Winter Harvest (8 page)

"Good morning, I think," she said.

He shot up, and his smile vanished. "What time is it? Has the storm stopped?"

"It's still dark out there, so I'm not sure."

He got to his feet and searched for his pants. Pulling them on before grabbing a shirt from a laundry basket of unfolded clothes, he crossed the room and opened the door.

The wind blew in, and Victoria buried herself under the covers. "See? I told you. Still dark out there. Lose the clothes and come back to bed."

"How's the head?" He closed the door and turned to study her.

Victoria sat up again, rested her battered head against the headboard, and touched it with care. "Sore, but I think I'll live."

"You sober now?"

"Yeah. Sober and starved."

"I guess we never did get to that toast."

"Nope. What we had was better."

Traye pursed his kips.

"Oh, no. You can't back out of this now." Victoria wagged a finger at him.

He dug through the clothes basket again and came up with a long flannel shirt. He tossed it to her. It landed in her lap.

"Get dressed, Victoria. We need to talk. I'll fix us some breakfast."

"Traye, don't."

"Get dressed."

Damn him.
She'd thought they'd settled the push-pull game once and for all. Guess not. When would he ever get over this? She yanked on the shirt and hissed. Prickles of pain pierced her shoulder. She bet she looked a sight. Finding her jeans, she opted to wear them instead of his sweats. Every muscle in her body hurt.

"You okay?"

She looked up to see Traye holding an egg in one hand with a scowl on his face.

"Just peachy. Guess that fall bruised me more than I remember."

"Yeah, it'll take a bit of makeup to cover your bruised face."

"Good thing I don't have to be in any beauty contests then." She dropped her tight jeans back to the floor and grabbed his sweats instead. They'd be easier to slip into.

"Anything I can help you with?" Once she had the sweats on, she turned and found him watching her with concerned eyes.

He shook his head. "Nope. I'll just fry up some bacon and eggs. I've already started the coffee if you want a cup."

She found a chipped cup in the cupboard and filled it to the top. Sitting at the table, she nursed the steaming brew while watching him cook. The tension between them sizzled almost as much as the bacon frying in the pan.

"Okay, so how long are we going to ignore the elephant in the room?" Victoria glanced at him over her cup while taking a sip.

"What we did was..."

"Stop right there." She held up her hand. "Don't ruin what we shared, and please don't make me out to be the one who forced the issue."

"Of course you didn't. I should have been stronger, but I wasn't. We have to forget what we did tonight -- well, last night -- and never do it again."

"So while it's still dark out there, we can make love again?"

He shook his head. "I'd be a liar if I told you I'll keep my hands to myself while we're trapped in this small cabin. Come daylight, however, we can never be alone together again. I owe your father that much."

"Oh, please. What about me? What do you owe
me?"

"Freedom." He shrugged. Then he slipped the fried eggs onto two plates and stirred the bacon before giving each of them a few pieces. He placed one plate in front of her, along with some toast and butter. "It's not like breakfast in the main house, but it'll do."

He sat opposite her and dug in. In spite of her anger, Victoria took a bite of her eggs to satisfy her growling stomach. Right now, they tasted like part of a meal made for a millionaire. They ate in silence for a few minutes.

"Look..." Traye finally said.

Victoria groaned. "Do we have to discuss this?"

"Are you going to let go?"

"Are you?" Her head shot up, and she looked him square in the eyes. "After last night?

"Hell, yes."

"I don't believe you." A sharp dart hit her heart.

He pushed his plate away. "What do you mean?"

"This. Your martyr attitude." She spread her arms. "I know you've had a rough life, but it wasn't all bad, was it? Didn't the O'Connors give you some good memories? I remember tons."

"Yes, I have good memories. Of course I do. I owe your parents everything, and screwing their daughter isn't how I've planned to pay them back."

"Jeez." Another stab to the heart. "I thought of it as more than just a screw."

"Sorry." Traye ducked his head. He swirled the eggs around on his plate before looking back at her. "It meant more to me than you'll ever know, but it also reminded me of what I don't have to offer you. I'm giving you a gift here."

