Keeper Chronicles: Awakening (12 page)

The two men shook.

“There is one thing,” the blonde said with a slight blush, turning to Rebekah. “You run that adorable b-n-b I saw near the lighthouse, right?”

“Yeah, it’s mine.”

“You wouldn’t have an open room, would you? The place we’re staying now is a dump. Yesterday, there were cockroaches in the bathroom. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Rebekah hesitated. After fighting with Gabe, the last thing she wanted was someone he was working with shacked up in her house. Still, it might get him off her case about Dylan. Colette put her had lightly on Rebekah’s leg, sending a charge of energy through her. “Please!” the woman begged. “You just have to say yes. I can’t bear another night in that sty.”

Dylan turned to her. “I can make up a room when we get back,” he offered. “I know you and Mia still have some planning to do for the party. It’s no trouble.”

He really was the most thoughtful man she’d ever met. Still, she couldn’t help but look over her shoulder at Gabe. He hadn’t moved since she slapped him, his stony gaze fixed on her back as if he thought he was looking out for her. Slapping hadn’t been enough; she needed to punch him.

Rebekah turned her work smile on her new guests. She did run a business, after all, and a little extra money wouldn’t go amiss. “It’s settled then. Bring your things over when you’re finished here.”

The French woman yelped in delight. The couple began questioning the next set of patrons, and the police at the door let her and Dylan pass no problem. He was quiet as he opened the car door for her and then still on the drive back to the bed-n-breakfast.

The muscles in his arms were bound tight like cords, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Now that they were alone, something definitely had him agitated. Her father used to be tense like that: withdrawn, quiet, no real reason.

Turning her head so he wouldn’t see, she wiped away a tear that had sprung up in her eyes. Thinking of her father, even the unpleasant memories, still hurt. Probably always would. The wrong thought, wrong image—anything could bring the pain back to life as if she stood in the ocean again, his ashes dispersing into the waves around her. Closing her eyes, she wilted back in the seat, helpless, one hand over her heart. A sob stuck in her throat, choking her, like a relentless hand squeezed her windpipe. Her lungs burned. Her chest burned. She couldn’t breathe.

When they got to the house, he stopped the car but didn’t get out. “You’re thinking of your father, aren’t you?”

She nodded.

Dylan unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car, opening her door a moment later. Rebekah sat there helpless as he undid her belt and wrapped his hand around her waist to help her stand. She’d shown him the back entrance the day before as a precaution, and he led her down the steps and into her bedroom, guiding her feet. Supporting her. His touch wasn’t sexual, but the intimacy of his care reminded her of the way her father had carried her into the house the day she’d sprained her ankle running to the beach.

He held her gaze for a long moment, his fingers slipping inside her shirt. She swayed between his hands, her head fuzzy. Lights blurred. Warmth surged from his hands on her hips, the rhythmic pulse of their song casting her vision in gold. He felt so good, so right.

“I should leave,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. “You’re a little tipsy; I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

She caressed his cheek with her nose as she turned toward him. “What if I want to take advantage of you?”

His fingers tightened around her buttocks and he pulled her against him.

“Is that a marker in your pocket, good sir, or are you just happy to see me?” She laughed at her own joke, head tossed back.

Rebekah yelped as Dylan pushed her down on the bed and climbed on top of her. “Beks, are you sure?” He kissed her chin and neck and throat. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to stop myself.”

“Then don’t.”

He was desperate, like her, as he pulled her sweater off and kissed his way from her mouth to her bellybutton.

She moaned at the pleasure of his touch, the room spinning above her head as she arched back into the pillow. “Please,” she whispered, “Please. I can’t wait.”

Dylan pulled up her skirt and slid down her simple black panties.

They crashed against each other with the violence of a hurricane, winds strong enough to tear down trees or rip clothing as they destroyed everything in their path. But like all storms, the fury passed and left them exhausted and panting on the bed.

