Echoes From The Past (Women of Character) (25 page)

Christie’s hand came up and
touched his cheek. "So do you," she said softly, trailing her fingers
across his skin.

Garrett clenched his jaw. He could
see their reflection in the mirrors lining one wall. "We both look like
hell."

"But we’re alive," she
said.

He knew how close they had come to
a different ending tonight. Just thinking about it made him want to keep her in
his arms.

Christie stared at him intently,
then she too turned to the bathroom mirror. She groaned aloud. "Oh my God,
is that me?" Their eyes met in the mirror and she deliberately ran a
glance over his soot-streaked cheeks and neck. Gently, she reached her fingers
out once more to touch his jaw. "You saved my life Garrett. I guess that
means my life is yours, huh?" The small smile playing at her lips looked
sad.

He jerked his head back from
contact with her fingertips, unable to stop his immediate reaction. He wanted
her to touch him, but not in gratitude. A cold, heavy lump settled in his
chest. As if she picked up on his doubt Christie dropped her arms and wriggled
to be set free.

"Take a bath, a shower, stay
in here as long as you like," he said shortly. "I'll dig up something
for you to wear."

Slowly, Garrett loosened his hold
and let her slide down his body. He watched her eyes, saw the awareness flicker
deep in their depths, the same awareness he felt. Why did he tease himself with
something he wouldn’t allow himself to have?

Garrett stood stiffly.. He had
thought she was dead, and he had felt dead inside. It was a feeling he couldn't
shake, some of that bone-deep despair still clung to him. Again he thought,
what if she hadn’t started breathing on her own?

Needing a moment, he turned his
back on her and leaned over the sink. He stared at the new bar of soap Ruth had
placed there. Slowly, he gripped it and lathered his arms and hands. Grimly, he
ripped his T-shirt off and flung it in the wastebasket. Right now the burnt
odor clinging to him was just too much. Grimly, he met Christie’s gaze in the
mirror. She stood slightly behind him, staring at him. She blinked and looked
away, but not before he had seen the desire in her eyes.

Knowing he had to leave if he
wasn’t going to blow his good intentions to hell, he quickly dried himself.
"I have to go." Garrett backed out of the room. Christie stood still;
dirty, disheveled ... lost. He stopped. "Are you okay?"

She laughed just a little bit, as
if he had said something funny. "I’m fine. I’m a survivor, Garrett. You
should understand that about me by now."

He was very aware of the sweep of
her glance across his chest. He stiffened his resolve not to touch her. "You
may be a survivor, but that almost changed tonight." He turned toward the
door and gripped the casing. "I’ll leave you to get cleaned up."

"Daddy?" Hannah’s
whimper reached his ears. She stood on the threshold of his room. Garrett
quickly crossed the room and squatted beside her as she rubbed her eyes.

"Sweetheart, why are you
awake?" he asked with concern.

"There’s too much
noise," she said plaintively. "You smell like smoke," she added,
wrinkling her nose.

Garrett pulled Hannah close in a
quick hug. "Let’s get you back to bed. Everything’s okay."

Garrett moved to his dresser and
pulled out a T-shirt. He turned to Christie as she stood in the bathroom
doorway, looking ready to fall asleep on her feet. Slowly, she began to
unbutton her nightshirt.

Seeing a span of creamy shoulder,
Garrett clutched his shirt in his hand and left in a hurry. There was nothing
else he could do. It would be too easy to lose himself in Christie.

Garrett looked at his daughter,
who stared at Christie, a frown between her brows. Before she could say
anything he urged her from the room, closing the door behind him. Getting
involved with Christie would put an end to this torment and create a whole new
load of problems. He was already in way over his head.

###

Garrett reentered the house
several hours later. He and Sam had talked to the fire police and the
investigators. Everyone had finally left, including Randy, who would be
contacting the painters. There would be an investigation but it seemed likely
the fire had started from a carelessly discarded cigarette butt. It had
smoldered for hours before catching paint rags on fire, even though the rags
had been bundled into a trash bag for disposal. Considering what could have
happened, they had been lucky.

