Connecting Strangers (Discovering Emily) (8 page)

“Cattle?”

He winces, telling me I accurately pinpointed the word. “Tell me this is why you left him.”

“I left him. The reasons don’t really matter.” I look out the window, though it’s already too dark for me to see much of anything except the brief flashes as we pass the streetlights.

“His ass needs to be in jail.” His words drag my gaze back to his profile. Though his eyes are on the road, I know his entire focus isn’t there.

“Well, you can’t go after him.”

“I don’t even know his name,” he reminds me.

“I doubt that will stop you.”

He smiles and takes hold of my hand again. “And I bet you thought you didn’t know me.”

“It’s too soon for me to know you.”

“Everything isn’t always about time, Emily. Sometimes, just the feeling is enough.”

“Feelings go away, Adam. They can’t always be trusted.”

“They don’t go away if they’re real.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “And sometimes, you just know.”

Does he know? Whatever is happening between us is intense. Powerful. But is it real? I know I can’t tell the difference between reality and a deluded sense of it.

“You’re wondering how I know.”

“Didn’t know you read minds, too, Sheriff.” I try to play off his words, but he’s not buying it. With a sigh, I nod. “This. Us. It’s a little overwhelming.”

“There’s nothing saying we have to rush. Let’s just take our time.” He turns my hand over and presses a kiss to my palm.

The warmth spreads through me like hot cocoa on a bitterly cold night. I curl my fingers around his and look out the window just as the headlights of the truck illuminate the ten mile sign to the hospital. I slide my hand out of his and resist the urge to cower by the door.

Hospitals terrify me. The last time I’d been inside one, I’d had to say goodbye to both of my parents after a head-on collision had killed them. But Adam has no way of knowing about my revulsion unless I tell him.

“I hate hospitals,” I whisper in the darkness. “People die there.” It sounds childish, but it’s pure honesty.

“People get better there, too.” His response is simplistic, not an attempt to discredit my fears. Just a matter of fact addition to my thoughts. I’m learning that’s Adam.

We drive along in silence for ten minutes before he speaks again, the sound of his voice shocking me. “Why do you hate hospitals?”

A lump forms in my throat. I’d brought the subject up so I couldn’t blame him for asking. He knows precious little about me. An opening like that is bound to stir up the curiosity. I keep my reply as simple as possible. “My parents died six years ago. A hospital was the last place I saw them.”

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t pry for more information, but I’m compelled to keep talking.

“They were on their way home from a camping trip. A car swerved into their lane, and Dad drove off the road to avoid hitting it. They went over the ridge.” I taste blood and realize I’ve bitten my lower lip. “I got to the hospital in time to say goodbye. The doctor said he thought they were both holding on until I arrived.” A tear leaks from my eye and trickles down my cheek. “There’s no way he could know that, but for a hysterical, nineteen-year-old, it helped.”

“I’m really sorry. I know how hard that can be. It’s not the same as losing them suddenly, but I lost mine about a year apart from each other. I’d just turned twenty-five when my mom passed. My dad just stopped living after that.”

I squeeze his hand. “It’s funny that growing up I sometimes wished they were out of my life because of all the rules. I never wished them dead, but I wanted freedom. Once they were gone, I wanted them back so desperately. It took me over a year to start functioning again.”

“You’ve done a good job of it.”

I take his compliment at face value. Adam isn’t the type to hand out “I just want to get into your pants” praise. But I have to tell the truth. “Not as good as I could have.” My finger traces the window. “If I’d listened to my dad, I would have gone to college, gotten a career…”

“There’s still time for that.”

My hands drop to my lap. This isn’t about time; it’s about what’s coming. I know I’ll never have the chance to settle down, to make a life for myself, not as long as Mark is looking over my shoulder. I left him, but there’s no doubt in my mind he’s still back there. Waiting. Lurking. He’s coming after me, and he likes that I don’t know when. I know him. My fear is what he lives for.

Chapter Six

Three hours later, we finally leave the hospital.

Mark’s brand had caused quite a stir with every nurse on the floor coming in to the exam room to sneak a peek. Though I’d gotten a nice enough doctor, he’d began prodding for answers the moment he’d seen my leg. Adam finally showed his badge and assured him the situation was handled.

