Finally she turned and headed toward her room. He followed, not sure if she was trying to ditch him. She stopped and faced him with her hand on the bedroom door.
“I’m going to change, all right?”
“You have five minutes before I come in there.”
Her nostrils flared and she slammed the door in his face. But less than five minutes later, she was standing in front of him in a sweater that hugged her curves, cowboy boots that went up to her knees, and a look on her face that told him he didn’t know what he was asking for, a look he’d seen many times before. He swallowed and took a step back, his blood running hot.
“You might want a jacket, too,” he managed, and turned around to lead the way out of the house, away from the bed behind her.
A few moments later they were out of sight of the house, loping over the field, stirring up dust behind them, taking the same route they’d taken time and again, always ending under the big oak on the hill, always ending with multiple orgasms. What was he doing, bringing her the same way? Tempting fate, was what.
“The place hasn’t changed much,” she said when they slowed to walk the horses up the path.
He looked over the winter-deadened grass, the scrub brush still a deep green against the gold of the thirsty grass, the occasional bunches of cactus. This was the land he worked, never an easy job, sometimes disappointing, but he always loved it. Always wanted to be a cowboy. “We had some trouble during the drought, had some fires, had to sell off quite a few head at a loss. But your dad always had good business sense and we pulled through. Could use some rain right about now.” He took a deep breath. “So what’s going on, Aubrey?”
She stiffened in the saddle, toyed with the reins. “Don’t know what you mean.”
“You’ve been home a few days, don’t leave the house, don’t do much besides drink. Something’s going on. You break up with someone or something? Because I can go kick his ass.” He already knew that wasn’t the issue—she would never give another person that much power over her life, her happiness.
She offered a wan smile. “No, nothing like that.”
Relief warmed his chest. “Well, what then?” He’d lost patience with her evasions. “It’s not like you to be here so long before Christmas, for one thing, for you to be cooped up in the house. You always say you come here to get outside. So what’s different?”
She heaved a breath, sagged a little. “I guess you don’t get Houston news out here?”
“You know we get San Antonio news.” What was she talking about?
“Let’s wait until we get to our spot.”
Curiosity piqued, he nudged his horse forward and she fell in behind him.
Once they reached the hill where they used to rendezvous, he dismounted and tethered his horse. She did the same, her movements stiff and out-of-practice. He kicked a couple of rocks and branches out of the way, tugged a blanket out of his pack and spread it on the ground. Again his groin tightened, remembering happier times. He sat, but she stood at the edge of the blanket, arms wrapped tight around herself.
“You didn’t happen to bring any wine to go with that blanket?” she asked, the corner of her mouth lifted.
Still he had an idea that she was mostly serious. “Nope.”
She walked toward the tree and leaned her shoulder against it. “Remember when we used to steal wine coolers and bring them up here?”
He did. For years he’d associated the taste of her with the taste of those fruity drinks. But he refused to be distracted. He kept his posture relaxed, though he didn’t feel relaxed, with her standing over him, tense.
“What happened in Houston, Aubrey?”
She picked up a blade of dried grass and twirled it between her fingers. “I had this case. Drug bust. Only the bad guys knew they were coming and recruited some kids to haul out some of their supplies, including guns, while we were approaching. One of the kids thought he was a bad-ass and raised his gun at my partner. I shouted a warning, but he didn’t lower his weapon. I could see his hand shaking, right, his finger on the trigger.” Her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, her eyes grew unfocused. “I couldn’t risk my partner, so I shot the kid in the leg, but he was so skinny. The bullet shattered his leg and severed his femoral artery. He bled out before the ambulance got there. He was fourteen.”
“Jesus, Aubrey.” What could he say to that? Horror clogged his throat, horror that a kid would be in a situation like that, horror at the decision Aubrey’d had to make, that she had to live with.
No wonder she was drinking.
He reached over to take her hand but she shifted out of reach, locked inside herself.
“It was the first time I’d fired my gun in the line of duty, and I killed a kid.” She threw the blade of grass away and shoved herself away from the tree. “It was justified—I was cleared of any charges, but he died in my arms. I see that every time I close my eyes. I replay the scene every time I try to go to sleep.” She stood over him and nudged his pack with the toe of her boot. “Sure you don’t have something to drink in there?”
He dragged it closer and pulled out a bottle of water and handed it to her, deliberately misunderstanding. She gave him a rueful look, but took the bottle anyway. She folded her legs to sit beside him, closer than she’d been before, and drank. So maybe not locked inside herself. Maybe looking for a way out.
“So you’re here because?” Had she been suspended because of her drinking?
“The captain wanted me to get my head together, and away from the media, who as you can imagine had a field day with a cop shooting a teenager. I had vacation time, but not a lot of vacation cash, so I came home.” She stared out over the distance. “I could be on a cruise ship somewhere getting sloshed.”
“And falling overboard.”
She dragged a hand through her hair. “Or jumping.”
“Aubrey.” Her tone made his gut tighten. Surely her thoughts hadn’t really headed in that direction. “Are you talking to anyone?”
