by Leslie North
Water whizzed beneath him as he traveled the bridge, then he blessedly reached civilian land. Taking the long way home, he meandered through the streets, needing the random drive to empty his mind of the last hour. God, that had been rough. In all their other sessions, they had talked about Shawn, his dad, and touched on Rachel, but today the therapist had been relentless.
He stopped for the red light and fished his phone out. If he turned left at the next light, he’d head toward home, but if he kept straight, he’d hit wide open road.
Pressing Rachel’s name in his contacts list, he put the call on speaker.
“Hey,” Rachel answered. “How’d it go?”
“Same old, same old,” he blithely replied, lying through his teeth. “Just making sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
The light turned green and he slowly crept forward.
“I’m still cleaning the rooms from the weekend guests,” she continued.
“Mind if I drive for a bit?” His hand hovered near the turn signal in case she needed him.
“Not at all.” She paused, as if distracted. “You mind picking up more string cheese? I seem to have eaten the whole box.”
“Consider it done.” He pressed the gas pedal. “See you soon.” He hung up and flicked on the radio to help drown out the therapist’s words.
With every mile he logged, the yellow lines hypnotized him and the scenery soothed his soul. Rank smells of animal farms mingled with freshly mowed grass, making him smile for the first time since he left the house.
House. Shit. His eyes flew to the clock. Oh man. He hadn’t meant to drive for hours.
Making quick work of the grocery store, throwing as many things as he could remember from the refrigerator list into the cart, he pulled into the driveway in record time.
A sense of unease curled in his gut when he noticed that in the parking space Rachel liked to use, someone had parked a navy Honda CR-V. Gassing the Mustang’s engine, the growl bounced off the house as he backed his car beside it.
They weren’t expecting any guests, and she’d have told him if a last-minute booking occurred. Warning bells rang louder. Damn it, he should not have gone for a drive. He’d left her vulnerable.
Running up the walkway, he threw the front door open. “Rachel!”
Footsteps pounded overhead, then he spied her cross trainers tromping down the steps a second before her beautiful face appeared. “Harris, what’s wrong?”
Heart thundering against his rib cage, he searched as much of the interior as he could see. “Are you okay? Who’s here?”
“I’m fine.” She stopped in front of him. “No one’s here but me. Why?”
“Go up to the apartment and lock the door.” He lifted his T-shirt and pulled his Glock from the holster secured with his belt at the middle of his back. After yesterday’s incident, he refused to be without his personal weapon until Rachel and their baby were safe. “Call the police.”
Her eyes bugged and she stumbled backwards. “What’s wrong?”
“A strange car’s parked outside.” He turned toward the front door. “Someone’s lurking on the property, and I’m going to catch the bastard.”
“Stop.”
Scowling, he peered over his shoulder.
Rachel slumped and clasped her hands to her face, then shook herself theatrically. “You scared the shit out of me.” She exhaled. “Is it a two-year-old Honda CR-V you’re talking about?”
Executing a pivot that would make his old drill sergeant proud, he jammed this gun away. “Why, yes, it would be.” Fear instantly converted to anger, and he just knew he wasn’t going to like the explanation.
“It’s mine.” She waltzed around him and shot through the front door before he could respond.
“Yours?” He followed behind like a damn dog. “What do you mean?”
Her legs might be short, but she could really hustle when she wanted to. In seconds, she was standing by the trunk of his car. “The cheese inside?” She motioned with her thumb. “I don’t want it to spoil in this heat.”
He unlocked the trunk with the key and she smiled at all the bags.
“You’re the bestest man in the whole world. Thank you for remembering the list.” She went to reach for the bags, but he gently batted her hands away and lifted them himself.
“Not good for the baby to strain yourself.”
She rolled her eyes. “A few groceries are hardly a strain. And anyway, we’ve got months before that goes into effect.”
