RENEGADE'S REDEMPTION Read online

  Goofy little squirt. And for all his chunky weight, the kid had been so small, so fragile, when Royal had plucked him from the water. A moment more—

  Reluctantly, he nodded. “Yeah, I reckon I do. Damn. Guess that makes Tommy and me linked for life, huh?”

  “Linked for life? Again, not likely. Besides, you don’t strike me as a man who’d get all gooey and sentimental about kids.”

  He looked up at her, suddenly disturbed by the idea of his empty days stretching down the years. “How do I strike you, Elly?”

  “Oh, the lone-gunslinger type, that’s you,” she said mockingly. “Fast out of town and not one for long-term commitments.” Bending over him, she lifted the strands of his hair at the crown and smoothed down the edges near the wound. “This is your lucky day, Detective, I’m not going to have to shave you.” She dropped the washrag into the sink. Water splashed onto her leg, glossing it with shine and light. Holding the edge of the package between her teeth, she ripped it open and pulled out a bandage. “Once the swelling goes down and the bruises disappear, you’ll be as beautiful as ever.”

  “But will I be able to play the violin?” he asked mournfully, trying to tease her, provoke her, trying to do anything he could to erase that image of himself alone for the rest of his life.

  “Could you before?” Her grin was cheeky.

  “Nope.”

  “Well, there you are, then.” She patted his shoulder companionably, her other hand lingering against his scalp.

  The feel of her fingers running over his scalp was soothing, restful. He liked very much the feel of her hand on him. He could sleep for days like this, with her touching him, smoothing his hair, brushing his forehead gently. Lethargy and pain made his bones feel too heavy for his muscles to move, and he turned his face, brushing his mouth across her knuckles. “You have the smoothest skin, Elly Malloy. And you smell like an old-fashioned flower garden.” He kissed the streak of grease running across her hand, nudging her palm to his mouth.

  Elly felt her womb clench. His touch against her open palm turned her insides to melting chocolate.

  And then he looked up at her. “Did you know that you smell of flowers and hope?”

  “No.” Elly swallowed. His words made her want to weep. Such tenderness in his exhausted, shadowed eyes. Such despair. She stroked his head. “You need sleep, Royal. And you’re in pain. Let me get you something.”

  “An elixir for what really ails me?” His eyelids drifted shut, opened. “Can your medicine cure a malaise of the soul, Elly?” Lifting his hand slowly, he captured her hand. “Do you have something like that in your medicine cabinet?”

  Heat flooded her, liquid and luxurious. “Probably not. But I can help you sleep, Royal. Sleep is what you need right now.” She slipped her hand free and turned away from the torment in his sea bright eyes. Fumbling in the cabinet, she found the bottle of painkillers her veterinarian friend had given her six mouths ago. She shook out two of the small white tablets. “Here.” She opened Royal’s hand and dropped the tablets into it.

  Turning them over and over with his thumb, he studied them. “I know these,” he said finally. “These are prescription pills. I’ve had them before. After surgery. What are you doing with this kind of painkiller, Elly?”

  Unplugging the sink and turning on the cold water, she let it run for a second before filling the tumbler. “Drink.” She held the tumbler to his mouth. “Take the pills. We’ll discuss my medications another time.”

  He drank. He gulped down the pills, then stood up, wavering back and forth in front of her. “Call me a cab, Elly. So I can go home.”

  “All right. You’re a cab, Royal. Here.” She slid her arm around his waist, avoiding his taped rib cage. “Come with me.”

  “Smart aleck.” He rested his chin on top of her hair. His breath ruffled her bangs. “The best-smelling smart mouth I’ve ever known. I’ll dream about the way your hair smells, Elly, the scent of your skin.”

  “Fine. Sweet dreams,” she muttered, guiding him into her living room and the lumpy couch. “Sorry for the condition of the couch, but it’s either that or the floor. I’ll get you a pillow.” Holding him, she followed his frame as he folded down onto the couch.

