Authors: Fiona Brand
Cullen's Bride (11 page)
Her arms stayed around his neck as he made his way into the darkness of her bedroom. She was quiet. Too quiet. When Cullen saw the steady way she watched him, the acceptance in her eyesâas if she knew what he was thinking, what he had to do nextâhis chest locked up with pain. She knew he was going to leave.
Rachel could see the silent battle on Cullen's face. She reached up and stroked his lean cheek as he lowered her to the bed, not bothering to hide how she felt She wasn't about to embarrass him with words, but she was going to savour every moment with him. Making love with Cullen had shaken her. She'd never felt so utterly female, so vulnerable, but at the same time, she'd held
him,
taken his strength inside her, matched the primitive force of his passion.
him,
taken his strength inside her, matched the primitive force of his passion.
Unexpectedly, he bent and kissed her with a slow, destroying tenderness; then he disappeared in the direction of her bathroom. When he came back, he had a damp washcloth in his hand.
Gently, he removed her rumpled clothing, then sat on the side of the bed and began to lave her skin before cleaning gently between her legs. He'd bathed her the last time they'd been together, at the river, and it occurred to her with a sudden chill that he was cleaning his touch from her skin.
His eyes sought hers, cool control restored as if he'd never gone wild in her arms. “I didn't use any protection. Are you likely to get pregnant?”
Contraception hadn't occurred to her. When she'd been married she'd been on the pill, but for the past two years there hadn't been any need for that kind of protection. “I'm not taking anything, if that's what you mean. It's late in my cycle, so it's probably not likely.”
He continued to stroke her skin with the washcloth, seemingly absorbed with removing every last trace of their lovemaking, and even though he didn't mean his touch to be arousing, the sheer intimacy of Cullen caring for her in such a way made her skin tingle, made her soften inside. Rachel swallowed on a burst of anguish and endured the gentle stroking.
Finally Cullen put the cloth aside. “If you're pregnant,” he said m a low voice, “then it's done. We'll face that hurdle if and when it happens.”
He pulled the quilt back and eased her beneath it, his touch as tender and impersonal as if he were ministering to an unknown child. Then he astounded her by coming to he beside her, on top of the quilt, still wearing his jeans
She'd never shared a bed with any man other than her husband, and the intimacy of actually sleeping with Cullen made her mouth go dry. People couldn't keep glass walls, or even granite ones, intact while they were sleeping. When you slept, you were wholly vulnerable, wholly exposed. “You're staying?”
He pulled her back against his chest, settling her head on his arm. The gesture was gentle and oddly determined. “Do you want me to leave?”
Rachel didn't bother answering; she just pushed herself back against him until she was as close as she could get with the quilt wadded between them. His free arm curled over her waist, drawing her in even more securely.
She stayed awake as long as she could, soaking in his warmth, the vitality that didn't seem to dim even when he was lying quiescent. Eventually she felt herself slipping into oblivion, aware that Cullen wasn't allowing himself to relax, that he was waiting for her to sleepâand that when she did, he was going to leave.
Â
Cullen came up out of sleep fast.
A fine tremor ran through muscles corded with tension. Something was wrong. Different.
The something moved, burrowing into his side.
The breath left his lungs on a silent string of curses, and he sank back onto the bed, still on edge, still poised for... He grimaced. The enemy.
And here she was, all 120-odd pounds of her, wound around him like a vine, silky head nudging a pillow out of his chest and shoulder, hair spread from moonshine to breakfast and smelling of flowers. He traced his fingertip along a dark strand with a careful gentleness, not wanting to wake her, just needing to touch her incredible softness. He hadn't meant to stay, hadn't meant to let Rachel's warmth seep so far into him that he relaxed his guard enough to fall asleep with her in his arms.
Her hand shifted, brushing down his tense midriff, settling with a soft, warm weight over his navel. Desire pulsed in a hot lava flow, drawing his body tight with a need that was becoming as familiar to him as breathing. Carefully, so as not to wake her from the rest she needed, Cullen eased from the bed. What they'd shared for one night was more than he asked of heaven or earth, and all they would ever share.
