Gavin watched Mavis’s eyes roll. When he saw the whites, cold took a bite out of him. “If she doesn’t?”
“We can give her the medicine, but she’s going to need emergency personnel.”
“Jesus,” he hissed. “Jesus Christ.”
Someone latched onto his shoulder. It took Gavin a second to realize that it was Errol standing behind him. He chose not to shake off the grip.
It might have been the longest wait of his life. He’d done recon missions requiring whole nights, even days of waiting. He’d bobbed like a cork on listless seas in what amounted to little more than a dinghy waiting for the right ship to pass. Spent hours waiting for the right man to cross his scope on a classified task force.
He’d waited outside a curtain to hear the doctors at base pronounce what he already knew—that death had taken his brother-in-law.
Mavis’s chest rose. He heard her exhale. Her lids came down over her eyes. Then, slowly, she blinked them back open.
“Mavis,” he said, crouching farther into her range. “Freckles?”
Her brow furrowed. She was limp. She made a faint motion with her arm.
Zelda was there with the capsule. She set it on Mavis’s tongue, then uncapped a water bottle. Cupping Mavis under the chin, she helped her swallow. “Welcome back,” Zelda said, patting her on the cheek.
Mavis mumbled a reply.
Gavin sat back on his heels, cursing himself and the world at large. He gave in the rest of the way and sat on the grass, elbows to knees. He had half a mind to lower his head between them.
Errol motioned the wranglers farther back as Zelda helped Mavis take another swig of water. “We should get you inside. Do you feel okay to move?”
“W-Wait.” Mavis’s hand fumbled. It wasn’t until it settled on Gavin’s ankle that he realized she’d sought him. He saw finally that she was looking at him and suddenly wished she wouldn’t. He was bone, splintered and white.
“How’d he handle it?” Mavis asked Zelda hoarsely.
“He’ll be all right if we can get him off the ground, too,” Zelda replied handily.
“I’m a’right,” he grumbled. Still, his hand clenched over the back of hers. “Jesus, Bracken. Jesus.”
“Sorry.” Mavis closed her eyes again.
“Stay,” he said sharply when she opened them again. “Stay with me. Okay?”
Mavis bobbed her chin in a short nod. “Okay.”
A pang hit him, the urge to pick her up and get her the hell away from this place. Far enough away that they could forget about the whole crazy experience. Yet she looked fragile. If he touched her, she might break into dust, like plaster. Not to mention that his knees were nice and jellified from the spin he’d taken. No, lifting a human—as little as she was—probably wouldn’t be a good idea.
He couldn’t stop himself from touching her, though, light brushstrokes across the high point of her cheek. Her brows came down. She patted his leg. “It’s okay.”
Gavin shook his head. “What—What can I do for you?” Swearing at himself, he pressed his teeth together. “I need to know what to do.”
She blinked—long enough for him to worry. Then she licked her lips and looked beyond him.
Gavin glanced around and saw the horse grazing nearby, keeping a wary eye on the proceedings. Reading her thoughts, he blew out a breath.
Of course. She was worried about the nag. She was Mavis. She had a thing for beasts, whether they barked, cursed, bit or kicked.
And they tended to love her in return.
To hell with it. Gavin shifted to his knees. Leaning over her and sliding one arm underneath her knees, he cupped the other arm beneath her shoulders.
He was rock steady when he lifted her. His knees stayed in place as he came to his feet.
“You’re going to carry her all the way?” Zelda asked, impressed.
Gavin didn’t answer. Mavis’s mango perfume was in his nose. Raising his voice to the gathered hands, he moved faster. “If that animal isn’t loaded into that trailer in the next few minutes, it’s my foot in your ass!”
Mavis mumbled his name.
Obediently, Gavin jerked his chin in the horse’s direction. “And if I find one scratch on Mollie McCarty, my foot will be the least of your problems!”
