Honor's Promise

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Honor's Promise Page 15

by Sharon Sala

Rusty had Honor back in Texas and in her own home before she had time to absorb the change of residence. He’d announced that he was taking charge of Charlie’s until Honor was well. He reminded her that he’d done it more than once for Charlie. She acquiesced with little argument.

  It was only after she’d entered her empty house and walked quietly through the dusty rooms that it hit her. She was home all right, but she didn’t feel as satisfied as she’d imagined.

  It was a long way from the wooded mountains and the multitude of lakes and rivers. It was a long way from the new friends she’d made before the terror had begun. And it was more than a long way from Trace Logan. It seemed a lifetime ago when he’d held her in his arms and wiped away the last tears of sorrow she’d shed for her mother.

  Honor felt betrayed by her so-called family and forgotten by the man who’d promised to love her. But it didn’t change the fact that Trace Logan had made a place for himself in her heart. And the place was still there, empty and aching.

  She walked over to the window and pulled away the curtains, searching for answers that weren’t there. All she could see were the lights of cars coming and going on the highway in front of Charlie’s, and once in a while, a beam of light that would flash on the wall of the hallway when a car turned into the restaurant parking lot.

  She let the curtains fall back into place and sighed softly. It wasn’t like her to be so moody or so bitter. But she’d never experienced such a devastating sequence of events in her entire life. She’d survived the Malone family. But she didn’t know if she was going to survive losing Trace Logan.

  A single tear worked its way to the surface and struggled furiously through the thick brush of Honor’s eyelashes before it escaped down her face.

  “Damn you, Trace Logan,” Honor muttered. “You made me like you. You made me love you. Now I’m supposed to just forget you ever existed? I can’t do that. I don’t know how.”

  A car came to a more than abrupt stop in the parking lot. Honor winced at the sound of flying gravel. She hoped that it had missed the other cars parked in orderly fashion. It wouldn’t be the first time there’d been a wreck at Charlie’s.

  She heard the sound of someone running on the gravel through the parking lot, heard footsteps leap past the first two steps on her front porch and then someone hammering at her door in a demanding manner. Her heart jumped, and she stepped back into the darker shadows of her living room. Then she heard the voice. It was angry and loud and even a little worried, and she hadn’t expected to ever hear it again.

  “Honor!” Trace called. “I know you’re in there. Rusty told me where you were. For God’s sake, sweetheart, open the door.”

  Elation at the fact that he was here warred with the fact that he was too late. Where had he been when she needed him? She debated for a moment at the wisdom of even answering the demand. And then his last plea drove every reason she had to be angry out of her heart.

  “Baby, I just need to see for myself that you’re okay. I won’t hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

  “That’s what you promised when you took me away the first time,” Honor accused quietly, as she opened the door. She heard Trace’s sharply indrawn breath as the truth of her words hit home.

  They stood facing each other in the darkness, each silhouetted by the faintest presence of lights. Silence hung between them like a curtain in the doorway until Honor stepped back and allowed Trace to enter.

  He pushed the door shut behind him and squinted in the darkness, letting his eyes slowly adjust to the lack of light.

  “Why didn’t you return my call? Why didn’t you call me when you were hurt? What the hell did I do to you to make you run away from me, too?”

  The anguish in his voice twisted a knot in the pit of her stomach as the meaning of his questions slowly soaked into her shocked consciousness.

  “I didn’t get your call,” Honor said. “And I did call you, after the first time. But you didn’t return my call. I was so scared. You promised you would come. That all I had to do was call. Well, I did. But you never came.”

  Trace groaned. What a confusion of hurt they’d caused each other…and all because he’d left Colorado when his instincts told him otherwise.

  He pulled her fiercely into his arms. He couldn’t help himself. Just the sound of her voice was not enough to assure him that he’d finally found her again. He needed the touch and the heartbeat against his chest to assure him that she was really there. But her muffled moan of pain and stiffened posture quickly reminded him of why she’d left.

