What didn’t this guy know and notice about Meg?
She turned to Ian, clutching his sleeve. “Please stay with Travis. I’ll be fine at the hospital, and there’s nobody I’d rather leave Travis with than you.”
Ian ran a hand across his mouth. How hard could it be to look after a sleeping two-year-old? “Sure, I’ll stay here. But you stick close to Sheriff Cahill.”
Was he crazy?
After Cahill waltzed off with Meg and bundled her in his squad car, Ian found a bucket and some rags, and scrubbed Matt’s blood from the floor of Meg’s entryway. What the hell had happened to Matt? Had the shooter gone after Matt in an attempt to get to Meg? But he already knew where Meg lived.
This guy was a loose cannon. The established terror organizations must be farming out their jobs to amateurs these days.
After Ian washed up, he kicked off his shoes and found the blanket he’d used the night before, folded at the foot of Meg’s bed. He snagged one of her pillows, too, just because he liked the smell.
He settled on the couch, gun tucked beneath him, and shook out the blanket. Muffled cries from Travis’s room had him bounding off the couch like a rock from a slingshot. He burst into the bedroom to find Travis sitting up, his blankets twisted around him.
“You awake again?” The small bed dipped beneath Ian’s weight and Travis rolled toward him.
He twisted a curl around his finger. “Where’s Mommy?”
“Mommy’s sleeping. Is it okay if I stay with you?”
Travis studied him through large, round eyes, then blinked twice and nodded. “Daddy.”
Ian swallowed the ridiculous lump that clogged his throat. “That’s right, pal. Daddy’s here.”
MEG ENTERED THE HOSPITAL in Colorado Springs for the third time in two days—once for Travis, once for herself and now for Matt. Pete took charge and demanded information from the front desk. The unflappable clerk told him Matt’s doctor would be out to talk to him soon.
Meg sank into one of the cushioned chairs in the waiting room. What had Matt meant by his statement? Why would somebody be after her? She understood the shots fired on the mountain today. She and Ian had been treading on dangerous ground. But why would this man still be after her? She didn’t know anything.
Traitorously, she almost wished he’d find his damned weapon thingy and get lost. But she knew that had dangerous implications for the country, and possibly deadly implications for Jack.
She sighed and stretched. Pete dropped into the chair across from her, tipping his hat off his head. “Do you want anything from the vending machines?”
“No, thanks. I had a bunch of Chinese food tonight…about a million years ago.”
“He’s Travis’s father, isn’t he? I figured it out as soon as I heard his last name.”
Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes. Give the sheriff a gold star. “Yes. Ian is Travis’s father.”
“And he ran out on him? Ran out on you?” Pete’s voice sounded tight enough to make his head explode.
Without opening her eyes, Meg rocked her head back and forth on the cushion of the chair. “No, Pete. It wasn’t like that. We’d already separated when I found out I was pregnant. I just didn’t bother to tell him.”
She heard Pete’s noisy intake of air, and she opened her eyes to slits. “Who’s the bad guy now?”
He sputtered. “I’m sure you had your reasons.”
“Yeah, a bunch of dumb ones.”
“Sheriff Cahill?” A young doctor clutching a medical chart entered the waiting room. “I’m Dr. Patel.”
Pete stood up, confusion about Meg’s admission still twisting the features of his face. “Good to meet you. Is Mr. Beaudry going to be okay?”
Dr. Patel glanced at the open chart as if it could give him all the answers. “He lost a lot of blood, but the EMTs did a good job stabilizing him. He’s regained consciousness and he’s going to make it, although he’s going to have a few scars as souvenirs of this night.”
Meg pressed a hand to her mouth and mumbled a prayer against her fingers.
“Can I talk to him?” Pete slid his fingers along the rim of his hat.
“Yes, but not for too long. He needs his rest.” Dr. Patel gestured toward the swinging doors that led to a long hallway. “Room five-eight-three.”
Meg held up her cell phone. “I called his ex-wife on the way over here. Does she need to come?”
The doctor raised his eyebrows. “Does she want to come?”
