Promises (9 page)

He smiled and flopped back down on the floor.
 
His head landed softly on the pillow as the surge of adrenaline rushing through his veins slowed.
 
He didn’t like not knowing her whereabouts every minute.
 
He couldn’t protect her if she didn’t stay by his side, although she probably wasn’t alone at the moment.
 
That hulking hound of hers was more than likely following her every move.

He lifted himself from the floor and winced at the sharp pain shooting up his leg.
 
As he started to wrap the bedspread around his waist, he noticed his clothes neatly folded and stacked on the couch beside him.
 
Relieved to have something other than a flowered toga to wear, he dressed.

Checking his bandage, he found a small patch of dried blood as he pulled on his jeans.
 
Nothing too terrible, but he didn’t want Bobbi to see it.
 
She’d be after him with more clean gauze, and he knew he couldn’t take much more of her special attention.
 

The jeans rubbed against his wound, but not so much he would forsake wearing pants.
 
The hole had been repaired with a small patch and his shirt had been ironed.
 
It felt crisp and clean against his skin.
 
When had she done all this?

Bobbi’s curses filtered into the living room.
 
Whatever she was doing, she definitely wasn’t happy about it.
 
With a slight limp and an occasional grab at furniture and doorways for support, he made his way down the hall.
 
Pausing in front of the bedroom, he looked at the broken glass and tree branch still lying across the bed.
 
He breathed a small sigh of relief Bobbi hadn’t been in it when the wind had hurled the limb through the window.
 

Making a mental note to fix the window later, he turned and continued toward the kitchen.
 
The back door stood open and a more pleasant view he’d be hard pressed to find.
 

Attempting to crank the generator she’d mentioned the night before, her faded jeans tightened across her inviting derriere with every pull of the cord.
 
The memory of her smooth, soft skin beneath his hand, her sweet lithe form pressed against his body, widened the grin on his face.
 
He shouldn’t be thinking along those lines, but the view spoke directly to his basal instincts.
 

She rose up, gave the generator a swift kick, and spat a few choice words.

Travis chuckled.

Bobbi jerked her head around and nearly toppled over at the sight of him in the doorway.
 
For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out how he could look sexier wearing clothes.
 
What was it with men in well-worn denim?
 
From his bare feet, up his jean-clad legs, to the shirt he hadn’t bothered to button, he was all male.
 

Her mouth went dry.

“Can I give you hand?” he asked.

She finally found enough moisture on her tongue to form a few coherent words.
 
“No, thank you.”
 
Swallowing, she concentrated all her efforts on talking.
 
“Go back and lie down.
 
Once I get this heinous excuse for a generator going, I’ll make you some breakfast.”
 

“I feel fine.”

Taking three steps, she reached up to move him.
 
“You need to rest.”
 
She pushed on his massive chest in an attempt to turn him around, or was it an excuse to touch him?
 
Either way, he didn’t budge.

His hands covered hers, pressing them firmly against the exposed skin beneath his shirt while his deep blue eyes locked her in place.
 
He definitely wasn’t as weak as she’d thought.
 
He felt fine, all right.
 
He felt wonderful.
 
Her fingers craved to curl into the dark hair teasing her palms.
   

“I have to get the generator going,” she said softer than she’d intended.

“Maybe you’re not holding your mouth right.”
 
Lifting his hand, he brushed the tip of his thumb across her bottom lip.

A sizzling tingle ran across her skin.
 
Oh, no.
 
No, no, no
.
 

Snatching her hand away, she took two generous steps back.
 
“I’ll get the blasted thing going.
 
And if you fall flat on your face, don’t look at me to carry you back to the couch.”
 

She spun around and proceeded to work on the generator.
 
Anything to keep from falling against his chest and begging for a kiss
—
or more.
 
She listened to his rich laughter as he moved away from the door.
 

Why, oh why did she have to be attracted to him?
 
What was it about him that had her stomach in knots, her breath shallow, and her entire body quivering?
 
She’d known handsome and charming men before.
 
They seemed to be a staple in her line of work, except she never felt overwhelmed by any of them.
 
Not even Roger made her this crazy.
 
What was so special about Travis Reid?

Taking a deep breath, she settled the fluttering in her stomach.
 
Work would get her mind off of him, off of her, off of them together.
 

“Who are you kidding?” she grumbled.

With a shake of her head, she surveyed the generator again.
 
After taking careful, tedious steps to make sure she did exactly what Uncle Joe had instructed, she closed her eyes, said a silent prayer to the generator gods, and pulled the cord one last time.
 
To her surprise, it roared to life, and they once again had power.

Proud of her small accomplishment, she stood and surveyed the yard for several minutes.
 
The storm had left branches and leaves everywhere.
 
She wouldn’t have been surprised if a tornado had touched down somewhere in the area during the night.
 

With a shudder, she stepped back into the kitchen and washed her hands.
 
After breakfast she’d see about fixing the bedroom window then she’d work on tidying up the yard.
 

“So where’s the beast?” Travis asked as he limped up next to her.

Thankfully, he’d buttoned his shirt, but he still looked too good for words.
 
“Rocky is outside, but I suspect he’ll be scratching at the door anytime now.”

On cue, a solid thud sounded against the back door.
 
She let her companion in, and Rocky immediately trotted up to Travis.
 
He sniffed his jeans, grumbled, and then went to his bowl.

She grinned at Travis’ sour face.
 
“I told you he likes you.”

