Trusting Love (10 page)

The thought sounded good, but she still gripped her shovel harder and took the porch steps at a quick run. She shoved the door open, turned and shut it, breathlessly.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

At the angry demand she screamed and turned around to find Robert two feet behind her, his eyes wide and hands up.

“Damn, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle—”

She swore at him in Spanish, switched to English when he gave her that half grin and added on a few choice threats to his anatomy too. Like a light bulb had suddenly turned on, she took in his appearance. He was shirtless and wore only his loose cargo pants way down on his hips. He looked like Hugh Jackman from the Wolverine movies except he didn’t have wild dark hair with side burns, but who cared about that, when a man had a hard body like Robert’s? Who cared about being frightened out of their minds either?

“Kris?”

She blinked and focused on his face then scolded him, “If you ever do such a thing again—”

He raised his hands higher and she glued her focus on his face because she knew his cargo pants had slipped down a little bit, enough that she could almost see a dark line of hair from his flat navel to way, way lower.

“Kris, you can do everything you just threatened and more, but right now, I need these bullets out so I can heal.”

She spluttered on a swear word she normally didn’t use.

His eyebrows rose and she swore he was fighting a grin.

“So you can heal?” she repeated, fascinated by him all over again. “What makes you think it’s that easy?”

“Do you think I should be standing here, in your kitchen, after this much blood loss? Or the two bullets ripping into my body? Think.”

She winced at the graphic image that popped into her mind, then thought about what he was saying. “No, you shouldn’t be able to stand, let alone argue with me.” She backed up and looked him over again. He’d always been a muscular, fit man, always worked hard and kept himself in shape for the military. But he
was
bigger now. His chest was wider, deeper and his sides bulged at his hips with even more muscle. He fisted his hands and his biceps rounded out and his stomach tightened to hard rounded muscles. “You’re bigger, I guess.”

That earned her a snort. “That’s not what I’m talking about, Kris. I’m talking about the fact that I’m not hurting. That the bullets aren’t doing much more than irritating me,” he growled.

She blinked and lifted her eyebrows at his behaviour. It sounded like he wanted to say someone else was irritating him, but hadn’t.

He looked angry, but he
was
hurting. But wow, he’d just landed back in her life and thought he could growl at her?

“Look, I’m trying to help,” she said, trying to ease him. “I’m not a doctor. I barely know where to start to even find those bullets, let alone pull them free.”

He raised his hands again and spread them, letting them drop right after in a show of muscle she was sure was meant to be more a show of frustration but no way was she able to keep up when he was half naked.

“Kris,” he grumbled, dragging her eyes back up off his stomach muscles. “Just start, that’s all I’m asking. Do you think this, what happened to me, is done? Think. The men that did this want something I have and they’re not stopping until they get it or I kill them first!” he yelled. “I’ve got no time to baby you, just get the bullets out.”

She put the table between them while his voice rose, but stopped, realising what she was doing. Her heart beat so fast and hard it hurt, but it also filled her with indignation. How dare he yell at her? One minute she was ogling him, the next she was shaking from nervous fear. She was over being scared of men, and she especially wasn’t going to be scared of this one.

“Get the bullets out and I’ll be gone. It’s the only answer. My recovery isn’t important.” He slammed his hand down on the table, making it shake. “What they fed me will fix that quicker than it’s taking you to just do it,” he said, slashing his hand through the air.

First, she’d come too far, survived, but she had, to be yelled at by any man. She’d never let another man treat her as less than him. Never allow another to hurt her with his words or his fists. Especially not the angry man standing in her cabin, relying on her goodwill, and her woodstove, food, and shelter to survive. “Did you just raise your voice to me?”

He blinked and stepped backwards, the frown she guessed he wore more than he used to. His face drained of the red angry colour and he looked at her like he’d just been slapped instead of asked a simple question. “I—”

“Because, I think I should warn you, I don’t allow anyone to yell at me, Robert. Not any longer. If you have something to say to me, you say it but if I even think you’re yelling at me again while you’re here, in my home, depending on me to keep you alive, I’ll shove you out in the snow so fast you won’t even realise it until the ice registers in that busted up body of yours.”

