Craving a Hero: St. John Sibling Series, book 3 (27 page)

Accusation melded with the sadness in his eyes. "And when I came back, when I showed up at your house, held Angel right there in front of you, why didn't you tell me then?"

Coffee sloshed from the mug between her hands and her stomach bottomed out. "I was afraid you'd take her away from me."

He shifted back in his chair and drew a deep breath. "I can relate to that one."

"I'm sorry, Dane."

He held up a hand and flexed a woeful grin. "Maybe that's how it had to be. I've lived a charmed life, everything falling into my lap. Maybe I needed to know what it was like to lose something I was pursuing—something precious in order for me to learn what's really important."

"You always knew family was important," she said, believing she knew what the important thing was that he was talking about.

He nodded. "I
knew
it. But I'm not so sure I
felt
the full force of its importance, not until I realized how close I came to losing my own family."

He closed his eyes, his brow puckering. He shook his head. She thought she knew what he was thinking, that she'd nearly succeeded in keeping his daughter from him.

Then he looked at her and put it all into words.

"Can we at least be friends for her sake?" he asked.

Friends.

"Of course," she said, her heart breaking.

#

Dane had been so angry—so focused on how he'd been wronged—on what he'd missed out on that he hadn't even considered what all this had done—was doing to Kelly. He hadn't even asked her why, halfway through the first night at the camp, she'd climbed down from the upper bunk and had slept on the couch ever since.

But now he knew why she'd excluded him—understood that her avoiding—rejecting him since his return was more of a pre-emptive strike.

Had he done the same thing that afternoon by suggesting they be friends after telling her he loved her; or, more accurately,
had
loved her? Was his not telling her he still loved her to punish her, or just his way of protecting himself? Truth of it was he didn't know how she really felt about him.

"Ready," she said, drying her hands and stepping away from the sink where she'd been mixing hot water from the stove with cold from the pump for Angel's bath.

All he knew for certain was friendship would never be enough—that he wanted a complete family. As he carried Angel toward the sink, he motioned for Kelly to join them.

"We're a family, whether we want to be or not," he said. "Time we get used to doing things together."

So the two of them crowded around the kitchen sink to bathe their daughter, Kelly's hoarse, "Thank you," making him feel like a heal.

Why'd he add that
whether we want to be or not
part onto his invitation?

Because he was an idiot. Because he was impulsive and this was an instance of that impulsiveness biting him in the ass.

Because it still hurt that Kelly had let him go.

Plus, he was a coward. If she didn't feel for him the way he felt for her…

Bath done, he wrapped Angel in a big towel and carried her back to his bunk, inviting Kelly to help him dry their daughter. They sat on either side of the baby, making a game of rubbing her with the soft towel—making her giggle which in turn made both him and Kelly laugh. He looked over at Kelly, her face aglow with love.

She glanced up and caught him watching her. The glow faded and the love… He swore it didn't fade. It just ducked behind that bruised look in her eyes before she glanced away. Maybe she hadn't let go of
them
as easily—as completely as he feared.

At one point, Angel clutched Kelly's finger in one tiny fist and one of his fingers in her other fist. It was as if Angel understood their link—that they belonged together. When he looked at Kelly, he saw the tears in the corners of her eyes even as she laughed and cooed over their daughter. Had she, too, seen the same hope in that innocent gesture?

Later, arms folded on the side-rail of her crib, he and Kelly watched their daughter until she fell asleep. How easy it would be to slip an arm around Kelly's shoulders—how natural the notion seemed.

But Kelly straightened before he could act. She stretched her neck side-to-side and he heard the popping.

"That doesn't sound good," he said.

"That old couch isn't the best for sleeping," she said.

"Why are you sleeping on it then?"

"Too hot in the upper bunk," she said, gathering her pillow and a blanket from the bench at the foot of the bunks.

"We can cut back on the fire some," he said.

She shook her head as she headed for the couch. "Have to keep the place toasty for our little angel."

He snagged her by the wrist, not entirely sure why he stopped her until he positioned himself behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Let's see if I can loosen up those muscles," he said, ignoring her momentary tensing.

When she sank into the rotation of his fingers, Dane said, "I think I misspoke earlier when I suggested we be friends for Angel's sake."

