Bringing Delaney Home

by Lee Kilraine

“Well, that’s when we fit in all our patients who have secrets to keep. Take some pain medication, because you might be a little more sore today. And don’t skip lunch. I’ll be home to help with supper.”

  Yes, Greer. Whatever you say, Greer.

  A few hours later, after trying to zone out to Sesame Street and, when that failed, soak in the tub, Delaney wandered aimlessly from room to room in the small house. It was surprising how neat the house was. It almost didn’t look lived in, but it had never felt like a cozy home and maybe that was the vibe she couldn’t shake. She was pretty sure she still hated it even though Greer had painted the rooms bright, sunshiny colors.

  For her, the rooms of the house had absorbed all the ugliness of her parents’ dysfunction. She could still hear her father’s angry yelling and painful name-calling echoing off the walls. Her mother’s form a psychic shadow blending into the dark corners where she had perfected avoiding her husband’s attention, often sacrificing her daughters to the path of his anger.

  Nervous energy had her poking around the house. She found her old fishing rod in the storage closet next to the pantry. Delaney ran her hand lightly up the delicate, flexible end, where a faded plastic bob dangled loosely with no hook in sight. A quick glance around the closet found her tackle box on the floor behind the vacuum cleaner. Sure enough, she opened it to find it semi-stocked. Heck, she was probably the last one to open it eight years ago. Back in high school, fishing and running had been her two escapes. She ignored the twist of her gut at the thought of running. At least she still had fishing, and just like in high school it would get her out of this darn house before the walls closed in around her.

  She drove her Jeep to Parker’s Creek over on Big Pine Road. It wasn’t far and no one used the road much since it dead ended after a few houses. Parking on the shoulder of the road just before the bridge, she took her time getting out her folding canvas chair and small cooler. The steep descent down to the bank of the creek made her choose an alternate location for fishing. The bridge would be fine today. The bridge didn’t actually have a name, but as long as Delaney could remember, everyone had called it Baxter Bridge since both Mr. Baxter and his son, Junior, lived in the only two houses on the other side.

  Once settled in her chair with her shoes propped on her cooler, she began threading new fishing line under the line roller and through all the guides along the pole. She took her time attaching a new hook with the only knot she had mastered, the cinch knot.

  She had stopped by Lonnie’s Bait and Tackle Shop for some new line. Just like when she was in high school, the shop still had a group of cheap plastic tables where the old-timers sat over coffee and fishing stories. Lonnie had recommended a new bob and she’d raised a few eyebrows when she’d walked right by the bait bucket. By lunch, everyone in Climax would know her shocking fishing habits. But why bother to bait the hook when her goal wasn’t to catch a fish? It had never been about the fish. It had always been about finding a few hours of peace.

  Speaking of peace, she’d made the mistake of asking about the best knot for tying a hook. That was when chaos had erupted. Whoa, who knew knots were so controversial? She’d slipped quietly from the shop as the “great knot debate” raged.

  Once her rod and reel were ready, she stood up against the bridge railing ready to cast off. The musical laughter of the creek eased her spirit as it danced and swirled over and around the smooth stones below. Pointing the rod toward the stream, she drew it back and then threw it forward, trying for one smooth motion. Like the graceful arch of a ballet dancer’s back, the rod flexed just before she pushed it forward.

  She was pretty sure her form would scandalize the regulars at Lonnie’s shop, but she had taught herself by watching videos on the Internet. No father/daughter bonding fishing lessons in her past. Shaking her head to clear that train of thought, she wiggled her rod to eliminate loops in her line. She was settling in to relax when the short burst of a police siren pulling behind her Jeep sliced right through her peace.

  The sudden noise sent a surge of adrenaline through her body. Her heart raced and every muscle in her body tensed. Breathe. Relax.

  It was no surprise to see Quinn step out of the police car and head her way. Every time she turned around, the man was close enough to steal her oxygen supply.

  “Officer Cates. Lovely day for fishing, isn’t it?” She reeled in her line and threw it back out, the motion part of the ritual of fishing.

  “It would be, except you’re breaking the law.”

