by Jill Shalvis
But even he knew it was far more than that. He just didn’t know what to do about it.
They had an overnight storm that left everything clear and glistening. The weather turned warm, almost hot. Stone came back, looking relaxed and much happier than he had when he’d left. And when their next guests arrived, the family members spent the first afternoon getting reacquainted with each other and handling the evening chores with gusto, falling in love with the puppies, two of which they claimed.
And late that night, when the guests retired to their rooms, Jake stood in the yard in the dark spring night, restless and unsettled.
“How are you holding up?”
He turned. Callie stood there looking at him. “Better now,” he said, and she smiled.
But then it slowly faded. “You only have a week left,” she said.
“I know.”
She searched his gaze for a long moment, as if trying to make a decision. “You might not realize this, but there are still a few things you haven’t experienced out here.”
“Is that right?” Suddenly feeling a little less restless, certainly a lot less alone, he put his hands on her hips and pulled her close. “What’s that?”
She hoisted the fishing poles she held in her hand.
He laughed. “That’s definitely not what I had in mind.”
“You have something against fishing?”
“Uh…not specifically.”
“Okay then.” She handed him a fishing pole. “Let’s hit it.”
He wanted to talk to her about the offer for the ranch, about how he felt about leaving, but he looked into her face and asked, “Where to?”
“Funny thing about fishing, we need water.”
“You mean the river?”
“Well, I don’t mean my shower.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“We’re not going to get shot out there tonight, Jake. Look, I’m not going to be afraid and nervous and pissed off all the time. I want to live how I want to live, and so much is changing—” She pointed at him with the fishing pole when he opened his mouth. “I know, I can’t stop change, but I sure as hell can be in charge of my own destiny. And tonight my destiny is fishing by moonlight, which I don’t think is asking too much. So.” She drew in a deep breath. “Yes or no?”
“Yes. To whatever you want.”
“Now there’s a dangerous promise.” She led him past the hay barn and turned right, toward the first low rocky hill across the pasture.
“No horses?”
“I need to walk.”
So they walked. The way was lit by the incredible sky, which felt so close and bright, Jake wanted to reach out and grab a star. Soon they came to the trail he’d taken on horseback many times now, so he knew exactly where the river curved alongside it, running parallel.
They walked side by side in the warm evening, their fingers brushing together. He took hers in his and smiled down at her. “You going to take advantage of me out here?”
She eyed him over. “I don’t know. It’s dirty and the ground is hard. There are bugs.”
He laughed. “I haven’t given you those complaints in a while now.”
“You ever been skinny-dipping?”
“Oh, yeah.” He sighed with remembered pleasure. “Me and Emma Peters. Good times.” He laughed again when Callie yanked her hand out of his, and he grabbed it back. “We were thirteen.”
Slightly mollified, she gave him a cool look as she left the path and headed down to the river’s edge. “I’m not thirteen.”
“For which I’m eternally grateful.” They sat there, surrounded by rocky hills and bush, utterly isolated and alone, and yet unlike the last time they’d been out here, he felt no danger. The opposite, actually. This place, which he’d often thought so strange and stark and other-worldly, now felt as good a fit as the woman next to him.
She pulled a small jar of bait from her pocket and loaded her hook. The smell made his eyes water. “Baby,” she called him, and loaded his hook for him, then rinsed her hands in the water. She stuck her pole in the damp, soft earth, between her knees, lay back on the ground, and stared up at the sky.
He did the same. They stayed like that for a long time, their bodies touching, the night all around them, and a peace filled him, a warm, soothing, soft peace. A little startled, he turned his head and found her looking at him.
Turning on her side, she propped her head up with her hand. “What’s the matter?”
He turned on his side, too, having just realized the truth. He was falling for this amazing, different landscape. He was falling for the ranch and the people on it. And he was falling for the woman in front of him. It was just enough to make him momentarily speechless as the blood roared in his head and his bones liquefied.
“Jake?”
He started to shake his head—couldn’t she see he was having a heart attack?—but she leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. “Don’t feel like talking?” she murmured. “That’s okay. I have something else we can do to pass the time.” She set aside the fishing poles, and slid into his arms. He closed them tight around her and held on like she was his next breath, his lifeline. Because she was.
They walked back, talking, smiling, and in Callie’s case, feeling much more relaxed than she’d been before she’d jumped Jake’s bones on the riverbed by moonlight. Their clothes were a little rumpled, and she was fairly certain she had river sand in places where there shouldn’t be any, but she could live with that given how good she felt.
When they came into the yard, the big house was quiet and dark. Oddly enough, Michael’s truck was parked behind Callie’s Jeep, and her cabin lights were on. She frowned. “I wonder what’s wrong for him to come out here this late.”
Then her door opened and Michael stepped out onto the small square porch. He lifted his hand to shade his eyes from the glare of the porch light and looked across the yard to where they stood. “There you are,” he called out. His voice was filled with relief, and a forced good cheer. On his face was a misery that tore at her.