Eying the CR-V one last time, he led them back into the house. Once they reached the kitchen, he couldn’t wait any longer. “Explain. What do you mean the CR-V’s yours? The Elantra’s brakes won’t take long to fix.”
But until then, she was without a car and now he felt even worse for driving so long. He had left her stranded. “Is it a loaner?” he asked, taking items out of the bag and handing them to her to put away.
“Nope.” She plopped cans into the cabinet. “When I couldn’t fall back to sleep last night,”—courtesy of quality time with the toilet—“my mind started churning. I’m going to need a newer, bigger vehicle after the baby arrives.” She took more items from him. “Your car is fine for us to share now, but it’s a classic. Safety regulations concerning things like airbags and child locks weren’t around back in 1967.”
He froze beside the table and she darted around him to continue emptying the groceries. He couldn’t argue with the facts, but a cold feeling swirled.
“The Elantra’s been a good car,” she continued, her head in and out of the bags and refrigerator, “but I’ll need something that can haul all kinds of baby stuff. I also figured I should have a four-wheel drive in case of an emergency. So, I had an Uber drop me off at the dealership. The salesman worked something out with the garage and allowed me to trade in the Elantra for the CR-V. They knocked off the cost of the brake job from the total, but my car held enough value to make the trade-in worth it.”
Something ugly slithered in his gut. He couldn’t deny she had made a smart, logical choice. It was good that she had a sturdy, reliable vehicle of her own, so she wasn’t dependent on him…but once again, she had cut him out of an important decision. Judging by her tone, it didn’t even occur to her to discuss it with him. She had planned to get the new car today and at any point before he left for therapy, she could have brought the topic up, but she hadn’t.
He didn’t need the reminder of what triggered their fight yesterday, but she slapped him with it anyway. She continued to act like she planned to raise their child on her own.
Pain and hurt warred for dominance. She didn’t seem to see him in her future as more than a cameo appearance at best. Was that the way she wanted it? Was she just placating him until the therapist released him to active-duty?
The knife twisted in his heart. And here he’d been daydreaming more and more about making a home with Rachel like a smitten fool, while it appeared that she didn’t think much about him at all.
11
Rachel hummed along with the song blaring in her earbuds. She had gotten so much accomplished this morning, she felt on top of the world. Harris had disappeared after they unloaded the groceries yesterday to work on clearing out the spare bedroom in the apartment. He worked so long and so hard, she had fallen asleep before he climbed into bed, and he was already working out on the beach when she woke up.
Folding the last of the freshly laundered sheets from the capacity weekend, Rachel stuffed them inside the linen closet located inside her office. While she wished she could use the small walk-in closet for only office supplies and business files, she needed a place to store all the extra linens, towels, emergency toiletries, and soaps since she couldn’t use any of the closets in the guest rooms.
The bedrooms reserved for tomorrow’s guests were ready to go. The grandmother and granddaughter each had their room facing the ocean and would stay two nights so they could attend some type of ceremony on the Marine base for a family me
mber—the sister to the granddaughter, if memory served.
Shutting the closet door, Rachel plopped into her ergonomic chair and rubbed her stomach. Eating protein and staying active had help with the nausea a lot, but she still had her moments. If the gurgle currently threatening continued, it would sour her morning, but it slowly passed. Already today, she had gotten on a waiting list for a few local daycares that had excellent reputations as prep schools, and ordered some new hair dye from her favorite website. Last year, she had discovered a dye product that was both health- and eco-conscious, and she had been loyal ever since. She’d already sported orange, purple, and blue in the last six months, so this time she ordered Kool-Aid Berry to arrive in a week. By then, her showing roots would be in critical status.
