Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 (17 page)

Was Roan
sleeping?

She'd avoided him all day,
but he'd never left her thoughts.

The voices of reason hadn't
yet banished him from her heart, nor had they offered her a modicum
of insight as to how she'd fallen so hard for him in so short a
time. Attraction was one thing. What woman wouldn't appreciate his
raw masculinity? But what she was suffering was far more than a
fleeting interest. Despite her efforts to the contrary, she
wondered about his past, his family, his likes and dislikes. She
found herself listening to hear him even so much as mutter to
himself. The timbre of his voice, his bearing, his mere presence,
were all locked into her awareness. He had a way of watching her
that always caused fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Even when
she was frustrated and angry with him, mental images of his soft
brown irises had a tendency to weaken her. They were expressive
eyes, often exposing his gruffness as nothing more than a defense
mechanism.

She'd known her share of men
who couldn't show open affection. Her father and brother had been
like that. It was unmanly to expose their emotions. Men. They had
to be a genetic screw-up. Emotions were a vital part of a human
being, and yet the masculine half of the species was determined to
hide their feelings.

What was so difficult about
out-and-out honesty?

A man could say 'I want
you', and mean, 'I want sex'. With exception, when a woman said
those same words, she meant she wanted the whole commitment. A
woman could smile at a man, signaling that she was interested in
getting to know him. A man deciphered that communication as, 'this
woman wants sex'. It always boiled down to sex. And yet, Roan had
seemed embarrassed after their lovemaking. He'd even become angry
and ordered her out of the room.

Now, unless she had totally
misread the situation....

He was a complex man, that
was for sure. More complex than most, and she was falling in love
with him. That was the real zinger! Not only had she inherited
three boys to raise, but she was now caught up in a hopeless
relationship with a man she literally knew nothing
about.

That wasn't exactly true.
She knew he'd had a son. But how he had died and what had happened
to his ex-wife, remained a mystery.

Casting a bleak look in the
direction of the bed, she sighed.

Perhaps, she alone was not
the cause of his turnabout last night. It had to have crossed his
mind that his involvement with her also had three small
considerations. Ready-made fatherhood was not something a lot of
men could accept. The responsibility of the boys scared the hell
out of her, and she was their aunt. It was very possible that Roan
was not prepared to take on a family.

Her heart grew heavy with
despair while anger simmered in her blood.

Men.

A woman could go stark
raving mad trying to second guess their reasoning. She had to get
Roan out of her head, out of her heart. With any luck, she would
leave Scotland soon. She'd say goodbye, and never look back. She'd
forget Roan, and he'd forget her. Her future belonged to the
boys.

Resolutely, she struck the
match against the strip on the side of the box. The sulfur tip
flared. The flame flickered, danced at the insistence of a draft.
Shuddering, she stared absently into the luminance.

Who was she kidding? She
would never again be able to look at a fire and not recall the
pleasure Roan had given her. That hands so large could be so gentle
and soft.

Stop it!

She was about to lower the
match to the kindling when she glimpsed something move to the left
of her. Her awareness noted an alarming stirring of cold air
against her skin. Her head swung around. She unwittingly dropped
the match as two factors slammed home.

She'd closed the drapes
before going to bed.

Now, something swiftly
passed the moonlit window.

A scream ripped from her
throat. She jumped to her feet. Instinctively, she ran to the foot
of the bed to guard the boys against the intruder. Her heart
slammed against her chest with each beat. Suddenly, the shadowy
recesses of the room multiplied, and darkened to an impenetrable
depth.

The boys began to cry and
call out to her, but she couldn't force herself to move. Then
something else beckoned her attention. Her fear-ridden gaze cut to
the hearth, where a small fire was bleeding across the Persian
carpet.

In the next instant, the
chair and Roan's clothing was engulfed in flames.

She screamed again when the
door burst open with such force that it slammed the perpendicular
wall. One of the boys released an ear-splitting wail. Flopping over
the foot of the bed, she blindly scrambled to gather her nephews
into her arms.

An expletive rent the air.
Laura became aware of someone dashing across the room, but the haze
of smoke rising up from the floor, prevented her from seeing
clearly.

"Boys!" she cried,
frantically coaxing them to leave the bed. They wouldn't budge. Her
fear deepening to hysteria, she jumped off the edge of the mattress
and made a feeble attempt to pull her nephews toward her. Huddled
together, clinging to one another, they resisted.

"Kevin, help me!"

Alby screamed.

Movement again shot her head
around. In the distorted light of the elevating fire, she saw a
large figure throw something atop the flames. Smoke stung her eyes.
The boys coughed. She coughed. Amid the frantic movements of the
figure came a deeper, harsher hacking.

"Roan?"

A grunt followed her weak
call. The large figure crossed to the front of the left-side
window, and opened it. Icy air rushed into the room, riling the
smoke into a swirling mass.

Laura's nerves sparked when
something nudged her aside.

"Hurry," came a feminine
voice to her left.

Fingers cinched Laura's arm
and gave her a nudge toward the door. She resisted until she dimly
saw Lachlan Baird swing two of the boys up into his arms. The
instant he crossed the threshold, Beth Staples drew Alby up onto
her hip.

"Laura," Beth said sternly,
pausing a moment before entering the hall. "Follow us to the
parlor." Then she hastened into the hall.

The boys safe, Laura turned
to see where Roan was. Panic knifed her until she saw him kneeling
in front of the hearth.

Coughing and placing a hand
over her mouth, she crouched alongside him. Resisting a powerful
urge to touch him, she linked her arms across her shins, and stared
down at the wet towel he'd used to smother the fire.

"I-I dropped the
match."

A raspy breath escaped him.
His head turned. Diffused moonlight bathed his face, accentuating
the warm cast of his eyes.

