Savannah’s lips curved up into another one of her smiles that slayed him. “I’d like to meet them. What’re the Insurgents?”
“A motorcycle club. I’m an inactive member, but I used to be an active one a lifetime ago.”
“Do you still ride?” Her gaze drifted to his missing leg then back to him.
“Yeah. The ride is what keeps me going. There was no damn way I was gonna be a permanent cager. Hawk customized my bike so I could ride with this thing on.” He tapped his prosthesis. “It works great. It took some getting used to, but I don’t even notice the difference anymore when I’m cruising around the mountain roads.”
“I know how you feel. I used to ride on the back of an old high school boyfriend’s and my dad’s bike. I loved the feeling of flying and the wind whipping around me. It’s easy to see how people can get addicted to it.” She slipped her hand out of his and pushed away from the table. “You cooked, so I’ll clean up. I can make some hot chocolate if you’d like. According to Timmy, mine’s the best he’s ever tasted in all of his six years.” She laughed, and it was music to Ryder’s ears.
He hauled himself up and took his dish to the sink, and then walked into the family room and added a few more logs to the fire. He slumped on the couch and rubbed his skin; his stump was extra buzzy that day. Even though phantom pains still bothered him at times, they weren’t nearly as severe as they used to be, especially that first year after the amputation. It was a weird feeling to look down and not see his leg even though it felt like it was there. In the beginning, it’d messed with his head, but after finding out that a lot of people dealt with phantom pains, he’d learned how to trick his mind from believing that the leg was still there. Most of the times it helped, but sometimes the damn stinging just wouldn’t stop.
Staring at the fire, Ryder relaxed and applied pressure on his skin the way his therapist had taught him. Savannah didn’t seem disgusted about my missing leg. When she’d confessed that she’d seen him that afternoon without his prosthesis, fear and shame ran through him all at the same time. Fear that she’d see him the way mainstream society often viewed the amputee—incomplete, and shame that she’d think he was less of a man like his ex-fiancée had. As far as he could tell, Savannah hadn’t acted any differently since learning about the loss of his limb.
“Here you go. Do you want a shot of whiskey in it?” she asked him, startling him from his thoughts.
“That’d be good. The bottle’s in the—”
“Third cabinet on the right.” She smiled. “I know.”
Ryder watched as she stood on her tiptoes and reached up high to gingerly take the bottle down from the top shelf. He sucked in a sharp breath as the hem of her top rose, revealing inch after inch of creamy skin. She closed the cupboard, pulled down her shirt, and walked back into the family room.
“How much do you want?” she asked, unscrewing the top.
“I’ll pour it.” He took the bottle from her. “Want some?”
“I’m not a whiskey gal.” She giggled softly. “Don’t give me that look—not everyone drinks Jack Daniels.”
“I don’t know why the fuck not.” He poured a generous portion into his mug.
“I’m going to bring Timmy his cup. I’ll be right back.”
Ryder put the bottle down on the end table, amazed that it was still half full. Normally, he’d have gone through the three bottles of booze by now, and it surprised him that he hadn’t.
“He’s so engrossed in the game,” she said, walking toward him.
Savannah sat on the opposite end of the couch with her fingers curled around the ceramic mug. Wisps of steam curled above it as she puckered her lips and blew softly.
Fuck … that mouth of hers.
Her body was angled toward him, but her gaze was on the crackling fire. He couldn’t help but notice that the baggy shorts she wore slowly rode up her thighs. And they were beautiful thighs—soft but toned. They would be good for … well … a lot of things.
An exasperated sigh followed by fingers pulling down her shorts made him look up and capture her gaze.
“Really, Ryder?” Her tone was impatient, but a hint of desire shone in her eyes.
Holding his intense stare, his front teeth slowly bit his bottom lip. “What do you want from me? You’re a beautiful woman, and I’m a man.”