He wouldn't allow himself to be this weak again.
His accumulated leave would run out in about two months; then he was due back at the Hobsonville base, back to doing what he was best at. In the meantime, he would use every waking hour to complete the most urgent repairs at the farm, arrange for the stock to be auctioned, then leave the property in the hands of a real estate agent.
Once he left, he would make sure he had no reason ever to come back to Riverbend again.
Â
Rachel woke to the fragrance of coffee and an empty bed.
Rolling over, she smoothed her palm across the place where Cullen had lain. Cold. Disappointment seeped through her, pushing aside her self-condemnation at the way she'd behaved last night, the way she'd more or less begged him to make love to her. But condemnation aside, she'd still wanted to wake in his arms, to be cuddled and strokedâbut she'd always known Cullen wasn't the cosy type. He'd warned her that all he wanted was sexual gratification, but she hadn't wanted to believe anyone could separate their emotions so neatly.
“You're awake.”
She rolled onto her back. Cullen was leaning in the doorway, barefoot and shirtless, a mug of coffee in one hand. I'm glad I didn't seriously expect a softening in those winter-grey eyes just because we made love, she told herself, because they are just as fiat, just as...disassociated as usual.
“Good morning.” Jackknifing, she dragged the sheet over her breasts and pushed hair back from her face. He was almost dressed, fully awake, self-contained, and she was...a mess.
“Thanks.” She accepted the mug he held out, sipped the aromatic brew and tried for a bright smile.
It was wasted. Cullen searched out his socks, sat down on the side of the bed and pulled them on, then he eased on his boots, before reaching for the shirt he must have picked up off the lounge floor earlier and tossed over the back of a chair. He'd already had a shower, she could smell the clean scent of her soap on his skin, and his hair was still damp.
Rachel set her half-empty coffee mug down on the bedside table. “I'll see you out.”
He stood, buttoning his shirt. “There's no need.”
Rachel ignored him. She threw the quilt back, deciding she wasn't going to care that she was naked and he was fully dressed. She might as well not have worried at all, because he did a good job of pretending she simply didn't exist as she marched across the room, snatched her robe from the hook behind her door and pulled it on, tightening the belt with a savage twist. So much for behaving in a civilised manner; she found she didn't have it in her after all.
He was watching her now. She could feel his attention, hear the change in the tenor of his breathing. “I take it this is goodbye,” she said flatly, as she led the way out of the bedroom. It was still dark, and she saw with an incredulous glance at the clock in her lounge that it was just after four-thirty in the morning. Even though she knew Cullen was going now to protect her much vaunted reputation, the ease with which he was leaving, his sheer organisationâeven bringing her a hot drink in bedâhurt.
“It has to be.”
She started down the stairs, taking them slowly, carefully, and the anger drained away with every step. Cullen was leaving, as she'd known he would. What they'd shared last night had been, for her, beyond words. She was still stunned by the sheer wild beauty of their lovemaking, the intensity of emotion, the warmth and security of falling asleep with him wrapped around her, even if he'd insisted on sleeping on top of the covers. “I know why you think it has to be goodbye.”
She halted near the door. When he joined her, the small hallway shrank to the proportions of a doll's house.
“No, you don't,” he countered bleakly “Besides the other, more tangible, problems, I can't offer the steady relationship you need.”
Even though she'd expected Cullen to come out with something like that, his clipped statement hurt. At least with Adam she'd always been aware of his affection and regret. “I didn't expect a declaration of undying love, and I know you didn't want...this, but after last nightâ” She swallowed, looked down at the warm gold-and-brown tones of the rug beneath her bare feet, then up into Cullen's eyes. “I don't believe for one minute that you're not capable of sustaining a relationship.”
His gaze remained damningly steady. “Lady, I don't think you want what I've got to offer. No decent woman would.”
