Seeking Vengeance

by McDonald, M. P.

  He gripped her shoulders, steadying her as she stumbled backwards. “Whoa. Excuse me.”

  Her nose smarted, but his scent still lingered and distracted her from the pain. She tasted a slight saltiness on her lips from where they had brushed his skin. She stared at him for a moment before thrusting the stack of packages at him. “Here are some of the things I got you.”

  Sam took them, but he looked puzzled. “Are you okay?”

  “No. I mean, yeah. Everything’s fine.” Flustered, but working to hide it, her reply sounded cold even to her own ears. Not used to feeling unsure of herself, she reacted with anger. “Why wouldn't I be?”

  “I thought maybe you hurt your nose.” He pointed towards her face with the packages.

  “It smarted a little, but it's no big deal.” She resisted the urge to step closer. Just because she hadn't been alone with a man for a couple of years didn't mean she could act like a fool around Sam. He didn't even appear to notice her, at least, not in the way men usually noticed a woman. Pride stinging more than her nose, she turned away, calling over her shoulder as she returned to the kitchen, “If you want to shower, go ahead. I can re-do the bandages when you come out. Oh, and there’s a package of disposable razors in the linen closet if you want to shave.”

  She didn’t know if he heard the last bit as the bathroom door shut, but she blew out a deep breath and gripped the edge of the counter, glad he was no longer rattling her with his presence. Closing her eyes, she attempted to erase his scent from her mind and his taste from her lips.

  * * *

  Sam limped back to the bathroom, his mind a jumble of confusion. What had just happened out there? He could still feel the heat of her breath on his chest and he glanced down, half-expecting to see the imprint of her lips. When he'd steadied her, his hands had skimmed her arms and the feel of her skin, so soft and warm, lingered on his palms. Closing his eyes, he recalled the sun-warmed mint and vanilla scent of her hair and had to resist the urge to seek her out and repeat the encounter. Maybe it was just his fever causing the reaction, but he had felt a stirring he hadn’t felt in over a year and the bolt of lust shocked him. He forced the demons of guilt to chase the reaction back to a dark corner of his mind. He had no right to think of her like that. She had generously taken care of him and had trusted him to stay in her home. Women like her didn't go for hardened bikers and even though he was only playing a role, in her eyes, that's what he was—just another biker friend of her brother's.

  Sam stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. The pulsing stream of water eased some of the ache from his shoulders and other parts of his body. Her shampoo sat on a corner caddy, and he smiled. Yep. Vanilla-mint.

  The shower revived him, restoring some of his energy, so he took advantage of it and, after the shower, rummaged in the linen closet for the razors. They were pink. Of course. Smiling, he took one and hoped it was up to task of his three-day old stubble. Surprisingly, it was. He unfolded the jeans, but debated pulling them on. Molly said she'd replace the soggy bandages, and he doubted the leg of the jeans would roll high enough to allow her to get to the wound. He could just stay in his boxers. The devilish thought made him chuckle as he slipped the sweats he’d worn earlier over his legs. He shook out a t-shirt and draped it over his shoulder as he went in search of Molly.

  He found her in the kitchen sitting at the table cutting potatoes into wedges. Before speaking, he watched her work. Her back was to him, her slim neck revealed by the ponytail. Wisps of hair drew his attention and the impulse to push them out of the way and replace them with his lips swept over him. He fought it off and knocked on the doorjamb. “Molly?” It was the first time he'd said her name aloud and he liked the feel of it rolling off his tongue.

  She started, the knife rattling as she dropped it on the table. “Done already?” Her eyes flicked to him, lingering on his jaw, so he knew she noticed the difference, but she didn't comment on it. He'd hoped the clean shaven look would make him appear less sinister.

  Instead, she asked about the clothes “They didn't fit?”

  Sam shook his head. “I didn't try them yet…well, except for the boxers.” He felt his face heat, and wanted to roll his eyes at himself. Why was he reacting like a teenager? The woman had bought the damn underwear for him after all. “I just thought it would be easier to put a new bandage on my leg with the sweatpants on.”

