Fall Into Me: Hearts of the South

by Linda Winfree

  He wrapped strong arms around her from behind, hugging her to him. The solid heat of his chest against her back tempted her to lean into him. He kissed the side of her neck, his laughter shivering over her.

  “I’ve been dying to get close to you…” His voice faded. She bit her lip, holding her body stiff in his embrace, and he went motionless, a sudden tension vibrating through him. “What’s wrong?”

  She pushed his arms away, trying to get words beyond the tightness in her raw throat.

  “Angel?” He touched her shoulder, a tentative, feathery contact that made her want to cry, to scream.

  “I’m pregnant.” Saying the words aloud, even in a small, shaky voice, sent the reality crashing through her all over again. Eyes closed, she dug her nails into her palms and waited for everything to fall apart.

  He hissed in a sharp breath. “What?”

  “You heard me.” Lifting her chin, setting her jaw, she turned to face him. “I’m pregnant. Somewhere between five and seven weeks, which means…which means…”

  He stared at her, gaze darting over her features. A hard swallow bobbed his Adam’s apple. “Which means it’s not mine. We weren’t…it’s only been—”

  “It’s not yours.” She rubbed at her arms. Sweet Jesus, she was cold.

  He glanced away and chafed a hand over his nape. A frown pulled at his brow. “So five to seven weeks…it could be Jim’s or Cookie’s.”

  “Exactly.”

  Her voice cracked, and his too-pale face softened. He reached for her. “Ah, baby.”

  “Stop. Don’t.” She fought his easy hold, his efforts to draw her close. “What are you doing? Don’t you get this?”

  “I get it.” He didn’t give in, pulling her to him with a gentle, inexorable grasp.

  “Troy Lee.” His name broke as it crossed her lips. “Do you hear me? I’m pregnant. I don’t know who the father is—”

  “Sshh.” Holding her close, he pressed soothing kisses to her temple and cheek. Tears seeped beneath her lashes, all of the day’s fear and pain gathering in a huge sob welling in her throat. “Damn it, why didn’t you say something earlier? Today had to be hell for you.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Weeping in earnest, she wound her fingers into the soft cotton of his shirt.

  “Doing what?” He rubbed his hand down her back, his cheek pressed to her hair.

  “This.” She uncurled her fingers, planted her palms against his chest and levered away. Panic twisted through her. She waved between them, tears still spilling from her eyes. She sniffled. “Being like this.”

  “Angel, you didn’t think…” He grabbed a couple of beverage napkins from the stack under the bar and pressed them into her hand. While she blew her nose, he folded one arm around her shoulders, sheltering her, while he wiped at her wet cheeks. “You didn’t think this would change how I feel about you?”

  With damp napkins crumpled in her hands, she looked up at him. “How can it not?”

  Confusion darkened his blue eyes. “Because it doesn’t. This doesn’t change who you are—”

  “Who I am?” She laughed, the sound strained and mirthless. “You mean a white-trash slut who tumbled from one bed to the next and got knocked up and now doesn’t even know which one it was?”

  Anger tightened his features, and his jaw ticked. “Don’t you ever say that about yourself again.”

  “It’s true.” She swung an arm out in an expansive gesture. “Isn’t that what everyone is going to say?”

  “Screw what everybody says. Angel, I…” He cradled her face in his palm and inhaled sharply. “I love you and nothing about this changes that.”

  He couldn’t say these things, couldn’t do this. “You don’t love me. You can’t.”

  “Actually, I do, and believe it or not, I’m capable of loving. Christine, my sisters, my Grandma Shirley.” His mouth hitched in a half-grin, although his eyes remained serious. “You.”

  She stared at him, thoughts tumbling over themselves in her fatigued brain. “What am I going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” He pulled her to him, wrapped his arms about her in a tight embrace, rubbed his face against her hair. “But you don’t have to worry about me going anywhere. I’m right here, Angel.”

