Chapter 11
She drove around aimlessly, taking several back roads to avoid traffic.
The sleet had stopped, but the roads were icy, even the ones less traveled.
And she was exhausted. Bone weary and so disillusioned, she couldn't bear it.
His mother had brought it all back. The woman had shunned her even before the funeral, and if it had been up to her, Allison would never have been there.
But she had stood her ground.
Now she was back and would no doubt find a way to become a thorn in her side.
It was late. She stared at the dashboard in surprise. She had been driving around for more than an hour. She had promised Dimitri dinner, and he would no doubt be waiting for her. But he hadn't called. Maybe he would give up and go away.
That would be for the best, wouldn't it? She could not be in a relationship with him, no matter how she felt. The chance encounter with Martha at the market had proven that. Now she had time to feel ashamed that she had fled and left a cartful of groceries for some poor employee to pack away.
Rubbing her hands over her moist cheeks, she suddenly realized where she was. She had taken a narrow dirt road off from the highway. The place was dark as pitch, with only a few houses here and there.
Straightening up, she hurriedly pushed the start button and made her way back.
As Allison navigated the winding road, her thoughts spiraled with guilt and frustration.
She replayed the argument in her mind, every word echoing painfully.
The silence inside the car felt oppressive, pressing down on her chest as she gripped the steering wheel tighter, wishing she could outrun her own memories.
*****
He felt the anger churning through his gut and had to take several breaths to tamp it down.
She was over an hour late. Here he was, like an eager schoolboy with the taste of his first woman, waiting for her, and she did not have the decency to call.
He had broken in as usual, carrying the huge bouquet of flowers his grandmother had gone to the trouble of cutting and had placed them in a vase.
They were now residing on the counter in the kitchen.
The excellent vintage was being iced in a bucket on the table, and he was left cooling his heels in the living room.
Well, to hell with her! Surging to his feet, he grabbed his coat and shoved his arms in. He was goddamned Dimitri Petyr Petrov, son of Ivan Petrov. In Russia, people stared at him with respect and awe. Women fell over themselves to be with him.
He did not need this. He was not going to grovel for her attention.
He was through. He would pick up the pieces of his shattered heart and just move on.
The delectable blonde from the neighboring ranch had been calling.
He would find solace in her willing arms and perhaps in time, he would get over Allison Trent.
The woman clearly did not deserve his love. She had been given countless chances, more than he had ever given a woman before. He stiffened when he heard the sound of tires crunching on the gravel and realized she was home.
Well, fine. He would give her a piece of his mind and be done with it.
A clean break. With that in mind, he strode towards the door and yanked it open just as she was about to insert the key.
Whatever he had been about to say died on his lips as he took in the ravage of her beautiful face.
Her lashes were spiky with tears, and she was shaking so hard, he could almost hear her bones rattling.
For a full two seconds, all he could do was stare at her.
Then she started forward, and he galvanized into action.
Pulling her all the way in, he closed the door with a snap and locked it.
Without a word, he swept her into his arms. The fact that she did not put up her usual fight but simply clung to him and buried her face against his chest had his heart shivering.
Bypassing the living room, he went straight to the bedroom and did not stop until he was sitting on the side of the bed, with her cradled against him.
He was about to demand an answer when she started sobbing.
Deep racking sobs that tore at him, until he could barely stand it.
He just sat there, helpless as she cried, soaking his sweater with her tears.
His expression was grim, even though his touch was gentle as he rubbed his hands up and down her back.
She felt so small and fragile. This fiercely independent woman who always appeared so strong and resilient, now felt as weak as a newborn baby.
It also brought out the protectiveness inside him.
The need to avenge her. Whoever had brought her to this was going to pay for it.
Realizing that her tears had subsided, he held her for a minute, rocking her.
He struggled to find the right words, his anger melting into concern as he held her trembling form.
The sharp edge of his frustration dulled in the face of her vulnerability, and for a moment, all thoughts of confrontation faded.
Instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead, whispering soothing words and letting silence offer comfort where explanations failed.
"Hungry?" he asked softly.
When she shook her head, he pulled the quilt off the bed and settled her back against the pillows.
Then he set about taking off her boots and then her clothing.
Rising, he went to the closet to take out a thick flannel nightgown.
She was still shivering, and he wanted her warm.
Pulling it over her head, carefully, he covered her up.
"Thanks." Her voice was husky from the crying jag. She looked so defeated that he was tempted to ask her what had brought it on, but she closed her eyes and sank into the pillows.
"I just want to sleep."
"Then I'll let you do so."
Her eyes flickered open. "Will you stay?"
"Wild horses would not drag me away."
She smiled faintly at the term and closed her eyes again.
Taking off his clothes, he joined her and pulled her into his arms where she snuggled and drifted off immediately.
He lay awake for some time, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing and the occasional hitch of a sigh.
The room was still, shadows stretching across the ceiling, but he could not let go of her hand.
He sighed as he recalled how upset he had been and how quickly he had decided that this was going to be it for him.
This was new to him. Falling in love and the accompanying uncertainties and vulnerabilities that came with it.
And it was also humbling. He was not accustomed to putting another's feelings above his. And here he was doing just that.
The events of the evening replayed in his mind, each detail sharper in the quiet, and he vowed again to do whatever it took to protect her from whatever darkness had managed to breach her defenses.
Only when he felt her completely relax, her fingers loosening in his, did his own eyes finally begin to close, sleep overtaking him at last, wrapped around the promise that he would not let her face the world alone.
*****
He sat in the small cozy alcove, fingers wrapped around the cup, expression brooding.
He had been up since dawn, and this was his second cup of coffee.
He had quietly and carefully extricated himself from her hold and sat there on the side of the bed watching her.
She had slept through the night, which was a good thing as far as he was concerned.
The gray sheet of the morning mirrored his mood. He could not leave her. He had checked on her twice since leaving the bedroom, and she was still sleeping. And he was anxiously waiting to hear what had caused her to fall apart like that.
Lifting a hand, he rubbed the tension at the back of his neck and was about to rise and go check on her again, when he sensed movement just inside the doorway.
She stood there hesitantly as if not sure of his mood.
"I made coffee," he murmured unnecessarily. She was gripping the opening of the nightgown he had put on her with one hand.
"I would like a cup."
"Why don't you sit?" He gestured to the table and made his way over to the coffee pot.
"Hungry?"
"No." She took the cup from him and wrapped her fingers around it. "Perhaps later." She eased out a breath and took a fortifying sip of the brew. "Thanks for taking care of me last night."
He inclined his head. "You're welcome." He did not say anything but waited patiently for her to continue.
"I owe you dinner."
"I suppose you do." He noticed that she was avoiding his eyes.
"I have an explanation." She took a sip of coffee and inhaled.
"I went to the market." A faint smile touched her lips.
"I hate going to the market and would resort to ordering things online.
Your grandmother supplies me with dairy produce and vegetables when I remember to place an order.
But this time I decided that going to the market was essential.
I was planning on making chicken Alfredo. "
"I'm sure you would have done a very good job of it," he supplied in that deep slightly accented voice of his and made her smile.