Kansas City’s Bravest

by Julie Miller

  “It’s part of you.” She climbed up onto her knees and pulled at his arm, reaching for his hand again. He wouldn’t fight her if she insisted on holding it. But he didn’t quite comprehend the fire in her tone. “I’m sorry that you were so hurt. I’m sorry that you suffered. But it’s a badge of honor, not a mark of shame. You earned it doing something brave and noble. And it certainly doesn’t make you any less of a man. That comes from character. And you, Mr. Taylor, have that in spades.”

  She took a deep breath and suddenly her mood changed from indignant anger to one of sultry mystery. What was she up to? Her lips pressed together in a tight line, then pouted out. Her honey-brown eyes took on a golden sparkle. She tilted her chin at an angle, her long waves of champagne hair falling back around her neck and shoulders, brushing across taut muscles and strong bones, ending at the soft swells of her breasts.

  A helpless man in the face of such utter femininity, he watched it all.

  “Meg?”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Gideon.” She pressed his scarred hand flat between hers and teased her fingernails across his palm. “You can feel that, can’t you?”

  Gideon nodded, his skin tingling to life beneath her touch.

  “Can you feel this?” She tugged at his hand and guided it up to cover her naked breast with his palm.

  “Meg, no—” He tried to pull away, but she trapped his hand and pushed herself into him. His entire body leaped to life as he concentrated on the uniquely feminine contrast of soft flesh and rigid nipple beneath his touch. He watched with humble fascination his tanned hand on her palest skin. Her eyes drifted shut and she pleasured herself with his weak hand, which, in turn, pleasured him.

  With this erotic style of healing, his body certainly wasn’t feeling any less manly. “Yeah, sweetheart.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “I’m definitely feeling this.”

  “Use it,” she commanded, making herself an alluring, demanding physical therapist. “I have never seen you as anything but a whole man. Heroic. Smart. Handsome. Stron—” Her praise halted on a stolen breath as he caught her rigid nipple between his hand and thumb.

  “Enough talking,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her throat and make a few demands of his own. He stole her breath when he closed his mouth over hers. “I get the message.” He kissed her again. “And I love you for it.”

  She never once seemed to mind an awkward grab or clumsy caress as, giving both hands equal responsibility in this seduction, he pulled her into his arms and made slow, restorative love to her.

  When he was ready to burst and she was begging for completion, he rolled away from her and opened the drawer of his bedside table. He ripped open the foil packet and sheathed himself. Moments later he was sheathed inside her. They held each other close, savoring the healing warmth, the perfect shelter, the love he knew they shared. He kissed her mouth when she cried out her pleasure and Gideon plunged over just after.

  But as he led her into the shower to cleanse and cool their well-loved bodies, Gideon made a realization that nearly stole the pleasure of the night from him.

  He hadn’t worn a condom the first time.

  He’d already failed to keep her safe.

  BY SUNUP, Meghan’s make-believe night of a relationship with Gideon had ended.

  “What do you mean, you take full responsibility for last night?” She could tell he was trying to be noble about something.

  Had she given him the impression that she didn’t feel well and thoroughly loved? That he’d hurt her somehow? Was it his hand again? Yes, she mourned the loss of its full use. She knew how much he had loved his work. But she also celebrated his strength and determination to never surrender to self-pity or to thinking of himself as an invalid. Did he think she wasn’t proud of how hard he’d worked to return to K.C.F.D—to return to life—after such a serious injury?

  He drank his last swallow of coffee and carried his dishes across the unadorned kitchen while she sat at the table and finished her cereal. He was a handsome figure in his uniform this morning, navy slacks, blue shirt, comfortable authority.

  She’d have to change at the station. But for now his white K.C.F.D. T-shirt and her own shorts suited her fine. But she didn’t think this was about forgetting to pack any clothes when they’d left her apartment, either. “In spite of our history and everything that’s going on right now, I was a willing participant last night,” she reassured him. “I’m fine.”

