Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 (24 page)

"It’s all gone,
now!"

"It’s no' his
fault."

"No?" Her coy tone caused
him a chill. "Perhaps, Roan, he made the offer then brought it down
to spite you."

"He wouldn't do
tha'."

"Ye're
bewitched!"

Roan groaned deep in his
chest. "No, dammit! Leave him be, Aggie. To be fair, he's lost
mair’n all o' us put togither."

"He's a monster."

"He saved Kevin," said Laura
coldly from the kitchen threshold.

Roan stared at her, inwardly
wincing at the pathetic sight she presented. She was dressed in one
of Agnes' old, wool dresses, which badly hung on her slender form.
Her hair was disheveled. Dark purple and yellow bruises appeared on
ever part of her exposed skin.

Agnes passed a contrary look
at the woman as she stepped further into the room. "For tha', I,
too, am grateful, lass. But you don’t know Lannie like I
do!"

"I know enough," Laura said
wearily, lowering her stiff body into a comfortable chair on the
opposite side of the hearth. "How are you feeling,
Roan?"

"I'm no'," he
grumbled.

"Can I get you somethin'
from the kitchen?" Agnes asked Laura.

"No, thank you."

"Then I'll leave the two o'
you be. I'll check on the laddies."

Laura nodded absently, her
gaze riveted on Roan's taut profile. When Agnes had left the room,
she asked, "Did she tell you?"

"Abou’ you leavin' this
efternoon?" His brooding gaze impaled her. "Aye. Ye're in no shape
to travel."

"I have no choice. The phone
lines are still down."

"There's always
tomorrow."

Laura sadly shook her head.
"Agnes gave me her address. I'll write as soon as I get settled in
the States."

"Don't bother," he said, his
monotone response sparking her temper. "It’s better we cut all
ties."

"Is that what you really
want?"

He nodded.

"Sometimes, Roan, you're a
real sonofabitch."

His gaze swept to study her
for a time. "It wouldn't have worked between us."

"I agree, but I don't see
why we can't remain friends. Keep in touch."

A low bitter laugh vibrated
in his chest. "Keep in touch?"

"Stop it."

Her sharp tone prompted him
to arrogantly arch an eyebrow.

"I've been wrong about a lot
of things, Roan, but so have you." She looked down at her hands
which were clasped atop her lap. "I asked Aggie about your son. She
told me I should ask you." She looked up, her gaze scanning his
handsome features. "Tell me what happened. Please."

For a long moment he scowled
at the flames. Then he sighed a woeful sound, and began his
story.

"I realize now tha' I never
loved Adaina. We enjoyed sex togither but little else. She thought
me cold and insensitive. And...aye, I guess I am tha'
sort.

"When Jamey was born, we got
closer for a time. So I thought, till two years later when I
learned she was havin' an affair wi' a mon I thought a friend. Gus
Mackerby. Good...old...
reliable
...Gus."

He fell quiet for a time,
unaware that the fingers of his right hand were roughly kneading
the arm of his chair.

"Adaina expected me to take
on Gus but truth was, I didn't care enough to cause a scene. We no
sooner separated, Gus moved in. I didn't care much abou' tha',
either. In some ways, I was relieved to be ou' o' the
marriage.

"At first, there wasn't a
problem wi' me seein' ma son whenever it suited me. He was all I
cared abou', all I ever wanted.

"I'd heard rumors abou' Gus
bein' too strict wi' ma boy. I told Adaina I'd take him away from
her if she wasn't careful. She laughed, and said I would never take
the lad, for it would require me to make a commitment to him and a
committin' mon I would never be."

He sighed again and worked
the stiff muscles in the back of his neck.

"Anither year slipped by. Ma
visits to Jamey grew fewer, though, for the life o' me, I don't
know why. I loved tha' boy. His laughter always brought sunshine
into ma life.

"I was supposed to take
Jamey for a three-day weekend. Adaina and Gus had made plans to
take a short holiday to London. Damn me, I don't know wha' got into
me, but I resented them plannin' to go off togither. I deliberately
went on a drunk the night before, me and ma so-called buddies. I
stayed at one o' their houses, knowin' Adaina would be frantic when
I didn't show tha' morn.

"By late efternoon, ma
conscience got the better o' me and I drove to the
house."

Pain ravaged Roan's face.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to block out the memories of the
rest of that day.

"Go on," Laura said in a
gentle, understanding tone.

"The place was on fire,
great flames loomin' above the back o' the house. By Jamey's room.
At first, I could do nothin' but stare. Then I saw Gus comin'
toward me. He said Adaina had rushed back in to get Jamey. Sirens
were closin' in. Those bloody, deafenin' sirens. But above them, I
heard Adaina scream. It went on and on, growin' higher in pitch
till I was sure it would shatter ma brain.

"I tried to run to the front
door. Two men tackled me down. No' Gus. He stood watchin'. Watchin'
ma wife, ma son, ma home, become swallowed up in those horrible
flames. I fought to ma feet, and it was then I saw Adaina pressed
against the parlor window. I could see wha' remained o' Jamey in
her arms. Her hair...gone.

"I was prevented from goin'
to her. Prevented from tryin' to smash through tha' bloody window
to pull them ou'. And then I could see only flames lickin' up the
window. A wall o' flames...."

A sob caught in his throat.
He lowered his head but he could not stop the tears from escaping
his closed eyelids.

Moving as quickly as her
battered body allowed, Laura knelt to his side and rested her hands
atop his right one, which fiercely gripped the arm of the
rocker.

"There was nothing you could
have done to save them, Roan," she wept, her heart breaking in two
for him.

His chin quivered. He
stiffened with the strain to hold at bay his emotions. "Jamey would
have been wi' me and Adaina on her holiday if no' for
me!"