He nodded but quickly lifted both hands at her glare. “I didn’t, I mean, of course I wouldn’t yell at you. I was just telling you that they’ve fed me some drugs that make the recovery time quicker,” he said ending so suddenly she frowned over at him, thinking he’d continue.

“And? So you can heal quickly and this gives you the right to raise your voice to me?”

He snapped his eyebrows down and shook his head. “No, no, I did—”

“Oh, please, you did.”

He opened his mouth, shut it, raised his hand and rubbed his head and finally nodded. “I did. I have a temper sometimes, I guess.”

She snorted. “Excuses. That’s lame, Robert. Two minutes, ten tops back in my company and you’re already losing points.”

“Hell, I don’t want to
earn points
, Kristen. I am pumped full of shit that makes me volatile, and if you—”

“
Pumped full of shit
? Look, I guess you’ve changed, okay? So have I,” she said, pointing to her chest and proud of how her voice didn’t wobble. “I don’t tolerate bullshit. I don’t have to. I can pull those bullets out, though. If that’s what will get you out of here,” she whispered, so choked up she could barely get the words out, “then let’s do it.”

She spun away from the sight of him and angrily pulled her jacket off, fighting with the material because her hands shook too badly for her to remove it quickly enough. She had no idea why her heart hurt at his words and behaviour. He’d done nothing more than gripe at her, really. His voice had risen yes, but he was hurting and that had to be part of it. After Daniel he’d really not been more than rude. He’d sounded more frustrated with the situation—men after him—than her. Men who wanted to kill him.

Maybe it hurt because you never expected Robert McNeil to do anything even remotely like Daniel.
And he had—even the excuses were familiar, but then he had a whole lot more of them and much, much more dangerous ones.

She got her boots off and turned to see his head down, his hand fisted on his lean hips, so obviously still struggling with what she’d said. She left him alone. She’d said her peace, stood up to him, and now she would do what he wanted. Then she could go on with her life without him messing with her head.

“If I do this, you have to be drunk.”

He looked up and met her eyes, wincing a little, but he nodded. “I can see why you’d need that.”

She snorted and grabbed the bottle of Jack from her kitchen cabinet. “I won’t need it until after,” she said, handing it to him. “You will need it before I start hunting around in that wound—correction, wounds of yours.”

“True. I just might. Jack, huh?”

He grabbed the bottle with a quizzical look, but at least he took it.

“It works.” Way too well at times, but it worked.

Robert watched her with a cautious expression, but he followed her into her bedroom quietly enough. Rowdy was a step behind.

After this, she was getting Robert McNeil as far away from her as she could manage.

“Okay, I guess lie down and let’s see about the shoulder first.” She could do this. She had got herself here, survived two winters, and the loss of the only person she’d ever truly loved, so she could dig bullets out of a man if it meant she could have her life, or lack of it, back again.

Something had changed in Kristen. Something Robert guessed she hid from the world, maybe even herself. She walked a razor’s edge, though, he could see that now.

He’d raised his voice. He’d lost his temper with her because when he’d finally been able to haul his ass out of her bed, and found her gone, all he could see was her silent body, dead in the snow. It would take one shot. He knew it, and that had fed his need to get out of here, whipping his frustration to anger.

But hell if she wasn’t magic. She’d looked him straight in the eye and told him off.

And just like magic, his anger had sizzled out and died. Only he guessed she wouldn’t have been able to do that before.

Before her life was ripped from her.

He was used to death. At times, it felt like death was a part of almost every day of his life. Friends passed away in action, enemies dragged in their last breath facing him, but outside of combat and missions, he’d only lost one person he’d cared about in his life. His mom.

Her death had torn a hole in his soul and left him reeling, unable to comprehend that the one person in the world that had loved him completely was gone. Then he’d turned to his baby sister, her big trusting eyes and that pure love only a child could possess filling the empty wound left by his mom’s death. She had soothed that part of him he’d thought only Mandy could ease.

