Wild Rain (7 page)

Her smile faded before he could decide, his desire to smile evaporated along with it.

“I’m sorry our commitments got all tangled up,” she said with convincing sincerity. “I know you didn’t plan on getting caught out here.”
With me.

Reese wasn’t sure if he heard those last two
words with his ears or with his mind. But either way, they’d come through loud and clear.

She tucked a flashlight under her arm and lifted a lantern in each hand. “I’m going to store some of these in the other rooms as a precaution. If you’re hungry, I’ll put together something to eat in a few minutes.” She left the room before he could comment.

Which was just as well. Because in that exact instant, he realized that the adrenaline rush he’d felt, the challenge he’d perceived, had very little to do with the storm that was barreling down on them. And everything to do with the woman he was trapped in it with.

He doubted she’d have been happy to hear the string of words that revelation brought to his lips.

FOUR

Jillian glanced up the stairs, debating on whether it was worthwhile stowing a lantern on the upper level of the house. Another loud crack resounded outside, turning her head instinctively toward the front window. Damn, but it was frustrating not being able to see what was happening out there.

Compromising, she set the last lantern on the bottom step where it could be easily grabbed from either direction. Crossing her arms, she rubbed her hands over them, more in reaction to the turmoil surrounding the house than because she felt any chill. She hadn’t thought the howling and moaning could possibly get any louder. The house seemed to vibrate from the noise alone. Maybe it was just as well she couldn’t see outside. She’d done all she could to protect herself and the old house left to her by a father she’d barely known.

Jillian’s mind flashed back over all the other
houses she’d lived in during her childhood. Each one bigger and more cavernous than the last as her mother remarried farther and farther up the income ladder. It was funny, but she couldn’t seem to distinguish one from the other in her mind now. It was all just a bland, monochromatic blur of spacious, perfectly decorated rooms; full of style and taste, but empty of heart or soul.

She glanced around her, a smile coming to her lips. But this house … this old weather-beaten house had been her first, the one she’d been born in. Barely remembered, except for the ever-present feeling that it had been the only one that had ever felt like a home.

Jillian whispered a fervent prayer, asking the old house which had survived for almost thirty years, to hold out for another twenty-four hours.

Shutting out the old ghosts, she turned her mind to organizing a mental priority list of all the things she’d have to check on once the storm passed over. She shut out the possibility that she wouldn’t be around to carry out the tasks. Nothing productive came out of negative thinking. She’d made that her motto the day she’d returned from Alaska four years ago; she’d be damned if she’d give it up now.

Her thoughts strayed back to the big Aussie in her kitchen. She’d meant every word she’d said to him. She hadn’t wasted a second deciding whether she’d leave or not. But she’d certainly never meant
for someone else to get trapped by a decision she’d made, no matter how unexpected the intrusion.

Dinner. They should eat now, just in case … She turned quickly on her heel and headed back down the short hallway connecting the small front parlor to the large country-style kitchen. She loved that room. Aside from her office in the converted garage/clinic, it was where she spent the most time. Yet she paused in the doorway.

Reese’s back was to her, his shaggy blond head bent as he apparently examined her handiwork on his thigh. Her fingers twitched as she remembered the feel of his skin. There had been no give whatsoever, as if it were wrapped around marble. The stitches seemed even enough; she doubted the scar would be too noticeable when fully healed.

Allowing her gaze to drift over his broad shoulders, past his narrow waist, and down the length of the well-muscled leg propped on her kitchen chair, she couldn’t help but wonder if he had other scars on his body. She knew—sensed—on some level she couldn’t identify, that he did.

A shiver raced lightly over her skin. The sensation not chilling or unpleasant. She didn’t know much about him. But what little she did know seemed to indicate a life led just outside the rules. She couldn’t imagine him holding down some quiet, staid job, punching a time clock every day at five. Maybe it was the dramatic way they’d met.

No. This man had renegade written all over him. If the idea weren’t so completely laughable,
she might have even allowed herself a minute or two—or even ten—to imagine what it would be like to have a fling with an outlaw like Reese Braedon. To fantasize that the darkening of his blue eyes when he’d stared at her earlier had been the result of passion, not consternation.

She allowed herself a small smile. She wouldn’t catch the attention of a man like Reese Braedon if she stripped down naked, waltzed into the kitchen and offered herself up to him like a turkey on Thanksgiving.

“I don’t mind you standing there staring at me, but I figure we should eat before Ivan comes banging on the door.”

Jillian hadn’t thought a person’s entire body could blush simultaneously. She’d guessed wrong. Total humiliation rooted her to the spot. Not even when she’d overheard Richard Laxalt regaling the rest of the Valdez project crew with the story of her infamous engagement—which she’d confessed to him in private because she thought he cared, truly cared, for her. Even then she hadn’t felt this exposed.

“Never mind.” He grunted as he started to lever himself up to a stand, the motion more than the noise grabbing her attention.

She hurried into the room. “Don’t get up.” Halfway toward him, hand outstretched to hold him down if necessary, she abruptly changed direction, heading instead to the pantry to the right of the hallway door. No way would she be able to
touch him now. No matter how innocent the gesture.

Regardless of what happened in the next few hours, she was determined to stay as far away from Reese Braedon as possible. Those fantasy images had been all too vivid for her peace of mind. And for the last four years, she’d placed peace of mind above all other considerations.

Being stranded in a hurricane with a hunk—even a big, blue-eyed Australian hunk that could give Mel Gibson lessons on chemistry—was no reason to abandon that painfully learned creed. In fact, it was the best reinforcement for her current choice of lifestyle. If and when she decided to test the waters again, the very last person she’d try to wade out to would be an Aussie with an attitude.

