Dear Sir, I'm Yours (22 page)

Not even you.

~ Rae

She shut the bedroom door and leaned against it, shaking. Her face was wet, her neck, tears still dripping. At least that horrid whimpering sound didn’t come out of her throat any longer. She hated feeling weak.

“Are you hurt, Rae Lynn?”

Jerking her gaze up, she realized Miss Belle sat on her bed. Her faded strawberry hair was loose, hanging down her shoulders. Wrapped in an old-fashioned dressing gown, the old lady looked like she’d walked off the set of a Western or historical movie. She opened her arms.

Rae fell into them, sobbing.

Rocking gently, Miss Belle held her, humming softly under her breath. As her tears quieted, Rae listened to the lilting tune. Very Irish, she thought, about fairy rings and the Winter Queen.

“Better now?”

Nodding, Rae sat up, swiping her damp cheeks. “Thank you, Miss Belle. I’m sorry that I worried you.”

“Did he hurt you?” The old lady’s voice wasn’t hard or accusing, merely inquisitive.

“Think about it, Rae Lynn, whatever scared you. Did he really hurt you?”

She closed her eyes, shivering. She remembered his mouth devastating her, his fingers gliding deep. Her inner thighs were rubbed tender by his unshaven cheeks, but nothing hurt.

Even when he’d—

A wave of heat flooded her face, hot shame, even while ice dripped down her spine again. She shivered harder. “He didn’t hurt me. This time.”

“But you’re afraid he will next time?”

She nodded, staring down at her clenched hands in her lap. The old lady’s hand came under her chin, urging her gaze up.

“Someone hurt you. Badly. Yes?” When Rae nodded, the old lady’s eyes flashed and delicate jaws firmed. “Did Conn know you’d been hurt?”

She shook her head, trying to drop her gaze, but the old lady was insistent. “I hadn’t told him yet.”

“Why not?”

She swallowed hard, her eyes hot and burning. “I was ashamed.”

“Oh, my poor dear, why on earth would you be ashamed?” Miss Belle pulled her back against her breast, rocking her gently. “It’s not your fault someone hurt you.”

“It
was
my fault. I should have told him no.”

“Conn?”

“No.” Her voice was muffled against the old lady, but she didn’t sit up. She needed the comforting, even while she longed for Conn’s arms around her, his chest against her face, his heart beating beneath her cheek. “My ex-husband. I should have told him no. But I was too weak.”

Miss Belle made a low, harsh sound that drew Rae upright. “In my day, men who violated a woman’s trust were horsewhipped.”

A smile twitched on her lips. “Richard deserves it.”

“You’re far from weak, Rae Lynn, and you certainly deserve better than a cowardly bastard who abuses your trust.” Miss Belle locked her gaze on hers, refusing to let her hide.

“My grandson would never hurt you like that, or so help me, God, I’d take a horsewhip to him myself. And then Colonel Healy would set up residence in his house to torment him until he crawled on hands and knees to kiss your feet and beg your forgiveness.”

Rae laughed shakily, picturing it.

Miss Belle patted her shoulder. “So it’s not really Conn you’re afraid of. It’s yourself.”

Her laughter shut off, her throat strangled. Rae nodded jerkily. “I love him too much, Miss Belle. I’d let him do anything he wanted. Worse than Richard ever thought about doing.”

“But Rae Lynn, dear, think about it. Would Conn ever ask you to do such a thing? Would he want to hurt you like that?”

His face rose in her mind, his brow deeply grooved, his eyes hard, his mouth grim. He hadn’t been angry at her; he’d been angry at himself. Because she was afraid. He’d stopped, immediately, and tried to hold her. In a heartbeat, he’d gone from a smoldering, masterful lover to a concerned, apologetic man furious at himself for scaring her.

As soon as she’d given him the safe word, he’d stopped.

No. Before that. She remembered.

She’d told him no. And he’d stopped. Immediately.

I did it.

Remembering the look on his face, twisted with agony, regret, and self recrimination, she knew something else.

Hurting me is the last thing he wants to do.

Wide eyed, she stared at Miss Belle. “Oh.”