A pinkish flush crossed her cheeks as a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I’m very well aware that you’re a man,” she said before taking a sip of hot chocolate. “Anyway, I-um … I’ll be leaving after Christmas. I have to make sure Timmy’s enrolled in school for the next school term.”
“Pinewood Springs has some excellent grade schools.”
Savannah looked at him and smiled. “We can’t stay here forever.”
“I just meant until summer when the weather warms up and it’s safer to drive.” What the hell’s gotten into me? I’m sitting here practically begging her like a fucking pussy. And what am I asking her to do? I don’t want a full-time family in my life. Being snowbound has me thinking like some lovesick asshole. Shit.
“You may have a point there. I’ll just have to think about everything.”
“There’re a lot of nice apartments or houses for rent in town.” He wanted to make sure she understood that he wasn’t a desperate and lonely wuss.
For a split second, a look of confusion fell across her face, then she tilted her head. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said and shifted her gaze back to the spitting fire.
A comfortable silence stretched between them. Savannah leaned over and put the mug on the coffee table then leaned back against the cushion. Seeing her breasts rise as she crossed her arms behind her head ignited his desire. His gaze stayed with her every movement as she ran her fingers through her golden hair and licked her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. He began to sweat as his excitement escalated.
Ryder adjusted his jeans as he stood up, mumbling that he needed to take a shower. The truth was that he had to get out of the room. His dick hadn’t gone soft since Savannah had come back into the room, and he didn’t put much trust into keeping his hands to himself. Ryder’d been fantasizing about her too damn much.
He dashed to the bathroom and started the water, then shed his clothes and put a large plastic bag over his prosthesis. Two minutes later, he stood under the warm jets, stroking his swollen cock as he imagined sinking into Savannah’s hot, silky pussy. Seconds later, his balls roiled and constricted, and his lower back stiffened.
“Fuck,” he murmured.
The top of his scalp prickled all the way to his toes. Pulse after pulse, threads of his release splattered on the shower tiles as he panted and leaned against the wall to keep from toppling over.
That woman is fucking killing me.
Ryder stood there until the blood finally rushed to his head, and his breathing grew steady. Fuck, that didn’t last long. Grabbing the showerhead, he aimed it at the tiles and watched his spunk wash down the drain, wishing it were inside Savannah. What a fucking waste.
Later that night, Ryder escaped to his workroom and shut and locked the door. He didn’t think he could handle another evening of Savannah’s scent wrapping around him as they sat on the couch watching a movie. Too close, yet too fucking far.
He wanted his life back with his normal routine: thumbing through biker magazines, creating wooden toys, drinking until he passed out. Glancing at a worn wooden chest his father had given him years before, Ryder gritted his teeth as he stood up. If he wasn’t so fucking stubborn, he’d ditch the leg and give his skin some time to heal. Even though Savannah had suggested it, he didn’t want her to see him without his leg. I know that’s stupid as fuck. But that’s the way he felt.
Ryder bent down and opened the chest, then he pulled out a large cigar box and walked back to the chair. His insides twisted as he placed the box on the worktable and slowly opened it. On top of a stack of photographs was the Purple Heart awarded to him because a fucking landmine bl
ew off his leg in Afghanistan. He ran his thumb over the gold-colored profile of President Washington, then moved it across the textured purple ribbon. I can’t believe you’re gone, buddy. Images of Jeremy’s bloodied face and scattered chunks of his charred and red-stained flesh stabbed at Ryder’s mind. Why the fuck did you follow me? I told you to stay back. Fuck!
Suddenly, gunshots erupted around him, and he felt the dust of the desert choking him as he yelled out to his best friend. More screams—explosions—chaos. His fist slammed down on the worktable, breaking one of the smiling wooden people he’d made for the train set. Gulping in deep breaths of air, Ryder tapped his arm repeatedly. “I’m in the workroom. I see my drills and saws. I see the unpainted train cars.” He continued to say out loud everything that was in the room in order to ground him to the here-and-now. It was a technique he’d learned at one of the counseling sessions to combat PTSD.
