Trusting His Instincts, page 6
A fair rate. To fix things. Damn if I didn’t think for just a minute that she was referring to…other activities.
“I’m not licensed,” I sputter. “If I fuck things up—”
“You won’t.” She scoops up the bowls and pushes to her feet. “After you finish with the heater, we’ll talk about what’s next.”
A little after four, I give up for the day. The entire electrical panel needs to be replaced, and I don’t have the tools or the equipment to do it.
“Raelynn?” I call, finding the living room empty. “You upstairs?”
A shadow moves outside the big picture window. Every muscle in my body tenses until I see a flash of her long, blond hair. She’s crouched next to a set of chairs making some high-pitched noises I can’t understand.
I open the front door, and she jerks to her feet. “Christ on a cracker, Nash. You scared me.”
“Is everything okay?” I shove my hands into my pockets as her cheeks turn bright red.
Shoulders heaving, she drops into one of the chairs. “I don’t know. The cat’s missin’.”
“You have a cat?”
She huffs and shakes her head. “No. He ain’t mine.”
“Then…how is he missing?” I ask.
Raelynn tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Were you in town at Christmas?”
For a beat, I don’t answer. I spent the twenty-fifth at the hostel trying to ignore the ache in my heart from yet another holiday alone.
“I got here in early December. Wanted somewhere warmer than South Dakota.”
“Remember that snowstorm? Six inches on Christmas mornin’. The next day, I went out to shovel the sidewalk, and I spooked this scrawny cat hidin’ under the laurel bushes. I gave him some leftover chicken, and he’s been comin’ around ever since. Until last night.”
As if the cat knows she’s talking about him, he leaps up onto the porch with a scratchy yowl.
“About damn time,” she says, nothing but relief in her tone.
“Hey there, little guy.” I drop to one knee and hold out my hand. He’s all black except for a small patch on his chest of pure white, and he looks up at Raelynn and meows loudly.
“Keep an eye on him? I’ll go get some fresh food.”
Easing myself down onto my ass, I stretch my legs out slowly while Raelynn disappears back into the house. “You got a home?” I ask the cat, who eyes the door like he knows exactly where it leads. “Looks like you want one. Can’t say I blame you.”
He inches closer until his little wet nose presses against my fingers. In under a minute, he’s rolling on the ground while I scratch him behind the ears.
“Here you go.” Raelynn slips through the door and sets a small plate under one of the chairs. The cat attacks the chicken, purring the entire time. “I was worried about you, kiki.”
“Kiki?”
She shrugs. “Growin’ up, my mama called all the ranch cats ‘kikis.’ Since this guy doesn’t have a name…”
“Kiki” finishes his meal and starts winding around Raelynn’s ankles.
“I think he wants one.”
She snorts. “He’s gonna have to make do with kiki. I ain’t adopting a cat.” Despite her words, she crouches down next to me and runs her hand over the animal’s back.
“Why not? You’ve been feeding him since Christmas. If he were feral, he wouldn’t let you pet him like that.”
The way she looks at him, I think she’s about to scoop him up and take him inside. For all of two seconds before she jerks to her feet and makes a beeline for the door. “He shouldn’t stick around. Not if he knows what’s good for him.”
She’s back inside before I can say another word. Kiki paws at my leg, whining until I pick him up and settle him in my lap. “Give her a little time. I think she needs you as much as you need her.”
Sanchez leads the beginner class through the last of the cooldown stretches, and I stagger off to the corner, spent. Coming tonight was a mistake. Though my head stopped throbbing after lunch, my hip sports a deep purple bruise. My wrist isn’t a hundred percent either.
But after being around Raelynn all day, I needed to work off some steam. Or…something.
Dropping down onto the mat, I cross one leg over the other, my foot planted firmly on the outside of my knee. The spinal twist feels like heaven.
At the back of the room, West works with a small group of women teaching advanced self-defense.
I’m mesmerized as he lets one of them wrap duct tape around his wrists.
“Tighter, Marisol. I’m a Navy SEAL. You won’t hurt me.”
