Here With Me (26 page)

George understood that pretending was
sometimes the only defense a man had. “Then go.”

George could see suspicion war with hope.
“Just like that?” the man asked. “I took a shot at you.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” George said, offering
the man his hand to help him up. He waited until the man was
standing and then looked him in the eye. “Understand this. If you
come after me or one of mine, you won’t walk away a second
time.”

The man took a step back. “I don’t suppose
I’m getting my gun back?”

George shook his head.

The man didn’t argue. He just walked away, in
the opposite direction of where Arturo had gone.

George whistled for the horses and both
ambled up. He swung up on Brontë and grabbed the reins of Arturo’s
mount. When he got over the hill, he pulled up tight.

There were two cars parked there. One he
didn’t recognize, so he assumed it was Pedro’s. The other one was
Melody’s. She was standing next to the car, talking with Arturo and
Pedro. She’d left the car door open and light from the interior
illuminated her backside.

She’d pulled all the pins out of her hair and
it lay in soft waves to the middle of her back. She had her party
dress on still but she’d pulled an old shirt over it, obviously
more concerned about haste than fashion. From the back, she didn’t
even look like she was carrying a child. She was slim-hipped and
sexy as hell.

She must have heard the horses because she
turned and when she saw him, her face lit up. When he got close
enough for conversation, she asked, “Are you all right?”

She sounded sort of breathless, like she had
in the bedroom, right before she’d said,
take me.

“Are you all right?” she repeated.

How the hell could he be? She was driving him
crazy. One look at her and he was ready to forget all his good
intentions. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

She jerked back. “I was worried,” she said,
sounding hurt.

He knew he’d been harsher than necessary. But
he didn’t want her waiting for him to come home, worrying about
him. That was the thing someone did when they cared and he didn’t
want her caring about him. He sure as hell didn’t want to care
about her.

“It’s late,” he said, looking past her. “Go
home and get some sleep.”

She stiffened. “In a minute. Where’s the
other man, the one the rifle belongs to?”

She needed to get the hell out of here. Her
shirt didn’t button in the front and from his vantage point, he
could look down her dress. Her breasts, her plump, full breasts,
were there for the taking. “That’s none of your business.”

She didn’t say anything for a long minute.
When she did, her voice was hard. “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s
my family’s business, my family’s ranch, my family’s
everything.”

The message was clear. He wasn’t family.
Fine. That’s the way he wanted it. “He’s on his way home. I don’t
think he’ll bother Pedro or
your family
again.”

She turned on her heel, like she was a queen
or something, effectively dismissing him. She spoke quietly to
Arturo and Pedro, then she got in her car, and drove away.

Arturo approached with Pedro trailing behind.
“It’s done,” George said. He looked at Pedro, who now stood
awkwardly, his hat in his hand, at Arturo’s side. “I don’t think
he’ll bother you again.”

“I am sorry for the trouble I bring to the
family,” Pedro said.

There was that
family
word again.
George stared at him. “I want the truth. Did you know she was
married?”

Pedro shook his head back and forth,
violently. “No. On my mother’s grave, I swear to you, I did not
know.”

“If that’s true, she lied to you.”

“Yes.” Pedro looked miserable.

Arturo swung his body toward the younger man.
“I’ve told him not to have anything else to do with her but he
won’t listen.”

Pedro shrugged. “I love her,” he said simply.
“If you want me to go, I’ll leave tonight.”

George shook his head. “If you’d have known
she was married, you’d already be on your way. Now get in your car,
go home, get some sleep, and be at work on time tomorrow.”

Arturo and George watched the young man drive
away. Arturo grabbed the horn of his saddle and swung up. “He’s a
fool.”

George didn’t argue. He just nudged his horse
in the ribs and they took off for home. Pedro was a fool. But
that’s what a woman did to a man. Even now that Melody had told him
in no uncertain terms that he was nothing, he hungered for her.