Rachel knew that this was it. The granite wall. In some ways Cullen was exactly like Adam and her familyâhe wanted to make all the decisions about what was “best” for her, regardless of what she wanted or needed. “I don't care about your past,” she said flatly.
He stepped back, his shoulders grazing the wall. Rachel realised it was a defensive move, that her simple declaration had rocked him.
“My past is who I am,” he replied grimly, “and I won't inflict it on any woman, no matter how much I want to be with her.” His voice dropped to a hoarse rumble, and the bones of his face seemed to sharpen, the hollows becoming more pronounced. “And I want to be with you...very badly. So badly I can't bear to be in the same room with you and not touch you. That's why it has to be goodbye. Once I got you in my bed, I wouldn't let you go.”
Shock spasmed through Rachel. She swallowed, then remembered to breathe. Pieces of what he'd said bounced around crazily in her head, echoing, re-echoing, and always coming back to, “I can't bear to be in the same room with you and not touch you.”
Adam's words.
Adam's words when he'd explained why their marriage had to end. He'd said he couldn't bear to be in the same room with this other woman and not touch her. Now Cullen was telling her the same thing. The words were for her this time, and still he was walking out on her.
“So, that's it,” she said blankly, still trying to grasp how he could feel so intensely and still leave. “Even though you feel this...compulsion, a one-night stand is all we'll ever share?”
Cullen's hands closed on her waist. She was lifted, trapped between the cool impervious wall and the hard heat of his body. He'd moved so fast she felt dizzy with it. His mouth dropped down on hers; his tongue filled her mouth. Rachel clutched his arms and hung on, relief and pleasure spiralling through her at the hungry demands of his hands and mouth. For a wild moment hope flared. He would stay. And if he stayed, she would have time. Time to convince him that they had the beginnings of something precious and unique.
Just as abruptly, she was freeâbereftâswaying against the wall.
Cullen took the chain off the door and opened it. Damp air. swirled in. His voice when he finally spoke was low, thick. “I won't touch you again, but what we shared was
not
a one-night stand.”
not
a one-night stand.”
The door closed behind him.
Rachel touched her fingers to her mouth; her lips were swollen and still tingling from his kiss. And it wasn't just her mouth. The rest of her was throbbing, her skin acutely sensitive. She could still feel the imprint of his hands, his body. Numbly, she stared at the wall opposite. Gradually she became aware of the passage of time. She was going to have to shower and change. To somehow pull herself together enough to open the salon and pretend everything was normal. A small moan surfaced from deep in her throat. She shoved her fist against her lips to stop the noise, but the low keening continued anyway.
Coldness seeped into her, and she began to shiver. Reaching out, she grabbed the bannister for support and began to pull herself upstairs. With every step she took, she could feel the small aches of muscles unused to lovemaking, the tender throb deep inside where she'd stretched to accommodate Cullen's raw power.
It was ironic, dreadfully ironic, that the words that had destroyed her marriage should be the same ones that would end her fledgling relationship with Cullen. He couldn't have found a more potent way to hammer home that no matter how strongly attracted he was to her, he would never stay.
Chapter
7
7
C
ullen eased behind the wheel of his
truck, slammed the door shut and crashed both fists down on the
wheel.
ullen eased behind the wheel of his
truck, slammed the door shut and crashed both fists down on the
wheel.
The hell with it.
Damnâ
damn
âhis lack of control! His
complete and utter disregard for anything but the fire in his blood, and his
aching need to touch Rachel just once.
damn
âhis lack of control! His
complete and utter disregard for anything but the fire in his blood, and his
aching need to touch Rachel just once.
He should have let her drive home alone last
night.
night.
No. He couldn't have done that. Not with that son of a
bitch, Trask, still cruising around, maybe getting liquored up for more trouble.
He rubbed one hand over his face, rasping the stubble shadowing his jaw, probing
the gritty ache in his eyes. A car drove past, then another one, and he became
aware that the sun was cresting the horizon and that he shouldn't be parked so
close to Rachel's salon.
bitch, Trask, still cruising around, maybe getting liquored up for more trouble.
