Midnight Sons Volume 3 (27 page)

He owed her an apology, and more. “I know it comes too late,” he ventured, “but I am genuinely sorry.”

His words appeared to fall on deaf ears. Then, “Is the apology meant for me or Farrah?” she asked.

“Both.”

“It must’ve given you a real thrill to have two women in love with you at the same time.”

He let the comment slide. “I’d settle for just one,” he said quietly.

The fire popped, then briefly flamed, spreading a warm glow around the room. Scott watched as Chrissie threw aside the blankets and leaped to her feet. “Oh, no, you don’t!”

“Don’t what?” he asked, sitting up. He couldn’t imagine what he’d said that she found so offensive.

“Let’s get something straight. You think you can bring me back to Lake Abbey, stir up a few old memories and then weasel your way back into my life. Well, I’m here to tell you it isn’t going to happen!”

“Chrissie—”

She covered both ears and started to hum. “I’m not listening. I’m not listening. Nothing you say will make one bit of difference.”

If she hadn’t looked and sounded so silly, Scott might have let the moment pass. Not now. Climbing down the ladder, he marched over and sat on the sofa beside her.

Taking her by the wrists, Scott looked directly into her eyes. The flickering light from the fire revealed her astonished expression. “Nothing I say will make any difference?” he asked. “Then try this on for size. I love you, Chrissie Harris. I’ve loved you half my life.”

D
UKE
P
ORTER WAITED
until he knew Scott and Chrissie had landed safely on Lake Abbey before he left the Midnight Sons office. As he walked through his front door, taking off his wet jacket, he inhaled deeply. The scent of sage and his favorite chicken dish drifted through the house. He could hear sounds of laughter from his youngest daughter, Sarah Lynn.

“Are Scott and Chrissie okay?” Tracy asked, carrying a chicken casserole to the dining-room table.

“Yes and no,” Duke told her, helping himself to a black olive.

“Daddy!” Sarah playfully slapped his hand. “You’re supposed to wait until dinner.”

“Sorry, I forgot,” he said, and winked at his middle daughter who stood a short distance away, a frown of disgust on her face. Shortly after turning thirteen, Leah had, without any warning, completely lost her sense of humor. Almost overnight, his fun-loving outgoing daughter had turned into a morose and sullen
teenager. Her twin sister, Shannon, hadn’t changed. Although that might still happen, he thought wryly, but he hoped not. Two at one time was more than he could handle.

“What do you mean? Did Scott land safely or not?” Tracy demanded.

“He landed,” Duke explained, “only it wasn’t in Hard Luck.”

“He’s all right, isn’t he?” Leah asked, her brown eyes wide with concern.

She had a major crush on Scott O’Halloran. “I presume so. He thought he could beat the storm system coming our way, but he couldn’t. So he decided that, rather than risk it, he’d touch down on Lake Abbey.”

“All alone?”

“Chrissie’s with him.”

Leah slouched in the kitchen chair and pouted. “Some women have all the luck.”

Tracy returned to the dining room with a pitcher of water and placed it in the center of the table. When she looked up, her eyes connected with Duke’s. “How long will they stay there?”

“Overnight, I expect, perhaps longer. Depends on the weather.”

Tracy’s bold smile triggered a responding one from Duke.

“What?” Leah asked, glancing first at her mother and then her father.

“Nothing,” Tracy muttered.

“Never mind,” Duke said.

“Oh, puh-leeze,” Leah groaned, and rolled her eyes. She nudged her younger sister. “Cover your eyes. Mom and Dad are going mushy on us.”

“Shannon! Dinner’s ready.” Tracy called their other daughter from her room.

Shannon appeared promptly. Both girls looked so much like Tracy that even now it took Duke by surprise. When he’d married her, he’d envisioned a houseful of rough-and-rowdy sons; instead, he had three beautiful daughters. Not once, not for a single second, had he been disappointed. His life was full and he adored his wife. In fact, marriage was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

They all sat down and joined hands for grace. Before the completion of the “amen,” Duke had reached for the serving spoon and leaned toward the casserole. His wife cast him a disapproving look, which he ignored.

“Did I hear someone mention Scott and Chrissie?” Shannon asked.

“He’s stranded with Chrissie up at Lake Abbey,” Leah complained. “Can you imagine getting stuck in a storm with a hunk like that? Why can’t it happen to me?” Still bemoaning her sorry lot, she stretched across the table for the plate of biscuits and helped herself to one.

Duke quickly grabbed a biscuit before he got shortchanged; it’d been known to occur. To his astonishment, Tracy had turned out to be a excellent cook. He’d had his doubts when he first married her, and with good reason. Once, during their brief courtship, he’d visited her in Seattle and she’d insisted on making dinner. The meal had darn near killed him. But soon after that, she’d started practicing. And once they were married, she’d taken cooking lessons from Mary Hamilton and proved to be an apt pupil.

