Savannah gasped, then warmth rushed through her from the twinkle in his eyes and the twitch of his lips. “Okay, and … thanks again,” she said softly.
With that, he was gone and she instantly missed his presence. How crazy was that? Savannah barely knew him, yet his effect on her floored her. When she looked into his ardent, burning eyes, all of her insecurities and loneliness faded away in that moment. She’d never had such a magnetic attraction to any man in her life.
“Bluto is looking at us.” Timmy’s voice brought her out of her reverie, and she looked up and saw the German shepherd standing in the doorway.
“He’s just checking us out,” she said as she gathered her son’s clothes in her arms and walked toward the door. “And his name is Brutus with an r and a u-s. Can you say it?”
By the time they were done practicing, the dog had laid down and put his face on top of his paws, his eyes never wavering from them.
“I’m sure we drove Brutus crazy.” Savannah laughed.
“Can I pet him?” Timmy started to saunter over to him.
She reached for his arm and held him back. “I don’t feel comfortable with you doing that without Ryder.”
“Can you tell him to come here so I can pet Brutus?”
Ryder unnerved her with his quiet strength and intense stare; it was like he could see deep into her heart and mind and soul. He stirred up feelings—and desires—inside her that scared and titillated her. If he could manage all that in just a couple of days, there was no telling what maelstrom he’d create in her if they were to hook up. Really? We’re leaving in a few days. I can’t get involved with him. What am I saying? I don’t even know that he’d want to get involved. I have to get a grip here and stop acting like a schoolgirl with a fucking crush.
“Are you gonna call him? I don’t think the dog wants to move.”
Savannah shook her head and approached the canine. “Brutus, can you let us out? Be a good boy.” She snapped her fingers, waving her hand toward the hallway. “Go on now.” The dog just looked at her, his chin still poised on his paws.
“He isn’t listening,” Timmy said.
“Shit,” she muttered under her breath before crossing her arms in front of her chest. She pinched her lips together and stared at the German shepherd. “Please get up, Brutus. I have to put Timmy’s clothes in his room.” Nothing. The dog laid there like a sack of potatoes.
“Come on, Brutus.” Ryder’s husky baritone was sensuous and commanding. The dog pushed up and his nails clacked on the hardwood floor as he padded toward his owner.
Savannah’s whole body tensed, expecting Ryder to walk through the doorway at any moment, but he didn’t. Timmy poked his head out the door, looking down the hallway. Upset at letting herself be flustered by Ryder, she pressed the stack of clothes against her and walked with her chin held high over to Timmy’s room.
* * *
A dusty pink glow lit the edges of the clouds as darkness slowly crept in. The cabin was quiet; Timmy was napping and Savannah wasn’t sure where Ryder and his dog were. She stepped into the hallway and noticed two more rooms—one door was closed, the other was ajar. Deciding to check out her surroundings, she padded over to the half-opened door and paused when she saw Ryder sitting on the edge of the bed in his boxers massaging his thigh, although it wasn’t a full thigh. She pressed her fingers over her parted lips and scanned the room, her gaze landing on an artificial leg next to the nightstand. Brutus lay on the floor near the bed, and his ears perked up when he saw her. She slinked away quickly not wanting Ryder to know that she’d invaded his privacy. With a sick feeling in her stomach, she went into the living room and sank down on the couch. I can’t believe I violated his space like that. Savannah stared at the dancing flames in the fireplace. She’d noticed he had trouble with stairs when he’d come into the trailer, but she just figured that he had joint pain or something. I wonder if he lost his leg in a motorcycle accident. She’d seen a Harley in his garage that morning. She knew of two people who’d had bad accidents while riding. One of her childhood friends’ brother had lost a leg in a motorcycle crash when he was nineteen. I wonder what Ryder’s story is. Maybe the anger and bitterness that emanates from him are because he lost his leg. She pulled up her legs and tucked them under her butt and let her mind drift.
