by Dana Marton
Kelly looked up. “So then Loretta Bailer stops next to me, and, of course, she thought I was crying because I was missing Ricky. So she says, ‘He ain’t worth cryin’ over, honey. Hell, he messed around with me long before the hairdresser floozy. With other women too. He was always a dog, Kelly. You were just too busy with work to notice.’”
Annie’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me?”
“I wish.” Kelly groaned. “She thought she was consoling me! Like she was doing me a favor by telling me Ricky had slept with her, so I could stop crying over Ricky.”
Annie couldn’t find the words, so she made what she hoped was a suitably horrified expression.
“That’s not the worst,” Kelly said.
“It has to be the worst.”
“I threw a lamb chop at her.”
Kelly’s flinch said she was embarrassed beyond words. She always tried to remain professional and upbeat. She had clients she needed to think of. Everybody knew her in town. She’d helped half the people with their houses. She had to protect her reputation.
She was not the type of woman to lose it in public.
Annie understood all that, but the image of a lamb chop in Loretta’s face was too much. She broke out laughing.
Kelly threw a pillow at her. “Not funny.”
Except, a second later, she was laughing too. They were laughing so hard, they collapsed against each other.
“Who do we know on the grocery-store security team?” Annie asked when she could breathe and speak. “I want to see the security video. I’m willing to pay for it.”
Kelly shot her a dark look. “Keep it up and you get no dessert.”
Then they were both distracted by Darcy getting frisky with Bridget.
Once that tragically short bit of cinematic brilliance ended, Kelly said, “I’ve known for a long time that Ricky wasn’t right for me. I married him back when I thought the cutest guy was the right guy. But I’ve realized that the right guy is the one who goes and feeds your skunks at midnight.”
“I have no idea what you’re hinting.”
Kelly nudged her. “I think Cole is the right guy for you. From the moment he met you, he’s been there for you at every turn. And you light up when you talk about him. Even when you’re mad at him.”
Annie pulled back into the corner of the couch. “That’s the problem. I’m a therapist. He’s a patient. I’m the one who’s supposed to be there for him.”
“You should have seen him at the hospital after the accident. He’s mad about you, Annie. He looks at you like Darcy looks at Bridget.
Annie’s heart clenched.
“Do you think you’re falling in love?” Kelly asked.
“Yes.” The single word nearly made Annie hyperventilate.
I’m falling in love with Cole Makani Hunter.
Scary, scary thought. She didn’t know what to do with the realization. She couldn’t possibly follow up on her feelings, could she?
“There are plenty of people in this world who never find true love.” A shadow crossed Kelly’s face. “Those who do have the responsibility to make it work.”
“You’ll find your true love.”
“If I do, you can be sure I’m not going to waste it. And don’t tell me to mind my own business. We’re cousins. It’s my job to stick my nose into your business. It’s in the cousin handbook of rules.”
Annie bit back a grin. “I’m glad we’re cousins. I’m glad I came back to Broslin. It’s nice to have family.”
And it was nice to have love too—both the love of family, and the love Annie felt for Cole.
Cole Makani Hunter was worth fighting for, she decided.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wednesday
COLE CAUGHT UP with Annie early the following morning as she was brushing the donkey in the garage.
Since Esmeralda had a bad habit of trying to bite his butt, Cole stopped in the doorway. “I’m sorry if I pushed too hard last night.”
Annie set down the brush. The light came in through the window behind her, painting her chestnut hair golden. With her animals around her, she looked like some ancient earth goddess.
He couldn’t read the expression on her face as she walked toward him. At least this time she wasn’t running. But would she send him away?
“Nothing that happens between us is wrong,” he told her.
She stopped in front of him. And then she kissed him.
For a second, Cole couldn’t move. He’d come here to plead his case. He wanted to confess how he felt about her.
He’d prepared for a difficult encounter. Instead, she fried his brain with a kiss.
Before he could show her how much he loved this change to his plans, she was pulling back, stepping away, obviously misinterpreting his lack of response. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” She flushed. “I thought you wanted . . .”
He reached for her, but she took another quick step back and held out a hand to ward him off, a torn expression on her face.
“I do want to.” He’d never been surer of anything. “There is no reason why we can’t.”
He reached for her again, and this time he caught her. “I never officially agreed to become your patient. We’ve never had a single official session. All we had was an introduction. So, in case I wasn’t clear before, no thank you, I will not be entering therapy with you, Miss Murray.”
He kissed her. This time, she didn’t pull away. He could have lived the rest of his life with her soft body pressed against his, his heart bursting with her silent admission that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
“What changed your mind?” he asked, long minutes later.
A rueful smile turned up the corners of her lips. “Every day, I tell people not to be afraid of their emotions. I was at risk of turning into a hypocrite.”
“I thought it was my irresistible charm,” he teased her, brushing his lips over hers. “Are you sure it wasn’t just the muscles?”
“That too.”
“What else?” He sneaked a hand under her sweater and up her side, stopping when he finally cupped her breast, the feel of her sending heat through his body.