He rubbed one hand over his face, rasping the stubble shadowing his jaw, probing
the gritty ache in his eyes. A car drove past, then another one, and he became
aware that the sun was cresting the horizon and that he shouldn't be parked so
close to Rachel's salon.
And then something Trask had said last night forced its way
past his own self-absorption. “You'll go down just like your daddy did,” he'd
boasted with a sneer. “Two hits, one to the nose and one to the gut.
Boom, boom,
that's all it would take.”
past his own self-absorption. “You'll go down just like your daddy did,” he'd
boasted with a sneer. “Two hits, one to the nose and one to the gut.
Boom, boom,
that's all it would take.”
Cullen jerked the key in the ignition and pulled out into
the silent street, heading for home. The only people who knew where his father
had been hit were Dan Holtâwho'd been the attending officer at the timeâhis
colleagues, and the coroner who'd investigated the death and pronounced that
while the alcohol and physical abuse had contributed, Ian Logan had ultimately
died by accidental drowning.
the silent street, heading for home. The only people who knew where his father
had been hit were Dan Holtâwho'd been the attending officer at the timeâhis
colleagues, and the coroner who'd investigated the death and pronounced that
while the alcohol and physical abuse had contributed, Ian Logan had ultimately
died by accidental drowning.
In any event, his father had been hit three times that
night, and once again the only people who knew that fact were the officials
assigned to the case.
night, and once again the only people who knew that fact were the officials
assigned to the case.
And Cullen had been the one to administer the first
blow.
blow.
After walking in on a strident argument between his father
and Ian Logan's latest woman, he hadn't been able to stand there and watch his
brutally handsome, charismatic father abuse his mistress.
and Ian Logan's latest woman, he hadn't been able to stand there and watch his
brutally handsome, charismatic father abuse his mistress.
At twenty-four, Caroline Hayward had had a youthful dewiness
about her, even though Cullen knew that, despite her marriage to one of the
district's wealthiest men, she'd been sharing his father's bed for the best part
of a month.
about her, even though Cullen knew that, despite her marriage to one of the
district's wealthiest men, she'd been sharing his father's bed for the best part
of a month.
Cullen remembered it as if it were yesterday. A cup had
shattered against the kitchen door just as he'd opened it; then Caroline had
started screaming when Ian Logan backhanded her across the mouth. The noise of
the ensuing ruckus had been indescribable, and Cullen's stomach muscles had
clenched in distress even though he was eighteen and at least as big as his
father.
shattered against the kitchen door just as he'd opened it; then Caroline had
started screaming when Ian Logan backhanded her across the mouth. The noise of
the ensuing ruckus had been indescribable, and Cullen's stomach muscles had
clenched in distress even though he was eighteen and at least as big as his
father.
Caroline hadn't looked anything like the sleek, rich young
woman she was. Dressed in one of his father's shirts, her makeup smudged, her
hair tangled and a red mark on her jaw, she'd simply looked scared. Even
slumming it, whatever her purpose, didn't excuse his father for frightening or
abusing her.
woman she was. Dressed in one of his father's shirts, her makeup smudged, her
hair tangled and a red mark on her jaw, she'd simply looked scared. Even
slumming it, whatever her purpose, didn't excuse his father for frightening or
abusing her.
“Leave her alone,” Cullen demanded.
The low pitch of his voice startled them both into momentary
silence. Shards of the broken cup crunched beneath his boots as he advanced
another step into the room, underlining his right to be there, to put a stop to
his father's madness. Caroline made a gulping sound and ran at him, plastering
herself to his side. She cried out, lifting one bare foot Blood welled from the
pad just below her big toe, where a fragment of porcelain had struck
deep.
silence. Shards of the broken cup crunched beneath his boots as he advanced
another step into the room, underlining his right to be there, to put a stop to
his father's madness. Caroline made a gulping sound and ran at him, plastering
herself to his side. She cried out, lifting one bare foot Blood welled from the
pad just below her big toe, where a fragment of porcelain had struck
deep.
