The Right Kind of Trouble (12 page)

Her heart rolled over in her chest.

He made a grumbling sound and she hurriedly found the search function, then the memo app. She fumbled through writing him a note, cursing her missing voice and the son of a bitch who'd done this. Although, she had to admit one thing: Gideon had made this decision to leave and she might not have figured things out in time to stop him if she hadn't been attacked.

Maybe being pushed down in the dirt and nearly strangled was a very extreme push, but Moira was sometimes a slow learner.

Miserable, she tapped out her message.

Miserable, she read it through. She almost erased it and started over.

But in the end, she could only tell him the truth.

Turning the phone over to him, she sat there, twisting her hands in the wedding-ring quilt that had belonged to her parents and waited.

If I begged you to give me one last chance, would you? You've already given me so many and I know I don't deserve anything else. But I've been blind and stupid. Lonely and miserable. I love you, Gideon. I always have. Please don't leave me.

His knuckles went white on the phone.

If she hadn't been watching so closely, she might not have noticed.

Except she always watched him.

Even when she shouldn't have.

She could have told him how many times he'd nicked his face shaving in the past month—twice—and she could have told him how many times he'd either overslept or just hadn't wanted to shave—four.

“Gid—” The pain of speaking was too much, and she couldn't even get a sound out.

He slid her a look from under his lashes before tossing the phone down. It landed with a clatter on her nightstand. Beyond that, he made no move and the room was silent for so long, Moira thought her heart, or what remained of it, was going to shatter. She'd waited too long.
Too long?
A cold voice inside her head was mocking her.
You waited eighteen years. You pushed him away and you kept pushing him away. And
now
you're surprised he's not interested?

Her hands shook as she went to shove them through her hair. Upset, she forgot about the scrapes and scratches and bruises until her fingers hit them, sending tiny little shards of pain ricocheting through her skull. Groaning, she lowered them.

Gideon caught them.

Her eyes flew to meet his.

“One of these days, Moira, you'll drive me to do something desperate. Something insane.” He pressed his lips to her knuckles, feathering a soft caress over the raw scrapes there.

Sensation whispered through her. Her heart fluttered. All the empty, cold places in her seemed to freeze—
waiting
.

Then he slid his hands along her forearms, up her biceps and along her shoulders, the sides of her neck. He lingered there, tracing the bruises, studying them as if memorizing them.

“Where's your locket?”

 

CHAPTER NINE

TWENTY-TWO YEARS AGO

Gideon thought maybe he'd been waiting for this moment his entire life.

He was nervous as hell, feeling both a little sick to his stomach and exhilarated. It was sort of like the time he'd gotten onto some cheap-ass roller coaster ride at the state fair with his friends. It had looked like it was made out of Popsicle sticks and held together by bubble gum. Sure, he might get thrown from the car and get his neck broken, but on the other hand, that wasn't likely and it looked like fun. It would probably be okay, right?

This would be okay too. Just like that ride. He thought.

But his hand shook like hell when he lifted his fist to bang on the front door of the big, beautiful mansion where the McKay family lived. It was a damn sight different from the little, rickety house where he lived with his mom, but he'd always been treated nice by the people here.

He almost froze when the door swung open to reveal Moira's father. The man's eyes veered between green and hazel and he had a wide, easy smile on his face. “Gideon, glad you came, son.”

Inside, the raucous sounds of a party carried easily. The tall, powerful figure of Devon McKay stepped aside and gestured. “Moira and all her friends are out back. You're welcome to … are you feeling okay?”

“Yessir.” Gideon went to duck past him.

Devon caught his arm and looked at him narrowly. “Your mama hasn't been taking up with that Slater idiot again, has she? He giving the two of you grief?”

