Slow Burn (8 page)

She cocked her head as he just stared at her. “Is something wrong?”

“Absolutely not.” He smiled. “Just thinking of what a wonderful mother you would be.”

The moment he said it, her eyes looked haunted. “I can’t have children. I’m sterile.”

It was like a punch to his gut to see this beautiful woman appear so desperately sad. He brought her into his arms because she looked like she needed it.

“Adoption is always an option.” He rocked her close to his chest. “A lot of babies in this big world need good women like you to be their mothers.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was muffled against his chest and she drew back. “I’ve considered it in the past, but as far as Sal—my ex—was concerned, adoption wasn’t an option at all.”

Trace ground his teeth at the selfishness of the bastard and all the ways he had caused Christie pain.

She gave Trace a brave smile. “But considering the man he turned out to be, it was a blessing that we didn’t have children, including adopting.”

“One day you’ll have a child to mother.” He put his finger under her chin. “I have no doubt.”

She spoke softly. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am.” He gave her a quick kiss. It seemed so natural. When he drew back, the surprise on her face matched what he felt. It had come so easily. He figured he’d better change the subject. “We have a whole day to enjoy. What would you like to do?”

“How about a walk?” She glanced at the window that muted sunlight now streamed through. “Soon enough I’m going to be stuck inside a hotel while waiting to testify, so the outdoors sounds great.”

“Good idea.” He retrieved her jacket and helped her slip it on before he pulled on his own.

Soon they were outside the cabin, the sun tenacious in its attempt to warm the clearing around the cabin. He led her down a nearby trail and she walked beside him on the wide parts and in front of him where the trail grew narrower.

The air was clean and crisp, the scent of pine and rich dark earth filling the air. Patches of snow clung to shadowed rocks and grass in dark areas.

Christie walked by his side as the path widened again. “Your work must be rewarding.”

“In a lot of ways it is.” He pushed aside a branch encroaching on the trail. “Taking down the bad guys is a real good feeling.”

“And saving damsels in distress?” She gave him a little smile. “Like me. Twice.”

He settled his hand on her lower back as she stepped over a fallen log. “I’m just damned glad I was there.” If he hadn’t been—he couldn’t stand the thought of what could have happened to her.

Knowing that her ex-husband had abused her emotionally and verbally was enough to throw Trace into a rage, much less the fact that the bastard had tried to murder her. Salvatore Reyes was a lucky man just to be alive.

Trace’s only satisfaction was seeing Dylan punch the bastard for what he’d done to both Belle and Christie. Brooks had cuffed Salvatore and Trace had watched the sonofabitch being dragged away. Trace had stayed by Christie’s side, feeling the need to make sure she was taken care of.

A twig crunched beneath her shoe. “Tell me about your family.”

He shook his head. “It’s not a pleasant story.”

She glanced up at him. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

For a moment he said nothing. But for some reason he did feel the need to share the intimate details of his life that he never talked about. With anyone.

He blew out his breath. “My father physically abused my mother for as long as I can remember.” It was one reason why seeing women being abused in any way made him so furious. “He killed my mother when I was fourteen.”

“Oh, my God.” Christie’s eyes widened as she came to a stop. “I don’t know what to say. Sorry doesn’t come close to expressing how awful I feel for you and your mother.”

Trace paused, stopping with her. “I nearly killed him when I came home and found the cops there, my mother dead, and my father in handcuffs. I had neighbors who held me back or I would have killed him before the cops had a chance to stop me.” Trace clenched his jaw. “I have no doubt.”

Christie put her hand on his arm. “I can’t imagine.”

They started walking again, as if by some unspoken agreement. He put his hand at the small of her back as he kicked aside a small branch that had fallen across the path. “I was sent to live with my mother’s sister. My aunt’s husband, my step uncle, verbally and emotionally abused her.”

Christie shook her head. “Any man who abuses a woman should be castrated.”

Trace bit back a curse as he thought of Salvatore. “I know someone I’d put at the top of the list.”

