Resisting Her Rebel Hero

by Lucy Ryder

  “I heard Patty Sue from the sheriff’s office tell everyone he’s coming back,” the thirty-something blonde told her friend. “No one knows for sure if it’s for good but rumor says it is. I’ve been surfing the net for obscure symptoms that will get me some quality time with him.” She shivered dramatically. “I heard he’s real good with his hands and I can’t wait to play doc—”

  The second woman caught sight of Cassidy and nudged her friend into silence, making her wonder what they’d been discussing. Or rather whom they’d been discussing. Just then the server turned with a welcoming smile and a “What can we do for you, Dr. Mahoney?” and Cassidy pushed the conversation from her mind.

  She knew the county had hired two new doctors that were expected to start at the end of the month. She also knew she would have to make a decision about where to go once her contract expired.

  As much as she told herself she was over Sam, Cassidy was honest enough to admit that living in the same town as his family meant it was fairly reasonable to expect him to visit occasionally. The longer she stayed in town, the greater the possibility of seeing him, and quite frankly she wasn’t sure how she’d feel, or react, if she saw him again.

  She’d made several enquiries and had received a couple of good offers—one of which was Spruce Ridge General—but she couldn’t make up her mind. Frankly, she didn’t want to leave. For the first time in her life she felt part of a community, like she was making a difference in people’s lives. She liked feeling needed and appreciated, and she really liked seeing their health improve under her care. It was so much more satisfying than treating nameless masses day in and day out.

  She thanked the server and turned, checking chicken off her list. And walked into a wall. Of muscle.

  Opening her mouth on an automatic apology, she was instantly assailed by a masculine scent that was all too familiar. Barely an inch from her nose was a wide, hard chest covered in soft black cotton. She knew without looking up past the long tanned throat, strong jaw and poet’s mouth to sleepy golden eyes, that she was inches away from the one person who was able to scramble her brain.

  Samuel J. Kellan.

  Her stomach clenched into a hot ball of dread and joy, and her heart squeezed in her chest. Taking a hasty step in retreat, she tightened her grip on the strap of her shoulder bag. The dimly lit aisle, the illuminated display cases behind her, the couple discussing what to have for dinner, everything…faded.

  It was as if the universe had suddenly narrowed to just the two of them. Her skin hummed, her ears buzzed and it was only when her vision grayed at the edges that she realized she was holding her breath.

  Expelling it on a shaky whoosh, Cassidy’s gaze hungrily traced his handsome features. He’d lost weight and he looked tired. There was a healing laceration on his jaw and a bruise darkened his sharply defined cheekbone and the skin around one eye.

  Despite his features being in shadow, he appeared tanned and amazingly fit. He looked…wonderful, even if the gaze he’d locked on her face was hooded and unreadable.

  Her stomach clenched and her chest felt like a giant fist was squeezing the breath from her lungs. So many times over the past weeks she’d imagined seeing him again. Had even practiced what she would say. But nothing, nothing could have prepared her for the stark reality of being this close to him again after she’d convinced herself that she was over him.

  Her spirits sank. She’d clearly miscalculated. And with the knowledge came a swift rise of self-directed anger. Okay, she was angry with him too. The jerk had made mad, passionate love to her and when she’d told him she loved him and begged him not to go, he’d ripped her heart out and told her he was sorry. Yes, well, she was sorry too—sorry she’d been stupid enough to fall for him.

  Yet despite all that, she was glad to see him. Relieved he was alive and in one piece.

  He was the first to break the awkward silence.

  “Cassidy.” The sound of his voice, as deep and rough as she remembered, brushed against jagged emotions and tugged at something deep and raw within her.

  She swallowed what felt like ground glass in her throat. “Major,” she said, inordinately pleased when her voice emerged coolly polite, as though they were nothing more than casual acquaintances.

  His eyes narrowed and his face tightened before his features assumed an impassive mask. He widened his stance and folded his arms across his chest in a move that emphasized his wide shoulders and the bulge of his biceps straining the sleeves of his T-shirt. He was carelessly masculine in a way that made her heart speed up and her knees wobble. And it was suddenly all too painfully obvious that she wasn’t going to get over him.

