CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Shea snagged her helmet and helped Eric lift the heavy motorcycle to its wheel, then followed while he pushed and grunted it over moss-covered rocks and rotted branches. The greenery beneath her bare feet proved sharp and prickly, but none of it prickled as much as her conscience.

She avoided its nagging by watching him work. There was a time she thought he might have been of Hispanic descent, his skin the color of caramel and his hair dark and sexy. Now she knew he was simply one of those guys who tanned easily. At the first hint of summer sun, he’d turn brown. Sweat glistened at the back of his neck. His short black hair curled under his ears, just barely, just enough that she wanted to run her fingertips over his head and mess with it. He must’ve gotten cut in the accident.

Dried blood still etched the side of his face and jaw, but not once had he complained at the task he’d set himself to. He just kept pushing and grunting. A fallen log covered with moss required more effort. His booted toes dug in. Muscles bunched beneath the back pockets of his denim jeans. His arms stretched forward. He grunted when the leather jacket rode up, lifting his shirt and revealing the tanned muscles of his lower back, his leather belt, and the black band of his underwear advertising Hanes.

If this had been another time and if the circumstances were different, she would have snagged that elastic advertisement and snapped it—just for fun. Eric would have been all over her in play. They would have laughed and wrestled and…

But this was not that other time. Shea kept watching and remembering, until at last he cleared the log and leaned the bike against the trunk of a huge, old oak, itself beset with the climbing nemesis of Irish ivy. Shrugging out of his leather jacket, he tossed it aside and brushed the sweat and blood from his forehead with the back of one hand. They both smelled like bog, but poor Eric hadn’t had time to change clothes like she had, much less boots. It hadn’t slowed him down. Not once.

Shea stalled the inevitable. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” he growled, his face flushed, but his gaze filled with the sincere need for truth. “Do you want to explain to me why you’ve got three assholes from France on your ass, and now some jerk from the Mideast? I’m pretty sure he just cursed you out in Arabic. What the hell are you into, Shea? Heroin? Hashish? Meth? God, just tell me. I need to know what I’m fighting.”

Judgment day had come. There was nowhere to run and nowhere she’d rather be.

“No drugs,” she murmured, hesitant how far back she should go or what to tell him. There was so much. She wished she were invisible.

Eric lowered his butt to the lush green forest floor and sat cross-legged, his wrists on his knees and his holster on the ground beside him. “I’ve got all day, Shea, and it’s quiet at the moment. That guy might return. Might not. Tell me what you do know so I can figure what to do next. Who’s chasing you and why? What do you have that they want?”

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat a bigger hurdle than she expected. Dropping slowly to her knees a few feet opposite him, she slid out of Rosie’s leather jacket and tucked her bare feet beneath her. Leaning onto one hand, she met meet his gaze.

“I miss Cheyenne,” she said softly, needing Eric to understand the impetus that had propelled her from his life.

He bobbed his head once and gulped. “I miss her, too,” he said, his voice husky and tight.

Shea stifled the sob that always choked out of her at the mention of her daughter. She gathered her courage and kept going. “Remember the story you made up about the three, dirty, little pigs? You told it to her that night she decided she wanted to sleep in her sandbox.”

His eyes filled with tenderness for the child they’d created and lost. “I do.”

She lowered her head and studied the myriad of plant life beneath her hand. Baby ferns curled around her fingers. Soft, green moss cushioned the heel of her palm. A thousand spears of tiny pink flowers shot up through the velvet carpet. Everywhere she looked, she saw Cheyenne. She would’ve loved picking those flowers and pinching them into a bouquet to give—me.

“Remember when the mother pig dropped out of heaven one day and made them wash their hands before they could eat dinner? Remember how surprised they were that they even had a mother? Remember when she fixed them buttered corn and roast beef and mashed potatoes and wouldn’t let them eat the Twinkies and cotton candy and all the junk food they’d been eating?” Her heart swelled with the sweet memory of her handsome husband with his tiny daughter on his lap. He’d cocked his head to peer into Cheyenne’s face while he told the story, his baby girl nestled inside the circle of his arms. Dressed in his uniform of the day, he’d been the perfect Prince Charming for that little girl. And I miss him.

