Slow Burn

by Cheyenne McCray

  His lips curved with a hint of amusement. “As long as you’re promising not to attack me, we can make that happen.”

  She grinned and scooted under the cool sheets and quilts on the bed. She plumped one of the two pillows and rested her head on it as she watched him.

  He turned off one of the LED lanterns and the room grew darker. He drew his gun out of its holster before turning off the other lantern.

  The fire in the fireplace had died down and the light was dim as he returned to the bed, and then set his weapon on a nightstand at the head of the bed.

  He smiled down on her. “Give me a minute.” He went to the fire and added a big log into the grate.

  When he finally came back to the bed, the sheets were a little warmer from her body heat. He slid between the sheets and rested his head on the pillow as he faced her. The firelight flickered, casting shadows over his face. For a long moment they looked at each other and she felt like they were lost someplace in space and time.

  “Will you hold me?” She wasn’t sure where that came from, but she wanted to be closer to him.

  He hesitated. “Sure, honey.” He adjusted himself on the bed and she scooted closer so that her head was resting on his shoulder and his body was within inches of her own. Her good arm was beneath her so that she wasn’t lying on her injured one.

  She gave a contented sigh, feeling safe and cared for. It was the first time in fifteen months that she’d felt that way. She filled her lungs with his masculine scent and his body heat surrounded her, warming her to her core.

  He rested his hand on her hip, even more heat traveling through her at his touch. “Tell me about Indiana.”

  She shrugged, glad her arm didn’t hurt her when she did so. “It’s a pretty quiet life in a town that’s even smaller than Bisbee. I work with my cousin and just try to enjoy the simpler things in life.” She smiled. “Like embroidery. I embroidered some blocks that my aunt quilted.”

  “It sounds like you have a good life there.” His eyes were dark as he studied her. “Did you date?”

  “No.” Her smile faded a little. “I don’t know that I can. I’ve never had a normal relationship, and honestly, I’m not sure how a healthy relationship works.” Trace lightly stroked her hip, which seemed to give her the courage to continue. “I was a different person with Salvatore. He controlled me, told me what to wear, what to do, what to say, how to act. He even controlled my interactions with my friends.” She looked away from Trace’s gaze. “I don’t want to ever lose myself in a man again.”

  “Don’t let one bad man continue to control your life,” he said softly.

  “I know. You’re right.” Wanting desperately to move the topic from herself, she turned her gaze back on him. “What about you? Any serious relationships? Have you ever been married?”

  “Never been married.” The way he watched her made her feel like he was waiting for a reaction. “I’ve dated women, but nothing serious. At least not on my side.” He stopped moving his hand and rested it on her hip. “It’s not like me to have such an intense reaction to a woman like I’ve had with you.”

  “You have?” She almost couldn’t breathe.

  He reached up and ran his knuckles along her cheek. “From the very beginning, I’ve wanted nothing more than to steal you away from everything and take care of you.” He slid his fingers into her hair. “But I also wanted to see you thrive and grow stronger every day like you have over these past months. You were an amazing woman before, but I like this new, independent you.”

  “Thank you.” She snuggled in closer to him, her palm on his chest, her head tucked under his chin. “That means a lot.”

  Her eyelids grew heavy. She was so content at that moment, more content than she ever remembered feeling in her life. Her eyes drifted closed, and in moments she slipped away into a deep and restful sleep.

  ~~*~~

  Christie was still sleeping when Trace woke the next morning. The day was overcast, dim light barely making it through the skylights. The fire had died down and a chill had descended over the room.

  He watched her for a long moment, her face relaxed in sleep and looking more peaceful than any time since he’d met her. It had felt so good holding her last night.

  At the same time it had been rough—he’d wanted her so badly that he hadn’t slept well at all. He’d finally fallen asleep but he woke up with morning wood.

  His arm was numb from holding her all night, and he hated to move and wake her. But Mother Nature called and was becoming ever more insistent.

  Tingles prickled in his arm as he managed to adjust Christie and move her onto the pillow. He slid out of bed, hardly able to take his eyes off the beautiful woman lying there.

  He headed to the bathroom and took care of business. She was still asleep when he returned. After shedding his sweatpants, he pulled on his jeans and belt, attaching his phone holster to the belt.

  As he built up the fire again, his mind went back to sleeping with Christie last night.

  Coffee. He needed coffee. He grabbed a bag out of a cabinet and then went straight to the propane coffee maker. In no time he had the thing going, and the aroma filled the cabin.

  He had sausage links and half a dozen eggs in the ice chest. He turned on the Coleman stove, heating the griddle. Soon the smells of eggs and sausages, as well as two pieces of buttered bread toasting on the griddle, joined the coffee aroma.

  “That smells like heaven.” Christie’s sleepy voice came from behind him. He looked over his shoulder and she smiled. “Need any help?”

  “Good morning, sunshine.” He returned her smile and glanced at the bandages. “How’s your arm?”

  “Better.” She tentatively extended the bandaged arm. “I don’t think I’ll need to wear the bandage past today.”