Duke had to give all due credit: His wife was a marvel. She’d gone into this marriage convinced she could do it all and have
it all. She’d claimed she could maintain her career as an attorney and keep up with the ever-increasing demands of being a wife and mother. And for the most part, she had. They’d planned the first pregnancy and she’d managed, even with twins. It wasn’t until Sarah Lynn was born that Tracy took a leave of absence from the law firm. With infinite wisdom—and with advancing age—she’d declared that yes, she
could
have it all, just not at the same time. When Sarah Lynn started kindergarten, Tracy put on her attorney’s suit again. Chrissie Harris had joined the law office, after working there during her summer vacations from law school, and had become a valuable addition.

Within ten minutes, all three girls had eaten and vanished. Duke and Tracy lingered over their coffee.

“So…Scott and Chrissie are stuck up at Lake Abbey,” Tracy said.

“Bring back any memories?” Duke teased.

She smiled. Years earlier Duke and Tracy had been involved in a fairly serious airplane crash. Tracy had been living in Seattle at the time, and she’d flown up to Hard Luck to attend Mariah’s wedding. Duke had been scheduled to fly her into Fairbanks for her connecting flight to Seattle. The two of them had clashed from the moment they’d met. Tracy Santiago was everything Duke disliked in a woman; he found her bossy, independent and headstrong. He’d derived pleasure from baiting her and soon discovered that she could more than hold her own. Tracy had viewed him as an unreasonable male chauvinist pig—one of the few men who really fit that now-dated expression. Their arguments and dislike of each other had been legendary.

Then the plane had gone down, and Duke was badly hurt.
He’d broken his arm and sustained internal injuries. During the long hours before the rescue team arrived, Tracy had shown herself to be both capable and compassionate. While she confidently dealt with the crisis at hand, caring for him and guiding the rescue party to the downed plane, Duke realized he’d done something very foolish. He’d fallen in love with her.

Tracy loved him, too, and had the wisdom to recognize that although they were vastly different, they had everything necessary to make a good life together. Duke had just needed some time and distance to figure out what Tracy already knew.

He’d claimed, in the days before Tracy, that he wanted a conventional wife. One who’d stay home with the children, bake cookies and do other wifely things. None of that interested Tracy. He’d married her, assuming he’d survive on frozen dinners the rest of his life, but by then he’d loved her too much to care. Over the years there’d been some bad meals, but many more fabulous ones. Some of the inedible dinners he’d cooked himself. Tracy wasn’t the only one who’d changed; he’d done his fair share, too.

“Are you remembering the crash?” Tracy asked.

Duke nodded. “I think it’s poetic justice that Scott and Chrissie are stranded up there together. He loves her, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know about Scott,” Tracy said with a thoughtful look, “but I certainly know how Chrissie feels.”

So the two women had talked about Chrissie’s relationship with Scott. It shouldn’t surprise him; after all, they worked together. “When did Chrissie mention Scott? What did she have to say?”

“Actually she didn’t say a word,” his wife told him, standing. “We don’t generally discuss our personal lives at the office.”

“But you just said…” Duke trailed her into the kitchen. “How do you know what Chrissie’s feelings are if she didn’t mention Scott?”

“The way I always know,” Tracy said casually, putting the butter dish back in the refrigerator. “It’s what people
don’t
say that’s more informative.”

“Girls!” Duke shouted to his three daughters. “Dishes.”

His order was followed by a chorus of protesting groans, all coming from different parts of the house. Duke ignored them, as did Tracy.

They both retired to the living room and Tracy reached for the mystery novel she was reading. Normally Duke would turn on the television, but he left it off this evening.

“I hope Scott and Chrissie can work it out,” he said.

Tracy glanced up. “So do I.”

“Anything interesting on television tonight?”

Tracy continued to read. “There’s a documentary on Discovery I was hoping to catch. About Australia.”

“It’s not on too late, is it?”

“Why?” She raised her eyes to meet his.

“I was thinking of making an early night of it.”

“Oh?” Tracy returned to her book. “Any particular reason?”

“Yes.” It was a test of his determination not to laugh. Tracy knew full well what he had in mind. After being married to him all these years, how could she
not
know?

“You coming to bed early or not?” he asked.

“Oh, I’ll be there,” she said, the corner of her mouth quivering. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

T
HE CABIN HAD BEEN
quiet for more than a hour, and Chrissie was sure Scott had gone to sleep. His breathing was regular and
even. She wished the sound of it would lull her to sleep, too, but so far it hadn’t. She envied his ability to drift off like this, especially after their heated discussion.