  “Sure.” He let his head fall to the back of the sofa. “This is nice.” He lifted his head and fastened his gaze on hers, stopping her retreat. The bandage on his head gleamed whitely in the room. “I won’t forget nice, Elly. I’ll remember that, too.” And then his head fell back again, and his eyes closed. That fast, he was asleep, the strands of his hair gleams of sunlight against the drab couch, his face drained and bruised and completely vulnerable in sleep. A strand of gold hair curled over the edge of the beige tape wrapping his chest and ribs.

  In the hot room with the summer scent of night-blooming jasmine drifting in, the sweetness pulsing through her was unbearable. The summer night and its smells reminded her of other times, other places, of a time past when the whole world was filled with promise, a time she didn’t think would ever come again for her. Royal had spoken of hope. She didn’t see much of that ahead, either.

  But Tommy was alive, and so was she. They went to the beach, they let ice cream drip down their chins, they roasted marshmallows on twigs over a small campfire in the backyard. She had what was most important to her in the world—her son. Comparatively speaking, she had nothing to complain about.

  But Royal Gaines made the boundaries she’d established for her life seem like prison bars.

  The glint of gold hair across the top of his chest shone in the light. Wistfully, she touched her lips to his forehead, and went to get the pillow and a sheet to cover him. Without his shirt, he’d be chilled before morning, even in the heat of her house.

  When she returned, he hadn’t moved. Sliding him sideways, she lifted his long legs up onto her couch and settled his head on the pillow. When she adjusted the pillow to make it more comfortable, he murmured, “Elly?”

  “Me,” she answered, flipping the sheet open. “Go to sleep.”

  He didn’t stir when she slid off his shoes. Inside was embossed the name of the Italian manufacturer she’d expected. Whatever Royal had done with his money, he’d had enough at one point to buy himself exorbitantly expensive footwear, footwear that would shine up as gorgeous as ever. Expensive goods wore well. While she didn’t miss them, she couldn’t help the “Ah” of appreciation that escaped her as the supple leather caressed her palm. A woman could be forgiven the occasional craving.

  The craving for Royal Gaines and his touch, for the teasing shimmer in his eyes that stirred her—that was another issue, and one she was in no shape to deal with at the moment. Her fingers lingering against the pliant leather, she placed the shoes on the floor.

  Hesitating, she decided to leave his socks on, curiously reticent to strip them from his long, narrow feet.

  Irrational, illogical, and she couldn’t begin to explain it, even to herself, but taking off his socks struck her at that moment as somehow an invasion of his privacy. With him already sleeping half-naked in front of her, she felt the balance of power had shifted entirely to her. She unbuckled his belt and slipped it through the loops, the long hiss of the whisper of leather over fabric companionable in the quiet house. Coiling the belt, she placed it carefully inside his shoes and lined them up beside the couch where he’d see them when he opened his eyes.

  As she stood over his sleeping form, a wave of longing filled her. She wanted normalcy. She had a complicated script of lies and evasions. She craved ordinary, and she had Royal Gaines in her life, asleep on her couch. Royal Gaines, the least ordinary man she’d ever met, a complex man with his own evasions and half-truths.

  A man with his own demons to fight.

  And what he touched in her went beyond sexual hunger.

  Elly sighed and turned away. She could think more clearly in the morning.

  As she did every night, she checked the windows, making sure that the restraints were secure so that none
of the windows could be opened easily or without alerting her. She closed and locked all the windows except for the ones in the living room and in the bedroom. Leaving a light on in the kitchen in case Royal woke up disoriented, she turned on the attic fan that would draw the cooler night air in and vent out the heat of the day.

  Lying in bed with her own sheet drawn over her, she listened to the faint sounds of the night. She didn’t expect to sleep. She had too much to think about. Turning on her side, she heard Tommy’s whuffling breaths, a tiny whimper, and she reached across the gap between their beds to take his hand in hers.

  If Royal were correct, she and Tommy wouldn’t have to uproot themselves.

  Moonlight slanted in past the sides of the roll-down shades.

  But did she trust Royal enough to accept his explanation? An explanation that had enough holes in it for a manatee to swim through? If she went along with him, she could buy herself and Tommy time to make better plans than her present slash-and-burn mode of disappearance.

  She didn’t believe for a second that he’d allowed himself to fall into a gambling addiction. She could, though, accept that the attack had been personal.

  Because Royal Gaines was definitely a man who could make enemies if he decided to.