  “Oh, God, baby!” He released her with a groan. “I forgot about the fall. Please, honey. Don’t pull away from me. If I can’t hold you, will you just hold me?”

  His tender request shook her resolve to resist. She hesitated for only a moment, then sighed in defeat as she leaned forward, resting every inch of her aching body against the solid strength of his waiting arms. Trace’s body was shaking beneath her touch as she slid her arms around his waist. And when she laid her head beneath his chin, she heard him whisper brokenly, “I’m so sorry I left you. I’m even sorrier that you had to go through all that hell alone. It’ll never happen again, I promise. Just give me a chance to make it up to you.”

  His lips brushed across the top of her head as he tangled his fingers in the hair cascading down her back. He pulled, tilting her head gently away from his chest, and as her face turned toward him, he found her mouth in the darkness as surely as if they were bathed in light.

  She could feel every curve and every angle of his lips as they pressed against her mouth in gentle torture. His groan heightened the pressure as he maneuvered her sigh into his mouth with desperation. As her knees weakened, she unconsciously tightened her hold around his waist. It was all the encouragement he needed. His body betrayed him as he hardened against her and Honor moved against him, yearning for what he promised.

  “This isn’t a very good idea, lady,” Trace muttered against her lips, and pulled away with a groan. “We’re starting something here that you’re in no shape to finish.”

  He threaded his fingers through the heavy fall of her hair at the nape of her neck and lifted it away. His lips searched, located, and claimed the pulse point he had felt beneath his fingers, and his tongue traced the length of its beat until he reached the collar of her blouse. A tiny moan escaped from Honor’s lips and Trace stopped, once again reminding himself that it was more than a miracle she was even able to walk.

  “It’s too dark in here, lady,” he whispered against her lips, and felt them open beneath his words. “The feel of you against me is more than I can take. Where’s the light switch?”

  Honor sighed, leaned her forehead against his shirt front, and felt along the wall behind her.

  The living room was bathed in light. Both Trace and Honor blinked blindly, trying to adjust their eye-sight to the illumination. And when he could finally see, Trace felt a horrible rage take hold of his senses. If he could get his hands on Hastings Lawrence now, he’d kill him.

  “No,” he muttered, and started and then stopped himself from touching the fading bruises on her forehead and down the side of her face. “No, no, no!” he said between clenched teeth. It was as if denying their existence would make them go away.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Honor said quietly, and looked at Trace for assurance. “They’re already fading.”

  She put her hands on his arms, felt the muscles tighten, and rubbed her hand softly up and down them, trying to work out the anger beneath her fingertips.

  Trace’s eyes grew darker, and a muscle in his jaw jerked as he tried to speak past the fury welling up inside him. “Take off your blouse,” he ordered, and then began unbuttoning it before Honor could argue.

  She gasped and tried to block his intention, but it was no use. She’d never seen Trace so determined or so angry. And she knew when her blouse came off he was going to be worse.

  “I’ll do it,” she finally agreed, as his fing
ers trembled trying to maneuver the tiny buttons through their respective holes. She watched his face as she slowly slipped each button free and hesitated as the last one released the hem of her blouse.

  He watched, an enigmatic expression on his face as little by little, the extent of her injuries was revealed. His breath came out in a grunt when Honor shrugged one shoulder out of her blouse, letting the soft pink, much-washed fabric dangle down her back. Trace gently pulled at the remaining sleeve. It, too, came free, leaving Honor bare from the waist up.

  The bruising was worse down her back, especially along her spine where she’d borne the brunt of her fall. Trace touched the ridge of her backbone, running his fingers gently along the edge of her injuries and wanted to cry. This was all his fault. If he’d stayed in Colorado Springs, she wouldn’t have suffered like this.

  Honor saw the guilt and the pain on his face. “Trace, please don’t,” she whispered, and started to put her blouse back on.

