She spotted Ryan doing some dirty dancing in the corner with a redhead and hid a smile. That cowboy knew how to party. He acted like an irresponsible teenager most of the time, rarely making time for his daughter, but she knew he’d lost his childhood sweetheart to cancer and that couldn’t have been easy. He worked hard and partied harder.
The Sullivans had been a revelation to her. People were always more than you thought, and often less than you wanted.
Elizabeth admired the determination with which Rose Sullivan pursued her recovery from her recent heart attack—like it was just another battle to be fought. And Elizabeth spent a lot of time with Sarah, mostly late in the evening after Sarah came home from the hospital after a marathon shift and Tabitha was tucked up in bed. The woman could talk a mile-a-minute and was nosey as hell, but Elizabeth liked her.
Then there was Nat.
At least she didn’t have to wonder what it would be like to kiss him. She knew. It had been like touching the stars from the depths of hell. That kiss—the incredible heat of it stayed locked in her memory, and she could still feel his hands on her body and was damned if she didn’t want them there again.
Maybe hot rampant sex with Nathan Sullivan was exactly what she needed.
She thought about him, those sapphire blue eyes and those strong broad shoulders and those long, long legs. Harmless thoughts, now that he was away in the mountains.
At least she didn’t have to lie to him.
She’d fielded questions about her past from everyone on the ranch, and she told them the lies that were the closest to the truth, but nevertheless lies all the same. She hated every word of it.
For years lies had been her game, deception and intrigue, sleight of hand and poker face. Now she wanted it over with, finished. But telling the Sullivans the truth would put them in danger and that she wouldn’t risk.
It was Friday night and she had cabin fever. It wasn’t the isolation of the ranch that got to her—she savored that. It was the isolation from information. The Sullivans weren’t hooked up to the Internet, something Sarah had suggested not so subtly that Elizabeth, IT specialist that she was supposed to be, could help them with. Nor could she get a signal on her cell phone. She’d taken the opportunity of a Friday night out with the boys to go into town and check up on Josie.
Thankfully, Josie was fine.
In the cottage, she’d splashed cold water on her face, but decided against makeup. Juliette wore makeup, Eliza didn’t. She smoothed her wayward hair back into a loose ponytail, grabbed her lumberjack coat and dumped her Glock in her purse.
Now Elizabeth found herself watching the saloon door like a teenager with a crush. Cal expected Nat back anytime soon and said if he wasn’t home by morning that he was going up after him.
The music changed again and this time the Dixie Chicks declared that Earl had to die. Elizabeth hadn’t expected to like country music, but she loved the Chicks.
She didn’t see it coming but suddenly she was pushed sideways off her stool and sent sprawling onto the gritty floor. She landed between a woman’s legs and was trodden on as the woman’s companion dragged his girl out of harm’s way.
Thanks buddy.
Then all hell broke loose.
Elizabeth saw some skinny guy with tattoos snaking down his arm take a swing at Cal. Cal managed a left hook that knocked the other guy down, but was grabbed from behind by some young hoodlum with a dirty blond ponytail. He held Cal up like a punching bag and three other guys waded in.
“Damn it,” she said. Elizabeth clambered to her feet, rubbed wet, sticky hands on now grimy jeans. Cal was fighting back, but odds were four to one, and they were taking no prisoners.
Frantically she searched the crowd for Ryan, but the crush of people meant it would take an age for him to break through, even if he did realize what was going on.
The guy on the floor got up and the odds were now five to one. Nobody appeared to be siding with the lone man from the Triple H.
Feck. Elizabeth took a deep breath and wished she could draw her gun. So much for avoiding the limelight.
She grabbed the guy who held Cal’s arms and put him out of action with a single blow to the temple. Released, Cal was at least able to defend himself, but Elizabeth could tell he’d been badly hurt. She swung around to confront the nearest biker, the skinny one with the tattoos. She grabbed his shaggy blond hair and swung him around to face her, smashing the flat of her palm into his nose just hard enough to break it. He dropped to his knees, gasping and choking on blood.
Suddenly, Nat appeared out of the crowd and shouted, “Get the truck.” He tossed the keys towards her and leapt into the fray.
