Renegade Hearts (The Kinnison Legacy Book 3) (7 page)

Her expression remained stoic. “Well, I guess we can both agree that it was a mistake. And as long as we’re being truthful, until that night--when I seduced you, by the way--you never knew I existed.”

He couldn’t deny that either. Hell, when he’d seen her with Sally at Dusty’s that night, he’d not recognized her. Only after she stormed out and Sally chewed him a new one did he realize who she was. She blamed him for embarrassing her. Hell, he blamed himself, which is why he’d apologized. Had he planned on what happened between them? No, but he couldn’t deny she’d put his life in a tailspin that night. Just before she went back to Chicago and got married. One last fling, he figured. He’d tried to shrug it off, to pretend he hadn’t burned for her weeks after she’d gone.

But that was then, and this was now. Whatever he had stuck in his craw about her, he’d have to battle through, which shouldn’t be too difficult since it seemed abundantly clear that she wanted even less to do with him than he originally thought. She had, however, sparked a curiosity. Or
fuck,
maybe he just saw it as a personal challenge. Without a trace of alcohol in his system, he wondered if her lips would taste as sweet as he remembered. Tossing good sense aside, he moved closer, forcing her back against the barn until she couldn’t escape. He braced one arm above her and looked down at the fire dancing in her defiant gaze, almost daring him to make a move.

So he did.

She pushed her fists against his chest and he grabbed them, lifting them above her head as he closed in, taking his fill of that sweet mouth. She may have wanted to tell him to go to hell, but her body responded differently. Kiss for fiery kiss, she met his mouth until she broke free of his grasp and held his head, keeping his mouth to hers. He wasn’t sure if the moan he heard was his or hers.

Dalton was ready to take this to a nice soft patch of hay when she ducked away from him. “No.”

“No?” He chuckled. “That sure as hell didn’t feel like no.”

“I wish you hadn’t done that.”

“It was a kiss, Angel, nothing more. And, by the way, you participated fully.”

Her eyes met his. “Exactly, and that’s why it won’t happen again.” She whirled on her heel and headed toward the house.

He whipped off his hat and shook his head. Frustrated in more ways than one, he strode back into the barn. Snatching a horsewhip from the wall, he used it to knock a bottle of Jack Daniels he kept hidden in the rafters. Settling in a hay bale, he uncapped the bottle and took a long pull from it. His eyes watered as the liquid fire slid down his parched throat.

A soft whinny brought his head up and he realized that Beauty had managed to jimmy the latch on her stall. She dipped her head and nuzzled his hand holding the bottle, shaking her blonde mane in protest.

“Yeah, probably not the best medicine for frustration.” The memory of Rein’s words rolled over him, dredging up guilt as he eyed the half-empty bottle in his hand. He had his drinking under control,
didn’t he
? It was everything else going on that made it seem like he wasn’t together. He took another drink, capped the bottle, and stuffed it in his jacket. Her scent lingered in his mind. Her lips tasted just as he’d remembered. No great consolation.

He raked his hand through his hair and, heaving a sigh, led Beauty back to her stall, taking care this time to secure the latch. Hearing the sound of a car starting up, he stepped out of the barn and watched the taillights of Angelique’s car disappear as she turned onto the highway.

Not the least bit hungry or ready to face the questions his family was likely to pepper him with, he retreated to his cabin, fixed himself a sandwich, and then showered, letting the hot water ease the tensions of the day. Tossing the towel aside, he turned off the bathroom light and immersed himself into darkness.

He walked over to the window and opened it, letting the mountain’s night breeze cool his body. Tearing back the comforter, he dropped onto the sheets, staring at the moonlight streaked across his ceiling. Thoughts of her knotted his stomach. Why should it matter what she thought of him? Even now, with one simple phone call, he could enlist the help of any one of a down women who’d happily help him ease his frustration.

