Lifeline Echoes (25 page)

****

Most of the guys he'd once worked with had
sought sexual outlets for their excess adrenaline after a run. Ryan
had never done that, but he struggled now. The warm shower had
relaxed aching muscles; knowledge of Sandy's proximity stimulated
his ever-present awareness of her. The contradicting sensations
were intensely erotic. Not surprising, he finished his shower
before she did, not because she dawdled, but because he'd
rushed.

He'd pulled on a pair of athletic shorts he
wore when he worked out, and was rummaging through his top drawer,
seeking something he could give Sandy to wear when he heard her
enter the room.

"Ryan, about earlier. . ."

He turned and didn’t bother suppressing the
laughter that bubbled up. She wore Sean's blue flannel bathrobe,
the belt at her waist somehow keeping her from drowning in the
garment. Her hair was wrapped in a dark blue towel and her face was
scrubbed free, not only of soot but also of the makeup she'd no
doubt meticulously applied earlier in the day. She should have
looked like a comical depiction of a nineteen-fifties housewife.
Instead, she was lovely. Without shutting the drawer, he crossed
the distance between them.

"Shh." He touched a finger to her lips.
"We'll work it out."

"I, um. . ." She shook her head, apparently
speechless. "I have to say this. I'm . . . falling for you." Her
voice was laced with amazement.

Ryan froze. Emotions skidded, tangled,
crashed inside him like a massive traffic accident. He'd only begun
to hope she was tripping along the same path with him. To hear her
say it out loud was as mind-numbing as the little touches he'd come
to crave from her. He scanned her eyes, noted the doubts in them,
but then she smiled. His heart seemed to pause for a split second
before it started beating again. There was nothing more beautiful
than a woman on the threshold of love—even if she wasn't quite
ready to call it love.

"The thing is . . . I don't know where this
is going, but . . . if it's not going to go anywhere, I can't—it's
not casual for me anymore." Gone was the bravado, the overt sexual
innuendo, the playfulness . . . all the things she said she hid
behind when something was important enough to scare her. This was
the real woman unmasking herself for him.

His lungs felt tight, too full as the
breaths he took backed up. Did she think that's what it was for
him? Had she even listened to him when he'd told her he wasn't
looking for friendly benefits? "Chicory . . . it's never, ever been
casual for me." He took her lips in a long, sweet kiss, pleased
when she opened her mouth beneath his touch.

When he slid his lips along her jaw to tease
her earlobe, she sighed, her soft breath like silk on his skin.
"I'm too emotional."

"You're allowed. You nearly died." She'd
been worried about losing him, and he'd nearly lost her. Without
conscious thought, his arms tightened.

****

Ryan's shoulder muscles were bunched in
knots that had to be painful. Sandy kneaded at them but her reach
was awkward and her efforts ineffectual. "Come here," she murmured,
leading him toward his bed.

"Sandy. . ." He balked, shaking his
head.

She laughed. "My very sexy cowboy, I want to
make love with you very badly. But when it does happen, it's not
going to be in your bedroom in your father's home, with Justin and
Sean downstairs wondering about it." She tugged on his hand again.
"Come on! Your shoulders feel as though they're made out of rocks.
I'm just going to give you one of my killer massages."

He obediently laid on the bed, but surprised
her by pulling the light blanket at the foot of the bed over his
bare legs.

"Are you cold?"

He sucked in a sudden deep breath, then
nodded his head once.

Sitting next to him wearing only a thin
flannel bathrobe was still awkward, but Sandy didn't want to push
things by straddling his back. The tension in his muscles started
to ease as she rubbed and squeezed along his shoulders. She put a
little extra effort into working a particularly tight group of
muscles in his left scapula and he moaned out loud.

"I think you need a muscle relaxer or maybe
just some aspirin or something. You're gonna be really sore." She
brushed a hand down his back and knocked the blanket from his
leg.

He jerked a hand down and snatched at the
blanket, pulling it over his legs again.