Eric cleared his throat, and Shea didn’t have to look to know the cords in his neck were strung tight, or that he’d wiped his face on his sleeve. Eric’s heart was as soft as those Twinkies in his make-believe fairytale, but twice as sweet. Maybe three times.

Shea struggled to control her ragged emotions, a difficult chore every day of her life. The green tendrils hanging from the tree branches overhead all seemed to have reached a point where they ceased falling and curled upward again, stretching for the sun. She was the same as that ivy. She’d reached the lowest point in her lifetime. To continue, she needed the comfort of the only one in her pitiful life who understood the canyon of her grief.

The laughing jackdaws in the forest broke the stillness. Water dripped somewhere nearby. Suddenly, Cheyenne was there in spirit, if only because she would’ve loved a picnic in this magical setting. She would’ve climbed up every low branch and invented her own stories of unicorns and leprechauns, because she was so much like her father. Full of light and life.

Shea opened her mouth, but all that came out was a creaky, “I...” She tried again, positive she deserved nothing this kind man had to offer, but just as sure she needed him to understand why she’d left him.

“I...” was all that lifted from her parched throat. Her paralyzed brain had refused admission to her vocabulary. She’d been struck dumb by her own sin.

Eric seemed not to have noticed her failure. He rolled to his knees and crawled over the weeds and flowers between them. He didn’t stop until he cupped one hand to her chin. “Hey. It’s me. Remember?”

She blinked the tears off her eyelashes and held her breath. He had every reason to hate her, but there he was, reaching for her. She sucked in a sob and took the chance she’d been given and looked into his eyes. The rest of her life came down to this one defining moment. Either he loved her still and would find a way to forgive her, or she had no reason to live.

“Do you remember the name I chose for that mother pig?” he asked, his thumb tenderly rubbing a circle on her chin.

Of course, she remembered. It was the reason the Reynolds family had giggled together all those years ago. The reason they’d all snorted like those three dirty, little pigs. Not now. She tried to speak it again, but the simple, one word answer caught in her throat.

He edged closer, his lips inches away. “I gave that mama pig a very special name, one that belonged to the smartest, prettiest, most loving mother in the whole world,” he whispered. “That’s the only mama our little girl loved. I named her after you, Shea. It made Cheyenne laugh. Remember?”

God, how could I ever forget? A tiny cry for rescue crept up from her soul, needing to be heard. “Tell me that story again,” Shea cried, her voice tight with the pain of losing her child. “I... I really want to be that mama pig again.”

With a groan, Eric bowled her over, his hand behind her head to cushion her fall, and his tears raining down on her face. Strong fingers skimmed over her cheekbones. The length of his body and legs pressed the length of hers. “Talk to me, Shea. Please. Tell me where you’ve been, and what you’ve been doing. We could’ve gone through everything together. Why did you leave?”

“I... I couldn’t stay.” The pain in her chest twisted upon itself. “You were so sad when we lost her, and I... I let you down.”

He leaned his forehead to hers. Nose to nose they faced each other. “No, you didn’t. Life let us down, baby. It let us both down. I needed you then, and I need you now.” The soft cushion of moss beneath Shea comforted her nearly as much as the weight of the sweaty, sensuous male body crushing her. The pads of his thumbs caressed her temples while his fingers threaded into her hair. “Maybe more.”

The pain eked out one word at a time. “I… I couldn’t stay. I was afraid.”

A shadow shifted over his face. “Of what? Of me?”

She stroked his cheek. “No. Of me. I couldn’t think straight. You greeted everyone at the viewing like you were glad to see them, and I wanted to be strong like you, but I… I couldn’t. I was so angry. So mad. I hated everyone back then, and every hand you clasped and every other person you comforted pushed me farther away until… I broke.”