  He set his dishes in the sink before turning around. He propped his hip against the counter and crossed his arms loosely in front of him. Uh-oh. He wasn’t smiling. The lines beside his eyes deepened as his gaze narrowed, giving him a worried frown. She set down her spoon. Now she was worried, too.

  “I mean that I’ll be responsible if anything happens to you. I’ve always worn a condom when we made love. That first time last night I was just out of my mind with need and—” His broad shoulders lifted with an apology. “I don’t know exactly what kind of relationship we have right now. But, if you get pregnant, I want you to know you won’t be going through it alone.”

  An abstract thought left Meghan wondering if all the color had drained from her face. She certainly felt light-headed enough with all the blood inside her rushing down to her toes. She swallowed hard and tried to cover her reaction by looking away and brushing a nonexistent lock of hair off her face.

  D-day had arrived. The one her therapist had warned her she’d eventually have to deal with if she ever wanted to move forward with her life. The day after which she knew Gideon would never look at her the same way again.

  She ate another bite of cereal and felt it sink like a rock to her stomach. So much for that delaying tactic. Fate and her own conscience were forcing her to confront the truth. She dropped the spoon and scooted her chair back from the table. “I’m not pregnant.”

  “Meg, I know the chances of conceiving are slim having unprotected sex just once. But sometimes one time is all it takes.”

  She stood, steeling herself before seeking direct contact with those concerned brown eyes. “Do you have any diseases I should know about?”

  “No.”

  She carried her dishes to the sink. “Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

  Let it drop, she begged him silently. He didn’t. “Are you on the pill?”

  Yes, it would be so easy to say. One word. One easy out and she could salvage her pride and skip seeing his disappointment in her. She felt him looking down at the crown of her head, patiently waiting for her answer.

  But two years of learning to put Pete Preston’s abuse behind her, and her love and respect for Gideon himself, wouldn’t let her lie.

  “I can’t have children, Gideon.”

  There. She’d said it. Badly. Abruptly. But she’d done it.

  But Gideon was a man who hated unanswered questions. “What do you mean? You can’t conceive? You can’t carry a child?”

  “None of it.” She moved away from him, needing distance to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I had a radical hysterectomy when I was sixteen. The doctors took my uterus, ovaries, everything. I have to rely on hormones and calcium to keep the rest of me working right.” She hugged herself, letting her hand slide down past her waist in that self-consciously protective gesture. “I’m just a shell of a woman inside.”

  Just a freak. She blinked and shook her head against the intrusive thought.

  “The scars on your abdomen.” He sounded incredulous. Confused. “I thought they were from that car accident you told me about. Your aunt was driving. She died.”

  “Yep.” Meghan tried to keep her explanation clinical because she’d lose it if she gave in to the enormity of it all. “I had severe trauma to my abdominal cavity. Lost a lot of blood. There was no way to save those organs and my life.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m sorry.” One long stride brought him to her side. His arms wound around her, but she pushed him away.

  Fiery tears burned her eyes, but she refused to she
d them. “That’s why I couldn’t marry you.”

  The dreadful silence in the room finally caused her to look up into the midnight heat of his eyes. But was that anger—pain?—accusation?—she saw there?

  “Because you have scars?” His voice was too quiet for her to gauge his reaction. He held up his hand between them. “Like I’d be one to judge.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing understanding didn’t mean she had to hurt him. She took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “Think about it, Gideon. I can’t have babies. Ever. Not with artificial insemination or surrogate mothers or divine intervention. Not yours. Not anyone’s. Not ever.”

  He braced his hands on his hips and inhaled deeply, pushing his shoulders out to proportions that had made her feel sheltered and loved last night. In the morning light she withered beside his indomitable strength. “Why didn’t you tell me this two years ago?”