“Not really.” Meg spread her hands. “I did say ex-wife, didn’t I?”
“She doesn’t need to come. Mr. Beaudry is out of danger for now. Nobody needs to make any life-or-death decisions.”
“I left a message with his girlfriend, Ali, too, but she’s out of town. At least she’ll be able to take care of him when she returns.”
Pete pointed to the chair she’d just vacated. “Wait here. I want to talk to Matt alone.”
Meg thanked Dr. Patel and returned to her seat. When Pete left the room, she grabbed a magazine and flipped through it, the colors and faces on the pages as blurry as her thoughts. What did happen to Matt, and how did it involve her?
She started and the magazine fell from her hands as Pete blew through the door of the waiting room. His scowl didn’t tell a happy story…at least for him.
“How’s Matt holding up?”
Pete growled. “He looks like hell.”
“D-did he tell you anything?” Meg dipped to retrieve the magazine, her hair shielding her face from Pete’s probing look.
“Not much. He wants to see you.”
Her heart beat double time in her chest, causing the collar of her sweater to tremble. “What did he say, Pete?”
“He said some guy in a mask came at him in the parking lot of the Rocky Mountain Adventures office in town. Matt lost his cell phone in the attack, and drove straight to your house, since everything on the main drag was closed.” Pete chewed on the inside of his cheek, his dark eyes stormy and brimming with frustration.
“Well, I’m going to see him and let him know I called Ali.” Meg backed out of the waiting room. She didn’t want to turn her back on Pete in his current foul mood.
She scurried down the hallway in case someone in charge changed his or her mind about visitors. When she reached room five-eight-three, she peeked into the oblong window cut into the door before pushing it open.
She tripped to a stop and the door banged her elbow—at least it didn’t hit the one in the sling. Matt’s pale form stretched out on white sheets about the color of his face. Tubes ran from his nose and arm and a machine beeped and hissed beside him.
He looked dead.
Meg tiptoed up to the bed and touched his cold hand. She whispered, “Matt?”
He stirred, his eyelids twitching. Maybe his conversation with Pete had worn him out. Pete had that effect on people. “Matt?”
His hand jerked beneath hers and he clutched her wrist with a ferocious strength.
“It’s Meg.” She left her hand in his grasp, not wanting to get into a tug-of-war with a half-dead guy.
As his grip loosened, he rolled his head to the side and his eyelashes flickered.
“Meg?”
“Yeah, it’s me. The doc said you need to rest. I called Ali for you and left a message.”
“Meg?” His fingers dug into her arm.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m here, Matt.”
His dry lips puckered, and she dipped her head close to his mouth. His strength seemed to seep from his body and he dropped his hand. Then on a whoosh of breath, he hissed, “Run.”
A river of chills cascaded down her spine and she jerked her head back, snatching her hand from the bed. Her gaze darted toward the gray machine at his bedside, humming peacefully. Matt’s breathing deepened and the creases of his face smoothed into a bland pudding.
He’d fallen asleep. The nurses must’ve drugged him up to relieve his pain. He’d tell her more when he could think straight. Run? What kin
d of advice was that? And why? What could these terrorists want from her or Matt? Whatever it was, it looked like Matt couldn’t or didn’t deliver.
She patted Matt’s hand and withdrew from the room. If Pete planned to get anything out of her, he had a long night ahead of him. She pushed through the doors to the waiting room and Pete jumped up from his seat.
“Well?”
“Matt’s all drugged up. He conked out while I was in there.” She yawned and stretched her one arm over her head. “Can you take me home now? My shoulder’s beginning to throb. I think I need a few painkillers myself.”
“Sure.” He clapped his hat on his head. “You must be worried about Travis.”
She put her hand on Pete’s arm. “No, I’m not worried about Travis, Pete. He’s with his father.”
Pete swallowed and a red tide washed over his face.
Good. Maybe he finally got the message. She wouldn’t stand for him talking trash about Ian. If he wanted to come after her with both barrels blazing, he could have at it. She deserved his scorn, not Ian.
