Keegan Page 10

  “Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d been old enough to buy the dairy from my father.” Keegan stared off into space as if peering into the past. “How different my life might have been.”

  Regret colored his face. Wren reached out to touch his arm, but he quickly moved away.

  “Time to get back to work,” he said, shattering the tentative closeness they’d forged.

  He had a hard time accepting sympathy. As someone with a physical disability, she could understand. Still, that understanding didn’t blunt the sting of his rejection.

  They went back to work and four hours later, exhausted, they had completed the cleanup. Oddly enough, Wren felt darned good in spite of her achy hip. She remembered the days when her mother and father had worked the dairy, side by side. They’d toiled with a minimum of conversation but a maximum of closeness.

  True partners, functioning together like a cog and wheel. She and Keegan made that kind of team. Focused, determined, they got the work accomplished.

  They stripped off their outer clothes in the foyer, hanging their coats on pegs and leaving their boots to dry on newspaper spread in the entryway. Wren pulled off her gloves, then ran her fingers through her mussed hair, knowing she must look frightful.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For all your help.”

  “Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do to repay you for your hospitality.”

  “Mr. Winslow.” She hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve got something to ask you.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  Wren spoke in a rush, wanting to spill the question before she lost her nerve. “I know you said you were just traveling through, but you also said you didn’t have a job.”

  Keegan waited silently.

  She was shy. This was hard for her. She might be making a grave mistake, especially if he took her up on her offer. “If you’d consider remaining in Rascal for a while, I want you to know that you’ve always got a place to stay.”

  His dark eyes glowed.

  Her stomach plummeted. Oh no, had he misread her intentions? Did he think she was proposing something more indecent than employment?

  “I mean,” she said desperately, knotting her fingers together. “If you want to stop hitchhiking, if you’ve thought about staying put...” Lord, she was making a mess of this.

  “Just say what’s on your mind, Wren.” Keegan’s tone was surprisingly gentle.

  She cleared her throat, moistened her tongue. “Mr. Winslow,” she said. “Would you like a job?”

  SHE WAS TREMBLING. Why?

  Was offering him a job such a monumental step for her that it scared her this much? He knew she was a shy woman. Taking the risk of asking a stranger to become her live-in farmhand couldn’t be easy for her.

  Keegan appraised Wren. Was she afraid he was going to say no, or yes?

  Her chin quivered. She clasped her hands together in front of her. Her eyes were wide, her face pale. She needed help running her dairy, that much was clear, but he wasn’t the man for the job.

  He shrugged, barely shook his head.

  “You don’t have to give me an answer right away,” she said, rushing to fill the silence that was lengthening.

  It was tough saying no to that sweet face.

  “Just think about it.”

  “All right,” he said, knowing there was no way he could stay.

  Still, some part of him yearned to say yes. It would be a welcome relief to let go of the hunt, forget his vendetta, take up residence at this dairy, and remain here until he had time to heal, but he could not enjoy that luxury.

  “We could fix up the loft,” she suggested. “And make it more habitable.”

  She twisted the hem of her shirt around one finger.

  The simple gesture reminded him of Katie. His daughter used to wind her finger around her hair when she was nervous. Nostalgia knifed his gut. What would it hurt to humor Wren, to tell her he’d be happy to take the job? She would find someone else when he was gone, and he wouldn’t have to reject her now, wouldn’t have to see the disappointment in her innocent brown eyes.

  “I can’t pay much,” she said. “Minimum wage. Room and board is about the best I can offer.”

  Hell, he was getting soft. When, in the course of the last eighteen months, had he let another person’s wants or needs get in his way? With Maggie and Katie gone, no one else had mattered.

  Until Wren.

  Stunned, he stared at her.

  He cared about Wren Matthews. Not in a romantic way, he quickly pointed out to himself, but as a person.

  And that was a fatal mistake.

  Only brute, killer instinct had kept him alive this long. Only hatred and anger had assured his survival.

  What would the guys at the station house say if they could see him now? Would they be proud of his dedication to hunting down Heller? Would they be appalled at how far he had sunk, letting malice consume his soul? Or as cops in an unjust world, would they praise his vigilantism, applaud his determination?

  After Keegan had recovered from his burns, his best friend, Bill Rizer, had begged him to come back to the police department. For a time, he had considered it, even though his job had been the catalyst that had destroyed his family. If he hadn’t shot Connor’s half-sister, Victoria, in self-defense during a drug bust gone bad, then Connor Heller would not have targeted him.

  An eye for an eye.

  Something unpleasant slithered through Keegan’s veins. Guilt? Remorse?

  The cops had arrested Connor while Keegan was still in the burn unit, and the trial had been swift. Keegan had gone to court in a wheelchair and swathed in bandages. He wasn’t about to miss seeing the killer get his due. Heller had been given a life sentence. See, Keegan’s friends had pointed out, trying to be supportive and encouraging, the legal system does work.

  And then Heller had escaped from Joliet Prison. He murdered a guard, hid the body, took his clothes, and simply walked out the front gates. After that, there had been no choice, no question of going back to the force.

  No matter what the outcome, Keegan could never be a cop again. He couldn’t go back to patrolling a beat, watching as victim after victim fell prey to vultures like Heller.