I’m sure they have to report incidences of abuse to local authorities. Adam’s presence had made that a little more tenable. I don’t know if the staff there are talkers, though. That makes me uneasy. I don’t want my name to end up in a newspaper no matter how small the circulation might be.

Back in Adam’s truck, I close my eyes as the engine begins its throaty idle. “Do you want me to take you back to Francine’s?” There’s hesitation in his voice, and I turn my head to look at him.

“Some first date, right?” The cream the nurse slathered on my leg is pouring copious amounts of fire onto the wound, but I somehow manage to summon a smile.

He reaches over and cups my cheek with just one hand, his thumb sliding close to my mouth. “I won’t say I’m sorry for taking you.” His hazel eyes crinkle. “But no, it’s not the ideal first date. Then again, who says we have to call this our first date? We can try again. See if the next one goes a little better. If it does,” he lifts a shoulder in a shrug, “that one gets crowned our first date.”

I curl my fingers around his. “I’d like that.” Honestly, I’m not sure if tonight isn’t some kind of omen for our future, but I decide to keep that to myself. My mother had always been superstitious, and I think a little of it rubbed off on me. Adam doesn’t strike me as the type to believe in old wives’ tales or worry about ominous signs.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

The deep timbre of his voice strokes me in the darkness, and my face goes hot. We still haven’t left the parking lot of the hospital, and it looks like Adam’s in no hurry to go anywhere. We’re alone in his truck, sequestered in our own little world. I realize how much my hands itch to touch his face. So I clear my throat and answer. “Where else would you take me?”

“Where you don’t have to be alone.”

“Francine will be home.” I whisper the words only because I know what he’s intimating. He wants to be with me. God knows how I feel, but there’s a wall standing between us I’m not sure either of us can breach. He wants answers to unasked questions, and whether it’s tonight or later, he’ll ask them. But what will it do to this—whatever it is we have in the works—if I don’t answer?

“I doubt you’ll let her hold you tonight.” He moves in closer, and my resolve weakens to the consistency of pudding. Calloused fingertips slide down my cheek, chasing a shiver down my spine. “Will you?”

“No.” Though his face is barely visible in the darkness, I don’t need to see to know his gaze is on me. He hasn’t stopped watching me since we got back into the truck. And though he’s asking, I can’t think of anything else to say, and he takes my remaining silence as acquiescence. And backs the truck out of the parking lot.

He’s left a light on at his house, and it bathes the front porch with a soft warmth that encompasses the wooden swing hanging from two chains. It isn’t the house I expected for a bachelor. This one was probably built sometime in the 1930s. Though it’s been restored, it hasn’t lost its charm.

“It’s beautiful.” I tip my head back to appreciate the view of the wraparound porch. This is a family home. Perfect for children and dogs. My throat is so tight I can’t speak.

Adam takes my hand and leads me inside. An oval braided rug lays at the opening to the living room which is all wood and leather—a man’s house. As he shows me around, I’m trying to focus on anything but the warmth of his palm in mine, but it quickly becomes too difficult. The deep rumble of his voice and the perfection of being so close to him without a chance for interruption overwhelms me, and I stop walking.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” I nod then shake my head. “No.

My heart beats so erratically, I have to wonder if he can hear it. It’s part nerves and part anticipation. I know very little about this man other than he’s caring, compassionate, a great kisser, a protector, and…I stop thinking. Those were all the good things I knew. Were there any bad things?

In the hallway, we turn to face one another. It’s narrow so our bodies are pressed close enough for me to feel his reaction to mine. He braces his hands on either side of me. The slant of the moon through the shades plays across his face as he leans in, his lips so close to mine I quiver.

The kiss is too gentle to deepen, and disappointment swells within me when he pulls away. He takes my hand again and leads me into master bedroom. It’s as masculine as the living room with lots of dark wood and bold colors. At the edge of the bed, he draws me into his embrace and holds me for several long seconds.

I breathe in his scent and, eventually, rest my head on his shoulder. This isn’t passion, but strength he’s offering. Rejuvenation. He guides me to the bed, and I sit while he slips my boots off my feet.