Her eyes glazed over. “I don’t know. I can’t think.”
“Good answer.” He sealed his lips over hers again.
Her hands explored his back as she melted against him.
He broke the kiss to close the door behind him, and then he pulled her sweater over her head.
The herd was outside. It’d been raining all morning, but they were getting a brief break in the weather. The donkey had already run off to join the pig. The cat was sleeping. So were the skunk kits, snuggled together in their basket. Annie had probably just fed them. The raven was looking the other way.
Cole and Annie had as much privacy as they were going to get here, and he didn’t have it in him to wait out the long minutes it’d take to carry her inside the house.
He unbuttoned only the top button of her shirt, then pulled that over her head too. Then he kissed her breasts, as much as her bra allowed—modest and probably organic cotton. Sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
When she tugged on his shirt, he shucked it off, and then he spread the comforter over the clean bedding of straw and lowered himself, pulling her down on top of him. She slid into his arms without hesitation, laying down a path of kisses from his forehead to his lips. No games. She didn’t shy away when he unclasped her bra and removed the soft fabric.
The sight of her generous breasts rendered him stupid for a second. He was so hard it verged on the uncomfortable. He shifted her under him, careful to keep most of his weight on his elbows. His right shoulder wasn’t flexible, but it would hold his weight.
She pulled up her knees, and his hips settled between her thighs. He’d never wanted anything half as much as he wanted to be cradled in her body. He still couldn’t believe this was happening, still half expected her to change her mind and run off like a startled deer.
They ki
ssed and groped like freaking teenagers, and laughed, and fumbled with shoes, pants, and underwear, breathless by the time they were both naked. Her scars still startled him. He wanted to love her and protect her for the rest of his life.
He found the condoms he’d bought on blind faith, then dropped his wallet on the top of their clothes.
When he entered her, she trembled, and so did he. He finally truly did feel like a leaf twisting in the wind. Except for the part that felt like a good, thick, sturdy branch.
Cole felt completely whole for the first time in forever—as if his soul had come home, as if he’d found his roots, his safe place.
He loved Annie with everything he had in him.
Now I’m balanced, he thought. In this moment. With Annie.
He couldn’t tell her that yet. He didn’t want to rush her again, didn’t want to scare her. He would give her all the time she needed to grow to love him back.
Afterward, when she lay on top of him, her heart hammering over his like a summer storm’s pounding rain, he felt something soft brush against his foot. He tilted his head to see. The skunklets were coming over to join the snuggle.
He groaned.
She looked up. “What is it?”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “I admit, I might have fantasized once or twice about us making love. I hoped to eventually seduce you in a field of flowers. I never thought we’d be making love in a field of skunks.”
She grinned and kissed the tip of his chin. “You don’t seem terrified.”
“I have no regrets. You?”
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Shouldn’t have asked that. Why bring it up when everything was going so well? Did he need to hear it so badly?
Annie was pulling back already. Guilt replaced the bliss on her face. “The ethics guidelines advise a two-year wait period after therapy is terminated, before patient and therapist can have a sexual relationship.” She swallowed hard. “I didn’t . . .”
He understood without her having to finish the sentence. She hadn’t meant to go this far. At least, not yet.
She slipped off him and began pulling on her clothes. Her flight instinct was kicking in.
Exasperation washed through him as he came up on one elbow. “I’m not now, nor ever was, your patient.”
He appreciated her ethics; he really did. But if she thought he was going to give her up for the next two years over some random, stupid rule, she was crazy. He wanted her again, already.
“I wasn’t anyone’s patient,” he told her. “I was at Hope Hill undercover, to investigate a case.”
Time stopped.
Her eyes snapped wide with shock. “You weren’t a patient. You didn’t come for therapy?”
“That was my cover. I was investigating someone.”
“Who?”
He wished he could tell her, because, clearly, this was the moment for truth between them, but he couldn’t. So he just shook his head. “The point is, you don’t have to worry about impropriety.”
She looked at him as if the words coming out of his mouth didn’t make any sense. Her breath caught, as if he’d stabbed her in the chest. He could almost see the metaphorical blood he’d drawn.
“What case?”
Man, he was messing this up. She was supposed to be relieved.
“I can’t talk about that. But we’re OK. You and I are fine to do whatever we want to do. Annie, I—”
“Stop.” She held up her hand, palm out. Her mouth tightened with pain. He beautiful eyes swam in gut-wrenching disappointment. “You came to Hope Hill under false pretenses? So every word you’ve ever said to me has been a lie?”
“Of course not every word. Annie, listen—”
“I can’t.” She cut him off, the broken look in her eyes killing him.
She blinked. And Cole could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she said, “My ID card. I keep misplacing it lately.” Her gaze sharpened with suspicion. “Did you have anything to do with that?”
“I borrowed it now and then.” For good reason, dammit. Cole reached for her. He had to make her understand. “Annie . . .”
She shrank back—as if she no longer knew him, wanted him. As if she loathed him. “You used me.”