She brushed a loose strand of hair from her eyes. “At least my abuse was only emotional and verbal for all of those years…up until the end of the marriage.”

This time it was Trace who brought them to a stop. He caught her by both shoulders and looked at her intently. “Words and actions are just as bad as fists, Christie. Don’t ever minimize what that bastard did to you, including the end when it became physical. Understand?”

A hesitation and then she nodded. “You’re right. That old ‘sticks and stones’ saying is so very wrong. Words can haunt you for the rest of your life. Not to mention actions. The rape might as well have been occurring throughout my marriage rather than in the last few days.”

He wanted to take her in his arms and take away every bad memory he could.

“I want to know more about you.” She clearly wanted to turn the subject from herself. “What happened to your father?”

Trace felt his features turn wooden. “Not only did he kill my mother, but he murdered the first responding sheriff’s deputy. Shot them both.” Trace continued, putting no emotion in his voice. Ever since the murders, the bastard had been dead to Trace. “Texas has the death penalty for capital murder. The man who fathered me was put to death by lethal injection fourteen years ago.”

“No words.” She shook her head. “I know I’m repeating myself, but I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through.”

“Rich Davidson got what he deserved,” Trace said flatly.

“Yes.” Christie gave a slow nod. “Yes, he did.”

Trace’s voice hardened. “It’s only a shame he was on death row, living and breathing, for as long as he was.”

A squirrel chittered and scampered in a tree above them and a chilled breeze caused the vegetation to sway. Christie folded her arms across her chest and hunched, clearly feeling the cold now. He was afraid it would make her wound hurt more, too.

“Let’s head back.” He put his arm around her shoulders and they turned on the trail. “Tell me about your family.”

“I did have a good upbringing.” Her expression was both wistful and sad. “My mom and dad passed away too soon. First my father of a heart attack four years ago and then two years later my mother died due to a brain aneurism. All I have left are my grandparents who live in Florida and my cousins in Indiana.”

Trace squeezed her closer to him. She’d said it already. Sometimes it was impossible to put into words how you felt about what another person was going through or had gone through.

“They never liked my ex.” She was quiet a moment. “I wish my mom and dad were still here. I wish I would have listened to them when they discouraged me.”

Trace and Christie walked in silence the rest of the way to the cabin, clearly lost in their own thoughts. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, more companionable than anything else. When they reached the cabin he held the door open for her and they walked into the warmth then shut out the cold.

After he helped her out of her jacket and shrugged out of his own, he built up the fire. They stood in front of the flames, warming themselves.

He glanced at her. “Do you like to play poker?”

“The CoS used to play all the time.” She flashed him a grin. “I can hold my own.”

She had the cutest grin. He liked it when she let go and looked carefree.

“I propose a challenge.” He’d always had a streak of mischief in him. “And winner takes all.”

Trace sat down at the kitchen table after he grabbed a deck of cards and a rack of poker chips.

Christie looked so cute as she folded her hands on the tabletop. “What are the stakes?”

He set aside the two joker cards. “Whoever loses a hand has to tell an embarrassing story.” He started shuffling the cards. “From junior high or high school.”

She leaned back in her chair. “There are too many to name and I’d prefer to leave them dormant somewhere in the back of my brain.”

He chuckled. “I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

She shook her head and leaned forward, a determined expression on her face. “I’m not going to lose.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “And what’s this ‘winner takes all’?”

He flashed her a grin. “Whoever wins gets to choose what the other has to do. Clean or cook…anything.” He didn’t plan on making her work. He just wanted to tease her.

She straightened in her seat. “I am so going to beat you.”

He almost laughed. She was so damned cute. “We’ll play Texas Hold’em.”

“No fair.” She looked mock indignant. “You’re from Texas.”

This time he did laugh. “Afraid you’re going to lose?”

She narrowed her brows. “Deal.”

He started out by dealing each of them two cards face down. Christie peeked at hers and her expression didn’t change.

The hand progressed and they each bid. He tried not to show his amusement at how determined she looked.