  Turning over, tangling herself in the sheet, Elly switched her grip so that she could continue to touch her son while she let her thoughts drift and eddy with the pass of moonlight and shadows across her ceiling.

  Royal was more than the careless beach bum he pretended to be. He’d treated her to the charm of the sun-bright, teasing, flirting man, and she’d glimpsed in unguarded moments the dark melancholy of his despair, a despair she didn’t understand, a despair she was certain he didn’t want her to see.

  Six months’ worth of paranoia had sharpened her survival instincts. She’d heard his evasions and not been fooled by the accidental meetings. She rubbed the scar on her forehead anxiously. Royal was involved in something. Whether or not that something affected her and Tommy was what was keeping her awake.

  That, and the knowledge that someone had been watching her, following her. Regardless of who had attacked Royal, the person who’d left the cigarette stub in the flowerpot was connected with her, not him. If she hadn’t been alert and careful, she would have missed that minute bit of evidence that someone, for reasons of his or her own, had watched her.

  She didn’t believe in coincidences. Somehow, despite his charm and his despair, Royal Gaines was, as he’d said, involved in her life. The question for her, the ultimate life-or-death question, was why?

  Caught in a draft of air from the reopened window, the shade popped against the window frame.

  “Mommy?” Breaking her hold, Tommy sat bolt upright. “Mommy!”

  “Shh, honey, Mommy’s here. Right beside you. Don’t worry, sugarplum,” she crooned, climbing into the bed with him and pulling his rigid body close to her. “We’re hunky-dory. You’re safe. Go to sleep, honey.”

  His eyes, wide and terrified and unseeing, met hers. “Mommy!”

  Gathering him as close as she could, Elly sang quietly into his soft, baby cheek, letting her voice reach him in the night terror that held him captive. Over and over, she whispered and sang, lulling, soothing, until her voice cracked.

  When his shivering stopped and the regular pattern of his breathing told her he was once again sleeping deeply and not in that nightmare world from which he couldn’t be woken, she bit her lip to keep from crying. She knew what had brought on this episode.

  She couldn’t rip Tommy from the friends and security he’d grown comfortable in. She’d take the risk that the attack in her yard had been aimed at Royal.

  She could believe that, too, if she could forget that unsettling sense that someone had been watching her. Those unseen eyes had been watching her, not Royal.

  Like her son, Elly shivered in the sultry summer night.

  No matter what, she reminded herself, she wouldn’t let down her guard with Royal Gaines. She’d weigh everything he said and did, stay prepared and keep an eye on him.

  If the idea of keeping watch on his tarnished gold self sent a different kind of shiver up her spine, well, she’d deal with that, too. For Tommy’s sake, she was prepared to take what was, after all, a small risk.

  Considering the possibilities and the risks, she thought of the man sleeping yards away from her and her son. He said he’d come to talk with Tommy about the rodeo. Maybe he had.

  With Tommy’s sweaty, infinitely sweet body curled into hers, she plummeted into sleep.

  And awoke, screaming at the sound of gunshots outside her house. Awoke to the sight of Royal Gaines, bruised, bandaged and frighteningly fierce, standing over her.

  “What the hell is it, Elly?” His weight balanced on the balls of his feet, he scanned the room. “What’s the matter?”

  “I heard gunshots,” she whispered, sweat drenching her nightgown. “Gunshots. Outside.” Wadded in the sheet, her fists shook as if she had a fever.

  Later she would recall how the coiled tension of his body loosened at her words. He sank onto the edge of the bed and covered her flailing hands with his, holding them still. “Firecrackers, Elly. It’s the Fourth of July. Firecrackers.”

  “Firecrackers,” she said dully, not comprehending. She’d heard gunshots.

  “That’s all. Take a deep breath.” He urged her head down toward her knees, his fingers rough and callused against the back of her neck. Water spilled across the bed, splashing onto her knees as he grabbed the glass of water on the nightstand and held the rim of the glass to her mouth.

  Elly wanted to cling to his hand for all she was worth.

  She didn’t.

  Even now, even thrown back into that Christmas terror, she tried to free her hands from the unbearable comfort Royal offered her. He grounded her when her heart fluttered and banged against her rib cage like a trapped bird, grounded her when she was ready to flee, to scream, to take that final slide into panic.

