Storm Warned (The Grim Series) (21 page)

“So no husband, no boyfriends, no one at all, then?”

“Not a one,” she said, amused at the now hopeful note in his voice.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but good. I’m damn glad for my own selfish reasons.” He picked up her hand with both of his and held it to his lips like it was a holy relic. “You were right that there’s something between us. It’s new but it’s real, and I want to build on it. Look, I know I’m no prize—I’ve been festering in my own frickin’ juices for way too long.” Scrambling for words to explain himself, he stumbled on new revelations: “The breakup made me question everything I thought I knew. Like I thought I knew Jade, thought that she loved me. And I was dead wrong. I guess I just stopped trusting myself to be right about anything anymore.”

Caris nodded. “Perhaps she thought she loved you too. How could either of you know for certain if you hadn’t felt it before?” She put a gentle hand on his chest and leaned in until their faces were close. “Tell me how would I know, Liam Cole? Because I’ve not been in love before.”

“You listen to your gut,” he said without hesitation.

She wrinkled her nose and pulled back. “What does
that
mean?”

“It’s not something I understood back then, but I’ve had three years to think on it.” He summed up Uncle Conall’s famous rule of thumb for her. “Your gut is your instinct, it’s what tells you the things you can’t see or feel. It’s a lot more reliable than your heart or your head. That’s why people say, ‘trust your gut.
’
”

They did? After all her years as a grim, and all the languages she’d learned, the phrase was altogether new to her. “Trust your
gut
.” She tried out the words. “It’s not very pretty, but it makes sense.”

“I didn’t know how to listen to it before—I probably didn’t want to listen because I was young and headstrong and determined to have what I thought I wanted. But I know enough to listen now. And my gut’s telling me that I want a chance with you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. It’s not—well, it’s not flowers and candy, but like I said, it’s real.”

She was quiet for a long moment, long enough for him to berate himself.
Nice going, Cole. Could you possibly have been any more romantic? What woman in her right mind wants to hear about your damn gut?
He realized then that he was still holding her hand with both of his, and that she hadn’t tried to take it back. The seconds dragged on in an agony of hope . . .

Finally she nodded, and relief washed over him like a cool waterfall.

“I like to speak plainly, but ’tis difficult when it comes to feelings,” she said. “Never have I laid eyes on a man whom I wanted more than I want you. But I’m thinking it’s not going to be easy for us because you’ve been sore wounded, heart and soul. You’ve some healing to do yet, Liam Cole.”

“I know it,” he said. “Can you wait?”

She laughed then. “I seem to have a bit of time on my hands as they say, since I have a whole new life ahead of me. So I think I can spare you a little patience.”

“That’s all I can ask,” he said. It would have been a great time, a perfect time, to seal that agreement with a kiss, but before he could act on that notion, Caris jumped up and straightened her clothes.

“I’d best be getting back to the barn.”

Hard to be disappointed when this appealing woman had just agreed to give him a chance—but he managed to feel let down anyway. He’d wanted that kiss. As if she knew, she turned and cupped his face with her small hands, then kissed his bruised forehead so tenderly that he could swear it really did make it feel better.

“I nearly forgot,” she said as she pulled back. “I meant to tell you that I found a fiddle in the closet of the room I stayed in. It was too early to wake you, and I was far too excited to wait—I must confess to you that I borrowed it.”

A fiddle?
He was damn glad to be sitting down. “
You
play the fiddle?
You
do?” His voice was incredulous as his dreams came back to him in a rush, the wild woman creating primeval music in the forest . . .

“Are you all right?” she asked. “You’ve gone pale.”

Small wonder
, he thought. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Anyway, it’s not so odd that I play the fiddle, surely. The Kale—the Gypsies—taught me. They camped on the mountainside above our farm each year when they came to shear sheep in our village. I had to keep it a secret though—I could only play in the woods, far away from the farm.”

“Why a secret?” he asked.

“Because when I was growing up, any music outside the church was frowned upon, you see. Between the preacher and my da, I was certain to lose my fiddle if anyone found me—” Her voice abruptly failed her then, and her eyes filled
.
She wouldn’t let the tears fall, however.

Somebody
did
find you out, didn’t they?
“That must have been pretty rough,” he said, grasping her hand and tugging her down beside him again. It wasn’t enough to simply put an arm around her. He wanted to draw her in close and shelter her from her hurts with his body. He didn’t expect the exquisite sensation of wholeness it brought to him. She fit exactly in the hollow beneath his shoulder, as if it was meant just for her . . .

Had Caris noticed that too, or was she too busy trying to recover her composure? She cleared her throat, yet remained pressed to his side. “Anyway, I’m truly sorry that I took the fiddle. It’s in my room—I’ll put it back in the closet where it was, or I can give it to you now so you can put it in a better place.”

“Like hell you will. I want you to have it.”

Big brown eyes looked up at him in shock. “I . . . I can’t take it from you! It may not mean much to you now, but it did once.”