Boy was she glad to see him. She stood for a moment and wondered where the hell Ryan was and tried to work out who was winning the fight. Nat wrestled one guy, who must have weighed two-hundred-fifty pounds, to the floor and held him down in a chokehold. He was good, she’d give him that, but there were still two guys beating the crap out of Cal.
The one closest to her was only about five-foot-eight, but he was stocky and using a beer bottle to inflict damage. Cal went down. Ignoring Nat’s instructions, she side-kicked the guy’s spleen into his throat. Turning to face her, his eyes blazing with rage and not a little indignation, he lifted the bottle and heaved it at her. She ducked, but it caught her a glancing blow on the temple. She ignored the pain, grabbed his ears and pushed his face into her raised knee. Satisfied, she watched him drop like a stone.
Nat had just finished with the big guy on the floor, but Cal was still fending off one guy who seemed determined to smash him to a pulp. This last guy was a little taller, a little leaner and meaner than the rest of them. One of his hands came from behind his back as he prepared to take a swing. Elizabeth grabbed his wrist and elbow, twisted it hard and shoved it up toward his neck. Then she grabbed his hair and he yelled out in surprise as she slammed his face into the bar. He never knew what happened. He fell like a brick to the floor and Elizabeth narrowed her eyes on a face that was now less than pretty.
Cal was slumped against a barstool, breathing hard, his face already swelling. Working on instinct and the need to escape, she grabbed him and threw his arm over her shoulder and started to haul him out. His weight eased off her shoulders and she turned to see Nat take Cal’s other arm. The adrenaline pumped through her body and tears of relief welled up briefly as she caught Nat’s eye and sent him an unsteady smile.
He had a cut lip, but apart from that he looked good. Christ, he looked great. They piled out through the crowd into the fresh night air and stumbled across the road to where Nat’s truck was parked.
Elizabeth helped Cal into the backseat and then turned to look for Nat, who’d run over to a car parked further down the street. She frowned in confusion, wondering what he was doing as he knocked on the window and a disheveled Ryan popped up his head.
It seemed that Ryan was a faster mover than even Elizabeth had anticipated.
Nat spoke to Ryan and pointed at his truck. Ryan nodded and Elizabeth watched him give a quick kiss to his companion and jump out of the car. He managed to do up his pants before he crossed the road. Elizabeth’s mouth was open and her eyebrows were stuck in her hairline by the time he reached Nat’s truck.
“Let’s go,” Nat opened the passenger door for Elizabeth, which she thought was absurdly old fashioned and polite under the circumstances. She jumped in. Ryan climbed into his own truck and they both gunned the engines for home.
****
Back at the ranch, Elizabeth paced the den while Sarah patched up Cal. The den was rustic and welcoming with bright, Navaho rugs adorning the floors, along with a couple of bleached skulls on the walls that would have looked right at home in a Georgia O’Keeffe painting.
Cal lay shirtless on an old red couch, sharp features pale and drawn, his hazel eyes unfocused with pain. He was as white as a sheet. Red wheals covered his lean body, and Elizabeth figured that at least one of the bikers had worn a knuckle-duster.
By tomorrow Cal would be black and blue, and sore as hell.
Nat helped him sit up as Sarah wrapped a white bandage around his torso. Sarah had given Cal painkillers, but from the look on his face Elizabeth didn’t think they’d kicked in yet.
“You might have a hairline fracture,” Sarah said, gently probing Cal’s chest. “You’ll live,” she gave him a weak smile, “but tomorrow you’re getting an X-ray.”
Cal shook his head, but Sarah ignored him and brushed his short hair back from his damp forehead. “Why can’t they just leave you alone?”
Cal captured her hand and squeezed. “Leave it.”
Sarah rose and turned her attention to Elizabeth, pulling her down to sit in an easy chair so she could examine the wound on her scalp.
“What happened to you? Caught in the crossfire?” Sarah’s competent fingers gently examined the cut on Elizabeth’s temple.
Elizabeth muttered something noncommittal and would have scowled at Ryan who was grinning at her, but her forehead was too sore. Ryan had been filled in on the action after Nat had roused Sarah.