He lie on his back, hands behind his head, and looked up at the ceiling. “When I was still young,” he confessed to the darkness of her bedroom, “I had a beautiful older sister: Daphne. She’d just finished high school and was getting ready to enjoy the summer before college when she was attacked and killed by an escaped convict. It was night and she’d been out partying with her friends until late. She had a flat on one of the back roads. Michigan is dangerous in the winter. People have been known to freeze to death, so when someone offered to help, she didn’t say no.” He stopped, biting his lower lip. Rebekah rolled over, resting her head on his chest. Each beat of his heart resonated through her. “They found her car the next morning. Her body a few days later.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He kissed her forehead. “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. Even, over a decade later, something’ll happen to remind me of her, and it’ll be like she just died all over again. The people you love stay with you, even if only in your memory. And you want to know the good part?”

She nodded.

“It never gets any easier.”

Her voice caught. “Promise?”

He made a happy sound in the back of his throat that rumbled through his chest. “I promise, Rebekah.”

She leaned up and kissed him, the mere touch of him reigniting her desire. Dylan understood her pain in a way no one else seemed to, knew what she felt without having to ask. Looking into his beautiful blue eyes, rubbing her fingers through his soft blonde hair, she smiled. This was where he belonged, in her bed with her. Helping at the b-n-b.

“Why don’t you move your stuff down here tomorrow?” she asked, pulling back for a second.

“I’d like that.”

Chapter Twelve

When Rebekah woke the following morning, everything was a little fuzzy. She remembered going to the bar to help Dylan look for work, vaguely remembered slapping Gabe for being an ass, and something about Dylan's sister dying. They'd made love—probably more than once from the way her body hummed—but the how's and where's and what's of it were gone. Only a sense of peace and safety lingered.

And the burning need for another roll in the sheets.

She rolled over and studied his face: the curve of his stubbly jaw glowing golden in the morning light trickling through the slant window, the ruffled blonde hair streaked with brown like a comb of honey, strong, but not-too-large nose slightly crooked from where he'd probably broken it when he was younger. He was perfect.

Careful not to wake him, Rebekah slipped out of bed and put on jeans and a salmon sweater. Her straight black hair, cut into a bob at her ears, was easily tamed with a brush. Mornings were no time to sleep in, not for the owner of a bed-n-breakfast. Someone might have already stirred for breakfast or want to check on a ride to the airport, and she needed to talk to Mia about plans for the Halloween party.

Oh, no. Her new guests, the bounty hunters. She'd offered them a room, and then didn't make one up.

She took the stairs two at a time as the smell of a bacon and leek quiche wafted down the wooden stairs. Mia was up, then. Maybe it wasn't a complete disaster. Rebekah had never actually seen the girl sleep, but then, chefs were known for waking up early to cook. Well, at least on television.

“Good morning,” Mia chirped, looking up from her vigorous whisking with a smirk. “Sleep well?”

“Yes...” she let the word hang there, refusing to take the bait. This morning, the chef's hair was stripped orange and black. “Look, did a couple arrive here last night? A French woman and her husband?”

Mia popped her bubblegum. “Yep.”

“And?”

“I fixed them up in the Mariner's Room. They mentioned being here for a few days, so I figured you'd want them to have a private bath.” Dipping her little finger into the batter, Mia brought it to her mouth and tasted it. “Umm. Perfect.”

Rebekah sighed and pulled a stool up next to the large island where Mia was cooking. Unlike the smaller kitchen for guest use, the master kitchen was a recent addition to the house, one she'd insisted on when she moved back in and helped take over management of the b-n-b. With the increased reservations they'd already gotten over the last six months, the second mortgage would be paid off within a few years. And, Rebekah had to admit, the kitchen had always been her favorite room in the house. Her mom, while not a professional chef like Mia, had been an expert in pancakes and omelets and crunchy bacon dripping with grease.

“Mia,” Rebekah began, looking down at her hands as she gathered her thoughts.

“Yeah, Beks?”

“There's been something I've been meaning to ask you now for a few days, but I didn't know how.”

