How long he stood there thinking about their conversation, he didn't know. When he glanced at his watch, it was 4:00 a.m. Forcing himself, he walked slowly back to the homestead. As he walked, he prayed—something he rarely did—that Susannah had had enough sense to go back to bed. What would he do if she was still up and waiting for him? His mouth was dry, and he wiped at it with the back of his hand. He didn't know.
Susannah was out in the extensive rose garden, giving the colorful flowers the special food that helped them to bloom. It was nearly noon, and she was hot, even though she wore her straw hat, a sleeveless white blouse and a threadbare pair of jeans. Her mind and heart centered on Killian. She'd gone back to bed around four, and had promptly plummeted into a deep, restful sleep. When she'd gotten up this morning at six, his bedroom door had been shut. Was he in there? Had he gone somewhere else? Susannah didn't know, and she hadn't had the courage to find out.
Taking her one-gallon bucket and the box of rose food, she went back over to the hose to mix the ingredients for the next rosebush. The air was heavy with the wonderful fragrance of the flowering bushes. The rose garden sat on the southern side of the homestead, where there was the most light. There was no fence around it, and the bushes stretched for nearly a quarter of a mile.
Susannah hunched over the bucket and poured the rose food into the pooling water, stirring it with her hand. The water turned a pretty pink color. Pink always reminded her of love, she thought mildly. Then Killian's harsh warning pounded back through her. He was dangerous, she thought, feeling the heat of longing flow through her—dangerous to her heart, to her soul. Killian had the ability to touch her very essence. How, she didn't know. She only knew he had that capacity, and no other man she'd ever met had been able to touch her so deeply.
Shutting off the faucet, Susannah set the food aside and hefted the gallon bucket to carry it to the next rosebush, a beautiful lavender one with at least ten blossoms. No longer could she keep from entertaining the idea of loving Killian. Her dreams had turned torrid toward morning, and she vividly recalled images of his hands caressing her body, his mouth ravishing her with wild abandon, meeting her willing, equally hungry lips.
She poured the bucket's contents into the well around the rosebush. What did she want? Killian. Why? Because. . . Susannah straightened and put the bucket aside. She pulled out a pair of scissors and began pruning off old blooms. Was it to help him heal?
Yes. To show him that another person could trust him fully, fearlessly, even if he didn't trust himself? Yes. To give him her love in hopes that he might overcome his own fear of loving and losing—and to love her? Yes.
Stymied, she stood there, her hands cupped around one of the large lavender roses. She leaned forward, inhaling the delicate fragrance. Life was so beautiful. Why couldn't Killian see that? As she studied the many-petaled bloom, Susannah ached for him. She knew she had the ability to show him the beauty of life. But what then? He would be in her life only long enough to catch the killer who might be stalking her. He'd repeatedly warned her that he wasn't worth loving.
But he was. With a sigh, Susannah pocketed the scissors, picked up the bucket and headed back to the faucet. Her stomach growled, and she realized that it was nearly lunchtime and she was hungry. Placing all the gardening tools near the spigot, Susannah walked back to the homestead. Would Killian be there? And if he was, would he be up yet? Fear mingled with need of him inside her. How would she handle their next confrontation?
Killian's head snapped up at the sound of someone's approach. He was at the kitchen cabinets, searching through them for something to eat. He'd just gotten up and taken a scaldingly hot shower to awaken, then gotten dressed in a dark blue short- sleeved shirt and jeans. He felt like someone had poleaxed him.
Susannah opened the screen door and took off her straw hat. When she saw him, she hesitated.
Killian glared at her.
"Hungry?" she asked, hoping to hide the tension she felt. She continued into the room and placed her hat on the table.
"Like a bear," he muttered, moving away from the counter.
Susannah kept plenty of distance between them. She noticed the stormy quality in his blue eyes, and her nerves grew taut. Scared, but aware that Killian needed courage from her, not cowardice, Susannah said firmly, "Have a seat and I'll fix you what I'm going to have: a tuna sandwich, sweet pickles and pretzels."