"Take your damn gift back. I won't chase you forever, Traye."

"Good. You shouldn't. Take a look around. This is all I have, and it's not even mine to give. It's already yours."

"You can have it. You probably will in the end, anyway."

"Why would you want to live in a broken down one room cabin?"

"I could be happy with you anywhere."

"Do you know why that closet is missing a door?" He pointed across the room to a closet where a few shirts hung in plain view.

Victoria shook her head.

"My dad removed it. That closet was my bedroom. That's where I slept. He took the door off because once when he was on one of his drunken rages, I hid in there and he couldn't find me. It pissed him off. Later, he said he wanted to see me cower." He pointed toward the cupboards. "All those dings in the cupboard doors are from him throwing things as I dodged them or crawled under this table. They were bad times. Sometimes I didn't eat for days because he didn't buy anything but booze."

"You hate him, don't you?" Victoria wanted to hug Traye, but knew he'd reject her touch.

He sighed. "Hating him would be easy. He was sick. Neither of us dealt with Mom's death well. Instead, we acted as if she'd never existed. If your parents hadn't come to my rescue, I have no doubt I'd be in jail right now. I owe them my life."

"I'm sorry for what your parents put you through. I had great parents. I know that, and I'm so grateful. Why don't you just put the door back on the closet? You don't sleep there anymore. Sand down the cupboard doors and remove the dings. Paint this place. Face the demons and then get rid of them. This place doesn't have to be a shrine to your bad childhood. Only you can change that. You have to remember, Traye, that although your father was brutal, he, along with my family, made you who you are today. That's something for you to be thankful for because in my book, you're one hell of a guy. I know my father would agree."

"I think you're a little biased." His lips turned upward an inch.

She shrugged. "Maybe, but you've always been good to me."

"Except for a few hours ago."

"I disagree. We proved to one another what we can be together. It's not my fault you refuse to see it."

"Why do you want this kind of life? I've just told you about my demons. I couldn't put a ring on your finger, even if I could afford it. I won't let myself do that to you no matter how much I want to."

"Did I hear you right?" Victoria narrowed her eyes, "You do want there to be an
us?"

"It doesn't matter. It can't happen."

"I just don't get you, and I'm tired of the games you play."

"After our lovemaking, I think it's pretty obvious that I want you." Traye leaned back in his chair. "But I owe your parents and brother more than that."

"What about me? I've been there for you too. More than Andrew, especially these last few years. Yet I get nothing."

"I can't. I'm sorry."

"Fine."

Traye growled. The sound hung in the air as he placed the plates in the sink.

Victoria eased her body onto the couch in front of the TV. The storm had knocked out the satellite service. So instead of watching something, she leafed through the farm magazines on his end table.
This guy needs to get a life.

Once he was finished with the dishes, Traye plunked down beside her. "Daylight should be here soon. I'll be able to check the damage to see if we can get you back to the main house."

"Great. The sooner you can get rid of me, the better, huh?"

"No." Traye reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. He could be so tender with his touch, yet so ruthless with his words. "I wouldn't say that, but I believe you'll be better off with someone else. It'll kill me, but I'm sure someday you'll agree."

"Whatever."

"Promise me something, though?"

"I'm not so sure you have the right to ask me to do that, Traye."

"Please." He grabbed her hand and laced his fingers with hers.

"What is it?"

"I didn't enjoy seeing you so wasted. Do you know how many times I held my father's head over the toilet or cleaned up when he didn't make it there? How many times I ran a bath for him or cooked his breakfast because he couldn't do it? I know you're not a drunk like him, but that was hard for me to see."

"Yet you did it anyway."

"You fell down my steps. What else could I do?"

She chuckled. "True."

"Hey."

"It's okay. Thank you for taking care of me."

"And then I jumped you."

"Please don't ruin this." She squeezed his hand. "We made love. Don't turn it into something seedy and dirty. I wanted you, and you wanted me. If that's all I'm going to get, let me at least have that good memory."