“Did you think a man like him would pine for five years over a chance encounter? He loves you more than breathing, more than the lovely poetry he’s studied nearly all his life. He would never knowingly hurt or scare you.”

Her stomach knotted and her lips trembled. The one thing he wanted most of all—her trust—she’d denied him by doubting him. He was probably worried as hell. “I should call him.

No, I’ll go to him. I—”

“No.” Miss Belle stood up, her eyes gleaming dangerously. A small smile curved her lips. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, your day off. I want you to go home bright and early to visit your family. I’m going to be busy with Samantha all day, poor dear, although I learned something very interesting last night at the bar. Make sure your daddy is okay. Give them your signing bonus check which I put on your dresser tonight.”

“Miss Belle. Do you really think I’m going to take your money after you set me up?”

The old lady smiled that wide shark smile, her eyes gleaming with amusement and determination. “Absolutely. You’re my project manager, Rae Lynn, and I’m opening this Bed and Breakfast, even when you and Conn get married and have a dozen babies. You’re still my employee. And I say my employee should take the weekend off as contracted. Give Conn a day or two to cool his heels.”

“Why?”

“Trust me, Rae Lynn.” Miss Belle glided toward the door, her smile dazzling. “Healy men are insufferably arrogant. A little consternation will do him a world of good. Besides, I need to win this bet.”

“Nobody said anything about marriage and babies,” Rae called after the disappearing old lady.

Miss Belle’s voice floated to her as ethereal as her dead husband’s ghost. “Don’t be so sure, dear.”

Rae woke up, listening. Faint light came through the window, barely dawn. She heard a car in the distance. Maybe that had awakened her. Six o’clock was much earlier than she planned to leave, but she wasn’t one for wasting time. Shrugging, she got up and showered.

Fingering the skimpy pieces of underwear Conn had bought for her, she closed her eyes, remembering his passion again. The stroke of his hands and tongue, the command of his body.

She’d come home without underwear again. That was the second pair of hers he’d claimed.

Full of regret and need to see him, to explain about last night, she chose somber black panties, a faded black Drury sweatshirt, and jeans. She grabbed a few spares of everything and tossed them into her suitcase. Miss Belle wanted her to stay the weekend, but she didn’t think she’d make it that long.

She wanted Conn’s arms. She wanted to bury her face against his chest and tell him the truth. Why she’d been scared. Why she wasn’t scared of him any longer. She trusted him. She really did. And she’d like nothing better than to run across the property and climb into his bed to tell him.

Sighing, she went to the dresser and stared down at the check for two thousand dollars.

Her family really did need it. She had done work for the old lady. After the way Miss Belle had comforted her last night, could she really be angry at the old gal for hunting her down and bringing her to Conn?

She folded the check and jammed it into her jeans pocket along with her keys. The purse Miss Belle made her carry—where was it? She remembered having it at Conn’s house. She must have left it there. Luckily it didn’t have much in it other than chapstick. And her cell phone. Shit.

And those letters on CD.

Now she was more tempted than ever to stop by his house. But the dogs would bark, and Miss Belle would bark the loudest. She was determined not to lose that stupid bet with her husband’s ghost.

And if Rae ended up at Conn’s house after last night… She couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t end up in his bed.

Tiptoeing downstairs and outside to her truck, she shoved the suitcase across the seat.

Brrr. It was definitely colder this morning. The trees would be changing color soon, pumpkins on the porch, corn stalks and hay bales in people’s yards. She couldn’t wait.

Something caught her eye. A sheet of paper lay on the floorboard. Picking it up, she scanned it.

Only one word was written on it.

Whore.

Hand shaking, she looked around wildly. The sound of a car driving away—who would have been up here? It had to be Richard. It was just the sort of mean, nasty thing she’d expected from him when she kicked him out. Why now?

The only reason she could think of was Conn. She hadn’t dated anyone until now.

What a dick. Let him show up. If she didn’t shoot him, maybe Conn would hack him up with his sword.

***

“I need your help.” Conn gripped the phone between his chin and shoulder, ignoring Mason’s sleepy groans and mumbles. Yeah, it was early Saturday morning, but they were supposed to drive to Joplin for a Renaissance Festival later today anyway. “Tell me how to get into my campus e-mail.”