She turned to Jake. “I’d better go see—”
“Yeah.” He took her fishing pole.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not a problem.” He leaned into her and gave her one soft, warm kiss. He pulled back, looked at her for a long moment, then kissed her again, just a little longer this time. “Thanks for the fishing. And everything else,” he added silkily.
She bit back her dreamy smile and watched him go, then walked to her cabin. “Hey you,” she said to Michael. “Everything okay?”
“Come talk to me.” He held open her door. “Please?”
“Sure.” She stepped inside, where she stopped and gasped in shock and surprise. There were candles everywhere, along the floor, on every countertop, on her coffee table, and in each windowsill, all lit and flickering fiercely. In addition, rose petals had been scattered on every surface of the small cabin, filling the air with their strong scent.
“For you,” Michael said, and shut the cabin door.
She turned in a slow circle, absolutely stunned by the amount of time he’d spent putting everything together. He took her hands, looked down at them, at her fingernails still lined with fish bait. “It was the only way I could think of to tell you what I should have told you the day we met, and every day since.”
Oh, God. “Michael—”
“Callie, I love you. I’ve always loved you, through your entire short and stupid marriage to Matt, a man who never appreciated you, through you working your fingers to the bone for that tyrant Richard—”
“He wasn’t a—”
“Through all this fantasy you’ve had of buying this place—”
“Wait a minute.” She tried to tug her hands free but he held firm. “What do you mean, fantasy? Michael, I’m serious about buying this place. I filled out your loan papers—” She stared at him, a funny feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. “I filled out your loan papers and kept asking you about t
hem, and you’ve been vague. Terribly vague.”
“Yes.”
“Because…you didn’t process them?”
He gave her a sad smile. “Do you really think I would do that to you?”
She tried to relax but couldn’t. Nor could she tug free because his grip tightened, painfully so now. “No, I didn’t think you would do anything to hurt me,” she said carefully. “But maybe that’s the problem. I didn’t think at all. Michael, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry.” He leaned in and kissed her. “Don’t flinch from me,” he murmured, still holding her hands too tight. “It’s just me.”
“Yeah.” She stared at him, thoughts racing along with her heart. “I’ve been thinking about all the mysterious incidents.”
“Have you?”
“It could have been Amy,” she said, watching him carefully. “Or Lou.”
“Stone gets my vote.” Michael shook his head. “An alcoholic.”
“Right. But Stone was gone when someone took potshots at Jake and me, and Lou couldn’t have had access to my office because he never comes into the big house.”
“Eddie, then?”
“Eddie has an aim like a sniper.”
“Maybe he missed on purpose,” Michael said, and shrugged.
Her heart was in her throat now, pounding so hard she thought she might throw up. Or you missed on purpose. “You didn’t process my loan, did you.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “If you’d gotten that loan, you’d never see how much you need me. I was beginning to worry you’d never see.”
Goosebumps broke out on her arms and the back of her neck. She stood there frozen in shock as he smiled, calm and sweet as always. “I tried patience,” he said. “That didn’t work. I’ve been trying to scare you into my arms for months now. You never so much as budged.”
“Scare me.” She was shocked he couldn’t hear her heart drumming. “Like…letting out the horses. Like taking my coil wire.”
Another long moment while things flashed in his eyes that terrified her. “It was time to take matters into my own hands,” he finally said.
She tried to back away, but his hold prevented that. “It was you. The stolen money, Sierra’s saddle—”
“I nearly came back the next night and killed that horse for hurting you,” he said in a friendly, easygoing voice. “I let the pigs out, I stole the money. I have it set aside for you, of course, I only meant to rattle you a bit.”
“The shed. How did you know I’d go to the shed?”
“I didn’t. It was just a stroke of luck that you were walking into it as I was arriving. I smelled the fumes from my truck for God’s sake. You really should fire Stone.”
“Let go of me, Michael.”
When he just regretfully shook his head and pulled her against him, she shuddered. The fear and anger surged together into a powerful fury. “Let go.”
“Can’t.”
She kneed him as hard as she could, and with a sharp cry, he dropped to the floor.
She bolted for the door, but he lunged for her with surprising speed and agility, grabbing her foot and yanking it out from beneath her. She went down hard, hitting her head on the coffee table. Her vision filled with bright stars. The table tipped, and so did the candles, raining down hot wax and lit wicks near her face. The throw rug beneath her caught on fire, and she felt her eyebrows singe, and her shirt. Frantic, she slapped at the smoking material and tried to scramble away from the flickering flames now around her, but Michael still had her foot.
Then the front door burst open, and Amy stood there. “Callie? I heard you scream—” She took in both Michael and Callie on the floor, locked in battle around the fire starting to rage. “Callie!”
With a roar, Michael hauled himself to his feet and backhanded Amy across the face. She dropped, hit the leg of the upturned table, and lay unmoving.
“No—” Callie broke off when Michael turned toward her.
Chest heaving, face damp with sweat, he gave her a gentle smile. “Now. Where were we?”
22
Jake turned on the shower, took a glance at himself in the mirror, and realized he was frowning. He and Callie had had a beautiful night on the riverbed, where she’d thoroughly distracted him from all his problems. She had a way of doing that, of making nothing seem as important as the moment.