“Butt out, Cullen,” his father snarled, looking tough and
menacing in faded denims and nothing else.
menacing in faded denims and nothing else.
He was a big man, still muscular and vitalâyounger-looking
than the forty-five years of age Cullen knew him to be. And just as mean as ever
when things didn't go his way. But for the first time Cullen wasn't afraid of
him. He'd had
disagreements
with bigger men, and
won.
than the forty-five years of age Cullen knew him to be. And just as mean as ever
when things didn't go his way. But for the first time Cullen wasn't afraid of
him. He'd had
disagreements
with bigger men, and
won.
“Not this time.” He met his father's flat, calculating gaze,
then deliberately turned his attention to Caroline, detaching her from his side
and sitting her down on one of the motley chairs grouped around the kitchen
table. Grabbing a tea towel, grimacing that it wasn't exactly in a fresh state,
he went down on his haunches to look at her foot.
then deliberately turned his attention to Caroline, detaching her from his side
and sitting her down on one of the motley chairs grouped around the kitchen
table. Grabbing a tea towel, grimacing that it wasn't exactly in a fresh state,
he went down on his haunches to look at her foot.
Ian Logan stalked to the refrigerator, pulled a beer out,
then levered the top carelessly onto the floor as he stood drinking and
watching.
then levered the top carelessly onto the floor as he stood drinking and
watching.
The blood welled sullenly where the piece of porcelain was
still embedded in her flesh. Ignoring her gasp of reproach, Cullen removed the
shard and wrapped the tea towel around her foot Despite the heat and humidity of
the summer evening, her skin felt clammy and cold. “Get dressed, then go home,”
he'd said.
still embedded in her flesh. Ignoring her gasp of reproach, Cullen removed the
shard and wrapped the tea towel around her foot Despite the heat and humidity of
the summer evening, her skin felt clammy and cold. “Get dressed, then go home,”
he'd said.
“She'll go when she's ready.”
“Oh, she's ready.” Cullen straightened. “After what you just
did to her, I doubt she'll be back for more of the same. Am I right,
Caroline?”
did to her, I doubt she'll be back for more of the same. Am I right,
Caroline?”
She didn't answer.
Cullen made the mistake of turning his head and seeking
confirmation in Caroline's eyes. He heard his father move, sensed his intention
even as the bottle came toward him. Shifting on the balls of his feet, Cullen
was able to lessen the impact of the blow, but even so, the half-full bottle of
beer connected just below his temple, just missing his eye and making lights
explode in his head. Automatically, he ducked and weaved to the side, years of
defending himself on the streets coming into play. Wind whooshed by his mouth as
his father's follow-up punch just missed connecting. Then, one eye already
puffing up and closing, Cullen sent his fist driving forward in a fast, hard
punch at his father's jaw, rocking the older man back on his heels. Cullen's
knuckles split with the force of the blow.
confirmation in Caroline's eyes. He heard his father move, sensed his intention
even as the bottle came toward him. Shifting on the balls of his feet, Cullen
was able to lessen the impact of the blow, but even so, the half-full bottle of
beer connected just below his temple, just missing his eye and making lights
explode in his head. Automatically, he ducked and weaved to the side, years of
defending himself on the streets coming into play. Wind whooshed by his mouth as
his father's follow-up punch just missed connecting. Then, one eye already
puffing up and closing, Cullen sent his fist driving forward in a fast, hard
punch at his father's jaw, rocking the older man back on his heels. Cullen's
knuckles split with the force of the blow.
It was the first time he'd ever struck back at his father.
Years of fear and anger washed through him, condensing into a rush of triumph.
That one blow had been empoweringâthe rage spun hotly through every cell of his
body, blocking out pain, blocking out everything but the need to hurt back. To
hit again and again. But as the adrenaline faded, he just felt
sick.
Years of fear and anger washed through him, condensing into a rush of triumph.
