Shut Up and Kiss Me

by Christie Craig

“My heart says you should be sleeping,” she said.

  “You and Sky both fight this devil, but in different ways. Sky runs from things because of his past. You run to things.”

  She sighed. Was Redfoot right? Did she rush into things? Was she pushing the relationship with Matt? As much as she wanted to deny it, his words hit home. Hadn’t she run too fast to Jose? She sure as hell had jumped in his bed the first time she saw him look at her differently.

  For some reason, she’d assumed sleeping with him would change things. It hadn’t. When the job offer from New York came, he’d jumped on it like a hungry kid on ice cream. The day she realized she’d missed her period and went to tell him her concerns, she’d found him packing his bags. He’d said he intended to tell her before he left, but tell her what—good-bye?

  She gazed at Redfoot. “Okay, wise one, tell me: what do your dreams say I should do?”

  He reached up and touched her cheek. “I have had no dreams of you. It is—”

  “Ah, but you’ve had visions of Sky,” she teased, hoping to escape the subject of Matt. “I always knew you loved him more.”

  Redfoot frowned. “I have no control over my dreams. It is with my heart that I know you are on the wrong path.”

  “And is your heart as reliable as your dreams?”

  “No,” he admitted. “But your heart should be. Listen to it.”

  “Go to sleep now.” She moved to the cot and sat down. Her cell phone was still in her hand.

  What was her heart saying about Matt? She closed her eyes and remembered him walking her past the jewelry-store window. Which one would you pick for yourself? he’d asked her. She could still remember how solid he’d felt standing behind her, solid like someone she could always lean on or count on, someone unlike her own parents. But was he? Or was she just rushing into things again, feeling things she wanted to feel?

  Was reading romance novels filling her head with silly dreams, blinding her to the truth and maybe Matt’s flaws? If she’d had her eyes open with Jose, she wouldn’t have made the mistakes she’d made. Maybe it was time to take a new look at Matt.

  “Change your clothes, Blue Eyes.”

  Shala blinked those sky-colored orbs at him, which were full of concern. She reached for the jeans on the bed. “I’m so sorry. With everything that happened I forgot to ask, how is Redfoot?”

  “He has a concussion but is going to be okay. They’re keeping him overnight at the hospital. Maybe we can peek in on him while we’re there.”

  “How did he hurt himself? Did he fall or something?”

  That reminded Sky of his need for answers. “I’ll explain on the way.” He motioned her to the bathroom. “Go.”

  When she emerged a few minutes later, Sky realized how right he’d been about her guard being down only temporarily. One look showed her emotional barriers had been reerected. He had his own, so hers shouldn’t have bothered him. But they did.

  She glanced at the door, then him. “It just occurred to me how silly this is. There’s no earthly reason why you should have to take me. It’s late. I can drive.”

  “Your hand is cut,” he pointed out.

  “I drove back from your place. I can make it to the hospital. Seriously, I’m fine by myself. I can—”

  “Shala,” he interrupted.

  “There’s no reason why…”

  She didn’t stop talking as he snagged her purse, pushed her out the door and all the way to his truck. Half of what she said didn’t even make sense. Jabbering was either naturally part of her personality, or she was extra tired or nervous. He hoped it was the latter. Sky would walk uphill naked and barefoot through the snow and a bed of porcupine needles to avoid a jabbering woman.

  As he crawled behind the wheel, she lapsed into silence. He glanced over and saw she had tears in her eyes. Real tears. Those beautiful baby blues of hers were glassy and sad.

  He leaned over and put his arm against the back of the seat. “You okay?”

  She shook her head, blinked, bit her lip as if fighting a battle over tears, and then nodded yes. He didn’t like tears, but he could handle those a hell of a lot better than jabbering.

  It hit him then. The woman had been attacked tonight. If jabbering made her feel better, he could endure it. He’d be an asshole not to. “Can you talk about it?”

  She shook her head again. “No.”

  She’d gone from jabbering to silence, and he needed her to talk. “I have to know what happened tonight. You’re going to have to tell me.”

