and he was truly sorry for it.
“If you think I don’t want you here, that I wish you’d go home, you’re wrong. I appreciate the fact that you’re staying. I like living.”
“Do you?”
“Of course.”
His smile deepened, his lashes lowered slightly. “That’s good to hear. Go on. Get some sleep. You will have lots of long days to come.”
“You’re sure you’re all right? You’ll find everything?”
“I’m fine. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Reggie ran up the stairs to her room, closed the door and catapulted onto her bed. She lay on her back, her fingers closing around the spread, her heart seeming to beat thousands of beats in a matter of seconds.
Think! Think of something else! Think of someone else. Think of a new puppet, a new song, a new character, think of Max …
Think of Caleb.
But neither ghosts nor any creatures of the imagination would come to her now. She lay there wretchedly in the darkness and thought of the man downstairs.
Why couldn’t he have been an ancient old widower?
He was a widower, she remembered. That was one of the reasons she had assumed he would be old.
So who lay in his past? What ghost did he conjure in moments like this?
What woman had touched his sandy hair in truth, stretched her fingers over the broad expanse of his chest, lain beside that rugged bronze flesh.…
She groaned softly and turned, burying her face in her pillow. Come, sleep! Please. But sleep eluded her for a long time.
Long past the moments when she heard the quiet sound of his footsteps on the stairs. Long past the time when she heard him enter the far guest room.
Long, long past the time when she heard the water running in the shower, heard it stop.
Heard the creak of the bed.
Heard … silence.
Then, thankfully, somewhere along the line, she slept.
Until she woke to the startling sound of an explosion in the street.
Chapter 7
T he sound brought her leaping instantly to her feet. She switched on the overhead lamp, desperate for light, and raced into the hallway. “Wesley!”
He was up, too. Standing just outside his doorway. He had slipped his pants on. His chest was naked, taut, rippling with bronze muscle in the glare of the light.
His hair was tousled, his expression irritated.
But Reggie took those things in slowly. She ran the length of the hallway, leaping right into his arms. He held her while her teeth chattered and she gasped out, “Gunfire, downstairs! Didn’t you hear it?”
He sighed. With exasperation. “It was a car, Reggie.”
“What?”
“It was a car.” He caught her arm and drew her into the guest room, to the window. From the second floor, she could see the length of the street. Far down the scarcely inhabited street, her neighbors’ teenage son was out with friends, laughing—so it appeared—at the antics of a prized ’57 Chevy.
Reggie exhaled a slow, wavering sigh. She’d been on her toes. She sank to her feet.
She became very aware of Wes, standing silently beside her. His arm just touching the fabric of her robe. Heat seeming to emanate from his body.
The hair on his chest was almost white. The bronze color of sleek flesh rippled beneath it.
“I—” she murmured.
“You!” He was suddenly wagging a finger at her. “Let’s say that had been a gunshot. Reggie, you don’t turn on a light!”
“But it was dark—”
“That’s right, Reggie. No one can see you in the dark, or aim at you in the dark! Got it?”
“I’m sorry! I wasn’t in the military!”
“That’s common sense,” he said flatly. “And another thing—you don’t start shrieking. You stay silent, and you stay down, understand?”
Her teeth grated. She saluted him sharply. She sank into her sweetest, softest Southern accent. “Hey, I’m just a dumb old dinosaur dreamer—”
She gasped when she found her upper arms caught by his hands, her body drawn to his. Nothing but thin strips of terry separated her bare flesh from the hot naked length of
“If you think I don’t want you here, that I wish you’d go home, you’re wrong. I appreciate the fact that you’re staying. I like living.”
“Do you?”
“Of course.”
His smile deepened, his lashes lowered slightly. “That’s good to hear. Go on. Get some sleep. You will have lots of long days to come.”
“You’re sure you’re all right? You’ll find everything?”
“I’m fine. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Reggie ran up the stairs to her room, closed the door and catapulted onto her bed. She lay on her back, her fingers closing around the spread, her heart seeming to beat thousands of beats in a matter of seconds.
Think! Think of something else! Think of someone else. Think of a new puppet, a new song, a new character, think of Max …
Think of Caleb.
But neither ghosts nor any creatures of the imagination would come to her now. She lay there wretchedly in the darkness and thought of the man downstairs.
Why couldn’t he have been an ancient old widower?
He was a widower, she remembered. That was one of the reasons she had assumed he would be old.
So who lay in his past? What ghost did he conjure in moments like this?
What woman had touched his sandy hair in truth, stretched her fingers over the broad expanse of his chest, lain beside that rugged bronze flesh.…
She groaned softly and turned, burying her face in her pillow. Come, sleep! Please. But sleep eluded her for a long time.
Long past the moments when she heard the quiet sound of his footsteps on the stairs. Long past the time when she heard him enter the far guest room.
Long, long past the time when she heard the water running in the shower, heard it stop.
Heard the creak of the bed.
Heard … silence.
Then, thankfully, somewhere along the line, she slept.
Until she woke to the startling sound of an explosion in the street.
Chapter 7
T he sound brought her leaping instantly to her feet. She switched on the overhead lamp, desperate for light, and raced into the hallway. “Wesley!”
He was up, too. Standing just outside his doorway. He had slipped his pants on. His chest was naked, taut, rippling with bronze muscle in the glare of the light.
His hair was tousled, his expression irritated.
But Reggie took those things in slowly. She ran the length of the hallway, leaping right into his arms. He held her while her teeth chattered and she gasped out, “Gunfire, downstairs! Didn’t you hear it?”
He sighed. With exasperation. “It was a car, Reggie.”
“What?”
“It was a car.” He caught her arm and drew her into the guest room, to the window. From the second floor, she could see the length of the street. Far down the scarcely inhabited street, her neighbors’ teenage son was out with friends, laughing—so it appeared—at the antics of a prized ’57 Chevy.
Reggie exhaled a slow, wavering sigh. She’d been on her toes. She sank to her feet.
She became very aware of Wes, standing silently beside her. His arm just touching the fabric of her robe. Heat seeming to emanate from his body.
The hair on his chest was almost white. The bronze color of sleek flesh rippled beneath it.
“I—” she murmured.
“You!” He was suddenly wagging a finger at her. “Let’s say that had been a gunshot. Reggie, you don’t turn on a light!”
“But it was dark—”
“That’s right, Reggie. No one can see you in the dark, or aim at you in the dark! Got it?”
“I’m sorry! I wasn’t in the military!”
“That’s common sense,” he said flatly. “And another thing—you don’t start shrieking. You stay silent, and you stay down, understand?”
Her teeth grated. She saluted him sharply. She sank into her sweetest, softest Southern accent. “Hey, I’m just a dumb old dinosaur dreamer—”
She gasped when she found her upper arms caught by his hands, her body drawn to his. Nothing but thin strips of terry separated her bare flesh from the hot naked length of
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