  Ever.

  She gulped. She’d been fooling herself. He was it for her. And nothing she did would stop this soul-deep yearning for him, this ache of knowing they weren’t meant to be. That she wasn’t meant to be—at least not for him.

  And didn’t that just…suck.

  The urge to leave was suddenly overwhelming but his big, tough body blocked her way and the potent cocktail of pheromones and testosterone he exuded made her feel lightheaded. Oh, wait, that might be caused by food-shopping on an empty stomach. A stomach that was suddenly queasy.

  Biting her lip to keep from falling apart, she turned and had to abruptly alter her course to evade the hand he lifted. Thinking he meant to touch her, she stumbled backwards and froze. She sucked in a startled breath and her gaze flew from the hand suspended in the air between them to his face. Something flashed in his gold eyes—something that looked like pain. But he recovered quickly, a shutter slamming down over his features, and she thought maybe she’d been mistaken. His arm dropped to his side.

  “How have you been?” he asked softly, and Cassidy’s eyes widened. She clenched her jaw to keep it from bouncing off the floor.

  He was asking how she’d been? Really? After he’d emotionally savaged her in a hotel room then disappeared for five weeks without a word?

  She stared at him for a long moment, tempted to just walk away, but a closer inspection of his features revealed lines of exhaustion and uncertainty. Uncertainty?

  Yeah, right, she thought with a silent snort, and folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Um…great,” she rasped, before clearing her throat and saying with a little more composure, “I’m fine. You?”

  His forehead wrinkled as though her behavior baffled him and Cassidy couldn’t prevent a little spurt of satisfaction. He was baffled by her behavior? Well, tough, she thought, straightening her spine as though the sight of him didn’t make her want to simultaneously punch him and throw herself in his arms. Besides, he’d given up the right to be baffled by anything she did.

  “Um…yeah, fine,” he said absently, his eyebrows pulling his face into a scowl.

  Ignoring the urge to trace the arrogant arch of his brows with her fingers, she nodded. “That’s…good,” she said vaguely. “Your…um, family must be relieved you’re home safely.” And after an awkward pause during which his intense stare sent flutters dropping into her stomach, she added lamely, “Well, excuse me.”

  She stepped around him and escaped towards the checkout counter. This time he didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he followed, looking big and bad and deliciously dangerous.

  He waited while she paid for her purchases, chatting with the checkout clerk. And before she could object, he hefted her packets, announced, “I’ll walk you to your car,” and headed for the exit. As though expecting her to follow.

  She did, quickly, trying to head him off. “That’s not necessary,” she told him, and grabbed for the carry-bag handle. They engaged in a brief tug of war until Sam gently removed her hand and repeated quietly, “I’ll walk you to your car,” his gaze as implacable as his words. His mouth tightened when she seemed about to argue, then he stepped around her, turning to wait patiently for directions.

  She stood indecisively for a few moments, wondering if she should just leave her groceries and bolt. But that would only prove he still h
ad the power to affect her.

  Shoving an errant curl off her face, Cassidy sighed impatiently. “This really isn’t necessary, Major,” she said huffily. “I can manage a few grocery bags and I’m sure you’re busy. So…I won’t detain you.”

  He studied her silently for a few moments before transferring all the bags to one hand. The other he wrapped around her arm and steered her out into the early evening.

  Hunching her shoulders against the cool mountain air and the curious looks they were receiving, Cassidy sighed and stepped through the doors. The last thing she needed was him walking her to her car. She was hanging onto her control by her fingernails as it was.

  “Where’s your car?”

  She shifted nervously and adjusted her shoulder bag. “Major—”

  “We need to talk,” he said quietly, implacably, and Cassidy welcomed the surge of anger that followed his announcement. What the hell?

