An image of a young woman with pleading dark eyes flashed in his head. Begging him to save her. She had broken him and that day he had given in to his captors and begun to tell them everything they wanted to know. The day he became a failure as a soldier, son, and brother.
If he helped Sara, what part of his soul would he lose this time?
Right now she looked ready to flee, but to her credit she stayed put. Her hands shook when she wrapped them around her mug. The bandage on her head stood out against her pale skin. She looked strung out and ready to collapse, but Murphy wasn’t finished with her. He wanted answers.
“It’s a long story,” she finally said.
“We aren’t going anywhere.”
Her lips thinned into a straight line and her knuckles turned white on her cup from gripping so tightly.
“I can’t,” she whispered and rose to her feet. Seconds later she closed the bedroom door behind her, ending the conversation.
Murphy stared at the closed door. Couldn’t or wouldn’t? Hell, he shouldn’t want to know her story.
Turning away, he grabbed a cast iron skillet out of the cupboard and set it on a burner. He pulled eggs, cheese, peppers, onions, and mushrooms out of the fridge, and busied himself making omelets. He slid the last one on a plate as the bedroom door opened and Sara and Abby walked out. Abby looked tired but happy. Sara looked like the walking dead. The circles under her eyes illuminated her pale skin, and the bandage at her temple was tinged with blood. Her steps were heavy and her hand shook when she smoothed Abby’s hair into place. Both looked longingly at the plates set on the table.
“Eat,” Murphy commanded, laying the pan in the sink and running water in it. “All I have is orange juice for the girl.”
Sara and Abby sat down. “Orange juice is her favorite. This was very kind of you.”
Murphy shrugged off the compliment and turned the water off.
“Aren’t you going to join us?”
He hadn’t planned on it, but when he turned and saw Abby pointing to the chair beside her with hopeful eyes, he couldn’t see any other choice. He picked up his plate and carried it to the table. When he sat down next to her, Abby smiled and ate a big bite of her omelet.
“This is very good,” Sara said a few bites later.
Murphy glanced up to see Abby give him a thumbs-up sign. She had eaten three quarters of hers already. For a little one she had a healthy appetite. Murphy pursed his lips and looked down at his plate, feeling the girl’s eyes on him. He already missed his privacy.
They finished in silence. Sara settled Abby on the sofa with a coloring book and crayons and joined Murphy in the kitchen. He was elbow deep in dishwater by the time she picked up a towel and began drying the dishes he’d already washed. He glanced down at her and frowned. She smiled in return and continued her task. In the small kitchen, she didn’t have to open many cupboards in order to find out where the dishes went.
When they were finished, Murphy ordered her into a chair so he could change her bandage.
Eyes wide, Sara said, “Can’t we do it in the bathroom instead? I don’t want Abby to see the wound. It might scare her.”
He nodded and strode toward the bathroom. He set out supplies on the countertop while Sara let Abby know she would be right back. When Sara appeared moments later, he had to stand aside so she could enter. The bathroom was too small to accommodate both of them comfortably, so she turned sideways to get by. She sat down on the toilet seat and lifted her head to look at him.
He frowned at her. She was too short sitting there; he wasn’t going to be able to work like this. He slid the supplies over to the other side of the sink. “Sit up here.”
Sara glanced skeptically at the small space. “On the sink?”
“I can’t reach you down there.”
“Oh. Um, okay.”
She stood and Murphy stepped back while she turned her back to the sink and with a little hop landed lightly on the counter. She let out a tiny groan and squeezed her eyes shut as she swayed slightly. He moved in front of her and trapped her between his legs to prevent her from falling. She reached out and wrapped her hand around his forearm to steady herself.
Her eyes opened slowly and she blinked to focus. She stared up at him with eyes the color of the sky, holding him captive. He had never seen eyes quite that color.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “I got a little dizzy.”