Now Mandy was out of his life and had been because of his ‘death’ for far too long. He ached to hug his sister. At times it felt almost physical the pain of their separation.

He couldn’t imagine bringing a child into this world and holding his child’s lifeless body in his arms.

But that’s just what Kristen had done.

Her pain had to be enormous. She’d been one of those women that hadn’t had an easy life. He’d heard hints of things about her, about why she stayed with Daniel that fit the kind, giving person aiming to please people she was. In too many ways, she reminded him of Mandy. And he knew why Mandy was the way she was, or had been—shy, kind, with never a bad word to say about anyone for fear of their reaction.

Kristen had been like that.

Not now. Now she was a powder keg, ready to ignite hot enough to burn the place down. Not with passion, but pain. Tears were in her eyes. So far as he could tell, they shimmered constantly below the surface. From him showing up, or from what she had endured, he wasn’t certain.

Either way, Kristen was breaking his heart. She wanted him gone with a desperation that radiated off her like a homing beacon. If she had her way, he’d be gone before morning.

Why?

He could only guess and his guesses pissed him off. She hadn’t survived, had she? The death of her baby daughter had broken her. He could see the shattered remains and how she pretended that she was okay. But he could tell she was dying inside, maybe outside too if the bottles of Jack meant anything.

He’d been down that road, drowned everything in the bottom of a bottle more than a few times not to recognise the same in someone else. She’d had more than one bottle in that cabinet and if he’d had to guess, more around the house.

She shifted her stockinged feet then looked at him again quickly before she avoided his eyes again. “So, drink up, I’ll go boil some water and sterilize my knife. If we’re lucky, I have something to get the bullet out besides a cleaver.”

He nodded, not sure what to say that wouldn’t tip the scale on the inner battle she waged on getting under control again. It was him, he guessed. Showing up here, like this, that brought the tears closer to the surface.

For the millionth time, he wished he could change his past and remake hers. But he couldn’t and nothing but time would ease her pain. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long, hard pull on the liquor. The burn from the alcohol cut through the pain in his throat. He took another hard swallow right after the first.

Before he had the bottle half gone, she walked back in, a bowl, medical supplies and towels in her arms. “I’ll need to lay these down first,” she murmured, so quietly he could just make out her words but he noticed the thick checkered blanket and the towels she carried to sop up his bloody mess, he assumed.

He stood and helped her strip the bed and laid down the blanket she handed him, then the towels. When he had it over the entire mattress, he turned and faced her again.

“That’s fine, just drink more of that and lie down for me.” She moved to the side table and he watched her carefully arrange medical equipment, some of it even looking familiar. The forceps and surgical needle in particular brought back memories of too many wounds dealt with by doctors.

“That’s not vet equipment.”

“No, it belonged to my uncle. This is his cabin. He was a doctor. Finish that if you can and lie down.”

She kept her face away from him and her sentences short, her tone so low he didn’t know if the alcohol was messing with his hearing or if she was whispering. He took another long pull, surprised he’d reached the bottom.

The room spun slowly and he registered even slower that she’d moved to sit beside where he’d parked himself. With a light pressure on his unhurt shoulder she indicated for him to lie down and he went easily. She bent over him to dab at his wound with antiseptic by the smell of it, but he wasn’t sure.

Suddenly he didn’t care what she did. Her loose sweater top gaped open and gave him a view of her he’d ached to see for as long as he’d known her. He’d suffer ten more bullet wounds too, just to witness the perfection of her golden skin. Her breasts were small but on her petite frame they looked rounded and full. They bulged over the pink lacy bra she wore into two ripe globes he’d dreamed of exploring. They even jiggled a little as she worked and he barely stopped himself from sighing in admiration.

Kristen was slim, petite really, and built more like a lean Scandinavian than a Latin pin-up girl.

He wouldn’t have her any other way.