  Keegan’s hand formed a fist, and sweat beaded his upper lip. Truth was, he hadn’t given one minute’s thought to what would happen to him after his showdown with Heller.

  “What are you running from?” Wren Matthews’ husky whisper broke through his thoughts, bringing Keegan sharply back to the present.

  He stared at her. Her eyes were bright, her face sincere. She shifted uncomfortably from his hard-edged assessment but did not look away. She was a brave woman. No one could deny that.

  “I’m not running from anything,” he said flatly.

  “Then why don’t you stay here? Stop moving long enough to review your life, see what went wrong.”

  Oh, he knew what had gone wrong. Knew far too well. Long nights on the open road had given him plenty of opportunity to think. He should have been in the house that night with Maggie and Katie. He should have saved them or died with them. Instead, he’d been working overtime, more concerned with his job than with his family.

  Keegan gritted his teeth. The old rage boiled inside him, fresh and new. For the last three days, he’d let himself be lulled by Wren Matthews’ sweetness. He’d foolishly allowed her kindness to soothe him.

  Had he forgotten so quickly? He had to avenge his wife and daughter, had to redeem his mistakes. There was no other way to live with himself.

  Dammit, Maggie and Katie were dead because he had let them down!

  Keegan’s breath shot out in ragged spurts. He frowned deeply as he fought the urge to break something with his bare hands. He scanned the kitchen.

  Fear leapt to Wren’s face. Her color paled. She took a step backward. “Keegan?”

  He growled, unable to answer her.

  “Did I say something wrong? Did I d
o something wrong?”

  Keegan shook his head. He was scaring her. She deserved better from him. Calm down. Bottle the rage. Save it for Heller.

  “Nothing,” he mumbled. “I was thinking about the past.”

  Tentatively, she reached out and touched his shoulder. “It must have been awful.”

  He winced. “Worse.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “No.” He tensed, and she quickly drew back.

  “As you wish.”

  “Don’t be upset with me, Wren. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

  WREN FORCED HERSELF not to shudder. At the moment, Keegan appeared as dark and ominous as he had that first night on her porch steps. She’d been out of her mind to think she could help a man with emotional problems that obviously ran so deep.

  Trying to soothe Keegan Winslow was like trying to make a pet of a wild lion. Her misguided mission had been doomed to failure from the start.

  Turmoil dogged him. Relentlessly. Tension tightened the lines in his face, anger vibrated from his pores. She could hear guilt hidden in the undertones of his voice.

  She reached out to touch him, but he jerked away and whirled around to face her, his blue eyes dark and menacing. Her heart thudded at the force of his rage. “You need to talk to someone, Keegan, and not keep your feelings bottled up.”

  He shook his finger in her face. Wren was taken aback by his vehemence. “Don’t dare tell me what I need.”

  “I...I...”

  “You’re not my wife. Got it? Don’t ever think you are.”

  Chapter Ten

  “I never... I didn’t mean...” Wren raised a hand to her neck. Tears crowded her throat and to her horror, slipped down her cheeks. She didn’t want him to see her cry, to know she was so weak.

  He glowered at her.

  “What happened?” she whispered. “Back there in the barn you were so nice, so helpful. What did I do wrong?”

  “You’ve made a mistake. I’m not a nice guy.”

  “I don’t believe that,” she said, blinking away her tears.

  “You’re kidding yourself.”

  His words were ugly, but the pain in his eyes was real. He was like an orphaned boy who’d been shuffled from foster home to foster home, never putting down roots, never making loving ties, never trusting anyone. He was filled with rage at the world and all the people in it.

  She’d witnessed such aggression in some of her troubled high-school students. Adverse life circumstances caused those kids to construct a tough outer exterior. Rather than withdrawing, they tended to go on the offensive.

  Just like Keegan was doing right now.

  He lashed out because he was hurting. Wren understood this, but understanding him and helping him come to grips with his past were two different things. She wasn’t a trained psychologist.

  If she was smart, she would pack up his things, send him on his way, get him out of her life forever. Yet, for some reason, she simply could not give up on him. The same way she refused to give up on her unfortunate students. She had to try.

  “There’s a decent man hiding behind your angry bravado,” Wren accused. She might be shy, but she was not a coward. Her limp might have made her self-conscious, but that didn’t mean she was a pushover. When it came to something important, Wren Matthews stood her ground. “I see flashes of him.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He sneered. “How can you be so sure?”

  “There’s an intense internal struggle going on inside you. It’s easy to see.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re romanticizing me.”

  “I have a feeling about you,” she said, placing a fist over her stomach. “A gut reaction.”

  “Really? Are you such a great judge of character that you always rely on your instincts? Have you never trusted the wrong man, Wren?” His glare was colder than the ice outside keeping them bound together.

  Wren sucked in her breath. Blaine Thomas. Yes, she’d once trusted the wrong man. She’d been so lonely without her parents that she had wanted to believe in Blaine’s love. But with Blaine, she had dismissed her instincts. Her gut feeling had told her he was too nice, too accommodating, too willing to center his life around hers, but in desperation, she’d brushed aside her reservations, and she’d paid a high price for ignoring her intuition.