He loved that. In fact, he’d had high expectations for the rest of the moments left in the evening, but Michael had ruined that.
Callie hadn’t seemed unnerved by Michael’s late visit, but Jake sure as hell was. He claimed to be Callie’s best friend, and everyone else liked and trusted him, but Jake had looked into his eyes that night and seen something new, something just a little ugly.
The guy wanted Callie, badly. And if Jake had been a good man, an unselfish one, he might have encouraged that relationship. After all, he was leaving, and he wanted Callie safe and happy.
But he wasn’t unselfish. He turned off the shower without using it, and stepped out of the bathroom. He didn’t want to think about Callie with another man. He wanted her safe and happy…with him. “Damn it.”
In his bed, already fast asleep, Tucker stirred. “What?”
“Nothing.” Callie was going to yell at him for interrupting, he was damn sure of it, but too bad. He’d already stripped out of his shirt and boots. Finding either in the dark mess of their cabin would take too long so he went to the door without. The moment he opened it and drew a smoke-filled breath, he jerked in disbelief. “Jesus. Tucker, call 9-1-1.” Then he started running, because Callie’s cabin was lit with fire from the inside, the windows a brilliant yellow and orange. “Callie!”
Her front door stood open. He leapt onto the porch and grabbed the doorjamb, taking in the sight before him like a snapshot. Callie was on the floor, with Michael holding her down while she struggled and kicked at him. Above them, the couch was on fire, and so was the coffee table, as well as the throw rug right next to them.
And on the floor a few feet away, far too close to the burning couch and coffee table, lay an utterly still Amy, with blood seeping from her head and mouth.
His heart nearly stopped. “Callie!” But he went for Amy first. He had to, she was out cold and the flames were too close to her hair. Scooping her up, he ran to the front door, nearly plowing into Tucker. “Take her.” He thrust her in Tucker’s arms, then whirled back.
Callie and Michael were rolling across the floor now, panting, fighting in eerie silence. Barefoot, he ran toward them, jumping over the fire that spread from the rug to the lace curtains. Flames leapt toward the ceiling. He reached the two of them just as Callie managed to stop their momentum with her on top. She fisted her hands in Michael’s hair and slammed his head to the floor.
Michael’s eyes rolled back in his head and his hands fell from her. Panting, Callie slouched over him for one second before Jake hauled her up and into his arms.
“Extinguisher,” she rasped, grabbing her throat as if it hurt to talk, and he could see why. The bastard had tried to choke the life out of her, leaving bruising handprints on her skin.
“Kitchen. The extinguisher’s in the kitchen.” She struggled to pull away to do it herself.
“I’ve got it.” He pointed at her as he started running. “Outside now!”
He found the extinguisher and turned back to find her struggling to drag Michael outside. Her shirt was torn off one shoulder. She had a bloody lip and a nasty scratch above one eye but she was tugging Michael’s limp body for all she was worth. He rushed to her, picking up Michael himself, gritting his teeth at the burst of pain in his shoulder.
Outside, Tucker had just set Amy down and was heading back in. “Here,” Jake said and dumped Michael on the grass next to Amy. “Watch him.”
Back inside he went right for Callie, who was fighting with the extinguisher. He took it from her and with his shoulder screaming, started attacking the fire. It came as second nature to him, thank God, because his usua
l calm was nowhere to be found. This was Callie’s place, Callie who’d nearly gotten killed, and nothing about this felt like fighting a fire usually did.
And he knew right then and there, it wasn’t just Callie. It was him. Something within him had changed. As that thought settled over him, a stream of water shot past him. Callie stood just behind him with the hand-held faucet from her kitchen sink on full blast.
Looking at her fierce protective expression, at the blood seeping from several cuts, her torn clothes, at how she was giving everything she had, he nearly sank to his knees with the force of emotion he felt for her. “Get outside,” he said hoarsely.
“Not until you do,” she said, continuing to send her small stream of water on the fire.
“Callie—” He broke off when he heard sirens racing up the drive. Thank God. “They’re here—” He broke off when she put her hand to her head and swayed, and he dropped the extinguisher to grab her.
“Your shoulder,” she murmured in protest when he carried her outside, but he didn’t put her down. He couldn’t, he discovered, not even when Eddie, Stone, and Lou came running. Not even when one of the paramedics came forward and wanted to check her.
The guests had all come outside, too, in various stages of dress, but Marge was with them, calming everyone down. Tucker held Amy in his lap again, while keeping a foot on Michael, who he relinquished to the sheriff. They could hear Michael moaning about his family jewels and how Callie had kicked them into next week.
Jake still couldn’t believe it. There’d been an emergency, a fire. His own element, but Callie had saved herself. She’d saved herself, and maybe, just maybe, as he stared down into her face, heart pounding, blood still frozen in fear, she’d saved him as well. Not an easy admission for a man extremely used to being the hero.
He still couldn’t let go of her. For nearly six weeks now, he’d told himself this odd and desperate need for her was just lust, but that was turning out to be pure bullshit. No matter that he didn’t want to be falling for her, no matter that he didn’t do love, things were happening inside him that he couldn’t stop.