"Okay." Traye nodded. "In the morning, we'll both move on and never speak of this again."

"As much as it pains me to say, then… yes. I'll move on. I sure hope you don't regret it. Well, actually, I do."

"I'm sure I will." He smiled. "No, I
know
I will. Be happy, Victoria."

Traye leaned over and placed a light kiss onto her lips.

Victoria decided that if this were going to be her only night with him, she might as well make the most of it. So she placed her hand on his neck, pulled him close, and deepened the kiss.

He didn't pull away.

Instead, their hands and fingers discovered one another's bodies again as they each tried to implant the memory in their brains to take them through the rest of their lives.

They shed their clothes without a word and moved to the bed, where they spent the rest of the long, stormy night telling each other of their love with their bodies. They fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms, praying they'd never see morning.

Chapter
Seven

"What the hell is going on here?"

Traye shot into a sitting position and flung Victoria to the other side of the bed. She landed with a groan and pulled the covers over her head. Her breathing grew shallow.

Andrew?
What
the
hell?

Trying to focus, Traye blinked his eyes several times. Looking at the heap in his bed, he knew the amazing dream he'd had was actually reality. Andrew marched toward him wrapped like a mummy, a glare on his face. Traye reached out blindly to the mound in his bed and tried to shake Victoria awake as he kept his eyes on her brother.

"What are you doing in bed in the buff with my sister, Peterson?"

Victoria tried to sit up, but Traye pushed her back down.

"No. You're naked," he whispered.

She looked down at herself before looking back at her brother. "Oh, shit."

"You promised me you'd never touch my sister, and now I find her in your bed?" Andrew took off his scarf and tossed it aside. He followed with his jacket.

"I know. I have no excuse."

"That's it? That's your story?" Andrew scowled at him.

Victoria slammed her fist into Traye's forearm, and he winced. "Andrew, this isn't your business. Is the storm over?"

"Seriously?" Andrew looked at his sister as if she'd grown two heads. "All you care about is the storm? I've been worried sick about you. Dad and I have been calling all over looking for you. Why didn't you answer your cell phone?"

"I left it in Abbey's car."

Was that the truth?
Traye blinked. If not, it was damn good cover. Andrew's eyes bore into his. He shrugged. "Mine's dead. You know how bad I am at remembering to charge it."

Andrew shook his head. "Get dressed, Victoria."

She looked at Traye once her brother turned around, and he nodded to tell her to do as Andrew said. She glared at him.

He wished he could take her back in his arms and never let her go. After bearing his soul to her, he'd sort of believed she could be his and that this could be their life. A life he'd never believed he deserved. One look at Andrew's deep scowl, however, and that belief had died. Her brother would never welcome Traye into their family. Maybe before Andrew had turned on Traye he would have, but not after this. No, now Traye recognized the hatred Andrew carried for him, even though he didn't have a clue what he'd done -- and he knew he could never take Victoria down that rough road.

Goose bumps popped out on Traye's skin as Victoria pulled the blanket from his body and wrapped it around her shoulders. He strutted over to the clothes basket and grabbed a clean pair of jeans. He yanked them on just as she went into the bathroom. Andrew slammed his fist into Traye's eye the minute she shut the door. Traye never saw it coming.

"Damn." He doubled over and covered his face with his hands.

Andrew rushed him. Traye had always been the stronger one, but Andrew could pack quite a wallop when he wanted to. Traye grabbed Andrew's shoulders and shoved him back.

"Andrew, stop it."

Victoria's brother rushed him again, and again Traye pushed him aside.

"Don't make me hurt you," Traye said.

Andrew cursed. "You won't have a chance, you bastard, because I'm going to kill you."

This time when he rushed forward, he slugged Traye in the gut. On instinct, Traye swung back and grazed Andrew's lip. They locked together in a struggle, with Traye trying to avoid Andrew's flailing fists as he fought to keep the other man under control. A cold blast stopped Andrew and gave Traye the chance to push him away.

Before Traye could recover, the cabin door slammed shut and footsteps echoed from the front porch. Then Andrew's truck roared to life.