Chisholm Brothers 03 Night Watch Page 6

“It sounds quite…solitary.” She didn’t say it in a condemning way. In fact, she sounded almost…wistful.

  “Aye, that it ‘tis. But I enjoy it. I fancy myself an artist from time to time, though no’ so much of late. I seem to have lost my muse.”

  Now she did snort, but added no commentary.

  He found he couldn’t let that one pass so easily. “What? Is it me being an artist you find so unbelievable?”

  “No, not at all,” she immediately said, clearly not wanting to insult him. “It was a self-directed comment, trust me.”

  “Have you lost yours as well, then? What is it that your muse inspires in you?”

  She held her tongue, but he was patient. She’d proven to have curiosity and he doubted it was her nature to be silent and withdrawn, as when she let her guard down, she was quite personable, even if only for a moment here and there. Those were glimpses of the real Bree—he’d bet on it.

  “I’m a writer,” she said, then almost held herself even more rigidly than before, as if waiting for an unseen blow.

  He frowned now, unable to imagine what about the written word would inspire such trepidation. “A journalist?” he asked. Perhaps she’d written some volatile political piece or something.

  “No.” She didn’t elaborate. When he didn’t press, but simply returned to his task, she said, “Do you read much? Novels, that sort of thing?”

  “No’ so much novels, no. I enjoy history, books on art, farming, business.”

  She seemed to take that in. “Newspapers? Periodicals?”

  She wasn’t a journalist, so he wondered why that mattered. “The local village puts out a paper every Saturday, but otherwise, no’ so much. My world is here.”

  She took that in, but added nothing. He finished with the section of hair in the back and paused. “Why do you ask?” It couldn’t be helped. He had to know. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

  She turned then, looking over her shoulder at him. “Why do you ask that?”

  He smiled. “Why do you deflect the question with a question?”

  She said nothing, but twin spots of color bloomed quite becomingly in her cheeks.

  “If you’ve someone after you and I’m giving you shelter, perhaps I should know about it. That’s all. Not that I’d turn you out,” he assured her. “But being prepared is half the battle.”

  “I didn’t run away from any one person.”

  “Ah,” he countered, holding her gaze, keeping his tone light. “But you do admit you’ve run.”

  She started to turn away from him, hide herself once again, as he was certain she’d been doing instinctively for some time now. Just as he was certain it was not her nature, and that in doing so, it had taken quite a toll on her. How he understood this, he couldn’t pinpoint, other than that her eyes, her expression, spoke to him in a way that communicated more clearly her thoughts than others could with a whole dictionary of words at their disposal. Yet again, his fingers itched to grab pen and paper and begin trying to capture all that she was so silently, and yet so loudly, communicating to him.

  “Does the name Bree Sullivan mean anything to you?” she asked, quite bluntly and abruptly, her tone both confrontational and somewhat wary at the same time.

  “Mean anything in what way?”

  “You’ve not heard of it, then?”

  “Other than from you, no, I can’t say that I have.”

  And in that instant, her shoulders slumped a little, the stiff line of her spine softened. She dipped her chin and if he wasn’t mistaken, he thought he saw her jaw quiver a little. As if she was fighting tears, or some other wave of emotion.

  “Hey, there, come now.” Gently he took her shoulders and turned her to him. When she wouldn’t look up, he used a gentle finger beneath her chin to coax her into it anyway. Her eyes were huge and glassy wet, her face so clearly weary and spent. “The day has taken a toll on ye, hasn’t it, luv?” he said gently. “And here I’ve been badgering ye.” It was clear there was far more involved than that, but he felt bad now for pushing, he who so prized his privacy. “Let me get some warm stew into you—then you can crawl in and sleep until you don’t need any more.”

  “I—you—thank you,” she stuttered, clearly embarrassed by her near-breakdown. There was a small sniff, then she pulled her chin from his touch and gathered her wits about her once more. “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea. I’m…not myself. I’m sorry.”

  “Dinnae fash yerself, lass,” he assured her. And the side of him that saw lambs into the world and cared for his flock, Jinty included, but rarely beyond, found itself extending to include her as well. She was most definitely a lost sheep. And for the span of this night, she was his to care for. “I think I’ve tamed the worst of it,” he said, offering her back the comb. “You should be able to reach the rest okay.”

  She took the comb, her expression so grateful it made his heart ache a little. “Thank you. For—for more than you know.”

  “Come now,” he teased, trying to give her space to recoup, “we Scots are famed for our friendly hospitality.” He smiled. “I canno’ say the same for our food, though.”

  “I’ve had no complaints,” she said, relaxing a little again. “I’m from the Midwest. Meat and potatoes are staples of life there. As far as I’m concerned, the simpler the meal, the better.”

  “The Midwest. Farming, perhaps?”

