Protecting Peggy (11 page)

“I wish I could tell you what caused the contamination at Hopechest,” Rory said, then tipped back his beer. “I can't. Yet. Right now all I can do is give you a list of things that didn't cause it.” He paused, furrowing his brow. “It's great that every other water
source in the area has tested fine, but that concerns me, too.”

“You're thinking the contamination was done on purpose,” Blake said. “That someone targeted Hopechest Ranch. Or me. If that's the case, I need to shut down the entire operation. Get the kids and staff out of there before, God forbid, something worse happens.”

“Don't jump the gun until we know something for sure.” Rory shifted in his chair. “I'm a chemist, Blake. All I can do is identify the contaminant. That's the first step. The second one is figuring out how the stuff got into the water. If it turns out whatever the hell it is spread there from an underground source, you'll probably need a geologist or a hydrologist—or both—to explain how aquifers and water tables work.” Rory frowned. “And I'll want a question or two answered myself.”

“For instance?” Blake asked.

“Right now, a new well is being drilled on the Crooked Arrow Reservation. The well site is just yards from Hopechest property. The water at that drill site tests okay. If it turns out the contaminant came from a nearby underground source, someone's going to have to explain to me how and why it got into one well, but not the other.”

Rafe looked at Blake. “That's the well Springer's paying to have drilled.”

“Springer,” Rory repeated. “I saw that name on the side of a pickup truck when I took water samples at the well site. What's Springer?”

“An oil company,” Blake answered. “Operates a refining plant outside of town.”

Rory raised a brow. “So, why is an oil company drilling a water well on an Indian reservation?”

“In a name, David Corbett.” Rafe inclined his head toward the front of the bar. “That's him shooting pool at the far table. The guy wearing the starched white shirt with its sleeves rolled up.”

Rory caught a glimpse of an athletically built man, just above six feet tall. His loosened navy tie and the conservative cut auburn hair pegged him as an executive.

“He a good guy?” Rory asked.

Rafe nodded. “I do security work as a sideline and I've worked off and on at Springer. I filled in there for a couple of weeks when one of their guards got sick and they were in a bind. Springer had just decided to expand its operations, and it made an offer to lease some land that belongs to the Crooked Arrow Reservation. Corbett's a high-up VP at Springer, so I guess that's why he personally delivered the offer to the elders at the res. The elders said no.”

Rory angled his chin. “By the way you sound, I take it Corbett didn't go away mad?”

“No. In fact, he was so appalled by the living conditions of some of the Native Americans that he came back with an offer from Springer to drill a new water well on res land. Free of charge. That's the well you saw being drilled.”

“Corbett's a righteous guy,” Blake agreed. His eyes narrowed. “I sure can't say much for his choice of pool partners, though.”

Rory looked again toward the front of the bar. His gaze settled on the wiry-framed man with light brown hair who was leaning over the pool table. He executed his break, then gave Corbett a smug smile that accompanied the clatter of balls.

Rory tapped an index finger against his glass. “Holly,” he said to Blake. “Your secretary's name is Holly, right?”

“That's right.”

“She has the same eyes and jawline of the man playing pool with David Corbett.”

“Showoff,” Blake muttered. “Yeah, that's Holly's father. His name's Todd Lamb.”

Rory watched Lamb circle the pool table, calculating his next shot while he chalked his cue. Neither David Corbett nor Todd Lamb had made either of Blake's lists.

Rory looked back at Blake. “You have something against Lamb?”

“Nothing personal.” Blake raised a shoulder. “I just don't like the way he ignores his daughter. Holly deserves better.”

Rory kept his expression neutral as he scooped another peanut out of the bowl. He remembered the way Holly's gaze had lingered on Blake, the softening in her voice when she spoke to him. Rory suspected the potential was there for more than just a boss-employee relationship.

“Here's your order, boys.” A redhead with expressive, flirty eyes and a black leather skirt that barely made it past the legal limit sauntered up to the table, a loaded tray in her hands. “Three of Jake's special
sirloin burgers. And fries.” When she leaned and settled the plates on the table, her skinny black top dipped down low over firm, well-developed breasts.

Rory pursed his mouth when she ambled away on skyscraper heels. “Are you
boys
sure it's these sirloin burgers that are the pride of Prosperino?”

Rafe chuckled. “Scout's honor.”

