Breathe (Colorado Mountain #4)(19)

He was just plain out of reach.

He lived in the same town but he was miles and miles and miles away.

When Ella Mae was done, I played her again.

And again.

Then again.

Then, tears in my eyes, I got up, blew out the candle and walked to the distressed, whimsical set of hooks Dad had mounted by my door. I grabbed my long, pastel green scarf and wrapped it around and around my neck, this pressing the chords of the earphones to the skin under it.

I replayed it as I grabbed my pine green wool pea coat, tugged it on, maneuvered the iPod around while I buttoned it up, nabbed my mittens that matched the scarf and pulled them on. Then I grabbed my keys.

I listened to it playing as I pulled open the door and walked out, locked the door, shoved the keys into my pocket and took off down the stairs that led to the back alley and my Cherokee.

I replayed it as I rounded the side alley and walked swiftly, shoulders scrunched, arms held up in front of me, hands clasped, through the fierce, arid cold that dried the tears on my face.

I replayed it when I turned off Main Street and walked through the quiet, dark streets to the elementary school. I listened to the words yet again as I slipped through the opening in the chain link fence and headed to the playground.

I was listening to it when I stopped at the swing set, lifted my mittened hand and rested it on one of the high swing set poles and dropped my head, pressing my forehead against my mitten. Listening and aching and knowing that there was nothing worse in the whole, wide world than the death of hope.

And I was listening to it when a hand wrapped firm and strong around my bicep but I also heard my low, surprised cry ringing in my head if not in my ears when I felt the touch and that hand didn’t hesitate to whip me around.

Then I stared up at Chace Keaton’s angry face.

What the frak?

I blinked up at him and I did this twice before I realized his mouth was moving.

He was talking to me.

“What?” I asked, automatically talking very loudly over music he couldn’t hear.

His head jerked, his eyes narrowed even as they moved all around the vicinity of my head. I felt his hand leave my arm then suddenly Ella Mae was gone because he’d lifted both his hands and pulled out my ear buds.

Then I heard him growl, “Jesus, it’s worse.”

I wasn’t following. I hadn’t gone from denying my lonesomeness to understanding it to the core of my being, letting go a dream, feeling that ache throb through me, beating at me in a way I knew I’d feel it forever to standing in the cold in the elementary school playground staring at an angry Chace Keaton.

“What’s worse?” I whispered.

“You, takin’ a walk alone in the dark of night in a town full of bikers who like to get drunk, rowdy and laid and doin’ it with your ear phones in and music so loud you couldn’t hear someone approach even if he was wearin’ a f**kin’ cowbell.”

He was right, of course. I could actually hear Ella Mae now and the ear buds weren’t even in my ears.

Quickly, with my thumb, I paused my iPod but I replied to Chace, “Bikers are friendly.”

“No, Faye, they’re not.”

“But, I’ve been living here my whole life and so have a bunch of bikers. They are.”

“Yeah, the ones who live here don’t shit where they live. The ones who come here from other places don’t give a f**k where they shit. ‘Course, this would mean that something happened to you, the local bikers would have to throw down, seeing as someone harmed one of their own so wherever they tracked the others to, all hell would break loose. After you created that nightmare, in the meantime, you wouldn’t be doing too f**kin’ good.”

“You curse a lot,” I whispered and his head jerked again just as his eyes narrowed again.

“What?” he clipped.

“Nothing,” I muttered and bit my lip.

His eyes dropped to my lips then sliced back up to mine.

Suddenly my hand was caught in a strong, firm grip and tugged while he stated, “I’m walking you home.”

Since his hand was tugging mine and his body was tall, lean and muscular and it was moving, I had no choice but to follow it.

But I did protest as my feet moved double time to keep up with his long strides, “That’s okay. Really. It isn’t far and I won’t listen to music.”

He stopped abruptly, jerking my hand which made me stop abruptly and he bent his neck so his handsome face was an inch from mine.

His eyes were angry.

No, furious.

I stopped breathing.

“I’m… walking… you… home,” he said low, slow, each word deliberate.

I did the only thing I could do. I nodded.

His face started to move back then his eyes narrowed again and, to the further detriment of my ability to breathe, it got even closer. His eyes moved over my features then they came back to mine.

“You been cryin’?” he asked, his voice low still but now soft.

I stared up at him and it hit me that he’d pulled us closer to the sidewalk where there were streetlamps so he could see me.

“No.”

There it was again!

Another lie!

Chace called me on it and he did it again in that low, soft voice that made his normally deep attractive voice deeper and far, far more attractive.