  Molly stood, and he could have sworn her cheeks were pinker than they'd been a few seconds ago. She swept the pile of cut potatoes into a bowl and set them by the stove. “Makes sense. Let me just get these into the oven. I have to get Kelsie from school soon and then the craziness begins.” She threw him a grin, her eyes dancing.

  Damn, she was beautiful. The thought blindsided him like a meteor out of a clear blue sky.

  “Uh, no problem.” He licked his suddenly dry lips and then remembered what he had come to ask her. “Do you have a bag or something I can put my dirty clothes in?”

  “Yeah.” Without another word, she took a plastic grocery bag from under the sink and brought it to him. “Will this work?”

  “Perfect.” He took it, wanting to linger, but he had no excuse to stand and stare, so he returned to the bathroom and put it back in order, stashing his bag of clothes by his boots near the front door.

  Molly had cleared the table and had the bandages ready by the time he entered the kitchen. It only took a few minutes and she pronounced his wounds healing nicely.

  Finished, Sam changed into the new jeans and t-shirt, feeling normal for the first time since he'd arrived.

  * * *

  Molly stood outside the school waiting with other parents for their children. She hoped Kelsie had given the teacher her note that she was being picked up today. The chicken fingers needed to go in the oven and the potatoes needed turning. She should have waited to start them until after picking up Kelsie, but the weather was so nice, she liked to eat early and let Kelsie play outside until bath time. She was so glad there were only a few more days of school. Summer was always easier without the morning rush and the homework—although admittedly, at Kelsie’s age, homework consisted of one worksheet or reading. The reading part was fine as it was part of their bedtime routine anyway.

  The bell rang, and Molly scanned the faces, but it wasn't until almost all the other kids had left before Kelsie ambled out with Tiger clutched in her arms. The impatience Molly had felt drained away when Kelsie spotted her and grinned, her eyes lighting up. “Mommy!” She broke into a run, but with the stuffed animal in her arms, she couldn’t see where she was going and tripped at an uneven spot on the pavement.

  “Kelsie!” Molly rushed forward to help her. Her daughter scrambled up, her bottom lip quivering as she clutched a scraped knee.

  “It's bleeding!” Big, fat tears rolled down Kelsie's face and dripped onto the sidewalk.

  “Aw, sweetie. It's not so bad.” Molly bent to examine the leg. The skinned knee was smudged with blood, but nothing an adhesive bandage couldn't cure. She pulled Kelsie in for a hug. “Shhhh…hey, guess what?”

  Kelsie sniffled. “What?”

  “Tiger saved you. He's a hero!” Molly reached over and tugged the giant dog towards them. “He broke your fall. You would have bumped your nose on the sidewalk if not for him.” She gave the dog a little shake.

  Kelsie's eyes grew big. “He is a hero!”

  “Yep. And when we get home, I'll fix your knee up in no time, okay?” She glanced at her watch and stood, taking Kelsie's backpack and Tiger in one hand, and Kelsie’s hand in the other. “I have another surprise. We're having your favorite dinner of all time.”

  “Spaghetti?”

  Molly laughed. “No, your other favorite. Chicken fingers!”

  “Yum!” She tugged Molly's hand. “Come on, you're being a slowpoke, Mommy.”

  After helping Kelsie with her seat belt, Molly slid behind the wheel and sighed. Of course there had to be a whole line of buses waiting to exit the drive and they had the
misfortune of being behind a bus all the way home, slowing them even more. The potatoes were sure to be burnt and the chicken fingers still frozen. She drummed her fingers on the wheel, only half-listening as Kelsie chattered in the backseat.

  Almost an hour after she'd left, she pulled in her driveway. She rushed Kelsie up the steps into the house. “Hurry up, hon. I have to get the chicken fingers in the oven. You go put Tiger away and then I'll fix up your leg, okay?”

  Kelsie nodded and skipped through the kitchen. Molly followed her in, sniffing the air. Nothing was burning, and she could have sworn that adding to the potato scent was the aroma of baking chicken fingers. She set Kelsie's backpack on a chair and peeked into the oven. “What in the world?” The chicken fingers looked almost done, and the potatoes had been turned, the wedges a golden brown and nearly ready to come out.

