“What the—”
Gray's voice. Her legs wobbled and she collapsed onto the bath mat.
The front door slammed open.
“Sorcha! Sorcha!” Gray bellowed.
She couldn't get out a word; her throat had closed in on itself.
White barked twice.
“Honey? Open the door. It's me.”
She crawled around the pedestal sink and opened the door. A tangle of legs interweaved with her arms, and a dog tail whipped her face. Gray dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her. She buried her nose in his chest and inhaled. He smelled so spicy, so real, so wonderful, so safe.
Lights flashed on.
“Are you okay?” He brushed her hair back from her face and raked her features. “What the hell happened?”
“I heard a sound, then a loud bang. Then glass broke, and I heard footsteps. I hid in here.” She clutched the razor and the plastic bottle convulsively, her knuckles whitening around the items. “These were all I could find.”
“Those are good weapons to choose, honey. Probably the best in this spot.” Using his elbow, he nudged the door fully open, levered to his feet, marched to the bed, and sat. “I can't go through this again.” His complexion had lost its golden hue and he gulped in oxygen, his chest lifting and falling in tight, short bursts.
“Was someone on the porch?” Her lungs stuttered as she waited for his answer.
“Yes. Honey, are you going to be okay if I leave you here while I check things out?”
“No. I'm coming with you.” Sorcha's trembling fingers clutched his cotton shirt.
“Honey?” His voice wavered.
“No.” She shook her head. “You're not leaving me alone in here. Oh God, Gray. I froze. I heard someone coming and I couldn't move.”
“You did move, honey.” He tucked a lock behind her ears. “You got into the bathroom, and you armed yourself with the best weapons you could find. You did good, hear me? You did fucking great.” He crooned the words and feathered kisses on her cheeks, her nose, both temples.
“I want to learn how to shoot a gun,” she said. “I never want to feel like that again.”
“That's my mate. First thing I added to my to-do list when I saw the mess on the porch.” He licked her neck.
“Gray, you're going to have put me down.”
“I can't. Not yet.” Gray's hands tightened their hold around her shoulders and her knees; he marched into the living room and thudded onto the sofa. Pressing his lips to her forehead, he stroked the length of her spine over and over until her shivers stammered to a halt.
How could his touch erase her fears in an instant?
From terror to security in zero to thirty seconds.
Under her palm, his heart beat in an irregular rhythm.
Her eyes focused on the leaping pulse in the center of his throat.
“Gray?”
Through half-hooded eyes, he scrutinized her face. “How long ago did all this happen?”
“Minutes, I think. I don't know exactly. Time sort of stood still when I froze.” She bit her lower lip. “Can you teach me how to react right? I always thought I'd be smart, think fast, and do the right thing.”
His features settled into an expression she recognized. Eyes narrowing, he muttered, “First of all, you are smart, you did react fast, and you did do the right thing. Right. Let's backtrack.”
He took her through the sequence of events leading to his finding her in the bathroom. His calm questions and logical approach soothed her nerves. “Honey, I have to take a closer look at the glass. You'll be able to see me at all times. Okay?”
“I'll be fine, Gray. It was the first shock of it.”
After settling her on the couch, he kissed the tip of her nose and rose to his feet. White trotted to Gray's side and sat on his haunches while Gray edged one sliding glass door open. Dog and man strode onto the wooden porch fronting the lake.
Covering her legs with the blanket, she blew out a long sigh.
What a day and a night.
She peered through the half-misted glass and spotted Gray scowling while sweeping shards into a plastic container.
White meandered across the deck and nosed his arm. The Lab nudged him again; Gray tilted his head and stood, a frown furrowing three grooves on his forehead. The animal trotted to the left side of the porch leading to the carport, gave a low woof, and pointed, lifting his nose in the air. Gray obeyed the canine's not-so-subtle, insistent follow-me command.
Pausing at the six-inch opening he'd left in the sliding glass doors, he said, “I'm going to check the back perimeter. I'll lock you in for now. If I'm not back in ten minutes, call the precinct.”
