Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 (4 page)

"When it suits him, no
doubt."

She gulped. The one thing
she feared most was fear itself. Too many men had tried to master
her, to take care of and dominate her, during the past twelve of
her thirty years. Small build. Youthful features. They were a
curse. She'd fought hard for independence, but had never before
quite found herself in such an uncompromising position.

It wasn't as though she
could walk away from this situation. Where would she go? The
American Consulate, yes, but how, and how soon?

Bluntness and groveling had
miserably failed. What was left? If she screamed at the top of her
lungs, would anyone but the boys hear her?

Roan again scowled, but
there was a softness behind it that further confused
her.

"Perish the thought. I've
never forced maself on a womon."

"Forced—" Heat suffused
every part of her body. Oddly enough, she hadn't considered the
possibility of rape. Her fear had stemmed from her doubting her
ability not to seduce
him!
It was several seconds before she could continue,
"I never—"

Grimacing, he cut in, "Tha'
explains it." Misunderstanding what she'd intended to say, he drew
her back up onto his lap. To prevent her from turning away from
him, he threaded the fingers of one hand through the pale, soft
hair at her nape. "How old are you?"

The emerald eyes flashed.
"Old enough. Look, it never crossed my mind that you would try
to—"

"Molest you?"

"Y-yes."

A cynical grin spread across
his mouth then he sobered. After a moment of looking into her eyes,
he shuddered, then brusquely ushered her off his lap, and rose to
his feet. The blanket lay forgotten, haphazardly draped on the back
of the settee.

"Lannie'll make arrangements
for you to be taken to Edinburgh. He's good at takin' charge, tha'
one."

"Why are you so hateful?"
Laura asked in a tone lacking emotion.

"Life, Miss Bennett.
Contrary to belief, it’s no' for everyone." He abruptly headed
toward the door to the foyer. "I've no great expectations but to
mind ma own till I leave this bloody world."

He was nearly across the
threshold when Laura's voice arrested him.

"You're an impossible,
pathetic man."

After a pause, he turned and
delivered her a look of utter boredom. "Aye, so I've been told." He
pointed to the door on the opposite wall. "Go through the dinin'
room and you'll find the kitchen. Help yerself to wha'ever you
want."

"You're so kind."

Her icy tone prompted a
genuine smile on his lips. "Good night, Miss Bennett."

"Mr. Ingliss?"

Roan turned again to look at
her.

"Where will you be
sleeping?"

He frowned. "I guess in one
o' the bedrooms on the second floor. Why do you ask?"

"No particular
reason."

"Yer virtue's safe. Besides,
ye're a sight. Put some cold water on those bruises."

Laura haughtily stiffened.
"Good night, Mr. Ingliss."

Roan stared at her for a
moment longer then walked into the foyer.

Suddenly emotionally
drained, she watched him ascend the staircase. Now that she no
longer felt desire-heated by his proximity, she puzzled his
psychological makeup. His temper had a short fuse. And yet, during
their brief encounters, she'd more than once gotten the impression
that his past harbored a great deal of pain. It was possible she'd
only imagined sensing a conflict warring inside him.

If he was a man on the edge,
how safe was she and the boys?

"Whoever hurt you Roan
Ingliss, left some very deep scars," she murmured.

She glanced about the
Victorian room and deeply sighed. "This beats sleeping in the car."
Her voice took on a sarcastic edge. "But isn't it comforting to
know my knight in tarnished armor is sleeping under the same
roof?"

Her gaze happened on the
portrait above the mantel. A poignant sadness surged in her heart
as she wondered if that woman was the one Roan Ingliss had said had
died in this house.

Had she been the one
responsible for his bitterness?

Laura studied the carefree
depiction of the woman and gave a bewildered shake of her
head.

Why should she care what
spurred Roan's sour disposition?

There were enough
complications already in her life.

* * *

As quietly as he was able,
Roan stoked the hearth in the boys' bedroom. For a time, he
remained crouched in front of the fire, his troubled thoughts
etched deeply across his brow. He hated being in Baird House. And
he resented the laird's convenient absence concerning the Yank and
her nephews.

Standing, he went into the
bathroom. He removed the towel and dripping sweater then draped
them over the back of a chair he'd earlier positioned close to the
hearth. Approaching the foot of the bed, he stared at the young
boys who were spooned together in the center of the large feather
mattress.

A burning sensation rose in
his throat. He looked away. A nagging suspicion continued to goad
him, to darken his mood. He didn't like Laura Bennett, and it
wasn't all because she resembled his deceased wife. Granted, if her
story owned of even a bit of truth, she was understandably
stressed, but she struck him as being—

And there it was, the
suspicion fully surfaced.

The woman was distant.
Shallow, detached, and distant.

So it wasn't just her
physical resemblance to Adaina that annoyed him.

Their basic characters were
alike as well.

She'd confessed she hadn't
bothered to attend her own brother's funeral.

Did she resent being saddled
with the nephews?

For a time longer, he
watched the boys. Emotions he thought to have been long lost,
surfaced. The emptiness of his loss reawakened as painful as
ever.

"Damn me, I miss you,
Jamey," he choked, tears stinging his eyes.

The presence of the boys was
bringing it all home to him. Angry that it should still hurt so
unbearably, he headed out of the room. He jogged down the
staircase, stopping briefly at the landing to pull himself
together, then entered the parlor to find Laura staring pensively
at Beth's portrait.

A fierce wind of despondency
passed through his heart.

For a fleeting moment, he
experienced a chilling sense of rightness.

