by Alison Bliss
“No! Please don’t. You’ll only make things worse.” I grasped his arm, digging my fingernails into his skin to stop him. Not only was he outnumbered, but those two brothers were clearly unstable. I didn’t want Cowboy to get hurt. “You can’t go in there.”
“Watch me.”
“It wasn’t a big deal. I doubt Joe even meant it. He was just being a jerk.”
Cowboy paused. “What exactly did he say to you?”
“Joe told me…” I hesitated, but took a deep breath. “He said he would burn my house down…with me inside.”
He blinked at me, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Then lightning flashed in his eyes. “Those little bastards,” he said, shaking out of my grip. “Stay here. I’ll be back after I have a few words with them.”
But I knew that was a lie. He wasn’t going in there to do any talking. No, he was going in there with every intention of beating the hell out of them. I could see it in his stiff posture and the way his teeth gnashed together in anger. But I couldn’t let that happen.
I jumped in front of him and put my hand on his chest. Like that did any good. He glared at it, pushed my hand aside, then picked me up and physically moved me out of his way. I was no match for his strength. It was the equivalent of me trying to stop a speeding train with my bare hands.
As he strode briskly away, I panicked and blurted out, “My mother died in a fire!”
The grief and sadness must’ve registered in my voice because he stopped in his tracks and looked back at me. A dull ache gnawed at my insides, dredging up an emptiness I hadn’t felt in years. His withering stare softened and his eyes flooded with compassion and understanding. That was the moment the dam broke wide open. Tears dripped freely onto my cheeks and I wiped at them, smearing the painful memories down my face. Apparently it was enough to convince him I needed him to stay more than he needed to defend my honor.
Silently, Cowboy returned to me. For a moment, he just stood there with his eyes closed, as if he were willing himself to settle down. When he opened them, something else had taken the place of the anger. Something closely resembling sympathy and understanding. “Is that why you’re scared of fire?”
I bit my lip to keep it from trembling as another tear rolled down my cheek. I nodded slowly.
Bridging the gap between us, Cowboy pulled me into his masculine arms. At first, I tried to push away, not wanting his pity, but he wouldn’t allow it. He drew me back to him, and within seconds, I surrendered to the security of his strong hold, burying my face into his chest as little hiccupping sobs burst from my throat.
“Okay, just breathe.” He smoothed one hand over my hair, then settled it on my lower back. “Slow and easy. Like this,” he said, using his other hand to place mine against his chest, allowing me to feel the rise and fall of his even breaths.
He held me comfortably, giving me time to calm down, while he probably contemplated which one of the Barlow boys he was going to punch in the face first. Because when their screen door banged against the jamb again, Cowboy whirled around fast, fists clenched, ready for a fight.
Mandy Barlow had stepped outside on their porch with her short, blunt brunette hair and perky nose. She looked straight at me, her eyes registering concern, then flicked a glance at Cowboy. “Is everything all right?”
“Apparently, your brothers get off on threatening women.”
“Oh God. I’m sorry,” Mandy said, shaking her head. She directed her attention back to me. “Don’t listen to them, honey. They’re all talk…well, mostly.” She offered a small non-committal shrug. “They may not use the sense that the good Lord gave ’em, but I’m sure they were only trying to scare you.”
“Well, it worked,” Cowboy said, his tone shifting from sour to downright caustic. “Give them a piece of advice for me, Mandy. Tell them that if they come near Anna again, they’re going to answer to me.”
Mandy bit her lip. “I don’t think—”
“Tell ’em,” he demanded. “Because if this happens again, we’re going to see how they fare with someone a little closer to their own size.”
She looked like she wanted to argue, but instead, she nodded silently and went back inside.
Cowboy slid his arm gently around my shoulders and softened his voice. “Come on, darlin’.” He kept me tucked firmly against his side as he walked me home.
I was relieved he was no longer going after the Barlow boys, but hoped like hell Mandy didn’t actually tell her brothers what Cowboy had said. It would be the equivalent of beating on an active beehive with a short stick.