  In slow motion, she allowed herself to lean in, to link her arms about his waist, to drink in his solid presence. “It’s not fair to you. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. I can’t ask you to.”

  His kiss at her temple was fierce. “You’re not asking me to do anything. I’m here because I want to be.”

  “I think…” She swallowed and pulled back, brushing her hair behind her ears, not quite able to meet his gaze. “I think we have to slow down, though. Until I figure out what to do. I have to get my head straight.”

  His hand slipped to her nape, to become a soothing, caressing weight there. “I can get that. You need some time.”

  She covered her face with both hands, a shaky half-laugh, half-sob escaping her. “You’re not normal, Troy Lee.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I don’t think normal is what you need.” He kissed her forehead. “Let me drive you home.”

  “I can drive.”

  “I know you can. Let me take care of you a little, all right? You look like you need it. You can sleep in, and I’ll get Chris to run over here with me in the morning and we’ll drop off your car at your place.” He tucked her against his chest again, mouth buried in her hair. “Sound good?”

  She nodded and sighed into his chest. “Take me home.”

  Mark’s cell rang what felt like mere moments after his head hit the pillow and he shut his eyes. Without opening them, he fumbled for the vibrating rectangle. “Cook.”

  “Hey.” Suppressed tears quivered in Tori’s voice, bringing him to instant alertness. “Did I wake you?”

  “I just laid down. What’s wrong?”

  “Can you come over?”

  Nightmares, flashbacks of the rape. She didn’t have to say it. “I’m on my way.”

  He tugged on jeans and a T-shirt, slid his feet into loafers and tucked his phone and keys in his pocket. This late the apartment complex was quiet and deserted. The temperature had dropped and a wave of goose bumps lifted on his bare arms. He jogged up the stairs to Tori’s second-floor apartment, but she swung the door open before he could knock. Sure enough, in her pale face her eyes glittered with unshed tears.

  “Oh, honey.” He stepped inside and pushed the door shut with his foot. He tugged her close and she wrapped her arms around him. “Bad?”

  “Horrible.” She burrowed closer. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.” He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. “Come on, let’s go to bed and get some sleep.”

  He made sure the door was locked then, hands at her hips, guided her before him down the hall to her room. The lights blazed there, the snowy white sheets and coverlet rumpled. As she climbed back into bed, he tugged his shirt over his head and shed his jeans. A smile touched his mouth at the memory of the first time they’d shared this bed, one of the first innocent opportunities he’d had to hold her in his arms. She’d been jittery with fear at even that small contact; the proof of her growing confidence in them, in herself, lay in the easy way she turned into his arms as soon as he slid beneath the sheet.

  “I hate this,” she whispered, face buried in the curve of his throat. “I just want to be normal, Mark.”

  “You are.” He caressed her nape and down her shoulder, lowering his voice to a calming whisper. “Strong, beautiful and absolutely normal. You’re perfect just as you are, Tor.”

  “Perfect?” Her soft noise of dissent puffed against his skin.

  “Yes. Perfect.” With her settled against him, sleep tempted him.

  She relaxed into him, her palm over his heart. “I still worry, you know, that all my issues and my insecurities will be too much—”

  “Tori.” How could she even begin to think that? His palm under her chin, he tilted her gaze u
p to his. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, but—”

  “No buts. That’s bigger than anything, any issue or problem. I promise.”

  “I’m holding you to that.” She yawned and snuggled into him.

  “Okay.” He dropped a kiss on her cheekbone. “I promise you, honey, anything that comes, we can handle.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Troy Lee hit the ground running. His mind turning over and over, he ran longer than he intended, making him late to meet Chris to pick up Angel’s car. As he’d expected, Chris didn’t ask for explanations, merely rode along to follow in the Jeep while they ferried the Mustang to Angel’s place. Troy Lee parked it in her customary spot, cast one long glance at the closed front door and headed for the department to sign in for his split shift.

  He clocked in and checked his officer mailbox, flipping through a couple of memos and the new Galls catalog.

