The Right To Remain Mine (10 page)

        Daddy went to the widow and took her hands, telling her how deeply sorry he was for her loss and how he would be glad to help with anything she needed. Chase and Willow were much shorter and were therefore more on the same level with the boy and girl.

        Chase looked at the girl, since she was right there. When he shyly said, "Hi," she began to sob all over again. Chase gave her an odd look and moved closer to Momma's leg.

        Willow ignored the little girl and strode to the boy. She got directly in front of him and looked up. His eyes were so full of hurt when he glanced down and returned her stare that Willow wondered how he hadn't exploded from tears yet.

        "Why aren't you crying for your daddy?" she bluntly asked.

        "Willow!" Momma gasped in horror and started toward her.

        Willow moved quickly. Thinking if she was holding someone's hand her mother was less likely to jerk her away, she grasped the boy's cold fingers.

        And her assumption proved right. Momma plowed to a stop but hovered over her, glaring in disapproval. But Willow didn't mind since she was still able to talk to the boy.

        "Why aren't you crying?" she asked again, tilting her head to the side to send him an inquisitive look.

        He merely stared back, gazing at her like he was lost. "I don't know," he rasped. "I just can't."

        "Don't you miss him?" she wondered, ignoring her father's warning hand that landed on her shoulder.

        The boy nodded. "Yeah."

        "So then… cry already," Willow commanded, thinking that should be the obvious next step.

        The boy's chin wrinkled as if he might start. But he shook his head frantically, fighting the urge. "I don't want to," he said in a voice that cracked.

        Willow squeezed his hand supportively. "My momma says crying helps heal the soul." She blinked at him. "You don't want a broken soul, do you?"

        The boy bowed his head, then shook it. "I don't know," he muttered miserably as the first couple of tears started to leak out the corner of his eyes and slide down his cheek. "I just want my dad back."

Willow let go of his hand and leaned forward to hug him.

        When he actually hugged her in return and held on to her hard, the tears really started to pour, soaking through her hair and wetting her scalp. She smiled and patted his back. "See, you can cry. It'll be okay now."

        "I am so sorry about this," Willow heard Momma say to the boy's mother. She had that nervous, wringing-her-hands sort of tone. Willow knew she'd probably be in big trouble once she let go of the boy, so she kept hugging him even though he accidently pulled her hair from squeezing her so hard.

        "No, it's okay," the boy's mom assured. "This is the first time he's cried since we were told. I'm glad he's finally letting it out. I was getting worried."

        Happy she'd been the one to help him release his pain, Willow patted his back in approval. His tears soaked her, and something grew in her chest. An attachment.

        The adults let them be for a few minutes longer, but Willow was still reluctant to let go when her mother pried her away. She wanted to stay with him and help him heal. Her heart thumped hard in her ribcage as she watched his momma swoop in and scoop him into her own hug. As he clung to his mother and wept against her, Willow wished he'd turn back and seek her instead. But he didn't.

        Daddy picked her up and carried her away, her mom and brother falling into step behind them.

        As they started off, Willow looked over her father's shoulder, her eyes fierce with determination as the boy became smaller and smaller with the further away they moved.

        "I'm going to marry that boy someday," she declared.

        Intruder.

        Raith knew someone else had breached the house the instant his eyes flew open. He was most definitely not alone. It took him a moment to orient himself and realize DeVane lay snuggled and warm in bed next to him, actually wrapped around him like a sexy human blanket.

        Tempted to ignore his screaming senses and drift back into delightful oblivion, he jerked fully alert at the click of her back door closing and the soft shuffle of shoes across linoleum.

        His arms tightened instinctively around the woman in his arms. For a split second, he panicked, two basic needs warring inside him. Go or stay. He wanted to stay and protect. If he left her, she would be open and unguarded. Then again, he also ached to go and attack. He wanted to capture her trespasser and inflict eternal pain.

