Chapter 12 #3
Casey felt the bed give. Suddenly she was no longer lying on Ryder’s chest. She blinked, then opened her eyes.
The sight of him jerking on pants and stomping out of the room was enough to yank her rudely awake.
She didn’t have to turn on a light to know something was dreadfully wrong.
It was there in the shadowy movements of his body as he fled from the room.
Seconds later, the front door banged, and Casey knew he was gone.
She crawled out of bed on all fours, searching for something to wear as she hurried through the house.
One of his T-shirts was hanging on the doorknob.
She grabbed it, pulling it over her head as she ran.
It hung to a point just above her knees, but when she opened the front door, the fierce wind quickly plastered it to her body, leaving her feeling naked all over again.
She stood at the top of the landing, searching the grounds for a sign of where Ryder had gone. And then she saw him moving toward the trees at the back of the estate, and she bolted down the stairs after him.
* * *
Ryder moved without thought, trying to escape the dream clinging fast to his mind. It was just like before. No matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t escape the truth. Micah had died, but he hadn’t.
Wind whistled through the trees just ahead.
It was an eerie wail, not unlike that of a woman’s shriek.
Without looking to the sky, he knew a storm was brewing.
He stopped, then lifted his arms out on either side of his body like a bird in flight, and faced the force of nature for what it was. Unpredictable.
Unstoppable. Uncontrollable.
The first drops of rain were beginning to fall when Casey caught him. She didn’t stop to ask him why. She didn’t care that she was getting wet. She just threw herself into his arms, becoming his anchor against the storm.
Ryder groaned and wrapped his arms around her, and although the wind still blew and the rain still fell, he knew a sudden sense of peace. He dug his hands through the windwhipped tangle of her hair and shuddered as she bent to his will.
Rain was falling harder now and he couldn’t find the words to explain the horror and guilt that he lived with every day.
Casey clutched at him in desperation. His gaze became fixed upon her face, and she could see his eyes.
They were as wild and as stormy as the night.
His fingers coiled in her hair. His body was trembling against hers.
A chill began to seep into her bones, and she knew she had to get them out of the weather.
The gardener’s shed was nearby. She pushed out of his arms, then grabbed him by the hand and started running. To her everlasting relief, he followed.
When she slammed the door shut behind them, the sound of the rain upon the metal roof was almost deafening, but at least they were no longer standing in the midst of it all.
“Lord have mercy,” she said, and shivered as she lifted her hair from her neck and twisted it. Water ran out, then down her shoulder and onto her feet. She reached for the light switch.
It didn’t work. It figured. In Ruban Crossing, if the wind blew or rain fell, inevitably, the power went out.
She turned, and knew Ryder was right before her, although she could barely see his face.
“Ryder?”
His hand cupped her shoulder, then her cheek.
He stepped closer until their foreheads were touching and she could hear the ragged sounds of his breath.
She lifted a hand to his face, and even though they’d just come out of a storm, she had the strangest sensation that what she felt were tears, not rain.
“Sweetheart?”
His lips found hers, stifling whatever else she might have said. They were cool and wet and softened upon impact, molding themselves to her mouth with tender persistence.
Casey sighed and when his arms encircled her, she leaned into his embrace.
His hands were moving up and down her arms, across her shoulders, upon her hips.
When he discovered she wore nothing beneath his shirt but herself, she felt him pause.
His voice came out of the silence, little more than a whisper, but what he said made her blush in the dark.
Her hesitation was brief. There was nothing he could ask that would shame her.
There was nothing she wouldn’t do with or for this man who called her wife.
She pulled the wet T-shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor.
Her hands moved to his waist, then beneath the wet denim covering the straining thrust of his manhood.
When she took him in her hands, he groaned. When she knelt, she heard him take a deep breath. And she knew for the rest of her life, the sound of rain on a roof would bring back the memory of what she had done in the dark to bring Ryder Justice to his knees.
* * *
Joshua came into the kitchen. “Found this in the gardener’s shed this morning.”
Casey looked up from the kitchen table. Pink tinged her cheeks, but her expression remained calm.
Ryder glanced at Casey, then looked away. Even after the onslaught of emotions they’d shared last night, he’d been unable to explain what had sent him into the storm.
“It looks like one of my T-shirts,” Ryder said. “I know I left one in the garage, but I didn’t leave one in the shed.”
Casey sighed. He hadn’t lied. Not really. She was the one who left the shirt. Not him.
Joshua shrugged. “I think it will clean up all right. It’s not torn, just wet and muddy.”
“Thanks,” Ryder said, and returned to the paper he’d been reading.
Tilly stared at the couple sitting side by side at her kitchen table. Everything seemed the same—except her instincts told her it wasn’t.
“Is there something you’d be wanting to talk about?” she asked.
Ryder and Casey looked up, first at her, then at each other, before shaking their heads. Casey smiled. “No, ma’am.”
Tilly glared. “I didn’t get to be fifty-nine years old by being a fool.
” She banged a pot on the stove to accentuate her claim.
“I know when something’s not right. Did you two have a fight?
’Cause if you did, I’m telling you now, the best way to end it is talk it all out.
” She pointed a spoon at Joshua. “Tell them Josh! Tell them I know what I’m talking about. ”
Joshua rolled his eyes, thankful he was on the far side of the room from that spoon. “My Tilly knows what she’s talking about. She always does. If you don’t believe me, then ask her.”
Ryder grinned behind his paper as Tilly lit into Joshua for making jest of her claims. It was just as well. It changed the subject, which was fine with him.
He glanced at Casey. Worry was there on her face. He’d have to be a fool not to see it. But he’d give her credit. She hadn’t asked a single question. She’d just been there, giving herself to soothe his pain.
He glanced at her face—at her mouth—at her hands.
Dear Lord, but she had soothed much more than his pain.
Impulsively, he leaned over, slid his hand at the back of her head and pulled her forward.
Their mouths met. More than slightly surprised, she parted her lips.
His were hard and unyielding, demanding that she remember what they were, what they shared.
She gave herself up to the kiss and felt more pain than passion behind the embrace.
One day. One day he would talk. Until then, she would have to be satisfied with waiting for his answers—or with what she learned on her own.
The private investigator she’d hired was due back on Monday with a final report.
Surely she would have some sort of answer by then.
Even if it didn’t come from Ryder, she had a right to know.