by Lori Foster
Ronnie tilted her head and surprised him by asking, “You fell down the steps?”
A smile trembled on his mouth, so he gave it up. “Halfway.”
“Are you hurt?”
Again, his eyes burned. “God, Ronnie...baby, I’m fine, but I couldn’t get to you and I swear, I died every second that the fucking door held.” Old houses were a hell of a lot studier than anything being built today. He had the bruises on his shoulder and hip to prove it.
Her brows pinched. “The door. You were banging on it?”
“Banging, kicking, punching, throwing myself against it.” His chest clenched in remembered terror. “He would have shot me and taken you, but you stabbed your knife through his foot and that gave me the time I needed.”
Confusion kept her brows together, but she nodded and then wrinkled her nose. “I chucked, twice. And my hair is still sticky, and my head hurts like a son of a bitch.”
“I’m sorry.” Jack swallowed as tears clogged his throat. “He hit you a few times, trying to get away, and I’m so goddamned sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” She noticed his hand then and her eyes, smudged with ruined makeup, widened. “Your knuckles!” Oh so gently, she touched her fingertips to the back of his hand. “Jack, we need to—”
“Everyone is here and they want to see you, too.”
Diverted, as he’d hoped she’d be, she asked, “Everyone?”
“Mom, Charlotte, Brodie and Mary, Drake and Drew.”
Disbelief, despair, and wonder all chased over her features. She covered her mouth, but then dropped her hand. “Who has Howler? And Peanut?”
Leave it to Ronnie to think of the pets. “They’re in the lot. Everyone is on a rotation, taking turns to watch them and keep them company. No one was willing to leave, though.” He cupped her face. “No one would leave you.”
“Oh.” Confusion vied with astonishment. And maybe a little awe. Looking away, she ran trembling fingers into her hair and then winced. “I need a shower.”
She’d need time, he decided, to understand and accept how much she was loved. “I’ll shower with you. And Mom is probably dying to feed you. Just so you know, Charlotte is going to cry on you. Actually, Drake and Drew will, too.” Jack stood and held out his hand. “What do you say, honey? Are you ready to go home?”
With a shuddering breath and a small sniffle, she managed a smile and nodded.
* * *
FRESH FROM A shower and well fed, Ronnie curled up on the couch against Jack, with Howler and Peanut right beside them.
She somewhat remembered things now—at least prior to being drugged. After that, it remained fuzzy. “I really stabbed him in the foot?”
“Stabbed is a mild word,” Brodie said. He and Mary were across from them, sharing one padded chair. “Don’t know how you did it, but you drove your blade straight through bone and tendons and into the floor.” He pinched a space in the air. “About an inch or so.”
“It’s a new oddity,” Drew said, and then flushed.
Drake nodded. “Right there in the floor, a deep groove.”
They stood together like thin disheveled bookends, all but leaning on each other. Ronnie had never seen them look so morose, and no wonder, considering everything that had happened.
“Your poor house.” She hated that she’d brought trouble into their home and that their kitchen had suffered because of it.
“Don’t,” Drew warned, taking a step forward.
Catching his twin’s arm, Drake inhaled. “You could have died.” His voice cracked. “We all could have died if it wasn’t for you. None of the rest matters.”
Jack had confided that he liked them a lot. They were still pale, still eccentric, but at least they’d stopped with the theatrical voices.
Ros stood to again put her hand on Ronnie’s forehead. “Are you sure you feel okay now?”
Ducking her face against Jack’s chest, Ronnie nodded. “Yes, thank you.” Never, not in a million years, would she get used to someone...mothering her. God help her, she liked it.
“The soup settled your stomach?”
“Yes, it’s fine now.” She rested a hand, now thankfully steady, over her once-queasy stomach.
“Would you like anything else then?”
Ronnie looked at Jack, but he only smiled at her, saying, “She’s happiest when she’s feeding you.”
Ros stroked her hair, then retreated to the kitchen chair that she’d brought into the room, close but no longer hovering.
Charlotte sat on the floor yoga-style. “You’re like a superhero, Ronnie. You’ve now taken out two bad men. It’s so impressive.”
Impressive? She’d always seen her life as a series of tragedies. Somehow, she’d twice been attacked by cruel, insane men bent on hurting her. It was as if fate had it in for her. Yet these people, all of them, looked at her with admiration. They saw her as brave and resourceful, not pathetic. Not a loser.
Her throat thickened again and she had to draw slow, even breaths. Of course Jack noticed and hugged her a little closer.
“Forget makeup,” Mary said. “I want to learn your skill with a knife.”
Brodie pretended to drop her from his lap, and when Mary squealed, he hugged her back to his chest, laughing—and got a smack to the chest from his frazzled wife.
“I do, too,” Charlotte agreed. “Jack’s showed me a few things, but—”
Ros perked up. “He did? When?”
Jack quickly changed the subject. “Sick bastard was obsessed over that lock of hair.”
Ronnie still couldn’t fathom the depth and scope of it all. Luckily the man, North Runde, had his license on him, and at his house they found an entire cellar full of photos with what the detective called his trophies.