        No one broke into his woman's house in the middle of the night when she was vulnerable and defenseless. With that thought planted in his mind, the rage took over. In the dark, Raith slipped out of bed and silently felt around for his clothes. When he found his jeans, he figured that was good enough and slipped them on.

        He wished he had his gun on him. But he'd left it in his truck, sitting uselessly in DeVane's driveway. Lacking any kind of weapon, Raith slinked toward the kitchen and paused at the doorway, where he could make out the shape of a man by his wide shoulders, short hair, and taller height.

        The perpetrator moved past the window where moonlight filtered inside. When Raith saw a knife in his hand, he pounced. Without a sound, he grabbed the burglar's wrist and twisted, hoping to shake the knife out of the equation. Taking his opponent by surprise gave him a moment's worth of advantage, but that was it.

        Letting out a sound of surprise, the intruder instantly resisted and started to struggle. In the process, he lost his grip on the knife.

        When Raith heard the metal blade clatter and slide across the linoleum, he immediately jerked his knee up into the middle of his assailant's back. The man let out a grunt of pain, and Raith locked his arm around his neck, dragging him backward and to the ground. Hoping they didn't get anywhere near the fallen knife, he attempted to pin the trespasser.

        Slippery as an eel, the intruder lurched up and threw Raith off him, but Raith kept his arm securely locked around his windpipe. Both of them careened into the side of the refrigerator. When they went rolling the other way, they smacked the table and knocked a chair over.

        The tumbling stool must have landed on his opponent's leg and trapped him to the floor because Raith suddenly had the upper hand. He whipped the shadow around onto his stomach and straddled him, sitting on the base of his spine.

        Just as he opened his mouth to demand answers, the kitchen light came on, blinding him. Raith cursed and lifted a hand to shade his eyes. When his prisoner squirmed under him, he twisted his arm back behind him at an odd angle to subdue him again.

        "What in the world is going on?" Willow's breathless voice demanded.

        Raith squinted at her poised in the doorway, wearing a forest green bathrobe. He didn't much care for the relief he felt seeing her alive and unharmed.

        "Call the station," he panted, out of breath. "You've got a trespasser."

        "I... what?" Willow padded barefoot into the room so she could see the man under him.

        Turning his head her way, her intruder frowned up at her and snapped, "Willow!" Short of breath, mostly because Raith was sitting on his ribcage and squashing his lungs, it took him another moment to add, "Get this… jackass… off me!"

        Raith glanced down in surprise, not expecting the trespasser to actually know her.

        Willow's eyes widened. "Dylan!" she said in the exact moment Raith realized he recognized the face as well.

        Oh, hell. "Taggart," he growled. It had been a long time since he'd arrested Dylan Taggart.

        Actually, he figured Dylan Taggart had left town or died because Raith hadn't seen him in so long.

        He unconsciously tightened his hold until Taggart let out a grunt of pain, wondering what in the Sam Hell this shit bag was doing in DeVane's kitchen at three in the morning on a Wednesday. Because if Taggert was sharing her bed, too—

        Willow sighed and shot Raith a short look. "Malloy. Stop picking on poor Dylan. Let him up."

        Raith looked up at her, his jaw set in disgust. "You know him?"

        "Well... yeah. Of course."

        Snorting, Raith didn't realize he only tightened his grip. "What? Did you take care of his divorce too?" Just like good ol' Theo Franklin.

        His question seemed to surprise her. "No," she said, not catching his sarcasm. Then she grinned. "Actually, I helped set him up with his wife."

        Relieved to hear Taggart was married and, therefore, might not be looking for a spot in her bed, Raith finally eased his hold.

        Dylan immediately pushed away from him and scurried to the opposite side of the kitchen. Dragging himself to his feet, he straightened and dusted off his jeans, sending Raith a dirty look as he did.

        Raith's brows lowered, meeting and returning the glare. Finally, unable to take his anger and disappointment a second longer, he spun to Willow. "What is this piece of trash doing in your house after dark?"

        "I could ask her the same question about you," Taggart drawled.

        Both men focused on Willow for an answer. She sighed and decided to answer Raith first. "He's my cousin's husband."