Errol had fallen into pace with him. He gave a low whistle. Gavin heard the approaching whirr of Julian’s golf cart. He nodded in decision, letting Errol lead the way to the gate.
The golf cart bumbled up to it and the man in the suit peered at them from the covered cab. As Gavin moved sideways through the slim parting of the gate with Mavis, careful not to jostle her, he heard the noise of the portable fan keeping Julian cozy.
“No trouble here, I hope, Zelda?” Julian asked.
Gavin all but growled. He looked to Errol, who nodded back in a minute gesture before closing the distance to the golf cart. Gavin watched wistfully as the man grabbed the banker by the fancy label and tossed him bodily from the driver’s seat to take his place behind the wheel.
Gavin walked smoothly through the satisfying cloud of dust Julian kicked up as he scrambled to his feet again. He might’ve trod on the man’s toes as he rounded the back of the cart. Cradling Mavis to his chest, he settled onto the rear bench seat, shifting her so he would absorb any bumps along the trail. Glancing around, he jerked his chin at Zelda. “Comin’?”
“Absolutely,” the woman said, sliding onto the seat next to Errol. As Errol put the cart in reverse, she spoke to the slack-jawed man in the headlights. “Sorry, Julian. There seems to be limited seating. But we do thank you for your hospitality.”
Julian stammered appropriately. “I—I—I...”
Errol put the golf cart in drive and did an adept 180. Gavin would’ve found it satisfying to watch Julian disappear in a cloud of dry dust. But Mavis wasn’t shrugging him off. She’d chosen him to lean on.
They could both do with some leaning at this point, he was willing to admit, and tucked the crown of her head beneath his chin.
* * *
HOME. SOMETIMES, IT wasn’t the river. Sometimes—a lot of times, it was a restored farmhouse in a private country wood.
The Cadillac splashed across the shell-lined drive. The afternoon storm the skies had promised pounded overhead. Rain fell in lashing strokes against the car. The lights of the house swam through the windshield, and the wipers shrieked to keep up with the deluge.
In a low mutter from the front seat, Zelda weighed whether to wait for a break in the weather. Mavis met Errol’s assessing look in the rearview mirror and turned away. She looked down at the center line between her and Gavin and the hard hand that had been locked over hers from the moment they had left the house in Mobile.
The whole drive he’d been silent. She’d felt him scoping her as they crossed the long bayway that bridged Mobile County with the Eastern Shore. His tension was palpable. His concern evident. He hadn’t asked if she was okay again. He’d just watched—waiting for her to bat an eye wrong.
Waiting to jump into a heartbeat’s action.
Errol braked and put the car in Park. Gavin didn’t let go of Mavis’s hand. She didn’t remove it.
Mavis pursed her lips. “It’s not letting up,” she said.
Zelda swiveled to her. “What did you say, dear?”
“The rain,” Mavis said, raising her voice enough to be heard over the drubbing. “It’s going to go on like this for a while. And y’all need to get home.” She touched the door handle.
Gavin quickly moved against his door. “I’m going with you.”
She frowned at him, but he’d already opened it, cutting off any argument.
“Wait!” Zelda cried. She produced a small umbrella. “Take this. It won’t keep you both dry, but at least Mavis might—”
Gavin took it quickly and left the vehicle.
His arm fit over her shoulders. He ushered her up the front walkway to her parents’ covered porch. She ducked her head. It fit nicely in the groove between his chest and triceps. Mavis fumbled with her bag, fishing for keys. Swiping the hair back from her brow, she ran her palm fast over her face to stop it from dripping. Sniffing, she dug deeper.
When she was still unsuccessful, she groaned. “You don’t have to wait. You can go back to the car—” The words seized as arms spanned her, pulling her in.
Gavin hugged her firmly from behind. Mavis’s mouth dropped open when his face turned against her damp neck and burrowed.
Arms lifting uncertainly, Mavis struggled to breathe. Not because he was cutting off her air supply, but she’d never known what to do with open affection from anyone but her parents or brother, and even that she preferred at a minimum. Words. She liked words. Sensible, intellectual conversation was all the stimulus she needed on a regular basis.