  “Hey, Mr. Royal!” Tommy butted his head between them, jarring the glass of water in Royal’s hand.

  Steadying the glass, Royal replaced it on the stand, drops of water following his motion. “Hey, yourself, water boy.”

  “You came for me!” Tommy poked a finger in Elly’s face and threw himself at her. “I told you he wouldn’t forget.”

  “No, he didn’t.” Elly’s voice was strangled. She hoped both Tommy and Royal would pass off her smothered words as the result of Tommy’s energetic hugs.

  In the storm-cloud bruises of his face, Royal’s clear gaze held hers as she raised her head. “You okay, Elly?”

  “Sure.” With trembling fingers, she lifted the damp sheet away from her body. In that instant of waking, she’d forgotten where she was. Pleating the sheet over and over, she avoided looking at Royal. She hadn’t fooled him. “I was startled, that’s all. I forgot today is a holiday.”

  “Did you, Elly?” he asked softly, leaning forward until the purples and blues of his face and body filled her vision. “That must have been a hell of a … surprise.” His warm palm remained at her nape, a connection of flesh and bone between them that calmed her.

  “Yes.” Concentrating on the fanfold she was making of her damp sheet, she slowed her breathing, fought back the memories. “I was dreaming.”

  Royal stroked the line of her chin with his thumb, casually, just letting her know he was there, nothing sexual in the comforting motion that reminded Elly of the way she’d soothed her son during his night terrors.

  “Tommy Lee, why don’t you and I go into the kitchen and see what we can find for breakfast?” Royal’s thumb continued that slow, lingering stroke along her neck even while he spoke to Tommy.

  As much as her will told her to push Royal’s hand away, to fight her battle one more time, the touch of his hand was such comfort, such a relief, that Elly found she couldn’t summon the energy to reject that reassuring stroke of his hand.

  “Your face is funny looking.” T
ommy stuck his finger into the corner of Royal’s eye. “And you got a white thing stuck up on your head and over your eyeball.”

  “You can make fun of my funny face while we dig up something for breakfast. That work for you?”

  “Yep. But I’m not making fun. That’s mean. The kids made fun of me when I started at Leesha’s. But Leesha made them stop. So I would not make fun of you. Even if you do look funny.” Tommy gazed at Royal’s face, the bandage around his ribs. “Big Band-Aid. I want one.” He slid a stubby finger inside one of the overlaps. “Cool.”

  “Maybe your mom’ll find an extra one for you after we bring her breakfast in bed.”

  Touched by Royal’s attempts to let her pull herself together, Elly nodded. “Sure.”

  “Mommy don’t let me eat in bed. No place except at the kitchen table. Or in the car. Only sometimes,” Tommy added conscientiously. “But never in bed.”

  “Well, we’ll be gentlemen and give your mom a chance to wake up and meet the day. Sometimes, a man needs to take care of a lady, especially when that lady’s his mom, you know?”

  Elly couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken care of her.

  Tommy wiggled closer to Royal, speaking in a confidential tone. “I’m a gentleman. I take real good care of my mom. I ran all the way through the woods when—”

  “That’s enough, Tommy. I’m getting up.” Elly couldn’t let him finish his story. Five years old, and he had to be as closemouthed as a spy. “We’ll talk about the rodeo while we eat.”

  “Sure.” Scrambling over Royal’s knees, Tommy slid onto the floor, his bottom bouncing on Royal’s bare foot. “Sorry,” he said, his glance apprehensive.

  “No problem,” Royal answered easily, hauling the kid off the floor. “I have five other toes.”

  Tommy Lee darted a look at Royal’s foot.

  “On the other foot. Not this one.” Royal wiggled his toes obligingly.

  “Okay. But I didn’t mean to—”

  Cupping his hand around Tommy Lee’s neck, Royal stemmed the flood of words. “It’s all right, Thomas Lee. Really.” Royal thought Elly flinched, but he couldn’t check, not with the boy’s enormous eyes drinking in everything he was saying. “I don’t say things I don’t mean, hear? I’m not angry. Squashed toes are a very small deal in the grand scheme of things.”