He made her repeat the phone number twice, and then man and dog vanished around the far corner of the cabin. Pulse spiking, she drummed her fingers on the side table. Minutes ticked by without either Gray or White reappearing. She concentrated on the view.
Streaky rays peeked over Lake Wickia's eastern horizon.
A slight mist curled along the pines lining the opposite banks. Even through the muting effect of the floor-to-ceiling glass entrance, Sorcha listened to dawn's shroud of silence descend. Birds slipped into slumber, frogs retired, nocturnal animals ceased their movements, and the rippling shale surface of the water smoothed into a downy reflection of the skies above. She stared at the postcard-perfect Washington vista of lake, hills, and trees, and in the eerie quiet, the humming of small kitchen appliances thrummed like a low drumroll.
White preceded Gray through the doorway at the same moment she decided to go and check on the two of them. The minute she saw the expression on Gray's face, her breathing slowed to a turtle's pace.
“What is it?”
“When did you get into town?” He knelt in front of her and covered one hand with both of his. She shivered, though not from the chill of his callused palms.
“Around ten. Why?”
“Did you come here right away?”
“No, I went to Miss L's to pick up Harold and Kumar, stopped at the gas station, and then I hit the McDonald's drive-through.” So much had happened since she drove into Twisp yesterday.
“Harold and Kumar aren't in their cage, honey. The door's wide open, and there are an awful lot of feathers in the cage. Almost as if they fought each other.”
She shook her head. “No, that can't be true. I distinctly remember putting the dead bolt in before I covered the cage with their cashmere blanket.”
Her grandmother's cockatoos had been her pride and joy. Both birds conversed like human beings and had extensive vocabularies. They could imitate almost every sound they heard, including kitchen sounds, car and boat engines, and a host of other noises common in and around Twisp. Harold played a mean sax, and Kumar had Aretha Franklin down to a tee.
“Besides, those birds are too spoiled. They might take a short joyride flight, but they don't know how to forage for food.” Goose bumps peppered her forearms; she squeezed his hand. “They'd never survive in the wild. I have to go look for them.”
“It's near sunrise. Neither of us has slept. We're not in any shape to go hunting for them now.”
“I know you're right, but it doesn't make it any easier to accept.” Sorcha remembered the original reason Gray had been on the porch. “And the lights?”
“Shot out. Looks like a BB gun. I'm sending the glass and the bullet to the county's central lab.”
“A BB gun?” Sorcha didn't realize how much she had tensed until her shoulders slumped. “Teenagers? All the guys had them when I was in high school.”
“Except the only teenagers in this area I can think of who would do something like this were in my lockup at that time.” Gray dragged both hands through his hair. He checked his watch. “Church is at ten. If we hop into bed now, we can catch a couple hours of sleep.”
“I don't think I could fall asleep. My mind's buzzing like a whole hive of bees.”
“You'll sleep. Come on. I've cleaned up outside, and I l
eft the birdcage open. There are still fruit and nuts in the cage, so hopefully Harold and Kumar will come home when they're hungry.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Head hurting?”
“A tad. I'll take a couple of Aleves.”
“No you won't, Sorcha McFadden. You'll be trying the Gray White cure.” He winked. “Designed to make headaches and sleeplessness vanish like this.” Snapping his fingers, he leered at her.
He shampooed her hair. The words sounded so simple. Gray massaged her scalp to the point where she purred and stretched and arched under his caresses. Then he dried every inch of her skin and combed her long hair in front of a blazing fire. As her tresses dried, he switched to a brush and stroked her locks until they shone like spun gold and she melted like molten lava.
By the time he laid her on the plush rug in front of the fireplace, relaxed couldn't begin to describe her limbs or her skin. Each stroke of the hairbrush shouted his feelings, his care for her, his devotion. She felt cherished, loved, aroused.
Gray cradled her head in his big, rough palms and parted her lips with gentle nips, his tongue delving past her teeth. He teased her with short, quick strokes into her mouth, drew her hips off the thick carpet with long, hard thrusts, had her moaning and pleading, weeping moisture.