Once we cleared my front door, I let out a sigh of relief. Just being back inside my small rental home, surrounded by my own things, made me feel better. Safer, even. My quaint cottage held only sparse, simple furnishings, such as a small flat-screen TV and an eggshell-colored love seat, but it was my comfort zone. My sanctuary.
I loved everything about it. From the plain white lace curtains adorning the living room windows to the delicate pink rose wallpaper in the narrow hallway. Not to mention the hundreds of books on the two huge bookcases which commandeered an entire wall behind my beige reading chair.
Cowboy raised a brow. “You read all those?”
I nodded. “I enjoy reading.”
He lifted a romance book I’d left lying in my chair, scanned the title, and chuckled. “Sounds like some kind of guidebook for birth control, rather than a romance.”
Mentally cringing, I moved into the tiny kitchen to keep from awarding him with the blush I felt slowly creeping into my cheeks. His boots clomped on the floor behind me, signaling he’d followed. I glanced over my shoulder and caught sight of him eyeing the steaming white teapot on the glass-top stove.
“I was preparing a cup of tea when I heard the popping sounds coming from outside,” I explained, my voice shaking a little.
“Would you like a cup?” he asked.
I nodded and opened the cabinet nearest the sink, where I kept my good china and a small box of tea bags.
“Sit down,” he ordered, reaching over me and taking them from my hands. “I’ll get it for you.”
Wordlessly, I obeyed his command and sat at the small round dining room table. I reached over and flipped the switch on an electronic warming plate that held a vanilla-scented candle in a glass jar, needing the calming Zen the aromatherapy would provide. Then I took a couple of slow, deep breaths.
It was hard to believe Cowboy was inside my home, much less making me a cup of hot tea. Every vision I’d had in the last week of him being here with me had always had way more to do with my bedroom than a kitchen. And the thought of Cowboy and me anywhere near a bed together made my heart race and my breath quicken. Not that I’d ever tell him that, though.
My irritating mind used the pleasant fantasy against me to slowly drive me insane. I’d be leaving in a few months. Besides that, Cowboy had never been attracted to me. How could he be? Especially now when I resembled a worn, wrung-out mop.
Standing outside in the wind had dried my damp hair, but now it felt like an unruly ball of tangled twine on top of my head. Drab, stringy, and no doubt completely unflattering. Then again, I doubted he’d even notice. Cowboy’s only interest in me had to do with him bedding a woman who’d turned him down flat. That’s what he’d said, after all: I’m intrigued by you because you didn’t want anything to do with me.
Cowboy brought over two cups of the aromatic tea, placed one in front of me, and plopped down in the empty chair beside me with his cup still in his hand. He brought it to his lips and took a large swallow before cringing, making a god-awful face, and setting the cup down. He pushed it away from him. “That tastes like shit.”
I dunked my tea bag a couple of times and cautiously took a sip from my cup. As I swallowed, the warm, fragrant liquid traveled down my throat, soothing me from the inside out. Puzzled, I shook my head. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“Tastes like dirt and grass.”
I smiled lightly.
“It’s herbal.”
He crooked his mouth and wrinkled his nose, as if he couldn’t understand why anyone would drink the earthy stuff. Then his green eyes flickered to the flameless candle warmer, which apparently reminded him why we were sitting there together. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly.
I didn’t. Not really.
All the slow breathing I’d done earlier had helped lower my blood pressure and pulse rate, but I suddenly felt both rising once again. I’d carried the guilt over my mother’s death with me for so long. Maybe it was time I let someone in and get it off my chest. But then I wondered what he’d think of me once he knew the truth, and the fear clamped my vocal chords into silence. Bringing the cup back to my lips, I took another sip and shook my head.
Cowboy’s eyes narrowed in determination. He took my cup from me and set it aside, then he grasped my seat with both hands and scooted my chair around to face him. “Talk to me.”
