Dance Away with Me(83)

He wiped out what he’d drawn and turned his face into the spray. He wouldn’t hurt her for the world. He’d give her the sex they both craved. The fun and smut of it. But he’d also guard her in a way she wouldn’t guard herself. For all her toughness, Tess Hartsong was a woman who offered her heart too freely. The worst thing she could do would be to give it away to a man who couldn’t treasure it.

He intended to make very sure that didn’t happen.





Chapter Eighteen




When her afternoon shift was over, Tess FaceTimed the Dennings from Heather’s house, where the signal was stronger. She held Wren up so they could see her. “See. Her neck is already stronger.”

“It is! Look, Jeff. She’s getting so big!”

They admired Wren from all angles and applauded when Wren showed off her cutest sneeze. As the call ended, Tess thought about how these people who had been such threatening strangers only a few weeks ago would now be an ongoing part of her life. She was surprised at how right that felt.

She transferred a few more of their things down to the cabin. Even though she’d freshened up the place, it still felt musty and cramped. She’d miss the state-of-the-art kitchen appliances, the comfortable furniture, and those big, uncurtained windows.

“I promise, sweetheart”—she kissed the top of Wren’s downy head—“I’ll have this place fixed up for us in no time.”

As dusk fell, she fed Wren and made a sandwich for herself with food she’d taken from the schoolhouse. Without the home deliveries Ian paid for, grocery shopping was going to be difficult and expensive.

Ian came through the back door. He took in the laundry basket she’d packed with some of Wren’s disposable diapers, formula, and other supplies. “I can’t believe you’re moving down here. Look at this place.”

“Nothing a little paint won’t fix.” She gestured toward the dingy walls. “You’re welcome to have at it. Maybe a creamy off-white.”

“I’m a famous artist. You can’t afford me.”

She started to make a crack about offering a sex discount, but stopped herself. She should pay him. “You need your space back.”

“This isn’t the city. It’s too isolated up here.”

“If you get scared in the dark, pull the bell rope. Wren and I’ll come running.”

“Not funny.”

She peered down at Wren. “We think we’re pretty funny, don’t we, love?”

Wren huffed and batted an arm.

“I’m serious, Tess. This place is a shack. And Wren is too young for you to stay here on your own.”

“I’m going to fix it up.”

“I don’t see what the rush is.”

“I’ll buy you an air horn.”

“Give me that kid! You’re bouncing her around like she’s a tennis ball.” Before she could protest, he had Wren out of her sling and cradled in his arms. “If you want her back, come and get her!”

He stormed out the door with her child and some serious attitude.

She turned on all the lights and went upstairs to put away some of Wren’s things. The cabin creaked in an unfamiliar way. Had it always made these sounds? All she could remember from her first weeks here was her misery. She gazed around the bedroom at the peeling wallpaper and dim corners. She was no more isolated here than at the schoolhouse, but she was uneasy in a way she hadn’t been. Not exactly spooked—the cabin windows had curtains—but jittery in a way she didn’t like.

She should enjoy these moments of respite before she retrieved her daughter, but she was too restless to read and in no mood for more chores. A few months ago, she would have turned on her music and danced, but she’d lost the desire. What she wanted to do now was talk to Ian over a glass of wine. Or—who was she kidding?—make love with him again. She shivered at the reminder of what had happened in the tree house.

It wasn’t so much the schoolhouse she would miss as it was simply being with Ian. She stepped out on the front porch, bringing a fog of depression along for companionship. The evening was cool, and she needed a jacket, but she didn’t bother going back inside to get one. A moth banged futilely against the single lightbulb screwed into the cracked porcelain wall base. She wanted a real light fixture and a porch swing where she and Wren could talk. A pair of comfy couches and a cozy reading chair. A spruced-up kitchen . . . and a room painted like the inside of a geode.

She jumped as something large moved in the woods. A stick splintered, and a man came out of the shadows. She took an instinctive step backward and bumped against the log wall.

“Alone for a change?” he said.

She’d forgotten how big and bulky Brad Winchester was. Wide chest, thick waist, heavy arms . . . “What do you want?”

He moved into the edges of the dim, yellow porch light. He wore a lightweight jacket, dark slacks, and a threatening air. Moments before, she’d been chilly, but now her palms were clammy in a way they wouldn’t have been if he’d driven to her front door instead of skulking out of the woods.

As he stepped uninvited onto the porch, the single bulb cast an eerie phosphorescence on his prematurely gray hair. He took in the log posts and the overhanging porch roof. “Kelly’s grandmother grew up here. Kelly loves the place. I should have bought it when it came back on the market. It would have saved us all a lot of trouble.”