“It did,” he agreed. “Maybe someday it will again. But it’s just plain wrong for a fiddle, for
any
musical instrument, to be locked up in a case and never used. And it’s not good for it, either.” He saw that she wasn’t convinced. “Look, if you feel uncomfortable accepting it, would you just keep it for me? Tune it up and play it until I need it again. It would be good for the instrument, and it would make
me
feel better that it’s being used. Can you do that?”

In answer, she threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Liam. It means more to me than I can begin to tell you. And I’ll take very good care of your fiddle for you.”

Liam pulled her the rest of the way into his lap so he could wrap his arms around her too. She felt so good there, so right. His bruised head didn’t spoil the moment by complaining, either. Holding her, Liam heartily wished he had a dozen fiddles to bestow upon her. The downer was that he had to request one condition. Just one, but damn, he did
not
want to do it.

Yet if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure if his heart, head, or gut would be able to handle the situation.

NINETEEN

L
iam wished he didn’t have to spoil the moment. “Caris, honey, I have to ask you a favor.”

“Of course.” She pulled back so she could look at him, and those big brown eyes just made it harder for him to spit out the words.

“It’s about the fiddle,” he said. “I feel like a jerk asking this, especially when you told me how you always had to hide when you wanted to play your music. But—I need you to take it where I can’t hear it, okay? Just for a little while. I’m just not ready to hear it, not yet.” She frowned, and he braced himself, certain he’d blown away whatever ground he’d gained with this beautiful woman.

Instead she nodded slowly. “I think I understand it, now that we’ve talked for a time. The music hurts something inside you when you hear it, doesn’t it?”

Only like his insides were being scooped out with a melon baller. “Yeah,” he managed. “I don’t understand why, but for now, it does.”

“Then,
for now
, I’ll practice somewhere else. I’ve found a lovely place out by the ridge, so I won’t mind playing out there a bit. And I can sing around the farm when you’re in the house.” Caris placed her finger on his chin. “
For a while
.”

He got her meaning, loud and clear. “Thanks. For understanding and for being patient while I try to work this out.”

Her finger slid around his jawline and upward, until her small palm was cool on his cheek. She delighted him by placing a tender, lingering kiss on his other cheek—and then apparently thought better of doing more. Liam could see that she was flustered again, and he found it completely endearing. That rosy blush bloomed along her throat once more, and he wondered just where it originated . . .

“I have work to do,” she said, pulling back.

As she wriggled to get off his lap,
endearing
was replaced by, well, something completely inarticulate. His lower brain must have sent out a message to keep her gorgeous butt exactly where it was, because instinct had Liam catching her around the waist before his upper brain even got the memo.
There, yes, right there . . .

“Don’t go just yet—I think I need a little more TLC,” he murmured and cradled the back of her head in his hand.

“What’s that mean?” she asked. “It’s not about guts again, is it?”

“Not at all. TLC stands for ‘tender Liam care.’ I really think a little more kissing could do me a whole lot of good.”

“You think so, do you?” She didn’t sound convinced, but she was smiling as he brought her face close to his. That pretty mouth was made to be kissed, he decided, but he wanted to take his time—like saving dessert for last. Meanwhile, it was oh so pleasant to brush his lips lightly along her hairline, where that intriguing crown of dark braids made her look like a sexy Princess Leia on Endor. He lightly nibbled at the tops of her ears and noted that they were hot—and an answering heat echoed deep within him. Liam nuzzled into the ear closest to him until a shiver rippled through her and her heart beat loudly enough that he could feel it in his own chest.

His hands wanted nothing more than to explore every tantalizing inch of her. Instead, he restricted them to slowly kneading the fine, smooth arc of her back from neck to tailbone—and no further. His body wanted everything
right now
, of course, but this time, this one time, Liam wanted something else, something slow and intimate,
something less that was so much more
. Instinct told him that Caris Dillwyn was a woman to be savored. And savor her he would . . .

He teased at the corners of her lips with his tongue, but moved on. Kissed the end of her nose and made her laugh. The pleasing contours of her face were mapped and committed to memory with only his mouth. Finally, he sensed the flutter of her eyelids beneath his lips. It evoked an image of her small figure quivering like a bird’s wings beneath him as he pleasured her . . . and as he claimed her.

It nearly undid him then and there.

It was definitely
go forward or fall back
time, and Liam would cut his own throat rather than spoil this moment by taking things too far, too fast. But there would be a time, and damn soon, he promised himself as he fought to calm the powerful craving that raged within. His cock was straining beneath his jeans, and with their bodies molded together as they were, he knew she could feel it pressing against her, seeking her.
Down, boy.
He needed to get out of this face-to-face position, and fast.

Regrettably, enjoying Caris’s soft, full lips would have to wait for another time.
This is what you get for not having dessert first
, he chided himself.
To her, he said, “I think we might want to take a break now.” And he kissed her forehead with all the tenderness he could muster.

“Right. Of course,” she said, and her voice was as unsteady as if she’d had too much to drink. Before she could make a move to leave, Liam placed his hands firmly on her waist and lifted her clear of his lap. It was pure self-defense—one more wriggle of that gorgeous butt and he was going to embarrass himself. He was already sweating, and he could swear the air had turned to syrup as he tried to drag it into his lungs.

