Craving a Hero: St. John Sibling Series, book 3 (19 page)

No. Because he hadn't been impulsive about his choices where she was concerned. If anything, he'd been too cautious. He should have moved heaven and earth to come to her at the first sign of trouble rather than letting her talk him out of returning to Copper Falls. If he'd acted on impulse, he might have been riding beside her in her DNR truck, sharing the heat blasting off its heater—sharing dreams, plans for a future.

But she'd been so persuasive in her arguments that he stay away—continued to shoot his movie. And moving heaven and earth to be with her would have involved breaking his film contract. He frowned. Might he have let her persuade him a little too easily because breaking that contract would have killed his acting career?

The tires of the SUV droned along the blacktop.

Who was he kidding? He had no
acting
career. He played at being an action movie star, a big boy rolling around in the dirt and thrilling at the stunts. A man couldn't live forever on adrenalin rushes. But love…

Had he failed to see beyond her words that he not visit when her father had his stroke that she really
wanted
him with her?

By the time they turned off the highway onto the county road winding through the woods toward the camp, he'd replayed every phone conversation they'd had and every email and text she'd written him in their earliest days apart.

By the time they'd turned onto the single lane camp driveway, he'd come to two conclusions. One, she hadn't just been persuasive in telling him to stay away. She'd been adamant.

And two…

That she was angry with him meant she still had feelings for him. And, if she had feelings for him, he yet had a chance with her. He just had to figure out what troubled her.

He parked beside her in front of the cabin where it'd been plowed out wide enough to allow for a turn around. She climbed out of her truck and headed for the cabin without waiting for him. He stepped into the building behind her, noting she had removed her mittens but not her jacket.

"Almost toasty," he said, his tone light, testing.

"I came up this morning and started a fire to get the chill out," she said, all business as she lifted a tin box from the fireplace mantel. "We keep the matches in the tin in case any mice get in. Mice chewing on matches have caused more fires than you might think."

She glanced at him. "Then again, maybe you already know that. As I recall from your last stay here, you knew a lot more than I expected."

He pulled off his cap and stuffed it into his jacket pocket with his gloves as he watched her bustle about the cabin.

"Andi Johanson will keep the road plowed when it snows," she said. "Pumps been primed and the fridge is stocked."

She opened the appliance as though she needed him to see the contents. All he saw was her nervous energy. The way she kept moving—avoiding looking at him.

"I'm leaving our old bag phone with you in case you have any problems. It's clunky but it's has greater signal power in places where heavy woods, copper rich hills, and sparse towers reduce cell service."

"Worried about me, Bright Eyes?" he asked.

Calling her by the nickname he'd given her got her attention. For the briefest of moments, she looked at him with hurt eyes before she glanced away.

"I feel responsible for your safety," she said. "That's all."

"Ever the responsible CO."

"You're renting my family's cabin," she said, facing him but avoiding his gaze. "You're going to be up here alone. You get hurt or snowed-in, you'll need a way to connect with the outside world. It
is
the responsible thing to do. So, keep that phone charged."

He gave her a salute, keeping to himself the fact he had bought a satellite phone for his stay. "Yes, ma'am."

She pivoted away from him, picked up a couple logs from the wood bin, and opened the stove door. "The wood stove will heat the camp more efficiently than the fireplace."

She tossed the logs into the fire box, their striking the glowing embers within making them explode into flames, their light dancing in and out of the weave of her braid as it slid over her shoulder. It was more than he could resist and he reached out and touched her hair.

#

The moment he'd stepped into the building behind her, the cabin had shrunk around Kelly making her feel there was no place she could go within its walls to escape his nearness. Even with his blond hair untrimmed and his face thinner and more angular than when she last saw him, the impulse was to throw herself into his arms. Fortunately, he'd stayed in place just inside the door…until he touched her hair.

She wheeled around, facing him. "What are you doing?"

"I'd forgotten how shiny firelight makes your hair."

Instantly, a memory of toasting marshmallows over the fire pit on the point surged through her. He'd unbraided her hair and threaded his fingers through it for the first time there.

Shaking off the memory, she closed the stove door and stepped out from between it and him. "There's plenty of dry wood in the shed out back."

"I've missed you," he said so quietly had she not been hyper-sensitive to his presence she might not have heard him.

She turned halfway back toward him, finding he'd pivoted after her, and said, "I doubt you've missed much of anything in your life."

"Kelly, I missed you," he said with such earnestness, she couldn't help but look him in the eye…where she found a matching intensity. "I missed you more than you know."