"Easy, Ace." Sandy chuckled. "I already told
you I'm not after your virtue. What's with the blanket?" She tugged
at it playfully. "You got chicken legs under here or
something?"

With a laugh, she lifted the blanket, ready
to tease him about legs that never saw the light of day.

"Oh." It was all she had breath to utter at
first. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight beneath the
blanket. It wasn’t a new wound but it had been major. "Ryan, what
happened to your leg?"

"It's nothing." He rolled over, moving the
leg away from her, but Sandy stopped him.

She touched the puckered scar slashing a
jagged line along the inside of his right leg from just above the
knee almost to his groin. He jerked as though her touch hurt. She
lifted her face and met his steady gaze, seeking permission to
continue. He held her look for a long moment before he nodded
slightly.

Sandy ran her hand the
length of the injury. He was missing muscle mass, and it was a
miracle he didn't walk with a limp. It was anything
but
nothing.

"Were you in an accident?"

If he had been anyone else, Sandy would have
found Ryan's reaction to the question fascinating. His eyes
flickered with a hint of dark emotion, then the shadows fell over
his face, and he carefully set his mask in place. His voice, when
he finally answered, was raw, choked with the emotions he was
trying to hide. "Yeah. Got hurt at work. If you don't mind, I'd
rather not talk about it. Not just now."

She swallowed hard against her natural
curiosity. Just another facet to the mystery of Ryan McGee. One
more secret shouldn't really matter, should it? Sandy couldn’t
process while she was tumbling around in his green gaze. She
averted her glance, mentally tracing the pattern of rectangles on
the throw rug at her feet.

Ryan sat up, startling Sandy when he laid a
hand on her shoulder. She turned around again but didn’t quite meet
his look. "There's a lot I want—need to talk about. Just. . ." He
played with a strand of her hair, weaving it through his
outstretched fingers. "I don't want to think about anything right
now but you and me."

She laid her hand against the worst of the
scar. The pale uneven flesh was warm under her fingertips. Tears
threatened but she bit them back. Whatever had caused this had been
major. She understood why he wouldn’t want to talk about it. Hadn't
she begged for a similar concession just days earlier? But she
already knew she would tell him about Mick one day. Whatever had
happened to him, Ryan might never talk about it. Could she live
with not knowing everything that had happened to him before they
met? She saw two choices here; push him for the answers or back off
and be patient. Even as the alternatives formed in her mind, she
knew she would back off. Patience might be considered a virtue, but
it was also the safer decision.

"Does it still hurt?"

Ryan jerked when she traced a finger along
his scar. "Not so much. Not for a long time."

****

Hours later, Ryan still slept. He'd been
exhausted but restless, finally relaxing into sleep only when she
let him hold onto her. Sandy rose quietly and pulled on a pair of
gray sweat pants she found folded over the back of a chair. As
stealthily as the old wooden dresser with its sticky drawers would
permit, she opened the top drawer further, looking for something to
wear. She smiled at the neatly organized clothing, so different
from any of hers; folded briefs on one side, T-shirts on the other.
She chose a plain white T-shirt, and slipped it on.

Her hand was on the drawer, about to push it
shut, when she spotted the manila file folder with a single bold,
black A in the tab. This must be his file on the woman he'd been
looking for. What had he said her name was? Amy? No, it was
something else.

Sandy's hand lingered over the folder
momentarily as she fought a battle against curiosity. She shook her
head. He'd taken the angel out of his car. He'd told her the other
woman would never be an issue between them and she hadn’t been sure
she believed him. But if she opened the folder, she would be the
one making the mystery woman an issue. With determination, she
pushed the drawer closed, picked up her boots and silently left
Ryan sleeping.

****

Chapter Thirteen

The bitter smell from the earlier fire clung
on the air as Sandy let herself out of the house.

"Evening Ms. Sandy. Will you sit with me?"
Justin looked comfortable sitting in an old metal chair on the
porch. Apparently he knew how to roll with the punches.