Garrett walked into his bedroom.
Christie lay curled up in his bed, her dark hair splayed across his pillow,
slim shoulders barely covered by the sheets. She had washed away the black soot
from the smoke, but again Garrett saw her in his mind's eye, again he felt the
terrible fear that he had lost her. He resented the deep ache, the fear he
experienced. He wanted to remain untouched by her, but he wasn’t. He had an
overwhelming urge to crawl into his bed beside her and touch her, wake her to
make sure she was still breathing and alive. He wanted her awake and responsive
to life; to him.

He carefully reached out and
pulled the sheet and blanket over her shoulders. He made sure not to touch her
skin, afraid the slightest contact would undo his resolve to remain detached.
Despite his care, she stirred. Quickly, he stepped back. He needed a shower to
finally rid himself of the smell of smoke. Maybe it would free him from the
weight sitting on his chest, but deep down he knew he was kidding himself. That
weight involved more than tonight’s fire.

Garrett entered the bathroom and
closed the door softly. He turned the shower on full blast, welcoming the hot,
stinging spray. When had he begun to care for Christie more than he should?

He ducked his head under the
water, letting the hot spray wash over his face and neck. The soot and grime
from the last several hours washed away, swirling around his feet and down the
drain.

He put his head back, wishing he
could ease himself out of this restlessness that gripped him. He had asked
Christie to stay on longer but she hadn’t committed herself. Right at this
moment he couldn’t envision letting her go, but he honestly didn’t know how she
could stay either.

###

Christie stretched and turned
over, feeling the sheets warm and soft twisting around her body. She’d been so
tired after her quick shower she had dropped into Garrett’s bed naked. The soft
sheets were scented with Garrett, a faint memory of his aftershave clinging to
them. Recall of the horrible fear of the night before began to trickle in.

Christie looked at the digital
bedside clock. It had only been four hours ago.

She saw again Garrett's face when
she opened her eyes as she lay on the hard ground. The first time she had seen
him, when she’d pulled Hannah out from in front of that truck, she’d seen the
same panic on his face. Garrett had looked like he’d been brought to his knees.
No one wanted someone dying on their property! No wonder he looked so ill, his
face ashen. She wished it was because he loved her and thought he’d lost her,
but she knew that was far from the truth. He desired her and probably cared
about her, but love, well, that was something a man like Garrett might keep to
himself.

Raw emotion coursed through her.
In the aftermath of what had occurred, her emotions were close to the surface,
burning inside her, wanting to be released. She wanted to rejoice in her
feelings for Garrett, yet the hard lump inside urged her to push those feelings
aside.

Garrett. He shouldered
responsibility without asking, he was a good father and an honest man. Anyone
who came under his care knew they were special, including her. He had offered
her a job and a place to stay when she had reached an all time low. In his way
he had looked after her like she was part of his family. That’s the kind of man
Garrett was. How could she help but love him?

She had never known anyone like
him. She loved him with a growing passion. . .but apparently that wasn’t
enough. She had given him enough opportunity to come to her and he had turned
her down. Another man might have taken what she offered and then went on. Not
Garrett.

With her background and one broken
engagement behind her, Christie didn't fool herself into thinking love was so
easy or that she knew much about it.

Resting on an elbow, she traced
patterns on the pillow beside her. She had no future at Winding Creek Farms if
Garrett didn’t love her. Christie cocked her head, suddenly aware of the sound
of the shower running. Garrett. She could picture him in her head. His hair
dark from the water, slicked back, the water running down his chest, over a
flat stomach ...

Restlessly, she left the bed, her
gaze on the closed bathroom door. They could have both died tonight. Smoke
inhalation could kill you before flames ever reached you. Right now Christie
knew life was too precious to waste.

Go for it, Christie ...

Christie heard the words in her
head. Encouragement from her sister. She envisioned Ellen’s face before she
became so ill, the laughter in her eyes, the sheer love of life her sister had never
tried to hide. Could her sister have known she had a limited time on this
earth? Christie swallowed back the tears. Why had Ellen been the one to die?
She had loved life and it had hurt her time and again.