After what seemed like hours, his body stopped shaking and his breathing returned to normal again. Ryder tucked the Purple Heart under a stack of letters, then he picked up a photograph of a grinning younger version of himself, holding a young boy in one arm and draping the other around a pretty dark-haired woman.
A soft knock on the door interrupted his memories.
“Are you all right?” Savannah’s muffled voice drifted under the crack.
After a long pause, he rose to his feet and opened the door. Concern etched her face, and he wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her tight as if she were a life raft saving him from drowning in the memories of his past.
The photograph fluttered down from his hands and fell on the floor. Before he could move, Savannah had picked it up.
“Is this you?” she asked, pointing to the tall man in uniform.
Ryder nodded.
“Who’s the young boy?”
Another long pause.
“He’s my son.” Icy fingers tightened around his heart, and he clenched his jaw.
“I didn’t know you had a son. Is … was this your wife?”
“No … we were planning to get married.” Not wanting to dredge up the past, Ryder snapped the photo from Savannah’s hands and walked back to the table. He shut the cigar box and slammed down the top of the chest.
Savannah didn’t ask any more questions, and he was grateful for that. He sat down and picked up one of the trees he’d made and stared at it.
Then her scent enveloped him, telling him she was near. Her soft hands fell on his shoulders as strands of her hair brushed the back of his neck.
“Come watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas with us. I’m making caramel corn.”
Her touch, her laugh, and her kindness shone light into the darkest corners of his heart. He stood up and let her take his hand in her own as she led him out of the room.
Chapter Eight
Savannah wrapped a blue twisty tie around her ponytail while she looked out the window at the pristine snow sparkling under the clear blue sky. Her thoughts were on Ryder, and even though she’d wanted to ask a slew of questions about the woman and boy in the photograph, she picked up that it wasn’t the right time. There had been so much pain, despair, and bitterness in his eyes before he turned away from her. I wonder what happened. Where’s his son now, and why doesn’t he have contact with him? She gently kneaded the side of her neck—another one of her habits which drove Bret crazy. Maybe she ran away with the boy like I’m doing with Timmy. Guilt assaulted her, and she wondered if such rashness would ultimately end in Timmy resenting her when he grew older. Bret’s words—I told you I didn’t want the fucking brat—echoed through her head as if on autoplay. How many times had he repeated that since Timmy was born? No … I made the right decision. Bret is cruel, cold, and manipulative. Squeezing her eyes shut, she banished the images of the last time she’d seen him from her thoughts; the memories of that day always loomed in the dark, shadowy corners of her mind, threatening to crawl out and torment her.
The creak of the door was a life savior to Savannah, and she turned around and smiled when she saw Timmy. He had a bright-red painted firetruck in his hand, and he shuffled over to her and laid his head against her leg. She buried her fingers in his hair and massaged his scalp gently.
“What’s going on, honey?”
“I miss Grammy and Grandpa,” he said against her jeans.
She stood still and silent, her heart aching.
“When are we gonna see them?”
Inhaling sharply, she placed her fingers under his chin and tilted his head back so their gazes locked. “I’m not sure, sweetie. I know this is hard, but once we get settled, they’ll come out to see us, okay?”
“Why can’t they come now?”
“The roads are still blocked. How would they be able to drive here?” She held her breath then released it as the sadness slipped from her young son’s face.
“Yeah. When the snow melts they can come.”
“That’s right.” She bent down and kissed his soft cheeks. “Let’s call Grammy and Grandpa. You can tell them all about the snow.”
“And Brutus,” Timmy added.
Savannah hugged him. “I love you,” she whispered. “Where did you get that nifty firetruck?”
“Ryder gave it to me. He made it. It has lights and it makes noise. Look.” Timmy dropped to his knees and turned on the toy. The headlights switched on and a siren blared from the wooden truck as it sped across the floor.
“That’s awesome,” she said, sitting on her haunches.