Heavy clomping on the stairs lifted her head from the inspector’s thick checklist. A light thudding hit the wall, then the footsteps continued to the apartment. Harris must be hauling upstairs the two huge boxes delivered at the crack of dawn. Normally, new parents waited until the baby shower before buying furniture and stuff for the baby, but Rachel had no illusions of anyone in this town throwing her a party with Tammy Winchester as her mother and Harris losing both of his parents. Instead, they had decided to shop together online. Some of the furniture was a no-brainer, but how they wanted the room to look was harder. They had no clue if they were having a boy or a girl, and that made it tough to compromise on the theme.
Thumbing through the checklist pages, she noted that the repairs on the house were going a lot more quickly than she’d expected. A thrill tickled her stomach and she swore the baby reacted.
Calm down. It’s only the size of a peanut. It’s not summersaulting. But it felt like it.
Whatever. With a mostly completed list, she and Harris no longer had to rush to meet the deadline. That meant they could play hooky and do a little digging for treasure today. Yay!
Putting her earbuds away, she meandered into the apartment.
“Wow,” she exclaimed, staring at the empty bedroom that would soon be a nursery. Only the oversized cardboard boxes leaned against the walls. “You cleared everything into the carriage house by yourself? I would have helped.”
Harris straightened from plugging in the out-of-production vacuum that handled hardwood floors like a champ. (She wished vacuums could have babies because she’d breed that sucker so she’d have one on both levels.) Sweat dripped off his amazing chest and his gym shorts were soaked. He obviously hadn’t showered after his run.
“Keep looking at me like that and you’ll find your back against the shower tiles.”
“Oh, yeah?” She bit her lip, loving the vivid image he stirred. “I think I might like that as long as you’re fucking me blind.”
Within moments, he’d discarded his shorts and her naked back hit the tiles just like he promised. Then she dropped to her knees and swallowed him whole.
Sucking in air, he turned them so the water assaulted his back and didn’t drown her.
Sliding back up his length, she teased the slit with the tip of her tongue. His fingers burrowed into her hair and gripped the strands hard. Smiling, she flattened her tongue and licked the salty drop of pre-come seeping from him, then wrapped her lips around him. Lightly using her teeth, she scraped his hard cock as she swallowed him deeper.
“Ah, fuck.” His hips thrust forward and his hand tightened on the back of her head, holding her in place. She relaxed her throat and widened as far as she could and he worked himself in and out.
Her tongue lifted to stroke him and she sucked hard. His thrusts stuttered and he groaned. She took over, ramping up the pace. Cupping his balls, she rolled them in time with her sliding him in and out. Up and down.
“Shit, Rachel,” he guttered, his grip on her hair tightening to the point of pain while his other hand slapped against the tile. “I’m about to come.”
Her cheeks hollowed, she sucked so hard—
Jets of his orgasm hit the back of her throat just as he shouted, thrusting himself through it.
Rocking back to her heels, she peered up at him with a huge grin as his dark-from-lust brown eyes glittered down at her.
“Your turn.” Hauling her up, he made good on his promise. They kept at it until the water ran cold.
Rachel meandered beside Harris, her body so loose and satisfied she wished she’d asked him to take a nap with her instead of dig for treasure. Her large-brimmed straw hat helped block the afternoon sun’s rays, and the ocean breeze kept her from melting in the heat.
He jabbed the two shovels he held in each hand into the ground with every step like a cross-country skier without the skies…or the snow. The argument over bringing the second shovel could have been fierce, but she’d been in too good of a mood to ruin it. She’d solved his balking at the prospect of her doing manual labor by plucking the metal and wooden tool off the wall and leaving the carriage house. He caught up to her and offered to carry it. Since she was safe in her femininity and didn’t believe him being chivalrous had anything to do with him thinking she was weak, she let him have it.
Walking the grounds between the evidence of the old tree and the beach, Rachel was surprised to find herself enjoying Harris taking the lead. It was nice to let go and let someone guide her for a minute.
“This is it.” Harris stopped, his gaze swiveling between the ocean, divot, and house. “According to at least two of the maps and your mother’s paper, it should be right around here.”