Rightness?

That didn't make sense. She
no more belonged in this house than he did.

His mood further
soured.

"Aren't you cold?" she
asked, not sparing him a glance. After a short silence, she looked
askance at his bare upper torso. "Don't you own another sweater—or
something to cover yourself?"

Ignoring her testiness, he
stood alongside her and looked up at the portrait. "Tha's Beth
Staples."

Laura peered at him, fatigue
clouding her eyes. "The American woman who died here?"

He nodded. A muscle ticked
along his jawline.

Silence ensued while Laura
more carefully studied the portrait. "She was very
lovely."

"Still is," Roan said
without thinking. When her questioning gaze cut to him, heat rushed
into his face. Clearing his throat, he ventured, "You don't want
the boys, do you?"

She paled despite her outer
calm. "That's a helluva thing to ask."

"Wha' do you do, Miss
Bennett?"

Confused, she murmured,
"What do I do? About what?"

"Yer career."

"I design perfume and
cologne bottles for a cosmetic firm."

"Mmmm. You live alone, do
you?"

Laura frowned at him. "I
know what you're getting at, but I can't understand why it's any
concern of yours."

"Humor me."

Throwing her hands up, she
stated, "I've been on my own since I was eighteen, Mr. Ingliss, and
I live in a studio apartment."

"In ither words, there's no
place for the lads in yer life."

"Do you have a grumpy
identical twin running around this place, or what?" she asked with
exasperation.

A weary smile turned up the
corners of his mouth. "Grumpy?"

"Well, you haven't exactly
made us feel welcomed here, Mr. Ingliss! Look...I know nothing
about children. I've never given a thought about sharing my life
with one, let alone three. But they are my family and I will do
whatever is right for them."

Roan's gaze slowly caressed
the contours of her face. "You've no heart for
children."

An abrupt laugh burst from
her. "If I recall, you were the one threatening to spank Alby when
I came to!"

"Aye."

"So where do you get off
lecturing me?"

With a quarter turn, he
rested a forearm atop the mantel and cocked his head to one side.
"Fire kills. It’s tha' simple. But I did overreact and for tha',
I'm sorry. However, I'm fond o' children, Miss Bennett—even little
devils like yer nephews. I'm curious as to wha's goin' to happen to
them once you return to the States."

"I'm beginning to wonder if
I've stepped into the Twilight Zone!" She backed up two paces,
crimson flooding her face. "I'm sorry I-I intruded upon your damn
privacy, mister. Damn sorry! Frankly, I've never met a ruder, more
insufferable, inconsiderate oaf in my life! I hate this whole
situation, and I hate—" Her voiced dropped low. "—you."

"Careful, lass," he crooned,
a sardonic gleam in his mesmerizing eyes as he straightened away
from the mantel. "You could be sendin' me the wrong
signals."

"What the hell are you
talking about?"

"Love and hate are fast
companions."

"Maybe in your dismal little
brain," she flung scathingly. "One way or the other, the boys and I
are leaving come daylight."

Rolling his eyes heavenward,
he considered her statement. Then his enigmatic gaze lowered to her
face, and deliberately lingered on her mouth for excruciating
seconds longer. "Maybe. Maybe no'."

"Try to stop me!" she hissed
and ran past him into the foyer.

Minutes later, Roan remained
poised in front of the diminishing fire. Fatigue weighted his
eyelids. He felt physically and mentally drained, and out of touch
with reality.

I hate you hate you hate
you....

Another woman's voice echoed
the words inside his skull. A voice from another time, another
existence.

Adaina.

Had he known back then that
those were to be the best of times, things might have turned out
differently. Perhaps he would still have his son.

The terrible void he'd
carried for the past three years unmercifully yawned behind his
breast. It threatened to swallow him up, but not to carry him off
to oblivion as he'd prayed for on countless nights.

Life was the worst of all
punishments.

Guilt would ride on his
shoulders for as long as a breath remained in his body.

"Treasure them, Laura," he
whispered achingly into the shadows.

His movements burdened with
despair, he shuffled out of the room.

C
hapter 2

Laura leaned over the
bathroom sink to have a closer look at herself in the
ornately-framed mirror. A rainbow-shaped, black and purple bruise
covered most of her chin; a smaller discoloration marred the outer
corner of her left eye. The bright morning light coming through two
curtainless windows accentuated the shadows underscoring her
eyes.

She hadn't slept a wink
since leaving Roan in the parlor. She had a belly full of anger she
couldn’t rationalize and she couldn’t shake the feeling that
she
had
to get far
away from this house.

Sometime during the night,
the storm had stopped. She was more determined than ever to
continue on her way to Edinburgh. From a mental list of plans,
she'd chosen the simplest: Find a telephone and call the American
Consulate.

Surely they would cover her
cab fare until she got to a bank and replaced her lost traveler's
checks.

"Gimme!"

Kahl's shrill demand made
her wince.

"Mine!" Alby
cried.

Going to the doorway to the
adjoining bedroom, she ordered in a stage whisper, "Knock it off!
We'll be leaving in a minute."

"I want breakfast," Kevin
declared from his sitting position on the foot of the
bed.

"Fine. I'll get you
something on the way out. Just quiet down, okay?"

"Kahl mean," Alby whimpered.
He lifted a hand and threatened to bring it down on his brother's
leg.

"Boys...." Laura entered the
room, her gaze locked on the two youngest brothers, sitting across
from one another in front of the hearth. "We don't want to wake Mr.
Ingliss, do—"