The girl froze, her expressive face wilting. “Oh no. You're not firing me. Please say you're not firing me. I promise, I won't...”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” Rebekah jumped up and led the girl over to the stool as she hyperventilated. “Calm down, Mia. What I wanted to say is you've become indispensable around here these last few months. I don't know what I'd do without you, really. I'd like to stake you in as a partner in the business. Fifteen percent ownership for now. More later if you still want it and things go well.”

“You're kidding, right?”

Rebekah shook her head. “You'd have to live here, of course. I'll clear out my father's room, and you'll have more responsibilities with guests and reservations and decision making. I won't lie to you, it won't be easy and not without risk, either. There's no certainty in business anymore. What do you say?”

The piercings on Mia's nose, brow, and ear jangled with excitement as she hugged Rebekah. “Yes, of course. I'm in. Thank you so much!”

“You're welcome. You deserve it.”

Mia pulled back suddenly, her face riddled with worry. “What about Dylan?”

“What about him?”

“Aren't you two, you know...” Mia lifted her hands in the air and playfully thrust her hips from side to side. “Doing the dance with no pants?”

Panic nearly stopped her heart. “Please tell me you didn't hear us. That the guests couldn't hear us. Oh God, if someone heard...”

“Ha ha! Gotcha.”

Rebekah took a pinch of loose flour from the table and threw it at her new partner. Surprise flashed across Mia's face, quickly followed by mischief. Sticking her hand in the bag of flour, Mia threw a fistful at Rebekah.

“You want a war?” Rebekah smacked the flour dust out of her hair.

Mia grinned and scooted behind the island so that the wooden surface was between them. “You're gonna need an army if you think you can get me again.”

“We'll see about that.”

The ensuing food fight lasted a solid ten minutes. Rebekah never had any siblings to play with when she was growing up, so she was at a distinct disadvantage when it came to fighting dirty, and after only a few minutes, she was covered in so much flour and water and goop that she'd have to go take a shower. When they finally wore each other down, they both slid to the floor, the island to their backs.

Mia spoke first. “So really, what about Dylan? You've got to spill. I have no love life whatsoever; therefore, it's your responsibility as my new business partner to let me live vicariously through yours.”

“I'm not one to kiss and tell.”

“What about a wink or something? Come on, I'm dying here!”

Rebekah looked over at her new partner and winked.

“I knew it!” the girl shrieked, and Rebekah had to put her hand over Mia's mouth to keep her from waking up the whole house. She wouldn't let up until Mia nodded that she was under control. “So that means he's staying around?”

That was a good question. He had mentioned staying, but now that they'd slept together, would he still want to hang around even though she'd asked him to move in? Had he been using her this entire time?

“Oh, hey, I didn't mean to get you doubting,” Mia said. “I'm sure he'll stick around. Look at you. Who wouldn't stay for that?”

Rebekah answered without thinking. “Gabe.”

“What happened between the two of you?” Mia shook her head and a snowfall of flour drifted down. “You know, if you don't mind me asking.”

She twisted her hands, looking down. “Ever since we were kids, we'd been inseparable. His parents, like my father, worked for Park Services, and we'd play together every weekend. Eventually, as these things happen, friendship turned into something more. I thought for a while that we'd spend the rest of our lives together. He was my first love, you know?”

“So why'd you end it?” Mia's her pigtails drooped.

“Me? No, I didn't end it. He did. Out of the blue one day when we were seventeen, he stopped me after school and said he'd found someone else. That he didn't want to be with me anymore. The next day, his parents withdrew him from school.”

“That's terrible.”

“I tried calling and going over to his house, but he was never there. I didn't see him again until the day he came to tell me my father died. I didn't even know he'd finished school or become a ranger.” Rebekah stood and dusted off her sweater and jeans. She didn't look at her new partner. “Now you know. Don't tell anyone, especially Dylan. Honestly, I'd prefer to continue living my life as if he didn't exist, which would be easy if it weren't for the fact that he managed to find a position next door.”

Mia's voice stopped her when she had her hand on the kitchen door. “What if he had a reason to leave you all those years ago? What if he was trying to protect you? Would that change things?”

Rebekah kept her tone as neutral as possible; inside, it felt as if her heart had stopped beating. “If you know something, Mia, you'd better tell me now.”