  Molly walked into the living room, about to ask about the dinner, but stopped short. Kelsie sat on the coffee table, her sundress hiked up as she pointed out her owie to Sam. “I got a boo-boo like you. My mommy's gonna fix it, but guess what? Tiger saved me, and we're gonna have chicken fingers!”

  Sam nodded as he regarded Kelsie's injured knee and the stuffed animal. “Yeah, that's some dog you have there.” He reached out and chucked Tiger's muzzle.

  “Yep!” Kelsie jumped off the table, the toe of her shoe colliding with Sam's injured leg. He jerked, but said nothing, his lips tight.

  “Kelsie!” Molly moved into the living room. “Say you're sorry.”

  “What?”

  “You just hurt Mr…Mr. Sam's owie with your foot. You have to be more careful.”

  Kelsie looked from Sam to Molly, her lip pushing out. “I didn't mean to.”

  “I know, hon, but you need to apologize.”

  Sam waved his hand. “It's fine. It was an accident and I had my leg in the way.”

  “See, Mommy?”

  Molly sighed. “Yes, I see, but you still need to apologize.”

  Her eyes brimming, Kelsie turned to Sam. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kick your owie.”

  The corner of Sam’s eyes crinkled as he tilted his head and reached out, his fingers brushing over Kelsie’s hair before he pulled his hand back. He cleared his throat. “I know you didn’t.”

  The tears dried up instantly and Kelsie beamed first at Sam and then turned her smile on Molly.

  Molly watched the exchange, wondering at the softness in Sam’s expression, but Kelsie ran over to her and hugged her waist before she could process it fully. Pushing Kelsie’s hair out of her eyes, Molly bent and kissed her forehead. “Go wash up for dinner and put Tiger in your room like I told you.” She gave her a nudge towards the hall. When the little girl was in her room, she turned to Sam. “Sorry.”

  “Don't worry about it. I can handle a six-year old's kick.” His mouth quirked, but sorrow shadowed his eyes.

  “She can be pretty headstrong.” Molly crossed her arms. “Thank you for managing dinner for me. I appreciate it.”

  Sam shrugged, wincing at the motion. “Not a big deal. I owe you.”

  “No. Johnny owes me, but regardless, I appreciate the help. It was very thoughtful of you.” Molly noticed a flush staining Sam's cheeks and bit back a smile. The guy was uncomfortable with praise. “So, do you feel up to eating with us tonight?”

  “Sure.” Sam stood, his limp a bit more pronounced as he made his way to the kitchen.

  She wondered if she should take a look at his leg to see if any damage had been done, but Kelsie ran out of the bathroom holding a box of bandage strips. “Oh, hon. I almost forgot. Let me fix you up.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Feeling awkward, Sam leaned against the counter while Molly cleaned Kelsie's knee, and he felt a catch in his throat when she bent to kiss the scrape before putting the bandage on it. He remembered the days when a kiss could make everything all better. Looking for something to take his mind off the past, he scanned the kitchen and spotted the pot-holders. The chicken and potatoes were probably done.

  “Want me to get the stuff out of the oven?” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the oven mitts, and opened the oven door.

  “Sure. That would be great. I'm just going to nuke some corn. It'll only take a few minutes.”

  Molly opened the can of vegetables, poured them into a bowl and popped it in the microwave while Sam deposited three chicken fingers and half a dozen wedges on Kelsie's plate. “How many do you want? Four? Five?” He held the baking sheet in one hand, a spatula in the other as he waited for Molly's reply.

  The microwave beeped, and Molly glanced at him. “Five. I'm starving. And lots of wedges.”

  Sam grinned. “You got it.”

  He took the same for himself then returned the pan to the top of the stove. “You want something to drink? I can pour us something.”

  Molly laughed as she pulled the corn from the microwave. “This feels so odd. I'm not used to having help, but that would be great. Kelsie gets milk, but I'll have some of the lemonade in the pitcher. Help yourself to whatever looks good.”

  Sam pulled two glasses and a child's plastic cup from the cabinet. It did feel odd, yet also comfortable. He chose orange juice again, poured Molly her request and filled Kelsie's cup with milk. He set his and Molly's drinks at their places, and turned to get the milk.