“You need anything?” Savannah jumped at the sound of Ryder’s voice. A low chuckle rumbled from him. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Shaking her head, she smiled. “It’s fine. I must’ve dozed off. The fire is so warm and toasty.” Don’t you dare look at his leg.
“Yeah. It’s hard to believe that it’s twenty below outside. I’m gonna have a shot of whiskey. You want one?”
“No thanks.” A grimace passed over his face, and his jaw tightened as he turned away and headed into the kitchen. He’s in pain. I bet if we weren’t here, he wouldn’t be wearing his prosthesis. The guilt was like gasoline in her gut, tightening her chest and forming a thickness in her throat. She lowered her gaze when he came back into the room with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other.
Ryder shoved aside several motorcycle magazines before putting the whiskey and tumbler down on the end table; he gripped the arm of the couch then plopped down, an audible curse resounding around the room. Savannah looked up and saw the sheen of perspiration on his face. After swallowing several times, she folded her arms and breathed deeply.
“Your home is beautiful. What kind of wood are the floors?” she asked.
“The floors and ceilings are made of reclaimed barn wood.” Ryder brought the glass to his lips and took a sip then jerked his head toward the fireplace. “All the stone is local. Same with the one I have in the master.” He shifted a few times as if trying to get comfortable.
“Everything’s so well crafted. It’s just stunning.” Savannah’s heart tugged each time Ryder massaged his upper left leg.
“Where’re you from?” he asked, his look catching hers.
“Boston … well, really south of Boston. Quincy. What about you?” That crazy connection between them was starting up again.
“I’m from here.” He leaned back against the cushion and the gray T-shirt he wore outlined his finely toned chest. His muscular arms were covered in tattoos, and a strong desire to have them curled around her made her blush.
“You like what you see?” Ryder took another sip.
Without looking in a mirror, Savannah knew her face was flaming red; she could feel the heat under her skin. “Caught in the act.” She laughed trying to brush it off. “I wish I had the discipline to work out more,” she said, hoping that would end the discussion.
“Why … you look damn good as you are.” Ryder’s gaze dropped to her breasts and lingered there.
Savannah instinctively crossed her arms, watching him, and featherlike lines crinkled around his eyes when he laughed before looking away. He poured more of the amber liquid into the glass and took a healthy drink. She watched him intently; she liked the curved bow of his mouth, the way his hair fell across his forehead, and how rough and warm his hand was when he’d touched her earlier.
“Are you sure you don’t want one?” Ryder tipped the glass to her before throwing it back.
“I’m sure. I was going to check out the fridge and cupboards to see what I can make for dinner.” She held her hand up, silencing him. “It’s the least I can do to repay your kindness.”
Ryder’s gaze drifted to her mouth making her burn. I can’t believe how my body reacts to him. “Go check it out.” He rubbed his pant leg again while grinding his teeth.
Taking a deep breath, she slowly exhaled, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake. “You don’t have to sit there in pain. I accidentally—no reason to say I was snooping—saw you in your room earlier. You don’t have to wear your prosthesis just because we’re around. I want you to be comfortable in your own home.”
For a pause that seemed like an eternity, Ryder’s face darkened and he stared at the fire, a frown deepe
ning into a scowl.
Shit. I shouldn’t have said anything, but I know he’s in pain. “I’m sorry,” she whispered then started to get up.
“It’s fine.”
She relaxed and sank further into the cushion. “Was it a motorcycle accident? I noticed your killer bike in the garage. My dad’s a Harley man.”
“No, it wasn’t.” He kept staring at the curling flames.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She held her breath.
“No.”
“Okay.”
The fire crackled, tree branches scratched against the window with each gust of wind, and a long silence stretched between them. Savannah furtively glanced over at Ryder and noticed that his face was grave … pensive. The urge to thread her fingers through his thick dark hair then cradle his head against her chest started to overwhelm her, and she struggled to breathe normally. Would he cringe at my touch? What if—
He turned to look at her, and she felt the need to break the silence.
“Do you have any ground meat?”