Sandy smiled. Why not? Mel could handle the
customers at the bar.

"Thank you. It's going to be a nice evening,
isn't it?"

He poured himself a glass of lemonade from a
pitcher on the small table between them. "Would you care for
some?"

"Yes, thanks."

He handed her a glass with a sprig of mint.
"My son getting some rest?"

Sandy felt the heat pushing up her neck into
her face and took a drink to steady herself before responding. "It
took him a little time to unwind enough but he was asleep when I
left him."

Justin chuckled. "Plenty of times his mother
and I had to unwind the same way."

The heat suffusing Sandy's face kicked up to
scorching. "Oh, man. I'm sorry, Mr. McGee. I didn’t—we didn’t—"

"Sorry?" The old man laughed outright. "For
what? Loving my son?"

She stared. "Is it obvious?"

"Probably obvious to a blind man." Justin's
smile came to his eyes first. "And I'm not blind. You know, Ryan
could do a lot worse on many counts, Sandy. But he'll never find
anyone better than you."

"I thought—some people would say we don't
know each other—that I'm easy or . . . after something." Sandy
spread her hands helplessly, looking out at the blackened hay field
because it was easier than letting Ryan's father look into her
soul, to risk him seeing the things she wasn't sure of herself.

His voice was kind, his words gentle. "Are
you? Easy or after something?"

"I've only just met Ry. But sometimes it
feels like we've known each other for a lot longer, more like
years." She lifted a shoulder. "I can't explain it."

"Some folks just fit together right off."
Justin reached out and touched the back of her hand. "Some hearts
are just lucky enough to make a connection. I see something special
between you two. My son's a lot like his mother. She always dove
into life headfirst."

"You're saying he's not careful with his
heart."

Justin toyed with the beads of sweat on his
glass. "He never had to be. Always knew what he wanted and if it
was right. But something happened to him while he was gone,
something he hasn't talked about yet. It changed him. He still
knows what he wants. But now he starts looking for the ways his
heart can break instead of keeping his eye on the potential for
happiness."

Sandy set her glass down. She didn’t know if
it helped or not, to know that he hadn't even talked with his
father about the things that still hurt him. "I can't promise I'll
never hurt Ryan, Mr. McGee. But I'll never do it on purpose."

"I know you won't." Justin's steady gaze
paralyzed her. "I see in you the same I see in him. You know what
you want. But sometimes you see only the obstacles and none of the
joy."

The denial was formed on her lips but the
words stuck in her throat when Justin raised an eyebrow, and she
held her tongue.

"He's got trouble here, girl, and his
troubles are spilling onto you."

Sandy stiffened. "I don't see it like
that."

"My son does," Justin said softly.

She drew a deep breath to steady herself. "I
haven’t told him yet, but I do love him. We're together. He's not
alone with this trouble."

"He can't let you get hurt because of him,
Sandy. It would kill him. He takes care of the people he loves."
Justin directed a look at her as though to be sure she got the
point.

She picked up her lemonade and sipped.
"Might be time he lets someone take care of him back."

Justin nodded his approval. "He did that
today, you know. Letting you fix him up. Was a time he would've run
off and licked his own wounds."

Sandy looked into her glass, swirling the
liquid around. "Sometimes it feels like I'm his second choice."
Heat slid into her face when she looked up to see Justin watching
her. "I don't know why I told you that. He says I'm not and I want
to believe him."

"Something stopping you?"

"I know next to nothing about him. He
doesn’t share much." She laughed. "I got mad at him because he ran
to my rescue this morning. But I know he did that because he—cares
about me."

"That's the way he's built—he's got a
chivalrous streak as wide as this state."

Sandy studied Ryan's father, noting the
similarities to the man she loved. "I know exactly who he gets that
from."

Justin's color heightened slightly. He
pulled out one of his cigars. "Do you mind?"

"Of course not."

He took his time trimming the end, lighting
the cigar, taking his first few puffs. The wisp of white smoke
mingled with the leftover smell from the fire, turning it
sweet.