That one blow had been empoweringâthe rage spun hotly through every cell of his
body, blocking out pain, blocking out everything but the need to hurt back. To
hit again and again. But as the adrenaline faded, he just felt
sick.
With a groggy, confused look at his father, who was hanging
on to the fridge to keep himself upright, and Caroline cowering in the corner
watching him with a horrified fascination, Cullen stumbled to the bathroom,
flipped the lid on the toilet and lost the contents of his stomach.
on to the fridge to keep himself upright, and Caroline cowering in the corner
watching him with a horrified fascination, Cullen stumbled to the bathroom,
flipped the lid on the toilet and lost the contents of his stomach.
The ugliness of the scene made him feel tainted. Dirty. He
didn't think he would ever forget the pure, hot pleasure of burying his fist in
his father's face. A groan scraped past his raw throat as he flushed away the
sour smell of nausea. Ah, God, no one should have to feel that! Least of all a
son when he was hitting his father. And to cap it off, he was pretty damned sure
it was the same brutal pleasure he'd seen on his father's face on occasion.
Usually when Ian Logan had been beating the hell out of him.
didn't think he would ever forget the pure, hot pleasure of burying his fist in
his father's face. A groan scraped past his raw throat as he flushed away the
sour smell of nausea. Ah, God, no one should have to feel that! Least of all a
son when he was hitting his father. And to cap it off, he was pretty damned sure
it was the same brutal pleasure he'd seen on his father's face on occasion.
Usually when Ian Logan had been beating the hell out of him.
He spun the basin tap on full. Icy water gushed out,
splashing up and over the stained, chipped bowl. His stomach revolted again, and
his eye hurt as if there were a knife plunged through the centre of it. It was
already swelling and discolouring. Dipping forward, he rinsed his face, then
held his bleeding, abraded hand under the cold stream.
splashing up and over the stained, chipped bowl. His stomach revolted again, and
his eye hurt as if there were a knife plunged through the centre of it. It was
already swelling and discolouring. Dipping forward, he rinsed his face, then
held his bleeding, abraded hand under the cold stream.
Turning the water off, Cullen reached for a towel. His jaw
clenched against the stiffening pain in his hand, the steady throb pounding at
his head. The scene in the kitchen kept replaying itself in short, violent
flashes through his mind, making his head spin with darkness and
despair.
clenched against the stiffening pain in his hand, the steady throb pounding at
his head. The scene in the kitchen kept replaying itself in short, violent
flashes through his mind, making his head spin with darkness and
despair.
Caroline had looked at him with horror and fear. He began to
shake. No way was he like his father. No way.
shake. No way was he like his father. No way.
When he walked out into the kitchen, the room was empty of
everything but broken crockery and bloodstains and the stench of violence. Of
any room in the neglected homestead, he reflected, the kitchen was the most
betrayed. It was a large, farmhouse kitchen and should have been the cosy centre
of a large, happy family. Instead it was dirty and grey, the windows bare to the
blank darkness of the night, the walls in need of another coat of paint, the
hardwood floor in need of a sander to take off the layers of grease and dirt.
The wide, practical counter was covered in a jumble of his father's dishes, and
the smell of countless fried meals was heavy in the air.
everything but broken crockery and bloodstains and the stench of violence. Of
any room in the neglected homestead, he reflected, the kitchen was the most
betrayed. It was a large, farmhouse kitchen and should have been the cosy centre
of a large, happy family. Instead it was dirty and grey, the windows bare to the
blank darkness of the night, the walls in need of another coat of paint, the
hardwood floor in need of a sander to take off the layers of grease and dirt.
The wide, practical counter was covered in a jumble of his father's dishes, and
the smell of countless fried meals was heavy in the air.
A car revved and screamed down the drive. Caroline's bright
red Porsche. At least she'd had the sense to get out.
red Porsche. At least she'd had the sense to get out.