Maybe Angelique was right. Maybe that night in the school lot had been a mistake. It wasn’t the first choice he’d made in his life that had gone awry. But if it was a mistake, then why had it taken him weeks, months to stop thinking of her every damn second of the day? He rubbed his hand over his chest, still cool and damp from his shower. A gentle breeze fluttered the curtains, causing the gooseflesh to rise on his body. He remembered how she’d touched him, her hands exploring, tentative, yet without fear. Remembered how she’d crawled onto his lap, taken him deep inside her, how their bodies rocked in tandem.…

His body tightened. Relinquishing his control to the memory of her sweet sighs, self-made pleasure ripped through his body, but there was no satisfaction. He took a deep breath and gazed at the ceiling fan spinning above him. No less tense, he dropped his feet to the floor and stood in front of the window, hands braced on the frame as he let the chilly mountain air cool his fevered body. She wanted to be “friends.” As though nothing had happened to possibly change that.

He should drop it. Give her what she wants. But her kiss tonight, the way she responded to him, stuck in his brain. He’d seen the fear on her face. Was it only the past, or something else? Regardless, if she just wanted to be friends, why the hell would she kiss him like her life depended on it? It left him more than curious. It left him wanting—more than just a roll in the hay. He was determined to find a way to get to the truth of whether that night meant anything at all to her. Maybe then, he could move on with his life.

***

Angelique handed her aunt another Dutch apple pie to add to the several being boxed to take to the Kinnison barbecue that night. Emilee had pleaded to go with her grandpa to help him with chores before the guests began to arrive.

“What time is Sally stopping by to pick you up?” Her aunt asked as she carefully arranged the pies so they wouldn’t overlap in the shallow cardboard tray.

“Around four, unless you need her to come earlier?” Angelique sampled the potato salad, adding more pepper to it. This was her kind of heaven, cooking with her aunt in this old country kitchen. She knew where everything was kept, knew how the scorch mark on the kitchen Formica came to be during a trial run of baking her first cookies alone.

“Emilee seems to enjoy helping out with the baby and helping with the horses,” her aunt remarked, tearing off another piece of foil to cover another pie.

Angelique smiled as she spooned her salad into large tubs for ease in transporting. “You know how she loves horses.”

“She mentioned that Dalton is teaching her how to ride. He seems to have taken a shine to her.”

Angelique had been well aware of how much her daughter spoke about Dalton. While she appreciated his kindness, she couldn’t help but wonder about his sudden change of heart with children. A self-proclaimed bachelor and proud of it, children had always been more of something to be tolerated. Maybe being an uncle had changed his perspective. In the past few days since their discussion, she’d noticed via Emilee how much more present he seemed to be to her—taking time to teach her to ride, how to tie various knots in a rope, mucking stalls, showing her how to identify wildflowers from poisonous plants. Guilt more than anything else pushed the next words from her mouth. “Well, school will be starting in a few weeks. I’m not certain it’s best for her to be spending so much time in Dalton’s company.”

Her aunt offered no response and for a few moments, they worked in amiable silence. Angelique finished loading the salad into the cooler and shut the lid. “There, I think we’re about ready. Was there anything else?”

Her aunt spoke as she continued her task of wrapping another pie. “When are you going to tell that boy the truth?”

Angelique’s heart faltered. “What boy?”

Her aunt’s steady gaze looked up to meet hers. “Dalton Kinnison.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Rebecca dropped her fist holding the hand towel against the countertop. Her eyes pinned Angelique where she stood. “I mean when do you plan to tell him who Emilee’s real father is?”

Unable to speak, she lowered herself to a nearby breakfast stool—the same one she used to climb up and prop her knees on so she could watch her aunt put together her pies. “How did you know?”

Rebecca’s gaze softened. “I didn’t, not until this moment. I’ve seen similarities in her behavior—little things. But those eyes, their color, and her smile—they’re unmistakably Dalton’s.”

Angelique covered her face, unwilling to acknowledge the lie she’d kept hidden for so long. She looked up at her aunt and tried to hold the desperation inside her at bay. “You must promise me that you’ll not breathe a word of this to anyone—not even Uncle Michael.”

