Kathleen Creighton - One Summer’s Knight

For one moment it did look as if Agent Redfield might try and stop them. “I’m gonna need to know where you’re taking my witness,” he said in a belligerent tone, but his face said he already knew it was a lost cause.

As they met in the doorway, Riley paused, and Summer saw the two men exchange a long, measuring stare. And she knew with a sudden primitive awareness that the silent struggle had much less to do with her and her current predicament than their words might suggest. More, perhaps, to do with the thunder of hoofbeats and the clang of antlers echoing on a cold autumn morning. That awareness stirred along her skin and her pulse quickened.

“Is my client under arrest?” her lawyer softly asked, and the FBI man made a sibilant noise of disgust. “In that case, where my client goes is none of the government’s business.”

Redfield stood his ground a moment longer, then turned his head away. “At least let me know where I can get ahold of her.”

“You can reach her through me.” Riley drew a card from his jacket pocket and offered it to the other man in a motion both controlled and graceful. “Right now I’m taking Mrs. Robey and her children someplace where they will be safe and can rest undisturbed. Give it a couple of days and then call my office. If I think Mrs. Robey is up to it, she’ll be available to answer your questions at that time. Now-Mrs. Robey? Shall we go?”

Still caught up in the primal spell of it herself, Summer allowed herself to be towed along for several steps before the realization kicked in that she was being treated exactly as if she were the spoils of that recent masculine power struggle. She halted, more like a balky child than a reluctant bride, and pulled her arm free of Riley Grogan’s grasp. She was obscurely pleased when he stopped and looked back at her in utter astonishment, as if an inanimate object had suddenly acquired legs and voice.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but I would like to know. Where, exactly, are you taking us?”

Riley stepped back and leaned down so that his face was close to hers. “Can we talk about this later? Like…outside?”

It was very quiet in the hallway. On the edges of her vision Summer was intensely aware of her children’s wide-eyed, listening stares, and beyond them, Jake Redfield, alert and interested, his face looking as if it might even smile. She inhaled through her nose, struggling to take in air that had suddenly become thick and warm as fur. “No,” she said, through lips that barely moved, “now…please.”

The silence held for perhaps three suspenseful seconds more. Then Summer felt the breeze of a silent exhalation, and once more the pressure of Riley’s fingers on her elbow. He said to the three interested spectators, with mocking courtesy, “Would y’all please excuse us?” as he drew her with him into the empty rest room and closed the door.

She felt light-headed, her ears were ringing. Afraid to give herself time to think about why that should be so, Summer launched into what she knew was a pointless protest, delivered in harsh whispers. “I’m not about to let you just haul us off without knowing where it is you’re taking us.” I will still have some control over my life I must.

For a long, tense moment he gazed at her, his eyes dark and thoughtful. Then, as if he understood, he suddenly nodded. That astonished her so much that she felt as if the bands that were holding her together inside had just snapped, leaving everything loose and trembly.

“Mrs Robey, you know the situation better than I do. Not only do you have children and animals with particular needs, but there’s the security aspect to be considered. Someone has tried to do you harm. They may do so again.”

“Yes,” Summer whispered, and swallowed. “That’s why I can’t go to my family. Please understand, I can’t take this-my trouble-home to them.”

Again he nodded as if he truly understood. “Which is why I believe I have the only solution. I’m taking you home with me.”

“Home-with you? No.” Instinctive reaction forced the word from Summer’s lips. She repeated it in a whisper, her breath gone. “No. Absolutely not. I can’t- won’t let you do this.”

Pride . Riley’s temper flickered and flared like heat lightning, and he had to turn his back on his client for a moment to let the breezes of reason cool it down. He understood the woman, but that didn’t make dealing with her any easier. In some ways, it may even have made it harder.

He turned to her again, his eyes sliding downward past her face, the dangerous shoals of terrified eyes and a too vulnerable mouth, as he reached for her hands. No-nonsense hands. A doctor’s hands. A mother’s hands. He held them for a moment, feeling their strength, their gentleness, their competence. Then he let them go and slipped his hands to her wrists. A woman’s wrists. He felt their fragility.

“Tell me something,” he said softly. “If you were to break these, what would you do?” She made a small, surprised sound. “No, really-if you were to break both of your arms, say, in a fall, what would you do? Would you hire someone to feed you, dress you, brush your teeth for you? Would you ask a friend?” She shook her head in silent denial and tried to pull her hands away. He held them tighter. “No-better yet, what if you had an illness, a life-threatening illness? Would you consult a doctor?” He knew she was staring at him now, angry but unresisting. Bracing himself, he met the pride and fury and challenge in her eyes with all the strength of his own will. Knowing they were two of a kind. But I’m the stronger, Summer Robey. You may not want to accept it, but it’s true. I’m stronger because I’ve already been through my crucible. And yours is just beginning .

“Say you consulted a doctor. What if he told you you needed rest, treatment, tests-would you take his advice? Would you do what your doctor said? Or would you say, ‘Oh, no, thank you, but I can’t let you do that’?” He’d quoted the last in a feminine falsetto, and almost…almost thought he caught the glimmer of a smile.

If so, she banished it with an in-drawn breath and said flatly, “It’s not the same thing.”

Riley shook his head and lifted her captured wrists so that their eyes waged silent war between them. “Oh, no, Mrs. Robey, it is the same thing. You have a life-threatening situation here, and I’m the doctor who’s going to get you through it. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to relinquish control and put yourself in the doctor’s hands.”

“But…should I do that?” Her wrists jerked in his grasp. “What if he’s wrong? Doctors don’t have all the answers.”

“No, they don’t.” Without realizing it, he’d pulled her hands close to his chest. Now he found himself stroking the quivering tendons in her wrists with the tips of his fingers. His voice emerged unexpectedly thickened. “No, they don’t. But there comes a time when you have to decide whether you trust your doctor or not If you don’t, and you want to live, then you’d better find one you can trust. You follow me? So this is the time. Make up your mind now, Summer Robey. Do you trust me?”

Do you trust me?

Such a simple question. One she could not possibly answer. Because the only answer she could have given him at that moment was “No! No, I don’t trust you.”

She didn’t trust anyone, and probably never would again.

That realization came to her like a knife thrust straight to her heart. She gasped at the pain of it, then murmured, “It’s not that simple.”

She stared at her hands, doubled now into fists, and right below them Riley Grogan’s fingers wrapped like manacles around her wrists. He had strong fingers, she noticed, big hands to match his frame, hands that were rather more rugged than she’d have expected, but which fit the image she’d carried of him in her mind. The other image. The street fighter. They did seem out of place, though, emerging from those pearly white cuffs with their gold-and-onyx cuff links, and the soft black fabric of the jacket sleeve. And they were immaculately clean, so scrubbed the skin had a buffed look, like fine leather, with perfectly manicured nails and the gleam of gold and onyx on the right ring finger. Her own hands looked grubby as a child’s by comparison.