  Suddenly furious with him, and with herself, she swung to face him. “There’s nothing to say, Major,” she said tightly, coolly. “Nothing. In fact, you were more than clear about your feelings the last time we…spoke. I get it. I’m not stupid, recent behavior to the contrary. I can read between the lines. Now, if you’ll give me my damn bags, I’ll be on my way.” She grabbed her bags and yanked. This time he allowed her to take one. The others he held out of reach. Growling, Cassidy spun away and headed purposefully for the stairs leading to the parking lot. He snagged her arm in a tight grip.

  “Cassidy…”

  And suddenly she’d had enough. More than enough, actually. “Don’t!” she snapped, ripping her arm from his grasp and turning away abruptly. She sucked in a ragged breath. “Just…don’t.” Furious tears pricked the backs of her eyes and she swallowed past the lump of emotion threatening to choke her. She needed to escape before her rigid control snapped. “I…I have to go. G-goodbye, Major.”

  *

  Sam followed silently and watched as she fumbled in her purse for the car keys. Locating them, she pressed the remote and even in the gathering dusk he saw her fingers tremble.

  Feeling his gut clench, he reached out and closed his hand over hers. She jolted as though he’d prodded her with a shock stick. Her skin was cold to the touch and his grip tightened when she tried to yank away.

  Dammit, I screwed up and now she can’t even stand my touch, he thought, when that was all he wanted. He wanted to press up against her curvy body and bury his face into the soft, sweet hollow beneath her ear. He wanted to lick her smooth skin and breathe in her special fragrance—warm, slightly fruity and smelling of clean mountain air. A scent he’d craved with every breath he’d inhaled every second of every day he’d been away.

  She hurriedly stepped away and waited tensely while he unlocked her car and stowed her bags on the backseat. He then opened the driver’s door and held out her keys. She reached for them, careful not to touch him, and would have slid into the car if Sam hadn’t abruptly pushed her back against the cool metal, knowing he couldn’t let her go like this. Not after the past weeks. Weeks of hell when he’d missed her like an absent body part.

  At first he hadn’t understood what the hell was wrong with him. Even his commander had ripped him a new one after he’d blown off the psych eval.

  He was supposed to be an invincible SEAL but he’d fallen apart—shared his nightmares and his guilt with her, for God’s sake. He hated her knowing he was a cold-blooded killer. Okay, he’d killed to save himself and the rest of his team—but he’d killed in a cold rage. And he hadn’t been able to bear the compassion, the sympathy in her eyes. He didn’t deserve any of it. He didn’t deserve her.

  He didn’t remember much about that night in Spruce Ridge, but he did remember what he’d said to her. And he felt ashamed.

  Everyone thought he was still PTSD but Sam knew that wasn’t why he’d been a basket case after that night.

  Okay, he was still PTSD but that wasn’t the problem, and it had taken him a couple of long weeks to realize exactly what was. He was missing something more important than his sanity. His heart. And she was his heart.

  But all he could think about now was the feel of her soft curves against him. God, he’d missed this. Missed having her curvy body pressed against his—like he was finally home.

  She made a sound of distress and tried to push him away, but Sam manacled her wrists and pressed them against the cool metal beside her head. Then he took advantage of her shocked gasp and swooped down to crush her mouth with his.

  God, he thought, thrusting his tongue deep, hiding out in a desert cave, he’d thought of nothing but the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her in his mouth.

  Her heart pounded as hard as his and she struggled to free herself but he wasn’t letting go. Not now that he was finally where he belonged. For long moments she remained stiff in his arms, and then with a long throaty moan her body melted against him.

  Heart pounding, he released her hands and abruptly broke the kiss, pressing his erection against her. God, he wanted—no, needed—her more than he’d wanted anything.

  Resting his forehead against the roof of her car, he gulped in air and prayed for control, but then she whispered his name, “Samuel,” and the sound of it on her lips blew him away.

  He thrust his hands onto the wild silvery mass framing her face and the next instant he was devouring her with a hot, hungry desperation he’d never realized he was capable of. It burned him up, a raging wildfire that swept away every thought, every need in a wave of hot primal craving.

  His emotions, unrestrained and frantic, burned hot and fierce. His hands streaked over her in a desperate attempt to feel all of her—her soft silky heat, her firm, smooth flesh—and it was a moment before he realized her hands weren’t trying to pull him close but push him away.

