by Karen Anders
He made it back to the motel in record time. He wouldn’t sleep, he thought as he parked the Harley. He knew he wouldn’t. He might as well just gather together his stuff and get back on his bike and ride until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.
Finally he got off the bike, his mind so preoccupied with his inner struggles that he didn’t see the shadows waiting. He didn’t hear the scrape of a boot heel against the asphalt. Delving into his pocket for the key to his room, he stiffened and the hair on the back of his neck lifted in warning. But awareness came too late. The white-hot agony of the blow to the back of his head knocked him to his knees. He felt the warm rush of blood over the back of his neck.
The attack was so sudden and vicious that Corey found his quick reflexes and formidable fighting talent couldn’t respond in time.
The blow from a baseball bat across his back pushed him down to the ground and he scraped his face painfully against the asphalt of the parking lot. A blow from a booted foot exploded against his side, knocking the breath out of him. He grunted from the pain and tried to pull in enough oxygen to get another breath. Torturous blow after torturous blow rained down on him. He curled into a fetal position to protect himself as best as possible, the nausea from the pain and the suddenness of the attack roiling in his stomach. He felt cold and paralyzed. In his disorientation he wondered if his father had beaten him. He wondered if he was at home lying on the carpet instead of the hard ground. And he wondered, as he did when he was a child, if he’d done something to deserve this. He thought that he should be used to pain by now, but some rational part of his brain was telling him shock was setting in.
Finally they stopped kicking him. He was unable to move, his ears still ringing from the blows, his vision blurred. Sounds came to him as if through water. He could hear the smashing of chrome and metal and the breaking of glass. But he was moving in and out of consciousness at this point and couldn’t pinpoint the noise.
He thought he heard someone whoop and say with smugness, “Look what we got ourselves here, boys. A nice little bonus.”
Suddenly the commotion stopped, and one more kick landed with excruciating precision against his back where the baseball bat had inflicted pure agony. “Hey, chief. I hope the little bitch was worth it.”
He recognized the voice before he gave up the fight and darkness closed in.
The shrill ringing of the phone startled Jennifer out of a light doze. Adrenaline stabbed through her, and she whirled to get the phone so that the ringing wouldn’t wake Ellie. “Hello.”
“Jennifer.”
Corey’s voice was so weak she could barely make out her name.
“Corey? Corey! What’s the matter?”
“Need you. Motel.”
She heard the phone drop, but the line was still open. “Corey! Corey!” she said frantically, but the hum of the open line was her only answer. It was ominous and frightened her to death.
She dropped the receiver in the cradle, picked up her discarded jeans skirt from this morning and struggled into it, stuffing her shirt into the waistband. She ran through the house, grabbed her denim jacket and shrugged into it, and hardly remembered reaching the back door. She slipped out the door closest to the bunkhouse and entered at a run. She tripped in the dark and swore, then got up and grabbed Jimmy, one of her live-in cowhands, and shook him with all the pent-up frustration and fear in her. She explained that she wanted him to stay with Ellie and he agreed immediately. She then asked Tex, another of the hands, to come with her.
Something was wrong, terribly wrong and she was frantic to get to Corey. She took a deep calming breath and tried to push the panic back. But it was like pushing a ball underwater. It kept bobbing to the surface.
She drove like a complete and utter maniac. Tex looked at her with surprise on his face. Once he made a comment about her killing them both, but she just flashed him one of her quelling looks and he clammed up. She was sure he’d never seen her this way because she’d never been this way.
She hit the brakes so hard when she got to the motel that Tex was jerked forward from the sudden stop. Immediately she saw the motorcycle on its side, smashed and dented as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. “Oh my God!” she whispered, not enough breath left in her lungs to shout. She threw the truck into park, not even bothering to turn off the engine. She left the truck door open and raced into the only motel room with the door ajar.
He lay on his side, the phone resting on the bed where it had fallen. A high-pitched busy signal was the only noise in the room. A fear she had never felt before in her life arrowed through her. A world without Corey Rainwater in it was an unbearable thought. She flew to the bed and touched him. When he moaned, some of the panic left her.
She felt Tex at her back. “Help me get him to the truck, then go get the doctor and tell him to come to my ranch. Ride there in the doctor’s truck.” Together, they supported Corey while he stumbled to her truck. His face was ashen and again fear sliced through her, making her voice urgent,
“Hurry, Tex.”
The drive to the ranch seemed to take an eternity. He didn’t stir. She kept one arm around him to steady him and glanced down every few minutes to make sure he was still breathing. Only one man—or rather, group of men—were capable of such utter violence.
Her hand shook on the wheel, and tears coursed down her face. She couldn’t even wipe them from her cheeks. She couldn’t take her hand from the wheel, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him go.
Back at the ranch she ran into the house to get Jimmy to help her move him inside. She told him what had happened at the grocery and feed stores, and he swore softly under his breath.