She turned another shade paler, as if she were bleeding out right in front of him.
“What we have—”
“We have nothing.” Her eyelashes trembled. “Nothing we had was ever real.”
Cole’s heart drummed madly. Cold panic surged through his veins when he finally began to understand how much he’d hurt her.
“Oh God. The Murray curse strikes again.” She said the bitter words. “I’m just too stupid to learn.” Her lips wobbled. “Please leave.”
Her eyes glinted with tears, devastation in her expression, in the way she held herself, as if on the verge of collapsing.
Jesus. He’d made her cry. Cole’s gut twisted.
“Annie, please.” He came to his knees, then to his feet. He couldn’t lose her.
“No.”
She gathered herself, right in front of his eyes, in that indomitable way she had. As if she were a mighty oak and he just a passing storm, and she wasn’t going to allow him to shake her.
Desperation sliced Cole’s heart into ribbons. He was losing her.
“Annie . . .”
But she pointed at the door. “I mean it, Cole. Get out and don’t ever come back.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
ANNIE’S STOMACH FLOODED with acid, while her heart thudded hard in a race to see whether she’d have a heart attack or an ulcer first.
She had given Cole more of her heart than she’d given to any man. She had ripped her chest open for him and let him see the bleeding memories of her past. She’d shown him everything.
But for him, their entire relationship—every day when she’d been agonizing over falling for him—had been playacting. He’d used her for access.
Betrayal wasn’t a large enough word to describe what she felt.
She wanted to go to the deer blind, but the mocking ghost of Cole’s presence would be there. Same at the sacred tree circle.
She wanted to run into the woods and lose herself. She wanted to run so deep that pain couldn’t find her.
There was a different woods past the far edge of the cornfield where she’d never taken Cole or any of her patients. She rarely went there herself. The place had been the site of a Revolutionary War battle. She always felt as if ghosts walked among the trees there.
At the moment, Annie felt like a ghost herself.
Tears rolling down her face, she dove into the corn and headed for the far edge.
Thursday
Dr. Ambrose had prescribed Cole’s meds, so he had to meet with him to discuss what Cole would like to continue and what he’d like to discontinue. Their appointment was at ten o’clock. Other than that, Cole canceled the rest of the exit sessions that had been scheduled for him.
He was grateful for the effort people at Hope Hill had put into making him feel better, but he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to make nice all morning. He didn’t want to see anyone but Annie, and Annie didn’t want to see him.
Cole was ready to get out of there. Not that he would be able stay away.
His plan was to go home, move out of his apartment, and ship his stuff up here. Before coming to Hope Hill, he’d done mostly Internet work, reviewing security protocols for various companies. He could pick up more work like that, and he had money saved from his active-duty days.
He would do whatever it took for Annie to forgive him.
If she made him wait two years, then so be it.
He wanted a chance with her. If he couldn’t convince her, if she still said no, he’d accept her decision. But he wasn’t going to throw away the possibility of a future with her because of their first fight.
Cole walked into Ambrose’s office.
The shrink looked up. “I’m sorry to hear that you’re leaving. Please, have a seat.”
The man studied him carefully and poured them both some water, the ice clinking in the carafe. “So, what’s on your mind this morning?”
Annie. Annie had been on Cole’s mind most of the time since he’d met her. Not that he’d tell Ambrose.
“Getting back home,” he said instead.
“Back to the same old same old?”
“I don’t think so. I’d like to think I’ve learned while I’ve been here.”
Ambrose offered an easy grin. “We certainly hope so.”
Cole hesitated a moment before he asked the question that had been bouncing around in his head for the past day or two. “Does PTSD have a memory-loss component?”
“It can. Why do you ask?”
“I keep feeling lately that I should be remembering something that I don’t. It’s right there under the surface. I can almost see it, but then I can’t.”
Interest glinted in Ambrose’s eyes. “Stay. Then we can work on that together.”
“I’ll probably remember on my own. Lying in bed last night, I almost had it. It might come to me if I do some meditation.”
They talked about that, then his meds. He didn’t want to renew his prescriptions, but understood that some of the meds couldn’t be stopped abruptly if he didn’t want withdrawal to knock him on his ass for the next couple of days, even weeks. So they set up a schedule to wean him off the drugs. Ambrose made a pitch that needing pills didn’t mean Cole was weak.
Something Annie would say. Cole tried not to think about the fact that Annie hated his guts now. He’d return. He’d grovel. He’d do whatever he had to, to earn her forgiveness.
Ambrose’s advice on Cole’s future treatment plan took longer than Cole thought it would. Next thing he knew, a full hour had passed.
He thanked the psychiatrist one more time, shook the guy’s hand, and went to pack.
He swung by Annie’s room on the ground floor. Knocked. She didn’t open up. Maybe she had a session.
He pulled out his phone to text her. Can I see you before I leave?
Frustration shot through him when he remembered that she’d lost her phone. She hadn’t given him her new number. He had no way of reaching her before he left.