Rory took a bite and found himself pleasantly surprised. “This is great. I'm starved.”

Blake looked at Rafe. “Can you believe you heard that statement from someone staying at Honeywell House?”

“No.” Rafe washed down a bite with a swallow of beer. “The last time I was there, Peggy served me a piece of key lime pie. Best I've ever tasted. I made such a big deal over it, she sent the rest of the pie home with me.”

“That's Peggy,” Blake agreed. “Nobody leaves Honeywell House hungry.” He shot Rory a look. “You sample her apricot cobbler yet?”

“Haven't had a chance.”

“When you were in my office, you said you and Peggy struck a deal. You test the inn's water twice a day, she bakes you the dessert of your choice every night.”

“That's the deal.”

“So, what happened?”

“I test the inn's water twice a day. It's fine, in case you were wondering.”

“What about dessert?”

Rory thought of the past nights he'd paced his room, thinking about Peggy. Wanting her. He knew that after
he left Prosperino, he would lie awake a lot of nights, thinking about being with her.

“I decided it'd be best if I passed on dessert,” he said quietly. “All it takes is willpower. A lot of willpower.”

“M
r. O'Connell said he needed to borrow my station wagon for an hour. Two at the most.” Standing at the center island, Peggy turned and checked the clock on the oven, saw it was nearly nine o'clock. She looked back across the kitchen at the table where Kade Lummus sat. “It's been over five hours.”

Looking relaxed and comfortable in his worn jeans and gray sweater, Kade took the last bite of the warm bread pudding with white chocolate sauce she had served him when he arrived. “You're sure O'Connell didn't mention anything about who he planned to meet?” Kade asked, nudging his bowl aside. “Or where?”

“No. I didn't ask. Looking back, I should have, since he wanted to borrow my car to get there.” She shoved her hair behind her shoulders. “After he said
he might finally find out some answers about what happened to the water on Hopechest Ranch, all I wanted was for him to get to his meeting.”

“I would have felt the same way. Everyone's holding their breath over the water contamination. Waiting for answers is like sitting on a fault line, wondering when the next earthquake will hit.”

“That sums it up.” Her concern about the inn's water had eased slightly now that Rory was running tests twice a day and slipping the results on notes under her office door. Still, she was like everyone else—worried about the safety of the town's water supply. If the contaminant suddenly spread, the entire population of Prosperino might have to evacuate. A knot formed in her throat at the possibility. The inn was more than just a means of support for her and Samantha. They had built a life in her grandmother's house that nestled on the cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Peggy couldn't imagine leaving and not knowing when she could return.

She picked up a pot holder, slid it into a drawer near the cooktop. “Kade, I feel bad about calling you at home. I wanted your advice on what to do about Mr. O'Connell's being gone so long. I didn't intend for you to drive over here.”

As she spoke, rain started to patter on the roof, sounding like fingers lightly drumming on a table. Peggy walked to the window over the sink, nudged back one side of the striped curtain and glanced out. O'Connell's rental car hunched in the rain beside Kade's police cruiser, the only cars parked in the lot.
She forced away thoughts about Rory, wondering where he was, when he would get back.

Turning, she rubbed at the ache that had settled in her forehead and met Kade's gaze. “Thanks to me, you're going to get wet.”

“No big deal.” He sipped the coffee she had brewed when he arrived, his dark eyes watching her over the rim of the mug. “Your bread pudding is worth getting a little wet.”

She relaxed enough to smile. “Thanks. Would you like more?”

“Yes, but I'll pass. As it is, I have to spend double time at the gym working off this one helping.” He flipped the cover closed on the small pad on which he'd jotted notes. “I've got all the information I need on your station wagon. I'll have dispatch put it out on the air tonight.”

“I don't want Mr. O'Connell to get into trouble. I
did
loan him the car.”

“At this point, the only thing he's guilty of is breaking his word to you. I'll make sure dispatch broadcasts the information as a ‘check the welfare of the driver' stop.” Kade rose, walked to the back door and snagged his jacket off the nearby coatrack. “My shift starts at seven in the morning. Give me a call. If O'Connell hasn't surfaced, I'll upgrade him to a missing person and put a statewide APB out on your station wagon.” As he spoke, Kade pulled on his jacket. “Give Samantha a kiss for me. Tell her I'm sorry I didn't make it here before her bedtime.”