She pretended to be asleep when he came in to
the bedroom. She heard him open the bathroom door, heard the sounds
of water running, and then he came out and took his place on the
floor.

He could sleep outside with the horses for
all she cared.

Right. Who was she kidding? She wanted him in
her bed, inside of her. And then she wanted him to do it again. And
then maybe a third time. That might just get her through the
night.

They’d been so close. Then Arturo had knocked
on the door and everything had changed. At the rock quarry, George
had acted like she was nothing but a bother, a little girl who’d
tagged after him.

She hated—really hated—that feeling. It
brought back every feeling of inadequacy she’d had as a child when
she’d come to live at her grandmother’s ranch. She’d lain in her
bed, her arms clutched around the Raggedy Ann doll, and sworn that
she wouldn’t be a burden, that she wouldn’t be any trouble at all.
Then nobody would have a reason to want her to go.

She lay motionless for what seemed like an
eternity but what was probably only forty-five minutes or an hour,
at most. When she was sure he was asleep, she very quietly pushed
back the sheet and blanket and swung her legs over the side of the
bed. She walked past him, her feet making no sound on the thick
carpet. She put her hand on the door and silently twisted the knob.
The door—

“Are you ill?” he asked.

Well, yeah, he’d just made her heart thump
and grind. That couldn’t be good for her. “No.”

“Do you need water?”

“No.”

He sighed. “Melody, I’m sorry. I was cross
earlier and. . .you don’t deserve that.”

This wasn’t helping her heart. She flipped on
the light and they both blinked. He slept with his clothes on. It
didn’t matter. She knew now how beautifully made he was, with wide
shoulders and sleek muscles. She swallowed hard. “I guess I am a
little thirsty,” she said, grasping for something to say.

“You were right, you know,” he said, ignoring
her attempts to change the conversation. “I made decisions tonight
that were probably yours to make. I overstepped my bounds and I’m
sorry. It won’t happen again.”

She shook her head. “You did exactly what my
grandmother would have expected you to do when you’re filling in
for Gino. You took care of the situation. You protected her
interests. I should have been thanking you, instead I was a. .
.bitch about it.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Melody, on
your worst day, you couldn’t be that.”

It wasn’t the slickest compliment she’d ever
heard but she thought it might be the nicest. “I can’t sleep,” she
said. “I thought I might go down and get a sandwich. Jingle’s
hungry.”

“Jingle?” Now he was frowning. “You’re not
really going to name your daughter Jingle, are you?”

“No. But I don’t have another name picked out
yet so I’m sticking with it. Do you—” She stopped. She’d almost
asked him if he had any favorite girl names. She didn’t want to
make him so uncomfortable that he shut her out. It was nice talking
with him, having conversation. She’d been alone for a very long
time. “Do you want to join me for a sandwich?” she asked.

She thought he was going to refuse. But then
he nodded. “That would be nice,” he said. He got up and they walked
down the hallway in silence. They passed the stairs that led to the
third floor. It made her think of Genevieve.

It must have done the same for George,
because he asked, “So, how long does she stay in her room
normally?”

“Not usually more than a couple days. When I
was younger, I was worried she would starve but then Grandmother
told me that she’s got a small refrigerator and a hot plate in
there.”

They walked down the steps. He put his hand
just under her elbow, not touching her, but close enough that he
could catch her if she slipped. It made her want to swoon.

He was just so darn nice.

And sexy.

And clearly not interested in taking up where
they’d left off. He apologized, she’d accepted, and now they were
back acting like business associates.

Except she didn’t want to go to a meeting
with him or trade emails. She wanted to screw him.

They walked into the kitchen and she opened
the refrigerator door. “Looks like there’s leftover roast beef or
some sliced turkey or—”she stopped and lifted a lid—“egg salad.
What’s your preference?”

“Turkey is fine,” he said.

She pulled it out of the refrigerator and
started to reach for the bread.

“Let me,” he said. “You’ve got to be tired.
I’ll make the sandwiches.”

