CHAPTER FOURTEEN
RYANNE SWALLOWED ANOTHER LAUGH. This man had just rocked her world. Her body still hummed with incomparable satisfaction, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to walk again. Totally worth it!
At first, Jude’s discomfort with their position had been obvious, yet he’d stayed put, and insisted they talk, which had kinda sorta tickled her to her toes. They might be temporary, but her contentment came before his anxiety. Then he’d teased her, turning the tables on her.
Affection for him was as soft as clouds, and as certain as rain in spring. She could fall hard for this man. She’d have to be careful. Her future trip—trips—depended on her ability to separate sex from emotion.
“Fine,” she finally said, curling into his side. “I’ll give you what you want.” But she would do everything in her power to get what she wanted in the process. “Ask me anything. Just know that I’m a little disappointed you didn’t do a full background check on me, like Daniel did for Dorothea.”
“A gross invasion of privacy is your idea of a romantic gesture? Good to know. But how do you know I didn’t look into you?”
Had he?
A normal woman would be upset by the possibility, right?
When have I ever been normal?
Ryanne grinned. “Learn anything interesting?”
“I’m ungentlemanly enough to remind you that you don’t get to ask the questions, Wade. I do.” Thoughtful, he brushed his finger up and down the ridges of her spine, making her shiver. “What does your tattoo mean?”
She glanced at the lock etched into her wrist. “Earl had a key tattoo to remind him that every decision matters. With a single choice can come success or failure. And since he showed me the true meaning of love, unlocking my heart, I got the lock in his honor. He was the best dad a girl could have.”
“What about your biological father?”
“I know his name—Thomas Wade—and that he’s from Dallas, Texas. He and my mom divorced while she was pregnant with me. He told her to get an abortion or deal on her own. I didn’t believe her...at first.”
“You contacted him?”
Stomach twisting, she said, “I got his number, and spent the next few months building my courage while also weaving dreams about him.”
His hold on her tightened, an offer of comfort. “Reality can be better than fantasy.”
“Or worse,” she whispered. “Finally I did it. I called him. He labeled my mother a whore, said he doubted I was his, told me not to contact him again and hung up.” The cruelty of his rejection had shocked her, but the fact that he hadn’t wanted to claim her had hurt in ways she’d never imagined possible.
“I’m sorry. If the man doesn’t want anything to do with you, he’s not worthy of you.” A pause, then a softly asked, “How old were you?”
“When I contacted him? Thirteen.” Selma had been married to abusive Mr. Scott at the time, and Ryanne had hoped against hope that her biological father would swoop in to the rescue.
Now she could rescue herself.
Jude’s blistering curse rang through the room. “Little girls need their fathers.”
Oh...crap. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned Daddy Dearest. Had she just reminded Jude of the daughters he would never again see? Probably. Except, there’d been no pain in his voice, only outrage on her behalf.
Had he finally begun to heal?
Throat going dry, she forged ahead. “Big girls need their mothers, but mine stopped contacting me a few years ago. She was going through her hundredth divorce, and I begged to live with one of my former stepdads. Earl offered safety, security and a chance to finish school with my friends while Selma offered an RV trip around the country, and an endless parade of new men who might or might not be creepers. I hated the thought of leaving her, but Earl was sick and needed someone to care for him.”
Jude’s hold on her tightened yet again, almost bruising her. “Did any of her men ever...”
“Once or twice,” she admitted. When he jumped out of bed, a disheveled fallen angel determined to deliver vigilante justice, she grabbed his hand and rushed to add, “Those who touched me inappropriately, I fought. I also told authorities here in Strawberry Valley, wanting an official record of the crimes, so that the guys would never be able to hide behind a wall of innocence.”
The hand she held balled into a fist, but slowly her fallen angel eased back into bed. “Did your mother stay with the men?”
“No. She believed my claims and left every time.” Ryanne sat up long enough to tug on his shoulders and urge him to stretch out beside her.
When he rolled to his side, he buried his head in the hollow of her neck and wrapped his arms around her waist, as if he wanted—needed—to cover her body with his own, to shield her from any threat, past, present or future.
The notion melted her...until she remembered they had no future.
Disappointment cut through her.
No, no. Couldn’t be. She was excited for her travels. Would never be like her mother and change her plans and goals for a man. Men came and went, but dreams lasted forever.
“I’ve told you about my parents,” she said. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me...” What? She should probably start easy, so he had no reason to protest, and could quickly get used to sharing his life with her. “What’s your middle name? I can’t believe I slept with a man without knowing his full name.”
“Walker.”
“Jude Walker Laurent, huh. How adorable.”
One of his shoulders hiked in a shrug. “My mother said I reminded her of my father. Like you, I never really knew him. I saw him around town, but really only knew what she told me. Apparently he was a walker—always walked away from his responsibilities.”