Guess he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
I couldn’t look directly at him. A long pause ensued until I felt calm enough to speak the words out loud. “I was…six years old at the time,” I whispered, wringing my hands together in my lap. “My mother was cooking dinner while I finished my homework at the kitchen table. My stepfather had just called to say he was on his way home from work when the doorbell rang.” I paused.
“Go on,” he encouraged.
I swallowed hard. “My mom went to answer it. I…I should’ve stayed in the kitchen like she told me to…but I didn’t.” I was having a difficult time talking and shook my head in disgust as a fat tear dropped onto my cheek. “Had I stayed, I could have stopped the fire from happening. Things might’ve been different,” I told him, my lips trembling with remorse. “S-she might still be alive.” With that admittance, a sob tore from my throat and guilt stabbed into my chest, piercing my heart. Angry tears assaulted my cheeks, and although my hands flew to my face to fend them off, it was useless. The battle was lost.
Drawing me to him, Cowboy pressed his lips to my ear and made a shushing sound. He rubbed my back lightly, allowing me to release all the pent-up regret I’d held onto for so long. “I’m sorry, Anna. I should’ve trusted you from the beginning. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
I squeezed my eyes closed. I was a coward. He trusted me…yet I still couldn’t bring myself to tell him the whole truth.
When my cries finally died down, he asked, “Want to know why I became a fireman?”
His chin rested on top of my head, but he must’ve felt me nod.
“When I was thirteen, a single mother moved in across the street from my parents’ home. She lived in a double-wide trailer and had three kids, all under the age of six—Danny, Lynn, and Suzie Q. Well, that’s what I used to call her, anyway. The kids would come over on the weekends sometimes to play with my dog.
“One morning, I was out back working on my go-cart when I picked up a strong whiff of smoke blowing in the breeze. I’d circled the house trying to figure out where it was coming from, when I looked across the road and saw their trailer on fire.”
My temple was pressed to his throat, and I felt him swallow hard.
“I knew they were inside and yelled for my mom to call 911 while my dad and I ran over and pounded on their door. It was locked, though. We couldn’t get in. We knocked in a few windows and yelled, but no one answered. Every time we tried to enter, the smoke choked us and the heat from the fire burned our skin.”
I pulled back and looked at him, wide-eyed. “They didn’t make it out, did they?”
Solemnly, he shook his head. “I was there when the firefighters pulled their bodies out, one by one. It made me sick. The fast-moving fire had spread before their mom could wake up and carry them to safety. I stood outside that charred trailer and said good-bye to each one of those babies. They never even had a chance at life.”
I studied his face. His eyes were glossy from tears that hadn’t yet fallen. The cool arrogance he normally displayed was long gone, replaced by things I easily recognized. Grief. Sadness. Regret. Maybe we weren’t as different as I thought.
“It’s always tougher when it involves children.”
“Yeah. But it’s worse when you realize that if only you’d had the right tools for the job, they would all still be alive.” He shook his head at the injustice. “That’s only one of two reasons why I joined the fire department, though.”
“What’s the other?”
Cowboy grinned a little. “Danny wanted to be a fireman. That’s all the kid ever talked about.”
My heart squeezed as I smiled warmly at him. Without thinking, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his cheek, surprising the both of us. He stiffened at the unexpected gesture, and I pulled back immediately. But his hand caught me behind my neck, stopping the motion.
His face lingered near mine, and his gaze landed on my mouth as I licked my lips with nervousness. Okay, anticipation. So I wanted to kiss him. Big deal. Who wouldn’t?
But it wasn’t a good idea. And, judging by his expression and the tightening of his grip on the back of my neck, it seemed we were both grappling with the decision to take the innocent kiss on the cheek one step further.
“Anna, I—” He lowered his gaze, his whole body becoming rigid. Cowboy’s eyes widened and his mouth fell dormant.
