by Laurie Paige
"I remember you and Megan having a fight over the ketchup bottle one time when you were here with your folks."
She suddenly remembered it, too. She'd been about eight, Megan seven. The bottle had flown out of her hand when she'd jerked back to keep Megan from grabbing it, then it had sailed over two tables, landed in the middle of the next one and splattered all over a matronly lady's bosom. She and Megan had been grounded for a month.
"That was not one of my finer moments."
"But it was funny. I nearly laughed my head off."
"You would."
Kate and Rory chuckled at her disgruntled tone. After a second, she smiled, too. It had been funny.
Suddenly the darkness behind her sunglasses didn't seem as dismal as it had been when she'd left the doctor's office. Well after all, she was having lunch with the county's most eligible bachelor, the handsomest man in the whole state. And that was something.
She lifted her chin as she recalled Brad and his companion were there. Rory was much more of a "catch" than the stuffy attorney.
"What are you thinking?" Rory asked.
"That all the other women in the room are probably green at this moment." She turned a brilliant smile his way, sending him a challenge with her facetious remark.
Kate tried to cover a whoop of laughter with a cough. Her effort wasn't very successful.
Shannon couldn't help but giggle. Beside her, she heard Rory's amused chuckle. "Are you using me?" he asked. "Maybe for a little payback time?"
She considered. "Yes, I think I am. But you asked for it."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. You're so vain you probably think Kate and I should be honored to be sitting at the same table with you."
"If I did, you've certainly set me straight," he conceded, his tone reflecting nothing but humor. "You Windraven women are hard on a man's ego."
"I've always been told we were the most fascinating and beautiful women around," Kate said airily, joining in the spirit of the moment.
"Oh, you're that, too," he agreed, sending little chills cascading down Shannon's arm where his shoulder touched hers lightly.
During the meal, Shannon laughed and chatted easily with the other two. The earlier despair receded and hope resurfaced. She suddenly, and for no good reason, felt charming and witty.
At one point Rory asked her to tell Megan he'd be out to check the mare that evening. She invited him to join her and Megan and Grandfather for dinner again. He accepted.
Later, as Kate drove her to the ranch, she wondered if that wasn't an odd thing – to learn she still couldn't see, but to have a good time, anyway.
It was something to think about. Maybe to worry about. Because Rory Daniels, the heartthrob of the county, was an enigma in her life, and she didn't need any more alarming situations at the present.
"Here we are. Lunch was fun, wasn't it?" Kate said as she stopped at the walkway up to the big house. "Rory has always been one of my favorite people."
Shannon paused with her hand on the door handle. "So why didn't you two get together years ago?"
"What? Date an underclassman? Never!" After a moment, she added thoughtfully, "I've frequently wondered about him. With his looks, you'd think some female would've snapped him up long ago."
"Maybe he didn't snap back. It takes two. He may be matrimony-shy for reasons we don't know."
"Yeah, a great unrequited love," Kate finished on a note of sympathetic humor. "Well, I'd better go rescue Jess from Mandy. She loves to give orders, and the fellows indulge her shamelessly."
Shannon waved goodbye and walked up the sidewalk and into the house by herself, finding the two steps without mishap. A simple task, but she felt good at accomplishing it. After hanging up her outdoor clothing, she went into the living room.
Hearing strange noises, she realized her grandfather was asleep in his wheelchair. She quietly took her place in the rocking chair and contemplated the future. Perhaps it was time she moved into her house and really learned to take care of herself. She wouldn't stay here and depend on her cousins to do it for her.
She clasped her hands tightly. To be alone in a house and not be able to see… What if something happened? She tried to imagine what. A fire because she forgot something on the stove? Someone breaking into the house?
The latter was a frightening idea. The fact that the robber who'd shot her was still free didn't help her peace of mind. But she'd lived on her own for nine years. Did she have the courage to try it without sight?
* * *
Megan and Rory entered the side door of the kitchen shortly after six that evening. Shannon smiled brightly in that direction. "Dinner is ready," she announced.
"Wow, what service," Megan exclaimed in pleasure. "Did you fix it?"
"With Grandfather's help," she said, placing sliced tomatoes on the salad plates. She was aware that Rory had approached her.
"Smells good," he said a second before cold hands slid into her hair and cupped her neck, causing a chill.
"Beast," she reprimanded, pulling away. "Can you take the salads in to the table? Megan, the chicken is in the oven. I'll bring the veggies."
"Yes. What's this?" he asked. He caught her hands.
She tried to pull away. "Nothing."
"A burn. Two of them. What's under the bandage?"
"A cut. A small one," she added when he continued to hold her hands in his.
His hands were cool as he examined her battle scars, as she dubbed her efforts to prepare a meal. It had been harder than she'd thought. If not for her grandfather, she'd have given up. But she had to learn to do things on her own if she was to be independent.
Retreating, she carefully lifted two bowls, one of hot potato salad, the other of asparagus, and held them out to Rory. "Here. Make yourself useful."
He took the bowls. She felt his body heat as he moved beside her, his shirt brushing her arm.
"You shouldn't have gone to such trouble," Megan told her in a worried voice.