  “Two years ago I still believed what my uncle had taught me. That I was no good. That I would never be woman enough for any man. That I should have died in that crash instead of my aunt.” She wondered now if Uncle Pete had been right. “I knew how much you wanted children of your own. To plant your seed and create a family like the one you grew up in. It was a beautiful dream. But it’s not one I could give you. I knew eventually you’d resent that. You’d resent me. You’d always been so good to me, and I knew I’d end up hurting you.”

  “You can read the future?” His voice was spooky calm, like the echo of a building that had been gutted by fire.

  “Listen to me, Gideon.” She didn’t need to read the future to know what a life without a family to call your own would be like. “Can you see yourself twenty, thirty, forty years down the road with just me? With no precious babies or annoying teenagers or well-adjusted young adults to carry on the Taylor name? Can you see yourself alone like that, with an empty nest your entire life?”

  He hesitated, but he had the courage to be honest. “No.”

  “Well, that’d be your future with me.”

  Point made. Heart broken. Dream shattered.

  She’d always imagined she’d be weeping when this discussion was over, but her eyes felt strangely dry. Everything about her felt as hollow and pointless as the inside of her belly. While Gideon stood there, silently sorting out his feelings, Meghan moved on. Right now that was all she could do. “I can call a cab to get to work.”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  She thanked him for his perfunctory offer, but hoped to make a cleaner break of things this time than she had two years ago. “Maybe it’s better if I get someone else to baby-sit me until—”

  Her cell phone rang and her heart jumped in her chest. Between last night’s passion and this morning’s confession, she’d managed to forget the outside world still existed. Pressing a calming hand to her chest, she unhooked her fanny pack from the back of the chair and unzipped it.

  The clearer tone of the phone once she pulled it out finally seemed to cut through Gideon’s fog. He reached for the cell himself. “Maybe you shouldn’t answer that.”

  Meghan waved him aside. “It might be Dorie with news about Matthew.” She punched the talk button and put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Meghan, where are you?”

  The outside world was back with a vengeance.

  Her arm automatically went around her waist in a defensive hug. “What do you want?”

  The hoarse, croaky whisper grated across her eardrum, sending shards of fear and anger and doubt plunging deep inside her. “Why did you call the cops? My gift was just for you. You’re spoiling our beautiful relationship.” He caught his breath in a way that almost sounded like crying. “And now you’re on television, telling everyone about us.”

  “Television?”

  “You’d better go to work today,” he warned. “I need to see you. I’ll keep burning things until you show up.”

  “No,” she begged him. “Don’t set another—”

  Gideon snatched the phone from her hand. “Who is this?”

  His sharp, dark voice echoed in the kitchen. The caller must have hung up immediately. Gideon pulled the phone from his ear and tried to check the number. But the log came up empty. Out of range.

  He punched in another number right away, but Meghan didn’t wait to hear who he was calling. She backed away and hurried into the living room. She grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, flipping through channels until she found an image that stopped her cold.

  “Oh, my God.”

  In the top right-hand corner of the screen was a still picture of herself, cradling Crispy in her arms, the burned-out remains of the old Meyer’s warehouse silhouetted behind her.

  Saundra Ames sat behind the news desk, reading from the TelePrompTer. “Police reports indicate that local hero Meghan Wright’s apartment was broken into yesterday, and that a message was left for her by the man who may be responsible for the string of arson fires that have been burning down our city, building by building, this summer.”

  The image switched to a full-screen tape of fans crowding around her, asking for autographs. Saundra’s voice-over continued, giving the security-robbing trauma of the last few days a dramatic, even ominous spin. “Could it be that Kansas City’s Sweetheart herself is the target of these fires? We’ll be following the story as it unfolds throughout the day, and have an update to report to you this evening on the six o’clock edition. This is Saundra Ames, Channel Ten news, reporting—”

  Gideon turned off the TV, filling his apartment with an eerie, tension-wrought silence.

  “I called Josh. He’ll meet us at the precinct office. See if we can get a tracer on your phone.” Meghan stared at the blank screen, trying to imagine the face of the man who could ruin so many lives in the name of love. “We’ll see about getting Channel Ten off your case, too.”