Pulling out a chair, he sat down.
 
“I don’t buy it.
 
I think he’s just trying to decide if I’ll taste better than kibble.”

She laughed and shook her head.
 
“What would you like for breakfast?
 
I have farm fresh eggs, country ham, grits
—
all the southern favorites.”

“I don’t suppose you’d let me cook?”

Somewhat disappointed, she asked, “You don’t like my cooking?”

“No, no.
 
I meant to thank you last night for a wonderful dinner.
 
It’s just that I, well...”

She thought she’d seen everything, but Travis Reid blushing?
 
What an unexpected treat.
 
She would never have thought it possible.
 

“Well, I like to cook.
 
I like it very much,” he said sheepishly.

Amazing.
 
This big powerful, gun wielding, bad guy chasing, Federal agent liked to cook.
 
What other surprises did he have in store for her?
 

No.
 
Not for her.
 
Never for her.
 
“I’ll make a deal with you.
 
You cook and I’ll do the dishes.
 
But you’ve got to do as much as you can sitting down.
 
You really need to stay off that leg.
 
Deal?”

“Deal.”
 
The word barely escaped his mouth before he was up and digging through the refrigerator.
 

“The spices are over the stove.
 
Pots and pans are in the cabinet beside the oven.
 
And unless you need me, I’ll go and clean up the bedroom,” she said.

“Nope.
 
Got it covered.
 
I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
 

His head popped up over the refrigerator door as she stepped past him.
 
“Oh, and leave the window.
 
I’ll fix it after breakfast.”

“You don’t have to do that.
 
I’m perfectly capable.”

“I insist.
 
And, um, would you take him with you?”
 
He motioned to Rocky who’d just finished sloshing water all over the floor.

“Chicken,” she teased.

“Hey!
 
Don’t give him any ideas.”
 

Giggling, she wiped Rocky’s face then snapped her fingers, and he followed her down the hallway.
 
She really shouldn’t be so
—
what, happy?
 

Ah, nuts.
 
Why did she have to like the man so blasted much?
 
They were all wrong for one another.
 
He dated the runway strutting type, a complete contrast to her.
 
She’d listened to her brother over the years about Travis and his jaunts into the dating world.
 
He was a regular ladies’ man and a FBI agent too.
 
Something she’d never forget.
 
They would not, could not, ever be a couple.

Whistling drifted into the bedroom.
 

Then why did her stupid teenage fantasies and her grown woman’s desires feel like they were meshing together, trying to create the perfect outcome for this odd entanglement?
 
And why couldn’t she remember that Travis was so much like Roger?

“Ouch!”
 
She stuck her cut finger in her mouth.
 
“Damn glass.”
 
What other kinds of wounds would she suffer before this bizarre chapter of her life ended?

Ceasing her trip down philosophical lane, she surveyed the mess on her bed.
 
Deciding to work smarter, she went to fetch Uncle Joe’s old work gloves.
 

Starting with the branch, she dragged the limb out the front door, and tossed it into the woods.
 
Carefully gathering up the sheets, she captured as much of the glass as possible inside, then swept up the rest and dumped it in a wastebasket next to the bed.
 
She shuddered at the tinkling sound of the broken shards striking against one another.
 
She didn’t want to think of what would’ve happened if Travis had been in the bed when the branch barreled through.

“You okay?”

Startled at the sound of his voice next to her ear, she dropped the broom.

He chuckled.
 
“Sorry.
 
I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

“Seems you’re always surprising me.”
 
Stepping around him, she moved to the chair and scooped up a fresh stack of sheets.

“You don’t like surprises?”

“Not especially.”
 
Not when they involve a certain ghost from her past.
 
She stepped to the opposite side of the bed and flipped out the bottom sheet.
 
“Since you’re here, you can help.”

“Actually, I came to tell you breakfast is served.
 
Come on.”
 
He leaned over the bed and took her hand as she smoothed the sheet.
 
“Before it gets cold.”

She pulled away from him and walked briskly to the kitchen.
 
She couldn’t take anymore touching.
 
He was already in her every waking thought and under her skin.
 
She couldn’t allow him to burrow any deeper.

As they entered the kitchen, she came to an abrupt halt.
 
The old scarred wooden table was set with place mats, artistically folded napkins, juice, coffee, and two plates laden with enough food to feed a small platoon.
 

She refrained from leaping across the room as his hands rested on her shoulders.
 

“Not hungry?” he asked.

“No, I mean, yes.
 
I’m hungry.
 
It’s just that you went to so much trouble.”

He squeezed her shoulders lightly, increasing the tension that had been building in her muscles since he greeted her half-dressed earlier that morning.
 

“It was the least I could do considering all you’ve done for me.”
 
His breath teased the hairs at the nape of her neck.
 

Shifting awkwardly from beneath his grip, she sank down into one of the chairs.
 
“I guess we’re even.”

“Hardly.”
 
He sat down across from her.
 
“You could say I owe you my life.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond and let a smile be her reply.

“Eat up.
 
It’s getting cold.
 
Nothing worse than a cold omelet.”
 
He waited for her to begin with a curious gleam in his eye.
 

Something told her this breakfast meant more than a mere thank you.
 
She’d seen that look many times from perspective artists when discussing their work.
 
Cooking wasn’t something Travis liked.
 
It was something he loved, and Bobbi had the distinct impression he wanted her stamp of approval over the feast he’d placed before her.