At first, I wasn’t sure what caused the reaction. Once my gaze followed his, it only took me a fraction of a second to realize what had taken him by surprise. My heart flatlined. My robe had parted on my thighs, baring them, and Cowboy had gotten an eyeful of much more than I’d ever intended for him to see.
Panicking, I grasped the skirt of my robe and covered myself, but his hands shot out and grasped mine. “Don’t.”
Before I could argue with him, Cowboy shoved my hands aside and carefully slid the fabric from my legs, revealing the large, irregular patchwork of ropey pink scars that marred my slim thighs. The unsymmetrical planes of skin were thickened with grotesque, disfiguring reminders of exactly why I avoided fire…and men.
As he focused his attention on my legs, my chest tightened with the strong urge to escape, but I was unable to move. The last person to look so closely at my deformities was the plastic surgeon who’d performed several painful corrective surgeries on me over the years in the form of agonizing skin grafts and laser resurfacing. That was, until I finally refused further treatment.
A tentative touch jarred me from my thoughts as Cowboy’s hand fell lightly upon my right knee. His fingers inched upward, carefully considering the texture of each mark before tracing one blemish to the inside of my leg. His gaze heated as his fingers whispered over my deformed skin. Though there had been some nerve damage, and the skin in that area wasn’t particularly sensitive, the sight of seeing Cowboy’s hand between my legs caused me to tense and a strangled sound bubbled from my throat.
Our eyes met.
His calloused hand flattened, covering my thigh with warmth. He stopped exploring the marks, but didn’t pull back. For a moment, we sat there in a deadlock, his hands on my thighs and neither of us moving. His face tightened with a cornucopia of emotions: anger, protectiveness, understanding, and pity.
I wasn’t sure if I should say anything or not. Thankfully, he made the decision for me by releasing me and lowering his gaze, severing the intense connection between us. “I have to go,” Cowboy volunteered in a hasty voice much deeper than before. “Right now.”
“Oh,” I said as my cheeks flushed. “Um, okay.” I yanked the robe to cover my legs, while he extended the courtesy of looking away. I shot to my feet and faced away from him, not wanting him to see the disappointment and confusion in my eyes.
When I opened the front door and moved aside, he stepped through it and out into the warm night air. Darkness had fallen quickly, as it usually does when you’re surrounded by nothing but trees and no streetlamps.
“Thanks for, um…listening, I guess.”
“You’re welcome.” He started of
f the porch, without looking back. “Have a good night,” he called out over his shoulder.
“You, too,” I said softly, watching him stroll out to his truck.
Once he reached it, I closed the front door and leaned against it, blowing out a long, slow breath. I probably should’ve been relieved he hadn’t pressed me for more details about the fire. And realistically, I didn’t even know why I was bewildered by his reaction to seeing my scars. From the beginning, I’d predicted—if not projected—the outcome. Although he hadn’t appeared exactly repulsed by them, he was obviously distancing himself from me, which was close enough to the same thing.
At least he’d demonstrated some compassion by not drawing out a long, awkward good-bye littered with excuses and insincere apologies. Not that it mattered, since I could already feel a stinging sensation as the first tear pricked my eye.
If I can’t see past the scars, then why should he?
I was still leaning against the door moments later when someone rapped lightly on the other side. What the hell?
I opened it to find Cowboy filling the space with unnerving eyes, a strange look of desperation on his face, and his mouth held in a grim, firm line. “I should keep my hands off you,” he said with a hoarseness to his voice.
“Um, okay.” Guess he was more repulsed than I thought, because he was going ahead with the insincere apology, after all. “You came back to tell me that?”
“No, I forgot something.” He sounded even more irritated than when I first opened the door.
“Oh. What’d you forget?” I started to turn to look for a set of keys or something else that could be his, but he gripped my arm to stop me.
“This,” he said, spinning me back to him and covering my mouth with his.
Instantly, I froze.
Since I’d first met him, I’d always wondered what it would be like to be under that perfect mouth of his, and now that I was finding out, I stood there stupidly with my fish lips smashed against his in the most unflattering way.