  Gideon’s reflection loomed up behind her own on the screen. The size and shape of him surrounded her. But he never touched her. Though the Taylor code of honor would keep him from ever abandoning her to that maniac, she didn’t suppose there’d be any more tender reassurances.

  But then, she wasn’t the only one in danger anymore. She turned to face the man, not the reflection. “I don’t know how to warn everyone.”

  “About what?” The cold-eyed clarity of the arson investigator had completely replaced the somnolent warmth of last night’s lover. “What did he say?”

  “He’s disappointed in the way our relationship is progressing. He said he wants to see me today.”

  She didn’t have to spell it out for Gideon. He understood the caller’s intent. “He’s going to set another fire.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Gideon watched Josh slam down the phone and spin his chair away from his desk. The word he used was less than flattering.

  “I take it that didn’t go well?” Gideon asked.

  Josh tipped his face toward the ceiling and blew out a long breath of frustration. “Saundra Ames is citing First Amendment rights. She says she’ll challenge us all the way to the supreme court if K.C.P.D. and the fire department don’t let her report the news as she sees fit.”

  Gideon rose from his perch on the corner of Josh’s desk. “Even if the fact she’s generating national publicity is putting people’s lives in danger?” He plopped down in the seat at the adjoining desk vacated by Josh’s partner. “How did she find out about the break-in at Meg’s, anyway?”

  “She probably got it off the wire. Most of the press—TV, print, radio—have someone assigned to the police beat. They read through our reports. If there’s something that sounds like news, they pass it on.” Josh adjusted the holster that hung from his shoulder and leaned forward to prop his elbows on top of the desk. “I heard Saundra used to be the weather girl at the university station in Columbia. Now she’s reporting our local crime spree for the national news. I guess you can really go places if you look as fine as she does and don’t mind stepping on a few toes.”

  Nor
mally, Gideon would have shot Josh a teasing reprimand for talking about a “fine” woman. Once the family’s resident flirt, Josh had given up his appreciative eye for devotion to his gorgeous college professor wife and baby girl. But this morning, not even his little brother’s good-natured philosophizing about the feminine gender could coax a smile out of him.

  Instead of responding to Josh’s efforts to get a rise out of him, Gideon turned toward the row of interrogation rooms. He looked through the open blinds of the first room and watched Meghan flip through another page of pictures in the thick books of mug shots. Pictures of known arsonists and sexual predators. Not the kind of company he wanted her to keep. He couldn’t shake the protective fury that tightened his gut into knots each time he thought about that crazy lowlife contacting her over and over again, calling her “love,” watching her, leaving gifts. But he’d been able to distance himself from other emotions that had tried to overwhelm him since this morning.

  At a time when she needed him to be strong, she’d been the one to get him through the night. Comforting. Healing. Talking sense. Her ready acceptance of his handicap and her understanding of his darkest fears had reminded him that he still loved her. And the thing that made this all hurt so damn much was knowing that he would always love her.

  I can’t have children, Gideon.

  She could have smacked him in the gut with a tire iron and he wouldn’t have been any more stunned. He’d never known a woman with a bigger heart. She’d grown up without a mother, without much of a father, had known only snippets of love and trust and home in her life. She’d hinted at abuse that made him sick inside, leaving him wondering how much she was sharing and how much of her secret life she was still trying to protect him from.

  And still that woman understood love, and that it was more important for her to give it away than to receive it.

  She deserved a brood of kids to shower that love upon.

  But, somehow, he’d always thought they’d be his kids.

  He watched Meghan blow those curls of hair off her face with a heavy sigh. Then she palmed her neck beneath her gold-and-amber braid to rub at the tension there. She looked pale, tired—about as exhausted as he felt. And he suspected their fatigue had more to do with the stress-filled ride they’d been on the past few days than missing a few hours of sleep to pursue other activities in the bedroom.