Page 53 of Surly Sheriff
She swallowed and whispered, “He’s dead. But—”
“Good,” he interrupted, anger burbling through his blood. He needed to lash out and punch something before he ended up crying like a baby. It would take a day, or maybe ten, alifetimeeven, to erase the memory of that abject fear in her eyes. He moved away from her, crossing to the door, his nostrils burning and his eye blurring. “Need more coffee,” he muttered.
“Beau,” she called after him.
He stopped, blinking furiously.
“Look at me.”
Fuuuck.
He turned and looked at her. And let her see the emotions bubbling inside of him. The anger. Sadness. And the growing love he could not stem.
Her stare was serious. And regretful. “I don’t want to taint this thing developing between us with my hangups.” She gave a short laugh. “Unfortunately, it seems I have no control over them. I …” Her gaze flitted away, and she cleared her throat, looking down at the floor. “I won’t blame you if you decide I’m too much effort.”
Too much— “Don’t make me mad, Raegan,” he snarled, moving back to her with a purposeful stride, stopping at an arm’s length, leaving his arms against his sides. “You are a warm, loving, and generous woman. Witha sharp mind. I mean … hacking?” He chuffed a laugh. “That clever mind of yours created ways to cope with deep hurts. And” — he sucked in a ragged breath and spoke from his soul — “I think you are starting to trust me, letting your guard down around me. That’s a good thing, Rae, because whatever is bottled up inside of you is hounding you. You need to let it out and allow your wounds to heal. I’m a safe place, darlin’.Yoursafe place.”
Rae tilted her head and regarded him with a deep and earnest look. “My safe place …” She closed the distance and placed a palm over his heart. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he murmured, his heart breaking anew at the awe in her voice. As if someone having her back was unusual.
She dropped her arm. “I need a moment to … gather myself.” Her gaze skittered to the bathroom. “Shower.”
He needed a moment, too. His equilibrium was out of whack. “You do that. And I’ll make us some breakfast.”
*
She joined him in the kitchen as he plated the last two slices of French toast. “Smells yummy,” she said, trailing her hand across his back while she peered around his shoulder. “And looks delicious.”
“Only the best for my woman.” He dropped strips of crispy bacon on top of the golden bread and picked up the plates, and Rae poured them each a fresh mug of coffee. He surreptitiously watched her. Despite her even tone, strain told its story in the pinched set of her lips and rigid spine. As if she expected him to pounce and insist on explanations. He wanted to know, for sure, but only when she was ready to share.
He wracked his brains, trying to think of a subject to set her at ease.
They walked to the table and sat down to eat their breakfast.
Much like he had imagined last Sunday.
He gave a quick laugh, finding a way to relieve the tension. Mere days ago, he’d run from his fanciful vision, and here he was, having breakfast in the bay window with the woman of his dreams.
“What’s funny?” Rae asked.
“Thinking about that first Sunday.”
“Sunday?”
“Carried you across the threshold like a besotted groom, and then I looked across the floor and saw a vision of you and me eating breakfast here in the mornings. It scared the bejesus out of me.”
“And you fled like the hounds of hell were after you,” she ended, laughing lightly.
“Not running now,” he said, and stuffed a helping of food into his mouth.
Rae picked up her fork, but immediately set it back down. She sighed and sat back. “It was my grandfather,” she whispered, fiddling with the hem of her T-shirt.
He swallowed the food and picked up his next helping. “What about your grand—”
The import of her statement hit him like a bullet from an M40 rifle, and his fork clattered to the table.
Fuck.Here was his answer. “Oh, Rae.”