Or rather, it had been, until these arms. His chest pressed tight against her back and his scar-riddled nose lodged against her rapid-fire pulse.
Not that she knew what to do, exactly. An exhale shuddered out of her when his lips grazed the curve of her neck and shoulder...then pursed, brushing a kiss there. It was a nerve center. Her body lit up.
She pulled air into her lungs, siphoning it carefully around the jittering, knocking ball in the center of her chest. He’d begun to rock her. When she gripped his forearm and squeezed, she told herself it was for balance but knew it was a lie. She told herself other lies. She was tired—which is why she tipped the back of her head to his ready shoulder. She was really tired when she closed her eyes and absorbed him, the sensations that he brought to her skin.
Her eyes popped open. Too much. Too fast. Too soon. She wiggled slightly, tensing. His arms loosened.
Mavis pivoted slowly to face him. Her mouth was open in explanation when she finally found it in her to raise her gaze to his.
His mouth collided midway with hers. It might’ve been an accident...had he not groaned in satisfaction. Had she not gone up on her toes in reaction. An accident, she lied.
She felt the cotton of his T-shirt straining against the insides of her fists. She broke away in shock. She’d taken hold of him by the neckline and had practically bent him to her. Shaking her head, she planted the soles of her shoes to the porch and sought the coupling of clever words she often relied on.
It failed. She failed—to speak, pull away. His arms spanned the middle of her back. They felt good folded there. Heat curled against her center at the press of his navel to hers. In an instant, it grew, burning blue as a sapphire. And it brought on a large bolt of fear.
Too hot. Too close. Too real. It’s too real, she told herself. Nudging back, she placed her arms against his chest.
He let her go, just as quickly as he’d swept her in.
She tried again, to say something intelligible at least. Again, she settled for a lie. “I’m... I’m tired.”
He scanned her, mute. His mouth was full. She wondered if it felt pinched and puckered like her own. His eyes looked dark under the covering of the porch. They practically glittered. He reached.
She wouldn’t stop him. Oh God. If this was their beginning, where was the end?
With him gone, her broken and nothing.
He reached around her and pushed the door open. Then he retreated.
The disappointment struck. Yet another surprise.
“You’ll take care,” he said. It wasn’t a question or a request.
She didn’t chafe at the command as she normally would. She was messed up. She was messed up over him, and she couldn’t blame it on the day. She couldn’t blame it on the concern she’d seen etched as deep as his scars. She couldn’t blame him at all. She’d started this. She’d initiated it all by touching him under the bougainvillea. By taking his demons into her own hands, hoping she could knead them and tame him—hoping she could bring him back to himself.
She backstepped over the threshold. She heard her mother’s voice. More arms around her, these familiar.
“Won’t you come in, Gavin?” Adrian invited.
Yes, please, Mavis thought. Then she shook her head at the automatic answer. What was living inside her...no. Too soon. Too much.
Gavin saw the motion of denial. His hooded eyes rested on her without ceasing. “Thanks, Adrian, but I ought to be getting back and Mavis ought to get some sleep.”
“Thank you,” Adrian said. “Zelda told me over the phone what you did. How you helped. I’m grateful. We’re grateful to you. Please come by for dinner. Sunday.”
Gavin. Gavin at the table. Like before. Only not like before. So much had changed, but he’d be sitting in his chair again, the one that had been his despite the navy-imposed and self-chosen absences...
Mavis couldn’t think of anything she wanted more. “Come,” she agreed, aware of the fact that he was looking at her still.
Gavin nodded quickly at her bidding. “Sunday.”
“Wonderful,” Adrian said, smiling.
“Let me know,” he said, talking to Mavis again. Only to Mavis. “If there’s anything you need.”
You, in all your shattered bits and pieces. Mavis would’ve stepped back if not for her mother’s supportive arm around her waist. “I’m fine,” she said instead. “I’ll see you?”