“I’m responsible for this,” she groaned as she helped Jimmy get Corey up the stairs to her room. They laid him down on her bed and she cupped the back of his head to ease him down onto her pillow. He moaned softly in pain, the small distressed sound wrenching at her heart. When she pulled her arm away, she saw blood on her hands and on the sleeve of her jacket where the back of his head had rested while she held him. Fresh tears blurred her eyes and for a moment she looked at the crimson stain on her hand. The anger and hatred that jolted through her surprised her in its intensity. She wanted to see the men responsible hung by their thumbs, whipped, punished. The violence of her thoughts astonished her because she was not a violent woman.
She went into the bathroom and frantically washed the blood off her hands. She removed her denim jacket and threw it on the floor in disgust.
She leaned against the sink, trying to quell the rest of the panic inside her. And the anger that seethed for Jay. She was sure he was responsible for this and with that knowledge came the guilt.
It was her fault that Corey was in this mess, his motorcycle smashed and him injured. Seeing him hurt bothered her the most.
She started to shake and couldn’t stop. What if he had been killed? She couldn’t bear the thought that her actions two nights ago had caused such danger to him.
She felt consumed with guilt. She felt responsible and she would make it up to him.
Chapter 5
Corey woke to the soft singing of the birds through the open window of the room where he lay. The bed was soft and sweet-smelling, the sheets’ scent much better than sunshine and clean air. They smelled like...his brain couldn’t seem to function. He shifted restlessly. They smelled like...damn...they smelled like Jennifer.
Memories surfaced. Soft hands shaking him awake countless times. A husky voice asking if he knew his name and other equally silly questions.
His eyes cracked open and he groaned at the stabbing brightness. God, his head hurt. The back of it felt on fire, and he vaguely remembered the doctor saying that he had received a mild concussion and that he’d have to stitch his head up. “Mild, my ass,” he croaked.
He turned over and came face-to-face with a tiny black-and-white pig, whose forefeet were resting on the edge of the bed. The curious little eyes studied him, and Corey thought he was t
he cutest creature he’d ever seen. He smiled, reached out and let the animal smell his hand before he petted him.
“That’s Two Tone. He has the run of the house and has to know everything that’s going on, I’m afraid.”
Corey’s eyes raised and connected with Jennifer’s. Her voice was husky, as if she’d just woken up. But he knew that she had been up through the night, checking to make sure he was all right. Her concern touched him deeply and made him feel very vulnerable.
“He’s cute,” he managed to say around the pain in his midriff. Raking his hand through his hair, he grimaced and the action pulled the healing flesh of his face.
“Be careful. He uses that to his advantage.”
Corey patted the little pig again and shifted, his face contorting in pain. Jennifer’s assisting hands were instantly there, shooing Two Tone away and helping him to sit up.
“What am I doing here?”
“You called me, remember?” She cocked her eyebrows and smiled slightly.
She was pleased that he had called her. He could hear it in her voice, and in his injured state that knowledge pleased him immensely.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been hit with a baseball bat and kicked by a bunch of yahoos. Not to mention that little war going on in my head.”
Jennifer smiled wryly and settled the pillows to best support him.
Corey closed his eyes and willed away the pain. When he opened them, she was sitting on the edge of the bed. He wasn’t stupid. The attraction he felt for this woman was unique. Women had come and gone in his life. Nameless, unfocused faces that jumbled into one big blur. Jennifer stood out like a shining gem, polished to a brightness that hurt his eyes, his heart. Oh God, he wanted her so bad. But he could hurt her so bad and that would destroy him.
She had that small-town charm. Never turn a person away who was in need. She had obviously been watching him while he slept, and something warm curled around his heart. Whether it was because she was afraid for him or because her integrity demanded it, she’d done it. Her sleepy eyes watched him with a hidden hunger burning just at the fringes and it hurt him to look into those eyes and know that she wanted him.
“You must be tired from watching me all night. Why don’t you get some rest?” His voice was hoarse, his eyes revealing the vulnerability he felt.
“I will. Later. After Ellie has gone to school. And I’m sure you’re going to be okay.”
She leaned forward and he watched the material of her shirt tauten over her breasts. She snatched a bottle off the nightstand along with a glass of water. “Here, take these. That should help the war to cool down into a skirmish.”
He remembered how sweet she had tasted yesterday and last night. He licked his dry lips, wishing for the coolness of her soft skin against them. “Are you always this kind to strangers?”
His eyes shifted to hers and he could see the banked desire in them, as well as a wariness and loneliness to match his own. He lifted his hand and accepted the aspirin, his fingers brushing hers as he took the water glass.
“No. I don’t usually get calls in the middle of the night from men who need my help.”
He thought she was lying. He could see that she would help anyone in need. Then he drank thirstily, his throat working as he swallowed the aspirin. He leaned forward to replace the glass and winced at the sharp pain in his ribs and back.
“Here, let me.” She took the glass from his hand and set it down. The brush of her hand was an electric sensation against his skin. “Where am I?” he asked.
“Upstairs in my bed.”
She tried to answer casually, but he could hear the strain in her voice.
In her bed? He was in her bed! No wonder it smelled so good and felt so good.
“You needed eight stitches. The doctor took care of stitching you up. He said your ribs would be tender for a little while. He also said that your back is bruised. It looks horrible.”
“Yeah, that’s where they hit me with the bat.”