Shea didn’t want to relive the day she’d run, but she needed him to understand “I tried to act strong, Eric. I tried to be brave and I tried to help everyone else when they cried, when they said they didn’t know how I could live without her. What a stupid thing to say to me. God, Eric, to me! The mother of that little girl! I still can’t live without her.”

He pulled her forehead to his lips. “I know, baby. I know.” For the first time, he sounded as broken as she felt, only that wasn’t right. He’d sounded heartbroken before, only this time, her ears were opened wide. Shea finally heard Eric’s pain through the noisy grief in her mind.

There was painful courage in the realization that they shared the same depth of grief; that he understood precisely what she meant. “But one morning, I couldn’t pretend I was strong anymore, Eric. I couldn’t live without Cheyenne, and I didn’t care about anyone else. Cheyenne was my baby, and I... I...” She closed her eyes and wished the unthinking world of people who meant well away. “I just let go. I fell off the tightrope I’d been walking, and I… I…” Left.

Rolling to her side, Eric pulled her into the crook of his arm, cradling her as if she’d never deserted him when he’d needed her most. “It’s okay. Sh-h-h. Trust me, Shea. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“But it’s not,” she insisted, fighting to breathe. Eric needed to see who she’d become, not who she once was. The Shea he’d fallen in love with had died with Cheyenne. She didn’t exist anymore and Eric had to love her now for the woman she’d survived into, not who she used to be. He had to open his eyes and see the updated version of Shea Powers Reynolds. The ex-wife. The ex-mother. The ex-everything.

The moment her fingertips touched his scruffy face, he closed his eyes. A shudder raced through him, melting her heart, but Eric had to know everything, and he had to know it now. Before she chickened out. “I kept falling,” she whined. “Nothing helped. Not distance. Not booze. I thought I had to go far, far away before I... before I...”

A wicked tsunami of guilt crested high over the top of her endurance, threatening to crush her. But Eric didn’t seem repulsed one bit, his fingers gently stoking the back of her neck as if offering a prelude to foreplay. He ran his hand over her dirty, short hair, exhaling a deep breath. “I should’ve seen it coming. It’s my fault. I knew the signs. You had a bad case of baby blues after Cheyenne was born, too. Remember?”

“Yes,” she admitted, recalling it well. Those were some other, very dark days. “I had awful mood swings. One minute I was over-the-top-happy to be a mom, and the world was perfect, but the next, I felt as if I wasn’t good enough or perfect enough or—”

“Or happy enough or thin enough or anything enough,” he finished for her. “You cut your hair then, too.” He smoothed a hand over her scant locks, the kindest gleam in his eyes. “You had a natural hormonal reaction, and believe me, I understand, Shea, I do. The pressures of being a new mom are enormous. It didn’t help that I deployed and left you to deal with a newborn all by yourself. I worried about you the whole time I was overseas. Remember how often I called home?”

“I do.” She snuggled against his ribs, relishing how her body awakened to the corners and angles of the only man she’d ever made love with. Twining her bare feet around his ankles, she needed to be as close to him as possible.

“God, what was I thinking,” he murmured against her forehead. “I’m sorry. I should’ve seen it coming. I knew how happy Cheyenne’s birth made you, even if it made you a little crazy afterward.” He placed a soft, moist kiss in the middle of her grimy forehead. “I saw this type of thing happen enough overseas.”

His fingertips carved through her grimy hair. “It’s called complex bereavement. Untreated, it turns into severe depression. I should’ve recognized it and gotten help for you sooner. Faster. Before you ever felt that you needed to leave me in order to protect me. I should’ve protected you first. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, baby. I hope you still know that.”

Gah. Her heart opened wide at the gift he’d just poured into her soul. Forgiveness.

She lifted her chin, needing to reclaim the man she’d once run from. “Kiss me.”

He dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers, igniting the ember that had lain cold for too long. Shea parted her lips and let the warm coffee-taste of his mouth and the calluses on his palms fill her up and break her open. She’d almost forgotten the pleasant rub of his whiskers on her chin and lips. The way he asked for more without speaking, and the way her body responded with an eager, Yes.

