by LENA DIAZ,
Chapter Nineteen
Dalton shifted on the couch, holding Hayley’s legs across his lap as she squirmed and tried to sit up. The thick, sharp shards of the broken whiskey bottle had sliced her left thigh through the jeans that she’d been wearing earlier. He’d had to cut them off and put some shorts on her so he could tend to her wound. But trying to keep pressure on the bandage he’d fashioned from a first-aid kit he found in her bathroom was proving nearly impossible. She wouldn’t be still long enough for him to secure it.
He reached for the roll of first-aid tape on the cushion beside him. Once again, she swiped it away, giggling as she grabbed his arm to haul herself up to sitting.
“You’re an awesome doctor, Sir Knight. So gentle and sweet.” She winked and shifted sideways, trying to see her leg. “Whoa. The room’s moving again.”
He swore and grabbed her arm, jerking her toward him to keep her from hitting the coffee table. “Lie down and be still so I can finish securing your bandage. And quit grabbing the tape.” He yanked it from her grasp.
She plopped down and crossed her arms. “You’re no fun.”
“Yeah, well, I tend to be a serious kind of fellow when someone’s bleeding to death.”
Her eyes widened. “Someone’s bleeding?” She jerked upright, her breasts flattened against his arm.
He gritted his teeth and shoved her down, not as gently this time. “Stay.”
She gasped. “I’m not a dog!”
“Obviously not. My dogs mind much better than you.” He rushed to secure the bandage while she was lying down, knowing his reprieve wouldn’t last.
She giggled, her outrage forgotten. Then her eyes widened in dismay. “Oh, no!”
He blew out a breath. “What is it this time? Did you remember you’re out of whiskey?”
She frowned. “What? I am? Did you drink it?”
He rolled his eyes. “Your floor did, when you dropped the bottle in the hall, then fell onto the glass.” He pressed another piece of tape on the gauze. Fresh blood was already staining it. He grabbed the hand towel on the cushion beside him and pressed it against the bandage. “You have to be still, Hayley, or the bleeding isn’t going to stop.” He shook his head. “You probably need stitches. I should take you to the hospital and—”
She grabbed his arm. “I told you, no hospitals.”
“I understand your fear but—”
She crossed her arms indignantly. “I’m not afraid of anything.” She frowned. “Why are you here? Where’s Jack?” Her eyes widened. “Why are my legs on your lap? And why are you holding onto me?”
Her outrage would have been funny if they hadn’t already had this same conversation. Twice. Drunk Hayley couldn’t hold a thought for more than a few minutes.
He started over, explaining her fall in the hallway and that he was trying to help her. But she kept squirming.
“Good grief, Hayley. If you can’t be still so I can stop the bleeding, I’ll have to call an ambulance whether you want me to or not.”
She gasped and flattened herself against the couch, giving him a hurt look. “You don’t play fair.”
“I’m not playing. If I can’t stop this bleeding, we are going to a hospital. Now don’t move.”
She grew still, her eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears. “I’m not the only one that fell that day, when I was a little girl. Some of my friends fell too.” She started to tremble and clutched his arm. “But I’m the only one who lived. Don’t send me to the hospital, Dalton. Please. I don’t want to die.”
“Oh, Hayley. Why didn’t you tell me about your friends? Don’t worry. I won’t take you to the hospital. But you have to be still. And stop talking about dying. No one’s dying on my watch.”
The bereft look in her eyes tugged at his heart.
“Are you going to make me disappear, Dalton? I don’t want to disappear.”
He winced and hung his head, regretting that conversation in his truck a thousand times over.
“Dalton? You didn’t answer me.”
“No, sweetheart. I won’t make you disappear. And neither will Mason.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Dalton?”
“Yes?”
“Did you call me sweetheart?”
“You’re drunk, Hayley. I’m sure you heard me wrong. Just be still. I think the bleeding has almost stopped.”
A few minutes later, he carefully lifted his hand to check the bandage. The blood that had seeped through was dark now, and drying. Finally. The bleeding had stopped.
He was about to reassure her that they wouldn’t have to go to the hospital. But it wasn’t necessary. She was sound asleep.
And looked like an angel.
Her thick dark hair puddled around an oval face that was delicate, almost fragile-looking when relaxed in sleep. Plump pink lips softly parted on each indrawn breath, as if beckoning him closer, daring him to see if she tasted as delicious as she looked. When she was angry and hurling accusations, it wasn’t hard to ignore her physical attributes. But asleep, her legs across his lap, looking so feminine and sweet, it was pure torture.
He wanted her. Really, desperately wanted her.
But when he tried to imagine a scenario where she’d want him, too, where the two of them could even be friends, his mind went blank. It didn’t seem possible. There were too many unanswered questions between them. Too many suspicions. And until those were resolved, he wasn’t even sure what the future held for her, or him. Nothing was a certainty, regardless of who had right on their side.
The feel of her warm, smooth skin beneath his fingers made him realize he’d been stroking her calf. Cursing, he yanked his hand back. Then he stretched both arms along the back of the couch and rested his head against the cushions.
