Redemption: Reckless Desires (Blue Moon Saloon Book 3) (2 page)

The shadow of a passerby drifted past the front windows, and Soren looked up in spite of himself. Damn those dreams he’d had last night. He was seeing Sarah everywhere now. Her flowing red hair. That smile that lit up his world. That tomboy spunk lying just under the surface of a tough, no-nonsense woman.

He turned away from the windows, shaking his head. He hadn’t been raised to be a fool. He’d been raised to be the alpha of a bear clan, and damn it, that’s what he’d do.

He forced himself to talk business with Tina’s mate, Rick, the owner of a local ranch. That’s where his mind ought to be — finding and pulling in new hires to keep the businesses growing.

But a commotion broke out by the front door, and he couldn’t help but look up. Cole was leading someone in off the street, and the women in the café all flocked over to help. What was going on?

“Oh, you poor thing,” Jessica said to the rail-thin woman Cole guided to a chair. Probably another tourist who’d had too much of the Arizona sun. So why did his pulse skip a couple of times, as if she were a long-lost friend?

“Rick, get her a cushion,” Tina said.

“Get her a glass of water, too,” Jess added, kneeling by the woman.

“I got it,” Soren said, stepping to the counter for a glass. He counted to ten as he filled it. Damn, why was his hand shaking? And why was his heart suddenly revving in overdrive? It wasn’t as if he’d witnessed a terrible accident. It was just some lady feeling faint. His inner bear, though, reacted like it was much more, pacing and growling inside his mind.

What?
he wanted to yell.
What?

He glanced outside as he carried the glass to the woman. Only a few weeks ago, a band of rogues had made their second attack on members of his clan. Were they back? Was that why his bear was suddenly on alert?

But there were no suspicious vehicles or strangers sulking about. Not much of anything happening outside on a Sunday morning. All the action was in the café.

He kneeled in front of the woman and held out the glass. The hand that reached for the glass was covered in wicked burn marks, and he winced a little, just seeing them.

“I’m fine,” the woman said, straightening. The curtain of her hair parted, and Soren froze.

Everything froze. His heart ceased beating. Blood stopped pulsing through his veins. His lungs halted in midbreath, and even his bear went from rattling the bars of the mental cage he kept it locked behind to absolutely, positively still.

Her hair was darker. Her scent had changed a tiny bit, too. And she was thin — far, far too thin. But the second his eyes locked on those impossibly green eyes, he knew.

“Soren?” It was barely a whisper, but her voice shot straight to his heart.

“Sarah,” he managed.

Mate!
his inner bear roared.
Alive!

It was Sarah.
His
Sarah. Alive!

He wanted to grab her and dance her around. To crush her to his chest and never, ever let go. He wanted to roar loud enough for folks all the way back in Montana to hear. To sit her down and start feeding her hearty meals to make up for whatever illness or hard times were responsible for making her so gaunt.

But before he could do any of those things, her hand dropped to her belly. A stretched-out, round-as-a-basketball belly so out of place on that thin frame. His breath caught as his mind slowly processed what that meant.

Pregnant. She was pregnant.

For a split second, his bear nearly jumped for joy. But then his mind caught up, doing the math. He hadn’t seen Sarah in nearly a year — the time he’d been forced to leave home, plus the months since then, when he thought she was gone forever. Nearly a year, which meant…

The glass he was holding slipped out of his grip, and his vision blurred over red.

“Soren!” Jessica cried.

He barely heard, because his ears filled with a roar loud enough to drown her voice and the earsplitting sound of shattering glass. And his legs…

His legs wheeled and carried him out of the room before his bear leaped right out of his skin and mauled something or someone.

He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t react, not even to Sarah’s beseeching eyes as they cried,
Please. Please, let me explain.

Sarah closed her eyes and slumped in the chair, ignoring the voices around her.

“Oh, you poor thing.”

“Sweetie, it will be all right.”

“Here, let me get you a new glass.”

Someone swished a little broom and dustpan under her feet, clearing away the broken glass. All nice and neat. If only she could clean up the mess of her life the same way.

She was down to her last twenty dollars. She was so exhausted she could barely see straight. And the only man she’d ever loved — the only man she ever
would
love — had just turned his back and raced away in disgust.

Her mouth hung open as she held her head in her hands. She would have sobbed, but she was too tired, too shocked, too far gone. For a brief moment, her whole world had lit up with hope and light because some crazy chance had brought her face-to-face with the man she’d been dreaming of every minute, every day for the past year. Life had been so perfect when she and Soren had been together. It was only since he’d left Montana that everything had spiraled downhill. Fast.

God, how things had changed, and how quickly. Her dreams had once been filled with things like taming wild horses, scaling mountain peaks, or running with a pack of wolves. Adventurous, little-girl dreams she’d hung on to long into adulthood. But the past months had changed everything, and now all she wanted was to survive another day.

Or so she thought, because seeing Soren had suddenly made her want a thousand other things. The soft play of his fingers over hers. The scratch of his stubble on her cheek. The warmth of his hug and the emotion in his clear blue eyes when they locked on hers. The solid bulk of him next to her body, so reassuringly close.