His fingers moved lightly over her clothes, peeling the henley and pants away. She shifted her weight to accommodate every last tug until he traced her bare stomach, his fingertips as hot as branding irons, his palms wide and strong.

Shea had no will nor resistance to the only man she’d ever loved. Her body clenched at the contact. Eric had always been her one obsession. The taste of his skin was a heady single-barrel kind of craving.

Easing away from her mouth, he cocked his neck to look down at what he’d bared. She’d left her wet bra back in Rosie’s room. Her panties, too. His breath caught as his gaze scrolled over her breasts down to her nakedness below. A glowing smile brightened his handsome face. “You’re stunning,” he whispered, more gravel to his tone than she’d remembered. There he was once more, the happy, hungry man she’d fallen in love with.

“You came for me,” she murmured, her love for him turning into warm anticipation.

He licked his lips again. “And now baby, you’re going to come for me,” he teased as sweetly as if they’d never parted. He closed the distance and covered her mouth with his. His fingers danced over her stomach on their way to her core, filling her with an aching need to absorb every last bit of him.

Her body remembered his lips and tongue. She tugged his shirt out of his jeans, her tongue making mad passionate love with his. He couldn’t kiss her hard enough, deep enough, or long enough.

Easing away from him, she melted. The sight of his sculpted body drew her like a moth to the fire. This man’s body was pure porn. The need to feel him deep inside urged her hands up his abdomen and over his chest, shoving his shirt out of her way in record time. His clothes had to go. The snap on his jeans took little time. His zipper. She licked her lips as she pushed his jeans out of her way. He assisted, kicking off his boot and then his pants.

Pushing his back to the moss-covered floor, she couldn’t wait. Soft morning light spilled across his handsome face, taking her to another day when she was the anxious virgin. Make that the anxious and rowdy virgin. God, she’d wanted his body so badly that first night on their honeymoon. He’d been too much the gentleman, and all she’d wanted was him stripped bare and inside her. Spreading her legs, Shea straddled him once more, her palms flat to his chest, wanting every bit of exposed flesh until…

What’s this? Five vertical lines marred what had once been a glorious six-pack. Scars. The last time she’d seen this belly it had been tan and unblemished. Perfect. “What happened? Tell me.”

Eric shrugged, his eyes still big and black with lust, his hands on her hips. Tugging her downward, a smile curled his lips when her breasts flattened to his chest. “Brazil happened. An operation went bad. That’s all.”

“But someone stabbed you. I want to know the whole story.”

“And you shall, but not now.” He bucked up from the ground just enough to get his point across. A salacious grin replaced his gentle smile. “I want inside, Shea. Now. No more talk.”

She demurred; ready to give this man whatever he wanted. He was right. Words could wait. Most of them. “I love you, Eric. I never stopped. You need to know that.”

A spark flashed down deep in the brown. He clutched the sides of her face and lowered her to his mouth. “And I love you, baby. Only you.”

He kissed her hard, tangling his tongue with hers and reclaiming her mouth. Then her chin as he lifted her body over his.

She hugged his head to her while he latched onto her nipple. Energy snapped through her body in a fever pitch. Every last muscle clenched with anticipation. She clamped her knees, not completely claimed, but bursting with an inner explosion of electric fireworks that could. Not. Wait.

Ah! He wasn’t inside, yet already he’d lit her body with the delightful detonations of coming. Shea sunk her nose into his hair. How she craved this wonderfully delicious man.

No sooner had her unexpected climax slowed, when he rolled her onto her back. “So soon?” he asked, a dashing glimmer in his eye, and his thumb running laps around her wet nipple. “I thought you’d want more than just nipple kisses after all this time.”

“I do.” She grabbed the cheeks of his ass, breathless as the storm within her.

He lowered himself with excruciating slowness. Onto her. Into her. Watching as he sank lower and deeper. Filling her. Reminding her of the woman she used to be.