The petite dark-haired woman finishes two more rounds, and then steps back.
“Duct tape and zip ties are a lot weaker than you think. If you know what you’re doing. Leverage and force are your friends. Spread your fingers wide, extend your arms in front of you, and then drive your elbows back as hard and as fast as you can.”
West demonstrates, and the tape rips easily. He grabs one end with his teeth and pulls it from his skin. “You will lose some arm hair. But you’ll be free.”
As I finish my stretches, he asks another woman to tie him up again, this time with a length of rope. But she can’t get it tight enough, and after three tries, he calls, “Nash? Can you come help us for a minute?”
I shuffle over to the group. “What do you need?”
“As tight as you can.” He passes me the rope and holds out his wrists, totally at ease. “The rest of you, watch closely.”
As I pull the ends of the rope—hard—West balls his hands into tight fists. Finishing the knot, I step back. It looks painful, but the former SEAL is smiling.
“Anyone catch what I did?”
The redhead next to me clears her throat. “You made yourself bigger.”
“Right answer.” West relaxes, and the ropes, which looked inescapable, loosen. He twists his hands enough to capture the ends, then starts to work them toward the knot. In under thirty seconds, he’s free. “Angle your fists, force your hands apart—even a quarter of an inch makes a difference—and tense your muscles. Then, when you’re alone, relax.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “Thanks for the assist.”
“Thanks for the lesson.” I head for the lockers, retrieve my backpack, and escape into the crisp, evening air.
Maybe it was a good idea to come tonight. West gave me a hell of a discount on the eight-class package—Adam’s doing, I suspect—and I always leave feeling better than when I walked in.
I didn’t think about the car accident once. Or worry I should get the hell out of town. No time. Not with Sanchez repeatedly throwing himself on top of me so I could learn how to escape something called a “mount.”
Passing the Siren Roastery, I inhale the rich scent of coffee. Before I came to Seattle, instant was my go-to. Now, I’m spoiled forever.
My toe catches on the uneven sidewalk, and I stumble, shaking loose a thought that’s been rattling around in my head all day.
“You live around here?”
The man who ran into me yesterday…his accent was from Chicago. The home of the DeLuca family.
I walk faster, breaking into a jog for the last few blocks. It’s not until I’m back inside my little studio that I start to relax. Coincidences happen every day. I haven’t been back to Chicago in more than twenty years. I’m wrong about his accent. I have to be.
Chapter Seven
Raelynn
Sunlight warms the porch. I step outside with my morning coffee and a bowl of gourmet kibble. The cat bounds up the steps when he sees me, meowing the whole way.
I should never have fed him all those months ago. Nash is right. Kiki thinks this is his home, and if I let him in, he’ll never leave.
If only I could make him the same promise.
As soon as he finishes his breakfast, he jumps into my lap. I barely hold on to my coffee cup. “I’m not a good bet, buddy. Every time I go out with Hidden Agenda, there’s a chance I won’t come back.”
My shoulder aches—but the memory of the injury is a hundred times worse than any lingering soreness. Kiki gets right under my chin, rubbing his head along my jaw, purring the whole time. “You deserve someone who’ll love you and won’t fuck it all up.”
He flops over, showing me his belly. “Way to make me feel guilty,” I grumble.
I could call one of the local animal shelters. They’ll be able to find him a good family. He’s young—I think—maybe a couple of years old. Now that he’s not starving, he looks healthy. Before I take him to a shelter, I should make sure.
The cat settles down for his post-breakfast nap, and I pull out my phone to find a vet. I’ll get him checked out, then find him a new home.
It’s the right thing to do. So why do I feel like shit over it?
It doesn’t take me long to get an appointment for Tuesday morning. “I’ll get you a carrier tomorrow,” I say, stroking my hand over Kiki’s sleek black coat. “You’re gonna make some family very happy.”
My eyes start to burn. I haven’t cried in four years. Not since I buried Brooks. So why does the idea of this stray cat finding a home with someone else hurt so much?