“He said he’s going to build me a firehouse, too, with a pole and everything.” Timmy’s eyes shone with excitement.
“I can’t wait to see it, honey.” Savannah stood up and picked up the burner phone. “I’m going to call Grammy and Grandpa now. After we’re done talking, you can go with Ryder and Brutus for a quick walk.”
“Can we build a snowman later?”
“Yes, we can. After lunch, we’ll get to it. Maybe Ryder will help us out.”
“I think he will. He’s nice.”
Savannah’s lips curved up as warmth rushed through her. Timmy held her soul in his heart, and her heart was forever his; she’d walk through hell and back to make sure he was safe and loved. A lump formed in her throat, and she cleared her throat several times before tapping in her parents’ phone number.
“Hi, Mom. How’re you and Dad?”
“I’m so happy to hear from you. We’re all fine. How’re you and Timmy?”
“Good.”
“Let me speak to Grammy,” Timmy said, tugging on her jeans.
“Timmy wants to say hi. Hang on.” She passed the phone to him, then bent over and picked up the miniature firetruck, marveling at how well made it was.
After several minutes of conversation with both her mother and father, Timmy handed back the phone then left the room in search of Brutus.
“Who’s this man you’re staying with? Do you know anything about him?”
Savannah’s stomach churned. I’m so not into this right now. Sucking in a breath through her teeth, she paused before answering. “He’s helping us out. If it wasn’t for him, we would’ve frozen to death in the blizzard.”
“Not if you weren’t so impetuous. Why couldn’t you have reached out to your father and me before rushing into this crazy plan of yours? What if this man is a serial killer or a child molester? You don’t know anything about him. You should be home with your husband. We’re very disappointed in you.”
“I’m sorry to worry all of you, but you have to trust that I know what I’m doing. And Ryder is a kind-hearted person.”
“How do you know that?”
“I feel it. I’m good at reading people. You were the one who pushed me into marrying Bret—my instincts told me that it probably wouldn’t work since so many of our core values were different.”
“So now this is my fault? I just wanted what any mother wants for her daughter—to be taken care of by a decent man. Bret gave you a life that none of the losers you dated ever could.”<
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Savannah heard her mother sniffling and her chest tightened. “Mom, please don’t be so upset. I’m not blaming you for anything. I’m just asking you to have some faith in me. Once I get settled, I promise to tell you the real reason why I decided to leave Bret.”
“Leaving is one thing, but turning your back on your family and taking Timmy away from his grandparents just isn’t right. We never did anything but love and support you even when you gave us a hard time as a teenager.”
Here it goes … “Is Dad there? I’d like to say hi to him.”
“I’m just saying, you should’ve come home to us.”
“I don’t want Corrine to get her claws into Timmy. She’s been sabotaging me since Bret slipped a wedding band on my finger. Timmy’s her first grandchild, and she’ll stop at nothing to take him away from me. I can’t fight their money.”
“Aren’t you being a little paranoid? I just spoke to Bret a few days ago, and he’s very worried about you. He misses you and Timmy.”
“Just trust me,” Savannah whispered. “I’d like to speak with Dad.”
Without another word, she heard her mother say, “It’s Savannah on the phone.”
“Hi, Curly,” her dad said.
Tears filled her eyes as a warm glow radiated through her. Ever since she was little, her dad always called her “Curly.” Savannah figured it was because she had curly hair up until she was about four or five, then it relaxed into wavy hair. When she was a kid, it’d made her feel special to be called something unique. When she had gotten married, her dad told her that he probably should stop calling her Curly, and she’d made him promise to never stop. At that moment, it meant the world to her just to hear the familiar nickname.
“Hi, Dad. I’m so sorry about every—”
“No need for any of that. I know you had your reasons, and you’ll tell us when you’re ready. The important thing is you’re safe, but I wish I could call you.”
“Thanks for understanding, Dad. I didn’t come to this decision lightly, but I had to get away. I don’t want to spend another second with Bret. He’s an awful man and a horrible father.”
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