Excitement ripped through her veins and she couldn’t stop from beaming. “This is so cool. I can’t believe we might actually find something.” Her voice shot up by the end and he chuckled.
Warmth flooded her system, and she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that sound. It had been too many days since he had laughed.
“You must do that from now on.” She pointed at him.
“What?” He let her shovel fall to the ground.
“Smile and laugh. You’re impossibly gorgeous when you do, and it makes me want to do wicked things to you.”
Red flushed his skin and his grin widened. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Thwump. His shovel bit into the sandy dirt.
She lost all the moisture in her mouth as his muscles rippled with the action. Holy wow. Picking her shovel up, she meant to pitch in, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the way his forearms corded and his calves hardened. Regardless that they spent way too long in the shower screwing each other’s brains out, moisture dampened her panties, and she craved him again.
A seagull crying overhead ripped her from the fantasy ramping up in her mind. Pacing a few feet from him, she pushed her own shovel into the soil.
“Stop that.”
She ignored him and kept going. The physical work felt good, though she didn’t have the strength to slam the metal shovel-y part in very far. It didn’t take long for them to find a peaceful rhythm. Her arms burned with the repetitive motion, but she refused to make him do all the work. Part of the joy was hunting for treasure with Harris, not acting like he was her minion.
They cleared a hole about three feet long, going about two feet deep.
Thunk.
Harris froze and Rachel dropped her shovel. Scurrying to his side, she hovered as he carefully inserted the edge of his blade into the dirt again. Thunk.
“SQUEE!” she trilled and clapped.
Sweat poured off of him and he’d long since taken off his T-shirt. She scooped it off the ground and swiped his forehead, wanting to do something to help.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, his concentration on outlining whatever was buried.
Fifteen minutes later, he uncovered a small chest. An actual pirate chest!
Setting it on the ground, they stared at the dirt encrusted wooden box. Nothing about it seemed like it would hold valuables. In fact, if a strong breeze or a drop of rain hit it, it’d probably fall apart. Snatching her hat off, she glared. Hollywood had it soooo wrong. They made it look like the chests were old but strong
enough to withstand dynamite or whatever heroes and heroines used to open the suckers.
Crack! Thwack!
The incomprehensible sounds echoed around them.
“What—”
The air expelled out of Rachel’s lungs and she blinked up at the sky from flat on her back. Harris had thrown her in the hole. Walls of dirt surrounded her and she groaned at the bruise that was sure to be forming on her shin from knocking into something hard on the way in.
“What the hell?” she muttered, then found the reason why her leg hurt. The treasure chest had landed on it.
Lifting onto her elbow she peered over the edge of the hole to find Harris darting between the trees like a ninja…or a highly trained marine.
Sunlight glinted off his handgun, and her body went haywire with terrified goose bumps and adrenaline. What the hell happened? Had that sound been a gunshot?
Harris disappeared from sight and she desperately wanted to call him back. Grabbing her discarded shovel, she lay back inside the hole and clung to the handle until her fingers screamed from lack of circulation. No way would it protect her against a bullet, but she couldn’t just lie there without some kind of weapon.
“Rachel.” Vibrations thundered against the ground and Rachel popped her head up at Harris’s voice. “Are you hurt?”
She flew out of the hole. Tripping over the treasure chest and the shovel, she staggered until she could throw her arms around him. “You’re safe.”
He swooped her up and cradled her tight. “Are you hurt? I didn’t mean to toss you. I needed you out of the shooter’s sights.”
“I’m okay. Just a little bruised.” She hugged him as tightly as he held her. “I kept imagining you getting hurt.”
“I’m fine,” he rumbled, raining kisses her head. “I found this over there.” He pointed toward the house, then he opened his hand.
Dizziness made her drop her head on his shoulder. On his palm was a spent bullet casing.
“The shooter was gone by the time I figured out the trajectory.”
“It wasn’t my mother,” Rachel wheezed. “She abhors weapons of any kind.”