At least Elizabeth had tried to keep a low profile. Ex-queen of undercover does local bar fight, rodeo-style. She glanced up, found Nat watching her with a narrowed gaze that she couldn’t decipher. He still had his jacket on, looked like he wasn’t staying, looked like he was forcing himself to stand still.
Sarah dabbed peroxide onto the cut and Elizabeth sucked in her breath. She didn’t cry out, but she wanted to. Why was the treatment always worse than the injury?
“A flying beer bottle,” Elizabeth said and sat back with a jolt as Sarah shone a penlight into her eyes.
“Looks like you may have a mild concussion.” Sarah frowned, concern showing in her blue-gray eyes. “You should really go to the ER and have a CAT scan.”
“It’s nothing,” Elizabeth insisted. She wasn’t going anywhere.
“Get her coat. I’ll drive her.” Nat spoke to Ryan like she was blind, deaf and dumb. The pent up energy she’d sensed in him seemed to find a release as he walked over and stared down at her with grim lines around his mouth.
“I’m not going.” Elizabeth glared Ryan right back into his seat. Even the thought of an ER room made her stomach pitch. Last time she’d been in the hospital she’d been subjected to a rape kit and she wasn’t going back unless they carried her there unconscious and bleeding. That image hung all too vividly in her head.
Nat leaned close enough for her to feel his breath on her cheek. His fingers branded her upper arm, his blue eyes glowed with inner fire. “Yes, you are.”
“No, Mr. President.” Elizabeth shoved her hair behind her ear, their gazes colliding like rapiers. “I’m not.”
Sarah intervened, shushing Nat when he started to say more. He let go of Elizabeth’s arm and moved away. Angrily, he shrugged off his jacket.
That’s right buddy, back off. She hid her smile, but lost all sense of triumph when Sarah continued.
“Then you’ll need someone to watch over you tonight and wake you every hour.” Sarah’s pale-brown eyebrows lifted when she saw Elizabeth was about to argue. “That’s your choice, Eliza. Hospital or a night-nurse.”
Either way, Elizabeth figured she was in for a sleepless night. Great. Fecking great.
Sarah moved away to recheck Cal’s blood pressure.
Yawning hugely, Ryan grinned and stood. “Remind me never to piss off you city girls, Sugar. I like my face just the way it is.”
“So did that redhead, Slick,” Elizabeth quipped, hoping to deflect attention away from herself. “Just what were you doing to her in that car?” If she’d thought to make him blush she failed miserably.
“If you don’t know by now, you never will,” Ryan laughed but his gaze flicked uneasily to his sister.
There was a finite pause that stretched into an obvious silence. Eliza followed the brothers’ stares. Sarah Sullivan scowled like an upset owl.
“What redhead?” Sarah asked slowly.
“Stacy,” Ryan said, standing tall and tucking in his chin.
“Stacy Hopkins?” Sarah asked him, her eyes narrowing like she was drawing a bead.
Ryan nodded.
“You were screwing Stacy Hopkins while Cal and Eliza were being beaten up?”
Elizabeth’s eyes popped. She’d unleashed a wildcat.
Ryan guiltily looked towards Cal. “I wasn’t expecting trouble.”
“No,” Sarah replied, “you never do.”
She raised her hands to her face and Elizabeth thought for one awful moment that she was going to cry. The whole room held its breath.
“Stacy’s not so bad—” Ryan began, but was cut off by Sarah’s acid sneer.
“She’s a no-good slut who’s always after something that doesn’t belong to her.” Sarah glared at her brother with rage gathering in her eyes.
“She stole your boyfriend back in high school,” Ryan shot back. “Get over it!” He walked over to where his sister sat on the couch. “And I don’t belong to anyone, not anymore.”
Shocked silence echoed for a full ten seconds, until Sarah asked quietly, “What about Tabitha?”
Ryan flinched.
Elizabeth was spellbound. Everybody else might be used to the family dynamics and fireworks, but not her. This was the closest she’d come to seeing a real family operate in years.
Ryan backed off, the anger leaving him as quickly as it had come. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he turned and glanced her way.
“Sorry—didn’t mean to cause a scene.” He looked battered, emotionally raw.
