I fell asleep that night to thoughts of Anabeth and the sound of rain. Woke up to them both, too. The rain won out as the most worrisome. Steady, solid, and heavy, the water poured from the sky. It continued as I got ready for the day, as I did my best not to think about Anabeth and Miss, and as I slugged back a second cup of coffee. I needed to get to work, to make sure the mill was ready for the storm that would likely shut us down for a few days. That would definitely give me something to focus on besides my past.

The drive in sucked, the roads already slick and the run-off areas already filling. We were in for a walloping with this storm, that was for sure. And if the faces of the men working the mill floor were any indication, they all knew it.

We needed to prepare. There was a creek out behind the mill that would likely breach its banks. As usual, Alder seemed to be one step ahead of me.

“Sand will be here in twenty,” he yelled as he walked in through the rear door of the mill. “We’re going to need to bolster the back doors and the north wall of the mill to keep the water out. Once we’re done, we’ll be filling bags for town. This is our day, gentlemen. No lumber, no harvest, no orders going out. We’re bagging sand.”

I was still setting up the bags for filling, waiting on the sand delivery, when I received a text message from an unknown number. I assumed it would be work-related, but something about the time, about the darkness of the day, and maybe even some sort of intuition had me swiping to check.

It wasn’t about work.

Miss died this morning.

Anabeth. The world stopped, the pain those words caused amplified by the knowledge that she’d likely been alone up there when her grandmother passed. Had been forced to deal with such a loss without a shoulder to lean on or a hand to hold. Anabeth was a strong woman—independent and intelligent and an army of one for sure—but she was still just a girl losing her last family member. All by herself.

Guilt had never felt so cold.

“Something wrong?”

I looked up from my phone, meeting Alder’s concerned gaze. Hell, every one of the mill guys was looking at me. I could only imagine what they’d seen on my face to make them stop like that.

“Miss Hansen died this morning.”

The men around us seemed to take a collective breath. Miss Hansen had been well-known and liked in town for decades. She was a force in my own life but also for just about every man in that room.

Alder sighed, a tic in his jaw the only sign that this news hit him at all. I didn’t need to tell him who the message was from for him to know. “You should go.”

I looked back at my phone. No request for help, no sign that she needed me in the least. Still, I had to make sure.

What can I do?

The bubbles indicating an incoming reply appeared almost instantly. I couldn’t look away from the screen, not sure whether I wanted to see her ask for help for once in her life or not. Not sure which response would make me feel less impotent when it came to her.

Her answer didn’t take long.

Thanks, but I’m okay right now. The Molnar’s Funeral Home people are here to take her back to Rock Falls. Once they’re gone, I’m heading to their offices to make her final arrangements and will let you know the details once I get back.

No help needed.

“Doesn’t appear that she needs me.” As if she ever had.

“She’ll have to call the funeral home,” Alder said. “Make arrangements for a service.”

“She says she’s heading there now.”

“You should go with her.”

I started to shake my head no, but Alder stopped me with a look.

“I had to make every decision when Dad died. Sitting in old man Molnar’s office and picking out the coffin, the ceremony, the suit for his body…it was the loneliest two hours of my life.” Alder laid a hand on my shoulder, his eyes holding mine. His face too damn serious. “I understand you have history with her, stuff that I don’t even know, but she’s alone out there and this is her only family. She needs someone right now, which is our job as caretakers of this town and its residents.”

But life with Anabeth had never been that simple. “And what if that someone isn’t me?”

“What if it is?”

I slipped my hand into my pocket, fiddling with the keys there. Sandbags and water levels and constant rain bombarded my thoughts, but none of that was enough to cover the image of blue eyes and red hair that haunted me. Of her crumpled and crying over the body of her grandmother. Of her in pain.

Decision made. “I’ll be back later to help with the sandbags.”

“Yeah, yeah. You say that now.” Alder waved me off, turning back to get to work before hollering, “Be careful out there.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant to be careful in the rain, careful that I didn’t have a run-in with the Soul Suckers, or careful with my heart around Anabeth. Any of the three could be deadly, really.

Too many minutes later, I turned onto the sloppy, muddy road that led to the Hansen property. The creek it crossed wouldn’t take much more to top its banks just like down by the mill, and the road would likely be blocked. If the earthen dam higher up the mountain—the one that controlled the flow from the melting snowcaps all summer—failed, the road would likely be completely washed away. Anabeth would be stuck up in that house all alone, with no way to come into town. No way to get help if she needed it.

That would need to be dealt with, and soon.

My truck slid as I pulled into her driveway, practically hydroplaning on the standing water. The ground was already sodden, the limits of the area reached. A flood was definitely coming, one that we could only hope wouldn’t wreak too much havoc. I had enough of that to deal with.

I hurried to the porch and knocked on the door, hoping Anabeth hadn’t left yet. Not wanting to be too late…again. She opened the door a few seconds later, her chin up and her makeup on but her face pink and streaked with tears. Looking so fucking beautiful and fierce in her grief.

Putting on a show.

“Bishop,” she whispered, reminding me of the day before when I’d shown up the same way—uninvited, possibly unwanted, but needing to be there.