Sitting down, Killian tried to soften his growly bad humor. "Okay."
"Coffee or iced tea?"
"I don't care."
Gathering her dissolving courage, Susannah said, "I think you need a strong cup of coffee. Are you always like this when you wake up?" Killian looked fiercely unhappy, his eyes bleak, with dark circles under them. It was obvious he hadn't slept well after their verbal battle last night.
Killian refused to watch her as she moved to the icebox. "I told you I was a bastard."
She forced a laugh and brought bread and a bowl of prepared tuna to the counter. "You really aren't, you know. You're just grouchy because you lost some sleep last night and you haven't had your coffee yet."
"Maybe you're right." Killian watched her hungrily, every movement, every sway of her hips. Susannah had her sable hair swept into a ponytail, as usual, and it shone with each step she took. Her face glowed with the good health of a woman who loved the outdoors. Unhappily Killian folded his hands on the table. Why wouldn't Susannah heed his warning? Why didn't she believe that he was a bastard, someone capable of hurting her badly? He didn't want to hurt her—not her, of all people.
Humming softly, Susannah made coffee, prepared the sandwiches and put together a wholesome lunch. When she turned around, Killian's rugged profile still reflected his unhappiness. He sat tensely, his mouth pursed.
"Here, start on the sandwich. Bears don't do well on empty stomachs."
Grateful for her teasing, he took the sandwich and began eating. But he didn't taste it—all he was aware of was his own intense suffering, and Susannah's sunlit presence. She chased away his gloom, that terrible shadow that always hovered over him like a vulture ready to rip out what little was left of his heart.
Placing the coffee before him, Susannah took her usual seat at his elbow. Her heart was hammering so hard in her chest that she feared Killian might hear it. As she forced herself to eat, the kitchen fell into a stilted silence.
"Earlier, I went down to visit my parents," she offered after a moment, trying to lessen the tension. "They told me my school had called, that the principal wanted me to consider coming back to work sooner." She picked up a pickle and frowned. "I really miss teaching. I have a new class of kids that I've never seen." She watched Killian raise his head, his blue gaze settling on her. Her pulse raced. Trying to continue to sound nonchalant, she added, "So I called Mr. Gains back—that's the principal—and told him I'd like to return."
"When?" The word came out sharp.
Wiping her hands on a napkin, Susannah said, "Next Monday. I feel well enough now."
Relief shattered through Killian. That, and terrible disappointment. Some stupid part of him actually had held out hope that Susannah would stay, would persevere with him and reach into his heart. Putting down the sandwich, he reached for the coffee. Gulping down a swallow, he burned his mouth.
"Does that mean you're moving back into town? Into your house?"
"I—I don't know." Susannah managed a small shrug. "I really miss my kids, Sean. But I don't know if I'm ready to be alone. Do you know what I mean?"
He nodded and dropped his gaze. "Yeah, I know what you mean."
"I've been doing a lot of thinking this morning, and I guess I'll try to go to work full-time. Mr. Gains said if I have any problems I can split the class and work only half days for a while, until I get back into the swing of things."
"Half a day is enough for now."
She shrugged, not sure.
"Susannah, you're still healing."
And the other half of the day would be spent here, in Ki
llian's intense presence, reminding her constantly of her need of him as a man, a lover. "I don't know," she confided in a low voice.
He set the coffee cup down a little more loudly than he'd intended. Susannah winced. "You aren't ready for all of that yet. You've got to pace yourself. Comas do funny things to people. What if you get flashbacks? Periods of vertigo? Or what if you blank out? All those things could happen under stress. And going back into that classroom is stress."
Susannah stared at him, feeling his raw intensity, his care. "Being here with you is stress, too, Sean."
Gripping the cup, he growled, "I suppose it is. I'm not the world's best person to be near. Around you, I shoot off my mouth, and look what it's done."