He felt her fingers tighten on his arm, heard her speak, but couldn’t look away. She held him prisoner with her pretty eyes and angelic face. They were close, her legs dangling between his, their thighs touching. He felt like a giant next to her. A big, scarred giant.
Abruptly, he stepped back and her hand fell to her side. She sent him a quizzical look before dropping her gaze to her lap. Using a finger under her chin, he tilted her head up and removed the bandage. Her eyes followed his movements as he tossed it in the trashcan at his feet and picked up a wet washcloth. She continued to watch him as he cleaned the skin around the wound. Normally he wouldn’t care if people stared, but with Sara it made him uneasy. His scar was a topic of conversation everywhere he went, which wasn’t many places these days, and drew all kinds of unwanted attention. But Murphy had thick skin; he never cared and dared anyone to comment on it. No one did.
He leaned over to inspect the wound and instantly felt the air change around them. It wasn’t a subtle change. More like someone lit a match, flaring instantly to life.
Sara must have noticed too, because she drew in a sharp breath.
He cursed and straightened. He’d been too long without a woman. With a scowl he reached for the gauze pads.
“Murphy…” Sara said, her tone soft and questioning.
“Almost done. You may have a mild concussion, so no sudden movements.” He pressed the gauze to her temple and secured it with two thin pieces of tape. Then he covered it with a bandage. He didn’t have answers for her and wasn’t about to discuss what just happened.
“Did you feel…”
“No,” he snapped, stepping back. “We’re finished.” He walked out, because he sure as hell couldn’t explain the spark between them.
Chapter 5
Sara let out a long sigh and slipped farther down in the tub. Water lapped against her chin. Murphy didn’t have anything other than bar soap, so she settled for hot water and solitude. Putting Abby to bed had been a chore. She’d awakened after half an hour with a nightmare and Sara had to lie down with her until she fell asleep again. She hated to see Abby suffering and knew the nightmare wasn’t over for either of them. They were still without a home and it hurt to think she’d torn Abby away from the only family she had ever known. A family she would never know. Sara would make sure of that. Her daughter’s life had been disrupted and Sara was seeing the repercussions of her decisions. Decisions made out of necessity and fear of what would happen if she stayed.
A shudder ran through her and tiny waves rippled across the water. She couldn’t think about that. She’d done the right thing by leaving. Abby may not understand why she’d been taken from her home and moved from place to place and forced to wear disguises, but it had to be done. Sara refused to give up her daughter, no matter what the Benchleys threatened her with. She wasn’t going to bow to their wishes. Probably the first time in history someone had dared dispute the rich and powerful family. Leave it to her to be the first one to screw up. Seemed that’s all she ever did.
Quitting college to work two lame jobs just to make ends meet was only the beginning of a long list of mistakes. Then she’d married the first charming guy to come along on a white horse, sweep her off her feet and whisk her away to a castle in the hills. That had to be the biggest mistake of all. What a fool she’d been.
“And hindsight is twenty-twenty,” she muttered, leaning her head on the rim of the tub and closing her eyes. She was tense again, which defeated the purpose of her bath, so she pushed the thoughts of her dead husband away and focused on something more productive. L
ike the man who’d saved her daughter’s life. Never had she met a man like Murphy. The polar opposite of Kent. A man like Murphy probably sent most people running. She suspected he did it on purpose, but she wasn’t buying it.
She bet if she peeled away his layers one at a time, she’d find a man she could admire. Unlike Kent, who had morphed into a completely different man after they married. It hadn’t taken long to figure him out. And when she had, she hadn’t liked what she’d seen. He’d changed and not for the better. Especially after Abby was born.
Sara shuddered and berated herself for slipping so easily into the past. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to do that anymore. The one promise she’d made to herself on her way out the door.
With a sigh, she sat up in the tub. “Well, hell,” she muttered. This wasn’t working. She was supposed to be soaking her weary, achy body, not dwelling on past mistakes. The heat of the water hadn’t relaxed her; instead she was too wired to sleep. Murphy had retired to his room when she tucked Abby into bed and she hadn’t seen or heard him since. If he had a television, she’d go out and watch it for awhile to unwind but there wasn’t one. Same as a telephone. No computer either, as if he wanted to cut all ties to the outside world.