  He nodded, grateful that the bullet had only nicked the artery and it had been not more than a flesh wound beyond that. “We’ll change your bandages again around lunch.”

  She stretched, her T-shirt tightening over her full breasts. Her nipples pressed against the fabric and he felt like his morning wood had just become something that someone could set on fire with just a match.

  His throat worked as he faced the griddle, trying to gain control over his body. Barney & Friend’s theme song rang in his head and that did it. The purple dinosaur’s song was the best remedy he knew to get rid of an unwanted erection. Most of the night he’d had that stupid music in his head just to keep his cock restrained. Thank God for Barney.

  He turned over the sausage links before he finished scrambling the eggs and putting the toasted bread onto a plate.

  While he finished up breakfast, Christie took one of the giant 800mg ibuprofen tablets out of the container in her purse. She swallowed it down with water from a bottle she’d grabbed from the ice chest.

  Breakfast was easy and natural. They didn’t refer to anything they’d talked about in bed. Instead they began to discuss Belle and Dylan’s growing family again. Christie’s face lit up when she talked about the baby, and Trace felt warmth in his gut just watching her. She’d make such a good mother.

  They started gathering the empty plates and his phone vibrated twice in its holster, telling him that a message had come in. Considering how far up the mountain they were, cell service was touch and go. He pulled his phone out and saw that it was from Dylan, who had sent another short video.

  Trace grinned and motioned for Christie to sit beside him. A delighted expression came over her face as they watched the video together.

  In it, Belle held Shane and chatted as Dylan followed them through the ranch house with the camera phone. She showed the baby’s room that had a changing table, a bureau, a line of stuffed animals sitting along a long shelf, and a mobile of the solar system hanging over the crib.

  When the video was over, Christie gave Trace a wide smile. “Isn’t the baby adorable? And Belle looks amazing. Tired, but amazing.” Christie laughed. Trace loved the way she looked and sounded when she l
aughed. “The stuffed horse I brought for the baby will fit in with his animal collection.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off Christie. He was mesmerized by her beauty, her radiance as she talked about Dylan’s family. Trace wanted to reach out and touch her, take some of the light she glowed with. He wanted to fill himself with her and her light.

  She cocked her head as he just stared at her. “Is something wrong?”

  “Absolutely not.” He smiled. “Just thinking of what a wonderful mother you would be.”

  The moment he said it, her eyes looked haunted. “I can’t have children. I’m sterile.”

  It was like a punch to his gut to see this beautiful woman appear so desperately sad. He brought her into his arms because she looked like she needed it.

  “Adoption is always an option.” He rocked her close to his chest. “A lot of babies in this big world need good women like you to be their mothers.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice was muffled against his chest and she drew back. “I’ve considered it in the past, but as far as Sal—my ex—was concerned, adoption wasn’t an option at all.”

  Trace ground his teeth at the selfishness of the bastard and all the ways he had caused Christie pain.

  She gave Trace a brave smile. “But considering the man he turned out to be, it was a blessing that we didn’t have children, including adopting.”

  “One day you’ll have a child to mother.” He put his finger under her chin. “I have no doubt.”

  She spoke softly. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am.” He gave her a quick kiss. It seemed so natural. When he drew back, the surprise on her face matched what he felt. It had come so easily. He figured he’d better change the subject. “We have a whole day to enjoy. What would you like to do?”

  “How about a walk?” She glanced at the window that muted sunlight now streamed through. “Soon enough I’m going to be stuck inside a hotel while waiting to testify, so the outdoors sounds great.”

  “Good idea.” He retrieved her jacket and helped her slip it on before he pulled on his own.

  Soon they were outside the cabin, the sun tenacious in its attempt to warm the clearing around the cabin. He led her down a nearby trail and she walked beside him on the wide parts and in front of him where the trail grew narrower.

  The air was clean and crisp, the scent of pine and rich dark earth filling the air. Patches of snow clung to shadowed rocks and grass in dark areas.

  Christie walked by his side as the path widened again. “Your work must be rewarding.”

  “In a lot of ways it is.” He pushed aside a branch encroaching on the trail. “Taking down the bad guys is a real good feeling.”

  “And saving damsels in distress?” She gave him a little smile. “Like me. Twice.”

  He settled his hand on her lower back as she stepped over a fallen log. “I’m just damned glad I was there.” If he hadn’t been—he couldn’t stand the thought of what could have happened to her.

  Knowing that her ex-husband had abused her emotionally and verbally was enough to throw Trace into a rage, much less the fact that the bastard had tried to murder her. Salvatore Reyes was a lucky man just to be alive.

  Trace’s only satisfaction was seeing Dylan punch the bastard for what he’d done to both Belle and Christie. Brooks had cuffed Salvatore and Trace had watched the sonofabitch being dragged away. Trace had stayed by Christie’s side, feeling the need to make sure she was taken care of.

  A twig crunched beneath her shoe. “Tell me about your family.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not a pleasant story.”

  She glanced up at him. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  For a moment he said nothing. But for some reason he did feel the need to share the intimate details of his life that he never talked about. With anyone.