        Her cousin's husband? Sure. Whatever.

        Raith gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. "How many damn cousins do you have?"

        When Willow actually responded, "Nine," he rolled his eyes.

        "That doesn't answer why he's here at three in the freaking morning. With a knife."

        Willow blinked. Obviously realizing Raith had a point, she glanced toward Taggart.

        The trespasser's face turned a dull, blushing red. He cleared his throat. "Camille was craving your homemade bread," he said and bent down to retrieve the bread knife.

        Together, Raith and Willow noticed he'd already pulled a loaf out of her bread cabinet and had it sitting exposed on her counter.

        "She told me not to wake you," Dylan added. "And that you wouldn't mind if I came in and helped myself."

        "Of course I don't mind," Willow reassured him, her gaze going from suspicious to sympathetic in a heartbeat. Raith had to bite back a snort when she hurried to Taggart and took the knife out of his hand so she could clean it and slice the pieces off herself. "How's she feeling?" she asked, opening a drawer to pull out a roll of plastic wrap.

        Taggart shook his head and wiped at his tired eyes. "Pregnant," he grumbled.

        Raith couldn't hold in the incredulous sound he made. He folded his arms and leaned against the refrigerator. "Please, God, don't tell me you're reproducing."

        Taggart whipped around as if he'd forgotten Raith was still present. He speared a look of loathing across the kitchen, but didn't comment.

        As she wrapped a chunk of bread for Taggart, DeVane glanced over her shoulder. Catching the look that passed between the two men, she said, "I take it you two know each other."

        "Sure," Raith answer easily with a leer toward her guest. "Taggart and I go way back. He used to break the law, and I'd arrest him. The next night, we'd do it all over again. Isn't that right?" he asked, arching a smirk toward Taggart.

        The man actually flushed before his jaw hardened and his eyes narrowed with a wave of contempt. "That was a long time ago."

        Be that as it may, Raith had worked in law enforcement for too many years to be anything but a cynic. "Leopards don't change their spots," he felt inclined to retort.

        In his blissful youth, he'd tried to give people the benefit of the doubt, only to turn around and get kicked in the nuts. These days, he didn't buy it. Once a scumbag, always a scumbag.

        Taggart's face flamed again, and he took an ominous step Raith's way. Raith merely lifted an eyebrow as if to say, see what I mean. But Willow quickly reached for the arm of her cousin's husband. And to Raith's utter shock, Taggart calmed immediately. He sucked in a breath and sent her an apologetic look.

        But Willow was too busy scowling to notice. And she was scowling at Raith. "Don't you dare pretend you know anything about Dylan. He's not some defiant teenager any longer. He's grown up and become a very exceptional veterinarian, in fact."

        Raith didn't comment. He stared into her icy cold gaze, realizing he'd just worn out his welcome. The panicky thought struck him he'd never get to see her naked again. He actually had to swallow back the urge to apologize.

        God, what was he thinking? He didn't want to apologize. He didn't want to give pain-in-the-ass Willow DeVane any reason to think he might actually care what she thought of him.

        Pushing away from the refrigerator, he met her look with a solemn nod. Turning away, he strode from the room.

~ * ~

        Willow watched Malloy march cockily from the kitchen and bit her lip to keep from calling him back. Man, he looked good in nothing but a pair of denim jeans. Barefoot, no shirt, hair a complete mess. He should never wear anything else in his entire life. Though, actually he looked pretty good in a uniform too, all bulky and—

        Crap, what was she thinking?

        He had attacked poor, sweet Dylan. It didn't matter what he looked like or how good he was in the sack. No one went after her best friend's significant other. Dylan was a wonderful man, and he treated her cousin like a queen.

        "Holy God, Willow," he breathed beside her. "What in the hell are you doing with that guy?"

        Willow let out a long sigh. "Good question," she murmured and hopped up onto her counter to sit with her legs dangling down. "I don't know. I just... it seemed like a good idea at the time."