Texas Heroes_ Volume 1(85)

She stroked the hair of the child who held her heart in his small hands, and tried not to cry. In a voice less steady than she would like, she whispered to her now-sleeping child.

“I know you would, sweetheart.”

Then she kissed his forehead and tucked the quilt around him on the sofa. She made a feeble attempt to lift him, but he was getting too heavy for her to carry even when she was well. When Mitch came back, she’d ask him to help her. She sank down before the fire and stared into the flames.

She’d wished for her own prince for many years, but she’d made a mistake when she thought she’d found him. Being a romantic was dangerous, Perrie had learned.

Life wasn’t a fairytale, she knew that. She would raise Davey to be smart and strong and wiser than she had been.

But with all her heart she wanted a part of Davey never to have to give up his innocence. She had to find a way to protect both him and his dreams from a father who would destroy both.

She could only hope she would be enough.



Mitch turned away from the window and stared into the darkness, locked into place by memory. Another mother’s voice echoed in his head and for a moment, he could almost feel the warmth where he was tucked into her side. Could remember delicate fingers stroking his hair as she read him a story and he fought the claim of sleep, never dreaming a day would come when he would not be protected by that golden web of love.

Perrie shouldn’t be filling Davey’s head with all those romantic notions. It would only make it harder for him when the world outside destroyed them.

He turned back to see her tenderly tuck the quilt around the boy, then try to lift him. His muscles tensed to go inside to help her, but when she pulled her arms away and settled in front of the fire, he turned his attention to the dark night, the stars winking past the treetops.

He would take care of carrying Davey, but not yet. Not while she was so close, in a cabin that was shrinking by the day.

When he turned back, she had curled up on her side in front of the fire, her breathing slow and deep.

Oh, hell. Now he’d have to carry her, too. The only thing he wanted less than to be near her was to have to touch her.

Shaking his head, Mitch sighed and straightened. He entered the cabin and stood there for a minute, watching them sleep like two innocents. Then Davey snored softly, and Mitch smiled, crossing the floor to pick him up.

When he did, Davey frowned slightly, then snuggled closer, his head pressed into Mitch’s chest. Something inside Mitch did a slow revolution, and he knew that though he couldn’t wait for them to leave, he would miss this child.

But that couldn’t be helped. Anyway, the sooner they left, the sooner he could get on with his life. With long strides, he carried Davey to his cot and tucked the quilt around him. For one moment, his hand hovered over the tousled golden hair, close enough to touch. But he didn’t.

“Sleep well,” Mitch whispered. Then he turned away and tried to decide which would be worse, to have to touch Perrie to carry her, or to have to talk to her if she were awake and could take herself to bed.

There, before the fire, he stood over her and studied the woman who was a mystery to him. Her ever-present braid lay limply behind her on the rug, and he wondered how it would look, loosened so that the curls making constant bids for escape were freed. For just a moment, he tried to imagine her, golden waves cascading over her shoulders and down her back, blue eyes alight with laughter and looking at him like—

Mitch cursed beneath his breath, and Perrie stirred, a tiny frown appearing between delicate brows. The purple shadows smudging her eyes had receded, but exhaustion still lined her face.

Wondering was foolish. Even if she woke up and gave him a perfectly good reason why she’d been so callous to Cy, it wouldn’t matter. He wanted no one in his life. Needed no one. That was how it had been for twenty years now, and how it would continue. Some people were simply meant to be alone.

Before she could awaken, Mitch knelt on the floor and scooped her into his arms, simply a burden to carry like a stack of firewood or a load of supplies. He rose to his feet.

She stirred softly and nestled closer, turning that china doll face into his chest, the golden braid falling from her shoulder. Her hand grasped the front of his shirt for an endless second, and she whimpered faintly. Mitch’s own hands tightened around her, all too aware of her bottom against one arm, her slender back against the other beneath the thin layers of cloth. He froze, barely breathing, willing her to continue sleeping.

But something of his tension must have communicated itself to her. Slowly, dark lashes swept upward, blinking once…twice. Eyes as blue as a mountain lake looked at him with unprotected softness for a span of time that was only a second or two but could have been years. Her hand tightened again against his shirt, and he felt her touch like a brand on his body. Desire rose, swift and shocking, and it was all Mitch could do not to drop her like a hot potato.