“Sure, the department makes sure I talk to a therapist. Since I’m out here we’re doing it through a video chat.”
Was that enough? “What about someone you know, are friends with? Your fellow officers?”
“Sure, but people I’m particularly close to don’t know what it’s like.”
He sure as hell didn’t, could hardly imagine the helplessness, the uncertainty. But Deke...Deke would get it. “I may know someone.”
She turned sharp eyes to him. “You? How?”
“I have a friend who was in Afghanistan. I’ll see if he’s willing to talk to you, if you want.”
“Does he have whiskey?” she teased, though an edge sharpened her voice.
He didn’t answer, refused to, just watched as she sat back, her hands braced behind her, and closed her eyes, lifting her face to the breeze. She almost looked peaceful, and he imagined that was rough for her, after what she’d just told him. Damn it, this protectiveness he felt for her was going to kick him in the balls, but he couldn’t help himself. He reached out and stroked her hair, just as soft as he remembered. He thought she’d pull away, but instead she turned her face into his hand and rested her cheek against his palm.
Against his better judgement, he leaned over and brushed his lips against hers, just to see if she tasted like he remembered.
She opened her mouth on a moan and turned into his arms, digging her fingers into the back of his scalp like she was drowning and wanted him to save her. Jesus, he wanted to save her, especially when he tasted the whiskey-flavored desperation on her lips.
He should have pulled away. He sure as hell shouldn’t have let her climb on his lap, press her body against his as her mouth devoured his. She reached between them to unbutton his shirt, dragged her fingers over his bare skin. Everything in him wanted to tumble her back on the blanket, wanted to kiss his way down her body.
Instead, he captured her hands and eased back, breaking the kiss.
“Please,” she whi
spered, and broke his heart with the haunted look in her eyes.
“Not when you’re hurting.”
“I won’t be, not if you make love with me.”
He took a breath, considered. “When you’re sober.”
She gave a harsh laugh and pushed herself off his lap. “That was never a problem before.”
“We were involved before.”
She made a sound he couldn’t decipher. “We were involved with getting each other naked.”
Had it been like that for her? He had been in love with her, with her sass and her dreams and her daring. He’d missed her like hell when she left, and it had been more than sex. He’d missed the rides and the conversation and the laughter.
He didn’t want to make love with her until he could hear her laugh again.
She was pissed now, though, as she rose to her feet in a fluid movement and turned toward the horses. “I need to get back. Dad has a bottle of Scotch calling my name.”
2
Aubrey squinted against the bright light and the pounding. She dragged herself to the window and looked down at the driveway. The Ford F-250 that had picked her up from the airport was there beside her parents’ vehicles. She was sure Erich was the one banging on the door, but he was out of sight. She dragged the balcony doors open and stepped out to the rail.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Her own shout made her wince. He stepped back to look up at her, and damn him, he grinned.
“You look like shit.”
“That’s because I was sleeping.”
“Passed out, more like.”
She flipped him off.
“Get down here, Aubrey. I told you I’d take you to meet a friend. He’s waiting for us.”
“I’m not going anywhere today.”
“What, you’re going to sit inside and drink all day?” He looked at his watch. “Half the day, since it’s almost two?”
That gave her a jolt. Was it? She never slept so late unless she’d worked a long shift. She turned to look at the bedside clock. Despair sank in her stomach—her empty stomach. This was not who she was, but she couldn’t pull herself free. She didn’t want to be inside her own skin, so she sought oblivion.
When she turned back to Erich, he’d disappeared, though his truck was still in the drive. God, was that his voice she heard downstairs? Jen, the housekeeper who had kept her distance since Aubrey had been home, must have let him in. She flew into action when she heard his footsteps on the stairs, bolting for the door to lock it, but she was too late. He swung it open, dipping his shoulder as he strode forward, lifting her like a sack of potatoes without breaking stride. She shrieked in protest as her head flopped and her stomach roiled, but before she could catch her breath, they were in her bathroom. He reached behind the frosted blocks to twist on the shower, and hefted her to her feet, pushing her under the icy spray. Shocked and gasping for breath as the needles of water stole her breath, she tried to scream again, spitting mad, striking out at him. He pinned her against the wall with his hand to her chest, in the center of the HPD t-shirt she wore.
“Today I waited until two. Tomorrow, it’s nine. If that doesn’t work, the next day it’s six.”
“Don’t you have a job to do?” she snarled, ruining the effect when her teeth chattered.
“Yep.” He reached past her and turned the hot water on.
The shivering stopped, and she almost moaned with relief. He stepped back.
“Finish up here, then we’re going over to Deke’s. Brush your teeth while you’re at it.”
When he stepped out of the bathroom, she stripped off her wet shirt and panties, turned the cold water down and stood under the steaming water until it started to cool. She didn’t want to go talk to someone she didn’t know about this. She’d done that enough. But God knew she couldn’t talk to the people she did know about this.
None of them could understand the pain, the terror, the terrible guilt.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, Erich and Jen the housekeeper were in her room. Jen had a tray with dirty glasses, a half-empty bottle of American Honey and several small bottles, and Erich was reaching under her mattress. Her drawers were open, her luggage, her closet, and Erich straightened, holding two more tiny bottles.