A soft smile touched her lips, and she leaned over and rested her hand on his arm. "Sean, some kinds of stress aren't bad. I like talking with you, sharing with you. I don't consider it bad or harmful. I feel shutting up and retreating is far more damaging."
"You would," Killian muttered, but he really didn't mean it. Just the cool, steadying touch of her fingers on his arm sent waves of need pulsing through him.
"Everyone needs someone," Susannah whispered. "Your needs are no different than anyone else's."
He cocked his head. "Don't be so sure."
She smiled a little, feeling danger swirling around her. "I'm betting your bark is worse than your bite."
"Oh? Was that the way it was with Stevey?"
Susannah forced herself to release him. "At first, every time I came near him, he lashed out at me."
"And what did you do?"
"I'd lean down, pull him against me and just hold him."
Killian shut his eyes and drew in a deep, shaky breath. "I don't know what to make of you, Susannah. Why would anyone put themselves in the line of fire just to let someone else know that they weren't going to be hurt again?" He opened his eyes, searching her thoughtful gray ones.
"I believe we're all healers, Sean. We not only have the ability to heal ourselves, but to heal others, too. Stevey wanted to be healed. Each time I approached him, he struck out less and less, until finally, one day, he opened his arms to me. It was such a beautiful, poignant moment."
"He trusted you," Killian said flatly.
"Yes, he did."
"You're a catalyst."
"So are you," she said wryly, meeting his wary eyes.
Uncomfortable, Killian wanted to shift the conversation back to her. "So you're going to try class for a full day next Monday?"
"Yes."
"All right, I'll drive you to work and hang around, if you don't mind. I want to get the layout of your school, your classroom. If they've got a contract out on you—and we still don't know if they do or not—I want to have that school, its entrances and exits, in my head in case something comes down."
She sat back, surprised. "Do you really think I'm in danger?"
"Until I can prove otherwise," Killian said roughly, "I'm assuming there's a hit man out there somewhere, just waiting for you. What you can't comprehend is that a contract means anytime, anywhere. A killer doesn't care where the hit takes place. He's been paid to do a job, and he's going to do it. He doesn't care if other lives get in the way."
The brutal harshness of his words sank into Susannah with a frightening chill. "What about my kids? Are they safe?"
Killian shrugged. "I don't know, Susannah. Hit men usually try for a clean one-shot deal. They don't like putting themselves in a messy situation where they could get caught." He saw the color drain from her face. "Look," he added harshly, "let me worry about the possibility of a hit man, okay? I know where to look, I know their usual methods. You'll be safe. And so will your kids," he added, softening his voice for her sake.
Getting up, Susannah moved to the counter. "I—I just didn't realize, Sean "
"I didn't want you to," he muttered. "It's fairly easy to watch you here, at the farm. But the moment you start driving to work, shopping and doing all the other things normal people do daily, you become more of a target-rich opportunity."
She shivered at the military jargon. Target-rich opportunity. Gripping the cool porcelain of the double sink, she hung her head. "I can't—I won't—live my life in fear, Sean."
"Well, then, there's a price to pay for that kind of decision. You deserve to know the chances you're taking. You could stay here, at the farm, and flushing out the hit man would be easier—but it would probably take longer."
Susannah turned around and held his searching gaze. Crossing her arms in front of her, she shook her head. "No. If there really is a contract out on me, let's find out. I'd rather get it over with."
Killian understood only too well. "You're courageous," he said, and he meant it.
"No," Susannah told him, her voice quavering, "I'm scared to death. But I miss the kids. I miss teaching."
Killian slowly rose and pushed back his chair. He brought over his now-empty plate and coffee cup. "Okay, Monday you go to work, but I'll be like a shadow, Susannah. Everywhere you go, I go. I'll explain the situation to your principal. He may decide not to let you come back after he knows the potential danger."
"Then I'll stay away," Susannah whispered. "I don't want to endanger my kids. They're innocent."
He set the dishes in the sink and turned to her. Placing his hands on her slumped shoulders, he rasped, "So are you."