Worse, they’d found another room hidden behind it, set up for captivity—and probably torture. She shivered, wondering how she’d ever sleep now.
Jack’s mouth touched her temple. “I’m here.”
Right, that was how. Smiling, she nodded, glad for his warmth, for the normalcy of having his big, wonderful family nearby, and for the dedication of the twins. But more than anything now, she wanted to be alone.
Alone with Jack.
He must have sensed that, too, because he said, “It’s getting late,” and in some miraculous way, they all started filing out. It surprised Ronnie, the way each of them insisted on holding her a few seconds longer than usual. When they wished her well, when they said to let them know if she needed anything...she felt the sincerity. They said it and meant it.
They cared.
Holding back another wash of tears wasn’t easy, but she despised being weak, so she clamped her trembling lips together and nodded her thanks.
Once they were alone, Jack locked the door, scooped her up, and carried her back to the couch.
“You don’t remember, do you?”
Which specific part he meant, she wasn’t sure, not that it mattered because she remembered very little. “Not after getting stuck. Whatever he gave me, I’m still tired because of it.”
Tunneling his fingers into her hair, Jack gently cradled her head and touched his forehead to hers. “I told you that I love you.”
Oh shit. Well, good thing he had such a firm hold on her or she probably would have bolted away. Not in displeasure. Hell no. But disbelief? Fear? Yup, she felt that in spades.
“I love you,” he repeated, “and I want you to stay here with me.”
God, how she wanted to buy into it. But she understood the reasoning, the emotion, behind his declaration all too well. “You’re afraid for me. I get that, since I’m still terrorized, too. But it’s not a reason—”
“I love you.” He clutched her closer. “You, Ronnie Ashford. Whether you’re verbally kicking ass, rescuing kittens, schmoozing saloon thugs, or fending off a madman wi
th your knife. I love you when you’re scared and when you’re heroic. It’s quick, I know that, and I understand why you can’t trust in it—in me—just yet.”
Honest to God, she had no idea what to say. Her heart was pumping too hard and fast for her to be able to think.
“It’s okay,” he continued. “You’re overwhelmed.”
Well, that part was true.
“Do me one favor.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “That’s all I ask.”
“I’d do just about anything for you.” Yes, it was quick, and no, she didn’t entirely trust his feelings. But she trusted her own and she knew she loved him completely.
Jack nodded. “Stay with me. Give it time. Give us time. If at some point along the way you decide it’s not working...” He paused.
Then he’d let her go? She turned her face up to his.
His dark eyes glittered. “Then I’ll convince you.”
The laugh came out of nowhere, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.
Jack smiled, too. “Can you promise me that?”
“If you promise the same, that if at some point you decide it’s not working—”
His kiss smothered the rest of whatever she might have said. Against her lips, he murmured, “We have a deal.”
* * *
“CHRISTMAS IS ONLY a few days away,” Ros said, settling in at the breakroom table with a cup of hot chocolate. Ronnie had coffee and one of the cookies she and Ros had baked together.
The weather had turned frigid over the past few weeks and now snow blanketed everything, but the heat inside the office, along with the family camaraderie, kept her warm.
Brodie, who’d just gotten back from a trip to New York, snagged a cookie from the plate. “Who made this one?” Of course Howler trailed him, his expression hopeful as he peered from the cookie in Brodie’s hand to his mouth.
Ronnie raised her hand. “That’d be me, so enjoy it at your own peril.” Her first attempt at baking had been a disaster, but since then Ros had taught her a few things. Hopefully enough.
Being a brave soul, Brodie popped the whole thing into his mouth, chewed, and nodded in approval. “It’s good.”
Without much success, Ronnie tried to hide her pleased smile.
“Mooch,” Brodie accused the dog. He snagged two more cookies, but said, “Not for you, bud. Let’s go down to the apartment to get you a biscuit.”
Brodie’s new house, still under construction, would be finished early in the new year. Until then, he and Mary, along with the animals, lived in the attached apartment in the Mustang Transport building.
At the promise of a treat, Howler nearly did a backflip in his rush of joy. He was halfway out the door when he remembered Peanut. He circled back in to nudge the growing kitten along. Peanut had doubled in size, though he was still small, and he still adored Howler.
Brodie scooped up the cat and they all trooped out the front door.
At almost the same time, Charlotte entered the breakroom to snag her own cookie. “Jack’s not back yet?”
“Soon,” Ronnie said. “He called to say he’s on his way.” He’d been delivering another homeless dog that, hopefully, would find a forever family.
Over the past weeks, Ronnie had shopped with Charlotte and Mary, baked with Ros, pitched in at the office, and slept with Jack every night. It didn’t matter how many awful nights she had, he never complained. He seemed so accepting, so happy, that she now had a new outlook for the future.
“Mmm,” Charlotte said, around the cookie. “This is for you.” She handed Ronnie the familiar appointment slip.
At a glance, Ronnie saw that the twins had purchased some new oddity, which would require a trip to Columbus. Now that they’d all recovered, they liked to keep her busy—in large part, she assumed, because it meant they’d see her and Jack more.
