Beyond Affection (8 page)

Corinne smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye.  It was always nice to be proven right.  “So... if I’m too tired to drive back tonight and don’t make it here till around noon tomorrow, that would be okay?”

With a devastating grin, Shane assured her it would.

* * *

S
hane made his way toward Lacie’s bedroom silently, not wanting to wake her.  She was tucked beneath a hand-stitched ivory and blue quilt, the top edge barely covering her breasts.  Her chest rose and fell with the rhythmic breaths of deep slumber; her now-casted hand lay atop the covers, the plaster extending from the middle of her fingers to slightly beyond her wrist.  The corners of his lips quirked; her cast was a soft pink color that matched her nightshirt.  Corinne had already signed it with a flourish of curls and hearts.

He watched her for a while, remembering that the first time he had seen her she’d been asleep, too.  Her long, dark blonde lashes created perfect crescents against her smooth skin.  Strands of her lighter blonde hair fell wantonly across her forehead; the rest bunched into a halo of soft, tousled curls where her head rested on the pillow.  Shane felt what was becoming a familiar pang shoot across his chest.  There was no doubt about it.  She was his.

His eyes flicked back to her hand, the slow burn of rage beginning all over again.  Lacie was his, to love, care for, and protect. 

And Craig Davidson was a dead man.

Shane remembered the phone call that had signaled the end of their time together that night, Davidson’s enraged voice clearly audible across the table they shared.  He should have realized what might happen.  Why had he not followed Lacie home that night?  And why hadn’t she said anything?

He thinks he owns her or something.
  Shane would make sure that misconception got cleared up very quickly.  Lacie belonged to no one.  Except him.  But that would be because she wanted to, and as his
croie
, she would.  Given the little bit he knew about her, she didn’t seem to be the type to allow someone to push her around like that.  She might look like an adorable little bit of fluff, but there was no doubting her strong, clever spirit. 

As if she sensed his presence, Lacie’s eyes flickered open and went right to him, though she was clearly having trouble focusing.  “Shane?”  Her voice, husky with sleep and thick from the pain meds, wrapped around him and pulled him closer.

“Hi, Lacie.  Yes, I’m here.”  Very gently, he took her good hand in his, bringing it to his lips to brush a light kiss upon it.

“Am I dreaming?  It’s the drugs, isn’t it?  Man, that’s some good stuff...”

Shane chuckled.  “You’re not dreaming, Lacie.  Corinne called me to keep an eye on you while she drove your parents to the airport.”

“She worries too much.”

“She loves you.”

“I know.”  Her eyes closed for a long moment, and he thought she dropped off again.  “I’m sorry, Shane.  I’m afraid I’m not going to be very good company.  These pills make me so sleepy.”

“Don’t be,” he said, brushing the hair from her face.  “Instead of sitting at my place all night thinking about you, I get to be here, taking care of you.”

She gifted him with a tiny but genuine smile.  “Just how you wanted to spend your Saturday night, right?”

“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, running the backs of his fingers over her cheeks, “there is no place I would rather be.”

She sighed softly, a light moan carrying on her breath.  “Now I know I’m dreaming, because I think I’ve had this one a couple of times already this week.”  Her words were just slightly slurred, her eyes fighting to remain open.  “The next part’s really awesome, but I’m just so tired...”

God help him, if she admitted anything more about her fantasies he was going to crawl into bed with her and make them all too real.  What she needed now was rest.  There would be time enough for his selfish desires later.  “Go back to sleep, Lacie.”

“You’ll stay?” she murmured, her eyes already half closed.

“I’m not going anywhere.”  He pressed a kissed to her forehead, smiled at the barely audible moan she uttered, and felt the final lock in his heart break open as she drifted back into the land of medication-induced dreams.

He stayed with her for a while, until he was certain she was comfortable and deeply asleep.  The pain pills would have her out for several hours at least.  To pass the time, and because Shane was curious about the woman he now knew without a doubt he was going to marry, he decided to have a look around. 