“I’ve missed you, Shea,” he whispered, nuzzling her ear. He remained over her in pushup position and didn’t stop watching while he plundered her body, inch by incredible inch. Up and down he flexed. In and out.

“Eric,” she moaned, needing all of him. Fast. Hard.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his eyes big and dark and taking her all in, his fingers trailing over her ribs and down to clutch her hips. “Tell me what you need, Shea.”

“You,” she growled, her hands in his hair. “Only. Ever. You.”

It happened again. Energy arced. The storm surge built to a thunderous, crashing crescendo. “Now baby?” he asked, his voice tight and needy. “Are you ready for me? You feel like it. Now?”

She couldn’t speak. Digging her fingernails into his back, they came together, claiming each other, right down to their souls.

Growling, he sucked a moist trail of fire down her jaw to the crook of her neck. And there he stopped, his breath hot against her skin. The corners of her mouth lifted into the first real smile in months. Aftershocks set off another round of clenching mini-fireworks. She held on tightly, sure that she and Eric had just set a new record for pleasure. This was more than make-up sex. This was legendary sex.

Just as her heart filled with love and relief, grief swept in, an undertow she couldn’t escape. The memory of Cheyenne’s death eclipsed the afterglow. It hurled Shea back to the day she thought she’d lost everything. The vision of her beautiful baby’s bright brown eyes full of light and life, so much like her father’s eyes, shimmered into view. The same clear color as the man who held Shea in a loving hold—who couldn’t seem to face her.

‘What have I done?’ cried up from her broken heart as she held Eric tight. But then she knew. They’d made their perfect child during another moment of fiery, playful passion. That was why he hadn’t yet lifted his head. He was remembering Cheyenne, too. Tough men don’t cry.

A hiccup wrenched out of her at the knowledge of all he’d suffered. Pressing her lips to the side of his head, she whispered, “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Eric, and I’m sorry Cheyenne died, but please let me be strong for you.”

He groaned, and her whole being filled with compassion for the tender warrior wrapped in her arms, the one with the heart of gold. She offered his words of comfort back to him. “I’m here, baby, and I’m never letting go again.”

He growled. He grunted. But finally, easing away from her neck, he cupped her face between his hands and blinked away his tears. “I’m supposed to be the strong one.”

“No,” she corrected gently because now she knew. “We’re not strong alone. Only together. Trust me on this.”

He blew a deep breath through pursed lips. “God, these last three years have been hell.” And then he kissed her. It seemed he couldn’t kiss her hard enough or deep enough. He moaned in her mouth, his fingers clamped onto her head in a gentle vice. Their teeth bumped, and she let go of Cheyenne’s memory for—just a second. Or two. Because Cheyenne’s father needed his wife. And Shea needed her man.

Once more there was nothing in the world but two people who still loved each other. Other tears trickled out of Shea’s eyes. Tears of forgiveness for herself. Tears of love for Eric. It was okay to let go of Cheyenne in order to hold onto Eric. It was good.

Drawing in a deep breath, Shea relinquished her mistakes of the past. Absolution swept through her from the passionate kiss Eric seemed intent on branding her with. Every last doubt melted away. He loved her and he didn’t blame her.

At last Eric lifted to one elbow beside her. Tears still glistened on his thick lashes, and he didn’t wipe them away. “Never again,” he ground out, gently cupping her cheek. “From this moment onward, we go forward. Together. We never forget our daughter, but we don’t forget us either. We share the good and the bad times. All of them. We help each other endure whatever life throws at us. It’s you and me against the world. Agreed?”

She sniffed her need to repent away. It might always be there, but with Eric willing to open up and share his grief, her guilt was manageable. “I have no secrets. Never again. Ask me anything.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “And I’ll do the same, but know this. I’ve never been afraid to die, but I am afraid to live—without you.”

Ah, he was tearing her heart out. But Shea knew. There in the middle of an Irish glade somewhere between Dungarvin and Kilkenny, she had finally come home.