Carla Cassidy - To Wed And Protect

Dutifully, Jason closed his eyes. After checking to make certain the night-light was burning brightly, Abby shut off the overhead light and left the room.

She went into the smaller bedroom next door where Jessica awaited a night-time kiss. Five-year-old Jessica smiled as Abby entered her bedroom. It was the bright, beautiful smile of a little angel.

“Hi, pumpkin. All tucked in?” Abby sat on the edge of the bed as Jessica nodded. “You didn’t eat very much for supper. Are you hungry?”

Jessica shook her head, and Abby wished for the millionth time that she could hear Jessica’s voice. Just one word. It had been over a year since the little girl had uttered a word, and Abby could no longer remember what her voice sounded like.

“Good night, sweetheart.” Abby kissed Jessica’s forehead, checked on her night-light, then left the room.

She went into the kitchen where she poured herself a cup of coffee, then headed for the sofa in the living room. Curling up on one end, with a television sitcom making white noise, she tried to make sense of the million things that were playing in her mind.

School had already begun, and she needed to get the two kids enrolled, Jason in first grade and Jessica in kindergarten. She hoped the school wouldn’t check too deeply into the medical and miscellaneous records needed for enrollment. She’d changed the kids’ last name to adhere to their new identity.

She’d done everything she could to cover their tracks, hoped that she’d made no mistakes. Coming here had been a risk, but she’d weighed her options and realized they had no place else to go.

Once the children got settled in school, she’d have to find a job, at least a part-time one. She hoped she could find something that would pay her in cash, where her social security number would not be recorded. She didn’t want to leave a trail that somebody might be able to follow.

But eventually a job would become a necessity. It wouldn’t be long before their money would be gone, especially with the unforeseen expense of a new porch. It was ironic that there were three trust funds sitting in a bank in Kansas City, each containing enough money to see them living comfortably for the rest of their lives. But she was afraid to access them.

Finding the television noise distracting, she shut it off then went into the kitchen to pour another cup of coffee. She was about to leave the kitchen when the phone rang.

“Mrs. Graham?” a smooth, deep voice inquired.

“Mr. Delaney,” she replied, instantly recognizing his voice.

“I’ve got some figures for you on building a new porch. Is this a good time?”

“Yes, it’s fine,” she assured him and set her cup on the counter.

As he spoke about the figures and dimensions of the deck, she tried to focus on his words and not on the sexy deepness of his voice. The man had a voice that was positively seductive.

The conversation only took a few minutes. She agreed to the overall price he gave her, and he told her he would have lumber delivered to her home and get started first thing in the morning.

When they hung up, Abby grabbed her coffee cup and headed through the living room and out the front door. Carefully stepping over the hole in the porch, she moved to sit on the rickety steps.

Night had fallen, and the silence was profound. The house was just far enough on the outskirts of Inferno that no city noise was audible. And that was good. The quiet would be good for them all. No ambulance or police car sirens screaming urgency, sounds that always thrust the children into their painful past.

She tilted her head to look at the stars that glittered against the black sky. Instantly she was reminded of Luke Delaney’s eyes. His eyes were gray with just enough of a silvery shine and with sinfully black lashes to make them positively breathtaking.

She set her coffee mug aside, wondering if it was the hot brew that was making her overly warm—or thoughts of Luke Delaney.

He’d definitely been a hunk, with his thick, curly black hair and those eyes with their devilish glint. The moment she’d seen him her dormant feminine hormones had whipped into life.

It wasn’t just his beautiful eyes, rich dark hair or bold, handsome features that had instantly attracted her. It had also been the lean length of his legs in his tight, worn jeans and the tug of his T-shirt across impossibly broad shoulders.

He’d filled the air with his presence, his scent, his utter masculinity, and he’d reminded her of all the things she’d given up when she’d chosen the path she was on.

She’d hated lying to him, telling him they were from Chicago, but lying was not only necessary, it was positively vital to survival.

She had invented a story for herself that she intended to adhere to. The story was that she was a widow from Chicago who had left the windy city because it held too many painful memories of her husband. A husband who, in reality, had never existed.

Sighing, she wrapped her arms around herself and for just a moment allowed herself the luxury of imagining what it would be like to be held through the night in strong, male arms. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what it felt like to have male lips touching hers in a combustible kiss. Oh, how she used to love to kiss!

She snapped her eyes open, recognizing that she was indulging in a perverse game of self-torture. Those days and nights of Ken were gone, lost beneath family tragedy, lost because he had turned out to be less than half the man she’d believed him to be.

Ken was gone from her life, and there would be no more men for her. The most important things in her life were the two children sleeping in the house where she intended to make a home.

Draining her coffee, she stood and went into the silent house. Although it was still early, she decided to go to bed. Luke had said he’d begin work on the porch early in the morning, and she was exhausted.

She entered her bedroom and stifled a moan as she saw the chaos. Since arriving here, all the unpacking had been done in the kids’ rooms, the living room and kitchen. Little had been done in this room.

Boxes were everywhere, and clothes spilled out of an open suitcase on the floor. The only items she’d unpacked were the sheets that were on the bed, her alarm clock that sat on the nightstand and a colorful porcelain hummingbird that was also on the nightstand.

She sank on the edge of the bed and picked up the hummingbird, the delicate porcelain cool beneath her fingertips. It had been a birthday present two years ago, given to her by her older sister.

“You always accuse me of flitting around like a hummingbird,” Loretta had said. “So, I figured I’d give this to you and whenever you look at it you can think of me.”

Abby’s vision blurred with tears as she set the figurine on the nightstand. She couldn’t think of Loretta. She didn’t have time for grief, didn’t have the energy for mourning. The best thing she could do was carry on, remain strong, and that’s exactly what she intended to do.

She undressed and got into her nightgown, then turned off the light and slid beneath the sheets. The moonlight poured through the window and painted silvery streaks on the bedroom walls.

The moon seemed much bigger, much brighter here in Inferno, Arizona, like a giant benign night-light chasing away the deepest darkness of the night. She hoped it would keep the bogeyman away.

As always, just before she closed her eyes, she prayed. “Please…please don’t let him find us,” she whispered fervently. “Please don’t let Justin find us.”

Justin.

Her personal bogeyman.

The man they’d been running from for the past eleven months. If he found them, then he would destroy them. If he found them, then all would be lost.