Overall, her apartment was very clean, but like her car, untidy.  There seemed to be no obvious method to her placement and storage of things, but he suspected there was some underlying rationale behind it.  After a bit of time and thought, he began to see a pattern emerging, and he smiled.  Lacie had a different way of thinking about things, but once he saw it, it made perfect sense.

It was her desk that interested him most.  There were lesson books, planners, a list of accounts and financial statements.  Whereas he would have had them in neat and labelled files, Lacie kept hers in specific piles across the desk top.  Looking more closely, he saw that the stacks were arranged in a vague semicircular pattern, leaving her a small workspace in the center.  Those to the left were time-sensitive – bills, policies, renewals; those to the right were not. 

In addition, rather than being stacked neatly, each pile had sections that fanned out.  That was obviously how she distinguished the various accounts from one another.  Among each “fan blade”, there were individual papers that stuck out at odd angles.  His fingers itched to tidy them, but he realized upon closer inspection that the incongruous pages were remittance forms.  All she would have to do when she sat down to pay her bills was pull out the offset pages, working bottom to top, left to right.

It wasn’t how he would have done it, but he had to admit, it was effective.  After they were married, however, he would try to persuade her to let him handle their accounts.

Satisfied that he had decoded her system, his eyes were drawn to a thick stack located at the center of the half-circle.  The folder perched on top caught his attention.  It was simply labeled
Brian
.

After checking on Lacie and finding her still fast asleep, Shane settled down in the comfortable recliner with the file, positioning himself so that he would could keep an eye on her through the partially open door.  Shane found organized lists of names, dates, printed emails.  Notes she made from various phone calls, copies of letters and official correspondence.  Aerial photos, some of which she had lightly marked with a fine black Sharpie.

It was clear that Lacie was trying to find out what had happened to her brother.  He whistled softly, impressed by some of the names she’d contacted.  He also recognized the all-too-standard run-arounds in the replies she received.  The amount of information and detail she had managed to acquire was substantial, especially considering she was a Kindergarten teacher from Pine Ridge.  His
croie
was clever and resourceful; a feeling of pride welled in his chest at the thought. 

As he read each page, he committed it to memory.  When he got back to the Pub, he was going to talk to Ian.  His brother was a certified master at gathering information.  If anyone could find out what happened to Brian McCain and the others, Ian could.  He wouldn’t mention anything to Lacie just yet, though.  He didn’t want to get her hopes up, and chances were that after three years, the news wouldn’t be good.  If nothing else, he might at least be able to give her closure.

Shane was careful to put everything back where he found it before allowing himself one last look at Lacie.  She was resting peacefully, the ghost of a smile playing about her lips, and he wondered if she was dreaming of him.  The thought pleased him greatly.

He forced himself out of Lacie’s room and back into the living area, taking comfort in the hint of messiness.  It was so unlike his room at the Pub.  There, everything was done in monochromatic shades; the furniture had clean, sleek lines, and the only personal items were some framed pictures he’d hung in a perfectly-spaced geometric pattern over his desk. 

In contrast, Lacie’s furniture was comfortable, an eclectic collection of pieces that spanned a multitude of styles, but each was uniquely appealing.  There were photos and personal mementos everywhere, including hand-made gifts from her students.  It looked as though Lacie kept every one of them, for they now overran the shelving space she’d allotted.  There were several scrapbook albums of hand-drawn pictures and notes as well, each written from small hands and big hearts.

It was easy to get a clear picture of Lacie’s life from the photos alone; they were everywhere.  There was a lot of her with her family – her mom and dad, Corinne, and a male who could only have been her brother, Brian.  They shared similar features – Brian had the same easy going smile, same blue eyes and blonde hair.  The love they had for each other came through the still shots clearly.  The last one must have been taken just before Brian was deployed.  It showed him and Davidson, both dressed in fatigues with fresh buzz-cuts, standing proudly with Lacie between them. 