Jennifer covered her mouth and looked away, unable to tolerate the guilt. “I’m really sorry about all this.”
He leaned forward slightly and snagged her chin, turning her face up to his. He could barely stand the self-condemnation in her eyes. “Why? Jennifer, you had nothing to do with this. Butler and his boys are nothing but cowards. They couldn’t even face me in the light of day, but had to slink around at night to ambush me. Don’t blame yourself, darlin’.”
“I do and I’ll make it up to you.” She knew she’d said the wrong thing as soon as the words were out of her mouth. His face shuttered. His eyes turned steely.
“No, you won’t.”
“I wish you had minded your own business. Jay would have probably lost interest in a day or two.”
He sat up very painfully and leaned up against the headboard. He glared at her. “And what would have been the price? A bruise on your pretty face? Who knows where he would have stopped? Bullies only get meaner.” He couldn’t bear to see her skin marred with bruises. His mother’s face swam before his eyes. Bruised, battered, her eyes so tired and old.
No, Jay Butler would have to go through him to get to Jennifer.
But you won’t be here to protect her, an inner voice reminded him. You’re going to leave her. Leave her here with the demons.
He had to! He didn’t have a choice. He would talk to the sheriff before he left and explain what was going on. But that thought did nothing to ease the twisting of his gut.
“At the very least you should press charges,” she encouraged as she smoothed down the bedspread.
“It wouldn’t do any good, Jennifer. There are no witnesses and I didn’t even see them. They attacked me from behind.” He closed his eyes wearily as another stricken look crossed her face.
“But your bike and—”
“My bike,” he groaned loudly. “What about my bike?”
She bit her lip and looked away, but not before he saw that same guilty look. “I had it hauled over to Martin’s garage.”
“I don’t like the sound of the word hauled.”
“He says it’s pretty much beyond repair,” she said softly.
He closed his eyes, a dark panic welling in his chest. He was trapped? Dear God! There had to be a way out of this town. Surely a bus must run through here. He couldn’t stay with her, he thought frantically. God, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her.
“What about the saddlebags?”
She got up and walked across the room and turned them out. “The clothing is being washed. The buckles are in this drawer, and your boots are near the bed. There was nothing else in them.”
“Great. So what you’re telling me is that I’m without transportation and flat broke.”
“Broke?” she squeaked.
“I had fifteen hundred dollars in those bags to tide me over for a while.”
A thoughtful look came over her face and she said in a rush, “I could use a foreman.”
His body stilled. “Jennifer, I don’t think my staying here would be a good idea.”
Her eyes flashing, she tossed the empty saddlebags back on the chair and placed her hands on her hips. “What do you expect me to do? Let me see, you save my dignity and what can I do in return? I got it! Perhaps I can throw you out in the street bruised and battered. Hell, why don’t I throw you in the gutter and let you crawl to wherever you so desperately want to go?” She glared at him, but he looked at her with a defiant, sardonic expression that only pushed her temper higher. “This is all my fault!” she shouted, goaded by his attitude.
Folding her arms over her chest, she stared him down, “You’ll stay here until you’re well. I don’t want to hear anything else from you. You can make a decision about the job then.”
“Jennifer, I’m not staying here.”
“I’ll get you something to eat then. I wouldn’t dream of throwing a wounded man into the gutter without offering him something nourishing first,” she said tartly.
With a flip of her flaming hair, she strode from the room.
The woman was magnificent. Her anger and shame stood out clearly on her face. And her green eyes crackled with suppressed fury. What was he going to do with the bossy, pushy little thing? He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t. Jennifer was much too tantalizing. Much too beautiful. And he was much too needful.
He’d wanted her from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, but that had been a physical reaction. Now, now he wanted her with a desperate yearning hunger that had nothing to do with his physical needs.
He couldn’t stay here.
He was afraid of the darkness on his soul. His legacy.
He couldn’t stay here.
He was too weak.
He couldn’t stay here.
His demons would find him and in the process find her. He couldn’t allow that.
He couldn’t stay here.
He didn’t deserve her.
He didn’t know who he was, where he was going. He couldn’t stop running. If he did, he would have to face his fears and the madness that hovered around them. But, God help him, he wanted to stay. He could brave the madness for her. For Jennifer.
Jennifer came back with soup, crackers and a glass of milk on a tray. She set it in front of him, avoiding his eyes. When she went to pull away, he grabbed her hand and held her, waiting patiently until she finally looked at him with a huffy little sigh.
“You don’t owe me anything, darlin’. Not one damn thing,” he pleaded.
Her expression was one of misery. He didn’t want her to feel this way. Damn, he didn’t want her to care.
“Jennifer... please.”
“Eat your soup and then let me look at your stitches.” She lifted her chin, meeting his hard look straight on.
“I wish you didn’t possess so much backbone,” he snarled.
Her-eyebrows raised and she looked him up and down. “That’s like the pot calling the kettle black.”
Against his will, he smiled. “Yeah, they shouldn’t,” he agreed, his smile widening.
Jennifer felt her world shift precariously as she swallowed, trying to dislodge the awe rising in her. She was staring and she knew it, but couldn’t seem to help herself.