  And now, the same instinct that had warned her off Blaine was driving her forward to Keegan.

  “Obviously, something is making you behave this way. Something terrible that’s happened in your past. You don’t want to tell me and that’s fine. But this is my house and it’s Christmas Eve, and I won’t have you bullying me.”

  He looked contrite and ducked his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You didn’t deserve that.”

  “Apology accepted,” she said with brisk, efficiency, ready to forgive and forget if he was willing to rein in his anger. “Now, why don’t you take a shower and try to relax? You need it.”

  KEEGAN TURNED WITHOUT a word and headed for the bathroom, stunned by the thoughts running through his head.

  Wren’s composure amazed him. Most women would have run from him. Maggie certainly would have. His wife had hated confrontations. That had been one of the biggest conflicts in their marriage. She’d never stood up to him. Never voiced her opinion.

  He’d secretly disliked that aspect of her personality. Keegan, a cop by nature, thrived on conflict. Not that he had wanted constant discord in his home. Not by any means. He’d had his fill of that growing up with a drill-sergeant father, but he might have preferred a little more spice in his marriage. Some fire, a dose of passion. In Wren’s company, he experienced that hot spark that had been missing with his wife.

  Immediately, he felt disloyal, and ashamed of the thought.

  Maggie had always been sweet and accommodating, acquiescing to his every desire. Her innocence had attracted his protective nature, but if he was honest wouldn’t he admit that her clinging dependence had sometimes been a strain? He always had to be the one in control, never letting down his guard or allowing his fears to show.

  Wren’s steadfast refusal to bow to his anger calmed Keegan. She had brought him back to the present and demanded accountability for his actions. Like a cool breeze on a scorching sunburn, her unwavering conviction soothed him.

  She was quite a woman. Soft and sweet like Maggie, but at her core existed a rod of steel that commanded Keegan’s respect. His admiration for her grew. That first night, when he knocked on her door, he would never have suspected she was such a strong and capable person.

  Keegan closed the bathroom door and peered at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes appeared haunted, his face gaunt with shadows. Threads of gray flecked his hair, and the wrinkles on his forehead deepened when he frowned. When had he started looking so old? He was only thirty-five but felt three times that age.

  The last eighteen months had exacted an exorbitant toll.

  Did Wren find him attractive? Or was he just a charity case in her eyes? This morning, when he’d captured her in his arms after the ladder toppled over, he hadn’t imagined that expression of desire written on her face.

  His attraction to her bothered him. There was no place in his life for her. Even if he wasn’t chasing Heller, which he was, his heart lay dark and empty. He had nothing to give, nothing to offer a special woman like Wren.

  For one fleeting moment, when she’d offered him the job as her dairy hand, he had been sorely tempted to accept. He didn’t have to pursue Heller. He could leave it to the police, start his life afresh, here and now in Rascal, Texas. He had the choice to release his rage and allow Wren’s caring concern to heal him.

  Stripping off his shirt before the mirror, Keegan turned halfway and stared at his back. The burn scar was an ugly, red gash across his skin, a grim reminder of all he’d suffered. Heller had done this to him.

  Marked him for life. He couldn’t forgive, and he must never forget.

  WHILE KEEGAN SHOWERED in the front bathroom, Wren got undressed
in the back bathroom.

  The dust up with Keegan had rattled her more than she cared to admit. She’d stood up to him, but at what cost? She dropped her bathrobe to the floor and stepped into the warm bubble bath.

  The pipes groaned as water came on in the other bathroom.

  Wren tried not to envision Keegan standing naked under the rough shower spray, but she couldn’t quit the picture that rose in her mind.

  She saw his palms spread out against the tile, his head lowered as he allowed the water to sluice down his ravaged back. She thought of his burn and pressed her fingertips to her mouth. Closing her eyes, she let her mind travel over his body, boldly exploring him in her imagination the way she would never dare do in real life.

  His torso was long and lean, like a long-distance runner. His chest honed like a washboard, his buttocks firm and tight. Wren sucked in her breath, felt her insides grow warm and soft.

  Mercy! Never in her wildest fantasies had she been so attracted to anyone.

  She should be afraid of him, but instead, his edginess drew her. He was more seductive to her than twilight shadows were to fireflies. He promised the dangerous excitement of unharnessed electricity. Making love with this man would soar beyond anything she had ever experienced.

  Making love?

  Heaven forgive her, how long had she been thinking about making love to Keegan Winslow? Back there in the kitchen, when he’d challenged her, his aura as explosive as nitroglycerin, she’d experienced a strange burning in her groin and a tightening of her senses. Suddenly everything had seemed much more intense. His masculine scent in her nose, the sight of his lips incited a hungry desire to be kissed, the sound of his clipped speech sent shivers skyrocketing up her spine.

  But she had ignored the sensations, denying them because she didn’t want to hazard a guess at what her feelings might signify.

  She wanted this man as she’d never wanted another.

  And she could not have him.

  Something drove him; he was on a mission she did not comprehend. A sense of purpose was all about him, desperate and grave. He seemed to be punishing himself toward something destructive.