  “Oh.” She blinked a few more times. “I can talk about that.”

  What? If tonight’s events weren’t what had her in tears, what the hell had? He almost asked but stopped himself. “So, what happened?”

  She pulled her purse into her lap. “The dogs started barking. I heard a car pull up. When I looked out the window, I saw that black sedan that’s been following me.”

  He recalled her mentioning the sedan and realized he should have asked about it. But he’d followed her most of the day and hadn’t noticed anyone. “When did you first see it?”

  “When I left the railroad museum.”

  That had been after Sky left to get ready for the powwow.

  “And again when I was driving to the Funky Chicken.”

  He had to tell her she probably shouldn’t go there. It was a rough place. “What time was it when the car showed up tonight?”

  She bit down on her lip, and her brow crinkled. “After you left.”

  He sighed. “I know it was after I left. How much after?”

  “I don’t know exactly.”

  Why was he suddenly getting the feeling she was fudging the truth? “How soon after I left did you leave?”

  Something close to guilt flashed in her eyes, and just like that, he figured things out. “You went looking for your camera, didn’t you?”

  She nodded. “I was just going to take the memory card!”

  Sky started his truck and pointed it toward the hospital for the second time that night, not sure how he felt about her searching his place. But he needed to get the facts about the attack. He’d chew on the other details later.

  After several blocks of listening to the sound of the wheels against the pavement and watching her squirm, he asked, “So was it maybe an hour after I left?”

  “Around that,” she agreed.

  “After you heard the car pull up, what happened?”

  She went through her story while he drove. Sky’s heart raced, realizing how close she and Redfoot might have come to dying. But why? Apparently, someone wanted Shala’s camera. But again, why? It wouldn’t bring that much money at a pawnshop. Could it be someone wanted to stop her from doing her job? Yes. But Redfoot hadn’t recognized the man. Granted, Redfoot didn’t know everyone in town. And why, then, would the guy be set on getting Shala’s Nikon?

  When she paused, he asked, “Do you know of anyone who might have a vendetta against you?”

  She snorted. “Half of Precious, from what Mayor Johnson said.”

  “No, I mean someone personal,” Sky explained.

  “No.”

  “What about a boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  He smiled. “No, you don’t have one, or no you don’t think he’d try to take your camera?”

  “No to both.”

  Something akin to relief stirred in his chest.

  A new thought occurred to him, though it was kind of crazy. Could Shala have taken a picture of something or someone, and that was why someone wanted the camera? It didn’t seem likely. Precious wasn’t without crime, but in the three years he’d been chief, he’d had one accidental shooting, a dozen break-ins, and his all-time least favorite, a rash of domestic-violence cases. Ninety percent of his workload involved dealing with DUIs or fights at the Funky Chicken.

  “So, back to tonight,” he said, realizing he’d lapsed into silence. “What happened after you heard that gunshot?” She must have been terrified.

  “At fir
st I felt paralyzed, but then I got mad.”

  He chuckled. “Gunshots do that to me, too.”

  “That’s when I went for the knife,” she said. Tension thickened her voice, and she gripped her hands together. The white washcloth wrapped around her palm turned red.

  It could have been a lot worse, Sky reminded himself. If his dogs hadn’t taken a disliking to the intruder, the woman beside him could have…He made a promise to himself that he’d catch the asshole and make him pay.

  Knowing he needed to keep his emotions in check to do his job, he focused on the case and not his need for revenge. Shala continued. “He must have dropped the gun on the porch when the dogs attacked him. He couldn’t get to it, so he ran to his car. And then—”

  “Wait!” He pulled into the hospital parking lot and hit the brakes. “He left the gun on my porch?”

  “Your dogs—or I should say wolves—chased him away.”

  “Only part wolves,” he muttered, and asked his question again. “Are you saying—?”

  “Aren’t they dangerous?”

  Sky frowned. “When you left, was the gun still on the porch?” He pulled his cell phone out to call Lucas. It was after midnight, but before he’d gotten sober the man had hauled Sky’s butt out of bed numerous times to drive his drunken ass home from the Funky Chicken. Paybacks were hell.