"I wanted to practice." She turned toward Megan. "I think it's time I moved to my house."
"Oh, but you can't—" Megan began.
"I think that's an excellent idea," Rory said smoothly. "Didn't you say you had a paper to write?"
"Yes." Shannon had thought it out that afternoon. "I need to finish the dissertation, then I can start my family-counseling clinic. It's been my dream for years."
"Go for it," he advised.
Shannon heard the soft hum of the wheelchair motor. "She needs … to stay here," her grandfather said, moving toward the dining room.
In the tense silence that followed, Shannon could imagine Megan and Grandfather frowning at their guest while he challenged them with a sardonic smile and a dare in those challenging blue eyes.
She suddenly recalled the shoot-out. When she'd opened her eyes after being shot, when her guardian angel had lifted her, she'd seen an explosion of light that had shrunk down to twin spots of intense blue. Could she have been looking into Rory's eyes at that moment?
But no. That was after she'd been shot. Her vision was already gone.
But what if it wasn't?
Excitement rippled through her. Had she been able to see, if only for a brief second, after being injured? If so … if so… There was a world of promise in the idea.
"What are you thinking?" Rory asked.
She wasn't ready to divulge the hope that wouldn't quite go away. "We'd better eat before it gets cold. There's barbecued chicken in the oven." she told them. "If someone would please get it out. I've already fought with the oven twice tonight. It's ahead, two to zero," she said, referring lightly to the burns she'd sustained earlier.
They talked of ranch business for the next hour. Shannon accepted compliments on her cooking from the other three with a taut smile. She was very tired, she realized, pushing the dark glasses up her nose.
"I'll clean the kitchen," she said decisively when they finished, knowing she needed to show her family she could make it on her own.
"I'll carry the dishes in," Rory volunteered. "You put them in the dishwasher. Meg, you've had a full day. You rest. Add a log to the fire."
Shannon sensed Megan's uncertainty in the tiny pause that followed Rory's orders before she acceded. When she and Grandfather vacated the dining room, Shannon gathered a stack of plates. Across from her, she could hear Rory doing the same. He followed her into the kitchen.
"Stick to your guns," he said after bringing in the last of the dishes.
She rinsed plates and silverware and placed them gently in the dishwasher. "What do you mean?"
"Move into your house."
"Oh. Yes, I intend to."
He chuckled. "You'll be next door to me," he said in a sexy tone.
"Well, across the creek," she corrected. "It must be a couple of hundred feet between the houses. With the woods and creek between, we won't intrude on each other."
"I was thinking of building a bridge over the creek."
She was startled at how much she liked the idea. "Why?"
"To be neighborly. It'll make it easier for us to run back and forth. I won't have to worry about you falling on a slippery rock and drowning."
"I'd hardly drown. The creek isn't more than two feet deep during spring snowmelt."
"I'd worry, anyway."
Since there was laughter in his voice, she wasn't sure how to take him. She opted for a stern note. "Besides, why should we run back and forth? We'll each be busy with our own lives."
"I thought I could help you with your research notes and you could repay me with home-cooked meals. The way to a man's heart and all that."
She shut the dishwasher door with a startled slam. "I'm not looking for the way to any man's heart," she declared with an indignant frown.
"We're pretending to be lovers, remember?"
"We most certainly are not!"
He was suddenly close, very close. "We can make it real."
Before she could come up with a quelling reply, he'd gathered her into his arms.
"The dishes—"
"Are done," he finished. "I wiped the counter and the stove. Everything is neat. Now don't I get a reward?"
His warmth engulfed her senses. She wanted his kiss, she realized. Very, very much. Her blood seemed to thicken so that her heart had to beat very hard to send it through her body.
"No," she whispered.
"No?"
"I … we shouldn't."
"Why?"
His nose touched hers. She instinctively tilted her head to one side. "Because." She couldn't think of a good reason, other than the whole idea of her and him was … was ridiculous. "It's ridiculous," she said, grabbing the word like a lifeline.
"Maybe, but consider this – I want to make love to you. I think you want it, too."
The words caused a place inside her to ache. "I – I didn't think … I wasn't sure anyone would want—"
She stopped before she bared the horrible uncertainty she felt. She didn't want his pity.
"…someone as beautiful as you?" he finished for her. "You turn me on, lady cop. You know that, don't you?"
His words shook her composure. She couldn't think beyond the memory of his lips on hers. And she couldn't stand being apart another second.
Stretching upward only an inch, she encountered his lips. Their mouths meshed hungrily, and she felt the need, his as well as hers. Hunger consumed her like fire.
When he shifted slightly, she found herself securely enclosed, the counter behind her, his arms forming a triangle as he gripped the edge with his hands. Only his mouth touched her, but she was vitally aware of the rest of his tall, manly frame an inch away. She had only to press forward the least bit…
She didn't.
"Kiss me back," he ordered in a low growl when she valiantly stopped her wild response. "I need your mouth."
"Rory—"
"Don't argue."
She tried to think. One of them had to. "This isn't wise. Don't you understand? I'm … I'm…" She couldn't quite bring herself to say the dreaded word aloud. "I may never see—"
"Shut up and kiss me."