“You’ll see me,” he promised, the significance doubled by his unyieldingness. He nodded to Mavis’s mother before backing away.
Mavis didn’t breathe until he was out of sight. Then she didn’t dwell on it, or him, until she was alone. It was shining through her. If she thought about it, her mother, her father, they would see it. They would know how far Gavin Savitt was lodged inside her. And how much it would cost her to remove him when this was all over.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GAVIN DIDN’T SLEEP the night after they returned from Mobile, or the next. The third night he managed to grab something resembling rest between the bright flash-bang of dreams that woke him once or twice before dawn.
So the series of knocks clattering against the other side of his bedroom door at seven thirty made him think about the pistol he kept on the back side of the headboard. He’d been trained to shoot in the dark. He could work without eyes, he mused, then deal with the mess later. After sleep.
Already a headache throbbed at his temples. It would be a shitty day, he thought, before Prometheus began nosing his leg to rouse him. The mattress moved as he stepped over Gavin’s prone form and jumped from the foot of the bed. Gavin heard him rooting beneath the door.
Before Prometheus could claw his way out, Gavin planted his feet on the floor and scrubbed his stubbled cheeks. At the sound of the fourth set of knocks, he growled and leaped to answer.
“What?” he gruffed, throwing the door wide.
Mavis stood on the other side.
“Damn,” he said instantly. He’d worn nothing but Fruit of the Looms to bed and hadn’t thought to grab shorts or a shirt between the bed and the door.
She took several seconds to blink at his indecent state. Without a word, she did an about-face. “I’ll wait,” she said.
“For...” He drew the word out.
She touched her chin to her shoulder, careful not to look. “For you to cover up.”
“I was sleeping,” he told her.
“Sorry,” she said, scrubbing Prometheus’s ruff with both hands when he vied for her attention. “It’s daylight. I thought you’d be up.”
Well, he was now. It was a good thing she’d turned around.
When he didn’t move, she added, “I
need to talk to you.”
About the other night. About the other night when he kissed her. Or she kissed him. He hadn’t known where it started, exactly, or who had started it...
He’d take the blame. He’d wrapped himself around her like a bandage, hating the fact that it wasn’t enough. To cure her. To remove the vicious memory of her eyes rolled to the back of her head...
It wasn’t enough, he’d thought, and he’d kissed her. As ill-advised as it had been, he’d taken Mavis’s mouth on her parents’ front porch and he wasn’t even sure he was sorry about it.
No, he pondered, visually tracing the line of her shoulders. She was wearing a loose black sleeveless T-shirt. Under the close crop of her haircut, he saw the halter tie of a matching bikini. Freckles dotted the points of her shoulders.
He wasn’t sorry.
He backtracked into his room without bothering to close the door. He located a clean shirt and yanked it over his head. He’d stopped wearing clothes to bed a while ago. It was no use with night sweats. Jerking a pair of running shorts up to his waist, he padded back to the door. Cinching them, he said, “Go on.”
“Are you decent?”
“I’m suitable for the eyes,” he said. Though even that was a stretch.
She scanned his attire, settling on the shorts. “Do you have swim trunks?”
“I might.”
“Put those on instead,” she instructed. “And meet me downstairs in five.”
He rolled his eyes as Prometheus trailed her to the stairs. “I had plans to go back to bed.”
Gripping the banister, she tossed back, “I’m talking to you, whether it’s here or down there. Your choice.”
Gavin groaned because he knew there was no way she was entering his quarters. Not with the shades down and the sheets in disarray.
He padded into the bathroom. It was a small room, but the ceiling was lifted and hanging plants helped it breathe. Gavin washed his face and gargled Listerine. Running his knuckles over his cheek, he scowled. No time for shaving this morning. He ran his hand over the top of his head. Later, he’d call Harmony for a haircut. His sister had a steady hand and a barber’s eye.
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