Grimacing at the effort it took him, Cullen swept up the
mess on the floor and wiped up the smears of blood. His father was in the
lounge, watching television. As if nothing had happened.
mess on the floor and wiped up the smears of blood. His father was in the
lounge, watching television. As if nothing had happened.
Maybe nothing had, on Ian Logan's scale of things. His lover
hadn't liked being roughed up and had walked out on him. His son had finally got
up the guts to take a poke at his old man. Now he was comfortably sunk on the
sofa, nursing his bruised jaw and the ringing in his ears with another beer to
act as a general anaesthetic. Big deal. Life goes on.
hadn't liked being roughed up and had walked out on him. His son had finally got
up the guts to take a poke at his old man. Now he was comfortably sunk on the
sofa, nursing his bruised jaw and the ringing in his ears with another beer to
act as a general anaesthetic. Big deal. Life goes on.
But it couldn't go on like this for Cullen.
After chucking the cloth he'd used in the bin, Cullen stared
at his reflection in the window over the sink. He looked like hell. His eye was
puffed up and starting to darken, but that wasn't what held his attention; he'd
had black eyes before. In the garish light from the single bulb hanging from the
ceiling, the expression in his undamaged eye was old, ancient...accepting. His
mouth a bitter line.
at his reflection in the window over the sink. He looked like hell. His eye was
puffed up and starting to darken, but that wasn't what held his attention; he'd
had black eyes before. In the garish light from the single bulb hanging from the
ceiling, the expression in his undamaged eye was old, ancient...accepting. His
mouth a bitter line.
Something moved inside him, tightening up his chest, pushing
at his throat until a harsh sound forced its way out from between tightly
clamped lips.
Sweet hell
, he was crying.
at his throat until a harsh sound forced its way out from between tightly
clamped lips.
Sweet hell
, he was crying.
He dashed at his face, stifling a curse at the double beat
of pain from his sore hand and swollen eye. Why had he come back here, anyway?
What kind of instinct had aimed him back at this nothing town and deadbeat
farm?
of pain from his sore hand and swollen eye. Why had he come back here, anyway?
What kind of instinct had aimed him back at this nothing town and deadbeat
farm?
In Riverbend he was less than nothing. A loser.
The only way he could make something of himself was to
leave. He sniffed, cursing the pathetic sound and daring himself to take one
more look at his equally pathetic hide in the reflecting blankness of the
window. Despite his resolve to leave, another tear coursed down his lean tanned
cheek, mixing with the stubble on his jaw. It wasn't as if he were leaving a
home,
he castigated himself. He wouldn't know what a
home was if it leaped up and hit him in the face.
leave. He sniffed, cursing the pathetic sound and daring himself to take one
more look at his equally pathetic hide in the reflecting blankness of the
window. Despite his resolve to leave, another tear coursed down his lean tanned
cheek, mixing with the stubble on his jaw. It wasn't as if he were leaving a
home,
he castigated himself. He wouldn't know what a
home was if it leaped up and hit him in the face.
He was leaving a violent drunk, a broke piece of dirt and
the dream of a mother who had stayed around only long enough to expel him from
her body.
the dream of a mother who had stayed around only long enough to expel him from
her body.
It took him half an hour to load the Harley; then he dossed
down in the barn beside the bike, knowing he needed sleep before he hit the
road, and not trusting his father to leave either him or the bike alone Besides,
it had started to rainâthe heavy, tropical kind you would have to be crazy to
ride in. Well, he wasn't crazy yet, despite the urge to run as far and as fast
as he could. He didn't want to see his father again, to look into cold, metallic
eyes so like his own. It was bad enough looking like a carbon copy of his old
man; he didn't have the strength yet to face the fact that he
was
him.
down in the barn beside the bike, knowing he needed sleep before he hit the
road, and not trusting his father to leave either him or the bike alone Besides,
it had started to rainâthe heavy, tropical kind you would have to be crazy to
ride in. Well, he wasn't crazy yet, despite the urge to run as far and as fast
as he could. He didn't want to see his father again, to look into cold, metallic
eyes so like his own. It was bad enough looking like a carbon copy of his old
man; he didn't have the strength yet to face the fact that he
was
him.