"You don't know that for
sure. Roan...things happen. We can't try to rationalize every
disaster. We'd go insane. Things just...happen. It's...part of
life."

"Ask me wha' started the
fire," he demanded harshly.

"What, Roan?"

His pain-ridden eyes swung
to look into hers. "One o' Gus' cigars smolderin' in the
couch."

"That has nothing to do with
you."

"No? If I'd picked up Jamey
on time, no one would have been in tha' house!"

"Roan, please...let go of
the past."

"It’s the past wha' holds
on, Laura." He stared into the flames, his shoulders sagging
beneath the burden of his remorse. "I damn near failed
Alby."

"But you didn't! Look at me.
Dammit, Roan, look at me!"

His tear-filled eyes swung
to her face. Laura wanted to kiss away his pain at that moment,
kiss away his tormenting memories. "Stop punishing yourself. You're
a good man, Roan. A kind, gentle man. I know. And I thank God for
delivering me into your care these past few days."

"Don't, Laura."

"I
will
write, and you'd better write
back!"

"Don't leave. No'
yet."

She gulped past the
tightness forming in her throat. "I have to go."

A mask of hardness slid down
over his face. "Aye, so you say."

Borgie Ingliss walked into
the room, his white hair standing on end, an opened bottle of beer
in his hand. "Can you be ready in a couple o' hours?" he asked
Laura.

"Yes."

"Ben's gone to fill the
truck. He'll be by abou' two."

"Thank you."

Laura looked at Roan. The
distance she read in his eyes caused a chill to squirm along her
spine. Standing, she kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I've got to
emotionally prepare the boys to leave. I'll be back in a
while."

"I won't be here," he
rasped.

"Roan, don't be like
this."

"Like wha'?
Maself?"
He raked a
contemptuous look over her wan face. "I never cared for goodbyes.
Take care o' yerself and the lads."

Laura wanted to shout at him
but instead, briskly walked from the room.

Borgie watched her leave,
then sat in the chair she'd occupied, and released a nasally
chuckle.

"She's a fine-lookin' womon,
she is," he chortled.

Roan leveled a deadly look
on the man. "I know wha' you tried to do to Beth
Staples."

"Me?" Borgie feigned a look
of innocence. "I offered the womon a ride."

"Save yer breath, you— But
I'm warnin' you, cousin, if you so-much-as look at Laura in a way I
don't like, I'll do mair n' turn yer bloody hair white!"

A sneer formed on Borgie's
thin lips. "I'd watch ma threats if I were you, cousin. Ye're in no
shape to threaten a child, let alone me."

Although it pained him to do
so, Roan rose from the chair. His chest rose and fell with his
every deep breath. His eyes possessed the fires of hell. "You've
been warned, you swine."

From the corner of his eye,
Borgie watched his cousin leave. A wicked smile played across his
mouth then he tipped the bottle and gulped down its
contents.

A sound of satisfaction
gurgled from his throat, and he swiped an arm across his mouth. He
belched, glanced over his shoulder and smiled a smile of pure
malice.

"Too bad abou' Kist House,"
he chuckled.

C
hapter 9

Laura refused to dwell on
Roan's calloused disposition. Her head ached. Every bone and muscle
in her body painfully pro-tested her slightest movement. She tried
to focus on the fact that she was getting closer to returning home.
Whatever happened after she arrived in Chicago would prove a cinch
compared to her Scotland ordeal.

He had every right to feel
bitter. The house and all its magnificent belongings were gone. The
fact that it had been a fire that had caused the destruction was
undoubtedly a weighty factor to his withdrawal. He'd lost
everything he'd loved to that single element.

Damn, why did he push me
away?

She did understand what he
was feeling, although she'd never personally lost anyone or
anything of value to fire. But she ached for his losses along with
him. She wept within for his suffering. If she sincerely believed
remaining in Scotland for a time longer would help him get back on
his feet, she would! But she was convinced that he didn't need
further complications in his life right now. He needed time and
space to heal his emotional and physical wounds.

Laura had every intention of
returning to Scotland in the near future. Next year, if her
finances permitted.

Contrary to what she'd told
him that last night in Baird House, they hadn't had sex but had
made love. It had been no fling. She'd lost her heart to him, and
he had admitted to being in love with her.

How or why she didn't know.
They hardly knew one another. But then, they'd lived what seemed a
lifetime in a matter of days.

She liked Agnes, and all the
strangers who had offered their help, their kindness, and who had
collected articles of clothing for her and the boys. She liked them
all.

Except Borgie.

Roan needn't have warned
her. The instant she had laid eyes on him something in his manner,
the way his gaze had boldly looked her over, left her with a strong
wariness of him. She didn't relish sharing a vehicle with him, but
he was going along to keep Ben company on the return trip from
Edinburgh.

Zippering the oversized worn
piece of luggage that Agnes had given her, Laura leaned over to
appease a wave of dizziness. She wanted nothing more at that moment
than to lie down, close her eyes, and escape the pain, emotional
aches, and exhaustion for a time. Although Agnes had made her and
the boys a large breakfast, her stomach felt empty. Queasy and in
knots.

She couldn't shake the
ridiculous notion that she was afraid to leave Scotland. Afraid to
leave Roan. Afraid to allow time to widen the gap
between—

Unfinished
business.

What business?

Our
relationship?

Ha. That needed work, and
neither of them was in an emotional position to seriously plan for
a future together.

He was in love with her but
didn't want to be. Now that made more sense. It also explained his
gruffness, his shutting her out. It wasn't that he needed time to
work through his ordeal, he wanted to end what he considered to be
a threat to his chosen way of life.