Christie Ridgway - Take My Breath Away

Then he could put at least one of the things plaguing him—her—out of his mind for the rest of his stay.

“There’s really no pain—” she began.

“Tears. I saw them, remember?”

Her gaze shifted away, shifted back. “Look. What do you know about women?”

The question almost made him laugh. If she followed entertainment gossip, she’d know he’d been linked with the most beautiful women in the world since he was thirteen years old. Suppressing a smile, he said, “They come with parts that are different than mine.”

She rolled her pretty eyes. “Let me try a different question. Have you ever allowed yourself a good cry?”

“No.” His belly cramped, hard, at the thought.

“I didn’t think so. Men can be so repressed.”

Ryan snorted. “I assure you I’m not repressed.”

Shaking her head, Poppy bent to slip her foot back into her shoe. “I walked into that one, I suppose. What I’m trying to say is that I twisted my ankle, which brought a couple of tears to my eyes. Then I let the floodgates open for a minute to release some tension.”

What was she tense about? He considered asking the follow-up, then shut his mouth and stood when she did. Just do the good deed, Hamilton. Make sure she gets safely back to her place and then you can forget all about her.

“I was a Boy Scout once.” At least he’d played one on TV. “So indulge me and let me see you home,” he said, crooking his elbow in her direction.

Her glance flicked from his arm to his face. “Only if you understand I’ll snatch you bald if you ever tell you caught me in a moment of weakness.”

He blinked. “Harsh.”

“Believe it,” she said, then placed her fingertips on his forearm and started limping in the direction of the cabins.

Ryan paced slowly beside her as the clearing came into view. “You know, you can lean on me a little.”

She shook her head. “Never.” Then her body stiffened. “Oh, hell. Oh, no.”

“What?” He glanced around, looking for trouble.

“Pick me up, Ryan,” she ordered in urgent tones. “Pick me up and then make a run for your cabin.”

His pulse’s speed shot from normal to NASCAR. Without taking time to identify the threat, he scooped her into his arms and sprinted forward. Grimm scampered beside them, as if happy to be part of a new game, oblivious to the danger.

It had to be a bear, Ryan thought, adrenaline giving him an extra burst of velocity. Though he didn’t dare look for it, he could imagine the hulking, stinking presence with the slavering jaws, mouth open wide in order to take a bite of them.

At his back door he set Poppy down to fumble for his keys. “Shit,” he said, then finally yanked them out. She grabbed the ring from his hand and did the unlocking herself. With the door open, he hustled the three of them inside, daring a look over his shoulder as he slammed it shut.

There was nothing there.

His heartbeat evening out, he stared at Poppy as she twisted the dead bolt, her focus still telegraphing emergency. Then she hurry-hobbled to the window, where she drew the curtains. The cabin’s rear door led directly into the bedroom and now she slid to the floor so her back was against the mattress. “Get down over here,” she directed. “You, too, Grimm.”

The dog complied and Ryan did, too, though he couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on. Maybe the landlady had been hiding her tinfoil hat. “Uh, Poppy?”

“Shh.” She glanced around.

Ryan did, too. There wasn’t much to see, the bed he’d made that morning, the stack of books on the dresser, through the open door a slice of the short hall that led to the living area. “Who are we hiding from?” he whispered, since that point was now obvious. “The U.S. marshal? Escaped convicts?”

“A combination of the two,” she murmured. “My sisters.”

Now Ryan could hear a car pulling up—a sound she must have detected as they neared the clearing. Doors opened, shut. In the distance, knuckles rapped on Poppy’s cabin door. Then silence. When the car didn’t start up again, he assumed the visitors were awaiting her return. “Will they go away soon?”

She shrugged. “Hard to say.”

Bemused, Ryan settled himself more comfortably on the braided rug, his legs crossed at the ankle. A dozen questions presented themselves, but he reminded himself he was intent on booting her out of his head. No point in learning any more about her.

Time ticked by. Grimm flopped onto his side with a groan and promptly fell asleep. Ryan considered doing the same, but he found himself too attuned to Poppy to find such relaxation. From a foot away, he could feel her nerves humming like plucked guitar strings.

He saw his hand reach out to apply a soothing stroke to her shoulder, then he commanded it to drop. When it landed on the floor with a muffled thunk, she looked over at him.

God. There was just something so damn...sweet about her looks. The wide forehead, the big fringed eyes, that valentine of a mouth. It was a rosy pink that matched the sweater that clung to her small, high breasts. His gaze ran down her slender, jean-encased legs, then back to her lips. She’d taste like cotton candy, he decided, and...

And he shouldn’t be contemplating her taste.

“You must think I’m crazy,” Poppy said.

“No.” That would be him, getting hung up on his landlady when he was here to be a hermit.

“Go ahead, admit it.” Her little smile revealed the fascinating dimple in her left cheek.

Looking away from her, he shrugged. “I’ve got a brother who is often annoying. I’ve been known to duck him when I can.”

“Yes, well...” She sighed. “Here’s the deal. They’re not entirely on board with renting out the cabins. I don’t want to get into yet another discussion with them about it.”

“They’re against making money?”

She laughed a little. “Walkers are never against making money. We’re just not too good at keeping hold of it. This land... The family legend is it’s cursed. Can you believe such a thing?”

March was cursed. In his darker moments Ryan thought he might be, as well. He shrugged again. “Is there a good reason?”

“Any number. Because it was Native-American land stolen for the timber it provided. Because in the early years one Walker logger killed another logger over a woman—who then promised retribution through the ages. Simpler version—my father was a piss-poor financial manager.”

She said it with a wry affection.

“Was he?” Ryan asked.

“My siblings, everybody around consider him a foolish ne’er-do-well who should have sold out long ago...but then he made a deal with the devil that essentially means we can’t.” A little sigh caused a strand of golden-brown hair curved against her cheek to tremble. “I’d like to prove that there’s still something good here at our mountain.” She paused, her gaze dropping to her lap. “Not to mention that I could really use the cash.”

“Well—”

Her fingers gripped his forearm as her head shot up. “Shh! I think they’re coming over here.”

Ryan’s eyebrows rose. Was her sibling radar that fine-tuned? But sure enough, now he could detect footsteps on the wooden porch and the bam-bam-bam of a fist knocking.

“Insistent, aren’t they?” he asked, his voice hushed.

Her mouth moved, the words soundless, and he had to focus carefully to read her lips. “You’ve got that right.” When the rap on the door sounded again, her fingers curled tighter around his arm.

His gaze stayed glued to her face, taking in her glowing skin, small scoop of a nose, the slightly square chin. She didn’t have a loud kind of beauty, but the loveliness of her was arresting, anyway. He wanted to rub his thumb along her bottom lip; he could imagine her tongue darting out to taste his skin.