“I will. She'll be upset she missed seeing you.”
Peggy walked to where he stood, put a hand on his arm. “I appreciate all you do for us, Kade.”

He looked down, his steady brown eyes locked with hers. “I don't want your appreciation, Peggy. You know that.”

“I know.” She dropped her hand, curled it against her thigh. “And you know I can't ever get involved again with a cop. I can't do it, Kade.”

He cupped a hand to her cheek, his mouth tightening. “I've thought about giving up the job so you and I would have a chance to see what could happen between us. I can't bring myself to do that. No matter how much I care about you, I can't turn my back on the job. I'm a cop. That's all I'll ever be. It's who I am.”

Jay had been the same way, born to wear a badge. He had thrived on the edge of danger that was a natural part of the job. The job that had killed him. His senseless death had left her with a scar on her heart and a hole in her life that would always be there.

“It's no good, Kade,” she said softly. “If you walked away from being a cop, you would someday hate me for that.”

“Yeah.” He dropped his hand, eased out a breath, then changed the subject. “After your attack, we put extra patrols on the inn. None of the guys have spotted anything. We also haven't had any additional sightings of the drifter I told you about. Looks like he's left the area.”

“That's a relief.”

Kade hesitated. “Before I left the other night, I asked Sinclair to keep his eyes open for anything
around here that didn't look right. He's called twice to let me know he hasn't seen anything. He's also grilled me on what we're doing about finding the guy that hurt you.”

Peggy slid her hands into the pockets of her slacks, pulled them back out. She'd had no idea Rory had called Kade. Then again, how could she know, since he'd made himself so scarce the past three days?

“It's nice that so many people are looking out for Samantha and me,” she said.

“You know you can call me if you need anything. Anytime.” Without waiting for her to comment, Kade turned, pulled open the door, then shut it tight behind him.

Weary, she rested her forehead against the door. Kade was a good man. An honorable one. She had no doubt that, for as long as he lived, he would be there for her and Samantha. She closed her eyes. Jay had told her he would be there for her always. Yet, he hadn't even lived long enough to see their daughter.

“No cops,” Peggy said quietly. “Never again.”

It wasn't lost on her that she had been perfectly able to control the depth of her feelings for Kade, but not for Rory. Why couldn't she make herself stop yearning for a man who would only be a part of her life for so short a time?

“Crazy,” she murmured. She was an intelligent woman, responsible and, for the most part, logical. Here she was, stupidly, irrationally drawn to a man who could offer her nothing but heartbreak. She'd had enough of that in her life, and she didn't need to go
around, leaving herself open for more. Especially from a man who didn't even want her.

Stifling the moan that rose in her throat, Peggy pushed away from the door. Her bruised hip felt stiff, and the headache now brewing dead center in her forehead told her all the sleep she'd lost over the past nights had finally caught up with her.

She moved to the table, carried the dishes Kade had used to the sink, rinsed them and placed them in the dishwasher. That done, she headed toward the front of the inn for her ritual of settling the inn for the night.

Leaving a dim light burning in the foyer, she moved into the study. The fire she'd built earlier simmered in the grate, its warmth drawing her across the room. Rain pattered softly against the windows. Feeling the fatigue in her legs and back, she settled onto the leather couch that faced the fire. She would sit here for a minute or two, she told herself. Sit here, and wait for Charlie O'Connell to return with her station wagon.

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the soft leather while deep in her restless heart, the truth stirred. Rory was whom she waited on. Rory whom she wanted to walk through the door. Rory whom she wanted to come home.

 

The sky broke the same instant Rory walked out of Jake's. He dashed across the tavern's gravel parking lot, slid into his car and shook the rain from his hair. Seconds later, he pulled out of the lot and turned the car onto the dark coastal highway for the short trip to Honeywell House.

He had hoped the stop at Jake's would help his thoughts steady. Instead, they had constantly turned to Peggy. The memory of her warm, subtle taste, the soft feel of her skin had left his mind as restless as the sea that churned against the ragged cliffs edging the dark shoreline.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. Here he was, a man who had never wanted the restriction or the responsibility of a home, drawn to a woman who thrived on those very things. Things he had never had. And didn't want, he reminded himself.