“Who’s dead?” Mason shouted and something crashed so loudly that Conn winced. “Is Miss Belle alright? You know the ambulance can find that old barn without you risking the apocalypse by dipping a toe in the internet, right?”

He swallowed hard, fighting for control. His eyes burned from reading all night. He would’ve been riveted to Rae’s letters any day, but as soon as he’d found the CD in the purse that she’d left behind once again, he’d done nothing but read with a growing sense of dread.

He’d cursed so loudly he’d scared the dogs, laughed a few times, and yeah, he’d shed a few tears, too, although he’d never admit it to anyone but her.

If he ever found her again. “Rae left. The last time she ran, she e-mailed me and I never knew.”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry. I thought…” Mason cleared his throat. “I would have given you two a very high probability of living happily ever after. What happened?”

Again, nothing he could admit to anyone but her. “Can you help me?”

Of course, Mason, mathematician and numerical analysis programmer, could and did assist even the most computer-illiterate professor at Drury onto the internet, to no avail. She hadn’t e-mailed.

“Did you ever learn where she’d been?” Mason asked.

Conn flipped open his wallet and took out her business card. He’d already called her cell, but she’d left it in her purse here. That’s how he’d found the dainty white bag in the first place.

That purse was so unlike her, so utterly un-Rae. He should’ve insisted she toss the thing in the garbage and pick out her own purse instead of carrying around Miss Belle’s suggestion.

If he ever saw her again, he’d burn the damned thing himself. He’d burn that CD, too, watch it melt into a black pancake, and he’d hold her against his heart until every single dark memory had finally been blazed away by his love.

“I have her company name and phone number. I’ll start by finding out where her office is and backtrack.”

“Miss Belle—”

“I already asked her before I called you, but she was too busy rushing off to help her cook through her husband’s funeral today.”

In fact, Miss Belle had tartly told him he’d gotten exactly what he deserved, and then she’d shoved a pink parasol into his hands and demanded he give it to Rae and beg her to beat some sense into him.

He’d do so willingly, if she’d come back.

“You really do love her.” Mason didn’t sound pleased, though, not at all. His voice quivered, and if Conn didn’t know better, he’d swear his friend was gearing up for a monumental display of ire. The slow-burners were always the loudest when they exploded, as his father had testified. “I hate what she’s doing to you. You don’t deserve this, Conn. She’s got you running endless laps on a Mobius strip! You’ll never get to the other side, don’t you see?”

“I deserve it,” Conn said flatly. “I scared her. I hurt her. She was fully justified in running both times. But I refuse to wait another five years before begging her forgiveness.

Checking my e-mail is only the first of my penance.”

“I’ll be damned. I never thought the great Dr. Connagher who bemoaned the loss of true poetry in this weary world would ever join the twenty-first century. I’ll help you find her just to see if she can convince you to start a Romantic Poetry blog.”

“Balderdash,” Conn retorted, stealing Miss Belle’s favorite word. “By the way, I’ll have to cancel our demonstration today. So how do I find her?”

“Have you ever heard of Google?”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

Sitting on the deck with her family, Rae tried to keep her mind in the present, but she’d been on the same page of the book for at least an hour. Daddy sat beside her wrapped in a quilt, Mom beside him working a crossword puzzle. Uncle Frank and his entire family were coming for dinner in another hour or so, and the delicious smell of pot roast filled the air.

She smiled, remembering Miss Belle’s meatloaf.

Which only made her think of Conn.

Daddy’s hand settled on her arm, clutching her. “Dick.”

She jumped up to retrieve the shotgun in the house, but the approaching car froze her in place. She had no idea whether Richard still had his flashy SUV or not, but it was a black Mustang pulling into the drive.

She smiled reassuringly at Daddy. “It’s Conn.”

Jumping down off the deck, she raced around the side of the house.

Already parked, he pushed open the car door and stood, his gaze locked on her. He wore dark sunglasses so she couldn’t see his eyes, but his face looked rather grim. The groove between his eyes was heavily pronounced. Yet she didn’t stop. She ran straight toward him and slammed into his arms.