“No.” Gideon curled his lip, spine stiffening. Hiram Slater had hauled his fat ass off pretty fast after Gideon had gone after him with a baseball bat. The son of bitch had punched Gideon's mother in the nose. The next day, cops had showed up at the door, claiming Hiram was accusing Gideon of assault. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten in trouble with the law and maybe he would have done what he normally did—mouthed off. But the quiet defeat on his mother's face had gotten to him.

If I'd assaulted him, he'd be dead. I came in on him whaling on my mother. I hauled him off, hit him, then chased him off with a baseball bat. He ever comes out here again, I'll kill him.

“Then why does it look like you haven't been sleeping? You spend all day working out at Roy's farm or what?” Devon's face was concerned.

“No.” Shoulders hunched, Gideon looked away, feeling embarrassed. He was used to the questions he got from the McKays. These people were as far from what he had at home as night was from day. He knew his mother loved him, but she barely managed to take care of herself, barely managed to drag herself to her job at the Piggly Wiggly these days, much less concern herself if Gideon looked tired.

“Boy, would you just tell me what's wrong?” Exasperated, the older man planted his hands on his hips.

“I—” Gideon stopped abruptly and then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. This was pointless. It wasn't going to work. Hell, he was a Marshall. With the shit he had behind him, why did he even think he had a chance?

As Devon continued to study him, he suddenly felt pissed off.

What the hell. It wasn't his damn fault that Gideon's dad had been a miserable bastard. Wasn't his fault that the shoes on his feet were so worn out, holes were popping up in the soles. What did it matter?

He was busting his ass to save up money so he could go to college. He
wasn't
his dad. That should count for something.

Jutting his chin up, he met the eyes of Devon McKay—not only the richest man in
town,
some said he was one of the richest fucking men in the whole damn country.

“I wanted to ask Moira out after the party. I thought we could go and get some ice cream.”

Devon's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” Pride wouldn't let him look away. “I got a truck, sir.” It wasn't his. It belonged to Roy, the owner of the farm where he worked upwards of fifty hours a week in the summer.

“Yes. I've seen you driving around town in it,” Devon said, glancing past him to the rusting old blue Ford pickup. “Heard Roy was going to sell you his old motorcycle, too.”

“Yessir. Not yet, but…” He stopped, knowing he was babbling. His nerves seemed to multiply as he stood there, in front of the father of the girl who seemed to occupy his thoughts more and more. When Devon didn't say anything else, Gideon hurried to fill the silence. “It's just ice cream. The party's supposed to be over at eight and we could be back by nine thirty. It will barely be dark by then and I'll drive safe and I'll open the doors and I'll treat her right—”

The booming laugh echoed around the foyer, shocking Gideon into silence.

“Hell, boy.” He clapped Gideon on the shoulder. “Her mama and I were wondering if you were ever going to get around to asking her.”

Staggering under the weight of that big, powerful hand, Gideon just blinked at the big man. “You … I … what?”

“Son, you've had a hook in your mouth for about … well, I can't even tell you when I noticed. The question is … how does…”

“Gideon! You came!”

At the sound of her voice, Gideon's heart started to race and he looked up. Moira came rushing to him, clad in white shorts and a brilliant green top that bared an inch of toned, soft flesh. She flung herself at him, and he caught her in a hug. Eyes closed, he savored the feel of her so close, letting go too soon.

She pulled back, beaming at him.

Something gold glinted from her neck and he glanced down.

Moira's cheeks flushed and she reached up, covering the necklace. “My present from Mama and Daddy. It's a locket.” She cupped it in her hand and displayed it, working the delicate clasp. “It belonged to Madeleine.”

As she tilted it for him to see the inside, he nodded. “Beautiful.”

But it wasn't the jewelry he was talking about.

Moira's eyes skipped up to his and he swallowed. Gruffly, he repeated, “Beautiful.”

She reached up to touch the locket, her cheeks going pink.

NOW

Moira reached up to touch the hollow of her throat where the locket usually rested, only to let her hand fall back to her side. She opened her mouth and then made a face at him, sticking her tongue out.