“Thought you could use a friend today.”

And for possibly only the second time since I’d met her, that rock-hard facade broke. Her shoulders slumped, her body curling in on itself as she surrendered to her grief. Every inch of her softened, and tears fell down her pale, freckled cheeks unabashed. Broke wasn’t a strong enough word. She crumbled right in front of me.

There was nothing to do but reach for her, grab her, and pull her into my arms. The way I used to when I knew she needed affection but was too damn scared to ask for it. The way I did the night before I left for college, holding her close and promising her that we would always be us. The way I did that last spring break week, when I’d made love to that girl knowing I’d be asking her to marry me in just a few short months.

The way I’d been wanting to do again for fourteen long fucking years.

Anabeth clung to my arms, shaking, sobbing silently against me. There was no stopping the feeling of rightness that pelted me with her against my chest. No way to protect myself from falling that much deeper into an attraction I knew would drown me.

My heart still wanted her, possibly more than ever before.

And I was going to hate myself when she broke it again.

---

Anabeth

The ride back from the funeral home seemed to take forever. Or maybe I was too tired from all the activity that morning and desperate to take to my bed. My grandma’s death hadn’t hit me yet, not really, but I knew it would. I’d cracked a little when Bishop had shown up at my door, but the dam holding back my emotions hadn’t fully broken yet. It would. And soon.

He needed to drive faster.

“You okay?”

I turned away from the window, shrugging. I couldn’t look at him, not fully, not without breaking all that much sooner. Instead, I focused on his hands as they gripped the steering wheel. On those long, thick fingers that could be so gentle. That had held my hand and stroked my arm as I’d sat in the office at the funeral home going over wood tones for the urn her ashes would be put into and if I wanted flowers, music, and a video presentation of pictures of my grandmother alive. As I’d decided all the things that would cement the fact that the one person who’d ever shown me a drop of true care and love was gone.

Well, one person other than the man currently driving me home.

“As much as I can be.” I watched as his fingers tightened, as the muscles in his wrists seemed to flex. I could practically feel the tension radiating off of him—he didn’t like my answer. I almost smiled at that. He always had wanted me to open up more. And perhaps that wasn’t such a bad idea. “Thanks for coming with me. I really do appreciate it.”

His grip loosened. “I know how much Miss meant to you.”

She had. She really had. That woman hadn’t even known I’d existed when my mother—her only daughter—had died. The two hadn’t spoken in years from what she’d told me, and she’d been shocked to discover the daughter she’d raised and lost had had a daughter of her own. But by that time, I’d already been in and out of foster homes for most of my life. Being the child of an addict wasn’t easy or safe. Every time my mother got busted for possession or soliciting, I’d been taken away and sent to live with strangers again. Some were nice, some were…not so nice. None of them truly seemed to care about me.

But then Miss had shown up at my caseworker’s office with a lawyer by her side. She’d actually asked me if I wanted to come stay with her, had taken the time to introduce herself and tell me about what life with her as my guardian would be like.

I’d jumped at the chance.

So Miss had taken me home with her, and I’d moved in to her little farmhouse on the ridge surrounded by a forest so deep and old, it made me feel wonderfully invisible. She’d taught me about the gifts she’d been born with, the ones that showed her glimpses of the future, the ones that settled the tea leaves just so or influenced her to pull a particular card from the tarot deck. Miss taught me to stand up for myself, to use my charm to my advantage, to brew the perfect cup of tea, and to understand that not all in the world was as it appeared.

She’d taught me to be me, and now she was gone.

Seriously, Bishop needed to drive faster before the dam holding my heart together broke and I flooded his truck with my tears.

“Is this rain ever going to let up?” I asked, trying hard to focus on something other than the pain building inside of me.

“I sure do hope so, but it’s a stalled front. We’re in for a world of hurt if it doesn’t move along soon.”

“You think we might have a flood?”

“I think there are a lot of old earthen dams up in these hills that have seen too much drought lately. I don’t trust them to hold up. Plus, the ground’s too hard and dry to absorb much of this. That’s why there’s standing water already on your driveway—it has nowhere to go.”

He would know—he’d spent more time exploring the mountainside and learning about this area than any of the other Kennard boys. “Well, I hope it stops soon. I’d like to head into town and see what’s changed. Maybe hike a bit up in the hills.”

Bishop stayed silent for a long minute, the only sound the rumble of the engine and the thump of the wiper blades as they slid back and forth over the windshield.

“That’s a bad idea,” he finally said. My eyes darted to his face of their own volition, my head cocking as I took in the heavy frown he wore.

“Why do you say that?”

“We’ve had trouble recently.”

I nearly rolled my eyes. “I know my way around these woods. Besides, I can take care of myself.”

“Or the guys causing trouble can show up and take care of you themselves.”

“Well, that’s quite the positive take on something so simple.”

“That’s reality, sweetheart.”

His words caused the doors inside of me to slam closed, flooding my mind with anger and frustration. I hated it when men called me sweetheart in that tone. The one that practically mocked me, as if I had no clue what I was talking about. I worked in Vegas—mob bosses and shady characters were a staple in my world. I wasn’t ignorant of how badly things could go, but apparently Bishop thought I was.