In fact, they sometimes visited with Jack’s family. The twins had gotten to know them better when she, Jack, and Brodie had worked to repair the damage to their house shortly after that awful attack. Unused to company, they had reveled in the attention, especially when Mary had dropped by with Therman.
Being in a wheelchair, Therman couldn’t visit their showroom in the basement, but they paraded back and forth with various favorite pieces. Therman, being gruff but kind, had offered advice along with praise.
Now the twins were back to normal—with a few exceptions.
Gone were the fabricated voices and forced personas. Oh, they still loved black and wore it daily, but they greeted Ronnie with new warmth and believably mellow voices.
Also, when making arrangements for a purchase, caution ruled. They openly welcomed Jack’s and Brodie’s input. Since they now made most appointments through the office instead of calling her directly, it worked out.
Clutching two more cookies, Charlotte headed out to answer the office phone rather than talk around them on the breakroom line. Business was booming lately, so much so that Ronnie now helped with local jobs, freeing up Jack to do the same.
Minutes later, when the chime sounded at the front door, Ronnie assumed Jack was back. Happiness, as always, was her first reaction.
Anxious to see him, Ronnie downed the rest of her coffee and stood, turning toward the door just in time to see a man in a suit—not Jack—disappear into the office. Clients, both prospective and contracted, sometimes dropped in.
Yet...the guarded awareness blooming in her chest cued Ronnie that this visitor was different. When Charlotte closed the door behind him and stared down the hallway at her, Ronnie knew she was right.
Ros stood, too. “Ronnie? What is it?”
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. All she could do was shake her head.
Charlotte hurried down the hall, stepped inside, and after glancing at Ros, whispered, “There’s a man here to see you.”
Ros moved to Ronnie’s other side. “Who is it?”
Charlotte slowly inhaled. “He says he’s her father.”
Ros’s arm went around her. “Should I send him away?”
“You could stay in here,” Charlotte offered.
Their concern finally jogged Ronnie out of her emotional trance. She smiled, truly touched by their caring and immediate defense. “Actually, it’s fine.” She’d talked to him twice since the attack weeks ago but hadn’t told him what had happened. What would be the point? Their conversations were brief and superficial, not conducive to something so serious.
Besides, he hadn’t cared when she was eighteen, so Ronnie had no reason to think he’d care now. Mostly, Nicholas Ashford wanted a sympathetic ear, an ally in his unwanted change of circumstances.
She turned within Ros’s one-armed embrace, hugging her tight the way Ros had taught her. Damn, it felt good, and it was just the boost she needed. “I’ve got this.” Next she smiled at Charlotte. “He’s lonely and a little lost.” But Ronnie wasn’t. Not anymore. “I don’t mind talking to him.”
Both women showed their concern and their support.
“We’re here,” Ros insisted, “if you need us.”
“I know.” And that made all the difference.
Without remorse, Ronnie went down the hall to slip into the office. The time had come to face her past. Because of Jack, she didn’t experience a single second of dread.
* * *
HOLDING HIS SQUIRMING BUNDLE, Jack stuck his head into the office—and immediately noticed his mom and Charlotte standing together, identical worried expressions on their faces, in the breakroom doorway.
“What?” He strode down the hallway, looking for Ronnie, but not seeing her. “What’s wrong? Where is she?”
His mom glanced at the furry ears sticking up over the fold of the blanket. Without a single question, she took the pup from him.
“Ronnie’s here.” She nodded back from where he’d come, to the office next to the front
door. “In there.”
The women looked so concerned, Jack pivoted to look, too. The inner office door was closed. “Doing what?”
“Her father is here,” Charlotte blurted.
What? “And you let her in there alone with the bastard?”
Umbrage brought down his mother’s brows. “She’s a grown woman. I don’t let her do anything.”
Charlotte added in a rush, “Ronnie insisted she was fine.” Looking past Jack, she added, “But they’ve been in there twenty minutes now.”
“Damn it.” Jack started to leave but then hesitated. “I’m keeping the dog. He’s...skittish.”
Ros lifted the bundle to rub her cheek against the puppy’s ears. “We’ll get acquainted. Go on.”
Jack was at the door before he’d even thought about moving. God, he’d been working forever, weeks that felt like months, to earn Ronnie’s trust. She needed to believe that he loved her, and she needed to understand that real love didn’t change.
He loved her now, he’d love her tomorrow.
He’d love her forever.
Without bothering to knock, Jack swung the door open harder than necessary, braced for anything.
Except for what he found.
Ronnie sat on the edge of the desk, legs dangling, hands braced flat at either side of her hips. Smiling.
Her silver gaze swung up at his entrance, and her smile quirked with wit. “Come on in, Jack.”
Since he was already in, he merely closed the door behind him.
Sliding off the desk, she came to stand at his side, leaning into him. He put an arm around her and zeroed in on the man who’d abandoned her.
At least he looks sober. Nicholas Ashford also stood. Tall, slender, suited. And now wary. His dark blue eyes studied Jack.
“This is Jack Crews,” Ronnie said. “We work together.”
“And live together,” Jack added.