Seeking Vengeance (4 page)

He shook his head. It wasn't any of his bu
siness, and he'd be gone soon. On the second shelf, he found the pain medication beside a bottle of children's acetaminophen. After shaking a pill out, he went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water, washing the medication down.

His leg throbbed by the time he made it back to the couch and he cursed his
weakness as he shivered. His teeth chattered and he tightened the blanket. Soon, he fell into a restless sleep. Disjointed images of fire filled his dreams. In them, he rushed around in the flames always searching. Panic and desperation consumed him, and he shouted.

* * *

“Sam! Wake up!” Molly shook his shoulder, alarmed at the heat radiating from his skin. 

His
eyes snapped wide with panic. “I can't find him. Help me!” He sat straight up, turning his head as though looking for something.

Molly crouched in front of him, trying to cut into his field of vision, but he seemed to look right through her.
“Who? Who are you looking for, Sam?”

“
Sean. I gotta find him. But the fire and smoke…” He coughed and waved a hand in front of his face. “It's so hot.
Sean
?”

The raw pain in his voice tore at her
, but when he attempted to stand, she held his shoulders, pressing down and urged him to stay seated. “It's okay. You're only dreaming.” She had to repeat it several times, before he finally focused on her. He blinked as if trying to place her face before she saw recognition. “Are you okay now?”

He rubbed his f
ace, scrubbing at his eyes. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“
No need to apologize, but I don't think there's any chance of you leaving today.”

“
I shouldn't have let your brother bring me here. I didn't realize where we were going.”

She sighed.
“It's not your fault. My brother is always screwing up.” Molly winced at her choice of words and the way Sam flinched at them. “I didn't mean that like how it sounded. I truly don't blame you for this and I'm grateful to you for saving my brother’s life.” She sat beside him on the edge of the sofa and gave a slight shrug. “It's always something with him, but…he's my brother.”

“
Why are the Ravens targeting him?” Sam slanted a look at her.

Surprised
at his bluntness, she stared at him for a long moment before answering, “I don't know, and even if I did, I don't think it's any of your business.” His eyes narrowed, but she cut him off as he opened his mouth. “Don't tell me it's your business because you threw yourself over Johnny. That was your choice. Nobody asked you to.”

“
I think getting caught in the crossfire damn well did make it my business, but aside from that, I was asking because I thought I could help.”

“
How could
you
help?” It was on the tip of her tongue to add why he would offer. What was in it for him?

Sam stoo
d, wincing as he straightened. “I've had some dealings with them before.” He hobbled down the hall seeming to feel right at home as he entered the bathroom.

Molly
remained on the edge of the sofa for a few moments, wondering if Sam had a clue what he was dealing with. She knew first-hand how cruel biker gangs could be, but if Sam was like other guys she had tried to warn, he would brush off her warnings. She had learned to stop trying. Sam had walked off in the middle of the conversation anyway, so slapping her palms on her thighs, she muttered, “Well, I guess that's the end of the discussion.”

She rose and
went to the kitchen to retrieve the bag of clothing she'd bought for Sam. It had felt odd buying clothes for a man. Not knowing what he'd like, she bought a couple of t-shirts and a button down shirt along with packages of socks, boxers and a pair of jeans. She intended to carry them out to the living room, but as she rounded the corner she ran face first into his chest.

He gripped her shoulders,
steadying her as she stumbled backwards. “Whoa. Excuse me.”

Her nose smarted, but his s
cent still lingered and distracted her from the pain. She tasted a slight saltiness on her lips from where they had brushed his skin. She stared at him for a moment before thrusting the stack of packages at him. “Here are some of the things I got you.”

Sam took them, b
ut he looked puzzled. “Are you okay?”

“No.
I mean, yeah. Everything’s fine.” Flustered, but working to hide it, her reply sounded cold even to her own ears. Not used to feeling unsure of herself, she reacted with anger. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“
I thought maybe you hurt your nose.” He pointed towards her face with the packages.

“It smarted a little
, but it's no big deal.” She resisted the urge to step closer. Just because she hadn't been alone with a man for a couple of years didn't mean she could act like a fool around Sam. He didn't even appear to notice her, at least, not in the way men usually noticed a woman. Pride stinging more than her nose, she turned away, calling over her shoulder as she returned to the kitchen, “If you want to shower, go ahead. I can re-do the bandages when you come out. Oh, and there’s a package of disposable razors in the linen closet if you want to shave.”

She didn’t know if he heard the last bit as the bathroom door shut, but she blew out a deep breath and
gripped the edge of the counter, glad he was no longer rattling her with his presence. Closing her eyes, she attempted to erase his scent from her mind and his taste from her lips.

* * *

Sam limped back to the bathroom, his mind a jumble of confusion. What had just happened out there? He could still feel the heat of her breath on his chest and he glanced down, half-expecting to see the imprint of her lips. When he'd steadied her, his hands had skimmed her arms and the feel of her skin, so soft and warm, lingered on his palms. Closing his eyes, he recalled the sun-warmed mint and vanilla scent of her hair and had to resist the urge to seek her out and repeat the encounter. Maybe it was just his fever causing the reaction, but he had felt a stirring he hadn’t felt in over a year and the bolt of lust shocked him. He forced the demons of guilt to chase the reaction back to a dark corner of his mind. He had no right to think of her like that. She had generously taken care of him and had trusted him to stay in her home. Women like her didn't go for hardened bikers and even though he was only playing a role, in her eyes, that's what he was—just another biker friend of her brother's.

Sam stripped off
his clothes and stepped into the shower. The pulsing stream of water eased some of the ache from his shoulders and other parts of his body. Her shampoo sat on a corner caddy, and he smiled. Yep. Vanilla-mint.