When he called her, she put down her cards and looked at him with satisfaction as she presented two aces and two tens. “Two pair.”

“Not bad.” He laid out his own cards. “But sorry, little lady.” He exaggerated his Texan drawl. “Three of a kind beats your two pair.” He spread his three jacks on the table along with a four and five.

She groaned. “Damn.”

He gathered the poker chips they’d bet and he stacked them. “Fess up.”

She blew out a sigh. “When I was in junior high school, Belle said something funny just as I took a drink of soda. Whatever she said was so hysterical I choked. Soda came out of my nose. I was coughing and laughing and choking all at once.” Christie grimaced. “The embarrassing part came when I noticed that the guy I had a major crush on was standing right by us. I was still coughing and sputtering and I got soda on his shirt.”

Trace laughed. “That qualifies.”

“I was mortified.” She shook her head. “Every time he saw me after that he’d grin and I knew he was thinking of me with soda coming out my nose.”

Trace had to hold back more laughter.

She put her hands on the table. “It’s going to be your turn, just you watch.”

This time his straight lost to her flush. She looked at him with triumph. “Go.”

“My step uncle was a real scumbag, like I mentioned earlier.” Trace rubbed his chin. “He’d leave porn magazines around, probably to upset my aunt. When I was a freshman in high school, I was in a hurry to catch the bus and I’d grabbed my homework off of the coffee table. What I didn’t realize was that I’d picked up one of his magazines.” It was funny now, but it had been embarrassing then. “In my science class I was lucky enough to be sitting with a lot of pretty girls around me. But when I took my homework out of my bag, that damned porn mag went flying. Not only did the girls see it, but also Mrs. Schmitz, our teacher. She snatched it up and shook it at me. She was lobster-red in the face as she ordered me to take the magazine straight to the principal’s office.”

Christie smirked. “Bet the guys thought you were some kind of hero.”

Trace had to grin. “They did, but those pretty girls and the teacher were not amused.”

They played another hand and his two pair beat Christie’s single pair.

She flopped back in her chair. “Once when I was a sophomore, I walked into the cafeteria and stumbled sideways over God knows what. I bumped into a bunch of chairs that were stacked vertically against each other. My foot caught on the first one and when it slid down, so did the rest of the chairs. They made a horrible crashing sound as they hit and they slid across the polished floor. Everyone in the cafeteria started laughing. I don’t think my face has ever been so hot.”

Christie lost the next hand, too, and told about the time her skirt fell down to her ankles at the bus stop just as the school bus was approaching. “I think just about everyone on the bus saw, not to mention the kids at our stop.” She groaned. “My white cotton panties with little pink flowers on them were on display as I hurried to pull my skirt up. I never lived that one down.”

When Trace lost the next hand, he shook his head. “I’d have to say my most embarrassing moment was during my high school graduation. I just wanted to get across that stage, shake the principal’s hand, and be done with it. I was never one for being in front of an audience.” Trace blew out his breath. “I got my diploma, shook that principal’s hand, and started to head toward the stairs. I tripped over the microphone cord and fell against the principal, knocking him to the stage. At the same time my diploma flew out of my hand, into the audience, and hit a cute cheerleader right in the face.”

Christie was giggling by the time he finished his story. “Now that’s a good one.”

He laughed, her giggles making her even more adorable than ever. And he became even more determined to win the game.

They went back and forth with stories and winning and losing hands. It was dark outside when the game finally ended—Christie was a damned good player and before he knew it, she’d beaten his ass and good.

“Ha!” Her look of triumph was enough to make him glad she’d won. She gathered all the chips in a sweep of her arms. “Now I get to do whatever I want with you.”

He raised an eyebrow as she put her finger on her chin and looked as though she was considering any number of options. But then she moved toward him.

She made a circle motion with her finger. “Turn your chair so that you’re facing me.”

He obeyed. “What are you up to, little girl?”

She moved toward him and before he knew it, she was straddling his lap, her mouth on his. She paused long enough to say. “All I want is
you.
And I want you naked.”