So much that you didn't come back until you needed some place to escape to.

That's what she wanted to say to him out of hurt feelings. But she was more to blame for his staying away than he was. And she realized she might have made a mistake by not telling him about Angel—that she was sorry she hadn't taken the chance to find out if he'd have run at the news of her pregnancy just as her own father had at the news of her impending birth.

He knuckled her chin up a notch and leaned in, his lips parting, lowering toward hers. Those beautiful, artful lips that knew how to make her body sing. Without thought, she tilted her face to accept them—
him
.

A knot popped in the wood stove snapping her back to her senses. She pushed away from him. "Don't."

"Sorry, I wasn't thinking. I was—"

"You think you can waltz back into my life and pick up where you left off?"

He settled back on his heels. "Why are you so angry with me, Kel? Did I fail some test by not coming back when your father was sick? Was it something I wrote or something written in the rags?"

She could have rebutted the last part of his last question. She'd had a year and a half of practice at debating the tabloid headlines. But
fail her? Something he wrote?

She had no rehearsed answers to those questions and she sputtered, "W-we had a nice fling, Dane. That's all."

"Is that all it was to you?" he asked.

She squared her shoulders and put on her best CO mask. "I knew what it was when it was happening. I knew when you left, it was over."

"I wrote to you. I called you," he said. "You responded, at least in the beginning. You didn't see a relationship growing there?"

She had, she admitted to herself. Even through all her insecurities, she'd clung to the fantasy…until reality intruded in the form of pregnancy, bringing back all her fears about rejection amidst an avalanche of guilt over her father's stroke. Maybe she'd made a mistake not telling Dane about the pregnancy—about Angel? He looked so confused—so in need of answers.

But she was confused, too, every instinct screaming for her to protect her daughter. Now was not the time for hasty decisions. She needed a clear head to think things through and she couldn't clear her head as long as she was in the same room with Dane.

She pushed past him, heading for the door. "I'm sorry if you thought that's what was happening. I need to get back to town."

CHAPTER TWELVE

He didn't believe for a minute she saw their affair as nothing more than a fling. She'd been caught up in the moment as much as he had been…before she'd pushed him away just shy of their lips meeting. He'd also glimpsed fear in her wide, bright eyes before she'd gone all CO on him.

He lifted the hood off the snowmobile he'd found in the shed behind the cabin, glad to have found something new to tinker with. Three days puttering about the cabin had left him with too much time to think. Not conducive to decompressing from the load of negative press he'd come here to escape, especially since all he'd been able to think about was Kelly and her reaction to their meeting again.

He poked at the wiring inside the engine. Didn't appear the rodents had chewed anything up. He glanced about the windowless shack lit only by what sunlight the open door let in and the narrow space where the corrugated metal roof didn't quite match up to the top of the walls.

Spotting a metal tool box on a back shelf, he retrieved it, set it on the sled's seat, and opened it. Taped to the inside of the lid was a faded picture of the big sled with two little girls on the seat. The bigger girl with the dark hair knelt on the seat reaching around the smaller, blond girl, clearly in charge of the throttle. Kelly, in control even then.

But, she'd almost lost control when he'd tried to kiss her.

And he knew she was capable of letting go. She'd made love with him with utter abandonment through their ten incredible days together. It'd been one of the reasons he'd fallen for her, that openness—that honesty.

But where'd that open honesty gone to? He'd already figured out the anger was a cover for some big hurt.

What was it he had done that had hurt her so much? His leaving? His not returning sooner?

Their correspondence had been steady—their relationship growing…right up until her father's stroke.

Could it really be about his not returning to her when her father was in the hospital—when she needed him? But, he'd never read anger in her voice or in the tone of her texts and emails back then, or in the months following. Besides, she was the one who'd insisted he not jeopardize his career by leaving his shoot…adamant even, that he stay where he was.

Adamant. There was that word again.

For a long time, Dane had believed the engagement story had been the death knell. He'd
heard
it in the tone of her text when she'd
congratulated
him.
Heard
it the politeness with which she responded to his explanation that the story wasn't true. But it wasn't until he'd looked back over their months of ever-growing sparser correspondence leading up to that damn story, he'd realized the relationship he'd hoped to build with Kelly had been dying a slow death for months.

He snatched a sparkplug wrench from the tool box in an attempt to break the loop that had played through his mind for the past couple days. But he couldn't let it go.