Get over yourself. He’ll be better off. And so will you.
As if God herself disagrees with my plan to spend the rest of my life alone, my phone vibrates with a new text message.
Nash: Leaving my place now. I hope you haven’t had breakfast yet.
He ends the message with a donut emoji. Oh, God. That better not be code for some weird sex thing. The one time I tried an online dating app, my messages were filled with eggplants, peaches, tacos, bananas, and baguettes. I still don’t understand that last one.
I spend a full five minutes staring at my phone, agonizing over my reply. Nothing sounds right.
Can’t wait!
Too excited.
Haven’t eaten yet.
Too boring.
There better be a maple bar in there.
What if there isn’t? Or worse? What is he’s not actually talking about donuts?
Finally, I send him a single coffee emoji. That’s safe. Casual. Nothing he has to respond to. Nothing too needy. Nothing too serious.
Despite my uncharacteristic chattiness yesterday, I know the score. Nash and I aren’t friends. We’re not dating. He’s my damn handyman. So why did I just spend all that time worrying over what to say to him?
“Shee-it.” I scare the cat, and he jumps off my lap, his tail twice its normal size, then stares at me from the edge of the porch. I should try to calm him down, but my hands are shaking. I doubt my voice is much steadier.
I care what Nash thinks because I want us to be…something. Friends, at least. But maybe more.
Four years is a long damn time. Any woman in your position would be lusting after a guy like him.
Works with his hands. Check. Has a smile that lights up his whole face. Check. Has already seen you at your worst and didn’t run away. Check.
Nash is safe. He’s a good guy who won’t be around long enough to get clingy. Or demand more than I’m willing to give. And he’s damn fine to look at.
Ain’t no surprise I want him. Hell, it’d be strange if I didn’t.
By the time Nash arrives, I’m almost calm. Until he gets out of the car. It’s warm today, and he’s wearing a dark blue t-shirt that molds to his arms and shows off every curve and dip of his muscles. “Give me a hand?”
“Good mornin’ to you too,” I say, leaning against the mangled trunk and appreciating the view as he reaches into the backseat.
He straightens and hands me a white box with a wink. “Be careful with these. I had to go all the way to Mill Creek for them.”
God. He smells so damn good. His hair curls over the collar of his shirt, and as he stretches to snag his backpack, I catch a whiff of spice. And a glimpse of smooth skin.
I have to put some space between us before I say—or do—something I’ll regret. Like grab the back of his neck and kiss him until he can’t remember his own name.
“Raelynn?” Nash touches my shoulder, and I jerk back to the present. If I didn’t have a death grip on the box of donuts, they’d be in the gutter. “You do like donuts, right?”
“Of course, I do.” I take a quick peek into the box. “But you’re damn lucky you got two maple bars. I’d hate to have to fight you for one.”
“I’ll trade you the rest of my maple bar for another cup of coffee.” Nash nudges the donut box closer to me with a hopeful grin.
“Rookie move.” Not waiting for him to change his mind, I snag the rest of the prized confection, holding it just out of reach. “The coffee pot is full—and unguarded. You could have kept this and refilled your mug.”
“Maybe I just wanted to see you smile like that.”
Flames race up my cheeks, and I can’t remember the last time I blushed. Or spent an hour with a guy, enjoying his company and just…talking. “Get to work, Mr. Fix-It. I’ll keep you in coffee all day long.”
“Promise?” His blue eyes sparkle as he clutches the cup to his chest. “Because I have to cut into your drywall today to connect a whole new electrical panel. It’s not going to be pretty. Or quick.”
“Will my lights stop flickerin’ for no reason whatsoever? Because if so, you can make as much of a mess as you want, and I’ll be happy as a pig in shit.” Shoving the last of the maple bar into my mouth, I move to the cabinet next to the sink and pull out the bag of coffee beans. “If you get my heater workin’ at the same time, I just might kiss you.”
His mug lands on the counter with a rattle. I didn’t notice him get up. Or move so close, we’re practically touching. He stares at me, the intensity in his eyes almost feral.