  “No, I put it on top of the refrigerator. I was afraid the dogs might somehow shoot themselves.”

  “That’s good.” Although he hoped like hell she hadn’t messed up any prints. Also, he worried the perp might go back looking for it.

  Dialing Lucas’s number, he explained briefly to his neighbor about his needs, the attempted break-in, and the gun, and he told Lucas to watch his back. Not that Sky worried too much about the man. “Call me once you get there.”

  He hung up the phone, parked, and cut the truck engine. Half-turning to Shala, he asked, “You ready?”

  Her gaze shifted toward the hospital, her blue eyes rounded with fear.

  “Have you never had stitches before?”

  Her frightened gaze flipped back to him. “Of course I have.” Her face paled, making her blue eyes even bluer.

  “They numb you before they stitch.” Funny, after all she’d endured tonight, this was the most fear he’d seen from her.

  “I know that.” But she didn’t move to get out.

  “Let’s get this over with. Come on.” He reached over her to open her door. Unintentionally brushing his chest against hers was a thrill. Pushing the door open, he leaned back and tried not to enjoy it too much. “Let’s go.”

  She got down and took baby steps around his truck. When she finally met up with him on the other side, she looked up with huge, doelike eyes. Given the right situation, those eyes could bring a man to his knees.

  Staring at her hand, she said, “I’m just not sure I need stitches. Honestly, if we bought some of those butterfly bandages, I’ll bet—”

  Sky chuckled, put his hand on her back and nudged Shala forward. “I’ll give you a bullet to bite on. Seriously, it doesn’t hurt that much.”

  She didn’t move. “I’m not afraid of stitches.”

  “Right.” This time he latched his arm around her shoulders before pushing forward. “For real, I’ll hold your hand. And you can squeeze it as tight as you want. I promise not to call you a scaredy-cat. Meow,” he teased.

  She came to sudden stop. Her tennis shoes scraped against the pavement. “I—I don’t like hospitals,” she admitted.

  “Because they give stitches?” He chuckled. “Or is it the needles?”

  “It’s not because—”

  “Come on, I’ll make sure you get a sucker when you’re done.” He forced her onward.

  “I don’t like hospitals, because when I was eight, I watched my parents die in one.”

  Her voice was tight, from anger or angst he didn’t know. Sky’s footsteps faltered, his chest grew heavy, and he felt like an insensitive jerk. The look on her face was one of alienation and pain. He’d known those feelings since the day his father killed his mother and then turned the gun on himself. Life had changed when he went to live with Estella and Redfoot, but the loneliness never completely went away.

  He tightened his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I thought—”

  “I know what you thought.” She moved out of his reach and walked through the hospital doors.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jose Darkwater blinked, forced his eyes open, and wished he’d grabbed another cup of coffee at the service station a few miles back.

  After he’d gotten off the phone with Sky, he’d called the airline back and learned they had a late flight going to Houston. He could fly there, rent a car, and drive into Precious. What Jose had forgotten was that he’d been pulling a week of late nights at the office, and driving while exhausted was inadvisable for one’s health. When he spotted the Precious sign proclaiming the population to be 893, he almost pulled over to close his eyes.

  Eight ninety-three? He’d bet it was less. They probably hadn’t counted the two or three deaths of the old-timers he’d been informed of by his father. Jose just hoped like hell the number didn’t drop again. With his ass-backward ways and beliefs, Redfoot drove Jose crazy, but in every way it counted, Jose could never have had a better father. Problem was, he wasn’t sure Redfoot was similarly proud of him.

  No doubt about it, he’d disappointed his ol’ man. To remedy that, he’d have to change everything he wanted in life and become a carbon copy of Sky. And while he respected his foster brother, he also knew he could never become him. In fact, he resented the hell out of him—resented the relationship Sky had found with his father. At the same time, he was thrilled Redfoot had someone close by. If not for Sky and Maria, he would never have been able to leave. Being stuck living in Precious was about as pleasant as stepping in a bed of fire ants.