Rage rose in her chest and she crossed to him, reaching for the bottles. He held them easily out of her reach.
“You want it that bad, you’re going to have to work for it. I’m not going to make it easy for you.”
“You have no idea what it’s like to be in my head right now!” she snapped, a wave of despair crashing over her at the thought of losing the one chance at relief she’d found. “No idea. I cannot...cannot deal.”
He placed the bottles on Jen’s tray and gripped Aubrey’s arms, forcing her to look at him, into those blue eyes that had haunted her for months after she left the ranch. She’d left him—why did he care what happened to her? The question formed as a snarl, but softened to true curiosity as she read the truth of it in his eyes. He did care, but why?
“You can deal. You had no choice, Aubrey. The kid would have killed your partner or you. You tried not to kill him.”
Jen gasped. Erich flicked his gaze to her and she left with a clink of bottles and glassware.
“You’re a cop, Aubrey. You trained with a gun, you knew it was a possibility.”
“But a kid. Everything inside me is black, Erich. So dark, I can’t find myself.”
He cursed and drew her close, into his arms, and she let herself, for just a moment, burrow into him, his heat, his strength.
“I don’t know how to help you, but I’m going to try. Let’s get you dressed, get you a hamburger and head to Deke’s.”
Aubrey devoured the hamburger and approximately a pitcher of tea at the diner in town, while Erich watched, eating his own burger much slower. She resisted the urge to flip him off, but he had remembered that her favorite cure for a hangover was a juicy hamburger.
“Tell me about Deke. How do you know him?”
He shrugged. “He moved to town after his tour was up. I met him at Barney’s, we started talking.”
“How long have you been friends? I mean, you’re pretty good friends, right? You didn’t just go up to this guy you see once in awhile and say, ‘So I have this old friend that shot somebody,’ did you?”
He chuckled. “We’ve been friends for a few years.”
She traced the condensation from her tea on the table. “Do you talk to him about his time over there?”
“Some.”
“I mean, he’s not one of those guys who doesn’t talk about it, is he? So we’ll be sitting there in awkward silence?”
“Aubrey, he knows why I’m bringing you over.”
“Will you be there?”
“Do you want me there?”
She honestly wasn’t sure. He knew the story, most of it, anyway, but telling him again, with an audience, made her feel vulnerable somehow. But so did sitting alone with a stranger.
“I don’t know. Let’s play it by ear.”
She wished she’d taken longer to eat, because waiting for him to finish was excruciating. And as the alcohol cleared from her brain, the dark clouds started rolling in, carrying with them flashes from that night. She didn’t realize her hands were fisted on the table in front of her until Erich tossed down his napkin, his meal unfinished.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Deke Worthey lived on the edge of town in a cracker box house with a wooden ramp leading from the driveway to the front door. Erich parked behind Deke’s truck and led the way up the ramp. They waited a few minutes after knocking, and the door swung open. Aubrey didn’t know why she was surprised to see Deke in a wheelchair. She just hadn’t expected to have to look down.
He was a good-looking guy with sandy-brown hair and a ready smile, and he thrust a hand toward her.
“You must be Aubrey. Come on in.” He rolled the chair back and they stepped into an open,
cheery little house, with windows all along the back. “I thought we could talk on the deck outside.” He looked past her to Erich. “You sticking around?”
Erich looked at Aubrey. The clouds were coming full-force now and she didn’t know if she could even talk to Deke, much less with Erich around. But he was her ride.
“Give me a call when you’re ready to head back,” he said, making the choice for her and backing toward the door. “Thanks, man,” he said to Deke, and left.
Left her alone with Deke, who pivoted his chair to lead the way to the deck.
“Want something to drink?” he asked as he slid open the back door.
“Have any whiskey?” she asked, only half joking.
He angled his head to look up at her. “I’ll get us some sweet tea.”
Apparently he’d been warned about her. “Do you need help?”
“Nah, I got it. Have a seat.” He motioned to the metal patio set and rolled back inside.
Aubrey sat on a padded chair and pressed her palms to the cold mesh table top. She didn’t know if she could do this without a drink. The clouds were obliterating everything. She fought them back, harder without the haze of alcohol. She let out a deep breath and forced herself to appreciate the view—and it was a really good view. Though the house was one-story, it was built on a hill, so the deck extended over the slope, looking out over rolling hills with cedar trees and scrub brush, another house tucked here and there. A pretty little corner of the world.
She jolted when he rolled out onto the deck, tea in a pitcher on a tray, two plastic glasses stacked upside down.
“Do you live here alone?” she asked.
“For now,” he said with a wink, sliding the tray onto the table. “Help yourself.”
Just to have something to do, she reached for a glass and the pitcher. “How long have you been back?”
“Three years. Nervous?” He motioned to the criss-crossing lines on her palms from being pressed against the table.
“I’m kind of getting used to talking to people I don’t know about it,” she lied. She had talked to people about it, but she sure as hell wasn’t used to it.
Home for the Holidays: A Contemporary Romance Anthology Page 18