Oh, shit. What did I—?
Nash grabs me, one hand cupping my neck, the other molding to my waist. His lips are the stuff of legends. Soft, yet strong, with a hint of stubble scraping against my skin. I can’t think. Not with the way he tastes. With the heat of his body setting me ablaze.
Lord have mercy, this man can kiss.
And I’m kissing him back.
He traps me against the counter, but escape is the last thing on my mind. The low rumble in his throat and the growing bulge in his jeans make my heart race and heat gather in my core.
Scoring my lip with his teeth, he tugs at the swollen flesh until I moan, then touches his forehead to mine.
“Rae…” he whispers. “That…”
The fire burning through my veins cools in an instant. “Let me go.” I shove at him, twisting out of his hold. “Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that.”
Tears make the room shimmer. My chest tightens. I have to get out of here before I lose my shit.
I race through the house and up the stairs. Nash calls after me, telling me to wait, apologizing, asking what he did wrong. But I can’t answer. All I can do is slam my bedroom door in his face.
My tears soak into the pillow. I don’t even remember falling onto the bed. He knocks repeatedly, but eventually, his footsteps echo on the stairs, and I’m left with the sounds of my own grief amid the silence.
I wish I knew what to say to him. Or how to explain what he did. It’s been four years since anyone called me Rae—since Brooks called me Rae. For so long, I heard his voice every time I closed my eyes. As much as that hurt, it was also a comfort. A reminder that once...I’d been loved by someone who treated me like I was his whole world. That once I’d loved someone who was my everything.
But now…the memory scratches and skips like one of those old records Brooks loved so much and will never play again.
Nash
After an hour, Raelynn still hasn’t come downstairs. No footsteps. No creaking floorboards. Not a single sound.
Parked on her couch, elbows on my knees, I stare down at my boots, wondering what I should do. I’ve been here so long, it would be weird to leave now. Wouldn’t it? She didn’t tell me to get out. Just…let go. But why?
My backpack and toolbox sit next to the door. I could head down to the basement and get to work. At least then, I’d have something to stop me from replaying that kiss over and over again.
Raelynn came alive in my arms. That first day when I caught her at the dojo, I saw the fire in her eyes. But the storm broke her somehow. It doesn’t matter that I’d only exchanged a few words with her before that night. I knew. She lost something after the panic attack and found it again—briefly—over donuts and that one, passionate kiss.
I can’t just sit here. But disappearing into the basement doesn’t feel right either. So, instead, I head for the kitchen and clean up from breakfast. It doesn’t take long—two plates, Raelynn’s empty mug, a few crumbs scattered over the table in the breakfast nook—and when I’m done, I stare at the coffee pot, wondering how much of an ass I’d be if I poured myself another cup.
“You’re still here.”
I whirl around, almost dropping my mug. The sight of Raelynn’s swollen eyes and splotchy cheeks makes my heart hurt. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did, but I’m—”
“Brooks used to call me Rae.” Her voice holds none of its usual strength. She won’t look at me—focusing just over my shoulder instead—and pulls a heavy flannel shirt tightly around her body.
“Brooks?” The truth registers the moment the name leaves my lips. “Your husband. God, Raelynn. I’m so sorry.”
A single tear glistens on her cheek. If I thought she’d let me, I’d wipe it away.
“You didn’t know.” With a deep sigh, she drags the cuff of the shirt across her cheek. “It’s been four years. I thought…ain’t nothin’ gonna bring him back. But…”
The hitch in her voice smashes my resolve. In two steps, I’m right in front of her, and she steps into my arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. But when she rests her head on my shoulder, I know however much pain I caused her, it’s nothing compared to what she lives with every single day.
“You’re not supposed to ‘get over’ losing someone you love. You learn to live with the pain of missing them until it’s…part of you.” My words sound heavy and awkward as I close my eyes and try to picture Mae. But after all these years, I can only remember her red curls. The freckles she hated. Everything else about her is mostly…gone.