  Jose looked at his speedometer. Seventy. He glanced at his watch. He’d made good time. But at almost one in the morning, he wondered if he should go straight to the hospital or to his dad’s place to get some sleep. He’d called the hospital after landing, and a nurse had said his dad seemed okay. Maybe a nap and a shower were the better option.

  His thoughts shot to Maria. She’d avoided him on his last several visits, so he hadn’t seen her in two years. That hurt, but he’d also been relieved. Jose’s mind created a snapshot of Maria. As always, thinking about her brought a mix of lust, love, and something akin to shame. God knew she wasn’t blood, so being attracted to her wasn’t a cardinal sin, but his mother hadn’t seen it that way. And the very last conversation he’d had with his mother had been about Maria.

  No doubt his mom had noticed the way he and Maria looked at each other. She’s family, son. And you’re older than her. Promise me that you won’t do something to cause a ruckus.

  Jose had promised, never realizing it would be the last promise he’d ever make to her. And he’d kept that promise to his mother until two years ago when, somehow, he’d convinced himself that they were older now and all bets were off. But they weren’t. And it sure as hell had caused a ruckus.

  He’d gotten the call about the job in New York only a month after throwing caution to the wind with Maria, and the day she found him packing and he’d told her about it had made two things crystal clear. The first was that he loved Maria, loved everything about her: her smile, her positive outlook, her sweet nature—and damn him if he didn’t love her hot little body. But loving Maria was like stepping in concrete, tying him to Precious the rest of his life. To Maria, the town was home.

  He suspected she would have come to New York if he’d insisted, but she would have hated it for all the reasons he loved it. So Jose had done the right thing. Well, it had felt like the right thing. After two years of comparing every woman he dated to Maria and having them all fall miserably short, he sometimes wondered if he’d been wrong.

  A loud popping filled the darkness—a front tire, possibly. His car swerve
d. Fishtailed. He jerked the steering wheel to the right and he thought he had it under control, but when he looked up, all he saw was a tree coming right at him. He slammed on his brakes.

  Too late. He prepared himself for the impact.

  Shala, heart pounding, walked to the front of the emergency room.

  The semitransparent glass window opened. “Can I help you?” a middle-aged woman asked.

  It took Shala a second to be able to talk. “Yes, I…I need a doctor.”

  The woman’s brow wrinkled. “Are you hurt? Sick?”

  Shala didn’t appear in any distress, which meant she had missed an opportunity in life: she should have been an actress. Because frankly, she was a millimeter from a full-fledged, fall-to-the-floor, cry-your-eyes-out panic attack. She raised her hand, pulled off the bloody washcloth, and held out her palm. Several steady drips of red oozed onto the counter.

  The woman shot backward in her seat as if she’d never seen blood. “Oh, my! You walk around back and we’ll get that taken care of.”

  Shala felt someone beside her. Sky. She didn’t say a word but moved toward the door.

  He dogged her footsteps, so she turned around. He looked serious and apologetic. A lump the size of a small frog took up residence in her throat, but she managed to say, “I can handle it from here. Thank you.”

  “But I—”

  “I’m fine.” She pushed away through the door.

  The desk clerk stood at the end of the hall, putting on rubber gloves as if afraid she might get blood on her just by showing a patient to the examining room. Shala walked toward her, listening to see if Sky had followed. He hadn’t. Relief whispered through her. She wasn’t angry with him. She really wasn’t. Unfortunately, with an emotional storm threatening to engulf her sanity, she didn’t have the capability to deal with him. Not when she had to deal with the past.

  Oh, God, the smell. That antiseptic scent, with a hint of Lysol—it threatened to take her back. She drew in a deep gulp of air that suddenly felt thicker. Forcing herself to keep moving, to put one foot in front of the other, she kept her gaze on the woman’s face. Just her face. Because if she dared look around, Shala knew what she’d find. The details would be same. This small-town emergency room would look just like the one she’d found herself in at eight years old.