by Maggie Price
She, too, was determined to set her sights on the future, not the past.
A sudden, sharp knock on the front door shot her heart into her throat. Only a few people knew she and Samantha were staying at the cabin. Peggy was expecting none of them.
Veering toward the fireplace, she grabbed the brass poker from its holder. Clenching its thick handle, she willed her legs to stop shaking as she edged cautiously toward the door.
When she peered out the window and saw Rory standing in the pool of the porch light, her already unsteady legs almost gave out. He was wearing his leather bomber jacket over an ice-blue sweater and dark slacks. His dark hair was mussed; his face stubbled by several days growth of beard.
He looked exhausted and grim-faced.
Slowly, she pulled the door open. “I wasn’t expecting you,” she said without expression.
“I know.” His gaze flicked to her hand. “Garden shears, fireplace poker. You always choose interesting weapons, Ireland.”
“How…did you find me?”
His mouth lifted at the corners. “I don’t think I need to remind you that I’m a cop.”
“No.” Her throat felt rusty; she braced a hand on the door for balance. “I came here to spend time with my daughter. I don’t want you here.”
“Too bad.” In one smooth move he pulled the poker from her grasp, leaned it against the wall, then locked his hands on her shoulders and nudged her back. “Right now I don’t give a damn if you want me here or not,” he added as he used one foot to swing the door shut behind him. “I need to talk to you.”
“We’ve already said all there is to say to each other.” She had to clamp her hands on his upper arms to keep from stumbling while he steered her backward.
“Like hell. I just drove like a maniac across this entire state so I can have my say.” He forced her downward onto the couch that faced the fireplace. “You’re going to listen.”
Emotion tightened her throat; air clogged her lungs. She couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it.
He yanked off his jacket, lobbed it into the nearest chair, then stared down at her, his face grim. “Do you know how many people can’t make a home? How many don’t have a clue how to nurture their own children?”
Peggy puffed out a surprised breath. She wasn’t sure what she had expected him to say, but that wasn’t it. “Millions of people make homes and nurture their children.”
“The people I knew didn’t,” he said fiercely. “My father sent me away after my mother died. After a while, I stopped hurting over that. I wouldn’t let myself hurt. And I wouldn’t let myself want what had been taken away from me.” She saw the raw emotion in his eyes as he took a step toward her. “The night I walked into the inn, you gave that back to me. You gave me a home.”
“Which you don’t want.”
He held up a hand. “I need to get through this. Let me get through this. Please.”
“All right.”
“Not only did I not want a home, I didn’t want to feel anything for you.” He stood facing her, his eyes smoldering with the same intensity as the flames in the fireplace. “I kept telling myself you were like every other woman whose path I had crossed over the years. The harder I worked to convince myself of that, the more obvious the truth became. Still, I didn’t want to think you made a difference. Didn’t want to believe I couldn’t leave you as easily as I have everyone else. When you kicked me out of the inn, I found out I was wrong. For the first time in my life I left a part of myself behind.”
In her heart, she thought, feeling something move inside her. That part of him had stayed behind in her heart. Tears welled as her mind accepted what she’d fought so hard over the past days to deny. She loved him.
“I never meant to hurt you.” He shoved a hand through his dark hair. “I kept the fact I’m a cop secret to protect you. Someday I hope you’ll be able to trust that. I hope you’ll believe that I did what I did because I love you.”
She jolted. “You—” She rose slowly. “What did you say?”
Before she could gather her wits, he moved to her, took one of her hands in his own. “I love you and I love Samantha.”
She had to take a step back, had to press a hand against the pressure in her chest. “Why did you have to tell me that? Damn you, why?”
His grip tightened, along with his voice. “Okay, I guess the feeling isn’t mutual. Tough luck for me. But that’s how I feel.”
She jerked from his hold, clenched her hands into fists. “So, you drove like a maniac across the state to tell me you love me?”
His eyes narrowed. “That, and a couple of other things. I thought they were important. Maybe you’ve got a different spin on that.”
“Do you think it makes it easier for me, knowing how you feel? Knowing the man I’ve fallen in love with loves me back? That somewhere roaming around the globe is some idiot with rocks in his head who loves me, but doesn’t want a life with me?”
“Hold on.” He stepped forward. “You love me? Did I hear you right? You mean it?”
“Yes, and a hell of a lot of good that does me.” She crammed her hands on her hips. “You’ve made sure I understand who you are, what you are. ‘I’m a nomad,’” she tossed out, lowering her voice to imitate his. “‘I don’t stay in one place. Leaving is what I do, what I’m good at. I can throw everything I own into my plane and take off without looking back. Ever.’” She dragged in a breath. “It would have been a lot easier for me to get over you if I thought you didn’t care.”
“I don’t want you to get over me.” Closing the space between them, he brought a hand to her face, skimming back her hair with his fingers, molding her jawline with his palm. “For the last six months I’ve felt this…restless discontent, like my life had gotten off track. I couldn’t put my finger on what had happened. I think it’s because I was ready to find a place I belong, one place that means something to me. Someone who means something to me.” His eyes eloquent, he slid his palm around to cup the back of her neck. “Even if you tell me to leave again, I won’t. I’m staying in Prosperino. I have to stay. I need to stay. I need to convince you to let me back into your life.”
Her breath hitched with joy; tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry.” He thumbed away her tears. “For God’s sake, Ireland, don’t cry. My job isn’t like Jay’s was. I do most of my work in a lab. I visit crime scenes after the fact.” He shook his head. “But, if you want me to give it up, I will. I’m crazy about you. You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to spend my life with. I’ll do whatever it takes to have you and Samantha back in my life, for the rest of my life.”
Her heart overflowed. He loved her and Samantha. Wanted them. He would stay.
She settled her palm against his chest, felt the reassuring beat of his heart. “When you left, I felt the same kind of emptiness I did when Jay died.” Tears burned her throat, thickening her voice. “I would have felt that way, no matter what you did for a living. I didn’t fall in love with the badge. I fell in love with the man. I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to stop being a cop.”
He gathered her close, dipped his head and skimmed his mouth across hers. “The lab in San Francisco has an opening. I have my plane. I can commute there every day and come home every night. Let me come home to you, Ireland.”
“Yes.” She couldn’t get enough of him as she tasted, touched as if she had never known a man before. In that moment she could remember no others. Only him.
Smiling up at him, she lifted a hand to his cheek. “Welcome home.”
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Maggie Price for her contribution to THE COLTONS series.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-8420-7
PROTECTING PEGGY
Copyright © 2001 by Harlequin Books S.A.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or here
after invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of Harlequin Books S.A., used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
Visit Silhouette at www.eHarlequin.com