“Please, Gray. Now, now. I need you now.” She reached for him; he captured both wrists in one hand and stretched her arms above her head.
“My way today, honey. My way.” He rolled her over, edged her onto her knees, and entered her from behind in one powerful plunge.
“Oh God. Oh Gray. Yes, yes,” she moaned when he began to drive into her, long and hard, then short and fast, delaying her climax until she swore at him and thrashed her ass, meeting his cock with contracting muscles clamping tighter and tighter, fighting him for her peak, working his prick.
“Mine,” he growled, and his teeth locked on her neck as her pussy knotted his shooting cock. “Mine.”
Sorcha turned, her mouth clamped his bicep, and she echoed him, “Mine.”
They crashed onto the rug, flesh sweat-slick, bodies a puddle of intertwined legs and arms. Sorcha grunted when Gray's muscles slackened and his weight crushed her. She muttered into the soft fleece, “Heavy.”
Obligingly, he rolled onto his side, wrapped his body around hers, and nuzzled her nape. When his lungs settled into a deep, even rhythm, she knew he'd fallen asleep. Sorcha passed out minutes later.
“Honey.” Warm hands shook her bare shoulder. “Wake up, honey. We have to get dressed for church.”
Sorcha straightened her legs, reached both hands over her head, and arched. A silly grin captured her mouth, and she opened her eyes, blinking him into focus. “Morning.”
Sun streamed through the sliding glass doors, the bright rays twinkling silver and gold into the navy waters of Lake Wickia. “I feel delicious.”
“You are delicious.” His lips trailed her collarbone, leaving her skin moist and tingling. “So, how do you like Gray White's headache cure?” Toothpaste spearmint wafted to her nose, and his hot breath tickled the hollow of her throat.
“I think I may plead a headache every night.” She outlined his mouth with her fingertips, then thumbed the crinkles bracketing his dark eyes. “Is it always so primitive? I can't believe how wild I was. I swear I've never been so aware of everything in my life.”
“Neither have I, Sorcha.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Never forget this is new to me too.”
“Are we really going to church?” She rubbed against him, and her nipples tautened into hard little points.
“Yes, we are.” He slapped her butt. “You shower first.”
Ten minutes later, Sorcha studied her likeness in the mirror. Too much makeup? She wiped off the blush on her cheeks with a tissue. Too much perfume? Sniffing her wrists revealed only a hint of the lilac scent she used. She hadn't seen anyone in the White family for more than a decade. The dress looked okay. Modest neckline, short cap sleeves, tailored with a small belt at the waist. Her hips looked too heavy; she smoothed the material around her ass.
“Honey, what are you doing in there? It's five to ten. We're going to be late.”
Sorcha rolled her eyes at her image in the glass, picked up her Dooney and Bourke tote, walked across the carpet, and opened the bedroom door to find Gray standing near the couch, legs shoulder width apart, hands jammed onto hips.
“The birds aren't back. White's in the sunroom. I refilled his water and food.”
“And good morning to you too,” she retorted.
That devilish grin she loved curved his lips. “Not a morning person, I see.”
He hustled her out of the cabin and into the Durango.
Even though he drove five miles over the speed limit, they arrived ten minutes late.
Sorcha kept her back straight and her shoulders squared as they swept up the middle aisle to the White family pew amid a sea of seated churchgoers. Whispers followed their entrance; she heard “Sorcha” several times but kept her eyes fixed on the faded red carpet that seemed to separate all church pews.
As they slipped onto an oak bench in the second row, she caught Gray's sister's gasp of surprise. Susie grinned and mouthed, Later.
The minute the minister launched into his sermon, images of the past day and a half intruded: meeting Gray's eyes for the first time, sitting joined to him in front of the fireplace, being on her knees as he took her from behind.
Bad, bad, bad woman—not supposed to think about sex in a holy place.
Half-asleep and more than a little dazed, time both blurred and stood still, and she jerked into full consciousness when everyone rose for the final hymn.