Standing, Sara grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her middle. She inhaled deeply and sighed. Murphy’s towels smelled like him. Masculine and outdoorsy. She’d picked up his scent when he trapped her between his thighs earlier and the memory still lingered. So did the zing of energy that had passed between them. She didn’t know what it was, but it made butterflies flutter in her stomach. Murphy’s scowl told her he had felt it, though he masked his reaction beneath a stony expression.
Drying quickly, she slipped into a pair of drawstring shorts and matching tank top. She had gotten out of the habit of wearing lacy nightgowns when Kent moved out of their bedroom after Abby was born. He had said they made her look sexy. They hadn’t made her feel sexy, they made her feel cheap.
Disgusted with herself, Sara hung up her towel, cleaned out the tub and stepped out of the bathroom into the darkened living room. She checked on Abby, who slept soundly, and tiptoed into the kitchen for a glass of warm milk to help settle her nerves. Murphy’s door was closed so she tried not to make any noise as she took a pan out of the cupboard and poured milk into it. No microwave, so she warmed it on the stove.
She looked around his cabin. Sparse, almost to the point of utilitarian. No extras and very efficient. Like the man.
Placing the pan over the burner and turning it on, Sara propped a hip against the counter. Murphy’s cabin was much nicer than the one she and Abby had rented. The owner told her it was a hunting cabin and not typically rented to women. He warned her about the animals hanging on the walls and hunting paraphernalia before she agreed to it. It hadn’t bothered her too much that there was a stuffed head above the fireplace. Abby had wrinkled her nose and shuddered and kept casting wary glances at it, though.
Murphy didn’t have any stuffed animals hanging on his walls. In fact, he didn’t have anything hanging on his walls. No pictures or knickknacks. Nothing that hinted where he came from or who he was. She knew why she didn’t carry any pieces of her past with her, but why didn’t Murphy?
The milk started to simmer so she turned off the burner, poured it into a glass, and quickly washed the pan in the sink. She carried the glass into the living room and stood in front of the window, staring into the darkness. Rain still poured down, bouncing off the roof, and washing out the road.
She sipped the milk and stared into the night. Her past lay in wait somewhere out there. A past that wouldn’t let her move on. And she so desperately wanted to move on. Start over. Do things right.
A sigh of weariness escaped her as she rubbed a hand over the back of her neck. Lord, she was tired. Tired of running and living in fear. She wanted to settle down in a town where no one knew them, and start a new life. Just her and Abby. Maybe she’d go back to school and finish her degree. Put Abby in a nice school, save up enough money to buy a house and get a dog. A big, furry dog for Abby to play with in the back yard, happy and free.
A smile tilted her lips at the thought of Abby playing in a big yard with a puppy. That’s what she wanted for her daughter. Freedom to play and laugh without the fear of being taken out of her home in the middle of the night and moved around from place to place. How could she accomplish that? At this point everything seemed impossible. She couldn’t fight the Benchleys. She didn’t have their money or power. They would get what they wanted and she was powerless to stop them.
She pressed her forehead against the cool glass. What was she going to do? They were running out of places to hide and she had no family left, no friends. No one she could turn to for help. Her savings used up, her jewelry pawned in order to keep her and Abby fed the past months. Getting a job was out of the question for fear they would track her if she used her real name. She could sell her SUV to buy a cheap car and live on the rest of the money after she got the tires fixed.
Tears welled behind her closed eyelids. What would she do then? Couldn’t leave town without gas money and she couldn’t stay. Stephen was here. He would eventually catch up to her and now she had no means to run. She considered robbing a bank and let out a low, harsh laugh. She’d lose Abby for sure then. Maybe she could humble herself to ask Murphy for another favor and see if he would loan her some money to fix her tires and pay for the destruction of the cabin.
