Resisting Samantha (Hope Parish Novels Book 10) (13 page)

When Brax called me
to postpone the softball game to the following weekend, I was
disappointed as I was looking forward to getting the league started.

When I went to the
cupboard to get out the flour for pies, it was empty. I searched
around, asked Beth about it. She was as perplexed as I was. I could
only wonder if Imogene had decided that flour was dangerous and
somehow absconded with it. I got that flash of intuition again that
something wasn’t right, but since I had no concrete evidence, I
let it go.

I told Beth I would
run to town to pick some up, since it was an ideal day for baking.
Thanks to the miserable weather, people were staying home, so it was
a perfect time to get a step ahead.

The rain had eased
up a little by the time I reached the outskirts of town, but the
streets and back alleys were flooded—rushing storm sewers,
hubcap-deep puddles at intersections, the sidewalks awash with muddy
water thrown up by passing cars.

After wading through
all the shoppers stocking up on bread and milk at the market, I paid
for the flour and headed back to my car, which I had to park across
the street, since the parking lot was full. Rain bounced like pellets
off the pavement, and traffic crept down the street, brake lights
flashing as drivers slowed to accommodate the blinding rain. Turning
my face from the slanting wetness, I pulled my hood closer and
huddled. The price of determination was getting as soaked as a
drowned rat.

Squinting in the
downpour, I waited for a break in the traffic to cross the street.
That feeling that something was off persisted and expanded. I tried
to shake it, but it dogged me. A truck passed from my left, and I
stepped off the curb, catching a glimpse of a tan car that was angled
to pull out of a parking spot on the opposite side of the street. The
driver looked frighteningly familiar.

The rush of alarm
was so intense that for an instant I stood motionless, then my former
training kicked in. I stared at the vehicle, my heart jammed against
my ribs, hammering frantically as fear churned through me.

It couldn’t
be. There was no way Kyle Mayhew could have tracked me here—no
way. Besides, he was still in prison.

Realizing that once
the oncoming vehicle passed, the car would have a clear lane to
leave, I reacted. Darting around the back of the car, I sprinted
across the street, panic compressing my lungs, and a frantic prayer
circulating in my mind. I had to be sure. The implications of that
lunatic following me made my blood run cold.

And everything
surfaced again—all the fear, pain, and struggle of the night
I’d killed a man and run through the dark streets alone after
the one I’d wounded, the one who had shot my partner without
remorse. And, on the heels of all that raw emotion, came the
pulse-pounding, crushing grief of losing Jeff and Scott, the
emptiness and the sorrow of the bleak day I buried them.

As I turned the
corner, a large, black raven startled and lifted up into the air,
flying to perch on the head of the Colonel Beauregard Sutton bronze
statue in the town square.

Dodging a mom and
her four kids coming out of the ice cream shop, I flew down the
sidewalk, careless of the puddles collecting on the concrete,
disregarding the muddy water splashing up my legs. If the car got
away before I was close enough to see the driver clearly, I wouldn’t
know if he was really here or it was my imagination. If some of the
odd occurrences could be attributed to his twisted idea of revenge, I
needed to know.

There was no doubt
he blamed me for Darryl’s death.

Just as I darted
around a car coming out of an alley, the SUV stopped, allowing the
car to pull away from the curb, the large vehicle blocked my line of
sight. Fear rising in me, I lengthened my stride to an all-out
sprint, my breathing coming in labored gasps as I raced past the SUV,
frantic to see the face of the man behind the wheel.

Just as I was almost
there, a huge dog blocked my path, knocking me to the side, and I had
to grab a light post to keep from falling into the path of an
oncoming car.

I watched with a
sickening dread as the tan car turned a corner, disappearing from
sight. I’d just lost my chance to see if Kyle Mayhew was truly
here in Suttontowne, gunning for me.

CHASE

I was swearing at
the rain by the time I pulled up in front of Outlaws. I needed to get
home to check my plane and my boats, but at least Brax was my final
delivery.

After I made sure
the boats and plane were securely tied to the mooring and wouldn’t
go floating off, I was going to lie low.

