the tears were close to the surface.
Drawn against her will into a maelstrom of past emotion that she didn’t want or need, she crossed swiftly to the table and set the feast down. “I’ll just leave everything. I brought some milk.”
He made a sound that could have been a mumble of gratitude. She put the container of milk in the refrigerator. On the counter was a spoon and a jar of instant coffee.
“There’s fresh-brewed coffee, too.” She put the insulated mug on the counter beside the spoon.
“Thanks.” He waited by the door for her to leave.
The return path took her past him. Nervousness made her clumsy. She caught her sandal on the hooked rug in front of the door, causing a stumble. His arms were there to catch her in an instant, so fast that it took her completely by surprise.
The morning changed. First there had been the cold breeze, nipping into the apartment from the open door, then there was warmth all around her, like the sun enfolding her.
His hands spread heat into her arm and waist where he touched her. Through her slacks she felt the weight of his thigh pressed between hers, sending shafts of sunlight splintering through her abdomen. Her breath caught.
In the wary silence between them, she heard the sibilant hiss of air as he took a deep breath. She experienced the unexpected thundering of his heart. Unbidden yearning rushed through her, a flash point of need so powerful it left her helpless and subdued.
For the space of two heartbeats, she lingered in the embrace, unable to move. His pupils widened as his gaze locked with hers. The same terrible need blazed in him as in her.
Something inside leaped, startled as a young deer, then dipped crazily before righting itself.
They moved at the same time, drawing back, pulling away, dropping their arms, removing their hands from contact with hot, suddenly yearning flesh. The withdrawal signaled loss that she couldn’t comprehend.
He cursed under his breath.
She sighed with relief.
“Thanks for the food,” he said stiffly.
“No problem,” she replied. She fled down the steps.
“What’s this I hear about a good-looking stranger at your place?” Megan gave Kate a mock-severe stare, then spoiled it by grinning at Shannon.
Both Megan and Shannon were cousins to Kate from her mother’s side of the family. She and Megan lived on Windraven, the family ranch once managed by their grandfather. Megan lived in the big house with their grandfather, Patrick Windom, who had suffered a stroke a few years ago. Their grandfather was in a wheelchair and had rarely spoken since his son, Megan’s father, had died in an auto accident ten years ago.
“Don’t ask me,” Kate replied. “Shannon was the one who sent him and his son my way.”
“No wife?” Megan asked.
“Not that I’ve seen.”
“Ah,” Megan said in understanding.
“He’s divorced. Look, I just tried to do a favor for a fellow officer,” Shannon defended herself. “When I checked him out, the sergeant in Houston told me Jess Fargo was a hero and that he’d been shot in the line of duty, protecting an innocent bystander in the street where the shoot-out occurred. His kneecap was shattered by a bullet, and even then he managed to stop the guy from taking a woman waiting at a bus stop as a hostage. Oh, and his ex is getting married again and dumped the son on him a couple of weeks ago.”
“He has scars,” Kate said, seeing the uneven pattern of the gun wound, the neat medical incisions and the crosshatched pattern of stitches. She laid a hand over her abdomen as a sharp echo of past pain flashed through her again.
Shannon’s brow crinkled in worry. “I’m sorry, Katie, I didn’t mean to make you remember.”
“You didn’t. I’m okay.” Kate summoned a smile. “And, as usual, I felt sorry for him and his son and let them have the apartment. I’m such a sucker for a sad story.”
Remembering how she and Jess had really met, she started laughing, a little shakily but with true mirth.
“It must have been a real tear jerker,” Megan said in a wry tone. “Do tell all.”
Her cousins thought her story about tossing the hose down only to have the shut-off lever hit the ground and stick in the open position, then the man showing up with a gun, looking ready to shoot anything that crossed his path and also getting drenched, was hilarious.
“A great beginning,” Shannon said, beaming at Kate. “I predict even greater things to come.”
“Huh,” was Kate’s reaction to that.
What a trio the cousins were, Kate mused as she read absurd birthday cards and opened lovely presents—a chemise top with a lace blouse to wear over it, shorts and a shirt to go with the other two pieces, and the promised bag of cookies.
Shannon’s parents had divorced when she was a kid, so she tended to herd people into family units, although she seemed leery of matrimony for herself. Megan had had to deal with the tragedy of her mother’s strange and unhappy death from drowning, plus the quarrels between her father and grandfather, then her grandfather’s stroke after her uncle Sean’s accident. Megan wanted everyone to get along and be happy.
Kate considered her own emotional baggage. She had always had a need to heal every wounded creature she met. Life, the very act of living, could be so very complicated and serious. Her husband had accused her of having a God complex.
She had tried to help him, to bring the joy of living back into his life, but she had failed. No, it was wrong to think that way! He had chosen his path. She had chosen to live. But she had lost their child and the ability to have more.
She’d also lost something of her faith in life, she acknowledged with a familiar stab of sadness and remorse. She could forgive Kris for shooting her, then himself, but she would never forgive the loss of the baby she’d carried for seven precious months—
“What?” she said, jolted from the past by a nudge.
“I have to get back to work,” Shannon reminded them. “Some people don’t have the luxury of doing what they want, when they want. Some of us hold down a real job.”
“You love it,” Megan declared. “You’d have to, to work in the domestic crisis unit for as long as you have.”
Shannon laughed, tossed her share of the bill on the table and headed out with a wave.
“Thanks for lunch and the presents,” Kate called after her. “Lunch and presents, too,” she said to Megan as the waitress refilled their tea glasses. “I hope you didn’t blow the budget.”
“I used my own funds,” Megan informed her. “I’m training three other colts along with Wind Dancer.”
“Mmm, you’ll probably want a raise. I think we could swing one, a small one,” Kate quickly added.
As