But hope was a dangerous thing. She’d learned that the hard way, again and again. Like when Soren had looked at her with awed, longing eyes, and she’d nearly reached out to touch his chin. To curl her fingers through his sandy brown hair, to brush her thumb across his lips.

A second later, her hope shattered like the glass he’d dropped — into a thousand tiny fragments with razor-sharp edges that glinted in the sunlight.

Soren hated her. Soren would never understand what had happened.

Her hands traced the swell of her belly, and she squeezed her eyelids even more tightly closed. No, no, no! She would not blame the baby, only herself. And while she might regret her own actions — God, how she did — she refused to regret the baby. No child deserved that. The baby deserved love and joy and happiness, and she’d provide that, no matter what it took.

But Jesus, she was one step away from sleeping in the street. The baby was coming soon, and she didn’t even have the means to put a roof over its head or clothe or feed it or—

She caught herself rocking on the chair. Christ, these people would think she was nuts.

She wobbled to her feet and did her best to remember what pride was.

“Thanks, I’m fine now. I’ll just be going…”

Which was nuts. Every nerve in her body told her this was the right place. She’d stepped off the bus into this dusty frontier town at dawn and walked the streets aimlessly, guided by the same crazy notion that it felt right. She’d passed the building four times already and kept coming right back, like there was a magnet in there, slowly drawing her in. Back to Soren.

Back to heartbreak, all over again.

She held her chin up and focused on the door. Whatever fate had decided to grant her dearest wish was a cruel one.

A pair of strong hands pushed her gently back down. “You need to rest. Rick, where’s that pillow? Janna, get her a drink.”

“I’m fine, really…”

She was anything but fine, and she knew it. God, where would she go? What would she do?

“Sarah,” someone said.

She looked up and blinked at the brunette kneeling in front of her, studying her through stunning gray-blue eyes.

“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again,” the woman said in a voice that cracked with emotion. “So good to see someone else who made it. Someone from home.”

The way the woman spoke made it sound like she understood — really, truly understood the pain, the fear, the awful memories. Like she’d been through the same firestorm and came out the other side.

Sarah tilted her head at the woman. The face was vaguely familiar, but…

“I’m Jessica,” the woman said. “Jessica Macks.”

And just like that, it came back. The tall, gangly girl who’d been in sixth grade when Sarah was in eighth. The one her track coach kept trying to recruit but whose parents never let her join any teams or clubs.

“Jessica?”

The woman’s eyes were moist, and she smoothed a hand along Sarah’s arm.

A second later, they were hugging as fiercely as long-lost friends. They’d never been close, but suddenly, it didn’t matter any more. Jessica was part of home. Jessica was part of her stolen past.

Sarah held on tight, and the first tears slipped out. “You made it, too?” she whispered.

Jessica nodded into her shoulder but didn’t let go. “I made it, too.”

Sarah’s heart swelled in her chest. For months, she’d been haunted and alone. But finally, finally, here was another survivor of the awful night back in Montana. Until now, she’d only thought of everyone who’d been killed — like her parents and other good folks. Her mind danced with memories of the flames that had consumed her home and the inferno at the Voss place she’d seen on her frantic rush out of town.

But here was someone else who’d made it out alive. Sarah pulled back and looked at Jess through her own tears. She could see the same survivor’s guilt reflected in the brunette’s eyes. The same dark memories, though they’d been pushed toward the back. She looked around the café she’d stumbled into. Jessica had made a new life for herself, it seemed. A fresh start.

“God, it’s so good to see you,” Jessica murmured, wiping her eyes. She gestured to the woman beside her. “Remember my sister, Janna?”

Sarah’s memories of Janna were vague, yet it still felt like a homecoming.

But a short minute later, the warm feeling in her gut grew chilly again. For months now, she’d been hunted by the same lunatics who had burned down her home — lunatics with an uncanny ability to track her no matter how well she tried covering her trail. She’d dyed her hair, lied about her name, and moved constantly — yet they always seemed hot on her heels.

Her eyes darted to the street. Would the murderers follow her here, too? Would they inflict their wrath on more innocent people?

She stood quickly — a little too quickly, because black spots danced through her vision and her head swam.

“I have to go,” she mumbled, heading for the door.

“What? Wait!” Jessica protested.

“Wait!” several other voices cried.

She pushed the door open, making the bell ring merrily, and stepped into the scorching sunlight outside. Jesus, what had possessed her to get off the bus in Arizona, of all places? She’d been heading to LA, thinking she might lose herself in a crowd. There were all of three people on the sidewalk in this dusty town; it would take the lunatics no time to ask about a pregnant woman and track her down.

“Sarah!” Jessica called.

She strode on, pretending she didn’t hear.

“Wait!” someone else cried.

She wished she could. She wished she dared, but her feet kept carrying her firmly down the street.

Soren stormed through the kitchen, ignoring the protesting voices, then smacked the rear door open and rushed across the back lot of the saloon.

Let me explain,
Sarah’s eyes had pleaded with him.

But really, what was there to explain? It was all too clear how that baby bump got there.

Not by him, in other words. Not by him.

He stalked past the meat-smoking shed and the beer fridge, heading for the garage he’d turned into a woodshop. He would have liked to keep going and race straight for the hills, but he was alpha of this clan, and alphas didn’t run away from anything.