Once her feet were back on the porch, Caris barely took a moment to compose herself. She said something that sounded like “good-bye” and was set to take off, until he seized her hand in his. Whether he was trying to steady her or just couldn’t bear to let her go, he wasn’t sure. Probably both. Worse, he couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. He settled for planting a soft, lingering kiss on her palm and releasing her with as much of a smile as his bruised head would allow.

She smiled back, a little shyly he thought, then hurried off toward the barn. That’s when what she’d said about no boyfriends in her life struck him like a lightning bolt.
You frickin’ idiot, she hasn’t been with anybody before.

Liam waited until Caris was out of sight before he got up and shuffled into the house to stretch out on the couch. He couldn’t help but moan a little as his body sank gratefully into the cushions. How could he be so damned tired already? He hadn’t done much of anything with Caris, except get extremely aroused. Apparently that was enough to wear him out—but it had been worth it.
I guess I’ll just be glad this stupid concussion didn’t interrupt anything.

His concussion was likely to get aggravated all to hell, however, just by trying to sort out all the thoughts that were presently trampling like wild elephants through his head. The discovery that Caris had no sexual experience meant that he needed to be damned careful. It was more than just taking it slow and easy—he needed to take his cues from her, and let her tell him what she was and wasn’t ready for.
Great, like reading cues is a real talent of mine. Not!

However, Uncle Conall had once said, “There’s nothing you can’t figure out together if you give it enough time.” His uncle had actually been talking about disagreements, not sex—but it seemed to Liam that the advice applied. Since he’d already made up his mind that Caris Dillwyn was a woman to be savored, then surely she was a woman worth waiting for, too. Somehow it would work out.
It has to . . .

What was giving him even more of a headache was the discovery that she was a fiddler like himself! So much for his theories on his weird dreams. All his rational and reasonable explanations had been completely blown out of the water. Liam had always been respectful of Aunt Ruby’s interest in psychic matters, but privately, he’d taken it with a very big grain of salt.
I’m going to have to apologize to my aunt, big time.
He could no longer deny what his dreams had revealed to him. Somehow, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, he’d been given knowledge
in advance
about Caris’s incredible music. And just in case he needed any further verification, his gut concurred.

He stilled suddenly. There had been
two
parts to the dream. If one was true, then the other must also be true. Something dark and dangerous was coming—and it was coming for her.

Liam shook his head, not with denial but with determination. “No,” he said aloud, and his resolve tempered into steel. No matter what happened, he would damn well stand between Caris Dillwyn and whatever the hell was trying to threaten her.

If only he knew what it was.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a satisfying rhythm of work. There was no lack of things needing to be done before the milking, and gradually Caris found herself singing over every task big and small. After all those years of being a voiceless grim, she finally had both a reason and the ability to express the music that lived within her. When she came to the end of a song, she laughed with sheer delight and started another. The work became a joy. It was a joy, too, to know that when the work was done, the exquisite fiddle would be waiting for her.

It was exhilarating to be so free, much like being a small child again—before her da’s lectures and the preacher’s sermons tried to repress and contain what was second nature to her. She remembered the silly little songs she’d made up as she played with her doll. When she was big enough to have chores, she sang over them as well. Caris recalled how she’d chanted to the oxen when they plowed, crooned to the chickens to call them to feed, sang to the sheep as she and the dogs took them up to the higher pastures.

Entering the barn, she greeted the goats with a nonsensical rhyme. Looking over their heads to the back of the building, Caris expected to see Chevy watching her too—but no vividly spotted head or broad speckled back was visible. Quickly, she pushed past the goats and ran to the makeshift enclosure.
The mare was down.

“On the weekend, Jay and I will come back with Rhys and some of our friends and see if we can finish cleaning things up around here,” Morgan was saying, as she helped Liam slowly down the steps to where his ATV was waiting. It was a fairly new side-by-side quad with a small cargo box, and it had been a welcome sight on several levels. The handy little vehicle had been buried in the machine shop wreckage the last he’d known, and he’d assumed it was a goner. Steadying himself with the overhead bar, he settled into the passenger seat (and hoped he didn’t look too pathetically grateful to be sitting down). His stomach lurched only once, then the nausea subsided as if it had never been. The dizziness? That seemed to come and go more or less continuously.

As the quad moved forward—and thankfully, Morgan had a light touch on the gas—Liam was surprised at the progress all around him.
Somebody’s been awfully damn busy
. His battered skull protested as his head kept swiveling—but he’d already learned it was better to turn his whole head rather than move his eyes.

A broad driving path had been cleared through the debris. There’d be no more picking his way through an obstacle course to get from the house to the barn. There were still a lot of fallen branches littering the rest of the yard, but an assortment of fallen trees and large limbs had already been piled at the head of the driveway, and topping the heap was the chestnut tree that had pierced the living room wall.
I’m going to have a lot of frickin’ firewood this winter.