by Unknown
“It’s okay,” she said when, for at least the fourth time, he stopped probing for the bullet and rested his forehead against his fist. He drew several shaky breaths. His shoulders trembled. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath he sucked in and released. She no longer knew which one of them suffered the most.
He looked up, his eyes heated. “Maybe it’s okay to you, but this is shit for me. Hell, you’re pregnant.”
“Yeah, love how you love to remind me of that.”
“It isn’t that. What if I do something to injure the baby?” His face matched the seriousness of his voice.
Although she knew he was legitimately concerned about her baby, she couldn’t keep from grinning. “My boob’s a long way from my womb. You aren’t going to hurt the baby.”
“Well shit, I never took out a bullet before.”
“No worries, you haven’t taken out this one yet.”
His gaze jerked to her face. Amusement crinkled the corners of his intense blue eyes. “Sassy. You always were. There’s something I have to do before I try this again.”
She frowned. “What?” What on earth could he possibly have to do at this exact moment?
He placed the knife very precisely on the table so the blade remained as sterile as possible. Handling her as if she was as delicate as a butterfly, he pulled her into his arms, and whispered, “This…”
Jayla barely had time to grasp his intent before his mouth claimed hers. She’d always been the aggressive one, the one who acted on impulse. Oh, dear God, even if it had taken seven damn years for him to get around to it, this was worth waiting for. She didn’t feel pain, cold, or anything—except the hot pressure of his mouth on hers.
She parted her lips welcoming the light stroke of his tongue against hers. It was like a game of Hide-N-Seek. His tongue lightly touched hers, retreated, only to return, touch, and slip away. It drove her crazy! Oh how she wanted this, had dreamed of this.
He molded her mouth beneath the hunger of his, his tongue returning to do a slow dance around hers until it captured and conquered. Oh, yes, definitely worth waiting for. She resented the fact that he freed her mouth, settled her back on the bed, picked up the knife, and lifted a brow. “Well?” he said. “Let go of my arm so I can dig out that damn bullet.”
Jayla blinked. That was it? Kiss and run? He had nothing more to say? Nothing to say about the incredible moment they’d just shared, the kiss or if it rocked his world as much as it shook hers? Huh. Her world had just spun out of control and all he could think about was removing that hateful bullet? If she wasn’t in so much pain, she’d smack him one.
He clamped his lower lip between his teeth and edged the tip of the knife a little deeper.
A sharp hiss escaped her. “Sorry.”
He paused, eyed her. “Okay?”
“Yes.” She tried concentrating on something else. “I’m getting blood on the towel, on the sheets.” Oh, Lord, don’t say that. It isn’t going to help him or me.
“Don’t you dare say that again,” he ordered, as if reading her thoughts.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a bully?” She gasped as the tip of the knife sank deeper in muscle. Lord, she’d never known the kiss of steel felt so cold. She shivered.
“Not lately. There! I feel the bullet.”
“Yeah, so do I.” She drew a harsh breath, released it and prayed the torment would soon end. “Why’d you kiss me?”
He glanced down at her and shrugged. “Seemed like the thing to do.”
What kind of answer was that? Jayla fumed. Why on earth did she care about this man? He was difficult to say the least. Unromantic. Stubborn to a fault. “The thing to do?”
“It got your mind off the pain for a little while, didn’t it? Hang on, this is gonna hurt.”
“Like it doesn’t already?”
“Not like it’s going to.”
“Mother of God, just take it out,” she screeched.
“It’s out.”
“Let me up.”
“You need to lie still.” He pushed her back on the bed and dropped the bullet in a little bowl on the nightstand.
“Let me up,” she repeated on a strangled note. “Oh, God, I’m going to be si–sick.” No sooner were the words spoken, and he hurried to help her sit on the side of the bed, she lost it—on him. “Oh, shit,” she said, and retched again.
He leapt back, a surprised bark escaping him.
Jayla slapped a hand across her mouth, a bit late since the damage was already done. Poor Wild. The front of his shirt and his boots had caught the worst of it. Oh, joy! This day just kept getting better and better. Wasn’t it bad enough she’d bled like a cut monkey all over his jeans, now she’d shared her last meal with him too?
She looked up, bent on apologizing, but the words died in the back of her throat. She’d never seen anyone who looked quite so shell-shocked. He stood there frozen as a March hare in a late spring snowstorm, his face void of expression, eyes blank, mouth working like a fish out of water.
Was he even breathing?
Ah, yes. There. She saw a tiny sign of life returning to his eyes. He blinked and seemed to mentally shake himself.
For a moment, he stared at her with utter disbelief, then slowly eyed the front of his shirt. He looked like a man who’d reached the end of his rope and dangled over a pit of hot coals by a single fiber of hemp.
Tears clogged her throat. Why could she never get it right with this man? All she wanted was for him to love her. At the rate she was going, he’d end up hating her even more than he already did. She was such a ninny. “I’m sorry.” She felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t say a word. He merely tucked her towel in place, cupped her elbow and helped her to her feet and across the room to the bathroom.
