CHAPTER 13
Rest was going to go a long way towards Sam’s recovery; a night in her own bed was likely doing wonders, so Granny Lou left her to sleep, deciding to take Ellie to Art on the Prairie by herself. She had stayed over to help her. Dawson was reluctant to leave them the night before, but he had his last shift to finish, before his leave kicked in, and a few loose ends to tie up. Granny was a tough old bird, and he suspected she slept with .38 special close by. Nothing would get by her, he was sure of that. There was a short lapse in time between Lou taking Ellie to her art camp and Dawson arriving from his final night shift, but it was daylight, and the house was locked up tight, so she went ahead and left Sam, giving Dawson a quick heads up.
Sam stirred at the commotion of Gran and Ellie getting out the door, or perhaps it was just her imagination as she lingered between sleep and being awake. She grinned at the images filling her mind, remnants of her dream, Dawson still dancing in her head, desperate to fall back to sleep and finish where she left off. Good Lord, this man consumed her, even in her sleep. The commotion continued, and her dream faded as she slowly woke, resisting the urge completely.
A loud crash caught her attention like a cold bucket of water. Wide-awake, she listened, trying to decipher what exactly was going on outside her bedroom door. Reading her bedside clock, she knew it surely wasn’t Gran and Ellie; they should have been long on their way, but Dawson should be there any time. Relaxing with that thought, smiling, knowing he was near calmed her quickly. He was probably just finding his way around.
Another loud, abrupt crash from what sounded like the back of her house put her on high alert, certain this wasn’t her dreamy imagination now. Sitting up in bed, listening intently, she searched for her phone. Shit, she left it charging on the kitchen counter the night before. She could hear the ruckus continuing throughout the house. What the hell was going on? This wasn’t Dawson unless he was taking out walls and destroying the place.
She called out for Granny, then Dawson with no response. The noise continued, getting louder and closer as if someone was banging on the walls. But why? A pause in the disturbance sent a chill down her spine as the loud banging was replaced by heavy footsteps against her wood floors, and they were getting closer and closer. The footsteps reached her door, then stopped, as did Sam’s breathing as she sat, laced with terror, expecting the door to open. A sudden rush of banging noises and heavy pounding on her door and the walls around the hallway froze her in fear, breathless, speechless. When her doorknob began to turn, she found her voice and screamed, a loud, familiar, blood-curdling scream.
As he was getting out of his truck, a loud scream from inside had Dawson charging the door, dropping everything in his hands where he once stood. His heart sank, fearful of what he may find as he made his way through the front door. Dashing to Sam’s room, he noticed less than silence but couldn’t identify a specific noise, just an extra presence. Pure adrenaline forced him into the room, prepared to defend her from whatever he found offending her.
Sitting in the middle of her bed, blankets pulled high, Sam sat petrified, pale, and shaking with sobs, her fear evident. He held her as she crumbled in his embrace, trying to absorb as much of her pain as he could, heart broken by her appearance and eager to unravel what brought her to this point. He held her close, consoling her as she let the words fall, recounting the eerie activity that left her so unsettled and frightened.
Her fear turned to anger. She felt so helpless and paralyzed by her circumstance, and that just wasn’t her. If not bed ridden, she would have opened the door herself, as scrappy as she is, and challenged whatever or whoever stood on the other side. It may not be the wisest move, but it was just how she rolled; she was a hard ass, able to fend for herself until now. She couldn’t even take a shower without some sort of assistance, much less defend herself against even the apparent ghost that was haunting her.
He understood her frustration. Independence and tenacity were the first things he fell for, and now she was completely reliant on others; that had to be a blow. But he was committed to seeing her through her temporary state. He gave her a few minutes to collect herself while he went through the house, searching for answers. What was it that had her so frazzled?
He diligently searched each room and looked in closets; nothing seemed out of place. He finally reached the back of the house and found that the door and adjacent window were unlocked but found nothing out of place other than the lampshade appeared to be crooked; that could have all been an oversight by Lou while rushing to get Ellie to camp on time.
Without evidence of anything sinister, he didn’t have an explanation, but his intuition nudged at him. Something still didn’t feel right, and he did have that odd sense they weren’t alone when he burst through the door. He made a call. Even if it was nothing but a restless dream, it was worth letting Blake and Morgan know what had happened, if for no other reason than to have it documented should anything else happen. This could just be another episode of Sam’s mind playing tricks on her as a result of the trauma she had endured, but he would hate himself if he didn’t give it worth, have it checked out, and it turned out there was really threat.
Dawson returned to Sam’s room where she sat completely defeated, her melancholy mood looming. To her surprise, without a word, he went straight to her bathroom and started a warm bath. She watched from her bed, confused by his actions. Is he really going to take a bath? What the hell
? Before she could question his odd behavior, he returned to her bedside and scooped her up, careful not to jostle her injuries.
He kissed her gently before gingerly placing her on the dressing bench near her deep, jetted, bathtub. She hesitated briefly as he began to undress her, but with the gentle and caring look he gave her, saying everything she needed to hear without a word shed, she gave in, understanding the depth of his intentions. He tenderly lowered her into the warm bubbling water, careful to cushion her bad leg on the make shift cushion he made with extra towels on the tub’s edge. He wanted to take care of her, protect her, help her feel better. His thoughtful loving act replaced any anxieties she previously had, and the fear that plagued her was washed away.
The intimacy of this act warmed her body to the core. It was seductive, without a doubt, but it was as much emotional for her as a physical craving. He was so careful with her, understanding and tender. Her larger than life alpha, macho, sex God was warm and affectionate as he cherished every inch of her. He was finding his way in, becoming a part of her, and that’s exactly where she was beginning to want him…for always.
He was mesmerized by her beauty, as much inside as out. She was captivating. He was completely and utterly taken by her, craved her, and completely connected to her. The deep-rooted emotions he was feeling weren’t of carnal nature; it was pure intimacy, fiery, and sensitive, full-blown passion that was so thrilling it stung. Her walls were falling, and he couldn’t wait to be all the way in. She was the one who he never knew he wanted.
Dawson kissed her again as he lifted her from the bath where he helped her dry and dress. The single act divulged everything that was left to be said, yet not a word was shared, which left them as bonded as ever. He made her comfortable on the couch while he made her a sandwich and tea, when the spell was temporarily broken by a knock at the door.