Chapter Seven
Uneasy, Killian walked the now-quiet halls of Marshall Elementary School, which was located near the edge of the small town of Glen. All of the children, from grades one through six, were in their classes, the wood-and-glass door to each room closed, and the teachers were busy with their charges. Killian's heart automatically swung back to Susannah, who was happily back at work. The meeting with the principal had gone well. Killian had actually expected him to turn down Susannah's request after hearing about the possibilities.
The principal obviously didn't believe there could be a contract out on Susannah. Nor did she. They didn't want to, Killian thought grimly as he padded quietly down the highly polished floor of an intersecting hall lined with metal lockers.
Dressed in jeans, a tan polo shirt and a light denim jacket that hid his shoulder holster, Killian had a small blueprint layout of the school and its adjacent buildings. He'd already been in Susannah's room and met her ten handicapped students. The children ranged in age from seven to twelve. He hadn't stayed long—he was more interested in the deadly possibilities of his trade.
At lunch, he planned to meet Susannah and her class in the cafeteria. A story had been devised to explain Killian's presence in Susannah's classroom: He was monitoring the course, a teacher from California who was going to set up a similar program out there. Everyone, including the faculty at the morning meeting, had accepted the explanation without reaction. Killian had discovered that Susannah had, from time to time, had teachers from other states come and watch how she conducted her class, because the children had developed more quickly than usual as a result of her unique teaching methods.
The lunch bell rang as Killian finished circling on the map in red ink those areas where a contract killer might hide. Luckily, there weren't many. He missed Susannah's presence, and he hoped to meet her on the way to the cafeteria with her charges.
Susannah's heart sped up at the sight of Killian moving slowly through the hall, which was filled with hundreds of laughing and talking children. She saw his dark eyes lighten as he met and held her gaze, and she smiled, feeling the warmth of his heated look.
Killian moved to the wall of lockers and waited for her.
"Hi," she said breathlessly.
Susannah's eyes shone with a welcome that reached through Killian's heavy armor and touched his heart. An ache began in his chest, an ache that startled Killian. How easily she could touch him with just a look and a soft smile. "How you doing?" Killian fell in step just behind her.
"Fine." Susannah beamed. "It's so good to be back, Sean! I feel like my life's finally coming back together again." S
usannah looked tenderly at Freddy, a seven-year-old boy with Down's syndrome who walked at her side, his hand firmly gripping hers. "I really missed my kids," she quavered, looking up at Killian.
Killian had his doubts about Susannah returning to work, about how it might affect her, but he said nothing. Freddy gave her a worshipful look of unqualified love. No wonder Susannah liked working with these special children. They gave fully, in the emotional sense, Killian noted with surprise.
"Are you done with your walk around the school?" Susannah asked as her little flock of children surrounded her. The double doors to the cafeteria were open. She guided her group through them and down the stairs.
"Yeah, I'm done. What can I do to help?"
She smiled and pointed to several long tables with chairs lined up on either side. "See that area?"
"Yes."
"After we get the kids seated, some of the help will bring over their lunches. You go ahead and go through the cafeteria line and meet me over there. I'm going to be pretty busy the next twenty minutes."
Killian sat with his back to the wail. For security reasons, he was glad that the cafeteria was in the basement with no windows. He didn't taste his food—chili, a salad and an apple—or the coffee he'd poured for himself. Instead, he watched Susannah. She wore a bright yellow cotton skirt today, a feminine-looking white short-sleeved blouse, and sandals. Her hair was loose, Sowing over her back. She looked beautiful. And it was clear. . . that there wasn't one child who didn't adore her and positively glow when rewarded with her smile, a touch of her hand, or a brief kiss on the brow.
"Finally!" Susannah sat down with her tray of food. She tucked several stray strands of hair behind her ear and smiled across the table at him.
"You've got your hands full," Killian commented. Lunch was only forty-five minutes long, and Susannah had been up and helping her kids for close to half an hour. Now she'd have to gulp her food down.
The Rogue Page 11
