under his fingernails. “The judge who sent me to prison to make a point, to teach me a lesson, was Hardison Hollister, your father.”
Rachel slipped from his lap, shaking her head. “No, that’s not true. My father was known for his honest and fair decisions. He wouldn’t do something like that.”
Egan stood—tall, rigid and defiant. “He was also known for his stiff and unrelenting decisions dictated by his high moral code. The only thing I was guilty of was underage drinking. But he said I’d made choices and I had to be accountable for them. And since my family had a history of violence, he couldn’t just let it go. I needed to learn a lesson, and the only way to do that was to think about my actions in prison. There was nothing fair about his words or his judgment.” Egan swung away and strolled outside in the dwindling light, as if saying the words took every ounce of energy he had.
Rachel sat on the bed, speechless. Her father had been a judge for many years and she’d never thought much about his occupation. But his decisions affected lives...like Egan’s. Growing up, she’d seen little of her father. He was always busy, in court or out of town at political events, or sitting in as a visiting judge. Her mother had always been the mainstay in Rachel’s life. She drew a deep breath and curled up on the bed.
Coming home was turning into a nightmare. How much guilt could she load onto her poor old soul? Egan’s pain was something she could feel, but he didn’t want her sympathy or her comforting words. What could she say to him?
Even after everything he’d told her, those feelings she had for him hadn’t changed. A lot more questions about her father lingered, though.
From the bed, she could see Egan sitting on the stoop, staring into the darkness and battling the demons inside him. The moonlight shone a path between them. As if he sensed her stare, he got up and walked back into the house.
“I have to put alcohol on your wounds,” he said, his voice a rough edge of reality. No matter how much he wanted to ignore her, he couldn’t. Her safety and welfare were important to him and that said more about him than any sentence he could have been given.
He went to the cabinet and pulled out something. A split second later there was light in the cabin.
“Oh.” She was startled by the brightness.
“It’s a kerosene lantern,” he said. “It belonged to my grandparents and I use it for light sometimes.” He placed it on the floor, grabbed the whiskey bottle, sat beside her and began to dab at the scratches on her arms and neck.
“Where did you get that piece of cloth?”
“I cut it off of your top.”
“I didn’t see you do that.”
“Just sit quietly.” He soaked the scratches on her hands, arms and neck. It didn’t sting as badly this time. With the flickering lamp and the darkness crowding in, the setting and the moment could have been romantic. But there was nothing romantic about their situation.
His hand lingered on her neck and moved gently to her cheek. His touch was soft, almost a caress. She imagined he made love the same way—gently, with total concentration and attention to detail. Without thinking, she leaned her face into his hand.
He cleared his throat. “You’ll have to remove the T-shirt so I can soak the scratches on your chest.”
The shirt came off with one easy movement. He dabbed at the scratches, his hand lingering over the fullness of her breast.
A ragged breath caught in her throat. “Touch me.”
“I am touching you.” His voice came out hoarse.
“No.” She reached up and removed his hat. “I mean like you want to touch me.”
He stood abruptly. “That’s done. Now get some rest.”
Pretending she hadn’t spoken wasn’t going to stop her. “Egan...”
“Don’t say anything else. We’ve said enough.”
“There’s a chemistry between us that has nothing to do with my father. It has to do with us.”
He sighed. “Rachel, there’s nothing between us. We’re two strangers who met by accident. That’s it.”
“You wanted to touch my breast in a more intimate way. Don’t deny it, because I felt it.”
He turned from putting the whiskey bottle in the cabinet. “You’re a beautiful woman. What man wouldn’t be attracted to you? I’m human. That’s all.”
There wasn’t much she could say after that. She had to stop fighting for something that was never going to be. She’d met him only yesterday. Once she was away from him, her world would right itself and she would forget about him. But something inside her told her differently. Forgetting Egan wouldn’t be easy.
“Go to sleep.” He blew out the lantern and moved toward the door.
“Aren’t you going to sleep, too?”
“Maybe later. I don’t sleep much. I’ll sit on the stoop for a while.”
“Do you think that man is still out there?”
“Izzy is somewhere, but I doubt if he’s hiding in these woods. We’ll be long gone before he sets out to track us in the morning. Don’t worry. Just rest.”
She tugged the T-shirt over her head and curled up on the bed, her eyes on his rigid back. As she moved, her hand touched something. His hat. He’d forgotten his hat. That had to be a first, and she wondered if he slept in it when he was home. She doubted it. In that moment, she knew she wanted to know a lot more about Egan Rebel.
* * *
EGAN KEPT THE RIFLE by his side. He wasn’t as sure about old Izzy as he’d pretended to be to Rachel. The man was crazy and could pop up at any moment, but Egan was ready for him.
An owl hooted through the chirp of crickets and the night wore on. It had to be close to midnight. He didn’t wear a watch anymore, since he’d got it caught on a string of a bale of hay and almost had his arm ripped off. His phone was now his watch, but it was in his duster and he wasn’t going to disturb Rachel. Besides, there was no signal.
He flexed his fingers, recalling the smoothness of her skin against his fingertips. She was right. He wanted to touch her in a more intimate way, and that feeling angered him. There were so many girls in the world and the one that he could never have was the one he was drawn to. There was no way on God’s green earth he could see himself dating Rachel Hollister. But she was tempting. He’d just leave it at that.
A long walk was ahead of him in the morning, so he had to get some rest. The rocker was preferable to sitting on the stoop. He tiptoed inside and lightly closed the door. The rocker was as hard as the stoop, but he’d adjust.
“Sleep on the bed, Egan. You need to rest.” Her voice was soft, yet strong.
Being