Desperation seized Christie,
confusing her with its depth of anguish. Nothing terrible had happened tonight,
no lives had been lost, why then did she feel so awful? Tears welled behind her
eyes. Angrily, she rubbed the heel of her palm across her face. It’s over, she
told herself, don't go into a tailspin now.

Reaching forward, she picked up
the clean shirt Garrett had left out for her. With trembling hands Christie
settled the shirt around her shoulders. She pulled the front of the material up
to her nose and inhaled deeply. The want inside deepened to an all-consuming
ache. Biting her lip, Christie stared at the bathroom door. Did she dare show
Garrett how much she cared? Was she prepared to take that step? There would be
no going back.

In the shower, Garrett shook his
head under the hot spray. Everything should be okay, but he still felt
unsettled, on edge.

The shower door slid open.

Stunned, Garrett looked into
Christie's dark, turbulent eyes. She wore one of his flannel shirts. Dark blue,
it contrasted sharply with her light skin. Reaching mid-thigh, the old, soft
fabric had slid off one shoulder as the flannel molded her breasts. If she had
come in here naked, she couldn't have looked more alluring. Garrett had no
control over his body's response. There was no room left for denial. She looked
deeply into his eyes, then her glance dropped lower.

He could have resisted if she
hadn't reached out a hand and trailed her fingers down his chest, and then
further, tracing his ribs, his waist. How could she look so vulnerable, yet so
wanton? Passion and want, or was he seeing what he wanted to see? A woman who
desired him and one he had fought against desiring in return ... or at least
he’d fought against acting upon that desire.

After what had happened, almost
losing her, Garrett couldn't hold out against what he so badly wanted. When
he'd thought her dead, he had felt a deep empty hole in his chest. He needed
her warmth to know she was really alive. He had been brutally reminded tonight
how fragile life could be.

"I want you, Christie." Living,
breathing, giving, Christie Jenkins. He reached forward, his wet fingers
undoing one button, two, leaving a wet spot where they brushed her breast. He
pushed the material aside, watched the shirt pool at her feet. She stood before
him, naked in body and heart, and he felt humbled. He wanted to give her back
what she was giving him. In that moment Garrett wanted to give her everything
he was.

Without words he pulled Christie
toward him until she too stood under the hot spray. He watched the water run
down her cheeks and across her lips. Tenderly, he pushed the hair back from her
face, the thick, silky strands clinging and capturing his fingers.

Christie leaned into him, her
breasts now against his chest. Garrett closed his eyes, his breath hard and fast,
feeling as if he’d run far to get to this point. How many times had he thought
of Christie like this?

Garrett couldn't turn her away,
not when he wanted her this much, not after the night they'd had. Christie was
special, he knew that, and vulnerable. That thought made him pause, but in that
moment she cupped his jaw and urged his mouth down to hers. Her lips were warm,
wet, touching his softly, then more deeply, as if she were thirsty and she
wanted to drink him.

Garrett loved the feel of her
flesh, soft and warm, alive beneath his questing hands. She stood on tiptoe
against him. He pulled her into the shower fully, dropping his mouth to hers,
pushing her gently against the shower stall.

The gentle, life-affirming caress
of her mouth breached his final barrier. Reaching behind him, Garrett pushed
down the shower nozzle, and the spray ceased. He stepped from the shower into
the steam-clouded bathroom. Christie's hand entwined with his and she brought
his hand to her heart.

Grabbing a large towel, Garrett began
to dry her skin, his lips following the path of the towel, watching her eyes,
reading the desire burning there.

She wound her arms around him.

"You’re so beautiful,
Christie," he said softly. "I’ve wanted you for a long while. I tried
to keep my distance."

Her eyes were clear and direct. He
couldn’t mistake the desire there. She ran her tongue over her lips and he
groaned, trying to slow the rampaging of his heart.

Tenderly, she brushed the hair
from his eyes. Garrett dropped the towel over her shoulders and behind her
neck, using it to pull her to him. He saw the change in her when their flesh
contacted again, hers warm and slightly damp, his still dripping. She squeezed
her eyes tightly closed and her hands gripped his arms with a new tension.