He tipped his head, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead. How she longed to sweep it away and press her palm against the rough stubble of his cheek. His intoxicating scent wisped around in the air, reminding her of the exotic spices she’d bought in the marketplace in Marrakech several years before.
“Do you like meatloaf?” Savannah stood up; she had to get out of there before she did something which would embarrass them both.
Another tip of his head.
“I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready.” She spun around and scampered into the kitchen.
Ryder had a fully stocked pantry, refrigerator, and freezer, and it impressed the hell out of her. From the boxes of pasta from Italy to the flavored olive oils, she concluded that he must love to cook. Or maybe he has a girlfriend who does. The thought that Ryder might have a girlfriend shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did. Her heart tripped then stumbled a little. Which meant … what? What’s going on with me? She stared out the window at the blowing snow and wondered when the storm would end so she and Timmy could leave. For the sake of her pride, she hoped it’d be soon.
“It smells good, Mommy.”
Savannah turned around and saw her son walking toward her, rubbing his eyes. She wet her hands and patted down the cowlick that always cropped up whenever he slept.
“Did you have a good nap?” she asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you want a banana? Dinner won’t be ready for a while. I’m making your favorite—mashed potatoes.” A goofy grin spread over his face and she laughed and embraced him. “I love you so much,” she whispered as she bent down and kissed the top of his head.
“Me too. Where’s my banana?”
Laughing, she unpeeled a small one and cut it in half. She lent a hand while Timmy tried to climb up on the stool.
“Ryder’s making the best train,” Timmy said while chewing.
“Don’t eat with your mouth open, sweetie. A train …?”
“Yeah. He’s got this room where he makes stuff. He’s got a whole town too. Do you wanna come see?”
“Okay, but after you’re done eating—and don’t rush.”
Before she could finish cutting up the carrots, Timmy scrambled down from the stool and tugged the hem of her sweater top.
“I’m done,” he said.
She shook her head as she placed the carrots in water then let Timmy lead the way. He took her to a room on the opposite end of the hall from both of theirs. When they approached the opened door, Timmy slowed down and glanced up at her, pointing at the room.
“He’s in there,” he whispered, his brown eyes wide.
Savannah placed her hand on his shoulder and ambled to the doorway. The first thing she noticed was a large floor to ceiling glass cabinet filled with Iron Butterfly memorabilia. On the perpendicular wall was a large firearm collection of various sizes and designs showcased either in framed displays, iron racks, or hanging freestyle. An apprehensive shiver slid up her spine as she counted twenty-two guns. I wonder if they’re loaded. I’ll have to talk to Ryder about that. A steady scraping sound diverted her attention from the weapons to a worktable against the back wall stacked with drills, hammers, glue guns, saws, and blocks of wood.
Ryder sat on a low stool with his back to them, running sandpaper over what looked like a miniature church. In front of him were paintbrushes, small bottles of craft paint, and several train cars. Brutus lay at his feet until, suddenly, his ears perked up and a dull, thumping noise resonated as he wagged his tail with his black eyes fixed on them. Ryder looked over his shoulder then stopped what he was doing and spun around.
“Dinner already?” His gaze swept over her quickly then focused on her face.
Savannah cleared her throat. “No. Timmy said that you’re making a train set, and he wanted me to check it out. Sorry if we’re invading your space.”
Ryder clucked his tongue, his gaze never leaving hers. “You wanna see what I’m making, Timmy?” The young boy’s eyes shone as a big smile spread across his face. “Come on over here. Your mom can come too if she’s interested.”
Timmy rushed over as Savannah sauntered, happy that Ryder wasn’t perturbed. “Timmy loves trains,” she said.
“Go ahead and touch them. I’m gonna start painting them tomorrow.”
“Do they run on the track?” the boy asked.
“Yep. I’ve got a kickass motor in the locomotive, lights … the whole nine yards. Do you got a train set?”
Timmy bobbed his head up and down. “Back home. My daddy got me one, but it doesn’t work so good, does it, Mommy?”