Why
had she let go so much earlier than he had? Not that he had ever really let go of her. And, given her emotional reaction to him upon his return, he couldn't believe she had stop caring about him, either.

He positioned the wrench around the exposed end of the sparkplug and twisted it free.

Now all he had to do was ferret out the reason she'd pulled back. And to do that, he had to get her to come back to the cabin or…

He looked at the sparkplug clamped in the wrench. He could go to her, and he had just the excuse too, in the gummed up sparkplug in his hand.

#

Her truck wasn't in the driveway. Did he keep driving, checking the house until her truck was there? Or did he go in now and hope she'd show up sooner rather than later? If he went in now, he might learn something from her parents. But, if she saw his rental in the drive, maybe she wouldn't stop.

He opted for parking on the opposite side of the street half a block up from the house. Her mother and Max answered his knock on the back door, her mother's eyes going wide when she saw him.

"Kelly's not here," she said, standing in the doorway almost like she was blocking his entrance while Max wiggled his way between them. This was not the same woman who'd welcomed him to her dinner table two summers ago.

"I'm not here to see Kelly," he said, using Alma's odd behavior to rationalize the half-lie. "Can I come in?"

"Um. Sure. Of course," Alma said, stepping out of his way, leaving the exuberant Max his only obstacle.

"Hey there, Big Fella," Dane said, scratching the dog's ears as he shuffled himself and the dog far enough into the mudroom so he could close the door behind him. "You remember me."

Dodging Max's wet tongue, he said, "I came to ask permission to use the snowmobile up at the camp. It looks like it hasn't been used in a while and needs some work."

"Who's th-there?" her father shouted from deeper in the house.

"Dane St. John," Alma called back. "He wants to use the snowmobile up at the camp."

Frank appeared in the archway between the front rooms of the house and kitchen, leaning on a cane. "Needs sparkplugs."

"Hey, Frank," Dane said, smiling over Max's head at Kelly's dad. "Yeah. I already picked some up. Figured you wouldn't mind me fixing up the sled."

Frank ordered Max to his side and tottered over to the nearest kitchen chair from where he motioned Dane into the kitchen.

"I'm sure Dane wants to get fresh gas and get back to that snowmobile," Alma said, still standing between him and the kitchen.

"I'm in no rush," Dane said, sitting on the mudroom bench and removing his boots. "It's not like I'm on any schedule these days."

His boots on the boot tray, he side-stepped Alma and headed for Frank at the kitchen table. Dane stretched out his hand for a shake, too late remembering Frank had had a stroke that affected his right side. Without missing a beat, Dane grasped the trembling hand Frank had lifted halfway to him in both his hands and shook it.

"Good to see you, Frank."

"Good," Frank said, his speech clearly limited. Motioning Dane into a chair, he added, "Down."

Dane sat across from Frank, Max settling under the table between their feet, tail thumping. "Sorry about your stroke, Frank. I'd have visited if I hadn't been tied up with work."

"Got you—your—" He made a scribbling motion in the air with his good hand, then scowled and flipped his hand as though giving up on the word that escaped him.

"He's saying he got your letters," Alma said, standing behind Frank's chair.

"They were more like cards with a few lines I added to them," Dane said.

Frank nodded.

"He appreciated your remembering him," Alma said, still at Frank's shoulder worrying the dish towel in her hands.

What was the woman all nerved up about? Probably had to do with how Kelly now felt about him. She'd have likely confided her feelings to her mother. Much as he'd have liked to ask Alma what those feelings were, he feared a direct question might get him thrown out. He turned his attention back to Frank.

"I'm glad my cards made you feel better, Frank."

Half of Frank's mouth lifted into a smile. At least her father seemed happy to see him.

"Is it okay with you if I use the snowmobile up at camp?"

"Sure. Need—need—" Frank scowled again and shook his head.

"It needs an overall tune-up and some greasing up," Dane said, trying not to step on Frank's words while clarifying what the older man was trying to say. "I'm pretty handy with machines. I've already taken a close look at it."

The half-smile pulled at the good side of Frank's face and Dane was pretty sure he read approval in the old man's eyes.

"Gas," Frank said.

"I'll drain the old gas," Dane said. "No sense taking a chance gumming up new plugs with bad gas."

Frank leaned over the corner of the table and slapped Dane's arm, managing to get out, "G-good man."

"Think you could take a ride with me once I get the sled running?"

Frank gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up with his good hand. Alma placed a hand on Frank's shoulder.