His brows went up, his gaze focusing on her mouth for a long moment before he finally met her eyes again.

Heart racing, she gestured nervously over toward her dresser. She'd taken the locket off out of habit when she'd changed out of her clothes, going through the motions of getting ready for bed. She was glad she
had
gone through the motions because if she'd been wearing it that night … Her breath hitched and before she realized it, her eyes were burning with tears.

Gideon cupped her chin, lifting her face to his.

She swallowed and the pull of his eyes was so intoxicating, she almost forgot to notice the pain in her throat.

“Don't cry.” He moved in closer, hips angling in slightly, shoulders rounding as he drew nearer to her. She felt surrounded by him, but it wasn't enough. “Please don't cry. You gut me when you do. You know that.”

Shaking her head, she reached for his waist, kneading the taut muscle there. She didn't know if she was telling him she wasn't going to cry or what. But the tears continued to burn and she wanted nothing more than to curl herself around him and cling tight.

If she clung to him tight enough, he could never leave. The scent of him started to go to her head, the rasp of his fingers sending shivers through her as he slid one hand around her neck to stroke her skin.

She caught one wrist in her hand, bringing his hand to her cheek.

Gideon had gone rigid and he didn't move at all when she pressed her mouth to his palm.

She didn't let it stop her.

She'd known he hadn't brought her up here with any intention other than to make her rest. Gideon, ever her protector.

She didn't want
protection,
though. She just wanted him. She wanted what she'd been throwing away all these years and she wanted him back for always. After she'd pressed a kiss to his palm, she nudged him back. His eyes glittered, his cheekbones standing out in stark relief against his deeply tanned skin. He was all hollows and angles and long lean lines. He'd always been able to stop her breath, and the rugged masculinity of him had become even more refined over the past few years.

She caught his face and tugged.

He resisted for a minute and she was almost certain he'd pulled away.

So she rose onto her toes and pressed her lips to his chin, slid them down. When she got to his neck, his head fell to the side—slightly. It was enough. His skin was salty and warm and she could have happily spent the next few hours doing nothing but learning the taste of him all over again. She found the rapid beat of his pulse with her tongue—then her teeth.

“
Fuck!
” Gideon's snarl was vicious and he tangled his hand in her hair.

She found herself trapped in the next moment, between his long, rangy body and the nearest column of her poster bed. Her breath stuttered out of her as he boosted her up, shoving his hips into the cradle of hers. “Don't,” he said, his breath coming out in ragged pants. His eyes burned as he stared at her. “You aren't jerking me around like this again, Moira. If you don't mean this … if you…”

He stopped and looked away and she saw his jaw clenching, his Adam's apple bobbing. The emotion coming out of him battered at her and she wanted to draw him close, stroke away all the misery. But she'd caused this. She'd done this. Could she even
begin
to fix all the pain she'd brought him?

“If you're just going to walk away again, Moira … don't.”

He put her down and started to pace. Moira wanted to go to him, but what was she supposed to do? Pantomime what she was feeling? She'd already tried to
show
him and that wasn't working.

A muttered curse caught her ears and she looked up just as he spun to face her, rage written all over his normally calm features. “You're killing me inside, okay? You're…”

Then he stopped, his cheeks puffing out as he blew out a slow breath. He drew in a deeper, slower one, holding it for a few seconds. She opened her mouth, but he lifted a hand.

He wasn't asking her, though. The question was directed inward.

“Look, you can't even talk,” he said, turning away from her. “You can't explain what's going on and I can't see inside your head. We should do this when you
can
talk. Right now, I don't know what you want—”

She reached for the buttons on her shirt. He'd never leave without looking back at her one last time.

She didn't think.

But then again, she'd messed up something awful.

Maybe this wasn't the right way to tell him, but there were a hundred
wrong
ways to let him leave. And that was without trying again. Without reaching out, the way he'd done a hundred times.