Gray kept his arm around her waist as they followed everyone out of the red-bricked building.
As soon as they cleared the doors, Susie curled her fingers around Sorcha's forearm. “Sorcha McFadden, you rotten person, you. You stopped writing and then your letters came back to me. Where have you been? What are you doing here? It's because of Grams, isn't it? Come and meet my kids. They're in Sunday-school class.”
“Chill, Susie,” Gray ordered. “Give Sorcha a break. We're coming back to the house for lunch, so you'll have lots of time to catch up. Breathe and go get the brats.”
“Brats,” Susie huffed but went around the side of the edifice muttering to herself.
Sorcha couldn't keep the smile off her face. Susie hadn't changed a bit, still gregarious and honest to a fault.
It seemed everyone wanted to meet her. While she may not have shaken 935 hands, it sure felt like it. The crowd had whittled down to five or six stragglers when a red pickup squealed into the parking lot.
“Crap,” Gray muttered. He fixed his gaze on the three men who exited the vehicle.
Sorcha guessed the shortest of the trio to be six-four. All wore faded denim jeans, checkered red and blue shirts, and headbands. Two looked to be in their early forties, the other his late twenties. Belligerence and testosterone dominated their body language. Eyes narrowed, hands balled into fists, every step the Native Americans took spelled trouble; the word should have been tattooed on their foreheads.
Gray met the three men in the middle of the parking lot.
“Uh-oh.”
Sorcha hadn't noticed Susie's return.
“Who are they?”
“Howie Houndtree's the middle one. Gray arrested his son Tommy a while back, and the boy's scheduled to be sentenced in a few days. The others are Howie's cousins.”
Sorcha remembered the TV report she'd seen. “Tommy plays football, right?”
“Star of the local high school team,” Susie answered. “He was being scouted by the big-name colleges. Had a brilliant future until his arrest.”
Sorcha digested the news while watching Howie brandishing a fist not inches from Gray's face. “Howie looks like a man with a temper.”
“Believe me, he is. I'd better get some help.” Susie jogged away.
The situation had dete
riorated during their fifteen-second conversation.
The Houndtree males formed a half circle around Gray, and all of them seemed to be shouting at the same time. She couldn't decipher a word.
Howie threw something to the ground, whirled around, and headed to the truck with his cousins in tow.
“What was that about?” she asked when Gray returned to her side.
“Idle threats. Let's dash. The kids will be hungry.”
He bundled her into the white Durango emblazoned with the word SHERIFF.
“You okay, honey?” he asked when she didn't say a word after they'd been driving for five minutes.
“Just thinking about the past,” Sorcha replied, trying to shake off memories she didn't want to face.
“Your parents?”
She sneaked him a glance. “I wasn't sure if you'd even heard. It was only big news in Twisp.”
“You wrote Susie about it. I read the letter you sent after you were released from the hospital.” He captured her hand and kissed her knuckles. “You really remember nothing?”
“Nothing at all. I've lost the first fifteen years of my life. I can't remember my parents, my birthdays. I have vague flashes—I can remember spending time with Susie, playing Barbie dolls, but anything chronological related to my parents is beyond me.”
“Is it physical?”
Sorcha flinched, taken aback by his bluntness. “Do you know you're the first person to actually ask that question? I knew everyone wondered, but no one had the guts to voice what they thought.” She shook her head. “No. The bullet took a small chunk of my skull, which they replaced. I was given a clean bill of health. All the shrinks back then said my amnesia is purely mental.”
I wish I remembered what happened that night. I hope I never do.
“Is that why you left town? Because of the gossip?”
“I don't know why we left. Three days after they released me from the hospital, Grams and I moved up to Canada. We lived in Penticton until I graduated high school. When I was accepted to college, Grams came back here. I know she wanted me to come and visit, but I just couldn't.”
“Why now, honey?”
“I turned thirty the day Grams died. It's time for me to face my past, and all roads seemed to lead to Twisp.” Her lips pursed. “Somewhere deep in the back of my mind I knew, no matter how much I fought it, I'd end up here.”
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