She tensed again.

"Relax," he said, deepening the pressure of his stroking fingers. "I'm just saying…we should try to be a family."

Her muscles went rigid. "Whether we want to be or not, right?"

"I didn't mean it the way it came out. I was just trying to say we
are
a family."

"And you'll do anything for Angel's happiness," she said in a tone rife with resignation.

"She's my daughter. I want her happy," he said.

Just as I want you and me happy.

"I understand your need to make sure Angel is part of your family," she said, her muscles like bands of steel beneath his fingers. "But you don't need to make me part of the package. I'll never try to keep her away from you again."

"I'm making a real mess of this," he said, softening the stroke of his fingers. "I'm not talking about just Angel. I'm saying I want to find out if we can be a family,
all three of us
."

"Okay," she said, her shoulders easing a tad. "How do suggest we go about doing that."

"For starters, you and I stop sleeping apart."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Kelly lie in the bottom bunk facing the wall, her back to Dane. What madness had made her agree to his plan?

She knew this experiment of his wouldn't work. Hell, she'd known it the moment she'd crawled into his bed and he'd turned his back to her. She knew, because she couldn't bear sharing his bed and not touching him.

The tears came silently at first. But they wouldn't stop—wouldn't stay quiet. She stuffed the corner of her pillow into her mouth to stifle the sobs—curled her body away from his so he wouldn't feel the quaking of hers. Even in this, she failed.

"Kelly, what's wrong?" he asked, suddenly hovering over her.

He touched her shoulder and she shrank from him, sobbing out, "I can't lie next to you, pretending everything is normal, not touching."

"Do you want me to touch you, Kel?"

She swallowed a sob. "You love Angel so much you'll do anything for her, even try and find some way to reconcile some sort of relationship with me. I respect that. But it hurts too much to know you're only pretending with me."

He gathered her in his arms and drew her across his lap as he sat back against the headboard and rocked her.

"Don't," she sobbed against his chest.

"Ah, Kelly. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I deserve to be hurt."

"Never."

She shook her head. "My not telling you about Angel wasn't all that altruistic. I didn't tell you because I was afraid of-of—"

"Being rejected by yet another man who should love you?"

She cried all the harder and he hugged her closer. "Aren't we a pair? You willing to sacrifice yourself to save your daughter the kind of pain you've suffered, and me willing to sacrifice the love of my life over a fit of temper."

She peeked up at him, her sobs giving way to hiccups. "The love of your life. That's Angel, right?"

He kissed her brow and murmured, "In this case, Bright Eyes, I was talking about you. I love you every bit as much as I love that little girl we made together."

"You're not just saying that for Angel's sake?"

"Not for Angel's sake," he said, meeting her gaze. "For mine."

"How can you love me after what I've done?"

He shook his head. "Ah, Kel, we hit a rough spot. That's all."

She slumped against him. "That's putting it mildly."

He stroked her hair. "A big rough spot. And now we're talking about it. I know I wasn't talking or listening all that well when I first found out Angel was mine."

"You were angry and had every right to be."

"Yes, I was and I did. But I've gotten past that."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning we can survive this."

She lifted her head from his chest and peered into his eyes. "How?"

"We start by not being afraid to love each other." He swiped the tears from her face. "I start by saying I love you, Bright Eyes. I knew it that first night we made love." He shook his head. "I'd never before forgotten to use protection. I think the Fates knew they had to bind us together some way."

"Really?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die. Now tell me you love me, too, Bright Eyes, so I can propose to you and make us a proper family."

She hesitated just long enough to absorb what he'd just said, then threw her arms around his neck. "I love you, Dane St. John. You are
my
hero."

He held her and stroked her back, kissing her hair, his tone when he spoke full of teasing. "Didn't you once say heroes are just ordinary people who do extraordinary things?"

"Yes," she said, easing back in his arms so she could see his face and he hers.

"I haven't done anything extraordinary," he said.

"You came back."

"I needed a place to hide."

"When you found out Angel was yours, you didn't run," she said

"Nothing extraordinary in that, not for a real father."

"You never let go of
us—
of
me."