It was so silly and she was sure it was her
darn hormones again, but she started to cry.

He dropped the bread onto the counter. “What?
Jesus. Honey, I’m sorry. You can make your own sandwich.”

She cried harder. And suddenly his arms were
around her and her face was pressed next to his chest and he was
patting her back like one might do for a small child.

“Now, now,” he muttered. “It’s going to be
fine. Just stop crying.”

And finally she did. But then she got the
hiccups.

“Hold your breath,” he said. “No, wait. Don’t
do that. That might not be good for the baby. Maybe you should sit
down,” he said, sounding a little stressed.

The man could evidently handle tears but
hiccups put him over the edge. It made her smile.

“Can we go outside?” she asked. “You know,
get away from the sandwiches.”

That made
him
smile. “That’s probably
a good idea.” He wrapped one arm around her shoulder and used his
free hand to snag a thick blanket from the back of the couch as
they walked through the family room. When they got outside, he
wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and then they sat down on
the porch swing. It was a very dark night and the yard light that
generally burned bright was out. It seemed like they had slipped
into a black hole. She could feel the wood under her legs but she
couldn’t even see the swing. She could feel the solid warmth of his
big body next to her but she couldn’t see his hand.

“Better?” he whispered.

“Yes.” Aware that others in the house could
have their windows open, she kept her own voice low, too. “I’m
sorry I fell apart in there.”

“It’s been a big night, Melody. You’re
entitled to a few tears.”

She was silent for a few minutes, debating
her next words. But finally she could only think of one way to say
it. “George?”

“Yes.”

He sounded peaceful. She had a feeling she
was about to rip that away from him. “Before Arturo came to our
door earlier, we were sort of
involved.
What happened to
change your mind? I mean, I thought you were. . .uh. .
.interested.”

He didn’t say a word and she wondered if she
had shocked him. She felt him shift and then heard a soft sigh.
“Melody, I was interested. Very. But then I had a chance to think
about what we were doing and I knew it was wrong.”

She gritted her back teeth. She refused to
cry again. “What’s so wrong about it?” she asked, when she felt she
had it under control.

“I told you I was married.”

“Yes,” she said, trying hard to understand.
“I guess I don’t know how long ago you were divorced. I mean, I
know it can take time to get over—”

“I’m not divorced,” he interrupted, his voice
hard. “My wife died. She was raped and murdered.”

A chill spread fast, from her toes to the top
of her head, and she clutched the blanket tighter around her.
Raped and murdered.
Oh, the poor woman. Poor George.

She felt her stomach churn and she thought
she might be sick. “I had no idea,” she said. “Oh, George, I’m
sorry. I know that’s inadequate but it’s all I can think of.”

He was silent. After a moment, he spoke
again. “We were married for three short years. Hannah had just
found out a few weeks before her death that she was carrying our
first child. I came home for a meal and found her dead.”

She had thought it couldn’t get any worse.
“Oh, George,” she said again and felt bad. She should think of
something to say, something that would comfort him, but her mind
was blank.

“I loved her, Melody, and losing her almost
killed me. I don’t intend to ever love another woman and I couldn’t
take you to my bed under false pretences.”

She was definitely going to get sick.
Thoughts and emotions swirled in her head, making her light-headed.
She thought of Hannah and the terror that had ended her life. And
she knew that any woman George had loved was the kind of woman who
would have done every single thing she could to protect her child
and stay alive.

She thought of George and the absolute horror
of finding his wife brutalized and dead. He was the kind of man who
handled things and this would have been something way out of his
control.

And she thought of herself. She’d waited
twenty-eight years to fall in love with a man and she’d fallen for
a man who’d been so deeply wounded that he’d sworn to never love
again.

They rocked back and forth on the swing,
neither talking nor touching. Finally, when she felt she had the
strength, she stretched her legs to stop the momentum of the swing.
“I’m glad you told me,” she whispered. “I am so dreadfully sorry
for your loss.”