“So why did you?”
“It’s complicated. You can turn around now. I think I got them all.”
He stepped back as she dropped the cotton ball in the trash. She looked like she might say more, so he waited. But when she finally spoke, her words surprised him.
“It was Daddy all over again.” He watched her blink hard against tears. “I didn’t want anyone else to die while I sat there and did nothing.”
“Sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me sweetheart.”
He put his arms around her and pulled her in until her forehead butted against this chest. “Sweetheart,” he murmured again, gently stroking her back. “I’m okay. Because of you, I’m all right.”
She nestled closer so that her cheek lay above his thundering heart. She wasn’t wearing a bra under her T-shirt and the soft press of her breasts against his bare chest was a whole different kind of torture.
A moment later, she let go a deep breath and slid her arms around his waist. “I was so scared, Dalton.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t want you to die, too.”
He pulled back, not far enough to break her hold, but so he could see her face. “Look at me,” he said.
She hesitated, then raised her head and looked at him.
She seemed so wounded. He wondered how such a strong woman could be brought so low, and was touched that she was allowing him to see it.
“What you went through with your dad was terrible, Raney. And I hate that you carry that memory in your head. But it wasn’t your fault he died. Or his fault that he left you. Shit happens and you can only do your best to get past it.”
He watched tears build. He could drown in those eyes. Lose himself forever without even putting up a fight. “Now brace yourself, sweetheart, because this is important.”
“Don’t call me—”
He dipped his head and kissed her.
She went stiff in his arms. But her lips were as soft as he remembered. Still trembly, a little salty from her tears, but not reluctant. Which made him bolder. He kept kissing her, trying not to rush her, but not wanting to stop, either. Then she brought her hands up, palms flat against his chest. He thought she was telling him to back off and started to do so, when her arms slid up and around his neck.
His thoughts scattered. It was the kind of kiss a man in prison dreamed of. Slow and sweet and perfect in every way because the woman in his arms was the only one he wanted there.
When she finally drew back, they were both out of breath. She ran her hands down to his elbows and back to his shoulders. He almost shivered at the contact. “You’re so lumpy and swollen.”
“Your fault.” He tried to kiss her again, but she backed off even more.
Despite the amusement in her eyes, she gave him what he’d come to think of as The Raney Look of Disapproval. “I was talking about the yellow jacket lumps.”
“Me, too,” he lied, and was going in for another try when her sister’s voice sounded on the other side of the bathroom door.
“Raney, you two better stop whatever you’re doing in there. Mama’s on the phone and I can’t hold her off any longer.”
* * *
The ride back to Rough Creek was long and uneventful. They left early to avoid commuter traffic and were out of Waco and heading north by eight o’clock. As expected, Joss took shotgun and Raney drove, while Dalton sprawled in the bucket seat behind Joss. Raney couldn’t see him in the rearview mirror because of the angle. But she could feel him back there, like a watchful presence just out of sight and waiting to pounce. It made her nervous.
She didn’t lack experience with men. She’d even been engaged once—for all of two weeks. But Dalton was a different kind of animal altogether.
For one thing, he was older than she was. Not by much, but between his tour in Iraq and his time in prison, his realm of experience was much broader and harsher than hers. That made him an unknown entity. He had seen violence and death. He had caused one death here, and probably more in Iraq, and that had to affect a person. Yet, he didn’t want to talk about it, so how could she ever know him, or learn to trust him, if he kept that part of himself closed off?
She liked things neat and orderly. Especially emotion. But with Dalton, she could sense control slipping away. He infuriated her. Shocked her. Made her laugh and feel things she didn’t understand. Dalton was chaos. That frightened her.
And yet . . .
She glanced up and was startled to find him looking back at her in the rearview mirror. He had shifted so that he had a clear line of sight, which meant she did, too.
He winked at her then waggled his dark eyebrows like a flirtatious used car salesman. It was so unexpected and absurd she almost burst out laughing.
Meanwhile, oblivious to the foolishness going on behind her, Joss went on a rant about having to leave so early they couldn’t even order real room service but had to settle for muffins and yogurt, then moved seamlessly into a rambling monologue about her concerts, the songs she was writing, the dear friends who had abandoned her in the Walmart parking lot, and whether she should name her daughter Aria or Melody or Star.
“Actually, they didn’t abandon me,” she admitted in hour two. “I was tired of arguing with Grady, so I got off the bus.”
“And they drove away?” Dalton asked from the backseat.
“I insisted. That much tension isn’t good for the baby.”
“But being stranded in a Walmart parking lot is?” Raney muttered.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Raney. You never get worked up about anything except your horses and the ranch.”
“I’ve seen her worked up,” Dalton said. “It was something I’ll never forget.”
Raney glared at him in the mirror.
He waggled his brows again.
“When?” Joss asked.
“Yesterday.