  Molly had already grabbed it, but struggled to carry the corn, ketchup and the cup. He did a quick hobble towards her, reaching for the ketchup and milk. “After you.” He gestured to her chair.

  Molly slanted him a smile. “What a gentleman.”

  Sam felt warmth build in his chest. “Not really. I'm just hungry.” He put the milk in front of Kelsie. “There ya go, punkin.”

  The endearment slipped out before he could check it and guilt stole over him. It had been a long time since he'd used that tone of voice and he couldn't deny that it felt good, as though everything was okay. But, it wasn't okay and it wouldn't be until he finished his mission. He stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork and ate it, doing his best to tune out Kelsie's chatter and Molly's laughter.

  “Mr. Sam?”

  “Sam?”

  He jerked his head up, suddenly aware that they were both looking at him as though waiting for a reply. “I'm sorry. I didn't catch the question.”

  Molly's head tilted and she regarded him with a curious expression. “It's nothing. Kelsie just wondered where you learned to cook.”

  Embarrassed, Sam pasted on a smile. “All I did was stick the chicken in the oven.” He pointed his fork at Molly. “Your mom did the hard stuff.”

  Kelsie dipped a piece of chicken into a pile of ketchup and poked her finger at the ketchup covering the tip of the food. “Sometimes Mommy burns it.” She licked her finger.

  Startled, Sam couldn't help laughing. “Is that so?” He grinned at Molly.

  Molly covered her mouth and nose with her hands, but her laughter bubbled out. “Kelsie's right. I'm not the greatest chef in the world.” She lowered her hands and she shook her head. “Hon, you're not supposed to tell people that.” The crinkle at the corners of her eyes gave her away.

  “But it's the truth.” Kelsie's brown eyes became saucers. “You always said to tell the truth.”

  She turned the look on Sam, and he was sure the ice around his heart melted just a little bit. Damn it. He had to get out of here tomorrow. He averted his eyes and ate a potato wedge.

  Molly voice sounded puzzled as she answered Kelsie. “Yes, you're right. I do say that.”

  There was an uneasy quiet, broken only by the sound of silverware clinking against the dishes.

  “I'm full, Mommy. Can I go out and play with Gavin?”

  “Sure, hon. Put your plate in the sink first.”

  The little girl skipped out the back door, and Sam stood, carrying his plate to the sink, and rinsed it.

  “You don't have to do that.” Molly followed him to the sink, her own plate in hand.

  Sam glanced over his shoulder, ignoring her comment
and taking her plate from her, adding it to his own as he rinsed it. “I can clean this up if you have something else you want to do.”

  Molly quirked an eyebrow. “Seriously? You don't mind doing dishes?” Her lips curved.

  He gave a half-shrug. “What else have I got to do?” The truth was, he was tired of sitting on the couch and felt horrible for causing extra work. He soaped up a sponge and scrubbed the plates, running them under the faucet to rinse them.

  “Okay. I'll take you up on the offer, but I'm going to clear the table first.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  A few minutes later, she left a small stack of dishes beside the sink and wiped off the table before heading outside.

  Sam made short work of the rest of the dishes, saving the baking sheets for last. A few times, he heard Molly call to Kelsie. The little girl's laughter floated back to him, a slightly deeper laugh mingling with hers. A boyish belly laugh.

  He pressed his fingers against the edge of the sink until the hand clutching his heart released its grip. When would it get easier? He grabbed a clean sponge and wet it before he scrubbed out his pain on Molly's counter tops.

  “Hey?” Molly touched his forearm. “You realize that the gray is the actual granite, right? It doesn't come off.”

  Sam couldn't look at her. “Sorry.”

  Molly glanced at the counter, then took the sponge from him and tossed it in the sink. “Sam, I realize I don't know you very well, but what's going on? I don't have to be a paramedic to see that you're hurting.”

  Sam stared at the speckled gray stone but words and emotions tangled in his throat.

  “What were you doing at that bar? You don't belong there any more than Kelsie would.”

  Had his undercover skills always been so bad? Had everyone seen through his cover? Deep inside, he'd known that somehow it had been his fault. Now, Molly's observations confirmed it. “You're right. I didn't belong there.” He laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. “I don't belong anywhere.”