If Miss hadn’t raised me to be kind when someone took the time to help me, I’d have called him an asshole.

Instead, I kept my mouth shut the rest of the way back to the farmhouse, my leg shaking and my arms crossed. Stiff. Unyielding. Maybe I wouldn’t cry once I got inside—maybe I’d throw some breakables to use up the raging frustration flowing through me.

Maybe I’d throw things at Bishop.

But frustration and irritation reminded me of other things, of times when Bishop had pushed me just like he was now, and I’d lashed out at him. We’d fight, me flying off the handle and him staying irritatingly calm until I’d crack. Until I’d go to slap his hand away or push him back when he tried to corner me, and I’d grab him instead. Hold him close. Until the emotions flooding me would take a turn from anger to lust, and I’d kiss that annoying smirk right off his handsome face.

I needed to get away from him before I did something so utterly stupid. Because I would. I wanted to. Wanted to feel a connection to someone so badly.

The second he came to a stop in my driveway, I pushed open the door and stepped out into the storm, escaping. “Thanks for the ride.”

Bishop wouldn’t let me go, though. Of course not. He jumped down on his side, hurrying around the front of the truck after me. “Anabeth, wait. Listen to me.”

He grabbed my arm, stopping me in my tracks. I slipped at the abruptness of it, but Bishop would never let me fall. Even soaking wet, the man had the strength to hold me up. His touch went from gentle and safe to harder and more dangerous, though. One hand on my arm, the other sliding down to my hip. Holding me in place with his fingers brushing against my ass. Tugging me against his chest to keep me on my feet. Bringing us together from shoulders to knees.

Touching. So much touching.

The rain had already soaked us both to the bone, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t care that I was wet and cold. I shivered, the damp air stealing all my body heat. Or maybe that wasn’t just the weather, because Bishop had his hands on me. And he wasn’t letting go. Instead, he stared down at me with heat and fire in his eyes, with his want so obvious. So wild. So close. His face, his lips, those steel-gray eyes I had always loved so much were all so very close to me. Right up against me.

And just like I remembered, he smelled of spearmint.

The dam inside of me finally burst, but it wasn’t sadness that came rushing over me. I lunged forward, clinging to his shoulders as I pressed my lips to his. As I stole a kiss from him. Bishop didn’t hesitate to respond—didn’t freeze or balk or recoil. No, the man dove right in with me, picking me up off the ground and wrapping my legs around his waist as his tongue invaded my mouth. As he took over my simple act and turned it into something hotter, something so hot and wet, so strong. Into a kiss that refused to be tamed.

There was nothing gentle or kind about the act, nothing sweet. Bishop gripped me as if afraid I’d pull away, his fingers digging deep into my flesh. Demanding I stay. His tongue slicked against mine like it belonged there, his lips refusing to release mine. This was more than a kiss, it was a take-over—hostile and rough. Almost painful in its intensity. Almost perfect in its force.

A kiss fourteen years in the making.

Unable to stop, unable to hold still, I rolled my hips against his, pressing against the hard ridge between us. Loving the little grunt he gave and wanting so much more from him. But the rain never let up, and the cold finally got to me. As lightning flashed from across the valley, I trembled, breaking the kiss and pressing my forehead against his as I caught my breath. As I fought to control the way my heart wanted to leap out of my chest.

“Fuck, Anabeth,” Bishop said, panting as he let my legs slide back to the ground. As he held me tight and kept his big body against mine. “What are we doing?”

That question pulled me up fast. What were we doing? Or rather, what was I doing… Other than making even more mistakes. I couldn’t hurt him again. I couldn’t take him down that same path only to walk away. Or have him leave me behind.

“I’m sorry.” I pulled out of his hold, curling on myself. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Bishop’s face hardened and he looked away, his anger rolling off him in waves. “Shouldn’t have, but you did.”

I did. And I wanted to do it again, which made me whisper another, “I’m sorry.”

“You said that.” He pinned me with a hard glare, those steely gray eyes burning. “What do you want, Anabeth? What do I need to do here?”

Kiss me again. Tell me it’ll be okay. Make me feel something other than pain and loss.

All impossible things. So I lied. “Nothing. I want nothing.”

“Nothing. From me.”

The hurt in his voice killed me, but I held my tongue. Of course I wanted things from Bishop Kennard. I wanted more of his kisses, to see him look at me with love and affection, to have his warm body wrapped around mine at night. I wanted to share stories of our days over dinner and wake up to his smiling face. I wanted everything—but I didn’t deserve a single bit of it. I didn’t deserve him.

When I didn’t speak again, he grunted a frustrated sort of noise, his lips twisting into a frown. “Fine. I’ll give you your nothing, Anabeth.”

He spun on his heel and stormed off, heading for his truck. Leaving me behind just as I’d left him. And as I stood there in the rain, as the cold and the loss and the grief pulled me under the foamy waves, I knew the pain and heartbreak building inside of me was exactly what I deserved for lying to him. Again.