling the strange sense of light from that morning and the odd little flashes she'd experienced since then, she put a hand up to her sunglasses. Quickly, before thinking further on it, she whipped them off and looked toward the warmth coming from the sky.
For only a second. Then she blinked and closed her eyes against the pain that laced through them, the same type of pain one felt upon leaving a dark theater and entering the sunlight. But in the split second of pain, she'd seen that flash of blue again. She trembled with hope and the fear of reading too much into what could be merely a phenomenon of stray electrical current in the optic nerve.
Shakily she slipped the glasses on and, grabbing the cable, hurried to her own door. Inside she tossed the glasses on the counter, then leaned against it with her hands pressed to her eyes.
The door opened and closed quietly.
She dropped her hands and opened her eyes wide, willing her eyes to see.
"What is it?" Rory asked. "What happened out there on the bridge a moment ago?"
Unsure she wanted to share news of the incident, which she feared could have been a fluke of her imagination, she bridled. "Were you spying on me?"
"I was watching," he said, not at all deterred by the accusation in her tone. "Something happened with your eyes. What?"
She turned her back to him and fumbled until she found her glasses and slid them on. "I don't know. Nothing."
His hands clasped her shoulders and turned her around. "Tell me," he said ruthlessly.
His heat surrounded her. His larger size and strength felt dangerous. She was vulnerable to something about him, to a wildness and need she had only vaguely sensed within herself. She glared at him, seeing only darkness but determined not to let him know how much his nearness distressed her.
"I thought I saw something … a flash of blue," she finally admitted, pressing against the counter, feeling trapped although his hold on her was light. "I've seen it before, but nothing changes. Afterwards, it's all darkness."
The silence pressed around them. She lifted her chin and dared him to feel sorry for her.
"I see."
She could tell nothing from his voice, not pity or sympathy or anything.
His hands slid to her neck. With thumbs under her chin, he tilted her head further back. He removed her glasses. She felt exposed without them. His breath caressed her face as he loomed nearer.
"Look at me," he ordered.
She stared at the point his voice came from and tried not to show either the hope she couldn't quite suppress or the fear that wouldn't quite fade.
He moved and she heard a click. She blinked at the sudden bright spot. A click and the brightness disappeared.
"What did you see?"
"I – I don't know."
"Yes, you do," he insisted. "Tell me." When she would have pressed her hands over her eyes, he caught both wrists and put them behind her back, holding her there, his chest brushing hers as he bent over her, his silence demanding an answer to his questions, his hold gentle but firm, telling her she couldn't escape.
"Watch," he said softly.
A click, the slight flare of brightness, then another click and it was gone.
"What did you see?"
She took a shaky breath. "A sort of brightness … like a streetlight through fog, very dense fog … but it doesn't last."
"It will," he murmured, his mouth close to hers. "It will," he repeated, fiercely this time as if he defied some unseen foe to deny it.
His mouth came down on hers. She turned her head, needing to get away, to think, to let the whirl of confused emotion inside her settle, to cry…
But not in front of him.
Keeping her hands behind her back with one hand, he used the other to bring her face to his. Then he kissed her, his mouth without pity or tenderness, only wild harsh demand that reached down into her being, to that place of untamed hunger, wild with its own unfulfilled need.
She moved her head from side to side, not in protest but … she didn't know what. As if they were locked in mortal combat, he followed her movement, refusing to release her hands or her mouth.
He made a low, hardly audible sound deep in his throat, and she understood that he struggled with this strange passion between them as greatly as she did. With a sigh, she gave up the battle and arched against him, letting their heat join and surround them with the unique fire they stirred in each other.
Slipping a hand around her shoulders, he bent to her, his body arching over hers, matching curve to curve – thigh and stomach and chest.
Rory knew he should get out of there, that she was vulnerable and he was heartless to take advantage of it, but nothing mattered at the moment but the feel of her body against his, that mind-shattering combination of soft yielding and firm resistance.
Her lips moved against his, not denying but responding, feeding his hunger with hers, no longer struggling against feelings too powerful to ignore. He drank in her sweetness as if it were nectar while a song of wild triumph sang through his blood.
When he could no longer pull enough air into his lungs, he had to release her mouth. Breathing harshly, he rested his head against hers and tried to think of cool things to chill his blood.