Jayla washed her face and rinsed her mouth. Slowly, she raised her head and waited for his explosion. The air hummed with silence, but it was coming. There was always an explosion when a man’s pride was bruised, or his shirt upchucked on, wasn’t there?
And he probably loved his boots the way he did his hat. It was surely some kind of requirement from the Code of the West Handbook. A cowboy loved his hat, boots, spurs, and horse. And why was she allowing her thoughts to ramble on when there were important matters to attend?
The hush surrounded her, making her sick to her stomach again. Her heart pounded. Might as well get it over, then she could lie down and maybe shut out the world for a little while.
He stood there propped against the door facing watching her. Just watching. His arms folded across his chest, but she didn’t see anger. If anything, he looked reserved, as if he wanted to put some distance between them. In that case, he shouldn’t have kissed her, or removed his soiled shirt, and though she didn’t mean to, Jayla couldn’t take her gaze off his wide inviting chest.
Dusted with dark hair, his pecs looked amazing, hard, and tempting. Her fingers curled into her palms. A slow ache crawled deep inside her womb and settled there, hot and fluid and ravenous. It was all she could do not to touch him, not to trace the pattern of the tiny whorls of hair fanned out in a V-shape, wicked and alluring.
He’d kicked off his boots, so he stood there in his stocking feet and she wondered how he made that look so damn sexy.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Huh?” She blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry for…you know…making you the target.”
“You can’t help because you were sick. I’d have been more surprised if you weren’t.”
“You looked shocked.”
He winced. “Well, as you said, I wasn’t expecting to be your target. Come on. I wanna wash that site, put in a few stitches, and bandage it.” He guided her back to the bed and settled her on the edge. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You don’t feel faint or anything like that?”
With his bare chest practically pressed against her face, she felt anything but faint—steamy, the adjective of choice. “Uh…yeah.”<
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“Yeah, you feel faint?” He leaned back searching her face.
“Um…no. I’m fine. Is it getting warm in here?” She hand fanned her face. “I…uh, just had a…moment.”
“A moment?” He lathered a washcloth and cleaned the wound with soap and water. “Is it another one of those hormonal moments?”
“Sort of.”
“Are you going to tell me how you got yourself shot?”
“By a gun?”
He looked up, impatient. “Don’t do that. Don’t take me for a fool.”
“I’m not.” She winced. “Ouch, take it easy there, cowboy.”
“Sorry, I’m more used to handling wild heifers, than a woman.”
She gritted her teeth while he quickly added five stitches. Her stomach roiled, but she figured the worst was behind her. Ordering her shaky insides to settle down, she watched as he patted the site dry, then plastered a four-by-four non-stick pad on the wound. He slapped a couple of squares of gauze on top of it and added two strips of adhesive tape to hold them in place. “So, how did you get shot, and don’t be a smartass.”
He wanted answers. She knew that, but she wasn’t up to lengthy explanations right now. “Do we have to talk about it right this moment?”
“Yeah. You’re delaying the inevitable. Who shot you and why? And for once, tell the truth.”
“I don’t know who shot me.” At his doubtful look, she hurried on, “It’s the truth. I swear. It was dark. He came out of the woods shooting.”
“He?”
She shrugged. “I assume it was a male. It could have been a woman for all I know.”
“Where were you when you got hit?”
“Outside the CIA building.”
His mouth gaped.
“Yeah. Guess you aren’t going to believe that one either.”
“Don’t string me along, Jayla. I swear to God I’ll put you on my horse and take you back to that little tin can you call a car and dump your ass inside it. You can spend the winter there.”
Jayla closed her eyes suddenly feeling too weary to keep them open. Wincing, she opened her eyes and forced herself to meet his doubtful gaze. “If you don’t believe that, you aren’t going to believe I witnessed the first lady assassinated or that I was standing right behind her when she got her brains blown away.” She drew a shaky breath and released it with a soft sigh. “I was the only witness, Wild. I’m terrified. Every breath I breathe I’m afraid it’ll be my last. Witnessing the first lady get killed…I don’t know how high up a murder like hers goes…you know? I figure all the way to the top.”
He eased onto the side of the bed beside her and stared at the fire flickering in the fireplace. His breath sounded slightly ragged. Did he feel as spooked as she did by the whole mess?
Yeah, she knew he did when he wrapped his fingers between hers and held her hand. She didn’t know if it was meant to be comforting or not, supportive or not, or just him needing contact as much as she did. Maybe it was all those things and more.
“Say something,” she cried.
He let go of her hand and stood up. Turning back the cover, he said, “Get in bed and rest. I’ll be back within an hour. I found a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt you can wear. They’re on the back of that chair over there.” He pointed across the room to an old wooden-backed chair against the south wall.
“Okay. Thanks.” Jayla crawled under the covers and watched as he pulled them up to her chin. “Where are you going?”
He brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’m going to get your insulin. Don’t get out of this bed while I’m gone. I don’t want you passing out and hurting yourself.” He busied himself piling wood on the fire. “This should last until I get back.”
He pulled on a shirt, grabbed his hat, duster, and the rifle from over the fireplace, checked to see that it was loaded, and headed for the door.
“Wild?”
“Yeah?” He glanced over his shoulder at her.
