by Ronie Kendig
“Night, Stone.” Canyon drank the water, set down the glass, and rolled up his sleeves, feigning casual comfort. “Better head out. Got an o-dark-thirty meeting.”
“This is not the time to go all mysterious, Canyon Metcalfe. You need to explain yourself.”
“That I don’t.” He started for the hall, where he removed his jacket from the closet.
“Why is there blood on your sleeve?”
Teeth ground, he looked to the side, tempering his aggravation. The frustration pumping through his chest made his breathing uneven.
“Canyon,” Willow said as she came closer. “If you don’t want to tell me what happened, then … just answer me this—is she okay?”
“Good night, Willow.” Without another word, he waved good-bye to Leif.
Trailing him into the night, Willow called, “He asked her to the Coast Guard gala. She agreed. Let them have this chance, Canyon.”
Waving over his head, he hurried out of the house. The thought of Roark and Range … He’d never lost to his little brother. Never. Was that what upset him this time?
No. It was about a woman. A very broken woman.
Which, in his professional judgment, blazed warning enough for both of them to stay off.
In his car, he tugged the small black phone from his pocket. Dialed.
“Wolfsbane, good evening. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got an idea.”
CHAPTER 7
Roark Residence, Virginia
She might as well die.
Oh right. She’d tried that and Canyon interfered. Okay, so maybe life wasn’t as desperate …
No, it definitely was. Dani slid her feet into the sandals and headed downstairs, adjusting the coral sweater where the material snagged on the stitches. As her foot hit the bottom step a reverberating gong carried through the floor and tickled her feet. She stopped as another gong rang out from the antique grandfather clock. And another … another …
Hand on her phone she paused in front of the tall wood pendulum swinging back and forth. Each intonation thudded against her conscience. Eight o’clock. It was time to call him again. Let him know she was okay.
That would be lying. And her mother, a devout Catholic, had raised her better than that. But Mom’s not here. Besides, nobody cared. Life was pathetic and depressing.
The painful thought felt weighted and louder than the eighth gong of the clock. What she wouldn’t have done to have her mother’s arms gather her into an embrace of love, understanding, and fierce protection.
“Danielle?”
She flinched at the sound of her sister’s voice as Dani turned and found Alexandra standing by the entry to the family room. “Morning.” Though she mustered the dregs of her energy for the smile she offered her sister, Dani knew she’d failed miserably.
“Chad is making his specialty for breakfast.” Her sister smiled and ambled over the gleaming marble floor. “Would you like to join us?”
Chad. Her father’s clone. But on a smaller scale and, unlike her father, Chad had some semblance of family values and good enough sense to spend the morning making breakfast for his wife and children.
“Dani?”
“No. Thank you.” She smiled again. “I think … I think I’ll just sit on the patio for a while. Enjoy the sun.”
“I could join you.”
With her fingers on the brass lever for the patio door, Dani faced her sister. “This is your family time. Go be with them.” She waved Alexandra away.
“Please, consider—”
“I already answered that.” Crisis counseling. Her sister had mentioned it almost daily. She didn’t want to expose a complete stranger to her nightmare—she wanted to forget it!
Putting on the facade of well-being and happiness drained her. She stepped onto the pebbled cement and strolled toward the table and chairs by the pool. Standing beneath the partial shade of the table umbrella gave her a view of the gardens. Her stepmother had insisted on making it as much like a true English garden as possible. Never understanding the point, Dani avoided the extravagant display. But somehow, for some reason, today she wanted to explore the grounds.
Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she traveled the path between parallel hedgerows that dumped her into a rectangular-shaped space. In the middle, a smaller rectangle boxed in a fountain. Water spewed and dumped from the jug atop the shoulder of a peasant woman, the tumbling waves foaming at her feet. Another stream flowed from a smaller jug propped on her hip. The woman looked as much gypsy as she did princess.
Absurd. Yet it didn’t surprise her considering the ideals of her father. He wanted his wife to stay at home, raise the children—do wife things. Make him look good as a senator-cum-vice-presidential candidate. He’d threatened disinheritance when Dani told him she joined the Army Corps of Engineers. But that was nothing compared to his face when she explained her job with the USACE was blowing things up with explosives.
Explosive. Yeah, that’s about how she could’ve described his reaction.
“I’ll build you a lab out back. Just don’t do this. Think what the constituents will think if my daughter is building bombs!”
Dear old Dad never considered that his daughter wanted to get away from him and his trophy wife. Tugging a leaf from the wall of shrubs, she kept walking, enjoying the soft cushion of grass beneath her feet.
Somewhere in the distance the squeal of tires stalked the quiet morning. Rich kids with expensive cars and no brains. She’d grown up with them. Maybe … maybe at one time she was one of them.
General Bruzon changed that—changed her.
She squeezed her eyes tight to block the images that assailed her. His hands … “No.” Dani pinched the bridge of her nose. Alcoholic breath … “No!” Shoulders hunched, she pulled closer to the shrubs and wished they’d drag her into their foliage, help her disappear.
Noise erupted.