  He blew out his breath. “My father physically abused my mother for as long as I can remember.” It was one reason why seeing women being abused in any way made him so furious. “He killed my mother when I was fourteen.”

  “Oh, my God.” Christie’s eyes widened as she came to a stop. “I don’t know what to say. Sorry doesn’t come close to expressing how awful I feel for you and your mother.”

  Trace paused, stopping with her. “I nearly killed him when I came home and found the cops there, my mother dead, and my father in handcuffs. I had neighbors who held me back or I would have killed him before the cops had a chance to stop me.” Trace clenched his jaw. “I have no doubt.”

  Christie put her hand on his arm. “I can’t imagine.”

  They started walking again, as if by some unspoken agreement. He put his hand at the small of her back as he kicked aside a small branch that had fallen across the path. “I was sent to live with my mother’s sister. My aunt’s husband, my step uncle, verbally and emotionally abused her.”

  Christie shook her head. “Any man who abuses a woman should be castrated.”

  Trace bit back a curse as he thought of Salvatore. “I know someone I’d put at the top of the list.”

  She brushed a loose strand of hair from her eyes. “At least my abuse was only emotional and verbal for all of those years…up until the end of the marriage.”

  This time it was Trace who brought them to a stop. He caught her by both shoulders and looked at her intently. “Words and actions are just as bad as fists, Christie. Don’t ever minimize what that bastard did to you, including the end when it became physical. Understand?”

  A hesitation and then she nodded. “You’re right. That old ‘sticks and stones’ saying is so very wrong. Words can haunt you for the rest of your life. Not to mention actions. The rape might as well have been occurring throughout my marriage rather than in the last few days.”

  He wanted to take her in his arms and take away every bad memory he could.

  “I want to know more about you.” She clearly wanted to turn the subject from herself. “What happened to your father?”

  Trace felt his features turn wooden. “Not only did he kill my mother, but he murdered the first responding sheriff’s deputy. Shot them both.” Trace continued, putting no emotion in his voice. Ever since the murders, the bastard had been dead to Trace. “Texas has the death penalty for capital murder. The man who fathered me was put to death by lethal injection fourteen years ago.”

  “No words.” She shook her head. “I know I’m repeating myself, but I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through.”

  “Rich Davidson got what he deserved,” Trace said flatly.

  “Yes.” Christie gave a slow nod. “Yes, he did.”

  Trace’s voice hardened. “It’s only a shame he was on death row, living and breathing, for as long as he was.”

  A squirrel chittered and scampered in a tree above them and a chilled breeze caused the vegetation to sway. Christie folded her arms across her chest and hunched, clearly feeling the cold now. He was afraid it would make her wound hurt more, too.

  “Let’s head back.” He put his arm around her shoulders and they turned on the trail. “Tell me about your family.”

  “I did have a good upbringing.” Her expression was both wistful and sad. “My mom and dad passed away too soon. First my father of a heart attack four years ago and then two years later my mother died due to a brain aneurism. All I have left are my grandparents who live in Florida and my cousins in Indiana.”

  Trace squeezed her closer to him. She’d said it already. Sometimes it was impossible to put into words how you felt about what another person was going through or had gone through.

  “They never liked my ex.” She was quiet a moment. “I wish my mom and dad were still here. I wish I would have listened to them when they discouraged me.”

  Trace and Christie walked in silence the rest of the way to the cabin, clearly lost in their own thoughts. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, more companionable than anything else. When they reached the cabin he held the door open for her and they walke
d into the warmth then shut out the cold.

  After he helped her out of her jacket and shrugged out of his own, he built up the fire. They stood in front of the flames, warming themselves.

  He glanced at her. “Do you like to play poker?”

  “The CoS used to play all the time.” She flashed him a grin. “I can hold my own.”

  She had the cutest grin. He liked it when she let go and looked carefree.

  “I propose a challenge.” He’d always had a streak of mischief in him. “And winner takes all.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Trace sat down at the kitchen table after he grabbed a deck of cards and a rack of poker chips.

  Christie looked so cute as she folded her hands on the tabletop. “What are the stakes?”

  He set aside the two joker cards. “Whoever loses a hand has to tell an embarrassing story.” He started shuffling the cards. “From junior high or high school.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “There are too many to name and I’d prefer to leave them dormant somewhere in the back of my brain.”

  He chuckled. “I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

  She shook her head and leaned forward, a determined expression on her face. “I’m not going to lose.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “And what’s this ‘winner takes all’?”

  He flashed her a grin. “Whoever wins gets to choose what the other has to do. Clean or cook…anything.” He didn’t plan on making her work. He just wanted to tease her.

  She straightened in her seat. “I am so going to beat you.”

  He almost laughed. She was so damned cute. “We’ll play Texas Hold’em.”

  “No fair.” She looked mock indignant. “You’re from Texas.”

  This time he did laugh. “Afraid you’re going to lose?”

  She narrowed her brows. “Deal.”

  He started out by dealing each of them two cards face down. Christie peeked at hers and her expression didn’t change.