“You believe me?” She wiggled out of the towel and dropped it on the floor beside the bed.
“Yep.”
“Just like that?”
“Yep. No one could make up a tale like that.”
“Is that it? You have nothing else to say?” It couldn’t be that easy.
He cradled the rifle in his arms, jammed the hat on his head, and sighed. “We’re fucked?” he said with a questioning note, and yanked the door shut behind him.
Jayla burst into tears. Yeah, they were, and he had no idea just how badly they were royally screwed.
Chapter Eight
My most brilliant achievement was my ability to be able to persuade my wife to marry me.
~Winston Churchill
Rimrock, Montana
Sheriff’s Department
February 20, Friday
5:15 p.m.
Lacey Blackstone rested her hand on the doorknob of the Rimrock Sheriff’s Office and muttered a soft curse. The last thing she wanted was to walk away from Danger again. Since last August, her life had been in constant motion, up, down, a see-saw of highs and lows and heartaches.
The highest high was when she slept with another man, Rafe McCord. The lowest low was when she slept with another man, Rafe McCord. Her life had somehow spun out of control and turned her in a direction she’d never expected to go. Yes, she’d slept with another man, a man she’d believed wholeheartedly, at the time, she loved.
Her and Danger’s marriage had crumbled for more than one reason—lack of trust, lack of faith, another man, another woman. They’d simply fallen out of love, or at least they thought they had. It’d been easier to give up, easier to walk away, than fight for one another.
But now—Danger stood behind her, and she didn’t know who the hell she loved—him or Rafe. She was very much afraid her life was once again headed in a different direction, and God forgive her, but she wanted to make that journey.
Danger’s heat surrounded her, his manly scent invaded her lungs, saturated her skin, and just like the very first time she ever saw him, she wanted him with every fiber of her being.
There’s nothing wrong with me wanting him. He’s still my husband.
The thought settled in her mind and refused to vacate. Had she simply convinced herself she’d fallen in love with Rafe because she’d known Danger no longer loved her? Wanted her? Had she turned to Rafe because he’d made it obvious he wanted her? And she was afraid? Afraid of the way her life had been crumbling apart? Afraid of feeling less of a woman because the man she loved had stopped loving her?
She thought maybe it was all true, the tangled emotions, the crazy destruction of their marriage, all true. Even if things couldn’t work with Danger again, it wasn’t fair to go on with Rafe when she knew now she didn’t love him the way he deserved to be loved.
How did she tell him? How did she make him understand her confusion?
Lacey kept her hand on the doorknob, but she couldn’t bring herself to open the door, not when there was hope things might work between her and the man standing behind her.
Danger. Her husband.
He’d always been the one who owned her heart, body, and soul.
Rafe. For a little while, he’d possessed her heart, body, and soul, possessed, but never owned.
Dear God, how had she made such a wreck of her life?
She had to tell Rafe.
So what the hell was she waiting for?
Why was she still here with Danger—hesitating, when she should move on, tell Rafe, then simply begin her new life?
She could do that, live again, because Smitt Davis was finally dead.
Lacey didn’t know anymore how she felt about being the one who shot and killed the sadistic serial killer. On one hand, she’d owed the bastard, but on the other, she’d never harmed another living soul, and it worried her that she might have lost her humanity by being glad she’d shot the sonofabitch.
She desperately needed to be alone, curl up, and not have to think or make dec
isions—at least for a while, but Lacey time wasn’t something she saw happening anytime soon.
She’d just spent the better part of two hours making a statement to the district attorney. Even though it was past closing time, Karen was still at the courthouse in the judge’s chambers.
That worried her.
Not that she’d done anything wrong in killing Smitt Davis, but no one knew better than she just how convincing a liar Smitt’s wife/widow could be, or how she twisted facts. The woman was guilty of numerous crimes. Lacey didn’t want her to walk away free to ruin another woman’s life.
She scowled. Between Karen, her brother, and Smitt, they’d done enough damage to Danger and her. She wasn’t about to let the bitch win again, not with lies, not by undermining her confidence, and not by causing her to fear what the other woman might say or do. It was time to put Karen out of her life and begin anew.
These last few days had left her more confused than ever. She was in love, and regrettably, that love was more perplexing than welcome. Yeah, baffling felt like an apt description of her jumbled emotions. But mostly, she felt as if all the starch had been sucked out of her by a vacuum. Damn it! How could she still love—be in love with the wrong man?
Was Danger the wrong man?
Lacey’s mind spun with questions better left unspoken and unanswered. Anymore, she didn’t know what was right or wrong, what was fair or unfair, or who she was supposed to love or not love. Maybe the best thing for everyone would be for her to simply walk away from both men and begin her life anew somewhere else.
A few steps behind her, Danger’s ragged breaths filled the air. Just moments ago, he’d kissed her. She still heard the emotion in his voice, his words, and felt the hungry touch of his lips against hers.
He stepped closer, brushing against her, stoking the fire that had never quite died. His warm breath lightly touched her nape. His heat surrounded her, pulling her into his skin. Her own skin felt tight. Her body quivered in response to his nearness. His scent, familiar, intoxicating, stirred old memories and breached her defenses as nothing else could. Her husband.