I went to the back
door of Outlaws as usual, but it was locked, and there was no answer
when I knocked. Hurrying through the pelting rain to the front, I
went through the doors and stopped. Outlaws was completely empty. The
only person there was Ethan.

“We’re
closed,” he said without looking up, and I got this stab of
regret right under my breastbone. He looked up and his mouth
tightened a bit.

“Chase. Hey,
man.” He stopped polishing a glass and set both the cloth and
glass onto the gleaming bar. “Brax went home to be with his
wife and kids. It’s nasty out there. I was just about to lock
up and leave.”

“I’ve
got a delivery. I can just pop it into Brax’s cooler.”

“Sure,”
Ethan said, as he came out from behind the bar to hold the kitchen
door open for me. I walked through and straight to the cooler,
depositing the crab, shrimp, catfish, and crawfish inside.
“Everything should keep for a day or two.”

When I came out,
Ethan was standing just outside.

“Thanks,”
I said and he nodded. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I’m an
asshole.”

His chin came up and
his eyes flashed. “No you’re not. I didn’t keep in
touch like I should have, either, but the Marines kept me hopping.”

“I get that,
but I have no excuse. You’ve been home for two years, and I
haven’t made an effort. I’m glad you made it back in one
piece, by the way.”

He smiled and
grabbed me around the neck and squeezed. “Yeah, you’re an
asshole.”

“Language,
preacher boy.”

He shoved me and
said, “I’m probably never going to get rid of that
moniker, huh?”

“Your dad
still riding you about the seminary?”

“Yeah, he
thinks I’m going to change my mind. Drives me crazy that he
won’t listen to me. You’d think he would have learned
with Verity, but he can’t seem to let go of his dream of having
me preaching by his side, then take over the parish when he retires.”

“Maybe one day
he will.”

“You look like
hell.”

“Thanks,”
I said punching him in the arm. “I’m running myself
ragged. Things have expanded so fast I can’t keep up.” I
looked toward the door then back at him. “I…uh…hear
you’re looking for some more work.”

“That’s
right. Brax, he and his wife are the two nosiest people in the
parish.”

“I could use
the help. In fact, if you could cover me on Saturday, I would be
grateful.” I named an hourly wage.

“That suits
me.”

I pulled the spare
key off my ring and handed it to him. “Thanks.”

“No problem.
Maybe we can have a beer sometime, shoot some pool?”

We walked out of the
kitchen toward the front door. Once through it I said, “Sure.
That sounds great.”

He locked up. “All
right. See you Saturday morning at…?”

“Seven work?”

“Okay, seven
it is.”

As I pelted to my
truck, something that had been wound tight in me for a long time
loosened up. Reconnecting with Ethan made me realize I wasn’t
the only problem here. I could reach out and put the past behind me.

Once inside the
truck, I adjusted the ball cap on my head, water sluicing off the
bill and onto my rain duster. After waiting out a particularly heavy
deluge, knowing from past experience that even the best windshield
wipers wouldn’t help me see through the torrent well enough to
drive safely, I finally pulled out and headed back home. Once there,
I checked the level of the bayou and was relieved to see that it
wasn’t as swollen as I feared, plus, the weather forecast was
holding steady. I went onto the dock and examined each one of my
boats and checked every inch of my plane. Everything look good and
secure, with no leaking.

“Chase!”

The sound of
Samantha’s panicky voice had me whipping around. She was at the
end of the dock and running toward me like the hounds of hell were
after her. I forgot about the rain, my boats, my plane, and lost my
damn mind. With every sense heightened, I reached her, and she threw
herself into my arms. I held onto her tightly.

Her chest was
heaving, and she looked completely spooked. I took her upper arms and
set her away from me. Angling my head against the slanting rain, I
turned so she was sheltered by my larger frame.

She looked up at me,
her hair plastered to her head, the water running down her face and
dripping off her eyelashes and nose, fear and helplessness pulsing
off her in waves. It looked like she was going to cry, probably had
been crying. Dragging her coat closer around her, she tried to
swallow.

My gaze narrowed,
and my jaw hardened. “What’s wrong. What happened?”

Her panic, her fear,
her relief at having me there showed in her expression, and that made
me want to be there for her, forever. No matter how unlikely it
seemed.