Sighing in relief when he settled back in the chair, she stepped into the small shelved closet that held all of her canned goods and cooking supplies and set the flashlight on one end so she could see. She’d already decided to use up some of the lunch meat in the refrigerator, figuring she should save the canned food just in case things got desperate. She had stored three cardboard cartons full of emergency rations in the large storage closet in the hallway along with the medical supplies she’d carted in from the clinic, but it never hurt to be cautious.

She grabbed the bag of tortilla chips she’d opened the day before and a bag of sesame seed rolls and turned to leave, then remembered she had
a can of prefab nacho dip stashed somewhere in here. She spared a half a second wondering what Reese would make of her less than nutritious eating habits before deciding she didn’t care. Putting down the chips and bread, she began rooting through the shelves, eventually stepping up on an unopened can of shortening to grope around on the top shelf.

“Aha!” Just as her hand closed around the small round container, the can beneath her feet shifted. In the next instant, she lost her balance and fell in a painful heap on the floor of the pantry.

“What the hell are you doing in there?”

She’d managed to bang both elbows, one ankle-bone, and her fanny smarted like the dickens. “I’m fine, thanks,” she called back, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. Wonderful, she thought, make him think you’re a klutz as well as an idiot.

Discovering she still cared what he thought of her did little to improve her mood. “Don’t bother getting up,” she muttered as she gingerly rolled out of her awkward position.

“Too late.”

She froze at the sound of his raspy voice, which was far too close to still be coming from the table. She stifled a groan and pieced together her control. She’d already made a complete fool of herself, but she’d be damned if she’d give him an encore.

“You shouldn’t have gotten up.” She tucked her feet under her and knelt, wincing despite her efforts
not to when her knee pressed against the hard tile floor.

“So I heard.”

Before she could comment, strong fingers clamped around her upper arm and helped her to a stand. As soon as she was steady on her feet, he let her go.

His hand had been hot against her skin. She ignored the lingering traces of warmth. Not wanting to risk looking him in the eye just yet, she gathered the bread and chips, then ducked back down to grab the can of dip she’d dropped when she’d fallen.

“I hope you’re not into health food,” she said as she straightened back up. Anything else she’d been about to say went unspoken as her gaze connected with his.

“If I can stomach Vegemite, I can handle anything.”

His tone wasn’t light or amused, yet he’d put her at ease. Or at least as much at ease as she could be staring into those eyes of his. Clear blue crystals, they captured her complete attention, despite her inner voice urging her not to be a fool twice.

“You okay?” The small pantry muted the storm noise, allowing the soft rasp of his voice to carry easily over the short distance between them.

“No. I mean, I’m fine. A few bruises.” She wished he’d back out of the doorway. This was exactly what she’d wanted to avoid. She made a desperate
stab at humor. “What is it you guys down under say? No worries.”

He lifted his hand and reached forward, causing her to instinctively shift away, banging her sore elbow against the shelf beside her. “Ouch.”

He reached past her and grabbed the flashlight. “Jillian?”

Not for all the money in the world would she look at him now. She rubbed her elbow, keeping her gaze on the floor.

A callused fingertip prodded her chin upward until she was looking at him again. She swore to herself that she’d rather run out into the heart of the storm than let him see embarrassment on her face, and used every scrap of control to paste a blank expression on it instead.

“Would you mind moving out of the way?” She was proud of the calm sound of her voice. So what if it wobbled a bit? “You should rest that leg, and I’ve got a meal to prepare. Such as it is.”

Her attempt at lightening the sudden tension had failed miserably if his expression was anything to judge by. But then she hadn’t had much luck reading him up till now, so who knew?

“Don’t try so hard, mite.”

With his accent she couldn’t tell if he’d said “mate” or “mite.” It didn’t matter, either way it wasn’t exactly flattering. No surprise there. The tension ebbed from her all at once as she realized how ridiculous this whole thing was. Her reaction to him, worrying about what he thought, when all
she should be concerned with was surviving the storm so she could help Cleo.

“Yeah well, trying too hard is what I do best.” She bent her knees, intending to duck under his arm.

He stopped that by bracing his arm lower on the doorframe. “Self-pity doesn’t become you.”

“As far as I can tell, nothing much becomes me, so tough darts. Please move.”

“Are you afraid of the dark?”

“What?” His question caught her so off guard, she stopped trying to move his arm and looked up at him. “No,” she answered, without knowing why.

“Good.”

She heard the click of the flashlight, then the small pantry went dark. What little light reached them from the kitchen was almost completely blocked out by his large body filling the doorway.

“Come here.”

She stood completely still, her brain racing so fast to make something out of the sudden change of events that she couldn’t think at all. “Where?”

He sighed deeply. The next thing she knew she was pulled against his chest, her nose buried in the middle of the damp T-shirt stretched across the rock-hard wall of muscle.

Startled, she stood stock-still. He leaned against the door and pulled her closer against him with a brawny arm around her waist. His other hand dropped to her hair, thick fingers weaving through
it until they brushed against her nape. He expertly tucked her cheek into the crook under his arm.

“Put your arms around me,” he whispered.

Assailed with so many sensations she didn’t know where to start cataloging their effect on her, she automatically lifted her arms in compliance, looping them loosely around his lean waist.

“Tighter.”

She squeezed gently. And felt a distinct bulge under the back of his vest. His gun.

It hadn’t occurred to her to wonder why he carried one.