Scott had claimed he loved her—and she’d laughed at him. That probably wasn’t the most tactful response, but she couldn’t help herself. He didn’t expect her to believe him, did he?

No man who loved a woman treated her the way Scott O’Halloran had treated her. They’d both said some things tonight that would’ve been better left unsaid, and then he’d stalked away, climbed into the loft and promptly fallen asleep.

His ability to put their discussion behind him so quickly only went to prove that she was right. Otherwise how could he possibly sleep now? It made no sense. Not when she was lying there, reliving their argument, the anger and resentment churning inside her. If he
did
love her as he’d said, then he should be upset, too; he should care. Clearly he didn’t.

Their argument, however, was only part of what was keeping Chrissie awake. Hunger contributed its own pangs to her sleepless state. She and Joelle had eaten a late breakfast, but that was almost twelve hours ago. If she read her watch correctly, it was now 10:00 p.m. She squinted down at her wrist, trying to make out the miniature numbers on her uselessly elegant watch. Maybe it was only nine, she thought; nevertheless, she was famished.

The way she figured it, she had two options. She could stay up, seethe with resentment toward Scott and listen to her stomach growl, or she could be angry with Scott and quietly investigate the canned goods in the kitchen.

The second option held more appeal. As silently as possible, she threw aside the quilts and tiptoed toward the kitchen. The latch on the cupboard door was tricky and she couldn’t see to
get it open, no matter what she tried. She felt so frustrated she wanted to slam her fist against it.

“You have to be smarter than the average bear,” Scott said from behind her.

Chrissie whirled around. “I thought you were asleep!”

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh.” She sighed heavily, wanting to avoid another confrontation with him—although she wouldn’t back down if he started one. Gone was the shy teenage girl he’d jilted and the young college graduate whose heart he’d broken. She was a woman now, and perfectly able to deal with the likes of him.

“You’re hungry.”

Chrissie’s nod was stiff, distrustful.

“Breakfast in bed, was it?” he asked in a sarcastic tone.

At first Chrissie was going to disabuse him of that idea, then decided she should let him believe what he wanted. He didn’t know her, and time had proved he never
had
known her. Not really. “Something like that.” She said the words flippantly.

He reached behind her, his hand grazing her ear, and twisted the cupboard knob. The door instantly sprang open. The top of her ear, where his finger had inadvertently touched, burned hotly. She didn’t want his touch to affect her like this.

“You can leave now, thank you very much,” she muttered fiercely.

“I’m hungry, too,” he said. Leaning forward, he grabbed a can from the shelf. Wanting to avoid any chance of further contact with him, Chrissie stepped to one side, but all she managed to do was position herself more securely in his arms.

His ability to fluster her just irritated her more. She stiffened, and Scott’s brows arched when he noticed her reaction.

“I’ll get out of your way,” she offered, eager to escape.

He didn’t respond, nor did he move.

She watched as his eyes narrowed. Wondering how much he could see in the firelight, she prayed that not a hint of what she really felt was reflected on her face. Her heartbeat was out of control, and her mouth had gone completely dry.

“Scott…let me go.” She waited for him to release her.

He did so with obvious reluctance, dropping his arms to his sides. He stepped away, and she saw his eyes harden—and then he did something so unexpected, so underhanded, that for one shocking moment, Chrissie couldn’t believe it.

He kissed her.

Not in the sweet gentle way she remembered. Not the cherished kisses of their youth, the memory of which she’d carried with her all these years. Instead, his mouth was hard on hers, the kiss wild and dangerous, stealing the very breath from her lungs.

Chrissie gasped and would have protested further if Scott had allowed it. Pinned against the cupboard, Chrissie had no means of escape. She tried to break it off, tried not to enjoy the familiar taste of him. It’d been so long since he’d kissed her…. She shouldn’t remember, shouldn’t savor his touch. She was strong and capable. Yes, she was. But one kiss, and she could feel herself weakening. He’d hurt her deeply, but she found herself thinking there was probably a legitimate reason for the things he’d done. Already she was making excuses for him!

“No!” She wrenched away.

He hesitated, eyes puzzled. “Why did you…?”

Oh, what the heck. But if he was going to kiss her, it would be on her terms, not his. Clutching his shirt collar, she jerked his face toward hers. If he wanted to kiss, then it would be a kiss he wouldn’t soon forget.

Scott gave a deep growl and half lifted her from the floor. Her feet dangled several inches off the ground, but by this point a little thing like suspended animation wasn’t going to distract her. The kiss was unrestrained, intense, and Chrissie let it continue, wanting to make sure he knew she hadn’t been lying home at night wondering about him.