It wasn’t her business, she reminded herself. It was nothing to do with her. She shook her head, shrugged her shoulders. “No problem.”
Cal made the effort to stand. He clutched his battered ribs, groaning in pain. Sarah turned to help him with a gentle touch.
“You can take a bed upstairs tonight, Caleb Landon.” Sarah ordered, clearly back in control of her temper. “No way you’re working tomorrow, so the least you can do is stay here so I can make sure you’re all right without trudging up to the bunk house every half hour.”
Cal didn’t argue. He disengaged Sarah’s helping hands and hobbled slowly across the room to where Nat and Elizabeth stood side by side. He stuck his hand out and Nat shook it firmly. Then he stepped up to Elizabeth and did the same.
“I owe you one.”
He winced as he clapped her on the shoulder and she had to work hard to smother her sympathy. He looked so beat up that every movement must have hurt like hell and if he did have a cracked rib, he’d be out of action for at least a month.
Just what the Sullivans needed.
Nat moved to help him up the stairs, but Ryan was already there. Sarah followed them up, clucking like a mother hen. And suddenly, Elizabeth didn’t know how they’d been maneuvered, but she and Nat were alone in the den.
She listened to the others move out of earshot, each squeak of a floorboard and turn of a doorknob marking their progress. When all was silent, Elizabeth wished she was anywhere but alone with this man who made her feel stupid and defensive, and whom she’d kissed to within an inch of embarrassment.
The silence grew tense. Elizabeth glanced up at Nat’s face, unsure of his mood. He’d been angry before, now he was...watching her, closely, dark eyes narrowed and thoughtful, his mouth set hard.
Shit.
She raised a weary hand to her forehead—tried not to look pathetic.
There was no way she could fight with Nat Sullivan; she did not have the energy. Normally she was tougher than this, but the brawl had dissipated the edginess she’d felt all day, and now she was sore and exhausted. She’d had enough.
“I’m sorry.” His voice had a rough edge as if he were unsure of the right words. His blond hair fell across his forehead; softened the strong planes of his face and made him look younger. He leaned his tall, rangy frame against the oak mantelpiece, crossed his arms over his wide chest and smiled.
Looked way too good for her comfo
rt.
Elizabeth walked over to the couch, collapsed down into the soft cushions and closed her eyes against those sparkling blue gems. Paul Newman had nothing on Nat Sullivan.
“Got a barrel-load of excuses, but none of them make a blind bit of difference. I was way outta line the other day and I’m sorry.”
She heard him walk towards her, felt the sofa give as he sat down next to her. She tried not to shrink away, but couldn’t quite control her tired body. Her mouth twisted into a grim line of self-disgust. The fear was as unstoppable as the tide and she despised herself.
She wanted to tell him to go to hell. To deny the feelings she knew being close to this man would stir up. But she couldn’t. After years of deception, honesty was finally taking the upper hand. She held her tongue, forced herself to open her eyes.
Facing her with questions in his blue eyes, he reached out and traced a finger gently along the edge of her wound.
A shiver followed his touch.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” A week ago Elizabeth would have slapped his hand away, instead she let him touch her—as an experiment.
“You’re a guest here...” He hesitated, seemed to reassess his words, and took her pale hand from where it lay frozen in her lap. Instinct made her want to jerk it away, but she faltered, fascinated by the contact.
She stared at their linked fingers.
His large hand engulfed hers. She forced herself not to run screaming from the room, forced herself not to hang on too tightly. A callused thumb scraped her nerves as he gently rubbed her palm.
It felt like the most intimate act of all, that cradling of fingers.
She looked up and fell headfirst into a deep blue gaze that seized her and wouldn’t let go.
“The other day...I was coming to apologize for what happened in the cabin. For kissing you. Then I saw you lying on top of Cal and I saw red, acted like an idiot.” His gaze penetrated and searched her soul for answers, her hand captured in his warm solid grip.
“I’m sorry.” His eyes shone darkly. “I wanted to pound Cal into the ground.” He gave a short laugh tinged with irony. “Might have saved the poor bastard one hell of a beating.”
Her Sanctuary Page 11