The burden on her shoulders grew heavier. How would she get through this? Never had she felt more alone. She wasn’t able to provide for her daughter, she couldn’t pay for damages Stephen caused, she couldn’t fix her SUV, and she was trapped in this quiet cabin in the mountains with a man who made it clear he didn’t want her here. The walls were closing in and options were running out.
Tears slid silently down her cheeks and she didn’t try to stop them. Losing Abby had almost broken her. Nothing the Benchleys had done could do that, but the thought of going on without Abby was more than she could handle. She knew she would get through the rest, but not without her daughter. Abby’s sweet, innocent face floated in front of her and Sara’s shoulders shook with anguish of what she’d almost lost. The glass in her hand slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor. A light snapped on.
“What the hell?”
Sara heard the low growl and jumped, her head snapping up and her hand going to her eyes to wipe away the evidence of her tears. She turned to see Murphy standing in his doorway, glowering at her.
Horrified, Sara wiped her eyes and turned away but he stopped her.
“Don’t move.”
She obeyed and stood frozen in place, struggling to bring her emotions under control. He must think she was a weak, emotional female because she continued to break down like this in front of him.
He strode into the utility room, returned with a broom and dustpan, and propped them against the wall. He swept her into his arms, holding her against his chest as he carried her to the sofa. Sara clung to his neck, the heat of his body seeping into hers. The rigid set of his strong jaw made her want to smooth her hand over it, apologize for waking him. He deposited her on the cushions and left her there while he cleaned up the broken glass and spilled milk.
Embarrassed that he had to clean up after her, Sara swung her legs to the floor, wiped her face, and stood.
Murphy crouched on the floor, sweeping glass into the dustpan. He glanced over his shoulder at her and scowled, stopping her in her tracks.
“Sit down before you fall down,” he ordered.
Deflated, Sara dropped onto the sofa. Maybe she should just go to bed and pretend she hadn’t made a mess of her life. She really needed to feel Abby’s arms around her right now. To know she was safe. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so alone.
Fresh tears threatened as she watched Murphy finish cleaning up the mess and dispose of it. He did it without complaint or comment and with quick, efficient movements that wasted no time. When he finished, he r
eturned the broom and pan to the utility room and came to stand over her, eyes probing.
It hurt her neck to meet his eyes so she stared at her lap. “I’m sorry about the glass.”
“I don’t care about the glass.”
Her back stiffened. “I’m sorry you had to clean up my mess.”
“I don’t care about the mess.”
“I’m going to bed.” She sighed and started to stand.
He pushed her down with a hand on her shoulder and sat on the coffee table in front of her, his knees trapping hers so she couldn’t escape. The determined look in his eyes told her he wanted answers.
Sara knew she looked like hell when she cried. Her nose got red and her eyes got puffy. She sat back against the sofa cushions and wished they would swallow her up so she could avoid this interrogation. She doubted Murphy would show any mercy.
“Why the tears?” he demanded and handed her a paper towel to wipe her nose.
Sara took it and dabbed her eyes before blowing her nose. She took a shaky breath before answering and hoped Murphy would go easy on her.
“I had a moment.”
Murphy pinned her with a hard stare. “What was this ‘moment’ about?”
Had she said easy? Surely not.
“It doesn’t matter.”
His hand snaked out and gripped her chin. “It does matter. What’s wrong?”
Oh, life. “I almost lost my daughter, that’s upsetting.” She met his eyes but didn’t try to pull away. Why bother? He wouldn’t let her go until he was ready.
Murphy searched her eyes and she knew he saw more than she wanted him to. “There’s more to it than that.”
Merciless.
“Yes, and I’m not talking about it. I’m fine now.”
The calluses on his palm scraped her skin when she talked. It wasn’t an uncomfortable sensation, just different. Kent’s hands had been smooth and well groomed. As a lawyer, he never saw the physical side of labor.
Murphy's Law Page 5