  “Stop,” she cried hoarsely. “Samuel! Stop!”

  Shocked, he froze, his chest heaving with the effort of drawing air into his lungs.

  “Stop?” he croaked, not believing he was hearing right. “Stop?”

  A ragged sound of misery escaped her throat and she flattened her palms against his chest and shoved. Sam was so surprised that he staggered back a couple steps until his back hit the neighboring car.

  “Wha—?”

  “Leave me alone, Sam,” she croaked, and with one desperate look she dived into her car, slammed the door and shoved the key into the ignition before he could move.

  The engine engaged in a roar and the car shot out of the parking lot, barely missing a battered Ford truck and a shiny new SUV parked beneath the streetlight.

  The last image he had was of her white face streaked with tears, and the knowledge that he’d caused them made his gut clench in sick shock. He’d made her cry. Again.

  Sam watched as her taillights disappeared, feeling at once numb and devastated. Gutted, like he hadn’t felt since he’d let his team down. And just like that night, his rage turned outward. A red tide of primal fury he knew he couldn’t let loose on the good people of Crescent Lake.

  Shoving his hand into his pocket, he palmed his keys and headed towards his SUV. He might not want to let his rage loose on his friends, but he knew exactly where he could.

  *

  The sheriff hit the doors of the Crash Landing with the heel of his hand and strode into the bar, expecting to call in for a dozen body bags.

  After a crappy week, he’d gone home armed with a six-pack and a giant pizza topped with the works, hoping to relax in front of his big-screen TV. Seattle was playing San Francisco. It was just his luck the call from Dispatch came through as Seattle slammed the first puck into the opposition’s net.

  Expecting to wade into World War Three, Ruben halted three feet into the bar and blinked in the dim light, aware that his jaw had dropped open. About a dozen men were propped up against the bar, tossing back tequila like they were practicing for a Mexican showdown and singing off-key enough to make tone-deaf ears bleed.

  Pushing his hat up his forehead, Ruben shoved h
is hands on his hips and gaped at the spectacle. Sam was in the thick of things, arm slung around Chris Hastings as though they were bosom buddies when Ruben knew damn well and good they’d been enemies in high school. He’d never seen a sorrier bunch of idiots.

  He strode up to the bar and pushed his way through the throng. The owner, watching the proceedings from behind the counter with an unreadable expression, nodded when he saw Ruben.

  “Sheriff,” he said. “Can I get you something?”

  “Coffee, Joe. Strong, black with plenty of sugar.”

  Joe Montana lifted a brow and grinned. “One cup or two?”

  “Make that two. And don’t skimp on the sugar.”

  By the time Joe slid two coffees across the counter the men at the bar had left or wandered away, leaving the brothers alone.

  “Go away,” Sam growled, and defiantly lifted the last shot to his mouth. Ruben hastily removed the glass and shoved the coffee at him.

  “Drink,” he said shortly. “And then tell me what Crescent Lake’s newest doctor is doing practicing for America’s Got No Talent.”

  Sam grimaced at the cup in front of him. “Real funny.”

  “Not when I’ve been called away from a game where Seattle scored the first point against ’Frisco. Not when my brother is propping up Joe’s bar and making people’s ears bleed.” Sam opened his mouth to argue but Ruben beat him to it. “Drink the damn coffee before I slap your ass in jail for disturbing the peace.”

  Sam scowled at him through bleary eyes for a couple of beats before he gave a heavy sigh and complied. “I was ready to quit anyway.”

  Ruben waited until Sam had consumed half the cup’s contents before he said mildly, “Care to tell me what’s going on?”

  Sam shoved a hand through his hair and stared down into his half-empty cup. “Nothing.” Everything. He’d glimpsed that flash of pain in Cassidy’s beautiful green eyes and he’d gone a little crazy.

  He’d shoved her up against her car and sucked her breath from her lungs and then she’d cried. The memory of her white, shocked face still had the power to make him feel like the worst kind of monster.