  Trace stopped her, pulled Honor into his arms, leaned against the wall, and buried his face in the tangle of hair at her neck. “Don’t,” he pleaded. “Just let me hold you, baby. I won’t hurt you…and I swear to God neither will anyone else, ever again.”

  “I don’t blame you,” she sighed. “You didn’t push me. I’m not sure who did. I only felt the hands at my back and the breath on my neck just before I fell.”

  “Hastings Lawrence pushed you,” Trace muttered, knowing her reaction was going to be extreme. Honor’s gasp didn’t stop his angry statement. But what she said after that did.

  “Then he’s probably the one responsible for the incident in the elevator, too,” she muttered to herself, and then her feet left the floor as Trace lifted her into his arms. She started to object when she saw the look on his face.

  “What about the elevator?” Trace asked too quietly, as he remembered her casual remark about trying to contact him the first time.

  Honor didn’t answer.

  Trace was too calm. Honor sensed his barely contained fury. He bent down, lifted her into his arms, and started down the hall with her.

  “Where are you taking me?” Honor asked.

  “To bed,” he answered.

  Honor sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his cheek.

  Honor felt the downy softness against her back as Trace laid her on top of the comforter covering her bed. He slid down beside her and buried his face in the bare curve of her neck and shoulder. He was shaking, but Honor suspected it was not from fatigue. She could feel the fury building inside him as he loomed over her in the shadows.

  His hands slid up the flat surface of her belly, lingering momentarily at the waistband of her jeans, and then he sighed before falling back onto the pillow beside her head and covered his face with both hands.

  Trace hurt so much he didn’t know where to start. He’d betrayed her trust. And he felt betrayed that she hadn’t called. How was he ever going to make up leaving her alone when she’d needed him so desperately?

  “What about the damned elevator, Honor?” he asked again.

  “It was the reason I began using the stairs,” she whispered and slid an arm across his chest before laying her head against his heartbeat. “A couple of days before I fell…was pushed,” she corrected herself, “I got in the elevator and pushed the button. It began to fall. I thought I was going to be killed.”

  A none too silent curse escaped from Trace’s lips as he wrapped his arms around Honor and pulled her across his chest. He needed to hold her. He’d come so close to losing her and never even known it.

  “Nothing I did seemed to work. Not the emergency button, not the alarm, not anything. But as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Then the lights went out and someone got on the top of the car and whispered some pretty ugly threats through the opening in the roof.” Honor shuddered, and felt Trace’s strong arms cradling her gently against his strength.

  “Why didn’t you call me, Honor?” Trace asked softly. He kept stroking lightly over and over her injuries, as if love could take away her pain. “Didn’t you know I would come? Don’t you know how much you mean to me?” His voice was deep with hurt.

  “I did call. I left word with the desk clerk that it was an emergency and that you should call Honor immediately.”

  “Oh, honey,” he whispered, as he gently smoothed his hand across her hair, “I would have come. And I think I know what happened. I did get a message. But it was so strange…all garbled. None of it made any sense, and when I questioned them at the front desk, no one could give me an answer.”

  Honor remembered her own concern about the lack of communication between herself and the clerk with less than a proper grasp of the English language. It wasn’t his fault!

  Trace turned his head and listened intently.

  “Someone’s coming,” he said. “Are you expecting company?”

  “It’s probably Uncle Rusty,” Honor said, and started to get up from the bed when Trace stopped her movement with a hand against her bare midriff.

  “Wait here,” he ordered, covered her with a spread from the foot of the bed, and hurried out of the room before Honor had time to argue.

  She heard her uncle’s familiar voice and the deep, gruff timbre of Trace’s reply. But she couldn’t decipher what they were saying. If she had, she would have been even more afraid.

  “I thought you’d be here about now,” Rusty said, looking around the room with a sharp, all-knowing glance. He saw Honor’s pink shirt lying in a heap beside the wall and turned a fierce, angry glare toward Trace. At this point, no matter what Honor had told him, he trusted no one from the Malone family nor anyone representing them. He walked past Trace, picked up Honor’s blouse, and turned back with an angry question in his eyes. Trace’s words surprised and relieved him, all at the same time.

