Primal Obsession (31 page)

“He’s right, Sam,” Nora said. “It gave us a chance to use what we learned without you to bail us out if we flubbed.”

“Thanks, you two. Makes me feel like I hit a homer.” Sam’s smile was as big as his beloved Fenway Park.

Frank shrugged. “It was great, except I never want to eat canned ravioli again in my life. And I did have to sleep in a tent with my mom.”

“And a dog,” said Nora. “It was a little crowded.”

“What will happen to Captain now?” Annie asked.

Frank’s panicked gaze fixed on his mother. “He’s my dog now. Mom?”

Nora smiled indulgently. “He seems to know he belongs with my son. He’s a good dog. I’ll talk to Ted Wolfe’s daughter about it.”

Frank pumped his arm in triumph. “Cool! Thanks, Mom.”

The pleasure on Sam’s face faltered. “Too bad Carl doesn’t feel the same as you two. He’s probably going to sue Moosewoods for breach of contract and pain and suffering and God knows what.”

“Oh, no, he won’t sue anyone.” Nora looked smug.

“What do you mean?” Carl’s threat of lawsuit formed one of Annie’s biggest guilt burdens.

“Frank and I convinced him that he’d look a whole lot better if he could brag about finishing the expedition and leading us through the wilderness on his own.”

“Is that the truth?” Sam asked.

“Close enough. But it doesn’t matter. We know what we accomplished. Don’t we, Frank?”

The teenager grinned. “Besides, if he sues, I’ll rat on him in court. He screamed his head off and ran from the latrine in faggy red bikini underwear. Claimed a bear chased him, but a few minutes later a raccoon came out of the woods with his Swiss Army knife in its teeth.”

After everyone recovered from a laughing fit, mother and son promised to keep in touch and departed.

Sam knew he ought to be more elated at Nora’s news that Carl wouldn’t sue, but his brain and other vital parts of his body focused only on Annie. He’d never known her to be shy, but a pink blush colored her cheeks.

She’d changed into a clean T-shirt and shorts, so someone—Nora maybe—must have brought her duffel bag. Up close, she looked fragile, with violet smudging the tender skin beneath her solemn gray eyes. He knew, better than anyone, the core of steel beneath the soft skin. As he breathed in her scent—an odd mix of antiseptic and her sweet-tart trademark—panic frizzed his nerve endings.

“My recordings will lead the detectives to Ray’s body and another woman I didn’t even know about. Justin says they haven’t found Smith yet.” Her fingers were locked in a white-knuckle grip.

What she didn’t express was her obvious fear Smith would come after her again. Here in this bed tethered to an IV, Sam could do fuck all to protect her. Knots as big as catcher’s mitts tied up his gut, but he managed a casual shrug. “No sweat, sweetheart. They’ve got him surrounded. He won’t get away.”

“You sound like an Old West sheriff.” Her hint of a smile vanished. “I don’t want to talk about that, about Smith. Sam, what we had those few days, our relationship...” She inhaled deeply, obviously gathering strength.

I love you, Sam.
Her whispered words would haunt an endless string of sleepless nights, but he couldn’t let her utter them again.
Don’t fall into those cloud-gray eyes. Whatever you fucking do, don’t touch her.

“Hey, yeah,” he said, with forced humor in his tone, “some relationship. Two days of sweat and danger and one night of incredible sex. Guess that line in
Speed
is right.”

Her breath hitched. The blush faded as blood drained from her face. “ ‘Relationships based on intense experiences never work.’ ”

“Or words to that effect.” He shot her his best mega-watt smile. The forced stretch hurt his lips. “Hell, sweetheart, we have nothing in common but those days.”

She gave a jerky nod. “We’re too different.”

“Total opposites.” He leaned back against the crook of his good arm. That way he couldn’t reach for her, pull her to him for one last kiss.

If he kissed her, she’d know everything he was saying was a damn lie and that he was shattering into more splinters than a broken bat. He was a loser headed nowhere, not worthy of her. She didn’t need an albatross around her neck.

“You probably have to go.” He stared at the blank TV hanging on the opposite wall.

“Justin’s waiting.” Her words were clipped, her tone brittle. Crackling with the same fear he’d heard when she faced the Hunter. “I’m sorry you were injured, Sam. There are no words to thank you for what you did.”

He made the mistake of looking at her again. Tears glistened in her eyes. He nearly folded. But what the hell could he do? She deserved better than a washed-up jock who’d slink back into the woods once his shoulder healed.

“Sweetheart, don’t thank me. You were the one who captured the bastard. You were the one to bring him down.”

“And lose him.”

He wouldn’t let her beat herself up about that. “They’ll get him. They know what he looks like, and they have his prints. It’s only a matter of time.”

If he didn’t chase her away soon, he’d cave. He stretched—as much as his sore arm would let him—and yawned.

“You’re tired. I’ll go.” She backed away, her face a mask, except for her expressive eyes. “If you ever get to Portland, give me a call.”

He wanted to haul her back, to hold her, to erase the pain in her gaze. The pain he’d put there. He wanted to tell her— But it would only prolong the agony.

“You got it, sweetheart. We’ll...do lunch. Catch a game. Or something.” When he yanked his lips into another smile, the effort stabbed deep into his chest.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Annie made it to the door before the truth butted her in the belly. His nonchalant pose, his phony smile, his practiced dismissal.
Nothing in common...we’ll do lunch. Sweetheart.

Somewhere along the way, he’d gone from kidding around to tender caring. Sam was no good at deception. He was sending her away, lying to her because he loved her. And because he didn’t believe in himself.

Wings sprouted in her chest.