  “Oh, I don’t have a fishing license, but we didn’t used to need one years ago.”

  “Still don’t,” Quinn said. “It’s the ‘No Fishing From the Bridge’ sign you’re standing next to that’ll get you thrown in the pokey.”

  Okay, Quinn didn’t know about her missing foot, so he couldn’t know how impossible the climb down to the creek bank was for her. But he sure as heck knew nobody but nobody drove on this bridge. She glanced at the sign, then over at Quinn, and shrugged. “I thought that was more of a guideline than a rule. Besides, no one uses this road except Mr. Baxter and Junior. And I mean no one.”

  “Actually, it’s more of the law than a guideline. And you’re breaking it. Plus, I’m still considering whether or not to book you on inciting a riot.”

  That put a hitch in her smooth casting motion. Her rod twitched when her head turned toward Quinn, and she felt the hook and line jerk to the right. Instead of the welcoming splash of water, the rustle of greenery accompanied each tug on her line. “Darn it. Now look what you did.”

  “What I did? I wasn’t the one who walked into Lonnie’s, started a debate about the best fishing knot, and left when the fists went flying.” Quinn reached into Delaney’s tackle box, pulling out a pocket knife. He reached over the bridge wall and cut the line on her fishing rod. “You are a walking, talking trouble magnet.”

  “Hey, that was a brand-new hook! And I didn’t know asking about a knot was worse than comparing banana pudding recipes at the church bazaar.”

  “I’m begging you not to bring that up anywhere around town either. I’m sorry about your hook. I was just trying to help.”

  “I don’t need your help. Ever. Okay?” Delaney ran a hand distractedly up and down the fishing rod.

  Quinn’s eyes followed her hand until he groaned and pried the rod out of her hands. He leaned it against the side of the bridge giving it one last glance before turning back. “Everyone needs help, Delaney. All you have to do is ask.”

  Turning her head away, she leaned up against the bridge, her elbows propped on the edge, and watched the water bubble and roil below. She dragged in a breath and turned her head back to him. “You know, I asked you for help once. You turned me down.”

  “Oh, now you want to talk about that? Because you sure as hell didn’t when it happened.”

  “Not really. I just had a point to make.”

  “I helped you.”

  “That is not the way I remember it.”

  “I was there for you.”

  “Except for the part where you rejected me.”

  “No. No, I didn’t. I just said no to sex. And you have no idea how much it killed me to do that.”

  “You know, I get it. Hell, I got it back then. Why would you need to slum when you had your pick of girls, Mr. Football Star. I knew who I was. I was Richard and Belinda Lyons’ girl.”

  “That had nothing to do with it. You didn’t know what you were asking for.”

  “I knew what I was asking for; you just didn’t care.”

  “The hell you say. I cared too much. So, yes, I turned you down for sex, but I held you in my arms while you slept. We spent the whole night in the back seat of my car. And the next three nights after that too. I wasn’t the one who snuck off each morning while you were sleeping either, was I? I wasn’t the one who refused to talk about what happened.”

  “There was nothing to talk about. Nothing happened.”

  “You know that isn’t true.”

&
nbsp; “The truth is Greer went away to cheerleading camp, and I lost the buffer between me and my dad. He behaved better when Greer was around. Without her, he let fly all the bitterness and hatred he’d been tucking away. You were my escape.”

  “I get it. But can’t you see, Delaney? It was just like when you kissed me in front of the boys’ locker room three years earlier. You weren’t really kissing me. I was in your path when a part of your world was falling apart.”

  “I needed you.”

  “You needed a warm body.” Quinn’s blue gaze glittered with accusation, his voice carved through her defense.

  “That is not true!”

  “That’s exactly what happened. When you asked me to make love to you, you didn’t really want me, but your life was falling apart and you wanted someone to hold on to. I was in the way again. And I did give you someone to hold on to. Just not the way you thought you wanted.”

  “Please don’t act like you knew what I needed better than I knew myself. You didn’t know me.”

  “You’re right. I apologize. I’m willing to fix that. Hell, it was years ago. We’re both different people now anyway.” He held his hand out to her. “Hello. I’m Quinn Cates and I’d really like to get to know you.”