Her aunt frowned at the request, but after a moment, she pulled up another stool and sat across from her, waiting for an explanation. “If you truly feel that’s what’s best, I will honor that for now.” Her hand covered Angelique’s. “I know it couldn’t have been easy for you. I didn’t want to press you to tell me everything that you went through. But one day Emilee’s going to reach an age--very soon--when she’ll want to know more about her father. You’ve fabricated this story of him as a war hero, who died serving his country. What will you tell her when she asks to see pictures of him and realizes that she doesn’t look like him at all?”

She pulled away and twisted her fingers together in her lap. “I was just trying to get us on our feet. Start a new life.” Angelique looked down at her hand where her wedding band used to be. “I’d planned to explain it to her one day when she was older and able to understand.”

“Why don’t you tell me everything? Help me to understand what happened; why you couldn’t tell us the real reason you wanted Emilee far away from Chicago.”

Taking a fortifying breath, she stared out the kitchen window, its bright yellow gingham curtains pulled back to reveal the open field beyond. “That night with Dalton,” she began. “I knew when I got back to Chicago that something was different. I suspected I was pregnant and took one of those early tests that proved my suspicions were true.”

“What did Anthony say?” Rebecca asked.

Angelique shook her head. “I didn’t tell him at first. I honestly didn’t know whose baby it was. I only knew that Tony, with all his faults, said he loved me and wanted to marry me. It was clear back then that Dalton didn’t want to be tied down.” She glanced at her aunt’s concerned face. “I thought if we got married, if Tony and I could start a family, a home, maybe it would give him a new purpose.”

“A fresh start?” her aunt offered.

“Yes. I hoped it would help. Give him incentive, pull him out of the depression he seemed to be in.” She stared off into space, thinking back to those tumultuous days, never knowing what mood he’d be in when she came home from work, or if he’d be there at all. “For a while he was better. He acknowledged his angry times, tried to do better. The hitting stopped--” Tears welled in her eyes. She felt her aunt’s hand squeeze hers.

“Why didn’t you come home? Ask us for help?”

Angelique pressed her lips together, summoning the courage to continue. Even now, she questioned her choices. Her state of mind at that time wanted to believe she could change him. “If I could just show him that he was loved, that someone cared, maybe he’d change.” She looked up searching her aunt’s sorrowful gaze.

“Oh, child.” Her aunt touched her cheek and she pressed on, wanting to free the lies, to get out everything she’d bottled up inside her all this time.

“One day I had to work late at the restaurant. I’d left Emilee with a woman down the hall--a nice woman who kept giving me flyers and telling me there were people who could help me in my situation.” She closed her eyes, remembering the day. “It was after dark. My shift was to end at five, but the woman on nightshift called in sick. I had a chance for a little overtime and so I stayed until they could find a replacement.

“I walked out an hour later, hurrying to get to the corner stop before the next bus, and saw Tony’s car sitting in the parking lot. He revved the motor and leaned out the window. His eyes were wide and glassy, his grin like a crazy man.

‘Hey, you’re late,’ he said. ‘That woman almost wouldn’t let me pick up Emilee tonight. What the fuck? I want you to find a new babysitter. Dammit, it’s always something with you isn’t it?’

“He wasn’t making sense and I questioned getting in the car, but what choice did I have?”

‘Could you be any slower,’ he said, revving the motor as I walked around the car. ‘Come on, I’m hungry and we need beer. Get the fuck in the car.’

She looked down at her hands, wondering if she could have done anything different. “I saw Emilee in the back seat and pleaded with him to let me take her out, that I’d go on home and get dinner started while he did his beer run. I barely had my hand on the door handle when he screamed, ’Fuck this’ and threw the car in reverse, dragging me with him until I yelled loud enough that people began gathering at the restaurant window. He stopped suddenly and I was scared that he’d hurt Emilee. He leaned across the front seat and glared at me.

’Get in now, bitch, or you’ll never see your brat again.

“He pushed open the passenger door. I got in. I had no choice. I had no choice,” she heard herself say in the silence of the old kitchen.