By ten o'clock the next morning the skies were clear and he
was blasting into town to fill up on gas, the rumbling throb of the bike
stirring the locals into more life than they usually showed. He gassed up,
ignoring old Sal Tremaine, who always treated him as if he were going to pull a
gun and rob his store. The clamp of emotion still pressing tightly around his
chest finally began to ease as he left town in a shimmering heat wave. The
euphoria of leaving, of the bright summer day, had lasted all the way to
Fairley. Right up until he'd been stopped on the side of the road, read his
rights and then herded into the back of a police car.
was blasting into town to fill up on gas, the rumbling throb of the bike
stirring the locals into more life than they usually showed. He gassed up,
ignoring old Sal Tremaine, who always treated him as if he were going to pull a
gun and rob his store. The clamp of emotion still pressing tightly around his
chest finally began to ease as he left town in a shimmering heat wave. The
euphoria of leaving, of the bright summer day, had lasted all the way to
Fairley. Right up until he'd been stopped on the side of the road, read his
rights and then herded into the back of a police car.
For the murder of his father.
Cullen eased the truck over his cattle stop and pulled up
beside the barn. Fifteen years ago, he hadn't stood a chance. With his beat-up
face and the abrasions on his knucklesâand the fact that he'd been leaving
Riverbend at speedâhe'd been the prime suspect. If it hadn't been for the
coroner finding that Ian Logan had died by accidental drowning, Cullen would
probably still be serving time.
beside the barn. Fifteen years ago, he hadn't stood a chance. With his beat-up
face and the abrasions on his knucklesâand the fact that he'd been leaving
Riverbend at speedâhe'd been the prime suspect. If it hadn't been for the
coroner finding that Ian Logan had died by accidental drowning, Cullen would
probably still be serving time.
So what exactly had Trask been boasting about? Had he been
the one to beat his father up that night? How else would he know what injuries
Ian Logan had had? Cullen was still as confused about his father's death as the
police had been at the time. While Cullen had been dead asleep in the barn, Ian
Logan had driven his battered truck into town. Someone had given him an
expensive brand of whiskey he couldn't afford, then, when he was too drunk to
retaliate, had hit him twiceâhard enough to knock him outâthen left him and the
empty whiskey bottle by the side of the road just outside town. Evidently Ian
Logan had roused himself enough to stumble into a ditch, then passed out again.
The heavy rain had done the rest, rapidly filling, then overflowing the ditches
for a short period of time. Long enough to drown him.
the one to beat his father up that night? How else would he know what injuries
Ian Logan had had? Cullen was still as confused about his father's death as the
police had been at the time. While Cullen had been dead asleep in the barn, Ian
Logan had driven his battered truck into town. Someone had given him an
expensive brand of whiskey he couldn't afford, then, when he was too drunk to
retaliate, had hit him twiceâhard enough to knock him outâthen left him and the
empty whiskey bottle by the side of the road just outside town. Evidently Ian
Logan had roused himself enough to stumble into a ditch, then passed out again.
The heavy rain had done the rest, rapidly filling, then overflowing the ditches
for a short period of time. Long enough to drown him.
Any number of angry husbands would have had reason to want
revengeâCaroline's husband, Richard Hayward, for one. But Hayward had offered to
represent Cullen the next day, waiving his fee. His hands had been elegantly
unswollen, with no telltale marks on his knuckles. And Trask had been new in
town, moving in with a number of other construction workers who were involved in
the shopping mall developments at Fairley and had been attracted by Riverbend's
low real estate prices.
revengeâCaroline's husband, Richard Hayward, for one. But Hayward had offered to
represent Cullen the next day, waiving his fee. His hands had been elegantly
unswollen, with no telltale marks on his knuckles. And Trask had been new in
town, moving in with a number of other construction workers who were involved in
the shopping mall developments at Fairley and had been attracted by Riverbend's
low real estate prices.
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