  Delaney stared up at him, looking sharply in his eyes. Scenes from the last nine months of her life flashed through her head like a silent movie on speed. Her amputation, multiple surgeries, endless hours sitting in the hospital hallway in her wheelchair, her first ungainly steps with her temporary prosthesis. This was who she was now, and it was confusing and ugly even to her. There was no way someone like Quinn would understand her broken life. She turned back to gaze at the stream, its twisting, gurgling current matched the churning in her gut. “It’s probably better if we keep things the way they are.”

  “You can’t deny the chemistry between us.”

  Hell yes, she could. After the last nine months she qualified for a black belt in denial. “Look, Quinn, it doesn’t make sense to—”

  “Sense? Since when did attraction ever make sense?” Quinn leaned one elbow on the bridge, his body encroaching on her space. “Why don’t you try me on for size?”

  “I’m not much of a shopper.”

  “Come on, take a chance on me.”

  “I’m not big on gambling either.” Her hands tightened their grip where they rested on the ledge of the hundred-year-old bridge, the red brick cool and scratchy under her clenching fingertips.

  He leaned in closer trying to catch her eyes. “It’s not really a gamble. I’m pretty much a sure thing.”

  “Mr. No Commitment? The Grapevine says you’re like a bull going from—”

  “Whoa, since when did you put any stock in what the Grapevine gossips about?”

  Quinn stepped behind her, placing his hands on the bridge wall next to hers, enclosing her within the circle of his arms. Her hands appeared small and pale next to his large, tanned ones.

  “How’s this sound? I’ll reel you in with my constant presence and charisma. I’ll charm those sweatpants right off you.”

  “It sounds like you’re going to be a big pain in the ass.”

  He touched her, and the warmth was shocking to her chilled, stiff fingers. The stroke of his strong fingers had her white knuckling even more. His thumbs caressed her inner wrist, a slow-motion touch over her pulse. Once. Twice. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she was unable to handle any other sensation beyond his touch.

  Yeah, it was pretty impossible to deny the chemistry between them when her pulse raced like she’d injected a double-espresso Americano. Shutting her eyes had been a mistake, as her senses hyper-focused on his touch alone. She opened them again for her own protection, but that was a fail too.

  Her gaze traced the muscles in his hands and forearms as they slid and tightened with each caress. Each stroke of his index fingers into the soft dips between her fingers sent electricity swirling deep in her abdomen before zinging up through her breasts and then on to scramble her thoughts. Like a mad hummingbird darting and fluttering up through her.

  Such a delicious torture when his strong chest and wide shoulders moved even closer, surrounding her. His heat, a sinful temptation against her back. The hard muscles of his thighs like cut granite pressed against hers. Everything about him warm and firm, besieging her body to yield while he rocked her already unstable world.

  “Did you tuck your weapon into the front of your pants?”

  “No,” he choked out.

  “I was afraid of that.”

  His head dipped down next to hers. Her knees buckled when his tongue stroked along her neck, only to lock tight when he nibbled on her earlobe softly with his teeth. His deep voice rumbled in her ear and against her back. “What would happen if you let go and trusted me?”

  Let go? Holding on tight had been the only way she’d managed. For as long as she could remember, her life had been constantly spinning out of control. She’d pulled Greer up close behind her and held on tight as she navigated through the minefield of her dysfunctional world. With parents like hers, the first thing she’d learned was never to trust anyone. Letting go wasn’t an option. The last nine months of her life had her holding on even tighter.

  “Do you know what I wanted to do with you in the back seat of my car? I wanted to strip you out of your tank top and bra and worship your breasts in the moonlight. I wanted to strip us both and stay in that private shadow of the back seat, like we were the only two people in the world. I wanted to touch you so bad. Everywhere. I wanted to make you moan, and whimper, and pant. I wanted to make you lose your breath and then take you so high you’d scream with the descent. I wanted to be inside you. Deep. I wanted to hear you groan my name when you came and sigh like you’d seen heaven. And I wanted to kiss your sweet lips forever and never stop.”