  “Not my family, but yes. Missouri,” she offered, when he didn’t speak right away. “Small town. So I know how nice it is to have your peace and solitude.”

  “It’s been some time since you’ve had that then, I take it?”

  She didn’t freeze up again, but the wary look made an immediate reappearance. “Yes. A very long time, it seems.”

  “So you crossed the big pond looking for it here?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Not entirely successful, I take it. Given the flight today in your car.”

  “No,” she agreed. “Not much luck at all. I’m not sure it’s available for me.”

  “Well, you have it here,” he told her. “Other than my annoying, probing questions, anyway.”

  “Youhave it here,” she corrected him. “I’m just borrowing it for the night. But I’m more thankful for that one night than you can possibly know.”

  He held her gaze for the space of several long seconds, and then the offer was made before he could think on it a moment longer. “I’ve room,” he told her. “And I dinnae think my peace and solitude will be shattered too much by the addition of another soul.”

  She turned, stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  He hadn’t planned this, had planned in fact to have her gone within twenty-four hours. But that was a lifetime ago, too. Before he was intrigued. Before he was entranced. Before his muse had made a very unexpected reappearance. “I mean, you can stay here. For however long you’d like.”

  “But I can’t just—”

  He cut her off. Because he’d seen that instant spark of hope in her eyes. And because he’d felt the same spark inside of him as well. He didn’t claim to understand it, but he wanted the chance to try.

  “Yes, youcan just.” He stood and extended her a hand. “Sometimes it really can be just that simple.”

  She looked at him, so wary, yet so obviously wanting to believe. When she put her hand in his and stood, he knew at once he’d been right. It really could be that simple. Just as he knew, and surprisingly accepted, that it was quite likely nothing was going to be simple, ever again.

  Chapter 7

  “Simple,” Bree echoed. She wanted to laugh at the mere suggestion that anything in her life could ever be such again. But he was holding her hand, and looking into her eyes…and standing so close. It had been all she could do not to squirm the entire time he’d had his hands in her hair. If he had any idea the kind of thoughts she was harboring about him, especially when he’d been nothing but a gentleman…she wondered if the invitation to stay would still be open. “You don�
��t know what you’re offering. It isn’t that simple.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know the whole story. I only know you have one. And that it seems as if you could use a break.”

  “You should know,” she started, but he lifted his free hand, halting her.

  “If you want tae tell me, fine. But don’t feel ye have to. You’re safe here, I can tell you that much.”

  “No one is after me, or anything like that.” Well, the entire free world was hounding at her heels, but that wasn’t quite what he’d been intimating.

  He pushed the hair back from her face, and it made her breath catch in her throat. “You’re runnin’ from something, Bree Sullivan. I’m just offering you a place to stop for a bit and collect yourself. That’s all.” Then, as if realizing he was touching her with far more familiarity than he should be, he dropped his hand.

  She almost sighed in disappointment and had to catch herself. He was right about one thing, she did need a break. She did need a place to stop and gather her thoughts, decide how she wanted to go forward. But while she’d expected or hoped to find some little out-of-the-way bed and breakfast or something, she hadn’t quite counted on this. Much less him.

  She was intensely attracted to him—there was no point denying that any longer. But now was not the time to be adding any complications to a life already far too complicated for one person to manage. Simple, he’d said. And yet she knew there was nothing simple about her life…or about this man. Staying under his roof might help her to solve some of her problems in the short term…but it would be sorely tempting her to create a few new ones at the same time.

  “I’m an author,” she said, quite abruptly. If she was going to stay here—and she realized even as the thought formed in her head that she’d already decided she wanted to—he had to know exactly what he was getting into. At least as it pertained to the life she’d led up until the moment she’d spun out into that gully. “I had a book out, about a year and a half ago, that sold very well.”

  She looked at him, waited to see if he put the name and the book together, but he simply continued to look at her. Could it truly be that she’d not only stumbled across a decent, generous man, but one who truly had no idea who she was, or anything about the phenomenon thatSummer Lake had become?

  “It did so well, in fact, that I became something of a celebrity. I haven’t had much in the way of a private life ever since. And…and now the world is waiting for me to follow things up, and everyone is getting very impatient with me. Only…” She let the sentence drift, as the heavy weight of what awaited her out there lowered itself once again onto her narrow shoulders…and pressed heavily against her heart.

  He tipped her chin up, and she belatedly realized they were still standing deep inside one another’s personal space. And that she rather liked it. A lot. The part of her brain that was rational knew it was just a human reaction to something—or someone, in this case—providing much-needed shelter and comfort. But the rest of her, the parts that were trembling and quivering, knew she wanted to be far deeper in this particular man’s personal space than she already was. And for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with seeking safe harbor. There was nothing remotely safe about the way his mere proximity was tripping every sensory alert she had, and a few she’d had no idea she possessed.