"Great," Dane said, noticing how Alma's fingers twitched on Frank's shoulder. "Maybe Kelly could drive you up to the camp for that ride."

Alma's fingers tightened noticeably on Frank's shoulder. Frank frowned and waved her off with a harsh, "Beer. Two."

Alma went white, her eyes widening at Dane. "W-we're out of beer."

"Go," Frank said, flipping his hand toward the door. "Buy."

Dane shook his head. "It's Sunday."

Frank and Alma looked at him with such confusion, he explained, "When I stopped for supplies, they wouldn't sell me any because it was Sunday."

Alma blinked owlishly at him. Frank frowned at him like he was loony.

"You know, the county ordinance about not selling liquor on Sundays?"

"W-who tell you that?" Frank asked, both sides of his mouth frowning.

"The store clerk," Dane answered, sensing he was missing something.

He looked to Alma for further explanation. But she just glanced around the room as though avoiding his gaze.

"It doesn't matter anyway," Dane said, giving up trying to figure out what was off. "I'd rather a cup of your coffee, Alma."

Alma hesitated, worrying that towel through her fingers again. She glanced over her shoulder toward the adjoining room before moving to the cupboards, filling two mugs, and setting them down in front of him and Frank, quick to return to her position behind Frank.

Frank tapped the table by his cup. "Milk?"

Alma sucked in her bottom lip and turned to the refrigerator positioned to one side of the archway between kitchen and dining end of the front rooms. Strange how she seemed to open the fridge only wide enough to squeeze out the gallon jug of milk. Stranger still was the six pack of beer he spotted on a shelf inside it before she shut the door.

He hadn't spent much time with Alma, but she didn't strike him as a woman who lied. Yet, she had lied about having beer. Strange. Then again, maybe she didn't want Frank drinking this early in the day.

He sipped at the coffee. "As good as I remember," he said, gaining a nervous smile from Alma as she repositioned herself behind Frank.

Frank tipped the gallon-size milk jug over his mug, lost his grip, and dropped the jug, spilling milk across the table. Dane jumped up, righting the jug, while Alma mopped at the spill with her towel as Max lapped at the milk dribbling off the table. Frank cursed. The commotion seemed to spark interest from a sunny spot in the dining room behind Alma and Frank.

The gurgling of a baby. Over Frank's shoulder, he saw the tow-headed child in the playpen, up on her knees, peering through the mesh at him. He smiled at her and she smiled back.

"Hey, I didn't know you two had become grandparents," he said, drawn to the playpen like a bee to honey.

The child, a girl judging by the pink bow in her wispy, blond hair, looked up at him with huge blue eyes. He squatted to her level and she giggled.

"What's your name, sweet thing?"

"Angel," Alma said in a tight voice, instantly at his side.

"Babysitting?" he asked, glancing up at her.

"Yes," she said.

"Kelly never told me her sister had had a baby." He straightened and sighed. "But, judging by this little lady's size, Kelly and I weren't communicating much by the time she was born."

Something flickered in Alma's eyes, like there was something she wanted to say to him. Braced against his cane in the archway, Frank was spitting out words that made no sense to Dane.

Then it dawned on Dane, the fact that Kelly had never mentioned her sister's pregnancy—her
unmarried
sister. People in small towns could be pretty conservative. Maybe all there was to the discomfort he was reading from Alma and agitation in Frank's voice was about a baby born out of wedlock.

"May I?" he asked, reaching for Angel.

Alma gave Frank a nervous glance, but nodded. Dane picked up the child who immediately reached for his eyes.

"They're so curious at this age," he said, smiling.

"I didn't realize you knew babies so well," Alma said.

"My sister Dixie's baby is about the same age as this one and I just spent a week with them. And my brother Roman and his wife, who've got a little one who'll turn one this month, send me videos all the time. My co-star in my last movie brought her kid to the set every day, also." He shrugged. "I get a kick out of babies and they seem to like me, too."

Angel curled her fingers over his lower lip. He popped his lips together. She giggled.

"That Angel likes you is apparent," Alma said in an oddly speculative tone.

#

"He was here? With Angel?"

Her mom nodded.

Kelly darted into the front room where her daughter played.

"Hey there, Sweet Cheeks," she said, picking Angel up and brushing kisses across her forehead, cheeks, and nose. Angel giggled and Kelly hugged her close. Over the baby's head, she gave her mother an accusing look, and, keeping her voice quiet so as not to upset Angel, asked, "How could you let him see her?"