  Her heart skipped and stuttered. Could life be this cruel? Maybe . . . maybe if Quinn had said yes in the back seat of that car, if she’d had parents who loved her, if the explosion had never happened, if she wasn’t missing a chunk of her past . . . maybe then, in some alternate universe full of rainbows and unicorns, she could say yes to this beautiful, seemingly perfect man. But he wasn’t perfect, because he had no self-preservation instinct. Otherwise, he would know to run, not walk, in the opposite direction she was heading. Crazy fool man. Hadn’t he already admitted she was a walking, talking trouble magnet?

  But standing wrapped in his strong arms, with his whiskey-dark voice whispering temptations she knew she couldn’t afford to want, felt so darn good. She took a breath and tried to capture this moment in her mind. She filed it away to pull out and savor like a guilty pleasure she hadn’t earned and didn’t deserve.

  “Don’t you feel it too?” Quinn’s warm hands cupped her shoulders, and he spun her around in his arms, pulling her in tight against his sinewy body. He lifted her face up to his with one hand while the other stroked through her hair to cup the back of her head.

  “Feel what?” Yep, she was the Bruce Lee of denial.

  “This.” He kissed her. His firm lips and stroking tongue stole her every thought from her head. Her head must have exchanged oxygen for helium because it was about to float up into the clouds far, far above her.

  He ended the kiss abruptly, pulling back a step, his breath uneven as it struggled in and out of his lungs. Just like hers.

  She stiffened her spine and drew herself away and inward, a solitary island with a sole survivor.

  “Fair warning, I aim to wear you down like the water shaped those rocks down below. I’ll keep flowing around you, smoothing out the sharp angles, and wear away your resistance. Now, no more fishing off the bridge, because I have a fantasy with you and a pair of handcuffs, but it’s not that.”

  His gaze raked over her, leaving a trail of goose bumps and a serious case of oxygen deprivation. Then he walked to his police car and drove away as if he hadn’t just knocked a fissure in her well-constructed wall of defense. How did he do that? Quinn might think she was t
rouble, but she knew he was a sure heartache.

  She couldn’t afford to open her heart to his words. She’d been broken for many years, but avoiding expectations and commitments kept some of the pain at bay. He was going to drive her crazy with his plan, but she had a plan too. She just had to stick to it, because her plan to get back to D.C. as fast as possible might just be the only way to save her sanity.

  Chapter Eight

  It was ten o’clock on a Friday night, which meant it was time to brew a fresh pot of coffee at the Climax Police Department. Quinn always tried to get the coffee started before Hawk, since Hawk liked his coffee so strong it tasted like it had been brewed by some process involving a nuclear meltdown. He dumped the scoops of coffee grounds in the basket and then poured the water quick since he heard Hawk’s whistle working its way down the hall. Once the switch was flipped, he stepped back and relaxed, knowing his stomach would live another night.

  Hawk walked in the break room and strode immediately over to the coffee station. “All right, who made the coffee already? Y’all know I’ve got a special way of making it.” He turned, looking at the other cops in the room before turning accusing eyes on Quinn.

  “Your coffee has a special way of eating through the lining of my stomach.”

  “Well, maybe, but it keeps you awake, doesn’t it?”

  “That I can’t deny. But it’s Friday night. We’ll be awake and busy long into the night.” Quinn pulled two Styrofoam cups off the stack. He poured a cup, handed it to Hawk, and cringed visibly at the four teaspoons of sugar and powdered creamer he dumped in. It wasn’t the best coffee to begin with, but the man managed to turn it into toxic sludge.

  Hawk shook his head. “Yeah, awake, busy, and bored. They’re doing the same crap we did ten years ago. Hell, can’t teenagers think of anything new these days?”

  “Apparently not. Because, like clockwork, one of poor old Mr. McClatchy’s cows will get tipped, and an illegal bonfire will burn in the woods next to Webster’s abandoned barn, where the moonshine and alcohol will flow like sweet tea on a hot day. Any teenager who evades us during all that will then converge up on Copper Lake for a mini-Woodstock love fest, only without the LSD and with a lot more pickup trucks.”