The shower revived him, restoring some
of his energy, so he took advantage of it and, after the shower, rummaged in the linen closet for the razors. They were pink. Of course. Smiling, he took one and hoped it was up to task of his three-day old stubble. Surprisingly, it was. He unfolded the jeans, but debated pulling them on. Molly said she'd replace the soggy bandages, and he doubted the leg of the jeans would roll high enough to allow her to get to the wound. He could just stay in his boxers. The devilish thought made him chuckle as he slipped the sweats he’d worn earlier over his legs. He shook out a t-shirt and draped it over his shoulder as he went in search of Molly.

He found her in the kitchen
sitting at the table cutting potatoes into wedges. Before speaking, he watched her work. Her back was to him, her slim neck revealed by the ponytail. Wisps of hair drew his attention and the impulse to push them out of the way and replace them with his lips swept over him. He fought it off and knocked on the doorjamb. “Molly?” It was the first time he'd said her name aloud and he liked the feel of it rolling off his tongue.

She started, the knife rattling as she dropped it on the table.
“Done already?” Her eyes flicked to him, lingering on his jaw, so he knew she noticed the difference, but she didn't comment on it. He'd hoped the clean shaven look would make him appear less sinister.

Instead, she asked about the clothes
“They didn't fit?”

Sam shook his head.
“I didn't try them yet…well, except for the boxers.” He felt his face heat, and wanted to roll his eyes at himself. Why was he reacting like a teenager? The woman had bought the damn underwear for him after all. “I just thought it would be easier to put a new bandage on my leg with the sweatpants on.”

Molly stood, and he could have sworn her cheeks were pinker than they'd been a few seconds ago. She swept the pile of cut potatoes into a bowl and set them by the stove.
“Makes sense. Let me just get these into the oven. I have to get Kelsie from school soon and then the craziness begins.” She threw him a grin, her eyes dancing.

Damn, she was
beautiful. The thought blindsided him like a meteor out of a clear blue sky.

“
Uh, no problem.” He licked his suddenly dry lips and then remembered what he had come to ask her. “Do you have a bag or something I can put my dirty clothes in?”

“
Yeah.” Without another word, she took a plastic grocery bag from under the sink and brought it to him. “Will this work?”

“
Perfect.” He took it, wanting to linger, but he had no excuse to stand and stare, so he returned to the bathroom and put it back in order, stashing his bag of clothes by his boots near the front door.

Molly had cleared the table and had the bandages ready
by the time he entered the kitchen. It only took a few minutes and she pronounced his wounds healing nicely.

Finished, Sam changed into the new jeans and t
-shirt, feeling normal for the first time since he'd arrived.

* * *

Molly stood outside the school waiting with other parents for their children. She hoped Kelsie had given the teacher her note that she was being picked up today. The chicken fingers needed to go in the oven and the potatoes needed turning. She should have waited to start them until after picking up Kelsie, but the weather was so nice, she liked to eat early and let Kelsie play outside until bath time. She was so glad there were only a few more days of school. Summer was always easier without the morning rush and the homework—although admittedly, at Kelsie’s age, homework consisted of one worksheet or reading. The reading part was fine as it was part of their bedtime routine anyway.

The bell rang, and Molly scanned the faces, but it wasn't until almost all the other kids had left before Kelsie ambled out with Tiger clutched in
her arms. The impatience Molly had felt drained away when Kelsie spotted her and grinned, her eyes lighting up. “Mommy!” She broke into a run, but with the stuffed animal in her arms, she couldn’t see where she was going and tripped at an uneven spot on the pavement.

“
Kelsie!” Molly rushed forward to help her. Her daughter scrambled up, her bottom lip quivering as she clutched a scraped knee.

“
It's bleeding!” Big, fat tears rolled down Kelsie's face and dripped onto the sidewalk.

“
Aw, sweetie. It's not so bad.” Molly bent to examine the leg. The skinned knee was smudged with blood, but nothing an adhesive bandage couldn't cure. She pulled Kelsie in for a hug. “Shhhh…hey, guess what?”

Kelsie sniffled.
“What?”

“
Tiger saved you. He's a hero!” Molly reached over and tugged the giant dog towards them. “He broke your fall. You would have bumped your nose on the sidewalk if not for him.” She gave the dog a little shake.

Kelsie's eyes grew big.
“He
is
a hero!”

“
Yep. And when we get home, I'll fix your knee up in no time, okay?” She glanced at her watch and stood, taking Kelsie's backpack and Tiger in one hand, and Kelsie’s hand in the other. “I have another surprise. We're having your favorite dinner of all time.”

“
Spaghetti?”

Molly laughed.
“No, your
other
favorite. Chicken fingers!”

“
Yum!” She tugged Molly's hand. “Come on, you're being a slowpoke, Mommy.”

After helping Kelsie with her seat bel
t, Molly slid behind the wheel and sighed. Of course there had to be a whole line of buses waiting to exit the drive and they had the misfortune of being behind a bus all the way home, slowing them even more. The potatoes were sure to be burnt and the chicken fingers still frozen. She drummed her fingers on the wheel, only half-listening as Kelsie chattered in the backseat.

Almost an hour after she'd left, she pulled in her driveway. Sh
e rushed Kelsie up the steps into the house. “Hurry up, hon. I have to get the chicken fingers in the oven. You go put Tiger away and then I'll fix up your leg, okay?”

Kelsie nodded and skipped through the kitchen. Molly followed her in, sniffing the air. Nothing was burning, and she could have sworn that adding to the potato scent was the aroma of baking chicken fingers. She set Kelsie's backpack on a chair and peeked into the oven.
“What in the world?” The chicken fingers looked almost done, and the potatoes had been turned, the wedges a golden brown and nearly ready to come out.