They shared a silent ride home. Meg released a long breath when her little house came into view, dark, peaceful, quiet. Ian’s rental car in the driveway gave the house a secure look—probably just because it belonged to him.
Pete swung in behind it and cut the engine. “I’ll walk you up to the front door. I told Dempsey I’d look after you.”
She smiled at him gratefully and waited while he came around to the passenger door to help her out. Her shoulder ached now and she couldn’t wait to pop a couple of pills.
She slid her key in the lock and swung open the door, avoiding the space in the entryway where Matt had collapsed. She turned toward Pete hovering in the doorway. “Thanks, Pete.”
He tipped his hat and stepped off the porch. Meg locked up and dropped her purse on the table beneath the window. She tiptoed toward the couch, not wanting to wake up Ian if she could help it.
She peeked over the top of the couch and froze, a hard lump of fear forming in her belly. Ian had taken a pillow from her bed and scrunched it up on one end of the couch and had found the blanket from last night, which lay crumpled in a heap.
Pillow. Blanket. But no Ian.
She dashed for the hallway, flicking on the light and stumbling toward Travis’s room. She clutched the doorjamb, swinging into the room. She stopped midswing and let out a breath.
Ian’s long legs hung off the end of the toddler bed, one arm dragging off the edge to the floor. He’d curled the other arm around Travis, who was snuggled up to Ian’s chest, one small hand against his father’s scruffy chin.
Meg’s nose tingled and tears flooded her eyes. Ian had missed so much. She’d robbed him. A tiny sob escaped her lips and she crept closer to the sleeping duo.
Ian would be sore in too many places to count if she left him cramped in this little bed. She tugged at his dangling arm. “Ian.”
He murmured and licked his lips. She squeezed his shoulder and gave him a shake. “Ian, wake up.”
Ian bolted upright. Travis slid from his comfy perch, but didn’t make a sound.
“What’s wrong?” His hand groped beneath the bed and he slid his gun along the floor.
“Nothing.” She ran her fingers along the grooves of his knuckles. “Everything’s okay. I just thought you should stretch out on the couch. Was Travis crying?”
He brushed the hair from her face, cupping her jaw. His thumb roamed across her cheek, and she realized a few tears had dampened her face. He pulled her head close, meeting her forehead with his. “You’ve been crying.”
“I-it’s just seeing you here with Travis…” More hot tears crested and fell, following the path of the others.
Ian tilted up her chin and angled his mouth across hers. She welcomed his kiss, skimming her hands through his hair, inviting him closer.
He rose from the bed, bringing her with him, never breaking their connection. Reaching back, he tucked the covers around Travis. Then he swept Meg up in his solid embrace and launched out of their son’s bedroom.
His kiss deepened and his tongue played with hers, as desire, hot and sweet, seeped into every muscle of her body. She felt boneless, languid and completely under Ian’s spell.
When he carried her down the hallway and kicked open the door to her room, she knew he had no intention of sleeping on the couch tonight.
And she didn’t mind one bit.
Chapter Twelve
Meg’s lips tasted as sweet as a caramel apple at a county fair. Once he’d touched the tears on her cheeks, he couldn’t find that anger that had been hitting him like punishing fists ever since he’d discovered that she’d kept Travis from him. He waited for the sucker punch to his gut again, but he could only feel the pressure of Meg’s soft lips against his, which sent a wave of desire pounding through his body.
He dragged his mouth away from her sweet caress and buried it in her hibiscus-scented hair. He waited for the spear of rage to plunge into his heart. Waited for his brain to scream at him: She kept your son from you. She didn’t trust you enough to be a father.
Nothing. No rage. Just Meg’s soft gasp as he trailed his tongue along the velvety curve of her ear. She shifted in his embrace, and he realized that he still cradled her in his arms. He’d been subconsciously waiting for the hammer to come down. He didn’t want to take his wife to bed. She’d cheated him out of two years of Travis’s life.
Sighing, she pulled at his shirt and nuzzled his throat. Ian placed her gently on the bed. He could turn around right now, punish her for deceiving him. Punish himself.