  “So if I get in a car with you today, will I be risking my life?”

  At Cookie’s voice, he jumped. Shoving the mailer back in the box, he turned to face the investigator. Cookie laid a couple of folders on his desk, sank into his chair and opened a drawer to dig out the phone book. It was a normal, ordinary, one-in-a-thousand interaction, and the reality Troy Lee had been dodging since the night before careened into him.

  The baby growing in Angel’s body might be Cookie’s. Troy Lee rubbed a hand over his mouth, a raw spurt of primal possessiveness shooting under his skin. Jealousy wasn’t his thing—he’d always equated it with insecurity—but this sure as hell felt like the green-eyed monster.

  Or maybe protective anger, because something that hadn’t meant anything, that shouldn’t have mattered in the long run, had reduced Angel to tears and doubt and fear.

  “Troy Lee?”

  He shook himself free of the tide of emotion and focused on Cookie, who watched him with a slight frown, his brows dipping into a V. “Yeah.”

  “You all right?”

  “I’m fine.” The words sounded curt even to him.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I said I was fine.”

  Cookie shrugged and dropped his gaze to the phone book, flipping a couple of pages. “You act like something’s under your skin.”

  “Nothing’s under my skin. I’m just…” He tried to expel the unreasonable resentment in a deep breath. He scrawled his initials across the memo and thrust it into the department inbox. “I’m edgy today.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Look, just drop it, okay?”

  “Getting it off your chest might help.”

  Fury sizzled through his brain. Even if he could talk about it, he couldn’t to Cookie. The quagmire tangled him a little bit tighter. “You know, Cookie, dating a therapist doesn’t make you one.”

  “She’s not a therapist.” Unperturbed by the animosity, Cookie scribbled down a number on his desk blotter and dropped the phone book back in the drawer. “She’s a crisis counselor.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Get your emotions off your sleeve, kid.” Cookie looked up to fix him with a steady gaze. “Giving into it takes away your focus and that’ll get you hurt.”

  The word kid grated, but he swallowed a retort. Turning his attitude loose this morning probably wasn’t a good idea. He breathed through another flow of antipathy, centering his attention on the bulletin board across the room. He was going to have to deal with this. Might as well start now.

  “Neat trick.” Cookie’s voice washed over him, and this time the bitterness stayed at bay. “Where’d you learn that?”

  “Running.” He shrugged. “Something my dad taught me. I used to let the other runners freak me out, if I could hear them breathing behind me. So I learned to focus on the center point and let everything else slide away.”

  “You never answered the question. If I get in a car with you today, am I putting my life at risk?”

  “Life is always a risk. You think things are going to go one way, then life happens. You can either fight or learn to roll with it.”

  “You’re a genius at more than math, aren’t you, kid?”

  “I’m no genius. I’ve just figured out that there are always variables you can’t control.” He lifted his chin and met Cookie’s incisive gaze head on. “I’m not a kid anymore, either.”

  Cookie studied him for a long moment. “No, I don’t believe you are.” With a sharp nod, he pushed up from the chair. “Come on, Troy Lee. Let’s go to work.”

  ***

  Clad in bra and panties, Angel paused in the process of dressing and stared at herself in the bureau mirror. Turning sideways, she pressed her palm over her lower belly. She didn’t look any different. Other than the nausea and fatigue, she didn’t feel any different.

  And yet, the child growing beneath her shaking fingers made everything different. A baby. Her child. Under her hand, one of her sweetest, most private dreams was unfurling. Shouldn’t she be thankful for this tiny life?

  Desperate hope took hold. Last night, Troy Lee hadn’t turned away. His reaction had been so much more than she could have dreamed. Maybe she could have both, her baby and the man she loved.

  She was pretty sure she did love him. She closed her eyes, the sweetness of his declaration winding through her once more. The heck of it was, she believed him. So maybe…maybe she could have everything. Maybe she hadn’t ruined it all.