"I love you, Bright Eyes. There's not a single extraordinary thing about that."

"It's extraordinary to me," she said, stroking his cheek.

He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. "That better not be about you feeling unworthy of being loved, because you are anything but unworthy."

She smiled up at him. "I think I've gotten past that."

He smiled back at her. "To be on the safe side, I promise I'll spend the rest of my life trying to do extraordinary things for you, and only you."

"And Angel?"

He tucked her hand against his chest above his heart, vowing, "Angel, too…and every other little angel we make."

"And I promise to love you to the ends of the earth, Dane," she said and kissed him long and hard.

When their lips parted, he said, "That jealousy thing…"

"Just a tactic to throw you off," she said. "Now make like the hero you are and kiss me again."

the end

Excerpt from FOREVER KNIGHT:
St. John Sibling Series, Book 4 by Barbara Raffin

Light glinted off the long blade slicing the air toward Renn St. John's head—the same blade that had already driven him to one knee in the sand. With the flat of his own broadsword, he blocked the blow, sending his attacker staggering backward.

Taking advantage of the opposing knight's imbalance, Renn leapt to his feet and lunged at him, their clashing blades ringing throughout the arena. With practiced, unrelenting blows, Renn drove the knight back until he stumbled and fell to the sand, disarmed, Renn's blade at his throat.

Lifting his blade and sheathing it, Renn handed the new recruit off the ground, "Perfect. Once you unseated me in the joust, you drove me well away from the rail where the fight could be seen from every seat in the house. Do it just like that tonight during the show."

"Got it," said the former squire now The Joust's newest addition to its stable of stunt riders, his grin about as wide as the Rio Grande.

Though only a few years older than the newby, Renn cuffed the new rider on the shoulder. "Now go after your horse and make sure he knows he did a good job for you."

A smile stretched across Renn's lips as he watched the kid trot off toward one of the end openings in the arena the horses were trained to exit once they'd lost their rider in the joust. Barely three years ago he'd been the one facing his first show as a knight at The Joust. He still remembered the excitement he'd felt that night.

Hell, he still felt the excitement every time he suited up for a show. Damn, he loved this job.

Turning for the opposite exit through which his mount had left, his gaze caught sight of another of the Knight brigade, this one still mounted and hugging the stadium wall. Concerned there was a problem with the horse, Renn headed toward horse and rider.

But, closing on them, he saw the attraction…at least what held the
knight's
attention. On the far side of the wall dividing arena from viewing area, a serving wench was lay out dinnerware for the night's show.

Her thick mane of black hair hung midway down her back and fell over her shoulder where her off-the-shoulder peasant blouse costume bared a lovely expanse of skin. Something he noted as he strode toward her and Dugan, the mounted knight.

He likewise noted hers was a figure his boss and owner of The Joust would call buxom. Though, she had a narrow waist and, judging by what he could see above the dividing wall, gently flaring hips.

Unencumbered by the chainmail and knight's regalia worn during shows, Renn easily vaulted onto the ledge separating spectators from jousters. Yup, nothing overly done about the hips under the long skirt she wore. He wasn't surprised. Dugan was a man of discerning taste.

Dugan's roving eye also tended to reak havoc among the younger of the female staff. Renn wouldn't be surprised if the high turnover rate of clerks, ticket takers, and serving wenches wasn't in part due to Dugan's entanglements. Something Renn intended to head off with this latest hire.

But, when the girl in serving wench costume turned from Dugan to him, her heavy mane whipping off her shoulder and exposing her face, he amended girl to woman. Deep brown eyes regarded him with a dark glance. No, this one wasn't the usual college co-ed hired to play one of The Joust's serving wenches.

In spite of a sense that this one could handle herself with the likes of Dugan, he gave her a crooked smile with a nod in the direction of the seated rider. "I should warn you, fair maiden, Dugan here has a way with the ladies, lad
ies
being the operative word here."

Her dark eyes appraised him. "And you, do you likewise have
a way
with the lad
ies?"

Dugan chuckled and his horse nudged Renn's chest with its muzzle. Cradling the horse's head and scratching his ears, Renn answered, "I fear I have more of a way with horses than ladies."

The wench's eyes narrowed.