She pivoted, girding for battle. When his eyes widened with hope and pain, she saw she was right. Her heart fluttered, but she stayed put. She would leave him something to chew on. Then it would be up to him.

“You are so full of shit, Sam Kincaid.” Hands on hips, she planted her feet apart. Keeping her distance lent her strength. Any closer and she might throw herself at him and beg. “When did you trade
princess
for
sweetheart
?”

His mouth dropped open. “What?”

“You can lie to yourself, Sam, but I won’t let you lie to me. Relationship based on intense experience? Maybe that’s what you want to believe, but we had more than that. Total opposites? Definitely, but in our case opposites attracted like steel to a magnet. We complemented each other. Didn’t we use each other’s strengths, depend on each other’s strengths out there? We made a hell of a team. Yes, we had mind-blowing sex, the best, but
sweetheart
, we connected on more levels than that.”

He sat up, his good left hand fisted in the sheet. “You don’t want to—”

“You be quiet, Sam Kincaid, and let me get this out.” She squared her shoulders. Seeing in his face that her arrows had hit the bull’s-eye gave her courage to continue.

“I admit that at first I saw you as only another self-centered, arrogant jock, and, well, sometimes that’s true. But you’re more, Sam. You’re sensitive to other people’s needs and problems. Look how you handled young Frank, helped him. And his mother. You may not know it, but you have a talent for guiding and teaching, and I don’t just mean woods lore, Coach.

“Underneath the joking and the other layer of resentment you don’t let most people see is a good man. A caring man, a talented, capable man. The man I have fallen in love with. The man who loves me.”

She closed her mouth and waited for that to sink in.

He swiped a hand across his eyes. “You don’t want to love me, Annie. I have nothing to offer you. No future. And when would we see each other?”

“Excuses, excuses,” she scoffed, pumping a mental fist. He didn’t deny anything she said. “Nothing is tying you to those damn woods. You know where you belong, and it’s not there. No future? Only if you continue your self-pitying downhill slide. I don’t want to love you? What you mean is you don’t believe you
can be loved
.”

She gripped the door handle, held on, and prayed. Her knees had turned to lake water. If she didn’t get out of there fast, she’d slide to the floor in a puddle.

“I love you, Sam, with all my heart. When you’re ready to be loved, you know where to find me.”

Before he could utter a word, she slipped out the door.

***

The next Monday, Greenville

Sam dragged himself from the cocoon of his sofa to test his right arm’s mobility. The knife wound and the surgery had stiffened him like cement. He was supposed to let the blasted thing heal before he had physical therapy, but he couldn’t wait. Yesterday he could raise the arm only a few inches above his waist. On a deep breath, he lifted.

Higher.

Shoulder height today?

Pain blasted through the entire side of his body like a dozen fast balls, and he sank again into the cushions. Movement hurt like hell, but he could do it. A groan sieved from between his teeth, not of pain but of relief. His arm would be whole again. Not the fingers. Never the fingers.

But hey, the
Bangor Daily News
, both Portland papers, and the
Boston Globe
called him a hero. He had the clippings to prove it.

The newspapers lay on the floor in front of him. He scanned the
BDN
headline, then kicked the paper across the room.

Shit. What a crock.

Annie was the real hero. He’d told the reporters how she saved his life. Twice. Once when she whacked the Hunter over the head, and again when she did most of the work bringing him—and the damn killer—to safety. Three times, counting fishing him out of the lake.

The news stories included those facts, but insisted on hyping “former Major League batting champion Sam Kincaid” a hero.

Him, a hero? If he was a freaking hero, he would do something to turn his life around instead of moping around Moosewoods Resort.

Maybe he hadn’t cleaned up his act, but cleaning up his pigsty of a cabin was a step in the right direction. Only yesterday, Ben had ragged him about getting off his ass. At least he hadn’t dived back into the bottle.

He stalked around the dark cabin, opening windows to the morning breeze and hooking discarded shorts and shirts from the floor. After tossing everything in a pillow case, he stomped out and headed to the laundry room in the main lodge.

Chickadees chattered in the white pines that lined the path. Smells of baking bread and blueberry muffins from the restaurant kitchen should have had his mouth watering. No appetite. Not one cookie in his pockets. Not much interested him. He hadn’t shaved since the hospital sent him home five days ago. He’d done nothing except relive the last time he’d seen her. The ache in his shoulder dimmed compared to the ache in his heart.

I love you, Sam.

Damn, she’d said it again. Twice. She’d seen through him like an X-ray. Except she’d called him sensitive and talented.

What could you do with a female like that? Who saw what she wanted to see in a man. Who thought him better than he was. She was supposed to be so smart.

He scowled, tossing clothes into the washing machine. The middle-aged lady at the next machine took one look at him and moved her laundry basket two machines farther down. He cleared his throat and tried to smooth his thoughts along with his face. Ben would bench him for frightening the guests.

Something crinkled in the pocket of his shirt. He extracted the pink paper with his good left hand, opened it.

The phone message from the Sox guy. He’d forgotten about that. Or blocked it. He set the note aside while he started the machine.

The pink paper blinked neon at him. The phone number dared him to call. His stomach clenched. Hell. He could give the guy a ring. Why not? Find out what he had to say. They sure as hell wouldn’t want him back in the freaking office. Damn, he’d hated that.

Maybe the Sox were offering a different job. But what?

Annie’s image floated into his mind, delicate cheekbones marred with bloody scratches and soft gray eyes shining with love. With her, he’d felt complete again, no longer a shell. She’d challenged him, understood him, drugged him with her scent and her body, and wrapped him up with her heart.

Without her, he had no reason to care.

What did he have to lose? What was there left to lose? He had to try.

He picked up the message gingerly, as if it might bite him. He meandered out on the dock and took out his cell phone.