"Are you all
right?"

She weakly nodded. "I-I'll
pay for the damage."

Placing a hand on her arm,
Roan stood, drawing her up as well. "Don't worry abou' the rug.
Lannie'll take care o' it." He halfheartedly gazed around him, his
nostrils flaring. "You can't sleep in here, tonight,
though."

"Roan—"

"Damn me," he grumbled,
sparing her a scowling look.

Laura was confused until he
abruptly walked to the bed and a smile turned up the corners of her
mouth. Now here was a sight she wouldn't soon forget. Moonlight
kissed his naked skin, illuminating his firm backside in stark
relief. Heat rose into her cheeks. Her pulse quickened. He wrapped
the top quilt around his middle, but it didn't help to lessen her
appreciation of his physique. Facing her, he scowled again.
Momentarily forgotten was the intruder that had frightened her, and
the fire. "Perhaps you should start wearing pajamas," she
suggested, mirth lacing her tone.

Her humor fled when he
brusquely closed the distance. His eyebrows drawn down in stormy
impatience, he regarded her for several seconds. "If ye're cold,
lass, ask me to light you a fire."

Pride slammed against the
interior of Laura's heart. "What?"

"Leave the matches
be."

A breath painfully squeezed
past the tightening in her throat. "It was an accident!"

"Aye. Damn near a fatal
one."

"Ro-oan!" She threw her
hands up in mounting exasperation. "Don't you think you're
overreacting?"

Alarm stabbed at her when
one of his hands clamped on the back of her neck and jerked her
against the indomitable wall of his body. The breadth of his chest
and shoulders completely occupied her vision, until she looked into
the turbulent depths of his eyes.

"Have you ever smelled burnt
flesh?" His fierce gaze lowered to her lips. His fingers flexed
against her nape. "Fire destroys everythin' it touches." He stared
into her eyes, his own radiating heart-wrenching despair. "Don't
mock ma respect o' it. I know its power."

Tears swelled within her
throat. "Your son?"

Swiftly moving away and
turning his back to her, he combed the fingers of one hand through
his thick hair. "This stunt has taken ten years off ma
life."

Willing back her tears,
Laura squared her shoulders. "It wasn't a damn stunt, Roan."
Pointing, she went on, "I was about to light the kindling when I
saw someone run past that window."

Roan walked to her. "Are you
sure?"

"Yes!" Lowering her arm, she
stared at the window for a long moment. "I know I closed the drapes
before I went to bed. And I'm...pretty sure...I saw
someone."

Looking over his shoulder,
he said, "It was probably a peacock."

A bitter laugh escaped her.
"It didn't look like a bird to me!"

Sighing, Roan searched her
features through a frown. "You probably thought you'd closed the
drapes."

"Dammit—"

She sucked in a breath when
his hand gently lit upon the side of her face.

"You've been under a lot o'
stress, Laura. The peacocks prowl the rooftops, tryin' to stay
warm. They've given me a start, mair'n once."

"I guess," she murmured,
forlornly glancing at the window.

"Laura."

His breathy, husky tone sent
a chill through her. Meeting his gaze, her heart skipped a beat at
the simmering passion his eyes betrayed. His head lowered.
Weakening with anticipation of his kiss, she leaned into
him.

"Fegs, mon, tis no' the time
for tha'!"

Roan looked up to deliver
the laird a dirty look. Laura shyly stepped back and averted her
gaze from the approaching figure.

"Put these on," Lachlan
said, his tone laced with mirth. He shoved a bundle into Roan's
arms. "The lads are wi' Beth in the parlor," he said to Laura.
"They're no worse for their fright."

"Thank you. When I return to
the States, I'll reimburse you for the carpet, and anything else
that's been damaged."

Roan, who'd been staring at
the clothing in his hands during the brief exchange, wanly looked
at Lachlan. "Yer trousers cut off ma circulation."

"Tis better than yer
birthday suit," Lachlan grinned. Humorously arching an eyebrow, he
glanced at the charred remains of the chair and Roan's belongings.
"You have the worst luck wi' yer clothes."

"Only the past few days,"
Roan grumbled, narrowing a look at Laura.

With a low laugh, Lachlan
headed for the door. "Come down to the parlor when ye're through
here." He paused at the threshold and regarded the couple. "Laura,
I regret yer stay has been so stressful. Take heart, lass. And
Roan...." A wry grin appeared on his mouth. "Be nice."

When Lachlan went into the
hall, Roan buried his face in the attire and released an
expletive.

"I'm sorry."

Laura's wavering tone
prompted him to contritely look at her. "No, I'm sorry for losin'
ma temper." Leaning to, he kissed her lightly on the lips then drew
her into his arms and slowly explored her mouth with his own. He
lifted his head after a time and searched her face. "I don't know
wha' I'd do if anythin' happened to you or the lads."

"You're not responsible for
us."

The cool undertone of her
words made him frown. "I am responsible, for as long as ye're under
this roof."

Withdrawing from his arms,
Laura headed out of the room. "I'll be downstairs."

After she'd left, Roan stood
for a long time staring off into space. He was beginning to believe
he would never understand women, never fathom their hot and cold
mood swings. There was only so much a man could tolerate, could
ignore.

Perhaps she was still hurt
that he'd told her to leave after their lovemaking. And perhaps
she'd only allowed him to kiss her because she'd been a wee shocky
from fright.

A muffled sound gave him a
start. Slivers of ice seeming to form in his blood, he furtively
glanced about him. He waited for an indefinite time, his hearing
keened, every muscle in his body taut. Although he was sure the
sound had to have a reasonable explanation behind it, the hair on
his arms seemed to twitch against his chilled skin. His heart
raced, adrenaline feeding his probing inner sense.