Dani paused and listened, blinking back the memories and panicked tears. What? When loud voices intruded, she glanced in the direction the sound came from.
Shouts spilled from the house. Brow furrowed, she started back along the path. As soon as she returned to the fountain, she stopped short.
From between two shrub columns burst Canyon. A deep scowl carved a mean line down his face. His gaze collided with hers. He stalked over the stones, his fists balled.
Her breath backed up into her throat as he stormed toward her. Behind him—blurred since she didn’t dare take her eyes off him—Alexandra stopped, hand over her mouth.
“Two phone calls,” he said in a terse, low voice. “Midnight, eight o’clock.”
“I … I—”
“You’re late. The cops are here.” With a huff, he halted not a foot from her.
Cold rushed through her stomach and chest. “You brought them?” She glanced at her sister, who watched with a curious expression, then turned and hurried back to the house.
He towered over her, eyes ablaze and nostrils flaring. “I told you. Two phone calls or I would come and bring them with me.”
“Well yes, but I didn’t—”
“Didn’t believe me?”
Mouth dry and words gone, she stared up at him, at the challenge so clear on his rugged face. He’d come? For her?
He took another step, his brow wrinkling then smoothing out. Anger replaced by … concern? “You were crying.”
Dani jerked her gaze away, heart pounding. “You have no right to be here.” She started away but he caught her arm.
“Roark.”
Her eyes slid shut as she felt him draw closer. His cologne—light and yet thick—swirled around her mind as he stood a head taller.
“Are you okay?” His breath brushed against her cheek with those deep, quiet words.
Swallowing the swell of grief over the memories, yet relief that he’d come, she steadied herself. Curse being a hormonal woman—her chin trembled. Which made her angry. “I’m fine.” She tried to pull out of his hold, but his
grip tightened. She flashed him a glare.
“This isn’t a game.” The intensity roared back into his words and expression. “Your life isn’t a game.”
“Yeah, what do you know?”
“I know a strong, beautiful woman who’s trying to pretend the pain cutting her heart open doesn’t exist. Instead, she cuts open her wrist.”
“Dani?”
She gasped, noticing for the first time her sister standing to the side. He communicated so much through those blue eyes, could she do the same? She shot him a look that said she’d kill him if her sister had overheard. “Alexandra, go inside.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
They waited, locked in a silent duel, as her sister’s steps faded.
“What I did last night was stupid.”
“Ya think?”
She huffed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Enlighten me.”
Dani rotated, grateful when he let go of her arm. She walked along the grass, turning her attention away from the churning in her body to the feathering, glossy leaves against her palm. “When General Lambert called and said I had to go back, everything inside me—all the walls and braces I’d established after what happened …” She drew up her courage and shoulders. Took a deep breath. “Well, they vanished when that call came. When you found me, helped me, I knew I had a second chance. I saw how stupid it was.” She faced him. Put on the plastic face she’d rehearsed since her father remarried. “I’m fine.”
Tension radiated from his eyes. Slowly, that faded and with it, she hoped he’d back off and leave her alone. When he gave her a soft nod, she realized she’d won again. Was it always this easy to make guys think you’d given in?
He smirked. “Sell your sad tale somewhere else.”
“What?”
“I’m not buying it.”
Glancing away, Dani scrambled. He wasn’t buying? Why not? What could she say that would send him on his way? To get rid of him? “Look—”
“I’m not going away. We have a deal. If you break it again, I’m not playing nice.”
“Nice! You call this nice?” That stupid smirk turned her stomach inside out.
“Do you really want to find out?” He narrowed his eyes. “We have a deal—”
“There is no deal. You said two phone calls.”
“And you missed one.”
Dani stared at him. Was he serious?
“You owe me a call.”
Lips taut, she tugged the cell phone from her pocket. Dialed.
A song—“American Heroes”—blasted out. She glared at him.
Another smirk. He slid the phone from his pocket and answered, his gaze never leaving hers. “Metcalfe.”
“I’m a little late,” she said into her phone, “but I’m calling. I’m fine.”
“I’ll give you that—you are a fine woman, but you’re late.”
Heat crawled into her cheeks, unable to look away from the man whose fastidious focus had brought out the worst in her. “So?”
“So, it’ll cost you.” His eyes twinkled.
She shouldn’t smile. She really shouldn’t. But she did. “You’re as bad as my father or any politician.”
Something flashed through his face. He stretched his neck and broke their eye-locked connection. Slowly he lowered the phone and stuffed it in his pocket.
Feeling as if the world had just crashed, she lowered her phone. “Wh–what just happened? What did I say?”
He pursed his lips. “Nothing.” The bright sun pinched his eyes into gleaming slits. “I should go.”
Her heart tripped and fell over his drastic attitude change.
When he stepped back and turned, she couldn’t help what leapt from her tongue. “So you really are like my father.”
Canyon rounded on her. The storm returned.
No way she could’ve known how that flaming arrow had pierced the center target of his soul. Pure adrenaline had shot him through the door to her home, searching, demanding to see her. When her sister said Roark was out on the grounds, he hunted her down. Though relieved at seeing her alive, he’d wanted to throttle her for not calling.