When she lifted her hands to his chest, intending to gently push him away until he regained his senses, she realized her mistake immediately: She flattened her palms against him and absorbed his wonderful warmth and the hard masculine feel of him right down to her toes.
For the first time in her life she wanted mind-blowing. She wanted unthinking passion. She wanted fulfillment.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no."
"Yes," he said, just as fierce.
But he lifted his head and stood there without moving for the longest time, for an eternity of pounding heartbeats and contrary yearning. She knew he was staring down at her, his gaze so intent, she could feel it.
"Why?" he murmured on a hoarse note. "Why not?"
She shook her head, not knowing what the answer was. She didn't even know the question.
When he took a deep breath, she felt his shirt brush against her breasts. They hardened into tiny aching points at once. She shook her head again, confused by this strange rapture that took hold of her whenever they touched.
"It's so odd," she said, voicing the confusion that gripped both of them.
He stepped back and cold air rushed in where he had been. The longing rose from someplace deep inside, telling her to quit resisting something so wonderful.
"What's so strange? A man and a woman who want each other? Hardly," he scoffed, but in an oddly gentle way. "Haven't you ever wanted like this before?"
"No," she said, shocked at even the thought of being so out of control. Until the shoot-out, her life had been serene. Sensible. Planned.
His hand touched her temple. "Then you have a lot to learn, Officer Bannock," he teased, but with a deeply serious inflection running through the words.
It caused a shiver to chase over her nerves again. She drew away.
"Shall I come by for you tomorrow at noon?" Rory asked before she thought of a retort.
The shift in subject threw her off-balance. "What for?"
"To take you home. Megan is going to the Thoroughbred auction. I assumed you wouldn't be foolish enough to try to walk three miles on a frozen road."
"Kate—"
"She has a family to take care of. You can't expect her to be at your disposal all the time."
"I don't," she said in annoyance. "You twist my meaning every time I try to say something."
"Sorry. Do you want a ride or not?"
Ignoring his impatience, she considered. "All right, I'll accept your gracious offer." She gave him a sarcastic smile as she got the last word in.
"Good. See you then. Thanks for dinner. It was delicious."
After he walked out, Shannon stood there as if still trapped against the counter. Somehow … somehow she felt he'd gotten his way, after all.
It wasn't until she was in bed that she remembered she would be alone in the new house. But everything would be okay, she reassured her flagging spirits. She could do it.
* * *
Chapter 6
« ^ »
With one hand on her grandfather's wheelchair, Shannon lifted her face skyward as she stepped out on the south terrace. "The sun feels so bright and warm," she murmured.
When the wheelchair stopped, she stood there for a moment, basking in the fresh morning air, before finding the patio table, then the bench beside it. Taking a seat, she sighed deeply and rested her elbows on the tabletop. She and her grandfather were alone. Megan was at the auction, looking over the mares for brood stock.
"Living in town, I forgot how quiet the ranch can be. It reaches clear to the soul," Shannon continued.
Her grandfather snorted, which she took for agreement. She studied the sounds around them – the faraway squeal of playful yearlings in the pasture, the soft moo of a cow calling her calf to her, the twitter of birds coming from the trees near the stable.
The ache of some unknown emotion soaked through her, h
urting her in places she didn't know existed. She couldn't define the pain or where it came from.
Nostalgia?
Perhaps, but for what? What elusive thing of the past called to her with bittersweet need and made her sigh in longing for that which she couldn't name?
"There are no words," she said softly, regretfully, voicing the thought, unable to stifle the sweep of yearning that went right to the center of her being. Once she had wanted so much, had planned and worked toward her goals, and now there was this terrible insecurity about the future.
A crow cawed, its rough voice malcontent, disturbing the gentler tenor of the morning.
"The ravens," she said, recalling the Windraven legend of the ravens' warning before a disaster struck. "What more can happen to our family?"
Not even the wind answered the philosophical question. A soft snore told her that Grandfather was asleep.
She sighed again and wondered how he had stood his pain so valiantly all these years. Crippled. Nearly silent. His thoughts scrambled as he searched for words he'd long known but couldn't recall. He'd faced it all without complaint.
"Sometimes I want to scream and rant, to wail at the unfairness of it all," she said in a whisper. Tears gathered at the back of her throat. She fought them off. "And sometimes … sometimes I have cried."
Not only for the loss of her sight, but for the hopes she'd nourished, for all the things that had seemed good and true but were turning out differently.
The crow cawed morosely, closer this time.
"Disaster draws near." The hair prickled at the back of her neck. "The Windraven legacy."
It seemed to her it was a legacy of disappointment and deep pain. Regret. Unfilled hunger that plagued the spirit. Lost love. Forgotten dreams.
An odd sound caught her attention. She listened intently. Her grandfather sniffed again. She realized he wasn't sleeping.
She touched his arm. He caught her hand in his, his grip shockingly weak. Liquid warmth struck her hand and ran along the back, swiftly cooling in the January air.
Guilt replaced the odd nostalgia. Some comfort she was, whining when he'd been in a wheelchair for years with never a show of self-pity. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to upset you."