Chapter Twenty
Dalton woke to the sun coming through the blinds. He tried to raise his hand to shield his eyes, but he couldn’t move. Something warm and soft was on top of his arm, and on top of him. His eyes flew open.
Good grief. He was flat on his back on the couch, and Hayley was sprawled out on top of him. Sometime during the night, one of them had pulled his trench coat over them like a blanket. But even with that, and her luscious curves plastered against his hard angles, he was freezing. He could see his breath in the air. Inside the cabin.
Had the heater broken? It had seemed chilly when he’d arrived last night, but he’d been so busy keeping her from bleeding to death that he forgot about checking the heater.
She mumbled something, her soft lips moving against his neck. He shivered but not from the cold. In spite of the chill in the room, he started sweating. And when she shifted her leg against him, his lower half stood at attention.
He swore and curled his fingers against the couch to keep from sliding them around her. It was just his luck that the first time, maybe the only time, that he’d ever managed to get Hayley in his arms, it was by accident. And she was asleep.
Holding her, without sinking his hands in her hair, tasting every inch of her the way he craved, was a delicious form of torture. Where she touched him, he burned. And he was just selfish enough to lie there a few more minutes, soaking in every curve, every slide of her skin against his. He’d wondered what it would be like to have her pressed to him, her breasts flattened against his chest. It felt like heaven. A forbidden heaven. And if he didn’t wake her soon, he was surely going to hell.
She shivered and snuggled closer. He gritted his teeth and gently tightened his arms around her, slowly rising to sitting. He had to get the heat on. And he didn’t want her to wake and find herself on top of him and be embarrassed. It had been a gift she’d given him without even realizing it. And he didn’t want it to become something she regretted.
When he finally had her sitting against the other end of the couch, he let out a relieved brea
th, then went off in search of a blanket. He found one in her hall closet and covered her with it. Then he took care of his needs in the bathroom, before scrubbing his teeth with a finger and some toothpaste. He clicked the heat on, surprised to see it had been turned off. Then, to get it toasty as quickly as possible, he put the last few remaining logs on the fire and stoked the coals. He’d have to see about getting her some more firewood later today. And find out what was going on with her heater.
“Dalton? Is that you?” Her sleepy voice had him turning around. Her hair was a riotous tumble of tousled curls, falling nearly to her waist. Her eyes seemed glazed and confused as she stared at him, pulling his trench coat around her. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful creature.
“Morning, sleepy head.”
She blinked and shoved her hair back, then stumbled over the end of his coat. “Why am I wearing your coat? And why are you here so early?” She squinted at the clock beside the fireplace. “Good grief. I never get up this early.” She smacked her lips and made a face. “My mouth tastes like cotton.”
He stood and wiped his hands on his jeans. “That’s probably what’s left of Jack Daniels from last night.”
She blinked again, then pressed her hand to her mouth. “Oh no. That really happened? I thought it was a dream.”
“It really happened. Um, what do you remember?”
She took off his coat and tossed it on the couch before crossing to stand in front of the fireplace. “Not much. Except...” She glanced down, frowning. “Why am I wearing shorts in the middle of winter? And why is there a bandage on my leg?”
He sighed and turned her toward the bathroom. “Your jeans were a bloody mess and I had to take them off to bandage some cuts from the broken bottle of whiskey. I found some shorts in your dresser and put those on after seeing to your injuries. Go do whatever you need to do when you first wake up and then I’ll do my best to explain. I assume you have coffee around here?”
“Kitchen. Duh.” She motioned toward the other side of the cabin and hurried into the bathroom.
After calling Bryson and asking him to take Denali outside and to feed his dogs, Dalton put the coffee on to perk. He’d just finished pouring both of them a cup when she stopped in the doorway, dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a dark blue blouse. Her face was pink from a recent scrubbing and her hair cascaded in shiny waves that had his fingers itching to touch them. But it was the serious look on her face that had regret curling in his stomach.
“You remember everything now, don’t you? Including what happened at Camelot, and the police station?”
She nodded, then grimaced. “I need aspirin. And I want my gun back.”
“I’ll call and tell you where I hid your gun after I leave. I’d rather not get shot this early in the morning. The bottle of aspirin is over there, on the counter.” He waved toward the coffee. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Black.” She shook out two aspirin, then took the coffee cup that he held out to her. She swallowed down the pills, then cupped her hands around the mug as if to warm them. “Good call on the gun. You’re a smart guy.”
He set his own mug down and leaned back against the counter. “You’ve been through a lot, much of that because of me. I’m sorry about that. But this thing is bigger than both of us, and sometimes people caught in the middle get hurt.”
“Is that what’s going on?” she asked. “I’m caught in the middle? And I get no say in what happens?”
He straightened and walked toward her, slowly, so as not to frighten her. He took it as a good sign that she let him, without backing up or trying to kick him.
“I came here last night to level with you, to tell you everything. I’m as tired of all these secrets as you are. And I’ve seen enough to believe that Mason is just plain wrong. You’re innocent. And I’m convinced that you can be trusted.”
“You’re referring to my computer programming that you and Mason talked about in your truck?”