She sank her fingers in her son’s hair. “No. The cars were made of steel and were too heavy or something for the track. It kept tipping over.”
“That sucks. Did your dad exchange it?”
Timmy hung his head down. “No. He didn’t have time. He never has time.” He stared at the caboose. “Can I see that one?”
“Sure.” Ryder picked it up and placed it in the boy’s small hand.
“It’s really smooth. Did you make it?”
“Yeah. I made all of this. I like doing it. It helps to keep me from thinking about … never mind.”
What are you keeping buried deep inside you? Savannah ran her fingertips over the smooth wood on the train car that her son had shared with her.
“Are you making it for you to play with?” Timmy asked.
“Nah. Making it for this charity the bikers run every year at Christmas for kids who don’t get any presents.”
Timmy took the caboose from his mom and put it back on the table. “Don’t their mommies and daddies love them?”
Savannah’s heart ached as she thought of how cold and indifferent Bret was to their son.
“Not all moms and dads give a shit about their kids. It sucks, but that’s the way it is. Sometimes, the parents love them but don’t have enough money to give them any toys.”
Timmy lifted his head and looked up at Savannah. “Am I getting any presents this Christmas?”
She dipped her chin down as her skin prickled up the back of her neck and across her chin. “Of course you are.”
“But no one knows where we are.”
Savannah was keenly aware of Ryder’s piercing gaze, and she pretended to be unaffected by giving a nonchalant shrug while her insides were twisting. “Santa does.”
Timmy’s eyes brightened. “Oh … yeah.”
Ryder hadn’t moved a muscle, and his quiet assessment of her, or at least that’s what she thought he was doing, bothered the hell out of her. He had no right to judge her. He didn’t know the whole story—no one did. She’d make sure Timmy had a great Christmas, and it’d be a hell of a lot better than the ones he had with an indifferent father who couldn’t give a shit about his son.
“You okay?” Ryder’s deep voice snapped her to the present. She nodded. “You sure? ’Cause your face is all red and you look real upset.” His low husky voice made h
er senses reel.
“I’m fine,” she said curtly, dismissing him. She lightly squeezed Timmy’s shoulder. “I’m going to go back and finish dinner.”
Timmy’s face fell.
“I need a helper. You can stay here if your mom’s cool with that.”
Before Timmy could ask her, Savannah smiled. “That’s fine. Just be careful, and don’t pick up any of the saws or drills, honey.”
In her hurried rush to get the hell out of there, she almost tripped and landed on her butt. That’s all I need to make me feel even more foolish than I already do around him. Her emotions ping-ponged in her chest. Why did his intense stare pull her in and make her want to cling to him? And why the hell did the thought of doing so freak her out?
“Just let me know if you need anything.” Ryder’s soft, hoarse tone made her head spin.
Savannah paused and looked over her shoulder at him. Riveted, he gazed at her face, then slowly moved over her body.
Her pulse pounded and she looked away.
“Anything at all,” he said in a low voice.
Without looking back, Savannah stepped through the door and made her way to the kitchen.
Chapter Six
“I don’t know where she is, Mother. Asking me over and over isn’t going to change that.” Bret pinched the bridge of his nose before glancing over at the twenty-year-old’s naked body stretched across the bed.
“Have you heard anything at all from her?” His mother’s high-pitched voice grated on his nerves.
“No.” The young woman spread her legs wide showing off her young, pink pussy. “I have to go, Mother. I have a meeting I’m already late for.”
“Have you hired the investigation company your father told you about?”
“Yes.” He stood up from the chair and walked over to the delicious afternoon snack who was currently teasing the hell out of him.
“What have they found?”
Bret sat on the edge of the bed and squeezed one of the young woman’s pert, soft tits. The woman’s hazel eyes glazed over with desire. “Not much yet. I do have to go. I’ll let you know when I find something out.” He dipped his head down and flicked his tongue over the taut bud.
Christmas Wish Page 5