The Soldier's Seduction. Jane Godman
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of place he had expected to find Steffi calling home. What the hell was it with her? How did she manage to make him feel so many conflicting emotions every time he thought of her?
Stillwater was a beautiful place. The city itself was cradled low in the embrace of a towering Wyoming mountain range. It was becoming increasingly popular with the tourists who recognized it had as much to offer as neighboring Yellowstone, and several new trailer parks had sprung up recently. Bryce’s other brother, Cameron, was the mayor of Stillwater and he, together with the council, fought an ongoing battle to ensure these places stayed within municipal regulations. Bryce was fairly sure this one didn’t. It was a run-down eyesore.
Roughly divided into sections, there was an area for fixed trailers, a larger one for visiting recreational vehicles and a cluster of tired-looking log cabins. Next to these, a tumbledown sign invited visitors to Inquire About Our Rates! Several cabins had broken windows, and the wooden structures looked like they hadn’t been varnished for years. Weeds grew wild between the paving stones of the path, and garbage was piled in the pathways between the cabins. Bryce didn’t imagine the owners got many inquiries about rates. As he drove along the narrow road in front of the cabins, he made a mental note to tell Cameron about this place.
Steffi’s cabin was set slightly apart from the others. Typical Steffi, Bryce thought grimly as he parked in front before treading up the shallow step and rapping on the scarred wood of the door. She always chose to set herself apart. There was no answer, but her beaten-up car, the one that looked like it was held together with rust and prayers, was parked out front. He took a step back and looked at the broken-down building.
He couldn’t reconcile the feisty woman he knew with this place. His drivers didn’t make a fortune, but they earned a decent wage. Enough on which to live well. It occurred to him that he knew nothing about Steffi, except that she wasn’t from Stillwater. Why had she chosen to live here? None of my business. As soon as the thought came to him he dismissed it as unworthy. He might be about to fire the woman, but no one deserved to live in this hellhole. Whatever had brought her here, if she needed a helping hand, he would offer it. He almost laughed. Just be prepared to get that hand bitten off, Delaney.
When his second knock still got no response, he walked around the cabin. His impression of the place didn’t improve upon closer contact. It was falling down. When he got around the back, Bryce pushed his way through the weeds and got up close to the window. Steffi would flay him alive with that acid tongue of hers if she knew what he was doing, but he pressed his face to the grimy glass of the window...and recoiled in shock at what he saw.
Steffi was lying curled up on the bedroom floor, clutching her hands to her stomach as her features twisted in an expression of pain.
* * *
Steffi could see the clock on her bedside table from where she lay and its digital display told her the only thing she needed to know. The drivers’ meeting had finished hours ago. Bryce Delaney would be burning up with rage. Even though she had lain awake all night with stomach cramps after throwing up most of the previous day, she had done her best to get ready for work that morning. Struggling to the shower, she had shivered under the pathetic stream of water that never quite seemed to heat up enough. Getting into her clothes had taken forever and by the time she’d managed it, she was shaking all over and as weak as a kitten. As she’d snatched up her car keys and cell phone, her legs had given way and she’d hit the floor. That was the last thing she remembered for some time.
Now, having faded in and out of consciousness for most of the day, she supposed she could have called Bryce and offered him an explanation for why she’d missed his precious meeting. Her lips tightened. He wouldn’t believe me. And I won’t grovel. Let him fire me. It was bound to happen sooner or later.
She closed her eyes again, only to have them jerk open abruptly at the sound of splintering wood. They’ve found me! The thought hammered panic through to every nerve ending and she tried to scurry into the only available hiding place. Her weary limbs refused to fully obey the promptings of her brain and she was only halfway under the bed when a man burst into the room. She cowered, wrapping her arms around her head, wanting to fight him as he reached out a hand to her, but not having the strength.
“Steffi, it’s okay. It’s me. It’s Bryce.”
He knelt beside her. She risked uncovering her head to look at him. The expression in his dark eyes was a mixture of shock and concern. She could never see those eyes without noticing how beautiful they were. And then giving herself a mental kick for noticing. She couldn’t allow herself the sort of weakness that came with attraction. No matter how handsome Bryce might be—and he was oh-so handsome—she had to fight the magnetic pull that drew her to him. She had more important things to focus on. Like staying alive.
A thought penetrated her weariness. Focus. Eyes. Something about eyes...
“Don’t let them get me.” She clutched his arm, momentarily too afraid to reinstate the barriers she was always so careful to maintain between them. “I need to see him first.”
“Who, Steffi?” Bryce’s voice throbbed with anxiety. “What are you afraid of?”
By the time he’d finished speaking, every reason why she needed to shut him, and everyone else, out of her life had returned. The fear of being discovered receded, replaced by the more immediate fear of allowing Bryce to get too close. Antagonism usually did the trick. She quickly slipped into the familiar role.
“How did you get in here?” She wished her voice didn’t sound so pathetic. Where was her cloak of prickliness when she needed it?
“I kicked the door down.”
“You did what?” That was better. That tone had something approaching her usual fire.
His grin peeped out. The boyish one that had an annoying habit of disarming her just as she was in full tirade. “Oh, come on, Steffi. I could have blown on it like the wolf in the kid’s story and gotten in here. It will take me two minutes to patch it back up again. Five minutes and I’ll have it in better shape than it was before. Now tell me what’s wrong.”
She tried to inject every bit of energy she had into her next words. “Get out of my house.”
Evidently every bit of energy she had wasn’t enough, because he scooped her up in his arms and deposited her on the bed. She should try to fight him, but it was taking every ounce of stamina she had just to keep her eyes open. She slumped back onto the pillows, scowling at him from beneath lowered brows.
“Tell me what I can do to help you.”
She didn’t want his help. Accepting it was the very last thing she wanted to do, but she was weak as a kitten. Maybe if she conceded and allowed him to feel useful he would go away. She had a feeling it was a vain hope. “Some water would be good. And you could hand me my glasses.”
“You don’t need those tinted lenses in here. It’s gloomy as hell.”
“I can’t see without them.” It was a lie, but she’d remembered what it was about eyes that bothered her. Part of it.
He found her glasses on the bedside table and handed them to her before making his way toward the tiny kitchen. She heard him moving around in there and lay back, too wrung out to do anything else. When he returned with a glass of water, Steffi found to her shame that she couldn’t struggle into a sitting position. Without hesitation, Bryce placed the glass on the bedside table and, sitting on the bed next to her, slid an arm around her waist. Lifting her so she could lean against him, he held the glass to her lips. She submitted, grateful for both the cool liquid and his strong arms.
“We have to get you to a doctor.”
She shook her head, the action causing her cheek to rub against the hard muscle of his chest. It was both comforting and disturbing at the same time. Disturbing because she didn’t do physical contact. Closeness meant opening up to another person. That meant trust. The last time Steffi had trusted someone, she had been five years old. The person she trusted had brought her a new doll, then murdered her parents. She had never made that mistake again.