  “Have you seen her back?” Trace growled, and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. The dark-blue weave of the fabric on his slacks stretched beneath his balled fists, pulling it taut against the muscled strength of his tall frame.

  “Yes, son,” Rusty replied, instantly relieved that he’d deciphered the reason for a portion of Honor’s clothing laying on the living-room floor. He dropped the pink blouse on the back of a chair. He’d been just as appalled when he’d seen the extent of Honor’s injuries. “But they’re healing, and so is she.” Then he took another turn around the room, as if checking to see if they were truly alone before he spoke. “Where’s my girl?” he asked.

  “In her room,” Trace answered, and then caught a sense of something else. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “One of the truckers just pulled into the lot and thought he saw someone messing around Honor’s car. He didn’t know anything about what she’s been going through and just mentioned it in passing when he came in to eat. He thought someone might be trying to steal it.”

  Trace jerked and started to the front door to check for himself when the little man’s words stopped him cold.

  “I already looked. Someone’s cut her brake line. She wouldn’t have gone more than a half mile before she’d be in a world of hurt when it came to stopping that car.” He walked toward Trace and glared in his face, his bright-blue eyes piercing Trace’s conscience. “Now, I want to know what in hell is going on around here? I’ll take a tire iron to the man who lays another hand on my girl. Do you understand me, boy?”

  Trace knew the man felt he was to blame, if not completely, at least partially. He had been the one who’d taken her away. He couldn’t find it in his heart to disagree. However, what Rusty Dawson just told him changed everything. She wasn’t even safe here. But he knew a place where she would be.

  “I’m taking Honor away tonight while it’s still dark.” Rusty Dawson’s frown was wiped away by Trace’s declaration. “I know who’s doing this. But right now I can’t prove it. The only eyewitness is too scared to talk. There’s a place where Honor will be safe until the man is found and brought to justice.”

 
“I don’t like it,” Rusty growled, and paced the living-room floor. He knew Charlie would have been appalled to know that her letter had started all of this. This was ugly and scary and didn’t belong in their world.

  “I know you don’t, sir,” Trace answered quietly. “Neither do I. But as God is my witness I’ll protect Honor with my life. I have no choice.” He turned and walked toward the window and pulled away the heavy fall of curtain. Like Honor, there were no easy answers awaiting Trace’s search, either.

  Rusty sighed and leaned against the wall. “What’s between you two?” he asked, hating to hear the answer. He’d lost Charlie, he didn’t want to lose Honor, too. Not yet.

  “I’m not going to lie to you, Rusty. I love Honor, and I believe that she loves me.” He turned and faced the older man’s angry frown. “She’s my world, and I’ll do anything it takes to keep her safe.”

  “In the long run,” Rusty said, “it’s all up to my girl. But I have to know where you’re taking her.”

  Trace nodded, and the two men quickly made their plans.

  Rusty was to contact Honor’s grandfather, and he, in turn, would have a set of instructions that must then be followed before Honor would be truly safe. Rusty left with determination in every step.

  Trace had his own set of plans to be made. He knew he had little time to accomplish them. If Hastings had already started to work his evil here in Texas, Trace had to hurry.

  He started back down the hallway and met Honor coming from her bedroom, pulling a thin, button-front shirt over her bare shoulders.

  “You’ll need something warmer than that,” Trace said gruffly, and gently turned her around. “We’re leaving tonight. And we need to hurry, lady.”

  Fear wiped away the smile in her eyes as a sense of his urgency invaded her heart. “What’s wrong?” she whispered, and pulled the shirt tightly around her waist.

  “He’s been here,” Trace said, and watched her eyes grow stormy and her chin stick out in mutinous rebellion.

  “I’m not running away,” Honor argued. “Not again. This is my home.”

 

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