  A knock sounded at the door and drew her from the reverie. She snatched up the red dress and jerked it over her head before padding barefoot to the front door.

  She opened it to find Troy Lee in full uniform, standing on her porch and regarding her with a serious expression. She wrapped a hand around the door, rubbing one ankle with the bare toes of her other foot. “Hey.”

  He didn’t smile. “Hey.”

  Oh, this didn’t feel good, this quiet, serious reserve of his. She tightened her grip on the door. “Thank you for bringing my car by this morning.”

  “You’re welcome.” His gaze traced her face and his features softened. “I should have called first, probably. I don’t have to sign back on until seven, and I thought I’d see if you wanted to grab a bite before you opened the club.”

  Relief flooded her, leaving her knees trembling and weak. “That sounds great. Let me get my boots.”

  He followed her to her bedroom door. “So how are you today?”

  She tugged on one sock and boot and looked up at him. “I didn’t throw up this morning.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “That’s good.”

  “That’s very good.” She slid on her other sock and boot. She rose, smoothing her skirt. He leaned in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the jamb, and she studied him, acutely aware he had yet to touch her. Sadness tinged her relief. Already, things were changed between them. She cradled her elbows. “Ready to go?”

  “I’d be more ready if you’d get over here and let me kiss you.”

  “What happened to the Troy Lee who didn’t ask for permission?”

  “You told him you needed time.”

  “I also need him.” She crossed to link her arms about his waist and turned her face up. “And I really, really like his kisses.”

  “Good. Because they’re all yours.” He lowered his head, mouth molding to hers in an easy caress. She drank in the warmth and affection of that kiss. He lifted his head, thumb caressing her shoulder, exposed by the square neckline. “Grab your coat and let’s get something to eat.”

  By tacit agreement, they picked up sandwiches from Lisa’s and took them to the small riverfront park, as they had that first morning together. However, this afternoon, he slid onto the bench beside her, stretching his arm along the pavilion railing, sheltering her from the cool breeze. They ate without words, and occasionally he fingered the ends of her hair. Under the silence, and in his steady presence, she relaxed, more of the tension seeping away.

  Hands wrapped around her cup of warm strawberry tea, she leaned into him. “I’ve been think
ing today, about whether or not to tell them.”

  “And?” He trailed a knuckle along her neck, a long soothing sweep of contact.

  “It’s too soon. I can’t…I can’t face that yet.” She blinked hard, the brown river shimmering before her gaze. “You probably think I’m a coward.”

  “I think you’re the only one who can make those decisions right now.” The rough warmth of his knuckle traveled along her jaw. “And coward is the last thing I’d ever think about you.”

  “This situation and us being together…it puts you in a bad place at work, doesn’t it?”

  “I can deal.”

  She twisted, facing him but pulling away far enough to draw one knee up sideways on the bench. “I don’t want to mess up your life, Troy Lee.”

  “I can really only think of one way you might do that, Angel, and this isn’t it. Listen to me.” He curled his hand around her nape. “I’m here. I’m here because I want to be. I’m not naïve. I know this is hard for you, that it’ll probably be hard for us. It’s bound to be, but I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

  “But this could really mess up theirs.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  She laid a hand on his knee, rubbing her fingernail along the razor-sharp seam on the front of his brown slacks. “Do you think I’m wrong then, not telling them?”

  “I…” He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing on a sharp swallow. “I think if it was me, I’d want to know, so I could deal with it. But this is your decision. I can’t tell you what to do.”

  She almost wanted him to, wanted some of the overwhelming responsibility lifted from her shoulders.

  “I’ll stand by you.” He whispered the assurance close to her ear, his warm breath stirring her hair. “I’ll be whatever you need me to be. You can count on that.”

  She circled her thumb over his knee. “So what do we do? How do we make this work?”

  “We believe.” Tightening his hold at her nape, he drew her toward him, touching her lips lightly with his. “One second.” Another brief mingling of mouths. “And another.”