"Madness," she said, a muted whisper of confused despair.
It stabbed him strai
ght in the heart. Opening his eyes, he started to speak, then saw Kate's husband watching them through the window, his expression one of dark anger.
"Time to face the music," he murmured, forcing himself to fight the riptide of hunger and longing that had sucked them both into its whirlpool.
"What music?"
He realized she was still lost in the passion. He drew away and studied her face. Her eyes were smoky blue, her expression one of bewilderment. He knew she couldn't see, but he smiled anyway as something new and fragile flooded him. He couldn't recall feeling tenderness for a woman, not deep down, soul-plucking tenderness. It worried him.
"Time for me to get back to work," he told her gently and released her.
She laid her hands on the counter at her sides, found her glasses and slipped them on with hands that trembled slightly. He noted the tremble and realized he wanted to make love to her until they were both sated…
But not now.
"See you later," he said and headed outside.
Kate's husband was waiting. "What's going on?" Jess asked. "Was that a mutual kiss I witnessed or did you force it on her?"
Rory shot the other man a warning glance. "What do you think?" he asked in a snarl. Yeah, how to win friends and influence a woman's relatives, he mocked, but he wasn't ready to talk about it yet.
"I thought she was struggling at first," Jess admitted, "then I decided maybe she wasn't. I didn't want to barge in like an irate father if she started it."
Rory exhaled heavily. "She didn't, but … she didn't exactly say no, either."
Jess was silent for a long moment. He watched Gene and the sheriff fit a rail between two posts at the far end of the yard before he nailed Rory with a sharp gaze.
"She's vulnerable," he said, his tone neutral while he delivered the reminder.
"I'd wait until her sight returned if I was sure it would," Rory replied. "She's seeing … having flashes of light, but she's not sure if it's vision or something else."
"That makes it more important for you to leave her alone. She doesn't need the confusion of sex on top of her other worries."
Rory frowned. "How do you know what she needs?" he demanded, keeping his tone low as the anger rose.
"I don't. Neither do you. You're thinking with something besides your head if you think you do. Give her space and a chance to find her own way. Kate and Megan are worried, too."
Rory muttered an expletive. "Has the whole county voiced an opinion on the subject?" he asked coldly.
Jess grinned. "Probably. You started it with that demonstration in the diner. That was all over town in a matter of hours."
"That damn lawyer." Rory fought a strong impulse to drive to town and strangle the bastard.
"I agree. She certainly didn't need him." Jess leveled a gaze on him again. "Don't make her need you, then walk out when the need becomes too great."
Rory watched the deputy's son nail the last rail in place, then the teenager and the sheriff gathered up the tools, looked at the dark clouds that totally covered the sky and headed across the yard.
"I won't hurt her," he heard himself say.
A promise.
"Okay." Jess walked off and opened the camper on the back of his truck so Richie could store the hammers and crosscut saw they'd brought to the job.
When the men had said farewell, first to Shannon, then to him, they drove off, heading home before the storm hit.
Rory checked their handiwork. The posts were secure, the fence sturdy. He looked at Shannon's house for a long, soul-struggling moment, then walked across the bridge in the falling snow to his own dark, empty home.
* * *
Chapter 9
« ^ »
Knock. Knock.
Shannon hit the stop button on the portable tape player, halting the audio version of the book she'd been listening to.
The summons came again, at the front door, she realized. She rose from the sofa and made her way to the entrance. There, she hesitated. Only a stranger would come to the front of the house. Friends and family would park at the side and come in through the kitchen.
Realizing she was nervous in dealing with the unknown, she steeled herself and opened the door a few inches, her foot braced behind it to stop its being thrust open before she could react. "Yes?"
"Excuse me, ma'am," a male voice said. "I was wondering … that is, I'm looking for work. I wondered if you had anything you needed done, or if you could recommend a ranch around here that might need help?"
Shannon considered the request. It sounded reasonable. Except no cowboy would apply for ranch work in the dead of winter. All the cattle were in the home pastures. Other than feeding and keeping an eye on the herd, which could be done by one or two men even on the largest spreads, there was nothing much to do until the spring calving started.
"I'm sorry, but I don't know of anyone who needs help now. You might try some of the larger spreads in a couple of months when calving starts." She forced herself to smile. "Good luck."
"Thanks. Sorry to trouble you."