He steered around a curve, then headed across a bridge. Below, the angry surf rolled in, crested, then broke. His jaw tightened as his car's headlights stabbed through the darkness and the rain to illuminate the thin ribbon of road leading up to Honeywell House. Something was happening inside of him and he had no idea what it was. All he knew was that no one had ever had a hold on him like this before. No person…or thing, he amended when he pulled into the parking lot and turned off the engine.

The inn sat nestled against the hill, the small spotlights spreading dramatic fans of illumination up three stories to the widow's walk. A light, weak but welcoming, glowed with golden warmth behind the window in the foyer.

It wasn't just the woman who had left that light burning that drew him. It was the home she had made.

“Christ.” Rubbing his eyes, he sat in silence while the rain drummed against the car's roof and slid down the windows. For the first time in his life, he knew what it felt like to come home.

He took a mental step back, stunned by the realization, stunned it had been there to come out. He didn't know what was causing the change inside of him. Had no clue how to stop it. Didn't know if he could. Or even if he wanted to. He couldn't deny that he cared about Peggy more than he had ever cared about any other woman. Still, his feelings didn't alter the fact he had lived his entire life on the road to somewhere else. It was a lifestyle that fit him like a glove. That he was now wondering if he could settle in one place, be on the inside looking out was foreign territory and needed to be approached with caution.

As did Peggy's determination to never again involve herself with a man who wore a badge.

In truth, he had no idea what to do about either issue—if, in fact, he should
do
anything. Since it was apparent he wasn't coming up with any solutions sitting in his car, he shouldered open the door and ducked into the rain. Perhaps because his mind had been so weighted down with thought, he didn't notice until this moment that Charlie O'Connell's rental car was the only other vehicle in the lot.

Where the hell was Peggy? he wondered as he dashed up the porch steps. It was nearly ten o'clock—what was she doing out so late with Samantha?

Using his key, Rory swung open the front door and stepped into the foyer where the dim light glowed. He locked the door behind him, his gaze flicking in the direction of her small office. The door was closed, no sliver of light showed beneath.

He took two steps toward the staircase, pausing when he came even with the arched entrance to the
study. The waning flames in the fireplace put out just enough light for him to see Peggy curled on the couch.

Because he couldn't help himself, he moved across the study to stand near her.

It was a fitful sleep, he decided as he pulled off his leather jacket and laid it on one of the nearby wing chairs. She was lying on her side, one hand fisted against a small throw pillow. In the flickering light, her skin looked stunningly pale, the shadows deep where her dark lashes fanned across her cheeks. She murmured something indistinguishable; a crease of worry formed between her brows.

A bad dream, he thought as he moved over and crouched in front of her. The need tethered tight inside him strained hard at her scent. She smelled like the inn, of that welcoming combination of lemon, cinnamon and lavender that had greeted him the first night. And was so much a part of what had drawn him back over the past days.

When her head jerked, her dark hair pooled across the pillow like rich mink.

Wanting to soothe her, he traced a fingertip down the deepening crease between her brows.

“No!” Her fist swung out, caught him on one shoulder. “Don't—”

“Wake up, Ireland. You're having a bad dream.”

“No! Don't touch me.” She shot awake, her eyes wide, glazed and unfocused. At the same instant, she lunged to her feet, rocked a bit.

He gripped her upper arms to steady her. “It's Rory,” he said quietly. Her skin had gone deathly pale. “You had a bad dream.”

She gulped in a breath, blinked her eyes. “Rory?”

“You had a bad dream,” he repeated. His hands slid up, cupping her shoulders. “You're okay now.”

“Oh, God. I dreamed…” She shuddered. “He came back.”

“Who?”

“The man in the greenhouse. He came back.”

When she leaned in and pressed her face into his shoulder, Rory felt the thunder of her heart. He closed his eyes. It felt right having her in his arms. So right. Even as he told himself to step back, he buried his face in the soft fall of her hair. “You're okay. It was just a dream.”

“Yes.” Her arms slid around his waist. “A bad one.”

“Do you want a glass of wine?” He rubbed a hand gently up and down her spine. “Maybe something stronger to steady you?”

She inched her head back to look up at him. The firelight shaded her green eyes with gold. Rising on tiptoe, she pressed a kiss to his throat. “You. I want you.”

“Ireland.” The feel of her teeth scraping against his throat shot desire through him like a bullet. Knowing he needed to distance himself from an edge that had suddenly spun closer, he forced himself to think about the badge in his pocket. “I'm not the right man for you.”