The mere sight of Davidson that close to Lacie made the small hairs on the back of Shane’s neck stand on end.  The man was in a lot of the pictures, spanning most of her life.  And in all of them, Shane noted, he was always looking at Lacie or touching her in some way.  There was no doubt in his mind that Davidson was in love with her, and probably had been for some time, but he had hidden it well.  Only a man trained to notice such things – or a man who planned on devoting the rest of his life to his
croie
- would spot the subtle body language and the possessive gleam in Davidson’s eye.

S
hane must have dozed off at some point.  The next thing he knew, morning sun was streaming through the window and Lacie was tucking a soft blanket around him.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” he said, greedily breathing in her light, floral scent and something minty, like toothpaste or mouthwash.

The grin she gave him took his breath away.  “I was, but I think fourteen hours is enough, don’t you?”

“What time is it?”

“Around eight.”

Shane sat up and tugged Lacie onto the sofa with him, mindful of her injured hand.  Lacie offered no protest, joining him easily.  There was plenty of room, but Lacie’s body was nice and snug against his side as he slipped an arm around her shoulder. 

“Thanks for hanging out,” she said into his shoulder. 

“My pleasure,” he said, meaning it.  “How’s the hand?”

* * *

“S
ore, but manageable.  I think I’m going to stick with the over the counter stuff today, though.  I’d prefer to be lucid for a little while.” 
And not miss another minute with you.
  “I guess Corinne told you what happened, huh?” 

Shane stroked her upper arm with lazy movements that had her nestling closer.  It was impossible to get close enough to him; an effort not to climb up on his lap.  Thankfully, she managed to control her baser impulses and he didn’t seem to mind the invasion of his personal space. 

“Yes.  I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

She smiled against his collarbone, discreetly drawing his scent into her lungs.  It was clean and fresh and just slightly musky; he was the best smelling man she’d ever come across, hands-down.   

“At least you’re not giving me a lecture about not having it taken care of sooner.  You’d swear Corinne was the one getting her bones re-broken the way she carried on.”

“Sometimes seeing someone you care for hurting is worse than feeling it yourself.”  The deep tone of his voice, the depth of feeling, went past her auditory systems and well into her heart, making her sigh.  Shane Callaghan had a way of doing that to her. 

She was falling hard and fast for him, she realized.  She would have to be careful before she made a complete fool out of herself.  The last thing she wanted to do was scare him off.  Heck, she was scaring herself a little with these powerful urges and feelings.   

“You’re right.  I would have been worse if our places were reversed,” she agreed, then asked suddenly, “Are you hungry?  You’ve been babysitting all night, cramming yourself into a sofa that was  not designed for anyone over five-ten, and been an all-around good sport.  The least I can do is make you breakfast.  You strike me as a waffle kind of guy.  Am I right?”

Shane looked down at her, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I love waffles, and I’m quite skilled at making them, so it will be me doing the cooking this morning.  This sofa is actually pretty comfortable, though I must say I’m enjoying it much more with you here than I did alone.  And I was not babysitting, I was caring for someone I seem to have become especially fond of in a very short amount of time.”

His blue eyes sparkled with intensity, the corners of his lips turned up in a challenging grin. A dark shadow crept over his jawline, that, when matched with his slightly mussed hair, gave him a roguish, bad boy look that had her core temperature shooting up at a record pace.  All of her eloquence left her at that moment.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He was staring at her lips, which made her gaze drop to his.  So full.  So firm.  So male.  So close...

As if reading her mind, Shane leaned forward and touched his lips to hers.  A hint of cinnamon and mint teased her senses, mixed with something decadently rich and uniquely Shane.  She’d never tasted anything like it, but found herself instantly addicted.

Her initial shock quickly gave way to something much better.  She softened beneath him in surrender, parting her lips at his tender insistence.  He was a superb kisser; he knew exactly how much pressure to apply, where and when to use his wicked tongue, and how to make her forget everything else until her entire universe was reduced to the area within his arms.

Minutes, hours, days later, Shane finally pulled away, breathing almost as heavily as she was.  He rested his forehead upon hers. “What were we talking about?” he asked, his voice low and husky.