Okay, wow. Ryanne wanted to drop-kick his mother. “You are the most responsible man I’ve ever met. Therefore, I hereby declare Walker stands for your willingness to walk the extra mile for your friends.”
A twitch of his lips. “Sorry, shortcake, but the expression is go the extra mile.”
“Fine. You’re the cock of the walk. Boom! Nailed it.”
Another twitch of his lips followed by a full-blown smile. “I’m sold.”
Proud of herself, she decided to take the conversation to the next level. “Tell me about your wife. How long were you together?”
He opened and closed his mouth, cleared his throat. “Nine years.” With barely a pause he added, “Where’s your mom now?”
Ryanne let the change of subject slide without comment, even though she had to add another blast of hurt to the lockbox in the back of her mind. Here she was, sharing everything, while he gave the bare minimum. The scales were becoming unbalanced.
“Last time I heard, she had just gotten another divorce and was packing up to leave Colorado.” Determined to try again, she asked, “What about your parents? Where’s your mom? Your dad? Still living?”
“Yes, they’re both alive,” he said. Then, “Do you have any—”
“Nope. Tell me about your parents.”
Thick silence.
Oppressive silence.
“My mom lives in Midland, Texas,” he said, and Ryanne wanted to pound her chest like a gorilla. Success! “She spends her days taking care of her family farm, the only thing she’s ever really loved. Like your mom, she was once known for getting around. My father has a farm of his own nearby—and a family—but Mother became his side slice so he would help her with crops. I have three older brothers and a sister, and we all have different dads.”
“Are you close to your siblings?”
Another pause, as if he had to weigh every word he spoke, and her elation drained. “No. All four moved out and never looked back.”
Meaning, they’d never contacted him again? “I’m sorry.” Their absences must have felt like rejections. “Have you ever tried to track them down?”
“They abandoned me. They don’t get a second chance.”
Oookay. Jude wasn’t the forgiving type. Noted.
“Besides,” he added. “I have Daniel and Brock.”
“You guys met in the army?”
“Yes.”
She waited, but he said no more. Before she could press, Dorothea’s special ringtone filled the room. “All right,” she said. “That’s Dorothea calling. I think she’s going to demand we return to the party.”
“Yeah. Let’s return.”
No longer quite so happy to spend time with her, cuddling and chatting?
Ryanne grabbed a pillow and smacked him in the stomach with it, both aggravated and playful. As he sputtered, she smacked him again. When she tried to smack him a third time, he was ready, the other pillow in hand, the perfect block.
With a laugh, she launched a full-blown attack, nailing him in the face. Because yes, she fought dirty.
“What—” Smack. “Hey!” Smack. “Wade!” Smack. “You’re going to pay for that.” His growl was fierce, but his eyes crackled with good humor.
I’m helping him! Teaching him how to have fun.
He swung his pillow at her, knocking her to her back. As she laughed, feathers exploded from a tear, raining through the room.
“Stop!” she said, giggling after he delivered a third smack. “You’re my sex bunny, not my—”
He stopped, as ordered, his navy blues narrowed and glittering. “Did you say sexy buddy or sex bunny?”
“Duh. Bunny. You’re here for my pleasure and amusement. So, pleasure and amuse me.”
“Dance, monkey, dance, is that it?” He dropped the pillow, ripped hers out of her kung fu grip and tickled her until she begged for mercy. In an effort to escape him, she accidentally kicked his leg, and he winced.
Oh, crap! She sobered instantly, saying, “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” His tone was stiff. So was his body, for that matter.
Having none of that, she crawled down the bed. When she reached his feet, tension radiated from him. Still she removed the sleeve over his prosthesis, then the prosthesis itself, following the same steps he’d taken the night they’d showered together.
“What are you doing?” he asked, looking over her shoulder.
Unable to meet her eyes? “I’m doing exactly what it looks like. Forgetting all about the party and concentrating on my temporary man.” She began massaging his leg. She’d done a little research about the best way to help an amputee. Massage could reduce swelling and pain, increase circulation in scar tissue, and lessen muscle stiffness and spasms.
Hissing, he jolted upright and pulled from her grip.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked softly.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I just—”
“Now don’t you go telling me you’re embarrassed.” Determined to continue, she deftly but firmly placed his thigh atop her lap. “I’ve seen this part of you before.”
“Yes, but...it’s ugly, and you didn’t get up close and personal before.”
The rawness of his tone hurt her. “Your wound speaks of bravery and courage. You could have died, but you fought to live. How could I ever find it ugly?”
He remained stiff, and it was clear he didn’t believe her. She wasn’t going to push the issue. Not yet.
You had to learn to crawl before you could walk. She’d take this one step at a time.
As she kneaded his muscles, she decided not to ask about his tattoos, either. The next topic would be easy, fun. “We need to name the kittens.”