He nodded. “Ask me anything. I promise not to lie. You’ve earned the truth. You deserve the truth.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
She set her mug on the counter and wrapped her arms around her middle. “Did Bethany really hire the Justice Seekers to help with her investigation?”
“She did.”
“Did you kill her?”
He took a step closer, then tilted her chin up so he could make sure she looked at him when he answered. “No. I didn’t kill her.”
She shuddered, then touched his hand on her chin, stroking his skin instead of knocking his hand away. A war of emotions gathered in her eyes—confusion, anger, and if he wasn’t wrong, something else. Desire. “Should I be afraid of you?” she breathed.
He feathered his hands down the sides of her face and leaned down until his mouth was just inches from hers, until he could see the silver specks of color around the blue in her eyes. “Don’t ever fear me. I would never, ever hurt you.”
He wanted to kiss her, craved the feel of her lips beneath his. But there was a flash of uncertainty in her gaze. He sighed, then took a step back to give both of them some room.
“Why didn’t you kiss me?” she whispered.
“Because you still don’t trust me. Not completely. I want you in my arms, in my bed. But I want you willing, and just as eager for me as I am for you. And above all, I don’t want you frightened or unsure.”
She looked away, confirming that he’d made the right decision. “I have so many questions.”
“I know. I’m still here. Ask them.”
She scrunched up her mouth, as if thinking really hard. “Okay. Tough one first. Why do you wear a Stetson? Did you wear it all the time in Montana? Is that a thing there?”
“That’s the tough question, huh?” He grinned and raked his hands through his hair, just then realizing he’d left his hat on an end table in the other room. “I could count on one hand the number of native Montanans who wear cowboy hats on a regular basis, unless they’re acting for the tourists.” He shrugged. “I grew up on a working ranch outside of Bozeman that catered to tourists every summer as a dude ranch. Visitors expect cowboys to wear cowboy hats instead of ball caps, so that’s what we wore. As a kid, I saw a Stetson in a souvenir shop downtown and fell in love. I’ve been wearing them ever since.”
She smiled. “I can imagine you as a little boy, running around with your big hat.”
“Was that the end of your burning questions?”
She sobered. “No. I have another one. But you’ll get mad.”
“Even if I do, I won’t yell or do anything to hurt you. Go ahead. Ask.”
She met his gaze again. This time, her jaw was set at a mutinous angle.
“What happened in Montana? Why did you get a divorce and quit the police force? Are the two connected?”
He grimaced and picked up his coffee. “Can we sit down for that one?”
She carried her cup into the main room. Disappointment shot through him when she sat in the chair instead of the couch. But the fact that they were finally talking to each other without one of them drawing a gun or running off was progress.
She swiped his Stetson off the table and examined it. “I like the way it looks on you.” She plopped it on her head, and it slid to her nose. She laughed and took it off. “Guess you won’t have to worry about me wearing your hat.”
“Maybe when this is over, I can pick up one more your size.”
Her gaze shot to his. “Maybe.” She licked her lips. “You had a family ranch in Montana, that much I found out online. How big was it?”
“Close to forty thousand acres.”
“Is that a lot?”
He shrugged. “Most ranches there are closer to two thousand acres.”
“Wow. I guess it really was big. You raised cattle?”
�
��Mostly. Angus and Hereford.”
“Angus I’ve heard of. What are Herefords?”
“Beef cattle, just like Angus. Bigger, though. Hardier. You’ve probably seen them and didn’t know the name. They’re red and white, brownish-red really, more like rust. We raised horses, too, quarter horses. At any one time we could have a thousand head of cattle and a couple hundred horses.”
“How fun.”
“I liked it. Didn’t love it the way my parents did. I guess when you grow up with something, you tend to take it for granted and want something else. That’s why I became a police officer. Shortly after that, my parents retired to Florida and left me the ranch. I think it was my father’s way of forcing me to give up the cop life and get back to basics. He knew I couldn’t do both. So I figured I’d prove him wrong, by hiring a foreman to manage the ranch so I could go downtown to the police station every day. Worked pretty well. Until it didn’t.”
“I’m sorry, about what happened. I don’t know the details, of course, but I did research. I know there was some kind of dustup with your wife and that she got the ranch in the divorce. In spite of you saying you didn’t love the ranch, your voice says otherwise. You sound wistful when you talk about it.”
“It is what it is. Cindy and I were high school sweethearts who never should have gotten married. We were too different, fought half the time we were together, even back in high school. The attraction was more physical than anything else, and we were too naive to realize that would wear off. Turns out it wore off a lot quicker for her. Two years into the marriage, she decided she preferred my foreman over me.”
“How is that even possible?” Her eyes widened and her face turned a delightful pink. “I mean, wow. I’m sorry that she did that to you.”
He smiled at her obvious discomfort. She was so cute when she blushed. “Don’t be. We’re better off apart.”
“What happened? I mean, not in your marriage, but to make you quit being a policeman and become a Seeker?”
He rested his arm across the back of the couch. “She didn’t want me, but she did want the ranch. Since it had been in my family for generations, there was zero chance she’d end up with it in the divorce. So she came up with another strategy. She had my foreman beat her up and then she went to my boss claiming I was the one who’d hurt her.”