She clutched her
coat tighter and answered, her voice breaking badly, “I thought
I saw Kyle Mayhew in Suttontowne. I thought—”

She closed her eyes,
and I could see her fighting her emotions, her jaw muscles rippling
as she gritted her teeth, looking as if she were about to shatter.

I swore, low and
viciously, then gripped her chin and brought her head up, forcing her
to look at me. Rain angled in under the brim of my hat and sluiced
down my face, but I barely noticed. “Sam, listen to me,”
I commanded gruffly. “Let’s go inside and we can talk
about it.”

Startled into
stillness, transfixed by my touch, Sam stared up at me, the sound of
my voice registering. She closed her eyes, and a violent shudder
coursed through her, but she pulled it together.

Showing that she
heard, she gave me a nod. I pinched her chin tenderly, her eyes dark
pools of green, then gave her head a gentle little shake. “Okay?”
I asked, my voice soft and husky.

She managed a weak
smile and nodded again. “Okay.”

I wiped away the
water caught in her lashes, with my thumbs, then let her go, my voice
gruff and tinged with humor when I said. “I swear I thought
Yankee women had more sense than God gave a goat to get the hell out
of the rain.”

“Oh,”
she whispered, “I see what you did there.”

Fighting against the
new wave of tenderness jamming up in my chest, I looked away as fresh
tears filled her eyes. My slicker rustled, and I caught her under the
chin, forcing her to look into my eyes again. Holding her gaze with
unwavering steadiness, I said, “He won’t get to you here,
Sam. And even if he does, he’s going to have to go through me.”

With the rain
beating down on us, we headed toward my house, the raindrops sounding
like hail against the gutters.

“Do you need
anything from your car?”

“Just my
emergency bag. It’s in the trunk.”

“Go on up to
the porch, you’re shivering. I’ll get it.” This
weather was going to get even nastier before it let up.

She handed me the
keys, and the wind cut at me while I walked to her car, unlocked the
trunk and snagged the bag.

She was already on
the porch when I turned and headed for shelter.

We entered the
store, and I locked and bolted the door behind us. “Through
here,” I said, and guided her through the shop and into my
private residence. I locked the door behind us and went to a gun
cabinet, unlocked it, and pulled out a rifle. Her eyes went wide when
she saw it. “You know how to use one of these, I assume?”

“Yes,”
she said hoarsely. “I’m sure it’s like riding a
bicycle.”

I nodded. “Let’s
get you out of those wet clothes, but boots first.” I set the
rifle against the door and bent down to unlace and remove her boots
and socks, then mine.

Grasping the rifle
again, I took her hand, ready to take her to the back, when she
stopped and looked around. “Tour later,” I said, feeling
great about the admiration in her eyes, but worried because the sheen
of tears was still evident. Not all the moisture on her face was
rain.

I dragged her into
my bedroom, and into the bathroom, starting the water to warm it. I
turned to leave, but she just stood there. “Chase,” she
whispered, tears starting to stream down her face, and my gut
clenched tight.

“Darlin’,
you’ll feel better after you’re warm and dry. I’ll
make coffee.”

“No,”
she murmured, curling her fingers into my wet duster. “Don’t
leave me alone. It hurts so much.”

“Aw, babe,”
I whispered and set the rifle down near the door.

A single sob broke
from her and I gathered her up in an embrace.

“I can’t
stop remembering, and I want it to stop. To get better. I want the
pain to go away.” She looked up at me, her eyes pleading. Then
she pulled my head down, inhaling sharply as she covered my mouth in
a sizzling, starving kiss.

She let out a soft
gasp and I knew exactly how she felt. She parted my duster and pushed
the heavy, sodden coat off me, and I kicked it away.

I turned her deeper
into the kiss, pressing her back against the sink. She knocked off my
ball cap and sent her fingers through my wet hair. Before I could
catch my breath, she unbuttoned my shirt and stripped it off before I
could stop her.

“Samantha,
wait,” I said softly, grabbing for her wrist as she snagged the
waistband of my jeans. “Wait,” I growled, and she froze
and looked up at me.