And now—now she compared him to a politician. To her father. The blow hit below the belt.
“Canyon?”
Gorgeous brown eyes peered up at him. Was that hurt? Or confusion? “Wh–what … what did I say?”
He’d been so determined to make sure she was still on this side of paradise, that he hadn’t thought through coming or how seeing her would make him feel.
Range will kill me.
Dark wavy strands framed an olive-toned face and pinkish lips. He had to get out of here. Before he did something stupid. “Take a ride with me.” Like that.
A smile flitted across her lips. “Yeah, sure.”
He started walking, not trusting himself to talk, and dug the keys from his pocket.
As they passed a ridiculous fountain, she broke the silence he’d created. “Did you really bring the cops?”
“Of course. You gave me your word. When you didn’t call, I took it to mean the worst.” He eyed her.
Her face went slack and a rosiness filled her cheeks, but she said nothing. She’d looked like she was about to say something or like something he said had stunned her. She wasn’t fighting or snapping back. What did that mean?
A shadow dropped over him as they stepped from the crushed gravel path onto the pebbled sidewalk. Canyon glanced up, the ornate home looming over them. Lots of taxpayers had spent years paying for this house. He distinctly remembered her sister saying their father was on a conference call. The last thing Canyon wanted was elbow rubbing with a politician.
“Is there a side way to the front of the house?”
“That way.” She stepped off the path and turned onto another walkway alongside the home.
He should probably say something. But then he’d gotten himself in trouble that way too many times before. Like two minutes ago when he’d asked her to go for a drive. About to round the corner of the house, he heard a door open behind them.
“Danielle?”
No, don’t stop, he silently willed Roark. Pretend you didn’t hear him.
She stopped. Turned.
Canyon continued a few more paces. Everything in him said to keep going. Don’t show this man that he could control this Metcalfe. But Roark … Canyon slowed and shifted, facing the front of the house now but looking back at the father and daughter.
“Where are you going?”
Don’t tell him. Just … let’s go.
Roark glanced at him, her dark wavy hair glistening in the early sun. “Just out.”
“Mr. Metcalfe, is that you?”
Sucking up his disgust, Canyon nodded. “Senator.”
“What a nice surprise. Is your brother here as well?”
“No, sir.” He would not give this man any information he didn’t need. Besides, he was sure Range would end up hearing it anyway. “If you’ll excuse us …” He started walking.
“Bye, Dad.”
Canyon stalked to the circular drive, keyed into Roark’s steps hustling behind him.
“That was borderline rude.”
He pressed the fob. The Camaro bleeped as the locks disengaged. He held the door open for Roark.
“Nice car. Red—a power statement.” She eased around it and tucked herself into the car.
He shut the door and hurried to the other side. As he opened his door, he caught movement in a far corner window. Senator Roark. Looking down from his pedestal.
Inside, Canyon started the engine and peeled out of the drive. The speed, the sharp corners, helped empty the venom that had dumped into his system at the senator’s intrusion on their morning. Despite keeping his focus on the road, he could also feel Roark’s eyes boring into him.
He didn’t want her quizzing him. “Thought we’d go to the beach.” She’d have to wait a long time to hear the story behind his reaction. That was, if ever
.
“Somewhere there’s no stiff-shirted politicians or my father?”
So she understood his basic motives. He’d let her think she had scored a piece of intel on him.
Take her back. You have no business taking her out.
He slowed as they approached an intersection, backpedaling on this outing. Could he find an excuse that wouldn’t offend her? No. No way. She’d called him on his treatment of her father. And he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting her.
Scrounging for something to say, something to add legitimacy to his being alone with her, he knew he couldn’t mention the conversation he’d had with the Old Man. Too many things were still being meted out. If the team couldn’t secure approval, they wouldn’t go. He tightened his fingers around the steering wheel at the thought of her going into the jungle, without him.
Fifteen minutes of silence delivered them to the beach. He parked and climbed out of the car. By the time he reached her side, she’d already opened the door and planted her feet on the pavement. He held the door all the same.
She gave him a look he couldn’t decipher as they started toward the water. “I didn’t even know you could get to this side of the beach.”
“Most surfers know the quiet spots.”
“You surf then?”
“Every time I can.” He slid his hands into his pockets as they walked the shoreline. “You ever tried it?”
She shook her head. “I prefer being in the water, not on top of it.”
He chuckled. “Synchronized swimming?”
With a light backhanded slap, she bristled. “Competitive. Made it to state once. I’ve always wanted to learn to surf, but …” The cool March wind tousled her hair and flipped it into her face. She tucked the strands back as she wrinkled her nose. “Swimming to save my life kind of ruined the water for me though.”
Something strange slid sideways in his gut. “Imagine it would change things for me, too.”
“I doubt you could ride a board as far as I swam.” She laughed. “I make that swim every night in my dreams.”
He heard the opening and debated on pursuing it. Did she want to go there? Could he handle hearing the truth? “Nightmares?”