"No problem." She closed the door and clicked the dead bolt on. Standing there, she listened as a motor fired up and receded down the road. A pickup, she decided, with an uneven beat, as if it misfired on one cylinder every little bit.
Nervous and restless for no reason she could discern, she went and locked the back door, too. After that she prowled the house, checking all the windows and making sure they were also locked.
Sitting on the sofa, she didn't resume her book on tape, but sat there lost in thought. As a cop, she knew that when instinct told a person there was something wrong about a stranger, there usually was. Some kind of signal was being sent that said this wasn't quite right.
That's how she felt about the cowboy looking for work. In January? In Wyoming? Drifting cowboys followed a spring-through-fall circuit that started south and worked north. They certainly didn't start in Canada and work their way south through the winter.
So what had he really been after?
There was one person who would be interested in her. The man at the gas station. What if he wanted to find out if she could see? From the newspaper reports, he would know she'd possibly been blinded by his shot, but now he might want to be sure, especially if he was planning further mischief in these parts and wanted to know if she could identify him.
Or was her imagination working overtime?
She laughed at herself, feeling foolish for her fears. After all, didn't she have a watchful neighbor right next door, one who thought it his duty to check on her daily?
Except he hadn't last night. She'd heard his truck arrive home at seven. Since she'd heard him leave at six-thirty that morning, she knew he'd put in a twelve-hour day.
The promised storm had come in Monday night. It had snowed all day Tuesday, dropping over eight inches. The roads would have been dangerous. Between doing his job and dealing with the weather, Rory must have been dead tired by the time he got home. He'd gone out again around seven this morning and hadn't come home for lunch.
Not that she cared. It was merely an observation on her part. Her heart thudded heavily all at once, as if belying her conclusion. The clock chimed the half hour, reminding her of the casserole she'd put in the oven an hour ago.
She turned the oven off and put a lid on the oven-proof bowl so the dinner wouldn't burn. Umm, smelled good. If she'd known the cowboy who came to the door, she would have invited him to stay to eat.
Hearing another vehicle on the road, she listened intently as it drew closer. She recognized it easily.
Glancing toward the window, she wondered if Rory had planned anything for the evening meal. Recalling his tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, she figured he hadn't. She owed him for finding her in the woods and for building the bridge and fence.
After thinking about it for another minute, she slipped on snow boots, jacket and mittens. With the casserole in a basket trivet in one hand, she went outside and felt for the cable. Finding it, she
stepped gingerly off the porch into the snow.
It was more of a challenge than she'd thought it would be, balancing the casserole in one hand, holding on with the other and sinking into the ankle-deep snow with every step. Luckily her boots were knee-high.
At the bridge, she relaxed. Halfway there. Then her foot skidded and she plopped down on her behind with a thud and an un-ladylike expression.
Frowning, she sat in the snow and took stock. She'd managed to keep her peace offering from spilling; that had been her first concern when her foot slipped. Neither was she hurt. She stood, grabbed the railing and marched on.
After a few steps, she realized the snow had been shoveled on this side of the path. That made walking a lot easier. She hurried to his back door and knocked.
No answer.
Hmm, he might be in the garage doing something. Or in the shower. She could slip in, leave the casserole and beat a hasty retreat.
Scared? part of her mocked.
Not at all. Well, maybe. Their kisses were so wild and soul-stirring.
Giving an impatient huh, she tried the door and found it open. So much for his lecturing her on safety.
She tiptoed into the kitchen and felt along the counter until she came to the stove. She set the bowl down and turned, intending to sneak out and get home before he found her in his house uninvited—
"Smells good," a masculine voice said. "What is it?"
"Oh!" she gasped, a hand going to her pounding heart. "You startled me," she said, an accusation.
He laughed in a low, husky manner that added bursts of electricity to her erratic heartbeats.
"Not as much as you startled me, sneaking into a man's house like a thief," he said. "I was wondering what you were up to when I saw you through the bedroom window."
She'd forgotten about the windows that faced her house. "Did you see—" She stopped.
"The fall? Yes. Rather gracefully done, I must say."
She frowned in his direction. "Is there anything you don't notice?"
His laughter was delicious – as sweet to her senses as a caress, as promising of fulfillment as the love play between them. "Maybe. Fortunately, you can't return the favor."