His tongue slid over his straight, white teeth. “If you plan on finding homes for them, let their new families name them.”
“I do want to find them homes, but I can’t keep referring to them by numbers.”
“Trust me, you can. If you name them, you’ll get attached. You’ll end up with eight cats, and everyone in town will call you by your new nickname—Crazy Cat Lady.”
She sputtered. “Yeah, well, I can’t keep them.” And she wasn’t sad about it. Her heart wasn’t leaking acid at the thought of saying goodbye. Really. “I’ll be too busy traveling the globe to raise them.”
“Give them generic names, then, like Hairy, Furry or Patches.”
Or she could name them after something she loved, because they deserved the best, not for any other reason. “Have you met Lincoln West? He’s engaged to Jessie Kay Dillon.”
“I did a job for him,” Jude said, brow furrowing. “Security at his engagement party. Why?”
That’s right. One of West’s ex-girlfriends had tried to kill Jessie Kay. “He created some of my favorite video games. Alice in Zombieland, Angels of the Dark, and Lords of the Underworld.”
“You play video games?”
“No. I win video games, but only on my days off. I plan to play more while I’m traveling.” And she couldn’t wait! “Lords of the Underworld is my ultimate go-to. Demon-possessed immortal warriors are on a quest to find and destroy Pandora’s box. I think I’ll name the kittens after them.”
“You want to name kittens after demon-possessed men?”
“Why not? Rumor is, all cats are spawned in hell. Besides, the Lords love them some pussies.”
He nearly choked on his tongue. “The woman who never curses did not just use the P-word.”
She smiled at him, all innocence. “Pussycat is not a curse word.”
At first, he simply blinked up at her. Then, his mouth curved at the corners as he returned her smile, causing her heart to skip a treacherous beat. “You can play before your travels. Just install video-game stations at the bar. Pay to play.”
Whoa. Mind blown. “That’s freaking brilliant, Jude.”
“My ideas usually are. Speaking of the bar, how’s it doing, now that all the changes are in place? Are you spending more than you’re making?”
“If I continue to rent out the bar throughout the week, I’ll recoup my losses before I leave for Rome.”
For some reason, his smile faded. He glanced at a wristwatch he wasn’t wearing. “We should return to the party before Dorothea calls again.”
No way. She wasn’t ready to part with him. And she wasn’t sure how he would treat her in public—wasn’t ready to find out. What if he ignored her? What if he didn’t want to hold her hand? What if he did want to hold her hand? Crap! Could she handle PDA? “You wouldn’t strip until I answered a question for you, and I’m not letting you dress until you answer a question for me.”
A heavy sigh. “All right. Lay it on me.”
Double crap! What was she supposed to ask him? Oh! I know! “How would you describe me to someone who’s never met me?”
Without missing a beat, he said, “Every man’s fantasy come to sizzling life.” His head canted to the side, his gaze returning to her...and heating. “How would you describe me?”
“Hold up. Give me a minute to process what you just said.” Every man’s fantasy come to sizzling life? Pleasure washed through her, warming her, and she savored the sensation. Was that really how he saw her?
She didn’t care about being every man’s fantasy, only cared about being his—and the notion suddenly scared her.
“Well?” he prompted. “You’ve had your minute.”
Deep breath in...out. “I would say you are so irresistible, you’re able to tempt the untemptable, and you’re more addictive than my moonshine.” Crap! She shouldn’t have mentioned alcohol. “I mean, more addictive than kitten kisses.”
“Am I, then?” In a flash, he grabbed her hips and yanked her forward, forcing her to straddle his lap. His erection bobbed between them, hard and thick and long. “I’m going to need a little proof.”
Purring, aroused beyond belief, she braced her weight on her knees, leaned over and rubbed her puckered nipples against his chest. “Judging by your shaft-o-meter, I’m guessing you’re good to go without proof.”
“With you, I’m always good to go.” He cupped her bottom, squeezed. “I’m even willing to—” His cell phone made an odd noise.
A second later, her phone buzzed. A text had just come in.
“Ignore it,” she said, rolling her hips. Contact! She sucked in a breath, and he issued another curse.
“The message, whatever it is, is about the bar,” he said, his tone grave. “You have special ringtones for your friends, I have a special ringtone for the security feed at the Scratching Post.”
Poo on a stick! Sobering quickly, Ryanne hopped off the bed. After throwing Jude his phone, she checked the screen of her own...and her knees threatened to give out.
No. No, no, no.
Absolute, total chaos. Screaming patrons raced for the front door while an alarm screeched. Why? What the heck had happened? Then she noticed the flames flickering over the counter where drinks were usually served.
“Jude,” she gasped out.
He grabbed his phone and watched the feed, the color draining from his cheeks.
“Why haven’t the sprinklers kicked on?” he demanded.
“I don’t know. I don’t know! But we need to leave. Now.”