Giving the chestnut gelding's ear a final rub, Renn met Dugan's gaze. "Shouldn't you be riding Tyke around the arena, getting him accustomed to it—bonding with him?"

The humor drained from Dugan's eyes as he held Renn's gaze a couple seconds too long. Challenge duly noted. Then, with a half-bow to the serving girl, he heeled the horse away from the wall.

Renn kept a watchful eye on Dugan and Tyke for a few more seconds before turning his attention back to the raven–haired beauty who'd attracted Dugan's attention. He half expected her to have gone on about her job of setting out faux-pewter plates and mugs. Instead, he found her watching Dugan put Tyke through his paces.

"You're new," Renn said, his seat on the divider ledge putting him eye level with her as she stood in the aisle in front of the first tier of plank tables.

"I am," she said without taking her eyes off horse and rider. "And that's a quarter horse."

"That it is," Renn answered, his chest spontaneously puffing with pride.

She looked him in the eye. "An American made breed in a medieval times setting. A bit anachronistic isn't it?"

He'd have been impressed with her knowledge. But everybody in Texas knew quarter horses were American made. Then again, no wench before this one had ever bothered to point out the fact. Even though her comment deflated him a bit, he had to admit he was at least a little impressed.

She raised one finely arched eyebrow at him, reminding him she waited for an answer. Add assertive to the budding list of reasons to be impressed by this woman.

He grinned. "You haven't seen a quarter horse run the joust yet, have you?"

"That's not the point," she said, not a hint of a smile on her full lips.

"Ah, but it is," he said, oddly tempted to kiss some of the sternness from those ripe lips glossed a deep shade of red. "A quarter horse is faster off the mark than any other breed; and, being they can outdistance a Thoroughbred race horse in the quarter mile—" He smiled crookedly. "Makes for quite a show."

Bracing her tray of dinnerware with both hands to her midsection, she faced him full on. "I know how speedy a quarter horse is in the short run. That doesn't make him any more suitable a mount for a medieval knight than would a Shetland pony."

Going for humor, he retorted, "Actually, as old a breed as Shetland ponies are, who's to say they weren't used by a medieval knight or two?"

With what could only be described as an exasperated sigh, she turned back to her task of laying out plates and cups.

"Some of those knights of old could be rather small," he called after her as he rose and strode along the ledge of the divider after her, determined to get at least a smile out of her.

"If you're trying to impress me with your wit," she tossed over her shoulder, "save it for some naïve girl."

"I'm not trying to impress you, just get a smile out of you."

"I'll smile at the patrons I serve tonight during the performance," she said, efficiently laying out dinnerware along the long tables.

"That'd be
my
performance," he said in a bemused tone. "The one where I dazzle our patrons with a lightning fast ride toward the point of lance…astride a quarter horse."

She huffed and moved to the second tier of tables.

"They won't give a fig what I'm riding," he pressed, pivoting on the narrow ledge to keep up with her path.

"Quarter horses are anachronistic," she repeated, slapping down a mug a little too hard.

What was this woman's problem? Was she some history teacher who'd lost her job due to budget cuts? Maybe an historian unable to find a job in her field?

"Look, lady," he called up to her. "We're just about having fun here."

She wheeled at him, her skirt swirling against the backs of the first row of bench seats, the mugs on her tray swaying. "Fun. That's the be all and end all with you guys, isn't it?"

The vehemence of her question drew him up. "You got a problem with fun?"

"When it gets in the way of responsibility, I do."

He hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets and cocked his head to one side, studying her. He wanted to ask her why she thought fun and responsibility were mutually exclusive. What came out was, "Maybe The Joust isn't a good fit for you."

The corners of her mouth lifted into something more akin to smugness than a smile. "Are threatening to have me fired?"

He held her gaze, noting a glint in her eyes that matched the smug line of her mouth. He didn't know who'd hired her. But, clearly, she didn't know that he had the power to fire her.

Good thing for her he wasn't a man given to rash decisions. Besides, something about this obstinate, raven-haired beauty intrigued him—made him want to prove to her fun and responsibility could go hand-in-hand.

Giving her a courtly bow, he turned and hopped off the rail back into the sands of the arena, the fun area of his job.