  “The expectations we put on ourselves are usually what doom us the fastest,” he told her, his voice hardly more than a murmur. And then there was the way his gaze dropped to her mouth, before moving back to her eyes. Could it be he was having those same thoughts?

  The very idea made her press her thighs together against the instant need that sprang to life between them. Ridiculous, really, to assume such a thing. Certainly, he wasn’t having the same kinds of thoughts she was. She looked a fright and had been nothing but a nuisance to him.

  “I canno’ imagine having the weight of the world’s expectations piled on top of my own,” he went on.

  His fingers traced lightly along her jaw. She went perfectly still. He…the way he was looking at her…had he seen something in her eyes? Was it wrong of her to want, almost desperately, for that to be true?

  When she didn’t move away from him, he slid his fingers beneath the weight of the hair on her neck. “But at the moment, I can only seem to think of one thing and one thing only…”

  Her breath caught when he pressed lightly against the nape of her neck, tipping her head back.

  “And what would that be?” she asked, amazed she’d found the words at all.

  “Finding out what you taste like.”

  Her heart was pounding much as it had earlier, in the car, when she was trapped. Only now it wasn’t in fear and trepidation…but the rather exquisite torture of anticipation. If she allowed herself to think at all in that moment, she’d pull free, push him away. He was certainly giving her plenty of time.

  So she simply refused to think.

  Life had been too hard for too long, and she’d felt so guilty for hating what, by all rights, was a fairy tale existence most people could only dream of having. But the truth was, she hated that life. She wanted to be left alone to write, to pursue the craft she loved without all the hoopla and pressure. Right now she didn’t want to think about any of it. For far too long now, she’d felt very alone in a constant sea of people. Swimming in chaos and trying not to drown.

  It had taken almost drowning for real for her to step outside of that chaos. And into the arms of the man standing in front of her. One man, surrounded by nothing but serenity and peace…even in the midst of a raging storm. He was like a life preserver being thrown right into her hands. She could hardly be blamed for wanting to grab on to it—him—and hold on tight. The rest could sort itself out later.

  “So why don’t you?” she told him, shocking herself, but the hell with that, too. “Find out, I mean.”

  “I shouldn’t,” he said. “The offer to stay was no’ contingent on this, ye know that.”

  “So, if I asked you to stop, would you?” she asked.

  He instantly started to lift his head, to pull back. Without thinking, she reached up and slid her hand into the thick mane at the back of his neck, not pulling him closer, but keeping him where he was.

  “What if I’m curious, too?” she asked. “What if I’ve been thinking about this, too, ever since…” She broke off then, feeling her skin heat up. Images of him, soaked to the skin, all but completely naked, flashed through her mind, and she realized that no matter how worldly wise she’d become over the past year and a half…in the ways that mattered at the moment, there was still a lot of small-town librarian left in her.

  His mouth kicked up a little at the corners. “Ever since when?” He shifted slightly, put a hand on her hip and held her close to him without actually allowing their bodies to make contact.

  Just the way he moved, the easy confidence he had in the way he touched her, moved her…made the ache spread. Words might be her life, but speaking them out loud to a man who was looking like he wanted to devour her whole, was suddenly impossible for her. She tugged his head a little closer. “Since I had enough sense to know better…and still wanted to, anyway.”

  His eyes grew darker and his fingers dug into her hip as his grip tightened. “I feel as if I’m taking advantage and I don’t do that.”

  Take advantage, she wanted to scream. Couldn’t he sense how rare it was for her to be reckless? She didn’t want him to be all reasonable and levelheaded, she didn’t want to stop and think.

  “I know I shouldn’t, but…there’s something about you, Bree Sullivan. You’ve been through a lot.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “So, we probably shouldn’t.”

  “Probably.”

  “Are ye tellin’ me to stop, then?”

  She gave him a slight shake of her head, her gaze never once leaving his. “I’d really rather you didn’t. I have been through a lot. I feel like I’ve been living my life for a whole lot of other people, be
cause I feel I owe it to them for all they’ve given me. Even if I didn’t exactly ask for it, or expect it. It’s been a very long time since I did anything that was just for me, and to hell with what everyone else wanted. I took off this morning knowing I needed to get away, to stop the world and get off, at least long enough to ask myself some hard questions about what I want, about what I need. And where I want to go from this point forward.”

  “So ye don’t need me crowding ye, makin’ demands—”

  “What I need,” she said, with surprising force, “is to do whatever I damn well please. I’ve been so micromanaged for so long, I don’t even know myself any longer. I don’t want to overthink things, I don’t want to analyze. I just want to feel. I want to do what feels good and right and natural, without worrying to death about who might think what if I do this, or don’t do that. I just want, for once, to follow my instincts and the hell with everything else.”