She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his jeans, tugging him closer. “Come here. Make love to me.”
Her throaty voice, thick with desire, caused his pulse to thud. He unzipped her jacket and slid it off her shoulder, her other arm still in a sling and pressed against her body. Beneath the jacket, she wore a sweater, the left sleeve snug on her injured arm.
She grabbed the sling around her neck and ducked out of it. Clutching her arm to her side, she unzipped the sweater. Ian squeezed his eyes closed in frustration as the gaping sweater revealed a T-shirt beneath.
“Believe me, if I didn’t have this injured shoulder, I’d be out of these clothes in lightning speed.” She tipped her chin toward him, still fully dressed. “What’s your excuse?”
Could he tell her he was waiting for that anger to kick in, for the moment he could walk out on her for walking out on him? As he gazed at her beautiful, fresh face with its trace of tears, he swallowed the last of his bile.
“Ladies first.” He kneeled beside her on the bed and gingerly peeled the sweater from her arm. He frowned at the T-shirt. “How’d you get this over your head in the first place?”
“Very carefully.”
He grabbed the T-shirt at the neck and ripped it in two. Her eyes widened in mock horror as he wrestled the tattered shirt over her bandaged shoulder. “I’ll replace it.”
“It was vintage.” With one hand, she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. “I’m at a distinct disadvantage here.”
He finished the job on the buttons, shrugged out of his shirt and yanked his T-shirt over his head. “Don’t worry. I’ve been undressing myself for years.”
“And you do a really good job.” She splayed her hands across his chest, and he sucked in a breath as she lightly dug her nails into his flesh.
With one hand he reached back and released her bra. “I’m just generally good at taking clothes off…mine and others’.”
“I can see that.” She picked up her tattered T-shirt with two fingers and dropped it over the edge of the bed.
Ian leaned forward, gathering her breasts in his hands. His thumbs traced their round smoothness until he pinched her nipples between thumb and forefinger. A soft moan brushed his forehead as Meg’s head fell back.
He kissed the inviting hollow of her throat and then formed a dotted line down her chest with the tip of his tongue. He raked the stubble of his beard over
her soft skin and she bounced up from the mattress. He captured one breast in his hand and toyed with her nipple, trailing his smooth lips across it first, followed by his rough beard.
Inarticulate sounds formed in the back of her throat, but she seemed incapable of any other kind of response except to offer herself up to him like a delectable feast. She leaned back on one hand, and he cupped her other breast, switching his attention to this peaked nipple, rosy with want.
When he had her panting, he stopped his play and suckled her nipple into his mouth. She gasped and threaded her hand through his hair to push his face against her swollen breast.
His erection strained against his jeans, and he rolled to the side, placing her hand on his crotch. She struggled to sit up, brushing her breasts against his bare arm. He shivered and then gulped as she traced the outline of his hard desire.
“Mmm, I thought you left your gun under the bed.”
“Wouldn’t do me much good under there now, would it?”
She tugged at his zipper. “Help me out here, unless you plan to shoot those bullets into your boxers.”
He laughed and rolled off the mattress, opening his fly on the way. He yanked off his jeans and boxers in one smooth move and rejoined her on the bed, pulling the covers from the bed.
Meg crawled onto the sheets and pointed to her own jeans. “I think I’m going to need help taking off my clothes until my shoulder heals.”
“I’ll volunteer for that job.” He raised his hand. Then he unzipped her fly, slid his hands down her bare skin and inched her jeans off her body. By the time the jeans lay in a circle around her ankles, he’d run his hands down her hips, thighs and calves and had her quivering against the sheets.
Her lashes fluttered. “Would that kind of service be included in all the undressing?”
“Absolutely.” He yanked the pants from her feet and tossed them over his shoulder. Straddling her hips, he skimmed his erection along her belly.
Her eyes flew open and she grabbed him…hard…just the way he liked it. And she knew it. Her grip tightened and she pumped him, as he growled, rocking forward, trying to remember his grudge against her. Her thumb circled his head, and he gritted his teeth.
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