“You’re probably going to drown in it, but one of my shirts will have to do for tonight.”

I expect a t-shirt when he goes to his closet, but he returns with one of his uniform shirts. It’s well-worn and soft when I take it from his grasp.

“The bathroom’s in there.” He inclines his head toward a large, pine door with a brass knob. “And I promise I won’t peek.”

His gentleness tugs at my heart. “Thanks.” I pause on my way to the bathroom. “For everything.” Before he can respond, I close the door and lean against it.

Coming here might have been a very bad idea. Was I rushing into this? Shouldn’t I take more time? Getting involved with Adam when Mark wasn’t fully out of my life…I didn’t even want to think about the consequences. Though I don’t doubt Adam can hold his own, the last thing I want is a battle between the two of them.

I change into Adam’s shirt and wish it smelled like him instead of fabric softener. But he’s just outside the bathroom. I can have his scent all over me if I want. And I do want. Very much. Maybe even too much.

Whatever’s happening between us is moving at the speed of sound. Slowing it down is rational. Smart. It’s what I should do, but all my life I’ve done what I’ve been told. Never once have I followed my heart. Maybe this time, I should let it do the talking.

I take a deep breath and twist the knob. When I open the door, I see Adam’ already turned down the bed. The crisp cotton sheets look warm and inviting beneath the dim light of the bedside lamp.

His head lifts when he sees me, and my cheeks heat when his mouth drops. “I can tell you one thing. I won’t ever look at that shirt the same way.” He holds out his hand, and I cross the short distance to take it. Then he wraps his arms around my waist, and I bury my fingers in his hair.

How is it possible that I feel so close to him? What was it he said about time? The years before him don’t seem to matter. I just want to be with him. As close as possible to him. For as long as I can.

“Come on. You need some rest.” He turns me toward the bed, and I sit down beside him. I scoot to the opposite side of the mattress, leaving plenty of room for him. When he lies down, he reaches for me. I drift back into his arms. Safe. Secure. Relaxed.

His hands begin a gentle journey down my spine, long, steady strokes that comfort. I’m barely holding the tears at bay when he kisses the top of my head. “Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.”

“There’s really not much to talk about.” Though I make every effort to sound like it’s no big deal, when Adam squeezes me, I know he doesn’t believe me. “Mark wasn’t always this way.” Was that even the truth? Weren’t there times early on in our relationship that scared me a little? I think my father saw them, and that’s why he warned me to stay away. Of course, I was a teenager and knew everything at that point in my life.

“What matters is that you got out, Emily.”

“But I also got in, Adam, which means my judgment’s a little skewed.”

He pushes back so he can see my face. “Well, I happen to know you were seen with a great guy at the hospital tonight so your judgment can’t be that bad.”

“Maybe it’s getting better now that the air around me is clearing.”

The slow slip and slide of his hands is lulling me into a state of serenity I’ve never felt…at least not since I became an adult. “I know you want to know more about Mark because of what he did to me.”

His chest muscles tense beneath my cheek. “Actually, I’d like to drive his face through a brick wall. I really don’t need to know more about him to do that.”

I smile. He sounds ferocious, and while I might have worried about Mark’s temper before, Adam has a strength about him that is so much more than muscles. Though he’s not short on those, either. I don’t doubt Adam could put a hurting on Mark. My ex was a big, burly ex-football player, but he’s let himself go. Most of his muscles had turned to flab. Adam is lean, taut, and an image of him smashing his fist into Mark’s face broadens my smile.

No, violence isn’t the answer, but Mark never listened to that admonition. In his world, violence is the only way. As often as I tried to stand up to him, it was never enough.

“Did you ever try to leave him?” The question comes at me like a slap to the face, and it stings just as much. I try to pull away, but Adam holds me tight. “I’m not being judgmental, Emily. Some vic—”

“Don’t.” This time, I’m successful when I push back. Sitting up, I can face him, see the intention on his face. It puts me on even ground.

“What?” He edges up onto one elbow.

“You were about to call me a victim. That’s not what I am, Adam. Mark tried to make me one, but I fought back, and I escaped. I don’t think of myself as a victim nor should anyone else.” For emphasis, I jab his chest with my index finger. “That includes you.”